= Chapter 30 =
Comment on Chapter 30 I was going to post the chapter exactly one week after the busty, but I decided that since it's New Year's Eve, people should be happy. A short man lurked behind a small castle window, watching thoughtfully from above as a small flock of wagons drove across the thick but narrow bridge into the mighty white stone fortress.
His attentive and hard grey-green eyes took in every face. The mind tried to give each one its role, whether as a mere servant, or as the master of the caravan. The unknown puppeteer was so amused and did not let his thoughts subside, trying to guess by clothes, movements and gestures the identity of each person he met from afar.
When the caravan was fully inside the Eagle's Nest, Petyr Baelish continued to watch - only now at the nature surrounding the castle. Here, on the slope of the Giant's Spear, the highest mountain in Westeros, he felt like an all-powerful lord, deciding the fate of knights and lords.
Here he ruled a mighty kingdom and in his hands was one of the oldest and most generous dynasties on the Continent.
Petyr smiled at the thought.
A bliss to his mind, an attempt to hide the bitterness. Petyr was a powerful man, but locked away in the Arryn domains of Eagle's Nest and Moon Gate. He ruled only because he benefited from the many contradictions of the lords of the Vale - the Roys, the Redforts, the Wainwoods, the Belmores, and many other noble families whose ancestors had long ruled and lived here... unlike Petyr, whose family traced its origins back to a Bravosian mercenary a century ago.
He touched the ugly scar on his wrinkled face. Time and power had not spared him - twice they had tried to kill him in the last decade. And in that same time, the not-young man had finally turned grey and wrinkled.
'Damn you Varys.'
His gaze shifted to the many carved statuettes, the surprisingly white stone and paintings hung all along the corridor he was in. By Robert's strange order, every floor in the halls, every small room or passageway was decorated with numerous warm carpets - soft and multicoloured Myrian ones, grey and solid-coloured ones made of wool, and even a few fine I.T. pieces brought by Volantian merchants.
Torment for the servants and joy for their young but foolish master. The boy so disliked the cold and empty stone floors, and Lysa so feared for the health of her unlovely 'falconer'...
Baelish smirked, feeling an unusual excitement and a rush of schadenfreude.
Robert Arryn had recently turned seventeen. By the end of his second decade, the boy had acquired neither a healthy, powerful body nor a clear, solid mind. He was a frail and sickly young man who had recently suffered a miraculous illness.
That worried Petyr Baelish - if the boy died, all the power he had cherished and accumulated would immediately evaporate, and a host of clans would fight over the Arryn succession.
He began looking for a bride for Finches, but the problem was Lysa, Robert's mother, maiden name Tully. She had become even uglier in recent years. Both in appearance and personality. However, her thin and wrinkled thighs, which he clutched with hidden squeamishness, her lips dry and nasty to the point of stomach cramps, her gut, which he entered with all the tenderness on the outside but hatred inside...
It all gave him power over this woman and this entire castle with its many servants, courtiers and petty lords.
But now Lysa Arryn was nothing but trouble and an obstacle to the advancement of his, Petyr's, many plans.
Did he feel pity or compassion for the one he had been involved with since his appointment as Master over the Moneta in the Harbour?
'Never.'
He had loved only one woman and that one was long dead.
Baelish loved only one man, but hated too many. The Starks, the Lannisters, the Targaryens, the snooty lords of the Vale, the late Varys, and the hysterical Lysa Arryn.
-Lord Baelish,' came the squire's squeaky voice from behind him. Petyr turned round and met the timid gaze of eight-year-old Corvus Corbray, his personal squire and son of old Lyn Corbray, Lord of the House of Hearts.
From the hidden corners of the corridor, several shouldered, ringed soldiers - Petyr's personal bodyguards - came out at once. The boy was immediately frightened, but Baelish reassured him with a soft wave of his hand toward his goons and a fatherly smile.
-Lady Lysa asked me to tell you that your long-awaited guest has arrived at the castle.
He made no sign of his displeasure, though inwardly he wanted to throw the Corbray bastard out the window. The sudden burst of irritation passed as quickly as it had begun. Petyr, having calmed down, in a kindly tone asked the boy to go to the court and occupy himself with Ser Preston Cooper.
A few minutes later he found himself in the Maiden's Tower, Lisa's favourite place where she liked to receive all her guests and keep Robert Arryn near her.
