Prince Aegon Targaryen
It was unaccustomed and strange. Aegon felt no pain, yet there was no taste of milk of the poppy in his parched mouth, nor were his thoughts addled—though, as the Prince remembered, after the draught they usually resembled lazy, sleepy flies crawling sluggishly across a windowpane. Yes, certainly, such clarity of mind did not exist after milk of the poppy.
Aegon ventured to open his eyes. The muffled, soft light from a few candles was enough only to illuminate the dark velvet canopy over the bed, though he could not discern its color. Where had they sent him? The Red Keep or Dragonstone? Clearly not the Tower of Smoke and certainly not the Stepstones: in the hovels of Rhoynish fishermen, such luxury as a canopy was unheard of.
Suddenly, a long nose appeared from behind the curtain, and an unfamiliar voice asked in a loud whisper:
"My Prince?"
"Where am I?"
"On Estermont, in Greenstone. My name is Maester Lennart; I am charged with healing you."
"Where is Vermithor?"
"He is here, settled upon the coastal cliffs, as is Seasmoke."
Seasmoke? Strange. It seemed to Aegon that the last person to speak with him had been Daemon. What was Laenor doing here? He ought to have been on the Sea Snake's ship.
"Is Laenor here?"
"Aye, my Prince. Ser Laenor escorted the ship upon which you were delivered hither. Shall I command he be summoned? Truth be told, 'tis night..."
"Nay, there is no need. And my sworn shield?"
"I sent him to sleep, my Prince. He takes your... misfortune very hard."
"Wound," Aegon corrected the Maester. "What ails me? Speak as it is."
Lennart sighed heavily, snuffled, yet obeyed:
"To speak true, my Prince, 'tis a great miracle that you yet live. You have lost much blood. A crossbow bolt entered the thigh muscle; it was extracted back on Bloodstone, but the quarrel head, by all appearances, was poisoned. The wound festered, and my brothers who tended you on the spot deemed you surely a dead man, but the fever receded, and they decided to send you here. I am applying poultices with a paste of Lengii sophora fruit to draw out the pus."
"And the arm? Is it still with me?"
"Aye, my Prince," the Maester's nose bobbed up and down. "But I find it difficult to assess the term of its recovery. Maester Loren indicates in his report..."
"I care not a turd for Loren," Aegon grimaced; Loren was the younger son of a younger son of one of the Lannisport Lannisters, yet as haughty as though he had been named Seneschal of the Citadel for life. "Your opinion?"
Lennart hesitated, but answered nonetheless:
"You have walked the thinnest of edges once more, my Prince. Like many of my brothers, I am not overly pious, yet you live solely by the grace of the Gods. I am not yet ready to vouch that the danger has fully passed."
What folly, thought Aegon.
"I understand. Give me water."
The Maester immediately raised his head and brought a bowl to his lips; there was slightly more light, and the Prince managed to notice the skinny hand and rat-like face of the Maester. One would not send a wench to such a one even for moon tea, he thought.
Teeth clinked unpleasantly against the pottery, a little water ran down his chin and dripped onto the bedding, but his mouth now felt at least a little more pleasant. While the life-giving moisture slid down toward his stomach (for some reason Aegon felt how it flowed down his gullet), fatigue fell upon him once more and he desired to sleep, however, the Prince by an effort of will forced himself to ask a question:
"Lennart, did you give me milk of the poppy?"
"Of course, my Prince," the Maester was genuinely surprised. "Elsewise you would have gone mad from pain back on the Stepstones."
"I understand."
Aegon wished to say that they should stuff him with that filth no more, but in that very moment his eyes closed, and he fell asleep.
. . . . . .
Lady Laena Velaryon
"Hither," Laenor did not wait for Lady Estermont and, skipping two steps at a time, nimbly ran up the stairs and disappeared around the bend, whilst Laena was forced to follow the mistress of the castle.
"Hither, my dear," repeated the portly woman, wheezing after conquering yet another step.
The Estermonts were kin to her and her brother, thus Lady Sabitha deemed she had the right to be familiar. She and Father had sailed to visit their dank island, which resembled Driftmark in naught, a couple of times, but Laena remembered the distant uncle's wife as entirely different: slender and reserved. Now, however, a plump, merry woman was storming step after step before her. Do childbeds truly change a woman so? What if it fares the same with her? If, naturally, she and the Prince are to have children...
They caught up with Laenor at a heavy oaken door that separated the guest chambers from the rest of the castle. On the threshold, like a gloomy shadow, stood the Prince's sworn shield, hands resting on the crossguard of his sword; her brother, like an old chum, was already discoursing with him familiarly, yet the knight, sighting the mistress and the guest, bowed his head.
"My Ladies," he greeted both women at once.
"How fares the Prince?" inquired Lady Sabitha, and at once turned her ruddy face to Laena. "I try not to disturb him unnecessarily, but I inquire of his health daily."
"He fares better," answered the sworn shield. "Maester Lennart has just departed from him."
"I think the Prince will be glad to see his fair betrothed."
"I suppose so, My Lady," the knight agreed cautiously. "However, I must warn you that Prince Aegon tires very quickly..."
"Fret not, Dennis, we shall not tarry long," Laenor waved him off.
Ser Dennis nodded and opened the door, admitting her and her brother into a small chamber. A pair of tapestries with seascapes hung on the walls, the main purpose of which was evidently not the delight of the eye, but the preservation of warmth; in the corner of the room stood a low couch in the Lysene style, upholstered in old green velvet, the wretchedness of which was covered by new Myrish shawls. A fouler insult could scarce be devised.
"If these chambers they have allotted to the Prince, then where do they dwell themselves? In a sty?" Laena marveled.
