The sun was sinking, bleeding its last light. The weather was very cold. On a small rise with rocks and sparse, dried trees, Aegon was cutting the branches of a dead trunk with his sword. When he had gathered enough, he carried the bundle to a clear patch of ground. A few meters away, Dreamfyre lay watching him.
Aegon placed the twigs and branches into a mound and, with a wave of his hand, ignited a small bonfire. The heat from the fire warmed the surrounding area a little. The cold wind was still blowing, but Dreamfyre's great body blocked most of it. Aegon sat beside the bonfire, warming his hands and feeling its warmth. He gazed at his surroundings; for miles, all the way to the horizon, there were blotches of snow and rocks, along with some occasional green shrubs.
"Right…" he murmured. Aegon got up and fetched two bags from the saddle. Dreamfyre grunted a little as she felt her rider climbing up and then down.
He unfolded a map from one of the bags as he sat returned beside the fire.
He checked the map. I am currently near the Barrowlands… having crossed Moat Cailin. Aegon gazed to the left, where far away there was a thin strip of clearing like a road. That was the Kingsroad, or a causeway, as it was called, reduced to a thin strip of clearing as he moved further north. Since leaving the Twins, he had seen no carriages, no travelers, only emptiness stretching from horizon to horizon.
Judging by his current position on the map, White Harbor should be to the east of where he was now. Further north along the Kingsroad would lead to Castle Cerwyn.
After studying his path for the next day, Aegon folded the map carefully and placed it back in the bag.
The sun was almost down, making the surroundings darker. Aegon took out some dried meat, bread, and cheese from the other bag. That was his dinner tonight. He had replenished his food and supplies at the Twins.
~Food, Dreamfyre said to him mentally. Aegon looked at Dreamfyre, whose eyes were on his meal, and chuckled. "Aye, aye… yours is coming." He then took out several considerably large chunks of meat, each as big as his forearm, and fed his dragon, who had already opened her jaws wide. Afterward, he rubbed his hands off and turned to fill his own stomach.
The meat was thin and dry, but he knew how to make it better. He tucked the slices with some cheese between two thick wedges of bread, fashioning a rough sandwich, and held it over the fire, turning it so the edges browned but didn't burn.
"Phoof…" He blew on it, took a small bite, and smiled. "Perfect," he murmured. "A fine sandwich indeed."
As he ate, he thought back to the previous night. Cayla had come to him again, but the trembling girl was gone. In her place was a calmer, more focused young woman. She had asked pointed questions, sought clarity on her role, and discussed the "performance" with a practical detachment that bordered on cunning. Aegon had been quietly impressed. She was learning her part, and he, the masterful director, was pleased with his pupil's progress.
"Hah," Aegon let out a breath while chewing. Though he had a great time at the Freys, his thoughts were on more important matters.
A month back, Aegon had discovered something troubling. His body was aging, not just growing older, but literally aging prematurely. Otherwise, how would he have gained the physiology for sexual arousal at his age? Upon checking his body thoroughly with his spirituality, he found the problem. Yes, he looked older than his actual age, due to the stats gained from his Classes, but that should only affect his physique. He should not have developed things like sexual arousal or wants. Upon further inspection, he found the source of the problem: magic.
Although he had classes like [Wizard Apprentice], which helped him control his magic and provided some resistance to its uncontrolled effects, it did not change the intrinsic predatory nature of the magic itself. As the amount of magic in his body increased due to his frequent delving into it, its effects on his vitality also increased.
He had never noticed it before because, although his vitality was consumed by the magic, it was also replenished quickly enough by the Constitution bonus he gained from his other class. This created a cycle within his body where vitality was both consumed and replenished, making no net difference. That was also why the growth of his physique had slowed considerably. According to Aegon's calculation, based on his earlier rate of growth, he should have looked a little bigger than he did now. But as the magic inside him increased, the rate of replenishment was falling short, thus reducing his physical growth while hastening the aging of his body.
The magic wasn't just making him look older; it was aggressively accelerating his entire biological clock. This was the only explanation for why he had achieved full reproductive maturity, evidenced by the hormonal drives.
His current situation was similar to that of Bella's child from the Twilight movies he had watched in his previous life, though a much lower-level version. But if the amount of magic in his body kept increasing, he could see his body stopping its growth entirely and then aging prematurely, making him appear much older than his age. Ultimately, looking like the twisted, aged Warlocks from the Game of Thrones in a few decades.
Fortunately, he already had a solution. The [Ironblooded Knight] class had a trait: Hardened Frame, which should increase his vitality. Also, leveling the class itself must increase his physique, and in turn boost his vitality. But that would only be a temporary relief. His path of magic would continue to increase the amount of magic inside his body.
Aegon had four solutions in mind that he could currently think of. The first one was creating more and more physical classes to increase his vitality, and then countering the magic. But again, this should have some limits. He could not infinitely go on gaining physical stats. Aegon had theorized that maybe the physiological limit of humans was 20, after all, 10 was the value of an average adult. Although he was not sure, as there was nothing like that added in the game.
Now, coming to the second solution. It was to create classes that resisted such effects. But this might create problems in his path of magic. It could manifest in unexpected ways, in the worst case destroying all his efforts in magic till now.
The third one was to totally remove the magic from his body and store it in an external object like a magic gem, then use magic from it. He did not prefer this path, as it would mean relying on external objects.
Finally, the fourth one.
Aegon looked toward Dreamfyre, the massive blue dragon who had now closed her eyes and was resting. He slowly murmured in a low voice, as if foreseeing his future path, "I have to become a creature like the dragons… to completely incorporate the magic with my body, becoming a magical creature …" A spark of ambition lit in his eyes as he finished the thought, "and…gain a similar lifespan."
