Chapter Text
Vaelor eyes the newest stable-hand his brother has chosen to torment, and sighs before making his way over to them.
"Aerion, father's calling for you." He calls out, and his brother turns around, a scowl on his face. It would look almost adorable if he had a better temperament, he thinks, but his brother has chosen to choke on cruelty till he dies, and Vaelor cannot deny him that.
"Why me?"
"Why, you're his favourite son." He raises a brow, coming to stand next to him. "Besides, you're participating in the tourney, aren't you? Stop bothering the stable-boy and go meet father."
"He's a knight, believe it or not." Aerion smirks as if expecting him to join in on wasting time thinking about smallfolk, and then stalks away.
He watches him disappear, and then turns to the man in front of him. Tall, that's the first word that comes to mind. The second is that even if he didn't know anything about fighting the way his brother did, he could take him down with a well placed hit. The size and the muscle would certainly make up for Aerion's bloodlust.
"M'lord-" The man starts, and Vaelor cuts him off before he can flounder any more.
"You must excuse my brother, long hours of travel in this heat don't suit him." He glances at the man again. "Tell me ser, how come you're a knight? You don't look like you're sworn to any house."
"I'm a hedge knight, m'lord. Ser Duncan the Tall. We serve no lord, but lend our swords where needed, for justice and to keep our oaths." The man replies, his chest puffing up in pride, before it immediately deflates. "But you probably already knew that-"
"I did not." Vaelor replies, already turning away. "Very well ser, I wish you luck in the lists. Perhaps you can use the opportunity to humble my brother."
The man says something illegible that flies over his head, and he makes his way into Ashford Castle. Though it seems to be more of a modest mansion, he keeps that thought to himself. His father's voice lets him know he's on the right path, and he vaguely wonders if this is how he must sound to Ming and Mei when he gets agitated.
"I said fuck me, not fuck him."
"What happened?" He steps into the room, standing still as a servant scurries forward to take off his cloak.
"Daeron and Aegon are delayed and aren't here." Uncle Baelor informs him, walking past him to take a seat. "I suspect they'll show up soon enough."
"After the tourney's over, damnit." His father mutters angrily, and then takes his place on one of the other chairs.
Vaelor tunes out their conversation in lieu of heading towards one of the servants, a young girl with brown hair and a flat nose. "Would it be possible for you to arrange food for ten men? A tent would be propped up somewhere in the grounds nearby, distinctively Yi-Tish in nature. See to it that they're fed, and if anyone asks, tell them that Prince Vaelor ordered for it."
"As you say, My Prince." She bows, and then her eyes widen when he presses a couple of gold dragons into her palm.
"Use this in case my request is too hasty and resources are too low, and pocket whatever's left."
"My prince." She bows once again, this time a little more hastily than earlier, and scurries outside.
Vaelor turns around, finding his father still ranting to his uncle, his brows furrowed together and legs resting on the table. He briefly curses himself for not following Valarr instead, having chosen to give him time with his lady-wife instead. Perhaps he could get out of here by excusing himself for a bath, perhaps-
"Who's there? What do you mean by spying on us?"
The man from earlier steps out, and Vaelor has to watch him thoroughly debase himself, explaining how he's seeking for someone to vouch for him, so that he might enter the lists.
"And you came to the House of the Dragon to have someone vouch for you?" He asks with genuine surprise, and it seems as though it's that moment that Ser Duncan realises that he's a mere hedge knight standing in front of the men who rule the realm. "I applaud your bravery, ser."
"Vaelor, enough." His uncle says firmly.
"I did not mean it as a jape, uncle." He murmurs, and then when his uncle finally gives him the pass to join the lists, Ser Duncan bows and stumbles into thanks again.
"Very well ser, you are grateful. Now, fuck off." His father spits out, and Vaelor frowns.
"Father-"
"You must forgive my brother, ser." His uncle speaks before he can say anything. "His sons went astray on the way here, and he fears for them."
Ah. If his uncle is this comfortable revealing this information to a mere hedge knight, then surely the news has spread around by now. He wonders if news has spread of him too, the exotic princeling, back from Yi Ti.
"Oh." Ser Duncan's eyes go wide and worried, and then he opens his mouth again. "I trust they will not be found dead."
Vaelor lets out a sigh, and strides towards Ser Duncan.
"Ser, it is best I inform you what you must do exactly to enter the lists." He grabs the man by the forearm, and drags him behind him before his father can get any angrier. "Let us leave."
When they're a corridor or two away from The Great Hall, he shoves Ser Duncan towards one of the walls, a scowl on his face. Ser Duncan lets himself be manhandled, because he knows that it wouldn't do him any good to use force against a Prince of the Blood.
"Your grace-"
"It's my prince." He corrects him. "Your grace is reserved for the King and the Heir. Ser, you have a lot to learn."
"I-" Confused blue eyes look back at him, and Vaelor cannot name what compels him to act as such.
