The clearing of the rain clouds and emergence of the winter sunlight coincided with the start of the winter festivals and the issue of the runaway Gardener princess once more requiring his involvement.
And in a strange turn of events, Aegon was rather glad he was accompanying Jaela Kaesaryas when the Archon came to drag him back into it all. "Father, the festivals have only just begun," the girl whined. He felt her tighten her grip on his arm, all but clinging to his side. "Aegon promised to take me to see the firemages next, and then the first performance of The Tragedy of the Lover Consuls Octava Taeyria and Aeulus Vaen."
"I will only require our Legate for a moment's time," said Laecius, and Aegon could only imagine what the man saw in the pair of them, his daughter at a dragonlord's side. "The business of the city never ceases, Jaela, and at times it is most inconsiderate when it requires attention."
"Aegon?" Jaela looked up to him with pleading eyes.
He sighed. "Only for a moment," he said, "and no longer than that." Then he consoled Jaela and promised her that he would in fact return to her the second his business with her father was finished. Her trembling lip turned into a smile, and when she tried to kiss him, he turned his cheek and embraced her as one would a close friend, her kiss landing well away from his lips. Still, she blushed, and as Aegon left her in the company of his guard to follow the Archon, he wondered if the color in her cheeks was from more than just the cold weather.
With the market square as crowded as it was, there was no point in trying to find a secluded corner to huddle together and converse. News of the Gardener princess' arrival had spread through half the city within a day of her ship making port, and by the week's end there was not a soul on the island that did not already know. The Archon's guards created room for them in the crowd, and the people deftly moved aside as if nothing was amiss.
"Do not say that something has come up," Aegon said.
Laecius did not even deign to make a face at that. "Something has come up."
"Gods be good." Aegon rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Ever since she arrived, I've said that she would be nothing but trouble and headache, and now she proves to be exactly that yet again. What is she demanding now that I am somehow in a position to grant to her?"
"Protection, in exchange for information." Aegon furrowed his brow at that, and Laecius continued. "The girl is smarter than she seems, and after reading through some of my library with her handmaiden, has come to realize that I am bound by the law to present her to the Conclave of Magisters by the month's end."
"So claim her as a prisoner," Aegon said simply. "Then you will not have to present her."
"I do that, and I lose the next election." Laecius shook his head. "The entire city knows why she is here; she expressed as such quite loudly as your legionnaires escorted her to the fortress. They are already half in love with the story of a princess running away from an unwanted betrothal. No, I cannot claim her as a prisoner, and so I must present her to the Conclave. The magisters will most assuredly want to sell her back to Highgarden for a king's ransom in gold and silver, failing to see the innumerable wealth in land we might gain should we keep her here and learn of what information she has."
"What information could she possibly possess that we do not already have?"
"The inner workings of Reachmen politics, and the supposed plans her father has made to conqueror the very divided Stormlands we have set our eyes on."
That caught his attention. "How much does she know?"
"She was her father's cupbearer before she fled, and she claims to know every detail of the plan."
"Very well," Aegon said. "I will attend the Conclave and help you convince the magisters that selling the princess back to her father is a mistake. What she knows may very well win us a future war, and I will not allow Highgarden to take my glory. The Stormlands are to be conquered by my Valyrian legion alone. I will not split the land with a Gardener king."
"Good." Laecius nodded. "We cannot allow this opportunity to slip from our grasp."
Nor shall we meet the same fate as Maerius Lullus. The two men grasped the other's forearm, the wordless acknowledgement from one legionnaire to another, and then the Archon was off to meet with the dyer's guilds, and Aegon returned to side of the Lady Jaela, who latched onto his offered arm and was not like to release it again. They set off for the Firemages, and Aegon let the girl natter on about some inane issue she had with the friends she had amongst the magisters' daughters, and made affirmative noises here and there, so as to put on the mask of an attentive listener. His thoughts were occupied with the plans for the invasion of the Stormlands, and the now very real threat of Gardener interference. But King Mern won't march with his full strength, Aegon thought, not without leaving his flanks open for attack by the Dornish and the Westermen. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock were no friends of the Gardeners of Highgarden, and the Martells of Sunspear were ever eager to raid into the Dornish Marches. If either were to hear of the Reach's eastward expansion, they might just prove unlikely allies.
