Chapter Eight: Shrooms, Blondes and Pork.
Twenty First Day of the Second Month, 111 AC.
I knew I would have to go flying sooner or later, whether on my own dragon (provided I did not die in the attempt, something which I very deliberately chose not to dwell on) or someone else's.
I was secretly rather concerned about it since a Targaryen that did not handle flying well was like a fish that could not swim.
To say nothing of gravity.
I had never been an adventurous person in my past life and frankly I had never been a terribly brave man either.
Needless to say, I was surprised by my reaction to my first ride.
"This is awesome!" I whooped against the turbulent wind as Meleys wove through the air.
It had been terrifying at first and I still felt like my heart was at the top of my throat, but the sheer rush of the wind, the beating of dragon wings as we moved wildly through the air was beyond anything I could ever fully describe.
It was like being on the world's most insane roller-coaster if you crossed it with sky-diving.
"Relax, lad!" Rhaenys laughed behind me as she steered Meleys with whip and rein. Daemon and Rhaenyra were trailing behind us but they lacked Rhaenys's experience at handling complex aerial maneuvers.
"This is unbelievable!" I shouted back happily.
"But your mother turning into a dragon in a rage if I drop you is very believable! Relax and lay back lad!" Rhaenys shouted with cheer still lacing her voice. I relaxed and leaned back into her (which was not that bad of an alternative) even if I did not think it necessary. Alicent had demanded I be wrapped in a triple harness of chains, I would have needed to sever my damned legs to fall from the saddle.
As she slowed Meleys down into a cruising speed both of our fellow flyers caught up with us. The speed was slow enough that I could hear Rhaenyra's shouting.
"See Gaem?! Is it not the greatest feeling?" She was close enough that I could see her return my ear to ear smile.
"Even better, Rhae!" I shouted back. It was no wonder that Aegon's Rhaenys had been so obsessed with riding, it made one wish to never land again!
As the initial thrill faded, I did take note of something I hadn't before. Rhaenys seemed noticeably more comfortable on her mount than Rhaenyra and Daemon. It was not a matter of control, both seemed to be steering their beasts well-enough.
It was just comfort (since I lacked a better word for it). Rhaenys used her whip sparingly, one lash with minimal force seeming to accomplish what it took both Daemon and Rhaenyra a few strikes and some coaching to do.
I wondered if it had something to do with experience? I took note as much as I could of how each commanded their mount, I did not know how much of it was skill, the Dragon's temperament or just the nature of the rider.
What I did know was that if I ever wanted to stand of snowballs chance in hell of someday riding a dragon with anything resembling competence it, would be necessary to take all the help that I could get.
Still, the time being I was just enjoying the sensation of gliding across the sky on dragon-back.
I could resume my existence of fear and paranoia when I touched the ground once more.
…
Sure enough, the day ended up on a less than desirable note. No sooner had I arrived than Alicent had my nanny ferrying me off to bed, which to be fair was only responsible if still inconvenient (Although I could have done with Nessa almost hugging the life out of me in her relief at my survival).
The problem was that even as I was carried away and Rhaenys retired to ready herself for her journey, Daemon and Rhaenyra continued flying.
That did not bode well for me, the kingdoms or even the pair themselves.
As I waved Rhaenys goodbye I felt a small pang of regret, I would miss the Kamina-like dragonrider.
It did not exactly help things that we were parting as two of the main actors responsible for her doom in another world got more comfortable above us. The woman was truly unlucky: passed over, married to a man (twenty-one years her senior) who probably fathered quite a few bastards behind her back, witnessing her children die only to then be dragged into a war that would not only purge her family but see her die an incredibly pointless death. I doubted that I would be able to do much in the long run, but she was likable enough that if I could manage to mitigate the amount of misfortune she received, I likely would.
I did not have time to dwell on that however as my remaining nanny tucked me into my little bed.
I needed to get the Daemon situation under control and fast. Lest he threaten my survival.
I was reasonably sure he would not move directly against me since I was not much of a threat, no more than any of my brothers originally were, beyond my closer relationship with Rhaenyra anyway.
That sadly meant little though, as through his actions the so-called 'King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea' could pose almost as great a threat to my survival indirectly as he could directly.
So, I did not get much in the way of sleep that night, in the moonlight I wrote as thorough an outline from the Rogue Prince as I could recall.
