As the unfavored dwarf son of the Duke of Casterly Rock, Tyrion had more opportunities to sneak out of his castle than Viserys. He was no stranger to the lowest levels of society; the yellow-haired poor of Lannisport had once thrust their hands under his nose. Fleabottom in King's Landing wasn't a new world for him. He rode on the shoulders of the tall Sandor so he could see further.
The labyrinthine alleys and byways were littered with horse and human dung. Pigs wallowed happily in the mud, living a better life than most of the beggars.
Tyrion cursed again and patted Sandor's head. "He better not be caught by the Brown Stew Shop. If they can't find us, we'll both be tied to the stake tomorrow. Get down, search along the riverbank."
Finally, they found Viserys on the street corner opposite a cheap inn by the Brown Stew Shop. His black velvet cloak and silver hair were so out of place. The young prince seemed to be detained, squatting on the ground without a sound. Around the Brown Stew Shop were dull-eyed, huddled, and wrapped in tattered blankets, looking deathly. Tyrion even thought these people might want to stew Viserys!
"Damn it, do you want me to be thrown in the dungeon and burned?" Tyrion, with Sandor beside him, appeared fearless. He reached out to pull Viserys up, but was shocked to discover the young prince was soaked from head to toe.
The silver hair was matted with grease and unknown filth, and it smelled disgusting.
I'll definitely be burned by the king. Tyrion thought, his father wouldn't even plead for me. His face fell, black as the bottom of a pot.
Viserys sniffed. "I'm fine. I just bumped into a pot of soup when I ran over. I'm okay. Lend me a Gold Dragon to pay the soup shop."
Tyrion turned to look at the shopkeeper, who was still cursing. A large pot, taller than both Viserys and himself, was set up at the shop's entrance. The fat shopkeeper was scooping in a can of snow, then throwing in a few shriveled carrots and onions, and some fish frozen as hard as sticks.
"This stuff is only worth ten copper pennies!" he grumbled, pulling out a Gold Dragon and tossing it to Sandor.
Sandor walked over and grabbed the shopkeeper by the collar. The shopkeeper waved his hands frantically, not daring to take the coin.
"Don't..." Viserys stopped him. "Tell the shopkeeper to cook more. Cook it hot, and give it to everyone here... I'll pay for them. One Gold Dragon every seven days should be enough to buy ten pigs. I'll have someone bring them. He won't lose money... He'll only keep making stew if he can make money. But if even one person here starves to death, the deal is off. I won't pay anymore, and I'll accuse him of fraud."
The shopkeeper nodded vigorously, wiping the gold coin over and over, carefully placing it in his inner pocket, and continuing to bow.
Tyrion looked at Viserys even more surprised, "Why do you care about this kind of thing? How are you as smart as me?" As he said this, he noticed Viserys' teeth chattering. "Good heavens! Get back in the carriage and take off your wet clothes!"
The little prince, who had been squatting for too long, staggered to his feet. Sandor picked up the two children and ran, quickly returning to the square. The luxurious carriage pulled by four horses of the Lannisters was parked steadily in place; even the boldest thieves in King's Landing wouldn't dare to openly steal noble property under the gallows.
In the warmer carriage, Tyrion immediately helped Viserys take off his soaking wet clothes. Holding his nose, he threw the stinky black velvet and underclothes out the window - they were immediately snatched up by the poor vagrants who were hanging around nearby.
Then, wrapping the little prince from head to toe in a gold-threaded woolen blanket from the carriage, muttering about the Seven's protection, "You mustn't get a fever!"
"Did you knock over a whole pot of melted snow water?"
Viserys, who had recovered a bit, frowned, remembering. "No, it was a pot of boiling soup..."
"It's a stroke of luck you weren't burned," Tyrion said with lingering fear. "Thank goodness it's winter, and your thick cloak protected you."
Viserys's eyes flickered, and he lowered his head.
