Prince Aegon Targaryen
Mantarys turned out to be a stifling city, despite the winter, and eerily resembling its inhabitants—dirty and ugly. Once it was an important port in the Sea of Sighs, where ships from all over the Old Freehold called, built on the model of the best cities of Valyria.
But the Doom changed everything. What cataclysms did not destroy, uprisings against Valyrian officials, invasions of foreigners, and wars for the inheritance of the fallen Freehold destroyed. Palaces were looted, towers fell, elegant bridges destroyed, convenient harbor abandoned. By the will of the gods, the curse did not touch Mantarys and life was preserved in it; survivors mastered several blocks adjacent to the port, somehow restoring surviving buildings at the expense of unlucky neighbors.
As a result, two centuries after the Doom, the city represented a distorted version of itself. Mansions where dragonlords formerly lived, remodeled and rebuilt, became homes for the rabble, and now accommodated a dozen families. Lower windows, as a rule, were blocked up with stolen old masonry, and upper ones—strongly narrowed; no one cared for the external appearance of houses, and now practically nothing remained of elegant molding, bright tiles, and skillfully executed statues; where gardens formerly bloomed—now dirty vegetable patches were laid out, similar to which Aegon saw perhaps only in Andalos, and livestock grazed; children played in dried-up fountains and pigs wallowed in mud right there.
The Prince admitted to himself that any other city would not have produced such a depressing impression on him if it had not once been Valyrian. The first word that came to his mind at the sight of what became of Mantarys was "sacrilege".
If the city could be called simply ugly, or rather, disfigured, then its inhabitants were monstrous. Aegon had not seen so many congenital deformities even in the dissection room of the Citadel, where dissected freaks were kept; moreover, somehow these people were not just born into the world, but continued to live! Two-headed, four-armed, three-legged, with scales on the body, noseless, with harelips, with forked tongues, conjoined twins, hairy like Ibbenese, tall like giants, small like grumkins—it seemed any most ridiculous fantasy of nature, any mockery of gods over the human body found its place here.
Inhabitants of Mantarys did not try to hide their deformities; they led an ordinary life inherent to residents of every city: went to market, for water, washed clothes, grazed cattle, played with children, gossiped. Watching these pictures common for any locality, Aegon noted with a shudder how one woman helped herself remove linen from a rope with an extra hand, how an old man on whose hand were only two clawed fingers deftly gutted fish, how the "extra" head of his father winked at a child. The Prince was not squeamish—he saw dirt, saw poverty, saw deformities of the human body, but here from their combination multiplied by quantity he felt eerie. He did not like Mantarys.
In fairness, none of his companions liked Mantarys. Cousins, as true Old Blood, despised impure blood, and that the blood of citizens was impure there was no doubt, all evidence was, as they say, on the face, moreover quite often the figure of speech should be taken literally. On the road Maerys secretly and in an undertone admitted to Aegon that sometimes children resembling Mantaryens are born behind the Black Walls, but they are immediately got rid of; everyone, of course, understands what became of the newborn child of a venerable Gela, but, sparing her feelings (after all, it is a disgrace!), behave as if there was no pregnancy at all, and the mother herself was merely ailing.
Dennis behaved as if he expected some third or fourth hand of a random passerby to stick a knife in their back, and Aegon was forced to admit there were grounds for such fears.
The Prince had to leave Vermithor on the outskirts—residential quarters were built up so densely that no place for a suitable nesting site was found in the former city of dragonlords; however, the very fact of a dragon's presence nearby caused a hostile reaction from citizens. Following the narrow streets of Mantarys, Aegon felt unfriendly glances of locals on him. The matter was not limited to simple antipathy and sidelong glances: on the very first day a purse with golden honors was cut from Maerys's belt; near one of the taverns they tried to steal a horse (the intruder—a boy of some thirteen years with a red face from which skin peeled in shreds—managed to be stopped only after a desperate struggle during which he managed to bite one of the slaves); finally, they found an inn with great difficulty—their owners often simply refused to speak with them.
