Chapter 8
DAERON TARGARYEN
Daeron sat in the inn, barely keeping to his senses as he drowned another cup of ale. He struggled to open his eyes and saw that the Sun had risen once more. He knew not when he had last seen it, or whether a day had passed or two.
He was thirsty. Very thirsty, and so he pushed his head from the table and raised his hand.
"Water," he called, and his words were slurred still, and his throat burned, and he felt as if he could empty his stomach any second now. The innkeeper would not like that.
A little boy came and poured water from a jug as Daeron threw him a copper and caught his hand.
"Do you need some breakfast, my lord?" he asked, and Daeron would need that.
"Yes, and some of your finest wine," and the disapproval was obvious on the boy's face at this word.
"Though, before that, could you tell me what day it is? Has the tourney at Ashford passed already?" he asked, hoping that the testing day had passed already in his slumber and he would be remiss of his obligations.
"Not yet, my lord. The tourney will happen tomorrow," and the answer dulled his mood, as Daeron cursed himself and slowly let go of his arm.
"Now I will really need that wine," he uttered out in defeat as he rubbed his aching head, and Daeron was not blind to his own faults and realities.
He was a drunkard and a fool. One whose nights were plagued with dreams and visions that shook him to the core. He saw much in them, yet understood very little.
He saw death, life. He saw raging fires and a never-ending cold. He saw dragons, and much more, and with those dreams came both dread and pain, and Daeron often prayed for a way in which he could live a life without the need for sleep, the need to shut his eyes.
The wines and ales dulled his senses, for Daeron was not strong enough to try to make sense of these visions. He was not Daenys the Dreamer. He was Daeron the Drunkard, and he would die like that.
"Here's your food," and the boy came with plates of eggs and bacon, and some hard bread. It was food unworthy of a Prince, but he could not even remember the last time he had eaten anything, so the hard bread and that simple bacon felt more tasty than any food at the Red Keep.
And just the act of swallowing his food pained his throat, and just as he had taken in a few bites, he felt his stomach turn as he ran out of his chair, and out the door as he emptied his guts into the ground.
"AGHHH!" The food and wine rushed out as he stood there and continued to wretch, while the people eyed him with disgust, yet they held their tongues as they saw his fancy tunic.
In the end, the wretching stopped as Daeron took in a few deep breaths, and let fresh air hit his face. He saw a horse pass him by as he turned towards the inn once more.
He plopped down on the chair and raised his hand, and the boy came running once more.
"Do you have something lighter? Porridge perhaps?" he asked, and he nodded.
"Bring me that," he ordered as he picked up his glass and saw the water in it. He emptied it on the floor and began to fill it with wine, as the doors to the inn swung open wildly, and the noise within the place vanished.
He finished filling the glass, put the bottle to the side, and just as he reached for the glass, a hand slapped it down as a familiar voice came from the side.
"I believe you have had enough of that," and Daeron frowned as he looked up.
"How dare yo..." yet the words died up in a second, as he stared at the face of the person standing there beside him.
"Matarys," he uttered in relief, as whispers and murmurs filled the inn, as people realised just who they were.
"It seems like you have not changed at all," and yet there was no judgment in his voice as he smiled down at him, and though Daeron was older than him, it never felt like that with Matarys.
"You were supposed to be with father?" and Matarys shook his head, as he settled down beside him, and downed the wine on the floor, and asked the serving boy for some water.
"I got delayed," he answered as he drowned the cup.
"Some bandits showed up, and I had to deal with that," and his clothes were dirty, and some blood was still caked on his face.
"I have been riding for days to make it to the tourney," he added, and after downing the glass of water, began to dig into his plate.
"Though I do know that you are not supposed to be here. Uncle wanted you in the lists," and what a tragedy would that be.
"I have no place in them," unlike Matarys, who was far better at lance and sword than him, despite being younger than him.
"I know, but he will be worrying about you and Egg, he was supposed to be with you," he added, and the little rascal had snuck away in the dead of the night, leaving him alone here. He did not begrudge him, but he had been worried about him for some time. Or at least he thought so.
"That little bastard went ahead without me," Daeron lamented as Matarys smirked.
"I know," and Daeron frowned at that, as the boy walked to the table with their food.
"Eat," Matarys said as the server boy brought the porridge.
"And then we ride to Ashford together," and Daeron groaned.
"You can go ahead on your own. I have no desire of humiliating myself because of my father's desires," and Matarys did not shame him for his cowardice, nor did he judge him for it as he slapped his back.
"Don't worry. I will speak to uncle, and replace you in the lists," and that would work, for if there was anyone who could persuade Maekar Targaryen, then it was Matarys.
Still, as he took in a spoonful of porridge, he rubbed his nose.
"You reek," he said, and Matarys raised a brow.
"I could say the same for you, you bastard," he retorted as he slapped his shoulder.
"I have been riding for days with no rest. I haven't had time to bathe," and he would not complain, and so they ate in banter as they would in Summerhall, and for a few minutes Daeron forgot about his dreams and his worries as they laughed and joked until they were both on their horses ready for the journey ahead.
"We will ride slowly," Matarys said for him, and he was thankful for that.
"What about Egg? Father will kill me when he learns that I have lost my precious brother," and he was not yet ready to die.
"We will find him," and then Matarys turned towards him, as those eyes narrowed.
"Hey Daeron?" he asked, as their horses began to trot.
