A Father's Death

It was a lie.

It had to be a lie, otherwise it would be the truth, and it was too terrible to be true.

Her father was only seven-and-thirty! How could a man so healthy, so young, be dying? It made little and less sense. Surely, that stupid idiot calling himself a maester, Munkun, was lying. He had to be. Elaena couldn't know his motives, but it was the only thing that made sense. Father's enemies (he was king, he surely had sereval thousands of enemies) had probably bribed him to poison King Aegon, otherwise why was he dying?

"He is sick," Daeron had said with a stone-hard tone. "They say he grows more haggard each day, they say all the flesh has melted away."

That sounded too awful to be true. Elaena guessed Daeron was being dishonest (or too imaginative), because that sounded like a nightmare. The flesh melting away? Until there was none of it left? Why would that ever happen to him, him who had always been so nice and fair and good? Everybody loved King Aegon, low and highborn, her sister Daena always said. He had been one of the greatest kings the Seven Kingdoms had ever been blessed with. Better than that stupid uncle of his, another Aegon, better than his mother who had not truly been a queen, better than –

It was probably a bad jape. The Gods were toying with them.

She said that last thing out loud.

"The Gods are testing us," Baelor corrected her. "They want to see if our love for them is true. They want to know if we love them as much as they love us."

"Love?" Daena shrieked, and threw a heavy book at their brother, who avoided it easily. "Love? This is love to you? What sort of god takes your father and calls that love? What sort of idiot believes in such god? If this is what the Seven's love looks like, I truly dread to see their hatred!"

Baelor only shook his head. He had long understood his stupid little sister couldn't grasp the wisdom of the Seven, he had told Elaena a week or so ago. Elaena herself had long understood Baelor was a little bit of a miracle, for he had survived for thirteen years without a brain.

Elaena looked at Daeron, silent and pale, sitting in the corner. Father's condition had affected him as well, she knew. For the first time, Daeron didn't have his father guide him. What was the last time they had spoken to each other? Elaena knew no one was allowed in the king's chambers save for the maester and Prince Viserys who was also the Hand. The queen, their mother, and the five of them were not allowed to visit. It is for your own safety, Uncle Viserys had claimed, but Elaena hadn't really believed him. If he prized safety so much, why did he pay a visit every now and then? Was Prince Viserys immune to whatever curse had befallen Father? That seemed highly unlikely to Elaena.

"Don't be so solemn, Daeron," Daena scolded their brother. Elaena knew Daena didn't like it when even Daeron was at loss. It made her feel vulnerable, for even when she did not know what to do, Daeron would. Daeron's hopelessness made her uneasy, and it made Elaena uneasy too.

"If only we were allowed to visit," Daeron said in a soft tone. "I hate it that we cannot see him. I am the crown prince, I am to be king someday, but they still treat me like a child!"

Yes, thought Elaena. If only we could see him, if there was a way to sneak into his room...

That gave her an idea.

When the night fell, Elaena decided to execute her plan. Baelor, Rhaena and Naerys were busy praying for the king's recovery, Mother and Daena had gone to bed early, and Aegon was not in the Red Keep at all (Daeron was very amused when he was informed of Prince Aegon's whereabouts, but he didn't tell Elaena what exactly he found so amusing)which meant she only had to watch out for Aemon and maybe Uncle Viserys. Luckily, Aemon, as a Kingsguard, was tasked with guarding Queen Daenaera's chambers, so he was no danger either. Two Kingsguards stood outside King Aegon's room (she did not recall their names), but Elaena did not plan to enter the room through the big wooden door anyway. She had another plan.

A magnificent ivy grew outside, in the yard, and had grown so tall and vast it cloaked the entire wall. And was thick and strong too, strong enough to support a seven-year-old girl who needed to climb to her father's window.

The night was black, with not a single star in the sky, no moon. The air was cold, and sent a chill up Elaena's spine, but she had gone so far, what was she supposed to do, go back in bed? What if she ran into someone on her way back?

Much to her pleasure, no one was in the yard. Anyone would be a fool to be outside that cold night, and maybe she was a fool too for doing just that, but she didn't linger in that thought. This was her only chance.

