In the middle of the third month of the year 107, a raven arrived at Dragonstone bearing a brief missive from Viserys: "Cease withering over books and return. If you have forgotten (if indeed you paid heed to such a trifle), Aemma is about to give birth, and I am holding a tourney in honor of my son."
Having read the note, Aegon snorted:
"What arrogance! My brother has trumpeted his expectation of a son to all the Seven Kingdoms—what a jest it shall be if another daughter is born!"
"There exist many methods allowing one to surmise the sex of the child," noted Maester Gerardys, taking the letter. "All of them, naturally, are founded upon indirect signs, the sensations of the expectant mother, the position of the stars on the day of conception..."
"In other words, they are utterly useless."
"I fear so, My Prince. However, Grand Maester Mellos and our brothers in the Red Keep trust them fully."
"And here I had begun to think Mellos would be better than Runciter," grumbled the Prince.
"If I may, My Prince..." the Maester looked around furtively and took a step toward Aegon. "To my mind, a stargazer is better than a fool who fancies himself wise."
The Prince laughed:
"You speak the truth. 'Tis a pity the Conclave sends us only such as these."
"They might send no one at all, My Lord. The Crown always appeals to the Citadel itself with a request to appoint a new Grand Maester."
"And so one of the King's councilors, who, moreover, treats him and the whole Royal Family, is entirely beyond his control," Aegon spoke thoughtfully.
Not a single Maester swore fealty to the lord in whose castle he served—it was deemed that they always fulfilled their duties voluntarily and conscientiously, and the renunciation of the world they gave upon investiture allowed them to always place others' interests above their own. Before the Conquest, during the numerous wars between the Andal kingdoms, upon the capture of a strange castle, they even strove not to kill the Maester without necessity—a healer and a literate man capable of writing and sending a letter was needed by the victor as well.
The restrictions and strict regimentation of the life of the most educated estate in Westeros, imposed by the Citadel, began to seem to Aegon at least strange after his travels in Essos. Beyond the Narrow Sea, sciences were studied in all cities, whereas in Westeros there existed but one locus of knowledge, though it had arisen centuries ago when the continent was divided by dozens of borders. And yet scholars then, as now, flocked to Oldtown in the Reach from all its ends to forge a chain. Why did precisely this city become not only the center of the Faith, but also the center of Science?
The Prince pondered this contradiction the entire flight to King's Landing, but could find no reasonable explanation; he did not wish to believe in the unreasonable and illogical, but this mystery could definitely wait. In the end, one could try to speak with Uncle Vaegon—he ought to be visited in any case.
In the capital, Aegon experienced an acute sense of the repetitiveness of events: everything was too similar to the Golden Jubilee of King Jaehaerys's reign. The same crowd of lords, knights, and smallfolk gathered from all Seven Kingdoms, the same banners fluttering in the wind, the same bustle on the streets, the same enthusiasm and joy. Added, perhaps, was the anticipation of the miracle of the heir's birth (no one seemed to doubt this), and new dragons above Rhaenys's Hill—while Vermithor circled the city, Syrax, looking a mite against the background of the Bronze Fury, and Seasmoke kept him company. Having shooed the frolicking small fry with a stern roar, Vermithor landed in the Dragonpit.
On the steps of the building, at a respectful distance from one another, stood the Sea Snake and Alicent Hightower, gazing into the sky, evidently each awaiting their own dragonrider. Aegon, sliding from the dragon's back, hobbled toward the Lord of the Tides.
"Have you been left as a nursemaid, Lord Corlys?" inquired the Prince.
"In a manner of speaking," the other responded, not tearing his gaze from his son frolicking in the heavens. "Rhaenys is taking Laena for a ride, and Seasmoke is still too small to keep up with Meleys."
"Do you not envy your wife and son?"
"Should I?" the Admiral was surprised, looking at Aegon for the first time.
"To catch the wind with wings is not the same as catching the wind with sails."
"True, it is simpler. But with sails you catch the wind yourself, whereas with wings, the dragon does the flapping."
Aegon grinned crookedly and shook his head; Corlys thought like a true sailor and could not understand the logic of a dragonrider.
"You have tarried, My Prince," the Master of Ships remarked as if in passing. "The King wished to hurry you again."
"I confess, Septon, I am a sinner," Aegon apologized in a jester's manner. "But His Grace will excuse me—I was choosing a dragon egg for his heir."
Just at that moment, a pair of Dragonkeepers in their leather armor carried out a massive brazier with the precious cargo. The Prince lifted the lid and demonstrated to the Lord a cobalt-blue egg with copper edges to the scales.
