22

Aegon slipped into a fever dream as he felt Nahknani crouch down next to him, touching his face in the dark to assess the damage from the leader hahkyeen.

A sudden chill settled around him, as his unconscious stood shrouded in a black cloak in the middle of blank darkness. A finger of light reached down and touched him from above. He looked down to see and feel his body recovered, his face felt normal again, and the nagging aches all but dissipated.

A cold wind blew past, flapping the shaggy black cloak he wore. He gripped it, keeping it from flying away and closed. He was dressed in all black, head to toe. Even his thick leather gloves were black. His whole outfit looked like the accumulation of assorted black garments passed down by elders or pillaged off dead men sorted together to create a complete look. He stepped forward in the dream to see the world take shape as snow, ice, and an enormous wall, The Wall, formed in front of him. Around him and against the ice, crude barracks and battlements took shape, wooden walkways, a lift, and living chambers appeared with another strong gust.

The cold winds cut through his layers of black and skin, chilling his bones and insides as if they had been poured in. His chest froze with every breath.

In an instant, he was on the top of the wall, looking out into the dark forest beyond and a host of wildlings, giants, and mammoths screaming up to him as the two other men in black that shared his platform loaded up a barrel of pitch to be dropped.

One turned and called out to him above the howling wind, "Lord Snow, you going to help us or just stand there and look at them?" Aegon's mouth couldn't respond as he heard a stranger's voice, younger than his, reply and begin to assist.

He heard a voice, low and sultry, distant and from above. "Below the shadow you must go, for Ice and Fire seek to know," she seemed to chant the way the red priestess had in the Qarth.

With a flash, everything changed. He seemingly flew through the brightness to a memory of his own, standing over Corwyn Velaryon with the dirk in his hand and his cousin's neck and ribcage leaking blood in a pool the shape of a dragon's wing.

As he stood there victoriously, his first thought was how to escape the dim and dark storage room. His memory flashed forward to his second thought as he slipped out a window and back into the White Harbor alleyways. How did he find me?

Har had always been careful of saying the wrong thing in the wrong place, no matter how deep in his cups he was. Even in the Eel, where he felt as safe as one could feel in a place that served poison meat as a staple, he never entertained discussions of who he was or where he was from. When pressed, he'd regurgitate the same story he'd rehearsed and performed since he was old enough to sit at the bar. He was a deck hand for a ship out of Lys, which would explain his eyes for one, but allowed for him to speak only a few words in broken sentences without seeming rude. Not that he cared for manners or gallantry in a place like The Lazy Eel or winesinks of the like, but he avoided any potential confrontation, especially in White Harbor.

So for Corwyn to have found him, he would have had to have an informer. Eyes were always for hire in port, especially if you had the coin of a name like Velaryon, but the commoners in the Harbor were never privy to the private bounty for the bastard boy. They couldn't read the warrants. Furthermore, no one had recognized him as the Bastard's bastard in a port or harbor town in Westeros since he boarded the Captain's ship at only seven. Whoever informed on him knew him. Knew who he was before the ship. Only one person knew.

Har skulked back down to the corner of the building to look down the thinning alley he entered the storage room from. Tippin Longsley stood outside the door keeping watch for a now dead master. Looking across the alley with his back to the door, the lumpy mound of flaps and skin resembled more walrus than man, as the shadowy alley provided cover for Har to sneak close enough to confront him.

"Longsley, my good man. We have finished our family meeting and your master wishes you'd join him," he closed ground on Longsley quick enough to corner him from running, though it only took a quick jump and a few strides walking from behind the cover he used to approach.

His one eye that could widened, his jowels and chin dropped, and all Longsley could mutter at first was the amalgamation of pathetic squeaks and sounds until he mustered up the composure to ask, "If it pleases you, s-s-s ser, how are you out here and not in there?" He gulped. His greasy, wormy forehead beginning to bead sweat in the cold night air.

"We have finished our discussion, my cousin and I, and he's said all he's ever going to say. As I said though, I believe he wished for you to join him," Har pulled the dirk and pressed it against Longlsey's chest, "Or maybe I wish you could join him. Open the door so that we can speak in private, my good man."

Tears welled in his eyes as sweat dripped around his whiskered brow, "Ser, please. Spare me. I mean you no harm. Here. Take this bag of silver. Please, ser, I want to live."

