Prince Aegon Targaryen
Estermont was a dank island, swept by all the winds of the sea, the first to take the brunt of the deadly gales, murderous thunderstorms, and merciless tempests that gave the whole kingdom its name. Even in quiet summer years, the wind blew so hard here it could knock a man off his feet, and the forest grew only in the hollows, protected on all sides by wet cliffs and hills overgrown with coarse grass. In this greenery, the island somewhat resembled Dragonstone, yet the earth here was far stonier, and lacked the inner heat of the Dragonmont.
The Maester at Greenstone, despite his repulsive rat-like appearance, proved a decent healer with five silver links in his chain, and by the middle of the eighth month of the year 110, some three weeks after the wounding, he managed to put the Prince back on his feet. On the day Aegon managed to walk from the castle to Vermithor's lair and fly around the island on the dragon, Lady Sabitha Estermont threw a great supper.
The next morning, Laenor returned to the Stepstones, having visited Greenstone in raids even before: periodically he brought news, touching more upon their mutual acquaintances than the war. In letters, his brother, Jaygor, and Lord Corlys wrote of it in words too general: the Triarchy fleet is destroyed completely, Volantis has invaded Myrish lands, Volantis has blockaded Lys, the Stony Dornishmen have overthrown the power of the Rhoynish Princes, but all this was reported without particular details. At first, the lack of information vexed the Prince, but he became accustomed to it surprisingly quickly, and Lady Laena played no small role in this.
When Lennart did not yet permit him to leave his bed, she came to him an hour before the midday meal to inquire of his health, occupied him with conversation, and helped the Maester ensure he observed all his prescriptions. Possessing certain knowledge of medicine himself, Aegon at times entered into prolonged discussions with Lennart regarding the benefit or harm of this or that remedy, or executed the Maester's demands not too consistently; however, every time Laena took the Maester's side. The Prince tried to persuade her, built a line of defense, attacked with arguments, but she answered simply:
"Aye, of course, you are right. But, pray, do it."
It was akin to speaking Andal to a dragon, so Aegon grumbled displeasedly, but allowed Maester Rat to do with him what he wished. He was desperately loath to admit that perchance this was exactly what helped him get back on his feet so quickly.
When Lennart allowed his charge to take walks, Laena began to keep the Prince company. Topics for conversation found themselves: they discussed their own and others' dragons (the Lady admitted that Silverwing, having managed to reunite with Vermithor, behaved restlessly and nervously after his departure for the Stepstones), the poetry of Old Valyria, the possibilities of translating it into the Andal tongue (Aegon found it somewhat strange that in the two hundred years and more that had passed since the Doom, no one had attempted to do this), and much else.
It took Aegon several days to give a very detailed retelling of his journey through Essos; however, in the process, he remained silent about certain details, like the Mantarys temple and his too-close acquaintance with Cousin Viserra. According to Lady Laena, he proved an excellent storyteller, and at times she asked him to recall something else, or to return again to Pentoshi feasts, Lorathi mazes, or Volantene dances.
That day they were walking again in the environs of Greenstone. Vermithor and Silverwing, having left their riders on the ground, as if on a wager battled the strong wind, chasing one another as if they were seven years old, and not seventy and more. The sharp gusts forced them to wrap themselves in cloaks, the hems of which fluttered like banners on the towers of the Red Keep, and tangled their hair, which curled even more than usual on Laena due to the dampness.
"You know, my Prince," she said, scarce had he finished another story. "You tell it such that I have no doubts that it was exactly so."
"Because 'tis the truth," Aegon blinked in surprise. "I recount what I saw with my own eyes."
"My father in his travels also saw much and told much to Laenor and me," the maid remarked. "Only with every year it seemed to me more and more that he... embellishes his feats. For my tenth nameday, he gave me beads of black Asshai'i amethyst and said that for their sake he had to mow down a whole field of ghost grass alone."
Aegon could not restrain a chuckle:
"And you believed not?"
