FAITH OF THE ROTTEN, house of the dragon

𝐈𝐈. driftmark

The journey to Driftmark had been ridiculously exhausting.

Aeryn's mother had begged his father to let him stay in Kings Landing. But Viserys had honoured Aeryn's wishes and so Aeryn was allowed to travel with the royal court. Dreamfyre and Sunfyre came with them, but Balerion, his father's dragon, remained outside the gates of the capital as always because he was too big and too old to travel far. Aeryns had deep sympathy for the old dragon.

Like his dragon-riding siblings, however, he travelled in the carriages. Aeryn was allowed to share his with Maester Orwyle, but also with Aegon, who distracted him with his carefree chatter when the jerking of the carriage made him whimper in pain. Only when Orwyle changed his bandages once a day did Aegon have to leave, even if he curiously insisted on staying. In the end, their mother always intervened and shooed him outside.

But after half an eternity, they finally arrived at Driftmark, a damp castle on an island near Dragonstone. They were hurriedly taken to their chambers, where they were dressed for the funeral. Even though Aeryn thought it was all just an exciting change of pace, an adventure outside the Red Keep, it was actually a sad occasion that had brought them here.

Laena Velaryon, his uncle's wife, had died.

But Aeryn hadn't known her and so he felt no grief, even if that was of course disrespectful. But the woman was dead, she could hardly hold it against him.

Besides, Aeryn had been battered by life enough already.

Once in the guest room, Orwyle undressed him. A soft sigh escaped the maester, but Aeryn kept his eyes closed. The pain was enough for him. Orwyle removed his bandages and tended to his wounds before finally, after half an eternity, dressing him again and putting his mask on. When Aeryn opened his eyes, they were wet with tears. On a wooden table in a bowl lay the dirty bandages, smeared with blood and pus. Aeryn could see a few tufts of his red and silver hair and he felt sick to his stomach.

Hurriedly, Orwyle covered the horrible sight and waited until Aeryn was safely on his feet and the servants came to dress him in his more formal coverings. In keeping with his siblings, he wore a robe of black silk today, black gloves and his head was covered in black as well, save for the silver mask. Over this he wore a green velvet cover and golden jewellery symbolising the seven.

A hesitation seized him.

"I look like - I'm going to stick out, aren't I?" he asked softly to Orwyle, clearing his throat and swallowing the blood that was pooling in his mouth.

"It's a funeral, my prince,"Orwyle spoke surprisingly softly, "Everyone is wearing veils and shawls today. You are the most appropriately dressed of all the guests today, you can trust me on that."

"When will I be buried?"

The young maester looked at him seriously with his brown eyes. "When you were born, we were all sure you wouldn't live a year. But you proved us wrong time and time again. Now you are thirteen and I promise you, you will live for many more years. You are a fighter... against all odds."

Aeryn had to swallow hard, but a strange joy tingled in his chest at these words. Before he could say anything back, Aegon came rushing into the room. Even though Aeryn's sense of smell was mainly taken up by his own odour, he could clearly smell the wine Aegon had been drinking over the smell of his blood and the stench of the ointments.

"Come on, we're waiting for you."

"Easy," Aeryn grumbled, but followed his brother as quickly as he could, through the corridors and outside to the rest of his family, who had gathered near the sea foaming around the island's cliffs. Aeryn liked the air so close to the sea, it was much cooler and cleaner than the air in the capital. For once, he found it almost easy to breathe. When he realised that people were looking at him, that changed immediately.