1
His arms hung heavy at his sides, sitting hunched over the counter of the winesink, his hands gripped tightly around a wooden cup of what the locals called soku, a rice or grain drink that varied in potency from a normal ale or wine to a breath snatching strength like nothing he'd ever experienced. This cup was strong, but not as strong as he'd need to forget.
It had been six and ten moons, most of which he had spent rowing, drinking, sleeping, and remaining silent in his own thoughts. His own misery. Each night, he'd take his earnings and return some to wherever served drink, some nights not even taking as much as a bite of solid sustenance. He rarely mingled with either his fellow crewmates or the locals of any port or harbor he'd manage to reach, and if he did, it was out of necessity. He'd only ever nod or grunt, still foreign to the tongues of his superiors and shipmates, and when the crew sang to celebrate, he wouldn't do much more than lift his cup, acknowledge those around him enough to not draw unwanted attention, and continue drowning in the loss and guilt of his destiny. His life's purpose.
The red woman had left him shortly after bringing him back. His lungs still felt full of molten rock, though he was able to breathe and speak, he could hardly think or realize what was happening
His last moments came back to him first, as he remembered his struggled for life, even though he had almost resigned to the darkness. And as he scraped through that narrow cavern, he clung to the little hope left in his heart, as he fought to live for her. It is what she would have wanted, or so he was told and thought himself. Then the lava came, pushing him, surrounding him, and the hope that was left had extinguished. He suffocated into the darkness, slipping softly off into nothing.
Then he woke, a thick crust of onyx rock formed around him, to the kiss of his enemy, and the warm caress of her deity. His internal flame was reignited, and his destiny was said to be far from finished. In those first moments, he was still too clouded to fully understand anything, until hearing her voice and remembering all that had happened.
He had left Westeros a lost boy, running from the guilt of his foster father's murder, a murder by his own hands, into the grand adventure of becoming the captain of his own ship. He landed on the shores of Sothoryos a failure, responsible for scores more deaths, and the loss of everything he ever knew. Everything he ever was. Except the dirk, of course, which stood more for who he could be than who he ever truly was as the Captain's Man.
But that was long ago. And since, he'd been responsible for even more deaths, even more pain. Though most of the lives taken were those of his enemies, the ones he still carried were the ones he still loved. A lifelong friend he'd betrayed enough to betray him. And a woman he fell in love with, only to lead to her torture and death. He never thought to revel in the defeat of the slavers and the emancipation of the miners. It was true, one could say he fulfilled his destiny, but his victory was as empty as his latest cup, and all he could think of was his loss.
As he looked upon her barely covered body, her crimson hair flowing in the breeze off the sea, he heard the words of the man he'd met with one arm and one leg, "You speak about risking everything: Do you know what everything really means? Be the hero if you choose, but remember I warned you." In that moment, Sensou's words rang hollow; spoiled sentiment on a man hell bent on his mission. Now, everything concluded and the dust all subsided from the conflict, the wise man's words sank in. Looking at her, standing among the smoking and rolling ground around them, Aegon now knew what everything was, and why a stranger would warn him so.
He stood in the breeze, his jahkyar cloak around his shoulders, the dirk in his hand, not hopeful for the remaining destiny that awaited him, but fearful. What more can I give to this Lord of Light when he has already taken away everything?
"There is but one more thing," she said to him, removing the ruby from her neck. "This is a token from our Lord. Though my purpose here is fulfilled, yours is not. This will assist you, though even I do not know how or when." He reluctantly took the red stone as she forced it into his open palm and closed his fingers around it. "In one day's time, a ship will arrive due east of here in a cove with a rock that's shaped like a spear. If you wait there, your journey will continue. If you choose to forsake your destiny, shrivel and die, as I will."
She left him, sauntering away in a fashion that would've once perked his interest, but now only saddened him more. Her flowing red hair wasn't hers anymore. It was Nahknani's. And her finely curved ass was far too small for him to smile at. As she stepped away, into the calm still water at the edge of the molten rock, she faded away, aging, then crumbling to a fine red dust that dispersed with another breeze.
