Chapter Text
Prince Aegon Targaryen
The legendary storms that came from the Narrow Sea to the Stormlands reached the shores of the Blackwater exhausted, having lost all their fury, tired; leaden clouds, still darkly leaden, still heavy, somehow crawled across the bay to rip their bellies open on the spiers of the Red Keep, on the bell towers of the capital's septs, on the bulk of the Dragonpit. In Maegor's Holdfast itself it was gloomy, like autumn, in the courtyards it was damp and dirty, as if they had not been paved, in the godswood it was slushy. At first, Aegon thought that, due to the prolonged rains, it would be like the Conqueror’s Garden on Dragonstone, but if the half-wild vegetation in the ancestral castle resonated with something aching from its harsh beauty, then the wet thickets of the capital only caused despondency and reluctance to leave the confines of their chambers.
It was whispered at court that the bad weather meant that the gods were mourning the untimely death of Princess Calla, but Aegon did not think that they would shed tears for such petty reasons. The Pentoshi ladies-in-waiting, led by Lady Teresa Sunglass, sighed sadly in every way, mourning the one by whose mercy they sat all day long with a needle in their hands, like simple seamstresses, sewing clothes for an unborn child. The rest of the courtiers also dressed in grief and mourning clothes, but this could only deceive a blind man. While Calla was alive, they treated her with due respect, as the wife of the heir to the throne, but behind their backs they good-naturedly laughed at her speech, habits, thoughts, in a word, at everything that betrayed her as a foreigner, and also a narrow-minded one. There was no doubt that as soon as seven months of mourning had passed, she would immediately be thrown out of their heads, leaving the memory of her only to her family and the maester’s chronicles.
The newborn Alyssa Targaryen was placed in the same chambers where her mother lived. The boudoir became a children's room, the large bed was replaced by a cradle and a narrow bed for a wet nurse, nestled against the wall. On the fourteenth day of the princess’s life, the egg, which Daemon, under the watchful gaze of his younger brother, personally placed in the cradle, hatched, and from it, under the frightened squealing of the nursemaid and the maester, a small dark red dragon crawled out, immediately settling down next to the baby.
Immediately after his wife's funeral, Daemon flew to Pentos. This was right: the Karlarises should have learned about the tragedy from him, and not from the grievous raven. In an unfavorable scenario, he was supposed to return home in a couple of days, in a favorable one - in a week or two, but the days turned into weeks, which turned into months, stretching one after another, and the red wings and snake silhouette of Caraxes never appeared over the Blackwater Bay. Daemon limited himself to a couple of letters, reassuring the Small Council and brothers that King Kallio was very kind and confirmed his commitment to allied relations.
Viserys was somewhat reassured by this, although other news coming from Pentos was not very optimistic. Not all the magisters who survived the coup had come to terms with the destruction of their usual foundations, and were now trying to regain theirs. During the year they tried to kill Kallio more than a dozen times, although the number of attempts was probably much higher; his eldest son and heir Cassio acquired a scar all over his face and took a crossbow bolt in the back while leaving for the city, but miraculously survived; they tried to poison Kallio's wife, but by accident their youngest son Hennio drank the poison, and died in terrible agony; they even tried to get Daemon, but it ended with a dozen mercenaries smearing their guts across the Pentoshi pavements. Finally, they tried to openly overthrow the Karlaris, but the conspiratorial magisters forgot to take into account that the king’s good brother was a dragon rider, and they remembered this only when Caraxes poured streams of fire on their mansions.
Towards the end of the fourth month, the Lord Hand, at a meeting of the Small Council, grumpily asked if the Prince of Dragonstone was thinking of staying with his good brother forever, and, as if he had heard these words, Daemon returned the next morning. Aegon found him in the children's room, where his brother stood leaning against the canopy post and watched his daughter sleep in the cradle. The prince prudently touched the door frame with his cane, indicating his presence, and Daemon, without turning around, languidly waved his hand, inviting him to enter.
«She’s grown up,» the brother noted with some surprise in his voice.
«That’s a common thing in children,» Aegon snorted and looked into the cradle.
Princess Alyssa slept on the red and black sheets prepared by her mother's ladies-in-waiting, her arms spread out to the sides, and next to her on the pillow, curled up and covering herself with wings, her dragon snored. With its hatching, the girl’s health began to improve, and by the fourth month of her life she was a very ordinary child. How much of this was due to the connection between the little dragon and his future rider, and how many prayers to Meraxes the Merciful that Aegon offered, one could only guess.
Daemon reached out and gently touched his daughter's head, smoothing out the light baby fluff.
«It seems like she took after her mother’s hair.»
«Not necessarily,» the younger prince shrugged. «The hair color may change.»
«Your hair was silver from the very beginning.»
«You were three, Daemon. I don't believe you could remember it.»
«Viserys remembered that,» his brother chuckled. «But I remember how the egg that our father put in your cradle became cold. You know, I was afraid that this too would become petrified.»
«Did you doubt my choice?» Aegon feigned insult.
«A little. But now I see that it was in vain. It's still not clear who this is?»
«Female.»
«Have you looked under her tail?»
«I felt it,» the prince shrugged. He had no other explanation for the understanding of the dragon's nature, which manifested itself after the revelations in Mantarys, and he did not want to lie to his brother. Maybe he'll tell Daemon about this someday, but definitely not now. «Do you believe it?»
«I believe.»
«We haven’t given her a name yet, we decided to wait for you.»
The dragoness, as if realizing that he was talking about her, raised her head and purred. Alyssa woke up from this sound and, seeing an unfamiliar man above her, began to cry. Her father smiled sadly and picked up the princess in his arms:
«What, honey, don’t you recognize your father?»
«Father should have stayed less overseas,» Aegon grumbled.
In response to the children's crying, the wet nurse ran out of the room, gasping at the sight of the princes; Daemon smiled a little shyly, and the woman quickly came to her senses.
«Let me show you, my prince,» she rushed to help. «It’s better this way, hand here, m’lord. And rock, rock, but don't shake! Come on, honey, hush, hush, it's your father!»
It was funny to watch how the new father was trying to calm his daughter down, and Aegon laughed even more when the finally awakened dragon fluttered out of her crib and began to hover in circles over her future rider, scaring the wet nurse and making the Targaryens laugh.
«Lily issa, huh?» («And you're a dancer, right?») Daemon chuckled, looking from his calming daughter to the flying lizard. «Ñuho zaldrīzo brōzio Melo Peldiō issa. Pāsan brōzilā Mele Lilys, skoros iotāpan?» («My dragon is called the Red Wyrm. Apparently we should call you Reddancer, what do you think?»)
The named dragon chirped in agreement and tried to perch on Daemon's shoulder. Her claws, however, turned out to be not large enough to catch on the thick leather of the traveling jacket, and the Dancer would definitely have fallen if she had not opened her wings in time. With an offended cry, she flew over to the more comfortable wooden side of the cradle and stared at the «impenetrable» man with a condemning look.
«Reddancer?» Aegon said thoughtfully. «Well, it’s not the worst of names, and it’s also true.»
«Are you satisfied?»
«I’m quite pleased, but you should ask Alyssa.»
«She’ll like it,» Daemon said with conviction, allowing his calmed daughter to grab his dangling silver strand. «Both the name and the dragon.»
A couple of minutes later the girl began to whimper again, and the nurse announced that the child was hungry; under this plausible pretext, the indignant Reddancer was expelled to another room, and Alyssa moved from hand to hand. As the brothers left the children's rooms, Daemon stretched with pleasure and announced:
«They found a good wet nurse, her breasts are good.»
«I bet you wouldn’t mind breastfeeding yourself.»
«Perhaps,» he did not deny. «I'll share if you want.»
«I’m not in the habit of robbing my nieces,» Aegon shook his head, and the onyx beads woven into his hair began to knock against each other; Daemon only chuckled in response.
For some time they walked along the corridors of the Holdfast in silence, but then the younger prince asked a question that had been on his mind for a long time:
«What did Kallio say?»
«About the death of his sister? He was upset.»
«It's obvious, but I'm asking in general.»
«He was upset, although he was not surprised. I think he's a bit of a fatalist now.»
«He doesn’t hate us yet?»
«We made him king, Aegon. You made him king, helped him take the power he secretly dreamed of. You know, he takes the deaths of his family more calmly than I expected,» Daemon noted, stopping at the exit to the main staircase. «It’s politics that killed his son and is trying to kill the rest of his family. He believes that Calla was also killed by politics.»
«Indeed?» something cold and sticky stirred in Aegon’s stomach.
«Both he and I needed this marriage, and the child had to cement the union. Calla, while she was pregnant, behaved like an ordinary Pentoshi - she walked. Only in Pentos pregnant women walk around one floor and the garden, and not throughout the entire castle. The child was politics, and child ruined her.»
It was strange to hear such words from a man who just a few minutes ago had rocked this child in his arms, and Aegon winced.
«If Calla had heard these words, she would have slapped your cheeks.»
«Nothing like that,» Daemon waved him off. «She wouldn’t hurt a fly. But Aemma would have, she would not have remained silent.»
«So you blame Alyssa for Calla’s death?»
«I blame Calla’s death only on her stupidity and her Pentoshi midwives. Alyssa has nothing to do with it.»
Having said this, Daemon began to descend the stairs without goodbyes, leaving his brother alone with his thoughts. Aegon sighed and began to go upstairs to his office. Since Viserys became king, no one has disputed the rights of his younger brother to the chambers of the Spring Prince, but it was impossible to consider them his own. The day before, a raven had arrived from Dragonstone with the traditional report from the commander of the Dragon Guard; he should have flown there for at least a couple of days: to walk around Dragonmont, through the Conqueror’s Garden, to sit in the prayer room, but it all didn’t work out. He still had to return to Smoky Valley and check if the clutch of eggs that he left in the cave was still alive; from the thought that the eggs had turned to stone, an unpleasant knot tightened in Aegon’s stomach, but the prince immediately calmed himself: it’s just fear, the gods themselves showed him the way there, and they cannot be so cruel.
