As the unwanted dwarf son of the Duke of Casterly Rock, Tyrion had more opportunities to sneak out of his castle than Viserys. He wasn't unfamiliar with the lowest levels of society; the yellow-haired poor of Lannisport had once thrust their hands in his face. The Slums of King's Landing, Flea Bottom, weren't a new world to him. He was perched atop the tall Sandor, so he could see further.
The maze-like alleys and side streets were covered in horse and human manure, and pigs wallowed happily in the mud, living a better life than most beggars.
Tyrion cursed again, patting Sandor on the head. "He better not get 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."
They eventually found Viserys on the corner across the street from a cheap inn by the river, next to the Brown Stew Shop. His black velvet cloak and silver hair were so out of place. The young prince appeared to be detained, squatting on the ground without a word. Around the Brown Stew Shop were the dull-eyed, huddled masses wrapped in ragged blankets, faces devoid of life. Tyrion even thought, were these people going to stew Viserys?
"Damn it, do you want me to be thrown in a dungeon and burned?" Tyrion, with Sandor beside him, appeared fearless. He reached out to pull Viserys up, but to his surprise, he found the young prince was soaked from head to toe.
His silver hair was sticky with grease and unknown filth, and it carried a nauseating smell.
I'll definitely be burned by the king. Tyrion thought, his father wouldn't even plead for me. His face fell, as black as the bottom of a pot.
Viserys sniffled. "I'm fine. I just ran into a pot of soup earlier. I'm okay. Lend me a Gold Dragon to pay the shop."
Tyrion turned to look at the shopkeeper, who was still cursing. A large pot was set up at the shop's entrance, taller than Viserys and him. The fat shopkeeper was scooping in a can of snow, then threw in a few shriveled carrots and onions, and some fish frozen like wooden 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 directly grabbed the shopkeeper by the collar. The shopkeeper waved his hands frantically, not daring to take it.
"Don't..." Viserys stopped him. "Tell the shopkeeper to cook more. Cook it hot and distribute 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 deliver 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 cheating."
The shopkeeper nodded vigorously, wiping the gold coin again and again before carefully putting it into his pocket, still bowing.
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's teeth chattering. "Gods! Get back to 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 Lannister horses stood firmly 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 inner clothes out the window, which were immediately snatched up and taken by the poor people lingering nearby.
Then he used a gold-threaded wool blanket from the carriage to wrap the young prince from head to toe, muttering about the protection of the Seven. "You absolutely must not get a fever—did you overturn a whole pot of half-melted snow water?"
Viserys, who had recovered somewhat, frowned, recalling, "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 was winter, and your thick cloak protected you."
Viserys's eyes flickered, and he lowered his head.
"Right, you reacted so strongly, was it because you saw the woman who was hanged? The one who supposedly stole the Gold Dragon button? Did you know her?"
Viserys nodded. "That jeweled button, I gave it to her. She's not a thief. My brother Rhaegar brought me to Flea Bottom. She had a child." His voice turned hoarse. "A baby. It had 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? Should the poor people of Flea Bottom just freeze and starve to death? Should those who judge believe what the highborn say, even if it's a lie? Can noble knights trample on the commoners in their eyes as if they were ants?"
Tyrion opened his mouth, unable to find any words of defense. He scratched at his hair, feeling a little flustered. Sandor, the coachman, couldn't help but glance back—though all he could see was the golden oak carriage.
Everything shouldn't be like this. A dull ache throbbed in Sandor's partially scarred face as he thought to himself. The unworthy shouldn't be knights, and the wronged should receive justice.
"Do you want to change all of this, Prince?" Tyrion asked.
"I know who can change all of this," Viserys said, straightening his back. "I've heard his lament—from the depths of his heart. He loves these people. I will assist him in remaking this country!"
"...Then you'll have to break a few eggs to make an omelet," Tyrion said seriously. "All the history books tell us that the price of any change is high."
Viserys tilted his face upward, "We? Will you join me?"
The Lannister carriage eventually 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 suite—well, so what if some of the Kingsguard saw them? It would only be taken as children playing, coming home late. No one would have guessed that the future Prince of Summerhall and the Hand of the King to Rhaegar I had just made plans for their first collaboration: they were going to investigate the situation of the people in Flea Bottom.
Several court ladies and attendants responsible for looking after Viserys were standing at the door, anxiously looking around. They breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the young prince return.
Viserys scratched his greasy hair. "I want to bathe, please prepare the water. Also, 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 to eat, anything will do, do you have lemon cakes?" He turned his head, eyeing a particularly pretty 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 gold dragon decoration inlaid with rubies on the chest of the armor was three-dimensional, spewing fire at the newcomer.