Finally, they managed to find lodging at least for the first few days, laying out a completely indecent sum before the host; counting out coins, Dennis swore in an undertone in Common, lamenting that for this amount of gold on the Street of Silk one could drown in Arbor wine and fuck oneself to death. But even for such a more than generous reward, they were assigned only three rooms—the first two, more spacious and better furnished, were occupied by Aegon with the knight and young eikses, and the third, with a single window, was assigned to slaves, for whom there was just enough space to lie side by side.
In the city itself there was hardly anything to look at: everything that could interest Aegon and Maerys was destroyed or rebuilt long ago, destroying that very heritage the Prince sought; the port represented a stinking puddle in which slops, dead fish, and Mantaryen children swam—and the Prince found it difficult to say what was more disgusting. On stifling days, when even the evil wind wandering in the district did not penetrate the stone sack of the city, cousins moved to one of the rooms and conducted sluggish conversations about nothing—it was still better than staggering along dirty streets. In one of such conversations Maerys asked Aegon once again to tell about his mother's brothers.
"I already told you everything I remember and know," surprised the Prince. "And several times at that. What do you want to hear?"
"I know not," admitted the cousin and, after a silence, added: "Probably, I just want to understand what it is like—to live together with a bunch of kin."
"You do not ask about your aunts so often, and there were more of them."
"From Mother's point of view, only Viserra deserved attention," snorted Jaegaer. "She even named her daughter in her honor."
Driving away longing for the girl, Aegon thought Saera used her name too to shit on father and mother, honoring the memory of a sister just as dissolute as she herself. Meanwhile, the younger cousin, thinking, spoke:
"Evidently, the whole point is that we did not know our father."
Jaegaer grimaced as if from a toothache and turned away; evidently, the topic remained painful for him. Aegon himself wondered more than once where his named uncle was, but deemed it wrong to ask cousins, and Aunt evaded answering the question with the skill of a true politician. Therefore the Prince decided to leave it to the eikses to determine themselves what to share with him and what not, and only raised an eyebrow questioningly:
"Is that so?"
"Judge for yourself. Jaegaer was born in Volantis, but, as Mother says, only the gods know who his father is."
"Watch your tongue," his elder brother hissed through teeth, but Maerys paid no attention to this.
"Then, when Mother laid hands on her master's brothel, she married one of the Old Blood. His name was Dalarr Aglaris. Allegedly he was crazy about her beauty, but I think the matter was still in her real estate—he was the youngest of seven sons, and Aglarises were not too rich, so he had only Freehold citizenship to his name. Mom refused to take his name, and when my sister and I were born, she named us Targaryens, not Aglarises. Father still reconciled with Viserra, but when I was born, they argued strongly about this... He ran out of her chambers in such rage that he stepped on the hem of his own cloak and broke his neck falling down the stairs."
"I do not think Mom grieved," cast Jaegaer, as it turned out, following the story. "Dalarr already managed to give her everything she wanted from him. Citizenship and the right to live within the Black Walls."
"And what about you?" inclined his head Aegon.
"Mother loves us," sighed Maerys. "But she honestly admitted each of us was a surprise for her."
"A fetus can be got rid of," pronounced the Prince and immediately regretted his words; both cousins grimaced equally.
"We were lucky," finally said the elder cousin. "She got rid of others."
At this moment Dennis (may all gods of the world bless him for this) came to report that dinner would be served soon, thereby interrupting the conversation become very unpleasant.
The next day Aegon decided to indulge Jaegaer, thirsting for spectacles, and the four of them went to fighting pits, however from what was seen there one began to feel sick. In a small and cramped arena of a stone amphitheater, some thirty feet in diameter, surrounded by a dirty, sweaty, guffawing and hooting crowd, two absolutely naked fighters circled around each other. The first was sinewy, tall, and slippery not only because he was doused with oil from head to toe, but also because a third of his body was covered with fish-like scales; as befitted a real "fish," the warrior gripped a long jagged harpoon in his hands. His opponent was almost level with him in height, but much broader in shoulders and resembled a mountain of muscles; in hands he gripped an axe suspiciously similar to those Aegon saw with Norvoshi, but the most remarkable weapon dangled between his legs.
