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Aegor heard the fluttering above his head as he was climbing the stairs to the old tower that contained his sleeping place and when he looked up, he saw the small dark shapes outlined against the darkening sky. Ravens. Behind him, one of his uncle’s squires muttered something about bad omens and Aegor snorted derisively, would have smiled in contempt but even this was beyond him. Only stupid men believed that ravens coming at twilight were bad omen and carried dark words.
When his mother called him right before he went to bed, mere minutes later, he wondered if there was not some truth to those, though, and it was with some reluctance that he dressed and joined her in her solar as around him, servants lit torches to light the long hallways before someone fell down.
“What?” Barba demanded when she noticed the look in his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you’re still grieving him?”
I expected that you would, the boy thought but did not say it. When Barba was in the mood to be defiant, even his grandfather could not argue with her – and his uncle, the new Lord Bracken, would not even try. Aegor was too young to get the better of her. Yet.
Still, there was some self-control in her that the boy had never suspected. For years, Barba had declared her love for King Aegon and lamented the evil ways of Prince Daeron and the Dragonknight who had taken her and Aegor apart from him. She always claimed that Aegon was as much of a victim as her… right up to the moment when the dark wings had brought a word of his death. Then, she had laughed aloud and her true feelings had come to the surface with power that had made Aegor step back and her brother only shake his head. She did not love the King. She hated him. She thought him weak, willful, and mercurial, always on the look for some new playthings and ready to throw away his existing ones – and this was before he became this mountain of flesh that, understandably, revolted Bethany. Her sister and father’s death had made her hatred tenfold – and Aegor had never known. Even his recognition as a Targaryen, a fact that still felt odd to him, had not softened her. The wounds were too deep.
Now, she could not keep in her seat, as much as she tried to maintain her dignity. She shone from the inside with joy… and derision. “He has called for you,” she said. “You are to leave for King’s Landing immediately.”
“Who?” The boy did not understand. “Who has called for me?”
Barba stopped pacing and gave him an annoyed look. “Our new King.” She spat the last word. “I knew he would. He’s too cowardly to do anything else after Aegon publicly acknowledged you. He’s too weak to strip you from what your father bestowed upon you – it would make him look unkind,” she mocked.
From Aegor’s admittedly rather blurred memories, Daeron Targaryen had little choice but be kind – he certainly did not have the appearance or the warrior of a bearing. Kindness wasn’t the sole virtue a king should aspire to but when he didn’t have anything else? No physical prowess to speak of and a Dornish wife who, according to what everyone said, had him wrapped around her olive little finger.
No matter how much Daeron was willing to give him, it would never be enough to make up for the insult of having him sent away from court not once but twice – as young as he was, Aegor already knew that Daeron had been behind his second exile as well, when Bethany’s unfaithfulness had been discovered. Even before his aunt and grandfather had been executed, Daeron had convinced the King to send the boy away – about the only time in ten years when Aegon had taken his heir’s advice!
His heir…
“Is Daemon at court as well?” Aegor suddenly asked. “If the King is of the mind to be generous to us, is he going to let him keep the Tyroshi betrothal and Blackfyre?”
Barba’s lip curled disdainfully. “Of course! Naerys’ son would never have the courage to…” She paused and grabbed a goblet. Aegor frowned, wondering if he should take it from her. He certainly could – he was now tall enough and definitely stronger than her. After her father and sister’s executions, she had started drinking heavily and the boy wondered if his uncle and aunt even tried to stop her. Not at all, most likely – to her brother, she was a quarrelsome nuisance and Lady Bracken had no particular love for her either. It was sheer luck that she was even allowed to keep her chambers, instead of being evicted in one of the smaller chambers!
“What?” he asked. “What is it about Daemon?”
“Nothing,” Barba said and he could say it was final. Reminding himself to have his uncle send a note to Lord Tully that he’d be not going back to Riverrun but King’s Landing instead, he bid his mother good night and left.
Daeron was just what Aegor had expected to and even worse. Oh, he said all the right things and gave assurances that Aegon would keep his new income but there was weariness behind the words. Aegor could discern no resentment but there was no enthusiasm either which only made him detest the narrow-chested, pale man. Before, Daeron had been limited in his actions by his father; now, he was the King. Why would he not give way to his own desires which clearly were not to have Aegor near? Because he was as weak as Barba painted him, that was why.
Reluctantly, Aegor had to admit that he had hoped Daeron was trying to make up for his repeated cruelty. But the Lord of the Seven Kingdom’s behavior was not that of a someone wishing to redeem himself. He was all kingly. Generous. Was Aegor supposed to be grateful for finally getting his rightful place at court? Daeron’s eyes only became softer as he looked at his Dornish Queen who was busy asserting her authority as the mistress of everything about the Red Keep, asking questions about Aegor’s chambers and overall accommodations, inquiring about his journey and so on – as if he was as frail as her feeble-bodied second son! Aegor had yet to meet Prince Rhaegel but if the rumours were true, he would not like the boy all this much. Madness and weakness, that was inherent in those of the new King’s sons that he had met – and the only one who seemed to be healthy in both body and mind, Daeron’s heir, was so unmistakably Dornish that Aegor would have never recognize him as a Targaryen, if not for his attire. Maekar was still a child and no one could say how he would turn out but if his mother’s constant looks at him were any indicator, he would get as pampered and weak as to be fully useless. Of course, Aegor knew – in fact, the entire realm knew – that Daeron had left his youngest as hostage at King Aegon’s court because he was too faint of courage to do anything else when commanded. Fleetingly, he wondered just what a monster would their making up create. As critical as he was of his own mother, he would never deny that Barba Bracken had always strove to make a man out of him. He doubted Mariah Martell and King Daeron were even capable of achieving it. I’ll never call myself a Targaryen, he decided. I’ll never let myself be seen as someone desperate to prove that I’m one of them.
What a lovely time we’re all going to have, he thought without any amusement. They don’t want us and I don’t want them. Perhaps I’ll have to see how this Daemon feels about all of this. He only had the vaguest memories of meeting the slightly older boy and could not make any guesses about Daemon’s feelings. His derision for Daeron grew – the man was forcing himself to be generous when it did not come from his heart… Words were wind and nothing else.
This same day, as he watched the way Daeron smiled at the Blackwood woman’s bastard and the brief flash of contentment in the unnatural red eyes of the marked boy, his derision hardened, turning into what he would later, much later recognize as the first true stirring of real hatred.
The End