He was left with a choice, though it seemed like there was none at all. He had followed his destiny this far, and still in a haze from reawakening, he felt he had to seek this cove she spoke of. If he had wanted to stay with the Brindled People he helped free, he wouldn't have sacrificed himself to the mountain. If he stayed, he'd see Nahknani in every face, in every stone, in every living thing. He needed to ease his pain somehow, though he doubted it possible, and knew that staying here would only ever remind him of her. He had to leave. He made his choice.
"Daleun," he asked the keep, which meant another in the new language he'd have to try to pick up. He was never one for learning tongues, but as no one but a select few spoke any Valyrian or the common tongue, he tried to learn enough words to get by. Another drink was as necessary as anything he could otherwise consider, so he learned daleun almost immediately.
The keep responded with a sour face, stretched across the front of his rounded head and framed by wispy brows and whiskers. He spoke too quickly for Aegon to understand anything but the disgust in his tone, but after some grumbling, he turned around and grabbed the glass pitcher of clear liquid.
The keep poured. Aegon drank, and the cycle repeated until he couldn't remember how many he'd had or how much longer it was until the morrow. When he was drunk enough to pass out, Aegon would return to the local hovel he paid for to sleep while ashore, a room no larger than a privy with straw laid down on a cold stone floor. If he wasn't absolutely shit faced, he would never have gotten even a wink of sleep. But he made sure he was suited for the arduous task of each night drinking as much as he could and still walk.
This night could have easily been lost in the monotonous haze each day and evening had turned into, but as he turned down the alley toward the sty he called his home, he felt eyes on him, following him. He initially shrugged off the feeling as no more than a drunken mistake, but soon after he could hear the patter of footsteps and the heavy breathing of men about to attack.
He turned, stumbling more than he already had been to feign being drunker than he was. Better to appear worse for wear. Let them have a false confidence he thought. He took a few drunken steps towards the group of four, only their frames visible in the dying light of the sparsely placed oil lamps in the alley. So far from the walls of Leng Ma proper, the outskirts of the harbor town were the perfect place for him to hide amongst the poor and common members of this new society, and while in port, he managed to remain hidden behind his grown and grisly beard and his once again long dark locks. His fair skin betrayed him from time to time, a white devil to some in this place, but as many hours as he spent rowing hard for his new crew he spent wallowing in his own misery, and mostly avoided conflict. Tonight, would be the first time since Sothoryos he drew his blade, if he needed to at all.
He fell back, purposely, and spoke slurring his Valyrian almost beyond recognition, "Good evening, kind folk, or is it morning?" He stumbled back to his feet, as he saw the first of the men step towards him. His gait was confident, and only his wretched grin was visible under his dark hood in the light of the lamps.
The lead man spoke in one of the native tongues of this new place. He couldn't yet distinguish between the two, but it sounded more like the YiTi form of Lengii, than the native one. The population of this island was split into two native races: those descended from the mainland of YiTi, known as Yits, and those descended from the native Lengii, known as Legs.
Yits were usually smaller, shorter, and lighter of skin and coloring. They mostly wore flowing robes, and the noble women would sometimes paint their faces pale white. Their eyes were more narrow, and their faces more rounded, but that was all from his blurred perspective usually cups and cups into his night.
Legs were lithe, inhumanly tall, and dark as ebony or teak. Their bodies were mostly lean, and their muscles well chiseled, though many, even his crew mates, seemed unable to gain mass or bulk. Their faces were thinner, and the structure of their cheeks and jaws more cut. Many wore gold or silver bands around their mid arms and shins, as a common garnish to their elaborate and colorful garb. Many of the more noble looking Legs he'd seen were outfitted so colorfully, they resembled peacocks strutting the decks, surrounded on all sides by seven foot or taller guards, their bare chests painted in markings that reminded him of Ootrahk.
The man approached him, drawing a small dagger. "I hope your skill makes up for your lack of length," he said in Valyrian, to which his attacker was ignorant to. Aegon deftly slipped his dirk from its hidden sheath, beneath his tattered and loose-fitting cloak he donned while rowing or drinking, and held the blade behind him as to not alert his attacker he too was armed.
The rest of his group followed, drawing their own stunted blades and beginning to circle him, slowly. They proceeded with caution, which Aegon respected, but their smirks spoke to an air of extreme confidence among them, all hooded and shrouded by the dark alleyway. That would end up being their downfall.
