Game of Thrones: Path of the Hungry Bear-Chapter 92: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 6

Chapter 18: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 6

So much for the magic of love. A part of me wanted to say Lythene just to be hurtful, but instead I chose to grab her wrist before she made a mistake in the moment that cost us both dearly. My character growth runneth over.

"Alyssa." I growled out, then began dragging her to the bed.

"No!" She shrieked and pulled out of my loose grip, "You will not try to fuck your way out of this!"

I've rarely seen this woman loose her composure, but right now Helaena's eyes looked wild and her breasts heaved as her female mind bounce around her skull. She looked fit to strangle me with the thick braided fall of hair she carried over her shoulder.

"Try?" I mused on the absurdity of the word, "Woman, please."

She'd been puddy in my hands back when I looked like the missing link between the First Men and the Brindled Men. Now I am the apex of masculine Valyrian beauty. The idea that a woman can hold a grudge and look at me at the same time is patently false. They are not made for fury over desire. Selfish, shortsighted. Useful.

"I can see the misogyny bouncing around that thick skull!" she yelled, still in womanly rage ready to destroy herself to get a lick in.

I respect that in nature, but for most including herself it is a delusion. This third life is neat, but if I die strapped to torture wrack or in bed smothered by great titties it matters not. I've died fulfilled twice already and this third life is just a journey for me, but her here with me... perhaps this changes things. I am not an island unto myself anymore.

I closed the gap and looked down on her, "Do you seek to make this harder for the both of us, woman? Once your body quivers and your mind hazes this will all be easier for me to maneuver us past."

"This is not something to 'maneuver past'!" she declared, foolishly, all problems are to be solved, or moved around, otherwise you are stuck with them, languishing, like losers.

What I would give to get on a boat with the boys and do some total war right now. Nothing like ninety days of slaughtering everything you can find to help give you the patience and perspective to sit in the pocket for these social issues. One might think its easier considering our shared circumstance, everyone knows their place in this relationship, but some how emotions manage to come about like thorns on the vine, and somehow I'm once again left to wonder 'Feelings, why do you feel so feel'.

Damn it.

"Do not make more of this than there is." I ordered her in a calm and reasonable tone, as if talking to a child about to throw itself off a cliff, "You will not like what you seek out of this."

Most of the time I hack people to death and feed them to fish when they piss me off. A wife is not to be hacked to death, but I understand the temptation.

"And what do you think I seek, oh great barbarian prince?" Helaena demanded with hands of hips, a power pose.

"Quarrel." I answered immediately.

"Why did you say her name?" Helaena burned her anger into the tone of her inquiry.

Oh woman, where for art thy wisdom.

"One would think by now that you'd know better than to ask of me what you truly do not wish to know." I glared down at her, then decided to give her exactly what she wants, "Let me remind you, who I am. She was the only woman I ever loved."

Helaena took it like a gut punch, her lips trembling and those large eyes tearing up. I can't remember if I ever saw Alyssa cry. Maybe in pain when her body readied to deliver our children. My magic was weaker then in certain aspects, growing in power as I accumulated more and more throughout my life.

Despite the pain she rallied quickly and stated, "Was."

"I killed her." I dropped in before she inflated herself on smugness, "And unless you want me to detail the horror of her final hour, then you will move on from this."

She didn't seem surprised by my admission, instead, thoughtfully lowered her gaze.

"I don't remember something like that on your armor." she stated with a frown.

"Hmmm..." I responded obliquely.

I'd not known anyone else knew the secret of the gilt steel, my past, my tale, my resume. Sometimes I don't even like looking at it myself. The central image on my breastplate, the end on the Hightower, left a bad taste in my mouth. So much work, even this third life as a prince felt in some ways like getting ripped off. The figure I see in the fire a mockery of what I should be, but am not. I confronted many facets of the multifarious esoteric evil in this world and destroyed them more thoroughly than any other hero possibly could. I labored longer and harder than Heracles and was denied my proper throne.

Never again. If the heavens don't want me, I'll live like a god on earth.

"She is the woman with the sun and spear in hand." I explained to my sister-wife.

"The bear man didn't kill the Martell woman." Helaena shook her head, "He killed the giant dog and the manticore that killed her."

"I knew he was coming." I informed her, "I could have stopped him, easily, not even an inconvenience. I beat him like a man fighting a child when we fought. I took his role away from him and made him feel what it was like to be normal in the face of a monster. I let him kill her, and collected the moral currency afterwards."

"What great love, Aegon." Helaena mocked, happy to have some traction for her attack, "If that's how you end things with a woman you love, I'm glad I caught fever before it became expedient to rid yourself of me."

"It was great love." I nodded in agreement, "I loved her enough to let her make her own choices, and to let her go. She didn't choose me. She didn't choose my protection, and thus became just another tool in my ascension."

"I hope it hurt." she hissed.

"It did." I informed her, "Far more than your death."

Her lips trembled once again after the turnabout.

"Did Njada's death at least mean something to you?" she asked, voice hitching and eyes already lightly leaking.

