Bab 49: Chapter 49
While two Targaryens were getting involved in the schemes of Varys and Mopatis, another figure played a role in this drama. This man was Jon Connington, who had pale, cold, icy-blue eyes, a taut, leathery face, and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
Jon wore a cloak made from the hide of a red wolf and kept his beard cleanly shaven and his hair dyed blue, although his eyebrows and the roots of his hair remained brightly red.
In his youth, Jon was proud, bold, energetic, reckless, and thirsted for glory. For this, he paid dearly... with exile... Yet, he remained and still is a capable warrior. Years of exile had made him more experienced, cautious, and wary.
"Jon, what was my father like?" asked a rather young man.
This young man was Young Griff, a tall, well-built youth with long legs. Like his guardian Connington, he dyed his hair blue to conceal his heritage, though Griff's natural hair color was silver. Due to the blue hair, the boy's eyes also appeared deep blue, but upon closer inspection, a violet hue was discernible.
Looking at him, Jon saw not just an ordinary boy, but the shadow of the man Jon had failed... The shadow of Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon... Countless were the days Jon cursed himself for the defeat at the Battle of the Bells.
"If only I had not lost then... Then my Silver Prince..." - such thoughts often visited Jon.
These corrosive thoughts haunted him until he met him... Varys, the man who told him of the survival of Rhaegar's son. Jon remembers that day as if it were yesterday, lost in drunkenness... From the news from Westeros... About the death of his Prince. And how the eunuch filled him with hope, about the rescue of Aegon.
From that day on, Jon never touched a drink again, and he dedicated himself entirely to Aegon's cause.
"I failed the father, but I will not fail his son," Jon often reassured himself.
"He was extraordinarily handsome, kind, he would have been a great king," Jon said, looking into the eyes of his Bright Prince's son. "I loved him..."
Often, seeing his ward's eyes, Jon remembered whom he had failed...
"No, it's not worth thinking about such things. I need to focus on the task at hand," Jon thought, shaking his head.
Hearing his foster father's words, Young Griff sadly smiled at the fact that he had lost so much.
"And... what was my mother like?"
"Elia Martell... A woman who could not give my Silver Prince..." Jon thought.
But to his ward, he simply said:
"She loved you immensely... You can clearly see her features in your appearance."
Jon could say no more good about her, as she had the typical Martell appearance: dark hair, black eyes, and olive skin. However, she never matched her companion Ashara Dayne, who made the princess look like a "kitchen maid."
Born prematurely, a month early, she was never robust.
"Kindness... That's all I remember about her... Neither the unearthly beauty worthy of my Silver Prince nor an extraordinary mind..." Jon thought, gazing at Aegon.
"They would be proud of you," the elder of the duo stated firmly. "You can be sure of that."
Aegon, hearing these words, visibly brightened, and not so sadly said:
"Where are we headed?"
"We have a task given by the Golden Company, a mission in Chroyane."
The Golden Company—a large mercenary group operating in the Free Cities, mainly consisting of exiles from Westeros and their descendants; many knights and former lords among them, hoping for a return home.
After the Blackfyre Rebellion's defeat, hundreds of rebel knights and lords who sided with Daemon Blackfyre and refused to bow to the victors fled across the sea to the Free Cities.
There, they swelled the ranks of mercenary groups, old and new. Aegor Rivers founded the Golden Company to unite the exiles. This mercenary group soon earned a reputation by sacking Qohor when its residents failed to fulfill their contract.
For a hundred years, the Golden Company fought in the Disputed Lands in countless wars between Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh—always siding with the highest bidder. Participants of the Blackfyre Rebellion died in battle or of old age, but their sons and grandsons kept the old names and hopes of returning to their ancestral homeland.
Moreover, not just mercenaries from Essos, but new exiles from Westeros—after Robert Baratheon's rebellion's success—also filled the ranks of the Golden Company. Many landless knights and lords fled east again.
In exile, Jon joined the mercenary group Golden Company. He served in the group for five years, rising through the ranks and, having distinguished himself, became the right hand of Myles Toyne, the general captain of the mercenaries.
"It's ironic that a Targaryen needs the help of the Golden Company to return home," Aegon remarked.
"True, but since there are no more Blackfyres, the Golden Company doesn't have much choice."
"So, to Chroyane?" Aegon asked, shifting the topic, for as much as he had befriended the Golden Company, he understood the reputational damage the group carried. "The land of my mother's ancestors..."
"Yes, where Nymeria once was," said Septa Lemore.
She was the woman responsible for Aegon's education, teaching him all the nuances of the Faith of the Seven.
"Lemore, you're also from Dorne, aren't you?" Aegon asked the woman who had somewhat replaced his mother.
"Yes, Young Griff," she answered with a gentle smile, her beauty not hidden even by the attire of the servants of the Seven. "A wonderful land from which your beautiful mother hailed..."
"A place where I lost everything..." Septa Lemore thought internally.
