(122-01-17) The Dragon Thief

Dhraegon has been checking his slug traps and has a nice collection of shelless live slimey things in a cup.

There is a chorus of giggles from deeper in the garden. Visenya is out there with two of her maids, and the discussion is rather blue. It is also spoken in High Valyrian so the other servants cannot overhear. One maid, a girl with auburn curls, is telling a rather risque tale. Visenya and the other maid laughs, and Visenya cries out in High Valyrian, "You liar! He didn't do that." When they reach the center of the garden she spots Dhraegon, and gives the maids a dismissive look. The two maids break away from their lady and depart into the manse.

Dhraegon grew up with high Valyrian so the discussion is no linguistic mystery, though odds are most of it goes over his head. He addresses her in the same language. «Didn't do what? The story was confusing. I have slugs, if you would like them?»

"Nothing, my Prince." Visenya says in explanation of who did what. She reaches up to absently stroke the head of one of her hatchlings. "Oh, slugs?" She smiles in a polite fashion.

The dragonets looks alert, curious. They tilt their heads to monitor the sky.

Dhraegon gives her a big happy smile, "For them to practice hunt! They are small live prey! They liked the snails but the shells were a bit much for them, so I though maybe slugs?"

"That's very kind of you, my Prince." Visenya notices the peculiar alertness of the dragonets. Her head tilts to look up as well.

There doesn't seem to be anything up there. One hatchling chirps cheerily.

Dhraegon looks about curiously seeing everyone else is doing it, then sets out a few slugs where the dragonets might see them just in case.

Visenya looks away from the sky. She extends her arm to where the slugs are so the little dragons may hunt if it is what they desire.

Dhraegon watches the dragonets with an open mouthed patience characteristic of him.

The tiny creatures look about fiercely. One starts to climb down Visenya's arm, in slug-stalking mode.

Visenya lets the dragonet climb down her arm. "I wonder when they will fly."

The one still on Visenya's shoulder flaps its wings.

Dhraegon smiles with delight, closed lipped so as not to show the wee beasties any teeth. He eyes the one on her shoulder, "Looks like they are practicing."

"They've been doing that for some time." Visenya observes with a look to the one flapping it's wings.

You say, "Like babies rocking on their stomachs to practice for crawling, or older ones hanging on to things to practice walking. They are likely building wing muscles."

"Probably." Visenya says with a nod.

There's a loud rapping on the Manse's back gate. The dragonet on Visenya's upper arm screeches. The one lower down pounces on a slug, using its wings to aid in the jump.

Dhraegon squeals in delight at the fine hunting leap. "see! They will be great hunters… should we check on that? The knock?"

Visenya's eyes flicker from the dragonet on her arm to the gate. She winces slightly as the little dragon screeches near her ear. When she has recovered from the shriek she calls out, "Who is it?"

A voice calls back, "Maester Faeyd!"

Dhraegon looks blank, "Do we know a Maester Faeyd?" still, he goes to check, because he is always curious about weird random visitors.

"I don't." Visenya says softly. She watches as Dhraegon walks towards the gate with a slightly intrigued expression.

The second dragonet hisses, then flaps down to join its sibling in tormenting slugs. The first is poking at a slug with its talonned foot, and hopping about.

Dhraegon giggles, "Do we know you Maester Faeyd? What have you come about?"

"To see the dragons!" declares the voice on the other side of the wooden door-gate. "Their health is of utmost importance to the crown!"

Visenya turns her head to give Dhraegon a upturn of the brow, "It's odd." She says in a soft voice, "But it's just a maester."

Eonn appears in the stable door, frowning. He's not wearing his armour, he was probably just grooming the horses.

Dhraegon shakes his head and goes to get Flox and a couple of guards just in case. "Dragons are too important to trust strangers without guards."

Visenya nods her head curtly. "Just a moment." She calls out. That said, when she spots Eonn she waves him over.