"Oho, he has two cocks!" whistled Jaegaer.
"Those are balls swinging, idiot," grimaced Maerys.
"And you, I see, examined everything!"
"Go to the devil!"
While brothers exchanged pleasantries, finding out each other's bed preferences and tastes, fighters exchanged a couple of lunges.
"On whom will you bet?" inquired Aegon of Dennis.
"'Mountain' crushes with size—if he pins 'fish' to the wall, he's done for. On the other hand, it is a bit cramped for 'mountain' here..."
Scarce had he finished speaking when "fish" darted to the right, dodging the axe blow, and with all might planted his harpoon in the opponent's left armpit. "Mountain" roared like a wounded beast, dropped his weapon from hands and tried to pull out the "needle," but the skinny fighter turned out unexpectedly stubborn and strong: squealing desperately, he leaned on the shaft and pushed the harpoon even deeper and turned it just in case. Emitting a hoarse cry, "mountain" collapsed as if cut down.
The crowd of spectators burst into a jubilant howl. The winner, not hesitating long, arranged a triumph for himself: pulling out the harpoon, with hands on which, as it seemed to the Prince, small claws flashed, he tore open the wound turned fatal, pulled out a heart yielding not a whit to a bull's in size, and with a victorious cry raised it over his head, after which under the screams of raging spectators began to devour it, standing right on the corpse of the defeated enemy. In a startling way this reconciled Jaegaer and Maerys—both looked at the bloody spectacle with a mixture of horror, squeamishness, and disgust.
"What, my Lords, they don't do this with you?" asked the knight, teasing them.
"No," shook his head the younger of the cousins, distinctly fighting nausea.
"In Volantis a fight in the arena is honorable, it is a tradition, there are rules..." his elder brother began to justify himself to them. "In the end, we are civilized people..."
Meanwhile "fish" continued his bloody and vile celebration. Finishing the heart, he began to mock the defeated jeeringly, wiped his feet on him and, slightly opening the square jaw of "mountain," urinated right into the mouth. Finally, "fish" picked up the dropped axe and chopped off the enemy's manhood with it; clutching a long scrotum in one hand, and a no less long cock in the other, he began to wave them for show, depicting a fight with an imaginary opponent, and then, spinning, sent pieces of flesh to spectators "as a gift" in turn. Judging by wails that rang out, the crowd remained pleased.
Maerys failed to master himself after all, and he vomited. A spectator sitting in front, surprisingly normal in appearance, jumped up with cursing and, hissing in a terrible mixture of Low tongues, sat further away.
"I think it is time for us," suggested Aegon, and everyone unanimously supported him in this.
After this spectacle, cousins could not look at food without shuddering until the end of the day; the Prince understood them quite well, however, having survived war in the Shivering Sea and slaughter in Lorath, took it not so close to the stomach, though for the sake of solidarity with relatives limited himself to only the most meager dinner. Dennis was in no hurry to the table either—from the moment they returned to the inn, the sworn shield tensely paced the room, from time to time approaching the window.
"Please, stop flickering," asked him Aegon. "Else I will feel sick too."
The knight only grimaced and leaned against the wall by the window opening.
"What are you looking out for there?"
"I fear we are being watched."
A chill ran down the Prince's spine. Tracked down after all?
"Are you sure?"
"No."
"Then how did you understand?"
"Approach the window, but stand to the side, do not lean out," beckoned him Dennis, yielding place. "See the butcher's shop opposite?"
"What meat is there, only bones... Will not be surprised if human."
"Take ten feet to the right."
"Well, a drunkard lying, and a dog shitting on him."
"Not that right, my Lord, but butcher's right!"
"Express yourself more precisely, candidate," recalled Aegon Citadel days. "So what?"
"So that. See barrels?"
"I see."
"A lad sits there, playing with a knife."
"Think it is him?"
"Think so."
Aegon looked closely at the boy. Child like a child. Dirty, ragged, like any child in Mantarys, with hairy birthmarks on the face.
