the ballad of elissa swann (a.t.) (UNDER EDIT)

five

"Damn it!" Aemond exclaimed, gathering the limp girl in his arms. "She's gone, we need to get her to a bed." he said, looking at the amassed men who seemed useless in this moment.

"Let me carry her, your grace," Ser Criston said, offering his arms.

"No!" Aemond protested, clutching Elissa. "No one touches her - I'll do it." He swept Elissa's legs into his arms and lifted her, adjusting his arms to get the steadiest hold.

"We'll take her to the closest bedroom, we can move her when she's well." he said, and looked to the guards to open the doors.

He glanced at Elissa as he carried her, a measure of guilt twisting his stomach - whether or not he had meant to, he had roped her into this, a mess for which she hadn't been prepared. Her face had drained of color, and her breathing was shallow. He knew the signs well enough - she had slipped into shock. Years ago, when he had first lost his eye, the same thing had happened to him. When the guards found him clutching his marred face, he had been so cold and weak, they had to carry him back to the great hall, all the while yelling for help.

Abruptly, he worried he had hurt her at some point - maybe when he had pinned her down, he had snapped something and she had been putting on a brave face. He had been so crazed in that moment, still in a panic, that he hadn't paused to consider if she was alright.

Grand Maester Orwyle trailed them cautiously, asking probing questions which, while he answered the, Aemond couldn't recall their purpose.

He shouldered open the first chamber door they passed, sending a maid who had been changing the bedsheets scattering to make a quick curtsy.

"Warm some blankets," he said to her, and she nodded quickly. "Yes, your grace, right away."

He laid Elissa out on the bed with the half-tucked sheets, and smoothed a hand over her forehead.

"No fever," he reported to the maester. "At least, none that I can tell."

"If I may?" Orwyle asked, and Aemond begrudgingly stepped aside. Orwyle ground as he touched her temples. "Forgive me, your grace, but she is hot to the touch," he grabbed her hand, "though you are right, her fingers are ice."

"How?" Aemond asked. "She seems fine enough to me?"

"Your grace will recall that ah, the blood of the dragon runs hot. Alas, for an andal woman, she is burning with fever." he replied.

"I... suspect that Lady Elissa may not be entirely andal in ancestry." Aemond said quietly.

Master Orwyle looked at him and to Elissa, then said, "Even if you are correct, my prince, we must act with caution to ensure her safety."

"Of course," Aemond said. It was a precarious situation indeed. If he was right and Elissa was valyrian in ancestry, then she was only shocked and would recover soon. But if she was andal, and she truly was sick... he may have doomed her by taking her into the skies on Vhagar.

He shivered at the thought.

"I will check the status of the draught for the lady. If anything occurs in my absence, send for me immediately. Right now, we must keep her warm." the maester instructed, and left the room.

Ser Criston stood vigilant at the door, and Aemond met his eyes for a moment before turning back to Elissa. He took her hands in his own and breathed warm breaths on them to fight the chill.

"Live, my lady," he said in a whisper. "Live, my conscience cannot bare to have taken two lives today."

-

Elissa couldn't tell if she was truly asleep. She couldn't open her eyes, couldn't move, but now and again she heard the faint sounds of people's voices around her. Words drifted over her like steam, and she heard "Vhagar... nighttime... didn't consider... foolish." She tried to turn her head to face the speaker but strained to do so, as if some unknown force was holding her rigid. On occasion, people took her hands, touching her wrist to feel her heartbeat or rubbing them to warmth.