Smiling warmly at the dark-haired Lord Arryn, he sat down next to Lady Arryn at the small round table where their guest had already been seated. Despite his high status, he was not afraid to dress in simple merchant's attire and now, being a recent arrival, had not yet had time to shake off the road dust. Dyed black hair, a weathered, narrow face and a split chin with a neat beard.
Nothing about this man betrayed his Valyrian ancestry - and Auran Velarion, formerly Waters, was a clear representative of that people.
Robert Arryn looked at him with a childlike, naive curiosity without a backward glance, while his mother, Lady Arryn eyed the legitimised bastard lord with poorly disguised contempt.
Petyr had never seen Auran Velarion, so they had agreed beforehand that the proof of his identity would be a ring with a polished ruby.
A short movement and the ring falls to the table. The former Master of the Ships smiled radiantly and welcomingly at the true master of the Vale.
-Milord Baelish,' he sang sweetly, 'it is a pleasure to see you at last up close and not on paper.
-And I am pleased to meet you, Lord Auran,' Baelish smiled trustingly and snapped his fingers in a quick motion. With an instantaneous gesture, the servants immediately placed the appetisers on the table: pies with poultry meat, a platter of ribs roasted under garlic and herbs, aromatic lamb boiled in spices.
Lord Arryn was immediately presented with an array of sweets, Westerosi and foreign, in the form of lemon sweets, waffles baked by his personal baker, and popular Pentoshian sweets in the form of soft, translucent cubes sprinkled with sugar. Alongside them were fruits from around the world - especially from the Summer Isles, which had flooded the markets of the port cities in great waves thanks to the traders of the Iron Islands.
'The world has changed so much that now even the islanders are not afraid to trade.'
Unimpressed by the usual meal at the Eagle's Nest, Velarion, with all etiquette and decorum, began to savour the viands with his castle masters.
As the servants left the room at Baelish's beckoning hand, they began their conversation.
-And again, I wish to say how pleased I am with your arrival, Lord Auran.
-You may call me Auran, Lord Petyr.
-Then you may call me Petyr, Auran. -Then you may call me Petyr. My closest friends call me Littlefinger. Not the most formidable nickname, I must admit.
Baelish felt the touch of a woman's hand on his lap.
-'Nonsense, Petyr,' Lisa said, looking up at him with madly amorous eyes, 'why do you put yourself down like that in front of the "lord"?
The latter sounded too contemptuous and hysterical at the same time.
Auran did not react in any way, being already aware of the character of the Lady of the Vale.
Petyr himself barely restrained himself from slapping his wife. Lisa had become unbearable in recent years - jealous and meticulous to the point of disgust. Needless to say, only ugly maids worked at the Eagle's Nest, and Lady Arryn's entire court retinue consisted of buffoons, bards, and old women.
-He is our guest, Lysa,' he reprimanded with a soft tone as he touched her, 'be polite, my lady.
The woman looked at Velarion once more, grimacing, but complied, turning her full attention to Robert Arryn.
-You didn't get here alone,' Petyr remarked.
-My men have been received in the Chambers of the Crescent Moon. After a few days of your glorious hospitality, I will leave you for the Blood Gate.
-To the Riverlands,' Petyr nodded understandingly. Apparently to meet with a lord... a certain lord, and to get home by another route without attracting the attention of the king's spies.
He wouldn't be surprised if Velarion's ship had sailed from Gull City and was now heading for Solevarni.
-How is His Majesty? - Petyr asked with a smile.
Auran took a cautious sip from his silver goblet and did not answer immediately:
-His Majesty Aegon is in good health. Which is more than can be said for many others of late,' Velarion muttered the last words falsely bitterly, 'you heard? On my way to the Gull City, I heard of Lord Staromest's death from an unknown illness from the Summer Isles.
-Sad news,' Petyr agreed.
The death of the Elder brought certain changes to the plan... he didn't really know his son, Baelor, nicknamed Bright Smile. Perhaps the Lords of Staromest would withdraw or continue with a stronger persistence.
-Yes. It's worth noting that shortly before his death, Lord Leighton's second son, Garth Grey Steel, went missing.
'Missing is a bit of a mouthful,' Baelish smiled inwardly, 'Stabbed to death during the White Night in Fox by the Ironborn.'
