Sister's Keeper

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones

Chapter 9: The Consequences of Magic

In the dream I fiddle the string having so much on my mind that I don't want to wake up. I was mad at Daenerys for not listening to me. At first, Drogo heed my advice and did not let Mirri Maz Duur put the ointment on his wound. He was fine, stating he wanted the scar, prove and show his men what happens to those who defy him. Once more, Daenerys was naïve of the world we live in. War holds violence, and violence carries consequences. Drogo made a choice, and yet Daenerys applied the ointment has he slept. The Great Khal sighed, willing to let his wife treat him. But lately, on our travels, he has become unwell. At first, he seemed to have a cold, yet holding a masculine pride he shrugged it off saying winds were changing. But knew that was not the case.

"Your sister needs to learn for herself," Visenya said, sitting beside Vhagar stoking his neck.

"Even if it kills Drogo?" I asked.

"It's a rude awakening," Visenya answered. "Aegon dealt the same consequence when sending Rhaenys to Dorne. I told them not to send her down south alone, with a small army. In the end, it took one arrow to strike Meraxes down and take my sister's life. Her body was never recovered. Only Meraxes skull when Dorne offered peace to end countless years of war. I too learned it as well, when my son Maegor fought in the Trial by Seven. Twenty-eight days of a coma, until the thirtieth day, did he wake."

The was a proud and disappointed expression written on her face, "I raised a warrior, putting a sword in his hand at the age of three. Rhaenys's son was weak, and I was angry at Aegon for making my sweet sister a sister-wife. All that I have done for him, and yet he sees my bed once a month. I was his first wife and yet the second gets it all. Out of that pride and honor, my son became what I wanted. Yet the gods punished me for seeing a reason from a dead bloodline. Now I wait, learning the errors of my way to enlighten potential Targaryens of greatness."

"Rhaegar was one," I said.

"And he drew the sword," Visenya said.

"What about my parents?" I asked her.

Visenya remained quiet.

"Did my parents come to you?" I asked her again.

"They did not," Visenya answered. "Madness consumed your father, as the coin landed it so. As your mother…though determined as she was in her youth with potential…she was no longer worthy when his brother-husband broke her spirit."

So, madness is not allowed. Are the Targaryens known for Greatness came from Visenya wisdom? As she states, she his bound in the realm to correct her mistake. I try to recall any ancestors who achieved such greatness.

"Come, let me show you a vision of one." She said, jumping off the boulder.

She led the way to Dragonstone to the raven's tower. There was an apparition of a frail old man with short white hair and white eyes. Dressed in a black robe with chains. A Maester. He seemed to be having a conversation with someone, but there is no one.

"This is a memory, he is the second longest living Targaryen alive in Westeros," Visenya said. "One I am proud to mentor as he understands honor and duty. Listen to him, he will tell you the importance in your fate."

I was confused, yet stood there watching the one-sided conversation of the man. Wondering who could still be alive of the Dragon. Other than long distance relatives of Targaryen women who married out.

"The gods were cruel when they saw fit to test my vows. They waited till I was old. What could I do when the ravens brought the news from the South – the ruins of my house, the death of my family? I was helpless, blind, frail. But when I heard they had killed my brother's son and his poor son…and the children! Even the little children."

"Who are you?" I asked aloud.

"My father was Maekar, the First of His Name. My brother Aegon reigned after him when I had refused the throne. And he was followed by his son Aerys, who they called the Mad King."

"He's Aemon Targaryen," Visenya said. "And his charm was the Maesters."

"I'm a Maester of the Citadel, bound in service to Castle Black and the Night's Watch. I will not tell you to stay or go. You must make the choice yourself, and live with it for the rest of your days." Aemon said as he came over resting his hand on my shoulder. "As I have."

