Weakling. The heir of house Targaryen was somewhere in the woods now, believing that he was fleeing for his life. The fool refused to change, refused the sword and lance in favor of books. He cried over his dead mother at nights and was mocked for it in the morning. He surrendered before the opponent had even unleashed the sword from it's scabbard. A utter disappointment to the Quartermaster of Nordreki Castle. A disappointment to his family. Aerys could relate with Matarys. He knew the cure for it though. The entire year had been about forcing the crown-prince to survive. Aerys would beat him at sunrise with a blunt sword, then chase him across the fields on horseback together with a few sworn knights of his. He was forcing Matarys to adapt. To evolve. To burn and rise again in his own ashes.