Prince Aegon Targaryen, Prince of Dragon’s Heart
He never did unlearn the habit of working at night. At first, busyness prevented him from rooting out this scholarly habit, then the birth of children who woke in the night crying and fell back asleep only to their father's lullabies, though Laena believed these were all excuses and he simply did not want to relearn how to live otherwise.
Aegon took a sip of tea from a thin porcelain cup (wine did not conduce to a desire to work) and pulled toward him another soft leather folder in which matters were passed to him. The minutes of the eting of the Conclave of the Citadel of Dragon’s Heart pleased him with their brevity: unlike his Oldtown brethren, Archmaester Marlon tolerated no empty discussion and demanded from his n the most concise and precise expression of thought possible. Save for the golden rod, ring, and mask, symbols of his status and office, this was the only thing he had adopted from Uncle Vaegon.
"I have too many cares and too many students to waste ti on empty prattle," he would grumble, but even this the forr Manderly did not do viciously, like his predecessor, but good-naturedly.
When, after Archmaester Vaegon's death, the question arose as to who would lead the new Citadel, the Prince of Dragon’s Heart did not leave the matter to chance. Having committed his uncle's body to Vermithor's fire and his ashes to the family mausoleum, he gathered all the maesters who had arrived with the deceased from Oldtown, as well as maesters from the castles of his vassals and neighbors, in the forr sept of his castle, and granted them the opportunity to choose their head themselves. The learned n did not deliberate long: since electing Aegon himself was impossible, the choice fell on his friend from his student days.
Marlon was surprised, but accepted the post on the condition that the master of Dragon’s Heart, within whose walls the new Citadel was housed, would be Seneschal for life. The new Archmaester took upon himself the guidance of the brethren, their scientific works, the filling of the library, the education of students, and the healing of the sick, while economic matters, as well as political leadership, fell on Aegon's shoulders. The Seneschal visited the Conclave etings in the chambers at the top of the rebuilt Tower of Tears infrequently due to his busy schedule, but invariably read the minutes and listened to Marlon's summaries, remaining abreast of all affairs.
This ti, the question of the necessity of opening a hospital was raised again at the eting: the Citadel of Dragon’s Heart wished to lag behind the Citadel of Oldtown in nothing and had already acquired its own Scribe's Hearth in the expanded Baelonis, but the healing house remained a stumbling block. Marlon himself, who had forged a dozen silver links in the Oldtown hospital, was a fervent apologist for its creation, but Aegon did not want to turn his own castle into a breeding ground for disease—the library, rookery, lecture halls, laboratories, and maesters' quarters were the limit of his hospitality, but his old friend did not give up. Opinions in the Conclave were also divided, and as a result, the question was postponed ti and again, until finally the Archmaester received agreent in principle to create a hospital in the city outside the castle walls.
The minutes reported that the learned n had reached an agreent that, at first, the new institution for healing the sick would require no fewer than three maesters, but no more than five, provided they were assisted by at least a dozen candidates. There were no problems with the latter: Lord Frey alone, at the petition of his brother Donnel, who had served as Maester of the Smoky Tower for more than ten years, had sent his youngest son and two nephews to Dragon’s Heart for training with instructions to take vows. Laena played no small role in negotiations with the lords: her natural charm and courtesy gradually dispelled the prejudices of the stagnant nobility against the new Citadel not only in the Crownlands and Riverlands but also in the Vale, and even in the North. There were no problems with the influx of students of lower birth either.
The unanimity of the Conclave was pleasing, but now a place and funds for its construction had to be found for the hospital. If no questions arose with the latter—hints could be dropped as if by chance to rchants enriched by the Baelonis fair about the desirability of generous donations—then the forr was not so unambiguous. The city, reborn in the fire, had taken in not only fire victims but also new citizens attracted first by the restoration of the castle, then by road construction, and then by developing trade, and the most convenient plots near the walls of Dragon’s Heart had already been occupied by the Prince's prompt vassals. The hospital needed to be erected simultaneously slightly away from the castle, but at the sa ti close to it.
Aegon rose from the table and, tapping his cane dully on the thick carpet, which a pair of weavers who had moved from Myr had woven from the wool of Riverlands sheep, walked with his cup of unfinished tea to the map pinned to the wall. The large canvas displayed Dragon’s Heart and Baelonis spreading around it with all its streets and squares in great detail. The city was being rebuilt according to a plan in the image and likeness of Valyrian cities with natural adjustnts for local conditions, so one had to try hard to squeeze a new building, or rather, a whole complex of them, into it.