Son and father both died at the hands of the islanders. If the first from the steel in his belly, the second from a contagion brought back from a place from which the Ironborn were actively returning.
'Could it be... not a coincidence?' - Petyr thought for a moment, then immediately dismissed such foolishness. Too sophisticated and filigreed for such savages, despite the mysteriousness of the High Lord of the Isles. Such power could not be in the hands of the outlying domains of the Seven Kingdoms.
He had last seen Lord Greyjoy many years ago at the coronation of Aegon the Restorer.
Black-haired, like many ironborn, with slightly swarthy skin and the look of a dead fish. Somehow those indifferent and calm eyes reminded him of Hoster Tully, which made him feel a slight dislike for the man in the back of his mind.
If all the rumours and his observations from the outside were to be believed, the Lord of the Iron Islands was rather cautious. Perhaps cowardly, according to his tribesmen, if he bent his knees to the dragons rather than rushing to his death as the islanders had done before.
'It does him honour, though, if he is any different from his not particularly clever father.'
But the following epithets attributed to Greyjoy already made one wary and cautious of all his actions.
Cruel and cunning enough to quietly justify his expansion in the Summer Isles and still hold the Bright and Shield Islands.
Known also for his... education among the ironborn. If the same rumours are to be believed, his uncle from Harlow, nicknamed the Reader, had a hand in this.
Last but not least, the most common and ridiculous claim about this lord was that he was a powerful sorcerer.
Petyr could only smile at such silly rumours and tales hovering around Greyjoy. A sorcerer who knows the course of armies and fleets before they even advance from their strongholds?
Baelish called it something else.
Good spies and spies.
-Who is Ser Garth? - Robert Arryn spoke up.
His cloudy, demented eyes stared at Velarion and Baelish, demanding an answer-and where could he have gone?
The young lord, who had come into full possession of his lands and titles a few years ago, had been watching Lord Auran like an unknown animal the whole time.
He did not question who this man was, what lands he owned, or why he had come here. All that was needed to satisfy his curiosity was 'Sweetmeats will be coming soon, Finch,' and 'This man is a friend of your Uncle Petyr!'
-A glorious knight of the Vastness and son of the late Lord Hightower, my Lord Arryn,' Auran managed to insert in his husky voice.
-Who are the Hightowers? - Robin wondered, and Auran froze in mute shock.
Petyr tried to hide an embarrassed smile, and Lisa hurried to explain to her son who the Hightowers were. Realising the awkwardness of the situation and her husband's hints, Lisa led Robin away from the Maiden's Tower, leaving the two in privacy. Slowly wiping the remnants of food from his lips with a handkerchief, he looked at Velarion with an attentive and piercing gaze.
-And yet, explain why you decided to risk coming here rather than confine yourself to written correspondence.
-My influence in the capital...no longer matters. I'm sure Ser Strange is watching my every move, and with every moon, I find it harder to hide the contents of my letters.
-Meister? - Petyr asked and Auran nodded.
-Officially, I am in Gull City at the invitation of Lord Grafton. Everyone is certain I sailed away from there weeks ago.
-Are you sure of your men? - Petyr asked, watching the emotion on the Valyrian's wiry face. The latter was a confident expert at this game... but not enough to keep the hovering thoughts from him.
-They depend on me,' Velarion said confidently, and then took the ruby ring with a firm grip. Baelish did not react to such greed, having grown accustomed to such things in his years of dealing with the bastard of the previous Lord of Dritfmark.
'Not lying, I'm sure. It's for the best,' he had his own people in Velarion's camp and the knights and courtiers who disliked the bastard. For example, he had recently received an interesting letter from Hull from its mayor.
Apparently Velarion knew nothing of the failure yet. And Petyr had no intention of informing him.
-About our next steps,' Auran began, and he could barely contain a grimace of disappointment. Petyr was betting a lot on this move. The greed of the stupid Valyrian and the damned Greyjoy had ruined everything. 'The hired men had managed to transport the necessary... tools and in case of anything, those tools were ready to be installed in the right places.
-And what locations do you have in mind?
-We could smuggle the tools into King's Landing and do some good there. There's the Dragonstone option- King Aegon often flies a dragon to his residence in the Narrow Sea.
-What do you think is the best option? - Petyr asked in a calm and ingratiating tone, as if a son asking his father for better advice.
