Chapter 4
LADY JENA DONDARRION
The jousting was about to start, and Jena sat beside the Lady Baratheon as the knights all took their positions. Seven lanes had been prepared, and the banners all flew high.
There was the Baratheon stag, glistening over a golden field. Then there was the Dornish spear, along with the two Griffins of House Connington. Yet amidst them all, one banner hung the highest, and it was none other than the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and from that pavilion would ride her husband wearing her favor on his spear.
The knights began to gather as she began to search the crowd for his son, and as she wondered if she might have to send another contingent of guards after him, she saw him walking towards the stage with a smile on his face.
"He seems a very bright lad," Lady Baratheon added, and before she had been clad in her husband's cloak, she had been a daughter of House Tarth. The birth had left her frail, and it would not have been discourteous of her to stay in her room.
Yet with the lord of the castle confined to his bed, and his heir fighting in the lists down below, she had decided to come out as the host.
"He is," Jena replied to the praise.
"I have heard that the Prince could read before he was two," and Jena nodded.
"Yes, and by three could read on his own in both the Common Tongue and High Valyrian," and with that, many had thought that he would be a bookish boy like Prince Aerys, but once he had hit the age of five, he had been quick to pick up a blade.
He would chase around Valarr seeking lessons, while all of them would laugh at his antics.
"That is impressive," and the woman eyed him as she added.
"Though he does take after you," and the words were not meant to hurt yet they did. Jena was not deaf to the whispers, about her husband and her sons for their lack of Targayren features, yet that did not make her love them any less.
"That he does," she added, as he walked past her and plopped down on the seat beside her with a mischievous and proud smile on his face.
"It's done," he said, and she raised a brow as she slid towards and whispered.
"You seem overtly happy," she added, as her eyes narrowed. And there were very few things that could ever make him happy.
"Who have you trapped in your schemes now?" she asked, and she was spot on.
"Just the Kingsguard, and it is not entrapment when they have an equal chance at winning," and by now the Knights had assembled, and she saw Baelor look towards the platform as he gave her a nod and donned his helmet for the first tilt.
"THE FIRST BOUT SHALL BEGIN NOW!" the herald announced, and the knights rushed towards one another. Jena had seen Baelor ride many a times until now, and yet each time she felt the same nervousness.
The sound of galloping filled the silence as everyone held their breath as fourteen knights all rushed towards one another on their horses with lances in their hands.
CRASH! CRASH! SPLUNDER!
"AGHHHH!" "AGHHHH!"
And for three knights, the tilt ended quickly, and yet she did not care for them as she saw her husband's lance splinter as it hit his opponent's shield, and yet the knight held on strong, and refused to fall down.
He reached the end of the lane, and Baelor could have turned around and galloped forward once more to take advantage of his opponent's condition, and yet he waited as his squire brought him a new lance.
She did not recognise the sigil on that shield, as they rode towards one another once more, and this time their lances simply slid off from the shields as they reached the ends of the lane.
By now, of the fourteen initial riders, only six remained, and few would have expected a no-name knight to last more than two tilts against Baelor Breakspear. And so they rode once more and she held her breath once more.
This time, the lance hit Baelor's shield hard and cracked as Baelor was pushed back, much to the surprise of the crowd, and yet her husband held on as his horse reached the end of the lane, while he clung to the saddle through sheer will.
"Who is this knights?" she asked.
"He is a hedge knight, my lady," the guard began to answer.
"His name is Ser Arlan," Matarys added, and unlike he did not seem worried at all.
"Ser Arlan of Pennytree," he finished as he looked towards her.
"He seems rather skilled," and Matarys shrugged.
"He is good, but not better than father. Father simply made a little mistake in the last tilt because his horse slipped a bit," and she had not noticed that and yet he had somehow noticed a small slip. And then he lasted another tilt, and when they were about meet one another once more, Matarys whispered from the side.
"Don't worry," he said, looking into her eyes.
"He is going to end this now," and so the horses rode forth once more, as Jena eyed Baelor's lance and as the two warriors met, Ser Arlan was pushed off of his horse as Baelor's lance hit his shield square and sent the man flying.
"AGHHH!" he grunted as the crowd cheered, and she sighed in relief.
"You have quite an eye, my Price," Lady Baratheon added, and Matarys simply smiled and leaned closer to her.
"And with that, I am twenty gold dragons richer," and Jena wanted to remonstrate with him, and yet she had fallen a victim to his wagers herself.
"Why do you do this, Matarys?" she asked in defeat.