"That of which you deprived my daughter," the Sea Snake hissed through his teeth.
"It was not I who made that decision," Aegon shrugged.
"I spoke of the whole House Targaryen."
"Collective guilt—how refined."
"Your family twice deprived my wife of what was hers by right, and the third—the denial of Laena's right to mount a dragon. Did you expect other words from me?"
"I expected nothing from you," Aegon snapped in return, replacing the lid and signaling the guards to proceed to the Red Keep.
"Then to what end is this mocking conversation?"
"Regrettably, propriety does not permit ignoring a cousin's husband upon a personal meeting."
"Your father clearly did not trouble himself to teach you manners," the Admiral cast out, taking a step back.
"Of course not. Instead, he handed me over to the Citadel, and Uncle Vaegon is not famous for good manners himself."
The Prince had already taken a couple of steps following the Dragonkeepers when something pricked him again. This conversation seemed strangely familiar to him, as if he had already participated in it, but from the other side. Suddenly Aegon recalled all his resentment at his grandfather's injustice, who had denied him the right to mount a dragon under the trumped-up pretext of his health and safety. Lady Laena was not offered even such consolations as feigned concern; the first child of Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was, the rider of the furious Meleys, was simply forbidden to have a dragon out of fear that her parents would raise a rebellion.
Aegon understood perfectly the storm of wrath and anger at adults with their homegrown rules and restrictions that must rage in the girl's soul. He knew the pulling feeling of longing for the sky and for flight, when you hold the reins in your own hands, and do not cling to the back of another rider. And, naturally, there was the feeling of emptiness and inferiority: a Targaryen without a dragon is no Targaryen at all, even if by foolish human laws he must bear another name.
And what resentment there must have been toward Laenor! A boy two years younger than his sister, yet he was permitted to saddle Seasmoke—there lay the true injustice. Of course, one could wait until Meleys was free and try luck with her, but to wait for one's own mother's death... No, that would be too cruel.
Lady Laena was to turn fifteen this year, and if the tales of courtiers were to be believed, in temper she took after both mother and father at once. The wild, restless character of the Targaryens combined with the adventurousness, recklessness, and boldness of the Velaryons—without doubt, a volatile mixture. Some of those who voted for Rhaenys at Harrenhal and were still considered her friends were already saying that a new Princess Aerea was growing on Driftmark, hinting that only one dragon would suit such a maid—Vhagar. And that was dangerous.
Regardless of her parents' plans, Laena could not be allowed to steal the last dragon of the Conquerors; such an advantage could not fail to be used. Furthermore, Aegon himself had promised Daemon to deal with Vhagar. Currently, the Targaryens and Velaryons had parity in dragons, but when the new Prince of Dragonstone was born, the balance would be disturbed; definitely, the disposition of forces would shift in favor of the Royal House, but the Master of Ships was right—this would be yet another slight to the new generation of Velaryons and would not contribute to reconciliation.
The Targaryens, one way or another, would have to reconcile themselves to the fact that they no longer had a monopoly on dragons; they lost it when Rhaenys married a man of another House, and their newborn son himself received a small dragon as a gift. If it came to that, then Lady Laena was due a dragon, and let her receive it on the Crown's terms.
"Lord Corlys?" the Prince called to the Admiral; the other turned reluctantly with an annoyed expression on his face. "As Master of Dragons, I give you my word that when the festivities end, I shall find an egg for Lady Laena."
"An adult dragon," the Sea Snake raised the stakes.
"Here I cannot help," the Prince chuckled. "A dragon cannot be 'found' for another. But I shall await her on Dragonstone: we shall walk the roosts and nesting grounds—perchance someone will catch her fancy. Jemot kīvio ñuhe tepan ondoso perzys se ānogar (I give you my promise by fire and blood)."
Velaryon hesitated a little and nodded, accepting the promise. In Pentos they would have struck hands, sealing the deal, and in Volantis—drawn up a written contract in High Valyrian, swearing by their old blood to fulfill it. But in Westeros, two noble men took one another at their word.
When they descended the hill, Dennis spoke:
"His Grace will be displeased."
"His Grace will be in the Seventh Heaven with happiness," Aegon waved him off. "When Viserys is happy, he showers favors and gifts on any and all—he will agree to this too."
"And the Small Council?"
"And the Small Council has no concern in this. This is our Valyrian business; Andals cannot understand it."
The knight clicked his tongue displeasedly, unsatisfied with such an answer, but remained silent.
