The funniest thing was that when they arrived at Wicks, Ser Waxley did not even understand which of the valleys in his not-small domains Aegon spoke of. Calling upon the Maester for help, they found it on maps with difficulty; it turned out that neither the Knight of Wickenden himself, nor his father, nor his grandfather had ever been there, and their people rarely wandered there. To the question of the reasons for his interest in such an insignificant place, Aegon only smiled enigmatically.
After Wicks, the dragons parted ways: Rhaenyra with Ser Criston returned to the Eyrie, and Aegon with Dennis turned toward the capital, passing a small letter for Lady Jeyne with apologies and a promise to visit her again with his niece. Reaching the Red Keep at last, the Prince first paid a courtesy visit to the expectant mother. Princess Calla was found in the Godswood, where, accompanied by a pair of ladies, she strolled under the canopy of trees, protected from heat and stuffiness; several more of her ladies-in-waiting were arranged on pillows or chairs brought out with embroidery or other needlework.
"Glad to see you in good health, Calla," Aegon greeted his sister-in-law.
"Ah, Aegon," she perked up, embracing her already noticeable belly with her hands; at six months neither the high waist of the dress nor frills helped to hide it. "What joy that you have returned!"
"I wanted to ensure personally that all is well with you."
"Oh yes! Everyone is so kind to me, so caring! Lady Teressa proposed preparing shifts, and caps, and sheets, and swaddling clothes for our child. And all the ladies-in-waiting supported her in this. It is so sweet of them."
"It is a great honor for us to prepare for the appearance of the future King into the world," nodded a middle-aged woman in a pale-gold dress embroidered with silver stars sedately—evidently, this was Lady Teressa of House Sunglass. Aegon admitted that whoever selected Calla's court ladies acted wisely: a mature woman should have skillfully managed the household of the Princess, who scarce paid attention to such trifles, and kept her good company, balancing out similar young fools.
"Just look, Aegon," meanwhile Calla picked up a future shirt for the infant from one of the ladies. "It is wonderful, isn't it?"
The soft black shift was decorated with golden towers, around which red dragonlings twined—symbols of both parents of the future child. Doubting that black was a suitable color for an infant, the Prince admitted nonetheless:
"Very fine work."
"I thank you, My Prince," the maiden lowered her eyes.
"You do very well, Lady Sybell," Calla praised her. "Please, continue."
The Lady scattered thanks again, and they continued the walk; Aegon gallantly offered his sister-in-law his elbow, and she accepted it without unnecessary hesitation.
"I did not think the Maesters let you out to walk," he remarked, nearly blurting out that Aemma did not go out anywhere.
"With us in Pentos, it is considered that a mother should walk much so the child grows strong," Calla answered unexpectedly seriously. "Your Maesters argued so loudly about this, but Daemon shouted at them, and I was allowed to walk."
"Oh yes, Daemon can do that. Where is he, by the by?"
"I know not," the Princess shrugged frivolously. "I rarely see him, only morning and evening. By day he has affairs, and for the night separate chambers are prepared for me. Daemon says he does not want to disturb me with his snoring. It is so sweet, isn't it?"
Aegon was forced to agree that it was indeed very sweet of him. He did not clarify that the free chambers were needed not by Calla, but by Daemon.
"I asked Callio to send an astrologer to make a horoscope for the child," the girl continued to chirp happily. "He counted stars for seven nights and said a boy will be born, imagine? And your Maesters think so too, and the Septon!"
"The Septon also counted stars?" Aegon was surprised.
"I know not, but he blessed my womb, and predicted the birth of a son. Oh, Aegon, I am so happy! Daemon is very glad too!"
"Have you chosen a name already?"
"No!" it seemed Calla even flinched at such a suggestion. "It is a bad omen! In Pentos, names are not given until the father or mother takes the infant in arms. Mother and wet nurses told me about this. But I apply the dragon egg to my belly every day, is this correct? It is very hot, and I cannot hold it long, but I try anyway. There will be no harm from this?"
