The Red Keep
121 AC
A few days after Aenar's Return
Corlys POV
Corlys had attended many awkward dinners in his lifetime. Once when he had sailed to Volantis, he had dined with several nobles of the Tiger faction. The dinner had been extremely awkward and the conversation stilted. Corlys would later realise this was due to the fact that he had killed one of the attendees' brothers in a duel.
This dinner was more awkward.
Seated around the table were his wife Rhaenys, his grandchildren Rhaena and Baela, Rhaenyra, her children, Daemon and the man of the hour himself, Aenar Targaryen. In theory, it should have been a nice family dinner. A man reuniting with his niece and brother, and their respective families, after years of exile. And yet, the tension was thick enough that you could cut it with a knife.
Over the past few minutes, Aenar had played the role of the consummate family man. And Corlys doubted that it was a role in truth. The man genuinely seemed to care for his nieces and nephews. He japed with his nephews and doted on his nieces. Even Rhaenyra was not spared his affection as he had embraced her fiercely when they had first entered the room. And yet not a single word was exchanged between Aenar and Daemon.
The half-brothers acknowledged each other's presence, and yet never directly spoke to one another. Even when Aenar had brought forth lavish gifts for his nieces and nephews, Laena and Baela included, Daemon had not said a word.
Corlys appreciated the genuine affection that Aenar held for his granddaughters; he had been concerned in fact that Aenar would bear a grudge against them for their father's actions. But his worries had been for nought. But even so, the palpable strife between the brothers caused him endless headaches.
He remembered the two when they had campaigned in the Stepstones with him. The two brothers had been as close as brothers could be. Aenar had been but a lad of ten and six years then. He followed Daemon everywhere and together the two had fought battle after battle in the Stepstones. Yet as time passed, the war took its toll and the brothers drifted apart as Daemon committed atrocity after atrocity that the younger bastard could scarcely stomach.
Then there had been the confrontation in King's Landing. Even Corlys, who had lived longer and seen more than most, knew that Daemon had crossed a line. When news had filtered in from King's Landing, the knowledge of what had happened to a young Aenar Waters had left a bad taste in his mouth.
Now, it seemed that soon, things would come to a head. Old tensions would boil over and swords would be drawn as the two Dragonlords were forced together by the machinations of fate and the fool on the throne. Neither would bend, one for righteous anger and the other for vainglorious ego. The past few days, Aenar had refused to acknowledge Daemon's very presence. And while Daemon had held his peace thus far, undoubtedly the insult was getting too much for him.
"Uncle Aenar," called out an excited Jacaerys from the other end of the table. He and Baela appeared to be in an argument earlier and seemed to have called upon Aenar to settle it, "Mother said that you are one of the best swordsmen in the realm. Rhaena says that her father is better but I don't believe her. You're the better swordsman right?"
Fuck no.
Corlys nearly bashed his head against the table. To his right, Rhaenys's grip on his forearm became a vice. Young Jacerys, all of seven namedays old, in all his childlike innocence was holding a metaphorical lit match against a mountain of inflammable dragon dung.
Next to him, a defiant Rhaena had a glare on her face as she presumably sought to defend her father's honour. At that point, he wished dearly to pull the girl over his knee and cane her behind until she relearned her manners. That girl would one day be the death of him. He knew it in the heart of his heart.
Around him, the room was silent as a grave. Even the servants had the good sense not to make a sound. Rhaenyra had an expression of alarm marring her features as she struggled for an answer that would not impugn the honour of either her uncle or her husband. Yet Daemon, well the fucker was almost grinning as he made to speak.
Before Rhaenys or he could intervene, Daemon spoke, "Well of course Aenar is a decent swordsman. But he could never hope to be even half the swordsman I am."
Deep breaths Corlys. Deep breaths.
It could have been much worse.
But then the dumb fucker continued, "But then again, I managed to beat a few lessons into his head when he was younger, so maybe he has improved since we last fought. Although if I recall, our last spar didn't end too well for him."
Gods have mercy.
He went there. He actually fucking went there.