In a good way, he should have visited the new royal fief more often, since Viserys had already sent an architect and masons, who began to look for a place for the future fortress. Construction in the mountains is slow, but they didn’t need a full-fledged castle: two pairs of towers, barracks for dragonkeepers and a stable for horses. Nevertheless, Aegon was already anticipating how the builders would complain to him about the lack of time, money, people, food, materials, in a word, everything.
There were also attempts to redistribute areas of responsibility in the Small Council. Lord Chamberlain Robin Massey, steward of the royal estates and lands of the Crown, tried to get involved in the construction of the castle in the Smoky Valley. He referred to the fact that the management of lands directly owned by the Crown was entrusted to him, however, to some surprise of Aegon himself, Otto Hightower began to object to this.
«A castle in a remote mountain valley is of no importance for the defense of the Kingdom, Lord Robin,» said the Hand. «Besides, the castle will protect not people, but the dragon’s nest, and this is the responsibility of the Master of dragons.»
After such a hint, Massey did not dare to persist, especially since Beesbury and Strong were not on his side. The chamberlain, who was already preparing to improve the financial situation of his house, and even promote one of his younger sons to the castellan of the Smoky Valley, had to calm his ambitions.
After the heir-for-a-day scandal, Aegon's attitude towards Lord Otto was controversial. Yes, the Hand’s whisperer slandered the prince and for this he lost his tongue and the opportunity to live south of the Wall, but Hightower’s reputation was still shaken, if not in the eyes of the courtiers, then certainly in the eyes of Aegon. The support given to him by the lord undoubtedly served as both a rainbow-starred banner of peace and an outstretched hand; after all, Hightower was an experienced courtier and could not help but understand that feuding with two of the king’s brothers at once might be beyond his strength. However, to Otto’s seemingly casual glance, Aegon considered it necessary to respond with a barely noticeable nod, indicating gratitude. There will be no harm from this, he himself did not promise anything to the Hand, and the absence of quarrels and squabbles at court has a beneficial effect on state affairs.
A nervously stomping Dennis was waiting for the prince at the very door of his chambers.
«What is it?»
«The raven from the Dragonstone,» he announced briefly. «Urgently.»
A small scroll, sealed with a black seal, was placed in the outstretched hand; dark wings could bring dark words, but the black seal destroyed all hope. Aegon hastily opened the letter. Just a few lines, written in a simple handwriting that jumps in different directions:
«Dārilaros ñuhys,
Valopradax idakossis zaldrīzoti hae mazumbillā se ipradis hāro. Skorion gaomagon?
Baelor, jemiros urneroti.»
(«My prince,
The Cannibal attacked the dragon cubs in the nest and ate three of them. What should we do?
Baelor, Commander of the Dragonkeepers.»)
Of course, they flew to Dragonstone that same day. He left a short notes for his brothers: Daemon would understand, Viserys would be worried and would insist on some general measures, but Aegon was no longer satisfied with this. His heart was consumed by black rage and burning anger, not so much towards the terrible dragon with discriminating taste, but towards himself. What kind of a nest keeper is he, who arranges the new, allowing the old to be destroyed? What kind of Master of dragons is he if he so stupidly loses his family’s main treasure? He pledged to keep it, but how to keep the dragons from the dragons themselves?
Black thoughts tormented him all the way to the island, and the night clouds that rolled into Blackwater Bay from the Stormlands did not help dispel them at all. They flew directly under their low canopy, periodically falling into sheets of fine, nasty rain; Vermithor growled grumpily, Dennis wrapped himself in a leather cloak and gritted his teeth, but was silent. The Bronze Fury could have found his way to the place where he was born completely blind, but Aegon did not want to see the stars or the moon. They arrived at Dragonstone in the early morning, not getting enough sleep, hungry, damp to the skin, and therefore angry, like the demons of the Seventh Hell without sinners in their cauldrons.
At the cave where Vermithor, as usual, rested, seven dragonkeepers, led by Baelor, and the castellan of the castle were already waiting for them. As soon as the dragon folded its wings, the prince climbed out of the saddle and the first thing that came out of him as soon as his feet touched the coal-black stones was:
«Where is this demon?!»
«Dārilaros ñuhys,» («My prince») Baelor began.
«Where were you looking?» as if they could stop the fire-breathing flying lizard from filling its belly.
«It happened at night, dārilaros ñuhys. Zōbrie iksis («It was dark»), he appeared suddenly...»
«Where did this happen?»
«Mazumbilā iemnȳ.(«In the nesting place.») We left everything as it was.»
«And you left the cubs there?!»
«No, dārilaros ñuhys. We transferred zaldrīzoti («dragon cubs») that survived to nopalbār gō sombāzmiot.» («caves under the castle»)
«Let's go to them, I need to count them... or not, to the nesting place!»
A heavy hand fell on the shoulder of the raging prince.
«We’ll go to the castle,» Dennis said firmly, not allowing any other option. «We flew half the night, we're wet and, unlike that asshole, we're hungry.»
Aegon wanted to wriggle out of his grip, furiously reprimand the presumptuous sworn shield and do everything his own way, but as soon as he straightened his shoulders to object, all the physical fatigue accumulated during the night flight and emotional fatigue fell on them. His stomach began to growl treacherously, and his leg also reminded him of itself.
«Good,» nodded the prince. «So be it. We'll rest and then decide what to do.»
***
Prince Daemon Targaryen
Caraxes flew so low that his spur-wings left white streaks on the surface of the water, and his tail knocked off the caps of foam from the waves over and over again. Daemon, and the Blood Wyrm, liked to feel the sea spray settling on them, and the fresh salty wind hitting their face (or snout). Moreover, low flights required considerable dexterity from both the dragon and the rider, and both of them did not look for easy paths either for themselves or for each other.
While the Dragonmont grew like a black mass on the horizon, the prince wondered what he would meet at its foot. A smoking ancestral castle, turned into ruins by the frantic will of an enraged dragon? Torn bodies of dragons all over the island? Aegon's torn body? Nonsense. Daemon shocked his head; even if his brother dies, then there will hardly be a handful of ashes left of him that could be taken to the crypt. One could only hope that he still had more brains than speed. When at dinner they and Viserys were given two almost identical notes - shorter for the king, longer for him, but just a line - they looked at each other and said almost simultaneously:
«I'll fly.»
«Immediately.»
Daemon knew he was late and hoped to make up for it with the fast wings of Caraxes, but even he could do nothing with the half-day head start that Aegon had won for himself. The prince snorted irritably: what a stupid boyish thing! One against the damn Cannibal, whom even Vhagar prefers to avoid! Needless to say, the size of the predatory dragon was comparable to the Black Dread himself in his declining years, but the creature from the Hell did not even think about dying, and Aegon decided to help him. What was he thinking!...
So, chasing evil thoughts around in circles over and over again, the Prince of Dragonstone flew up to his domain. Looking around Dragon Harbor and the castle from above, he involuntarily felt a pang of conscience: after all, he should have been here more often; but how could he find time when he had to keep an eye on the capital, the guards, the Council with its snakes, and his brothers? And also Alyssa...
Gods, sometimes it seemed to him that Viserys and Aegon would have made excellent maesters, but the elder brother loved being king when it did not burden him too much, and the younger brother loved dragons too much to give them up. Daemon could understand both: he, too, could not imagine life without Caraxes, and in the sky he did not separate himself from the dragon; he, too, loved how the courtiers made way for him when he walked along the corridors of the Red Keep, he liked that in one of his glances both the lords and the mob of Flea Bottom felt power. However, both the lords and the mob had to be constantly reminded that for more than a century «dragon» and «power» were one and the same thing for them; in other words, things could not be left to chance, otherwise snakes like Otto Hightower would appear at the throne, and dragons would begin to devour each other.
With a loud squeal, the Blood Wyrm sat down at the very walls of Dragonstone, and an elderly man in a black camisole with a red sash was already hurrying towards the prince. Ser Viselor Teltharis at the Great Council in Harrenhal tried, through his kinship with Gaemon the Glorious, if not to achieve his election as heir to the Iron Throne, then at least to remind his older relatives of his existence, and he succeeded in the second much better than the first. At first, hot heads persuaded their grandfather to send a minor vassal from Dragon Harbor to the Wall or quietly eliminate him altogether, so that he would not try to intrigue and increase his own importance, but the Old King was not yet completely out of his mind and made a distant relative the castellan of their common family nest. When the castle and the title passed to Daemon, he, of course, did not change anything. Teltharis understood who he served and for what purpose, he knew his place, and if he stole somewhere, then in moderation, with caution; at least the prince did not receive too odious slander against his castellan.
Ser Viselor was distinguished by a strong physique and was known as a good fighter, but all this remained in the past; now he was an ordinary aging knight, who had grown a small belly in the service of a castellan, and instead of the suzerain’s enemies, he was chasing his servants through the corridors. Outwardly, Teltharis was a real Andal: his square face lacked Valyrian proportions, his dark brown hair had light strands here and there, more reminiscent of straw and gray hair than white gold, and only his bright indigo eyes revealed him as a descendant of Old Valyria. Without much fear, the castellan approached the dragon, stopping, however, at a respectful distance, and bowed:
«My prince, the Dragonstone is yours.»
«Thank you, Ser Viselor,» Daemon nodded to him. «Is my brother already here?»
«Yes, my prince. Prince Aegon and his sworn shield arrived this morning.»
«Did he manage to do anything?»
«No, my prince. Prince Aegon deigns to rest after his journey.»