Aegon purposely stumbled to his feet as the lead attacker stepped closer. "Last chance," Aegon warned in Valyrian, "if you turn back now, I'll spare you." None of the men responded with anything other than oblivious grins as the lead attacker lunged forward with the dagger.
Aegon straightened his posture, abandoning his act, and spun away from the lazy stab. The man's arm clumsily darted past his whirling tattered cloak as Aegon let a backhand swipe from the dirk slash the back of the first man's neck. He continued spinning, and caught the next closest attacker's dagger with his left hand and thrust the dirk across the second's outstretched arm and into the third attacker gaining ground on his left flank. The fourth attacker panicked and froze, as the third coughed and stumbled to his knees. With the second's right wrist still in his grasp, he recoiled to dirk and thrust it into him. The man's face, still shrouded under the cloak in mostly darkness, lit up in terror as the dirk crunched into what Aegon assumed was his spine. He quickly pulled the dirk out, dropped the now dying man, and turned to face the first, bearing down on him from behind. He parried away the man's dagger thrust with such force, it flew from his hands, clanging on the cobbled street below, and finished him with a slash across his throat.
The fourth was still left frozen in a panic. His knees were trembling and a puddle of his fear spread from the pant leg of his breeches. Aegon felt pity and roared at him, feigning a thrust with the dirk, and the man ran, screaming something Aegon couldn't understand, out of the alley and back into the street. Though mostly sobered after the rush of blood lust, Aegon thought little of the man's screaming and followed. He wasn't chasing him, but only wished to return to the winesink to regain the altered state that would allow him to sleep in the shithole hovel he called his home.
As he turned the corner from the alley, he looked back at his work. Seeing the sprawled bodies and pooling blood behind him, he felt his cheeks tense and his mouth spread for the first time since he could remember. His smile made his face sore, as he felt himself again, if even for a moment. Looking back into the street, he saw the craven attacker sprinting away, waving his arms and screaming. He was alerting uniformed men on horseback, all dressed in traditional YiTi garb he couldn't describe other than green and official, and his smile dissipated as quickly as it appeared. Fuck.
A foreigner in this place, he feared the reaction officials would have to his work, warm blood trickling down his cheeks and hand; probably covering his beggars clothing. He sheathed the dirk and raised his hands, assuming he was to be seized. He hoped someone knew Valyrian, as it was his only hope to explain himself.
He calmly walked towards the group of officials, the streets now littered with bystanders curious of the cries from the craven, peeking out of their hovels and second story windows to see the commotion. The street was barely lit, but brighter than the alley, and he started to yell out in Valyrian preemptively, "I was attacked, four to my one. I allowed this man to live as he ran in fear. There are three men in the alley, presumably dead, but they attacked first. I mean no harm to anyone else and only wish to be treated fairly."
The craven turned, hearing his Valyrian, and scurried behind the officials in fear, still ranting in the YiTi tongue common here. The officials heard and saw him, all but one kicking their horses to a gallop. Aegon kneeled in the middle of the cobbled street, his hands still raised in the air. "Please allow me to explain myself so that justice is served. I will accept the proper consequences for someone that's defended themselves, but I did not initiate this attack, and would never wantonly engage four men for no reason."
The three horses galloped toward him, unimpeded by his pleas for understanding, as the remaining official began his gallop, calling out to his comrades from behind. Moments before their horses reached them, they must have heard what he said and pulled back on their reins simultaneously. "Jungji! Jigeum meomchwo!" he yelled from behind. They all stopped as the last of the officials galloped quickly to his side and dismounted.
Up close, their garb resembled that of a knight, though the plates of their armor was studded leather, with flaps from their shoulders to midway down the arm, a breast plate with a jade dragon plate featured in the center of their chest, and a long flowing fauld like bottom, also of studded leather. They each wore an open faced helm, though the won the man next to him wore looked like gold plated steel, forged to resemble the same eastern dragon head represented on his chest. His entire YiTi descendant face was visible and stern. Judging his features, Aegon guess the man was about forty, though his jaw and cheekbones were chiseled, and his worn face exuded the stoic steel of a battle tested veteran. He wore a thin mustachio and a long pointed chin beard, and his narrow eyes were fixated on Aegon in a way that looked pensive, calculating.
"What say you to these claims of treachery, white devil?" he asked in better Valyrian than Aegon could ever have expected.