Pressing the dirk into him, Har grabbed the bag and replied, "Open the door quickly while I still have a mind to let you live. I need answers, my good man, and if you provide me with the ones I need, I may have enough mercy in my heart to let you see the morrow."

As he turned, opening the door, his quivering voice mumbled, "Anything, ser, anything. Ask and I will say it true." As the door opened, Har pushed the walking lard into the darkness, the dirk poking into his soft clay back.

As the two stepped through the threshold of the door in his dream, Aegon woke, lying in softer grass, the sun seeping through cracks in the tall treed canopy, warming his face which felt cold to the touch. He could hear Nahknani fussing with Lem over something and the rolling sounds of moving water.

He dug his elbows in the dirt, trying to prop himself up, but too weak, he could only manage to shuffle his arms and shoulders enough to send a shooting pain through the middle of his back. He grunted, and Nahknani rushed to his side holding the wineskin.

"Here, you need water," she said as she reached her hairy arm toward his face. He thought to ask if it had been boiled, but as his mind thought, his hands brought the skin to his lips and drank. The water tasted earthy, but clean, and never had a drink been as refreshing. He gulped and gulped until she stopped him.

"Not too much yet. I don't want you to choke." She took the skin. The water perked him up a bit more as the smell of sizzling meat floated past his nose.

"Eat?" he mumbled, his face even more swollen than it had been. Nahknani quickly brought some meat over, presumably the leader hahkyeen. A thick greasy piece of reddish flesh hit his tongue and sang. He left it whole in his mouth, savoring the taste for a moment but also afraid of the pain that would come from chewing. The meat started to separate in his mouth and he bit down with his back teeth to chew. A piece slid through and got stuck in the hole where a tooth once was, so he cleaned it out with his tongue and swallowed it down. It hurt.

"There. That's good. Now rest. There's much to do to heal you." She turned to walk away from him.

"Wait," he said, as he thought to reach his arm out. He tried to lift his left, but a flame ignited around his shoulder and his ring finger. The finger was flaps of skin holding the crunched and snapped bone dangling from the middle joint, but his shoulder was worse. It was a mess of ripped flesh, open tendons, and festering puss, and the pain only hit him when he saw the damage. We must tell your tribe of the Ghiscari. They attacked your uncle and may be allies with JaHarle, was what he wanted to say to her, but the pain overcame him, and he fell back.

Writhing, he jostled his body back and forth, ignoring the shame of his hand, grunting from the pain that consumed his shoulder. "No, no, no. Don't try to move. The wounds are bad. Give me time, I will heal you. Here, drink this. I made it from the Chuun root to ease your pain." She reached out with a handful of a thin white liquid. He sipped it, choked, and laid back again. Within moments he felt the pain subsiding and he drifted back off into sleep.

He was standing in the dark storage room, the dirk pointed into Longsley's back. Har pushed him toward the half lit table, the brazier still burning, for him to sit. His master Corwyn's lifeless body just a few feet away from him sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.

"Did he fight bravely, my lord?" Asked Longsley, his voice still quivering.

"At least he wore no armor. He fought as men fought. He tried to kill me. He failed. He's dead now. There's no more to know."

"Did he die slowly? Did he suffer?" The lard lifted his head, turned and looked Har in the eyes as if to see the truth in them.

The truth you shall have. "Yes. I stabbed into his ribs. I let him bleed a bit while I was finally able to get a word in. He gurgled replies I couldn't understand, then I slit his throat just deep enough to cut the skin. He saw his blood spill out of his neck for at least a minute or two until he stopped bubbling. I'd say he died slowly enough and suffered just so."

"Is that what you plan to do with me?"

"Shut your flabby mouth! I'll ask the questions from here and you WILL answer them, and truthfully!" He stood above Longsley with the dirk in his hand, tracing shapes on the servant's coat and breeches as he asked.

Longsley sang like a bard, explaining all he knew, which was less than Aegon thought, but all the same, he sang. He explained the betrayal down to the last detail he was privy to, ending his song with the undeniable accusation and all but certain identification of the offending party. The only one that knew who Har truly was.

Covered in moisture from head to toe; piss, sweat, spit, and tears, Longsley sat quivering in the chair after finishing his confession. "I have told you all that I know. I am withholding nothing from you, my Lord. Please, Please, let me go." The man sank to his knees, his hands folded in front of him, pleading.

