Fire and Blood

Chapter 74: Healing a Wounded Heart

Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...

A fierce storm descended upon King's Landing, unleashing a deluge of rain that fell in torrents, accompanied by deafening claps of thunder and flashes of lightning that illuminated the darkened skies. The Targaryen dragons, seeking refuge from the tempest, sought out the warmest caverns they could find, while a select few, too large to fit, had to brave the strong winds and make their way to Dragonstone, where they sought shelter in the Dragonmont. Though these dragons would eventually return, they had to bide their time until the storm subsided. Unfortunately, for others, the raging storm made it impossible to get the much-needed rest required to prepare for the upcoming hearings.

Despite the best efforts of the Blacks, Maester Alwyn, and the king's granddaughter Princess Aemma, Viserys remained bedridden, his health deteriorating by the day. He was too weak to move from his room, vulnerable to the disease that had taken hold of him. Although the illness had been slowed down, it was only a matter of time before the king would inevitably succumb to it. The entire castle was on edge, waiting for the inevitable to happen. As Viserys slept, completely unaware of his surroundings, the door to his private solar was silently opened. The question on everyone's mind was when the end would come.

Aeonar strode into the room; his pale yet piercing lilac eyes seemed to glow in the flashes of lightning outside. He exuded a sense of power and danger, like an apex predator on the prowl stalking his prey. With every step he took, his feet did not make a sound. It was as silent as a crypt. His black robe, adorned with intricate crimson embroidery, featured voluminous sleeves that could easily hide a weapon or a secret message. Aeonar had used his hidden blades before in the heat of battle, and they were always at the ready. With a determined stride, he approached his father's bedside and gazed down at the ailing man, his expression unreadable. Huh. Look at you. Even when nearing death's door, you still insist on clinging to life so stubbornly, old man. He slowly raised his hand but stopped. Instead, he took the opportunity to adjust his father's sheets and fluff his pillows. Pitiful. You can't even take care of yourself. You have to rely on others to do it for you, especially my own daughter, who loves you so much. Aeonar noticed an iron chest beside his drawers. He had never seen it before and had no idea what might be inside. Although he often wondered about it, he had ignored it. Another one of your chests containing your 'precious' mementos? I am not surprised. You always were the sentimental type.

The motion caused Viserys to stir. "Mmm..." he mumbled weakly. "I'm so... Aem... sorry..." he gasped in pain. "Aem... Aem..."

"No," Aeonar said quietly yet coldly. Gone senile already? "It's Aeonar. Your first son. Or had you forgotten that?" Just then, the twitching and tugging at his nerves happened in the back of his head again. Seven hells, when were these annoyances going to stop?

"Aeonar... 'm so... sorry..."

"For what? Whatever it is, I have no time for it. Gah, look at you. You're drooling again." Aeonar annoyingly grabbed a cloth to wipe his father's chin, dabbing to clean off the unpleasant residue.

"Sorry... give m... so sorry..."

"Enough. If you don't stop moving, I'll never be able to clean it."

"Sorry... I'm so sorry..." Viserys started to tremble.

Aeonar looked at him. He heard a voice crack. Was his father crying? If he was, the Young Dragon speculated it was either due to being delirious from the excruciating pain the king was in, his illness, or from something else. "For what? Who are you apologizing to?" he asked, slightly irritated.

"Aemma..."

Aeonar's ears perked at the mention of that name. Was his father talking about his daughter... or his mother?