The Wild Dragon

Chapter 3 - Failure

Alaera Targaryen stood in front of the closed door hesitating. What would she find on the other side? How could she face him knowing the disappointment she was? From the moment of her birth to a childhood of quiet stubbornness to follow the rules imposed to a princess of the Realm, from her insistence to train like a boy to rejecting every marriage proposal ever presented to her and escaping on dragonback everytime pressure got too much for her free spirit. From her being away for most of her adult years and still returning empty handed. Failure was now her middle name.

She straightened her back and knocked softly on the door though she was almost certain there was no one inside beside him. She had stood there for long moments and no sound had come through the door. Maybe he was already asleep and she could escape the guilt of telling him she had found nothing of worth. She opened the door without noticing the still form of a person some meters behind watching her intently from the shadows.

Once inside she closed the door behind her and looked through the room still slightly lit with the last rays of the setting sun coming through the ample windows. She saw no movement so she walked slowly to the bed, on her way lightly touching the model of Valyria, now full of dust and spiderwebs. As she approached she could hear his raspy breathing, a sign that his health had deteriorated in the two years she had been away from Court and from Westeros. Her hand shook a little as she pushed the drape away from the right side of the bed, afraid of what she might see on the other side of it.

The sight that met her was horrifying: a body so reduced that it barely showed underneath the linens. She could barely imagine him capable of even standing anymore. His head was mostly covered in bandages, only the left side of it free. His skin, both on his face and his right hand, was ashen, with even darker areas of brown. She didn't even notice the tears silently falling on her face. She dropped on her knees next to the bed and very carefully took his hand in hers. If only she could give from her life to prolong his....or even just to make his a little bit better, she would. She knew then and there she would soon be fatherless, not only motherless. A pain greater than any she had ever felt in her body settled on her chest and threatened to take her breath away.

"Who goes there?" she heard his weak voice.

"It is only me, father," she replied, sorry to have awoken him.

"My sweet Alaera," king Viserys Targaryen said and strained to open his left eye. His second born daughter quickly tried to erase the wetness from her face. "Finally....I've been waiting for you....for so long...."

"I'm sorry," she started and desperation rose inside her. She should have stayed home, she should have remained by his side and not waste so much time chasing hopes and dreams of a mysterious cure no maester, surgeon or healer in the world knew of. "I'm so so sorry," she started crying again. She'd never cried as a child. Her mother's death had made her stern and quiet. But then her younger siblings had brought back her sunny disposition, it had been her way of trying to make their family happy, to balance the rules and expectations they were all burdened by. But since her father's health had started to worsen and the political machinations from behind locked doors had become known to her, she had turned into a sad if also driven young woman. Healing her father and keeping some sort of unity between the two factions inside her family had become her priority, her sole purpose.

"My wild child, no need to cry," he said weakly but with conviction and she felt a slight pull of her hand that held his. She raised her face to meet his eye that also had tears around it. "You are here now and that makes me happier than you know," he said and her mind flew to all the times they had sat in this very room, reading and discussing tales of old Valyria, of their dragonrider ancestors, of Aegon's conquest and the struggle for power that followed his death, principles of ruling and improving the life of the Realm's people and so much more.

"Father, I've failed you...." she said, unable to bear his loving look.

"Ooooh, Alaera...." he whispered and choked, then started to cough. It pained her to see him straining himself when it was clear he even lacked the strength of body the coughing required. She lifted him a bit, shoved more pillows to sustain his back and then looked around for something else that might help. "My tea..." he whispered and she found a cup next to his bed. She held it for him as he took a few small sips. Even that seemed to be a struggle for her ailing father. "Thank you, sweet child," he said, letting himself fall on his pillows with his eye closed. He seemed to feel better, even his breathing sounded less strained than before. Milk of the poppy, she knew, the last solution for those so very sick that no other remedy would work. She kept caressing his hand for who knows how long, admitting to herself for the first time that there was nothing more to do but be at his side and offer company and maybe some comfort. She kissed his hand reverently and exited his room to find the sun had long set and the corridor was now full of glowing candles.

She closed the door as quietly as possible and turned to find him leaning on the wall some meters away. They locked eyes and none could look away. He had changed and matured in the years she'd been away, no longer her dragonless little brother unsure of himself, but a man who exuded confidence and purpose. He reminded her a bit of herself at his age, back when her search was still full of hope, when she still had plans and lists of places where healers were rumored to be able to cure even the most severe diseases.

They started toward each other at the same time and stopped when they were only a handreach away. "I'm sorry," he said, breaking the silence after long moments of searching her features with his inquisitive right eye.

"You warned me," she said and her own guilt made her unable to sustain his gaze. She knew he admired her still, as much or even more than when he had been a child or a teenager. She saw that and so much more in his look, a warmth and affection she felt unworthy of. The passion he had shown her earlier in the day scared her deeply, as she'd thought him too stern to ever let himself display that much fire.

He slowly covered that last stretch between them and delicately cupped her left cheek with his hand while his lips softly touched her forehead. The warmth that enveloped her made another chip in the armor she had shielded her heart with. When he took his lips away from her skin, she raised her eyes to him and knew she was truly home. Their interactions today had felt so natural and right, so comforting and loving, but then why did a small voice inside her warn of impending doom?

"Princess Alaera, welcome home!" she heard her step-mother's voice. How come none of them had heard her steps approaching?

"Thank you, your grace," she answered, turning to her left where the queen stopped and bowing her head slightly.

"You look...famished, my dear," Alicent Hightower remarked with no meanness in her voice. "Have you eaten yet?" Alaera did not miss the queen's eyes slipping between her and Aemond next to her.

"I wanted to first see the king," she answered.

"Well, I'll send dinner to your room," the older woman said. "And we should have some new dresses fitted to your figure," she continued studying her step daughter's body with critical eyes.

"No need, my queen," she said, smiling bitterly. "They would be wasted on me!"

"Do you not plan to stay with us long?" the queen inquired and Alaera heard a sharp intake of breath from her right side where Aemond stood watching her exchange with his mother. She could not help herself from quickly looking at him. She knew the danger there and felt her resolve diminish under his intense look and all it promised.

"I am here for the king. I will stay for as long as my father wants me here," she replied not leaving any doubt to any of them.

"Then we shall surely enjoy your presence for the foreseeable future, princess!" the woman clad in dark green replied with a somehow forced smile on her face. She turned her gaze to her son and said, "Aemond, I need a word with you. Sleep well, princess!" and she turned to walk away.

"Thank you. Good night, my queen," Alaera said and watched the woman walk slowly away, obviously expecting her second son to follow at once. He delayed for a moment, looked at her with intent and she felt there was much left unspoken. He then nodded shortly and followed his mother somewhat reluctantly.

Had her stepmother just saved her from a conversation she deemed herself totally unprepared for?