The bulk of the servants assumed that they were doodles mostly but I had been fortunate enough to retain my previous language skills which combined with my rather poor penmanship (Quill-manship?) made the notes gibberish to any who would try to employ them beyond me. Although I suspected that Nessa had at least some suspicion of it, my old wet-nurse never had her eye off of me after all.
In the original timeline (and I had little reason to assume that I had made a difference at that point), I knew that Daemon supposedly leveraged Rhaenyra's inability to bed Cole as a means to entrench himself as either her lover or pseudo-lover depending on sources.
I scratched my chin before scratching out 'pseudo,' if I wanted to succeed I needed mainly account for the worst possible scenarios.
In any case, he remained at court for about half of a year, during which he lauded over her constantly, which did not give me much for establishing a timeline of events in any meaningful way.
That left me with little choice. I had to be as proactive as possible and to do that, I would need information.
Were it not for my seething hatred for Cole I might have recruited him to this end ,but sadly I could not in good conscience condemn an ally to the laxative-induced death I wished for him.
Alicent would be a terrible choice for so many reasons that I did not even bother to list them.
I could not do it myself either.
I lacked the access to follow them without notice and if I made it too obvious then they could readily avoid me with their superior freedom.
I also did not want to put myself even more obviously in Daemon's crosshairs or even worse to sow the seeds of Rhaenyra eventually wanting to kill me.
I needed some way of monitoring what was happening with Rhaenyra and Daemon, preferably a reliable way which was unlikely to draw too much unwanted attention. Fortunately, I knew exactly how, or more accurately who would be able to do this for me.
I went to bed quite happy that I had more or less worked out a solid game-plan.
…
Twenty Second Day of the Second Month, 111 AC.
When I awoke as bid my closest Nessa to go fetch him.
Nessa had been the woman whom I had interacted with when I had first entered that world and she was quite honestly the one which I had most firmly under my thumb (which was my roundabout way of saying that she was my wetnurse).
Granted ,I was fairly sure that a few of the nannies were the closest things to 'my creatures' as I had. Beyond them was only a cook who I had convinced Rhae to give a golden dragon to when I had heard of an ill-daughter so that he might see a healer, a boy who I had once covered for on his way out of a noble 'maiden's' room and a maid who I liked to speak with.
Less than a dozen but they were all I could have at that moment even, f they probably answered to someone else, either Alicent or that old man who was the Master of Whispers at the time (a Roote or something of the sort).
Nessa was the only one whom I trusted completely (in as much as I was capable of trust at that point), she seemed just a bit more isolated from the other nannies and she was by far the most obsessively prone to obeying my whims. I had no clue why, but I was not looking into that gift-horse's mouth until I had other horses to pick from.
Surely enough, she delivered the one I had sent for to me as soon as my brother's were taken elsewhere. Little Helaena was the quietest child I had ever seen so I was not too concerned over the one-year old's presence (although she had an odd habit of latching onto me like a squirrel whenever I got to close, a tendency she repeated with Aegon as well).
"Mushroom, Mushroom! The little prince want'a see the Mushroom!" The fool said as Nessa led him into the room. I felt a touch of gilt for sending the girl to fetch him, given the lurid rumors the creature was fond of and the fact that the poor girl was not even twenty.
But sure enough, the fool was as the books had described him, with a massive head and small frame dressed in a ridiculous black and red motley.
Honestly, it did not say much about everyone at the Keep that he was able to pass himself off as a simple man, all he did to keep up the act was move with a skip and twist his speech patterns. They laughed at his jokes and the shake of the bells on his oversized 'crown' but in a funny way they were the fools for not noticing it.
It was his eyes that gave him away, the hazel orbs constantly move about every room I had ever seen him enter, devouring every little detail. A shameless gossip perhaps, but a knowledgeable one.
"Nessa?" I asked brightly.
"Yes, my prince?" She asked eagerly.
"Could you please show my sister the harbor?" I ask happily, my smile was well-practiced but it never quite reached my eyes so I always had to close my eyes when I did so.
I thought it was a fairly endearing deception, all things considered.
"Of course, my prince," The blonde maid obeyed without complaint, casting only a suspicious look at the fool as she retrieved my sister and left the room.
"You can drop the act," I said curtly the moment the door closed, my eyes opening to glare straight into his.
I kept the smile; tired cheeks were a small price to pay for unnerving others in my own opinion.
"Mushroom?" The dwarf responded with a look of confusion on his face.
