The little market at the crossroads was bustling with activity. Carts stood hub to hub beneath the line of trees. A brace of hens scratched under a wagon. Somewhere a cooper's mallet knocked out a dull even rhythm. Women haggled over lengths of ribbon and tin brooches. A pedlar clinked his tray of trinkets while children wove through legs with sticks, laughing.
"How much are the fruits?" a man asked with his rough voice. He wore a knight's half-rotted surcoat with no colors, an old sword-belt, and boots that had seen too many miles.
The fruit seller, a broad woman, eyed him and his purse in the same glance. "Penny for two pears; ha'penny the bruised," she said. "And don't squeeze the good ones, ser."
He grunted, picked a bruised pair, and dropped a copper. Behind him, a knot of girls argued cheerily about which dye made the best spring kirtle. Blue from woad, said one; onion-skin yellow, said another.
A few paces off, the Two Crowns loomed over the village like a ship beached on dry land; three stories of timber and river-stone. A signboard swung on iron straps: two crowns painted side by side, one golden, one silver. There was a stable beside it, smelling of hay and horses. From within came the soft thud of hooves and the murmur of a stableboy soothing a skittish mare.
Somewhere down behind the inn, the Trident ran broad and slow. You could smell it on the wind: mud, reed, a clean damp that cut through the dusty air.
The knight with the pears turned to go when suddenly the world above him tore open with a roar.
It came from far and high, yet it filled the yard as if a mountain had spoken. Heads tipped back as one. A huge shape crossed the pale sky: blue and bright, wings arcing wide, a long tail trailing like a banner. Sunlight flashed along its scales as it wheeled, angling toward the river beyond the inn.
"Dragon!" a child shrieked, delighted, and then everyone was shouting at once. Women clutched at their kerchiefs. A pie-seller laughed outright, holding her tray aloft. Three boys sprinted toward the inn's rear yard, eager to glimpse more. A carter's horses danced and snorted; the man swore and hauled at their heads.
The rough knight didn't run. He watched a heartbeat longer, eyes narrowing against the glare, then bit into a pear and chewed as he walked for the inn. The dragon's shadow crossed the roof, plunged the market into a quick dusk, and was gone.
Inside, the Two Crowns had all the smells you expect in a roadhouse: ale, roast onions, spilled gravy. The common room stretched long, with a big hearth banked to coals and a rush-strewn floor that had last been changed… some time ago. Men in coats of many counties sat elbow to elbow at tables. A girl threaded the gaps with a tray, moving with the caution of one who had known drunks all her life.
At the far table near the shuttered window sat another knight, bigger, older, already into his breakfast and his beer. He had a tower of trenchers beside him like a mason's stack, and grease on his chin. His mail shirt hung open at the neck, a fat scar hatching his throat. He lifted a hand without standing.
"Thought you'd got yourself snatched off the road," he said, mouth full. "Or run down by a plow horse."
"Keep dreaming," the younger one said, dropping opposite. He pushed the pears aside and tore a heel of bread. "And mind your purse. There's hawks in this room with soft hands."
The older knight laughed and swigged. "Nothing in it to steal, Oly. They'd only find an empty purse."
"Last of the coin," Olyvar said, tapping the table where crumbs stuck to ale. "You told me we'd watch it."
"I am watching it." The big man turned an invisible coin in the air with exaggerated care. "See? Careful as a septa with a relic."
A pot-boy slid up with a pitcher and a look that asked before his mouth did. "More ale, sers?"
"Two," said the big knight. "And cheese. And that ham I saw go to the carters."
"Coin first," the boy said, bold as sparrows.
The big knight let his grin fade, slow. "That how you learned it?"
The boy swallowed. The innkeep, a thin man with a cook's scars up both forearms, was watching from the doorway to the kitchen.
"Bring it," the big knight said, softer. "Your master'll get his copper when I've washed the road dust from my throat."
Olyvar rubbed his temple and gave the boy a nod that meant go on then.
And the boy went.