"Why not? I believed, and was very proud of Father and the beads. I learned of the properties of ghost grass later. To Laenor, by the by, Father once recounted that on Leng he was received by the Empress herself in silks so thin they hid nothing, and she persuaded Father to stay the night. My brother was not too impressed by this story."
"The nature of sea tales is such that the grain of truth in them is hidden beneath many layers of half-truths, reservations, and tall tales," the Prince concluded philosophically. "And every admiral is in truth but an old sailor who wishes to be listened to and poured drink for free."
Laena laughed ringingly, throwing back her head. Aegon smiled contentedly: he liked making his betrothed laugh; it seemed that by such a simple method he could thank her for remaining with him on Estermont.
"If Father heard you, then..."
What the Sea Snake would have done to him the Prince never heard—the words were lost in the welcoming roar of Caraxes. Aegon raised his gaze just in time to see the Blood Wyrm join Vermithor and Silverwing, and now three dragons circled in the sky in a strange dance, as if trying to bite one another's tails. When they reformed and tried to link paws in a celestial round dance, Caraxes, led aside by the reins, clucked disappointedly and with obvious reluctance turned downward, landing on the nearest hillock.
"It seems your brother missed you," remarked Laena, but Aegon remained silent.
He watched Daemon climb out of the saddle, slide down the dragon's back on ropes, and approach them, holding Dark Sister, with an unaccustomed sensation he did not define. When the Prince managed to identify it, it unpleasantly surprised him: perhaps for the first time, Aegon was disappointed by his brother's appearance. Was it because he had interrupted his walk with Laena, or because Daemon would inevitably speak of their newborn nephew? The Prince had no time to sort it out.
"My brother," the King's Hand greeted him and bowed to his betrothed. "Lady Laena."
"Greetings, lekia. Did you decide to rest as well?"
"A little. Actually, I flew hither to inquire of your health."
"As you see," Aegon spread his arms, reluctantly letting the maid go from him, and twirled demonstratively. "Quite alive and almost well."
"I thought they would cut off your arm."
"A small scratch," the younger Prince waved it off with his left hand; it was still painful to clench a fist for long, so handling reins and holding the handles of a dragon saddle was difficult, but with a good rider, a dragon understood where to fly without any goading.
"That is good. I would like to speak with you, Aegon."
"The last time you, My Lord Hand, decided to speak with my betrothed alone, he found himself on the brink of life and death," Laena intervened in the conversation, and Aegon fancied he heard a light shadow of... displeasure? anxiety? "Furthermore, I shall soon enter your House. What secrets can you have from a good-sister?"
"You poison people with your sarcasm," Daemon chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Forgive me, My Lady, but Estermont is not Bloodstone. There are no hired assassins here."
"My grandfather did not think he would meet death on Tarth either."
As always at the mention of Uncle Aemon's death, Aegon shuddered awkwardly. A new parallel between them gave no cause for joy or pride. Even years later, he felt his own sticky terror and Caraxes's fiery-bitter wrath, scarce did he recall the Second Dream. Laena must have sensed his mood, for she yielded with reluctance:
"Well, in any case, it grows too windy. Lady Estermont will be happy to receive you, Prince Daemon."
With these words she turned and, wrapping the hems of her cloak, walked unhurriedly toward Greenstone. Following her with his gaze, the Prince thought that perhaps he ought to share the subject of the conversation with his betrothed. To strengthen trust.
"You are lucky with your wife after all, my brother," Daemon remarked with a smirk. "I almost regretted just now that I refused to wed her."
"Did you wish to speak of this?"
"Nay. Of the war."
"Is that so?" Aegon asked mockingly. "After you single-handedly caused a fire in Myr that destroyed all its libraries and guilds..."
"Not all..."
"...after you dragged Volantis into the war, incinerated half of Dorne along with Rhaenys, and in passing incited the Yronwoods to rebellion against the Martells, you still need my counsel?"
"I need your counsel always. Your counsel and your help. I intend to take Tyrosh."
Aegon gave a whistle.
"I see no problem. Myr could have been yours already. One more such raid—and the whole Triarchy will bow before you."
