He didn’t bother to cloth himself any further against the chilled air. From the livestock pens he took only his boots and Shepherd’s staff. The young boy who had taken over the duty after Kirith’s selection as a Spearwife, had come down with a fever in recent days. Taken to the healer’s hut, the young Griff himself had volunteered for the responsibility. More than ever, the crook felt welcome and wanted within his grasp. Passing through the central encampment they found food and further furs for themselves, the lighter of which Griff draped around his own shoulders. Sitting again beside one another in the company of the Heart Tree in the familiar wierwood, more awake and more alert, the silver-haired boy listened to his friend’s plea.
“Don’t you believe me?” She had asked him with such sincerity he couldn’t bring himself to admit to her that he did not. A forlorn expression overtook his face instead, in place of an answer.
“And don’t say it’s just another dream. You said so yourself — they’re not just dreams. Yesterday night, you told me that I’d found out things you’ve never told me through that nightmare.” She continued.
“So I did.” He admitted quietly, his face unchanging.
“Well, whatever you do, I’m going.” She insisted in rebuttal.
“Whatever I do?” He repeated.
Only then did it occur to Griff that he was the answer to every missing hole in her dream-or-vision-or-madness induced plot. Where Kirith had neither boat, nor the skills with which to sail one North, the son of Griff possessed both. Though provisions and tools were difficult to come by on the small island, he had easy access to all which were required. The only piece of the puzzle left missing was the destination itself, the only remaining ingredient to this recipe for doom being Griff’s — no, Aegon’s — faith in the heading she gave. While there might have been nothing more in this world that Aegon Targaryen wanted than to abandon the Kingdom he was chained to and flee with this touched wildling girl, something in him resisted her siren-like call. As if a deeper knowing had taken command of his heart, he felt a foreboding at her words. To answer to them, would be the end of him. He could feel it in his bones.
“When would you even go? The long summer is over and winter is coming, but you would leave and go walking headfirst into it?” He asked her.
“Soon. Maybe even before you head South.” She replied at once, a satisfied sort of smirk taking her pretty lips, breaking Aegon beneath the weight of his instinct-feeling.
“If you go by yourself, you’ll die Kirith.” The young man told her matter-of-factly. “And if you don’t die, then you certainly won’t make it back. In which case, you’ll die slowly.” The gratified expression she wore on her face at his turmoil was enough to give tell to her ability to manipulate. For she, above all others, knew that he would not let her go along — he would not let her go without him.
“Boy!” Came a voice, booming across the open space. At once the young man knew it to be his Knight, Rolly. Unlike his father, his protector was not afraid of the weirwood trees. Trees are just trees, he would say. Of course, a boy from the Reach would have seen more monstrous and formidable trees than those in the Skagosi woods; trees so big and ancient it would be impossible to cut them down even with a hundred men assigned to the labour.
“Time for yer lessons.” He explained, stating the purpose of his presence before it was even asked. Despite the early hour, the Knight was chipper, too much so in fact. At once, his charge’s gaze narrowed marginally in suspicion without giving voice to his concerns. “Sorry, girl.” The ginger-haired man offered as an aside to the young woman seated beside him.
“Yes, fine, just a moment.” The swordsman-in-training replied hurriedly, waving a hand to halt Ser Rolly a stone’s throw or so away from the pair. “Do not go.” He hissed at her firmly, taking her by the shoulders. Pausing he considered his words for only a moment before saying, “do not go, without me.” Releasing her shoulders he moved to follow his newly appointed member of his Kingsguard to their sparring lessons. “I’ll speak with you again tonight. Wait for me.” He asked of her as he stepped over the logs around the cool, sparkling pool. “And put on that necklace I gave you.” He added, half-joking but also meaning the jab sincerely. After all, he had been told that the ruby would protect it’s wearer, this being his reason for purchasing it as a gift for Kirith.
“Not to worry, girl,” Rolly called to her from over his shoulder, putting an arm around that of Aegon. “We’ll find a way t’smuggle ye’ South.” He accompanied the promise with a wide, toothy grin and a squeeze of his bicep around Aegon’s neck. The silver haired boy smiled quietly himself in return before carrying his smile over his own shoulder, giving it instead to Kirith.
She would not leave without him. He would not let her.
After his sword lessons with Rolly, and his afternoon chores with the livestock, he made for his evening teachings with Haldon. Walking to the Shy Maid, Aegon still carried the sword on his hip that Duck had brought with him when collecting the young man. Unlike most Westerosi men, Aegon did not have a sword he favoured, instead often choosing the worst blade in a collection for himself. He believed that skill made the swordsman, not the blade and finer steel should be reserved for those who needed the assistance of an easy swing in combat. Rather, it was the Shepherd’s staff that he carried with him still, sat across his shoulders with his wrists dangling over their curve, that he favoured. Whistling as he crossed the stony beaches and onto the dock, his eyes couldn’t help but settle on the small dingy hanging against the side of the Shy Maid. Her petite child stared back at him temptingly, Kirith’s words echoing in his mind.
She’ll leave with or without you, a voice whispered to him in the dark of the setting sun. The clopping of his boots along the wood of the docks halted, the voice seeming to come from right beside him, or rather perhaps within him.
