Capítulo 9: Chapter 9: Medieval Dating is Overrated
I had been perfectly fine not being betrothed to anybody. Really.
There had been no pressure to get along with anybody, to get to know someone before I was forced to spend the rest of my life with someone unless they suffered some sort of mishap and deprived me of their company. Worse, what if I had begun to actually like them if something like that happened. I could not afford the distraction, not with the plans I had in mind.
But now that it's become a far more serious and real thought...
Marriage could give me options. Potential alliances to form or to deny to those who sought to climb the feudal ladder. Or, if I was feeling particularly romantic, the chance to marry for love instead of politics.
Hah! I was a prince of the royal line. Even as the third son, I did not have that kind of freedom most lords' and knights' third sons had.
Oh, my parents might have claimed to all be in favor of allowing their children to marry for love. If I were to bring a commoner or a merchant's daughter to court, however, would they maintain that line? Would such a politically suicidal decision be allowed in their plans?
No, they would not. Mother and father would continue to claim they wanted their children to marry for love until one of us threw their plans into disarray.
Either way, I was still expected to wed. Were they expecting me to make the first move, to signal that there was a woman whom I desired to wed?
My life was split between the library, the training yard, and my own study! How did they expect me to find the time?
I was not my brothers. Aemon and Jocelyn had been inseparable since the moment she became a royal ward and Baelon had been famously in love with Alyssa since around the same age.
At least today had brought some clarity to the mystery of who my parents thought was suitable for me.
The girl in question was nearly sixteen, and I was to choose whether I wished to marry her before she reached her maturity. The earlier the better, really, if only to make arrangements in case I chose somebody else.
"Vaegon," she greeted me after I left the lord's solar after the conclusion of the lengthy lecture from my father. "You seem distracted."
"Something of the sort," I admitted. "His Grace had some ideas..."
My father's attempts to outline every conceivable benefit and drawback for each of the most prestigious matches and offers he had received thus far were… stunning. In the least pleasant manner possible.
And no surprise who would be the best choice, according to him. I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count.
Typical Valyrian features- silver and gold hair, piercing violet eyes- and the promise of becoming an even greater beauty as she grew older. A ferociously inquisitive and strong spirit belied by a kind demeanor that had a way of lingering in your heart.
And, sadly, my decision to marry her would be for none of those reasons. If I chose her, it would be because she had a dragon. Certain lords wanted access to dragons. I could not allow certain lords access to dragons.
"About?" My sister had not been told about the topics in advance, it seemed.
"The idiocy of my little excursion," I revealed, digging around in one of my coin purses once I realized that Ser Ryam was standing guard at the door to the solar. I tossed him a couple of silver stags, the ransom for the arms and armor I was still wearing. "As it turns out, the Dragonpit is a good thing."
"He did insist on completing it as originally intended," she pointed out to me. "Had it been a bad idea, he might have built it into a sept, instead. Out father has always been a pious king, and it would have been important if it prevented him from honoring the Seven in such a fashion."
"That's fair," I allowed, striding down the halls of the Dun Fort with purpose in my step. I had ransoms to collect, after all, and a bath after that. The armor, or rather the padding upon which it rested, was thoroughly soaked with sweat and I was quite sick of marinating in it.
"Father and I did hear a new dragon approach," Maegelle commented a little while later," so I must offer my congratulations. Was it the Sheepstealer? Or the mysterious new hatchling that was spotted over the Dragonmont?"
"No." The smile that grew on my face was not one I even tried to suppress. "Do you want to venture a third guess?"
"What other dragons are there?" She scrunched her eyebrows as she tried to recall what other dragons currently inhabited the island. A few seconds later, the thoughtful demeanor was replaced with an utterly horrified expression. "The Cannibal?"
"Third time lucky," I confirmed and was rewarded with a sharply jabbed finger at my gut from the angry girl. Thank the gods for the plate and padding- that might have hurt me otherwise.
"Are you mad?" she hissed, hand slapping against the reinforced steel of my breastplate. I was willing to wager she felt that more than I did. With narrowed eyes, her fingers hooked under the gorget and pulled me down to eye-level. "The Cannibal has eaten almost as many people as Vhagar! What possessed you to think you could tame him?"
"Have I ever mentioned I am quite persuasive?" I explained, my smile still refusing to subside.
Honestly, what else was I supposed to say? That I bribed the dragon with the promise of preventing it from having to fight anything resembling a fair fight? Or something to play into the beast's reputation?