When they arrived to where the firemages had set up their act, beside the Fountain of the Drunken God, they settled into seats at the front of the crowd as befitting of a legate of Valyria and the daughter of the Archon. The firemages hailed from all corners of the Freehold, and Aegon watched with the rest of the crowd as the lead mage sauntered about while the others stood to the sides. With a flash he conjured a flame in the palm of his hand, and the crowd marveled at the sight of his unburnt skin. Jaela leaned against him, captivated by the firemage as he transformed the small flame in his palm into a whip ten feet in length. Aegon found the sight entertaining, yet the flames of the mages were nothing to the flames of a dragon, nor were any of their acts comparable to the true strength of Valyrian sorcery.
That was true power, while this was child's play.
As the firemages conjured swords of flames and put on a fanciful duel, Aegon felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned his head as Voren whispered into his ear. "The legion is assembling beyond the city for the slaughtering of the calves to Aquan the Red Bull."
With a nod, Aegon returned his focus to the firemages, and Voren stepped back and joined the rest of the guards. Two of the mages continued to duel with fiery blades, while others urged the flames to take the shapes of all manner of beasts. They breathed flame like a dragon, spitting fire and emerging unburnt. And for a final act, their flames flashed as bright as the sun, and to a man they disappeared from where they had been standing but moments ago. The crowd cheered and clapped, and it only grew when they all saw that the lead firemage had reappeared on top of the statue of the Drunken God in the middle of the fountain.
As was customary, coins were tossed into the fountain as a blessing and a prayer, and Aegon joined the rest in giving an offering. "Come," he said, after a wealth of coins had found its way into the fountain. "The priests of Aquan the Red Bull are going to begin sacrificing their thirteen calves, and as legate I must attend."
"Father's told me stories about the ritual," Jaela said as they climbed into an awaiting palanquin. "He said it's akin to how a sorceress bathes in the blood of virgins to keep her youth."
"And he is right, after a fashion. The calf is slaughtered as a sacrifice to the Red Bull, but the lifeblood is used to bless those who worship Aquan, and only those who bathe in the blood are blessed. It's said that Aquan draws strength from the death of the calf, and that the blood is what strengthens and fortifies the flesh of any who bathes in it. With an entire legion's worth of men, there isn't going to be enough blood for all to bathe in, even with thirteen calves. I will say that it is an interesting feeling, bathing in blood."
"You've done it before?" Her violet eyes were wide with awe.
"I have," he said, "when I was first given my command of the legion," and he told her the tale as the palanquin was carried into the field beyond the city. He described the way the calf was suspended in the air above him, and how he stood naked underneath it as the priests cut the beast's throat with a single swipe of a Valyrian steel blade, and how the blood fell upon his bare head and shoulders, scalding hot as the animal cried out in its death throes. He told her of the incomprehensible chanting of the priests, of how they danced around him as he was showered in the blood of the dying animal, of what the blood tasted like.
What he did not tell her was how, after the carcass of the calf had been taken away, a priestess of the Red Bull had come and disrobed before him, and how he had fucked her whilst covered in blood, listening to her moan in her foreign tongue, as the priests continued with their dance. For to bathe in the blood of the sacrifice was one way to honor the Red Bull, but to meet death with life was another.
It was a private and intimate ceremony, one that was impossible to perform in front of an entire legion, and as the palanquin was set down and Aegon climbed from it, he saw that there was no priestess. He helped Jaela climb down from the palanquin, and then left her in the company of the legion's slave attendants by the tents and pavilions. The thirteen calves were lined up before a large stone basin freshly constructed. It was there, he knew, that the lifeblood of thirteen calves would soon flow, and where the priests would mark each and every man of the legion.
"Victaer Rhoynaeras!" called Tribune Vaekar, as the Legate made his way to the front of the assembled legion. The return was nearly deafening, as over five thousand men shouted as one. "Victaer Rhoynaeras! Victaer Rhoynaeras! With fire and blood we fight, for the Senate and Valyria we die!"
