Chapter Six: There is no Peace, Only Preludes.
Fifteenth Day of the Second Month, 111 AC.
I took a deep breath, then another, then another.
Then I grabbed onto my knees and tried to not start wheezing.
I hated being back to square one on the whole fitness thing.
Go ahead and say what you will about it being unhealthy for a child as young as I was to be doing heavy exercise but you know what else is not healthy? Being stabbed because I was not in fighting shape and given the body type I had inherited I could not afford to not start early.
Bright side I was not alone in my suffering.
"Gaaaem, wait!" Little (well, as little as I was) Aegon whined as he caught up to me breathlessly, honestly for that all he ignored my attempts to fix him he had still become incredibly attached. If nothing else, he had picked up my speech patterns easily enough.
"Come Aegon, a little pain will not kill you!" I smiled back at him. If I showed weakness and they would slaughter me after all.
"It's hard," He responded as if that was a full-proof argument. "And I'm hungry!"
"Only a little bit longer Gaem, come on now," I said happily before taking a breath and launching myself forward again. I was not terribly worried about Aegon since the veritable swarm of Hightower guardsmen assigned to protect us should not be trailing too far behind.
They were a bit of an annoyance to me because the green-clad men seemed to rotate on a constant basis, to the degree that I never managed to pick up the name of one before they were rotated out.
I loathed not being able to build up personal loyalty but I suspected that I understood Alicent's reasoning to a degree, she was trying to keep the men from getting familiar enough to become suspicious of me.
At least that was my theory, given that she never rotated out any of the other servants I interacted with, it might not be true reason.
I shook my head to cast away such concerns. It was not a day to be glum after all, what with it being my birthday the next day (well name-day but hey a party in my honor was still a party in my honor).
Even if I usually ended up playing a (distant) second fiddle to Aegon.
I took it as a good sign that the weather was lovely, bright and sunny with a strong eastern wind pushing away the scent of the city in favor of the salty breeze of the sea.
Perhaps my mood got the better of me because I did not pay much attention as I weaved the halls of the Red Keep. So turning around a corner I did not see the glimmer of metal and ended up crashing face-first into a wall of steel and collapsing to the ground.
"Apologies, my prince," Ser Criston informed me politely. I mentally made a note to entomb him in a sceptic tank, wait were sceptic tanks things in Westeros? If not then I would need to invent one.
"Greetings, Ser Criston," I respond dryly as I rubbed my poor face.
"Gaem!" A young woman's voice rings in alarm as Rhaenyra comes running down the hall in worry. Curse that silly assed nickname, it was endearing on a twelve-year-old but sweet gods it got grating when it spread like wildfire.
Oh well, it was time to start milking.
"Rhae!" I said while scrunching up my face, "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking and I ran into Ser Criston!"
She reached down and hugged me, "No Gaem, do not worry it is not your fault! Ser Criston!" She looked up at her protector who looked like he was trying to desperately to suppress the need to facepalm. "Please be more careful in the future!"
And like that I felt all exhaustion drain from my body as my nemesis got Reputation (Rhaenyra) -1. Only a few more centuries and I might get it down a rating or two.
She patted my head before standing up.
"In any case, my little knight," She kissed my brow. "Are you excited for your nameday?"
I smiled up at her, "Yes, Rhae."
"Gaem!" I heard Aegon shout behind me. I turned around and saw that our guards had just opted to carry the little prince and look for me.
By the old and new, my twin seemed to enjoy making my life difficult.
And as if on cue the hall got tense. Great. Sure, I was scared of dying in the coming war (and trust me it's coming), but it was miserable to live in a constant state of tension and drama.
"Princess Rhaenyra," the head guard nodded in a terse greeting.
I noticed the corners of Rhaenyra's mouth twitched a little.
Great, start it with a slight. Why not?
"Your grace, Ser Eberman," Ser Criston corrected the knight. "I think you meant to say, 'Your Grace'."
Hmm, he was protecting Rhaenyra… perhaps he could die heroically getting stabbed in the face by all the guards at once? I was not completely petty. I would even say something nice at his funeral (and maybe only spit on his corpse once or twice).