Daemon remembered why he left Teltharis in the service - his loyalty was pleasantly complemented by his taciturnity, which distinguished him favorably from the court windbags. «I need to bring Alyssa here,» the prince decided for himself. «She will be better off here, and the Reddancer will grow up in freedom.» But as soon as he thought about his daughter’s little dragon, a terrible picture immediately appeared before his mind’s eye, of ugly jaws closing on a small ruby body. No, he needs to solve the problem first.
Teltharis, bowing his head, let the prince go ahead, correctly judging that the Prince of Dragonstone did not need an escort. The servants pressed respectfully against the walls, bowing, and Daemon found himself wondering how many of them remembered him. The maester met him in the castle courtyard.
«My prince,» Gerardys greeted him; he remembered that when he first entered their service, he was no older than Daemon is now. «Prince Aegon in Windwyrm.»
«In Windwyrm?»
«Some time ago he decided to move his chambers there.»
«Why don’t I know about this?» his brother, of course, did not need permission, but he could at least warn.
«It’s my mistake, my prince,» Viselor took the blow. «I should have informed you of this, but I thought Prince Aegon would say so himself. I apologize.»
Daemon nodded dryly, accepting the apology, and moved towards the stairs, once again realizing that even the most loyal and reliable subordinates can fail. He did not give any concessions to his Gold Cloaks, regardless of their ranks and origins: Harwin and Jaegor could get a beating along with Gwayne Hightower if they or their people happened to do something wrong, and Daemon did not give the latter any mercy. No matter how disgusted he was to admit it, Ser Gwayne was a good commander, and would have long ago become another comrade of the prince if he had not been the spawn of his father, the Hand.
The Windwyrm was the tallest tower in the castle, which meant the longest stairs. Aegon's old chambers were closer to the library - this was the order of his late grandmother - so this was hardly the reason why his brother decided to move. Climbing up the steps, Daemon involuntarily drew attention to the window facing Dragonmont; could Aegon move here because of the views? Hardly, rather, to watch the dragons.
A couple of flights of stairs later, the prince met Ser Dennis, lounging in the corridor.
«Did my brother finally kick you out?» Daemon chuckled.
«No, my prince,» the sworn shield shook his head with a tired smile. «I see you received a note?»
«Opening a personal letter from one prince to another, and even adding a postscript to it, is a very daring act. Some may see it as treason.»
«I don’t care what others see,» the knight snapped, throwing up his chin. «It is important to me that you see, and that my suzerain, whom I swore to protect, will be safe.»
«He knows?»
«No.»
«Then I don’t think a mad dragon will be your biggest problem. Well, where is your suzerain?»
«Here,» Ser Dennis said simply and pointed to the wall.
Daemon's eyes followed his hand. In a bas-relief carved on a wall of black stone, a dragon writhed; the carving was so detailed that individual scales were visible. The problem was that there was nothing on the wall except the bas-relief.
«I see that my brother instilled in you his sense of humor?» Daemon inquired deceptively calmly.
«Don’t frighten me with the dragon’s wrath, my prince,» the knight snorted, approaching the wall. «I’ve already gotten it from him, more than once.»
As he said this, the sworn shield began to press on a variety of scales on the stone dragon's chest, seemingly without any order. However, behind the wall something creaked, turned, and a thin dark crack appeared. Ser Dennis grabbed the edge and pushed her forward, and then bowed to make way for the prince.
«Please, my prince. Your brother is there.»
«What is this?» Daemon frowned; there were secret rooms and corridors in the Red Keep, some he even used when he ran away from his father, but he had never heard of anything like that in Dragonstone.
«The temple, my prince.»
And what was that supposed to mean? But it was clear that the knight was not too willing to answer his questions, or maybe he didn’t know everything. In any case, it would have been easier to ask Aegon. Daemon chuckled, indicating that Dennis's explanations did not suit him and he would not forget this, and crossed the threshold of the secret corridor.
He had barely taken a couple of steps when the door slid into place with a quiet creak, and the prince found himself in complete darkness. Daemon had enough restraint not to turn around, rush to the closed door and start pounding on it, calling down dragon flames on everyone and everyone. Betrayal? No, it's unlikely. Ser Dennis Greyhead spent too much time in the service of the Targaryens, and how much he suffered with Aegon... In any case, it was necessary to move forward.
Having gotten used to the darkness, Daemon realized that it wasn't absolute. Somewhere further along the corridor there was a white narrow strip of light, like a ribbon, like a thread. The prince grabbed onto it. The corridor turned out to be much shorter than the prince expected, and after only ten yards the strip of light turned out to be a small loophole; to his own surprise, Daemon discovered that they had managed to glass it.
«Did something happen?»
The prince turned his head; against the far wall stood an altar, laden with disks and dishes made of oily, gleaming dragon glass, in front of which three Valyrian candles burned. Behind them stood three statues no more than a foot tall: a Valyrian sphinx with a woman's face, a dancing man, and a one-eyed woman. In front of the sanctuary, kneeling on a low wooden bench with cushions and armrests, stood Aegon, who didn't think to turn around when someone entered.
«I didn’t know you became so devout, my brother,» Daemon drawled.
«I assume Dennis let you in?»
«Yes. He took the liberty of adding a few words to your message and hinted that I should catch up with you.»
«I’ll flog and kick out the asshole,» Aegon muttered kindly; both brothers were well aware that the sworn shield had nothing to fear. «Well, what do you say?»!
«I must admit, I’m surprised by all this even more than by your affair with Lady Arryn.»
«Are you judging me?»
«For Lady Arryn? No.»
«And for this?» the brother shook his head towards the altar and several long silver strands fell from his shoulder.
«Don't know. What is this?»
Aegon sighed and sat down on the bench behind him, not taking his eyes off the unnatural light of the candles. The brother was in only breeches and a robe, too thick to be Lysene, but he still had to be chilly, but he hardly paid attention to it.
«I received the figurines in Braavos. I found everything else in Mantarys,» Aegon moved and patted the bench next to him. «Sit down, my brother, this is not a simple story.»
In his soul, Daemon no longer believed what the septons preached; the teaching of the Andals stifled him with its severity, restrictions for the sake of restrictions, prohibitions for the sake of prohibitions, stupidity for the sake of stupidity. The prince was silent about his views for the sake of his brothers. Viserys, after all his losses, frequented the King Sept's and the new one on Visenya's Hill, which he founded with Aemma and continued to build in her honor. Aegon seemed to enjoy the sound of his music at the services of the Faith, and the greater was Daemon's surprise when he realized that his younger brother had gone further than him in his apostasy. But believing what he said turned out to be easier than the prince expected.
They talked in the small temple until the Valyrian candles went out. Then Aegon stood up and wiped the glass wicks with his fingers, lighting them again in the same way as he had done years ago in the Citadel.
«Go, Daemon, it’s late,» he sighed.
«And you?»
«I’ll sit here for a while longer. I need to figure out what to do with Cannibal. Perhaps the gods will tell me the answer.»
«What do you think?»
«Killing kin is punishable by death, no matter who you are: a dragon or a man. But it’s easier to kill a man,» Aegon froze for a moment, looking at the face of the Valyrian sphinx, the goddess Vhagar, distorted with rage.
«Balerion easily devoured Quicksilver in the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye,» Daemon reminded him. «And in Valyria, dragons fought with each other, remember all those civil wars. Together we have a chance against Cannibal, no matter how monster he is.»
«Perhaps.»
Seeing that his brother had become taciturn, Daemon rose from the bench and headed towards the exit. At the loophole window, he noticed that it was already completely dark, and in the prayer room it was as light as the moment he entered - undoubtedly, the Valyrian candles knew how to disperse the darkness.
«Daemon?» Aegon called suddenly.
He turned around; the younger brother stood with his back to his altar, surrounded by a halo of divinely eternal light reflected in the obsidian disks, and he himself seemed, if not a deity, then certainly a prophet-priest. But Daemon blinked, and the obsession was gone.
«Thank you for coming» said the no-longer-divine Aegon.
«Could I let you kill yourself about Cannibal?»
«Just say that you couldn’t let me steal all the glory.»
«Lorath and the Ibbenese fleet should be enough for you,» the prince grinned. «I need legendary deeds too. I'm the future king, right?»
He didn't have to feel his way to the door. Reflecting in a bizarre way from the walls, the light from the candles dissipated the darkness, creating thick, black, like the night itself, dancing shadows. It made his head spin, and Daemon involuntarily touched the wall to keep from falling; running his hand over it, he accidentally touched something, and the door creaked open. Immediately two hands appeared, enlarging the opening, and the prince came face to face with Ser Dennis.
«Thank the gods,» he breathed. «You sat there for too long.»
«We talked,» his eyes were rippling from the glare remaining behind him. «Aegon will be there for some time yet.»
The sworn shield muttered something about the getting cold dinner, and Daemon realized that he himself was already damn hungry. Of course, a flight across the Gullet, and even such a long conversation will work up an appetite even in the dead. Leaving the knight to guard his brother's secret chapel, Daemon ran his hands over his face, driving away the last flies from his eyes, and went to the refectory of the Great Hall.
Aegon did not come out for dinner, so Daemon had to spend it in the company of Ser Viselor and Maester Gerardys, who decided to give a report on the state of his domain. In general, everything was fine: trade in Dragon Harbor flourished since the increased trade turnover with Pentos required a new transshipment point (here, of course, the influence of Aegon and Beesbury was felt), the villages consistently provided livestock for all the inhabitants of the island, even the winged ones, and the latter, through the efforts of the dragon master, noticeably increased in number. At least that was the case until recently.
«So how come you didn’t notice anything?» Daemon asked, scraping the oozing stewed pork from a bone.
«It happened at night, my prince,» Teltharis sighed sadly. «There was a storm, and this beast fell straight out of the storm clouds.»