"I was attacked by four hooded men," he replied, his hands still raised high. "I killed three and let the fourth run away with his life. That is the man there, and you can ask him why one man would attack four in an alley."
The man's face remained a stone, "It is not for me to decide, but what you say seems sensible enough. We will still take you before the magistrate, however. Your fate will be his to decide. You will either come quietly, or we will be forced to kill you now and determine your guilt later."
Aegon sat on a cold stone floor behind decorative steel bars for what seemed like days, but as the sun was barely beginning to peak in through a slotted hole in the limestone wall, it couldn't have been more than a few hours. Contemplating his potential fate, he laughed to himself. If this was the destiny she spoke of, that dusty red bitch can bugger herself in her tiny ass with all of the fires of the seven hells. After his thought, he responded to himself though now hearing it, she'd enjoy that too much. She can go live with the Others, freezing beyond the wall then.
He submitted to the officials peacefully, surrendering his dirk to the Valyrian speaking captain saying, "If innocent, I'm going to need this back." The captain replied with the same frozen face. No words or expressions, just a straight mouth, steely eyes, and the posture of a statue.
His walk into the city, Leng Ma proper, was a wonderous education in YiTi architecture. Slanted roofs of freshly painted curved wood, crested with tiers of angled second and third floors, open to the elements loomed over the painted limestone walls, ornately decorated in blue and green, jade and sapphire, the colors of Leng.
Once through the solid bronze gate ornamented with eastern dragons he'd seen on the official's armor, they entered into a thriving square, full of the noises and commotion of trade. On each side of each cobbled roadway were merchants with tables and tents set up like a shadow city in Dorn, though their wares and silken sun screens were as vibrantly colored as forests of Sothoryos. There were spice merchants, food merchants, gem merchants, and beastiaries, all peddling treasures like none Aegon could ever imagine. He had seen his fair share of foreign ports and markets, traveling to every major city from Lannisport to Qarth, yet everything here seemed as new as if he had never traveled a step outside of the bland cold walls of White Harbor.
His escort startled the dense crowds as they trotted past on their horses, calling out to make way, he assumed, in the YiTi tongue. Unawares amongst the bustle of the city, the masses were surprised and curious to see a white skinned, purple eyed captive next to the similarly shackled craven, whom the captain of the officials also seized upon hearing Aegon's side of his sordid tale of treachery. The man's fear had never left his eyes, and it seemed he continued to piss with every step from the outskirts where they had surrendered to the square before the city's capitol building, a golden domed monstrosity that looked more a temple of worship than a place of official business.
He and the craven were led around the beautiful structure, to an underground tunnel below. There, they were separated and released from their shackles. Aegon was given his own cell. The craven was forced to join a collective of other ragged offenders he saw from across the corridor of his cell, just before the decorated gate was closed on him in the light of but one fading oil lamp.
As he wondered how the morning sunlight shone down into the underground dungeon, Aegon could hear footsteps of what sounded like a whole crowd approaching his cell from around the corner of the hall that led to him, and saw the flicker of more than a few torches licking off the walls of his prison.
"Joesu, son-eul byeog-e daesibsio," the first to appear ordered, dressed in the same garb as the officials from the street, though he nor any of the others that appeared moments later looked familiar.
"Where is the one who speaks Valyrian?" Aegon asked, as the lead guard repeated what he had said again, with more conviction and a rising anger in his tone. "I'd obey, but I know not of your tongue or your customs. I'm going to just stand here with my hands up. See. I submit."
Still clearly unhappy with him, the lead guard unlocked his cell and gruffly fitted him with shackles and fetters. Aegon graciously allowed them to perform their duties. He had no quarrels with any of these men, and knew his fate, his promised destiny, hung in the balance of his every move and word.
The guards led him through the corridors of the dungeon, passed the cells full of other criminals. As he passed, they all jeered at him with rage, calling him something sounding like, "hayan agma." He only responded with a sarcastic smile, and continued on, jingling in his restraints.
He and his unwilling retinue eventually reached a steel cage that looked to be a lift of some kind, opened the thin double gate, and pushed him in. Two guards stayed on the bottom floor to operate the lift and soon, he and the remaining guards began to rise one clink at a time.