"In what universe would you deem it intelligent to speak of the death of princes in front of the Royal Family?" And then unbidden, an image of two identical, small faces flashes through his head, and his own heart clenches, even though they're back in Yin. "And with what heart would you deem it knightly to speak of a son's death in front of his father? First my brother, and now my father. You seem to be picking a bone with all of us, whether by intent or not."
"Your gr- I mean, my prince, it was not my intent to-"
"Yes, I get that." Vaelor flicks his hand, remembering his lessons from his childhood. "Get a new coat of arms for yourself, ser, because I do not think you are blood of Ser Arlan. Failure to do so would get you removed from the lists even with my uncle vouching for you."
"Yes, my prince." Ser Duncan bows again, and Vaelor catches a look at the rope around his waist.
"For the sake of-" He mutters, pulling around a few silvers from his pouch, and throwing them at Ser Duncan, who manages to not drop any. "Get yourself something better to hold your sword, and begone."
"As you say, my prince."
He watches as the man turns around the corner and walks away, a strange spring in his step. Though perhaps not so strange. It is not everyday that a man can claim to be vouched for by the future king of the realm, and not everyday that he gets silvers thrown at him.
"You, girl. Where is the young Lady Ashford?" He practically barks at a servant walking past, who stills and turns to him, murmuring about how she ought to be in the gardens, and how she would be pleased to show him the way. Fuck, he shouldn't have yelled at her.
"Very well, thank you for your kind offer." He nods, and then follows her to the shabbiest, smallest garden he's ever seen, but Lady Ashford is there, alongside a few more companions, though they all seem to be out of breath, as if they'd gotten here mere moments ago.
"You may leave." He turns to the servant, who bows and rushes away.
"My lady, forgive me for attempting to steal some of your time." He calls out as he walks towards them, his hands behind his back, posture as straight as it could be.
"My Prince." Lady Gwin gets up and curtisies, and he bows in turn, deeper to her and a swift one to the girls she was sitting with.
"I only wished to wish you a pleasant nameday, my lady." He says politely. "And seek your forgiveness for not doing so when I first stepped foot into your home."
"You need not apologise, my prince." She giggles, no doubt pleased by his actions. He's learnt over the past few weeks that even down the line and forgotten by most, in Westeros, his hair and eyes ensure that he gets nothing but gratitude for even farting into someone's face.
He reaches into the pocket of his cloak and pulls out a silk fan, with images of cranes and the Xueshan Ranges painted on it, and holds it out for her. A shabby gift, found in the bottom of his luggage, but it's not like she'll know any different.
"For you, my lady. I hope the fact that this is from Yi Ti can make up for how pitiful a gift it is for a beauty such as you."
She gasps in delight, and he, for once, cannot be bothered to figure out if her reactions are sincere or not. "Oh, this is beautiful!"
"I am pleased, my lady." He nods. "I must go now, though I do hope we see each other again."
"Will you be participating?" She asks, a blush on her face.
"No, but my brothers and cousin will, and I hope they do not disappoint you." He bows swiftly one last time before heading back into the castle.
Fucking hells, this entire… Ashford, stinks of piss and shit, and his family reeks of a glory that has long started to wane. To pretend otherwise, that this backwater town is worth coming to, and that his family does not need to bow so low would be foolish. It makes sense now, how eager his grandfather had been to hand him off to be a ward in another nation as a child, he thinks, walking aimlessly towards where he thinks the entrance to the castle is. As soon as he spots the open grounds, a voice calls out to him.
"Vaelor."
He turns around to look at the source, and instead finds his father in an outfit more suited for riding than to relax after an already arduous journey. His shoulders are stiff, his lips pressed together, and just standing next to him makes Vaelor dizzy with anxiety.
"You're leaving?"
"Your brothers need to be here, even if I must do it myself." He scoffs. "Where were you going?"
"To my men's tent." He gestures outside, and before his father can comment on that, he speaks again. "Do you want me to come with you to find them?"
"What? No, you must remain here." As if they aren't his brothers, and only his sons. "Baelor's already reminded me of the slight I'm doing on Lord Ashford by not staying for the first day of the tilts. You should stay here, in my stead."
"Would they recognise me as your son?" His tongue slips before his mind can grip it and shove it down his throat, and his father's face twists, a salad of frustuation, impatience and anger.
"Why the fuck wouldn't they?"
Yes father. Why wouldn't they recognise a son last seen with you seven years ago? Why wouldn't they recognise a son who doesn't know the way around his childhood home?
This time, he manages to keep his tongue in leash, and is rewarded with a sigh and a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I know this must be new to you, but you must do it. I have enough to worry about as it is with your brothers, and all you have to is smile and wave and sit down next to your uncle. I'll be back by tonight, and then tomorrow I'll leave again to lead a wider search."