Eonn nods to Visenya. He ducks back inside the stable a moment. When he steps out again, he's buckling his sword-belt around his narrow waist.

The man on the other side of the door bangs on the wood again.

Dhraegon returns with Flox and the guards. Despite his lack of knightly skills, he stands between the Dragons and the door. Guards stand ready. He signals for Flox to open the gate.

Visenya moves closer to her dragons. She sits down on the edge of the fountain to be near them.

Flox opens the gate to the stranger.

Maester Faeyd, when admitted, looks about the garden, ignores the guards, and heads towards Visenya and her dragons. He does, at least, look like a Maester, with his robes and his chain of many metals, and a walking-staff. He's bald, tallish, skinny.

"Do you have a letter from King's Landing?" Visenya asks as the Maester approaches.

"Of course not, my princess," says the Maester, staring eager-eyed at the dragons. He comes closer.

Eonn steps away from the stable to follow the newcomer, frowning still. He sniffs the air a little, like one of his cats.

Flox closes and locks the gate, the unobtrusively comes to stand right by the Maester's shoulder, Dhraegon is looking especially gormless and keeps being in the way somehow. he is a soft man, but huge. Flox says in a firm tone. "If you lack a letter with the King's seal, you do not belong here. he tries to put a hand on the stranger's shoulder.

Visenya stands up. "Then you will leave." Her hand drifts to the slight bunching in her kirtle where the little dagger rests. "And you will not return until you have the small council's approval, and Prince Rhaegor has heard word from King's Landing himself."

Faeyd tries to shrug Flox off while simultaneously ignoring him. He's actually not bad at this. Once close, it's evident that the man has the worst-smelling breath in Westeros. It smells remarkably like the vomit of those who died of the black sickness, rot and shit. It's almost traumatic to get a whiff of it.

"The Small Council?" says the man. "You know, my Princess, that they would want this." He reaches out a hand towards the dragonets. Both lift their heads to hiss at him.

Visenya takes a step to put herself between the Maester and the dragonets. "This is my last warning. You will remove yourself."

Dhraegon signals the guards to move, eyes as empty as the clear sky and jaw a little slack. Flox produces a dagger form somewhere and presses it in such away that it will stab a kidney with a hair's more effort. His other hand tightens on the stranger's shoulder. he is a small man, but stronger than he looks.

The man makes a sudden darting move, attempting to snatch a dragon.

Lightning fast, Visenya draws the little dirk from her kirtle. In a smooth motion she slashes at the offending hand, and turns her body to continue blocking the dragonets. "Guards!"

Dhraegon attempts to tackle the invader, openly terrified for the dragons. Flox keeps on with the stabbing attempts.

The man is jabbed, hard in the hand and again in the side, right where his kidney ought to be. But still, he simply hisses and continues his quick reach for the dragonet. He snatches up the nearest creature with his unwounded hand, grabbing it by one wing. It screams and bites him. He ignores it and spins. He moves like a man much younger than he looks.

Visenya lets out a scream to match her dragonling's, and rushes forward to grab at the maester. She grabs for his chain in an attempt to pull him down.

Dhraegon trips and goes flying past straight into the dirt. Flox tries the knife on the stranger's neck to see if that works better than the kidney. He's already thinking eye next.

The dragonet sinks its teeth in harder, and rips, twisting to bring its tiny legs into play, with their long talons. The man does not let go, he keeps trying to run, in spite of Flox with the knife right behind him, and Visenya grabbing his chain. His formerly uninjured hand is soon worse off than the one with the knife in it, but he still tries to hold on to the struggling, furious hatchling.

Eonn has drawn his great sword, but he doesn't advance into the tangle of bodies with it. There's no room to swing. It's between Faeyd and the gate, though.

Visenya spends 1 luck points on Stabby stab stab Faeyd.

The second hatchling shrieks in rage and hurls itself at the so-called Maester, flapping its wings. They do indeed fly.