Proximity to the fair, another of Laena's brainchildren, should also be avoided. The trade enriching Baelonis brought Essosi spices and fabrics to the Riverlands, for which rchants previously had to travel to the capital or Saltpans. Now they could acquire them at even lower costs, avoiding many middlen. Laena bought the goods from her own father for a symbolic gold dragon per ship, after which they were transferred in King's Landing to flat-bottod vessels and barges built by her order, which were then taken up the Blackwater and the Teardrop directly into the Gods Eye. The fair grew year by year, and in ti threatened to beco the largest north of the capital.
A knock at the door tore Aegon from his reflections.
"Yes?"
"My Prince," Dennis's voice was husky—evidently, the sworn shield had managed to doze off. "Archmaester Marlon has co."
"Let him enter. And co in yourself."
Marlon entered, treading heavily and sweating habitually. Like all his kin, he was prone to stoutness, but unlike his nurous cousins, he forced himself to walk up and down the nurous stairs of Dragon’s Heart, thereby keeping himself in shape sohow. Regular visits to the very top of the Kingspyre, as well as his naturally considerable height, allowed him to be considered rely slightly portly, and not walrus-like, like old Lord drick, whom Aegon had t several years ago during a visit to the North.
"My Prince," the Archmaester bowed, and a drop of sweat plopped from his nose onto the Myrish carpet.
"Sit and catch your breath," the Prince waved his hand toward an armchair. "Dennis, give him water. Or perhaps tea?"
Marlon, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief fished from the pockets of his robe, shook his head, but accepted the goblet of water. Drinking it all almost in one gulp, he exhaled noisily and confessed:
"Soday I shall roll down these steps."
"We discussed the possibility of throwing a bridge from your tower to ours. The architects believe it quite feasible."
"Then I shall beco spherical," he grimaced. "The students already call 'Marlon the Seal', and they will call 'Marlon the Whale'."
"For an Archmaester, you think too much about what students think," Dennis chuckled, pouring more water into the held-out goblet. "We said worse things about the Oldtown greybeards, did we not?"
"True, but it is not so pleasant to hear it addressed to oneself. Besides, I do not wish to walk under the curious gaze of the Bronze Vermithor."
Imitating Old Valyria, Aegon, during the reconstruction of the Kingspyre and the Widow's Tower, ordered their upper floors cleared and reinforced, adapting them for dragon roosts. There should be enough space there for Vermithor and Silverwing to be accommodated relatively freely. The upper levels of the Widow's Tower had already been cleared, and work was now underway to straighten the walls and strengthen the vaults, but the Kingspyre would require even more work. For now, Vermithor and Silverwing were settled in the inner ward, and the young ones were housed under the roof of the Tower of Dread, fortunately, they required little space for now.
Aegon finished the remains of his tea in one gulp and, clinking the porcelain, set the empty cup on the table. He did not believe Marlon had descended from one tower and climbed another in the middle of the night to chat about old days, so he got down to business:
"What has happened?"
"A raven arrived from the Red Keep. There were three knots on the scroll case."
Why such urgency? He planned to return to the capital for the Small Council etings next week, a day earlier than Daemon wanted to fly in from Tyrosh—the Prince Hand did not like to wait for others. The borders were calm; no one in the realm was infringing on the King's peace.
Marlon handed him a letter with a red blot of sealing wax, on which the King's small seal for personal missives was impressed. mory obligingly reminded him of the events of twelve years ago, when a raven brought the sa personal letter from Viserys to the unfinished Smoky Tower at night with the announcent of his desire to take Alicent Hightower as his wife. The Prince and his sworn knight exchanged tense glances: judging by the gloomy expression on Dennis's face, he too rembered that notorious night.
Aegon sighed and broke the seal. The letter proved not very long.
"Aegon,
I confess, when I decided to write to you yesterday, I did not think the need for it would beco so acute.
Yesterday afternoon I permitted Aegon and Aemond to fly on Sunfyre (according to your dragonkeepers, he could well carry two riders). Violating the promise given to to fly only over the city, the boys leaped over the Red Keep and flew to Dragonstone.
Praise all the gods, they arrived there safe and sound, but subsequent events cause no small anxiety. Sowhere on the way they t Vhagar, and, as Ser Viselor says, both dragons flew together and landed in the sa valley, whereupon Aemond seized the opportunity and saddled our father's she-dragon. She, surprisingly, accepted him and flew around the island with him without any harness.
According to the Dragonkeepers, Ser Viselor assures that they cannot return to us earlier than in a couple of days: Sunfyre needs a respite, the dragonkeepers cannot put a harness on Vhagar and make a new saddle quickly, and flying across the Gullet without a saddle is like death.
As you yourself surely understand, this news may cause serious concern to Daemon, and, let us be honest, one can expect anything from him in such a state. I wrote to him, as to you, but one should expect the castellan of Dragonstone to send a raven to Tyrosh as well. I am forced to ask you for a favor again: I need your help (as well as Vermithor's presence) here when Daemon shows up.
