A Chorus of Flame and Snow

Dragons in Pain

Author's Note: Potential Readers, I don't usually do this and I don't intend to make a habit of this due to a belief I have. I believe morals don't apply in fiction outside of whatever genre you're writing. I say that because there is a particular scene near the end of this chapter that is pretty fucked up. I feel kinda obligated to inform anybody reading that it does not reflect my personal beliefs or actions. Almost nothing I write reflects me. I pride myself on that. So try to keep this in mind and enjoy. Or don't. 

Daeron

It never came. The retribution he knew he deserved. He laid awake on his bedding all through the night, staring up at the roof of his tent. He raised the palm of his hands before his eyes. The very hands that found Visenya's throat and constricted. He could see her strained face go purple; the veins protrude in her neck and forehead. The feel of her body go limp and lifeless beneath him.

Sister ...

Why did she not send Khal Drogo's bloodriders for him? Or some other Dothraki?

Even the morning brought no answers. An hour after dawnbreak and a quick morning meal, he found himself rushed to dress by maidens who spoke ill common tongue. He hurriedly put on a woolen vest and pants fastened with a drawstring as well as brown leather sandals. He was quickly rushed outside of his tent as workers set about dismantling it and preparing it for transport. He watched them put valuable belongings into chests and more with wavering attention. He involuntarily swayed to and fro; his senses were dulled. Sounds around were dampened and raised to uneven pitch and his vision blurred. The lack of sleep was affecting him. He looked to his right as two Dothraki men passed and they locked eyes. Daeron's eyes honed in on the arakhs hanging from their right hips. Their scowls betrayed their murderous intent.

They know what I did.

Somebody placed their hand on his left shoulder.

"Good-" she began to say as he jumped away from her and saw that it was Joreah and Black Bear whom had approached.

She gave him a puzzled look. "Is everything all right?"

He inhaled and opened his eyes wide. "Y-yes. Of course it is."

"I have to say, your grace, you're not looking well. We're not too far from Qohor. We can escort you there and arrange safe travel back to the magister's manse in Pentos."

The idea of that was tempting to him but then he thought of appearance.

After everything she said to me, how would I look if I ran away now? No. I have to face her. If I don't, I'll lose her forever.

"Nonsense. I go where my sister goes. Khal Drogo will honor our agreement."

Joreah hesitated. "Right. Yes. Well, the khalasar is on the move again. We'd best ready our horses."

"Of course" he hastily agreed. "Well, what are we waiting for?" He walked past them to the horse handlers. Joreah gave Black Bear a look of concern for the Targaryen prince before the two of them followed.

The Stone Road soon returned to grass for the traveling khalasar. Young Daeron dozed multiple times on horseback, swaying and dipping his head low multiple times. Joreah saw this and gestured to Rakharo, who rode beside them then. Rakharo reached out and shook him, almost pushing the boy from his horse.

"Your grace!" Joreah called out to him, drawing his attention. "Come with me! Now!"

He watched as she broke ranks of the khalasar and brought her horse out into the plains beside the road. Cautiously, he, Black Bear and Rakharo followed. When he arrived, she stepped down from her horse. The three of them followed suit. She turned on him and for the first time since he had met her, he saw that she was actually angry with him.