Daemon, of course, immediately flew to Tyrosh, and Viserys sent the royal fleet to help him, led by the Lord Admiral, and Laenor Veryon on Seasmoke accompanied them in the sky. Aegon tried to dissuade the King then, emphasizing that while Daemon solved problems in the south, it would be calmer at court. Alicent also expressed bewilderment that the Iron Throne was helping the Bck faction, but the King cut off all objections at the root, decring that he knew no factions, and Vontis, attacking Tyrosh, attacks all Seven Kingdoms. The Master of Dragons yielded to the royal will then, but Viserys's reproaches for inappropriate intrigue left an unpleasant aftertaste.
"Did he write to you?"
"No, but it would be foolish to expect that."
"And Laenor with Corlys?"
"They write regurly. My brother-in-w is gd to return to war: dragon under saddle again, battles, fire, blood, sea, salty wind, excitement, comrades-in-arms..."
"Just as he likes," the King chuckled. "And Lord Corlys?"
"Also seems pleased. Writes that Syrax with Seasmoke and Caraxes have already burned a couple of squadrons, and Vermax is watching..."
"He sent Rhaenyra into battle?!" Viserys turned sharply to Aegon, apparently hoping to hear "no" in response, and horror and anger changed pces on his face with amazing speed.
"As I understood, she offered herself. Rhaenyra is a big girl already, lekia."
"What the hell difference does it make?! Her into battle, and he himself!.. He swore to protect, cowardly windbag! Just let him show up—the Wall won't save him!"
"And you will be left without a Hand."
"Don't care! I'll kill both," his brother continued to rage.
The Cargyll brothers opened the doors of the Crimson Hall for them, and Viserys signaled Cole to follow them.
"Remove your helmet, Ser Criston," the King commanded; anger had not yet fully released him, and his voice sounded particurly authoritative and strict. "Let them see your face."
"Though I look like them outwardly, Your Grace, I am still a marcher," the Lord Commander remarked, obeying the order.
"That is exactly why they better look you in the eye."
The King lounged in a scarlet velvet armchair from the back of which grew three mahogany dragon heads, and the guardsman, before standing behind his shoulder, pulled down the hem of the mantle so that the majesty befitting a sovereign harmoniously complemented naturalness without a drop of negligence. Taking advantage of the Hand's absence, Aegon sat at his brother's right hand and, propping his chin with his hand, began to zily examine the tapestries on which red three-headed dragons chased each other.
The decor of the hall was intended to be casual, disposing to private conversations, but the abundance of all shades of red was overwhelming. The Prince himself had long been tired of the capital's pomposity; the bck-and-white sors of Dragon’s Heart, each of which had its own color accent skillfully selected by Laena, seemed neater and more beautiful to him, and besides, it was his home. But Aegon had another reason to dislike this particur room: the mystery py with the presentation of Viserra's bastard took pce here in its time.
"You called, Father?" boredom mixed with dissatisfaction was poorly hidden in the voice of the heir to the Iron Throne.
"Yes, sit, you will listen. Dornish ambassadors will come now—we will find out what they want, and then make a decision."
"Actually, I wanted..."
"Friends, dragon, wife, mistresses, and wine will wait," Viserys swept away all possible excuses for flight in a tone brooking no objections. "Learn to be king while you are a prince."
While I am alive, hung in the room as an unspoken reproach. Aegon the Younger rolled his eyes but flopped into an armchair on the other side of his father, stretching his legs, and began to examine the toes of his boots quite critically.
After the wedding, the Prince of Dragonstone, together with his young wife, flew to Dragonstone, where the heir apparent formally took possession of his fief, where he was supposed to learn to rule the realm. Contrary to his mother-queen's hopes, he showed very restrained interest in affairs, and spent much more time with his Sunfyre on the slopes of the Dragonmont and in the sky above it than in the company of the maester, casteln, and master-at-arms of the castle.
Princess Alyssa often kept him company on flights, and to the relief of many doubters, husband and wife seemed to grow closer on the basis of a common passion for dragons. Ser Viselor Teltaris, who remained in his post as casteln, wrote to the King that the Prince and Princess visited Dragonport several times, entering taverns quite familiarly, thereby winning the hearts of the residents of the only town on the isnd.
"How is Alyssa?" Viserys inquired meanwhile in a slightly softer tone.
"I don't know, I didn't have time to visit her."
"It's already past noon."
"So what? I haven't had lunch."
"Well, what about the morning? Did you really not see her at all today?"
"No," the young Prince shrugged indifferently. Apparently, this question worried him very little.
"Probably, my namesake nephew belongs to the honorable tribe of owls, like me," the Master of Dragons spoke with a slight smile.
Aegon the Younger opened his mouth, apparently to snap back, but did not have time to say anything. The Cargylls, absolutely identical in their white armor, opened the doors again, and the Grand Maester entered the hall, followed by three Yronwood ambassadors. Orwyle bowed ceremoniously to the King and stood aside, opening the way for the diplomats.
"Your Grace, the ambassadors of Yoric Yronwood, the sixth of his name, styling himself High King of Dorne, have arrived."
