Waking in the morning in a strange bed, Aegon needed a couple of moments to reconstruct the events of the past night in his memory; however, the absence of clothes on him and sheets embroidered with silver falcon feathers helped him quickly. Lady Jeyne had already risen and, sitting on the edge of the bed in an open robe, was braiding her dark-brown hair. Now in the light of day, the Prince had the opportunity to examine once more what he had kissed so frenziedly the day before. Breasts, so wittily nicknamed mountains by him, turned out not so big as they seemed to him; of course, Lady Arryn could not be called completely flat, but she was far from Viserra and even more so Nerra with her girls.
Noticing that Aegon was awake, Jeyne turned to him, not ceasing to braid her hair.
"You know, I thought Valyrians had no hair in the groin," she said, nodding toward Aegon's silver growth at the bottom of his belly.
"Are you disappointed?"
"A little," she admitted; from the fact that the disappointment turned out to be mutual, it became not so sickening at heart. "So you came yesterday only for this?"
"To tell the truth, I came on business," Aegon sat up in bed, leaning back against the soft headboard.
"Evidently, it turned out not too urgent, since you were so easily distracted."
"By no means. I wanted to talk about land."
"About that Waxley valley?"
"Yes, about it. The Iron Throne wants to buy it," of course, the Small Council used other formulations, but Aegon decided that after a night of passion pettifoggery could be omitted. "Hot caves will become a new nesting ground for dragons. The Iron Throne asks Lady Arryn to provide assistance. We are ready to buy these lands from Waxley and, moreover, pay the Eyrie fair compensation."
"Not one of the High Lords of the Seven Kingdoms has sold either his own land or the land of his vassals," frowned Jeyne.
"My namesake the Conqueror redistributed the lands of the Hoares and Durrandons by force of arms and dragonfire. We ask only for one valley out of many, and are ready to pay for it besides. Twice over."
Lady Arryn stood up, wrapped her silk robe around herself, and walked about the room; turning impulsively, she went into the study and immediately returned with a map in her hands. Spreading it right on the bed, she ordered:
"Which of them do you want?"
Aegon turned the map of Arryn domains to himself, found Waxley domains on it, and poked a finger at an inconspicuous valley:
"This one."
"And only it?"
"Yes, this is enough for us. We shall buy everything necessary from Waxley. They will grow rich on livestock supplies."
Jeyne pondered, biting her lip.
"I agree," she said after some pause. "But I have conditions. First, your dragons will help repel clansmen raids."
"And they will also wipe the arses of the chivalry of the Vale, which simply cannot cope with savages," grimaced the Prince. "We shall do this insofar as the safety of the nesting ground is in our interests."
"That is, you will do nothing."
"Nothing beyond necessary."
"Then, perhaps, the Iron Throne will remember its faithful vassal, whose power is threatened by rebels?"
"Are they threatening?" Aegon raised his brows in bewilderment.
"I am the ruling Lady of the Vale, whom my own family tried to overthrow," she explained. "They did not succeed very well, as you see, but they tried. One cousin of mine sits in a Sky Cell and even from there tries to intrigue. Another I named heir, and the third received a fief in Gulltown, but it may be a little tight for them there. Can the Iron Throne clip the wings of superfluous falcons and gulls?"
"The duty of a suzerain is to support his faithful vassals," Aegon uttered a Runciter banality. "House Targaryen will always remember that the ruling and lawful Lady of the Vale is kin to it, and will always support her. Our presence in the Vale will allow you in all cases to appeal directly to the Iron Throne and offer it as a mediator in all disputes."
"Let it be so. But I also want the Iron Throne to pay for the construction of a new road from Gulltown to the Eyrie. For some reason Jaehaerys the Conciliator did not think of it, so let your Viserys take the rap for him. He will have to build in the mountains anyway, let his architects learn."
"We agree to this," said Aegon, and they shook hands like merchants sealing an important deal: a Lady in a silk robe and a naked man in her bed, covered only by a map.
On the same day ravens flew from the Eyrie: to the Red Keep, to Wicks, to the Gates of the Moon, to Gulltown, and to Oldtown. Aegon and Jeyne scribbled letter after letter to vassals and the Small Council, argued between themselves, and bargained over particulars regarding the general agreements reached. In the end, Waxley agreed to the alienation of a patch of land (insignificant enough on the scale of all their possessions) in favor of House Targaryen in exchange for lordship, and Lady Arryn renounced suzerainty rights over it in favor of the Iron Throne forever in exchange for assurances of eternal friendship and road construction at the Crown's expense.
Finally, on the twelfth day of the second month of the year 109, Prince Aegon Targaryen, Royal Master of Dragons, Lady Jeyne Arryn, Lady Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East, and (now already) Lord Willem Waxley signed an agreement on the transfer of the Smoky Valley into the indisputable ownership of the Iron Throne. Scarce having set his seal, Aegon immediately rushed to the newly formed fief of the Royal House and spent several days flying around its perimeter, then length and breadth, marking out a map of the future nesting ground.