"Of course, apologies, your grace," the newly identified Ser Eberman said with what might be called politeness, his voice seemed to lack inflection so I could not be certain. "We were looking for the young prince."
In another life I would inquire if they were done comparing their dicks but sadly I was still a few years away from being able to get away with that.
I could not wait to have a dragon.
"I fear I will have to temporarily relieve you of your charge," Rhaenyra said with a smile. Huh, I am pretty sure she uses that smile when she stabbed people.
"We are under orders to retrieve them so that they might be prepared for the feast."
"My good ser, even I have not begun preparations yet," Rhaenyra said sweetly, "You can be assured that I will return my brother to his chamber with enough time to spare. Besides our lessons with the Grand Maester will start soon."
Yap, it had gotten to the point where I was comfortably ahead of Rhaenyra in our schooling. Truthfully, I held back quite a bit in order to ensure we always had at least that time together, it was helpful for building up bonds after all. Although it would only last a year or two more before she was dubbed a woman proper and be deemed sufficiently educated.
Which said some terrifying things about the culture.
And more horrifying things about the fact that no one thought that she might need a bit more education if she was going to inherit the damned realm.
Ser Eberman seemed to think for a moment, I'd wager that he was weighing if he could force the issue. Fortunately, he eventually opted to give in.
"Of course, good day… your grace."
…
"So the records are clear in that the house Targaryen as part of its transformation in the wake of the doom opted to abandon their three-part naming system in favor of the more common two-part naming system used by the Westerosi." Runciter's lectures were a bit dry at times but I happily scribbled along as he went on. Well attempted to anyway. I hated quills so very much. "And so Maegon Targaryen Litsen became Maegon Targaryen. The 'cognomen' as it was known, refers to-"
Perhaps he had chosen this subject due to it being my Nameday the next day but I took it as a gift in any case. It seemed that the Valyrians were more roman-like than the sources had initially pointed at, a fact that my dreams seemed to reaffirm.
I always enjoyed those lessons in the old Maester's chamber although for all her enthusiasm Rhaenyra often lost interest fairly quickly. Even now she eyed the window in a manner that screamed 'just maybe I could survive the fall'. It annoyed me that my nemesis seemed much more content as he looked almost as enthralled by the Maester as I was, damn it all, I not could claim that he was an idiot.
Hmm, a literate man with a respectable desire to improve his learning…
Perhaps I could get him burned as a witch?
"Is there any indication of why Maegon opted to do this?" I quarried.
"Ah, now that has been a matter of debate amongst the citadel for a few years," Runciter smiled. "A common hypothesis is that the Targaryens much like the lesser branches across Free Cities sought to strengthen the legitimacy of their claim to the clan with their rival families having been extinguished by the Doom."
"My own thought on the matter however," Runciter continued. "Is that the conquest of Westeros was a long held goal of House Targaryen and that this was merely one of many steps towards the realization of this goal."
That made sense to a degree, although if he did it on purpose it seemed in line with GRRMs unreliable-narrator fetish to have the Targaryen's attempt to bury any trace of their being a mere lesser family within the greater Targaryen clan after the Doom.
Being a branch did not sound that great when trying to conquer a continent.
"So we are to believe ourselves descended from a mere cadet house? Such a theory sounds difficult to believe Grand Maester," Rhaenyra opined. "We had two Valyrian Steel swords, did we not? Why would a 'lesser' house have such treasures?"
"Ah, well there we do have an answer in Barth's uncompleted work on the Forty Great Houses," Runciter stopped to clear his throat before continuing. "By compiling the records of the Citadel and the libraries of Dragonstone, he concluded that Valyrian Steel was rewarded for mighty deeds and acts of great service to the Freehold. While severely weakened by the time of their self-exile from the Lands of the Long Summer, the Litsen family seems to have been one with a weighty history. Much like many houses within Westeros today."
He frowned after a moment and focused on Rhaenyra, "Your grace, I do believe that we have covered this material before."