Rhaenys took a deep breath and protectively placed her hand on Baela's shoulder, who blissfully unaware of the tension in the room, was childishly poking her tongue at Jacerys who was, in turn, making faces back at her. Next to Jacerys, young Rhaena and Luke were playing some sort of game with their fists, somehow even more oblivious to the potential for bloodshed. Little Joff was holding up a pea from his plate and glaring at it in disgust. Corlys envied the three-year-old.
The rest of the room had decidedly different reactions. One servant actually squealed at the remark and practically fled the room. The other, who looked equally terrified, somehow decided to hold his ground and stay. Corlys made an internal note that the servant who stayed was probably one of Alicent's spies.
Rhaenyra looked like she was on the verge of an aneurysm, her rage evident as she glared bloody murder at Daemon, who looked insufferably smug as he slowly cut through his steak while purposefully looking at Aenar.
The Black Dragon, however, was stoic. His face betrayed no emotion. But his anger….nay, his rage was evident. His fingers trembled lightly as he grasped his cup and brought it to his lips. His brow twitched and nostrils flared briefly as he restrained his temper holding Daemon's gaze evenly.
Eventually, the man broke away and faced Jacerys and Baela, ignoring Daemon once again, and replied, "Well Jace. I don't know if I'm better than Daemon with a sword, but then again, that's hardly a fair comparison. Few of us have as much time as Daemon does to practise with the sword after all. I sometimes wonder how he gets so much free time to play with his sword between his duties as…umm…whatever duties Daemon has. But even then, the real question is, which one of you two is better with the sword."
"I am!" responded the two children indignantly and then glared at each other as Aenar laughed along with the children.
On the side, he observed Daemon nearly rise from his seat at the insult before Rhaenyra's hand on his shoulder and a sharp whisper saw him sullenly retake his seat.
The dinner eventually resumed its normal flow as Aenar kept the conversation flowing with his family while also making small talk with Corlys and Rhaenys. Corlys felt his respect for the man go up a notch. Others may have thought of his lack of response to Daemon's provocation as the mark of a craven. But Corlys, as a father, knew the reality. You never fought in front of children. That was just human fucking decency.
A little while later, the children were taken away to bed and only the adults were left. Corlys sat deep in conversation with Aenar, "No doubt Crackclaw point will require significant material as you develop the area and build yourself a keep. I'm certain that a fair price can be reached with Driftmark."
Aenar smiled as he replied, "I will certainly keep that in mind, Corlys."
"I'm certain your castle will be large as well, with it needing to host your dragon!" Corlys chuckled at the thought. Of course, not everyone present was content to smile.
"With the exception of Harrenhall, I doubt there are any castles in Westeros large enough to house the Cannibal. No, I fear I will have to make other arrangements. The Point has hills aplenty that the Cannibal can call home. He is far too fond of his freedom to be chained down. He has been King of the Skies for far too long."
Daemon scoffed from across the table, "King of the Skies. The Essosi sun must have addled your brains. The Cannibal would be a feast before Caraxes. In the air it's often the skill of the rider that determines the battle."
Silence fell upon the table, all present watching for Aenar's reaction to the undoubtedly provocative words. Aenar slowly rose from his seat, hands pressed against the dark oak and he leaned forwards.
"I tend to abide by a three-strike policy, dear brother. You have reached your second, should you aim for a third, I will ruin your miserable life. I will attack your investments and burn your businesses. Anyone who has ever named you a friend will regret ever letting your name pass through their lips. When I'm done, even the whores you're so fond of will shake with the shame of having once bedded Daemon Targaryen," Aenar finished with a growl, eyes alight in fury.
Daemon stood up abruptly, violent intent written across his features.
Corlys sat perfectly still, certain that only one of the two would survive the evening. Rhaenys took a breath beside him, her hand like a vice about his upper arm.
"The only whore I'm aware of, little brother, is your mother," Daemon spoke with a vicious grin.
Aenar smashed his hands against the table with force, shaking the decorated hardwood, before kicking back his chair and storming around the table, hand reaching for the hilt of the hidden dirk Corlys had only just noticed.
