"Would you like a bit of the stewed pear, ser?" asked Elodie Caron, Lord Morton's eldest, a sweet smile on her face and a glimmer in her eyes. She was a pretty girl, with a pink round face, a wave of neatly round golden curls, round blue eyes, and (he stealthily glanced downward) round hips. Only a while earlier, he wouldn't have turned away from her attentions. At eighteen and unwed, she was even good enough to consider as an actual match.
But Mandon Chelsted didn't want someone merely "good enough".
"Thank you, my lady, but I must refuse," he said with a polite half-smile.
The army had been going very quickly, and now, at Nightsong, they were making their last stop before entering the Dornish Marches.
To himself, Mandon could admit he was a little fearful of what awaited him there. His currently vague idea to win glory on the battlefield was excellent, but there was always the distinct possibility that he would be killed instead of his enemies.
However, the risk was definitely worth it, and once they reached the Vulture King's lair, he would work out more details for the glory-winning plan.
His father hadn't been happy to see him join Lord Baratheon's army.
"It's just some outlaw in a faraway corner of the land," Father said dismissively. "What's he to us? Let Lord Rogar fight his war if he's so inclined, but I won't see my heir go and get shot by Dornish arrows."
"I won't get shot," Mandon said. "And you see, there's more to it than the Vulture King."
"What might that be, do tell me?"
"I intend to marry Alarra Stark, and I need to have a lot to my credit to get the queen's permission for that."
"All this just for Lady Alarra? She's not even her father's heir. There's a score of brothers and nephews ahead of her in line for Winterfell – I hope you aren't planning to slay them all."
"Certainly not!" Mandon chuckled. "That chunk of frozen stone halfway across the realm? Let her brothers and nephews keep it. Father, I want to have a position at court. I've seen Lady Alarra – the queen treats her like one of her own and the little king trails after her like a duckling follows a duck. Whoever marries her will be a fixture in King's Landing... Rodrik Arryn's the same age as myself, and he's master of laws already just because he happened to be known to Jaehaerys. Why can't I achieve the same and more?"
Father frowned, uncertain. He had never had any ambition – if anything, he had some weird counter-ambitious feeling ingrained in his heart that always made him look down rather than up, in every choice he made.
"You should strive for a more fitting marriage," he grumbled. "Better pick someone from a lower house, a girl without too much beauty or brains, just li..."
"Father," Mandon said sharply. "I would not hear you speak of Mother with derision."
"Would you say she had any beauty or brains?"
"Yes, I would."
Mother had been the youngest daughter of Lord Scales, great-granddaughter of a lucky merchant who was given a lordship and a scrap of land by some or other Velaryon. That was already enough to discourage many suitors, but she was also frail – there wasn't a sickness in the land that she hadn't caught at some point. Mandon remembered crying with pity and helplessness as a child whenever he saw Mother abed with a fever or wrecked by coughing fits.
Father never failed to remind Mother that nobody else would have wed a "scarecrow" like her. Blood's thicker than water, and Mandon forgave his father for many things, but this was something he couldn't suffer to hear. At five-and-ten, he won a squires' joust on Driftmark and crowned Mother queen of love and beauty – and with her cheeks red rather than pallid, her face alight with joy for her son's sake, and her brown eyes shining, she looked truly gorgeous indeed. Lord Daemon Velaryon himself paid court to her at the two-day feast that followed the tourney, and she was happier than Mandon had ever seen her.
After that, Father was a little more careful in how he treated her. When soon after the tourney Mother was revealed to be with child, Father even grew loving, occasionally bringing her small gifts and going on walks with her in the castle's garden.
Mandon had a nagging suspicion that the baby (Father visited Mother's bedchamber rarely and made no secret of it) could be the result of a tryst with Lord Velaryon.
Nobody ever knew if it really was. The Shivers struck, and Mother was one of the first to catch it in the crownlands. She died, still pregnant, and whatever affection Father had developed for her in her last year had since then apparently dissipated again.
"I don't understand you," Father said now. "If you would be fine with a woman like Cynda," Cynda was Mother's name, "why, again, aim so high?"
"Because I want to do more in my life than stew myself inside Cheldon's walls!" Mandon snapped. "Because I don't wish for our house to be remembered only in the maesters' books of heraldry!"
"Well, I don't wish for my brother's son to inherit my lands!"
"You should have then been closer with Mother when she was alive! You didn't even try for a spare!"
Naturally, there was no question of Father blessing him to go on the campaign, or praising his courage, or whatever parents did in legends and songs. Father refused even to say goodbye to him when he went away. Septon Robar had to do that in his stead, before blessing Mandon's sword and armor and anointing his forehead, neck and hands with holy oil.
The smallfolk of Cheldon cheered him and waved at him as he rode past, of course – but it was a trifle, Mandon knew well.
Soon, the army would come to the mountains where the Vulture King was hiding, and that's where he would get a chance to achieve true fame and recognition.
"Na-na," said little Alyssa, grasping at Myranda Hogg's fingers. "Na-na."