At its apex, the lift stopped in what seemed a different land all together. The once bland, cold, limestone walls, moist with dew were replaced with smooth gleaming marble, veined with what looked like flowing gold glittering in the sunlight shining through perforations in a golden dome above. Crystals hung down like frozen rain from the ceiling, reflecting arched miniscule rainbows, and the top of the walls were crusted with so many colored gems, he felt he had been lifted to a wealthy man's ideal heaven. For him though, a mourning wretch of a sailor and warrior, it all seemed an elaborately decorated death walk, and a small piece of his grieving heart almost welcomed a punishment that would end his guilt-ridden suffering. At least I got to taste of victory one last time. I warned those cretins to bugger off. Maybe this indeed is my promised destiny. A death in the gleam of the glory I chased. A symbol of the greed that led me ultimately here.
The guards yanked him out of the stupefied trance he was stuck in, beholding the riches and beauty that surrounded him with his head up and his mouth half agape, pulling him passed smooth round marble columns to another corridor, flanked on either side by golden replicas of that same eastern dragons on the gate and the guards chests.
The corridor opened up into a throne room of sorts, surrounded on both sides of a jade runway with the crowded court, the faces mostly that of what appeared to be YiTi nobles. Women with white faces and men with silk robes all regarded him as he was ushered to the raised dais, supported by four levels of marble stairs, with the same jade walkway all the way to the top where an elderly man sat a golden and sapphire throne.
He wore a light blue gown that flowed well passed his covered feet, embroidered with a floral pattern of cranes in white lace. Atop his small, wrinkled head, he wore a flat topped rectangular hat, trimmed with gold and green, but mostly in the matching color to his robe-like gown. His face was as stern as the Valyrian speaking guard, and similarly shaped, who stood to his right, as sternly and stoic as ever, staring into the distance directly in front of him, ignoring the glory and humanity all around. The elder man's chin was garnished with a long white beard, pin straight, and brushed down onto his lap. As Aegon was pushed before the bottom step of the staircase, before the elder in light blue, the man raised his gaunt arms and the rabble of the crowd immediately silenced.
Behind the elder in blue were similarly garbed men in varying blues and greens, all topped with hats of a similar shape, but much shorter than the man in the throne. Of the six behind him, four looked to be native Lengii, standing taller than seven feet, ebony skinned, and as lithe as the room was ornate. Aegon quickly turned to the crowd. It was interesting to see that though the leadership was mostly native Lengii, the court was nearly all YiTi, save two native Lengii among them. Seems odd that their leadership would be unrepresentative of their population, but as a newcomer to this land and its customs, he didn't waste much more than a heartbeat on the thought of Lengii politics. In earnest, there are little things I could care less about in the entirety of the known world. I just hope this place is somewhat fair and just.
The man in the throne addressed his court, speaking softly but sternly in the silent respect of his constituents. After concluding his words, the Valyrian speaking guard translated, seemingly only for the accused, saying, "In the name of the Goddess among Men, I Kaono Soon, Magistrate of Leng Ma, and servant to her Empress, now begin the trial of this purple eyed foreigner to our land. What say you, foreigner, what is your name and what is your explanation of the events that led to the deaths of three Lengii."
"If it pleases, your grace, I wish to remain anonymous. Surely the name of a lowly rowman is of no importance in a court as grand and beautiful as this." Aegon replied, unsure of who he was or what to call himself here.
The elder man, after hearing and apparently understanding his words, responded in Valyrian saying, "If you do not respond honestly and fully to my inquiries, ser, than I will be forced to believe your accuser. I will ask again, what is your name, Valyrian?"
"I am no one." Aegon responded.
"If you find this proceeding humorous," the man responded, cooly and without scorn or expression, "we here can all enjoy your final steps after your head is removed. As a purveyor of laughter in mine own walls, that to me would be more amusing than your playing with words. For the last time, I ask you to state your name before my court and be judged."
"My name is Aegon Velaryon, your grace. I mean no humor or offense. Its just my name attracts very unwanted attention, and I would have preferred to remain no one."
"You can forego with, your grace, Aegon Velaryon. I am but a magistrate in this great land. My proper title is, 'Your Honor," he said, as the Valyrian speaking guard continually translated their exchange to the crowd.
"Your Honor," Aegon responded, nodding respectfully.
"Now, we're getting somewhere. I once knew of a Velaryon. A Corlys Velaryon. Is he kin of yours?"
