Chapter 40: Older, but not Wiser

"Do not mistake foolishness for idiocy, nor intelligence for wisdom."

If weddings were magical, the mornings afterward were the opposite. For the unmarried guests, at least. The happy couple, by contrast, could enjoy a preview of the rest of their lives, waking up next to the person who was to be their partner in all things. The wedded guests got to enjoy the same, but as merely another day in their lives. Those who were unwed got to 'enjoy' a far more uncomfortable morning.

As one young knight was discovering to my great amusement.

"Vaegon…" Braxton Beesbury all but collapsed into the seat next to mine, his voice a hoarse rasp. His black and gold doublet was pristine, as was expected of him, but he himself looked nowhere near as acceptable. His eyes were bloodshot and black-rimmed from exhaustion, his brown hair a jumbled mess. "Kill me. Please."

"You look unwell," I said, hiding a smile behind a cup of freshly squeezed juice. Apple, that much was certain, from somewhere in the Reach. Not from Cider Hall, though. They preferred to drink their apples fermented, not freshly pressed. "Did you have too much to drink?"

"You know as well as I how much I had to drink," he muttered, as I filled his own cup with fresh water, the contents of the flagon still cold from the well. Juice was far too sweet for a man in his condition. "Come to think of it, I thought you matched me drink for drink. How are you so chipper?"

"That is a Targaryen family secret." There was a secret to avoiding the accursed sickness known as the hangover. Well, several secrets, really, but none were family secrets. Being the larger man was only one such secret. Drinking plenty of other fluids and eating plenty of food was another, but Braxton did not need to know that. It was better for him- and Saera- to develop a distaste for excessive drink. "Though it does involve daily prayer to the Seven."

"Vaeg…" a voice that sounded almost as miserable as Braxton's joined the table on my opposite side. Baelon Targaryen, the Master of Laws, had not even been able to match his future good-brother's ability to dress properly. His doublet, one of his silken red ones, was rumpled and creased. My brother himself looked half a corpse, his face drawn and eyes sunken. "I will take the rest of that secret now, if you would be so kind."

"The secret is moderation, Baelon," I sighed. Honestly, he was older than I and a father twice over. He really should have learned that part by now.

"You drank as much as I did," he said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Or mayhaps he was simply unable to keep his eyelids open much longer; It was hard to tell. "Did you have the servants water down your wine?"

"That is quite the accusation to make," I said, my voice unable to hide my amusement. That was not to say he was wrong. His accusations were absolutely true, in fact.

"And here I was surprised Maegelle did not complain about your drinking," he grumbled, letting his head come to a barely dignified rest on the table. "Wait a minute, did she know too?"

"Of course she did," I said, checking over my shoulder to see how many potential witnesses were up and about. Thankfully, most guests did not share my proclivity for rising early. And judging by the soft snoring coming from my left, Braxton was joining their ranks, just this once.

"Gods, to have two siblings scheme against me…" he muttered into his cup. Baelon brought it up and drained it in one smooth motion before slamming it onto the table. On my other side, Braxton snorted as he was so very rudely woken. Briefly. "This cannot stand! Vaeg, grab your dragon! We're having ourselves a race! I will have satisfaction, damn it!"

"No." I shot his idea down immediately. The Cannibal was hardly the kind of creature to want to race, let alone against a monster like Vhagar. That was a recipe to have a very angry dragon on my hands. A very angry and absolutely terrified dragon whose actions could not be predicted. "Not happening."

"Oh, don't be such a wet blanket, Vaeg," Baelon ponderously rose to his feet. More work was done by his arms than his legs, really, more pushing instead of simply standing up. "Five years and we've never so much as flown together? Unforgiveable I say! We need to use our youth while we still have it!"

"Baelon, the Cannibal is not a beast to get along with other dragons," I pointed out. Even if he was a craven of the highest order, I did not doubt he would fight like a cornered rat when he felt threatened.

And he felt threatened by the very presence of Vhagar.

"Oh, I'm certain a simple race would not offend his sensibilities too much," he waved off my concern.

"Baelon, you have never even met the Cannibal," I pointed out. "He does not get along with other dragons. Especially larger ones."

