When they emerged from the Dragonpit, the salt wind off Blackwater Bay brushed across their faces. Skaði still bore tear tracks upon her cheeks, dried but unmistakable, while Prince Aegon walked beside her in silence, his expression stiff and oddly hollow.
She had explained everything to him inside.
In hindsight, Aegon thought bitterly, it might have been better had she said nothing at all.
The more Skaði spoke, the more words poured forth in her blunt, artless manner, the more completely speech deserted him.
He had expected her to be moved.
He had even imagined, with no small measure of self satisfaction, that she might be so overwhelmed that she would kneel before him, swear her life and loyalty, and regard him as her savior.
Such scenes were not uncommon in the stories of kings and conquerors.
Yet in all his calculations, he had overlooked a single, fatal detail.
For all her astonishing professional knowledge, Skaði's mind was not yet fully formed. Her emotions did not follow the rules of adults, nor the careful restraint of courtiers. She was still a child in spirit, no matter how terrifying her strength.
And in the end, he had paid the price himself.
The memory returned unbidden. The sudden, crushing embrace. The air forced from his lungs as her arms closed around him in gratitude and excitement, squeezing with a force that nearly cracked bone. For one brief, humiliating moment, Aegon had truly thought he might die there, smothered by affection.
Her strength was monstrous.
It rivaled even that of Hugh, yet Hugh was a grown man in his prime. Skaði was not yet fourteen. She was, by every measure, still a girl.
"Skaði," Aegon said at last, breaking the silence as they descended the stone steps, "would you wish to become a knight and fight for me?"
The question came suddenly, even to himself.
He did not deny her value. If nothing went awry, her abilities were precious beyond measure. Yet skills, even rare ones, could be taught. With proper training, discipline, and guidance, Skaði could become a formidable warrior in the years to come.
Perhaps even stronger than Hugh.
The sort who never missed her mark.
Skaði shook her head without hesitation. "I do not wish to be a knight. I only want to forge."
She paused, then added earnestly, "But if Your Highness needs me, I will become a gladiator and fight for you on the battlefield."
Aegon stopped short.
"A gladiator?" he repeated, genuinely stunned. "Why a gladiator?"
"Because gladiators are very strong," she said simply. "But even the strongest gladiator in Tyrosh is no match for me. I once crushed the head of a gladiator champion with one hand."
Her voice did not boast. It merely stated fact.
"I was very afraid," she continued. "I could not stop crying. But I had to fight. If I did not go, my master would punish me by refusing me food for three days."
As she spoke, her expression tightened, and her eyes grew distant, clouded with old terror. The memory had not faded.
It had happened little more than a year ago.
Her owner in Tyrosh had made a wager with a rival merchant over control of a lucrative market. The terms were simple and brutal. Each side would produce a gladiator. The fight would be to the death. The winner would claim the market.
But before the match could begin, her master's chosen champion died suddenly.
Panic followed. Pride and gold were at stake. Backing out was unthinkable.
So Skaði was sent into the arena.
That day, the stands had been packed. Thousands upon thousands of voices roared as one, a wall of sound that froze her in place. Tears streamed down her face, unstoppable, as she stood beneath the open sky, small amid the sand and blood.
She had wanted to flee.
Only when her master leaned close and whispered his threat did she move. Three days without food. Hunger had always been her master's favorite weapon.
So she advanced, sobbing all the while, and wrapped her hand around the head of the opposing gladiator.
She crushed his skull.
The roar of the crowd had become a distant echo.
When Skaði finished speaking, Aegon drew a long, steady breath.
Crying while crushing the skull of a gladiator champion with bare hands.
He found himself wondering, with a chill that crept down his spine, what that champion had seen in his final moments. A weeping child. Tears falling as his world collapsed.
The thought left him deeply unsettled.
The seventh moon of the year 120 After Conquest arrived in uneasy silence.
In six days' time, Prince Aegon would be formally betrothed to his sister Helaena.
The Round Table chamber on Drakoncrest was lit by morning sun and guttering candles when Aegon took his seat. Scrolls lay stacked before him, wax seals broken, ink still fresh.
He reviewed the latest reports with a tightening jaw.