"No, Calla, there will not."
"And what if the egg does not hatch?"
"If it is hot, as you say, it means it is alive and will surely hatch."
"Before birth or after?"
"Rather after," Aegon answered evasively; he was not certain of this precisely, but the expectant mother needed to be calmed.
"And will I not burn the child?"
"You will only burn yourself perhaps. Targaryens are of the blood of the dragon, their heat is not fearful to us."
"I thought to take hot baths, but the Maesters say this can harm..."
They made circle after circle around the Godswood, and Calla chirped and chirped, jumping from her happy condition to how many people try to please her, and how everyone around is sweet and caring, especially her husband and His Grace the King. At a certain moment, she began to repeat herself, not noticing it herself, and Aegon nearly howled inwardly: to listen to the whole story about the tending-to-infinity number of silk caps and sheets of the finest Pentoshi yarn again was unbearable.
Fortunately for him, Ser Harrold Westerling looked into the Godswood.
"Prince, Princess, Ladies," bowed the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. "His Grace wishes to see Prince Aegon urgently in his chambers."
Apologizing, Aegon hastily wriggled out of the hold and hobbled away. When they climbed onto the castle walls surrounding the cultivated thicket, the Prince sighed heavily:
"I am in your debt, Ser Harrold."
"No need, My Prince," the knight chuckled into his short beard. "Now Princess Calla has calmed down a little, but when it was just announced that she is with child..."
"She could not be shut up?"
"Yes, My Prince."
"My condolences. You and your brothers have to listen to all this. Not to be envied."
"It is our duty, My Prince. Speaking of duty. How does Ser Criston cope?"
"As you see, I am still alive," Aegon spread his hands. "But in this lies rather Dennis's merit. And as for Ser Criston, he is quite diligent and dutiful."
"Glad to hear it, My Prince," Ser Harrold nodded satisfied.
They walked along the wall of the Red Keep from the Godswood almost to the Rookery itself, where ravens and Mellos with his assistants settled, when suddenly from around the turn a bent figure appeared to meet them, barely moving legs and leaning on a cane.
"Ser Larys," Aegon smiled insincerely, but, as he wanted to believe, convincingly. "What an unexpected meeting."
"Nothing unexpected, My Prince," spoke the younger son of Lord Strong. "A little further is the entrance to the dungeons."
"Hurrying to fulfill your duty?"
"Literally flying, My Prince," the Confessor grinned crookedly.
"You know, Ser Larys, our meetings, though rare, evoke mixed emotions in me. As if I look in a mirror and see myself."
"The mirror must be rather dirty, My Prince. My hair is far from Valyrian silver."
Even further from soap and bath, evidently, thought Aegon to himself, but said instead:
"Truly, I even regret we meet so rarely. It would be interesting to compare our impressions of life, since we look at it from the same angle."
"I fear, My Prince, we are both too busy for this. Your dragons await you, and my criminals await me," shook his head Strong, resembling his elder brother in naught. "Furthermore, they say you are very busy in the Vale."
"Truly?" the Prince became wary; only Ser Waxley himself and Jeyne Arryn, to whom Aegon wrote a letter, knew of the valley in Waxley lands.
"Yes, they say you were given a very warm reception."
"Lady Arryn was very hospitable."
"Some say even too much."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing particular, My Prince," the Confessor lowered his eyes. "But there is talk that Arryn blue and frosty-silver will be in fashion at court again."
"Very... interesting rumors."
Ser Harrold saved the further awkward situation, reminding with a polite cough that they were waited for. Crumpledly saying farewell to the one who from the first day at court was nicknamed Clubfoot, the Prince hastened to Maegor's Holdfast. On the way to the royal chambers, Aegon could not throw Strong's words out of his head; Lord Lyonel's son turned out not simple at all, and engaged, evidently, not only in inquiry. These hints about Arryn colors at court could promise only a new alliance with the High Lords of the Vale. Rhaenyra with someone of Lady Jeyne's kin? But her uncles and cousins are even older than Viserys. Maybe he himself? No, the brother keeps the memory of his Aemma. Daemon is married now. Only Aegon himself remained.