"So you're saying we need to include smaller ones?" Baelon appeared deep in thought as a pit of terror formed in my guts. "Easily remedied, I suppose. You fetch Maegelle, I'll get Alyssa and Aemon."

"Baelon, no-" I tried to stop him, only to be interrupted.

"Do not make me leverage my position for this Vaeg," he said, raising a hand as if to physically stop me. "It would only make us both look foolish."

"Your position?" I asked. What kind of position could order me to engage in a race?

"Aye," he said. "Or have you forgotten that I am your older brother and Master of Laws, besides?"

Ah. That. I supposed that would give him a smidgen of authority over me. This called for a change in strategy.

"The Cannibal earned his name, Baelon," I insisted. "The only race he would participate in would be to the nearest hatchery. I will not risk having the Cannibal throw himself at the Caraxes or Meleys simply because he liked his chances."

It was a lie. A carefully crafted lie, but one more believable than the truth. After all, who would believe one of the largest living dragons to be a craven of the highest order? But pointing out the danger to our siblings? That worked wonders.

"Fine, fine. I see your point…" Baelon grumbled, proving me correct and refilling his cup. The conversation did not stop there, but it did move to other topics until enough people were ready to join me for my training. The topic of racing dragons was left by the wayside, dismissed as a terrible idea. At least, that was my assumption.

An assumption which held up until the day came when we were to return to King's Landing.

"Absolutely not," I said, keeping my gaze locked solidly on the Cannibal. Clusters of servants were busy attaching my belongings to his saddle while the dragon was busy glaring at the blue beast with its own swarm of attendants not too far away. No roaring so far. Progress.

"But Uncle Bael said…" Aerion whined, but I cut him off.

"Uncle Bael does not speak for me, Aerion," I said, satisfied that my mount would not suddenly roll around in the sand in an attempt to dislodge the weights strapped to his neck. Those early days had been a trial. "Why do you even want me to race back? You know how poorly the Cannibal gets along with others."

The dragon in question gave of an annoyed rumble, so deep I could feel it in my bones. Good, he knew I was talking about him. Clever beast.

"He promised me flying lessons if I convinced you…" My son looked somewhere between crestfallen and terrified as he delivered the news, and I had to suppress a frown. Baelon was trying to use my son to guilt me into a race? I could appreciate the manipulative cleverness, but not when it was used against me.

"Cheer up." I knelt in front of him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm certain your uncle Aemon will be eager to show you some tricks if you ask him nicely, especially since he will be joining us at court. Now, where is your sister?"

"Trying to convince Uncle Bael to give us lessons anyways," he answered. Clever girl, my daughter. Mayhaps I would not even need to teach her much about negotiation in the future. No, that was a fleeting fantasy. Everyone could a lesson or three in that. "Does that mean Rhaenys will join us too?"

"That she will. Now, let's go help your sister," I said, shooting a look to Maegelle over by Dreamfyre's side. She gave me a brief nod, trusting me to speak with our brother while I trusted her to supervise the rest of the loading. Aerion began leading the way to his uncle at a happy run, and I was not too far behind him. It was not a terribly long walk, and we soon came to the main, though still improvised, dragon paddock on Driftmark.

It was there that I found the assembled dragons of House Targaryen. Or most of them, at any rate. From little Sundancer and Smoke, rolling around in a and playing in that worryingly destructive way young dragons did, leaving furrows in the sandy earth, all the way to the massive and impassive bronze form of Vhagar, towering above all else.

And that was where I found my brother, mounted and chained to his saddle, speaking with the familiar shape of my daughter. I could not hear what it was about, but I could take a guess. Off to the side stood a nervous-looking groom, clutching a dragon whip. No doubt he did not want to interrupt spend any more time in the presence of a dragon from the Conquest, but it appeared he wanted to interrupt two royals even less.

I relieved him of his dilemma by grabbing the whip myself, nodding a dismissal to the poor boy who wasted no time in fleeing.

"Baelon!" I called out, interrupting the conversation between niece and uncle, but keeping my voice calm and friendly and sweet. Because why wouldn't it be? There was no need to be angry. "A moment of your time?"

Really, I just wanted to know what my dearest brother had been thinking.

Truly.

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