"That's wonderful! She's started talking at last!" Alysanne exclaimed, forcing a wide smile, though inwardly, she felt a stab of mixed jealousy and guilt.
Though she only nursed her children by herself on rare occasions, she always took care to spend as much time with them as possible from their very births. Dany, Aemon and Baelon all had "Ma-ma" as their first word, and they spoke it while sitting on her knee.
Alyssa giggled when Alysanne tickled her and babbled contentedly when she rocked her in her arms, but she addressed her first word to Lady Hogg. Moreover, her older siblings all began turning their babbling into coherent speech at ten months of age, but Alyssa was eleven already.
She felt it. Me distancing myself from her... Babies do feel it after all.
When she visited Alyssa in the latter's first months of life, she only did it out of duty, and even after her wedding to Alaric she couldn't quite warm up to her youngest daughter. The painful memory of everything she had gone through during her pregnancy with the girl simply couldn't go away.
But what's the baby's fault in all this?
"Is she eating well?" she asked, making sure her voice didn't betray her sadness.
"Splendidly, Your Grace," Lady Hogg said proudly. "She's thriving, the little one. Already trying to stand up, too."
"She'll grow up as energetic as Baelon, I'm sure."
"Na-na," Alyssa said again, and Alysanne, feeling herself decidedly unsettled, quickly rose:
"I am sorry, Lady Hogg, I have duties to attend to. Goodbye, sweet daughter," she kissed Alyssa on the crown of her head, and the baby turned to give her a wide smile.
That's because I'm the queen, Alysanne thought miserably as she walked away from the nursery. I can hire a score of nurses and hand over my child to them without looking cruel in the eyes of everyone else. I was devastated after Jaehaerys and Daenerys died, but why did Alyssa have to pay for it? Had I been a lowborn woman, I would have had to nurse and raise my child myself, no matter what griefs I had to deal with in my own life. If a commoner gives her child away, it attracts curious glances at least – people think it's a bastard, or a child of rape, or a cripple of some kind. But for the queen, entrusting a baby to others is the normal and, indeed, the expected way.
And she still couldn't find it in her heart to love Alyssa as much as the latter's older siblings.
What should I do? How can a mother play favorites? My own dear mother never did.
True enough, Alyssa Velaryon had some bitter quarrels with her children after they grew up, but from Alysanne's early childhood, she remembered her mother as nothing but loving and gentle with everyone equally.
She wanted to turn around and perhaps ask to nurse little Alyssa for a while. But the last time she tried it, around four months ago, the baby recoiled and began to cry after barely tasting the milk. She couldn't even stand for me to feed her.
With a heavy sigh, Alysanne walked on towards her own rooms.
"Mommy, can we visit the Dragonpit?" Baelon asked.
"Would you like to choose your dragon among the newborn ones?" Alysanne smiled. When Baelon was born, there was no fresh egg available to place in his cradle – all the eggs laid in the previous warm season had hatched during the winter preceding his birth, but dragons were generally averse to laying new ones in the cold. However, only a few weeks ago Silverwing produced a fresh clutch which had already hatched, with three sweet little hatchlings now fluttering around the Dragonpit. Perhaps Baelon would like to bond with one of them.
"No-o," the boy said, however. "I want Balerion."
Alysanne stopped in her tracks, remembering the tortuous death of little Aerea. She barely saw the girl after Balerion brought her to King's Landing and only knew the details of what happened from Septon Barth and Grand Maester Benifer, but it was more than enough.
"Baelon, for as long as I live, no child shall mount the Black Dread," she said.
"But the Conqueror rode him!"
"Yes, he did indeed, but he claimed him at eight-and-ten. Either wait until you are the same age or choose another dragon. I've lost my niece after she rode Balerion – I don't want to lose anyone else."
Baelon nodded obediently, but she saw he didn't quite understand her. It wasn't much of a surprise – Aerea died in the year before he was born, so in the past two years, the only dragon Baelon had observed in flight was her own gentle Silverwing.
"Fine, then I'll claim Vhagar," he said.
"Baelon!"
"She won't take me to Valyria! She doesn't even know where it is!"
"She is still an enormous and very fierce creature. Darling, you should wait several years at least before trying your luck with her. I know you're very brave, but so was your cousin Aerea. With dragons, one needs more than bravery."
"Fine," Baelon grumbled.
"Manners, dear."
"Yes, Mommy," he said in a politer tone. "Can we still go to the Dragonpit? Just to visit."
"Of course. Let's go get Aemon, and the three of us shall go together," Alaric would soon be meeting with Grand Maester Elysar to figure out what medicines were currently needed for the Red Keep and the city and where it would be better to purchase them. Alysanne wasn't afraid of missing anything out – not only would Alaric of course tell her about the results afterwards, but there would inevitably be another discussion in the evening or tomorrow morning, this time attended by her and by the Tyrells as well, about the medicines' prices.
