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Blood of Dragons, Grass of Red

Aelinor

Dawns came and passed. Noons followed one by one. She could tell it by the varying positions of the sunrays stealing through her canopy in the brief moments she opened her eyes, swallowed the broth they fed her and whimpered weakly at having herself picked up so hands could change her sheets. Once or twice, she glimpsed the red stains on them. When it was time to change her nighgown, she was usually unconscious once again. She's lost too much blood, she heard voices whispering and she wanted to snap at them to shut up, for they only drilled further pain in her already burning brain. But she was too weak to find her voice. Maybe she had lost too much blood. A cut, maybe? She couldn't remember what had happened. Bloods of dragons flowing freely, little Daeron's voice echoed in her head...

There were times when she could not even lift her eyelids to show that she was awake but she caught some snippets of activity and conversations carried out in hushed – or not so hushed – voices. Old men's voices explaining that she was on the mend and it was a miracle that she hadn't died. Women worrying about finding explanations as to why their lady could accept no one. Maekar and Baelor arguing – now, that was one of the things she often woke up to. Maekar wanted something and Baelor refused.

"I don't know," her eldest brother said over and over again. "I don't know who he is."

"You are a dirty liar." Maekar's voice was as angry as Baelor's was calm. "Both of them who made moon eyes at her are of your household. Whyte was one of them… I cannot remember the other one's name but I'll recognize this scoundrel anywhere!"

A loud sigh. "And you'll do what? Introduce him to your mace?" Baelor's own anger was mounting by the second. "Do you even recognize how precarious our position, her position is? We just fought a war over things like bastardy and rumours! You'd better keep your jealousy in check…"

"Oh, go to the seven hells already!"

"Shut up, both of you!" Lyselle's voice was shaking with fury. "Shut up before I grab both of you by your stupid heads and bump them into one another. You can have this argument elsewhere."

Whether they heeded her or not, Aelinor did not know, for this was the moment she sank back into lovely dark oblivion.

Sometimes, a dark spectre came to chase her in her dreams. She would gasp and shoot up in bed… or try, at least, for all she could truly manage was a low whimper and a movement beneath the coverings. Each time, there were rough or soft hands soothing her, various voices assuring her that it was nothing, that she was fine, that it had been all a dream. She would gulp at the goblet they gave her hungrily and then sink back into her world of nothingness until the dark hunter came back once again. Sometimes, she saw his face, pale skin against pale hair and purple eyes. You aren't better than I was, Daemon mocked. Is that what your brothers fought for? Is that what I was killed for? You aren't better, Aelinor, you aren't. And I'll have my revenge. Now, you can never be allowed to have a child of your own…

It was well past twilight when she finally woke up. There were but a few candles in the background and her bed under the canopy was swimming in shadows. Violet eyes met her and the shadows bruising them were deeper than those of night.

"Maekar," she murmured, suddenly unsure that the Seven hadn't just decided to make the world turn upside down.

"Of course it's me." His voice was gruff and… well, defensive. "What? Don't tell me you were expecting Aerys?"

"I wasn't expecting either of you," she breathed, for as different as those two were, this was something they had in common: they both avoided her like the plague.

"Well, I was not planning on staying," he snapped. He was so pale that she could count each of the pox marks on his cheeks.

"What happened?" she murmured. "You look terrible. Are you ill?"

"No, you are." A strange expression crossed his face, unbridled joy that she looked coherent. Now, Aelinor realized that she must have been really close to death for him to show such blatant care. Ever since he left her, he had gone out of his way to show that she wasn't all that special to him. She rarely believed him but it hurt nonetheless.

"What happened?"

Maekar hesitated. "Don't you remember?"

She thought for a moment.

"Don't," he said quickly, clearly regretting his question. "Just sleep. Do you want something? Some water? Something to eat?"

Two tears slowly made their way down her cheeks. "Is it gone?" she asked, barely audibly.

He nodded and then, clearly unable to help himself, asked, "Whose was it? You have to tell me."

So you can kill him before you turn your back on me once again, she thought. You would not have me but no one else is allowed to, either! In this moment, she glimpsed the full extent of his selfishness and disdained him. She looked aside, hoping that he'd leave.

He brought a goblet to her lips. "I am so happy that you're recovering," he murmured. "After all, I would not want to die just in two years' time."

Tears welled up in her eyes at the sudden memory of this long forgotten childhood belief they had held: when they had been learning their numbers, they had believed that he'd live exactly two years after her death since he had been born on her second nameday. At the time, they did not realize what death meant, of course.

Now, he looked clearly uncomfortable, obviously deciding that he had shown too much care. He's afraid that I'll think he loves me, Aelinor thought fleetingly. Of course, he did and she knew it.

"You now want to take to your heels, don't you?" she asked and despite her faint voice, there was no mistaking the rude tone.

He flushed and looked down, aside, everywhere but her.

"Go on," she invited. "Take to your heels if you want it so much."

She had his measure right: he did leave, murmuring that he'd send her women in immediately. Anyway, Aelinor went back to sleep before they came. This time, there was no Daemon and not even the babe who had been not allowed to live. Just a long, healing sleep. Her young body took what it needed despite her heartbreak.

Next time she woke up, it was to find Lyselle at her bedside, holding her hand. Her goodsister assured her that they had sent the knight to Dragonstone, safely away from Maekar's rage.

"As if he has any right to be enraged," Aelinor said bitingly.

Lyselle only patted her shoulder. Aelinor felt silly. It was not about right and if anyone knew it, it was Lyselle. Lyselle who had watched Aelinor and Maekar play in the courtyard beneath her windows for hours, day after day, when they had only had each other. Lyselle who had spent her entire childhood imprisoned when King Aegon had had no right to do it.

"He'll come tonight," Lyselle said and Aelinor only curled on her side. With Lyselle, there was no need to guard her words or face. Lyselle kept Aelinor's secrets, and Aelinor kept Lyselle's. And in truth, as much as she despised herself for it, she did want Maekar near, for all his selfishness and rejection. Unfortunately, a woman might be well aware of a man's worst traits and love him anyway. And she would make the best with the unwanted joy his presence gave her even when she was at her most vulnerable. Which she was now. For the clearer her mind went, the more horrifying her future looked. From his grave, Daemon would have his revenge on those who had bested him. Daeron's blood was already prevented from flowing in other human's veins, as far as his daughter was concerned. For Aelinor's only chance of having a child and even knowing a man's arms around her ever again was to seduce Aerys. Somehow. She could never risk taking a lover again and once again finding herself one of the very few women on the face on earth which moon tea did not work for.

A. N. So, the story is completed, can you believe it? Thanks to all of you who stayed with me till the end. For those who are curious about the few loose ends I left here: maybe I'll write a (hopefully) short sequel if inspirations comes my way. If not – well, you sort of know how it ends up.