It was unproductive to waste time, especially given that I needed every moment to guarantee the future integrity of my rear. "I know that you are not a lackwit."
"Mushro-" He was about to continue.
"Say 'Mushroom' again and I will have your head sautéed to see if it tastes like a mushroom," I said coldly and without any trace of hesitation.
The fool would serve my means but between his defamation of people I had grown attached to and his being a blatant Ser Criston fanboy, I was not about to be excessively kind.
Although it was completely about the former and not at all about the latter.
The fool froze at the threat sure enough.
"I have no intention of mentioning it to anyone, in fact it would not be very helpful to my agenda," I spoke with as much force as I could force into my still-young voice.
'Too chaste,' how dare he so blatantly white-knight a literal white-knight… and make Rhaenyra look bad, that too. Partially.
…Mayhaps my disdain might have had a little to do with Cole.
"Mus-" I narrowed my eyes at the man and he awkwardly cleared his throat, "I get your meaning milord."
"See! Was that so difficult?" My smile became a touch more genuine as I spoke, if he had put up more of a fight then I would have been forced to do something to show that I meant what I said.
He eyed me for a moment.
"Well Mushroom, I need a favor," Still all smiles.
Don't focus on the Criston element, enlightenment can come later.
The 'fool' furrowed his brows, "A favor milord?"
"Everyone else thinks that you are a fool," I shrugged half-heartedly. "I know that you are probably privy to more of the secrets in this castle than even their supposed 'master'."
My shameless appeal to his indignation and ego at least went off without a hitch. The man straightened his posture and cleared his throat again, as if to shake off the normal high-pitch that he so favored, "You're not wrong, milord."
"That is fantastic!" I walked up to him and clasped one hand to his shoulder with perhaps more than a little bit of force. "Then we are going to be just the best of friends."
I really hoped that I did not look anywhere near as shady saying that as I felt.
Also, I hoped that I did not show that it took entirely too much restraint to keep myself from focusing on the dwarf's stance towards a certain knight.
I feared that I might have a problem.
One which would only be solved when I had Cole fed to a Sarlacc pit, after ensuring that there were no Jedi on Westeros or Essos.
So, I got Mushroom on my side.
Sort of.
Granted, it was gained through a mix of threats and entirely too much flattery (my claiming that it was his comedic genius that tipped me off may have been laying it on a little thick) but it had been worth it to access one of the more useful information-gathering agents in the Keep.
We had agreed that he would not do anything to put himself at risk but even if I then, if I could get a less propagandized version of the Testimony of Mushroom then that would already be invaluable. Especially given GRRM's statement in an interview that the fault of Mushroom had less to do with his accuracy and more that he tended to infer the worst possible motive for any given action.
Which would have made it a decent enough week after hurricane Daemon made a touchdown.
Aside from raining so many gifts over Rhaenyra that I contemplated getting her an umbrella, he had yet to do anything especially creepy. Predictably, none of us had received gifts aside from her, Viserys and oddly enough Helaena (I was desperately trying to repress any potential implications there).
However, one small hiccup had popped up that I had not been expecting, Daemon had begun speaking about me.
"Brother, you must allow little Gaemon to come squire for me when he is of age," He proclaimed on the seventh day since his arrival. I wondered if he times it because I damned near chocked on watered down wine when he said it.
"A marvelous idea Daemon," Viserys answered with all smiles.
Rhaenyra clapped in enthusiasm, "That would be exciting! Would it not, Gaemon?"
"Y-Yes," I stuttered.
NO, no it would not! I wondered if I was the only one that saw what was wrong with that picture?
Sadly we were caught in a storm and the boy lost his footing.
Regrettably he fell from his horse.
Arrows are horribly unpredictable things I'm afraid.
Some miserable rogue drove a dagger into his heart for his coin.
He slipped down some stairs.
He slipped and fell onto Darksister.
How did no one see the excuses to justify my sudden and tragic death just running through his mind as he smiled at me?
"My love," Alicent said as she gently laid her hand over Viserys's own. Her face was as pale as I felt at the idea. "Is he not too young to speak of such things?"
Yes mothe-Alicent, you are absolutely right. No need to be unreasonable now, kids grow up so fast these days, let them enjoy it and all that!
"If I may, your grace," Ser Cole commented. "It is never too early for a young man to start contemplating his future."
While many of the men uttered words of agreement and the Kingsguard nodded proudly to their sworn brother, I was of a distinctly different mind.