Will you let her go? Will you let her go and die? the voiced urged, causing Aegon to pull the staff from his shoulders and hold it in a defensively manoeuvrable grip. Turning about himself in circles, keen purple eyes roamed the tree line and still waters for signs of an attacker, perhaps a monster. When his gem-stone gaze fell only on the fat raven, his blind hollow eye peering at the startled young man, his shoulders fell in relief.
“Oh, it’s you.” He said to it, watching as it turned it’s head this way and that. “That’s not you trying to scare me, is it?” He asked the bird, and while the question was rhetorical it inspired a loud caw! from the bird’s black beak, causing Aegon to jump in spite of himself.
“Blasted thing.” The young man cursed, striking the post on which it perched with his staff, forcing it to take flight and cease it’s wordless taunting.
Climbing the ladder onto the deck of the Shy Maid and crossing it’s breadth, Aegon swung open the doors to Haldon’s cabin without ceremony as he so often did. However, this time he was halted at the door by the sight of his father, or rather his adoptive-father, his arm exposed to the half-Maester. He had interrupted them in the midst of a treatment, a treatment for the malady that Duck had warned about. This warning did not prepare him for the sight of his guardian’s ruined arm. While Jon’s skin was of a pale hue naturally, the colour of the skin taken by the scale was a sickly, lifeless shade. It were as though the man was dying, death spreading from the place it had touched. In truth, of course, that is exactly what was happening.
“It’s spreading.” Their charge noted, eyes on the flaked, stone-skin that Jon attempted to cover in vain. Replacing his sleeve over the partially finished wrappings, no doubt doing more harm than good, he turned to Aegon with a hopeless proud look upon his aging face.
“Nothing’s spreading, son. I’m fine.” He assured him falsely.
“Your dying.” The boy nearly grown to man corrected. He had not the heart to argue Jon his claim for parentage this time around.
“Not yet.” He corrected in return, though he spoke the words on the breath of a sigh. Evidently, the copper haired man had no heart left in him to argue either.
“The taking is slow, child.” Haldon explained, rising from the table to place a comforting hand on his liege’s arm. “We have time yet to see Ser Jon healed. More miraculous things have been done before.” He assured him.
“Haldon, do you mind if my father and I have the room?” He asked politely.
“Of course, child. We’ll begin your tutelage when you’re ready. Today, we discuss geography.” Without fuss, the un-chained man dismissed himself to an anteroom off the main cabin. On his way he plucked a large tome and parchment, as was his way to never miss an opportunity for study. The loose ties of his hair bind trailed behind him as he floated his way from their presence, giving them privacy for their much-awaited conversation.
“Geography.” Jon repeated bitterly, a look of mock disgust on his face at the notion of the subject. The comment was one intended to lighten the mood, a true fatherly act in the face of a difficult moment.
“I’d rather have greyscale.” Aegon replied in banter. Both men cracked smiles and awkward laughs to one another as they seated themselves across each other. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked at once.
“I didn’t want you to worry.” The Lord Connington explained with a wrinkled, grief-ridden brow. “All I’ve ever wanted was to fight for you, my boy. Hard to admit that I might not make it there.” With a shrug he cast his gaze down to his plagued appendage.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my father?” Aegon pressed.
At that, his caretaker was given pause. Meeting his focus again he twisted his lips into a wry grin saying, “I didn’t think you’d understand.” Reaching out, Jon placed his good hand against Aegon’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Though now, I see you do. In fact, you might be right after all. I expect you’ll come to understand love better than I ever did.” He admitted.
“Is it wrong to love her?” He asked. For a moment, he was a young boy again inquiring as to why the sky was blue. Only now, he was practically a man, and answers the likes of ‘we’re all living inside a blue-eyed giant’ wouldn’t suffice anymore.
“No, son. It isn’t.” Jon answered honestly. “But you are a King, and she won’t be the last girl to love you back neither.”
“Do I have to want another girl?” He asked, still unsatisfied with the cryptic response.
“I suppose you don’t, Aegon.” Came his sobering reply, pulling his hand away from his fostered son again as he leaned back in his chair. “You are a King, whatever truth is, it is of your design. We are beneath your command, aren’t we?” Flicking his eyebrow upward, the pair recollected in silence how the hidden King had declared his role to his Hand the night before.
“Are you?” He asked.
“Let me tell you my truth, son. The entire world is beneath your command. You need only give your order.” Jon confessed. “Your father believed you were a thing of myth and legend, a Promised Prince. I believe the same.”
Later, with the deck of the Shy Maid illuminated by the stars in the sky, Aegon paced the familiar landscape lost in thought. He had completed his lessons with Haldon, much of their geography exercises centred around those lands most easily conquerable. Thus, the subsequent discussion focused on conquest and not educational understanding. After his lessons, the young man had sat with his adoptive father whilst their supposed Maester treated his diseased flesh before seeing him to bed within the ship’s barracks. Haldon intended to observe Jon throughout the night and take notes on any potential night-terrors he might be experiencing as a result of greyscale. Leaving them to each other’s company Aegon had found himself standing on the deck of the Shy Maid, staring with crossed arms at the ropes which kept the ship’s dingy in place.
Will you let her go? The now familiar voice asked him from somewhere far-off and yet close-by, like in a dream. And at that moment, Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, decided his truth and of course it was the only truth he’d ever known.
Kirith.
And so he severed the ropes, and lowered the dingy.