"Victaer Rhoynaeras!" the Legate yelled with the rest of them. Then he turned to the waiting priests of Aquan and said, "Let us begin." As the first calf was brought to the stone basin, the Legate disrobed until he was bare above his waist. On either side of him, Tribune Vaekar and Camp Prefect Titus similarly disrobed, and so too did the rest of the legion behind them.
With Sunraiser in hand, the Legate stood in front of the first calf, fell to his knees, and gazed upon the heavens with his sword thrust point first into the earth. "With the deaths of these calves," he shouted, "we honor you!" Then in one motion he sliced through the throat of the calf, and watched as its blood poured into the awaiting stone basin, its dying screams choked and distended. One of the priests came forth and dipped a small wooden bowl into the blood, filling it, and then he stood before the Legate.
As before, the language of the priests of Aquan for foreign to him, and the Legate did not care to learn it as the priest dipped his fingers into the calf blood. It was warm against his forehead, cheeks, and lips. Then it was done, and the priest moved on to Tribune Vaekar and Camp Prefect Titus, as the other twelve calves were brought forward and had their throats slit and lifeblood spilled. The Legate watched for a time and made sure to display his blood covered face to the legionnaires. They needed to see him, and he needed to be seen. And as the priests went throughout the legion, blessing each man they passed with the blood from thirteen calves, the Legate retired to his pavilion and found Jaela Kaesaryas waiting for him, a ravenous look in her violet eyes.
"A simple ritual," he said to her, as the legion's slave attendants came forward and cleaned the blood from his face. "Not nearly as complex as my previous one, but the blessing is the same, if the priests are to be believed."
"Do you feel any different?" she asked.
"I do," he said, and he almost believed himself. In a matter of moments, he was cleaned and dressed in the clothes he had arrived in, and though lacking in armor, the layers of crimson and black silks he wore were of the finest quality. "But one has to go through the ritual themselves to truly understand."
"Would it not be a waste on me? I'm not a warrior."
"No, you are not, but you do not need to be one to be blessed by the Red Bull's priests."
"Then I believe I would like to try."
Aegon smirked, and she returned it with only a faint blush to her cheeks. By some madness he decided to humor her, and he had one of the slave boys fetch a priest of the Red Bull and some of the calf blood. When both priest and blood had arrived, Aegon moved to give her some privacy. "No," Jaela said, taking him by the crook of his arm. "I want you to see." And see he did, looking on as she removed the many folds of her layered silk robes and form hugging dress she wore underneath. Her body was heavenly shaped, curved in all the right places, and he now knew that she followed the fashion of the ladies of Valyria in taking a razor to any and all hair below the neck.
It was a brazen display, and from anyone else he would have seen it as desperate, but this was the daughter of the Archon of Tyrosh. "A change in strategy?" he asked, as he sat and gazed upon her naked form. A wooden screen from the Golden Empire of Yi Ti was the only thing shielding her from the rest of the world beyond.
"I thought to see what a direct approach would yield me."
"Well, do go on. I am just as curious to see if the outcome is any different."
Not that Aegon expected it to be. For all that Jaela Kaesaryas was beautiful, she was the daughter of Laecius Kaesaryas and a member of the extended Kaesaryas Family. To court her would be tantamount to choosing a side in the ever-shifting political landscape, and he had no desire to be involved any more than he already was. He was a legionnaire first and foremost, and the legions did not meddle in politics. And of those who did, only a scant few achieved any measure of success, while most others met vicious and ignoble ends in the eyes of the people.
He watched in silence, tracing his eyes up her skin as the blood trickled down. The priest murmured his prayers as he dipped his fingers in the blood and painted Jaela's flesh. It was an arousing display as she rubbed the blood across her breasts and down her taut stomach, along her arms and neck, tracing her flanks. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open, and from it came a whispered moan of lust. She was fluid in her motions, and to Aegon it was almost as if the priest had vanished entirely.
But then the bowl turned empty, and the priest finished in his prayers, and the moment was done.
