Maegor II
The servant gave Maegor a quick bow as she entered his chambers. Maegor had bid her to enter his room after hearing her light knock at his door. "The cooks are serving breakfast in the common room. Would you like some brought up to you, Ser?" That's right. I'm a knight now. The day after the battle at the Gullet, the Queen had called all of the dragonseeds into the Great Hall. Maegor, Gaemon, Addam, Hugh, Ulf, and Nettles had been bid to kneel before the Queen on her dais, flanked by her sons, the Princes Aegon and Viserys. Queen Rhaenyra's cousin, the Lady Baela, watched from the wings along with the Queen's Lords and knights.
For their leal service, and in the memory of the much-lamented death of the Prince of Dragonstone, all of the dragonseeds were to be knighted, with the exception of Nettles, who was instead promised an exceptional dowry from the Crown for when she chose to marry. Addam Velaryon was naturally knighted by his grandfather, Lord Corlys the Sea Snake. However, the Sea Snake also knighted Maegor and Gaemon, declaring that for their actions in saving Spicetown and High Tide the day previous, they were both considered "steadfast friends of House Velaryon." Ser Lorent Marbrand, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, knighted Ulf and Hugh. Afterwards, the Queen had declared that there would be a feast held in the evening to commemorate her son, the Prince Jacaerys, and to celebrate the great victory that he had led the seeds in winning, though he hadn't lived to see it. The seeds had been bid to return to their quarters and prepare for the feast.
Realizing that he had been letting his thoughts wander, as he was regularly wont to do, Maegor sat up further in his bed and faced the servant girl. "No thank you, Serra. I believe that I'll break my fast in the common room today." The girl nodded, and gave a quick curtsey before exiting his chambers, quietly closing the door behind her. Climbing from his bed, Maegor walked to the small window in his chamber and stretched, enjoying the feeling of his muscles tightening, chasing any lingering tiredness from his frame. The morning air was a refreshing caress to his face, and Maegor liked looking through the window, far beyond the castle and surrounding village out to the distant sea. At the end of the day, the open water was as true a home to Maegor as any other place that he'd lived throughout his life. Vaster than any castle in Westeros, and teeming with more riches than the vaults of kings.
Crossing his room, Maegor found a pair of black breeches, which he pulled on. He then dressed himself in a black silk doublet, with a proud red three-headed dragon stitched skillfully across its front. He pulled on a pair of supple leather boots, dyed a deep black color to match the rest of the clothing he'd been fitted for. Standing in front of a silvered mirror placed in one of the corners of his chambers, Maegor regarded his appearance, running a hand through his short brown hair. Stormy blue-grey eyes looked back at him from a face settled in a passive expression.
Standing at six-and-a-half feet tall, and weighing somewhere over sixteen stone, Maegor knew he was a striking figure. From a life previously spent at sea hauling nets full of fish, Maegor was quite strong and muscled, though had been somewhat lean. Though never underfed throughout his life, upon beginning to live at Dragonstone's castle and eating the fare usually reserved for lords and knights, Maegor's frame had begun to fill out more, making him look even more imposing than before. Of all the seeds, he was most similar in appearance to Hugh, the smith's bastard. However, though he was slightly taller, Maegor knew he was nowhere near as strong as Hugh, having seen the man win a bet made with a guardsman by twisting a steel bar from Dragonstone's forge.
Continuing to regard himself in the mirror, Maegor wondered if he bore any resemblance to his namesake and great-great-grandsire. From all the stories he'd heard, Maegor the Cruel had been a huge and hulking man, though Maegor assumed that his namesake had been blessed with the looks of Valyria unlike himself. Maegor's mother had brown hair and blue-grey eyes, making Maegor the only child of hers and Denys' to not in some way resemble the dragonlords that Maegor, his father, and brothers were descended from. "Mayhaps you are," his brother Aenys had said when Maegor had asked his father and brothers if they thought he was similar in size to their ancestor. "But methinks you aren't half as sour as he was. He certainly wasn't remembered as Maegor the Soft-Spoken, or the Gentle." With a grin, Maegor's brother had continued. "Such a shame. The body of a warrior wasted on a man with the heart of a Septon." Maegor found himself smiling at the memory, before it quickly twisted into a bitter frown as the sadness returned. Looking away from the mirror, Maegor exited his chambers and descended the steps to the common room.
