Chapter Thirteen: Time Flies When You are Useless
In the aftermath of Daemon's…hmm, well I would say misadventure, but I had to give some grudging amount of respect to the man.
After all, to disrespect a severe threat to your own existence is not the smartest move in the book. Like at all.
But that is me getting off subject, anyway after that whole thing. The court resumed its typical denial of the greater world and the tension that defined its existence.
Rhaenyra pretended the whole night had not happened and Alicent made snide remarks as she was able to whenever she could sneak them past Viserys.
Not terribly difficult given that he dealt with his disappointment with Daemon by redoubling on his feasts.
As for me? Well I was the talk of the town so to speak.
It was easy to dismiss servants talking about the queerness of a prince and no one in the family or inner circle kept their opinions from escaping the walls of the Keep. A dragon though? It is pretty damned hard to hide a dragon.
I was getting a fairly excellent reaction all things considered from what I heard, words of praise for the daring young prince who at the tender age of four achieved the near unheard-of feat of taming a dragon as early as anyone could recall.
At least that is what the lickspittles frantically rushed to say whenever I came up, now if I had any indication that they said this for any possible reason other than sucking up to my current parents, I might have believed it.
In private they were probably somewhere between disdainful and ambivalent to what the third in line is up to. Yay for medieval reasoning!
It also allowed me to focus on adjusting my little partner with the castle, which went pretty well all things considered. It was not terribly uncommon for hatchlings and extremely young dragons to be allowed to stay in the company of their future riders after all.
Granted, this usually meant that the child in question would spend some time in the pit but Sky's calm nature and (more importantly) the lack of anyone being willing to pry her from me meant that the little dragon was never more than a meter or two away from me.
I preferred it that way as it allowed me to follow through with my current objective, copy Gaema and Qelos to the best of my ability because she had yet to be roasted in my dreams.
There were few parties that seemed genuinely interested in my change of circumstances among the staff and functionaries of the castle.
The rockiest start was arguably with the nannies.
The nannies did not take well to Clearsky at first. It was understandable to a degree that they were not jazzed about being forced into proximity with a miniature flamethrower which they perceived as a threat to my health.
The most agitated was perhaps unsurprisingly Nessa. I could not help but wonder if Clearsky sensed my attachment to my primary caregiver because I was fairly certain that dragons were not supposed to react to someone chasing them with a pan like a cranky kitten, hissing and scurrying as fast as her awkward gait could take her while the young nanny chased her around me.
This had resulted in another element of separation between the staff that served me directly and those that I did not interact with regularly. The latter party were increasingly unnerved by the presence of the little critter constantly tailing me and those who actually became less threatened when they realized that the little dragon was essentially a large cat that could be manhandled by a nanny who was both a slip of a girl and little more than the daughter of a fairly minor landed knight. The sight of a dragon leaping onto the highest piece of furniture she could find in the room while trying to cling onto dignity at the mere sight of Nessa was a hard sight to take seriously.
Sadly, it seemed that I was not so lucky in avoiding attention from the family and their minions. As useful as Bulwer was I could not say the same about the 'subordinates' he had been assigned by Alicent. The guards had stopped rotating at least and I had committed the nine names of the three shifts to memory, but they were all her men, so it was a dubious comfort. I could understand mother being somewhat unwilling to let me out of her sights all things considered but I had little need for more hernias in my life.
It was not even just her, Rhaenyra seemed quite eager to solidify her base with me after her little error.
I guessed that Daemon must have been one of the things that put into full political mode and she logically reacted poorly to support from her faction getting shaken from the rumors that were making the rounds.
It was truly mysterious where those rumors were coming from… it was Mother, it was always Mother.
In any case, I actually saw her less than I used to given that she had fallen straight into damage control mode and spent the vast bulk of her time trying to sway courtiers and mustering every ounce of support she could manage. Unfortunately for me, it meant that she spent every moment of her supposed 'dragon lessons' trying her damnedest to make sure that I was aware that she loved me a great deal and reaffirming that I should not believe whatever lies I heard around the castle.
I could hardly fault her given that getting slut-shamed was bad in the first place but infinitely more savage in Westeros. I was not proud of the fact that I exploited the situation as best I could to score points with her by reassuring her that I knew that the whole thing with her, Daemon and Laena was just a 'misunderstanding'.
The upshot was watching Ser Cole follow her around with what I imagined to be balls so blue that he might be turning into an Other.
Speaking of the young lady of High Tide, she had obediently come to King's Landing as commanded and had made her best efforts to camouflage in with the furniture (truly a shame that we did not have much more than red and black decoration nor did she have much color diversity in her own wardrobe) while swallowing down the various rumors.