As Daemon moved to walk around the table, it was Rhaenyra who saved the evening, standing just as quickly as her uncles, she placed herself between them, "There will be no blood spilt on this evening."
Between gritted teeth, Aenar hissed, "For the love, I yet bear for our niece I will allow you to leave with your life, Daemon."
"Allow me t-?"
"Enough!" Rhaenyra barked, silencing the pair. Corlys breathed deeply as the two brothers separated, storming from the room.
The Seasnake could only hope the two didn't cross paths on the way back to their chambers.
Offices of the Master of Coin
The Red Keep
121 AC
The Next Day
Aenar POV
The Master of Coin's offices were as opulent as those of any Keyholder of the Iron Bank. Plush furniture, extensive tapestries lining the walls and dozens of books and records lined the walls covering topics ranging from financial laws to taxation records. Even so, the solar was extremely well maintained and tidy, a reflection of the methodical and systematic man who had served as Master of Coin for nigh on four decades.
Lyman Beesbury was an old man. At two and seventy years he was practically ancient by Westerosi standards. A staunch Targaryen loyalist, the Lord of Honeyholt was a devoted member of Rhaenyra's Black faction. As Master of Coin, he had over his long and storied tenure presided over much and more, seeing the Old King's reforms implemented, overseeing the construction of the Kingsroad and almost single-handedly overhauling the taxation policies of the Crown.
Martyn Tyrell and his wife Florence Fossoway in truth had laid the foundation. None could doubt that. But it was Lyman Beesbury who had taken the groundbreaking ideas of the previous Master of Coin and transformed the Offices of the Treasurer and Master of Coin into the beast of bureaucratic efficiency that it was today.
"Prince Aenar," said Lyman, extending his hand in greeting, "it is a pleasure to host you."
"Lord Beesbury," replied Aenar as he shook the elder Lord's hand, "when I was a child of just seven namedays, I would enter these very offices and attempt to bribe you with sweets to convince you to give me my allowance a little earlier. Please, call me Aenar."
The Master of Coin's laugh was coarse, but warm, "Only if you call me Lyman as well."
"Very well, Lyman. How have you been? Ten years later and yet you look as fit as my warhorse."
"Fruits, meat and daily exercise. The regimen worked for King Jaehaerys well enough, so it may work for me as well," japed Lyman as he took his seat and motioned for Aenar and Nelos to do the same.
"Lyman, may I introduce Nelos Dimittis, my banker from Braavos. He has been in my service for nigh on ten years now and is the very man responsible for the wealth that I have accumulated."
"Well met Master Dimittis," nodded the Master of Coin, "if I may be so bold, I have seen some of the numbers based on Tyland's correspondence these past few turns of the moon, and I must say that I am extremely impressed."
"Your words do me much honour, Lord Beesbury. Even across the Narrow Sea, in the halls of the Iron Bank, many sing praises of the illustrious Lord of Honey and Gold who serves King Viserys," Nelos replied referring to Lyman's moniker.
"Bah. I hated that name when Barth first coined it. But I must admit, I have grown fond of it in my old age."
"I can think of no man more deserving," praised Aenar.
"I see your silver tongue has only grown more beguiling, young Aenar. Across the Narrow Sea, we hear only tell of the Scourge of the Dothraki or the Liberator who conquered. But not enough credit is given to the mind of the man below the titles. Viserys has instructed me to ensure that you are accommodated in every way possible. But I am the gatekeeper of the Royal Treasury. Tell me Aenar, how much do you plan to squeeze me and the Crown today?"
The Master of Coin spoke jovially, but his voice had a hint of steel to it. The Master of Coin had over four decades built a financial apparatus that was the envy of even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank. And now Aenar was here to run roughshod over the Crown's laws and taxes in an attempt to maintain his own wealth. And while Aenar was lucky that Lyman liked him well enough, he was also well aware that Lyman Beesbury had not maintained his position for forty years by luck or happenstance.
He had served through the tenures of Barth, Otto Hightower and Lyonel Strong. And while Hands rose and fell, he had retained his position through it all. Lyman Beesbury was not a man to take lightly.