Nothing else to say, he left the bird tower. I was astonished to learn that Daenerys and I were not the last of the Targaryens. Our Great-Great-Granduncle was still alive. A member of the Night's Watch, yet alive. Ser Willem mentioned the Night's Watch, a brotherhood who guard the Wall, made out of ice against wildlings and dark entities from the past. Still, what Aemon said about the choice we make, the sacrifices of duty and honor when fate decides of who lives and who dies. Aemon could have broken his vows and rebelled in the name of our family to avenge those who died in the sacking. Instead, bound by a sacred duty of Maester and Crow, he could not.

"He accepted the consequences of his decisions. You and your sister must do the same," Visenya said. "Even if it cost a life."

I nodded, dreading what's to come.

"Who was he talking too?" I asked.

"A boy who cannot attend a war with his family," she answered.

"Is there another war rising in Westeros?" I asked.

"There will be," she confirmed. "A wasteful one, not as important than what's to come."

"What is to come?" I asked, annoyed. "What are you preparing me for?"

She paused looking me in the eyes, "History repeats itself. One long before the Targaryens and Andals arrived."

With that said she left. Her way of ending the conversation. Realizing the dream must come to an end, I return to the beach to reel another foot of string. Just as I was on the last inch for the night, I looked at Vhagar.

"Is she always this complicated?" I asked.

Vhagar merely shrugged.

Sighing, I reeled the last of the foot's string and woken up in my tent. The dream was elaborate, though irritated in what Visenya wanted from me, it was comforting that in the dream I wasn't the last pure Targaryen. Hopefully, I can return to Westeros and see Aemon. Meet him once at least to understand his side of the story.

Anyway, I got up and prepared for the journey. Once dressed and packed, the Dothraki came to dismantle my tent. It wasn't long that the Khalasar made haste towards the south. I rode beside Daenerys, though we did not share a conversation. It was a long journey, entering a desert land. For miles, it was flat beige with a burst of dry grass. Far off in the distance were hills and mountains. The weather dry, small winds were blowing. The sky partly clouded that shelter us from the blazing sun.

Up ahead was Drogo leading the Khalasar. It has been three weeks since his duel with Mago. His condition worsens, for he shudders from the cold wrapping a blanket over him. Later, he was slouching.

"My lord…My sun and stars…" Daenerys called out. "Drogo."

Suddenly Drogo felled off his horse. Daenerys and I immediately unmounted and rushed to his side. Not a second longer the bloodriders were there.

"Sajo anni. My horse…" Drogo muttered.

"Blood of my blood…" Cohollo said, taking Drogo's hand

"No, I must ride," Drogo mumbled.

I felt his forehead realizing he was burning up. Next, I lifted the bandages to get a better look of the wound. The cut, once nicely stitched now open and festered. A foul stench coming off it with puss and the ointment once grey had turned black. This was poison.

"He fell from his horse," Qotho announced. "A Khal who cannot ride is no Khal."

"He's tired, that's all. He needs to rest," Daenerys reasoned. "We've ridden far enough for today. We'll camp here."

"This is no place to camp," Qotho countered. He was right, there was no grass for the horses or water for the Khalasar. Supposedly, there is a lake on the other side of this vast land. It makes appeared a few miles, but Ser Jorah warned in Lhazar more mirages will trick the mind about distance.

Qotho continued, "A woman does not give us orders, not even a Khaleesi."

"We'll camp here. Tell them Khal Drogo commanded it," Daenerys calmly said.

"You do not command me Khaleesi," Qotho said

"A Khaleesi who carried the Stallion that will mount the world," I challenged. "The Dosh Khaleen foretold. Dare deny the High Priestess prophecy!"

Qotho scowled but knew it is rude to disregard the Dosh Khaleen.

"Find Mirri Maz Duur. Bring her to me," Daenerys command.

"The Witch? I bring you her head, Khaleesi," Qotho offered.

"Bring her to me unharmed, or Khal Drogo will hear why you defied me," Daenerys warned.