"Halden," Olyvar said. "We owe two nights already."
"Then today we'll owe three." Halden Toller lifted his cup to salute the truth of it. "Come, Oly, have the grace to enjoy the last bite before the lean day."
Olyvar Crenn ate because there was little sense in not eating when the food sat before you. He did not make a show of it the way Halden did, chewing like a man at peace with his waistline and the world. Olyvar ate with his eyes on the room: two sellswords in patched brigandine; a couple farm men with sun on their faces; a girl at the far end in a green hood counting coppers with the dismay of someone who'd found less than she hoped; a pair of river-men near the hearth trading loud tales, their thick arms brown as walnuts.
"Did you see it?" Halden asked around a mouthful. "The dragon? Near took the roof with it."
"I saw it," Olyvar said. "I also saw half the road scared witless. We'll hear about it until nightfall. Probably one of the Targaryens."
Halden chuckled. "Monstrous beasts… makes me legs weak every time I see one."
"Oh? And when did you see one?" Olyvar asked, dry.
"Once, when I was a child… visited King's Landing. Would you like to hear the tale?" Halden grinned.
"Spare me," Olyvar said. Halden laughed aloud at that.
They drank ale, growing slightly drunk, reminiscing about lives they already knew by heart.
"Damned Ironborn chief," Halden smirked drunkenly. "Paid in good silver to ride out and look fierce while they shoved boats back to sea."
"And you rode back before the boats did," Olyvar said. He had told that story back to Halden the first time he heard it and every time after. "Paid to hold a line and you held your heels."
Halden's eyes did not sour. He kept grinning. "I held to the part of me that lives," he said. "Which is why I can still drink your ale for you. Where's your banner, Oly? We'll hang that over our heads and seem proper."
Olyvar twisted his mouth. "How many times do I have to tell you? I lost it. You know I lost it."
"In a skirmish," Halden added. "Not a battle. A skirmish."
Olyvar leaned back in his chair. "… Sent to chase raiders. Found more than a handful. My lord's son carried the colors. He died. I took the staff from him with three arrows in me and got turned about in a bush I'd never seen. Played dead till the skirmish was over… That's the tale."
Halden chewed and nodded. "And your lord had ears for none of it."
"My lord had a face like a shutter. It shut. That's all."
The boy returned with ale and a heel of cheese. He put them down and did not leave. "Master says if you're knights you'll have coin or you'll have honor. If not coin, leave your blade each."
Halden barked a laugh. "Your master wants my sword? Tell him I sleep with it."
"And fucks it too," Olyvar added with a savage grin. "Ever seen a sword up your ass, boy?"
The boy stepped back in fear and disgust. Halden chuckled again. The boy kept staring at Olyvar stubbornly. Olyvar glanced at the innkeeper, then at the boy, who would probably be beaten if he did not get the coin. He sighed, fished his purse, turned it upside down, and shook. Three coppers and the stubborn spit of a fourth rolled into his palm. He pushed two across.
"Tell him more after," Olyvar said. "And that we'll be gone by nightfall. If we're not, he may have my boots for his boy."
The boy scooped the coin and fled without a smile.
Halden drank. "You coddle them with pity. Best to teach them early. The world's a cruel place."
"Shut up and eat," Olyvar said. He broke the cheese and slid the larger piece to Halden. That was the way it always went: Olyvar saved where he could, Halden spent where he stood.
From the far side of the room, a traveler told in a loud voice how the dragon had dipped low enough to snatch a hat out of the air. Laughter rose and fell. Outside, children were already daring each other to creep to the riverbank to see if the monster had left prints.
Halden leaned his elbows wide on the table, comfortable as a cat. "We can go south and put our names in the service of other lords. The Iron Islands are done for me, and so is Riverrun for you. No lords there would hire us. It's either the Reach, the Vale, or the Crownlands. I hear lords are fat with coin there after the long peace."
"Your hearing's bad," Olyvar said. "Peace makes tight purses. Fewer ransoms, fewer fines, fewer banners to mend."