As he approached the table, he saw that he was not the only seed making an early start to the day. Gaemon sat at the table, as well as Nettles. Gaemon grinned and made a joking flourish with his hand to an open seat, and Nettles simply gave him a friendly nod as she peeled an apple with a knife that she usually kept up her sleeve. Maegor took the seat that his friend had offered him, and thanked a servant when they offered him a bowl of honeyed porridge. Taking a bite of the porridge, Maegor was pleased at the sweet taste. Though simple fare for a Lord or knight, things like porridge with honey were a delight to Maegor. Chewing, he thought about the feast that had occurred the day he'd received his knighthood.
The food had been unlike anything he'd ever seen before, much less tasted. For their crucial role and heroism in the battle, the dragonseeds had been given seats of exceptional prestige and honor directly below the Queen's high table. Maegor was situated towards the right end of the seeds' table, with Gaemon on his left and Nettles on his right. Course after course was served, and Maegor couldn't believe how good all the food had tasted. To name a few, they included roasted pig drizzled in a honeyed sauce, capons cooked in a crusting of sugared almonds, and hearty soups tasting of spices that Maegor never knew existed. It seemed the flow of food would never end. Despite the celebratory nature and good spirits shared by most of the feasts' attendees, it seemed to Maegor as though a cloud hung over the high table, dampening the spirits of all who sat at it.
As he sat and ate, Maegor could only think of how his father had boasted that he and his sons would sup at the Queen's table. How excited he had been to hear those words. Yet now he kept company with none of his family save their lingering dreams and ambitions that haunted his thoughts. Looking up at the Queen's table, Maegor observed those who sat and ate at it. At the left end was Lady Baela, followed by Prince Viserys, and then the Queen herself. To her left was her son Prince Aegon, followed by Lord Corlys and his grandsons.
Maegor's gaze had lingered on the faces of the Princes, neither of whom seemed interested in the food being presented to them. Maegor realized that they had lost two brothers in a short amount of time, just like him. The Lady Baela ate with enough of the poise expected of a noblewoman, but there was no trace of anything but sadness in her features or demeanor. He knew that until the day before, she had been the betrothed of the Prince of Dragonstone, destined to one day rule as Queen herself. Maegor suspected that the only thing that the royal family truly wished to do was grieve, but their obligation to celebrate a great victory forced them to be gracious hosts, hiding their sadness behind polite toasts and acknowledgements of valor and service to their cause. The Queen's forces had won a great victory, but men died in great victories, and the price of this one had been a beloved Prince.
Looking up from his bowl of porridge, Maegor looked across the table at Gaemon and cleared his throat. When his friend turned to regard him, one eyebrow raised, Maegor began to speak quietly. "I feel that it is long past time that I accept your offer to accompany you to the training yard. Now that we're knights, I feel that I would be remiss to not have at least some knowledge of how to wield a sword." In the short silence following his statement, Maegor felt awkward, and a little ashamed. He realized that he had barely even spoken to his friend in the time since he arrived at Dragonstone's citadel. Much of the words spoken between the two of them had been Gaemon suggesting things that Maegor could do at the castle, with Maegor morosely refusing and continuing his self-imposed isolation whenever possible.
Gaemon simply grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Alright then. I'm sure that Ser Marbrand will make a fine warrior of you. However, I must warn you that if we're to spar, I won't go easy on you just because we're from the same village!" Maegor's friend chuckled after his statement, clearly indicating that it was one made in jest and without malice. Maegor gave him a wan smile.
Gaemon then turned to Nettles, who had begun to eat the apple she had peeled. "And you, Nettles? Surely you must have found things to do in this castle beyond scandalizing the knights and their ladies at every opportunity?"