Velarion thought briefly.
-King's Harbour is infested with spies, and smuggling a... weapon into it would be almost impossible under any guise. Another thing is that Dragonstone is perfect for it, but-' Auran didn't finish, suddenly falling silent.
'But, great suspicion will fall on you due to the royal disgrace and your foolish attempts to woo the queen,' Petyr finished mentally.
The former Master of the Ships wanted to both eliminate a king he didn't like and remain above suspicion so he could continue his plans without any embarrassment to Daenerys. Despite his marriage to the granddaughter of the Red Crab, Lord Ardrian Seltigar, who will be in his eighth decade next year.
If Petyr had the upper hand in this plot, he would have acted differently, but here his hands were tied. For the force behind it all was mightier, or equal to him in everything - swords, spies, and influence.
They did not wish for the simple death of Aegon - the plans of his 'allies' were anchored in the desire to eliminate one of the Targaryen dragons as well.
What they hoped for next Baelish had a rough idea... Daenerys is not politically savvy, and her shenanigans with the Red Priests of the East have not added to the love of the common folk and septons.
Connington has an even worse reputation and will not be able to hold Westeros in his hands. Nor will the queen from making mistakes.
The implicit lord of the Vale need only become a cog in a vast plan... he wasn't happy with such a thing, but success threatened new chaos...
And chaos is the Staircase.
-Then we need to coordinate with our friends from the Spacious,' Petyr reminded kindly, and Auran nodded in agreement.
The conversation that followed was a quiet question-and-answer session. Some time later, a disgruntled Lysa returned, accompanied by her court attendants, all old women and dreadful widows.
Lady Arryn had no patience for beautiful, slender ladies and maids at Eagle's Nest.
The next day their secret guest left the Eagle's Nest with a few letters of confidence to the Keeper of the Moon Gate and Knight of the Blood Gate, Donnel Wainwood.
As he watched Velarion, lurking among his men disguised as a merchant troop, leave the horizon, he pondered.
Velarion's desire to visit the Eagle's Nest in person was understandable. The Valyrian was probing the ground and trusted few in his own fiefdom. Another thing was how many other people were involved in this plot besides him and Lord Dritfmark?
Petyr suspected too many. But their whole plan had already fallen apart, and the king would ask the former Master of the Ships. The Valyrian would undoubtedly slip out of trouble, but now Aegon would be wary.
The other thing is, what will the 'allies' do now? Will they huddle? Lurk?
He smiled, feeling the excitement again.
-Milord, as you requested,' a young, square-jawed knight with a shaggy mop of blond hair held up a portrait wrapped in a thin cloth.
Giles Grafton, Robert Arryn's former squire and youngest son of the Lord of Gull City.
They were in one of the secret rooms, away from the eyes of the courtiers and especially Lady Arryn. It had been Lord Harrenhal's own wish. He knew all too well how Lysa would react.
With a swift movement, he pulled back the cloth. A beautiful painting stood before him - the artist from the Free Cities had put a great deal of effort into it.
An asymmetrical face with a noble pallor and thin, cherry lips. Lovely lashes, lowered in a frozen moment, barely covering her blue eyes. Short, with brushed blonde hair and a smile that showed her white teeth.
Jane Grafton. Lord Herold's granddaughter had recently turned fifteen, and Petyr's old 'friend' had suggested her candidacy himself.
-She's a beauty,' Petyr praised her, and the not particularly bright Giles' face lit up at the praise, 'I'm sure she and Robert will get on well.
He gazed at the outline of the face, at every stroke, savouring it in his mind and savouring it.
'A beauty indeed.'
Petyr doubted Robert could look at her as a woman. Not to mention the other... features every self-respecting man possessed.
But good Uncle Petyr was always ready to help his adopted son. Foster son?
Strangely enough, the man nicknamed Littlefinger tried not to think about it. In his distant, youthful dreams, he wanted only one woman, and to have children only from her womb.
-All that remains is to convince Lady Arryn of the necessity of a marriage between the Graftons and the Arryns,' Giles mumbled, to which Baelish smiled thinly and said convincingly:
-"Don't worry, Ser Giles. It won't be a problem.
Lisa was no longer an important part of his plans.
It was time for the Eagle's Nest to change its lady.