He sat still for a moment. Then a smile came onto his face as he gazed at the darkening sky.
"Baby steps, Aegon… baby steps…" he murmured to himself.
His eyes, reflecting the dying embers of his fire, turned from the stars to the north, where the Kingsroad vanished into the gathering dark.
"Tomorrow… Tomorrow, I will reach Winterfell."
King's Landing
The chill of the night had seeped deep into Beth's bones, a damp cold that her threadbare cloak did little to repel. The alleyways between the mud-brick and wood houses were narrow and dark. The air was filled with the stench of nightsoil and the greasy smell of whatever stew was simmering in the better-off homes. Her body ached with weariness; the day had been spent on her knees, scrubbing linens in lye-soap leaving her hands raw and red. Her mind, however, was a frantic, circling bird, trapped in the cage of her worry.
What is left in the pantry? A handful of oats? She thought of Jack, her little Jack, alone in their house. She'd told him to bolt the door and not open it for anyone. The image of his small, trusting face, waiting for her in the dark, spurred her steps faster. Perhaps I can make a thin broth. It will be warm, at least. He needs more. He's so small.
The thought was cut short by the soft scuff of a boot behind her. She glanced back, her heart giving a single, hard thump. A man, cloaked and hooded, was walking a dozen paces behind.
Coincidence.
It had to be.
She quickened her pace, only to freeze as another figure detached itself from the shadows ahead, blocking her path. He was built the same way: broad, anonymous, a silhouette of menace.
Beth's breath hitched. She was trapped between them, the walls of the alley pressing in. Her legs weakened, and sweat prickled down her back despite the chill.
"Please," she whispered, the word barely a breath. "I have nothing. Nothing for you to take."
The man in front took a step closer, the dim light catching the hilt of the sword at his hip. "You'll come with us, quiet-like," he grunted, his voice low and rough.
Terror, cold and sharp, lanced through her. "Let me go! I beg you!" She said almost kneeling.
It was the man behind who spoke next, his voice closer now, right at her ear. "Your boy, Jack. He's waiting for you. Wouldn't want him to get lonely, would you?"
The world tilted. The air vanished from her lungs. Jack. They had Jack. Her fear for herself was instantly, utterly eclipsed by a primal, consuming terror for her son. A sob caught in her throat, but she choked it back, nodding frantically. "Don't hurt him. Please, don't hurt him."
The two men looked at each other and grinned. "Good…Now follow us"
They led her through a labyrinth of backstreets she didn't recognize, their grips firm on her arms. They finally stopped before a nondescript door, which one of them opened, shoving her gently inside.
The room was lit by a single candle on a rough-hewn table. Beside it sat another cloaked man, his posture speaking of authority. And there, on a stool, swinging his little legs, was Jack. He was munching contentedly on a bright red apple.
"Mama!" he chirped, juice gleaming on his chin.
Before Beth could lunge for him, the seated man spoke, his voice cultured, calm, and utterly chilling. "Was this necessary?" he admonished his men. "Frightening a woman? For shame." He turned his hooded head toward Beth. "Be at ease, my lady. No harm will come to you or the boy. We are here only to talk."
He gestured to one of his men. "Take the lad into the next room. Let him finish his treat."
Beth's eyes locked with Jack's as he was led away, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The door closed, leaving her alone with the leader.
"I have a daughter of my own," the man said, his tone conversational. "I understand a mother's fear. You need not feel it tonight."
He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the lower part of his face; a strong jaw, a mouth set in a grim line. "Your husband. A good man. Died in the Reach, didn't he? Fighting bandits. A tragedy." He paused, letting the weight of his knowledge settle on her. "And since then… you have found… comfort. With Prince Daemon Targaryen."
Beth felt the blood drain from her face.
He knew! He knew everything!
This was not a random robbery.
"My interest is simple," the man continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "The Prince talks. I want to know what he says. When he comes to you, I want you to listen. Not just to the sweet words he whispers in the dark, but to his moods, his frustrations, his ambitions. What does he think of his brothers? What plans does he hatch with his City Watch?"
Beth stood frozen, a statue of fear.
"Make it your business to know his business," he instructed. "Be clever about it. A gentle question, a show of concern. He must not grow suspicious."
He then placed a heavy leather pouch on the table. It landed with a thick, muffled clink that spoke of weight and contents. He loosened the drawstring, and Beth's eyes widened. Gold coins. Not the dull copper stars or occasional silver stags she scrubbed for, but bright, new-minted golden dragons. More than what Daemon had ever given her. More than she had ever seen in her life.
"This is for your trouble," the man said. "And you will receive the same amount every time the information you bring proves… valuable."
Her eyes were glued to the gold. It was a fortune. It meant food, warmth, and safety for Jack. It was everything she had ever wanted and nothing she ever wanted to touch.
As if reading her hesitation, the man's voice hardened, losing its false warmth. He made a slight gesture with his head toward the door behind which Jack sat. "And you understand, of course, the consequences of refusing this opportunity. For you, and for your son. A boy so young… the streets of this city are so very dangerous."
The choice was no choice at all.
She looked from the bag of gold to the man's shadowed face, and then to the closed door. Her son was on the other side. Her world had shrunk to that single point.
She nodded, a stiff, jerky motion. "I… I understand."
"Good." The man stood. "We will be in touch."
He and his men left as silently as they had appeared, melting back into the night. The moment the door closed, the one holding Jack opened. Her son ran to her, clutching the half-eaten apple.
"Mama, that man was nice! He gave me an apple!"
Beth fell to her knees, pulling him into a crushing embrace. She buried her face in his soft hair, the scent of apple and little boy filling her senses. The sobs she had held back finally broke free, wracking her tired body.