«We don’t know much, my prince,» added Gerardys. «There are no direct eyewitnesses: the entire shift of dragonkeepers died.»
«Did he eat them too?»
«More likely, he crushed them or burned them. Cannibal hardly paid any attention to them. The nest was full of dragon cubs, some were old enough to fly away even through the storm.»
«Unfortunately, like any youngsters, they were too arrogant and stupid to think about salvation,» the maester objected to the castellan.
«Come on, anyone will sh*t themselves at the sight of this monster,» Viselor blurted out. «I beg your pardon, my prince, I can be… not restrained in my tongue.»
«I’m not a lady to blush at such words,» Daemon smiled. «So I don’t give a sh*t.»
Teltharis took a breath and grinned at the simple humor, and Gerardys imperceptibly, as it seemed to him, rolled his eyes.
«So what are our losses?»
«According to Ser Baelor,» the castellan hastened to answer. «Seven guards died, and Cannibal devoured three dragons and crushed a couple more. The oldest was no more than ten years old. They were beautiful beasts...»
«My brother and I will take care of this,» Daemon assured his interlocutors, trying to put all possible confidence into his words. «Is there anything else I need to know?»
«Yes, my prince,» said Gerardys, dabbing his mouth with a burgundy napkin. «Two months ago, Septon Garth fell from his mule while returning from a pastoral trip to Little Pasture. Wet stones are treacherous... The Stranger was merciful, he died immediately. Only Septon Petyr remains in Dragon Harbor, but he is already sixty-two and has arthritis. He complains to me that he needs an assistant. I decided to write to you, but by a coincidence that can hardly be called lucky, you visited us earlier.»
«Isn’t there a Septon in the castle?»
«That was Septon Petyr, but after the death of Good Queen Alysanne he moved to the Port Sept.»
«Do many townspeople go to see him?» Daemon inquired as if by chance.
«I would not say that the people are pious, my prince,» Ser Viselor answered hesitantly. «They go to the sept because it’s necessary, and then mostly on holidays... It’s always been that way, my prince.»
Daemon chuckled. Considering that the Faith came to Dragonstone shortly before the Conquest, this was not surprising.
«If that’s the case, then Septon Petyr can handle it just fine,» he snapped. In light of what his brother had told him, the septons' presence on the island seemed almost a personal affront to him. «Anything else?»
However, things ended there, and soon the food ran out. Having said goodbye to his faithful and, as it turned out, quite reliable deputies, Daemon went to his chambers. Unlike Aegon, he did not move to Windwyrm, staying in his previous rooms in the Tower of the Soaring Dragon. The dragon statue that crowned it looked north, towards the rocks where Cannibal nested, and spread its wings widely, as if it were really flying high in the skies.
In the bedroom, the prince found a serve maid hastily straightening his bed. Seeing the prince, the girl jerked and pressed herself against the wall, lowering her eyes. A blond strand of hair came out from under the coif, and in the light of the candles (pretty wax, not glass) it shone gold.
«M’lord,» the serve maid curtsied in a simple but sweet curtsey.
«What is your name, beauty?» Daemon asked with a smile.
«Jaella, m'lord prince.»
The mob on Dragonstone always retained the features of the Old Freehold: the slaves and servants of Aenar the Exile became townspeople and peasants, but retained their appearance along with special devotion to the rulers of the island. Valyrian blood was inevitably eroded by Andal blood, although periodically dragon seed tried to stop the process, but loyalty to the traditions and culture of the forgotten homeland was impressive.
Jaella was slender: a modest serve maid's dress did not hide her high breasts, and her tightly drawn boiling white apron only emphasized her thin waist. Daemon lifted her neat chin with two fingers; lilac eyes timidly looked at him, and they showed an understanding of all possible consequences. The last pebble fell on the scales.
«M’lord wants me to stay?»
«Perhaps, yes. Stay.»
***
Although Daemon woke up early, when the piece of sky in the window opening was just getting light, the maid was not in bed: Jaella must have left as soon as he fell asleep, or got up before dawn. The lack of female warmth at hand was disappointing, but the prince was generally pleased: the wench turned out to be obedient and, it must be admitted, skillful. Being a little lazy, Daemon did not deny himself the pleasure of lying around - in the end, his Gold Cloaks remained in the capital, as did the Small Council with its affairs - and left his chambers only when hunger once again reminded itself.
On the road to the Great Hall he met Ser Viselor. The castellan from the gallery watched as the master at arms taught military combat to a group of future soldiers. Looking at them, Deamon could not resist a contemptuous grimace - they were far from even the guards of the Red Keep.
«Good morning, my prince, Teltharis greeted him. «I know it’s a sad sight, but they were recruited only a week ago. It will take Ser Alyn another month to beat the sh*t out of them.»
«Where are they from?»
«From here, from Dragonstone. Five are from the Big Pasture, the same number from the Black Mine, two more from Fishbone, and the rest from the Harbor.»
«Our people,» Daemon nodded with satisfaction.
«We don’t accept others, my prince.»
«Have you had breakfast yet, Ser Viselor?»
«Yes, my prince, a long time ago.»
«Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind having a bite to eat with me?»
«It is an honor for me, my prince,» the castellan bowed briefly, and Daemon had to struggle not to snort. It's funny that the simplest actions that he invited his subjects to perform together became for them perhaps the greatest event in their lives.
On the way, the prince asked, as if by chance:
«Do you know all the servants in the castle, ser?»
«Yes, my prince. Even the laundress and the floor scrubber come into your service only with my permission.»
«You must have an amazing memory. Do you remember a serve maid named Jaella?»
For a moment, the castellan’s thick eyebrows met on the bridge of his nose, but almost immediately his face smoothed out.
«Of course, my prince. Jaella is the daughter of my own housekeeper.»
«She has a husband?»
«As far as I know, no, my prince. Did she do something wrong?»
«No, on the contrary. I want you to give Jaella ten golden dragons from my treasury and in my name.»
«I understand, my prince,» Teltharis nodded, undoubtedly understanding why the serve maid would receive the money. «Everything will be done exactly.»
«Great,» the morning’s business was settled, and now more pressing issues could be resolved. «Has my brother shown up yet?»
«As I was informed, Prince Aegon did not spend the night in his bedchamber, but Ser Dennis assures that everything is in order. He probably just sat too long with his books - it happens to him.»
«That’s true,» Daemon nodded, and he thought: «He clearly wasn’t sitting with his books. Rather, he spent the whole night in his prayer room.»
In the refectory they were served yesterday's pork, which turned out to be delicious even cold, still hot bread, baked fish, local cheese with herbs, eggs and Morning Light - a weak Arbor wine, intended just for breakfast and to fight a hangover. While Deamon was feeding his inner, eternally hungry dragon, the castellan casually told him that it would be good to strengthen the obsidian mines in the north of the island.
«Production has increased, my prince, the Pentoshi like to wear dragonglass jewelry. For this, I suppose we have your marriage and the late princess to thank.»
«Calla loved various trinkets. I think she sent her good sister a few strands of obsidian beads and a hairpin,» Daemon said with a shrug, then stopped short.
Until that moment, he had not even suspected that he remembered such a trifle as a trifling gift that his wife sent to relatives across the Narrow Sea. His heart was gripped by the bitterness of loss; Calla was not the worst wife and perhaps he valued her more than he admitted to his brothers. His feelings for her could hardly be called love; somewhere in the depths of his soul he admitted that it was replaced by the pleasure of her submission and power over her, pleasure at how convenient their marriage had turned out for him, but he did not want her to die either on the maternity bed, or, especially, on the stairs. Once again, the prince thought that it was worth assigning not only reliable ladies-in-waiting to Calla, but also a king's guard; perhaps then Alyssa would have been born at her appointed time and would not have grown up now without a mother...
«...therefore, it would be a good idea to strengthen the vaults of the mine,» the castellan continued to broadcast, not paying attention to his thoughtfulness. «The mountain sometimes shakes, and dragons can dig their holes...»
«Yes, do whatever you think is necessary.»
Suddenly there was the sound of bare feet padding, accompanied by rhythmic tapping, and Aegon entered the refectory. He was dressed the same as the day before, and now Daemon saw that his loosely tied robe was decorated with a bronze scaly ornament. Without high heels, his brother was shorter, and his lameless were especially noticeable.
«Are you up already?» Aegon asked as soon as he saw Daemon. «Fine. Finish your food and saddle Caraxes.»
«Do you want to fly?»
«I want to kill Cannibal.»
Ser Viselor choked on his unswallowed wine, and Daemon frowned.
«He’s...»
«The size of Vhagar, yes. But I know what to do.»
«But what about...» the prince almost blurted out about the Valyrian gods and their order, but bit his tongue just in time. «What about Viserys?»
«I am a Master of dragons,» Aegon straightened his shoulders and raised his chin higher. «To protect them, I have the right to use all possible measures, including the most radical ones.»
Apparently, he finally reached out to the gods, and they answered him.
«So what are we going to do?»
«We will lure this beast into the air, drive him and kill him.»
«We won’t need... ahem, support? Perhaps you could write to cousin Rhaenys?»
«Are you being a coward, Daemon?» Aegon’s lips spread into a familiar sarcastic grin.
«I thought that this is not the first time for you to shift difficult matters to others.»
«What pathetic excuses, lekia. («older brother») Get ready.»
With these words, Aegon turned and limped away. Daemon looked expressively at the castellan, and he obediently buried himself in his plate, pretending that he had not heard anything. Sometimes it seemed to the prince that his younger brother's tongue was too long and sharp. Sighing, Daemon drank the remaining wine in the cup and followed him out.