"You should have taken Dreamfyre," she grumbled with the frustrated air of a caretaker, releasing her hold on my armor. "She is a lovely creature, remarkably gentle for a dragon. A perfect fit for the idiot brothers willing to scare off years of my life!"
"And where is the fun in that, Maegelle?" I asked, choosing to conveniently ignore the multiple occasions when the Cannibal had nearly thrown me from his back. "Why settle for the gentle and predictable when there is adventure and excitement to be had?"
Somewhere in the vast space-time continuum of all universes sapient life was present in, the investment banker I had trained to be was undoubtedly waking up screaming.
Were this a matter of coin, I might have agreed, but my personal life could use a bit of spice. Besides, I was young and impetuous, a boy of fourteen. It was good to feel that invincible again.
"Is that your way of telling me you intend to court a Dornish maiden?" she asked, sly smile informing me that she was far from serious.
"I've never been poisoned before," I admitted, adopting an air of contemplation. "It could be a novel experience. Should I try for salty, sandy, or stony?"
"Stony," she advised after a moment's pause. "The salty are more likely to just drive a knife in your back, and the sandy will fill you with arrows."
"Stony it is," I declared. Some great lord had a daughter or granddaughter near marriageable age, didn't they? This idle fancy might not be too terrible an idea. Hiding in Dorne for the rest of life had a certain appeal.
Aside from the poison, murder, food, weather, and the massive political shitstorm I still had to avert.
We continued to bicker for a while until we reached the courtyard where the attending knights were gathered, mingling with no small number of well-dressed individuals. Courtiers and locals of importance, no doubt, all of them conversing in small groups.
At the rear of the yard, where the main hall's vast doors yawned open, stood the portly lord of Duskendale with his young son, surrounded by a sizeable gaggle of knights. Said boy's energetic voice carried throughout the yard, asking question after question.
Conveniently, both knights I had vanquished were in that group. Sers Rosby and Rykker were on opposite sides of the pack, paying close attention to the lord's son as he asked his questions. Neither knight was talking, though, which simplified matters.
Unfortunately, Ser Rosby was nearer. He had been less than gracious in his loss. Still, getting his coin would be let me avoid having to cross the heir's line of sight any more than necessary and thus risk being dragged into an impromptu publicity event.
"Ser Rosby," I greeted the man, joining him by his side. Thankfully, Maegelle had opted to join some of the ladies chatting at the opposite end of the courtyard. That meant every eye was on the Valyrian beauty as she made her way to the socially acceptable company instead of the sweat-soaked squire playing at being a knight. "I trust you are well?"
"A touch sore, Your Grace," he muttered quietly, the hint of a scowl still haunting his face.
Oh, he really did not like me. Too bad he was so miserable at hiding it. Whatever his true feelings, he made his chivalrous contribution to my coin purse, and I left with one less gauntlet tucked into my belt. "I shall regain my honor at the lists, mark my words."
"I'm sure you will." I gave his bluster an obviously false smile and moved on to the other knight.
Ser Rykker, though easier to defeat than Ser Rosby, had been far more gracious, though I did not realize why until I saw him without his helmet. Unlike the young and arrogant knight of Rosby, Ser Rykker had long since gone grey, his beard still retaining some of the black that had long since fled his hair.
"Your Grace," Rykker bowed his head lightly, his voice a hoarse whisper. As with the other knight, a small sum of silver found its way into my hand, and a gauntlet was returned to its rightful place. "You fought well, for a boy your age, but it seems your royal father disagrees."
What?
"Pardon me?" I asked, taken slightly aback by the statement.
"You possess none of the swagger of a newly dubbed knight," he explained. "No spurs, either. Since His Grace did not knight you, that must mean he found your performance lacking."
"He claims it is because I did not win the melee," I admitted. "I shall need to try my hand at the joust to prove my worth."
"Mayhaps," the old knight allowed. "Or perhaps he fears creating another Maegor. The realm remembers the woes of knighting a promising prince before he is of age, Your Grace."
What?
"Father, is that the prince?!" a shrill young voice called out, drawing my attention. Indeed, the boy was gesturing wildly in my direction, and the knights in front of me parted to allow the young heir to run up to me. Lowering myself to one knee, I looked him in the eyes as I answered his barrage of questions, ranging from dragons, to knights, to the Kingsguard, to the ribbon tied around my arm.
But despite the delightful attention, the old knight's words stuck in an unhidden corner of my mind.
Another Maegor.
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