Destiny of Man

Chapter 6: The First Steps into the Beyond


"I never keep grudges. Not for long anyway."

King Maegor 'the Cruel' Targaryen


"Cyvesse is too much like chess," Trystane complained as we sat facing each other. He was leaning forward, chin resting in his palms as he studied the formation arranged before us.

One of the staples of the isekai genre – at least as much as it referred to Song of Ice and Fire fanfics – was uplifting. Where some random schmuck from Earth was reborn anew in Westeros or more rarely Essos. Blessed with modern-day knowledge they'd look at the medieval technology of the natives and decide it could do with some improvement. They develop seed drills, printing presses and most commonly gunpowder to dominate the battlefield. I remembered one fic even going so far as to develop a network of trains though I might be wrong about that. It had been a long time since I'd read anything relating to the books or fanfiction so much of my memory was hazy. At least I still had my journal. The one thing every insert should have to ensure they remember the future details of whatever world they found themselves in. Though it listed all the plot points, I doubted I could ever forget things like Robb committing suicide via Walder Frey, Joffrey being a little shit, and Dany hatching her dragon and going on her anti-slavery crusade.

In all honesty, I didn't think I was up to the whole uplifting business. It wasn't like studying information communication technology in college did much to adapt oneself to a medieval world, nor did meme stocks help much either.

I didn't know how to create black powder. I knew the theoretical idea of how it worked by mixing an assortment of chemicals together which go boom when exposed to an open flame. But saying you theoretically knew how a car operated didn't mean you could build one from scratch. I didn't know what made up the compound, how to mix them together or even the correct percentages it needed to be.

I wasn't eager to find out either.

As much as I might look down at my hands and conclude they looked a trifle feminine, I wouldn't prefer them to be replaced by a pair of blackened stumps.

Then there was the printing press which would do well to open the marketplace of ideas and spread information around the world much easier than copying by hand, as well as being used for propaganda purposes by whoever created them. I liked the idea and even went so far as to draw up blueprints for such designs. It was unfortunate they never left the concept phase of development.

There were a few reasons for this.

The main hurdle was that I was a twelve-year-old who didn't have the materials or expertise to create such a contraption. You needed money and experience in wood and metalworking, and it was unfortunate I had none of those things. Nor did I have time. Neither could I convince someone else to do it for me after some not-so-subtle tips. I was busy with lessons and whenever I wasn't I couldn't sit down for long without someone entering my room, grabbing my hand, and pulling me outside to play.

I'd only created one thing and that was thanks to five-foot tall, bald, and smooth-faced Maester Caleotte with his small pink hands and fat belly. He was meek and therefore proved to be easily convinced to assist me. When Uncle Doran came over during a heatwave, I put on my best smile and asked the maester to help me recreate chess. Sadly, Marwyn had been away during that time, so I was left with Caleotte. With him serving as a middleman, the maester got into contact with a craftsman who created pieces of ivory and onyx and soon we had a full chess set to my absolute glee.

It was a tragedy patents didn't exist in Westeros for chess wasn't content to remain in the Water Gardens and, thanks to the Orphans of the Greenblood, it was quickly gaining popularity across Dorne the last time I checked. The worst part was that I couldn't even get credit for creating it!

"Is that so?" I asked with a raised eyebrow as I moved my pawn forward a tile. "How are you enjoying our uncle's gift?"

The boy shrugged his scrawny shoulders. "It's similar to chess." Trystane looked up and his dark eyes narrowed. "Is cyvasse based on chess or the other way 'round?"

I made a sound neither in agreement nor disagreement. "You could say one was influenced by the other, coz."

He raised an eyebrow before moving his white knight forward, taking one of my onyx pawns. I was being easy on the seven-year-old. If I was playing to truly win, I'd have won several turns ago. Instead, I was doing just good enough to keep him a single step behind as to best teach him to strategise and learn but not enough to dishearten him.

This would also be the last chance I had to spend time with Trystane before heading off as Prince Oberyn's squire. And leave the gates of the Water Gardens on a grand adventure. I moved my rook forward a place to avoid Trystane's priest (or septon as they were called here).

The kid huffed and quickly followed my move with one of his own by moving his knight backwards. "Chess is better."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Earth one, Planetos nil. "How are you finding cyvasse, though . . . as a game?"

