Chapter five          𓃦          A dog on a leash

     Within the gossips of the Realm, Baelor Targaryen remained a saint. With all the sheep clothing he carefully wrapped around himself, the world seemed not to notice the wolf lurking underneath. Though, his mother started to notice it more often. But those thoughts were always brushed away, pushed somewhere in the deep part of her brain. How could she not when her son helped Rhaella kneel on the soft dark red pillow in front of the statue of the Mother, before mirroring his work with Alyssa?

For the good graces of his mother, Baelor kneeled between his daughters, acting blissfully unaware of the Queen's presence as he muttered a silent prayer, letting the girls take over – how lovely did their father teach them the words. Rhaella smiled when the pillow next to her dipped, looking at the red Hightower hair by her side, the quiet words leaving her grandmother's lips.

Once they finished, Baelor pulled himself off his knees, helping his girls as well before turning to his mother with a gentle smile tugging on his lips, "I was not expecting you here."

"I always come here in the mor, Baelor, I thought you knew by now," Alicent replied in almost a whisper as if not to disturb the statues while Alyssa buried herself in the dark green dress of her grandmother, the Queen's hand gently brushing the curls to the side.

"I must have forgotten," her son lied, a sweet smile still on his lips as he watched Rhaella step closer to the statue of the Mother, "how is father?"

Alicent pursed her lips in a line, watching the bright lilac eyes of Alyssa staring at the ceiling, "not so well. I fear for the worst."

Baelor reached his hand out, Rhaella wrapping her arms around his leg, "I am sure he shall get better; he always does. He survived the redspots against all odds."

Alyssa buried her head further in Alicent's dress, her forehead pressed against her clothed thigh. The Queen sighed, "yes but . . . the Maesters cannot tell why he is sick. And if they cannot do so, they cannot treat him."

Rhaella buried her head in her father's thigh and as Baelor brought his palm to cares her hair, the sudden realization of some warmness came to his senses. Crouching down, he placed hands on both her cheeks, then forehead before whispering, "Rhaella? Sweetling. Are you alright?"

The girl shook her head, bringing her hand to her eyes, "my belly hurts."

Just before he could even continue to ask any further, his mother's shriek echoed through the great Sept. His eyes looked up to see the Queen Alicent on her knees, his daughter Alyssa in her lap, drips of blood falling from her lips.

         It was not until the hour of ghosts rolled around, that Maester Orwylle could even pin point the sudden sickness of the princesses. Genna – the same yellow dress she wore the day before, hair placed down in its curls, tears streaming down her cheeks – knelt between the two beds, each of her hand on one of her children. How she was brought in by his brother Aemond left a bitter aftertaste in Baelor's mouth.

Baelor stood by the doors of the chambers, his thumb's nail caught in between his teeth as the elder Maester stopped by his side to whisper, "I assume it is the butterfly fever, my prince."

He looked at the Maester – the mirror of his wife: same clothes as the day before, hair dishevelled, eyes sunken and red from crying – with the biggest eyes, shaking his head, "no. My daughters shall not die."

"My prince," Maester Orwylle sighed, hands clasped together on the front of his outfit, "the butterfly fever is –"

"- deadly, yes, I am aware of it, Maester," Baelor spoke, rather to loudly, which made Genna choke out a sob, "but I am also aware there is a chance to treat it. So, treat it."

Orwylle looked at the lady of House Lannister broken on the floor before back at Baelor who watched the scene in front of him, whispering, "my prince, the treatment is still much experiment. We do not know for certain if the treatment will work. And the Hand assigned every Maester in the chambers of the King. Even I must return to assist his Grace and – "

" – and you shall let my daughters die?" Baelor looked at Orwylle in disbelief, "for the sake of the man whose days are counted, who rests on his death bed? You shall treat that for the lives of two little girls?"

"My prince, it is the decision of the Hand, it is not I who –"

Without allowing Maester to finish his speech, Baelor grabbed the knob, opening the doors widely and storming past the guards and towards the Council Chambers. Pushing them open, his eyes landed on his grandfather by the edge of the table. Moonfyre roared loudly outside the Keep.

The moment Otto laid eyes on Baelor, he screamed out, "you shall not let my daughters die for the sake of my father!"

Tyland's neck almost snapped at the speed of how quickly he turned his head, "are the girls alright? Genna?"