"You are a Prince of the realm," and that came with a lot of privileges. He had an allowance, and apart from that, he could get anything he desired just by asking, and yet he had been building himself a fortune for some reason.
"What do you even want from all this money?" she asked, and she was genuinely curious now that she had thought about it.
"You really want to know," he asked, and she nodded.
"Of course," she answered.
"Well, it is...."
.
.
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BAELOR TARGARYEN—Breakspear
"...land," and of all the things he had expected to hear out of his son's mouth, land had not been one of them.
Matarys was special. There was no question about that, and years ago, Jena and he had decided to let him have his freedom as long as he maintained a certain semblance of decorum.
The Targaryen family had never been as expansive as it was, and Matarys was but a second son. A spare. Baelor would not abandon his son, but even he knew that there was little he could offer him given the sheer size of the family lest he incite anger.
So, Jena had him had wondered why he had been saving up his allowances and winnings, but had never thought to question it. But now they had an answer.
"I am not asking for land to raise a castle," he clarified, and that made it even more strange.
"I speak of farm land," and Baelor could not help but ask again.
"Farm land," and his son nodded. It had been a moon since they had returned from the hastilude set up by Lord Baratheon, and he had begun giving much thought to his son's future ever since.
Matarys was indeed at the age to squire, and yet he seemed adamant on not doing it for Brynden. It was a good opportunity in his mind, for despite his flaws, Brynden Rivers was a good knight, and given his position in the King's Council, it would allow Matarys to stay in the Red Keep with them.
But Matarys did not wish to squire for the man, and so he did not force the matter.
"Yes, I know that the Crown often leases land to peasants so they may farm it and then pay taxes on it. I wish to lease a large acreage of land from the Crown," and that was true, and the Crown did indeed give out land to peasants to farm, but they were peasants.
"And what do you intend to do with that land?" he wondered.
"Farm it, of course," and he did not understand his intentions.
"You wish to live a peasant's life," Baelor asked with some disapproval, and Matarys shook his head.
"No. I intend to hire some people to do the work for me, but...," and as he saw his failings, the boy stopped.
"There are things that I wish to try. Seeds and crops from all parts of the world that I have gathered over the years, that I wish to experiment with. There are a few ideas regarding farming in my mind that I wish to test out. I will pay the crown money to lease the land and then hire peasants to carry out the work. I will pay them a wage," and Baelor understood the plan, yet he failed to understand his intentions.
"And what do you hope to achieve?" he asked.
"Change," Matarys answered with glistening eyes.
"Progress," he added, and he seemed to have given it much thought.
"Simple as it may sound, farming is the backbone of a society, and yet for nearly eight hundred years, nothing about it has changed. People today still farm the same crops, in the same land, using the same techniques as their ancestors, and I wish to change that," and while unsuited to a ten-year-old, he was not wrong, as Baelor gave much thought to his words.
"I wish to revolutionise it, but that is only a small part of my dream," and so it was not really about farming.
"Then what is your dream?" he asked.
"I wish to build a business. An empire of my own. Something that I obtained using my own abilities rather than something that was handed over to me because of my birth," and he had never heard such words out of a noble's mouth, and yet he could not put down such ambition, strange as it may be.
"I will not lie to you, but I do not understand much of what you are saying," and Matarys was quick to counter.
"I can explain..." but he stopped him as he raised his hand.
"I am not stopping you, Matarys," and while unconventional, he had no reason to stop him. This was the first time he had asked something of me, and while it was strange, he knew of Princes with stranger and viler ambitions.
"But you need not pay me anything for the land," he added as his eyes lit up.
"Why?" and Baelor smiled.
"We have land aplenty. I can lease you the land, but the rest you will have to do on your own," and he nodded.
"I will," and so he leaned forward.
"So, will ten acres do," he asked, as he picked up his quill.
"I am afraid not," and perhaps that was too much.
"I was thinking of something along a thousand acre," and now that made him widen his eyes.
"A thousand acres," and Matarys nodded.
"I have a plan," he assured him, and he could only pray that he was right. Still, even if he failed, Baelor would be there for him to clean up.
"So be it, but there is one more thing," he remembered.
"You will have to find someone else to look after these lands and plans," he advised, and he would offer himself but he was the Hand of the King.
"Why?"
"Because you will find it rather difficult to do so for yourself while you are at Summer Hall," and Matarys's eyes widened.
"And why would I be at Summer Hall?"
"Because you are going to squire under your uncle Maekar...."
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