Har scoffed at Longsley replying, "Yes, indeed you have. You've answered every question, and I thank you, my good man. But alas, if I were to leave you alive, you'd eventually explain what happened here. More would soon be after me and soon after that, I'd likely be the one on the floor bleeding out. It's a shame, truly. A man as obedient and loyal as you; you should be someone's man."

"Yes, yes. My lord, I could be your man." His face brightened, horribly reading the situation. "Anything you would ever want, need only ask. I can be your servant, ser. My lord." He bowed, trying to play to the knowledge of Har's lineage and royalty.

"Just so you know, before I say this, absolutely nothing you could say would have saved your life. You were dead the minute that piece of shit on the floor's blood stopped bubbling out of the opening in his neck. Though, knowing I've spent little to no effort to squeeze everything out of you, nothing you can say could convince me that any secret with you is safe. If you put up a fight, withstood a little torture, I honestly might have considered cutting out just your tongue and eyes. But I felt this way was better for you anyway. Don't you think?"

The man before him sank into a puddle of something lesser. He was now only a slug, or shelled clam, soft, pink, and helpless. He knew the end was upon him as a fresh stream of piss flowed down his breeches and collected into the already pooling yellow below where he was kneeling.

He folded into a fetal position, resigned from his pleas, mumbling something like, "Please, please, please, please," over and over again as if he were praying. Har held the Old Gods. They didn't hear the meek whispers of a craven, covered in piss, kneeling before his enemy. They'd honor the man who stood in the face of defeat bravely. Not with their lives, but with the glory of a valiant death.

"Any last words?"

Aegon woke up to the smell of his burning flesh. Nahknani was next to him, holding down his left arm, as the wound burned next to his face. She covered the bite with a poultice of plants she'd found, wrapped the wound, and set it ablaze while he slept under the influence of the Chuun root. Alarmed from being woken with fire, his body jolted as much as it could, but as he came to, he couldn't feel the flames.

"What? Why?" he struggled to ask, his eyes almost swollen shut.

"This is the way my people heal these. Your skin is much softer, yes, but it will still heal. Stay still while I get the plants for your face. To help with the swelling and pain." She released his arm and began to walk back into the brush.

"My," he reached out his hands, "finger."

"I cut what was hanging. No use saving something already gone. But it is not an important one, I think. I applied the same healing. I just haven't lighted it yet." He looked at the finger seeing a similar poultice. My fucking finger he thought. She's right though. What do I need that one for?

The flame swayed slowly back and forth remaining at a constant height and width, never straying from the wound itself. Nahknani left him for more healing, as she called it, and he watched his shoulder.

He relaxed back down on his back and turned his face away from the fire. Heat had never bothered him, even as a youth. Once, he had accidentally stepped in the middle of a fire running away from a group of kids in the street. Miraculously, it didn't hurt him, he just kept going. It was the same as this flame. The wound tingled, like frostbite, refreshingly cool as the fire burned, seemingly restoring his energy and stamina.

He looked back into the flames. The red priestess would see something. He searched for himself. Only red, orange, and yellow. No prophecies. No visions. But as the flare danced smoothly back and forth with the soft breezes, he felt himself growing stronger and stronger. Dragons are fire made flesh.

Nahknani returned to Aegon smirking at the flame on his shoulder. He turned to her and said, "Light my finger."

She did. He barely flinched.

"I have this for your face." She rubbed the plant open and smeared cream on him. It immediately tingled and his face went cool, then cold, then numb. She spread it deep into the pores of his face and cheeks, around his lips and temples. Pretty soon, his whole face was a swollen, drooping arrangement of flesh on his face. He must've looked like Longsley.

"Drink the Chuun root again. If you rest, you will heal quickly. You are Valyrian, yes?"

He nodded.

"This is some of what they taught my people. It works better on them than us, but it saves. The flames hurt us though. We scream. You smile." She smiled, happy with herself as usual.

A yelp sounded and yet another hahkyeen mouth dripped drool on his face. "Lem," Aegon murmered. The pup hahkyeen licked his face.

"No. NOO!" she shooed him away, but too late. His tongue was already affected by the tingling plant juice.

As the Chuun root juice started to knock him out, he stared into Lem's face. His shaggy eyebrows twisted in concern. His numb tongue dangling out of his mouth as if it were too big. Aegon laughed at the sight as his vision blurred and he slipped away again.

