A SHATTERED REPUTATION
or, that aerwin montecucculli-inspired drabble...This story takes place during a military campaign; both Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister are in their late teens. They still hold the same rank and office from when Tywin first came to court. So oui, this is before Aerys' sanity slippage - he's just a young eccentric with far-fetched ideas and the need of a more realistic confidant (ie Tywin) to ground him - and of course Tywin needs someone less realistic and less serious as well - that's the reason why this is one of the most remarkable bromances/friendships in Westeros before their fallout, that still has ages to happen at this point... so this is something that might have occurred to them during their adolescence, and that actually happened to a crown prince and his cupbearer, who were most surely in a relationship, in real life in renaissance France (but those two were not that lucky and both of them died young shortly after the incident, as a consequence thereof... the former died of a combination of unintentional poisoning *there were scorched earth tactics, involving poisoned fountains/springs* and aspiration pneumonia; the latter was unjustly accused, and quartered alive...)
A SHATTERED REPUTATION
Already flustered and red in the face, in a stark departure from his usual Valyrian complexion, gasping like a fish out of water, a light-headed Aerys wiped his beaded forehead with a long platinum lock that had escaped his ponytail.
"Ty...win... Tywin, a drink or... or I die!" he wheezed, staggering, flinging an arm around the cupbearer's shoulders and locking bloodshot violet eyes with brighter green orbs. It was obvious, from his voice rattling and broken with coughs, that the crown prince had kicked up and breathed in enough dust to affect his voice, so deep inside his throat and maybe even into the lungs in his chest. In there, his heart was pounding against the ribs on his left side, as the shorter-haired, green-eyed cupbearer could feel, with Aerys' chest resting against his own back as the crown prince, knees buckling, leaned on his confidant for support.
"I guess for all your Targaryen descent, you are not that fireproof, Your Grace," Tywin smirked as he handed his liege lord a cup of costly glass and filled it from the pitcher he held in the other hand. "This is from a fountain spring I've found in our surroundings. Cooler or clearer it cannot be; hope there is enough to slake Your Grace's thirst..."
By now Aerys had already snatched the glass, lifted it, put it to his chapped lips to wet them, and cracked his mouth open as he tilted his head backwards. With one single deep draught --a lightning-quick throw down his throat-- and a loud gulp, the cup was eagerly drained to the last drop and reached out to Tywin for him to refill. The crown prince relished the moisture of the draught pouring over his lips, on his tongue, deeper in, the cool liquid funnelling into his throat and down his gullet into the inside of his chest, washing all that dust and dirt away, deeper down inside him. Yet something told him it was not enough; the sensation of thirst still persisted, chipping away at his throat even after he'd eagerly quaffed a second glass and the Lannister lad gave him another refill, watching how the outside of Aerys' throat worked with a steady rise and fall.
Had it been three or four cupfuls he'd drained until his inward heat was quenched? What mattered was that he was satisfied at last; and that he could finally stand upright without reeling and that his head had stopped to swim, his breathing and heartbeat having steadied as well.
A reasonably large entourage of knights and courtiers, followed by squires who carried their horses by the reins, had just stopped at the scene; they were the followers of the young prince, whom King Jaehaerys expected to arrive on that very evening... but a sudden illness that had struck Aerys down seemed to force to delay his departure, at least for a few hours.
All the colour had drained from his face... ashen and cold, not fair or typically Valyrian, but strangely pale, even clammy; and he staggered a few steps, reeling, open palms resting on his chest, before collapsing like a rag doll and curling up, clutching his own midsection as he doubled over. The pleasant coolness of his refreshment seemed to have changed into wildfire in there; to a liquid fire that burned his very heartstrings and tore at the very fabric of his deep insides. Excruciating. As he fell to the ground, so did the cup, which shattered, sending shards in all directions.
"TYWIN!!!" he yelled until his throat was sore and he felt like his vocal cords would snap.