He shrugged. "It's harder and more complicated. This is straightforward. It's fairer as the pieces are organised the same, and there's no terrain. Uncle Oberyn says cyvasse is used to plan for battles. Is that true?"

"I think our uncle might be exaggerating. One should never use board games as an example when it comes to planning for real life. Be it for politics or the battlefield." I brushed a finger against an onyx pawn, studying Trystane's reaction. "On the board, pieces don't feel fear nor hunger. They don't think for themselves nor do anything without you saying so. They are perfectly obedient and have no will of their own. Nor does it take into account the political angle like half of your army holding back if not betraying you because the other king offered them titles and coin. Nor are things like logistics present."

"But it teaches you to command though? Surely?"

"Only if you can look down upon them from above as if you're riding a dragon and have a way to communicate with each piece instantly and said pieces all follow the same rules."

My coz bit his lip in concentration. "And what of the game of thrones?"

I let there be a pregnant pause, letting the tension rise as I inspected my rival's pieces. "The game of thrones runs by similar rules. Every person is their own agent with their own needs, desires and beliefs in whatever actions they take will benefit them one way or another. Be it short-sighted or not. Should it be wise or foolish. What you think's a good idea might not be, just as something you believe is silly might actually be the right course of action."

"Then how do I know what's silly and what's not?"

I didn't answer straight away, instead moving my rook back into a defensive position and watching as my cousin moved his horse up. Despite being seven, Trystane was playing his hand well. Though his recklessness is more a sign of youth and inexperience. Can I get him to the point of beating Myrcella? That'll be an achievement. "That's not something I nor anyone else can properly answer. It depends on what you know and how much information you have. For instance, you can see I'm playing defensively. But you don't know whether I'm laying a trap for you. I could also be bluffing and waiting for you to create an opening for me to exploit. The only answer I can give is that you should try to get as much information as possible before acting. That way you can best judge a situation and act accordingly. That's something any prince should know."

"If you say so. Though I do wonder that—" He was interrupted when there was a knock on the door and a servant calling in from the other side in a muffled voice.

"Come in," I called, and the servant opened the door and performed a curtsy. She was a pretty young thing and barely older than sixteen with delicate features, dark olive skin, and curly black hair tied back with bronze wiring.

"Prince Aegon," her eyes were staring at the marble ground before me. "I've come to inform you that your lady mother desires your presence in her solar. She's informed me that you're to have your hair dyed."

Is that so? Am I going to become Young Griff now? "Of course. Thank you for giving me the message," I flashed her a thankful wink, and I swear she blushed. "Pray, tell me, coz. What colour should I dye my hair? I'm thinking blue. Then I'll claim to be from Tyrosh."

Trystane wrinkled his nose. "That'd look silly."

"Blue hair is silly-looking," I agreed. "I'd stand out like a sore thumb . . . if it were the thumb of a dyer. What about purple to show my royalty and match my eyes? Oh, what about red? Bright red? How do you think that'll look with my purple eyes? I think it'll look quite striking, honestly. Maybe red and yellow and it'll look like my head's on fire. Do you think that's a little on the nose?"

My seven-year-old cousin wasn't impressed. While he wasn't as sober as Quentyn, he was close. The servant girl giggled, however. "I think you'll look striking no matter what colour you choose, my prince."

"You see, Trys, there's at least someone who encourages my eccentricities. I thank you . . ."

"Teora," the girl softly said, "If I please Your Grace."

"And I thank you, Teora, for your kind words. Now, if you both don't mind, I should meet with my lady mother. She might not be Uncle Oberyn and is the perfect princess but even she has limited patience when requesting my presence. I bid you both a good day and . . ." I turned to the board and flicked my king over. "My king has unfortunately suffered a bad case of bad belly. No doubt brought about by clearly natural means."

My coz smiled, knowingly, and I gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and took my leave.

It was in Mother's chambers where I found myself next, sitting on the padded bench before the silver mirror with her standing behind me dressed not in the bright red and orange silks of a Dornish Princess but the white cottons of a wealthy merchant's daughter. Though for what she was doing, perhaps it wasn't the best to wear garbs that cost an arm and a leg on the off chance she couldn't wash the dye out. It was fortunate Elia Martell had more brains than most. And heart. She didn't want a servant to do it when this would be the last time we were together for quite a while and . . . if things got bad . . . maybe the last time.