The appearance of the Master of Dragons in the Red Keep together with the egg caused a general stir; expectedly, the most boisterous raptures were expressed by Viserys, who kissed his brother and nearly kissed the egg.
"Will it definitely hatch?" the King asked again and again.
"Definitely," the Prince assured him again and again. "It is hot, alive, and quite healthy. One need only lay it in the cradle with the babe, and in a couple of weeks, one may expect a dragonling. Consider this my gift to my first nephew."
The gift was demonstrated to Aemma, but it scarce aroused interest in her. Muttering something about the prematurity of dragons, the Queen shifted in her nest of pillows. The cousin looked unwell: spiderwebs of wrinkles ran from the corners of her eyes, though she was but twenty-eight, bright bruises under her eyes had become too noticeable, and the round belly seemed too large and seemed to draw all strength from the rest of her body, which had noticeably thinned.
Half a dozen Maesters hovered around the Queen, led by Mellos, and as many midwives, ready to commence the execution of their direct duties at any moment. During his studies in the Citadel, Aegon, like all scholars studying medicine, had to study the process of pregnancy repeatedly, observe births, and even deliver them, so the Prince understood a thing or two in such matters, and his knowledge was quite sufficient to share doubts with Mellos.
"Naturally, My Prince," the Grand Maester nodded, stepping away with Aegon into the corridor, further from royal ears. "The situation is not simple. This is the Queen's last pregnancy, and she herself understands this perfectly. Her body is weakened by frequent attempts to bring an heir into the world, and their lack of success has undermined her spirit. And yet, despite this, I look to the future with cautious optimism."
"You think so?" Aegon raised his brows.
"Yes, My Prince. We have watched Queen Aemma all these months and taken all possible measures so that this pregnancy ends not as the previous ones. Of course, all is in the hands of the Gods, but we did not sit idly by. Now it remains for us only to prepare and wait."
Therefore, said Aegon to himself, the court prepared for knightly tourneys and rich feasts, while the poor woman—for the battle for her life and the life of the child. Naturally, he reminded Mellos of his three silver links and offered aid, and, naturally, Mellos refused, and the Prince did not insist. Partly he was even glad—childbirth always evoked an incomprehensible anxiety in him; partly the reason was the impossibility of controlling the process, partly—the fate of his mother.
On the last day before the festivities, the sitting of the Small Council went nervously: in Viserys's opinion, Lord Beesbury was being a miser; in the opinion of the Master of Coin himself, Lord Robin Massey, the new Chamberlain of the Court, was stealing; in the opinion of the Lord Hand, the Gold Cloaks led by Daemon had arranged a massacre of robbers, thieves, and rapists in Flea Bottom; in the Sea Snake's opinion, they were losing sight of foreign policy problems. Ser Harrold Westerling, as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had no opinion, the Grand Maester dozed, and Aegon amused himself watching the familiars pour from empty into void. Finally, Daemon appeared, dirty with sweat and others' blood, from whom an answer was demanded for the outrages and mob law.
"Does My Lord Hand wish for the King's guests to be robbed at the tourney, and their women raped?" was all the Prince asked.
Naturally, after this, the King took his side, threatening, however, exile to the Vale in case of repetition. On this, the sitting ended, and all councilors dispersed with visible relief on their faces. Aegon, as was his custom, stayed behind with Viserys and Ser Harrold (which almost meant alone).
"See what I have to deal with?" Viserys chuckled joylessly, draining the remaining wine in his cup in a gulp. "Squabbles, quarrels, arrogance, demonstrations of power... And you abandoned me alone amidst all this! For a year and a half!"
His brother, naturally, said all this in jest, but his reproach was no joke.
"And I am ready to do it again," Aegon answered, saluting him with his goblet.
"Oh no! I forbid it!"
And they both laughed.
"Have you heard that Daemon is participating in the tourney?" inquired Viserys after a short silence.
"A senseless undertaking. Who would wish to go against the Royal Coat of Arms?"
"Well, he added a border of gold chain to the shield," remarked the King, who was always attentive to such trifles. "Changed the dragon's armament to gold."
"Yes, a great difference," snorted the Prince.
"Do you not want a sigil of your own?"
"What need have I of it? I do not perform in tourneys."
"You are an adult Prince of the Royal House, and it grows in number..."
"In other words, I shall not see the throne."
"That is not what I meant to say."
"Do not fret, brother," Aegon assured him. "The more people standing in line between me and this iron seat, the better. No one needs a clubfooted King."
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