Rhaenyra smiled sweetly, "Apologies Grand Maester, I fear that such things escape me on occasion."
"You are going to be king someday Rhae," I was never one to miss an opportunity. "You should know this."
Rhaenyra blushed a bit at that and began to play with her rings. For the time being at least she seemed to love to play the part of the big sister and it gave me a good way of (hopefully) prodding her into being a better monarch if it came to it.
Or one that would not kill me at least.
The trick was to always butter her up before lecturing her.
"Queen, prince Gaemon. The term is queen," Runciter corrected with a sigh.
Thank you, Runciter.
I tilted my head in confusion, "but the one on the throne is a king, isn't it?"
"Not necessarily, prince Gaemon," Runciter said with a sigh.
"Regardless Grand Maester," Rhaenyra said while straightening her back and trying to look regal. "I apologize for my distraction, I shall endeavor to be more attentive."
It made me sort of sad that it was probably not going to last.
…
I was still thinking of the lesson after I parted from Rhaenyra with a hug, a kiss and a mental threat to figure out how to give Ser Criston super-dysentery.
It never failed to surprise me how complete Runciter's understanding of House Targaryen and Valyria was. It seemed to me that either Westeros underwent some serious purging of that knowledge specifically or all of the characters (Maesters included) were incredibly ignorant, it was probably the former.
I even had an inkling of where those records went. It was easy to say that they were simply lost but in my paranoid mind it seemed perfectly logical that the records were either defamed, burned or hidden to fit any number of agendas over the centuries. Viserys II, the Maesters, the Faith, they all seemed like the kind of people that would incinerate babies when it suited them.
It was a large part of why I was insistent on writing everything down (well that and the fact that I had always struggled to learn without taking notes), I wanted to preserve every scrap of knowledge I could. Of course, my plan was to copy them all over more formally once my hand writing had improved. I was taking much the same philosophy to my dreams, beginning my mornings with ample notes in what I refused to call a dream journal.
Not that there was much to write mind you, far from cliff notes I was getting a first-row seat to an entire damned apprenticeship. A day by day breakdown.
So most days I woke up with pitiably little to write aside from some quick notes on the lessons, I would need to smith myself if I wanted to work the steel and any leg up on accelerating my learning would be helpful.
That was not to say that I picked up nothing of interest.
For one thing, I could already gleam clues from her time training her Qelos. Namely an exercise they called 'the Pillars.' Hours spent commanding the young dragon to expel his breath onto pillars of different metals for a very interesting reason.
Dragons could be taught to control the temperature of their flames.
For some reason, the Order placed an insane emphasis on this, hotter and cooler, for hours they would make her practice on the great pillars. When a flame was too cold to warm a pillar or too hot and begun to melt it, she would be struck. I could not understand the 'why' of it for the life of me but I doubted that they did it without cause. I would need a clever dragon that could be effectively taught.
I found the other parts of the dreams far more fascinating, the scraps and hints of Valyrian culture beyond even what the Grand Maester or even old Barth himself seemed to know.
I was aiding Runciter in his compilation of Valyrian culture with my dreams which were given context by the veritable wall of sources the old Maester had gathered. Most of them were complete bull and the good ones were iffy but you take what you can get. Runciter mostly just cannibalized the notes from Barth's incomplete work to get it done.
I had voiced an objection to that, plagiarism was distasteful. Sure I planned to rip-off a number of people from my old world but it was another thing entirely when it was the world I currently lived in. Runciter's answer had disturbed me greatly.
"Do not worry my boy, neither Barth nor even I will be alive to see this done," The old Maester had said it with a smile. "Just be sure to give us some of the credit, better it be read than go unread for the sake of pride."
It was surprisingly crushing to hear that. We were only a year away from his death in the canon and I saw it in his hunched and grey frame that the old man did not have a lot of time left.
Damn it. I had gotten attached, it was my own damned fault given what I knew this would happen.
Honestly it was for the sake of the old man that I was also doodling notes in one of the many studies within the Keep. I had no idea what a printing press would bring to Westeros but I figured it was the least I could do for my mentor to ensure his work was circulated widely among the Maesters and nobility.
