RunAway Gentle Dragon|| Naerys Targaryen

VII

3 year later

"AHHHHHH!"

Aemon convulses under the many hands pinning his down. Blood. Nearly the darkness of ink spill from his lips as a Maester tears the arrow from his chest. He kicks a Kingsguard knight in the fork of his legs and screams as his violet eyes roll into his head. Poison. It had begun it's painful course and the King could tell.

Daeron gives the dornish a mouthful of curses and does not spare his cousin of the same fate. "You idiot!" He screams before he than curses. Pinning down Aemon's flaring arm as best he could. "I gave you no order to protect me!" He screams over Aemon's own screams of pain. "How dare you be my savior!" Daeron was mad, but he knew he was glad he did not suffer this painful state at Aemon's stead.

He turns to the Maester and screams at him, and the old man comes with a glass of milk of the poppy which he forces Aemon to drink until he is unconscious and he lays still, but alive in the cleared table.

Daeron makes a long sigh before he breaks a chair against the ground. "Damnit!" He screams until a pile of rubbish lays on the ground.

When the King calms he looks up to the Maester. Eyes of dark violet swirling with anger, concern, and fear all at once in a unending dance.

"Will he die?" Daeron finaly manages to ask, and the Maester shrugs. "I do not know, your grace," the Maester speaks softly going to work upon a nearby table. "He might die of the poison, or his injury, or the both, one cannot tell."

Daeron storms out almost immediately. His face is hot. But not from the sun, but from the anger that boils his valyrian blood that nearly drives him mad.

What would Naerys say?, Daeron thinks when he returns to the tent. Looking over Aemon as if he were already dead. What will she do?

Daeron sighs again and watches as the Maester does his work. Aemon wakes up some hours later and howls in obvious pain as he looks down to the thick blood soaked bandages that decorate his chest. "Am I going to die?" He murmurs weakly, looking over to the Maester who sits in moments break.

"No."

Aemon looks over slowly to Daeron. The King of the seven Kingdoms. "You won't." He smiled in a false reassurance. "I won't let you, not when you have a loving wife and a son to care for."

Aemon nods weakly before he faints from the pain.