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Summerhall - 212 A.C.
It had been three years since Maekar had last seen his youngest son. That meant five years of his boy's life he had missed - almost half the life of a boy of two and ten. And it didn't include all the years he was yet to miss, for he wouldn't fool himself, Aegon’s adventures with his hedge knight were nowhere near finished. It was a fact he couldn’t deny when the boy had arrived a couple days ago, when he saw how he smiled at the giant of a man, how he asked him for council, how he dreamed aloud of future exploits.
The man that had brought so much chaos and discord onto his family, by taking away his last boy he had also returned him. That no-name hedge knight had given Maekar back the boy Aegon used to be before…
...before Dyanna died.
That, even more that the letter from the Hand of the King that preceded their arrival telling Maekar of his son's and the knight's he squired for service to the crown, was what led the Prince of Summerhall to summon Ser Duncan The Tall to his solar for private audience once more.
Maekar fidgeted with his wedding ring as he waited. Would Dyanna approve? She would most certainly be proud of her son. She'd even be proud of the lowborn knight. She might have even been able to convince him to join their household. In Maekar's eyes, Dyanna was the sort of woman knights fell to their knees and swore their swords to. Had he not done it himself a couple moons into their courtship? Even if she had refused him.
Would she be proud of him now? He doubted it. But she'd be proud of what he was about to do.
Then he focused his eyes on the two boxes at the back, carefully perched on the library behind him.
Years ago, when Daeron was a child and Dyanna was alive. Maekar had dreamed of handing his squire sword to his sons and that they would pass it amongst them. Then it had turned out that half of them had no interest in it and that all four of them had been slighter than he had been at their ages, even Aerion and especially Aegon. So that dream had to be discarded and replaced by having swords forged for them.
The second box was an unexpected gift. He had not expected to commission it. He had surprised himself when he went down to the forges and asked for it.
A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.
Ser Edder's aging voice announced Ser Duncan The Tall.
Maekar took a deep steadying breath and called him in.
“Your Grace,” The man said in his thick Flea Bottom accent as he bowed his head.
“Ser Duncan,” Maekar said, nodding his head without standing up from his chair.
“What service can I do for you, Your Grace?” Duncan asked, looking at his feet.
“You are now a knight of renown, Ser Duncan, you beat a Prince of The Blood in combat, you nipped a rebellion in the bud. Fucking act like it. Stand up straight and look people in the eye!” Maekar reprimanded as if he were reprimanding his own sons, he couldn't help himself.
Duncan hesitated for a moment.
“You did it once, when you rejected and defied me at Ashford, don't shrink like godsdamned maiden,”
Duncan breathed in deeply and did as told. His blue eyes met Maekar's violet ones. The boy's eyes were deep, lost and so old. It was hard to remember that he was probably barely Aerion's age.
“What service can I do for you, Your Grace?” The knight repeated firmly.
“Good, that's what I expect of a knight,” Maekar grunted, “I want reports of my sons going and coming during these two years,”
“He's a good boy, Your Grace,” Duncan said with fervor, “Brave and loyal, not only to me but to you, Your Grace,”
Maekar cocked his head to a side, a question unspoken.
“He's troublesome and impulsive, but it is all ruled by a deep sense of justice and love for you,”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gotten himself - and me - into so many fights to defend your honor,” Duncan admitted, a fond chuckle escaping his mouth.
“My honor,” Maekar repeated.
“He got into a squirmish with squires who called you a kinslayer, he'll fight anyone who dares doubt your love for your brothers,”
Maekar grunted. Dyanna would've recognized it as a laugh. He sometimes doubted his own love for Aerys… his brother maybe King, but he was a selfish cunt most of the time.
“He defends your honor even when the slight is small, even from me,” Duncan admitted as a blush crept onto his face.
“From you?” Maekar asked, raising his eyebrows.
He would allow his boy to gallivant the realm with the common man, to be raised so differently from his siblings - but he would not have a jumped up beggar poison his son against him.
“I do not doubt your honor or your bravery, Your Grace…” Duncan hurried to assure him, “I just said that… you sulked… because he sulks”
Maekar couldn't help it, a deep laugh burst from his belly. It sounded odd even to his own ears- not only from being scarce, but also because it sounded very similar to roar. Duncan's startled face pried another laugh off of him.
