The King of Winters

Chapter-23

Aegon

Aegon A horse whickered impatiently behind him, from amidst the ranks of gold cloaks drawn up across the road. Aegon could hear the flapping of Rhaegal's wings from somewhere above as well. He had not wanted to keep his dragon away, especially now, but Lord Jon felt the Dornish might take it ill and a threat if the prince came out to escort them across the Blackwater with his dragon. 

My father should have met the Dornishmen himself, he reflected as he sat waiting, he would do this better than me, no doubt. Of late he heard nothing from the king from Braavos. No raven or word came from Braavos which made his mother sick with worry. It worried Aegon too, but nothing like how it worried his mother. Lyanna Stark has always been a strong woman, tough to the bone and hard to crack, but now she seemed lost, confused and awry. Ever since his uncle Viserys' death she had acted as a different women than the one he'd known his entire life. Where once were the grins, only grimaces could be seen now, her wild eyes always had a wary look about them, more often than not she spent her times in the godswood when she would spend time with her family in the past. And the absence of his father only made this worse. She kept herself locked in her rooms and when she wasn't locked in her rooms, she was in the godswood. He had hoped that she would at least come to welcome the dornishmen to King's Landing but she refused. Aegon didn't know what Prince Oberyn or any of the others in the Dornish party would take of that, an insult or arrogance? He never knew. 

He knew that his father was married to a Dornish princess before his mother, the sister to the ruling prince of Dorne. She had died in the war with his grandfather, apart from that he knew nothing of her. Though it was her own family coming here now, to the place where once she lived and now occupied by another in her place. 

He could see their banners flying as the riders emerged from the green of the living wood in a long dusty column. From here to the river, the kingswood stretched either side of them. Aegon faintly remembered the stories of the Kingswood brotherhood his father would tell him when he was a boy. Of the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, of the Smiling Knight, of Simon Toyne, of Wenda the White Fawn, of Oswyn Longneck who was hanged thrice, of Big Belly Ben, of Fletcher Dick, the greatest archer ever to set foot on earth and of Ulmer. He remembered them all, he even remembered their song from the stories. His father would sing it sometimes when he told him the story. That boy who heard those stories had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead. Or else he chose to become the Smiling Knight because Arthur Dayne was an outlaw worse than the Smiling Knight, a traitor who was loyal to his outlaw uncle. 

Too many banners, he thought sourly, as he watched the dirt kick up under the hooves of the approaching horses. The Martells brought half the lords of Dorne, by the look of it. He tried to think of some good that might come of that, and failed. 

 Aegon straightened in his saddle, trying to see the banners flowing in the wind.

The royal standard was to either side beside him, the great three-headed dragon on black, swaying gently in the wind.

He looked very much the prince today, in his black armor with ruby three-headed dragon coiling on the breastplate. It was expected of him as the crown prince and he had wanted to look his best when he welcomes his betrothed and her family. 

It was the orange banners he saw first. The sun and spear of House Martell of Sunspear. The Prince of Dorne. 

House Dalt of Lemonwood was next. Purple field strewn with lemons. 

He could see the vulture of Blackmont with a baby grasped in its talons as well. Though with the banner flapping in the wind the baby in its talons seemed nothing more than a white lump.