Qotho glared at her before leaving on his horse to fetch the godswife. I examined Drogo again. Unless there was an antidote to the poison the witch has used, the Great Khal Drogo is most likely to be dead. Qotho and I saw through the façade. Understanding that a prisoner of war wouldn't so willingly offer service to the leader of the Dothraki after the Khalasar raided her village.

Staring at my sister, she realized her mistake.

.o0o.

Immediately camp was assembled as Drogo with the assistance of Cohollo and Haggo into the tent to protect their Khal's honor. Daenerys, Irri, Doreah, and I tried to keep Drogo comfortable. While Daenerys wiped the sweat off her husband's face, I took some fresh rags and water from my water skin to cleanse the wound. To remove what remains of the poison paste as possible. When I removed it, the damage was done? The bacteria in the ointment did not prevent the fester of an infection, it was the infection in the ointment. Eating away at his skin, turning the exposed blood black.

Irri provided a poultice that I apply to the wound to alleviate the inflammation and absorb some of the toxins. I didn't bother saying "I told you so," as her expression says it all. We are west of Esso where honor, duty, and vows were kept to the highest regards. We are in the middle of a continent, near the south where it is about survival. My tutor mentioned the far east you go, more dangerous it becomes.

"Doth – Dothrae…" Drogo mumble in his fever. "ki ha – hammi…ish nokitta… qana'th.."

Daenerys sighed, cradling his cheek.

"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah announced entering the tent.

Daenerys wiped her tears away, "Come."

Ser Jorah walked in seeing the terrible state Drogo was in.

"He's very strong," Daenerys said, still in denial. "No one understands how strong he is."

Ser Jorah sat down next to me, placing a hand on mine to lift the poultice to expose the deadly infection. He kept a neutral expression, but his eyes said it all. Drogo was a dead man. I was unable to say the words, yet he kindly did.

"He will die tonight, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah declared.

"He can't," Daenerys refused to believe, staring at her husband. "I won't let him."

"Even a queen doesn't have that power," Ser Jorah murmured, then got up. "We must go quickly. I've heard there's a good port in Asshai—"

"I won't leave him," She interrupted.

"Danny, he's dying. His spirit leaving the body as it tries to fight off the infection for it to go." I tried to reason.

"Even if –" She started, holding a sob. "—even if he dies, why would I run. I am Khaleesi, and my son – my son will be Khal after Drogo."

"This isn't Westeros where men honor blood. Here they only honor strength. There will be fighting after Drogo dies." Ser Jorah explained. "Whoever wins that fight will be the new Khal. He won't want any rivals. Your boy will be plucked from your breast and given to the dogs."

"I won't leave him," Daenerys said.

Mirri Maz entered the tent along with Qotho. The bloodrider expressed sorrow for his leader, until masking it. The godswife came over removing the poultice.

"The wound has festered," Mirri Maz declared.

"You did this witch," Qotho accused, drawing his dagger.

"Stop it!" Daenerys ordered. "I don't want her hurt."

"No! No! You don't want her hurt?" Qotho corrected. "Pray we don't hurt you, too. You let this witch put her hands on our Khal." Then kicked the godswife.

"Rein in your tongue. She is still your Khaleesi," Ser Jorah warned.

"Only while the blood of my blood lives!" Qotho yelled, then took a deep breath. "When he dies, she is nothing."

Daenerys scowled as she stood up struggling with her bump, "I have never been nothing. I am the blood of the dragon."

"The dragons are all dead, Khaleesi," Qotho taunted, then left.

I took a deep breath considering his taunt as a threat. I looked at the exiled knight, "I think you should wear your armor tonight, ser."

"I think you are right, your grace," Ser Jorah replied, as he left to prepare for the inevitable.

I followed him, needing to get my vest. Once outside I pulled him to the side, "Have the horses and supplies ready. Find the most loyal, if it comes to a fight, I need your help to get my sister and her unborn child out."

"She belongs to the Dosh Khaleen," Ser Jorah said. "Her child is dead after disregarding Qotho."

"Please, I beg you," I whispered. "Must I be the last of my house?"