"You will no longer look like a Targaryen but a simple Dornish boy," Mother told me when she finished with my hair.

I opened my eyes and stared at the reflection before me.

It was no longer the face of Aegon Targaryen, the rightful king of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of Westeros, and Protector of the Realm. The face staring back at me was Qoren Sand, recently discovered bastard son of Prince Oberyn Martell he'd gotten on a Lysene whore. While he might only have had daughters, he'd shagged enough women so it was possible one would give him a son. Right?

My hair hadn't only been dyed to hide my royal Targaryen silver. It'd been cut and shaved so no longer were the wavy curls hanging before my large eyes or brushing my shoulders. Like with how his blue hair had made Young Griff's eyes bluer, this turned my violet black. Mother said my eyes were a lighter shade than father's but now they looked more indigo. More like Rhaenys. They were still framed with the long eyelashes I inherited from my mother which – combined with my delicate features and full lips – made me look like a girl or at least a very cute boy. To the point that if I ever travelled to Essos, it might be wise to wear a burka or native equivalent, so slavers don't nab me for the local brothels. I inherited the Martell widow's peak that might help me pull off the masquerade, and my hair had been dyed black to hide the silver. If Oberyn appeared with a silver-haired son, it might raise certain questions given Elia's children went missing and suddenly the Red Viper appears with a suddenly unknown son who just happened to be the same age as his nephew with Targaryen features. That might raise some red flags.

Though Mother looked to be impressed with her handiwork, I couldn't help but notice a few smudges I'd need to clean off. She wasn't a servant or had much experience with dyes, so I forgave her. She was also gentler than most servants were, and for that I was thankful.

"I look . . . I don't look like a prince anymore." The right term should be that I didn't look like a Targaryen unless you looked closely, and I was certain there'd be plenty of people doing just that. "Do I truly look like I'll pass as his son?"

Elia Martell stared at me through the mirror, placed both hands upon my shoulders, and me gave a gentle squeeze. "You don't take after him. That much I can say. But neither do Nymeria, Tyene and Sarella. You don't have Tyene's golden hair for starters."

"She does look the least like him, doesn't she? Even Nymeria has purple eyes so it's not like it's impossible." I bit my bottom lip. "Is it wrong to say that . . . is it wrong to say that—"

"That you're having second thoughts?"

I nodded the exaggerated nod of a child. I was reluctant about this. Oh, I wanted to explore Dorne and such and had dreamt of having an adventure like Dunk and Egg. There was something about travelling to a new place that excited me, but the same thing filled me with worry and apprehension. I'd grown familiar with the Water Gardens. It was my entire world . . . and maybe the pastures just outside of late. But it was still taking a big step to pass into the unknown!

This was just another hangover from my old life, I knew. I never liked travelling and was very reclusive though if for different reasons than nowadays. I knew I shouldn't worry. I was going to be carefully watched by people who cared for me and had a duty to protect my person. It wasn't like I was completely useless when it came to arms either. But this brought more risk than I'd ever been used to. I'd never had anyone wanting to kill or capture me before.

Well, except for that one time during the end of life one, and look how that ended . . .

Once again, Mother squeezed my shoulders. Her smile was soft and comforting. "There's nothing to worry about. Don't touch it. The dye's still wet. Look at my hands." Elia smiled and spread her hands which were all black like she'd done some very aggressive finger painting. "Your uncle's going to be with you and teach you. You're his squire after all, and it'll be his duty to protect you. I made sure he swore a vow to do so." As if his very life depends on it, she left unsaid.

"Mother I . . . I'd like to thank you. Thank you for everything you have done for me. For both of us."

I was immediately silenced from any further words with a hug. "There's no need to thank me, sweetling. I'm your mother. It's just what I do."

"Must have been hard though . . . the stress, the worry, the fear of the Usurper . . ."

Elia Martell didn't say anything but the sound she made agreed. "I'm your mother. It's my job to worry and seldom do I go to bed without fearing the worst might happen; that the man sitting the Iron Throne – your Iron Throne – will someday become aware of Dorne's conspiracy against him. It's my duty to do that. To do everything I can if it keeps the both of you safe. You'll understand when you have your own children."

