A Dragon Expendable

The King entered his bedchambers on tiptoes. He knew his Queen was sunken into a heavy sleep by the milk of poppy but still, he did not want to take the slightest chance to disturb her. He was sorry that he hadn't managed to see her awake today but there had been indeed things that needed his own attention. Baelor did whatever he could to relieve him of any duties, letting him spend as much time with Mariah as possible but there were still some affairs of state that needed the King's attention, not the Hand's.

To his surprise, the great candelabrum in the bottom of the bedchamber was still burning. Mariah looked up from the bed she was half-lying in. "You're here," she said. "At last."

His delighted surprise that she had waited for him, instead of taking the potion, didn't last. He recognized the parchment she was holding… and he recognized the wrath behind her dark eyes. He hadn't seen it in years. "I see you know," he said.

Mariah tossed the parchment aside as if it was going to burn her. It fluttered in the air and fell on the floor next to the bed. "When were you going to tell me?" she asked. "Or did you mercifully intended to wait for me to die? Surely you must have known that I would never let this come to pass?"

She was obviously looking for a fight and this time, Daeron was more than happy to oblige her. The mentioning of her forthcoming death ate at him like a gaping wound. She was truly dying, he knew it. And he could not forgive anyone who told him that, including Mariah herself. "Do you think I need your permission?" he asked coldly. "I've let you too many liberties, my lady, but let's be clear: it's I who rule in the Red Keep and not you."

The blood drained from her face. In this moment, he sounded just like his father, her hated goodfather. The man had recently started visiting her in her worst nightmares.

Daeron looked at her pallid cheeks, the white-blue hands, the rings that dug so cruelly in her bloated fingers that they could never be taken off, and regretted the sharpness of his bite.

"It pains me as well, Mariah," he said, his tone gentler now. He sat on the bed and reached for her hand that she pulled away angrily. "But I cannot see a better way. Too many dragons are just as dangerous as too few."

She hissed like a Dornish snake, her eyes glittering. "Oh spare me, Daeron! All this dragon talk might work for your Small Council but don't you dare pull this particular wool over my eyes. If you see them as dragons alone, I pity you. It's my grandchildren we're talking about!"

Of course she would not let this one go unchallenged. Daeron hated his fights with her because she was the most dangerous enemy, the one who knew where to hit to cause most pain. Of course, he was doing the same to her as well… Sending Aemon away was as cruel a blow as he could deal her. He cursed his carelessness in leaving the letter in their bedchamber where she could read it easily. But she had never stooped so low before!

"My grandchildren as well, Mariah," he reminded her and sighed. Maybe he should try honesty this time. "You know I love him as much as you do. But there are too many of them."

"And I adore them all, from Valarr to Rhae!" she cut him off.

"And you think I don't?!"

She didn't answer.

Daeron paled under the weight of her mistrust. She had never, never doubted him before.

"I don't know," Mariah finally murmured, her anger gone, leaving only the heavy shade of doubt and eyes filled with pained disbelief. "I am listening to you and I can't believe it's you that I'm hearing. Daeron, that's what your father used to say about us, don't you remember? How it would be better if the babe died because it would clearly be another son, as incapable as I was in producing daughters? Who needed four sons in line for the Iron Throne?" She drew a shaking breath. "Were you thinking the same?"

"What?" he asked, the idea so ridiculous that he couldn't even comprehend what she was asking.

Her eyes glinted at him, her body tensed like that of a defensive cat. "Were you hoping that the next babes would die?" she asked. "When did you decide that I've given you enough dragons and we really didn't need another one? As early as Rhaegel? Or did you wait until I announced that I was expecting Maekar? Which one of our sons was as expendable as Aemon is?"

He rose and started pacing the chamber, unable to look at her. She couldn't really believe that he–? Of course, it was only a battle tactic to make him reconsider. What if it wasn't?

Mariah had fallen silent too. He could feel her eyes following him but it looked like the outburst had drained her too much. She held out a shaking hand, reaching for the goblet at her bedside but when he came near, she shook her head, refusing his help.

"You're taking away his future, Daeron," she finally said, her tone more controlled. "The maesters of the Citadel… they only serve. They have no life of their own. They take no wife, father no children. I know this isn't the fate you want for him."

It isn't, he screamed in his head but replied calmly, evenly, "I am doing this so he can be guaranteed a future, Mariah. He and the rest of them. He is smart and talented. He loves books and treasures knowledge. He won't feel bad there..."

She huffed disdainfully.

Daeron came back to the bed but this time he knew better than reaching for her or sitting down. "Do you remember when I first became king? You advised me to take Blackfyre away from Daemon and give him lands as far away from King's Landing as possible. I didn't heed you and the realm bled. I won't make the same mistake. Never again."

That did not convince her either. "Don't you dare compare my grandson to that boy!" she burst out, her fury hot once again. "Aemon doesn't have a vain and ambitious bone in his entire body while Daemon was all for showing off and gaining more and more yet. And if you regret not heeding my advice then, heed it now: don't do it."

His silence was enough of an answer. She shrunk there, before his eyes. Her mouth started trembling, her hands rose to her eyes to hide the tears she would not let him see.

Never had the crown weighed him down as hard as when he left his bedchamber, leaving there only the silence of Mariah muffling her sobs against the pillow.

A. N. This is meant to be a short series of oneshots and I might even succeed in keeping it this way, who knows. Anyway, I think that'll be my last upload for this year. Many thanks for every present – I mean, review – you gave me this year. See you soon. Merry Christmas!