Elaena grabbed into the ivy. Will it support me? Or will I fall and break my back and become a cripple forever? Gods knew she didn't want to end up like Laena Velaryon, one of Aunt Baela's children by her husband Alyn Velaryon, who had fallen from a tower fifteen years prior, before Elaena had even been born. The fall had shattered her legs, and her mother had told her that poor Lady Laena would never walk again.

Making plans proved to be so much harder than executing them, Elaena soon came to know, quite bitterly. For half an hour she struggled to climb (to no avail) and for half an hour she'd repeatedly find out what falling on the frozen soil felt like.

Bloody, bruised, shivering, Elaena Targaryen got up and decided to try once more. Daena wouldn't give up, nor would Daeron. I can do it. I can do it. I WILL do it. You are the blood of the dragon Elaena, what sort of dragon gives up? Of course, dragons could fly.

This time, the ground was somehow even harder than the other, previous times.

"Ouch!" she cried. She was on the verge of actually crying, her knees were bleeding and hurting her, and she was cold and away from her nice warm bed –

But the pain wasn't what made the blood in her veins freeze, no; from somewhere behind her, a laughter echoed, sweet and soft like a song.

Oh no.

Elaena turned her head around slowly, to look behind her back.

She had been wrong when she assumed she was alone in the yard. It would seem she wasn't alone at all; a boy of three or four years of age was sitting on a bench not far from her, hidden in the shadows, with a small wooden horse toy in his hands. He had probably been watching her all this time. That thought made Elaena's white cheeks blush.

"How long have you been there?" Elaena asked, angered but not loudly, lest someone hear her. "You little idiot, you've been spying on me this entire time?"

Daeron, whom they called 'little Daeron' to better distinguish from the older Daeron, gave a shrug.

"I saw you come, but didn't move," he said. "I was afraid you'd notice me, but you didn't. You were too busy trying to climb that ivy. Why do you want to climb it? That is the king's room, we are not allowed there."

"I am a princess of the blood, and his daughter besides," said Elaena haughtingly. "You are not allowed there. I am allowed to go wherever I wish." That was, of course, a lie, but Elaena hoped Daeron was too young to realise.

Daeron narrowed his eyes.

"Why don't you simply walk through the door, then?" he asked.

Elaena felt the sudden urge to slap the idiot.

"This does not concern you, little babe," she told him.

"My grandfather said very clearly that none but him and Grand Maester Munkun is allowed to see him," he said. "And I think 'everyone' includes you. And I am not a babe!"

"Oh yes, you're three, almost a man grown, I forgot." she said with a smile.

"I turn four this year."

"You turn four in seven months. You're three, still a babe." Daeron would always get annoyed when someone reminded him he was the youngest of the Targaryens. Elaena knew her young cousin hoped more siblings would follow, so he wouldn't be the youngest anymore, but all of Princess Naerys's babes died before they had a chance to live, and Daeron remained an only child.

"I hope you understand you mustn't say anything to anyone," Elaena said, trying to sound intimidating. In theory, that shouldn't be too hard, Daeron was just a boy of three.

"What you are trying to do is bad," said Daeron.

Elaena kicked the ground.

"Your stupid grandfather would certainly think so," she said.

Daeron seemed to be quite puzzled by that.

"Grandfather is clever," he said. "He's not stupid, he's very clever, everyone says so–"

"Daeron, please shut your mouth, I can't stand your stupid voice."

Daeron shut his mouth. And Elaena grabbed the ivy once more.

"Are you going to try again to climb?"

"Well, since apparently you're interested in knowing, yes, little cousin, I am."

"You're a fool."

"I think I told you to shut up?"

Elaena turned to the wall.

Patience and steady steps, that's all I need.

She put one foot on the wall. Then another. Then again the first one, always careful to never let got of the plant. Before she realised, she had climbed much further up than before. If I fall now, I am dead. Don't look down.

She made the mistake of looking down. The sight of the yard – so small! – beneath her made her almost lose her grip and fall – but she held on the last moment. Down, little Daeron was watching ecstatic.

Now her father's window was within her reach.

Almost there, almost there... YES!

She had done it! She had done it! She was sitting on the window, she was looking into her father's room!