"I am sure you are aware of the deal that was negotiated by Tyland Lannister on behalf of the Crown and myself."
"Indeed I am," replied Lyman, his hands steepled below his chin as he leaned forward, "and despite Otto's best efforts to see me sidelined, I am nonetheless aware of all the concessions that he has granted you in a blatant effort to see you forgive him for past slights."
Aenar could only chuckle at that. Otto had indeed granted Aenar many concessions that he had sought. More than Aenar had expected to be honest. But then again, one could always count on Otto Hightower to serve his own interests above those of the Crown.
"Some concessions have been granted by the Hand. Chief among them of course are the restrictions placed on ownership of foreign assets and the taxes charged on transfer of gold from Essos to Westeros."
"The restrictions on foreign assets as agreed shall be waived for a period of two years. Although from what I am told, Master Dimittis's efforts in offloading those assets from your books have been nothing short of stellar. I have seen many a firesale in my lifetime, and yet I will concede that yours, Master Dimittis, was sublime," complimented the Master of Coin.
"It must not have been easy and I am sure you must have burned many bridges in the service of your Lord," continued Lyman, his eyes locked on Nelos.
"As I am sure you are aware, once word got out that Aenar was deleveraging his position in Essos, the value of each asset would fall sharply as the sharks would smell blood in the water. I did what was necessary to ensure my client's interests were protected," Nelos's tone was calm but measured, he held Lyman's gaze steadily and continued, "and yes, I did in fact burn many bridges. But that's just business."
Lyman nodded silently at that.
"You need not worry about the restrictions, Aenar. My offices are eying the markets in Essos carefully. If, after the restriction period has lapsed, you still possess assets above the prescribed limits, the Crown may very well be interested in purchasing some of your assets. That is of course after a fresh valuation is conducted keeping in mind recent events."
Aenar almost twitched but kept his composure. What went without saying was that a fresh valuation of his remaining assets would see him receive a fraction of the original value. Lyman would receive a very good price for the investment. The cunning old bastard never missed a step.
"Now, coming to the influx of gold from your coffers in Essos. I received the summary of your accounts from Tyland. And I must say, I was almost envious. You have done very well for yourself, my boy," the Master of Coin rummaged through his desk drawer and eventually pulled out a sheaf of papers.
"Roughly a million dragons will remain in your accounts in the Iron Bank, which will be held individually in the names of Aenar Targaryen and House Targaryen of Crackclaw Point, the account for the latter having been created recently. Furthermore, over the past two turns of the moon, we have received nearly six hundred thousand dragons from various holdings in Pentos, Volantis and Lys which have been deposited in the Royal Treasury. I assume you will be using this gold for purchases from King's Landing to fund the development of your lands and your new Keep."
The Master of Coin's clinical breakdown of the sums was mind-boggling. Aenar and Nelos had gone to great extents to cook the books in such a way so as to make them impossible to navigate. While the amount sent to the Red Keep would have been obvious to the Lord Treasurer, he should not have been able to discern the amount that they had maintained in the Iron Bank.
Seeing their poorly concealed shock, Lyman chuckled, "You did an excellent job creating a veritable quagmire of transactions. Even my best bookkeepers were stumped. But I've been at this for decades, lad. It took some time, but I figured it out."
Aenar struggled with his words for a bit before finally admitting, "I have underestimated you again, Lyman. You have my apologies."
"No apologies necessary Aenar," waved off the Master of Coin, "tis natural to conceal the extent of your wealth when entering the cesspit of King's Landing. No harm was done as the gold, be it a thousand or a million dragons, will not be taxed regardless. The extent of your accounts shall remain between myself and the King, not even the Hand is aware. But I hope that I shall not witness any further such deception from hereon."
Lyman's voice was steel. And Aenar Targaryen was no fool. He nodded his concurrence immediately. No harm had been done, that was true. And many Lords of Westeros concealed the extent of their wealth in banks in Essos. But it was perhaps the first time that a Prince of House Targaryen had done so. It was a unique situation. There was also the fact that Aenar had a substantial sum of gold, far more than he had in King's Landing, transferred directly to Crackclaw Point, tightly secured by Morelos and three hundred loyal men at arms who were currently camped at the site where Aenar intended to raise his new Keep.
