Chapitre 3: Chapter 3: Sneaking Out at Night Never Goes Wrong
There was something to be said for the westerosi method of timekeeping. Little of it was good, granted, but there was something primal yet poetic about describing the time of night with animals. Sure, I had no clue what made one particular hour evocative of the eel rather than the ghosts, but I had plenty of time to ponder that difference as I waited for the hours to crawl by.
Plenty of time to organize and hide the dozens of notes and plans that littered my rooms.
Too many were still in the planning stages, lacking vital details or components that would not be available for some time yet. Luckily, Plan "Save My Family from Itself" was inching closer to viability with every passing second. Some concrete details were yet missing, and I could not afford to improvise. It was one thing to want to screw over Oldtown and all the political players that called that city home, but quite another to know-how. Dragons would be involved, I knew that much, be they flesh or gold, metaphorical or literal.
But bribes and dragonfire would hardly suffice to bring down two of the most heavily ingrained social institutions in Westeros. At least, not for long.
With a sigh, I tucked those notes beneath an in-progress valyrian translation of The Seven-Pointed Star. Looking off to the side, I checked the water-clock that I kept in my room. The water-level was nearing the icon of the wolf, near the bottom, signaling that I was running out of time. My more sensitive plans were slipped beneath a loose tile while the more harmless documents went into the desk itself.
I left a sealed note on top of my desk before confidently striding out. A simple explanation that I was heading for Duskendale to compete and not to worry, along with a suggestion to ask Baelon or Maegelle if they doubted the veracity of the message. The wax that sealed the roll of parchment had hardened hours ago, so I was spared the agony of worrying over every single word and phrase. Leaving it to rest on my bed, I began the next plan: sneaking out of the keep.
The royal apartments were in Maegor's Holdfast, the smaller caste-within-a-castle that was nestled within the Red Keep. The dry moat of spikes all around it was a grim reminder that this inner structure was an emergency fallback in case everything had gone catastrophically wrong. Luckily, these days were peaceful, and the drawbridge was kept down.
Sneaking across the drawbridge was easy. The Knights of the Kingsguard protecting my parents would not be relieved until well after dawn, and they remained within the depths of the holdfast. Thus, I could make my way through the keep without too much trouble. Had I developed a habit of long nighttime strolls, I might even have been able to make my way to the stables without sneaking and sliding into cover at the slightest noise.
Alas, my foresight was as limited as it had always been, and I used every ounce of paranoia I had accumulated over a lifetime and a half.
Was it necessary? Probably not. Was that going to stop me from keeping my ears and eyes alert to even the slightest change in the environment? Definitely not.
Getting to the stables was easy. Saddling my horse was laughable. Loading up the trunks I had kept in the stables no different. The closest to a real challenge came at the gates. A prince sneaking into the city in the dead of night was a lot harder to ignore than a midnight meander through the halls, after all, but I had a plan.
"Ho there!" I called out to the guards beside the postern gate I had chosen as my exit. Going by their slumped shoulders and sluggish responses, they were struggling to even keep their eyes open. Not that I could blame them; They had a boring post during a boring time.
"Who goes there?" On second thought, 'tired' did not seem that accurate a descriptor. 'Barely capable of remaining vertical' seemed more apt a descriptor going by the voice. Or horribly drunk. Or both. King's Landing had far too many people like that.
"Prince Vaegon Targaryen," I called out, not bothering with subtlety. Most lowborn people were understandably hesitant to interfere with nobility, let alone royalty, unless their aims were nefarious. Even in the limited torchlight of the Red Keep in the dark of night, it was hard to mistake me for anyone else. "I'm heading into the city."
"At this time of night, your grace?" The one on the right asked, scratching at a scraggly beard as he yawned. "Mighty dangerous in the city proper. We could spare a few men to escort you…"
"That will not be necessary," I shot down the offer, coming to a halt before them. The gate was, unfortunately, barred, so I needed their cooperation. Best case scenario, I persuaded them. Worst case scenario, I had bribe money. And wine. "I'm setting out for Duskendale."
"Fair day's ride away, that is." The one on the left nodded, looking less tired and more thoroughly soused. I might require both the coin and the drink for this duo. Good thing I raided the kitchens before I picked up my armor.
"Lord Darklyn is hosting a tourney, and I will be participating," I answered, putting a cocky smile on my face. Sad as it was, my genuine smiles were not terribly endearing. "Will you deny the king's son the chance to earn his spurs?"
"N-no, Your Grace!" Left sputtered, stumbling towards the gate to work the mechanism while Beard stood back with a weary smile. Without another word, a coin purse with a respectable sum of silver stars was removed from my belt and dropped into the waiting hand.
"Pleasant evening to you both," True to our unspoken bargain, no alarm was raised as I trotted through the gate and down into the city. I had heard rumors of the King's Landing nightlife, had seen the lights from the towers of the Red Keep, but I had never been able to experience it for myself.
It was a beautiful sight, the maze of streets and alleys illuminated by all manner of light to create a dazzling display of light. Deep within my memories, I could almost recall the cities and towns of a misspent youth, could almost recall of even the smallest mountain village had managed to outshine this primitive city, but I didn't care. This was my home now, and it had its own beauty.
But even if I could not sample its beauty tonight, there would always be another night to celebrate. For now, I kept my horse trotting through the streets, ignored the many winesinks and taverns and inns that dotted the city, some of which I was proud to call my own, as I made my way to the docks. The drinks never stopped flowing at the Sea Drake, after all, no more than the waves that gently rocked the docked ships.
And it was at the Sea Drake where I was to meet up with my ticket to Dragonstone.
Which was a fancy way of referring to Ser Corlys Velaryon.
"Vaegon," The heir to Driftmark still sat at the same table at the back of the tavern, looking much the same as he had when I had last seen him. The flagon of wine beside him was new, but he had been waiting at the tavern for a while. "How lax are the guards at the Red Keep these days that they allow a prince to ride into the city unaccompanied in the dead of night? In full Targaryen livery, no less?"
"They are the finest men my father can find in the city," I said without missing a beat, taking a look around the still-bustling tavern. The city slept as much as sailors stopped drinking when ashore, it seemed. Best not reveal too much. "Is everything done?"
"On my end," Corlys allowed, slowly rising to his feet. Sensing his intentions, I looped an arm across his shoulders and helped him hobble towards the stables. Even if his gait was too steady and his leaning too regular for this to be genuine. The other patrons were too preoccupied by their own activities to notice, thankfully. "Vaegon, what did you bring?"
"A disguise," I said simply, slapping the trunks still affixed to my poor horse. It was only for a little while longer, valiant steed, never fear. Once I had donned my plate, it could rest easy. "By which I mean armor."
"You can put that on yourself," Corlys warned.
Ah, it was good to have a friend.
"Fair enough," I said, grabbing one of the trunks while the Velaryon carried the other. Heavy though they were, we did not need to carry it very far. He led the way down the docks a brief way, stopping in front of a slender ship whose sails were colored a distinctive sea green. "Corlys, when I asked for discrete passage, I imagined something with subtlety."
"Nothing more subtle than the Sea Snake sailing familiar waters," He explained, boarding what I quickly realized was his personal ship. This personal favor was going to cost me a lot down the road, I was starting to realize. "And Driftmark is awfully close to Dragonstone. You never know when an unfortunate gust of wind might drive you off course."
Then again, we were friends.
And I still had my bribe wine.
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