"TYWIN... QUICK, A MAESTER... A SOOTHING DRAUGHT, MY INSIDES ARE ON FIRE...!!" Tears welled in violet eyes that quickly shut tight into darkness to stand the pain, as he writhed and tossed. He trusted the Lannister ever since the latter had come to court three or four or maybe more years ago - enough to make Tywin his own confidant. For how long had he gotten to know that green-eyed, golden-haired cupbearer? Aged thirteen, sweetly embarrassed by his breaking voice, aged fourteen, growing into the size of his hands and the breadth of his shoulders, aged fifteen, consciously naked at the hot springs, an image that replayed itself over and over in shameful repetition behind the crown prince's closed eyelids. Aged sixteen, laughing (a sound Aerys had never expected to hear and was pleasantly surprised by), aged seventeen, in the present year, pouring him three or four eagerly quaffed draughts. Their first swords, their first campaign... Would the green-eyed cupbearer ever dare to betray his trust in such an underhanded manner? Aerys had gotten to know Tywin pretty well over those adolescent years, living together side by side as their voices deepened, as the size of their limbs and breadth of their shoulders increased --the former self-assured, the latter sweetly embarrassed by these changes-- and he doubted that, no matter the courtiers' whispers, the Lannister scion would ever make such an underhanded move.
It felt to Aerys Targaryen as if he had swallowed a double-edged flaming sword, or a pitcherful of wildfire which had been ignited before he could consume it all; now it felt painful, scorching, as if the drink were about to boil inside him. Not only did he feel like violently torn and burned from within; his throat and chest felt iron-bound with red hot clamps. As he lay there writhing in pain, Tywin's remark about being fireproof crossed his hazy mind for an instant.
"I have to join King Jaehaerys and the lords as soon as... My faithful cupbearer will sure fetch me a soothing draught...!" Tywin stood on and looked in consternation, caring nought for the glass shard that had just grazed his wrist. This was not a customary lark of his liege's at all; Aerys was dangerously ill and things were about to get serious...
"STOP!" The knights seized the golden-haired lad, wresting the pitcher from him and packing him by the wrists. "Stop, Lannister, faithful cupbearer... and leave to trustworthier hands the concern of quenching His Grace's thirst... For, my lords, Aerys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne, has just been poisoned!"
Tywin stood frozen in place, unable to react. Yet the more painful blow came afterwards.
"And here is the guilty party; Tywin Lannister, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West; that upstart whose kin was banned from court, yet always a rival to our crowned heads!"
Not even in his wildest dreams would he ever do that. He had even come to see Aerys as more than a friend, as more than a brother, as more than just his liege. "Look on, my lords; the crown prince has turned pale and he is writhing in pain..."
In fact, Aerys, now lying on a stretcher, was still racked with the most intense of suffering; while the knights and courtiers, all of them in shock, and naturally disposed to turn against the favourite stranger who stood in the path of their ambition, were now persecuting Tywin on irrational grounds.
"What about... Your Grace!!" Tywin's loud call pierced the haze on Aerys' febrile mind. "Would you suffer the loss of your most faithful servant, under such preposterous accusations?"
"No more vituperations, fair Lannister, and answer to this question: Where were you while the prince was tourneying; if not in your accursed poison-chamber, where you prepared the fatal draught?"
Tywin did not even breathe a single word; his very heartbeat seemed to have stopped. Though he had found his niche at court throughout his adolescence, now he was powerless, or so it seemed.
"He has not even said a word, my lords! He is guilty as charged..."
"Please... good Sers, please..." Aerys suddenly said in a weak voice, "do not accuse my good Tywin; I am not poisoned at all... this is nothing..." Fluttering eyelids like white butterflies revealed lifeless yet glass-like doll's eyes, like polished amethysts, for an instant, ere they shut once more.
Feeling slightly better after swallowing a potion brought by a freshly-summoned maester, though still ill-at-ease, Aerys Targaryen believed that he could take Tywin with him... but the obstinate silence of the green-eyed lad on such simple questions had made such an impression on the courtiers and knights that it had been decided that young Lannister would remain a prisoner in the nearest holdfast, until His Grace's complete recovery.
Tywin had to resign himself, and, as he kissed the crown prince's limp hand farewell, the latter whispered in his ear:
"Patience, my loyal cupbearer, within three days all this will come to an end, and you will come and join me..."
In fact, three days later the whole affair was over...
(Aerys is struggling between life and death on his four-post/canopy sickbed with all those maesters - Tywin is suffering chained to the wall of a holdfast dungeon and threatened with torture... three days later the prince has recovered and they both reunite)