Aegon didn't notice the sorrow with which his caregiver spoke:
"I hope Chroyane shows us the beauty of the Rhoynar culture..."
From Daeron's perspective
My journey to Chroyane passed without incident, even as we left Qohor behind. Crossing the Dagger Lake, a breathtaking panorama of Rhoynar culture unfolded before me.
"Do you sense anything, Tun?" I asked, gazing skyward where Tun's figure was invisible to the naked eye without specialized equipment or magic.
"There's a strange emanation of magic..."
I felt a similar sensation; the magic was akin to what we encountered in Ar Noye, yet distinctively different.
"Does it remind you of what we saw in that other similar city?" I inquired of Tun.
"Yes, but it's stronger... It's as if all other magics we've seen emanate from here."
"Heh, well, we must head into the heart of the city..." I remarked.
The city was an assembly of wooden towers, spires, halls, galleries, and terraces with elegant arches and slender columns. It wasn't heavily populated, but those I saw bore a suspicious resemblance to the Dornish. These individuals kept their distance from the city.
"They're likely descendants of the Rhoynars..." I mused, observing the few people around.
Suddenly, I recognized someone I had met before our venture to Qohor, an explorer of Rhoynar history.
"Garin? Ah, he did mention he was heading to Chroyane," I thought.
"It's been a while, Garin," I said, approaching the man engrossed in the city's architecture.
"Ah! Oh, hello, Red! I didn't expect to see you here. Where are the others?"
Looking where he had been gazing and seeing nothing remarkable, I asked Garin, "The others had business in Volantis. And what has surprised you so?" I concluded, nodding toward the ruins.
Catching my gaze, Garin understood my implication and, with a somber smile, said, "A slight melancholy overcame me... over what became of such a beautiful people."
"Hmm... What exactly upset you?"
Garin then explained what Chroyane was. Once one of the largest cities in Essos, known as "the city of festivals," it was devastated by the Valyrians during a war about a thousand years ago, its inhabitants slaughtered or enslaved.
During the heyday of the Rhoynar civilization, Chroyane was the grandest of the Rhoynar cities. Its main attraction was the immense Palace of Love, now referred to as the Palace of Sorrow.
The city also features a bridge, still the world's largest - the Bridge of Dreams, even bigger than the Long Bridge of Volantis. Its pale arches stretch from the Palace of Love across the river to the western bank; half of the arches have collapsed, but a few of the numerous lanterns that adorned the bridge still burn. Even today, remnants of its former grandeur can be seen among the ruins — fallen spires, headless statues, a marble spiral staircase leading nowhere.
During the wars with Valyria, the ruler of Chroyane, Garin the Great, managed to unite the disparate Rhoynar cities into a single alliance, assembled in Chroyane, and led a massive army of 250,000 warriors. Although initially victorious, Garin's army was eventually defeated at the gates of Volantis, and he was captured.
The Valyrian forces marched up the river and, among other atrocities, destroyed Chroyane; Garin himself was brought to the city in a golden cage and hung from the city wall so he could watch as the city was razed and its women and children, whose fathers and husbands had died in the southern campaign, were enslaved.
According to legend, Garin called down a curse on the conquerors' heads, pleading with Mother Rhoyne to avenge her children, and that very night, the Rhoyne flooded with unprecedented force — the city was partially submerged, and a thick fog laden with malignant vapors descended, causing the Valyrian conquerors to die of greyscale.
"Who exactly maintains the lanterns?"
"Most likely the stone men," Garin replied.
"Greyscale... Clearly a magically induced affliction," I pondered.
As the contagious disease progresses, the skin hardens, becomes brittle, grays, and feels stone-like to the touch. The affliction usually begins in the extremities, moving upwards, and when it reaches the head, it turns inward, driving the victim into madness.
Children in cold, damp climates are primarily affected. Those who survive the disease are often disfigured but gain immunity to other rare and deadly ailments.
"How do these people not leave? What keeps them here?" I asked, referring to the stone men.
"The Triarchs of Volantis send ships with provisions for the infected three times a year. That's probably what keeps them here... But I've also heard there's a Shrouded Lord, a being who controls the infected."
"And what is this Shrouded Lord?"
Garin then spoke of the Lord being linked to greyscale, capable of bestowing the "grey kiss," potentially infecting someone with this incurable disease. According to tales, the Lord-in-Plague will grant any wish of someone who can make him laugh; however, he might permanently take a person he fancies to adorn his stone court.
"But these are just stories. I'm more inclined to believe it's merely a title passed among the stone men," Garin concluded.
"I agree with your words, young man," said a rather old voice.
"And I've been waiting for them to speak..." I thought to myself, having noticed that two individuals had been listening to Garin's words for quite some time.
"Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Young Griff," said the young man with blue hair and slightly tanned skin. "And my father is known as Old Griff."
"You can refer to me as Old Griff."
"So, you are the ones... Jon Connington... And my 'brother'..." I thought with a slight smile.
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Chapter 65 has already been published
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
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-- Power
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