Meikar stared at one of the jars with hidden disgust yet morbid curiosity. Filled with a clear solution and holding the furry paw of an unknown creature.
Many of the old maester's shelves and cupboards were filled with such jars and glass containers. And the tower itself was saturated with all the strange odours the young prince could imagine. They were not unpleasant to his nose, but neither were they appetite- or comfort-inducing.
They were simply strange.
Ebrose did not take offence at his modest and quiet question about the smell of all the rooms in the Great Tower, but with all the pedantry of a scholar he explained it was the result of the storage of numerous herbs, powders and interesting ingredients, which the old man would not list.
They always came to the tower with Baelor and one of the White Cloaks. Often it was Jorah Mormont, a bearded Northerner with grey streaks and a hard look in his unimpressive eyes. The hairy guardsman made him a little afraid - Meikar never wondered why.
Sometimes it was the funny and jovial Ser Duckfield, who liked to joke and even tease the young princes. Baeloru always smiled at any of his jokes and asked the knight about his adventures with fire in his eyes.
Meikar always wanted to ask Ser Duck something, but was always shy and tried to talk to him less. He listened silently. The boy remembered how his disgruntled brother Baelor, after his first visit here, had immediately asked his father to have the Grand Maester visit the princes' chambers himself, rather than make them visit the nausea-inducing Great Tower every time.
Father refused.
'If the situation demands it, the prince must endure for the good of the state.'
He quietly agreed, while Baelor spent another long time trying to convince his father otherwise. Even their Queen Mother could not convince her consort.
This did not add to the Grand Maester's love for the heir to the throne.
-Prince Meikar,' Ebrose's voice cut short his contemplation, 'please do not be distracted. I asked you how many High Lordships do you know?
-Eight?
-That's right,' the old man nodded, 'and can you name them?
-The Riverlands, the Stormlands... -he calmly listed all the High Lordships, ending with the Iron Islands and Dorne.
-Glad you remember my lessons from years past,' Ebrose smiled. Baelor sitting next to him pouted. -But you, Prince Baelor, tell me about the High Lords already. Their crests, their mottos, and the lands they rule.
-The Tullys, the Starks, Winter's Close, the Conningtons, We Tempest, the fief of Gryphon's Nest.
-Right, right...,' Ebrose nodded at each correctly named High House.
-Lannisters,' he perked up, 'My father doesn't like them...
-Your Majesty,' the Grand Maester began rebukingly, 'They are your father's vassals, you must not speak like that. Especially in public.
An armoured body in a white cloak moved in the corner. Today the role of the prince's guard fell to Joffrey Staunton. It was unpleasant for the guardsman to be here, too, but he endured it stoically.
-I can! -I'm a prince and I have the blood of Ancient Valyria in me! - Meikar, tell me it's true!' his brother snorted.
-Maester Ebrose is right,' he said uncertainly after a brief awkward silence, feeling a ring of fear clenching inside him, 'The Lannisters are vassals of our King Father...
-And you...' Baelor hissed, but before he could finish his sentence, the Grand Maester looked at him with a look that was too heavy for him. The old man had never been afraid of princes - and when they tried to complain, his father was always deaf to their pleas.
'A prince must endure if it is for the good of the state,' Meikar mentally repeated his father's words.
-Let's continue, Your Highness. You have not said all.
-Lannisters, Hear our Roar. Casterly Rock.
-Right. And the last house.
-Greyjoys. We don't sow. Pike.
-And now, to remember everything, we'll move on to the houses of the King's Lands, and after that to the smaller vassal houses of the North and Dorne.
It wasn't until after lunch that they got a taste of fresh air. However, young Prince Meikar was not deceived - King's Landing had never been known for favourable smells. He had a lot to compare it to - the short, month-long trips to Dragonstone on his father's and mother's dragons had made him feel the difference between the Targaryens' personal residence and their own capital.
Accompanied by the White Cloak, they made their way to Maegor's Keep, passing the courtyard and the royal stables. A sumptuous lunch awaited them - a thick soup of barley and venison, small game stuffed with spices and fruit, followed by sweets.
They did not dine alone - they were accompanied by a retinue of the lords' children. And before they began their meal, under the supervision of the septa, they recited prayers from the Book of the Father and the Book of the Mother, offering health and thanksgiving to Two of the Seven.