"I do not intend to turn Tyrosh to ash," Daemon shook his head irritably. "We need to seize the city, not ruins."
"Do you think Vermithor in the sky will aid in this?"
"We shall require all possible forces. Furthermore..." his brother looked away. "I have thought on what seat Viserys will allot you. Unlikely it will be anything remarkable, and you and Laena are worthy of better. Tyrosh, for instance."
Aegon blinked in surprise. Tyrosh? As his seat?
"Judge for yourself," continued Daemon. "Were the Three Whores not the Three Whores, Tyrosh would have already crushed all the Stepstones beneath itself. Someone will have to rule these lands anyway, and it is best done from Tyrosh. Viserys cannot reach from his King's Landing, at least not without the Black Dread under his saddle. One could plant loyal lords, but who will see to it that they remain loyal?"
The Hand and Prince of Dragonstone looked into Aegon's eyes again.
"I have no one to rely upon but you, valonqar. Not now, when we have a charming little nephew. He is small, but children have a habit of growing up along with the ambitions and hopes of their mothers. I am still Viserys's Hand and Prince of Dragonstone; I shall have to stick in King's Landing all the time to keep the Hightowers in check. I need your support here, on the Stepstones, in Tyrosh."
Tyrosh. A rich city, at the crossroads of all trade routes, with libraries, treasuries, workshops... A city not yet taken, which will not be too glad of new power, and recalling the peculiarities of Essosi politics, one would have to be on guard all the time there and fear one's own shadow, for fear that said shadow has conspired with malcontents and wishes to kill you. An untaken city which would have to be pacified and rebuilt. An untaken city where dragons were killed.
"I never desired to rule, my brother," Aegon answered quietly. "Neither Tyrosh, nor anything else. All my life I desired only one thing: to do what is to my soul's liking and what I do best. Therefore I begged Viserys to make me Master of Dragons. Therefore I honor the will of the Gods and fulfill the vow given them, and, Balerion witnesses, I succeed in this. This is the goal of my life, not power over lands, waters, cities, and men. I need not Tyrosh, I need not its problems which will have to be solved. I have my own, and it is far more important."
His brother measured him with a fixed gaze, and under the squint of his cold violet eyes, the Master of Dragons understood what Viserys's courtiers felt when their opinion diverged from Daemon's.
"Would Tyrosh hinder you... in fulfilling your duty?" he delivered after a long pause.
"I would like to fulfill my duty without fears of being killed in my own house by disgruntled magisters. I have had enough of hired assassins, thank you."
"Who said we shall rule in the Essosi manner? We shall arrange for the Tyroshi magisters what Callio and I arranged in Pentos, what I did for Yronwood in Dorne—no one will dare dispute your power."
"Even if they do not kill me," said Aegon, not particularly believing the plan to burn out the opposition. "Governing such a large seat will require much time and strength, and I wish to spend them on something more pleasant. On my wife, for instance."
His brother spat in anger and turned to his dragon. Caraxes on the hillock watched enviously as Vermithor and Silverwing danced in the sky. Evidently, he wished not only to fight, but to compete for the she-dragon, but it seemed Daemon had managed to check him and say all manner of things before landing. The dragon was obviously seeking a mate, but showed terrible pickiness: Aegon thought the Blood Wyrm and Meleys would become such a pair as his and Laena's dragons, but they only squabbled upon meeting; at Dreamfyre Caraxes did not even look; Vermithor guarded Silverwing with human jealousy; there remained only the quarrelsome crone Vhagar and Syrax. Does the dragon wait, like his rider? Aegon thought fleetingly.
"That is, you refuse?" Daemon asked again.
"Aye. I need not Tyrosh."
His brother sighed heavily and looked at him from beneath his brows with a sly smile:
"Must I do the work for you, then? You dumped all cares on your elder brothers."
"You and Viserys created these cares for yourselves," Aegon remarked caustically, but answered Daemon's smile all the same.
It seems he ought to think on what to tell Laena.
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