Chapter 11
VALARR TARGARYEN
By the precedents in history, Valarr should be jealous of his brother. He should fear him. Loathe him. Valarr Targaryen was the eldest of their father's two sons. He was second in line to the throne, and yet in comparison to those above and below him he was nothing but ordinary.
He lacked their father's charm, or their uncle's brilliance. He was solid with a lance, and a little worse with the blade. He was not bad, but he was no 'Breakspear'.
He was well read, but he had not begun speaking at two. He was not bold like his brother, and he lacked his touch of gold which turned anything he touched into a treasure. He was not Matchless Matarys, but a rather a simple Valarr.
Yet despite all that he could never hate his brother. Never.
Valarr loved his parents, and yet he loved Matarys more for what he was to him. There was no doubt in his mind that Matarys was better than him in sword, lance and mind yet his brothers love for him was tested.
Even as children, he had beaten up a few squired who had made fun of his hairs. He would beat up anyone who would dare to tease him. He would ride back from Summer Hall upon hearing the news of his still born the first time, and then would do so again from the Red Mountains when tragedy would strike twice.
He would sit with him, and offer him a shoulder to cry on. He would help him bury his children. He was his rock, and Valarr was grateful to have a brother such as him.
"You want to take part in the tourney?" Valarr asked as the family gathered to break their fast.
"Yes," he answered, and their uncle and his family were away and it was only the three of them in the Hall still.
"Why? You have just ridden for days on end. You must be quite tired," their father added, and Matarys participating in a tourney was not new. He was a good jouster, and even better swordsman but even for hi this was different.
"Is this about Aerion?" and even at court, their rivalry was known to all.
"No," and he was lying. Valarr saw it, as his brother took a bite of his bacon.
"One could say that I was forced into it, by the lady of the hour," and he reached into his pocket and took out am embroidered band,
"Is that Lady Gwin's favor?" their father asked, and he nodded.
"Such a shame brother," he said turning towards him.
"It seems like you are not as popular with the ladies as me afterall," and he slapped him on the head, as Matarys laughed.
"I am married you fool," Valarr reminded him, and their father cut in quickly.
"And you shall be as well," and the Hall turned quiet at that as they both turned towards their father in a split second.
"What!" Matarys asked, and Valarr was equally surprised.
"Yes, your mother has already started looking at suitors for you. If you wish to add anything, I believe she would be happy to listen," and Matarys was shaking his head, and Valarr reveled in his brother's misery.
"Hahaha. It's finally your time," he teased, and Matarys shook his head.
"Why? I am happy with my life as it is," he argued.
"We aren't," their father countered with a smile.
"We can't have you riding into wars and tournies on a whim anymore. You are a Prince of the realm, and it is your duty to marry and propagate the family line," and Matarys pretended to gag, and while may act playful the thing with Matarys was that this was all a pretence.
He was smart. Very smart. Valarr was certain that he had already predicted such a thing, and had a pretty good idea in his mind on who he would like to marry, yet he played aloof to make their burdens a bit easier.
"Perhaps you could have mother add, Lady Gwin's name to the list," Valarr added as he picked up the ribbon.
"Afterall, he seemed rather eager to defend her honor," and Matarys scratched it back.
"She seemed so heartbroken when I told her that I would not be competing. I didn't want to be cruel to a girl on her nameday," Matarys defended himself, and that was why Valarr and the entire real loved Matarys the Matchless.
For all his qualities, and talents the thing that shined the brightest in him was his kindness. Matarys was the kindest soul he had met. He was kind to his family, to the weak, to the helpless tot eh destitute.
He could have erected castles for himself with the money that he was making. He could have forced bad deals on the Northern lords, and the rest for his grain and spirits and yet he offered them fair deals.
He offered charity to the poor, and Valarr knew well how he would distribute a tenth of his grain into the orphans of the Flea Bottom.