"I noticed him following us in the crowd," continued Dennis meanwhile. "And he has been sitting there ever since we returned, goes nowhere, and no one approaches him."
"Maybe he has nowhere to go?" suggested Aegon.
Premonition of evil developed in him lately was silent so far, and this in itself was alarming; usually it manifested simultaneously with Dennis's warnings, but this time testimonies diverged, and whom to believe, the Prince did not know. At this very moment, the boy nimbly jumped off the barrel on which he sat proudly, and dived into the human stream sluggishly flowing along the street, dissolving in it almost immediately. For some reason, Aegon did not doubt they would see him no more.
However, heeding the sworn shield's fears, Aegon warned cousins about his suspicions, somewhat downplaying them; Jaegaer, of course, did not believe—for him the cursed land of Mantarys became just as unreachable for an enemy as it once was for himself—no one in their right mind will poke their nose here of their own free will. Maerys, on the contrary, became nervous, though tried to bluster, and in the evening suggested changing the inn.
"We will be looking for a new one for a damn eternity!" Dennis was indignant. "My Lord, we found this rat hole with such difficulty, shelled out an insane amount of money for it! Believe me, in another place they will flay us twice as much! Do you order to gild this whole cesspit?"
"Why, enough money," chuckled Aegon joylessly, but immediately became serious. "Now we shall definitely find nothing, even for all the money in the world. Tomorrow we shall send someone of the slaves to look for a better lodging, if there are such in this fleabag at all."
Having agreed on this, they dispersed to sleep, agreeing to keep weapons at hand and sound the alarm at first suspicions, however, contrary to all expectations, the night passed calmly and without incident (Aegon wanted to think there were truly none, and not that they slept through them). A pair of slaves went to question owners of other taverns and inns, another five remained to guard goods, and three, led by the eldest of Aunt Saera's servants, were to accompany eikses in their daytime movements—Dennis considered walking unaccompanied dangerous.
In a street crowd it is easy for a skilled killer to get lost and easy to kill—here stands a man, and here a dagger is stuck under his ribs, and he fell like a tipsy tavern visitor. Therefore travelers decided to go out of the city for the day, so that among the little that remained of old Mantarys it was easier to notice pursuers; besides, Aegon wanted to visit Vermithor left in the hills outside the city once more. Every day the eldest of the slaves bought seven sheep or goats (there were no cows and especially bulls in Mantarys) at the market and led them for the dragon's lunch; so the thrall would not think to resell cattle so as not to go to the deadly lizard, and pocket the difference, the Prince resorted to a trick, declaring he can communicate with the Bronze Fury by power of thought at a distance—in the end, this was not too far from the truth. However it was, the trick worked: the dragon was fed, and the man—alive.
While they made their way out of the city, surrounded by slaves clearing a path through the crowd, Aegon thought about the fact that until now no one of those having power in the city not only did not wish to notice the existence of a dragon near the city, but did not appear before highborn guests either—if the name of a Prince from the Sunset Kingdoms had no weight here, then who eikses and Old Blood are in Mantarys should have been known. The Triarchy ruling the city was not interested in the newly arrived in any way: neither the Archon, nor his two assistant-Magisters from two warring parties (to which belonged, as it turned out, "mountain" and "fish") sent messengers to them, nor demanded to appear and stand before them. All this was very strange for Aegon, who for all the time of his prolonged journey got used to rulers rushing to introduce themselves to a dragonrider.
Sharing doubts with Dennis, he heard such an answer:
"This confuses me too. I heard locals saw burnt patches of land, someone even saw Vermithor..."
"So?"
"They consider his appearance a bad omen. Hard to say why. There are those here who worship the force that destroyed Valyria, so they think since a lizard flies in the sky again—their city's turn has come. They are not listened to much so far, as I understood, but just wait if we stay here..."
The situation truly became unpleasant; walking through the city, Aegon felt sidelong glances on himself all the time, as if inhabitants of these slums knew who he is and that the dragon belongs to him, but stubbornly forced himself to hold his head higher, square shoulders and walk forward, looking back at no one. If it goes on like this, a riot of these freaks is not far off.
