Chapter Twenty Two: What in the Name of Super-Squid!
Third Day of the Ninth Month, 113 AC.
It was an interesting difference in perspective, actually having an active role in Westeros, even if it was as simple a thing as being a page in a tournament.
It was nothing exciting really, nothing more than standing by Lymon, fetching his drinks and observing the knights whack each other with assorted pointy things when they were not ramming them into each other on horseback. Joking with my peers and otherwise enjoying the relative peace.
Hahaha, as if.
Five months, five bloody months and I had yet to make any real headway in my attempts to make friends among the other noble youths. The other pages were a write-off but I had some hopes for the squires and the young ladies.
Not that I had made much of an effort beyond Garth admittedly, the days only had so many hours and the addition of skulking around in one the worst lit rooms on record was not doing a lot to help.
The truth of it was that beyond the Hightower heir to an heir, the only bonds I had been consolidating were among my household.
Nessa had nearly fainted the first time she saw the catacombs, Omeld actually had fainted and had only avoided the tender mercies of the floor due to the Huberts catching him.
One by one I had taken them down to the tomb, every one of the staff with a pendant.
It was a calculated risk but not even a great one, only Nessa and Edric actually had the sense of direction to find the place on their own and the payoff was better. I am not proud to admit to it, but it was in truth a manipulation. To tell them slight vagaries of how strange I found the place and to let them see how much trust I was putting in them. Whether it actually worked or not was lost on me but if any of them had other loyalties, they had not spoken of it in months or their masters had not found the information useful.
Sure, most of them had made oaths to keep it secret but I was not a naïve simpleton. Westeros was a place where trust got you eaten, roasted, flayed, starved, mutilated, boiled, drowned, quartered, broken on the wheel, castrated, etc.
Kneeling and shows of protectiveness were nice but I was no fool.
Still, it was progress.
Which was more than I could say about my hopes to cultivate noble allies.
"I am terrible at this," I sighed as I walked over to the tent where the various wines for the occasion were stored to retrieve another bottle, including then the incredibly disappointing Arbor vintage.
"How so?" Ebermen asked as he strode beside me like a good umbrella/shield. My current watch had spaced themselves out among the tourney grounds at his instruction.
I frowned at him, "For some reason I cannot seem to be gathering a swarm of lickspittles like everyone else seems to be able to!"
"You are a prince," Ebermen noted. "That is enough to make many a boy from a lesser house wary of approaching."
That and the fact that an armoured giant and a flipping dragon followed me around everywhere. It was unfair to blame them though.
For one thing, I had yet to bother to remember their names. They were an extremely interchangeable lot and their japes regarding my chubby little cousin were enough that they should have been grateful that I did not light them on fire.
"It's those damned singers," I grunted in only a sort-of-deflection. "They are probably spreading that 'Demon-Child' nonsense to all who care to hear."
While I was cautious, I trusted (in as much as I was capable of trust) the reports of my staff. They did not fail to deliver the news that the singers in more than a few wineskins were quite happily singing utter trash when there was no chance of getting butchered. What grated me the most was that I could not tell anyone, getting them punished would just confirm the mess.
I supposed that I had to be grateful that Garth was either protected or merely friendless enough to not hear or believe the rumors.
"To be fair," Ebermen commented. "Not all of them have been successful."
That brought a grin to my face as I requested a new bottle from the servants at the tent, after making a point of referring to them by name.
If the tales were true then at least some audiences reacted rather poorly to the songs, claiming that I was a good boy who had not shown a drop of malignance. I will not claim that I was not somewhat pleased that at least some of the smallfolk were taking to my PR efforts.
There was still the problem of some. In just as many the crowds seemed to eat it up.
People were fickle like that but in its own way it was good to be reminded that my paranoia was not unfounded.
Just as many of them would rip out my guts as embrace me.
"It is still not enough," I sighed as I thanked the man who brought the drink and began my way back to the tent. "It is not conductive to my health to have some fools of my sister or mother's ilk defame me through their little mouth-pieces."
In my experience, the key difference between a bard and a journalist was that a Journalist might actually have a spine and good intentions. Bards? They either played to a crowd or were being bribed.
My gut told me that chances were some Blacks or Greens or maybe the faith were actively trying to make me look bad. Although that one seemed unlikely, the Starry Sept had become one of my favored daily stops, as befitted good little pious prince. But it was extremely likely from the two royal parties, it was unavoidable since it was not like the factions had union meetings to declare who was an acceptable target.
Granted, there was also the possibility that my actions on behalf of my staff had been noticed and that those I had acted against might have acted against me in turn.
"As you say," Ebermen commented. "You do discount a possibility."
"Oh?" I asked as I made my way up the stands. "Do tell."