"Still, I have never interfered in such matters but do you think you will be rested enough to compete?" their father asked, and Matarys nodded.
"I will be fine. I had a good rest yesterday, and the jousting will only begin tomorrow," and even then the main event would begin a day after that.
"Then you have my blessing," their father added, and he slapped him on the back.
"And mine as well," and he had little love for jousting, and would much prefer to be at the capital with his wife. But much his brother he was a Prince of the realm, and that came with many a burdens.
"Thank you..."
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AEGON TARGARYEN
Aegon was tired. He was forced to endure an hour of his father's rage last night, for his absolute disregard for his own life and safety. But in the end, he had been quick to deflect the blame onto Daeron, but getting out of the capital castle at night was impossible and he could not slip out with so many eyes trained on him.
He had to return to Ser Duncan. He had to go back, yet his father would not let him leave the castle without a Kingsguard on his back, and so Aegon was forced to do rely on his cousin once more.
Matarys was reluctant to offer him any help, but in the end after much pleading he offered to intercede and so they walked out of the castle and towards the rows of stalls.
"Thank you," Aegon said, and they both wore cloaks to hide their faces, for if he was seen walking besides Matarys openly, his secret would be revealed.
Honestly, it could be revealed any way, and he only clung to hope because of Ser Duncan's simple mindedness.
"If we get caught, I am putting all the blame on you," his cousin added, and it would be worth it, and as they walked through the stalls suddenly he spotted his supposed master.
"Look there," and Ser Duncan was walking through the stall with some worry.
"Ser Duncan," Matarys called out, and the man turned towards him without wasting any time and almost ran towards him.
"Where is he!" he asked with heat, and Aegon was surprised by the hostility in his voice.
"Where is my squire?" and before Matarys could say anything, he answered.
"I am here, Ser," and his head snapped towards him, as he moved his hood slightly. He saw relief fill those blue eyes, as the lanky knight backed away.
"Forgive me, my Prince. I could not sleep the entire knight in worry. I come from Flea Bottom, and have heard many unsavory tales about boys and girls vanishing into castles and alleys," and Matarys chuckled.
"For a simple minded person you are rather untrusting," and he shook his head.
"No. My Prince. I dare not doubt you. I was just worried about the boy," and Aegon seemed taken aback by the sincerity of his words, as Matarys looked around.
"I was fine, Ser Duncan. The Prince even offered me a room to sleep in and then fed me a good breakfast as well," and he nodded.
"That is good," but then his stomach's grumble cut through the silence as Matarys slapped his shoulder.
"Come, good ser. I believe I owe you a breakfast as well for lending me your squire," and so the walked through the markets, until they found an inn, as Matarys ordered Ser Duncan a sumptuous meal and expensive ale.
The man hesitated at first, but dove in heartily at his cousin's insistence, and they began speaking of war and battles until the matter regarding the tourney came up,
"You will be taking part?" Ser Ducan asked, and his cousin nodded much to his surprise.
"It seems as much. Lady Gwin insisted in having me as one of her champions, and so I am on the lists," and that was not good. Not good at all.
"Well, there goes our chance of winning," and the words slipped out of his mouth on instinct, as both his cousin and Ser Duncan turned towards him at once for different reasons.
"Why?" Ser Duncan asked.
"Well, because he is a very famous knight," he made an excuse rather quickly.
"They he is Breakspear come again," and he really was. Aegon had seen him ride in a few tournies, and it was not just talent. His father would not just praise him for his talents.
But even he had said that he had not seen a better rider than him, including himself and his own brother. It was why Aerion was so jealous of him, and why the two of them clashed as much as they did, for his cousin had what Aerion had always wanted.
Their father's respect and attention.
He was the son he never had, and any time any of them would make a mistake their father would always compare them to his former squire and his virtues.
"He even slew, the Vulture King," he added, and before Ser Duncan could say anything more, a giant shadow came over them.
