Days folded into weeks, and weeks into months, but life in the Prince's mansion on the shore of the Bay of Pentos flowed quietly, unhurriedly, and at the same time with great pleasure for Aegon. As a seasoned knight at another tournament, where he must demonstrate his valor and martial skill, dons plate and sits in the saddle to knock an opponent off his horse with his lance, so the Prince armed himself with stacks of writing paper and quills and with the ardor of a discoverer rushed to attack the Karlaris library. Meeting Septon Barth's Unnatural History, Aegon was touched, remembering with light sadness the old man with whom he measured the carcass of the Black Dread by steps, and promised himself to send the Prince a copy of his Notes on the Last Days of Balerion.
Spending several days on a cursory acquaintance with the sections of the library interesting him, Aegon with the methodicalness of a true pupil of the Citadel set to copying the books and scrolls that interested him. Having not bad experience, in a couple of weeks he copied for Viserys the memoirs of a Pentoshi Magister whom business brought to the City several years before the Doom; their value lay in the fact that the enterprising Magister suffered from terrible pedantry and described the architectural wonders seen extremely scrupulously; though the Prince himself perceived the information rather detachedly, there was no doubt that his elder brother would find among them what would be useful to him. When the work was nearing completion, a gift arrived from the Prince and Magister Lenaris—he sent copies of the plans of the City kept by him and, generously, the originals of drawings of several palace facades.
After architecture followed military chronicles, letters of Valyrian generals to Archons and their families, Notes on the Second Spice War by Tey sekar Narareon, who turned the Rhoynish port Saroy into ash and dust, and its inhabitants into slavery, Fourteen Stratagems in a Siege by the authorship of the same Narareon, and the military-philosophical treatise The Art of Victory, in which Aegon Anogarion convinced his readers that the enemy is defeated already at the very moment when the warrior decides he will certainly win. Narareon's works were indirectly mentioned in books and scrolls Aegon read in the Citadel and on Dragonstone, but to meet a full copy of his memoirs of the war with the Rhoynar in Pentos was a true gift of the heavens, which Daemon would definitely have appreciated.
Had it not been for Dennis, literally dragging his suzerain into the courtyard of the estate so he might stretch and train with Candle, the Prince would have spent all days long within the four walls of the library.
"You are a sluggard, my Prince," the knight once accused Aegon.
"I am merely absorbed in my work," he waved him off. "Do not hinder, but better help."
"I shall help," he quickly agreed and, snatching a training sword from the scabbard, lightly poked the suzerain in the side.
"What the hell!.." swore Aegon, rearing up like a dragon.
"Defend yourself, my Lord!"
"Go to the Seven Hells!"
To this Dennis made an intricate feint and nearly grazed the Prince's cheek with the sword; the youth barely managed to recoil and put up his cane in defense—the blunt blade left not even a notch on the weirwood. The playful scuffle grew into regular training, and work on copying books slowed down.
On one of the days of the ninth month of the year 105, when three months had passed since the start of Aegon's journey, the host returned to the estate, but not alone, but with a couple of hundred armed riders. Kallio Karlaris looked irritated to the extreme and, scarce greeting the guests, retired to his chambers with advisors and spoke with them for a long time about something in raised tones.
"It seems our stay here is becoming burdensome," remarked Aegon.
"Looks like it," agreed the sworn shield. "Do you wish to leave?"
"I suppose we shall have to leave blessed Pentos. In any case, it is worth being ready for them to show us the door."
The situation cleared up at supper, abundant in Pentoshi fashion, but so uncharacteristically gloomy.
"I beg you to forgive me, dear friends," Kallio pronounced in a guilty tone. "I was ungracious to you today and did not pay you due attention upon arrival. This is unworthy."
"We understand everything," the Prince assured him. "There is nothing more important than state affairs."
"Especially if these state affairs can cost you your life," the Prince chuckled crookedly.
"Are you in danger?" Dennis inquired in the most secular tone.
"I have been in danger from the moment of my election as Prince, but now... everything is much more serious than before."
The guests politely fell silent, occupying themselves with wine and viands, leaving Karlaris the opportunity to decide himself whether it was worth initiating them into the arisen circumstances in more detail.
"If the Prince of Pentos makes a decision that goes to the detriment of the city, he is sacrificed," Kallio delivered after some silence. Aegon and Dennis nodded as a sign that this information was known to them. "Magisters pass their sentence at a secret council, the decision must be unanimous."
"Did you participate in such?" inquired Aegon as if by chance.
"Only once, I had just become a Magister then," grimaced the Prince. "If it interests you, I voted 'against'. I believe in the Seven after all, though I am not a great righteous man."
"Only the High Septon is truly righteous," remarked the Prince piously, but Kallio was already speaking further:
"Today one of my friends warned me that the Magisters gathered for such a council. Twenty-two of them voted for my death and, worst of all, Lorrio was among them! To think only, my own blood betrayed me!.."