Visenya keeps ahold of the maester's chain, although she doesn't manage to knock the "maester" off-balance. It seems a futile struggle between the surprisingly limber old man and Visenya until she uses the chain as leverage to punch her dirk into the man's chest. It sinks into flesh. There is an almost blank look in Visenya's violet eyes as she twists the knife.

Faeyd, half turned away from Visenya, gets throughly stabbed, both by the Princess, from the side and into his chest, and by Flox, into the neck. He opens his mouth as if to scream, but makes no sound. Instead he pukes, directly into Flox's face. It's black, sticky, goo. Like the victims of the black sick vomited up. The stench is terrific. The second dragonet joins the first and the pair of them rip at the man's wrist. He goes down, his knees slowly giving out under him, and drops the hatchling he'd captured. It shrieks triumph.

Flox tried the neck last time, now he goes for the eyes. There is nothing clean about the way he fights. He's all knife fighter from Fleabottom when his Targaryens and their dragons are at risk. Dhraegon is rather dazed from his fall and still trying to pick himself up.

Eonn says, "Kill him," and starts forward, his sword still drawn. "Now."

And then Flox is panicking and trying to get the sick off his face, plunging his head in the nearest fountain.

Visenya stares down at the fallen maester. "What is he?!" Her voice trembles. The hand that holds the dirk trembles. She hesitates a moment before snapping forward to finish the job, and kneels down to stab the black ooze puking man in the neck close to where Flox started.

Faeyd opens and closes his mouth, a gulping fish, and more black goo comes forth. This time, though, there's no force behind it, and it just bubbles out of his mouth, and soon enough, out of the wound in his neck when it opens his esophagus.

Dhraegon whispers, "Maybe he is a warlock from Qarth, come for your dragon like for Rhaegar's." Then he is staring at the distressed Flox and weeping, loud distressed sobs, "We need a Maester! A real Maester!"

Eonn steps over and finishes Visenya's job more completely — he sticks the point of his sword into Faeyd's eye and pushes down, making the blade enter the man's skull at an angle. It makes a nasty wet crunching. "Wash his face with milk," says Eonn. He probably means Flox.

Visenya falls backwards onto her behind, and begins to crab-crawl away from the dead body and the mess of black ooze and blood. It's no use, really. Her gown is spattered with the blood and ooze. "I…ah, gods!" The shock of what she's done hits her. She leans over to throw up in the grass next to her.

Dhraegon hysterically calls for milk from the kitchens. He is in full on flailing panic now. A servant runs to get some.

Eonn looks calm. One dragon is trailing its wing as it hops towards Visenya. The second appearantly doesn't feel that it got all its licks in, and it tears at Faeyd's hand some more.

Servants come with milk for Flox to wash his face with. He rinses his mouth out repeatedly, then drinks for good measure. Flox says, "Maybe we ought to burn that." He points to the body. Dhraegon crawls under a bush and continues to bawl loudly.

Eonn nods, "We ought to," he says, cleaning his blade with a handful of grass. He watches the corpse, narrow-eyed.

"What is it?" Visenya demands in a shaky voice.

"A dead man, now," says Eonn coldly. The corpse looks weirdly misty, as if seen through fog.

"No." Visenya says in regards to burning it. "I want to know what it is. What we're dealing with. Don't burn it." She stares at the body for several moments before deciding, "But cut off it's head."

Flox eyes Eonn, "Think a milk bath would help or am I pretty much doomed?"

Eonn shrugs to Visenya. So much for the clean sword. He turns and swings, taking the corpse's head off with a single heavy blow. Then he says to Flox, "Drink milk. We shall see."

"Do you have your own private rooms?" Visenya asks Flox. "If you do go and stay there. Do not come out, and do not allow anyone else in until the maester comes. We do not want a revival of the plague." She stands up on shaky legs, and wanders over to the dragonet hopping towards her. Kneeling down, she offers him her wrist. Then she goes to the body for the second one. "Someone attend to Prince Dhraegon."