"That is of some dispute, your honor. Though I am the natural born son of my father, a Velaryon, through his union to my mother, my father's own heritage is under some dispute, and I may not be related to the man at all. Was he a friend of yours?"
"No. An enemy more like, though what is passed is passed. A true snake he was, your Sea Snake. He not only left our glorious island with his hulls full of riches unearned in my families' eyes, he also stole the maidenhead and heart of my ancestor."
"As I mentioned, my name attracts attention, specifically from those who would call me kin. I am a threat to my own uncle's right to rule his kingdom of Westeros, so my aunt and the rest of the Velaryon's wish me dead or captured. I empathize with your disdain for a Velaryon, as I too have been wronged by men of that name."
"Well met, Aegon –," he paused and instead of saying his second name, his face momentarily flashed disdain. "I shall not speak that name again in this court, so you shall have your indemnity." His face then quickly returned to the still portrait of composure. "Moving on. Please, tell me the circumstances of your crimes against Leng this past evening."
"I was drinking at a local winesink and started walking back to my room to sleep. Four men wearing black cloaks approached and attacked me with daggers. I fought back with my dirk and killed the three. One was left in fear, pissing himself, and I allowed him to flee. He ran straight to your official," he pointed at the stone faced guard, "and I surrendered myself to him, knowing the fair and just rule you enforce on this beautiful island."
"Flattery will not serve you here, Aegon. This is not Westeros or Valyria. Justice will be based on the truth of the events as I see them, but I thank you for your direct confession to these murders."
"Murder?" Aegon replied, fighting to not sound incredulous. "I only defended myself, your honor. How can it be that I murdered them?"
"Are the men you killed dead, ser?" the man pressed calmly.
"Yes."
"Am I to believe that you are not so skilled with a blade that cutting through these wretched bottom feeders was not easy, no, dare I say, enjoyable for you?" he asked again with a slight grin of self approval.
"In keeping with honesty, your honor, it would be a falsehood to say there was no joy in it for me. I told them to turn away. They pressed on despite my warning."
"You speak our tongue now? You warned them in words they could understand?"
"No. I warned them in Valyrian."
"So the words you gave them were as clear as our words are to you then. No?"
"Yes, your honor."
"So, despite your explanation of defense, it seems these men died because you wished them to."
"If they did not attack me, I would have quietly stumbled to my stone floor, fell asleep, and woke up to row this morning without incident."
"This is also the truth, isn't it? Guards, bring the other prisoner. Aegon, if I were you, in the essence of fairness, and the respect for these proceedings, I would remain as silent as the stone floor you sleep on, or you will force me to make an example out of a mouthy foreigner before my constituents. Understood, ser?"
"Clearly."
The craven was brought in, to similar jeers and jests Aegon received in the dungeons. It seemed he too was some sort of outcast or deplorable member of their society, though Aegon had no idea what made him so different than the ones who shunned him so.
The magistrate addressed him in their language, similarly calm and as steely as when he spoke to Aegon. The man responded, quivering with each response. It must have followed a similar structure as the man seemed to identify himself and answer questions as the magistrate slowly pressed and pressed him into telling his side. After multiple exchanges, the craven became increasingly uneasy and seemed to be shifting within his own skin to each new calm and clearly annunciated question from the man in the throne. Sweat began to bead on the man's forehead, as the questions fired more quickly, and the responses became shorter and more difficult for the man to utter.
Kaono Soon raised a hand with four fingers, asking what Aegon assumed was why a man would randomly attack four armed strangers in a tight alley. The craven struggled to answer and turned to the crowd for support. He was met with an uproarious laughter after the magistrate responded to his plea with a quick word, a quip Aegon thought, and even he began to grin, unaware of exactly what was said.
"I salam-eul jug-ilyeogo haesseubnikka?" the magistrate asked.
"Naneunhaji anh-assda. Naega gajin namjadeul man geudeul-eun baegsaeg agmaleul jug-igo geuui buleul gajyeo galago alhaessda," the craven replied.
The magistrate nodded. Spoke again, then ordered something to his guards. The guards swiftly approached the man, holding him by the arms, extending them out. Kaono asked another question, to which the craven stuttered in response. Kaono asked again, still as cool and steely as he'd ever been, and the craven shook through his skin, with the response of what Aegon heard as "No!" screaming it at the top of his lungs.