Nettles' face broke into a crooked grin, and she chuckled, taking another large bite out of her apple. "I'll be feeding another sheep to my Sheepstealer after I finish breaking my own fast. I'm worried that ugly bastard will start to forget who tamed him if I don't." Feigning a haughty look and accent that Maegor had seen and heard from many noblewomen throughout the castle, the girl continued. "You'll have to pardon me for not accompanying you to the yard to watch you train, good sers." Gaemon laughed, and Maegor found himself smiling at the jape. Nettles grinned, but it soured after a moment. "I'd honestly have preferred if the Queen had given me a damn knighthood like the rest of ya. The only reward I've been given is a dowry. Seems to me all that does is make my lowborn cunny a bit more appealing to those highborn arses." With that, the girl returned her knife to its sheath hidden within her sleeve, and gave Maegor and Gaemon a final smirk before standing and striding to the door leading out to the yard. Opening the door, she took another wet crunching bite from her apple, and disappeared beyond it into the morning light.
"Keep your shield up!" Ser Lorent Marbrand's voice rang across the yard, but Maegor had already fallen for his opponent's feint. Maegor grunted as the blunted sword struck his side. He'd overcommitted himself in an attempt to press an opening that he thought he'd found in his opponent's stance. Instead, he'd opened himself up to a quick retaliatory strike that would have been as painful as it would have been fatal had the swords been sharp castle-forged steel. He could tell that he'd have a large bruise from that hit. Maegor nodded in acknowledgement at the young man who had landed the blow.
The squire, only about a year younger than Maegor himself, inclined his head back at Maegor before speaking. "Well fought. Your size and reach will prove most useful as you become more experienced with a blade." He then turned and exited the dusty ring as Lord Commander Marbrand entered to speak with Maegor.
Pointing at the shield on Maegor's arm, Marbrand began to speak. "A shield is meant for more than simply displaying a knight's heraldry, young ser. I've been watching you as I've had you spar with different opponents. I can tell that you try to think out your moves, even in the heat of combat. That can be dangerous, when crucial decisions need to be made from moment to moment." Lord Commander Marbrand paused for a moment, before tapping a mailed finger on the shield strapped to Maegor's arm. "That's what this is for. A shield will buy you some respite from an opponent's attacks if you use it well, but we knights train so as to make our swordplay more instinct than calculation. With many more years of experience, the time spent making decisions in a fight will lessen until the correct thrust or parry comes as naturally to a man as walking."
The sun was beginning to get low in the sky, and many had begun to trickle out of the training courtyard. However, several men remained, including Gaemon. Marbrand nodded at Maegor approvingly. "That's enough for today. No man walks away from his first day of training as skilled as Ser Galladon of Morne."
Maegor nodded at the veteran knight. "Thank you ser. It is an honor to be able to train under a man of such skill." Marbrand inclined his head in return, and Maegor turned to walk from the ring. It was then that he heard a hiccuping laugh ring out from a shadowed corridor opening into the training yard.
Ulf the White sauntered into view, swaying only slightly. It was clear that the man was in his cups, and after a moment Hugh the Hammer appeared as well. The giant man's face was similarly flushed, but he seemed much more cognizant of his surroundings than the other seed. Ulf regarded Maegor standing in the ring, and a grin spread across his face. "Aha! The fisherman is learning to fight. I s'pose tis only fitting. It'd be a shame for a knight to not know how to wield a sword."
Lord Commander Marbrand had turned to regard the silver-haired seed, a slight frown upon his face. "That he is. All men must needs begin somewhere. I daresay no man has come from his mother's womb with a sword in hand."
Ulf chuckled at the Lord Commander's words. "Fair enough, I s'pose." The man's face suddenly lit up. Grabbing a blunted sword and shield, Ulf hopped into the ring. Maegor was surprised that the man staggered only slightly when his feet hit the ground. "Then let me be your last fight of the day, Ser Maegor. I swear on me da's bones that I won't be too rough on ya."
Ser Marbrand had opened his mouth to retort, a full-fledged frown now having spread across his face, but Maegor tapped the knight on the shoulder. When the knight turned to face Maegor, Maegor pointed at the shield still on his arm. "It's alright, Ser. I would like to try fighting more with my shield, like you've suggested." Marbrand pursed his lips, obviously hesitant at allowing a novice to fight a man with more experience in swordplay who was very clearly in his cups.
After a moment's hesitation, the knight nodded. "Fine then. But the fight ends the moment either of you lands a decisive blow on the other. You are both anointed knights, and I expect you to spar as such." The Lord Commander exited the ring, leaving Maegor standing and facing Ulf, who was unable to stand still without a small amount of swaying. The man gave Maegor an over-the-top bow, which elicited several chuckles from the men remaining around the ring, the loudest of which rumbled forth from the lips of Hugh the Hammer.
