Work Text:
Aemon threw the scroll he was reading. They are all useless. None of it works. Nothing. He wanted to cry or scream or break something, he didn’t even know which. He felt his body shook, in anger or fear or sorrow, he wasn’t sure. He forgot the last time he slept or properly ate. Think, Aemon, think! They can’t lose him now. Daeron had been better after moving to Dragonstone. He drank less and less and even less visit to brothels. He started to focus on ruling Dragonstone. He took Aemon’s counsel seriously. Aemon knew his brother was desperate to keep everything calm and quiet to stay away from the King’s Landing affairs. He didn’t want his father to summon him to live in King’s Landing or send him to live in Summerhall. Daeron loves Summerhall, but he grew fearful of what Aerion might do to his simple but gentle daughter. Aemon was so proud of his brother’s improvement that he couldn’t care less about what drives it.
That one visit to that brothel really ruins everything.
“Aemon…” he heard Daeron’s hoarse voice from behind him. He tried to pull himself together. He took a deep breath, put on his best neutral face, and turned around. “Yes, my lord?” He said. Daeron chuckled. “How many times have I told you to stop calling me ‘my lord’?”
Aemon didn’t dare to reply or move. He clenched his fists, concentrating on keeping his expression relaxed. “Come here.” Daeron pats the space in his bed beside him. Aemon didn’t move. He was scared he might end up doing something stupid like hugging his brother or crying in front of him. He is his Maester, not a child, for gods’ sake. Being emotional clearly won’t help Daeron. He must think, read more scrolls, maybe he can borrow more scrolls from the Citadel. If he writes the lists today, the scrolls will arrive in less than a fortnight. They will surely make haste to help the Maester of Dragonstone. He already sent a bunch of ravens to the best Maesters he knows, but none of their replies really helped.
Aemon cleared his throat, “Are you having trouble sleeping? I can give you a bit of milk of poppy.” Suddenly, without a warning, Daeron groaned, and he looked like in so much pain. Aemon dropped all of his act and almost ran to his bedside. “What hurts? Speak to me-” When he was close enough, Daeron pulled and tackled him. Aemon fell on his bed. Even in sickness and weakness, Daeron was a bigger man than scrawny Aemon. Daeron laughed, ruffled Aemon’s hair, and hugged Aemon like he was a child. “That is not funny!” Aemon said, annoyed.
“You sounded like Aerion if you shouted like that.” Daeron teases him. “Shut up.” Aemon tried to get up, but Daeron held him. “I don’t remember you as a grumpy old man. You need rest, baby brother. You will go blind if you keep reading all those scrolls with so little light. This room is a bit dark. Have you eaten yet? Why are you all bones?” Daeron pinched Aemon’s cheeks. Aemon tried to shove Daeron, “Don’t waste the time I don’t have, my lord. I have important matters that I need to report to Citadel.”
Now Daeron’s turn to huff in annoyance. “Call me my lord once again, I will write to the Citadel and father myself to get me a new Maester.” He tickled Aemon, and Aemon laughed. “Stop. STOP! Daeron!” They laughed and laughed until Aemon’s laughter turned into a sob. Daeron stopped and hugged his brother. No matter how respectable Maester Aemon had become, he would always be his bookish boy that rather hide in the Red Keep’s library than train with a sword. One of his baby siblings.
“I’m sorry, Daeron. I failed. I don’t think I’m enough. Please. Let me go. I can’t- you need immediate help from Citadel- I can’t-” and he cried like the boy that used to be beaten by Aerion’s cruel jape.
“Now, now. Shoo, it’s okay. Don’t worry, brother. You’re the smartest person I know. Not that I knew many people, but you’re definitely one of the smartest. I know you can find the cure. I believe in you.” He patted his back like he was a child until he was calmed and then gave Aemon an exaggerated kiss on the forehead and let him go. That just makes Aemon want to cry more. The trust he put in him… “I promise… I won’t give up.” Aemon wiped his eyes, got up, and fixed Daeron’s blanket. He tried give him an elixir to ease some of his soreness and get him a better sleep but Daeron refused, saying he was hungry and wanted to sup now, even though he barely ate any food served for him before. Daeron called a servant and asked them to serve food for him and Aemon. He watched every bite Aemon took like a proud hen watching its baby chick. Aemon felt a bit embarrassed because he was the one who was supposed to care for Daeron, not the other way around. After done eating, Daeron forced him to promise he would rest and write to the citadel tomorrow. Aemon begrudgingly agreed.
When Aemon was about to leave Daeron to rest, Daeron called him. “Aemon, wait.” Aemon turned around and saw his sick brother. “I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault if I don’t make it, you hear me? It was always meant to be like this. Don’t blame yourself.” They stare at each other quietly for a minute. Aemon hates to admit that Daeron probably already knew what would happen to him. All those words he said earlier were just to encourage Aemon. Aemon bit his lip and shook his head. “That’s milk of poppy speaking. You’ll be fine. I will find something.” He quietly prayed that Daeron’s dream was nonsense, another Targaryen madness. Daeron smiled sadly. “Alright. I trust you. Now go rest. I can’t have a sick Maester to tend me.”
.
The next morning, Maester Aemon found Lord Daeron Targaryen, son of King Maekar I, Prince of Dragonstone and Summerhall, known as Daeron the drunken, had passed away at the age of seven and thirty, leaving a daughter, a wife, a father, four siblings, and a grief-stricken brother-Maester.
.
After Egg put him to sleep on his bed, Aemon cried again. The dragon dreams are real. Horror started to fill him, replacing sorrows. Which family member will leave him next? He prayed to the Stranger to get him soon. He doesn’t want to go through this loneliness and sorrow once more.
.
Will I feast forever in the Father's golden hall as the septons say? Will I talk with Egg again, find Daeron whole and happy, hear my sisters singing to their children?
When he opened his eyes, he was seated in the great hall of Summerhall. Everything was so sharp and bright, as if his eyes were back to when he was young again. He saw his mother and father dancing, smiling widely. They looked so happy and so in love, just like he remembered. He saw Egg with Betha dancing happily with their kids around him. He mouthed, “Look at this beautiful maid!” While gesturing to Betha as if he couldn’t believe she was his wife.
Aemon looked right and saw Daella singing to her baby. She looked up, smiling, and nodded at him. Then he realized someone held his hand and looked left. Rhae, his sister, the only woman that he ever loved, the only woman that’s ever wavered his will to break his oath as a Maester, smiled at him. “We’re together at last, my sweet.”
And then he saw him. Daeron. Talking and laughing with a girl with silver hair and caramel skin. He stands tall, even taller than their father. His sandy brown hair shone and brushed. His skin was smooth and healthy, and his cheeks flushed with happiness. He wore a purple doublet that brought out the sparkly lilac in his eyes. A lute on his hand instead of his usual wineskin. The charming Prince Daeron, the big brother he remembered before their mother’s death. Daeron looks up to him. He was far, but Aemon could hear him as well as if he were next to him. “Welcome home, brother.”