"Have you made an effort to approach the others?" Ebermen asked.
"That is a fair point," I sighed. "But it is hardly as if I have the time to do so."
My schedule was stuffed and beyond the other pages, I simply never had the time to approach the squires and it would probably not go over well to spontaneously visit the ladies.
Ebermen smiled at that in his fashion.
As we made our way into the stand Lymon waved me over.
"Ah, Gaemon," he smiled as he indicated I refill his cup. "Quick as ever."
"I try cousin Lymon," I smiled as I filled his cup. "I dread for my future if this is too complex a task for me."
The passage of time had only improved my opinion of the Lord of the Tower. Despite being greener than the a freshly cup grass in his politics I found that I liked Lymon. He was a calm and deliberate man who usually thought a course out carefully before making any move and when he did he was intractable.
He was also neither not loud or a dick which helped make him my second-favorite Hightower, Garth and his father being tied for the coveted third spot. I wish I had some affection for my uncle but Gwayne was sort of dull and his siblings had the unfortunate trait of being a bit too much like my hated grandfather.
"You should not hurry so much," he noted as he took a drink and smiled at the taste. He was watching the joust with appropriate interest but I would have wagered a pretty penny that he was bored by it. "You are at the right age to start thinking of alliances, try to make an effort to speak to your fellow pages."
I idly wondered if he told Garth the same thing as I scanned the audience for my little cousin, finding him waiting next to my uncle astride his horse and waving to him with a smile.
"I fear that you are right," I noted with a depreciative smile. "I have not made enough of an effort."
Although I have made a great effort not to feed them to my death-lizard.
My smile became more genuine as the little Hightower spied me and waved back awkwardly.
"It is to be expected," the lord said with another sip, I had never figured out how on earth was he always drinking yet rarely managing to drain his cup? "You have not been here half a year yet after all, I recall from my own experience that it takes adjustment."
"And where were you sent cousin?" I asked sheepishly.
He had insisted on the informality and always seemed pleased when I adopted it, "Highgarden actually, I was a page and later squire for Lord Matthos's father, Lord Olymer."
So in other words you were practically raised among the Tyrells. I guessed it would make sense given how elite-hax powerful the house was despite not being Great House.
"At least that is not far," I noted dryly. It was a sight better than a half a continent away.
"You have a dragon," he noted while pointing to the alleged 'dragon' which was curled beneath one of the boxes, hogging the shade while eyeing the silly humans trying to maim each other. "Once your Clearsky is large enough, you can travel to the capital and back in but a few days. I would not mind that you see yours brothers and sister on occasion."
I swallowed my annoyance and pretended that I did not notice the continued attempts at driving a wedge between me and my sister.
Not that it worked, I had a letter from Rhaenyra on nearly by-weekly basis (along with a horde of others). Most of it was complaining but that was endearing in its own way.
"True enough," My smile strained slightly. "I must confess that I find myself yearning for home even if Oldtown is a fair city."
"You will see it within a month," Lymon noted as he took another sip. "I doubt you would be pleased to miss your sister's wedding and I would be remiss if my absence was noted at such an occasion."
While I was fairly sure there was some B v. G subtext to that statement, it was true that for a royal wedding the expectation was that the Paramounts and as many highlords as possible attended the marriage.
Except for the Starks on occasion, but the Northmen liked to be edgy and different almost as much as the Ironmen and the Dornish.
In hindsight, it made me a little cross at the version of my sister in another timeline, it was foolish in the extreme to remarry without a proper audience. Perhaps even more foolish if you got yourself with child first. That woman had not needed dragons nearly as much as a competent ambassador core.
"I look forward to it," lying was beginning to be entirely too easy. In truth, I was dreading the damned wedding, I would have to be frantically running from place to place just to keep things from going completely bonkers. It was a shame that I could not weld a chastity belt onto Rhaenyra for a few days or maybe castrate Cole and Strong, that would solve my problems for a while. I would even be merciful and only use the second rustiest, lemon-soaked saw I could find.
"Indeed," sip. "Have you told Arral yet?"
Oh crap, I knew I had forgotten something.
…
"Please be careful, my prince," Nessa always had the same reaction to entering the Archmaester's chambers, clutching her ledger closer to her chest while nervously pulling closer towards Clearsky.
Which was fairly brave since my guards and attendants always figured out a way to justify 'guarding the doors' during visits.
Not that I blamed them per se.
I had been in Arral's quarters in the Citadel quite a few times in the months since my arrival at Oldtown and more so once our lessons started to take a turn for the delicate.
Yet, it was still uniquely unnerving every single time I was ushered into the bastard offspring of a Bond-villain lair and the apartment of a notably messy bachelor.