Suspicion drenched him like ice water. Of course, especially warm hospitality: what can be warmer than the hostess's bed? And so what if they never slept together—do idle gossips need much? By the by, where did they come from at all? How did the King's Confessor learn of them? Dennis? No, this one is mute as a shadow in everything concerning Aegon. Cole? No, he is a Kingsguard, and they hear but do not listen. Rhaenyra and her ladies? Also no, they were always too far, besides they are too young and foolish for such a thing. That means someone of the servants or of Lady Jeyne's retinue itself. The question remained, does Viserys know of this? Is that not why he summoned him?
As it turned out, Viserys did not know. Contrary to the Prince's expectations, the brother turned out not in his model workshop, but in the study, at a table of red Sothoryos wood.
"I thought you would walk with her until the sun set," he laughed and rose to meet him.
"It seems I am not the first victim?" Aegon smiled weakly in response, still expecting reproaches.
"Oh no! We are all worn out already. Sinfully I thought to send them with Daemon to Dragonstone so she would get acquainted with her domains, but the Maesters dissuaded me. And I understand myself, it is a hard business to travel in such a condition. Aemma refused too..."
The King sighed sadly, mourning his Queen, but quickly took himself in hand and inquired with exaggerated cheerfulness:
"How is Rhaenyra?"
"Become friends with Lady Jeyne."
"Heard you traveled a little?"
"Merely flew over half the Vale," Aegon waved off disdainfully. "I decided this would benefit Rhaenyra, and us too. She is already called The Realm's Delight, the nobility adores her."
"At this rate, any tourney I give in her honor threatens to become the fiercest melee," chuckled Viserys. "And you? Why did you return? Missed the Small Council? You are already late today, but tomorrow we shall sit until dinner."
"Oh, the more reason to return to the mountains!" exclaimed the Prince and immediately scolded himself; in light of the born rumors, the phrase sounded very ambiguous.
"Are there others?"
"Yes, there are," Aegon sat on the edge of a convenient chair. "I want the Iron Throne to buy out part of the land from Waxley."
"What, pardon?"
"A little, just a tiny bit. Only one valley deep in the mountains, no one even lives there."
"Why is that?" frowned Viserys and returned to his table.
"In this valley, a new nesting ground for dragons can be arranged," said the Prince and briefly told of the find and how it could be used.
"Why do you consider Dragonstone not enough for this?"
"And is the royal treasury kept in only one cache? Dragons and their eggs are the treasure of our family, my brother, even more precious than all the wealth of your vassals."
Viserys fell silent, immersed in reflection, and his face was hidden by a motionless mask, behind which the Prince, however hard he tried, saw nothing. Between times, he recalled that Uncle Vaegon, when he went into his arithmetic distances, also became an idol with a stony expression on his face. Judging by what Dennis told, he himself had the same; evidently, an impenetrable mask was as characteristic a feature for Targaryens as violet eyes and silver hair.
"This is an expansion of the royal demesne," Viserys uttered at last.
"Precisely."
"Lady Arryn's consent is necessary. We must ask the Waxleys if they agree to sell this land at all. In the end, the opinion of the Small Council must be known."
"Wherefore?!"
"Royal lands have not increased since the Conquest itself, my brother, none of the Kings did this. Should you not know this?"
"And have many Kings on the Iron Throne managed to change since the Conquest?" clarified Aegon in an unctuous voice. "My namesake conquered, Aenys cared not, then Maegor usurped the throne from Aegon the Uncrowned and Viserys the Martyr, and after him Grandfather engaged in restoring the country. As if now is the very time to start moving further. In all senses."