"Right, your reaction was so strong because you saw the woman who was hanged, the one who supposedly stole the Gold Dragon button, right? Do you know her?"
Viserys nodded. "That jeweled button, I gave it to her. She's not a thief. My brother Rhaegar brought me to Fleabottom. She has a child." His voice became hoarse, "A baby, already starved to death."
"No wonder," Tyrion pursed his lips, unsure how to comfort his companion. After a long pause, he said, "It's not your fault. Maybe they wouldn't have survived the winter anyway."
"Tyrion," Viserys asked, his deep purple eyes wide, "Do you think things should just be this way? That the poor of Fleabottom should just freeze and starve to death? That the people judging should believe what those in high positions say, even if it's a lie? That noble knights can trample on the commoners in their eyes like they're stepping on an ant?"
Tyrion opened his mouth, unable to find any words to defend himself. He scratched at his hair in agitation. Sandor, the driver, couldn't help but glance back—though all he could see was the golden oak carriage, gleaming in the twilight.
This isn't how things should be. Sandor's scarred face twitched slightly, he thought to himself. The vile did not deserve knighthood, and those who were wronged deserved justice.
"Do you want to change all this? Your Grace?" Tyrion asked.
"I know who can change it," Viserys straightened his back. "I've heard his lament—from the bottom of my heart. He loves these people. I will help him rebuild this country!"
"...Then you're going to have your work cut out for you," Tyrion said solemnly. "All the history books tell us that any change comes at a high price."
Viserys tilted his head. "We? Are you in?"
The Lannister carriage finally returned to the Red Keep after dark. Viserys, wrapped tightly in a gold-threaded blanket, followed Tyrion as they snuck back to his prince's chambers—well, even if the Kingsguard saw them, what did it matter? They'd simply think it was children playing, returning late at night. No one suspected that the future Prince of Summerhall and the King's Hand of Rhaegar I had just made their first collaborative plan: they were going to investigate the conditions in Fleabottom.
Several of Viserys's court ladies and servants waited anxiously at the door, glancing around. They breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the young prince return.
Viserys scratched at his greasy hair. "I want a bath, please prepare the water. And if the Crown Prince asks, tell him I was playing in the godswood all day."
After saying this, he stepped through the opened door, with Tyrion following close behind. "I want something to eat, anything will do. Do you have any lemon cakes?" He turned his head to look at a particularly beautiful maid, and suddenly bumped into Viserys's back.
Viserys stopped, staring straight ahead: two people stood in the room, which was carpeted with purple velvet and hung with drapes. His brother, Rhaegar, was still wearing that set of black armor, as if merged with the shadows. But the golden dragon decoration inlaid with rubies on the chest of the armor was three-dimensionally spitting fire at the newcomer.
Beside the Crown Prince was his close friend, Jon Connington, with his gray-red hair. Both were in armor, but had removed their helmets. Obviously, after they returned to the Red Keep from the great arena together, the Crown Prince had come to find his brother, but was unsuccessful, and had been waiting in this attire.
Viserys opened his mouth, "Brother."
The Crown Prince walked towards him, and Viserys scratched at his greasy, dirty hair, and took a step back. But this action obviously made the sensitive Rhaegar's expression even more severe. He grabbed his brother's shoulder, and without using much force, Viserys couldn't break free at all.
"Were you playing in the godswood all day?"
The lie was exposed on the spot, and Viserys pouted, sniffing heavily. He turned his head and found that Tyrion had already sneaked away, crouching down.
...What happened to building a new world with our buddies?
The Crown Prince saw that his brother's clothes were gone, and he was only wrapped in a blanket. Clearly, this wasn't the time to lecture him.
"Call the servants," the Crown Prince ordered. "Bring him clothes and get him cleaned up. Also, lemon cakes and hot milk, so he can eat his fill."
…Feeding him before the execution? Viserys thought. Today's situation couldn't be resolved with just a good cry.