“I do sulk, and so do all my children,” Maekar admitted when he regained his composure, “We might as well be called the sulking Targaryens instead of the Summerhall Targaryens…”
Ser Duncan looked so out of place that Maekar took pity on him. A rare occurrence for him. But he asked him about Aegon’s antics and achievements of the last two years.
The sun had set when Ser Duncan finished retelling their boy’s doings.
“I didn't only bring you here for stories, Ser Duncan,” Maekar eventually admitted, standing up and taking the first box from the library.
Maekar sat and opened the box. Duncan gasped.
“I have a gift for you to give my son,” Maekar said, his voice firmer than he felt.
The men stared at the contents of the box. A small arming sword with black leather bound hilt, a belt dagger with a bone handle. A simple chain mail shirt and a small helmet.
“I took care to have it not give away his true station,” Maekar said sadly, running a finger over the leather of the small sword.
“Keep my son safe,” He said pointing at the helmet and the shirt, “I prefer he do not run into battle, but if he must, make sure he wears it,”
“Your Grace,” Duncan breathed out, his gigantic hand hovering over the box, “You should give him these yourself,”
“No,” Maekar said, “No. You have earned the honor and I have proven myself unworthy. It should come from his most admired knight,”
Duncan nodded, tears welling in his eyes. The great brute had proven to be very sensible.
Maekar quietly put the second box on the table and opened it. Inside was a great steel mace.
“This is to show my gratitude to you for your services to the crown…” Maekar said pulling the mace out and setting it on the young man's hands, “and to my own sulking family,”
Duncan's eyes shot up and met Maekar's own, they were still filled with unshed tears and so much awe. Reluctant to continue witnessing the feelings of another man, Maekar gave a curt nod and sat back down.
“While you remain here, you can train with me or with Ser Garrel, my master at arms,” Maekar offered with practiced nonchalance.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Duncan stuttered.
“Also, boy,” Maekar continued, “Do try to learn from Ser Edder, he is older than most knights and my most trusted man…”
Maekar leaned in and lowered his voice.
“I rarely rely on him for protection anymore,” he whispered.
“Your Grace, you have proven yourself quite capable of doing that yourself,” Duncan commented.
“Don't flatter me, boy,” Maekar reprimanded “What is important that you learn from Ser Edder is his mind, his is more my counselor than my guard,”
With a wave of his hand Maekar dismissed the young knight. Who stumbled away clumsily carrying both boxes as if they weighed nothing.
A moon or two later. It was the eve of Duncan and Aegon's departure. Father and son sat at Maekar's chambers. Aegon sat on a stool, wearing a sheet like a cloak, as Maekar prepared his razor.
“Father, you never shave,” Egg commented, looking at the man's hand with trepidation.
“I keep my beard presentable, and just because I don't remove it completely doesn't mean I don't know how to do it,”
Then he started his task, leaving his boy completely bald.
“Daeron was right… you do look like an egg,” Maekar grumbled.
Aegon opened and closed his mouth in surprise and offence.
“If you insist on fucking off through the realm as a hedge squire,” Maekar spat out the last two words, “then you have to hide your hair. Dye it, if you don’t like looking like a fucking egg,”
Aegon looked at the mirror, a mix of sorrow and embarrassment in his eyes.
“I just don't like that I look like Aerion,” the boy admitted, avoiding his father's eyes.
Maekar sighed and kneeled in front of his youngest child, grabbing him by the shoulders and searching for his eyes.
“Then think it makes you resemble Aemon,” then he added more hesitantly, “Or your peka,”
Aegon smiled at him, bright and wide. Then he nodded.
“Looking like you… I think I'd like that…” Aegon mused “But I don't think I'll manage the beard…”
Uncomfortable with the tears rising to his own eyes, Maekar stood up quite brusquely. He stared at the razor still in his hand then he handed it to Aegon.
“If you ever do and you need a shave and you are still away from home…” Maekar started, “have that brute of yours teach you how to shave,”
Aegon stared at the silver and dragon emblemed razor in his hands. His still small hand grazed the amethyst and the ruby in the handle.
Summerhall - 214 A.C.
Maekar sat atop of his horse, surveying the scene. It had been a harsh summer and The Reach felt like Dorne. But unlike his late wife’s homeland, The Reach was full of great expanses of grass and wheat. Many fields had burst into flames under the harsh sun. And many shipments of grain had been attacked in transit, for while the fires had not yet caused scarcity but bandits and corrupt merchants were trying to generate one to raise prices.
