บท 3: wooden swords
It had been a few days since the slaying of the Pink Dread, and the princes were gathered in the practice yard under the stern gaze of Ser Criston Cole. The sun beat down on the Red Keep, casting harsh shadows on the sandy ground as the boys hacked at dummies, their wooden swords clattering against straw and wood. Criston moved among them, offering curt suggestions and criticisms, his voice carrying over the grunts of exertion.
Aerys moved through the motions, his strikes deliberate but lacking any real passion. This routine had long since lost its appeal, and his mind wandered as his sword connected with the dummy's midsection. Across the yard, Aegon's strikes began to falter, his form growing lazier with each passing moment.
"Aegon," Criston called out sharply, his tone brooking no nonsense.
"I've won my first bout, Ser Criston," Aegon replied with a smirk, his voice dripping with casual arrogance. "My opponent sues for mercy."
Criston's eyes narrowed with amusement. "Ah, well, you will have a new opponent then, my Lord of the straw. Let's see if you can touch me—you and your brothers."
Aerys's mood soured further at being dragged into this due to Aegon's slacking. He dragged himself reluctantly to stand with Aegon and Aemond, a faint scowl on his lips. As Criston signaled for them to start, Aerys raised his sword and let out a loud, exaggerated battle cry, more to irritate than to inspire.
Aemond and Aegon charged forward at the sound, their youthful eagerness driving them headlong into the fray. Aerys, however, slowed his pace, watching with a faint smirk as his brothers collided with Criston, their strikes meeting the knight's practiced defense. To Aerys, they were little more than foolish meat shields, absorbing the blows meant for him.
He circled them, biding his time as Criston easily parried their attacks, knocking Aemond and Aegon around with almost contemptuous ease. Once the two were sufficiently distracted, Aerys darted forward, aiming to catch Criston off guard from behind.
Criston, however, was quick on his feet, dodging Aerys's strike with a graceful pivot. Still, Aerys managed to clip the knight's shoulder, a small victory that didn't go unnoticed. Criston's expression hardened as he dispatched Aemond and Aegon in quick succession, then turned his full attention to Aerys.
Aerys knew he wouldn't win in a straightforward fight. Instead, he pressed in close, forcing Criston into a confined space where his long reach was less effective. He launched quick, precise strikes at Criston's face, his wooden sword whistling through the air.
Criston, however, deflected the blows with ease, using his hands to redirect Aerys's strikes. Aemond, determined to rejoin the fight, came at Criston from the side, but the knight's swift kick sent him sprawling to the ground. Aerys barely managed to keep his footing, but by the time he steadied himself, Aemond was already out of commission.
Criston smiled at Aerys, clearly anticipating another attempt at the same tactic. But Aerys had other plans. With a sudden burst of energy, he leaped forward and employed his "Helmet Headbutt," slamming his metal-clad head into Criston's face. The knight, expecting a sword strike, was caught off guard, stumbling back as blood streamed from his nose.
"That was not very princely of you," Criston admonished, his voice slightly muffled as he cradled his bleeding nose. He shoved Aerys to the ground with a swift push.
"It's not my fault that I'm the only one wearing a helmet," Aerys shot back, rolling to his feet. He didn't care why the others chose to forgo helmets; it worked to his advantage, and that was all that mattered. "Besides, I think I've distracted you long enough."
Aegon, face flushed with determination, charged back into the fray. Unfortunately, the idiot's attempt at a surprise attack was ruined by his loud battle cry. Criston easily sidestepped Aegon's wild swing, but before he could counter, Aerys darted in and grabbed the knight's legs, throwing him off balance.
"Break his teeth, Aegon!" Aerys shouted, his voice tinged with both mischief and spite.
Aegon, however, failed to deliver the decisive blow. Still, Criston sported a red bruise on his cheek as he ended the spar, the three princes sprawled on the ground around him. Naturally, that was the moment Ser Harwin Strong, known as Breakbones, strode into the yard.
The two grown men immediately launched into a childish argument, their voices rising over the practice yard. Aerys, however, paid them little attention. He was busy squatting by the side of the yard, enduring the punishment Criston had meted out for his unorthodox tactics. He tuned out their bickering until a particular exchange caught his ear.
"It's hardly a fair match," Harwin remarked, his tone heavy with disapproval.
Criston's response was sharp, a thinly veiled challenge. "I know you've never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't anything anyone should expect."
Aerys couldn't resist. He mimicked Criston's stern tone, his voice dripping with mockery. "That was not very princely of you, Aerys. Go squat in the corner, Aerys."
He was ignored, as the two men escalated their disagreement into a full-blown dick-measuring contest, using Aegon and Jacaerys as their proxies. Aerys watched with faint amusement as the two boys fought each other, the adults on the sidelines cheering them on like thugs at a cockfight.
Aegon, being 13 to Jacaerys's 8, won the bout easily. When Harwin stepped forward to separate the two princes, Criston snapped, "You forget yourself, Strong. That is the Prince."
"And what am I? Chopped liver?" Aerys muttered, annoyed at being sidelined in the conversation.
Things escalated quickly from there. This incident was a departure from what he remembered of the history in the book. In his previous life, the only time Criston and Harwin were mentioned to have been in a physical conflict was during a tourney where Cole broke Breakbones's bones. Yet that incident seemed never to have happened here.
Aerys kept expecting Criston to bring out his morning star and go on a rampage, but the knight merely got knocked down and punched in the face.
"Say it again! Say it again!" Harwin bellowed, his voice echoing across the yard as he held Criston down.
Aerys whistled, shaking his head slightly. This Criston fought with his words as well as he fought with his weapon. Aerys could appreciate cunning, but only when it was his own, not in those who could use it against him.
...
That afternoon, Aerys ventured out into the city with Ser Lorent Marbrand as his escort. These outings had become something of a ritual for Aerys, a way to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the Red Keep and lose himself in the bustling streets of King's Landing.
The city folk had grown accustomed to his visits, especially since he spent his allowance with reckless abandon on these excursions. A silver for a roasted corn? Sure. Five silvers for some baked potatoes? Why not? Is that an exotic rice recipe from the Three Sisters? Here, take a gold coin and serve a plate to everyone in the establishment.
In the early days, when he still harbored hope of salvaging the situation and stopping the inevitable war, Aerys had made elaborate plans. He would save his money, invest in properties, buy some whorehouses, patronize an orphanage, and create a network of spies using the aforementioned whores and orphans.
But as events unfolded, mirroring the book more and more, Aerys gave up on those plans. What was the point of some whores or little kids or property when dragons would soon be hunting them all?
When he returned to the Red Keep that evening, Aerys learned that the Strong father and son pair had decided to leave for Harrenhal. He was mildly surprised by the news but felt no real attachment to them. Well, perhaps he'd say a prayer for them.
Not that prayers had ever stopped anything before.
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