A Pisswater Prince (and Princess)

See Myles Mooton, only recently a knight, was doing his best to hide that fact. Dressed in plain dark trousers and an unadorned coat, he was ill at ease in such a setting, but would not dream of questioning his prince’s word. The cloak he had worn to conceal his face on the streets was hung over the back of the chair he had claimed, though it unsettled him to be so exposed. He reminded himself repeatedly that he was unlikely to be recognized in this quarter, even if he had a distinct appearance it was unlikely to have been noted while he had been in the company of Prince Rhaegar, as he often was. No one would connect the Riverlander in this tavern, well-spoken as he might be, with the young knight so often seen at the prince’s side. He hoped.

He was proud of the trust that the prince showed in him, but he knew that was the only merit that had recommended him for this task to the prince. He was not a man for subtlety and schemes, and he had to hope that one of his companions was better suited to the task, or he would have to learn new skills very quickly.

Similarly to Mooton, Lonmouth wore a plain woolen cloak over his chainmail and prayed that no one would recognize him. He was much skinnier and he had aged muchduring the few months he had been on campaign.

He said not a word to his companions but only rose from his seat

"The smart thing would be to split. But we cannot really do that. Ser Jordayne here is the only one who knows their faces."

He bit his lip and thought of what the Dornishman had suggested

"I do not know much of religion, sers. But I do know that whores get pregnant from time to time and that brothels are places where one can find small children."

They set out towards the poor houses nearest to the slums, making their way up from Flea Bottom and out onto the Street of Silk. The warming weather had made the streets busier than usual, for those sleeping rough on the cobbles would no longer freeze in the long, dark nights.
They could choose to start in the upper street, in the pleasure houses frequented by the wealthy and powerful - the women there were perhaps more likely to keep a bastard fathered by a nobleman, Jordayne reasoned, though this ran the risk of being recognised. A more discrete option would be to search in the lower district nearest Flea Bottom, in the rows of back-to-back houses of wood and dirt arrayed before them. Houses in which the cleanest whores cost but a few silver stags, the perfect place for an off-duty guardsman to blow his pay on a quick roll in a dirty bed.

Alternatively they could press on towards the nearest poor-house, conveniently located at the end of the street that housed the most whores in all of Westeros.

As it turned out, finding Aegon would be easy. The city had no shortage of fair haired infants that Jordayne mentioned could pass for the Prince without too close inspection.
Getting their hands on one would be another matter. Mothers were not especially fond of handing their children off to any knight that came calling. They entered one of the city's poorhouses, ran by a plump and plain Septa by the name of Anaya. She squints at them with eyes like dark marbles, a hint of suspicion in her gaze. Behind her, children were sat and being read the Seven Pointed Star by an elderly man. Some of them were not old enough to understand, being barely old enough to walk. A few were older by varying degrees, and turned to stare at the three entrants with furtive glances that spoke of their curiosity.

"Can I help you Sers?" Anaya asked, with a thin smile. Her eyes flickered to their swords for a brief moment.

"If you were to give a donation... We need money to feed and clothe, you see."

She looked once again at the sword.

"I could let you look around."

With feigned hesitance she took the handful of coins, gold glittering in her hands as she waved the men inside. It was enough to feed and clothe the children and then some.
Jordayne took a look at each young lad, gave them a pat on the head or a muss of their hair. But each time he came away looking dissatisfied. He gave Ser Mooton a shake of the head.

Among the children being read to, however, a girl of a few years old caught his eye. Dark enough in complexion and hair to be a Dornish girl.

"My sister is fair looking, for a salty Dornish." He said offhandedly, with a gesture in the girl's direction. "That girl could pass for her daughter."

“Indeed ser, the resemblance is striking,” Mooton agreed with Jordayne, trusting that the other man had indeed identified a child who would pass, “What would you say, septa, to this charge of yours personally taking up a life in a fine household. I can vouch that she would be well-treated. My companion’s sister and the master of the house have both so longed for a daughter.”

He had hesitated a moment, preparing to swear on his knightly honor, but finding himself unable to attach such a solemn oath to this affair. He knew the prince had good reasons, and the survival of the children was of paramount importance - enough to send three knights to these unusual lengths, but there was a still a line he would not cross. He did allow his hand to shift slightly, so that the strings of the purse he still held slipped loose once again.

Nodding brusquely at Lonmouth’s quiet words, he turned about to address them aside, “Be sure not to traipse about the girl about too much, it is best to be out of this locale as swiftly as possible. Perhaps let Jordayne scout out the boy while you stick closer to the girl - he alone can look a lecher interested in the houses, while you will simply be an unrelated party escorting your daughter through the city.”

He then turned his smile once again to the septa, “While my companions are more than capable of providing escort, I for one am interested in seeing more of your mission here. I lament that this is an aspect of the faith often ignored by those of my breeding and path.”