He had informed the Crown that he would be transferring some gold to Crackclaw Point, but even then he had not mentioned the magnitude of it. But considering recent revelations, he would not be surprised if the Master of Coin had deduced that as well.
"Now I am more concerned about the undisclosed assets that you have maintained in Westeros. I am curious about that. Viserys and I have been aware for some time that you have made several investments in Westeros through various intermediaries, but the Crown was never concerned enough to actually investigate."
Aenar decided that now was the time to assert some control over the conversation. Lyman, wily old man that he was, had dominated so far. But he was the Black fucking Dragon, and he would not be led around by the nose, "As per my agreement with Tyland, all the assets that I have purchased over the years in Westeros, will be recognised as valid by the Crown, and my ownership over them, whether in full or in part, will be upheld by the Crown. That of course is not subject to any change whatsoever."
"Aye," sighed Lyman, "I am aware of that. Although, I must say that I am slightly weary that this agreement will come back to bite me in the arse."
Aenar motioned for Nelos to take over, "A list of our assets, Lord Treasurer," said Nelos, handing over a diary for his perusal, "as you can see, each entry is clearly accompanied by registration and deed numbers along with index numbers for the bills of sale. Also noted are the revenues generated, the latest valuations conducted by our staff as well as a brief description of the property or business itself along with the share that Aenar holds within the assets."
The Master of Coin's eyebrows shot through the roof when he saw the thickness of the book. The man had probably expected the contents of Aenar's investments to be less enough to fit in a set of papers perhaps.
Unhindered, the banker deftly continued, "Most of the assets are wholly owned by either Aenar or by the Sons of the Dragon, which is in turn wholly owned by Aenar. In a rare few cases, Aenar is a minor partner. As you can see, our assets have been segregated by region and industry although the majority are located in the Crownlands, the Vale and the Stormlands.
The next few minutes passed in silence as the Master of Coin impassively examined the book before him. He tried to conceal his surprise but failed miserably. Aenar grinned openly as the Master of Coin looked up and his stunned gaze met Aenar's eyes.
"What the fuck Aenar?"
The Commander of the Sons of the Dragon chuckled lightly. He could not help himself. Even Nelos looked smug. After all, they had painstakingly crafted this business empire from the ground up over the past decade.
"Hunting Dothraki is lucrative," was all Aenar said.
"You don't say," deadpanned Lyman, "but even then. This is ridiculous."
"We didn't actually plan for this much investment in Westeros. It sort of," he paused, "just happened."
"It just happened? From a bare reading, I can see that you own almost a dozen taverns, five inns, three alehouses, two smithies, a bakery, two tanneries, two mills, a stone quarry and a fucking copper mine, just in the Vale."
"And the most important question," continued an exasperated Lyman, "is how? It would be impossible for this much gold to be pumped into Westeros without me noticing!" exclaimed the Master of Coin.
"But we didn't pump in gold aside from certain initial investments," replied a triumphant Nelos.
"Explain," demanded a rather miffed Lord of Honey and Gold.
"Take this as an example," replied Nelos as he pointed to an entry in the book, "the Lusty Wench tavern and the cotton mill in Gulltown. They were some of the first purchases we made. After a few years, the profits were substantial enough that transporting the gold back to Essos was becoming difficult. So we transferred a few hundred dragons more and using the existing profits, purchased the lease for the stone quarry near Runestone."
"But that would have raised red flags in Lord Arryn's offices."
"It would have. If that is, we had made a fresh investment. Due diligence on lease and investment agreements is only done when the initial purchase is made. But the lease of the stone quarry had already been issued over a decade ago. With nine and eighty years left in the tenure, we initially purchased a minority interest in the quarry and then slowly raised our investment over the years until we held complete ownership."
Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, the Lord of Honey and Gold, the man whose name invoked terror in the hearts of bankers and merchant princes across Essos, rubbed his forehead in frustration and groaned, "By the Seven. And how many times have you done this?"
"A dozen or so," replied Nelos matter of factly, "once we realised our model worked, we replicated it elsewhere, so as to not raise suspicion. Lords of Westeros after all rarely share details with one another about leases and investments. It was a simple matter of purchasing several small businesses in a region and using their combined profits to purchase multiple stakes in a larger business. Sometimes an infusion of gold was needed, but we mostly disguised them as loans from the Iron Bank."
"And the Iron Bank just gave out these loans?" asked an incredulous Lyman.
"Of course not. Sometimes Aenar or Harrold would serve as personal guarantors. Other times I would have my cousins stand guarantee. Again, the due diligence process doesn't cover an in-depth assessment of the personal guarantors for a loan agreement."
"Laws will have to be rewritten, entire tax codes will have to be reworked. I will have to personally overhaul the entire due diligence procedure followed by assessors all over the Seven fucking Kingdoms. Do you two have any idea what you have done?"
"We broke no laws, Lyman," replied Aenar, entirely too smug about having rattled the generally unflappable Master of Coin so greatly.
The man deflated at that, "Aye, no laws were broken. Well except for the one where a wanted man was illegally investing his wealth in Westeros."
"The King has already pardoned me for that."
"Indeed. And now I will have to clean up the eventual fallout. The Lords of Westeros will be livid when they find out that a foreign entity has invested so heavily in so many of their lands."
"The Lords of Westeros don't care. They hardly blinked when my gold was filling their coffers and lining their pockets. Now they will care even less when they find out that the investor is a Prince of House Targaryen," replied Aenar flippantly.
"Not all Lords will see it that way. Some will be incensed when the Crown decrees that the investments are valid and that the said Prince of House Targaryen now possesses a not insubstantial investment in their lands," warned Lyman.
"Then they will be reminded that the said Prince of House Targaryen is the rider of the Cannibal, the Lord of Crackclaw Point and the Commander of the Sons of the Dragon," Aenar's tone brooked no questions as to what his response would be should some lord attempt to forcefully and illegally attempt to usurp his investments.
Lyman chuckled at that, "Aye. That you are. And no one can deny that. And with the politics of succession being as they are, I don't doubt that many lords will be hesitant to create controversy lest they displease their patrons."
Aenar had been counting on that. Most of the Lords were either Blacks or Greens. And they would be hesitant to create a fuss while Otto and Rhaenyra were actively attempting to court Aenar.
"But even so," continued Lyman, "I think you will find out soon enough, that the Lords of Westeros are a bunch of fucking morons. I don't doubt that some fool will hope to make a name for himself by taking on the Black Dragon. I would be wary nonetheless."
"You need not tell me twice."
A bunch of fucking morons indeed.
Aenar POV
The Next Day
The Red Keep
The Training Yards
A sennight. Almost a sennight had passed since he had returned to King's Landing. And yet so much was the same. And yet so much was different.
The Red Keep was a wonder of architecture, say what you will about Maegor the Cruel, but the man knew how to build a castle. Much of Aenar's childhood had been spent here in the Red Keep. He had learnt in this very yard how to swing a sword, how to tilt on a horse, how to raise his shield and how to march in formation.
On many a hot summer morn, he had found himself sweating earnestly in the sun as Ser Steffon drilled him in the ways of the Warrior. And now, on a similar morning, he found himself making his way to the yard.
The days leading up to his meeting with the Master of Coin had been eventful. He had spent his days meeting with what seemed like hundreds of nobles and touring King's Landing while his nights were spent sequestered away with Viserys as he spoke to him of the political condition of Westeros and at times reminiscing about their younger years.
He'd even met Rhaenyra and her children a couple more times after that fateful dinner, regaling the young ones with stories of Rhaenyra from their childhood. Jace, Luke and Joff were delightful boys, brimming with potential, but Aenar was not blind to their dark hair and pug noses, but then again, Aenar was hardly someone to fault a child for their questionable parentage. Oh no, the blame for that rested squarely on Rhaenyra's shoulders.