"And what if the only way to keep me safe was to keep me from becoming king?"

She didn't answer immediately, only stared into the mirror.

"There's no other option, I'm afraid. There are some days where I imagine what would happen if Marwyn didn't appear and we were left to the mercy of Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters. Even if I prostrated myself before him . . . I doubt he'd look kindly upon you. Even if I swore to ensure you were no threat to him, you would always be in danger. Your blood is the most dangerous thing for him. Even now he sits uneasy, looking at the courtiers in the Red Keep and fearing which ones will turn their knives on him as soon a dragon arrives. Being king is dangerous, Aegon. I'll be honest with you. I won't deceive you or soften my words. Being king is hard and being king is cruel. But it's also the safest option you have. The safest option any of us have."

After the dye dried, I dressed into the garments of a squire. It was humbler than what I usually wore but when travelling seldom did kings and the mightiest princes clad themselves in richly clad silks . . . supposedly. I wore a cream lambswool doublet with the orange sun and golden spear of House Martell sewn onto my breast, as well as a dark-brown traveller's cloak with a hood to protect against the sun. We were going to be limited to travelling around Dorne or at least that was my assumption. Who knew the mind of a viper?

I found Uncle Oberyn waiting for me outside the stables with that magnificent stallion of his that was as black as sin with a mane and tail the colour of flame. He was holding the reins of another horse as well. My horse. Not a stallion but instead a gelding and a young one at that. Doubtlessly what Westerosi would call a starter horse. Easier to control and perfect for a child like myself. He was beautiful and was marked with the prominent long neck, narrow head, and slimness of a Dornish Sand Steed. It was also white as snow with a magnificent mane and tail like silver. I touched him affectionately.

"Do you like your gift?" the prince asked me with a grin.

"He's beautiful," I answered. I wasn't lying. "He does as I say and is not stubborn at all. I know it's a little late to ask but . . . but does he have a name?"

"Close your eyes. Do you see anything?"

"Darkness." I heard him roll his eyes. "Nothing."

"He has no name. Seldom is it the case that knights name their horses for they dare not risk attachment should they die. Horses regularly die both in battle and outside of it due to disease or an accident. It's not uncommon for them to grow lame or break their legs by falling over a hole or gouge in the road. Knights naming their mounts is a rare thing."

"But a few do," I argued.

"A few do," the older prince agreed. "You have ridden this gelding a few times. Do you trust yourself to be one of those knights and open your heart to hurt?"

What's the point of having an animal if you can't name it?

Remembering back on my past life, my first mother had ridden horses in her youth. You might think that'd help me with the whole horse-riding business as I'd have experience or horse-riding genes of some kind. That was wrong. Her horse-riding adventures ended before I was born, and it wasn't helped by me being allergic to horsehair, so I had no first-life experience with them other than from far away. Fortunately, I wasn't allergic here and Oberyn had given me several lessons before I was to leave as his squire. That gave me the very desirable ability to not fall and embarrass myself. It was unfortunately not a black horse for I'd have called him Beauty or Shadowmare. But I did have a name though.

Grinning at him, I declared: "Traveller."

It didn't impress my uncle. "Traveller?"

I shrugged my shoulders. There were a few more choice names but none of the Westerosi would understand the reference. "I had a few names but none of them are that good. One of the other names was Toes."

Oberyn shook his head, no doubt questioning my unrivalled talent when it came to naming things. Then he grinned and tousled my hair. He was lucky it had dried. "When you get a proper horse when you're older, perchance you'll give me the honour of naming it."

A proper horse? Do you mean one that hasn't been gelded? "Yea? What's the name of your horse then?"

"It doesn't have one."

"Then can I give it a name?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Alright . . . Bucephalus!"

After that, I said my goodbyes to my mother and sister, the Sand Snakes and even the household staff. After twelve or so years I built many close relations and it'd be wrong to not say farewell and wish them luck. Just as they did for me as well.

