GoT: The Blessed and the Cursed

A storm that the people claimed was the worst that they had seen in their lives, ended the four moons of peace and happiness that the Targaryens had managed to find after losing their home, crown, and the people they cherished.

The night was very long for them, and what scared them more than the thundering clouds that seemed to announce the end of the world were the cries of the former Queen, Rhaella Targaryen.

Maesters had told her after Viserys birth that she should not take the risk again, but she kept it from everyone.

She always knew that she would not survive this childbirth, but once Azaerys confirmed to her that her unborn daughter would live, she stopped thinking about death.

Perhaps, it was because she knew that everyone would be fine and safe as they Azaerys to look after them.

The Dowager Queen spent the last four moons of her life with her family, spending nearly every hour of the day surrounded by them. But most of her time was spent with Viserys, her sweet boy, who loved her with all his heart.

She knew that he would be the most distraught after her death, and right after she birthed her last child, and saw her face, she spoke to her Grandson, who had held her hand through the entire ordeal.

"Azaerys... Take care of Viserys."

And those were her last words.

She fell unconscious, and an hour later, she passed away, leaving behind a suffocating sadness.

Rhaella was right.

Her death hit Viserys the hardest, and her beloved son cried so cruelly that it tore everyone's heart.

No one could console him, no one.

And Azaerys did not step forward either.

Only Ashara knew that as brave as he pretended to be, he was torn from the inside as well.

She caught him sitting in a dark corner of a corridor, hugging his knees, sobbing as the Knights grew agitated and searched for him everywhere in the castle.

His body trembled with every breath he took, and when she wanted to step forward, her heart skipped a beat as she saw the shadows dancing behind him. It was then that she noticed that every time his body trembled, the walls of the Castle trembled ever so slightly as well.

She had never been so scared of anything in her life, and now, she was scared of him.

Ashara hesitated and took a step back, but then tears pooled out of her eyes and she rushed forward, fighting against her fears and hugging him.

As soon as she felt his familiar warmth, all her fears were gone.

"I failed to save her, Ashara. I failed to my Munazma..." She heard him speak, followed by something he said in Ancient Valyrian which she could not understand, but hearing his words, her heart was even more torn than when she had heard Viserys' cries.

She could not even imagine the pain and self-blame he was drowning in, and the tears that flowed out of her right now, were not in Rhaella's loss, but in his pain.

"You can't save them all, Azaerys. We are not Gods." She said, unaware that her words would bring changes in her Azer that she could have never imagined.

The two stayed hugging each other and crying like this for an hour before Arthur finally found them. Or Azaerys finally allowed someone else to find him.

Her brother stopped a respectable distance away, not disturbing them, but his arrival had made the Young King stop crying.

She felt him plant a kiss on her shoulder before he stood up and wiped his tears away. And then he offered his hand to her, wearing the lightest of the smiles.

Ashara did not know why, but she grew mad at him at that moment.

Why did he have to pretend to be so brave?

However, she was not cruel enough and stupid enough to speak her mind when he was so weak and needed her support.

She stumbled as she rose to her feet, but he was there to help her stabilise.

"Make arrangements for a funeral pyre, Ser Arthur. The inner courtyard. Only Family and our trusted will attend it. Get the Oak Wood from that storage." He ordered.

"Your Grace..." Arthur hesitated. "It is still raining."

"I am aware," Azaerys said and walked past him, and Ashara quickly chased after him. "Stay here, Ashara." He stopped and told her just when he was about to step outside the castle, into the rain, and descend the stairway that led down to the island.

"No. I am coming with you." She shook her head and slowly followed after him.

Ashara knew that he had slowed down so that she would not slip on the steps, and it made her feel warm in her heart.

It was very early in the morning, and they could already see the wreckage of the Targaryen fleet, but she was not worried.

Azaerys had already told them that the storm would come, and so, the Vessels that they needed were sent away a few days ago to survive this disaster.

She did not know where he was going or what he wanted to do. She was just too scared to leave him alone.

However, soon her mind was focused on something strange when they stepped on the wet ground.

Why were their feet not digging into the mud?

She stared at Azaerys feet, where his boots were clean of any dirt, and she was smart enough to understand that magic was involved here.

"Can't you protect us from the rain too?" She asked, trying to talk to him about something.

"I don't want to." He answered very lightly and continued walking.

After a long walk, away from the eyes of the people, they finally reached their destination, and Ashara confusedly looked at the lonely tree.

"Why have we come here?" She asked and was glad that he answered her.

"It's a Weirwood Tree." He told her.

"But it has no face on it." She confusedly looked at the tree.

"No one carved one on it," He informed her and then raised his hand towards the high branches.

Ashara's mouth dropped open in shock when the tree lowered its crown to him, allowing him to break off a few branches with just a snap, and then it straightened up again.

Azaerys then stepped forward and placed his palm on the trunk, and what she witnessed next was even more shocking than what she had seen earlier.