He also looked out a place for fortifications; a large fortress could not be built in such a remote place, but protection from clansmen and other evildoers was necessary. At the exit from the valley, where a barely noticeable goat path snaked leading to the more settled lands of Lord Waxley, a watchtower needed to be placed; another could be placed closer to the mountains so as not to leave the rear unprotected. Finally, near the caves themselves, there was enough space for a full-fledged castle, three or four towers. The Prince tried to make a sketch, but drawing had never been his strong point, and he abandoned this useless business, deciding that Viserys would cope with this task much better—let him build something similar to Dragonstone. And for now, two dozen Dragonkeepers, whom he as Master of Dragons transferred to the new nesting ground from Dragonstone, were arranging one of the near chambers of the cave for living quarters.
Aegon explored the underground too. As expected, the caves turned out spacious enough for several adult dragons to arrange their nests there, of course, if they did not reach the size of Vhagar. The Prince brought with him a pair of dragon eggs laid in her time by Dreamfyre: one shimmered with several colors of blue at once—from pale blue to ultramarine—and the second was smoky grey with gold veins. Hesitating, he placed them in a small hollow in the floor of a vast hall, where Vermithor periodically crawled, deciding that the Bronze Fury is not the Cannibal and will not devour small kin, and guards will protect the priceless treasure from robbers. The Prince sprinkled the improvised clutch with fine stone crumbs and sand, after which he offered a prayer to Meraxes, appealing to her mercy for her children.
There was nothing more to do in the Smoky Valley, but it was required to recruit new Dragonkeepers, agree with stonemasons and architects, demand drawings from Viserys, and at the beginning of the third month of the year 109, Aegon returned to the capital.
This time the Red Keep met him not with businesslike noise, but with tense silence, terribly reminiscent of the day of Aemma and Baelon's death. Tormented by anxious guesses, the Prince hastened to Maegor's Holdfast as best he could; on the grand staircase Lord Massey rolled out to meet him, nearly pushing Aegon off the steps with his belly.
"My Prince! What grief! How good that you are here!" the Chamberlain whispered hotly, as if fearing to raise his voice.
"What is it?"
"A misfortune has happened, My Prince!" Lord Robin took him by the arm and now pulled him into the corridor leading to the chambers of the heir to the Iron Throne. "Princess Calla, poor thing, is giving birth."
"But surely the term has not yet come. She has half a month to go?"
"No less, My Prince! But such a misfortune... Her Highness had the awkwardness to stumble on the stairs..."
Not listening to the Chamberlain's lamentations, Aegon overtook him and hastened on. At the entrance to the Princess's rooms, he met a tense Viserys sitting on the very edge of a chair; the King covered his eyes with his palm, and, it seems, prayed. Daemon was found right there, rushing like a black whirlwind along the corridor from end to end.
"Well?" asked the Prince, indicating with one word that he already knew everything.
"Giving birth," Viserys responded gloomily.
"Long?"
"Already the second hour."
"Devils carried her to wander on stairs," growled Daemon, not ceasing to circle. "What the Hell was she doing there? Should have ordered—everything would have been brought! Bastard Pentoshi midwives hammered into her head that one needs to walk, and what now?!"
Aegon sighed heavily. To calm his brother, who even now did not part with Dark Sister, was not only useless but also dangerous. He did not know Calla's condition, but judging by the fact that neither moans nor screams came from behind the doors, but only sharp phrases of Maesters, matters stood lousy. To interfere now meant distracting Mellos and his assistants from business, and he himself can offer them nothing but general knowledge. It remained only to wait.
After some time, an anxious cry rang out, and the three brothers stared tensely at the door. Time passed, but nothing happened; Aegon did not even notice how members of the Small Council gathered near them, but when Lord Lyonel stood beside him, the Prince nodded, thanking for support. Suddenly, like thunder from a clear sky, a quiet child's cry rang out, and a sigh of relief rolled through the crowd of courtiers. The door opened, and Mellos came out into the corridor in a bloodied apron, in a robe wet through, holding an infant wrapped in sheets in his arms.
"It is a girl, My Prince," pronounced the Grand Maester. "I am very sorry."
"A girl," repeated the brother, accepting the bundle. The little Princess did not even cry, but rather whimpered, and Aegon noticed that she was rather small, even for a newborn. "A girl... And Calla?"
"I am very sorry, My Prince," Mellos's face, sad enough already, acquired an even more mournful expression. "Princess Calla never regained consciousness. My condolences, Prince Daemon."
The Grand Maester bowed and stepped aside. Daemon, continuing to hold the crying daughter in his arms confusedly, twitched his cheek; someone else might have taken this for neglect, but this did not deceive Aegon—thus the brother suppressed emotions, he was too strong to grieve like this, before everyone. Viserys approached him, and Aegon took a couple of steps forward after.
"She needs to be given a name," prompted the King.
"And lay an egg in the cradle," put in Aegon. "This will give her strength and help survive."
"Yes..." nodded Daemon with a lost look. "Let Alyssa be brought her egg."
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