"Do you feel blessed?" Aegon asked her, after the priest had gone and a metal tub had been brought and filled with near scalding hot water. He sat at her side as she washed herself, the water turning murky red.
"Would you believe me if I said I do?"
"Had you continued with the act of the naïve Archon's daughter, I very well might have believed. But since you are now favoring a direct approach, I shall do the same."
"Oh?"
"Tell me, is it my cock that you are after, or the power I wield?"
Jaela chuckled then, and her grin was wicked. "While I do love chatting with my girls and flirting with my boys, I can appreciate bluntness. And to answer, why not both? You are a man in your prime, tall, strong, handsome, and I'd wager my weight in gold that you have a wonderful cock and know how to use it. You're a legate of Valyria, commanding the Ninth Legion, wielding the power of life and death. But it all pales to the fact that you are a dragonrider belonging to one of the great families. If we were to wed, our children would grow up to be dragonriders, and I would have more power as your lady wife than I ever could as the Archon of Tyrosh if I were by some miracle elected. So yes, I want both."
"And what is to say that I want anything from you?"
"Now who is being the naïve one?" She gave a silvery laugh. "You're a man, and one who doesn't shy away from taking what he wants. I see the way you look at me. You like what you see."
"Is your body all you have to offer, Jaela? All it will take is a short flight to Lys and I can have a dozen girls who look like you gagging on my cock and screaming my name."
"But none of them have the blood of the Kaesaryas in their veins. If you wish to be more than just a legate, you will need allies within the great families. And while I might belong to the extended family, I am still family, and if we did wed, you would have the support of the Kaesaryas in the Senate."
"Your cousin Aelius is already a divisive figure. What's to say your family will still have the capacity to help me after his term as consul is up? The man will no doubt spend what political capital your family has in order to get what they want from the Senate."
"He would have the power to send you more legions. I might not know much about war, but I know that one legion and a single dragon is not enough to conquer an entire kingdom."
"You know." Aegon supposed he should have suspected it.
"I do, and it is a bold plan, waging an illegal war–"
He laughed. "Illegal? Hardly. The Kingdom of the Storm means nothing to the Freehold, so they won't be bothered when I invade it, nor does your father expect them to complain about expanding influence of the Senate and the additional tributes in the form of Westerosi gold."
"Still, it is politically dangerous, and if I recall correctly, the Targaryens are very much lacking in political capital and influence."
"Political coverage so that my legally suspect war will not result in my being labeled a traitor." Aegon leaned back in his seat and watched as Jaela washed herself. "And in exchange, you will get a dragonlord as a husband, and children who will all be dragonlords in their own right. Have I laid it out plainly?"
"When you put it like that, it all sounds rather cold and meticulous. I'd rather hope our marriage bed will have more passion."
"Assuming I agree."
"Why would you not?" she asked, and she stood in her tub. He watched attentively as she stepped out and began to dry herself, making no hurry to conceal herself from his eyes.
"For one, I hardly know you."
She feigned shock. "You wound me, Aegon. I thought we were well acquainted."
"Let me sleep on it," he said. "I make all my best decisions after a good night's rest."
"Then I will await your answer with bated breath," she said, a teasing grin to her lips. "Now if you would help me dress, we have a play to see, and I wouldn't want us to be late." And by the time she finished dressing, the priests of Aquan the Red Bull had blessed the Ninth Legion to a man, and what remained of the blood was being poured into jars so that it could be given to the poor later that night. The carcasses of the calves were being roasted over several firepits, many legionnaires choosing to continue celebrating Aquan by eating the slain animals, for it was only the lifeblood that Aquan required. Others had returned to the city, making the journey in small groups and solitary pairs. Aegon again helped Jaela into the palanquin, and as they were carried to the theatre, he listened to what idle gossip Jaela had of Tyrosh's elite.
The theatre itself was a grand structure, built to seat five hundred comfortably, with balconies above for the magisters, merchants, and captains. The first and third levels were meant for them, while the second was divided into sections for a more private viewing. The Archon of Tyrosh had the best seat in the building, a box in the center of the second level, aptly named the Archon's Box. However, the man himself would not be attending due to a prior engagement with some of his magisters, Aegon was informed, and so the honor of having the best seats in the theatre was given to him.