Maegor raised his shield and stood firm, waiting for the drunken seed across from him to make the first move. Ulf swung his sword forward, testing Maegor, but Maegor easily turned the blow aside with his shield, as Ser Marbrand had taught him to do earlier that day. Maegor gave a probing jab of his own, but Ulf side-stepped and avoided the attack with surprising grace, laughing. Each time Maegor attempted to attack, the silver-haired seed would merely dodge or block the blow, laughing louder each time. He had made no further attempts of his own to attack. Maegor was beginning to grow angry, and the increasingly loud snickers from Hugh and several other onlookers did nothing to cool the simmering anger within Maegor. What enjoyment does this sot get from trying to enrage me? First his comments at the inn about my father and brothers, and now this jape of a sparring match. If not for the timely arrival of the guard at the inn that night, Maegor did not know what he would have done. I don't think I'd ever been as angry as I was in that moment.
After a cackling Ulf dodged another attack, Maegor had had enough. Hugh Hammer and several of the onlookers were laughing uproariously, shouting taunts like "Ya have him now Ulf!", or "Come now, Ser Maegor, you almost struck him that time!" Out of the corner of his eye, Maegor could see that several onlookers had not joined in the laughter or taunting. Lord Commander Marbrand had a very annoyed expression on his face, while Ser Harrold Darke, the former squire of the deceased Lord Commander Steffon Darklyn, was frowning. Gaemon was glaring darkly, looking angrily between Ulf and the laughing spectators.
Maegor gave up fighting defensively, and attempted to force an end to the fight by rushing forward at the pale-haired seed across from him. However, by the way he grinned, Maegor knew that he'd fallen right into the other man's trap. Knocking Maegor's heavy overhead swing aside with his own shield, Ulf swung his sword in a savage downward strike against Maegor's right knee. The explosion of pain made Maegor grimace in pain and collapse onto his other knee. His sword had clattered away upon being knocked from his grasp by Ulf's shield. Panting, Maegor struggled to maintain his balance and gather the strength to stand while Ulf bowed mockingly.
The seed chuckled disdainfully. "Apparently the giant has a weakness after all." Maegor struggled back to his feet, and glared at Ulf as he continued with his mockery. "Such a shame. Truth be told, I expected more from one of the beloved 'Heroes of Driftmark'." Ulf said the title with such vitriol that it seemed to Maegor he nearly spat it out. "Oh well. I s'pose life is full of disappointment." He began to walk from the ring, but then halted in his movement, turning to look back at Maegor with a cruel smile as he called back loudly. "If the rest of that family of yours was as bumbling as you, it's no wonder that the lot of them became a dragon's meal."
Maegor closed the distance between him and Ulf in a heartbeat, and the man's nose crunched as Maegor's right fist connected with it. Maegor used his free hand to wrench the shield from his left arm while Ulf sprawled back into the dusty yard. The man tried to stand, clutching at his broken nose while it gushed blood, but Maegor kicked him in the stomach savagely, relishing at how the man coughed violently and fell backwards. Digging his knee into the sot's gut, Maegor began to pound his fists into the man's face. He insulted them once. I won't allow it again. He could vaguely hear voices shouting behind him, but Maegor paid them no mind. His vision was tinged red in its corners, and Maegor punched Ulf in the face again and again.
One for father. His fist slammed into Ulf's right cheek, snapping the man's head to the left and spraying blood along the stones of the yard. One for Aegon. The sot's head snapped to the right as Maegor's fist connected with his left cheek. The man burbled something up at Maegor as blood sprayed from his lips, and his hands clawed at Maegor's face. One for Aenys. Ulf's head slammed backward so hard from Maegor's punch that his skull rebounded back from the cobblestones. The man still struggled weakly, and Maegor continued to hit him. Ulf's fists weakly beat at Maegor's chest, and Maegor batted them away. The man's face was a bloody mess, and his hazel eyes were full of fear. Maegor raised his bloody and aching right fist high, preparing for his strongest punch yet. Die.