"I'll miss you," Mother whispered into my ear before kissing my forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment before drawing back with both sadness and pride etched deep into her features. Though her frame was thinner and bonier than most, Elia was still a stunning woman. Her hair was black and cascaded down her back in fashionable ringlets. Her brown eyes were dark and warm with flints of bronze. Out of her plain garbs, she once more wore a dress of Martell silks that matched the climate and clung to her bronze skin, with translucent sleeves and a golden necklace. She cupped my cheeks, smiling. "You will do well, my sweet gentle prince."

I hope so. "You'll do well not to worry," I put on a brave face despite all my worries. "Uncle Oberyn's with me. He'll protect me. You have nothing to fear."

"I hope not. Remember. Once you leave these walls, you won't be Aegon anymore."

"I'll be Qoren." Squire and bastard son. Explorer of the Principality of Dorne, and a hidden prince. "I will miss you."

"Not as much as I'll miss you, my love." Once more she hugged me, and this hug was even tighter than the last. It was the hug of a mother who didn't want to let go. I returned the embrace and, when she finally pulled away, Elia laid another kiss on my forehead. "Make me proud."

"I plan to do nothing less." I smiled and turned to Rhaenys who was averting her eyes. "Do I get a hug from my favourite sister?"

"I'm your only sister."

"Ensuring you have no rivals in that most vaunted position," I repeated the joke.

Rhae shook her head disapprovingly but swiftly wrapped her arms around me in a tight and surprisingly bone-crushing hug. "I will miss you, Egg," her voice was soft and hushed and aimed directly into my ear. "I don't want you to leave. I know you must. I know you need to spread your wings and leave the nest . . . but I wish you didn't. I want us to remain together. We are two halves of one whole."

Two halves of one whole? Why did I imagine Cersei saying something similar? We were close. That was beyond a doubt. I remembered Maester Aemon saying a dragon alone in the world was a terrible thing. "I don't want to leave you either, sis. I will miss you, but you should enjoy Sunspear. You'll be with Arianne and the rest of the Sand Snakes. Remember when they were in the Water Gardens? You were like an honourable member. You and Arianne are so close you're practically sisters. She'll want you with her."

I felt her smile, and her hold only tightened. She was giving Mother a run for her money and if Rhaenys constricted me anymore I might need to pry her off before she crushed my bones. "You're right, little brother. I have Sunspear to enjoy while you can enjoy horses and dust and thirst. I feel sorry for you."

"As you should," I said, not seriously and mayhaps a little too loudly.

Oberyn let out a bark of laughter and we both turned to him. "It'll only go bad if you don't heed what I say. You might wander off and get bitten by a viper, or we might find ourselves attacked by bandits. I heard you're a talented fighter. Is that true?"

It wasn't. Not in the slightest. But it seemed Rhae disagreed for she quickly said, "My little brother's a talented fighter and, with your skill, he'll become one of the best!"

"Oh shush," I dismissed airily, daintily twisting my feet in the dirt. "You're gonna make me blush."

Rhaenys snorted and that was followed with laughs from everyone else.

"It's time to go," Prince Oberyn told me once my sister and I pried away after Rhae threw her arms around me in another hug. I imagined the look he was giving me as one where he'd be tapping his watch if such a thing existed. "We need to head off soon and better now before it gets too hot. I will tell you now that it'll punish even a dragon."

"You say that, uncle, but I'm not simply a dragon, now am I? I'm a Martell. I'm the sun's son so I shouldn't worry about such a thing. Especially not in Dorne."

"That is either the wisest thing you have said or the dumbest," Rhae informed me politely.

"That sounds like me," I grinned before approaching my white horse which was the perfect mount for a prince – even a prince that was hiding. I didn't know if Rob was watching me still, but I hoped he wouldn't send a few interesting events my way. But what are the chances he will?

Mounting Traveller, the Red Viper of Dorne and I left the metal gates of the Water Gardens, and I took in a deep breath of the air outside that didn't taste half so fruity.

Before us, the coastal road followed the beach to the Summer Sea that went as far as the eye could see. If I took a ship and headed straight at some point I'd reach the Summer Islands. It made me imagine how vast this world truly was. One much larger than Earth. And at some point, I'd need to conquer a landmass the size of South America. That was a worrisome thought.

But until then, all I could do was smile and give a last wave to my family, then follow my uncle into the unknown.