The floor was literally covered in so many stray pages, discarded tomes and scrap paper that it almost formed a carpet dotted with many nefarious bumps (some of which moved on occasion). The walls where lined with shelves containing everything from dusty tomes written in languages I could not even begin to fathom to tiki masks to empty cups containing what smelled distinctly like coffee. I still had not ferreted out where he was getting it from since no one else I had spoken to was familiar with the drink.
As one of his students, a stereotypically blonde westerlander named Errik, led me into the depths of the lair I could not help but wonder how the place even got to be such a mess.
The fact that I could literally hear ominous chanting was not really helping.
"Wait here if you would, my prince," the young maester nodded to a bench as he went deeper in.
I made a concerted effort as usual to not question the blackstone bench lined with strange flowing script and opted instead to stand.
"This place is worse than the tomb, my prince," Nessa commented while trying to busy herself with her ledger. "Surely an Archmaester should have a less daunting abode."
My nanny/governess/administrator had developed a very healthy respect for the Archmaester during her time under his tutelage, even admiration given that he shared Runciter's bizarrely non-misogynistic outlook on life.
That did very little to counter what I strongly suspected was something akin to germaphobia given what seemed to trouble her most were the old cups and stray plates.
Sky snorted in agreement from as she curled into her improvised nest made from books and paper in her favorite corner of the study. That was one bright side of the absurdly spacious nature of the mad maester's apartments.
"As you say," Ebermen nodded along with Nessa.
I chuckled at the strange communication which was developing among my 'inner circle' so to speak.
It was hard to keep my smile from widening when the chanting suddenly stopped and was replaced by the nutty sorcerer's notably booming voice.
"Yes?" I heard him ask. "I was at a rather vital step; the carvings were quite specific that the runes had to be applied between the second and third hours past the sun's zenith."
Errik seemed unfazed by whatever the hell the Archmaester was doing. "The prince, Archmaester he is here to-"
"Gaemon is here?" Arral said excitedly. "Absolutely marvelous! I had a thought about his work last night! Or was it this morning? No matter! Here hold this!"
"What? Is that? Oh… oh! SEVEN NO!"
"That sound's problematic," Ebermen sighed. He had gotten used to the dangers of the place after panicking the first dozen or so times.
I tried to put the sound and vibrations out of my mind as Arral ran into the study at a full sprint.
The old man was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a smith's apron along with some sort of goggles and gloves.
I really should not have been surprised by the fact that the spindly man was covered in lean muscle. Nor the full sleeves of ink running across his entire body from the neck down. The Kraken on his chest was predictable enough but the seven-sided star on his belly and the dragon's tail stretching out of one of his short's legs had me somewhat confused.
He darted his head around until he spotted me on my bench and rushed over, "Ah Gaemon! I had a thought about you last night! And this one did not even involve testing legends about Valyrians being fireproof! Pure poppycock in any case that! If Valyrians were fireproof then the Freehold might still exist! To say nothing of ritual cremation! That does beg the question though of what happens when you try to cremate a fireproof corpse!"
"Good to see you as well Archmaester," I nodded while making a deliberate effort to not think of a certain little princess's sure to be confusing funeral.
"Ah yes, that! It has been a day! I think? Sleep is rather difficult," he scratched his chest-length goatee. "You should come here more often! It is a shame to waste your time with other matters!"
Ebermen snorted.
"No offense intended of course! Some men are quite suited to bashing each other silly!" that was a rather terrible attempt at an apology.
"As you say," I had to give the man points for having sufficiently thick skin to tolerate the Archmaester.
"Exactly! But where was I?" The scatterbrain tilted his head. "Hmm, I cannot seem to recall. It was probably of no great import then! So how are you this fine day?"
"Very well, Archmaester," He was a good enough sort once you got past his eccentricities. "And I do believe that I told you that I would be somewhat occupied attending to Lord Hightower throughout the tourney."
"The Tourney? Ah yes! The celebrations! I had forgotten about that, quite a silly thing to celebrate really. While common knowledge would say that Andals-," And he launched himself on another tangent while I reflected on the rather amusing man.
"Archmaester I merely wanted inform you that I will not be able to visit you for the next few months," I smiled as politely. "And that we will have to postpone our lessons."
"What!" Arral shouted in shock, "Why? It is a shame for you to ignore your education! Why, I was hoping to start discussing Ghiscari history! The most woefully ignored subject in all of history!"
Hilariously enough, he had yet to bother teaching me any magic despite our time in the tombs.
He honestly seemed more interested in trying to decipher the implications of the catacomb's architecture and layout as they informed on the strange men's culture than anything to do with magic when he bothered to discuss it.
