Chapter 122. Ser Arthur Dayne.

Chapter 122: Chapter 122. Ser Arthur Dayne.

Myrcella was glad to be alive; it was as if she’d been given a second chance. She remembered how the fever had felt as though it were burning her alive; the heat was intense. After a visit from Aegon, he wept before her and promised to find a cure at any cost. A day later, she began to improve; the heat that had tormented her grew faint and gentle.

She was still resting. Most of the time, she was in her chambers, reading a book the maester brought her. She didn’t understand why; her body was already healthy. She was sure she could jump onto the training grounds and cross swords with three men at once, though they would probably beat her without any trouble—after all, she had never touched a sword before.

She felt suffocated; a group of maids followed her closely at all times, reporting her every move to Aegon. It didn’t bother her that he knew what she was doing—she had nothing to hide from him—but the eyes watching her were annoying.

Her husband returned from the war. He was different. Her father used to tell her that the man who leaves is not the same as the one who returns. But she couldn’t help but miss the Aegon who would lie across her lap and let her stroke his hair, sometimes asking her to braid it; she had to learn how to braid his hair from Rhaenys.

"The king is here," said a Lannister guard at the door.

"Let him in," she squealed quickly, then composed herself. The maids were still staring at her; some pretended to be distracted, others did not.

Aegon entered, tall and gallant, the most handsome man in the kingdom. She was the lucky one to marry him. She gave him a sweet smile—not the practiced one she’d been taught, but one she showed only to him in private.

Since the King’s return, the two rulers had been sharing the bed with unparalleled fervor. Every night, and sometimes even during the day.

Aegon had missed her, Myrcella thought at first. She soon realized that what he was seeking was to plant his seed within her. Then she realized, ’He wants an heir,’ and she would not deny him that; to stabilize the kingdom, it was necessary for the lords to see who would succeed the king.

That day was no exception. Aegon took her and lifted her up; their lips met, melting into a kiss. It wasn’t tender or lustful—it was dominant. Lately, Aegon had been kissing her that way, as if seeking to reaffirm his control over her, to tell her she belonged to him.

At first, it seemed sweet to her; the king being obsessed with her was magnificent, it was every princess’s fairy tale. But there were times when she felt it was a sick obsession to control her.

"Aegon," she said, her voice soft as velvet, her body beginning to respond, "the maids are still here," she said, so he would order them to leave. The maids obeyed only the king.

He ignored her; his mouth moved to her neck and began to undo her dress. But the king was no maiden; he got lost among the laces and, in an act of desperation, simply lifted the dress while removing roughly everything that covered Myrcella’s modesty.

"Aegon?" she asked, confused. Aegon didn’t ignore her like that, not even after the war. "Aegon, Aegon!" she shouted at last; the king seemed to react then. "Tell them to leave," she asked.

"Out!" He gave only one word to the maids, who left with flushed faces.

Every time they were intimate, Aegon seemed to last less time; Myrcella blamed it on the stress of being the new king; she wanted to be understanding.

But when she watched him leave after the act, she felt a sharp pain in her chest.

Every day, Aegon was more different from the young man she remembered. Colder, more cynical, more controlling.

Myrcella closed her eyes, ignoring all the warning signs, all the different ways Aegon seemed to treat her. "It’s just a matter of time," she told herself, "he’ll come back once the whole kingdom is stable," she repeated. She adjusted her dress as the maids returned to the room.

The heart of a maiden in love is so beautiful that she will manipulate herself so as not to let the love she believes she has slip away.

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"R’hllor gives... but he gives nothing for free," Kinvara said to Aegon. Her ruby-like eyes looked deeply into his purple eyes. She had found him in the castle halls; two men in red tunics followed her. Arthur Dayne followed the king, his hand tense on his sword.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur heard Aegon ask.

"You seek an heir... you won’t get one, not from her," Kinvara said.

"Speak plainly," the king ordered.

"Your Grace, this is not the best place," the red woman began to walk; Aegon followed her. Arthur thought about how the king was following a priestess, just as Rhaegar had done.

The knight was already tired; he wanted nothing more than to hang up his sword. But he would never do that—his pride would not allow it. He wanted to die with Dawn in his hand. But he had never found a rival worthy of him. Not Jaime Lannister, nor Barristan Selmy. Maybe the King’s uncle can... but he’s far away from King’s Landing.

When he joined the King’s Guard, he wanted to be the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms—the most skilled, the most renowned. And he succeeded; songs are sung in his name throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Ah, if only the commoners knew the weight of the cloak. The contradiction of his oaths.

"How do you know I’m looking for an heir?" Aegon asked, too quickly, too carelessly.

Arthur almost shook his head. Aegon was a cold-blooded, pragmatic young man—or at least he pretended to be in public. Ask anyone if they had ever seen Aegon upset, and perhaps only Myrcella could answer in the affirmative. That he would show himself so careless in front of the Red Witch only showed that the young man in whom he had placed his faith was lost, now surrendered to R’hllor. Or so Arthur believed.

"The whole castle knows it; your visits to Queen Myrcella are the biggest gossip in the castle," the witch replied quickly. "The flames showed me as well," she said, pointing to a brazier. Arthur looked at the flames with boredom, hoping they would leap up and engulf him alive. By serving Rhaegar, he had accumulated enough sins to deserve a horrible death.

"The flames?" Arthur saw the doubt in Aegon’s eyes, as if he still distrusted the Red God. Perhaps there was still hope for him?

"They show a child, a man... silver hair, riding a black beast across green, fertile meadows that stretch to the horizon," the woman said.

"What... what does that mean?" Aegon asked, stepping closer to the flames.

"Nonsense. Just what the followers of R’hllor usually believe," Arthur raised his voice. Trying to keep the priestess from putting ideas into Aegon’s head. If there was still a chance-

"Silence!" Aegon roared, glaring at him with something close to hatred. Arthur had thought that perhaps this young king wasn’t as enamored with R’hllor as his father had been, that perhaps, if guided, he could be a good king. A good person. It seemed he was wrong. "Continue," he said to the priestess in a soft voice.

"Myrcella... only one life can save another," the priestess said, as if speaking a riddle.

"I don’t understand," Aegon seemed frustrated.

"Your heir will not come from the lioness. She fought so fiercely for her life that she lost the ability to bear children," she said. Her monotone voice unsettled Aegon. Arthur looked at both of them. "An heir... will come from another life," Arthur shook his head... that was how it was, that was how Rhaegar fell.

His sword trembled; Dawn begged to be unleashed, to end the madness before the cycle repeated itself.

"A sacrifice? Like my father? I... I understand, but-" said Aegon, his voice tired and sad. Arthur wondered what had saddened him. Could it be because of the love he once felt for Myrcella?

Arthur drew Dawn. He watched Aegon’s face turn toward him; panic and betrayal dripped from every pore of his skin. He could have made an excuse and said he heard something, but he decided against it; he was already tired of the false knight that was the Sword of the Morning.

Even so, he couldn’t make up his mind; his soul begged him to kill him—Daemon, Viserys, or Jaehaerys would make better kings than him; anyone is better than a puppet of the priestess. But Arthur hesitated, remembering the child he had watched grow up.

In the end, he had to block two swords that were aimed at his body. Aegon ran out of the room; Kinvara looked at him one last time before calmly walking away.

The witch’s guards lasted only a few seconds. Arthur’s white cloak was stained with blood.

Arthur searched the entire castle, but he didn’t find the king—he found only steel.