The Fire That Burns Within US - Aemond Targaryen

Milk Of The Poppy

135 - Red Keep

Visenya rubs her sweaty palms on her pants. She does not understand why she is nervous about meeting with her grandsire. Maybe she thinks that he will be able to see into her soul and know what had happened at Winterfell. Perhaps she worries that he will not be fully there in the mind again.

Visenya nods to the king's guards outside his room, and they open the door for her. The room is dimly lit, and the once magnificent model of Valyria sits untended to, collecting dust and spider webs. Visenya makes her way back to the King's bed.

The air smells like death.

Visenya thought that the king had been in bad shape a year prior but compared to his current state, it wasn't so bad. His cheeks are sunken, and half of his face is wrapped in bandages. The sickening sound of his breathing makes Visenya choke up.

She sits in the chair next to the King's bed and looks around the area.

Visenya grabs a hold of the cup sitting on the king's bedside, bringing it up to her nose and sniffing it. Milk of the Poppy. She has only taken it once, when in Winterfell. The memory makes her stomach turn. Visenya knows that she would rather die than take it again. The medicine makes one's mind cloudy and not fully there.

Visenya lets out a sigh as she sets the cup down. The king will not be able to answer any of her questions or even have a conversation with her at the moment, but Visenya needs him. Needs his support. She grabs ahold of his hand and gently rubs her thumb up and down the back of his hand.

"My King?" She asks out loud.

There are no answers. The only sound comes from the rats that have made a home in the model in the other room.

"My King, it is me, Visenya," Visenya squeezes his hand, hoping that he still remembers who she is. "Please, I need you to listen to me. You need to show your support to Lucarys,"

Viserys lets out a grunt of what seems to be a pain, but Visenya hopes that it means he understands her. That he is listening.

"His claim to the Driftmark throne is being challenged. Please, my king," Visenya pleads, but Viserys does not answer.

Visenya pulls his hand up to her and places a soft kiss on it. She carefully sets his hand back onto the bed and makes her move to stand up to leave, but Viserys uses all his strength and grabs ahold of her hand. He can hear her pleas but can not get the words he wants out. Visenya sits back down in the chair and holds his hand again.

"Visenya," He says. He knows it is her. He knows without even opening his eye. His sweet Visenya.

"Yes, My King," Visenya answers. She can only hope that he agrees to support Luke.

"Emagon ao kustittan īlva ānogarr?" He mumbles out. The common tongue left his mind and returned to the first language he was taught.

Have you strengthened our blood?

"Skoros?" Visenya asks. What does he mean? Does he mean their allies? She had done that. Does he mean the fear felt when the name Targaryen is spoken? She had done that.

What?

"Ānogrosa nehugon lēda zirȳla," Viserys gets out, but the words come out differently. The king's mind was scrambled, and his words reflected that.

Bleed with him.

Visenya does not understand him. His words are too slurred to understand, and Visenya feels frustrated with herself for not understanding. She felt like a little girl when she was first learning Valyrian. All she wants to do is shake the king out of his current state and make him repeat his words. To understand what he has said.