The Passion of a Thousand Suns | Aemond Targaryen

Forty seven: of a great sacrifice

PENTOS

The sky was streaked with pale hues of dawn as Hira landed Zhurong on the grounds of Pentos. The massive dragon's wings beat the air, stirring up dust and the scent of salt from the nearby sea. 

Aemond lay slumped on the saddle, his body motionless. His skin was cold and clammy, his breath faint and laboured. The only sound that escaped him was a shallow rasp that barely registered against the chaos of her thoughts.

Hira's heart clenched, panic rising with every second that passed. She had felt his life slipping away on their flight. Now, seeing him in this state, her desperation sharpened, edging into fear.

Tucked away in the outskirts stood a villa, and at the foot were her Sapphires. Worry marred their faces, as Hira sobbed the only name that could save her husband.

"Sunniva!" she called out, clutching Aemond's limp form in her arms.

Her Sapphires were already rushing towards her. Jade was the first there, mindful of Zhurong's low growl of warning, as she approached.

"Empress," she gasped upon seeing Aemond's bloodied state. She held out her hands, reaching out. "Let me help you."

Hira slowly slid off Zhurong's back, careful as she manoeuvred Aemond, avoiding the gaping dark hole in his chest. Her voice was raw with urgency, every fibre of her being strained with thoughts of his death. "Get him inside," she commanded.

Aemond's weight sagged in her arms, but Jade and Raki moved with swift precision. They gently took him from her, though their movements were strained—Aemond was no light burden, and his armour weighed heavily on his unconscious form. Together, they carried him toward the open doors of the villa.

Ming and Linh flanked her side immediately, offering silent strength.

Sunniva appeared in the doorway, her dark eyes taking in the sight before her. The Babaylan's expression remained impassive. Emica's usually more composed face tightened when she saw Aemond's pallor, and began to mutter prayers to the gods.

Raki and Jade carefully laid Aemond across a sofa, near the large hearth in the centre of the villa's main chamber. His blood seeped through the velvet.

"Hira," Sunniva said, her voice low and measured, though there was an edge of warning in it. "What have you brought here?"

Hira stumbled toward her aunt, like a fawn learning to walk. "He's dying, Sunniva. My husband is dying. Please, I need your help. The witch who did this, she used blood magic."

"Countering blood magic with blood magic is not the answer."

A piece of Hira, the piece that belonged wholly to Aemond, splintered. Upon weak knees, Hira abandoned all pride, and knelt.

"Please," the guttural plea tore into their hearts. Their ward, their Empress, brought low and desperate. "Please, please. I can't—"

"Get up. This is no way to act," Sunniva ordered, disbelief written across her face.

"My very soul is dying, aunt. Please. I can't—" her voice cracked. "I can't lose him. You have the power to save him, Sunniva. I beg of you. I will give anything, anything."

"Blood magic comes at a cost. You know that better than anyone. Do not ask this of me lightly."

"I know the price," Hira shot back, her voice sharp, though her hands trembled. Aemond's chest barely rose, his breaths shallow and strained. "I'll pay the price. Just save him, before it's too late."

Sunniva's gaze flickered to Aemond's pale face, one long, hard look, before turning back to Hira. She knelt beside him, placing her hand on his chest, feeling the faint pulse of life barely clinging to him. A shadow of doubt crossed her face.