***
Of course, Daemon wasn't afraid. As soon as he left the refectory, doubts gave way to the excitement of the hunt, which made his blood boil, and when the dragonkeepers led the saddled Caraxes to the exit of his cave, the prince almost danced with impatience. After all, as the bet increases, not only does the risk increase, but so does the reward. As soon as he climbed into the saddle, there was a deep roar, wings flapped, the Red Wyrm squealed in response, and Vermithor landed heavily a few yards away.
«Are you still not dressed?» Daemon shouted in surprise to his brother, whose entire battle preparation was in the boots he had put on, and the tails of his open Pentoshi robe fluttered behind him like a cloak.
«Did you take the Dark Sister with you?» Aegon’s surprise was no less. «You'll only tickle him with this shiv!»
Daemon didn’t find what to answer, so he chose to brush it off, but he didn’t take the sword off his belt: firstly, it would look like a stupid concession, and secondly, it could really come in handy. Caraxes, under his saddle, glanced sideways at his elder relative. Their dragons generally got along well and lived quite peacefully, except for the time when the Red Wyrm tried to keep Silverwing company while she still had no rider. The bronze jealous one immediately flew out of his hole, almost biting off the impudent dragon’s long tail, but he himself barely dodged the fiery jet. After this, both dragons recognized the incident as settled and their rights properly protected, although Vermithor then flew over the Mont with his wife all evening in retaliation. Now Caraxes felt the threat emanating from the Bronze Fury and inflated his chest to appear more impressive.
The brothers, still sitting in their saddles, briefly discussed the plan, which turned out to be indecently simple, and raised their dragons into the air. The rocks on which the Cannibal settled were small, and therefore his nest was a bed covered with stones from the wind, filled with the remains of the previous meals of its inhabitant. The monster was cautious and therefore attacked only those who could not offer him any resistance, and preferred not to react to saddled dragons, and therefore, in order to stir it up, Daemon and Caraxes attacked it first.
Cannibal was basking in the rays of the midday sun when the Red Wyrm, which had circled his island in a wide arc, crossed over the stone ridge that protected him and breathed a stream of flame into him. Not yet fully awakened, the black dragon roared, opening its disgustingly large mouth, full of sharp fang-daggers, and for a brief moment, while they flew over it, Daemon saw a nascent fireball in the very depths of the darkening mouth of its throat. The hands reacted on their own - the handles of the saddle sharply pulled the chain-reins, and Caraxes, growling offendedly, went to the right, missing the stream of flame by just a couple of seconds.
The miss only finally stirred up the Cannibal, and he, again uttering a roar full of rage, finally spread his wings, covering almost half of the entire small island with shadow, and rose into the air.
«Naejot, nuttys,» («Come on, big boy ») Daemon shouted to him. «Arrīs skoros kostā!» («Show what you can do!»)
The big boy clicked his jaws and rushed after them. Caraxes' age and body structure played in his favor. Even Aegon could not say how old the Cannibal himself was, but the Red Wyrm had only recently exchanged his first half-century, and therefore remained faster, more agile, fiercer and more evil than many other dragons, rivaling only his sister Meleys. His snake body was so long that to support him in the air he needed additional wing spurs on his paws, and this also allowed him to maneuver faster than others. And now, having deftly dodged, Caraxes rushed down past the rising monster, simultaneously exhaling a new stream of flame into him in order to spread his wings at the very water and soar upward again.
The fire, of course, could not harm the thick skin of an adult dragon, but the now seriously angry Cannibal again let out a roar, from which it seemed that the waves themselves turned back. Hovering a hundred feet above the sea, he flapping his wings heavily and stupidly tossing his head with his chin protruding forward, trying to keep track of the nimble red lightning that darted around it. Finally, he could not stand it and began to pour out fire randomly, apparently counting on winning not with accuracy, but with grouping. Dark red flames, similar to the lakes of lava that boiled in the mouth of Dragonmont, bloomed around him in bright colors, spreading out in waves; the heat from him could be felt even at a considerable distance, and Daemon took Caraxes away just in case.
But then the fiery clouds dissipated, revealing the enemy turned sideways. The Red Wyrm himself saw the cherished target and, emitting a battle roar, hastened to attack one of the few vulnerable spots on the enemy’s body. In four flaps of his wings, he approached Cannibal and grabbed the base of the wing with his teeth. The dragon's fangs scraped against the dragon's scales, and then Caraxes began to scrape it with his claws. The black beast roared and tried to shake off the annoying worm, but at the same time it was not very good at staying in the air and chattering its teeth right next to the wing.
«Damn!» Daemon swore, and he himself did not hear his voice over the roar made by the dragons.
Aegon was right, the Dark Sister could not help him now, the sheath only clapped senselessly on his thigh. The prince himself dangled in the saddle, clutching the handles, held solely by the chains, unable to even reach the side of the monster, although he felt the heat of his body. Finally, Caraxes felt that the enemy was beginning to overpower him, and chose to unhook, immediately moving to the side. During the maneuver, Daemon managed to notice the deep grooves on the mossy-green horny plates covering Cannibal's body, which were left by the claws of his dragon, and how, right at the armpit, the fangs of the Red Wyrm tore out a noticeable piece of skin, exposing more vulnerable layers.
Marking this spot to himself so he could hit it again, Daemon pulled the handles towards himself, tightening the reins and lifting the dragon higher. Following him, roaring deafeningly with anger and pain, Cannibal followed. With each flap of their wings they rose higher, gradually deviating further and further to the south, towards the Stone. Having dodged another fiery jet that missed by a couple of dozen yards, the prince and the dragon left behind boiling white breakers - here the waves crashed against the rocky coast of the island and coastal reefs. Seventh Hell, where is Aegon? It's time...
Suddenly, the furious cry of another dragon was heard - Bronze Fury, falling out from behind the clouds, dashingly dived onto the back of the bloodthirsty beast. Daemon - and Caraxes with him - turned around and for the first time truly realized the real size of the fighters. Vermitor was seventy-five years old, a third larger than Caraxes and half the size of Cannibal. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the warrior weighed all the data and came to the disappointing conclusion that they could easily be devoured, but he immediately sent uninvited thoughts into the Hell: thinking in battle is dangerous, even if you are not fighting yourself.
Meanwhile, Vermithor was biting into the base of Cannibal's neck and tearing his claws at his back, and Aegon's robe flapped under the gusts of wind coming from under the dragon's wings. He didn’t want to praise Cannibal, but he dealt with the misfortune that fell from above quite quickly; folding his wings, he somersaulted over his shoulder, and Bronze Fury could not resist and fell, finally scratching his skin.
Vermithor and Caraxes began to circle around the monster, pouring fire on him: the first tried to blind the enemy, the second aimed at the already damaged shoulder. Cannibal also did not give up, using his own flames as protection and constantly snapping, but at some point it began to seem to Daemon that the beast began to get tired. The flapping of its wings became more and more difficult, the intervals between streams of fire became longer and longer, and the dragon itself somehow hunched over, lowered its head, as if its neck was tired of holding its ugly head with its ram’s horns bent down.
«That’s it, your candle has burned out,» the prince muttered contentedly, leading Caraxes on a new approach.
However, his joy was premature. By coincidence, Vermithor at that moment also decided to make a maneuver. Either he hesitated, or overestimated the enemy’s fatigue, or simply foolishly exposed himself, but, turning around, the dragon revealed his rider to the enemy for a few moments. Cannibal did not hesitate - his sagging neck straightened like a string, and a new sheaf of flame burst out of his mouth. Daemon barely had time to notice what had happened before a cloud of fire covered the back of the Bronze Fury, enveloping Aegon, who did not have time to react.
There was no time left for thoughts and feelings. Dragon rage burned through Daemon's veins, his heart blazed like the mouth of the Dragonmont, next to which they fought, and human anger gave Caraxes new breath and strength. A jerk - and the Red Wyrm’s mouth closed on Cannibal’s tense neck at the very base of the saggy goiter. The beast gave a strangled roar, but Caraxes only played with his jaws, sinking his fangs deeper and deeper into his flesh. Suddenly an idea struck Daemon and without hesitation he gave the command:
«Drakarys!»
Caraxes understood him correctly. Daemon felt for himself that the dragon's chest was increasing in volume, and the next moment he, without ceasing to torment Cannibal's neck, exhaled a stream of fire point blank. The beast roared in pain, which even to him must have seemed like the Seventh Hell, rolled up his paws, beat his wings, trying to throw the enemy away, but the armor now played against him, hindering his movements and not allowing him to dodge. His roar quickly turned into an annoying squeal when something crunched and Caraxes' jaws sank even deeper.
Even his dragon's long neck didn't stop Daemon from feeling the hellish heat gathering around them; the air had already begun to tremble from it, the prince felt it even through his doublet and gloves. He sharply pulled the handles of the saddle towards himself, the chain-reins clanked, signaling Caraxes to leave the victim, but he only clenched his jaws tighter, between which tongues of flame were still bursting out.
«Inkot! Sōvēs!» («Back! Fly!») Daemon barked and pulled the handles again.
Caraxes growled from effort and anger, including, as the prince understood, at the fool rider, finally closed his jaws, after which he shook his head, simultaneously pushing his paws away from the enemy’s body. There was a grinding sound of diverging scaly plates, a chomping sound of flesh, and they broke away from Cannibal, rushing down.
A couple of moments of free flight, and the Red Wyrm, having spread all four wings, leveled off the flight, and Daemon had the opportunity to evaluate the result of the attack. Even a quick glance was enough to recognize it as successful: a significant piece of flesh was missing from Cannibal’s neck, black blood mixed with smoke and flames poured out of the wound. The internal heat of the dragon's body turned out to be a worthy rival to the dragon's flame and did not allow the meat to char, but the melted wound looked even worse. Cannibal wheezed, squealed, tried to either inhale, or exhale, or pour his own fire on the enemy, but the air and fire escaped from the hole in the neck, and not from the mouth, and the dragon could not control this. His strength was leaving him before his eyes, and he began to lose altitude, flapping his wings senselessly.