"Yes," he answered.
"In your dreams?" and in his family, Matarys was the only one who believed in his dreams and understood his tribulations.
"Have you seen a dragon dying?" and for a second he was stilled, as words failed him.
'How could he know?' he wondered, yet the question never left his lips.
"Yes," he answered, and saw those eyes narrow, as Matarys gave a nod.
"I see," and with those words, he pulled on the reins of his horse as he increased his pace.
"Let's see what I can do about that..."
0000
BAELOR TARGARYEN
The ride to Ashford had been peaceful, and with him and Maekar riding together the roads and fields passed them by rather quickly.
"Marriage?" Maekar asked, and Baelor nodded as he told him of their father's plans.
"The idea came from father himself, though I suspect he had it whispered in his ears by someone else," and while King Daeron did love his grandchildren, their marriages were of little concern to him.
For years now, the King's Master of Whispers had been asking for his youngest to spend more time in the capital, and he would not be surprised if the idea had come from him.
"He hopes that a good wife would be able to clip his wings and chain down his wonder lust," and Maekar scoffed.
"I really doubt that," and Baelor would agree with him.
"I don't believe he is lacking in suitors," and Matarys may be a second son, but he was still a Prince of the realm, one with a very glistening reputation.
"Not really," and Maekar nodded.
"Well, my two daughters are unwed still. Both Daella and Rhae would be amenable to a match with Matarys. They were rather smitten with him, even though I doubt he ever saw them as nothing more than family," and it would be a good match, but he would have to talk with Jena on the matter.
"I have left the matter to Jena. But I shall present the idea," he offered, and Maekar nodded, and their duty was to carry sword, lance, and shield. While marriages, alliances, and children were cared for by their wives, he had been blessed with a good wife.
"Perhaps I should start thinking of these things myself," Maekar sighed, as his shoulders sagged.
"Daeron is older than your sons, and is yet unwed," and with their mother dead, Maekar would have to carry this burden as well, and the death of his lady wife still brought him much pain.
Baelor's lips thinned.
"Perhaps I could have Jena look into the matter for you," and Maekar offered only a subdued nod.
"What of Aemon? How is he?" and years ago, and Aemon was his third son. Born with a bookish nature, he was the second coming of their brother Aerys. Maekar had thought to send him to the Citadel, but somehow Matarys had managed to convince him of coming to the Red Keep to see to his mercantile and business ventures.
It was a prudent offer, and Aemon had been happy to take him up on it and so for years now, Aemon had been staying in the Red Keep as cared for his youngest's business matters while Matarys busied himself with wars and tournies.
"He is doing well. The work he does is mostly bookish in nature, but it has steadied him," and Maekar seemed relieved to hear that, as they rode through the bridge and rode through the gates of the Ashford castle, and the heralds blew their horns.
"OUR LORD OF HOUSE ASHFORD HUMBLE WELCOMES! PRINCE BAELOR TARGARYEN, HAND OF THE KING, LORD OF DRAGONSTONE, AND HEIR TO THE IRON THRONE!" and the horses came to a stop at the castle gates, as Lord Ashford and his castellan stood there to welcome them.
Baelor jumped off his horse and walked towards the rather tall and plump man, who was joined by a rather fair lady with a crown of flowers on her head.
"It is a great honor to receive you, your grace," the man said, as he bowed to him, but Baelor was quick to gesture for him to stand.
"It is a great honor to be received, lord Ashford," he said, as he shook his hand, before the man gentured towards his daughter.
"My daughter, Lady Gwin," and she curtsied, and she was petite and had a smile on her face as Baelor gave her a nod.
"Come, I have had the Halls prepared," and so they were led through the winding halls, as Maekar joined them, and Lord Ashford introduced his castellan and his House.
"Where are Daeron and Aegon?" Maekar asked as he looked around the castle.
"I see no sign of them," and Lord Ashford spluttered.
"I am afraid the two Princes never reached Ashford. We thought that they had slowed down to ride with you," and Maekar's rage was obvious as he loosened his collar.
"No. They were meant to be here by now," Baelor answered, as Lord Ashford turned towards his castellan with worry.
"Perhaps the Princes have just been delayed?" and that was a lie, for he doubted that they had not heard of Daeron's reputation.
"Fuck me! They are not delayed," Maekar cursed, as a servant came and began to untie his cloak.
"Do not curse our gracious host," he admonished.
"I said fuck me, not fuck him," and yet it was crass nonetheless.
"If only father had not commanded us to attend this circus," his brother roared in fury, and he was always the prickly one out of them.
"We shall speak about this later," and he had been impolite enough.
"I shall send out the guards at once," offered the castellan, and Baelor nodded as he wiped his hands.
"Daeron has done this before. You should not have forced him to enter the lists," and his nephew had a rather troubled disposition.
"Daeron belongs on a tourney field no more than Aerys or Rhaegel," and Maekar scoffed.
"By which you'd mean he would sooner ride a whore than a horse," and Baelor sighed.
"Not all our children are meant to be the same," he countered.
"That is rich coming from you," Maekar countered, with some jealousy.
"Daeron will change. I will make sure of it, or I will see him dead," and then Maekar's eyes narrowed.
"You there, what are you doing spying on us?" he roared, and the room became silent as Baelor followed his gaze and saw a piece of cloak sticking out.
There was someone there.
"Come out!"
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