The Crown - well, the Hand of The King - had intervened. And by intervention it had sent Maekar and his men to manage logistics and to help The Reach armies protect the shipments south. Lord Tyrell´s men would man the shipments until The Raven’s Teeth took over once they crossed onto the crownlands and continued their way north. Maekar and his men would guard the wheat until it reached the Dornish border where his good-brother’s armies would take over.
Maekar looked forward to seeing The Sword of the Morning after so long. To introduce, at least, his and Dyanna’s youngest boy to his uncle.
At the moment, they were preparing for the march.
Ser Edder was getting the men into formation. While Ser Durran Tarth, a young man of nine and ten, Maekar’s ward recently knighted at a tourney by his own Lord Father, was helping tie the shipments to carts. Ser Duncan, Aegon’s ever loyal knight, was using his brute strength to use by carrying sacks of grain two by two onto the carriages.
“Where the fuck is Aegon?!” Maekar bellowed when he realized that his son was nowhere to be seen.
Then his boy appeared, he had a buzz of silver hair on his head, for he had finally decided to stop shaving it. He led an old lady by the arm. Maekar sighed, what had his son gotten into?
“Father,” Aegon said with much ceremony, bowing and everything.
Maekar rolled his eyes. Egg was going to ask for a favor that was not within their tasks at the moment. He might have spent six years of his life away from him, but Maekar knew his son.
“What do you want, Aegon?” Maekar grunted.
“Father, this is Sanira, she owns the house we are using as a shed,” Aegon introduced the woman.
Maekar nodded at the woman.
“We are very thankful for your service, good lady,” Maekar said, trying and failing to sound as soft a possible, “Rest assured you will be compensated for the inconvenience,”
The old woman gave a clumsy curtsey and gave a somewhat toothless smile to Maekar, she grabbed Aegon by the arm and tried to lead him away. So the woman knew his son was probably overstepping. But Aegon, as stubborn as his father, held the woman in place.
“You see, father, Sanira’s son was killed by some bandits last moon,” Aegon continued.
Maekar took a moment, he sighed and dismounted his horse. Then he walked towards his son and the old lady, searching for the woman’s eyes.
“I am very sorry, good lady, I cannot imagine the pain you must be bearing,” He offered earnestly.
Aegon stared at his father wide eyed, it was rare that Maekar showed such empathy in words.
“Thank - thank you, m’lord,” the woman said with a broken voice.
Again the woman tried to lead Aegon away.
“Father, her granddaughter, Neina, is looking for work to help her mother,” Aegon explained.
Here came the request, Maekar thought, as he diverted his eyes from the old lady back to his son.
“Lord Tyrell has already sent them away without hearing them,”
Maekar closed his eyes. It was not his place to teach lords how to manage their lands and their serfs. And Lord Tyrell had already departed with his men towards the capital. He looked at Ser Edder who had dismounted after him. His guard stepped forward and whispered “Cook Tila is looking for an apprentice,”
“Can your granddaughter cook?” Maekar found himself asking.
“Yes, yes, m’lord, she can,” The woman hurried to say.
“Have her come find me before we part, I’ll give her a letter for my cook at Summerhall, she can work there if you don’t mind her being so far,”
“Thank you, thank you,” Now the woman was crying.
It looked like she was about to lunge and hug the prince, but thankfully Aegon finally led her away. It was well known that Maekar Targaryen only hugged his daughters.
A couple hours later Maekar was back on his horse. He had already talked to the girl, given her a letter and some coin to secure passage to Summerhall. They were almost ready to get going when a ruckus started.
“Fire!” that was what was being yelled.
Maekar’s head snapped around, a fire on the field behind Sanira’s home had started. Immediately The Prince of Summerhall and the captain of his guard sprung into action. Ser Edder guided a bunch of his men to grab buckets and get water to put out the fire. While Maekar bellowed orders left and right.
The most important:
“Get the people first, leave the wheat for later!”
Aegon and Durran were one of the first to get in line. Maekar saw Ser Duncan run into the fire and pull two farmers, carried on his shoulders, to the road. Maekar took a second to wonder if the man was truly human. Before continuing getting his men to take proper action.
Eventually even Maekar himself was on the ground hauling buckets of water, but the fire was spreading too quickly. Screams of horror filled the air when the fire reached the old lady’s home. It overtook the wooden and hay structure quite quickly.
Maekar redirected his men.
“Forsake the field, save the house!” He growled, “There are people still inside!”