Still, Baelor moved forward, almost reaching his grandsire but was held back by Ser Criston, who struggled to keep him in place, "my daughters are dying! I shall not have you take their lives for the sake of my father; do you hear me!? They need a Maester!"

"What is happening to them?" Tyland stood from his chair, making it tilt back and fall on the floor.

"Perhaps my prince should calm down," Otto replied calmly, "drink some tea."

His grandfather's implications to their plan made Baelor's anger rise, almost breaking from Criston's grip, "send the Maesters back!"

Tyland muttered something, his fingers reaching out and then closing, before he practically ran out of the chambers. Otto looked at Baelor, "it should be considered treason to not allow the King to be treated."

"And it should be considered treason to not allow the King's granddaughters to be treated," Baelor replied, "a life of two young girls over the man that is decapitating in his chambers? Send the Maesters!"

"Baelor!" Aemond called from the chambers' doors.

His brother quickly turned his head and by the look on his face, he knew. Releasing Criston's arms he held in a grip, he ran out of the room, pushed pass Aemond and up the stairs to the chambers. Entering, he still saw Genna on the floor, sobbing.

Without a second of thinking, Baelor quickly reached his wife's side, kneeling down and pulling her in his arms. Genna turned her head to sob in his shoulder as Baelor rubbed her back, "it's alright, they will make it."

Tyland walked in. For a moment Genna believed Baelor cared for her in this moment or even wanted to just show her an ounce of decency, but once again she was wrong. At her father's voice, she peeled herself from her husband as he reached her side, pulling her in a hug, letting her sob into his shoulder.

Small fingers grazed Baelor's shoulder. In an instinct, he pulled himself next to Alyssa's bed, his hand reaching for her warm and damp cheek, whispering, "hi there, pretty girl."

"Am I dying?" Alyssa whispered with her dry lips.

His gaze softened, pulling himself closer on his knees, "no, of course not, do not speak such nonsense."

"I feel weird, kepa," she whispered back, leaning into her father's touch. (father)

"Because you are sick, byka hūra," Baelor smiled gently, trying to calm her, "but soon you will get better. You and your sister. Soon, you shall be able to come with me on Moonfyre." (little moon)

"Promise?" she crooked out.

Baelor nodded, biting his tongue to prevent the tears from falling, "I swear on everything that is important to me, byka hūra."

Alyssa nodded slightly, "I'm sleepy."

"Rest, sweetling," Baelor whispered to her, pressing a kiss against her warm forehead, "I shall see you when you wake up, hm?"

A sudden, quiet grunt from Genna awoke Baelor from almost a dream like state. Turning his head, he saw her hold onto her belly, her father holding her head close to his neck. Baelor's brows furrowed, "what is it?"

Genna let out a shaky breath, "my stomach hurts."

Baelor bit the inside of his cheek before standing up, motioning to Tyland before reaching his arms to Genna's, "help me get her to bed."

As the two helped Genna up, she choked through tears, shaking her head, "n – no. Do not – no, I cannot leave them here."

"Genna," Baelor spoke, stricter this time, "you are feeling sick. You must go to the chambers and rest while I get Maester Orwylle back."

Genna shook her head again, refusing to leave the room. She was only calmed down by Tyland who pressed his hand on her red, damp cheek, "Genna. Listen to Baelor, you are not well."

"My children are not well," she shakily left out, "I can wait, I do not know how long I have left with them."

"You have forever with them," Baelor replied, tugging his wife along, "I swear, Genna, the girls shall not die."

         By the hour of the wolf, Baelor sat in front of his chambers. Leaning back against the wall, legs spread in front, closing his eyes for a few moments. Through the walls of the Keep you could not escape cries of Genna from within her chambers and Tyland's voice comforting her.

His cheek was suddenly touched by a cold glass bottle. Looking up, he saw Aegon standing there with a bottle of some liquid. He squinted his eyes, "what is that?"

"Hippocras," came the reply from Aegon before plopping down next to his twin, "thought you might need it."

"Stealing drinks from our father?" Baelor questioned as the King Viserys enjoyed a glass or two of hippocras; usually at the hour of the bat.

Ageon shrugged, pushing the bottle in his twin's chest, "it is not like he shall need it. He is practically a corpse already."