Loren had returned from Tyrosh with eighty six thousand souls.
With Drakoncrest's existing population, the island now housed more than ninety thousand people.
Clothing them. Feeding them. Housing them. Moving them.
The burden crashed down upon him all at once.
Supplies that had once seemed abundant were vanishing at a pace that bordered on the absurd. Granaries emptied visibly. Warehouses that had been packed to the rafters now echoed with hollow space.
Even the twenty cargo ships loaned by House Lannister had barely slowed the drain.
Nearly a hundred thousand refugees, most of them poor and half starved. Forget farming tools. The sheer amount of food consumed each day was staggering beyond reason.
Aegon pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed his face.
He had miscalculated.
By his estimates, Drakoncrest's reserves should have lasted a full month. In reality, they would be exhausted in less than half that time.
"The plan must be moved forward again," he muttered. "Gods help me."
Half an hour later, Arryk arrived at last, breathless and flushed as he took his seat.
"My apologies, Your Highness. I am late."
"I understand," Aegon said mildly. "Do not work yourself into an early grave. It would be a shame for history's first White Knight to die of exhaustion."
Laughter flickered briefly around the table, easing the tension.
"Enough," Aegon said, straightening. "Let us speak of serious matters."
"The Stepstones remain on course. Tyrosh is under close watch and cannot act freely. Therefore, I intend to release word to the outside world."
He paused.
"We will purchase fifty thousand gold dragons' worth of grain, farming tools, ships, and young livestock."
At once, Kraken frowned.
"Your Highness, our port is not yet complete. With its current capacity, this is dangerous. Moreover, while Tyrosh is blockaded, Myr and Lys are not. Nor the Disputed Lands."
"If we loosen control now, ill intentioned forces will slip through. They will stir chaos and give Tyrosh room to breathe."
"The Triarchy will not miss such a chance. Nor will Dorne. Nor certain parties in King's Landing."
He did not finish the thought.
He did not need to.
Too many eyes watched Aegon with eager anticipation, hoping to see him fail.
Daemon Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon had once failed to secure the Stepstones together. What right did Aegon have to succeed where they had not?
If Aegon triumphed, subdued the Triarchy, and checked Dorne, it would deal a humiliating blow to several prominent figures aligned with the Blacks.
Kraken assumed the worst of human nature because, more often than not, the worst proved true.
Aegon nodded. "You are correct. But the port must still be opened. Our supplies are nearly gone."
Arryk spoke next. "Your Highness, this is a critical moment. Stability is paramount. Per your orders, ten thousand men are already clearing land on Grey Gallows Isle."
"If supplies are the issue, we can hire cargo ships to purchase what we need. We lack goods, not gold."
Yet Aegon shook his head.
"Drakoncrest must open its port."
"Hiring ships is inefficient, and we lack the time. Better to draw merchants to us."
"Let word spread. Only merchant ships from Braavos and the Seven Kingdoms may dock at True Dragon Port. Increase patrols."
"Hugh will watch Tyrosh closely. Sunfyre will stand ready above the harbor."
He allowed himself a thin smile.
"Rats in the gutter cannot cause much trouble."
"It is decided. After my engagement feast, I will go to Braavos myself."
"Their shipyards are unmatched. Order fifty cargo ships and thirty warships to begin with."
Kraken stared at him, astonished. "Your Highness, that sum is enormous. We must still purchase supplies, pay wages, and issue loans."
"Our gold will not last long."
Aegon waved the concern aside.
"Who says we are poor? We are wealthy beyond measure."
He tapped the table once.
"Is Tyrosh not sitting before us, ripe for the taking?"
"I lack the manpower to occupy it fully, but nothing prevents me from plundering it."
To build Drakoncrest swiftly, he needed reckless investment. Gold and people.
As for where to find them, the answer lay plainly before him.
Tyrosh was a fat beast, bound and waiting on the block.
And Aegon had never feared getting his hands bloody.
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A/N:
Read ahead on Patreon, 22 advance chapters available, with the first 2 free.
patreon.com/Captain_Lag
Also a little announcement-I just released a new fanfic, Dance of the Dragons: Reborn as Aegon the Dragonbane, So do check it out!
that's it I guess, happy reading!!