Out of nowhere, a furiously roaring Vermithor flashed past as a blur of orange-brown. Bronze Fury took the already battered enemy into a battering ram, slamming his chest into the damaged shoulder that Caraxes had so enthusiastically worked on at the beginning of the battle. Daemon did not hear the crunch or grinding of broken bones, but when Vermithor broke away and went to the side, Cannibal’s wing hung powerless, and the dragon began to fall.
During the battle, they crossed the strait separating the monster’s nesting place from the Stone, and now hovered in the air somewhere above the northern slopes of Dragonmont. Cannibal fell rapidly, although he tried to slow down, stupidly flapping his surviving wing, but it was all in vain; the dragon flew down with a hoarse squeal, not at all similar to the menacing and furious roar with which he rose from his nest, and Deamon could not take his eyes off. It was completely inappropriate that Teltharis’s words about the need to strengthen the mines came to mind; they should have been approximately below them.
But then the huge carcass crashed to the ground, and the prince felt rather than actually heard the roar that accompanied it. Only now did he realize that gods knew how long he had hardly breathed, and he exhaled raggedly. The rider looked around, looking for Vermithor in the sky; it hovered several dozen yards below to the left, its mouth slightly open. To Daemon's incredible relief, the saddle on his back was in place, and Aegon's white silhouette was in it. Feeling that they were looking at him, his brother stirred, raised his head and waved his hand, saying that everything was fine, he was alive.
Daemon couldn't help but grin. During the battle, Aegon managed to lose his robe.
***
Prince Aegon Targaryen
There was no doubt that Cannibal was dead. No matter how powerful the dragon was, even he could not survive falling from a height onto the stones: his weight played against him, and his ribs and spine broke in the collision with Dragonmont, his neck, with a piece of flesh missing from it, bent several times at unnaturally sharp angles. Aegon, bareheaded, wearing only breeches, stood over the remains of the bloodthirsty creature that had terrorized the young dragons for many decades, and could hardly believe his eyes. Did they really kill the dragon?
The prince had spent the entire night the night before in the chapel, kneeling or sitting on a bench, begging the gods to give him an answer to the question: could he intentionally kill a dragon? Wouldn't this make him Maegor, the one who destroyed Quicksilver? Wouldn't this be a departure from his vows, wouldn't this be a violation of his oaths? He promised to preserve the dragons, and not destroy them...
He offered prayers to Vhagar, the Lady of Righteous Retribution, so that she would turn her righteous wrath on the criminal dragon and punish him for killing his relatives. He asked Meraxes, the Lady of Mercy, to turn her gaze to her offspring and protect them from the monster. He prayed to Balerion, the Patron of Combat and the Lord of Death, to send death to the Cannibal. He turned to each of the gods and to all of them at once so that they would answer his questions.
Aegon expected something similar to the revelation in Mantarys, he thought that he would again see fiery nothingness, but this did not happen. However, the gods did not leave his prayers unanswered. In the morning, Aegon left the chapel with the firm conviction that he must take the warpath, since it is necessary to punish the kinslayer, be he a dragon or a man. In truth, he was glad that Dennis showed self-will and asked Daemon to fly in - his help in the battle with the creature hungry for the blood of his kin really turned out to be priceless. However, the prince considered it best to remain silent about the other slayer: his brother was quick to anger, and King’s Landing was not Pentos at all, so that the corpses of slayers could be scattered.
However, it was the elder brother who did all the work, especially when the vile bastard bathed him and Vermithor in his flames. This was the closest thing to that very revelation in Mantarys, and when, to their own surprise, they flew out of the fiery cloud unharmed (apart from the lost robe), it took Aegon some time to come to his senses. Even when he was already standing next to Cannibal’s body, dark red flashes were still dancing before his eyes, and his ears were buzzing from the monster’s roar and the roar of flames.
There was a high, jubilant squeal of Caraxes, who sat down next to him, then the crunch of a stone crumble.
«You idiot!» Daemon bumped into him. «What a hell!.. Why the hell did you go there?!»
«A?»
«I thought he roasted you!»
«As you can see, it didn’t work out very well for him. Although it's a pity for the robe.»
His brother wanted to give him an angry rebuke again, but instead he just sighed shakily and swore and hugged Aegon. He, pressed against the leather doublet, smiled awkwardly and patted his brother on the back.
«I'm fine, lekia. Release me already.»
Daemon, as if reluctantly, released his embrace, but did not let go of Aegon, continuing to support him by the shoulder.
«What, is he really dead?»
«Through your efforts. Caraxes gave him a good beating.»
«Yes, he’s got a death grip on him,» the brother chuckled, clearly pleased with the recognition of his and his dragon’s merits. «So what, will it now be here and decay?»
«Of course not,» the prince shrugged. «I want to fulfill one childhood dream.»
«Open the dragon?»
«Yeah. Now Viserys will not be able to be offended. When it starts to rot, we will burn it, so we need to hurry.»
Having said this, Aegon finally freed himself from Daemon’s grip and walked towards Vermithor, feeling a strange lightness throughout his body. For the first few steps, he chalked it up to euphoria and a feeling of satisfaction from victory, but the shadow of doubt quickly grew, and the prince realized that something was wrong. Only after stopping for a moment did he realize that the pain in his leg, his eternal companion for the past seventeen years, receding after Mantarys, but completely undefeated, had disappeared, died, like Cannibal died.
It took Aegon a few moments to realize this. Turning around, he looked up at Daemon, who, apparently, was also beginning to understand something, and laughed with relief and happiness.
***
The whole island celebrated the victory over Cannibal. In Dragon Harbor, bonfires were lit on the main city square of the Five Dragons, and on Street of Sea all the way to the port, townspeople set tables and feasted, regardless of rank and wealth. Aegon never tired of marveling at how their victory over an enemy whom the common people had hardly noticed until that day became perhaps the main event of the year. Folk ballads and songs had already been written about the battle over Dragonstone, although the prince did not like any of them.
«Then write your own, you know how,» Daemon shrugged, basking in the rays of people’s love. It was him, as the Prince of Dragonstone, that people's rumor made him the main hero and winner. Aegon's inner ambition displeasedly scratched his heart with a sharp claw, but the prince quickly managed to cope with it - it was vile to take away his brother's moment of glory, and the gods had already given him the best gift.
The festivities had not yet died down when Aegon drove the dragonkeepers, led by Baelor, to the carcass of Cannibal, and with their help began to implement the long-planned plan. Using hooks and chains, the corpse was straightened as far as the rocks and steepness of the slope allowed, it was measured, Maester Gerardys made several sketches with a lead, and then the autopsy began. Despite the fact that several days had already passed since the death of the dragon, the body was still warm, and the black blood that had not yet flowed out was liquid, emitting a barely noticeable steam; Aegon associated this phenomenon with the residual manifestations of the internal heat of the dragon's gut.
The anatomical work, complicated by the size of the creature being dissected and the thickness of its skin, took more than one week. During this time, Baelor and his men separated Cannibal's head from his body; they picked off several horny plates and scales from the belly, sides and back; they released gastric juices, the causticity of which melted the stones, and climbed into the belly, taking out several bones of the dragon’s last victims; with great difficulty they removed his huge heart, hardly similar to the hearts of other animals. They even climbed into the cesspool and made sure that the deceased lizard was a male. Aegon and Gerardys wrote through several stacks of paper these days, making notes and sketches of each process, not leaving a single detail unattended.
However, like everything in the world, this experiment came to an end. By the end of the first week, a cadaverous smell appeared, which by the beginning of the third had become completely unbearable. Reluctantly, Aegon ordered the dragonkeepers to return with the samples obtained and the entries obtained, and at sunset he mounted Vermithor and burned Cannibal with dragon fire.
The remains burned for a long time, smoking mercilessly, but the north wind carried the acrid smoke up the slope of the Dragonmont, where it mixed with the fumes from the vent. Watching the funeral pyre from the side, Aegon peered into the flames and therefore flinched in surprise when Dennis, who was standing over his shoulder, decided to clear his throat. As always in the case of a knight, this coughing was not without reason. The prince knew that his sworn shield was not too pleased with his escapade during the battle, nor with the fact that he himself had to sit out with everyone on the ground, but in recent days they carefully avoided the topic: Aegon was too busy dismembering and studying the dragon, and Dennis himself only frowned and stored up resentment.
«I assume you expect an apology from me?» the prince sighed.
«No, my prince, I’m not expect,» answered the knight. «I just wanted to say that rushing into that attack was extremely arrogant. This beast could roast your ass.»
«He tried to do this, but the gods, apparently, have other plans for me.»
Dennis clicked his tongue in displeasure.
«Nobody likes an arrogant person, my prince. Especially the gods. Especially the Lord of Death.»
«And what do you want to tell me?» Aegon flared up. «I should have sent my brother to certain death, and left myself on earth?!»
«No, my prince. I just ask you not to rely too much on luck and to be careful. The gods love to joke, and you know this very well.»
The prince, frowning, remained silent, but it was stupid to deny the obvious truth. Just because he was caught in dragon fire might not mean he would forever be the gods' favorite. In truth, when Aegon was surrounded on all sides by a red cloud of fire, he was greatly frightened, but fear quickly faded into the background, giving way to admiration; from the inside, dragon fire turned out to be simply incredibly beautiful, multifaceted and multi-layered - the way individual tongues overlapped each other, overlapped one another, forming patterns and pictures, was mesmerizing. Until Aegon realized what these paintings were showing.
«Dennis?» although they were completely alone, except for the dozing Vermithor and the burning remains of Cannibal, the prince beckoned the sworn shield closer.
«Yes, my prince?»
«Can you kill a man?»
