Chapter Thirty: Seven-Fold Bullshit.
Fifth Day of the Sixth Month, 114 AC.
My life is so gods damned weird.
"Sky, I want to get through this," I muttered as I opened my book again.
The dragon pushed her now sizable snout under my hand to push the book shut again and trying to place her head over my lap.
I sighed and just placed the book over her snout.
That solicited a growl.
"Fine, fine," I said as I stretched my right hand out to scratch under her jaw.
That got a purr of appreciation.
"Damned, cat," I sighed as tried to resume The Encyclopedia of Garth: A Complete Accounting of Garth's Manifold Children. Gross inaccuracies aside it was an interesting compilation for most of the mythical founders of the Reach with a brave attempt by Archmaester Mond to trace back the exact origins of the various children.
Harassment by dragon aside, it was a pretty nice day to be seated on the main balcony of my apartments. Not for the first time I was grateful for the sturdy construction of the tiered Hightower which kept me from fearing that Sky's ever more considerable weight would send us plummeting to our (ok, my) death.
I had even learned to appreciate the basement.
Sure, eldritch tunnels leading to a massive tomb complex filled with more questions than one could shake a corpse at were not the perhaps my idea of a great place to hang out, but it was private and not even that inconvenient once you had the route right.
Odd as it was to say, it was becoming an increasingly comfortable place to retreat for some peace and silence. The tomb felt homier than any tomb had the right to be once one became accustomed to its oddities, which was especially surprising giving the borderline necrophobia I had suffered in my past life.
That it did not even seem like a red flag was also surprising. Once we had gotten a large enough supply of torches down there, it simply lacked any real malice.
It was a silent and resolute place, but it felt more like being in the house of a trusted ally than it did a grave was odd to say the least.
But I could not lie, I had gotten used to the salty sea breeze and the sight of the blue sky against the sunset sea and to that end, I loved my balcony far more than the basement.
"You seem in a good humor today," Ebermen observed between breaths from his spot next to me.
"It has been seven months, and nothing has gone horribly, horribly wrong," Six months into 114 AC and so far, nothing seemed to be going astray save for the Maesters announcing that Winter was due.
As far as I could tell the wedding seemed to not have produced any catastrophic changes aside from Rhaenyra not being pregnant.
I had mixed feelings on that end.
On one hand, Rhaenyra said that she had not found a suitable dragonseed and I did not want to make her feel cornered.
On the other hand, it was dangerously problematic that she was not pregnant yet, she needed a stud soon or things would get complicated again.
Speaking of pregnancies, the useless piece of lard had impregnated my mother again.
That was a distinctly revolting thought but at least I would get Daeron out of the bargain if the previous pattern continued to prove true.
As near I could tell, fate seemed to hold a pretty firm dominance on just about anything that I did not exert serious force against.
Not that I was in a very good position to act beyond my letters.
I looked over at the small between me and my councilors to where my weekly stack of letters lay opened. It had become my custom to read over the messages out here before doing some light reading during the sunrise.
It seemed like a good way to go about my morning ritual to stretch, go for a light jog, check up on my correspondences, read a bit, have Sky incinerate the evidence, have a light breakfast, etc.
"But we cannot let our guard down," I sighed as I put the subject out of my mind. It was too early in the morning to worry about fate being a dick. I turned the page and chuckled at the topic. "Well Ebermen I seemed to have found your progenitor!"
"Hmm?" Ebermen tilted his head up, "You found Bors then?"
I chuckled, "Indeed. They even went with a horned portrait."
"Such foolishness," Ebermen shook his head as he resumed his task. "Where was I?"
"Two and eighty," Nessa relayed from her ledger. I had convinced her and my more irregular female staffers to defer to trousers within the confines of my apartments and the tomb, so she was markedly more at ease with her position. "Eight and ten to finish the set."
"As you say," Ebermen confirmed.
"I don't know about horns," I snorted. "I could see some bull's blood in you?"
"How so?" He asked between grunts.
"I have not known many men to do push-ups in armor," I chuckled. "Much less with a lady sitting on their back."
"…As you say," The maybe part-minotaur knight responded neutrally as he continued his work while my adjutant patiently scribbled on her ledger above him.
"Heh." I chuckled.
"To be fair, captain," Omeld sighed as he finished his set and pulled himself up for a stretch. "You are something of a monster."
"Then you should strive to be as monstrous," The Bulwer shot back to the Westerlanders bright amusements as he tucked some locks that had gone astray back into his braid. My guard did their exercises in rounds of five and the men were lined across my balcony, stripped to their waists like rational human beings.
"As you say," Omeld rolled his eyes before tossing himself back into another set.
"Come now Omeld." Frederick chuckled as rolled his arms, "Let us not be calling the captain anything unkind, I would not want to get the horns."
