Capítulo 4: Chapter 4: The Spymaster
YEAR 112 AC
-King's Landing-
Red Keep - Maegor's Holdfast…
It has been more than eleven years since the Great Council at Harrenhal, nine after Viserys succeeded his grandfather and ascended the Iron Throne. And since then, the golden age has been supported and not yet disrupted. House Targaryen remained unchallenged - aside from the still-independent Principality of Dorne to the south, though relations with them have also been calm and stable for decades.
Yet, for some, there can be neither peace nor stability.
"I know it was one of his agents," one of the guardsmen searched around the room.
"He was insistent, ser," a spy conveyed the message.
"Insistent as in 'I'll murder him in his sleep' or 'be a good lad and tell me'?"
"The latter…?"
The guardsman sweated nervously. "Oh, uh… that's… that is even worse. Tell Prince Aeonar I'll have the reports ready before the day is done." One more slip-up, and I will lose my head. Or worse… fed to his dragon. I should go! I do not want to disappoint him again.
High atop Maegor's Holdfast, in his chambers, stood a now seventeen-year-old Prince Aeonar. He was now in his third year as Master of Whisperers, gathering intelligence reports and shuffling agents throughout every corner of the kingdom and abroad. Around him was a coterie of his high-ranking agents. As the realm's spymaster and chief intelligence agent, it was Aeonar's duty to identify threats and, if possible, deal with them in ways that could not be solved through delicate means. No, his methods were often bloody. The crown had traitors lurking in the darkest corners - some closer to home. Everything he did, Aeonar did to protect his father, his mother, his sister… for House Targaryen. Though Viserys was amiable, never considered strong-willed, and was eager to please, some looked to take advantage of him by seeking his favor for their benefit.
Aeonar would never allow that to happen. Not while he watched closely, had ears placed at every door. So long as he was Master of Whisperers, no secrets remained hidden for long.
"Brother Rupert's findings on the Lord Oscar Butterwell, my prince. Our contact, Ser Mychal Mooton, seems to be having trouble with him," another agent reported.
"And?" Aeonar pressed.
"All he heard was… a 'chocolate bath.'"
"Tsk! If the Butterwells want to play, we will play. Dispatch this missive to Ser Mychal and inform him to follow its instructions thoroughly." Aeonar sent away one of his agents and took a scroll from another who just walked in. He broke the wax seal; examining the words closely, he frowned. "Illiterate fool. I thought Borros Baratheon's obsession was over. He has been drinking again?"
"Our contacts report he again sent one of the king's messengers into a state of hysteria."
"Stubborn mule! Inform the Lord of Storm's End that unless his son is brought in line, the crown will not tolerate such unwanted behavior."
Day after day, Aeonar read his agents' reports - as shown by the occasional dark circles under his eyes. If it were believed minor, he would entrust them to carry out his instructions. However, if the issue were too big of a problem to ignore, he would bring this straight to his father's attention. Such things needed to be dealt with accordingly without delay. Little did he know this would turn out to be one of those days. Aeonar took yet another scroll from another one of his informants and read over its contents thoroughly. He traced the contents slowly, reading them bit by bit, then his brow furrowed into a serious expression.
"Brother Serac is certain of this?"
"Yes, my Prince," they confirmed. "He explained it in great detail. Said it needed your immediate attention."
"Well, he certainly has it now." Aeonar gathered the important documents he considered vitally important and was readying himself to leave his chambers. "I will need to inform the Master of Ships at once. Instruct your fellow birds to keep a close watch and report any suspicious activity in the region."
"At your command, my Prince."
Shit, Lord Corlys is not going to be pleased about this. Aeonar exited his quarters and descended the stairs. This was information that could not be ignored this time. Reports of ever-growing activity within the Free Cities in Essos across the Narrow Sea and trespassing from unauthorized ships near the Stepstones would no doubt raise an issue about national security. Maybe it could be a rogue band of pirate fleets, but what if it were not? No, his scouts would have reported otherwise. These ships are not of Westerosi origins but originate from three different city-states - all of them organized.