«What kind of question is that, my prince? You saw me in action - in Lorath, and in...»
«That’s not what I’m talking about,» Aegon interrupted the knight. «Anyone can kill in battle, unless he’s a complete idiot. I'm talking about...another murder.»
«My prince, I will carry out any order you give,» Dennis answered without delay or hesitation.
«Good. Of course, I should have guessed this myself. Now it seems obvious. Luckily for us, the gods were so kind as to hint to me that there are no coincidences, and that it is better to look for enemies in dirty mirrors. Calla did not stumble. She was killed by order of the Pentoshi survivors.»
«Are you sure?»
«It’s a logical move on their part,» Aegon shrugged. «Given that at the same time the magisters were trying to kill the rest of the Karlaris, they should have tried to break the connection between them and our house. Their plan, of course, was unsuccessful, but they killed Calla.»
«Didn’t Prince Daemon already burn all those dissatisfied with the rule of King Kallio?»
«He did. But do you really think that the magisters themselves would go overseas to carry out the sentence?»
«And who got their hands dirty for them?»
«Ser Larys Strong.»
Dennis stared at the overlord in shock.
«Son of Lord Lyonel? The son of a Master of laws, who is supposedly considered your ally?»
«Yes, but Lyonel has nothing to do with it. Calla's death gives him nothing - he is loyal to the Iron Throne, and he voted for Daemon to remain the heir.»
«Do you think Ser Larys did it alone? But why?»
«Only the gods know what games he plays,» Aegon said angrily, not hiding his irritation. «They didn’t want to reveal this to me. Maybe the Pentoshi simply bribed him? Or was he blackmailed? After all, confessors cannot have cleaner underwear than others.»
«Clubfoot didn’t have any clean underwear from the cradle,» the knight smiled sadly. «Do you think it's a woman?»
«Maybe a woman, or maybe a man, what's the difference? Perhaps he released someone who should not have been released or, on the contrary, convicted an innocent. There is only one result - he killed my good sister.»
«And he must die,» Dennis said half-affirmatively. «How to do it?»
«I don't want scandals. Lord Lyonel is a useful man, far from a fool, and besides, he has a strong conscience, and this, admittedly, is rare. If his son is accused of high treason, he will immediately resign so as not to denigrate the Small Council, or even sit in a cell together with his son. No, this cannot be allowed to happen. So let everything be quiet and unnoticed.»
«An accident?»
«Something like that.»
«And when?»
«In a couple of days we will return to King’s Landing, and from there I will fly to Smoky Valley. You can catch up with me after.»
«It will be done, my prince.»
A sheaf of sparks burst out from the burning remains of Cannibal, coloring the night sky, and Aegon kept peering into the flames, hoping to see something else in it, and twirled the cane in his hands. Although the pain in his crippled leg never returned, abandoning his faithful companion for almost his entire life was beyond his strength. The prince tried to walk without her, at least around his chambers, but to his own shame he did not know where to put his hands. In addition, his right leg was still a couple of inches short, and Aegon was afraid that he might lose his balance at the wrong moment and fall. As life has shown, in order to die at the royal court, mere little was enough.
***
The Red Keep, already notified of the death of Cannibal, greeted the king's younger brothers as triumphants. The courtiers extolled their bravery, dexterity, bravery, ingenuity, resourcefulness in every possible way - in a word, they did not skimp on praise. Daemon was the most celebrated and it seemed that never before had the Prince of Dragonstone had so many supporters. Viserys held a feast in their honor and, seating the brothers on either side, was the first to raise the cup for them. After another toast and ovation addressed to Daemon, the king leaned towards Aegon and said in a noticeably tipsy voice:
«Do you know what's funniest about this? All of them,» he gestured around the crowd with his cup. «They don’t understand a damn thing about what happened.»
«They are Andals, my brother,» said the prince conciliatoryly.
The Andals, the First Men and a few Valyrians drank and sang, and Aegon kept stealthily looking for the lopsided figure of Larys Strong in the crowd of courtiers. Dennis managed to find out that he had grown in rank and became Lord Confessor and therefore he was obliged to attend the feast not only by his relationship with the Master of laws, but also by his own position. What was the reason for such a fast career - Pentoshi gold, his father's connections or his personal merits - remained an open question for the prince.
«Probably a little bit of everything,» Aegon decided to himself, sipping his wine. Downstairs they were already dancing, so there was nothing for lame people to do there, but Daemon and his friends in the City Watch were having fun. Looking at how Harwin Strong laughed boisterously, clutching his cousin Jaegor's shoulder so as not to lose his balance, the prince could not help but notice the deep irony: Clubfoot, for all his physical disabilities, became a lord earlier than his brother Breakbones, the spitting image of the hero of chivalric novels.
Finally, the Lord Confessor was found among the courtiers; Larys sat at the next table, one level below where the royal family and members of the Small Council sat; Aegon clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself for not being able to notice his victim. The youngest of the Strong apparently sensed someone else's attention and raised his head, meeting the prince's gaze. Aegon forced himself to smile as sincerely as he could and saluted Lord Larys with his goblet; he responded in kind.
Soon after this, the prince quietly left the celebration and went up to his chambers. It was difficult to be in the same room with someone who had already been sentenced to death, and the wine could loosen his tongue too much - Larys might suspect something. But the night did not bring peace to Aegon: he did not want to read, much less systematize the notes about Cannibal. Having tossed and turned in bed until midnight, the prince moved from the bed to an armchair and picked up his old lute, which was given to him by the minstrel Rolland of Felwood, who taught him music when he could barely walk after an unfortunate fall.
Stupidly plucking the strings, he sat at the window until the morning, without producing a song, a ballad, or a psalm. As soon as the sun rose, he called Dennis to him.
«I need to fly to Smoky Valley. Are you prepared?»
«Of course, my prince.»
There was no one to eavesdrop on them on Dragonmont, but in the Red Keep Aegon decided to be careful. It was heartbreaking to realize that he could not trust the walls of the castle in which he was born. Fortunately, his sworn shield understood everything perfectly and left, supposedly preparing to fly away.
When Aegon was already leaving his chambers, Rhaenyra came upon him like a whirlwind, demanding to know all the details of the victory over the bloodthirsty monster.
«We’ve already told everything, riña,» the prince with difficulty unhooked his niece from himself.
«You and Uncle Daemon told everything to father and the courtiers! And I want you to tell me! This probably wasn’t all... Kostilus, kepa!» («Please, uncle!»)
«I was not the sword in this battle, riña, but Daemon. Ask him.»
«He’s with Alyssa now,» Rhaenyra muttered in disappointment.
«Don’t sulk, you’re not the only girl in his life now,» Aegon chuckled good-naturedly. «But if you ask, I don’t think he will refuse you. Come on, try it.»
Only after handing over his brother was Aegon able to escape from the now uncomfortable capital in order to land Vermithor in the Smoky Valley at a new nesting site by evening. During his absence here, the area was transformed: an architect, a dozen masons and almost a hundred artisans and laborers were added to the twenty dragonkeepers. Waxleys, regularly fulfilling their obligations, drove in a large flock of sheep, helped with people and materials, and now on the shore of a seething lake stood a square three-story tower, which did not in any way betray the Valyrian style that Aegon had demanded. Sensing that the august guest was dissatisfied, the architect Eggerio Haratis, a skinny, dark-haired Pentoshi hired by Viserys to implement his many projects, apologized profusely:
«Forgive me, my prince, I humbly apologize, but it was necessary to build a tower. We couldn't allow Your Highness to spend the night in a cave on a stone floor or in an open field, so we had to build this monstrosity. It is a disgrace to my reputation, but I could not allow you to live in inappropriate conditions. I assure you, this is a temporary structure, as soon as at least one tower of the castle is ready, we will dismantle it, we will dismantle it in one night, my prince, you will see, but for now, please, do not disdain...»
Listening to the fawning was disgusting. Haratis probably erected the tower solely for his own convenience, in order to live and work in relatively decent conditions. Aegon managed to recognize this type of people - he saw such people in King's Landing, and in Pentos, and in Volantis. being of vile origin themselves, they used every opportunity to climb to the top and to do this they went ahead over other people’s heads, and having acquired the very minimum of power, they mercilessly asserted themselves at the expense of their subordinates.
«Should I consider this as your gift to the royal house?» Aegon inquired coldly. He didn’t want to pay for some kind of ugliness, and even a temporary one.
«Of course, my prince, of course!» Haratis nodded. «A gift to Your Highness and His Grace, from the bottom of my heart, as a sign of my deepest loyalty to the powerful House Targaryen!»
Highness nodded and hurried to hide from the cold mountain wind inside the gift. It was worth admitting that, despite the not very attractive appearance, the rooms in the tower were dry, clean and warm, and, reluctantly, Aegon admitted that the tower could be left, but he would have to pay Haratis.
In the morning, he entered the cave and found the main treasure of the entire Smoky Valley. The clutch of eggs he covered was in perfect order: the sand and stone chips poured on top were hot, and the eggs, as soon as he picked them up, emanated their own heat. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Aegon praised Meraxes and put the eggs back in place. Since the cave can support life in them, it means that the dragon сubs will hatch out of them in due time.
The following days were busy with construction work. The Master of dragons meticulously rechecked and recalculated Haratis's accounts, together with the architect and masons, he walked up and down the vicinity of the cave and the entrance to the valley itself, inspecting the site of the future construction, making adjustments to the projects, restraining the flight of Pentoshi thoughts, accustomed to excessive luxury. He even had to fly to Wickenden for several days to discuss with Lord Waxley the specifics of their future neighborhood. All this time, Aegon carefully pushed away thoughts of Larys Strong and Dennis; in the end, the distance that Vermithor covered in a daylight hours was covered by a lone traveler in a couple of weeks, so the delay was inevitable.