Hoping for your diation,
Your brother Viserys.
Red Keep,10th day of the fourth month of 121 AC"
"Well, what is it?" engrossed in reading, the Prince did not notice Laena enter the study. She must have been checking on the children or intended to lead him to bed, as she had done more than once, and now stood in the doorway in a loose satin robe, blue as the azure sky, with a painted shawl thrown over her shoulders. She was not embarrassed by Dennis and Marlon: the forr attended her husband in the dressing room and was often enough in their bedchamber, and the latter had delivered her three tis; yet both piously averted their eyes.
"Aemond has saddled Vhagar," Aegon announced, and his own voice seed dry and lifeless to him.
"The old lady has returned to the Dragonpit?" Laena raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"The boys ran off to Dragonstone, and there they caught each other's eye."
A heavy silence reigned in the solar.
"I may understand little of your dragon gas," Marlon spoke. "But it is unlikely both your brothers are equally happy with this news."
"I doubt even Viserys himself is happy," Aegon snorted and, handing the letter to his wife, returned to the table, stretching his long legs beneath it.
"How did he even manage it?" Laena marveled, reading the letter. "Vhagar has flown alone for the last..."
"Twenty-one years."
"She refused to accept even ! And here—so boy not even ten!"
"Princess Aerea also saddled Balerion while quite young," the Archmaester reminded them.
"And we all know where that led her," the Prince finished for him.
At his spouse's words, a small guilty worm stirred in his soul, reminding him that none other than Aegon himself had once prevented his future chosen one from saddling Vhagar. By an effort of will, the Prince stifled the unpleasant feeling crawling out and brushed away its remnants; in the end, he had done nothing contrary to the gods, and at that mont they themselves acted through him. Rubbing his palm over his face as if from sudden fatigue, Aegon announced:
"Tomorrow I fly to King's Landing. Perhaps after that I shall have to visit Dragonstone—we must bring back these dullards and cuff them soundly, and better I do it than Daemon. After all, one need not use Dark Sister to raise children. Let Vermithor's breakfast be cut; a whetted appetite lends him speed."
"I will relay it to the Dragonkeepers," Dennis nodded.
The knight headed for the door, and Marlon trailed after him, wishing a good night at last, embarrassed himself by the mont his words sounded; after all, the Archmaester understood perfectly well that his friend the Prince would have no ti for sleep in the near future. The massive leaf returned to its place almost silently, and Aegon and Laena were left alone.
"Do you think she will carry him off, as Balerion carried Aerea?" she asked quietly.
"Unlikely. Balerion had sowhere to return to, but Vhagar has never crossed the Narrow Sea. But that he will not be able to control her fully in the coming years is certain. Her temper is not one to submit to so boy."
"Why did she accept him?"
"Likely tired of being alone," the Prince shrugged. "Dragons suffer from loneliness just as people do, simply in their own way. Vermithor did not like that Grandfather did not visit him in the Dragonpit. Aemond is a fine one too: begged for a dragon, but did not want to wait another year until his tenth na day—he needs everything, now and at once!"
"It was the sa with us," Laena reminded him, walking around the table. "We were denied the lawful right to a dragon, simply under other pretexts."
"I did not deny, I suggested waiting," Aegon answered with stubborn anger, fidgeting in the chair. "Just as well Vhagar could have crushed him like an annoying flea, and he wouldn't even have had ti to understand anything! I thought to find him soone calm and responsive, not this flying mountain. Ungovernable at that."
His wife embraced him from behind and buried her face in the crown of his head. From this simple gesture, all irritation and desire to grumble, argue, and quarrel vanished, receding like a wave. Aegon caught his spouse's hand and brought it to his lips, expressing gratitude for the support. After the kiss, Laena did not remove her palm, but stroked his cheek affectionately, catching the silver stubble beginning to show. Raising her head, she rested her chin on her husband's crown and spoke thoughtfully:
"Perhaps there is sothing good in this."
"What good, only upset and nerves," Aegon snorted, but without the forr emotion.
"Viserys now has two rider sons. Only two or as many as two—it depends on what you compare with."
"Daemon will say it is two more than needed."
"Of course, he will say so: how many riders does he have himself?"
"Four. The Red Dancer is slightly younger than Sunfyre, and Vermax is the size of Sunset."
"So only Caraxes and Syrax can be taken into account."
"Then subtract Sunfyre too, and Viserys is left with a half-broken Vhagar."
"Vhagar will snap Syrax in two, only wings will remain."
Aegon shuddered involuntarily. Again, as if alive, as if anew, he saw the Cannibal's jaws closing on the hapless young dragon, and the erald-spruce wings sticking out of the maw twitching as if it were still alive. Truly, tonight was an evening of unpleasant mories.