A short, swarthy, and withered old man, like st year's date, in a checkered green kaftan stepped forward. The kaftan was open to the waist in Dornish fashion, demonstrating an upper shirt of outrageously bright canary color, which was additionally embroidered with gold threads, and feathers were too clearly guessed in the pattern itself. Behind the canary ambassador stood two younger men, fit to be his sons if not grandsons, in identical doublets of bck-and-gold brocade; the only difference between them was that one was bck-haired, and the other almost blonde.
The ambassadors bowed at once, and the eldest of them announced in a soulful voice:
"We are happy to pay respects to the King of the Seven Kingdoms! I am Lord Gerold Jordayne, this is Ser Davos Drinkwater and Ser Lewyn Shell."
"We are gd to receive the sons of Dorne," Viserys answered in the same tone.
"My comrades and I are on the banks of the Bckwater for the first time, and we were struck by the beauty and magnificence of King's Landing. We were told it was a stinking and vile pce, but we see the majestic capital of a rich realm, dressed in granite and marble..."
According to diplomatic custom, the old man could not start immediately with business, and therefore praised the capital of the Seven Kingdoms in every way, mentioning the genius of Aegon the Conqueror who chose such a successful pce, and the foresight of Jaehaerys the Conciliator who rebuilt the city, and the talent of Viserys the Builder who constantly adorned it. Viserys, nicknamed the Builder, listened to him with a benevolent smile that sat on his face like a glove. Aegon thought that probably this time his brother was smiling not dutifully, but quite sincerely, which is not surprising—who would not be pleased when his contribution to history was appreciated during his lifetime?
The Prince of Dragonstone was frankly bored and did not even bother to hide his impatience. Crossing his legs, he shook the toe of his boot slightly and drummed his fingers on the armrest. Meanwhile, the old Dornish date sang like a nightingale, magnifying and extolling the creations created by the King's command:
"Nowhere on the shores of the Narrow Sea can one find such a magnificent pce for worshiping the Seven-Who-Are-One as the majestic Queen's Sept. We managed to visit it seven times, and each time, as the first, it struck our imagination, and it is not even finished yet! Truly, the Starry Sept of Oldtown will be put to shame, and the name of Your Grace glorified for centuries when this sept, knowing no equals, is finished..."
The sept on Visenya's Hill, which Viserys id down with Aemma, and for whose decoration Alicent donated, had been under construction for twenty years. During this time, septons consecrated three royal marriages in it, buried one queen, one princess, a dozen Righteous, and several dozen courtiers, merchants, and rich citizens who donated a fairly round sum not only to the sept but also into the pockets of its servants.
Shortly before Aegon and Alyssa's wedding, the main dome was finally finished there, but rains still watered the marble floors of the seven small chapels surrounding the main space. Most of the seventy-seven bells of all sizes were still waiting for their hour to rise above the city on one of the seven bell towers, under which humble and proud of their bor pious builders now huddled. Masons had already captured on the walls all members of House Targaryen from the Conquest to Viserys with his brothers and children, as well as King Hugor of the Hill, but many pious scenes from The Seven-Pointed Star still awaited them ahead, which should be captured so that the illiterate could judge their faith by them. His brother still counted on the sept being finished in his lifetime, but every day of his illness made Aegon doubt this more and more.
Having described his unearthly delight from the main sanctuary of the Seven, Lord Jordayne paid tribute to roads, fountains, wells, correctly organized and stone-cd port, arena for races and tournaments outside the King's Gate, merchant rows on Bread Street, statues of Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Conciliator at the beginning of the Hook—in short, everything Viserys had a hand in during his reign. Finally, his fervor ran dry, and the Dornish King's ambassador, emitting a sorrowful sigh, moved closer to the heart of the matter:
"I only dream that Yronwood might experience at least a seventh part of the prosperity King's Landing experiences in Your Grace's reign. As, these are but the incorporeal dreams of an old man..."
"Any city and any kingdom can achieve true prosperity if the king and his bannermen strive for it," Viserys concluded significantly. To this, Jordayne should have responded with mentations about Dorne's difficult fate, and he did not disappoint.
"As, Your Grace, Dorne is far from this," he shook his head. "Scarcely had we freed ourselves from the power of the Rhoynar from Sunspear and restored the old order of things, when rebels decided to take advantage of this..."
"As far as we know, the te King Olyvar managed to defeat them," Aegon remarked.
"True, my Prince, but his death, which became a real tragedy for all his faithful servants, became a reason for them to settle scores. King Olyvar, striving for the restoration of justice, returned the old custom of the Greenblood, and insidious and ambitious liars, traitors, and turncoats, whose pce is not on the Wall but on the gallows, took advantage of it. Lord Fowler voted against Yoric Yronwood, the sixth of his name, and sought his own election. His vassals, Manwoody, Uller, Vaith, Allyrion, and Gargalen joined him. Lord Dayne did not appear at the funeral or the elections at all, and procimed himself King of the Torrentine again."
"In other words, young King Yoric faced a rebellion?" Viserys crified.
"King Yoric is hard to call young, Your Grace, he is over thirty..."
"And he is still younger than you and me."