Of course, that is if we even manage to get to them before the play begins, Aegon thought, as Jaela stopped to speak with yet another one of her friends. This one had her hair dyed a deep maroon, and like all the others they had encountered, she too was a daughter of a magister. "Apparently," that one said, "they're going to fight a duel at sunset to see who the gods favor more." The women tittered, and he could do nothing but listen. "Neither of them seems to realize that Mercedene has been rather taken with a dashing centurion."
"What a pity," Jaela said, not a hint of remorse in her voice. Aegon cleared his throat. "Oh! I've been terribly distracted as of late. Daena, have you had the chance to be formally introduced to our dear legate?"
"I have not." She of the maroon hair curtseyed. "Daena Silerys, Your Excellency."
"A pleasure," Aegon said, feigning a smile.
"It certainly is…" Her eyes roved his body up and down, and Aegon felt Jaela ever so slightly stiffen beside him. Her grip on his arm became just a little tighter, and her smile lost its genuine curve.
"Oh, forgive us," Jaela said suddenly. "It looks like the play is going to begin soon. We best make our way to the Archon's Box, lest we miss the opening speech."
Aegon agreed. "And it was a pleasure meeting you," he said to Daena Silerys. And no sooner had they parted ways did Jaela scoff and mutter something under her breath. "Not the sharing kind?" he asked her as they made their way to the second level, Voren and the rest of his guards following behind.
"Our arrangement, should you accept, has no room for second wives. At least, not at first."
"Of course, should I agree."
The Archon's Box was the largest on the second level, richly furnished, with a pair of slave girls who would attend to their every need during the play. Jaela stepped into the box at once and called for a glass of wine, but as Aegon turned to again tell Voren and his guard that he had no need for them this day, he caught sight of the Gardener princess and her handmaiden stepping into one of the other boxes.
"Jaela, I'll be back momentarily," he said, and he did not wait for a response. He tasked two of his guard to stand by the Archon's Box. The rest accompanied him, and the Westerosi knights the princess had brought with her moved to block their path when they approached. "Do you know who I am, ser?"
The knight hesitated, then stepped to the side.
Both the princess and her handmaiden were startled by his sudden appearance, but they recomposed themselves by the time the door clicked shut. They were dressed in the fashion of the Tyroshi, presumably their Westerosi garb was deemed ill-suited for the theatre, and it was not an unflattering appearance. "It seems that this day is just full of surprises," Aegon said, brushing past the handmaiden and sitting next to the princess. "That little head of yours is not so empty as I first thought."
The handmaiden gasped with indignation, but the princess turned her nose up at him. "We are not savages like you Valyrians think we are. Does it surprise you that Alicent and I can read?"
"You're both Andals, so yes, it does surprise me. The fact that neither of you can speak any form of Valyrian only hammers home that point."
"Valyria is not the center of the world," said Alicent of the Hightower.
"There you are wrong," Aegon said. "Your Andal kingdoms are nothing compared to the might of the Freehold. Valyria commands everything from the Hills of Norvos to the Bone Mountains and the Jade Gates. The greatest centers of learning and art are found on the Valyrian peninsula. Magics you cannot even fathom are practiced and mastered there. The very weapons your people covet are forged there." He drew his Valyrian steel dagger and held it aloft in his hand. "This blade alone could buy me a castle in any of the Sunset Kingdoms."
"Your Freehold is built on the backs of slaves," she snapped.
"Yet here you are." Aegon turned to the princess. "And not only are you hiding from your father in the company of slavers, but you are actively leveraging the lives of your fellow Andals to secure your own safety. Oh, don't look like that. Have you suddenly had a change of heart?"
"No," the princess grounded out, and the handmaiden looked as if she wanted to curse him.
Aegon sheathed his dagger. "You need not like how the world works, but you have to accept it. Tyrosh is not the same as Highgarden. The magisters are not like your lords, and the Archon is not king. We might very well fail to convince the Conclave of your importance, and should that happen, they will sell you back to your father in a heartbeat and not a moment sooner. Gold is all they care for, and you are only as useful as the information you claim to have. Should it prove inaccurate, well, I would have little use for you otherwise."