He argued with Viserys for another hour, then argued all the next week in the Small Council, spending all Holy Week and the beginning of the new year 109 on this, sought precedents, tried to calculate possible consequences, but time after time came to the same thing: without the Arryns, such a question cannot be resolved. Not receiving a clear answer, Aegon set off back to the Vale angry at the indecisive brother and empty-headed councilors.
Arriving at the Eyrie almost at night, the Prince, after brief reflection, did not postpone the conversation until morning and ordered servants to lead him to Lady Jeyne. She was already in her chambers in the Moon Tower, but continued to work even at such a late hour. Her small study adjoined private chambers, and turned out truly small: a weirwood table, several shelves with books, a white marble fireplace, and a small sofa before it.
"You look like a faithful lover," said Jeyne instead of a greeting, scarce bad the servant closed the door behind the entering Aegon. "From the saddle straight here."
"A faithful lover would have taken a bath," smiled the Prince. "I reek of dragon."
"And what of it?"
"Aemma did not like this smell."
"But I am not Aemma."
"And we are not lovers. Although the Red Keep is gradually becoming convinced of the opposite."
Lady Arryn laughed merrily, leaning back in her chair; the quill flew to the floor along with papers.
"And what did you say to this?" she inquired, wiping tears that had appeared.
"Nothing."
"Afraid to cast a shadow on my honor? You should not, I am no longer a maiden."
"But still the Lady Paramount of the Vale. Without a husband."
"I do not need him," Jeyne rose from the table and approached Aegon. "Do you know who was the first? One of the guards, Ser Addison. I was eighteen, and I was tired of waiting for the wedding night. I led him into my bedroom, and he plucked my flower."
"And where is he now?"
"Dead. Ambush by clansmen."
"Being a Lady's lover is dangerous," chuckled Aegon, and they almost simultaneously took a step toward each other.
"Oh, my hands are clean," she stretched her hands to him palms up, as if offering to verify this, and then placed them on his chest, smoothing the traveling doublet.
Aegon decided to send the court with its rumors to the Seven Hells and, pulling the Lady to himself, kissed her. Jeyne answered almost immediately, leaned forward, her hands migrated from the Prince's chest to his neck, the back of his head, possessively buried themselves in his hair, undoing the bun.
"I wanted to touch them very much," she whispered hotly, tearing away from him. "So beautiful, so soft..."
"Jealous?" asked Aegon and, not letting her answer, pulled her into a kiss again, simultaneously groping for the lacing of her dress.
The Prince glanced sideways toward the sofa, but Jeyne pulled him in the other direction, to an inconspicuous door leading, as it turned out, into her bedroom. Such a superfluous cane fell with a dull thud and rolled on the thick carpet, and they, taking a few awkward steps, collapsed onto the down featherbeds of a spacious bed. Doublet and shirt, upper and lower dress, boots, breeches, and shift flew to the floor, and Aegon greedily fell to the hollow between her breasts, kissing and licking. Suddenly he giggled.
"What is it?" asked Jeyne with a shadow of displeasure.
"Just so," Aegon pecked her reassuringly on the corner of her lips. "Thought of something."
"And what are you thinking of here and now?"
"Of a mountain," he lightly squeezed her right breast in his palm and slowly, exploratorily ran a finger around the nipple, then descended to the hollow to examine the second breast likewise. "And also of a valley and another mountain."
Jeyne snorted and wanted to say something else, but the Prince interrupted her, involving her in a new kiss. With the other hand, he was already stroking the Lady's lower lips, wet and squelching under his fingers; Arryn herself meanwhile ran her hand over his member several times and, finally, said:
"Do it."
By that moment Aegon did not need to be invited twice, and he entered her with a jerk. The girl moaned, not shy and not afraid that someone would hear them; could not the mistress of a whole castle afford this? It was hot and wet inside; Jeyne threw her legs over his lower back and, squeezing them, set the tempo she needed herself. The Prince's already inflamed mind was burned by the thought that he was being used in this way; a dragon roared angrily inside him, and Aegon accelerated to spite his mistress. Pressing against her, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, and continued to move even faster and more furiously.
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