Strong arms grabbed his right arm, and another set of hands grabbed his left arm. Maegor was savagely yanked away from the senseless Ulf and dragged back several feet. He struggled mightily against the hands on his arms. I wasn't finished.
"ENOUGH!" A voice roared in his ear, and Maegor recognized it as Lord Commander Marbrand's through the haze of his rage. The man was holding his right arm, while Gaemon clutched his left. Harrold Darke and several others were standing beyond Ulf, who was on his knees and coughing up blood. Maegor saw that they were restraining Hugh Hammer, keeping the man from continuing his advance towards Maegor. Maegor stopped struggling, but he still felt as though his blood was boiling inside him. Somewhere within the citadel, the dragons were roaring. The sound filled Maegor with an indescribable vigor that burned away the throbbing pain in his fists.
Maegor was dragged to his feet, and Ser Marbrand stalked out between all the men in the yard as Ulf was helped to his feet, holding a cloth to his nose to try to stem the flow of blood. Glaring at both Maegor and Ulf, the Lord Commander spoke angrily. "Enough! I don't care that the both of you are knights and dragonriders. If something like that ever happens again, I'll have the both of you dragged into the yard and lashed!"
The fight was gone from Maegor. He just felt tired. "Let's go, Maegor," Gaemon muttered, and Maegor nodded his assent, allowing his friend to lead him from the yard.
The cool morning air on Maegor's face helped to chase away the lingering exhaustion of a sleepless night spent tossing and turning with indecision. Maegor had left the castle early in the morning, at least an hour before the sun was due to rise. His fight with Ulf the day before had forced him to confront a difficult truth. Your family is gone, whether you wish it was so or not. Though trying to ignore that truth may have saved him some pain in the moment, Maegor realized that the internalized grief and despair was slowly beginning to poison him. I was going to kill that man. Maegor could still remember the fear in Ulf the White's eyes as Maegor had pummeled him with his fists.
As a knight and dragonrider for the Queen, Maegor knew that the fates of many now depended on him. The newfound responsibility was terrifying to Maegor. From hauling fish to flying dragons. When he had first tamed the Grey Ghost, Maegor had felt an almost childlike excitement as he soared high in the air. That day, being a dragonrider meant being able to see the world as a bird in the sky would, and to be the subject of adulation of the masses. It wasn't until the fight over the Gullet that Maegor truly understood what it meant to be a dragonrider. To be a dragonrider is to be a harbinger of death. Maegor and Gaemon had without a doubt saved countless lives by burning the fleet of the Three Daughters off the coast of Driftmark. To do so, however, had meant immolating hundreds. In one battle, I have killed as many or more men than even the greatest warriors of the stories and songs slay in a lifetime of battle. Maegor knew that if he was forced to choose between burning hundreds of marauders to save innocents or doing nothing, Maegor would burn the marauders a hundredfold times. That didn't stop the occasional nightmares of the fires and screaming, however.
To meet the expectations of those who depended on him, as a knight and a dragonrider, Maegor knew that it was time to put his ghosts to rest. Chained into Grey Ghost's saddle in front of Maegor, Septon Bennard was still clutching the chains in a tight white-knuckled grip, but he had stopped mumbling prayers to the Mother for her mercy. When Maegor had visited the Septon in the pre-dawn gloom at the almshouse, he hadn't exactly known what he wanted to say. But as he had told the Septon of his grief and fears for the future, what Maegor needed to do became clear. The shades of my father and brothers should wander no longer.
The Septon had been gracious enough to agree to accompany Maegor back to Dragonstone's citadel as the sun had begun to rise, and the guards at the gate had made no protest to the elderly man of the faith being admitted inside. When he visited the seeds' quarters, Maegor was unsurprised but grateful that Gaemon agreed without hesitation to join him and Bennard. Making their way to where Grey Ghost and the other dragons roosted, Septon Bennard had clutched the crystal hung with frayed leather twine about his neck and muttered prayers as the unnatural glowing eyes of the dragons had regarded him and Maegor. Securing the Septon and himself in Grey Ghost's saddle, Maegor had begun to fly the dragon back towards the cottage where he was born and had lived most of his life. Gaemon followed behind closely on the Cannibal, having taken flight from the part of the citadel where his dragon was kept apart from the rest.