"Ah, here you are Gaemon," I heard mothe-Alicent's voice behind me. I shook my head slightly before looking up. I was really sucking at not attaching myself to these people, they would all be dead, insane or be trying to kill me before long.
Alicent smiled at me from atop the stairs which I was seated on. She looked remarkably good for a woman that seemed to be trying to outdo a rabbit in her white dress, which while modest, clearly highlighted her lithe figure.
Proof of said tendency was in her arms as she walked down.
The little blue-eyed child was only a few months old but her already gave me a bad, almost Cole-Not-Suffering feeling. Aemond did not look like a monster, in fact he was the cutest baby I had ever seen and not particularly grumpy or prone to crying but then again no one was born a monster.
"Your guards were looking for you, you know better than to leave the Maesters tower without escort," for all her lecturing I heard a mix of resignation and amusement in her tone. She knew that I liked to troll my guards since I had given up on winning them over, an amusing side-effect of the rotation was that they very rarely knew the labyrinthine halls of the Keep as well as the servants and residents did. Honestly at this point it was more like a comment than a recrimination.
"What are you doing my dear?" She asked sweetly as she sat next to me. It did not take much to see that she was not the sort to sully herself by sitting on a staircase, she was doing it to identify with me.
She had been much more active with Hela and Aemond than she had initially been with me and Aegon. I guessed that she took my closeness with Rhaenyra as a challenge and wanted to ensure that her other children were firmly anchored to her.
"Just clearing up my notes from the Grand Maester, mother," she coped surprisingly well with my oddity.
She eyed me for a moment before I sighed, "Just clearing up my notes, Mom."
It was something she had latched onto as soon as she noted that I had somehow picked up Rhaenyra's fondness for nicknames and informality. Say what you will about Alicent Hightower but a disinterested mother she arguably was not. Just a terrible caretaker, it probably did wonders for us that I was essentially pre-raised.
"And what was today's subject?" She asked as she poked little Aemond's cheek.
"Our deciding to abandon our family name," I said cheerfully. Hard to say but for all my misgivings about her future action, Alicent was easy to talk to.
"Oh? That occurred under Maegon if I recall," she noted with a slight frown in thought. There it was, she was wickedly intelligent and I didn't mean in a scheming way (well not just in a scheming way), she was (perhaps unsurprisingly) a complete Valyrian fangirl and generally knowledgeable besides.
No clue, how she squared that with her thoughts on inheritance but it would hardly be the first time a person made no sense.
"Yes, it was very interesting to-" I was interrupted by a maid rushing down the hall.
"Your grace!" She said breathlessly.
Allicent had an interesting little tell, when she was annoyed the rightmost corner of her right eye twitched just a little.
"Yes?" She asked with a smile thin enough to cut.
The servant froze for a moment before collecting herself, "Apologies your grac,e but it would seem Lords Blackwood and Braken arrived at the Keep at the same time."
"What?" Alicent said standing up quickly while passing Aemond to the nanny behind me. Wait had the nanny been here the entire time? Holy crap I thought we were having a private moment! "I had thought that they were arriving for the feast separately? The ravens had been clear."
And with that she ran off to prevent their feud from ruining my feast and (more importantly) making her look bad.
Not that I blamed her there, a bad feast was a PR nightmare and it was solidly the domain the lady of the castle. Rhaenyra would be doing summersaults if she found out that Alicent had screwed up a feast, even indirectly.
Left to my own devices, I finished up my notes and with a pinch of mercy made my way to where I suspected my Hightower guards were looking for me. I was not one hundred percent a dick after all.
The Keep was rather busy preparing for the next day's feast, what with all the nobles streaming into the city in preparation for that and the next week's anniversary feast.
I was not sure how long my parents had been married but it seemed that there was a lot of spectacle around this one in particular, I wondered why… oh no. Alicent got pregnant not long after they wed. I was about a year younger than their relationship, I was turning four.
That meant that the feast would be commemorate their fifth year which meant…
I wondered if I could build a bomb shelter to hide in for the next few months.