As he made it to the bottom floor, Aeonar turned the corner to see Lord Corlys Velaryon with his back leaning against the wall. As the Master of Ships, he was in command of the Royal Fleet - most of them were constructed by House Velaryon at Driftmark. As Lord Admiral, he was a committed man with an unmatched sense of duty, steady and assured. Plus, Corlys is highly logical and focuses on the facts when making decisions, making him one of two allies Aeonar has on the small council. Surely, he would listen to him.
"Lord Corlys," Aeonar called out. "A moment if you will?"
Corlys turned to see the crown prince calling out to him. "Prince Aeonar," he acknowledged stoically. "I half-expected you to report to the king, not to me. So, what brings you here?"
"This."
Aeonar handed over the parchment he was reading earlier. The Sea Snake looked at him suspiciously, but begrudgingly took it from the prince and began reading it closely. His brow furrowed and looked back at his young colleague.
"And you are certain of this?" Corlys questioned.
"Information is my specialty, Lord Corlys. My agents know their duty, they know the risks. The reports are correct," Aeonar answered. "No one else has been paying attention because they've been occurring in remote yet random locations near the Stepstones. But I believe there is more than meets the eye. And if this involves the Free Cities, then it's got to be big."
"Which means that it could impact our shipping lanes and affect overall trade."
"That's what I believe as well. Therefore, I am bringing this to you first, Lord Corlys. You are the Master of Ships and in command of the largest fleet the world has ever seen. I have dispatched more agents to closely watch the situation. You understand my reasons why, I'm sure."
"If what you're saying is indeed accurate, then it does warrant concern. I will send a raven to my family in Driftmark. The king should be notified of this as well."
Aeonar nodded. "I'll go inform him of this at once, Lord Corlys. Here's hoping the rest of the council will move out of passivity."
"They will if they know what's good for them."
Both acknowledged each other and were soon on their separate ways. Having brought his concerns to one of his colleagues, Aeonar felt confident that his words would not be dismissed this lightly… again. This time would be different. Having reached the legal age of majority last year, he was referred to as a 'man grown.' In addition to his knighthood, Aeonar was given more responsibilities - no doubt as part of his grooming as heir to the Iron Throne. It was a challenge, but the prince would always welcome a challenge - daring to be put to the test.
Yet, surprisingly, Aeonar noticed King Viserys was not where he usually was. Normally he would lock himself in his room constructing a large model of Old Valyria for hours on end. As a child, Aeonar would often beg his father to let him help build such a magisterial replica of their family's ancestral homeland. Before the Doom, magic flourished, topless towers were reaching as high as the heavens where over 1,000 dragons soared, stone gazed down through the eyes of garnet, blacksmiths used ancient spells to forge weapons of legendary strength and sharpness, and a navy large enough to span the fourteen seas. The Valyrian Freehold's dominion was vast, setting up colonies like Pentos in the west, Meereen and beyond in the east, and Volantis in the south. Ruled by wealthy noble families, the dragonlords, House Targaryen was one of these families, but they were far from the most powerful.
But all of that was utterly destroyed during the cataclysmic event approximately four hundred years ago; the world's greatest Valyrian empire was no more. Only the noble families of Targaryen, Velaryon, and Celtigar remained.
"Ah! There you are!"
Aeonar turned to see none other than his father, King Viserys I Targaryen, approaching him with his arms wide open. He wore a three-dimensional red and black embossed leather, soft wool, and an asymmetrical-like tunic with a gold belt around his waist. Caught off-guard, the prince found himself being embraced and held in place.
"I was wondering when you were finally crawling down from that tower of yours," Viserys laughed. "Your mother and I often wonder if you prefer such a confined space with nothing but documents, crows, and servants running in and out all the time. Must be quite claustrophobic at times, isn't it?"