"Could this be somehow connected with..."
"No, our Westerosi affairs have nothing to do with it," Karlaris waved him off. "They wanted to sign the treaty long ago, and it is truly profitable for many, so the problem is not in it."
"Maybe our presence is too burdensome?" suggested Aegon.
Vermithor periodically showed himself over the Bay of Pentos and the hills around the city, scaring fishermen and shepherds; he was fed excellently, so he seemed to cause no damage, but the very fact of proximity to a fire-breathing beast could set the Magisters against the Prince and his guests.
"I doubt it," confidence in the host's voice diminished somewhat nonetheless. "Most likely, these are Myrish intriguers. We, you know, could not agree on new duties on our goods, and their ships... It is all too complicated, I do not want to plunge you into the depths of our politics. I shall say only that a change of power in Pentos will only benefit the Myrish."
The Prince's position is unenviable, Aegon clearly understood this. Even if he has enough supporters to prevent his execution, the very fact that the vote was held after all was an unambiguous hint to Karlaris: "Know that we are near; you are in our power; play for us and by our rules." The Prince could claim as much as he liked that the presence of a Westerosi Prince astride a Valyrian dragon does not affect his positions, but Magisters hold a knife to his throat, and they have their own opinion on this score; fortunately for Kallio, it was not consolidated; unfortunately for Kallio, this could quickly change.
If the Prince is overthrown after all, then the degree of safety and comfort which the travelers enjoyed from their very appearance in Pentos could be forgotten; at best they would be exiled from the city, at worst—they would try to kill them. Aegon wondered about the fate of the barely signed treaty, and, evaluating all probabilities, came to the conclusion that the new Pentoshi authorities would gradually cease to fulfill it, and relations with the Iron Throne would aggravate. Of course, Pentos alone will not climb into war, but if Myr is behind it too, and some Tyrosh...
War with them will greatly harm trade in the Narrow Sea, primarily the Velaryons—they have the largest turnovers,—and then everyone else. Corlys, of course, is a slippery sea reptile who has not renounced his ambitions, and he periodically had to be put in his place, but in this case a nasty trick done to him threatened to turn into a big nasty trick for all Seven Kingdoms, which means it should not be done. Preserving a loyal Pentos and a peaceful sea is still more important than flicking the Velaryons on the nose.
Aegon squinted at Dennis and, catching his gaze, raised an eyebrow in a mute question; he slightly shrugged, as if shifting responsibility from them to Aegon's shoulders, and rolled his eyes. The Prince made a decision, and his lips stretched into an anticipatory smirk of their own accord.
"Most Excellent Prince," called he, and the thoughtful silence hanging like a heavy canopy over the table collapsed. "Will you permit me to ask you a question?"
"Ask," cast Kallio indifferently, as if aged in the last few days.
"How great is the threat to your life?" for Karlaris, who had climbed to the peak of power, life and rule had become synonymous concepts; if one thinks, thought Aegon abstractly, then Pentos in this does not differ too much from the rest of the world.
"This assembly was a hint, a threat, a first warning... They reckon I shall come to my senses."
"And will you come to your senses?" the Prince inclined his head to the right shoulder, and his silver hair fell down in a wave.
"You offer me a choice between life and honor," answered Kallio to his hint with some bitterness, offendedly jerking his chin. "Though I am Andal by blood, I am no knight, no, my friend! You may despise me for faint-heartedness, but I like being Prince..."
"I would not think of despising you," reassured him Aegon. "But does it not seem to you, my friend, that the threat demands some answer?"
"The only answer they expect from me is a reception for the Myrish ambassador."
"So arrange it."
Karlaris looked at Aegon in bewilderment, nearly dropping a slice of juicy fig on his brocade clothes.
"Arrange a reception," repeated the Prince with a soft smile. "Right here, on your territory, for all Magisters. You may even invite the Myrish ambassador to it."
"A reception?" asked Kallio dully. "Here?"
"Here. If you wish, we shall help with the organization, right, Dennis?"
The sworn shield, enthusiastically tearing at a duck carcass stewed with prunes and red onions on his gilded plate, nodded confidently. The Prince fell silent, comprehending what he heard; Aegon heard abacus beads clicking in the Pentoshi's head, and saw scales swaying in his eyes.
"Perhaps you are right, my friends," drawled Karlaris. The brown eyes of the Andal and the green eyes of the Valyrian looked point-blank at each other; in any other situation, this would be a challenge on the verge of insulting a person of royal blood, but in politics one cannot do without them; it is easier to agree thus. "I shall arrange a reception. Here, in this estate. In honor..."
"In honor of our imminent departure," finished Aegon for him, not tearing his gaze away. "And since we are the occasion, we shall have to organize the reception too. That will be fair, do you not find?"
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