She looked down, on Daeron, and smiled at him, who smiled back. He probably thinks I'm a hero from a song now. Daeron liked songs more than any maiden Elaena knew. His favourites were the ones where honourable knights killed their greedy older brothers, thus saving the fair maiden.

Slowly, Elaena stepped into the dark chamber. Her father was there, resting on his bed. He looked so tired, so pale and weak. So unkingly. Fever seemed to have taken away all of his strenght, and left him a shell of what he had once been. It pained Elaena to see him like this. No, you must rise, strong and robust, your kingdom needs you, your family needs you, I need you.

Elaena climbed on the bed. She pushed King Aegon's silvery hair off his gaunt face.

"Don't worry, father," she whispered. "Don't worry at all. I'm here. I'm with you. No harm will come at you."

She should spend the whole night with him, she decided. Mother always said a man's greatest strength lies in his family, and she was family. She was his daughter. Princess Elaena of House Targaryen, youngest child and daughter of King Aegon III Targaryen and Queen Daenaera Velaryon.

If I ever tell Daena of this, she'll kill me for not taking her with me. Elaena loved their father, but Daena loved him more still, and she hated the fact that she wasn't allowed to see him. She always dressed in black, like he did, and would never take off the dragon pendant he'd given her, not even when bathing. Elaena wished she had something from her father too.

King Aegon suddenly opened his eyes. They were watery, and Elaena wasn't sure if he could see.

"Elaena?" he whispered, his voice barely heard, supporting his weight on his shoulders. "Is that you, or is this some fever dream?"

"It's me, Father, I'm here with you!" Elaena replied cheerfully. That only darkened King Aegon's face.

"What are you doing here, child?" he asked. "Go back to bed. Don't go anywhere near me, Elaena, you must leave, it is too dangerous."

But Elaena was having none of it.

"The Gods teach us not to abandon our family when they are most in need," Elaena said. "And you are in need."

King Aegon left out an undescribable nasal sound.

"Damn you, Baelor," he whispered, looking at the ceiling. He turned at her. "Elaena, I've got my brother Viserys, and he's more than enough. Leave now, go to your mother. How did you even get here? I told Ser Beric and Ser Cauloce not to let anyone enter, not even you."

"I'll stay," Elaena said, trying to sound more confident than she actually felt. Please don't alarm your guards, I don't want to be dragged away. "And there's nothing you can do to send me away."

Her father sighed, and let his head fall on his pillows.

"Elaena...," he dragged the word. "You... you are so... so... oh Gods, I needed another Rhaena, not a Daena..."

Elaena smiled. Father thought she was like Daena.

"Oh, I certainly hope now that Daeron is king he will tame you and her both... and that he won't do something stupid. Viserys will talk him out of it, sure..."

What? What was father saying? Daeron king? He was king, and Daeron couldn't take the throne unless Father died, and Father wasn't going to die. Daeron wouldn't take the throne for many years to come. He wasn't a man yet, just fourteen years of age. A green boy.

Elaena looked at her father. He had fallen asleep again. His chest was going up and down, faintly, but steadily. Well at least he breathes. Grand Maester Munkun is an idiot. We should send him away. I will tell Father in the morning.

Elaena coiled next to her father, too tired to try to leave through the window. She shut her heavy eyelids, and soon was having colourful dreams of her and Daena mounting the mighty dragons that had hatched from the eggs they had put in their cradles when they were still babes. It was a nice dream. Daena and she were smiling, Daeron was roaring with laughter, Rhaena was begging them to come down and Baelor had already passed out. Mother was there as well, looking anxious as always, and so was Uncle Viserys, annoyed and exasperated, her cousins too, capricious Aegon asking loudly for a dragon of his own, noble Aemon trying to pacify him, sweet Naerys holding her little son in her arms. Elaena looked for her father, but he was nowhere to be found.

When she woke up the next morning, King Aegon wasn't breathing anymore.

Notes: I obviously don't own the characters, they all belong to George R. R. Martin. This is for entertainment only.

Well, it had been over a year since I updated the thing! Whoa! Please excuse my English, it is not my native language.

I first considered the third chapter to be about Daena wanting to compete in some tourney, but changed mind. Naerys had a bigger part to play too.