Ser Jorah looked at me seeing how determined I was in protecting my sister. He nodded and left to do as I ask. I rushed to my tent getting my armor vest on, and a satchel filled with the necessities. The Targaryen sword, strapped to my waist, before returning to the Khal's tent. I swore to protect my sister. Now I must do it again.

Just as I entered, I saw a smirk on Mirri Maz face. She intended Drogo's death. So, when Daenerys went to get more fresh water with Doreah, I looked at the witch.

"Do you know of my family?" I asked her.

"You are of old Valyria, land of the dragons," Mirri Maz answered.

"But you do know of my family?" I asked again.

"I do not," Mirri Maz confessed.

I grabbed her roughly in the face glaring into her eyes, "I come from a dangerous line of dragon riders. We are Targaryens, and our motto is 'Fire and Blood.' If he dies both body and spirit, so shall you. It is not Qotho you should be afraid. It is me, and I will keep that promise of your death. Do you understand?"

She did not respond as I dug my nails into her cheek, "Back in my country, we burn witches. There will be no quick death. Do harm to my family, and I'll make you suffer."

Her dark eyes widen grasping the fact I meant it. All she could do was nod. I let go of her cheek and sat across from her with my hand over the pommel. Watching every move, she made in curing Drogo. The Great Khal broke tradition for me after Viserys died. He could have tossed me out of Vaes Dothrak and his khalasar or even given me to his men. Instead, he welcomes me as a member and offered protection that no man could harm me. It's the least I can do in ensuring that he tries to survive from the witch's curse.

Daenerys soon returned. Unaware of what transpired in here.

"He's beyond the healer's skills," Mirri Maz announced. "All I can do is ease his path."

"Save him, and I will free you. I swear it," Daenerys promised. "You must know a way…some…some magic."

Mirri Maz stopped what she was doing and looked at her, "There is a spell. Some would say death is cleaner."

Daenerys frowned as she cradles Drogo's cheek. "Do it. Save him."

"There is a price," she warned.

"You'll have gold – whatever you want," Daenerys offered.

"It's not a matter of gold. This is blood magic," She warned again. "Only death pays for life."

"Dany, stop and think," I told her.

However, she did not listen, "My death?"

"No. Not your death, Khaleesi," the witch said, then thought of something. "Bring me his horse."

Daenerys nodded to Doreah to do so.

I grabbed Daenerys pulling her away, "Sister, please listen to me. She is the cause of Drogo's death. Don't fall for her tricks."

"I can't lose him, Alysanne. I love him, he is my sun and stars," she cried.

"Drogo wouldn't want this. He would want you to live and continue his promise for his child." I tried to reason. "Your child is possibly the heir we need to gather more forces. If the Iron Throne is what you want for him, you must let go of Drogo. Please, I beg you from the Mother and the Father and seek the Crone's wisdom not to do this. Magic holds consequences."

Unfortunately, Daenerys shoved me away. Her mind was made up. She made her choice to fall into the dark arts of blood magic. In stories and books, they all state the same thing. Magic must be obtained through sacrifice. Although sacrifice is vague from the purpose of life either it is time or the essences of living…it was dangerous. Far dangerous than wildfire itself. An unknown realm that only the Gods can understand.

When they brought Drogo's horse, the animal was resisting. It too can sense evil, trying to escape. Cohollo and Haggo held the reins tightly, bringing the black stallion over till its neck hover over Khal Drogo's body. Sparks from the fire pit erupted as Mirri Maz Duur draws a bronze dagger. Rakharo pushed Daenerys away from the frightened horse.

"Khaleesi, do not do this thing." Rakharo pleaded. "Let me kill this witch."

"Kill her, and you kill your Khal," Daenerys growled.

"This is blood magic. It is forbidden," Rakharo tried to explain.