Out time there had actually been mostly focused on treating minor injuries (Arral insisted that given the number of rituals involving blood sacrifice, knowing how disinfect a wound should always been a priority). Apparently as far as Arral was concerned one needed to be firmly rooted in a number of subjects before even broaching magic.
You might think it a weird thing to do in a tomb full of bodies but Arral had made the perfectly valid point about exploiting the seemingly magic sterility of the place.
Still… Ghsicari history…
I shook my head, I could fanboy some other time.
"It cannot be helped, I need to attend my sister's wedding," She might literally kill me if I do not go. Not out of my attendance so much as the wedding being one of a few catalysts behind her turning into the homicidal original timeline Rhaenyra. "What sort of brother misses a sister's wedding?"
"A rather poor one!" The Archmeaester conceded while clasping his hands to hips and giving a vigorous nod. "I myself, once abandoned my examinations for a link to attend my own sister's nuptials I will have you know! I even boarded one of those wretched deathtraps to get there!"
I can contemplate the irony of an ironborn getting seasick and hating boats another time, it was terrifyingly easy to be distracted by Arral's talk.
"No, you must go!" Arral continued to nod. "It is only proper after all for you to go!"
"I am glad that you unde-"
"Of course, I will go with you!" The old Archmaester proclaimed to my sudden horror, "I will have to charge someone with looking after the acolytes while I am gone! Cannot have another incident on the grounds or I will lose my behaviour lemons! Hmph! Do not fret, I will get it handled by the time we are ready to depart!"
Oh hell to the no, I did not need Arral of all people running around that nightmare of a wedding.
"Archmaester surely you cannot abandon your work-," I tried to object but he cut me off with a wave and a disturbing attempt at a humble expression.
"Do not be silly boy! Your dreams are more conductive to my research than most anything in this dusty old study!" He waved off my attempts to dissuade him. "In any case that old fool Mellos cannot be trusted to instruct a cat to hunt mice much less educate a prince!"
Maybe telling him about the dreams existence was not my brightest idea. He did have a point about Mellos...
"I do not suppose that I can dissuade you?" I asked nervously.
"Of course not!" he smiled. "I am not so old that so short a trip will kill me! Well, it is not terribly likely to do so at any rate!"
Oh, he thought I spoke out of concern for him. Sure, that worked.
Two bloody hours later I gave up on dissuading him.
What was another drop in the proverbial bucket of nefarious goop?
As we left the Citadel I groaned in frustration.
"Are you sure bringing him along is wise?" Ebermen asked as he trailed behind.
I shot him a murderous look, "What part of that exchange exactly makes you think I had a choice?"
Ebermen shrugged, "His presence will complicate things."
"It will do more than complicate things," Nessa muttered with a thousand-yard stare.
"I am well aware," I sighed. "But I cannot forbid him without risking his willingness to teach me later."
"Is that such a concern?" Ebermen queried.
Whoops, you do not know about the whole 'wanting to learn sorcery' thing. There was no such thing as too much paranoia.
"Not as such but he is a good enough instructor despite his eccentricities, "I do not need to stress test your loyalty right now. "Certainly, better than a dry instructor who is more interested in milking royal patronage. Also, he is among those who knows about… well, you know."
"As you say," Ebermen relented. "I would caution you from being too visible near him."
"A fair point," If I even get a choice in the matter.
"I am not certain that there will be a choice, my prince," My nanny said with a haunted tone.
…
I was not the best at reading the mood of a writer but Rhaenyra's handwriting made it clear that she was more than a little tense.
It had become my custom to read my letters on my bed before retiring for the night over the last few months and Rhaenyra's read like someone who was getting more agitated by the day.
It was not even her near-constant potshots at mother so much as the way that the ink had been laid down with enough force that I suspected that she had to start over a few times to even produce what I was reading right now.
It made sense I suppose, if she is still the same Rhaenyra from the otl then it makes a deal more sense that her less than brilliant actions on the days surrounding her wedding were at least partially spurred by having a breakdown after months of having her fate looming over her head.
I had managed to cause some changes.
Mushroom had not reported her doing any silly business or falling out with Cole and the wedding had been suspiciously relocated to King's Landing at Viserys's request.
Well, it was publicly suspicious. In practice, he was humiliating the father of the groom as a payback for the Laena fiasco.
That was dangerous in its own way.
I needed to get the situation under control and quickly, hell if Sky could carry me I would throw on a saddle and launch myself for that wretched den of scum and villainy at this very moment.
But as things stood I was going to have to wait a few more weeks before leaving.
And I was bringing the Hightowers.
And Arral.
I pulled one of my pillows over my head to suppress a shout of frustration, I needed to somehow herd all these suicidal cats away from the cliff.
And… screw it I can panic in the morning.