"You are a mongrel cur," hissed the handmaiden. "You know nothing of honor."
"If I am a mongrel cur, then what does that make you?" He stood and looked to the stage below. "The play is going to begin soon. It was written by one of the great Valyrian playwrights. A shame you'll have to hear it through the words of a translator." He left the princess at that, and when he reached the door, he caught the handmaiden by the arm and held her fast. "You better learn to guard your tongue, girl. It might just lose you your head should the wrong person hear what you have to say."
"Let me go," she said, not a hint of fear in her voice, defiance in her eyes even as pink colored her cheeks.
He grinned at that and released her. "Learn to speak High Valyrian. Your words will carry more weight, and you might just be able to make something of yourself." He shut the door in her face before she could get a word out, and with a signal to his guards, returned to the Archon's Box.
Jaela Kaesaryas was sipping wine and lounging in her seat when he entered. Without a word, he unbuckled his swordbelt, handed it to one of the slave girls, sat beside Jaela, and called for a glass of wine. "Was there aught amiss?" she asked. Aegon gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
"The Gardener princess and her handmaiden are a curious pair, seemingly willing to sell the lives of their fellow Reachmen for their own gain, yet disdainful of slavery."
"They're Andals. It's a miracle they survived this long with their backwards way of thinking."
"Indeed," Aegon agreed. Unbidden, his thoughts went to his family, to his brothers and cousins. It's been years since I've seen any of them, and yet I know none of them have changed. Daenys the Dreamer had foreseen that a great doom would befall Valyria. His cousin Maegor was lord, and his sister-wife Elaena was lady, and both of them were firm believers of Daenys' Dream, content to sit in his castle and bide his time. And Viserys has never been one to lead nor fight. Their father Baelon had wished for all three of his sons to be great warriors and knights, following in the tradition that Aegon the Andal had set forth. But Viserys was not a warrior, Daemon had gotten himself killed in an inconsequential duel, and Aegon refused his knighthood on principle. I am a son of Valyria. I do not need the honors and titles of a lesser people. Aegon the Andal had been the first Targaryen to earn his spurs and take the Seven Who Are One as his gods, and some had followed.
I should return for a visit before winter's end. Mayhaps I can convince Maegor and Elaena to join me in the Stormlands for a spring campaign. Yes, three dragons would serve better than one. Of the original five dragons that Aenar the Exile had taken with the rest of his world to Dragonstone, none still lived. There came a time when a dragon's size became too large for its wings, and when a dragon could not fly, it was all but useless. Aegon knew that Maegor and Elena were the riders of the dragons Vhagar and Meraxes, two of the largest Targaryen dragons, and that Viserys still had Quicksilver. Rhaenyra, the niece he had never met, was supposedly the rider of the she-dragon Syrax. The others were no doubt still riderless.
From below rose a booming voice from the stage. "My lords and ladies, senators and freeholders all, lend me your ears!" Aegon saw that the play had begun, the first act of The Tragedy of the Lover Consuls Octava Taeyria and Aeulus Vaen opening in the Senate House of the Freehold, and he felt Jaela lean into his side. "If we are to wed," she whispered as the mummer continued with his opening speech, "I'd like to get used to how you feel."
"Will attending plays be a part of this marriage?" he asked.
"… and many good deeds have been done under their consulship! Tell me, my friends. Why are we not praising them as the noble son and daughter of Freehold that they are? Have they not earned our respect and gratitude for crushing the slave revolt in Volantis? Even now, the honorable Consul Aeulus commands the city and brings peace with his legions! What reason have we, my fellow senators and freeholders, to slander and drag his good name through the mud? Tell me so, and I will call you a coward…"
"I should hope so. I do love this play. A love story born out of politics and war."
"That it is," Aegon murmured.
"Even the noble lords Targaryen and Sularyen know this to be true, for they have answered the call time and again, and will forever stand together with those of the Taeyria. I, Claedius Targaryen, proclaim it thus. And now I implore the honorable lady to stand and speak. Do we march for war?"