"I am your Khaleesi. I tell you what is forbidden," Daenerys said

Mirri Maz Duur cut her thumb and pressed the blood on her forehead. She started incanting in a different tongue. One similar to Valyrian and Dothraki but different. She walked around the horse. Taking hold of the reins, soothing the animal. She turned to us. "Go now."

"Take her and leave," Daenerys said, referring to Irri. Rakharo refused as she ordered, "Take her!"

Unable to refuse his Khaleesi, Rakharo escorted Irri out.

"You must also go, lady," the witch said. "Once I begin to sing, no one must enter the tent. The dead will dance here tonight."

Daenerys looked at Drogo who lied unconscious unaware in what is happening. My sister cradled his cheek and looked at the witch, "No one will enter. Go, sister."

"Daenerys," I pleaded.

"Go!" she yelled.

Let her understand the consequences, Visenya's voice whispered.

Taking a deep breath, I left the tent not wanting to associate myself with blood magic. The moment I was three feet out, the horse wailed in pain. Singing followed as Daenerys came out face covered in blood. Shock written on her face. The Dothraki gasped in horror, not understanding what is going on. At the tent, the singing grew louder. Ser Jorah, dressed in armor walked over to Daenerys.

"What have you done?"

"I have to save him," she panted, wobbling on her feet.

Ser Jorah and I caught her, "We could have been ten miles away from here by now on the way to Asshai. You girls would have been safe."

Daenerys groaned as we took her to sit on something.

Out of nowhere, there was a demonic shriek. The wind stops, the heat of the sun vanished. All the horses and animals grew quiet. The camp was engrossed with silence. Engulfed in fear. The first person to speak was Qotho, marching in with his arakh in hand.

"This must not be. This must not be," Qotho demanded.

"This must be," Daenerys panted.

"Witch!" Qotho accused.

"Mra qothoon vosaan—" Rakharo tried to explain, resting on the bloodrider's shoulder. Only to receive an elbow t the face knocking him down.

Qotho started walking towards the test, but Daenerys stepped forward, "No, you can't!"

The bloodrider, roughly shoved Daenerys to the ground causing her to land on her belly. I gasped, rushing over, turning her to the side. Not caring what is happening in the tent, but my sister physical wellbeing. The impact of the fall could cause severe damage to the womb.

The only person who dare challenged him was Ser Jorah, drawing his sword, "No further, horselord."

Qotho stopped at the entrance glaring at Ser Jorah. Not a second without hesitation, the rider charged at the knight. They fought, Qotho managing to cut Jorah's cheek. The rider understanding that the only vulnerable spot was Ser Jorah's head. He jumped and swung high, as Jorah tried to block him. One attack knocked the exiled knight down, but he managed to stand up. Both had their blades reading. Qotho attacked, as Jorah tangle his sword in the arakh pushing it away. Qotho retracted swinging to the side, wrapping it around the breastplate, Jorah lowered his arm securing it and took the opening of slicing the bloodrider's face. Blood gushed as Qotho fell to his death.

Daenerys then cried, in pain. Checking her condition, seeing a puddle forming. Shit, her water broke. Ser Jorah sheathed his sword and came over.

"Is she hurt?" Ser Jorah asked.

"Her water broke. The baby's coming…" I answered. "Help me get her to my tent."

"Hmm?" he replied shocked then looked at Irri. "Fetch the midwives."

"They will not come," Rakharo said, helping in picking Daenerys up. "They say she is cursed."

"They'll come, or I'll have their heads," I threaten.

Ser Jorah rushed in taking Daenerys to my tent setting her on the makeshift cot. I told Jhiqui and Doreah fetch fresh water and linens. Any clean fabrics. They nodded, doing so. In the background, I could hear the witch's enchantment. Ignoring her songs, I ripped the bottom of Daenerys dress to see how far along she was.

"Do you know what you are doing?" Ser Jorah asked, turning away to give Daenerys decency.

"Back in Lys, I helped the midwives in delivering our hosts' babies," I answered. "I must try to save her and the baby."