"If it isn't the man of the hour, the matchless Prince himself," and Aegon looked up to see a tall broad man looking down at him, wearing a fine yellow tunic with a stag embroidered in the chest.
His hair were black, with a hint of white in them and there was a wild expression on his face.
"It is good to see you, Lord Lyonel," his cousin got up and greeted the Lord of Storm's End.
"I could say the same, especially after hearing that you would be joining us in the lists," and the man laughed.
"I have long wished to test my mettle against you. Perhaps tommorow shall be the day," and the Laughing Storm was a great knight himself, and was famous for taking on strong opponents and then beating them bloody.
"It would be an honor to test my metal against yours," his cousin agreed, as he turned towards Ser Duncan.
"Same, but before that what say you and your friend join me for war," and he slapped his brother's and Ser Duncan's shoulders, and then dragged them out of the tent, and them men had gotten their hands on a rope somehow.
"Come I have need of your strengths my lord, and after we will wash down war stories with fine wine and ale," and Aegon joined in as well, as they began to pull, and war against one another.
They won, and then they were in Lord Baratheon's pavilion drinking and dancing as the men made merry. Aegon could see why they called the man the Laughing Storm, as he stumbled towards them with shaky steps.
"Now come on, my Prince tell us about your war," and many a gazes turned towards his cousin.
"Tell us about the girl whose beauty had you ensnared in those Red Mountains for two years," one of the knights, asked. He was too far gone in his cups, to be so brazen but everyone was drunk.
Well, everyone except him and Matarys.
"Yes, spill the beans, my Prince. Tell us of her tits and her ass," The Lord of Storm's End asked as he sat down besides his cousin.
"We met only once," he began, as he took a sip of his wine.
"It was six months after I had joined the army, and we were beginning to push back against the enemy. I led a small group of thirty men to a village that was being raided, and when we came upon it all I saw was death," and the tent grew silent at those words.
He saw Ser Duncan's head snap towards his cousin.
"She lay in a corner of a house, with her back cut open, as she lay there folded on a babe too weak to cry out. I found her an hour after walking into the village," and no one dared to speak anything.
No one.
"She saw me, and handed me the babe. I told her of my station. I told her to hold on, and yet she was far too gone, yet before she left in the Stranger's embrace she begged me to protect her child," and he scoffed slightly.
"The babe died a day later, but on that day I made a promise to kill the man responsible. I made a promise to make sure that such a tragedy would never repeat itself, and so I stayed in those wretched mountains," and there was absolute silence, until Lord Baratheon rose, and raised his hand into the air.
"TO YOUR FUCKING PRINCE!"
"AYYYYYYYYY!"
.
.
.
And so they danced and drank wine until there was none to drink, and then Ser Duncan led them out of the stall, and he was stumbling like a fool as Aegon tried to steady him, yet he could barely reach his hips.
"Come my Prince, there is one more place I wish for you to visit with me," and Matarys smiled.
"Lead the way, Ser Duncan the Drunk," and the man drapped his hand over his shoulder, as he led them through the stalls.
"My squire was no help to me in this. I hope you can change that," and Matarys frowned as he turned towards him.
"She is perfect you know," he added in a daze, and Matarys finally understood his intentions, and then the next second they were outside of a near empty Pupeteer's den, and he stopped there at the entrance as a woman walked out of the tent.
"The show is ove..." yet she stopped at once as she saw him.
"My Prince," she was afraid, and most small folk were.
"Tall," Duncan uttered, and he was completely gone by then.
"I apologise for bothering you at this unghastly hour, my lady. But this one here insisted that he had to show me a perfect woman he had found," and she looked towards Duncan with an innocent smile, before another voice came from behind.
"Who is it Tanselle?" and then another burly man walked out of the tent.
"My Prince..." and then suddenly the man beside him hit the ground, and began to snore as Matarys sighed.
"Could we borrow your tent, my lady?"
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