The dragonet climbs onto Visenya's wrist. It turns and hisses at the corpse.

Eonn looks down at the corpse. It seems to be withering in its robes.

Visenya stares down at the corpse. "Why…why is it doing that?!"

Flox waves off help and takes himself and his goat's milk up to his room.

The second dragon hop-flaps over to Visenya.

Dhraegon continues to hide and have hysterics. Like you do. And of course it's Flox who usually mixes the sedatives.

Eonn sighs, and bends to get more grass and clean his sword again. He moves over to Dhraegon and says. "Be calm, Prince. It is dead."

The corpse seems smaller. And the head has hair on it. Sandy coloured hair. It was bald before.

Visenya bends down to offer her dragon her second wrist. She watches in disbelief as the body withers, and when she notices the sandy hair where there was none she gasps. Slowly, hesitantly, she wanders over to the head, and tries flipping it over with her foot.

Dhraegon whispers, "What will I do without Flox? He's like a son to me and… and… What will I do if he dies?" He wails, "I hate accidents!"

It's a different face on that head. It matches the smaller, even skinnier body. A boy-man, perhaps fifteen years of age. Nothing special about him. Except that he's dead and has a great hole punched in his skull, through the eye socket and out the back.

Eonn shrugs to Dhraegon. "Why do you think he'll die?" he asks. "Not everyone died."

Visenya stumbles back slightly in shock. "Eonn!" She shrieks out, and follows it with, "He's different! Ah, by the Seven! He's different!"

Eonn turns his head to look. "Burn him," he says again.

Eonn says, quietly, "Fuck." But he doesn't seem surprised.

Dhraegon whimpers "Everybody dies. Everybody who is nice to me."

Visenya stares down at the head with a dumbfounded look on her face for a moment or two. And then she walks over to the fountain to deposit her dragons on it's edge, and walks towards the stables. She returns with thick gloves on, and a rag tied over the bottom half of her face. She looks down at the body, lets out a determined little puff of breath, and kneels to search the robes.

"I didn't die," says Eonn.

Dhraegon peers out of the bush, to watch Visenya even as he weeps. He says, "Not yet, eonn, not yet."

The little dragons are reluctant, to say the least, to leave Visenya. The cling to her with their claws, and screech pathetically, but are eventually extracted. Then they scream at her as she approaches the body.

"True," says Eonn. "Not yet." He speaks softly.

Under the robes, the boy wears ordinary peasant clothes, roughspuns. He's got nothing on him but a purse, containing two pennies and a small hard current bun.

Dhraegon looks very worried, but not enough to leave his nice safe bush.

The chain is fake — the gold and silver rub off, the colours of the different metals just painted onto some cheap pot-metal.

"Everyone must die, My Prince." Visenya says in a increasingly steady voice. "But I do not think Flox will in this instance. He is strong, and he's had milk before the symptoms have even begun." That said, she stares down at the fake maester turned boy, and says in wonder, "It's just a boy…" She lets out a sad sound, "Ah, it's a boy."

You say, "Qarthian warlocks come for dragon parts, I suspect. Like they did for poor young Rhaegor's dragon. Someone should ask the witch Isador if she knows of such."

Eonn nods. "Yes," he says. Perhaps in response to the comment that Flox will live, perhaps because indeed, it's just the corpse of a boy, perhaps he agrees that it's Warlocks. He moves to Visenya's side and looks down at the corpse.

"No. We need not solve the problem of dreaded magicks with more dreaded magicks. I hear she deals in blood magic." She picks up her little dirk, now dull from stabbing a man and wet with blood, and cuts a notch in his peasant-like shirt before tearing it open to look at his chest.

It's a skinny chest, an ordinary chest, unmarked except for dirt. Maybe a few lines on it, where the dirt has been smeared off.

Dhraegon falls silent and simply watches.