With such joyless thoughts he went out together with companions into the hills surrounding ruins of the outer city. Vermithor was found in one of his lairs; the dragon was glad of the rider, but not of a large number of people; feeling where his assumptions inclined, Aegon laughed, playfully hit him on the nose and said:
"Daor, hēnkirī īlon sōvī daor." (No, today we do not fly.)
The mighty beast changed anger to mercy, but for show (so the rest would not relax), began to thrash his tail on the crumbled masonry of a wall, crumbling stone into dust and scattering bones remaining from his meals. Aegon had to calm him, distracting attention with affectionate words and scratching the snout; cousins watched this whole procedure with apprehension and admiration.
"He behaves like a dog," remarked Jaegaer.
"Rather like Mother's cats," corrected his younger brother.
"Well hell of a kitty," snorted Dennis, and everyone laughed involuntarily.
Aegon listened to Vermithor's sensations: that pain in the chest appearing after the battle in Lorath harbor, though weakened, did not pass completely. This could not fail to worry—evidently, information about dragons' ability to regenerate met in old Valyrian scrolls found by the Prince both in Westeros and Essos turned out greatly exaggerated. Thinking a little about the Bronze Fury's health and Mantaryens' attitude toward them, Aegon with regret abandoned the idea of flying over the city and, sighing, headed toward one of the low hills surrounding the dragon nesting site; Vermithor followed him with curiosity.
Once, apparently, even before the Doom, some structure stood on the top of the hill; however, the terrifying cataclysm and ensuing ruin did not spare it either—whatever purpose the building served before, now only several hewn blocks of black volcanic rock remained of it, somewhat similar to that from which Dragonstone was built, surrounded by a pile of smaller stones, almost gravel. Picking up one of them, Aegon turned it in his hands, examining how reddish veins were highlighted in the light. And yet there was no such thing on the Dragonmont.
"Vestros, tolmiot Lenton Uēpa issa daor, raqiros," (Seems this is not the Old Home after all, friend) he told the lizard and cried out: edges of the stone turned out razor-sharp, and the Prince accidentally cut himself.
Several scarlet drops fell from the slashed palm onto the hill; the dropped bloody cobblestone rolled down the opposite sheer slope of the hill facing the Sea of Sighs. Vermithor watched the stone with interest, and then raised his gaze to the horizon and clucked drawn-outly, plaintively. Aegon, feeling his tension, followed where the dragon looked, and froze.
Except for Elyria, Mantarys was the closest surviving city to Valyria, and the shadow of the Old Freehold was always relentlessly present in its life. Red haze rising over distant Fourteen Flames stretched in a narrow strip in the south; at night it glowed, and then clouds even over Mantarys itself acquired ominous bloody-rusty shades. Locals did not notice this strip, visitors tried not to look; Aegon himself and his companions at first felt uncomfortable due to proximity to cursed lands, but then the sharpness of sensations receded into some background; anxiety, a feeling of some wrongness, unnaturalness went nowhere—they simply learned to live with them.
However, this time something new, inexplicable, mesmerizing and eerie was happening on the southern horizon. The red strip of clouds, usually barely visible, rapidly increased in size, spreading before eyes, and already occupied a quarter of the firmament. For Aegon, paying no attention to the sky before that, this became a complete surprise. Swirling red, burgundy, cherry, blood-scarlet, and rusty-orange clouds stretched from south to north, growing and growing. Suddenly all wind died down, stifling heat descended, it seemed the air itself froze motionless, moved by nothing and no one. As if from afar Aegon heard a muffled exclamation filled with alarm—who shouted? Dennis? Maerys? one of the slaves?—but it rang out as if through a dozen featherbeds and pillows and immediately broke off.
Crimson veil shining from within crept on, and the Prince and his dragon stood and looked at it, mesmerized by its eerie beauty, united in the impulse of this suicidal admiration. Scarlet lightning flashed, splitting the heavens in half, and thunder struck Aegon.
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