I took her face and head in my hands and looked deeply into her huge wet purple eyes, "Thank you. I'd forgotten her name."

"Oh you beast!" she cried, fat tears leaking down her face.

She thrust her face into my belly and wept. I held her as I eased down to sit on the bed. She wailed as I stroked her hair until she cried her last and slept. Leaving me to clean up all the snot and tears. Normally I have people for this, but for once I've done something I mind other people knowing about. Best they all think we had a wonderful evening.

I arose the next day retained and ready to assert dominance at the archery contest immediately following the breakfast feasting. My family took Helaena's absence in stride and we travelled together to the shooting range which rightly possessed far less seating than jousting stadium and melee arena. One might think competition shooting wouldn't have any morons loosing out of bounds, but morons abound, so the spectators remained all behind us.

The bow in my hand was carved from Balerion's bone by one of the few master bowyers capable of such in this world. Thankfully the beast left behind a great mountain of bones, for even with all the skill in the craft the man needed a few attempts to get the means and methods correct. The result of all that patience and patronage, the finest bow in the world, far finer than my old weirwood and horn bow, and that thing brought me many a victory.

It almost felt sinful drawing back the curved black arms of the weapon without my former power to align the trajectory with destiny, but my eyes are far keener than in my prior life, and factors such as distance and speed come naturally. I've never missed a shot in this life on a stationary target at any range my bow made capable, and with this dragon bone bow, capable of far outstripping even goldenhearts, the outcome of every archery contest is the same as it ever was, the lack of prescience not stopping me a bit from siphoning gold via my best sport. A man at least has a puncher's chance against me in the lists or the melee, but in archery, none shall ever overtake me.

I admired the skill of the man who took second place, managing a shot out to one hundred and fifty paces. Unfortunately, Lord Samwell Blackwood was not taking offers of patronage for his skill set, and I wouldn't have offered even if he did. Something about the Blackwoods made me think the Brackens have the right of it. They seem to always pick the right side of history, even if they often suffer for it. It reeks of low level greensight to me. It also smacked of incompetency, for despite always being the 'good guys' they never destroyed their hated rivals, making the Brackens even more appealing to me. Even in the face of magic and 'heroes' they soldier on, refusing to cede the field to the wretched tree worshipers. Their manly determination filled me with determination, and when a Bracken knight dared to ride against me later in the day I made sure to pack my full respect into my lance.

The thunderous crack of collision sent the man flying out of his saddle and his horse tumbled to the ground screaming. Fifteen hundred pounds of horse covered in steel and barded and tasseled in red, gold, and brown fell on its ass then tipped back, kicking its legs in erratically. Far from the horse lay the knight, still as death. The crowd silenced their cheers as the man failed to rise, or even move, and his squire rushed into the lane, unlocking his helmet and lifting it away.

"He lives!" he screamed as he confirmed the man still breathed, and a team of well instructed menials carefully moved the injured man onto a stretcher and carried him away to be treated for the damage gained in glorious competition with me.

Normally maesters see to the injured in these high society events, but I've received back the first fruit of a training and education program worked out with Oldtown. The Citadel took on a hundred acolytes under my patronage, and trained them in battlefield medicine. A simple two year program in which the applicants undergo a compressed version of a Maester's training to earn his links in healing, and the maesters are no frauds in the healing arts as an order despite the questionable competence of certain individual members who may or may not have made it all the way to Grand Maester.

Many applied for the opportunity presented, but only so many actually qualified. I put the healers who completed the coursework on retainer similar to my household knights, though not equal to them for knights are expected to maintain a small combat retinue. Without the gold, I'd be hard pressed to maintain my forces, but my lands are rich, and we've only just begun optimizing my income. Having a real healer in every hamlet and worksite in Dragonsreach capable of combating common injury, illness, and infection will pay for itself over time in a far more stable manner than my host of knights and soldiers. During my father's reign the latter are little more than excessively powerful law enforcement, and most lords outside the Dornish Marches and those in proximity to the Wall have let their combat capacity fade. Little need to spend 'wastefully' on warfighters in the peaceful Age of Dragons.

My grandfather spends influence ensuring that the realm knows I'm just a 'wasteful' young man obsessed with knights and chivalry. It blends well with my sister's rumor mill painting me as a tax happy tyrant, the paired propaganda gave me just enough grass to hide my growing serpentine form in. The realm hordes silver and silk while I horde steel, and soon enough I'll have the silver and silk too.

My sporting journey ended after bringing the Bracken knight within an inch of the Stranger. My second match of the day withdrew like a proper craven, sane man. With the wife missing out on the day - to many a ribald jest praising my prowess - I'm left to my own devices, and as oft the case during the down hours of big tourneys I've found myself entertaining my young cousins, sibling, and bastard nephews with tales of the many foreign lands I'd raided, invaded, and plundered in my last life. As usual they come with a score or so of children and a handful of adolescents, and even some adults, though usually the older crowd skips out on story time with Aegon. There is always that one exception whenever Baela and Rhaena are in the crowd. I get the feeling Corlys Velaryon smells me coming whenever he fixes me with his purple gaze in some attempt to intimidate me through intense focus, which most likely worked well on those who find the man intimidating. Despite that, game recognizes game and Corlys and I are awfully familiar for two people who only see each other a few times a year.

