RunAway Gentle Dragon|| Naerys Targaryen

XVI

Months later...

His heart and soul aches. Paralyzing him in a endless grief. He lays in his bed for days at a time staring at the ceiling. Ignoring everyone and everything outside his chambers. Nothing concerns him anymore.

He had become a numb creature.

His father stands over him. Pitifully staring at his son. "What have they done to you my son?" It was murmur that seemed to go through one of Aemon's ears and out of the other unheard. His father shook his head. It hurt the aged hand of the king to see his son like this. To see the son he was most proud of a numb and grieving soul that seemed to be standing in two different worlds. One of the living and the other of the dead.

Viserys looked at the maester who was searching his mind for anything that could make the broken Dragonknight any better. "What will happen to him?" Viserys asked, impatient for an answer.

"He will die of grief, my lord," the Maester said quietly, Looking at Aemon pitifully. "But it will be a long and painful death."

"How can you prevent it?" Viserys spoke looking at Aemon who hadn't heard a word of the conversation. "Or at the least prolong it?"

The Maester searched his mind quickly. "Milk of the poppy can smooth the course, but I don't believe it can heal him." Viserys nod understandingly. Struck by the pain that he might have just forever lost his son.

"Bring the little bitch," it was Daena's voice, hung with annoyance. Aemon flinched when he heard her, but didn't do much movement after that. Viserys didn't enjoy his daughter being called a bitch, but he sighed and simply obliged.

The Dragonknight was dying and she was the cure, or the poison to make it worse.

(A/N: short chapter, I know, I know.)