Laena, taking his shudder personally, pulled away but did not leave, beginning to comb through her husband's hair.
"Caraxes will not be so easily overco by her," the Prince answered her. "He is accustod to battle, and has fought a dragon."
"As has Vermithor."
"What are you driving at?"
"Count the dragons, jorrāeliarza," Laena said softly. "We have four adult dragons, and your brothers have only one each."
"Daemon has one and a half, if we start counting strength not heads."
"Be that as it may, but Vhagar is worth two adult dragons. My point, jorrāeliarza, is that in this situation our position in the eyes of your brothers becos key. Without us, neither of them can consider himself fully safe."
"What in the Seven Hells (Peklo), Laena!" irritability returned again, and Aegon, breaking free from his wife's hands, turned sharply to her. "You speak as if war were in the yard, and my brothers ready to tear each other's throats out and set their dragons on each other!"
"War, let us assu, is not yet in the yard, but already on the threshold," she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Viserys, let us assu, truly wants no war, just as you do, but can one vouch for Daemon? Or for the Hightowers, who want to see their grandson and nephew on the Iron Throne?"
"Daemon is not an idiot; he will not fight Vhagar."
"Correct, therefore he will try to buy you. Alicent will attend to this too. She is not such a fool as she makes you believe. Perhaps she truly fears dragons, but I was in her chambers, and heard myself, by chance, of course, how she complained that her greedy brothers-in-law deprive the royal children of the opportunity to receive a dragon, heard how she promised one of them the best dragon of all. Who knows, perhaps it was she who put the sons up to flying further than Father permitted?"
"She did not even need to know about Vhagar," Aegon drawled, grasping the thought. "There are enough dragons on the island, including adults: there is Dreamfyre, there is Grey Ghost, there is Sheepstealer. But Aemond definitely found a treasure he could not even hope for..."
"That is why I tell you his mother will not delay in using this and will want to buy an alliance with us. And, frankly speaking, I would not dismiss her offer out of hand."
"And why is that?"
"If only because if we side with Daemon, he will start the war you so want to avoid. Do you think he does not know that if he becos king, half the realm will rise in defense of his nephews' rights? A second Faith Militant Uprising—that is what it will be. You know no worse than I how the victor ended last ti. Daemon only pretends not to hear other voices, but Rhaenyra wrote, and told more than once, how much these comparisons with Maegor infuriate him."
"None of them are confird."
"A shadow of doubt is enough for everyone. Moreover, the violated order of succession simply cannot settle in the lords' heads, so they grumble, and the Hightowers are glad to turn this grumble into a thunder of discontented voices. Daemon knows about this, and cannot fail to react. In the Red Keep he is silent, restrains himself, sneers in response, but in Tyrosh there is no need for this, so he rages so that it is fearful to approach him. His courtiers cannot fail to notice this, hence the rumors. However, if we support him, then later the Hightowers will also raise a rebellion for the glory of your nasake nephew, and we will have to crush it too. I doubt he will even say 'thank you' to us for this. Everything we have, Viserys gave us, and Daemon only rakes the fire with your hands and will continue to rake, and you with Vermithor will chase pirates from his borders. You have done so much for him, defended his rights so many tis, fought with him and for him, and where is his gratitude? Is it worth supporting an ungrateful egotist in a war?"
"This egotist is my elder brother," Aegon threw out sharply.
"And all the more dangerous to fight on his side. The risk that we will be sacrificed is too great, and you cannot expect honors and rewards for loyalty and deeds in his glory."
The Prince grimaced, as if Elysar were plying him with bitter mixtures again to speed the healing of broken bones; he liked the conversation less and less. Laena reasoned too simply and calmly about war, as a decided matter, a foregone future, an inevitability. There was logic in her words, of course, and Aegon could even agree with her in so things, but it all smacked too strongly of... Maegorism.
"You speak of war between kin," he said hollowly. "For any gods, there is no war more accursed. I will not be the one to raise a hand with a sword against my kin."
"Neutrality is also a position," Laena nodded. "The main thing is to extract benefit from it in ti, and for us, it begins where the safety of our children begins. You should rember this more often."
The Prince tilted his head to the side and looked at his wife with a squint:
"Have you always been so... calculating?" he said with so surprise.
"I am simply a she-dragon guarding her brood," Laena smiled. "As for calculation, recall who attends to Baelonis and your lands while you sit in the Small Council?"
"Is it truly you?" the Prince feigned doubt.
"No, Silverwing," she answered in the sa tone.
"What would I do without you," Aegon sighed and, rising, kissed his wife, drawing a line under their little dispute. Making a decision at nightfall, and before a journey at that, was no business; he would think about everything tomorrow, though probably already today, in the saddle.
"I suppose, exactly the sa," she whispered against his lips. "Only you would sleep less."
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