Another guard, covered in midnight blue from head to toe, stepped forward, holding a blade longer and wider than any greatsword Aegon had ever seen, its silvery sheen glaring in the morning sun that shone through the holes in the dome above them. He quickly and methodically closed the distance, and proceeded to swing his blade down hard and through the man's arms one at a time, each slice soliciting a gut wrenching immasculine scream from the craven.
Blood stained the marble floor below him, as the man's body quivered harder in pain and terror, and his arms were callously discarded by the guards still holding them, tossed away as if they were the empty shells of an eaten cockle. The magistrate continued, simply asking another question to the man, softly, cooly. He had no way to respond, still shaking and frozen in the jarring surprise of it all. The magistrate asked the question again, in the same cadence and tone, unaffected by the gruesome display and the horror instilled in the now armless craven. Still without a response, the magistrate again nodded to the man in midnight blue, who swung his blade through the man's throat, ceasing the shaking immediately, as his head rolled off his shoulders and bounced twice on the hard marble floor with a slight crunch.
Aegon's eyes widened as the man's sentence was carried out, and suddenly he felt a bit of fear creep into him for the first time.
Looking down with an unchanged expression from his high throne, the magistrate turned his attention to Aegon and said in Valyrian, "This man never spoke truly, and for that, he cannot be trusted. I offered him the opportunity to die swiftly, or lose his arms. He hesitated, but eventually chose his arms. When I asked if he could continue to live with the knowledge of his wrongdoing, he had no answer for me, so I ended his suffering." He paused and adjusted himself in his seat, shifting the long blue robe from underneath him. "Now, for your sentence, Aegon. Do you deny the findings of this proceeding? Did you unnecessarily take the lives of the three men you are accused? Remember, the man to your left said nothing but lies. I encourage you to speak only truth."
"Your honor, though I believe it was necessary to defend myself, your wisdom has shown me that their deaths were as much a cause of my wishes to do them harm as they were to ensure my safety. Although I would argue that the altercation was started by the men in question, I will confess their deaths are because of my blade. I take responsibility for their deaths and ask you to show mercy on me for my wrong doing."
"Good, Aegon. Very good. Indeed, you are guilty of killing these men, though as I see it, you tell the truth despite its sharp edges and the dangers to your person. This is the rarest and most valuable of virtues, and thus, it is my decision that you choose between the following punishments." Please not my arms. "You can either resign your life and I will end it here, or" there's another choice, tough one it seems. Though if he says he'd take my arms, I'd rather end this misery. "Or, you can serve in my own personal guard for one year for each life you've taken."
"I will serve your grace. I will serve," he responded immediately, fearing any hesitation would lead to a similar fate as the craven.
"A man with your honesty and fighting skill should not be wasted, though, I warn you, any further transgressions that are deemed to be irredeemable will leave me no choice but to end your life. Is that clear, ser Aegon?"
"Crystal."
"I'm sorry?"
"Crystal. Clear like a crystal. It's a westerosi idium."
"That it may be, but until you are dismissed, you will address me in a manner befitting this proceeding."
"It is very clear, your honor. Forgive me."
A/N
Thank you all again for reading. Please check out our Community Group ASOIAF EU, which features two also great works: A Tale of Two Dragons, and The Dance is Not Over. In regards to Leng: Ancient Ones, this has been tough to get started.
Unlike Sothoryos, mostly, Leng is both a cultured civilized society, as well as an untamed mysterious jungle, so I have chronicled (in my imagination) the Free History of Leng since 100 before Aegon's Conquest, until Aegon's present which is 153 AC. I have written a very dry timeline like history that I will soon publish on this site as a companion piece for those interested in the backstory to the political situations of Leng as Aegon will learn along with us. For those that do not wish to read something even dryer than Fire and Blood, just know that Leng is a society of two major cultures that have coexisted on the island for hundreds of years: the people descendant from YiTi immigrants in the northern half of the island (mostly) and the native Lengii who inhabit the southern half of the island (mostly).
There will be much more to learn and much more to come. Feel free to respond with your thoughts and feedback as your reactions to both the ending of Sothoryos: Drahkness Kahn, and the beginning of Aegon's new stage in his destiny are very important to me. Thanks again for reading and enjoy!