He meant to have words with his niece, but that was a conversation not meant for the prying walls of the Red Keep.
Aenar heaved a deep sigh as he continued to walk through the Keep. His destination would be obvious to anyone who had met him, the training yard. In this world of dragons and brutal violence, it was every man's duty to be capable of war, Aenar did not allow his modernity to blind him to such facts.
Turning the final corner and beginning his descent he paused, in the distance, he could see Ser Criston Cole training the young Prince Aegon. Deciding to stand and observe for a moment, he was struck by the sight of the undoubtedly soft boy being coddled by the older Knight. What use would that serve him on a battlefield? A prince in the yard should be treated as the equal of every other squire training. Anything else was all but consigning them to death against a real foe.
Having seen enough, Aenar began his march up to the pair. Those who saw him gave him a wide berth, armed and armoured for battle The Scourge undoubtedly made a fearsome sight.
The Kingsguard met his gaze as he grew closer, "Prince Aenar, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Deciding not to beat around the bush, Aenar barked out, "Are you attempting to teach my nephew how to die?"
The boy in question looked terrified, causing a well of disgust to grow within him. Howhad Viserys let his son turn out like this?
"I hope you don't mean to insult my instruction, my prince. I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for a reason."
Aenar nodded, "Yes, you are. You are a Kingsguard to protect those of Royal Blood. How does coddling young Aegon in the yard serve him in true battle?"
"I don't follow, Your Grace?" the confused response caused Aenar's blood to boil.
"How were you trained, Ser Criston?"
"How does that matter?"
The Targaryen hummed, "Let me give you some perspective. When I was Aegon's age, Ser Steffon expected me in the yard within an hour of sunrise. And that was after I would attend to my duties as his squire in cleaning his kit and polishing his armour."
Turning to address Aegon as well, Aenar continued, "After that, we would drill for hours until noon, until I was bruised and bloodied. Until every twitch of a muscle resulted in agony. Every mistake would be punished. If I swung incorrectly, Ser Steffon would have me repeat the action a hundred times without rest until I got it right. If I misstepped in a spar he would rap my shin or lay me out on the ground and then make me run a dozen laps around the yard. It was hard, it was brutal and it is how real warriors are trained, Aegon."
Turning back to Ser Criston he asked, "Is this any different from how you were trained?"
The Kingsguard looked almost offended as he responded, "Would you have me bludgeon a Prince?"
Aenar snarled, "A little suffering now prevents an unfortunate death later. As one of my instructors once said, if you train easily you'll fight hard, if you train hard you'll fight easy."
Ser Criston clenched his jaw, "Why don't you show me how it's done?"
Nodding to his charge, Aegon took a place opposite Aenar on the field. Those in the vicinity took steps back, though Aenar noticed none re-engaged in their training.
"What have you maggots stopped for? If I wanted to be gawked at by whores I'd go to a fucking brothel!" The Liberator's voice boomed across the yard, quickly quelling the observing gazes.
Aegon shook like a leaf, as Aenar's gaze fell upon him and practice swords were drawn. Aenar watched with satisfaction as Aegon took a deep breath, steadying himself. At least there was some steel in the boy's spine.
Deciding that Aegon wouldn't take the initiative, he attacked. He struck first, lazily cutting at the boy. Aegon parried but trembled at the force of the blow. Moving backwards, he attempted to thrust but the blow was pushed aside as Aenar advanced. Stepping in close, Aenar quickly placed his right leg behind the boy's and pushed against his chest, casting the boy to the ground in a heap.
At the startled moaning that erupted from his action, Aenar interrupted, "You have been coddled boy. That lasts no more. You are a Prince of the Blood and will fight as such."
The boy attempted to reply, likely to whinge at the treatment, but Aenar refused to allow it. Quickly stepping back and raising his sword he barked his command, "Stand, we will continue until I'm satisfied."
The Prince petulantly remained on the floor and Aenar raised a brow before stepping up and slapping the side of his sword on the boy's thigh, "I said stand!"
And the training began anew.