The sworn shield caught up with its suzerain on the last day of the eighth month of 109 on a mule. The alerted sentinels immediately escorted him to the tower, which everyone now without any hesitation called the Ugly. Restrainedly greeting the knight in public, Aegon kicked everyone else out.
«Well?»
«He’s dead,» Dennis immediately got to the main point.
«So,» Aegon frantically rubbed his face with his hands; there was no smell of blood on them, and the color did not change. It was hard to simply believe that his order was carried out. «Tell me everything.»
«As you ordered, my prince, everything happened quickly, and there was no noise. An accident,» Dennis shrugged, seemingly having gotten used to the role of executioner.
«Speak! Why do I have to pull everything out of you?!»
«Our Lord Confessor stumbled. On the stairs,» the sworn shield grinned. «He got tangled up in his crooked, club-footed legs, and his cane... In general, he fell from the very top and broke his neck.»
«On which stairs?»
«The same one that Princess Calla fell from.»
«Did you set it up, scoundrel?»
«It just so happened, my prince!» Dennis was offended, but Aegon understood that, yes, he had set it up. He did not condemn him for such a symbolic and, admittedly, beautiful gesture.
«Tell me more.»
«There was a lot of fuss, but, frankly speaking, no one shed any tears for him, except perhaps his lord father and Ser Harwin. It was he who took him to Harrenhal, to his ancestors in the crypt. I waited a week and then galloped to you.»
«And how, nothing?»
«Who needs him, this Lord Larys?» the sworn shield waved him off. «There are different rumors, some I even started myself. They say that the Lord Confessor was sentenced by his freedmen so that he would not pull their strings. They seem to believe.»
«Let’s hope it stays that way,» Aegon concluded, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in the rough chair. «What else is new?»
«Prince Daemon deigned to fly with Princess Alyssa to Dragonstone.»
«Is that so? Has he really decided to do something?»
«The gods know, my prince. But as soon as he flew away, rumors began to circulate...»
«What kind?»
«That the king can marry again.»
Aegon laughed briefly. Viserys would look ridiculous in a new marriage; he loved his Aemma too much, and even more his memory of her, to marry again. As far as the prince knew, his crowned brother satisfied his male needs through serve maids, but was, perhaps, too kind-hearted and cautious to have a permanent favorite for the same purposes. Besides, he promised the Iron Throne to Daemon.
«And who is tipped to be the new queen?» Aegon clarified mockingly, feeling the excitement and anxiety gradually leaving him.
«Princess Rhaenys, the Grand Maester and Lord Massey want to see Lady Laena as queen.»
«Well, that’s reasonable,» Aegon chuckled. «Corlys will satisfy his exorbitant ambitions. By the way, where is he? I didn't see him at the last feast.»
«At sea, my prince. They say that in the Stepstones are once again uneasy and the Velaryons have taken their entire fleet to the sea and their dragons to the sky.»
«Let him not even dare to kill even one dragon,» the prince muttered. «f*cking seahorse.»
Day after day went by again, dragging him into a routine. During the day, Aegon loomed like a dragon over the rabbit soul of Eggerio Haratis, supervising his work, and in the evenings he spent time organizing and rewriting his notes on Cannibal. The drawings of the future fortress, named the Smoky Tower with the blessing of Viserys, turned out beautiful; the castle was to be built in the image and likeness of the Valyrian outposts, the ruins of which Aegon saw in Essos. The round five-story donjon was supposed to be surrounded by five adjoining half-turrets, each of which would rise above it and be crowned with a statue of a dragon. The donjon was to be surrounded by a fortress wall with four towers; Having recalculated the estimate of upcoming expenses, of course, very approximate, the prince sighed and ordered the architect to improve Ugly and make it one of these four.
Sometimes the thought occurred to Aegon that he could ignore the construction and fly to the Eyrie, take a break from work and visit Lady Jayne, if only out of politeness. However, every time, her somewhat disappointed face appeared before his eyes, which he saw the morning after their intimacy, and the desire to spend the night in a warm bed, and even with a woman at his side, gave way to the prince’s wounded ambition.
Through Uncle Vaegon, he managed to negotiate for the Citadel to appoint a maester to the future castle. Aegon, of course, would like it to be one of his old scholars friends, but Marlon became interested in studying medicine and, as his uncle wrote, had some chance of getting a silver mask when it was removed from Archmaester Cadvil, and Adrian still served Lord Casper Wylde of Rain House. However, reassuring his nephew, the Archmaester of the Account wrote that he tried to choose «not a complete mediocrity» for the Smoky Tower - Maester Donnel, one of the younger sons of the late Lord Frey and «the smartest of them», was sent to the Smoky Tower. Before his arrival, the responsibilities of the maester were divided between Aegon and Dennis: keeping track of six ravens (three of them flew to the Red Keep, the rest to Dragonstone, the Eyrie and Wickenden) was not difficult, and they dealt with the injuries inevitable during construction quite successfully, because each of them had three silver links.
When, on the evening of the third day of the tenth month of 109, the next raven arrived from King's Landing, Aegon, as usual, sat behind papers, examining the drawing of a multi-chambered dragon heart, which they had extracted from Cannibal. Dennis entered without knocking and handed the suzerain a letter.
«The bird is very tired, my prince,» the knight remarked.
«It’s no wonder,» Aegon chuckled. «Night, mountains, wind...»
«It seemed to me like he was in a hurry to get to us. And the seal...»
On the paper was a large plaque of red sealing wax, and on it was a three-headed dragon. Unlike the great royal seal, which was used for official messages and signing laws, there were no monograms or signatures. With this «simple» seal, Viserys sealed only personal messages. Somewhere behind his chest, a tugging knot of bad feeling began to form, but Aegon stubbornly broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
«Valonqar»(«Younger brother»), Viserys rarely resorted to high language in everyday speech, and this once again made the prince wary.
«Father always told me that he has three of us, that we are the three heads of the dragon from our coat of arms, that we must act together. Gods see, I tried to follow his behest always and in everything, but life does not always work out the way we want it, and our actions sometimes contradict our desires. Any quarrel we have weighs heavily on my conscience, and the more I appreciate your efforts to maintain peace in our family and restore good relations.
As you probably know, I loved Aemma more than life itself, and with her departure (I don’t want to call it death) it began to seem to me that the sun itself had darkened for me, all the colors of the world had faded and nothing would be the same. I am sure that in the history of all kingdoms and all peoples there has never been a more inconsolable widower. I mourned my dear Aemma days and nights, mourning the time we spent together, and even more, the time we would never have. She won’t see our daughter’s wedding, she won’t hold our grandchildren in her arms, she and I will no longer dance together, we won’t go to Dragonstone... Each such thought was for me a Valyrian blade, over and over again cutting my heart into the smallest pieces, and I thought that these wounds would never heal.
But I was wrong. Do you remember what the great Aeregor wrote? «Elēdrar zgiēñas» («Time heals.»). Aemma left and I learned to live without her. To my own surprise. I have not forgotten about her, no, and I will remember her and our children even on my deathbed. But I again learned to see the colors of life, sunlight, smile, laugh, appreciate other people's company. Appreciate women. It seems to me, valonqar, that I have learned to love again. I’m not talking about carnal attraction (I won’t make a secret of it, in this sense everything is fine), but specifically about the feeling, the desire to see another person next to you, when you are glad that someone simply exists, without any other conditions.
You'll probably think that I'm writing some senseless lovestruck nonsense, and you'll be right. Yes, I am in love. It's not like in Aemma, it's... different. I'm not sure I can explain it in words. It's just different. I don't know when I realized this. She has been at court for a long time, but I paid attention to her only recently and was amazed by her beauty, her intelligence, her grace, her nobility, her modesty... How could it be possible not to notice this?
Forgive me, I haven't mentioned her name yet. I'm talking about Lady Alicent Hightower. I thought that she would make the perfect queen, and I intend to propose to her. This matter is settled. I decided this already a couple of months ago, but I was waiting until the mourning for poor Calla was over.
I know that you and Daemon are quite skeptical about her lord father, and I admit that your disagreements sadden me, but it is not him that I am going to marry, but his daughter. Valonqar, I want to be surrounded by people who love me: I have no doubt about your brotherly love, I dare to hope that Lady Alicent is also not indifferent to me, so I ask you to leave your prejudices aside and support me. Rhaenyra will be able to understand me, after all, she is very friendly with Lady Alicent, they have known each other since childhood. I think this will help her cope with the changes easier, and we can live together as one family.
At the same time, I understand that Daemon’s nature is such that he may regard my actions as a personal insult, as an infringement of his legitimate rights and interests. I assure you that I do not want this and have no other goal than to be happy. This is impossible without peace and harmony in the family.
In this regard, I am forced to ask you for help again, not as your king and sovereign, but as your brother. I'm not sure that I can explain the whole situation to Daemon in the right terms, and I'm even less sure that he will understand me correctly and listen to me. One day you managed to find the right words and explain to him the true state of affairs, maintain the unity of our house, and prevent one dragon’s head from being separated from the others. Valonqar, I ask you to once again take on the role of сonciliator and mediator, for in all the Seven Kingdoms you are the only one who can convince him. Tell him everything, explain that nothing will change for him, that he still remains my brother and my heir, as established by tradition.
I have no one else to rely on.
I won't take any action until you respond.
Your brother who loves and hopes for you,
Viserys.
Red Keep,
3rd day of the tenth month of the year 109 from the Conquest.»
Having finished reading, Aegon sighed heavily and tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. Truly, having solved a problem, you should not rejoice ahead of time, because the gods will not be slow to throw in another one, which may be no less.
«Tell me, Dennis, why am I the only one with brains in this family?»
«To tell the truth, my prince,» the knight said insinuatingly. «If we remember some of your actions, I’m ready to doubt that you have them too.»