Not for the first time, he thinks about his own children. If they went missing, he wouldn't have cared much about protocol, nor about respect. He swallows, his throat feeling drier. He shouldn't be in this shithole of a town, he should be in his rooms in the Imperial Palace, going over accounts of the ships docked in the ports of Southern Yin, with Ming and Mei asleep in Xiying's arms.
"As you say, father. I hope you find them quickly." He ducks his head in a strange approximation of the bow he's used to, and then swiftly heads towards the grounds. He can take a bath later, once he's sure that his men have settled in well.
And settled in well they have, he finds out a few minutes later. Incense fills the tent, as does good wine and food, and those who aren't deterred by just how foreign their pavillion looks, and of the strange tongue that leaks out every five minutes are deterred by the two guards at the gate.
"Xiaqing." One of the men gets up to greet him, bent at the waist, and slipping into Yinan is no more difficult than it is to slip into sleep after a tiring day.
"Stand up." He orders, his hands behind his back. "I trust that you shall act as representatives of God-Emperor Bu Wei ought to. If you see anything that may seem amusing enough for Prince Ming and Princess Mei, you will buy it. I wish I did not have to drag you here, but I do not trust the people of Summerhall to behave around you."
A bunch of murmurs spark through at that, mostly nods and mumblings about what the twins would like.
"Lee, get me the jasmine oil. This town is disgusting."
His charge chuckles at that. "I can't believe you belong to this country."
He silences him with a sharp look, practically snatching the small vial out of his hands. "And I can't believe I employed you in my service instead of cutting off your cock and stuffing it down your mouth."
Lee shakes his head, and his ears redden. Not that he ever thought he would go through with the threat. "My apologies."
"You're forgiven." He waves him away. "It's three days of celebration, and afterwards we'll be on our way to King's Landing and back to Yin before we know it. Just bear it."
"As should you." Lee replies under his breath as he now moves to hand him a bag of soaps and more oils, all of them jasmine-scented, and he grabs them too before stalking out of the tent. "Lee, come see me before the sun falls. I'll arrange for seats for all of you so that you can see the tilts well."
He only hopes that Lord Ashford can make up space for eight men to sit without offending some Lord of Bumfuck Backwaters, and is pleasantly surprised when a bath has already been drawn for him, and though it cannot hold a candle to what he's used to, it serves the purpose well enough for him.
His father doesn't return for lunch, nor does he return when the sun sets. It's only mere minutes before the tilts actually starts that he finds him, standing next to Aerion and talking about things. He instead goes to seek his uncle's company, where they're waiting for the smallfolk to fill the crowds.
"You must be excited." His uncle says to him, his voice just as gentle. There's a twinkle in his eyes, and Vaelor can't help but wonder if life would have been better had been his uncle's son instead. "The last time you attended a tourney, you barely came till my waist."
"I'm curious to see how steeds are treated and ridden here." He confesses after a moment, then he decides to speak of the obvious. "I see Daeron and Egg still aren't here."
"Still missing." His uncle nods, smiling politely at a passing-by noble. Perhaps a Lannister. "Your father will be leaving tomorrow to search for them."
"And who will keep Aerion in control then?" He murmurs under his breath, and Uncle Baelor stiffens next to him, and that seems like enough of a crack to plunge into. "How is it that I can see the sort of man he is after a mere fortnight, yet my father cannot?"
Before his uncle can reply, the horns are sounded, and they are herded into highest of seats with the stiffest of chairs. He takes a seat next to his father, and leans in close.
"I'm sure you'll find them, father."
His father grunts and they sit back to watch the tilts. Vaelor catches a glimpse of hastily arranged seats in one of the lower stands, and all of his men there, cups in their hand full of stuff he doesn't want to know much about before he focuses on the tilts themselves.
Pride overtakes him when Valarr enters the fields, his white lock of hair making him look otherworldly in a way not achieved by him or his family. There's a lock of pink tied somewhere to his arm, no doubt a favour from his lady-wife. He has odd memories of his mother doing the same for his father, and of Aunt Jena doing so for his uncle. He's no knight, nor does he wish to be, but an image of his sisters tying their own favours to his armour flickers in his head.
He watches as his cousin valiantly unhorses his opponent, though he's disappointed by how poorly they ride their horses. One man manages to impress him, swooping down to grab his shield, but from what he can guess, feats like these are rare.
Xiying should have been here, he thinks. They would have poked fun at how poor horseback combat is in Westeros, and the two of them would have made Egg sit between them and promised to show him what real horseriding looked like. Enough Jhoqos Nhai had moved into the North of Yin that he had learnt from them, and it strickens him to know he has not yet boasted of that to his siblings.
Poor Egg, and poor Daeron.
His elder brother is many things, irresponsible being one of them, but he's not callous or uncaring enough to leave Egg by himself. Something must have happened, but he had no doubt that Daeron and Egg were together, and that was some comfort.
Rest, if it can be called that, comes uneasy to him when he falls into bed, tainted by nightmares of his brothers dead and dying.