"I would invest in a sense of humor if that is the best you have!" The blonde chuckled at the redhead.
"May we just buy a pair of muzzles?" Lambert sighed from where he stood in armor behind me.
"It would have to come from your salary," Nessa quipped. "I would hate to fall behind projected earnings."
"Shame," Lambert sighed. "It is so tempting."
"As you say," Ebermen snorted.
As we laughed, I found myself uneasy. Over half of a year and everyone seemed loyal.
Not a single pendant had turned out to be badly given in either Oldtown or King's Landing.
I had even given a dozen more.
There had been plenty of traitors among my growing servants which had grown more numerous after my return, but none had been from among my staff.
Almost sixty pendants and no traitors.
That had me beyond tense because that struck me as impossible.
If there were no traitors among them, then it meant that I had failed to catch them.
No amount of medicine to their young and elderly, protections for their wives and children and granted favors and secrets could truly hold that many people to their word.
They will trip up eventually, I cautioned myself. No use thinking otherwise.
I was getting more and more used to Oldtown and amusingly enough it seemed that the same could be said for the reverse.
The people of the city largely apathetic to my walking down the streets and canals of the city with Sky at my back and my small guard-squad.
Apathy was good, I liked apathy. Apathy meant that enough time had passed without rumor in Oldtown for the 'demon child' narrative to die out and be replaced with the 'devout little princeling' narrative.
Obviously, the mass of people tended towards giving us a wide berth but that was understandable given that I was a royal encased in a protective shell of armed men and backed by a carriage-sized dragon.
But even better than the apathy was the actual fondness some few showed, that Sky actually allowed herself to be petted by children and generally seemed friendly had made the people surprisingly accommodating.
It would last a millisecond is stress-tested but that was just the nature of the crowd.
My PR efforts also extended to meeting city notables as best I could. Having the populace of the second largest city of the Realm think well of you was useful. If for no other reason than to not have an angry mob kill you and its organization more than reflecting its age.
Oldtown boasted dozens of small lesser houses, all of which had at least some relation to the Hightowers proper. To say nothing of the small army of guilds, merchant companies and other such organizations that plagued the place to say nothing of the Maesters.
All worth knowing if you wished to keep your limbs attached.
That was actually one of things on the agenda that day as I rode through the Old District.
The Old District was (unsurprisingly) the oldest district of the city, having risen up around the Hightower, just across the river from the Battle Isle.
The roads and bridges were finely crafted cobblestone and kept pristinely clean by the army of streetcleaners that constantly maintained it.
Almost every 'house' in this district was either the base to some trading company, the headquarters of a local guild or the estates of the nobility and merchants so disgustingly wealthy to spend a fortune to be in rear-kissing distance from the Hightowers.
Specifically, I was riding to the one building in the entire place that did not really fit any of those categories, the Starry Sept.
The building was for lack of a better word, big.
…Well, that is not completely accurate or fair.
It was not big by Westerosi standards where literal mountains and impossible architecture was the pattern for places of note.
But damn if it was not one of the prettier buildings.
Sure enough, it was a fine construct of black marvel with seven walls and arched windows as one would assume from the books, but there was so much more to it than that.
At the intersection of each of the seven walls rose the carved form of one of the seven. A statue towering seven stories into the sky to an identical height. Together, ringed a building which stood upon a hill of stone which in sum would put most castles to shame in pure artifice.
Rounding it all was a set of seven-sided curtain walls which essentially carved the Starry Sept and its supplementary buildings a district within a district, if not a small city within a city.
It might not be the biggest attraction in a city full of marvels, but it was certainly the loveliest.
As we rode in through the gates of the Father (unsurprisingly the one facing the Hightower), it occurred to me that in ages past it would have been very easy to turn the Starry Sept into a fortress if their little faith militant had the inclination.
I still wondered why the Hightowers had allowed that? Had their mastery over the Faith been so complete that they did not fear having a small, well-fortified army within a few minutes of their own citadel?
It was a mute question of course, now Hightower men stood guard where Warrior's Sons once stood vigil.
I dismounted at the foot of the hill to greet the small delegation that had come to greet me.
"Prince Gaemon," Greeted the figure at their head. "We welcome you to the Starry Sept."
"It is an honor for one of my lowly station to receive such a delegation," I had received enough tutelage on the faith by Runciter and my own reading to know the markings of the Most Devout when I saw them. Of the twenty-one priests there, three wore those marks.
Bald heads, small circlets of crystal marked by seven small tips and heavy silver robes with crystalline buttons. Augmented by an assortment of rings, necklaces and even earrings on some of the septas.
"Hardly lowly," the man shook his shaven head. "It is not often that the Dragons call upon the wisdom of the High Septon and his humble advisors."
What a fanciful way to pronounce 'puppeteers', but then again, I had been the one start the fake-modesty contest.