"Yes, Your Grace. In this, as in everything else, you are absolutely right. My liege faced disobedience, betrayal, and rebellion, and therefore is forced to ask you for help. House Yronwood has always remained an adherent of the agreements concluded by King Olyvar and Prince Daemon on behalf of Your Grace. We fulfilled our obligations precisely and on time."
"It is a sin for us to compin," the King nodded, wittingly or unwittingly repeating Marlon's recent words.
"And therefore, for the sake of preserving established ties and further cooperation between Yronwood Dorne and Targaryen Seven Kingdoms, we now ask to support King Yoric."
"In what form?" the Master of Dragons inquired. Support can be provided with words, simply wishing good luck; money can be lent at predatory interest or Tarths and Estermonts sent to carry provisions to the Yronwoods; finally, an army can be sent, although marchers are unlikely to execute this order with all diligence.
"We will be gd of any help," Jordayne grasped at a straw, and the Prince realized his liege's affairs were indeed going poorly. "However, a rider on a dragon could easily turn the tide of the war..."
Aegon barely held back curses, but his namesake nephew did not bother to bite his tongue:
"Seven Hells (Peklo), what appetites this Yoric has!" the Prince of Dragonstone even whistled in amazement.
Viserys cast a stern look at him and, shifting in his chair, spoke slowly:
"I ask forgiveness for my son for careless words, Lord Jordayne, however, you must understand that we are all equally... surprised by such a request."
"No need for apologies, Your Grace," the ambassador bowed. "I perfectly understand what we have to ask, and Prince Aegon's reaction is more than understandable. Dragons have... difficult retions with Dorne..."
"And that is putting it mildly," the master of Dragon’s Heart remarked coldly.
The blood of Rhaenys and Meraxes was the main stumbling block here, but not the only one. Yoric was hardly stupid enough not to understand that his father seized power only thanks to the fire of Caraxes and Meleys. Olyvar had to go to great lengths to reconcile the proud desert dwellers with "dragon puppets," but even this did not help him painlessly transfer power to his heir, whose power was immediately challenged by two influential lords. The ancestors of each of them ruled their own kingdoms before the coming of the Rhoynar, but if Dayne sought to return the old days of his house, then Fowler, apparently, counted on throwing the Yronwoods off the newly acquired throne and becoming High King of Dorne himself.
In any case, Yoric will not be able to stand against them alone, and the Iron Throne will have to support its protegés one way or another—it is unlikely their opponents will be as conciliatory towards neighbors, and the tranquility of the southern borders is too valuable a thing to neglect.
"We need to think over your words, Lord Jordayne," Viserys announced after a long silence. "We will give you an answer ter."
"Naturally, Your Grace. We understand our request requires a banced decision."
The ambassadors bowed and backed out. Orwyle slipped out after them.
"You should watch your tongue," Viserys threw discontentedly at his son when the door closed behind the Dornishmen.
"And someone should be more modest in requests," the heir to the throne answered caustically. "Who offers a dragon rider to go into mercenaries at all?!"
"Braavos," Aegon informed his nephew evenly, crossing his legs. "I assure you, he paid Vermithor and me quite generously."
"Apparently not generously enough, since you and Vermithor want to repeat so much," the nephew snorted.
"How many times must I repeat: watch your tongue!" Viserys pulled him up. "But the question of price, of course, is acute. Unlikely they have the riches of the Iron Bank to offer a million gold dragons for each rider."
"Indeed. But they should not be abandoned completely."
"We can demand oaths to the Iron Throne from them," the King's son guessed. "If their affairs are so bad that they fawn over us so much and beg for at least some help, then any conditions can be set for them. Let's finish the Conquest without war."
"A wonderful pn, reliable as the Wall itself," Aegon smirked sarcastically. "As soon as Yronwood acknowledges himself a vassal of the Iron Throne, the few who still recognize his power will immediately turn away from him, and Fowler will reconcile with Dayne, and they will fight together against our house. I hope, Nephew, you remember how the First Dornish War ended?"
"We have more dragons than the Conqueror had!"
"Remember also that we are already at war with Vontis, and we need dragons at sea and in Essos."
Aegon kept silent about the fact that the best warrior and commander of the Seven Kingdoms and, forgive Balerion, the new Conqueror, was in a deep quarrel with the Iron Throne, and his namesake nephew was the direct cause of this. The backbone of the army would fall on the marchers and the Tyrells allied to Daemon, and this alone was more than half the Reach, and there was also Elmo Tully, who looked into the mouth of his father's comrade-in-arms, storm lords connected with the new aristocracy of Tyrosh by marriages and trade... The temptation to turn such a force to the Bckwater and reinforce it with dragons was too great—one should not tempt one's brother.
"Even if we were not at war with anyone, what is the use of a gss sea and burnt stones?" Viserys added meanwhile. "Perhaps the Yronwoods will bow before us someday. In the end, they ck that Rhoynar arrogance the Martells had, and they do not fear bending. But now they are more convenient for us as Dornish kings. With this custom of the Greenblood, they will always have something to do."
"While they enthusiastically cut each other up, it will be quiet in the Marches," the Master of Dragons nodded.
"They must be supported, but a rider... This needs to be thought over."
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