They had been taught the Seven-Pointed Star since they were small children, which Meikar remembered little of. Only the memory of the sept that had taught them was imprinted in his mind like a heavy boot. A short woman in a green robe, belted with seven cords, each of a different colour and bearing the symbol of the Seven's faith, a seven-faceted rock crystal.
Only after prayer could they begin. Meikar ate without any eagerness, paying more attention to what was going on around him. Sitting at the end of the table, Albin Manwoody was glancing unfriendly at Denis Swann, whose grandfather sat on the Small Council. Meikar had never noticed such dislike between the two before. But as they both grew older, their conflict became visible to the naked eye.
He wondered why the two boys who used to smile and always sparred with each other with friendly banter had suddenly become enemies.
Not being particularly trusting and shy, the young prince preferred to find out for himself what was the matter. His eye fell on the books - and then it sank in. He found the original question to be his answer - a feud older than the Seven Kingdoms and the Targaryens themselves between the Dornish and the inhabitants of the Maroon Lands.
Rereading The Conquests of Dorne, he eagerly began to read the other scrolls. 'The Glory of Volantis', "The Iron Chronicles", and even the incomplete manuscript of "The Lights of the Republic", which had left quite an imprint on him. For months he gave all his rare free time to books in the library of Red Castle, which caught the attention of everyone around him.
It was then that he received his first praise from his father, which provoked a brief anger from Baelor that faded as quickly as it had arisen.
Slightly glancing in his brother's direction, he saw him actively chatting with Roderick Bracken, son of Lady Jane Bracken and nephew of Lord Hendry Bracken.
Meikar noticed that the sturdily built and rather tall for his age, the riverman rarely spoke and preferred to keep quiet, especially around important people. However, it was impossible to understand in his gaze - it was always in indifference and even in dull bewilderment of what was going on, as if he did not realise where he was.
The young prince even wanted to make friends with this silent 'Red', as he was nicknamed for the corresponding hair colour. But Baelor was quicker, similarly but suddenly interested in Roderick.
The Targaryen prince then felt a prick of resentment, which he quickly stifled. They rarely quarrelled with his brother, but if there was a spat, it was quickly reconciled. They were twins and often understood each other without words.
Suddenly he saw a shadow flicker overhead. The prince smiled brightly, sensing a familiar presence, and caught the attention of everyone sitting there.
The Light Bringer glistened with red scales and landed on the table with his whole body, managing not to drop any plates or bowls. His thin, clawed paws scraped across the wood, moving quickly, and the dragon was immediately at his master's side.
-Have you escaped again? - Meikar muttered.
In the past six months, the Light Bringer had grown to the size of a sheep and was a full metre long. So far, the dragon had been able to stay in his chambers, something his father had not forbidden, but had even approved of. He was surprisingly calm and even affectionate, like a kitten, despite his formidable appearance.
Everyone around him was silent. This was not the first time such a prank had happened. Baelor also smiled when he saw his brother's dragon. His own, Insatiable, had been sent to the Dragon's Lair a few months ago to be cared for by the guardians. He had grown too big and had begun to exhibit overly... aggressive behaviour.
Meikar still remembered how he'd set fire to one of the servants' half-coats when he'd brought a huge piece of mutton to the voracious dragon of Baelor.
The dragon face looked at him for a moment, looked back, and immediately picked up one of the pieces of meat, the roasted rabbit disappearing instantly into the cub's stomach.
He obligingly brought his friend a couple more dishes of small game, and the dragon happily devoured them in a few moments. His gaze fell on the dish next to Baelor's. The older brother grinned and slid the stuffed boar meat patties toward the Light Bringer.
A formidable pecking and a palpable rush of wind directed at the table. Flapping its large and puffy wings, which were too large for an ordinary bird, it landed on the table and immediately grabbed several cutlets with its huge beak.
And immediately ate them right in front of the dragon.
From such an unexpected turn in the small hall there was silence - everyone was silent: servants, knights and all the squires, including the two princes.
The Bringer of Light emitted a couple of barely perceptible streams of fire and stared at the multi-coloured bird. It might have looked like it to the boy, but there was a look of confusion on the dragon's face!
-You're pathetic,' the bird squeaked and threw a piece of cutlet right into the dragon's eye. For the first time he was not true to himself and let out a small growl that made everyone around him get up from the table and step aside.