I felt some pity for her, being suckered into a bad choice by an older and admittedly dashing man was a common and tragic occurrence for Westerosi maidens and unfortunately it was hard to wash that particular stain out. I really wished that the poor thing did not have to get dragged into the flame-war but I would have gladly thrown her under the bus to keep the flame-war from becoming literal.
Sorry Laena, nothing personal.
It was about two months into her stay in the Red Keep that her mother came to collect her and she did not come alone.
…
Fourteenth Day of the Twelfth Month, 111 AC.
He was striking as he strolled confidently into the throne room. Tall and powerfully built, with dark skin heavily worked by countless days under the sun at sea until it became leathery under which was layers of hard-earned muscle. His silver-white hair was cut to his ears but against his darkened skin and sharp blue eyes it only served to accentuate his proud features.
Those features were of the Valyrian look but also different than those I had seen before, these were fine features that carried undoubtable strength and dignity to match its regal nature. His cloak was long sea green to match his breeches and his white doublet emblazon with a seahorse and his tall, black boots.
I had to admit that I was not usually into men but sweet Christ, forget the Seasnake. House Florent should just have been put to the sword so that Corlys Velaryon could claim his rightful title of 'Silver Fox'.
…I really hoped that I was only imagining having licked my lips as the Velaryon patriarch entered the room. I had never seen a man nearing his sixtieth year seem so vital and full of strength…
I decided to avert my eyes before I reacted more excessively.
Given that my eyes drifted his wife I regretfully had little success.
Rhaenys as usual had it and liked to flaunt it, in as much as her disturbingly blingy light blue dress would allow her. Curse you Westeros and your lack of short cut dresses! Curse you! What cruelties you inflict on man!
I must have been visibly drooling because I could swear that I got a wink, from both of them, or was that wishful thinking? I was in a very confused state by that point I admit.
Laenor was also there… he was a thing.
Not a good thing.
He seemed like a platinum edition of show-Renly, which was to say entirely too soft looking which if you ask me was not a particularly bright move given his rather shitty situation. Westeros was arguably the worst place ever conceived of to be gay and it would not exactly be to his benefit to not try and be the most testosterone fueled knight he could.
Honestly, book-Renly had been bright enough to go for the knighthood and not be overly overt about it, Laenor was just asking for gossip if he was anywhere near as bad in this timeline as in the books.
Why did that bother me? I had had gay relatives in my past lives and we had been close. Shouldn't I have felt more sympathy? Amusement maybe? For some reason all that I really focused on about the guy was his seeming inadequacy by virtually every dimension save physical beauty.
The it struck me, he was a selfish prick in the original timeline from what the sources claimed. He had been grossly unsubtle, put in even less effort into hiding it than the minimal efforts of Rhaenyra and perhaps most grating, he was the sort of guy who would abandon you the second some younger and prettier boy would show up.
A guy like that would never be good enough for Rhaenyra!
…Wait what? Why the hell do I care about that? I shook my head to rid myself of the thought while the little dragon snorted a puff of smoke from where her head lay on my lap.
Those were all of the actors from House Velaryon that I was familiar with among the huge ass party they had with them.
By the time I had finished my evaluation of the old, the proud and the questionable they had already arrived at the foot of the scrapheap referred to as the Iron Throne and Corlys was mostly done his greeting.
"-and I must clearly express my utmost gratitude for your majesty's most generous care of my daughter after offering her welcome to your most regal company," He finished smoothly.
"It is of course a great pleasure to us and our exquisite court to have the notable beauty of the young maiden of Velaryon under our care," The King said while nodding at the so-called 'maiden' in the gallery.
From the slight glower in Corlys's eyes as he locked eyes on his daughter I could tell that the court had been severely mistaken when they had assumed that Rhaenys would hide what occurred from her husband.
I found it ironic that she was uninclined to keep secrets given Corlys's own dirty little secrets at Hull. I did not want to be Daemon at that moment.
"I am most glad to hear that my beloved daughter has done so fine an effort of representing house Velaryon," he smiled deeply. Given that Laena looked progressively paler as her father went on I would wager that his words were code for, 'they are going to need a new word for the amount of dead you are'.
…
Unsurprisingly the Velaryons did not tarry at court for long before leaving for their beloved isle (which was near to boasting a new city if the charter could be secured and it didn't get obliterated this time around). As cool and attractive as the parents were, I was glad to see them leave. Their children were problems waiting to happen after all and I liked problems at a very great distance from my person when I had any choice.