"Ngh! No, not at all. On the contrary, I find that the quiet permits me to concentrate on my work in a more prompt, efficient manner," Aeonar squirmed to free himself from his father's hug. Taking a moment to adjust his collar and fix his hair, he soon regained his composure.
"Work, work, work. Is that all you ever do, Aeonar? You hardly get any sleep these days," Viserys pointed at the black circles under his son's eyes.
"But I'm the Master of Whisperers, father. Gathering intelligence and ferreting out potential threats from the shadows is an important task as your spymaster. I simply cannot afford to stand idle. It would be irresponsible."
"It would be more so to ignore your health, as well. Such matters can be delegated to other members of the council if you wish. Otto might-"
"No, please don't do that again! The last time you did that, your Hand sidelined me and nearly compromised my informants by moving them to where they were not supposed to go. Wherever my people are, I am also. They are my eyes, ears, and blade. If I were removed from my post again, it would blind me. Do you see?"
Viserys raised his hands at his son's protests. "All right, all right, relax. It is just a suggestion. If it means that much to you, I won't have your post handed off to another." He then walked alongside Aeonar. "But let's not focus on that. Your mother is set to give birth to another child soon. It's a cause for much celebration."
"How is mother doing?" Aeonar asked.
"Ooh, as well as she can, given the circumstances. Moving around in her delicate state, however, tires her out much quicker than Grand Maester Mellos has mentioned to us."
On that subject, it was one of the few moments where Aeonar disagreed with Viserys. Since his mother Queen Aemma had already given birth to him and his sister Rhaenyra, she felt duty-bound to keep trying to extend the Targaryen bloodline further beyond what was needed but was met with little success. In ten years, Aemma suffered more stillbirths, miscarriages, and another baby dying in the cradle. Although she kept a dignified composure on the outside, Aeonar could tell that his mother was suffering inside. Her body could not handle much more; it made her fragile. It was affecting her health.
"Father," Aeonar spoke up, "have you ever considered what kind of toll this is having on her?"
Viserys noticed. "It's different this time. The child is going to be a boy. I know it. You are going to have a brother. I've never been more certain of anything."
"Don't tell me you believe it simply because it stems from another one of your 'dreams' again. You have me, you have Rhaenyra. Why continue to put mother through this? She has been through enough of it already. What if this pregnancy fails again or worse: it kills her? Have you ever taken that possibility into account?"
"Nonsense, Aeonar. The maesters have already assured me that even if it does happen, they will be ready to prevent any further complications from arising as they had done in the past. Look, my son, I understand the concern you have for your mother. I share them as well, but I cannot even put my wants and desires above my duty and centuries of tradition… no matter how much I might want to."
Why do you keep persisting in doing this to her, father? You hear me, but you do not listen. "But no more after this," Aeonar insisted. "Before me, mother had to endure one stillbirth and one child dying in the cradle. After me and Rhaenyra, she had another stillbirth and two miscarriages. All of this has taken a toll on her - mind, body, and soul. Once this… seventh pregnancy is finished, father, any further attempts must cease. As disappointing as it sounds, just… promise me that for mother's sake that you will not keep trying. You already have an heir."
Viserys concentrated on his son. Aemma's pregnancies before and after both Aeonar and Rhaenyra were indeed born were not successful, and the continued attempts were taking a toll on her. His beloved wife simply cannot bring it upon herself to mourn the loss of another child. By the Gods, Aeonar sounded more like Aemma with each passing day.
"I… all right," Viserys conceded. "After your mother gives birth to the child, we won't try again."
Aeonar sighed. "Thank you, father," he said with relief.
"In the meantime," the king continued, "I should be taking the opportunity to find you a suitable bride."
"Wait, what?"
"You are seventeen, Aeonar. And as my heir, you have multiple marriage proposals coming in from every corner of the realm. I know we have discussed it at length, but the time has come for you to find a bride and father children and make me a proud grandfather."