"Someone sent him." Visenya decides. "Perhaps he was not a warlock at all, but some sort of thrall controlled by one. Prince Rhaegor said their lips are blue." She points to the severed head. "His lips are not blue. He is a boy. This was not the real grab. This was a test to try our strength."

Eonn looks at Visenya. He nods.

"Prince Rhaegor must be sent for at once. He is in the Hightower." Visenya says this to a servant. "Fetch Prince Daevon. I will need his protection as well." She hesitates a moment before saying, "…And go to the White Stone Manse for Prince Alaryn. Tell him…Tell him I have need of his friendship, but mostly of his sword."

Dhraegon whispers, "She made a carving dance before she attacked me and the guards stepped in. it might have been an illusion, like the boy being a Maester."

"That witch is a fool," says Eonn coldly.

Visenya adds as a second thought, "And Prince Maelys." She sighs, and rises, "Those are all of the men who are capable, and potentially willing to protect me."

Eonn looks at Visenya now, consideringly. His eyes are sad.

Dhraegon say, "That witch scares me. I… don't like to be grabbed by strangers."

Visenya looks exhausted. She stares down at her ruined dress forlornly. "The witch will not be coming, my Prince."

The garden is in Chaos. Servants are running about fulfilling Visenya's request. Her dragons are on the side of the fountain. Dhraegon is crying under a bush. Visenya's gown is splattered with blood and black ooze. She wears heavy gloves and a rag over her face. A bloody little dirk, the same pretty thing their father gifted to her, is in her hand and clearly used.

The corpse has been beheaded; the head lies nearby. A boy-man, perhaps fifteen, sandy-haired and skinny. Eonn is cleaning his sword.

Daevon's heard news, arriving on a thundering horse, which he rides right into the garden. "What happened?"

At the sight of her twin Visenya rips off the rag covering her face. She stares up at him for a few moments before tears begin sliding down her face. "…I killed him."

Dhraegon says, "And he may have killed my Flox. He came for the dragons."

On the fountain, the dragons screech and flap their wings at Daevon, seeming excited at his presence. One seems to have a gimpy wing.

"My prince," says Eonn, tearing his gaze away from Visenya to look at her twin.

"Good." Daevon says to Visenya. "You did well." He glances at the black ooze on the dress. "What is that?" He's all business, all command, all dragon in fact. "Did he hurt the dragons?" A glance to Dhraegon. "I'm sorry. Where's Flox? And was there just the one?" And then to the servants. "You, go fetch Peri from the bath-house. You, go run a bath. Hot."

Dhraegon says, "He hurt a dragon and black sicked all over my Flox!" He starts wailing again in real terror and grief. "If he dies I…."

Eonn gives Daevon a little nod — essentially, what Dhraegon says is true.

"No." Visenya says to Daevon. "No. I don't think the boy was in possession of his own mind." She covers her hand with a glove to suppress another cry. When she gains control of herself she says, "He said he was a maester sent by the crown to check on the dragons. He didn't look like him. He looked older. Bald. He grabbed the dragon, and I stabbed his arm, and Flox tried stabbing him. And then I stabbed his chest, and Flox stabbed his neck. And then I stabbed his neck after he spat the black ooze onto Flox's face. And then I told Eonn to behead the body in case…I don't know, it got back up!" Tears continue to stream down her face, "And then it turned into the boy, and I realized they just sent him as a test. Daevon, they want my dragons and they'll come again for them. And next time they won't send a boy."

"Who has come in contact with Flox?" Daevon asks. "Don't touch him. His clothes will need burned. We need another bath run. As hot as he can stand, for after he's been scrubbed down with that solution of vinegar and herbs we used during the plague." He listens to Visenya. "You did well." There's a look at Eonn when she speaks of him looking different, a question in his eyes which he doesn't ask. "And next time we'll be prepared." He says to Visenya. "What were your guards doing?" It's a rhetorical question for he shakes his head. "This wasn't a test. We got lucky that he was sick." His voice is quiet there.