My relief at their departure helped me celebrate the new year for the first time in court proper with a mix of relief and anticipation.
Unfortunately, it was not long after they left that two notable figures left this world. Both to my detriment.
The first was Harold Westerling. I felt bad for the extremely generic older knight, he had struck me as a good man from the few times I had seen him standing as if he wanted to be a decorative suit of plate when he grew up. By the standards of the time he did not die that poorly.
For a man in his sixties to go down cutting his way through a small bandit ambush on his return from visiting his brother was an irregularly impressive way for a knight past his prime to die. I could not help but wonder if his way of death was better or worse than the otl, it could very well have been unchanged since the man was never spared much attention in the Rogue Prince since he had lived a staunchly apolitical life.
His replacement was of course Sir Cole. Sadly, when he was christened by the court Septon as was tradition he failed to start screaming in pain before exploding when the holy oils made contact with his annoyingly unscarred skin.
That had been a shame really.
Ser Bulwer for his part grunted in annoyance as the new seventh was also anointed, the man seemed to dislike the Kingsguard institution in general for some reason. Perhaps he was annoyed that he did not rate a place among them?
That seemed both unlikely and an unkind assumption. Bulwer had his flaws, but he was notably not prone to envy.
The second death of the year hit me much harder to be frank.
…
Seventh Day of the Seventh Month, 112 AC.
"Is there nothing that can be done?" I asked the junior maester which had been brought in to oversee the ailing Grand Maester. My patience with the youth had grown thinner and thinner since he had started to limit my visits.
"No my princ-," The young novice was silenced when Sky growled in annoyance at his uselessness.
I glared at the youth, "You have a silver link do you not? Fix him immediately!"
Why the hell did I say that? I knew that this would not be reparable in my own world much less this one.
"Enough my boy," Runciter weakly raised hand to pat my head. "If you would take a last lesson from an old man, for all that we know of the body, death comes for us in the end."
"I understand that," I growled. It was too familiar a hopelessness by half, "But I need you here."
"Do not be silly, Gaemon," Infirmity and his labored breathing had blunted the court etiquette in the old maester. "You have not truly needed me since the day you were born."
The old man chuckled sadly at my puzzled impression, "There are many things not quite right with you my boy, it does not take an old man to see that. But you have a good heart, see that you keep it."
"I-I will," I answered with a sad smile of my own. "I will try my best."
That got me a thin and worn smile, "Then one last promise."
"What is it?" Shit, I hate it when it starts raining indoors.
"Be sure to finish the book," he coughed before continuing, "I thought that it was coming along rather nicely."
"I will, I can promise you that much!" I assured him with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. That much I could do, if I couldn't get that done at the very least, then I could not do anything.
"I am glad," the man who had been somewhere between a mentor and grandfather for me said weakly before sleep claimed him.
That had been the last time that I had been able to speak to him, he never woke up again. We burned him on a pyre not long after, a request of his.
Hardly surprising given his love of Valyria.
It left me feeling strangely hollow to watch the kindly old man be reduced to naught but ash. I patted Sky as I watched the fire long after everyone else save for Bulwer and his 'aides' had left.
I strayed until the fire had burned out and nothing remained but bone and ash. I pulled myself up then.
"I'm going to miss you, Runciter," I muttered to myself before turning to leave. The closest thing to a true friend I had in this world was gone, that was hard to cope with when everyone looks ready to stab you.
I let myself go a bit in grief, I stayed quiet and miserable in my room until the new Grand Maester came.
I did not know what I had been expecting of Moros but I had to admit that he turned out to be a great motivator.
He was such a useless, humorless and gluttonous leech that I threw myself back into my efforts to preserve Runciter's legacy from the slob's filthy hands.
Honestly, it did not add to my impression of the man that the 'fish' comment did not seem to be an isolated incident, I grew to loathe my lessons with the man since he was rarely capable of covering a subject without a racist, misogynist or political comment sneaking in there that had no place in the lesson. It made it hard to get used to the old maester's passing.
Looking back I can admit that my repossession of a considerable number of tomes from the Grand Maester's collections were a touch petty but at the time I could think of little more than my anger at the slob and my own petty desire to maintain my attachments to the old Maester.
Still time heals a lot and gives you time to grow and adjust.
For an entire year, I did just that. I worked hard and did my best to keep the aggression at court to a minimum. At least I wish that was what I tried to do, given my age the best I could pull off was my continued efforts to try and avoid being on anyone's list of 'people I want to feed to a dragon.'
The first step came in the form of the first request I ever made of Viserys.
A small stipend of coin for my entertainment.