Har walked into Captain Harrus chamber in the dead of night, covered in blood with a black sack tied at the top. The Captain was still at his desk, counting coins.

"That thing you sent me for, ser. Here." He threw the bag on the desk, knocking over rolled papers and neat stacks of silver.

"Harwin," he said, surprised. "What is the meaning of this? Why do you storm in here this way, throwing things in front of me?" He sounded incredibly naïve, though they both knew he wasn't.

"I met your man. It seems he didn't want to give me something for you. It seems you were giving something to him. Am I right?" Though the confession identified Harrus and the evidence was simply too strong to deny, Har wanted more than anything for the Captain to convince him otherwise. "You are the only person left alive to know who I truly am. Tell me, ser. Did you send me off to my death tonight?"

"Harwin. Now, calm down. Sit, son," the Captain always used this tactic when confronted by an angry customer. He'd speak calmly, listen to everything the customer had to say, and then change the topic.

"I'm not your son. And I'm not going to calm down." Blood seeped from the bag onto the Captain's desk. He noticed it, then looked away as if to pretend it wasn't there. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? Open it."

"Harwin, please. Sit."

"No."

"Harwin, I need you to hear me . ."

"No. Open the fucking bag!" Har felt the emotions overwhelming him. Just say, 'No. It wasn't me.' Say something. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be. Harrus felt the tension building and saw the dirk now pulled from its sheath, poised in Har's hands for use. He carefully untied the bag open, reached in and pulled out the severed head of Corwyn Velaryon, his neck still dripping and his face twisted in a fearful gaze of agony and defeat.

"That is what you wanted, isn't it? The head of a Velaryon? It's the wrong one, sure, but I think it'll make a fine trophy."

"Harwin, you have to listen to me." Harrus put the head down and stared into Aegon's face with that sincere look he used in deals. "I'm your dearest friend. I would never betray you like this."

He was lying. Harwin knew by the way he blinked. He blinked less when he was lying, holding his stare as much as he could to sell the story. Harwin began to cry, to the point of sobbing.

"Now, son. Come here. I know how hard it has been for you all these years, knowing who you are, who your family is, and not being able to live it. Working for me all these years, I've taught you everything I know. Seems to me, I taught you too good," he chuckled. "What happened, the prissy bitch challenge you to a duel or some gallant knight shit like that?"

Aegon wiped his tears for one last laugh with his surrogate father. "He brought me to an abandoned storage house, locked the door, and pulled a longsword on me. He gave me this dirk to defend myself. I threw it at his face and as he tried to parry it, I rushed him and tackled him. I bashed my fists into his fucking nose until he dropped his sword, then I kicked it away, grabbed the dirk from where it fell and stabbed him in the lungs so he'd drown to death. I slit the skin on his throat just enough so he could watch his life leak out as I mocked his freak of a father and his failed attempts at becoming something. I reminded him that he would never be remembered for anything other than a corpse, stripped his fine clothes, stuffed them in the brazier, and removed his head to bring to you. I also killed his servant. A fat man named Longsley. I killed him quicker, though. My quarrel was not with him."

The Captain smiled, sitting back in his chair the way he did. "I told the dumb fuck not to fight you. I told him you'd kill him easy."

"As you said. He was a dumb fuck." The two shared their final laugh together, then both stopped and sat silent for a moment that felt like an eternity.

"Are you going to fucking do it or what?" The Captain said, slamming his hands onto the desk, a tear welling up and flowing down his face.

Har stood, the dirk in hand, "Can I show it to you first? You're the only one that knows why this is special to me. It's like it was forged specifically for me, huh. The hilt, you see? It's . ."

"A seahorse, yeah yeah, c'mon, kid," the Captain began to cry, "I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry."

"Can't you just look at it first. Can't you just share this last moment with me?" Har started to sob as well.

"That is as fine a blade as any, Aegon Velaryon. It suits you. Never sell it. Never lose it. Now. C'mon. On with it," he looked away, "I can't live with myself a heartbeat longer."

Aegon tossed in his sleep as the blade of the dirk cut clean through the base of the Captain's skull, killing him instantly, and painlessly.

Under the influence of the Chuun root, Aegon continued to replay the day he earned the dirk in his head. Every time he reached the end, he tossed back and forth and shed a tear.