The girl, what was her name? Neina, her name was Neina. She ran out of the house and onto Maekar, grabbing his arm.
“My grandmother, m’lord, she is still,”The girl coughed, unable to finish, pointing towards the second floor of the house.
Maekar helped the girl slide down to the floor.
“Is there anyone else inside?” He asked, the girl shook her head.
Maekar turned to his men.
“Open a route to the inside and the second floor, the lady of the house is still inside!”
Quickly they altered their actions, but it seemed a pointless task. The structure did not seem like it would be able to hold long enough for someone to go in and get the woman. His suspicions were confirmed when the back of the house collapsed.
Then Aegon broke formation and ran straight into the house.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, Maekar did not understand what he was seeing.
Maekar yelled after him. But he was ignored. So he ran after his son, but Durran and Ser Edder tackled him to the ground. How Maekar wished for his mace right now. He’d kill them both, just to be able to get to his son.
Another terrible crack prophesied the collapse of the door Aegon had run through. Maekar fought harder against the men holding him back. He was almost free when he felt another man land on top of him. To subdue him.
“Ser Duncan!” Maekar yelled.
The man would surely protect his boy.
Just as the doorframe collapsed, the giant noble brute his son followed around managed to hold the overhead beam with his shoulders. Thank the gods for the giant man. For it allowed Aegon to step out, half dragging, half carrying Sanira.
Aegon collapsed because of the weight and the smoke a few steps out the house.
Maekar finally broke free and ran towards his son. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Durran running after him.
“Take the lady, Durran!” he ordered as he took his son into his arms and dragged him away.
“Ser Duncan! Ser! Duncan! Ser!” Aegon screeched as his father carried him to safety, sounding too close to how he had sounded in that damned Trial of Seven.
Maekar, Egg, Durran and Sanira collapsed on the other side of the road. Quickly followed by the awful sound of the house collapsing and the body of Ser Duncan the Tall falling next to Egg.
An hour or two later, the fire was finally contained. Maekar was sitting on the ground next to his son and the man he squired for. All three men were full of soot and dirt.
“Aegon, my son, you have grown into a brave and just young man,” Maekar commented.
He forced his aching muscles and bones to stand. Then he walked to his horse, grabbing his sword.
“You have proven willing and able to protect all innocents,” He declared.
Aegon’s eyes widened when he realized what his father was implying. The soot in his face made his eyes look all the more violet and round. All the more young. Slowly, if a bit painfully, Aegon stood in front of his father. Maekar looked around, Ser Duncan wore a mirror expression to his son, but his was filled with pride.
For a long moment Maekar remained quiet.
“Kneel, Prince Aegon,” Maekar commanded.
The moment his son obeyed, Ser Maekar Targaryen “The Anvil of the Redgrass”, Prince of Summerhall handed his sword to Ser Duncan The Tall, from Fleabottom.
“Your Grace, I cannot,” Dunk tried to refuse.
“Any knight can make a knight,” Maekar insisted, making sure the man had a good grip of his sword, “Knight your squire, Ser Duncan,”
Duncan seemed once again like he was about to cry, but he nodded and turned towards Aegon as Maekar stepped aside, his own eyes filling with tears.
“In the name of The Warrior, I charge you to be brave,” The sword rested against Aegon’s right shoulder.
“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just,” The sword rested against Aegon’s left shoulder.
Ser Duncan continued and Maekar mouthed along. Unwilling to interrupt and unable to actually find his voice.
“In the name of The Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent.
In the name of The Maid, I charge you to protect all women.
In the name of The Smith, I charge you to be steadfast.
In the name of The Crone, I charge you to be wise.
In the name of The Stranger, I charge you to honor the fallen.”
Ser Duncan’s voice broke at the end. He took a moment to compose himself before he spoke again.
“Rise, Ser Aegon Targaryen, Prince of The Realm, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms” The younger knight ordered.
And so Aegon did, jumping into Ser Duncan’s arm for a hug. Maekar observed from his place, a solemn smile on his face.
Then he almost fell backwards when Egg jumped into his own arms.
Later that night, after Sanira and his granddaughter were sorted. After they had started their march. Aegon entered Maekar’s tent. He looked at his hands with trepidation. Maekar followed his son’s eyes. He was staring at the razor he had given him two years ago.
“Father, will you teach me how to shave?”
Maekar almost snorted. Egg seemed like the sort of man that would never grow a full beard.
Instead he grunted as he stood up from his cot.
“Of course, son, come here,”