Well, it was more accurate to say that I had asked through Alicent and Rhaenyra respectively, but I had to give the incompetent at least some gratitude.
Ten dragons in my pocket a week, if the fact a child so young was casually given that did not speak of the stability and wealth of the court, I was not sure what did.
Although it was not entirely in my hands, my finances were under the supervision of my caretaker Nessa, I was not entirely sure why Viserys trusted the girl so much, but I did not question it as my nanny was exceedingly cooperative as long as I did not ask for something ridiculous.
But the schemes the coin went into were a sharp second to my primary strategy for not being devoured. Training my little dragon into a creature capable of defending my rear.
I replicated every damned ritual which Gaema had been subjected to. I understood well enough that any sort of magic on planetos was half pointless mumbo-jumbo but the other half was usually needlessly complicated spell-work. I did not want to miss some crucial step and regret it later. I firmly doubted that I would have success in my plot to wait for some thrusters and glue to fall from the sky so that I could glue them to Clearsky once she was big enough and launch myself into the horizon.
It probably sounds more impressive than was actually involved for the early steps, the bulk of which were little more a few dietary modifications, some private prayers and a considerable number of exercises meant to increase synchronicity.
My nights were spent on a number of smaller, less vital matters.
Some were spent idly trying to merge my notes, Runciter's incomplete manuscript, Daemon's prose and Barth's annoyingly vague dialogue into a semi-cohesive work.
Others were spent striking idle conversation with my guards, worming stories from them and slowly making them comfortable with me. I figured that it would do wonders to know who was worried about their little boy, who was worried about not finding a good match for their daughter and who was the old veteran with a half-past a hundred tales.
And a good deal more were binding my staff to me. It was singularly important to me, one by one they picked up on the words of those who I had helped earlier, favor by favor getting them used to the fact that the odd child was the only one among the highborn who would aid them with their woes and share in their happy moments. Even if it was an abstract and arguably useless way of going about things, it gave me some comfort to have a detailed knowledge of their personal lives.
Blackmail was how more than one servant were turned on their masters and I needed to be ready for that. I needed to know about debts before they grew out of control. I needed to know who their friends and family were and how to know when they might fear for them. Most of all, I needed to know who was unreliable and needed to be replaced with a complaint or a threat.
It did not always work but more often than not it proved a surprisingly easy endeavor.
Those were my more promising and successful projects of the past years, some of my other attempts had ended rather poorly.
Project: 'Get Aeg in Shape," had been on rocky footing ever since Aeg discovered Sweetmeats and had proven that he had about as much restraint as a Wolverine on Meph. We still got along, and I still made him make at least token efforts at exercise but I could already see that we would have more than our increasingly obvious fraternal nature to tell us apart.
Project: 'Increase Familial Bonds' was producing dubious results as well, none of my siblings seemed to be developing antagonistic tendencies but neither did they seem particularly attached to their elder brother. Aemon was already beginning to show a mean-streak several leagues wide and Helaena seemed quite content with anyone so long as she did not have to touch the floor, I had taken to mentally comparing the girl to a baby kangaroo in my mind.
In even more dire straits were my preliminary efforts in Project: 'Learn How to Fight' or as I had been forced to redub it Project: 'Can I at Least not Get My Ass Kicked?' The basic exercises were simple enough but the few times Bulwer had been convinced to spar with me I was destroyed within one or two movements. I had reached the point that I would be content to eventually learn the art of being able to reliably defeat a crippled peasant levy well past his prime.
To top it all off, I needed to hunt down and shakedown the Court Fool at least by-weekly to ensure that he remembered who exactly was the greatest threat to his survival if he did not obey. It was the fruits of my efforts with my sweet Sky that the little dragon grew used to sneaking up on the man and blowing just enough smoke in his ear to remind him that even if he managed to kill me, he would not outlive the deed by long. It might sound cruel, but I used what little coin was left over from my other ventures to buy the man a rather high quality whore through my more loyal staff once a week, so I considered myself more akin to a harsh but fair employer than any sort of abuser. I even had a standard offer of making it two for particularly juicy tidbits.
Needless to say, this all kept me rather busy. Actually, I was rarely any better than bone-tired in mind and body from my myriad of efforts to preserve my life. More than busy enough that it was not until Rhaenyra's sixteenth birthday that I remembered that 113AC to 114AC were going to suck.
Not in and off themselves so much as the fact that if I let Rhaenyra's nuptials proceed as in otl then things would get messy.
At least I was six now, that's a little better, right? A much stronger position to hold sway over court politics!
Oh, who was I kidding? It was going suck.
First Day of the Second Month, 113 AC.