"Well I do find myself in the need of some guidance as you well know," I shrugged. "It is well known that for whatever reason the Seven have seen it fit to enlighten me as they did my ancestor when they blessed her with their warnings. My own reflections have been a comfort but unfortunately, I am yet too young I fear."
That was only a partial lie, I doubted that the Seven-That-Are-Jerks ever blessed the Dreamer, but it suited my own agenda.
The prayers were true enough, they were a good calming exercise and I did make it a habit to regularly visit the Starry Sept. A pious prince was an easily loved prince as long as he did not get too Baelor-y.
Although this way the first time I had come alone to speak with such a notable group.
"Indeed," the lead Septon said as we walked up the carved steps of the hill. I absent-mindedly wondered how much it must have sucked to be the artisans that carved the stylized stars on each step at each interval of precisely a foot. That must have gotten old around the hundredth carving. "I fear that no all of the Most Devout are of the same mind on the subject, but you can be sure we stand ready to offer whatever wisdom the Seven have to give."
I nodded amicably, that was hardly surprising.
I had figured that if I wanted some of that sweet, sweet religious backing it would take a while. Still that I had a supportive faction within the Most Devout was point in my favor.
"That is reassuring," I continued. "Despite my manner of speech, I assure that I am still far too young to fully appreciate and properly interpret what they have shown me. The work of the Maesters is acceptable but," I nodded to the man. "I fear that without the guidance of the faith my knowledge may be used for wicked means."
I could almost taste the uncut bull spilling from my mouth, still it was a necessary figure. Despite being in full on Avignon during the time of the books and then having a Hildebrand episode, the Faith of the Seven did have some of the academic bend of the Roman church and was not really as book-burning evil as Baelor for the most part.
The only problem really was figuring out how to contextualize my 'dreams' and their products without contradicting scripture.
I did not need some half-educated idiot bleating in the villages to have my head put on a stick after all. Which meant that I needed the ones that could most safely beat them down on my side.
"Of course," the Septon nodded. "We are most pleased that you have seen fit to provide us with the plans for your device, your recommendation of producing simpler version of the Seven-Sided Star was well received by our compatriots as well."
I tried not to let my relief slip out but I was glad that that plan had not blown up in my face. The Roman church had not exactly been crazy about localizing version of their bible during my worlds northern renaissance, but I had wagered that the ubiquity of Westron and the oddly laidback attitude of the faith would allow me to score some points with that little plan.
"Regarding the Valyrian tome I recommended?" I cut to the heart of my visit.
The Septon sighed, "I cannot deny your points regarding the Mother's wisdom and the Father's Temperance being prevalent across the work."
I would freaking hope so, I had plenty of background in Christian theology and had been studying every single commentary on the subject I could get my hands on to sufficiently sanitize the thing.
"However?" I asked.
"Some of the more… traditional," There was a bit of edge to that word, as if he had a more preferred term but could not say it. "Members of the Most Devout feel that granting our endorsement to a new work would be an aberration."
I tried to smother a frown, it was a little-known fact that for all of their alleged hate-boner for books the Roman Church was inclined to grant endorsements to scholars when it suited them throughout their long history, they invented universities for crying out loud! I had hoped that the Westerosi faith might do the same despite the lack of precedent.
"If you would forgive my asking," I asked gently. "Does it not stand in defiance of Mother and Crone to hide knowledge that would help many?"
The septon smiled, a slight twinkle in his stormy blue Baratheon eyes.
"It does indeed," he smiled. "However, it has been pointed out that with-holding endorsement is not the same as deliberately shrouding it. The Father does after all demand that one does not express power for its own sake."
I continued to speak with the septon as we made our way through the Starry Septs winding interior. At one point, I exchanged a few words with the High Septon, nothing of great importance but that mattered little.
What mattered was making strides where I could.
Getting the support of the Faith and the Maesters would allow me to more or less implement new knowledge without fear. It was a long-term project but one I liked to work with.
It gave me comfort to think of things that I might do if I live to adulthood and do not get killed by the idiocy of my family.
…
I content as I cracked my neck, it had been a long but fairly productive day so I was in a rather good mood.
I was rather surprised when Lord Lymon summoned me to his study, he typically did not summon me on days he gave me to my own devices.
I had been reading over Maester Nimar's work on the giants when I had been called to the Lord of the Hightowers favorite study.
"It is odd that Lord Lymon is summoning you," Ebermen noted, it was so odd when he spoke what I was thinking.
I nodded, "To say the least, he might have some more charters for me to look over."
I loved how the Westerosi nobility utterly lack the 'living nobly' concept of my world. Actually being allowed to engage directly in trade was so interesting, medieval trade had always been an area of interest for me so if I could figure out how to make some wealth through that avenue I welcomed it.