Her brother shrugged indifferently and boldly pushed the next door. Laena did not linger, and, trying to lend her face a sympathetic expression, followed him. The maid feared not sickness nor wounds: after all, Laenor, like all boys, had not learned at once to hold a sword firmly in hand nor walk firmly on deck, and had managed to earn many bumps and a couple of scars. However, she knew not herself what to expect: whether bloody bandages and the groans of her betrothed, or his restrainedly caustic assurances that all was well and nothing serious had befallen him.
However, reality still managed to make an impression on her. The windows were not draped, but the sunlight penetrating through them could not disperse the gloom that reigned in the room. On a large bed under a heavy dark green velvet canopy lay Aegon Targaryen, motionless, seeming a boiling-white spot upon black satin sheets—where did they find linens in the Targaryen colors? The Prince lay still, and only his barely rising chest betrayed him as living, and not a corpse. For some reason, at this comparison, her heart gave an unpleasant lurch, but that was foolish—he was alive, after all.
"Guess whom I have brought to you?" asked Laenor, too cheerfully and too loudly for such a place.
"The Queen herself?" came a quiet, colorless voice.
"Better! Your betrothed!"
Her brother bowed like a mummer, nigh gathering all the dust from the floor, and stepped aside. Laena took a couple of steps toward the bed to show herself. Aegon's face had grown gaunt since their last meeting, his features had become sharper, and his green eyes seemed darker. And yet something flashed in them when he recognized her—or did she only fancy it? The Prince licked his cracked lips and greeted her:
"Lady Laena, what a pleasant surprise."
"I hope, truly pleasant," she smiled.
"Doubt it not," it seemed his first words were not sarcasm, which was already not bad. "Lady Estermont, it seems, fears me, since she does not spoil me with her visits, and these idlers have managed to weary me, so I am very glad."
"I flew hither to inquire of your health."
"As you see, I am yet alive."
"At times we were certain of the contrary," put in Laenor, moving to the window. "The Maesters reckon the wounds ought to have killed him. How much blood flowed from you, Aegon?"
"Half a gallon. 'Tis a great deal."
"And how it gushed from you when they brought you to the camp!.. Forgive me for such details, Sister."
"Tis nothing," Laena shook her head. "A lady ought to know everything about the health of her future husband. How are you?"
"I sleep whole days."
"Our old Maester said 'tis the best medicine."
"You cannot imagine how right he was," Aegon tried to smile. "I already begin to be bored when I wake, and boredom is a sure sign of recovery."
"'Tis well that all ended well," the maid remarked.
"It might not have ended well. Had I not my sword with me, my head would have been taken off at once," the Prince fell silent, and the maid had already decided he had tired, but the pause was short. "I confess, My Lady, now I am glad that this befell me."
"Glad?!"
"Aye, glad that it befell me, and not you. Did you not also wish to set forth for the Stepstones? As you see, no one can be saved from vile accidents."
"If you wish to say that a woman has no place in war, say it plainly," Laena raised her chin in offense. "Or better yet, say it to our mother's face."
"Unlike you, Princess Rhaenys knows what war is and does everything not to repeat the fate of her namesake Queen."
"And you, evidently, do everything to repeat the fate of Meraxes herself."
Laenor whistled admiringly—she had forgotten her brother had not left. The wretch surely took great pleasure in their sparring. Meanwhile, the Prince smiled again and spoke:
"A comparison with the Conquerors' dragon and the Goddess of Mercy should be accounted a compliment."
For some reason, now his sarcasms seemed not so sharp and venomous, and his smile did not look as mocking as in their former meetings. So, Father was right, and every wound changes a man? Laena was not frightened by the prospect of spending the rest of her days side by side with a man exuding bile—oh, she feared not that, nay, let him only try to pour his poison on her!—but for the first time she thought that in their coming marriage there might be not only duty to both families and the Seven Kingdoms, and not only an endless exchange of witticisms.
The Lady sighed, admitting her defeat in this little duel of barbs, and mechanically sat on the edge of the bed. Only when the featherbeds dipped beneath her did Laena catch herself and apologize belatedly:
"Do I not..."
"Not a whit."
And she allowed herself to sit a little deeper. To distract from the awkward moment, she said, as if in passing:
"Mother, as I understand, is well?"
"Oh aye," the Prince readily supported the polite conversation. "Cousin Rhaenys's aid was invaluable."
"And Father?"
"Lord Corlys's pride seems to have healed. The more victories we won, the more content he looked. The fact that these victories were at times won not by his fleet, but by our dragons, troubled him little. Laenor, it seems, is offended with me," a caustic spark flashed in Aegon's eyes again. "I forbade him to fly until Seasmoke recovers."
"Your adventures, you know, brought adjustments to our plans," grumbled her brother, sitting down on the other side of the bed.
"And you seemed not to miss the dragon too much."
"Oh aye, that is Laenor all over," Laena laughed quietly. "In childhood, he used to weep because he could not decide what to do: play with Seasmoke or go with Father to the port—he was drawn both hither and thither, but could not tear himself in two."
"Traitress..."
"How find you our uncles?" the maid inquired in an innocent tone, paying no heed to her brother's feigned offense.
"There are too many of them," Aegon grimaced.
In answer to this, both Velaryons exchanged glances and burst into laughter. Having laughed her fill, Laena remarked:
"And yet, you must needs learn them—'tis shameful not to know your wife's family."
"Well, you, My Lady, can give me a few lessons in family history. I shall not be able to flee them anyway."
"Is this an invitation to visit you more often?"
"As I said, if I sleep not, I am bored. I am glad you flew hither."
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