As the Grey Ghost slowly descended towards the cottage, Maegor supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised that everything looked the same as it did the day Maegor departed to climb the Dragonmont. The skiff and rowboat still sat on the bluff below the cottage, facing out to the sea. It was on this bluff that Maegor landed his dragon, before dismounting and helping the elderly Septon to the ground. Gaemon landed the Cannibal on the bluff as well, unchaining himself and hopping nimbly from his saddle.
As he looked out towards the morning sun glittering across the waves, Maegor remembered his first trip out to sea with his father and brothers. Maegor had been nervous the further away from shore the skiff sailed, and hadn't dared move from the center of the boat, fearing that he'd fall into the water. "Come here, boy," his father had said, and after a moment's hesitation, Maegor had joined him at the ship's prow. Smiling, his father had pointed at the water spreading out before them, glittering in the sun. "Look at how all that water catches the sun. There's not a more beautiful sight in this world than the sea on a sunny morning. But to experience the wonderful things in life, we can't afford to cling to the shore." Smiling, Maegor felt the fear begin to melt away. Reaching down to the water, he scooped some of it up in his palm, watching it glitter like gold, and felt richer than any lord.
Though it had taken Maegor and Gaemon some time, they had managed to gather enough driftwood to make a small pyre on the bluff outside the cottage. Making his way up to the door of the cottage, Maegor hesitated, feeling unsure of himself. There was a firm pat on his back, and when Maegor turned, he saw Septon Bennard standing behind him, a reassuring smile on his face. Not far behind him, Gaemon also gave an encouraging nod. Resolving himself, Maegor stepped inside. The cottage's interior was dark, and a fine layer of dust coated everything within it. It feels wrong to disturb anything within. However, Maegor refused to falter. The Sheepstealer had left nothing of his father and brothers for Maegor to cremate in the Valyrian funerary tradition, so Maegor had resolved to burn each of their most prized belongings instead. It is the best means of closure I'm likely to have.
Moving first to the mantle, Maegor found his father's pan flute. It was coated in an even greater layer of dust and grime than anything else within the cottage. They've sat there untouched since mother died. Maegor's mother had loved when his father would play the pipes for her and their children, and Maegor could vaguely remember his father playing jaunty tunes in the evenings after supper, to the delight of his mother and brothers. Father loved to play, but it did naught but remind him of the wife he'd lost. Wrapping the pan flute in a cloth, Maegor made his way over to Aegon's bed, and the trunk that sat at its foot.
Opening the trunk, he retrieved a fine leather cloak from within. It had simple and crude threading along its edges, in a vibrant red color. Without mother's help, Aegon had done his best, but his skills in needlework had been sorely lacking. Aenys guffawed when Aegon had presented the cloak to him, Maegor, and Denys. Wiping tears from his eyes, Aenys had begun to speak while Aegon flushed in embarrassment and annoyance. "You plan on placing that about fair Lyessa's shoulders? The threadwork on its edges looks like it was done by a drunken sailor at sea in a storm!" It was no secret throughout the village that Aegon and Lyessa, the tanner's daughter, had begun to grow more than fond of each other. Aegon hoped to marry her soon, and had been fashioning a bridal cloak for her, using expensive red threading to accentuate the blood of King Maegor that flowed in his veins. Maegor draped the cloak over his arm. I hope Lyessa didn't accompany them the day they sought out Sheepstealer, Maegor thought with a grimace. Maegor suspected that she still grieved for Aegon's death. Is it a mercy that she never knew Aegon was planning on asking for her hand in marriage? Maegor didn't know.
Making his way over to the trunk at the foot of Aenys' bed, Maegor hesitated. Of all the members of his family, Maegor and Aenys had been closest. When Denys had made the hard decision to send Maegor to the almshouse, it had been Aenys who had protested against it most fiercely. When Maegor had returned from his time on the Dragonmont, it had been Aenys who had been most overjoyed to see him, though he hid it behind japes. After his return, it was clear that father was not going to return Maegor to the almshouse, but even if he'd tried, he knew Aenys would never have accepted losing his brother a second time, and would have fought their father every step of the way.