Oh, you can go straight to hell Cole! Straight through the bottom of the ninth circle and into super-hell! Which is much like normal hell if it had been authored by GRRM.
"Are you suggesting yourself as a potential mentor for young Gaemon, Ser Cole?" Alicent asked.
It was a tragedy, chestplate had several inexplicable structural weaknesses.
A pity, Super-Dysentery is a horrible way to die.
How was I supposed to know that he was not immune to plague?
For some reason, he fell off of the battlement, I suspect depression.
Someone had filled his chamber pot with Wildfire, tragic.
Touché Daemon, touché.
"I would not presume to place myself over a prince of the blood," Cole answered diplomatically with a polite nod towards Daemon.
A shame really.
"In any case, Daemon. I do fear that my wife is not wrong," Viserys said with a look towards his pale queen. "Let us postpone to topic for a few years then?"
"Of course," Daemon answered brightly. "My offer will still stand I assure you."
I made a small note to self. Namely that I needed to find a good knight to squire under and beg him to take me under his wing… Or run away.
Under most circumstances I would have not slept that night out of sheer anxiety but the dreams tended to have terrible timing anyway.
"Again!" The master yelled as the pig's throat was cut before Qelos and the servants retreated quickly.
He held before the carcass that time, only thirty tries to get that far. Two days since the latest torment had commenced.
"Qelos. Dracarys. Full Strength." She spoke quietly as the now larger dragon released his flame on the corpse. A fine and lengthy cone resulting from hours of ceaseless training. Where most dragons his age would take a half of a minute to suitable incinerate the body, he turned it to ash in an instant and she let out a deep sigh of relief.
Both she and her beloved companion bore the marks of failure, whip and scourge were meted out at this stage. Strikes were a mercy offered to novice children, mistakes now were heresy and punished accordingly.
She relaxed too quickly however as Qelos lunged forward to sniff the ashes in search of something large enough to eat.
Before she could even utter a word the behemoth behind her master had already uncurled her massive neck and latched her jaws onto the back of Qelos's head in a control bite. Must dragons of such size and strength would have crushed the skull of the lesser beast between their jaws in the attempt but that one merely held Qelos in place as her partner approached Gaema.
Both Gaema and her partner were statues. They understood what came next.
"Because you have already borne your fourteen lashes today without complaint nor healing, I will offer you some mercy," the Master said in his wispy voice as his ancient features surveyed her. "Do you fail to understand the purpose of this exercise?"
"To test the strength of his fi-," She stopped the moment he master raised his hand, hard enough to bite her tongue from the force of her jaw locking.
"If control of the forge-flame was not yet sufficient then you would not be here," he noted.
"Then I confess my ignorance," lying and pride only brought worse punishment as she had learned.
"The scent of pig and man is not dissimilar when cooked," he stated simply. "This is an exercise meant to teach your dragon to burn man but not devour him."
"I-I do not understand," She said hesitantly. Rather than raise his fist or whip the master did something she had never seen him do.
He smiled as he rolled up one of his sleeves to reveal the marks of blood-healed lines crossing throughout his flesh.
"Neither did I once, child," he said. "The flesh of man while valuable for other works is not suited to our art."
"But my father always said that the flesh of men gives dragons strength?" In fact, she had always been told that a great many slaves were bought for such a purpose. To spend such a valuable commodity to strengthen one's own dragon was a great sign of wealth and status, if secondary to feeding on foes slain in true battle.
Once again, a smile on those ancient features, "That is correct child, they grow faster and more aggressive when properly nourished with man-flesh."
He walked over to the great monster and patted it gently, "However like all magic where the cost is paid by another, it is ultimately a poor bargain. A dragon fed in such a way will be fortunate to make it half-past his third century whereas one which avoids the flesh of man can reach four or even six."
"So the secret to longevity of the dragons within the Orders is no secret at all?" She asked with a furrowed brow.
"Perhaps, if one wishes a dragon for war and a beast to war on men, then it is a reasonable course," He eyed her. "Consider however that such beasts are more akin to common horses, brutish things needing whip and simplicity, unable to fully control their fire and short-lived. Even Valiants and Drums with their war-steeds would never favor such beasts."
As he returned to his seat and his dragon released Qelos the Master added, "The method of mundane warriors is fine but few Orders can afford anything less than full control to work our art. We are also far too selfish as to chain our lives to short-lived beasts. Now"
Another pig was brought into the arena.
"Again."