Dhraegon says, "I…I called the guards and Flox. I didn't trust him."

Eonn raises his eyebrows at Daevon, now seeming doubtful. He moves towards the dragons now. They hiss at him, warningly.

"He wasn't sick." Visenya states. "Bryn told me that the Warlocks poisoned Lord Stark's men with something similar to the plague. They must be able to make carriers." She peels off her glove, and heads towards the dragons. "They'll bite you." She warns Eonn as she kneels down to be eye-level with them. "I didn't think I needed my guards to follow me in the house-Ah, my poor little love. You're hurt!" She picks up the hurt dragooning gently, and kisses him. "His wing needs binded. Someone check and see if the maester who came has a link in Ravenry? He'll know how to bind a wing."

Dhraegon says, "He was too rough when he grabbed it."

The hurt dragonet squirms and chirps at Visenya, then croons.

Daevon frowns slightly at Eonn's response. "The Warlocks can change their appearance?" he asks Visenya. "Rhaegor will know. Visenya, you need to get out of that dress and you need to get bathed. We're going to have to burn that body once we've had the opportunity to speak with Rhaegor. I'll have a look at the dragon." He offers, moving closer to do so."

Eonn nods. "I was there, when they poisoned Lord Stark's men," he says. "And myself. I was sick a while." He looks at the wounded dragon consideringly.

The dragonet seems content enough to let Daevon inspect its wing, and even touch it. In fact, it chirps encouragingly at him.

Visenya holds the hatchling out a bit so Daevon can inspect it. "I sent word to him. He was at the Hightower."

Dhraegon says, "They poor thing had been hunting slugs…."

Maybe dragons learn words. At the sound of 'slugs' they both look at Dhraegon.

"They poisoned Lord Stark's men?" Daevon asks. "When, and which men?" He's distracted though by the dragon as he stoops down to touch it. He's extremely careful as he inspects the wing for damages. "It will need splinted." He agrees. "Poor thing. How fast do you heal? Slugs?" He laughs. "You're never going to grow big and strong on just slugs."

The dragon croons as Daevon inspects its wing, but squawks when he tries to stretch it. It's not broken, the tiny delicat spars are easy to see.

Eonn nods. "Some months ago. Before you knew me, when I was in Lady Mormont's service. A warlock poisoned us with a black fog, and I was ill. Fever, and vomiting. That same black vomit. It passed. Some died." He shrugs a little.

"Do you know how?" Visenya asks Daevon.

The dragonet crawls into Daevon's hand and twines its tail about his wrist.

Dhraegon looks torn, but the dragons are distressed, so still weeping he comes out of his bush and gets his abandoned slug cup. As it still has slugs in it, he creeps over, giving the body wide berth. He is covered in dirt and his face is muddy where the tears streaked through the mess when he face planted during his failed attempt to grab the assassin. His hair is wild and full of leaves and twigs. He squats down, keeping out of the way of the twins and sets some slugs down where the uninjured dragon might hunt them, "It's for practice. They seem to like it. One of them flew for the first time today too."

"Hmm," Daevon muses on the wing. "Actually it doesn't look broken, just bruised. It should heal up with rest. You're lucky. Bet you won't rest and agree not to flap it though." His words are soft meant for the dragon, which he pets lightly, stroking its head. "You're doing good. Some people would have bitten me by now for looking." He sends someone off to fetch supplies so he can tend to the dragon himself and immobilise the wing. "I've seen to birds before. There was one when we were children, others since. No dragons though." There's a nod to Eonn. "You didn't catch the black sick the second time around though, did you?" He nods at Dhraegon.

Eonn nods. "No," he says. "I didn't. And the first time, it did not spread."

"I asked Prince Alaryn and Maelys to come." Visenya sighs, "They are both good with a sword, and would both protect me. …I fear the climate in the manse will get rather, ah, machismo-ee."

