The Wild Dragon

Chapter 9 - Accepted

Aemond Targaryen had fallen asleep feeling happy for only the second time in his entire life. Happier than he had been after his first flight on the back of Vhagar. Alaera's quiet but unflinching acceptance of his un-brotherly love had given him true hope for more, for a future together, something he had not truly allowed himself until then. He had slipped away from consciousness intoxicated by her smell, with his nose in her hair, his lips on her forehead, her relaxed body in his arms, their legs intertwined, her hand around him pulling him to her just as strongly as he was holding her to him. He would have gladly stayed awake to better enjoy the moment, but the exertions of the day and especially of the evening had taken their toll and he had slipped away into a dream of their future happiness, married, surrounded by three little dragons playing around their legs while the two of them couldn't keep their eyes from each other. Her smile was so open and true, he wondered when had he last seen her laugh so freely, unworried, unbothered by thoughts of a grim future she couldn't prevent.

He embraced her in the sunshine, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying her smell while hearing the happy sounds made by their little ones running around their legs in a game of catch. At once he was violently pulled away without warning by strong arms and then thrown to the ground away from her. He opened his eyes to complete darkness but was still able to hear her voice saying some indefinite words. Was that a foreign language? He knew she had learned quite a few in her travels, being most proud about her Roynish.

"Skoriot iksos issa zaldrīzes?" (Where is my dragon?) her voice cried out, anger like he had never before heard lacing her words that he now recognized as being High Valyrian.

He looked around as his sight got used to the darkness and perceived the tall shape of a person between himself and where he thought she was. The children, just like the light, had disappeared without a trace, the warmth of the sun gone with them.

"Alaera, where are you? Talk to me! Skoriot issi ao?" he shouted, switching to their ancestral language, trying to see beyond the shape between them. He had the distinct feeling she was farther and farther away from him and a coldness infiltrated his senses.

"Skoros emagon nyke gaomagon?" (What have I done?) he heard her ask, her voice pained, desperate even.

He started in the direction of her voice but was at once grabbed again by those same strong hands and, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't free himself from them. It was a man, about the same height as him, covered in a dark long coat with a hood hiding his features and casting an impenetrable shadow over his face. "Who are you? Let me go at once!" he said, fighting that steely force, trying to get free. He could still hear her somewhere beyond, getting farther away, her voice now no more than a whisper. "How dare you hold me?" He heard an ironic short laugh from the man that was now so close that he thought he should feel his breath on his face. "Who are you?" he asked, stopping his thrashing, an impending sense of doom infiltrating his entire being. He was scared. He couldn't remember the last time he had been petrified with fear. Vhagar had taken that away from him, giving him the confidence to overcome whatever fears the small boy in him had had. "Show yourself!" he said and the man started to slowly raise his face to better face him and the hood slipped just enough to allow him to see the cruel smile on a sharp face. Even in the darkness he could see the sapphire glistening in the empty socket of the man's left eye. The man started laughing and he looked shocked at the familiar features. He was staring into his own face and he saw only maliciousness and cruelty there. He froze for long moments, forgetting all, lost in the features he knew were his own. He then started fighting the man again, trying to get away from him and his empty eye. That wasn't him. That could never be him. He was looking into death's eye and he felt more alone than ever before in his life.

"She can't save you, boy," he heard his own voice telling him, cold and mocking, devoid of all feeling. "No one can save you," he said again, this time in a serious tone, with a hint of regret mixed in. Those last words pierced him like a knife and the sudden pain in his chest jolted him awake.