Archive of Our Own

Dear brother,

King's Landing has been quiet in these past few days, I have been told. Those yellow and blue flowers are late to bloom. The gardener says it's a bad omen; you can imagine how father might have gently countered that. Mortality is unconquerable even by the Blood of the Dragon, but I say that is the beauty of life, carried in the vessel of death. Father heeds news from my own royal correspondence.

There has been news of a strange illness upon seafarers in Driftmark; 'tis said, no malady may meet a fiercer match to the illness borne by those suffering in the island.

Since I write from Dragonstone, the little port town here has already been closed off, and I am left to ruminate, my dear brother, over our most disagreeable fashion of parting at Ashford, in the last few turns of the moon.

Lord Hand,

I have taken your counsel in looking after my estates. Would that be all, Your Grace?

Regards,
Prince of Summerhall,

Maekar Targaryen

Brother,

The illness spreads in a manner most odd. I have heard that men who may catch it at dusk, in their dancing at taverns, are dead by first light, but those who survive past a day recover swiftly. Lannisport has begun to see reports of numbers beyond what was anticipated, and no maester has found cause for it yet.

Aemon has been writing to me; his accounts are astute and cautious, and he tells me to stay in Dragonstone until the sickness passes.

I dare say his open compassion touches my heart, difficult as it is to stand as a receiver from his sire.

Maekar,

Our Uncle writes to me of Aegor's designs; he has been communicating with Essosi sellswords. It may take him some more time to provide evidence of the case, but there are whispers.

A few hostages who had been assigned to the Keep have, Gods be Good to their souls, passed since the plague began. Thankfully, our family remains untouched, and I am forever grateful to the Gods watching over us, now and in the hour of our passing should it come to it.

Father's letters give the estimates among the small folk, and it pains me to sit as helplessly as we do. King's Landing has not been structured, shall we say? For the prevention of disease. We have been neglectful in its provision, and those before us.

It is the nature of loss, I believe, our sentiments, our possessions, our persons, we stare as time steals them away.

Lord brother,

Have you taken leave of your senses? Of course, you have. You have always, always sought to make light of things that should be neither touched nor spoken about. 

Brother of mine,

A few palace maids and men from the City Watch have caught the plague and survived; it is a miracle to the poor, but the smallfolk are also left easily left open to its peril. I can not say whether this is a curse or a blessing.

As I answer your letter now, I recall that little Egg and Ser Duncan are in Dorne. The plague worsens in its wake across the Seven Kingdoms, but Dorne fares much better than King's Landing.

Our good sister Alys writes, beset by dark imaginings, for her newborns. These young children do not fare so well in these trying times. I have asked her to take heart, this is a shadow and not true darkness, we must be hopeful in the face of it, it is our only strength in the face of calamity.

You should know, you were there with me at Redgrass. 

Dear brother,

Baelor, it was upon the morn I received word of it. I imagine my letter is below many others who have offered you their condolences, in ways more gifted without a doubt. He was kind, your son. He had much of you in him from our younger days. I do so wish the Gods had spared your boy, brother.

He was beloved in life, he was beloved in death, sweet Matarys. 

Yours,

Maekar