Meikar immediately wrapped his arms around the dragon's neck and pulled it away. The Light Bearer did not resist, but did not take his bestial and predatory gaze off the mad bird.
-What is that bird! - asked one of the squires. The answer came quickly from Roderick Bracken.
-It is a parrot. Lord Greyjoy's personal pet,' he said grimly, staring at the squire who asked.
The parrot continued to perch on the table in front of the men and the dragon. His paw poked into the thick soup and promptly toppled it to the floor with a shrill cry of 'Who made this?'.
This was the first time Meikar had ever seen parrots. And thought it was too huge for an ordinary bird. Powerful paws with four toes that allowed him to feed on them and grab considerable chunks of meat.
A powerful, shiny beak that could easily penetrate someone's skull.
Perhaps that was why the dragon did not immediately attack and tear Lord Greyjoy's pet apart.
After grabbing a whole quail breast, the parrot immediately flew upwards and disappeared into the darkness of the stone ceilings, among the columns and beams.
Only then did everyone calm down and return to their seats. Meikar comforted the dragon, who was still looking around for multicoloured feathers and a cheeky voice.
-Crazy bird,' Baylor, who was sitting next to him, muttered and Meikar was in complete agreement with him.
-How about catching it! - Lord Swann's grandson suggested excitedly, and received a frown from Joffrey Staunton.
-Joffrey, can you catch her? - Baelor asked with a smile.
-I'm afraid, my prince, I can't. And even if Seven were on my side, Lord Greyjoy would tie me to the rocks and drown me.
-And if she comes again? - someone asked a question.
-Then the Light Bringer will swallow her! - Baelor grinned, and Meikar looked at the dragon doubtfully. Of course he would, but then he'd be locked up in the Dragon's Lair too.
A few hours later they were in the West Court, where all the knights and squires usually exercised. A couple of times Meikar had seen a few small tournaments here between the White Cloaks and his king father's serving sires.
They exercised here almost every day.
The only exceptions were short trips to Dragonstone or major holidays. His father insisted on their training in the art of swordsmanship, and his mother was in solidarity with him. Baelor had always enjoyed being here - he was more talented and more savvy at it. Unlike him, Meikar's younger twin brother.
The latter was only here to avoid incurring his father's wrath.
Master of the Red Castle Weapons, Ser Cedric Penrose walked around them, hawking their stances and movements. Meikar regarded him as the sort of man it was useless to complain to his father about - the king always sided with his teachers over his sons.
Meikar's first training match was with Robin Buckler, a stocky man with a potato nose and watery eyes. He was dull, though he fought well.
The squire quickly disarmed the prince. If the boy had been smarter, he would have lost - Meikar had seen and suffered such treatment from his peers more than once. But Robin Buckler wouldn't be Robin Buckler if he didn't slap the prince without realising the consequences.
Meikar never took offence, though. He even liked that sort of thing.
Somewhere off to the side there was a loud wheeze and the sound of a body hitting the sand. Baylor swiftly thrust his wooden sword against Gwaine Ockhart's chest. The man fell to the ground from that powerful blow.
-Ockhart, you're not very good on your feet,' Ser Penrose remarked, 'and you, Prince Baelor, are too aggressive. It can play a cruel trick on you. His brother only grinned, feeling the rush of victory and not taking his mentor's words seriously.
They continued their lessons. The Light Bringer was nestled nearby, his yellow eyes glaring at everyone, making some in the Western Court nervous.
Sometimes Meikar looked around him and saw many familiar faces. Here were a couple of the ever obliging servants of Lionel Selmy, the steward. They had been in such a hurry that they had dropped some racks, which had earned them the wrath of Ser Penrose.
Somewhere nearby walked Joffrey Staunton, watching them. He spotted another White Cloak joining his colleague. Gutor of Mander, the quietest and most inconspicuous of all the guardsmen.
He wandered his eyes around the field, waiting for the next training match. Until he came across some new faces he had never seen here before.
There were two of them, nestled near the western Court. Both black-haired and thin. But while one of them had long, even loose hair, the other preferred to cut it short.
The dull, low-expressive eyes of the oldest of them stared at him, and he flinched at the sudden attention.
Who was looking at him, Meikar had no difficulty in realising. He had seen this man often in the corridors and tournaments over the past months here at Red Castle. The new Master over the Ships, Lord Greyjoy, that had managed to become one of the biggest mysteries of the royal court.