Maegor sighed and closed his eyes, then forced himself to open the trunk. Reaching inside, he retrieved four smooth wooden balls from inside, each painted in a different garish color. Aenys had bought them from a visiting Pentoshi mummer after the man had taught him to juggle, and ever since Aenys took every opportunity to demonstrate his skill at it.
More than once, it had won him free drinks and meals at the inn. He would juggle and do tumbles across the common room floor to the laughter of its patrons, including his own father and brothers, Gaemon, Wat, Malda, Melyssa, and Alyssa. Whenever asked why he'd so willingly make a fool of himself for the amusement of others, Aenys would grin and give the same answer each time. "My family is descended from royalty, and every court needs its jester." Despite the humorous answer, Maegor knew the real reason. Aenys loved laughter, and cherished it even more when he could be the cause of it. He would have been happy if he could have spent his whole life making people laugh.
Making his way back outside, Maegor placed the flute, cloak, and painted wooden balls on the driftwood pyre. Bennard smiled kindly, and had retrieved a stick of incense from within his white robes. To Maegor's surprise, many of the people of the village had gathered on the bluff as well. Of course they have, two dragons just descended from the sky and landed right outside their village. They stood silently at a respectful distance, and Maegor realized that Bennard must have explained what Maegor was doing. Looking at them, Maegor saw many familiar faces. Wat stood there, and even old cantankerous Malda had left her chair at the inn and made her way down the hill. Melyssa and Alyssa had also made the journey. Maegor saw Gaemon speaking with his grandparents, as well as several of their other children, who had families of their own. Maegor then saw Lyessa, who smiled kindly at him even as tears ran down her cheeks. Noticing that he had exited the cottage, Gaemon turned and waited expectantly, watching Maegor in silence along with the other village folk.
Placing a hand on Grey Ghost's head, Maegor hesitated a moment as he faced the pyre. Steeling himself, he whispered "Now" to his dragon, and it released a short burst of flame, lighting the driftwood pyre. Bennard waited a moment for the initial heat of the flame to die down, before he stepped forward and lit his stick of incense off of the pyre's flames. He began reciting prayers to the Seven as the pyre and the objects on it burned brightly, turning to ash. Maegor watched it in silence, and for the first time in a long while, he realized that the sadness and pain within himself had receded.
When the flames had died out, and naught but ash remained, the villagers slowly trickled back to the village. Many stared at the dragons in wonder for a time, but hardly any words were spoken. Lyessa was the last of them to turn and walk back up the hill. Only Maegor, Gaemon, Bennard, the Grey Ghost, and the Cannibal remained on the bluff. Turning to Bennard, Maegor swept his hand in the direction of the boats and cottage. "Septon Bennard, I do not ever intend to return here. My family has been put to rest, and my father and brothers may now rest along with my mother and sister. However, it would gladden my heart if you would find a new family to inhabit this home. They are welcome to everything that remains within it, as well as to the boats and nets."
The old Septon smiled. "You are a good man, Maegor. These gifts that you give will mean the world to whomever receives them. I will begin asking among my brothers and sisters in the faith on this island about any who have a need for a home."
Maegor nodded his thanks, and helped the Septon back atop the Grey Ghost. He then turned to Gaemon. His friend had been looking out towards the sea, with an unreadable expression on his face. Upon seeing Maegor turn to face him, however, he turned in kind to regard him.
"Gaemon, do you-" Maegor began, but then hesitated, feeling a twinge of sadness. He thought about everything that had happened since he had parted ways with his father and brothers for the last time, the day Maegor had traveled to the Dragonmont. "Do you think they'd be proud of me, Gaemon? Of everything that I've done. Taming the Grey Ghost, flying into battle, receiving a knighthood?" There were countless other things, but Maegor thought he'd gotten his point across.
Gaemon thought for a moment, but then gave Maegor a kind grin. "That's where you have it wrong, Maegor. It seems to me that they were always proud of you." With that, Gaemon made his way over to the Cannibal, climbing into his saddle and chaining himself in. Maegor did the same, securing himself and Bennard in place with the Grey Ghost's saddle chains. Rising into the sky on his dragon, Maegor took one last look at the cottage that had been his home. There was a lump in his throat, but for the first time since he'd tamed the Grey Ghost, Maegor felt a sense of peace. Goodbye.