"Now Nefer is a big disappointment." I narrated from one of the final voyages of my last life, "The reputation for necromancy and sadism is all a big lie they peddle in an attempt to scare away the roving bands of homeless people that destroyed the rest of the Kingdom of N'ghai. Pathetic beat down people with little to take and less to offer. Their underground city is fun to explore for a day or so, built in ancient caverns carved out by a long gone river. Massive chambers linked by long tunnels. A few locations are open to the sky above, and long slender trees grow tall reaching up for that precious sunlight. Tiny little animals used to live in those gentle forests, but they've all long since been eaten." I paused, indicating an appropriate time for questions.

"How do homeless people destroy a kingdom?" asked one of my young cousins, somehow not particularly worldly despite her access to the man trying to burn a hole through my head with his eyes.

"It happens with startling regularity." I began the lecture, "You likely think of beggars, cripples, and orphans when you think of the homeless, but that is only because we live in a civil society. Just as we differ in Free Westeros from the evils of Slaver Essos in liberty, so too can civility differentiate peoples. There are many cultures in this world that reject the comforts and efforts of modernity, and instead choose to live their lives in primitive barbarism. In Westeros we have the Wildlings Beyond the Wall and the Hill Tribes and Mountain Clans in the Vale, as well as the vile treacherous Dornish whom merely mimic civility, but in their hearts are as rapacious and murderous as any dung covered glazed eyed brutes. All savages who reject and hate our beautiful order, and who spit on the authority of our King."

"If they disrespect our father, why don't we destroy them?" Daeron asked, the young man soon to become my squire so I best get to educating him quickly before his ignorance gets unsuitable for his age.

"It's our father's choice how he deals with those who do not pay him the proper obeisance." I educated the lad, "That said, we shouldn't have to live under the same sky as those filthy low down degenerate savages."

"Praise the King for his long-vision." Corlys snarled having found his opportunity to sink his verbal teeth in me, "For the world would be a far more empty and less interesting place if all thought as you do. Did not your own zorse, whom you love greatly, come to you as a gift from one of the 'bands of roving homeless people' you so deride?"

I turned my head and looked at the man, taking my time as if pondering the response, though I needed no time to ponder it, and after an appropriate time I answered, "Just because they're all worthless barbarians doesn't mean they don't have nice things to take from them, even if it's just the land they live on left fallow after dealt with rightly. Security is its own reward, everything else merely serendipity."

"Tell me, Prince Aegon." Corlys continued his attack, "As a man of such great martial prowess, with a dragon fierce at his side, there is little in the world that you fear, and you can say these people or those people are to be destroyed, and they shall be, but for the rest of us this is not the case, and we must live in the world as it is, not as we will it to be. What is the correct way to conduct ourselves, when we must abide?"

I smiled at the old man, who often threw little mind benders at me like this in our interactions since I threatened to kill him and his whole family in their home five years past. Water under the bridge between men like us.

"Such a fine question." I offered the man light praise then turned to my young audience, "The courageous answer is 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'. A method of conduct to promote a kinder world. Also a great way to die quickly in the world, and be laughed at afterwards for your naivety."

Chuckles rang out from my band of listeners and I continued, "So perhaps not courage, but another virtue should be looked too for the answer. Justice, perhaps?" my brother nodded his head along with a few other boys, many young men love justice, "The just answer is 'Do unto others as they do unto you'. A fair system to promote a fair world. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, even handed, but I say unto you now: Is that wise? An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, and only one in that exchange deserved to lose the eye, so is it truly fair, is it truly just? Perhaps it is, for we are men, not gods, and as Lord Velaryon so ably put it, 'we must live in the world as it is' not as it ought to be."

I leaned forward in my seat, and softened my tone while maintaining my volume as if to bring them all in on a secret, "Justice and Courage are fine virtues, but I love another above all others, can any of you guess it?"

"It's not temperance!" shouted Aemond from nearby, not among my audience, but merely in passing.

"Such betrayal!" I reeled back as if struck and held my breast while children laughed at my skilled mummery "From my own brother no less! What a spoilsport. Fine, I love prudence most of all virtues, and the prudent answer is: 'Do unto others before they do unto you'. That's how I cowed the filthy Dornish and the people of the Marches finally knew peace. I merely gave them a concentrated taste of their long protracted barbarity, and suddenly they discovered that they didn't like the taste of it all. In time they'll forget that taste, but that's fine. I'll handle it, because the real secret is:" I stage whispered this part, "I'm the biggest barbarian of them all."

I suddenly threw my hands up like raised bear claws and roared, "WHUGABUGA! WHUGABUGA! WHUGABUGA!" freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

And many small children squealed in delight or terror. Hard to differentiate at that age.

"So long, ya salty sea dog." I called my farewell to my story time assistant and made my exit into the larger ongoing feast.

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Leave it to Aegon to make a woman cry herself to sleep, not miss a wink, and go about his business the next day fine and dandy.

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