Deep down I knew there were four options. I either save them both, save the child or the mother, or both shall die. Daenerys cried out in pain, as one midwife who had enough courage to help the Khaleesi. Jhiqui, Irri, and Doreah lend their support in delivering the child. It was tedious, a struggle since Daenerys was pushing when she shouldn't. I told her to stop, for the midwife noticed something was wrong. Something was caught in the vagina. The midwife said she can't pull it out while keeping the head supported. Removing my riding gloves, I listen to her instructions that Irri translated and apologized to Daenerys for the pain I'm about to give her.

Slowly, I inserted my hand underneath the child inside the vagina. Daenerys wailed in agony, lulling her head back. Biting my lips, seeing more blood seeping out, trying to adjust the baby's shoulders. I felt blood, flesh, and muscle, but a new texture that should not be in the birth canal. It felt like wet leather. Ignoring it, I slowly guided the baby on the next contraction. It gushes out, landing into my arms. Daenerys painted falling unconscious. The Midwife paid more attention to treating Daenerys, seeing a large tear from the delivery.

I looked down examining the child. The child was red, covered his fluid and blood. Dark curls on the top of his head. But something was wrong, wiping the blood away seeing scales on his body. However, that was no concern, since he was not breathing. I tipped him leaning over to suck his nose to get the fluid out. I spat it out; still, he wasn't breathing. So, I turned him over and smack his bum hoping the pain will make him cry. He did not.

"Come on, Rhaego," I begged, doing another spank to wake him.

Still, the little one did not cry. Turning him over again, I took a deep breath and breathed into his nose and mouth to get air in his lungs. After a few tries, I placed my hand on his chest remember the slave in Volantis and pounded his chest. Twenty attempts, I did the breathing technique. Once more he did not breathe. Ten minutes later, the midwife stopped me.

"Died in womb," She whispered, as she handed a small blanket.

Holding back tears, I accepted that my nephew was a stillborn. He died by the witch's spell and Qotho solidifying his death. Carefully I wrapped him up, seeing the horror that the witch has done to Rhaego. A sweet child covered partially in scales, a stub of a tail, and small leather wings. I cried, though body deformed, his face was still human. A soft angelic face, having his father's hair and mother's nose.

The handmaidens and midwife attended on Daenerys to remove the placenta and cut the umbilical cord. The midwife taking needle and thread to stitch up the tearing. Once that was done, she left along with the handmaidens to retrieve fresh supplies. Daenerys laid in bed unconscious, the pain from the delivery and Rhaego's wings caused damage. Her skin was paled and flush, breathing sharpen and irregular. There was nothing I could do. Fearing, I will be the last Targaryen in Essos. Fearing I will be alone.

"Alysanne?" Ser Jorah called out.

"Enter," I whispered.

Ser Jorah entered seeing the blood everywhere and Daenerys asleep. He looked at me sitting on the ground with the swaddled child.

"The baby?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Stillborn."

He sighed, as he knelt down about to take Rhaego out of my hands, but I stopped him. No, he will not be tossed and fed to the hounds. We are not Dothraki. We were Westerosi, we cremate or bury stillborn. Not feed them to the animals. Also, I did not want him to see Rhaego's dragon traits.

"She cursed him," I whispered.

"What?" Ser Jorah asked.

"Mirri Maz Duur cursed the child. A death for a life, and deformed him into a dragon." I answered. "Once the witch is done, you and the Khas take her and tie her up. When Daenerys wakes, the witch will die for what she has done."

"Alysanne," Ser Jorah said, resting his hand on my shoulder. "If Daenerys doesn't wake, we need to leave."

"I pray she does," I whispered, looking at her. "Go."

Ser Jorah sighed as he stood up to do as I command. Once he was gone, I took Daenerys's hand while holding Rhaego. Closing my eyes, I sobbed, softly singing the Song of the Seven. Praying the gods to take good care of Rhaego's soul in the afterlife. Or the Great Stallion taking him to his father in the Night Sky.

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