"I think Prince Rhaegor, Prince Alaryn, Maelys, and I all in the same manse together might be a recipe for disaster," Daevon says. "Your guards are good, they're skilled. They're going to need better trained though. That's not my area of expertise."

Dhraegon gives Daevon's dragon friend a serious look, "I might have. I am a bad patient." He looks alarmed, "It's going to get complicated here, isn't it."

The uninjured dragonet flaps down to resume the slug hunt. This involves pouncing on slugs and ripping them up with its talons. It doesn't use its teeth; slugs don't taste good.

Dhraegon gives a squeal of delight at the tiny fierce hunter, "See? They are practicing for when they are bigger…. Did I tell you Tellur taught me how to ride this week? They are modifying a stall for Rose as his horns are really big. Tellur is giving him too me as a gift."

"Horns?" Visenya asks absently.

"Horns?" says Eonn at the same moment.

"What is Rose?" Daevon asks. Once the equipments brough he works on strapping up the wing.

The dragonet is remarkable patient as Daevon binds its wing, though it does screech and flap the free wing a few times. It keeps its tail twined tightly about Daevon's wrist.

Dhraegon nods and explains, his excitement over learning to ride distracting him from his worry and grief, "In the north they train special riding longhorn bulls for festivals. They are gelded so very gentle and sensible and clever and they don't startle, since they need to deal with people throwing flowers and crowd noise and everything. Rose is very pretty and dignified and looks good in garlands. I am worried he'll be scared with so many big scary horses around, but Daevon tells me Rose is very brave and will like being with other large beasts. he's a very even gate. Rose, not Tellur. After we had cakes and raced boats in the fountain. Tellur,, not Rose."

"There, all better," Daevon murmurs to the dragon. "You did really well." He sits and pets the dragon, absently.

Eonn looks at Daevon and the dragonet. The dragonet looks at him, and hisses. They do that to most people, really.

Visenya holds out her hand for her dragon on the edge to the fountain so he may jump on her wrist. "Vinegar bath?"

The wee creature is too busy pouncing another slug to be obedient. Obedient? Dragon?

Dhraegon says, "We should try mice next. We should make traps."

The dragonet looks up at Visenya and squalls. It's the sound they make when hungry. The one on Daevon takes up the cry.

Daevon nods at Visenya. "Burn the dress. Scrub down with vinegar and water and strong soap to remove any trace. Then into a hot bath to get the rest." He offers the dragon he's holding over to Visenya.

"Are we just going to leave this here?" says Eonn, of the corpse.

Dhraegon starts to come forward obediently before he realizes Visenya means the dragonet. "Maybe some warm milk just in case? I think we should burn the body and any clothes touched it and something should be done about the fouled fountain."

Visenya sighs tiredly when the dragonets take up the 'Feed me' call. She glances to the body, "Put the head where Prince Ryzael's was. A warning."

"Rhaegor has to investigate the corpse," Daevon says. "If it's a warlock thing there migth be something he can see that the rest of us have missed. Assuming he doesn't take too long to get here then we can dispose of it." He frowns. "Visenya, we can't if the head is of a plague carrier. We can't risk spreading it elsewhere."

Visenya purses her lips. "What if we covered it in tar?"

"Milk for the nausea, and cool the fever if it comes," says Eonn softly. Then, "I'm hungry."

Dhraegon shudders at all this morbid talk.

The slug-slayer climbs onto Visenya's arm and keeps yelling for food.

Daevon's clearly not in favour of such bloody decorations. He shakes his head.

The little dragon Daevon has doesn't seem to want to leave him, but eventually it complies and climbs onto Visenya, squawking for food.

Eonn takes a final look at the corpse, then moves to slip back into the stable.

"Bath. Right." Visenya goes inside to bathe quickly so she can feed her dragon children.

Dhraegon climbs back under his bush to fret.

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