The Game of Cyvasse

The Red Comet

Jon slowly took the bread and salt from the maid, who could easily be one of Brune 's grandchildren. Old Eustace Brune, burdened by years, sat on a large cushioned chair. Probably the most comfortable furniture in the whole keep.

Brunes had never been a great and rich house, but their fame and reputation did not wane among the smallfolk and nobility of the Crackclaw Point peninsula. Always between two fires, they welcomed the arrival of Targaryens with open arms and fought equally heartily for the old dynasty for the next 300 years.
A modest, but good start, Jon thought.

Modest attire clothed Lord Brune's thin frame—linen shirt, wool tunic adorned with faded embroidery, and a surcoat with a worn coat of arms. A meager belt held tools and trinkets. Ill-fitting cloth tubes served as hose, leather shoes with pointed toes, and a felt hat covered his balding scalp.

"I never thought I would see this sight in my life. And I've been tormented by old wives' tales for days because of the red comet," Brune said in a hoarse and weary voice. He was even old when he fought under Rhaegar's banner at the Trident.

The red comet appeared in the sky shortly after their landing. It did wonders for the morale of the members of the Golden Company, who all saw the flaming torch, which changed the color of the sky with its reflection, as a sign from the gods.

On the other hand, Jon Connington did not let himself be disturbed by nonsense and gossip. No heavenly torch will bring the boy to the throne except blood and discipline. He said the same to Aegon, but the comet did have an impact on the boy. He constantly looked at the sky, thoughtfully measuring the foreign presence, as if he expected something to happen.

Jon was afraid of change, he knew very well the obsession that afflicted Targaryens. The shine in Aerys's eyes as he looked at the wildfire. Rhaegar lived more on the paper of old scrolls, lived in lost prophecies, struggling to piece together the puzzle and dust off the providence, gone from human memory. But the boy seemed free from obsession, he listened to Jon, rose above the tricks of vulture Mopatis, above Strickland's volatility and cowardice.

Toyne and Jon raised the boy, surrounded him with equally good lads like Mertyn Otreyes and Agrilla. Even the girl brought a level of reason and calmness to his heart. Boys his age would rarely show restraint in a campaign, in front of beautiful women, given or not. The boy learned to wait.

"Nothing but endure," Jon told him during the first long march under the hot sun. Mantra remained with the boy as he listened lessons from Haldon and Septa, or when ranks of the Golden Company were showered with arrows. He would wait obediently and patiently. Jon sometimes wondered if the boy needed him anymore, especially after the girl's death.

Aeira's death tore his soul apart, squeezing mercy from it. Before, as a company sargeant, he would hardly order commands that would mean death. Death now walked with him, embroidered in the cloak of steadfastness on the battlefield. Too bad, that grizzled Myles Toyne didn't get to see the new boy.

"If men think me cruel, so much better," Miles once said, expecting the same from his officers. Aegon was not merely cruel, but relentless, sending men into deadly danger, but equally walking with them in the jaws of death. In that he was more that pest Robert, than Rhaegar.

In the small hall of the castle Dyre Den, next to which even Griffyn's Roost would look like a royal court, Aegon stood next to Jon, with Duck and Thunderex as guards. A ruin, with three stone towers, on a cliff surrounded by pine trees and deeply eroded by salty sea air. Thunderex looked confusedly at the castle, and Jon didn't blame him. Poorer merchants in Myr live in better villas. Nothing was neat or worthy of admiration, just a small fortress on the edge of the sea. Admittedly, Thunderex had never been to his native Summer Islands, where even some nobility lived in woven houses. Jon appreciated the practicality of Lord Brune's keep.

"....Old wives' tales hmmm" continued old Brune, "but look. At my door knocked a Dragon and a dead man".

Measuring Aegon and Jon, he did not pay attention to the others. His descendants from the benches directed more attention to Thunderex, probably the first dark-skinned person they saw in life.

The old man kept his gaze on Aegon, "...and that face, hmm, I almost forgot it. The old screecher still haunts me in my sleep". The remark amused Duckfield, "yay, a spitting image of Targaryen". Amused by the irony and stupidity of the knight, Brune laughed heartily, rocking in his chair.

Old cunt did not mean that, Jon thought, knowing that the old man saw on the boy's face the same crowned game of fate. Mopatis sang to Toyne about Rhaegar, reborn, but that was far from the truth. The boy did not inherit Rhaegar's beauty, grace and refined movement. Instead, sharp and rectangular features of the face, in which were framed foreboding eyes, skipped a generation. Aegon looked more like Aerys than Viserys did. Always carefully observing the boy, he waited for evil signs to surface, but they did not. Even the death of the girl did not disturb him, quite the opposite, it brought him strength, which Toyne vainly tried to instill in the boy.

Irritated, Jon replied to the old man in a harsh voice, "join us. Gather the others, too, your wild cousin Brune, Crabbs, Boggs and the rest. They will listen to you."

Coughing, Brune changed his humorous expression to a serious one and shot Jon a fierce look, "I don't doubt they will listen, but why? Three, four kings want our support. The blonde bitch ordered us to send people to King's Landing."

Impatiently, Rolly Duckfield intervened, "Don't you guys here love Targaryens, heartily".

"Silence", Jon hushed the knight. Rude fool does not know where his place is.

"Love", Brune mocked the knight. "Love does not feed the stomach. We did not love that bitch Visenya because she was beautiful. No, because she kept the coins in our pockets, driving away those bastards Celtigars."

Aegon stepped forward, looking around the room, looking at Brune's sons and grandchildren, "maybe one of your sons would be more considerate", he calmly said to the lord.

That brought Brune back in a good mood, "a true Targaryen, threatening a man under his own roof", he laughed, "what stands behind you boy".

"Fifteen thousand men from the Golden Company, Dorne and...", and he paused. Smart boy, Jon thought.

Instead of the boy, he uttered the next "...and forty thousand Dothraki warriors led by Prince Viserys. The words disturbed the old man, he leaned back in his chair and sarcastically uttered, "better that your Sellswords slaughter my whole castle now. At least you won't torture us. I'm old enough and heard enough to know what those savages do in the cities of Essos. And Prince Viserys, he was on his way to becoming like his father. I saw him only once, he was not bigger than a boot and twat spat on me then".

The sounds of the waves became louder and for a moment Jon had nothing to say. Fooles Varys and Mopatis are idiots, no one will convince savages. Westeros will unite against them sooner than stand behind Aegon.

"I'm too old to think about gold and new nand, but I want the old world back. There are days, I forget that we are one Kingdom. Robert didn't care what happened here, he barely cared about anywhere else. Only obiut Reach, when the fruit ripened or to Tywin's coffers, when he needed money. Even the mad Aerys was more present. And it all ended in war, as I expected. Every fool thinks, if he hits hard enough with his sword, that will make him king", he paused briefly to catch his breath, all the weight of the years pressed on his frail body, "listen boy, if you want the throne, leave the bloody savages where they are. Don't mention them to anyone else.... You have my men and I'll call the rest of the gang to join you".

Jon sighed with relief. He would barely gather three or four thousand, but he thought again, a modest start but a good one.