Beside the Crown Prince was his constant companion, Jon Connington, with his gray-red hair. Both were in full armor, but had taken off their helmets. Obviously, they had returned to the Red Keep from the grand arena together, and the Crown Prince had come to find his younger brother, but without success, so he had been waiting, still in this attire.
Viserys opened his mouth, "Brother."
The Crown Prince walked towards him, and Viserys scratched his greasy, dirty hair, taking a step back. But this action apparently made the sensitive Rhaegar's expression even sterner. He grabbed his brother's shoulder, and without much force, Viserys couldn't break free.
"Were you playing in the Godswood all day?"
The lie was exposed on the spot, and Viserys pouted, sniffing heavily. He turned around to find that Tyrion had already sneaked away, crouching.
...Where were his new world-building companions?
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.
"Summon a servant. Get him some fresh clothes and cleaned up," the Crown Prince ordered. "And bring him lemon cakes and hot milk, so he can eat his fill."
…Feeding him before the execution? Viserys thought. With the way things were today, he couldn't get out of this by just wailing and crying.
The servants brought in a steaming hot bath, with a shelf to hold food and dishes. Viserys should have been enjoying the attention of the handmaidens, the massage, and the hot water scented with flower petals and herbs, but his mind was elsewhere. He pushed back his wet hair with one hand and glanced at his brother.
Seeing his brother safe, the Crown Prince's tension eased. He began to feel tired and planned to remove his heavy armor, which he'd worn all day, before questioning him. This wasn't a job he could do alone.
Rhaegar sat in a chair of ebony and gold. The personal attendant he'd summoned removed his golden armor plates, piece by piece: chest, abdomen, neck, elbows, knees, shins, all connected by leather straps and buckles. Beneath the custom-made plate armor was a chainmail shirt, finely linked with metal rings; only after that was removed did he get to his undershirt.
Even in winter, the Crown Prince's thick undershirt was soaked. Under the golden-red flames of the fireplace, the smooth fabric seemed almost transparent, outlining his taut muscles. Viserys watched his brother take a cloth soaked in hot water and wipe himself down. His skin was Valyrian white, without a single scar, like a flawless marble sculpture, the lines looking thin but flowing.
This was his own brother. Viserys even felt a slight flush, and then he realized he wasn't the only one staring. Jon Connington, who was also removing his armor, was doing the same.
...Well, I already know about his crush. He's also a loyal knight to my brother, his good friend. He just made a big mistake—Viserys was thinking about that great battle after Robert's rebellion, the Battle of the Bells, Jon didn't have the heart to burn the town because he was adhering to knightly morals, and ended up waiting for the usurper's reinforcements... If I were in command, I wouldn't even bat an eye before setting the fire. Compensation can be made afterward for the loss of the townspeople, but there can be no mercy in war.
Viserys found that his unwillingness for the commoners to suffer had a prerequisite. Anyone who threatened his brother, Rhaegar, he would turn on faster than flipping a book... including the commoners he was willing to protect a moment ago. If they were found to be protecting Robert the Usurper, they would no longer be considered human in his eyes, and he would execute all the rebels without mercy.
Looks like I'm not pure enough. I talked big to Tyrion, he thought. But, you should be cruel to your enemies.
Finally, after Viserys finished his rambling thoughts, smelling of spices from head to toe, and after putting on his velvet fur-trimmed robe, he was brought before the fireplace for direct questioning by the Crown Prince.
"Now tell me, Viserys. Where did you go today?"
Viserys didn't say anything. He was struggling with how to express his visit to the brothel and then to Flea Bottom with the art of language. His brother had a melancholic nature, and adding to his worries would be terrible.
"Listen, my brother." Rhaegar placed his slender fingers on his brother's shoulder. He bent down and, word by word, clearly and gently told Viserys in his ear: "I have people and eyes in the Red Keep and King's Landing. As long as I give the order to investigate, what you did today will be revealed without a trace. So, tell the truth."
Viserys' eyes lit up. He gave his brother a small smile and hugged him. "That's wonderful to hear. That means you, brother...this is excellent."
It meant the Crown Prince had his own intelligence network, even under the Mad King's suspicion and surveillance, and was not to be underestimated.
Viserys didn't need to finish his sentence. Rhaegar's deep indigo eyes focused on his younger brother. He saw a sharpness and intelligence that didn't belong to a child, yet also a pure, open honesty - a genuine joy that his brother possessed such influence.
"Brother." The little prince put his arms around his shoulders, gently tugging at his silver hair. "I want to tell you about my experiences today, about what happened in Flea Bottom. But brother, please don't be sad, because it can't be helped. Let's not let things we can't change affect what we're going to do."
***
Here, the title means: First, Viserys is not afraid of the hot water. Second, Rhaegar has his own reliable forces and is beginning to plan against his father. Third, the old world needs to be broken.
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