As they went to the rookery where Grand Maester Elysar was soon due to finish giving Aemon a lesson about ravens, Baelon, still a little miffed, mumbled:
"Many kings and princes rode fierce beasts. Father told us that the Marsh Kings of old rode huge lizard-lions."
"What?" startled, Alysanne turned to him. "What did you say?"
"Father said the Marsh Kings rode lizard-lions."
Alysanne was incredulous. She could see that Alaric and Aemon were now spending more time together than before, but she had never had the impression that Baelon had bonded with his stepfather to any degree at all. Moreover, even Aemon – she heard only this morning – was still addressing Alaric as "my lord".
"You call Lord Alaric Father?" she exclaimed. A stupid question, of course, but she couldn't find the words for anything else. "But... why?"
Baelon's big indigo eyes grew round as he pondered the question that had probably never occurred to him before:
"But... he is your husband, and our little brother or sister will be his baby... and Alarra calls him Father, too. Is it wrong?"
"No... no, darling, it isn't."
This was it. Alysanne didn't try to probe Baelon with more questions, to try and find out if he even remembered Jaehaerys – after all, she was the one who strived for her husband and her children to get along, so why would she be upset that it was now happening? For all that Baelon still clearly had more awe than love for Alaric, he saw him as the father-figure in his life.
Aemon didn't really fancy the Dragonpit. He knew, naturally, that one day he would have to ride Caraxes – Fire and Blood and all – but for now, he didn't like seeing the dragons (except maybe for Silverwing, and even she was much too gigantic for his liking).
However, it was his duty as the king to be a dragonrider, so whenever Mother told him they would be visiting the Dragonpit, he didn't argue.
Baelon, though, was actually delighted to go with them. He took his wooden tablet and graphite with him and, as long as they entered, started drawing something on the tablet so furiously that the graphite stick screeched almost as loudly as the baby dragons buzzing around.
"What are you drawing?" Aemon asked, looking over his little brother's shoulder. It looked like a large black lump with a bended stick on its top, inside a neatly-drawn square.
"Balerion in a stable," Baelon explained, making the "bended stick" (apparently the neck with the head) a bit thicker and drawing two snail-like eyes on top of it.
The three baby dragons flew, still a little clumsily, towards them. Aemon tried not to flinch as one of them, a bone-white one with grey markings, nuzzled his cheek, and another, with shiny yellow scales, zoomed around his head. The hatchlings, however, seemed to sense his discomfort and flew over to Mother instead to rub against her already-prominent belly. Mother petted their heads, and they screeched quietly, apparently content.
"Look, this one's white-and-grey!" Baelon cried. "Just like the Stark colors! Mom, will it be the little one's mount?"
"Well, unless the egg..." Mother began. "Oh, wait. In fact, Alaric is against putting an egg into our children's cradles, so – yes, I suppose we may as well reserve an already-born dragon."
"We'll have to name it," Baelon continued, leaning over to scratch the white dragon's back. "It will be our gift to the baby for its zeroth nameday. Heard that, baby? We have a dragon for you! Now let's pick a name for it!"
"I think it's better if the baby names it himself," Aemon argued. Even he picked the name for Caraxes personally, from a heavy volume about Valyrian history.
"Or herself," added Mother.
"But when I mount Vhagar, I won't rename her," Baelon said. (Privately, Aemon was amazed about how his little brother, two heads shorter than himself, was planning to ride the second largest dragon in the world without so much as a shred of fear).
"Vhagar is already grown," Mother explained. "But a hatchling can certainly wait for a couple of years until it's named. It's only honest to leave the naming to the first rider," she caressed her stomach. "Do you understand, Baelon?.. Baelon?"
Having mostly lost interest in the white hatchling, Baelon had turned towards Vhagar's stable and was watching the dragonkeepers feed his future mount.
However, when in the evening they sat at their Common Tongue lesson – Aemon reading a book of ancient ballads collected by the Citadel and Baelon learning to write the letters – Aemon noticed that Baelon was drawing, biting his lip with concentration.
"What is it, my prince?" the Grand Maester asked. "I asked you to try and write a few words of your choice, not draw a few... somethings," he said, looking closer in an attempt to understand what it was. But Aemon had already recognized the black lumps with bended sticks on top – dragons in the style of Baelon.
"He's drawing the dragons, Grand Maester," Aemon explained in a whisper. "I think he'll write down their names."
The Grand Maester looked skeptical. Baelon frequently got distracted by drawing his pictures (or by looking at books that had pictures of dragons or of fighting knights).
It turned out that Aemon knew Baelon well. Soon, the little pictures were accompanied by clumsily-written titles. The largest one was of course BALERION, then came VHAGAR (Aemon was impressed – even he was still often confused with Valyrian spelling and forgot the h, but Baelon had likely learned the spelling by heart, planning as he was to ride the she-dragon), then SILVEWIN, CARACSES, VURMITHOR, MIRACSES (a small oval lump probably meaning the skull), and then a miniature figure with its barely discernible "head", "neck" and "body", with LITLE BABYS WAIT WUIT WIYT DRAGON scribbled underneath.