One by one, he pulled out perfect cylindrical pieces of firewood, just by touching the trunk, and when he had collected exactly nine, he gently stroked the tree, perhaps, in gratitude or to console it.

She did not speak again as they walked back to the Castle, and her eyes glanced at the blood-red pieces of wood, and the blood that leaked from them.

"You are scared of me." She heard him say and panicked.

"I am not." She quickly shook her head. "I am just... curious. But I don't know what to think or ask."

"I see." He nodded his head in understanding. "The wood from Weirwood Tree is an integral part of certain Blood Rituals. And its presence raises the success rates greatly. The best wood is the one that has been magically extracted with the Tree's permission. It holds great magical powers."

"Oh..." She truly felt scared now, but not of him. "Are those Trees... alive?" She gulped a mouthful of saliva as she asked the question.

"Of course, they are. Every tree that is not dead is alive." He smiled, and just when she grew irritated, he answered her question. "Yes, they have spirits, souls. Not as intelligent as us, but a lot more sentient than some animals. And no, no Ghosts or wraiths that would haunt you. At least, not in this tree."

"You are scaring me!" She blurted out and regretted it when he lowered his head.

"Sorry." He softly said, and her heart nearly broke at his reaction.

"I am not scared of you, Azer. I will never be." She said and waited for his response, but even after several seconds, he did not say anything.

It was only after they started climbing the steps up to the Castle that he stopped.

"You promise?" He asked, very softly, as if fearing that anyone else would hear his words.

But there was no one near, not even in sight.

"Yes. I promise." She said to him and then stepped forward to hug him from behind. "I promise." She whispered again.

"Thank you." He smiled and resumed climbing, breaking loose from her embrace.

Ashara stayed in her place as she watched him climb the steps, and she had this strange feeling in her heart where she wanted to hold him again, and keep holding him... for the rest of her life.

The Dayne lowered her head, and when she remembered that this boy was her future husband, her cheeks warmed up a little.

"Ash?" She heard his call and raised her head to smile at him.

"Coming."

A few hours later, inside the Inner Courtyard, a Funeral Pyre was set, but all the wood was growing wet under the rain.

Azaerys had forbidden them from using any fuel to make them burn, and even though they were confused, their Lord's Command could not be disobeyed.

Viserys, who was hugging his Dragon Egg and still shedding tears, staring at his beautiful mother, who lay lifeless on top of the pyre, soaking in rain, suddenly felt someone place his hand on his shoulder.

"Come," Azaerys said as he walked past him, and the Prince silently followed his lead. "Place them around your mother."

Viserys was confused as to why he asking him to place this strange wood around his mother, but even as he shed tears, he picked up the red firewood from his embrace and started placing it where he told him to.

"Now place your Dragon Egg on her side."

Viserys panicked and hugged his Egg protectively, but when he saw Azaerys place his silver Egg on the other side of his mother, he hesitated again but decided to trust him.

By now, everyone understood what this was all about, and even the Prince had stopped shedding tears.

"We Valyrians do not bury the bodies of our beloved. Our Blood is Magical, our Flesh is Magical, and this is done to prevent people from using our dead in their rituals." Azaerys informed his little uncle, but everyone in the courtyard heard him.

"Over time, a tradition was formed, where those who lose their beloved, would hatch Dragon Eggs on the funeral pyre, in the honour of the dead." He said and then pulled out a dagger from under his cloak.

Ashara winced when she saw him create an incision on his right palm, but none of them stopped him.

One by one, he placed his bleeding hand on each block of red firewood and then stopped at the feet of his Munazma.

He lowered his head, and said his goodbye to her in Ancient Valyrian, expressing all the love that he held for her, and seeing him shed tears, Viserys bravely held back those that threatened to pour out of his eyes.

"Perzys anogar..." He whispered with a heavy heart as he placed his hand on the wood, and the next moment, the entire pyre was set ablaze.

Viserys and the rest stumbled back in a scare as they saw the flames reach high in the sky, and they could no longer see Rhaella.

All they saw was a brilliant red flame, which flickered golden at times, and in the sky, a red comet, the bleeding star, appeared. However, it was covered by the dark clouds in this part of the world, so everyone at Dragonstone, except for Azaerys, was unaware of it.

The moment the Eggs hatched, he heard the cries of the two Dragonlings in his mind and a smile formed on his lips.

"Fire and Blood." He wished them and soon heard their response.

"Your Grace!" Gerold panicked when he saw Azaerys reach inside the Pyre with his hand but stopped in his steps as he saw no hint of discomfort on the Young King's face.

Viserys, who was right behind him, saw the two small creatures, who climbed up his arm, and he was stupefied at the sight.

Every single person soon had the same expression as the Prince when Azaerys stepped back and they clearly saw the two dragonlings, now perched on his shoulders.

A sight that left them in disbelief.

Ser Willem Darry was so shocked at the scene that he dropped to his knees, and the Knights, perhaps mistaken by his actions, knelt as well.

They did not stand up until the end of the funeral, when Azaerys ordered them to do it.

And now, they looked at him as if he was not a Mortal.