The servants carried in a steaming hot bath, with a shelf to place food and dishes. Viserys should have been enjoying the maids' massage and the hot water with floating flower petals and herbs, but he was distracted. He brushed aside his wet hair, glancing at his brother.
Seeing his brother safe and sound, the Crown Prince's tension eased. He began to feel a little tired and intended to take off the heavy armor he had worn all day before questioning him. This wasn't a job for one person.
Rhaegar sat on a black ebony chair with gold trim. The special attendants he had summoned were taking off his golden decorated armor plates, then the chest and abdomen plates, the neck guard, the elbow guards, the knee guards, and the shin guards. All of these were connected with leather straps, buckles, and chains. Underneath the plate armor, tailor-made for the prince, was a layer of chainmail, finely linked with metal rings. Removing this was like taking off an undershirt.
Even in winter, the Crown Prince's thick undershirt was already soaked. Under the golden-red flames of the fireplace, the smooth fabric seemed a little transparent, outlining his well-proportioned and taut muscles. Viserys watched his brother pick up a cloth soaked in hot water and wipe himself. His skin was the white of the Valyrian race, without a single scar, like a flawless marble sculpture. His lines looked slender but smooth…
That was his brother. Viserys even felt his face flush slightly. He realized he wasn't the only one staring at his brother. Jon Connington, who was also sitting opposite them and had removed his armor, was doing the same.
...Well, I already knew about his secret crush. He was also a good knight, loyal to his brother, his good friend. He just made a big mistake—Viserys pondered the battle after Robert's rebellion, the Battle of the Bells, right? Jon, because he was upholding knightly virtues, couldn't bring himself to set fire to the town, and ended up waiting for the usurper's reinforcements... If I were in command, I wouldn't even blink before setting it on fire. The townspeople who suffered losses could be compensated later, but there's no room for mercy in war.
Viserys realized that his unwillingness for the commoners to suffer or be bullied had a prerequisite. Anyone who threatened his brother Rhaegar, he would turn on them faster than flipping a book... including the commoners he was willing to protect a moment ago. If they were found protecting Robert, the usurper, they would no longer be human in his eyes. He would execute all the traitors without hesitation.
It seems I'm not pure enough. He thought. I talked big to Tyrion. However, one should be cruel to enemies.
Finally, after Viserys finished his random thoughts, smelling of spices from head to toe, and putting on his velvet robe trimmed with fur, he was brought before the fireplace by the Crown Prince for questioning.
"Now, tell me, Viserys. Where did you go today?"
Viserys didn't speak. He was struggling with how to express his visit to the brothel and then Fleabottom using the art of language. His brother had a melancholic nature; adding to his worries would be terrible.
"Listen, my brother." Rhaegar placed his slender fingers on his brother's shoulder, bending down, and clearly and gently told Viserys in his ear, word by word: "I have people watching and listening in the Red Keep and King's Landing. If I order an investigation, there will be nowhere for what you did today to hide. So, tell the truth."
Viserys's eyes lit up. He gave his brother a small smile and embraced him. "That's wonderful to hear. It's so good that you, brother, have..."
It meant the Crown Prince had his own intelligence network, even under the Mad King's suspicion and surveillance, which was not to be underestimated.
Viserys didn't need to finish. Rhaegar's deep indigo eyes focused on his brother. He saw an intelligence and shrewdness that did not belong to a child, yet it was so clear and honest, rejoicing in his brother's power.
"Brother," the young prince said, hugging his shoulder and gently tugging at his silver hair. "I want to tell you about my experience today, about what happened in Fleabottom. But brother, please don't be sad, because it's already done. We shouldn't let things we can't change affect what we're going to do."
***
The title here means: one, Viserys is not afraid of hot water. Two, Rhaegar has his own reliable forces and is beginning to plan to confront his father. Three, the old world needs to be broken.
Thank you all for your support and replies~