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A Dragon Expendable

Elaena

Summer had come, invigorating the land. The flowers in the Reach bloomed and the hard-packed snow of the North gave way to softer substance, still refreshing, but pleasant to the touch. The eagles in the Vale made slowly circles, attending the travellers who gave them looks of fear, for the mountains were so dizzying and changing that the huge birds looked too close for comfort. The stench of King's Landing grew and the harbour could not contain all the ships willing to come and sell their goods. The season was a good one for whores, as well. The entire city was rejoicing.

In the heart of the Red Keep, the Stranger waited.

It was a matter of weeks, days maybe. The Queen grew fainter by the hour, wasted away by the consumption that had taken hold over her entire body. Her face was yellowish, her cheekbones sharply edged. It didn't look like there was anything under her skin but her mind – and the bright eyes. But even they were not clear. There was almost no white in them, just yellow. She rarely spoke when she didn't need to – taking breath brought too much pain.

She loved having visitors, though, and listening to them talking, so in the beginning, Daeron didn't pay any particular attention to the voice coming through the door. Only when he entered, he realized who it was.

"Elaena," he said. "When did you arrive?"

"A few hours ago," she replied. "I was getting bored at Penrose and since my only outlet was quarreling with my goodaughter, I decided to come here and quarrel with you instead." She indicated both of them. "At least you know I don't mean it. She's so serious that…" She shook her head.

Elaena was well into her fifties but it was just like her to make such an impulsive journey. And she looked none the worse for wear.

"So you decided to compensate by talking about me?" Daeron asked.

Her slight blush told him that his guess had hit the mark. No doubt Mariah had used the last remnants of her voice to complain about him. While they had reached an uneasy trust, he was well aware that she was still seeking ways to deter him in his decision about Aemon. He didn't truly mind – not because he thought she might succeed but because that gave her purpose. Something to live for.

"Please, keep talking," he invited. "I'm well aware that at the moment, I am not in Mariah's good graces."

"Just as well because you shouldn't be," his Queen said, her voice rasping. There was no heat there but the fierceness was clear. She was not going to yield or forgive. Sometimes, Daeron thought that his worst fear might no longer be the thought that she'd die but the very real possibility that she'd go to her death without forgiving him.

To his surprise and horror, Mariah then placed a hand under her cheek on the pillow and went to sleep. Just like that. Like a candle that had been extinguished. "Has she taken the milk of poppy?" he asked with faint hope.

Elaena shook her head

"No," she said, leaning over to cover the Queen better. He noticed that despite the paler streaks in her fair hair, the golden streak looked even brighter. Strange.

"You shouldn't be so close to her," he said.

She simply gave him a look of pity. "I was told that you still slept next to her," she said.

"It's different," Daeron snapped, suddenly irate. He had had this conversation with the Grand Maester more than once. The man was terrified that Daeron might catch the consumption. In fact, Mariah had tried to chase him away as soon as her illness had been determined. "But if you want to end your life sooner than expected, then who am I to tell you what you should do?"

Elaena rose and nodded that they should go away from the bed. He followed.

"I didn't believe that she was truly so ill," she said softly. "I don't think I ever saw her in less than blooming health. Even her childbirths were easy."

"Maekar's wasn't," he replied and remembered that terrible day ,the waiting, the fear that she might actually die. It was strange but he had felt no concern about the babe. His love for his children had never started at birth but when they had been able to interact. With his grandchildren, it had been different, to his great surprise. Except for Aemon. He could swear that the moment they had shown him the newborn, still wet from his first bath, and not even an hour old, Aemon had seen and recognized him. He had been able to interact since his very birth.

"She complained of me, didn't she? She told you of my plans about Aemon."

Elaena poured wine for both of them. He wetted his lips but didn't swallow, It would be too easy to find peace and oblivion in the red liquid and then he might never be able to stop.

"Do you really have to?"

He bit his caustic remark back. Of course he had to! Otherwise, he wouldn't have. Not that he was sure that he was making the right call. He just had to do the best with the information he had at hand. And now, he had the chance to talk to someone who knew firsthand what it felt like to be discarded.

"I believe so. Do you think I'm wrong, Elaena?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know the boy all that well. It's possible that you're doing the right thing for the realm. I don't necessarily believe it's right for the boy. But I know Maekar well enough to tell you that you'll have problems from this corner."

"I can deal with Maekar," he said curtly. He did not cherish the idea but he could deal with his son, he did not doubt it.

Elaena gave him a suspicious look and murmured something that definitely had Daemon in it but when he asked her to say it louder, she didn't do it.

"What about the rest of them?" she asked instead. "The boy has three brothers and don't forget Rhaegel's boy either. Are you going to send them all away?"

The words hung in the air between them. Of course Elaena would be the one to say things as they were. Send Aemon away. Daeron had avoided the words even in his mind. He preferred to think that he was sending Aemon to something – a place that he'd like, knowledge that he cherished. But essentially, he was sending him away, no matter how he dressed it. There were many ways to send someone away, even if this away was the heart of the Red Keep, a Court of Love…

"No," he said.

None of them had the inclination for learning that Aemon did. He would not force a life they disliked upon them and there weren't many options for removing them from the possible struggles in a peaceful way.

"He treasures knowledge," he said. "In the beginning, it'll be hard but he'll get used to his new life eventually. It's for the best"

"Where have I heard that?" she asked sarcastically.

The look Daeron gave her showed that he remembered where she had heard it as well. But she had been older than Aemon then! And she had never had the slightest inclination for a life of piety…

"Was it so bad?" he asked.

"It was terrible!"

It had been – for her, for Daena. Even Rhaena, in the beginning. Yet she had ended up living the life Baelor had chosen for her and even exceeded his expectations.

"Terrible," Elaena said again. "Losing my freedom. Losing my life, my friends. Feeling that I wasn't good enough."

She fell silent at the sight of the pain crossing his face. But he would not change his decision, she knew it. And her rational side knew that she could not blame him. Once again, she cursed Aegon for revealing Daemon's parentage. Without that, the boy would have never gotten it into his head to rebel. He might have been alive now. And Westeros might have been a vastly better place. She had mourned Daemon deeply – but his death had also been a relief.

"Are you trying to break him?" she asked with some curiosity.

Daeron gave her a look of horror. "No!"

"Good," she said. "Because we Targaryens don't take well to someone trying to break us. And the realm usually ends up paying for that. For Westeros' sake, I hope he's like Rhaena and not Daena and I."

"He is," Daeron said quickly but in his eyes, Elaena saw the brief flicker of haunting uncertainty.