Baelor snickered, opening the bottle, "do not mourn the living yet, brother. Perhaps the old bat survives it."

It was Aegon's time to snicker, "words like these can cost you your tongue. Or head."

"Preferably the tongue," Baelor jested before gulping down the liquid, "how did you know where I was?"

"I had a feeling you are kissing up the Lannister's arse," Aegon replied, shifting in his position on the floor, "when I heard the screams of your lady wife, I assumed you'd be near. You know . . . for Tyland's eyes."

"Seven forbid I would care for my wife," Baelor replied, taking a few more sips before pushing the bottle back to Aegon. He stayed silent for a moment before leaning his head back, looking up, "I might lose everyone tonight."

Aegon's brows furrowed before taking a gulp of the liquid, "everyone?"

"Except for Visenya," Baelor replied with a sigh, looking down at his fingers, "Orwylle does not know if the girls will survive the night. Genna felt stabbing pains in her stomach. If they continue, she might lose the child. Perhaps she will die while doing so, as well."

He clicked his tongue, "then the only family I have left is Visenya. And Orwylle said she is a sick and frail babe, so . . . perhaps not even her."

Aegon hummed, holding the bottle close to his chest, "Helaena would believe this is to be your own work. You must have done some bad things to deserve this."

Baelor snorted, "you became wise. Before being named King?"

"Helaena's words, not mine," Aegon replied with another gulp.

"Whatever I have done in life should not justify the deaths of my daughters," he spoke, "if it wishes to plague me for whatever act I committed, it should plague me, not them."

"You became wise. Before being named Prince regent?" Aegon spoke in the same mocking tone as Baelor did before.

Baelor didn't return a snicker or a chuckle. He remained silent for a few moments, looking forward before whispering, "I know I have done some awful things that no one can justify. But . . . But I do care for them, you know? They are my children. My flesh and blood and . . . and all I can do is watch them slowly die in front of my eyes."

Aegon remained silent for a moment before letting out a sigh, "we should have run away when we had the chance to. Now, we are trapped here like rats."

Baelor shook his head, "no, I would never run away, you know I would not."

Aegon looked on his right – a mirror expression yet sadder, emptier, "you are like a dog, Baelor."

Baelor looked on his left – a mirror expression of his own, "what?"

"Like a dog," his twin replied, "you bite for reasons unknown to you. Why do you do it?"

Baelor pushed Aegon's head back with the palm of his hand, "you are drunk, brother."

"Perhaps I had a glass or two," Aegon replied, "or ... a bottle or three – but that is beside the point."

Aegon pulled himself on his feet before placing the bottle by Baelor's side, "get off the leash, Baelor. It might do you some good."

Baelor watched as his brother drunk swayed his way down the hallway before looking at the bottle by his side – the bottle from which his father would drink if he wasn't laying sickly in bed: all thanks to his own flesh and blood. His fingers trapped the glass before launching it in the wall opposite of him. The doors of the chambers opened, Genna stepping out with bambi like eyes, "what happened?"

"Go back to bed, Genna," Baelor replied as a whisper, looking at the shattered glass.

Genna slipped from the doors and to the shattered glass, crouching down, fingers picking it carefully. Baelor pulled himself closer, taking her wrist and pulling it away from the shattered bottle, "what are you doing?"

The teared eyes stared at him, voice cracking, "the children might step on it and get – get hurt. I do not – I do not wish them to get hurt, Baelor."

If there was an ounce of humanity within Baelor's soul, it showed when he wrapped his arms around Genna, trying his best to console the girl that hasn't slept in 24 hours. His cheeks pressed against her temple as she wept, his fingers running through the back of her head and down her spine, "they will not get hurt, Genna, I swear."

"If they die," Genna sobbed in his shoulder, her fingers gripping the back of his dark green doublet like she was afraid it was only Baelor's ghost, "I shall die – I will not survive without them."

"Do not say that," he whispered within the red hair that fell over his lips, "they will live."

Before she could reply, Baelor pulled away – like a ghost fading away from the living – placing his hands on each side of her face, his pinkies gazing over the skin of her neck, "does your stomach still hurt?"

"No," Genna shook her head with a sniff, "no, I do not think so."

"We will get through this, Genna," Baelor whispered, pressing his forehead against hers, "I swear to the Seven, to anything I have ever considered sacred. Rhaella and Alyssa shall be fine."