"We're not going for them anymore," Halden said. "We're swords. And swords find work. If we can't be knights anymore, best we become guards of some fat lord."
Olyvar finished his bread silently. He felt the life of a banished knight held little truth.
"We just need a little more coin," Halden said. "It's a long road to the Reach and Crownlands. Folk like the comfort of a cart."
"You make it sound easy. What about our names?" Olyvar asked.
"It is easy," Halden said with certainty. "No one would care to check the identity of a guard. We'll say we come from some obscure village they'll never recognize."
Olyvar said nothing. He had no family, just a horse that limped in cold weather, a blade that needed a new grip, and a banner he no longer had. He had Halden, for good or ill. He set his cup down and looked at his hands until the sounds of the room crept back into him: spoons, boots, a soft cough, a door.
A man wearing a sword-belt entered the hall, looked left and right, then walked toward a seat and sat down. Olyvar assumed he was a guard, judging by his dress.
The innkeeper went to the man and asked roughly what he would like. The man replied that he wanted a meal and a room for the night, and handed over a gold dragon from his pouch. Olyvar, watching from the corner of his eye, was surprised. The innkeeper immediately smiled and hurried back to fetch change and food for the wealthy guest.
Olyvar glanced up to see Halden watching the exchange too. Their gazes met, and Halden gave a cruel smile. "It seems we've just found the coin for our travels. We can start our new life."
Olyvar returned with a chuckle and nodded. "Blame the unlucky fool who showed his wealth."
The man received his meal; a pie, a piece of bread, and mushy gravy. The innkeeper smilingly returned the change in silver stags.
After eating, the waiting boy took him upstairs to his room, while the two bannerless knights watched his back as he left.
"The bed's clean with new sheets, mister. There's a toilet room attached. One of our best rooms, ser; normally given to noble ladies when they stay here," said the inn's helper boy as he guided the man to the chamber.
The man gave a short nod. "It will do."
The door closed with a creak, and the boy's footsteps pattered away down the corridor. The room itself was simple but tidy: a narrow wooden floor swept clean, a stout bed with fresh linen, and a single chair beside the window. For a wayside inn, it was comfort enough.
The man took a slow breath, then reached inward, to the mental spell model that sustained his disguise. He willed the spell to unravel.
[Spell: Mirror Disguise]... released.
The air shimmered faintly, like ripples across water. His borrowed features bent and folded, colors and light twisting until they fell away. In their place stood a handsome silver-gold haired boy, violet eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Finally… a proper bed," Aegon muttered. His young voice rang, unmasked now.
The [Spell: Mirror Disguise] was a spell model created using both the [Shadow Rune] and the [Mirror Rune]. At first, he had aimed for something like a shadow cloak which would grant greater concealment in darkness. However, after the assassination attempt, he added the [Mirror Rune] to it, turning it into something closer to the famous Transformation Jutsu. Unlike that technique, though, this four-rune spell not only allowed him to disguise himself but also to perfectly camouflage with his surroundings, achieving an effect similar to invisibility. Maintaining it, however, consumed a hefty amount of both his spirituality and magic, making it impossible to sustain for more than half an hour at a time.
Although this spell allowed him to disguise his appearance, he still had to manually adjust his voice to a lower or higher pitch.
Aegon rolled his shoulders, stretching the stiffness from his neck. Gods, it felt better than he remembered. He let out a sigh that was half groan, half laughter. For two nights he had camped in the wilds; swatting at bugs, chewing strips of dried jerky until his jaw ached. The initial thrill of camping had waned away after two nights under the open sky.
He dropped back onto the bed with a soft thump, staring up at the timbered ceiling. His arms fell wide, and the tension left him at once. The mattress cradled his frame in a way the earth never could.
Dreamfyre's presence brushed the edge of his mind. She had settled herself by the river, belly full from the hunt. He sent a mental reassurance to her and received her answer in kind, drowsy and content.
After a quick check using his spirituality, he finally allowed himself to relax.
***
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