The second ironborn was unknown to him, though he had been seen around Lord Pyke a lot lately. From all the whispers he had overheard by chance, the prince only learnt that he was one of the captains of the Royal Navy.
Suddenly, the same fearless bird descended on Lord Greyjoy's shoulder, which immediately attracted the attention of the little dragon. The parrot called out something softly, and Greyjoy seemed to be listening.
He was distracted by Ser Penrose's words.
-Prince Maekar. Denys Swann.
Young Swann had the sense to lose, though the prince did not even try or show much zeal.
The duel took a minute at most, and a few more minutes of moralising and pointing out the squire's and prince's mistakes.
Feeling tired, he preferred to move away from the training ground and settled down at one of the pavilions, where squires and knights were resting and watching the former.
The dragon settled down beside him like a dog, crouching at the prince's feet.
His violet eyes scrutinised the spot where Greyjoy had been, but there were already other men standing there.
-Your Highness? - A quiet voice came from beside him, like the rustling of leaves, causing him to jump and the dragon to raise its head threateningly.
Only luck prevented him from shouting in surprise. If Baelor had seen, he would have definitely laughed at his cowardice.
A narrow face with sparse wrinkles stared back at him. Once closer to him, he was able to gaze into his eyes and felt a prick of inexplicable fear. The Bringer of Light grinned, as if he too had sensed something.
Greyjoy and the parrot on his shoulder turned their gaze to the dragon at the same time. The movement was so synchronised that it added an inexplicable terror to the young Targaryen's heart.
-Your Highness? - he repeated in a cautious and shrill tone, not the least bit intimidated by the living crest of the royal family.
-Lord Greyjoy, did you want something? - Meikar shuddered inwardly and apologised to Lady Sanglass, who had taught him etiquette and how to behave properly in front of dignitaries. He had hated her when he was still a fool, but only now did he realise the importance of her hard lessons.
-I heard about the incident in the Small Hall during the dinner hour. -I'm sorry. My pet spoilt your day and caused a commotion. I would like to apologise sincerely for the mess Cicero made.
Something glinted in Lord Greyjoy's hands. As he looked closer, he saw a small, oddly curved dagger. The gem-studded hilt of the short blade glittered and shimmered in the sunlight with all the colours of the rainbow.
He saw the Runes engraved on the top gilded part of the hilt. Unfamiliar to the prince and not resembling any alphabet he had seen.
-This-' Meikar marvelled, 'I cannot take such a gift without-
-Your king-father has approved of my choice.
'If father approved...'.
Young princes were forbidden to accept gifts for security reasons. Nobles and merchants who thought they could placate the king through gifts to royal children often became instruments of murder in the wrong hands.
He accepted the gift gingerly, casually feeling the touch of Lord Greyjoy's moist fingers. The sensation of something slimy and fearful made his knees tingle, and he inadvertently took a step back.
Greyjoy tilted his head in a birdlike manner, and to ease the awkwardness, Meikar thought of a spontaneous question:
-These Runes... what do they mean?
-The ancient language of the Summer Isles. They mean Tongue and Gold, Your Highness.
-Tongue and Gold? - muttered the prince, staring at the smooth but randomly arranged Runes, 'Is that...?
-The true meaning of those words is for you to discover for yourself, Prince Maekar,' Greyjoy smiled, 'you are not limited by time.
He paid no attention to Lord Greyjoy's smile, which made the dragon stand up. The young creature, imbued with magic, understood the duality that the unusual biped represented and sensed a hint of something else that contradicted the fire flowing in his veins.
When the prince looked up, he no longer saw the giver. Lord Greyjoy had vanished like a passing wind. Clutching the hilt of his dagger, he looked at the still tense dragon and then around him.
All the seated knights and squires didn't even pay attention to them. They were talking and munching on fruit as if nothing had happened, watching their students and friends wield their swords in training sparring amongst themselves.
Consciously, the young prince did not yet understand his subconscious desire to watch or interact with something unusual and eccentric. Whether it was watching something disgusting, bringing internal pleasure, or even participating in it... It didn't matter.
What matters is that Prince Maekar's subconscious mind had already assigned Lord Greyjoy to something scary, ghastly, but at the same time arousing a creepy curiosity. Comment on Chapter 30 Happy New Year!