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LATE IN THE EVENING, WHEN THE SUN WAS SETTING SOMEWHERE ON THE HORIZON, ALIA BUSIED HERSELF WITH HER BOW, SHARPENING THE ALREADY-FINE POINTS OF HER ARROWS SO BLOOD POOLED FROM A GENTLE PRICK MADE ON HER FINGER. There really was nothing better to do – Viserys was resting, and Alia would much rather not be put under the watchful eyes of the Dothraki. She'd rather gouge her eyes out than talk to Doreah, Ser Jorah was nowhere to be found, and Daenerys was... otherwise engaged, as far as she knew.
Her rather unnecessary task was halted, however, when she heard the sound of light footsteps approaching cautiously. Alia's back straightened, and she turned her head to the side slightly so as to catch sight of whoever was sneaking up on her. A few strands of pale blonde hair brushed in front of her eyes, but the wind soon tossed them back, and Daenerys came to view, apparently not 'engaged'.
"Dany?" It was a genuine surprise to see her. She was at Khal Drogo's side at all times, and Alia was rarely graced with her presence anymore. A surprise, yes, but not a wholly unpleasant one. "What is it?"
The last she'd seen of the Targaryen Princess was a few days back when Viserys had taken ill. Back when her questions and concern had brought nothing but upset. Alia felt a shiver pass through her bones at the memory of Viserys' sudden harshness – she should have expected nothing less. His attitude was never predictable, but constantly frightening.
"I came to ask you something."
Alia set down her knife and her arrows, turning on the grassy bank to face her old friend, curiosity welling up inside like an overflowing goblet. "Ask away."
Daenerys took a seat beside Alia and frowned, her amethyst eyes widening in concern. She fiddled with her pale fingers nervously, and chewed her lip. "How is my brother?"
Alia blinked. A breath loosened from her chapped lips, tossed away carelessly in the wind, and she found she was unable to close her mouth again. If anything, she was shocked. Now Daenerys was concerned for her brother; Alia shook her bitterness off, masking it as though the blustery weather had simply caught her off guard. Concern was concern, and Alia felt that she couldn't afford to let it go to waste.
She grabbed the Khaleesi's shaking hands in her own, smiling softly. "He will be well. All your brother needs is rest."
"Yes, don't worry, I told Doreah she's not to disturb him when you aren't around." Alia's lip twitched. "It's just that I heard that across the sea, back in Westeros, Jon Arryn – the King's Hand – died of a fever. That won't happen to my brother, will it? I know he has been unkind to me in the past but he's my family, and I love him, I do!"
"I know," she whispered at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her friend's whitened knuckles. Daenerys had been holding Alia's hand so tightly her small fists began to shake. "I am keeping a close eye on him. Just yesterday he told me stories of Westeros."