Well, they did cast some shade, but you had to reach Frey levels of scummy-ness for that.
Nessa had taken to cheating off of my lessons to augment 'my' holdings in the city, which I suspected that Lymon was at least somewhat aware of given his insistence on the lessons.
It all felt suspiciously like insider-trading.
"It is rather late for lessons," The Shield noted as we made our way through the (numerous) stairs needed to reach his favored study.
I nodded happily to the guards before the tall doors to his study, the guards of the house still eyed my Shield and my guards somewhat warily, it had gotten to the extent that they were even given a stupid little nickname.
White Jaws. Apparently Arral had been a touch too inventive with his design.
Ridiculous.
And unhelpful to boot.
So, I had to make an extra effort to be nice to everyone to avoid them poisoning my guards.
As we entered I reflected that I found it more than a little excessive to have a three-story study.
Then again it was so stuffed with bookshelves that I sometimes worried that it would come crashing down the building.
The bigger shame was that the corridors got narrow enough in there that Sky could not follow us in, well not internally. I cracked a smile as I waited for us to be allowed entry, I could still feel her nearby.
I wondered how the people of Oldtown took to the image of a drake scaling their most notable monument like a very shiny bat?
I was not sure if she was legitimately following me or if she merely realized that it was a good way of maximizing how many humans could praise her at a given time, she might have been an animal, but she was disturbingly efficient at maximizing attention.
I chuckled in amusement as we were admitted into the study.
Said chuckle turned into a chocking sound as I surveyed the surprisingly packed room.
Sure enough, Lord Lymon was seated at his desk, sipping away at a cup of tea and looking to be in quite a good mood. His face was neutral but I had long figured out that his mood was best guessed by the pace he was drinking at.
Next to him was Otto 'the dick' who had unfortunately not been pushed off the apex of the Hightower in such an angle that he would impale himself ass-first on some poor guardsman's spear.
To his other side was my tall cousin Ormund with his classical hero looks and a generally pleasant expression.
I was a little bit surprised to see Arral happily lecturing away about whatever had happened to catch his fancy next to him. His attendants looked as pained and concerned as usual, but I barely registered their presence.
The problem was the rest of the occupants (and Otto, because screw Otto).
"Ah! Gaemon it is so good to see you lad!" Corlys Velaryon said with a broad smile as he toasted his own cup of tea at me.
That would have been enough to make every gear in my brain come to a screeching halt. The fact that I was staring at the entire Velaryon household made every gear in my brain stop, empty their desks and tenure their reservations.
Beside from the overpowering hotness of Corlys (the man who I still, to this very day, insist is proof of why we should exterminate the Florents so that he may claim the symbol of the fox) was Rhaenys.
Who continued making me reconsider the virtues of being the cradle in a cradle robber relationship was seated there in the blessed sight of her in riding leathers.
She seemed too entranced with Arral's lecture to take notice of me for a moment before Corlys greeted me.
In a similar state was Laenor who was still listening the crazy old Drumm go on with both hands beneath his chin as he nodded enthusiastically to whatever it was that Arral was saying. Leaning against the wall was Joffrey, who shot me an apologetic look as my increasingly wide eyes drifted to him and mouthed an apology.
"Gaem!" Rhaenyra rushed over glomp me. "It is good to see you, brother!"
Why are you here? If the Velaryons had no business in Oldtown then the chief Black herself should be off managing Dragonstone, her letters insisted that she was doing just that!
On the bright side the glomp momentarily shrouded my world in darkness and away from the mind-razing sight before me.
Yet the Valyrian party still numbered one more.
She was seated between Rhaenys and Laenor.
Still the tallest of the Valyrian women I had met, an inch shy of six feet if I had to estimate and very deliberately dressed in a green and blue dress rather than the riding leathers I was used seeing her in.
She smiled and said something, but at that point I was so off foot that my ears were not registering sound right.
It was a pretty smile, dimpled and showing white teeth even if the left incisor seemed to have a bit snaggle. Her eyes were bright amethysts and her hair was pure silver.
Her features were still on the lean side, well-muscled from a considerable amount of time spent riding. Slightly more buxom since the last time I saw her if I recalled, although fate had been rather generous in allocating the where the extra fat ended up.
A stunner even by Valyrian standards.
And I could not be less happy to see her.
Why the hell is Laena here?
Why are you here? Shouldn't you be experimenting with some Summer Islander manual and Daemon somewhere in the Narrow Sea?
More importantly.
What?
No seriously, what?
As Sky stuck her head in through Lord Lymon's window I shared a moment of unity with her, for we were both asking the same question.
What the actual hell is happening?
"Huh?" I whimpered with a ninety-degree tilt of my head.
"As you say," came a shocked voice from behind me while four feet eased into ready positions as if faced by some predator.
Ah, good.
Consensus has been achieved.