Somehow, I knew where this conversation was going. "How do you know I haven't found one already?"
"Oh, ho ho! Well, I do not think that maidens and tavern wenches would certainly qualify as-" Viserys stopped mid-sentence and froze as Aeonar's words finally clicked in his head. 'How do you know I haven't found one already?' For minutes, the king stood frozen in surprise before looking at his son. "Wait. What do you… Does… Does this mean… You have already chosen a bride?"
"Now, now, father," Aeonar smirked with amusement. "Even a spymaster must keep some secrets to himself every once in a while."
"Come now, don't keep your king in the dark here," Viserys said with interest. "At least give me a hint. Is the girl you are speaking of one of the Redwynes?"
"No."
"A Bracken?"
"No."
"Darry?"
"No."
"Baratheon?"
"No."
"Frey?"
"What? Oh, Seven hells, no!" Aeonar hushed his father before he kept asking questions. "Look, I'll tell you more once this tournament you're hosting is over. All I will tell you is that mother knows who it is and has given me her blessings. But until then, please keep this quiet… and if I hear otherwise, my agents will know it was you."
Viserys was amused with his son and overall pleased that Aeonar found a suitor. It was only a matter of time before he was given a grandchild. Before then, he promised to keep his lips sealed out of respect for his son's wishes. "Speaking of," he cleared his throat, "have you seen your sister by any chance?"
Aeonar shook his head and groaned. Without even looking at his father, he merely pointed out the window beside him. The king turned and saw the young she-dragon Syrax roaring in the distance before flying above King's Landing, descending towards the lowest area near the Dragonpit.
"Again?" Viserys exasperated.
"Rhaenyra took Syrax on another ride throughout the Crownlands again," Aeonar confirmed.
"Ugh, a king's cupbearer must not be late. Especially when we're in the middle of having another council session."
"Shall I fetch someone to retrieve her, father?"
"No," Viserys shook his head. "I'll have Ser Harrold retrieve her. Gods preserve me, Rhaenyra will be the death of me one of these days."
"Maybe, but I wouldn't go that far yet. You know how wily she can be - especially if it goes against the norm." Aeonar soon rubbed his head; it felt like an itch in the back of his mind. He felt something was wrong, but he could figure out what it was… and it made him uneasy. "Have you heard any word from uncle Daemon?" he asked.
"Ever since I appointed him Commander of the City Watch two years ago," Viserys sighed, "the gold cloaks have been completely overhauled. Daemon was insistent that the Master of Coin supply the necessary funding for his projects. All I'm told is that the men are fiercely loyal to him."
"Questionable as his methods may be, crime did decrease significantly."
"Not if half this city ends up getting maimed for it." Viserys patted his son on the shoulder. "But come. We should be discussing these matters in the small council chambers. I imagine we have plenty to talk about, especially as the tournament approaches."
"I understand, father," Aeonar accompanied. "I've already spoken with Lord Corlys this morning. The Master of Ships was understandably dead set on bringing an urgent matter to your attention as quickly as possible."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because the information my agents provided me concerns not just our shipping lanes in the Narrow Sea, but also House Velaryon as well."
"Well son, I think it's safe to say we can call on the others and begin these discussions. But the tournament-"
"Again with the tournament, father? Why go to great lengths for such an extravagant event even if the results do not exactly meet your expectations?"
"Come now, aren't you at least excited at the prospect of the idea of having a brother?"
"One younger sibling is already a handful, and besides, I wouldn't place my faith solely on dreams. You're not Daenys the Dreamer or Aegon the Conqueror."
"Don't you have a little faith in your father?"
"I do, but I prefer to have actual evidence to reinforce one's claims."
"And it's why I appointed you Master of Whisperers."
"You know me - I prefer an actual challenge, father."
"Good. Now, let's call the others to join us
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