A/N: Hello everyone! We are back at it again. Hopefully all of you are staying well during these times! I wanted to take the opportunity to quickly answer a question posted on the last chapter: A Tale of Two Dragons will not end with the end of the war. My brother and I have a very definite ending planned out that takes place some time after this alternate timeline's Dance has concluded. Please be sure to leave your thoughts and comments after you've read, they're always fun to read and motivational. Without further ado, Gaemon:
Gaemon VII
The great red dragon had managed to pull itself nearly to the walls of Harrenhal itself before it finally expired. Caraxes's maw lay open, its long barbed tongue swollen with rot and its eyes glazed over in death. It was missing a wing, and behind it a mess of great black entrails lay trailing. Despite the onset of winter, lake flies still swarmed about the massive corpse. Gaemon had already been forced to swat a few that had begun to investigate him, likely searching for sources of fresher, warmer meat.
When they had first alighted outside the great walls of Harrenhal, the sight of the fallen Blood Wyrm had been a cause for great alarm. Gaemon himself had been stunned, his emotions roiling within him. Fear had certainly been an element, along with dismay. Some small sparks of rage as well. Whatever his feelings regarding the beast's rider, he lamented its passing sincerely. Concerns about Aemond had also immediately come to the fore. Maegor regarded the fallen beast silently, his clenched fists the only sign of the rage that had been burning within him for the last several days. Addam's characteristic purple eyes had been darkened with worry ever since they had landed. The three Reachman had been mostly silent, observing the great dragon's corpse with no small amount of consternation. Unlike Maegor, Tom Flowers was not even trying to hide the hate that spilled from his eyes. Of their group, he was the first to speak.
"It appears we've arrived too late, for the second time. The accursed Kinslayer has managed to kill the greatest dragon that remained to us. We ought to fly back to Maidenpool and roast its cowardly Lord for allowing this to happen."
While Maegor did not speak, it was clear that he was sorely tempted by the proposition. It harkened back to his own, only a few days prior.
Their arrival over King's Landing had been akin to the beginning of a nightmare. The smoke had been visible for several leagues, and the stench of death was discernible even hundreds of feet above the ground. The city was caked in ash, and many of the buildings that lined its streets were in ruins. Initially, Gaemon had feared that the Kinslayer had stolen a march on them, descending from the Riverlands to burn the city whilst they had been away. The lack of any immediate response to their arrival made him doubt that notion, however. They circled over the city, searching for any sign of what had occurred, but the streets were largely empty. The few living souls visible below had vanished the moment that the three dragons had appeared above the city. It was Tumbleton writ large.
The most horrifying revelation had been when they had flown for the Red Keep. Gaemon had held out hope that the Queen had been able to bar the gates of the Keep during the attack, preserving herself and her family within its sturdy walls. The banners that hung from its ramparts destroyed any remaining hopes that he might have had, however. Great three-headed dragons rippled in black silk from the battlements, but instead of red, the beasts were sewn of gold. He had urged the Cannibal to halt above the keep itself, being of half a mind to begin burning the castle, but stopped short upon considering the ramifications. If the Queen and her sons were still alive, burning the Keep would surely bring about their deaths, one way or another. Most importantly, Baela herself could have also been captured. The thought turned his stomach, but was enough to dissuade his rage. As he urged the Cannibal to fly north, one final horror made itself known below. In one of the Red Keep's side courtyards, the large yellow-scaled form of Syrax lay unmoving, its chains still attached. Where its head would have rested was a bloody ruin, its blood caked amidst the cobblestones.
Lord Alan Tarly had evidently seen the same sight, as over the sound of the wind whipping about his helm, Gaemon had heard him utter an oath of vengeance.
The three dragons had landed on a windswept hill about a league north of the Dragon Gate. The three riders and the three passengers had remained silent for a few moments, occasionally casting furtive or enraged glances at the city still smoking behind them. Cold winds buffeted them from the North, keeping the smells of ash and decay at bay. Maegor had been the first to speak, his voice cast about in an ice-cold whisper.
"We ought to make good on our threats. While we engaged in parley, those treacherous snakes made their move. If we depart now, we ought to be able to catch the remnants of the Hightower host on their march south. This time, we should allow for no survivors."
The three men of the Reach had nodded in agreement. Alan Beesbury had spoken next.
"We should never have stayed in that accursed camp for so long. The Usurper's armies are composed of faithless lords and false friends. Their deaths would be a welcome boon for the realm. Whilst Lord Unwin and Ser Hobert haggled, our enemies seized the city, and mayhaps our Queen as well."
Alan Tarly took another look at the city before adding his voice to the impromptu council.
"It is impossible to tell what has transpired in these past few days. Judging by the embers I spotted whilst we flew, it appears that the sack happened recently. The gates themselves are mostly shattered ruins and the city seemed nearly empty. If a hostile army had seized it, we'd have spotted the men in its employ beneath us. I think it is unlikely that Lord Baratheon is responsible for this. Our Queen's enemies may have come from within."
Gaemon had nodded grimly.
"That does seem likely. The only armed men I observed from the air were the Gold Cloaks that fled from the Red Keep's walls on our approach." He had then taken a few moments to consider his next words. "The Queen's own mount has been butchered within the walls of the keep. Whoever killed it hacked its head off as a trophy. I saw no wounds on its body that would have been dealt by a hostile dragon. It seems neither the Usurper nor the Kingslayer had any part in this assault. With both of them seemingly still at large, I feel we cannot afford to spend any more time chasing down the remnants of the Hightower host. We cannot afford to divert our attention from the Green's remaining dragons. Besides, it will require all of us to slay Vhagar, if she still lives."
It was then that Addam Velaryon had spoken.
"I concur with Ser Gaemon. The army at Tumbleton is a shattered remnant. It is unlikely that it will ever pose a threat to the Queen's forces that remain in the field. Whilst they may deserve death, we must needs regroup with the other riders remaining in the Queen's service and plan our next move. The lives of both the Queen, her sons, the Lady Baela, and mine own grandfather may depend on our next steps."
"My…" Gaemon paused, catching himself. "The Prince Daemon was stationed alongside Nettles at Maidenpool during our search for the Kinslayer. We ought to make haste there."
Maegor's eyes had narrowed as he had realised that he was being outvoted. Without a word, he turned to mount the Grey Ghost. Before he could do so, Tom Flowers had put a hand on his shoulder.
"There will be time enough to hunt down every one of those animals, lad. When you do decide to put them down, you'll have my sword in aid."
Gaemon had frowned as Maegor gave a barely perceptible nod in response.
If any of the group had harbored any remaining hopes, the sight of Maidenpool had quickly dashed them to pieces. The Usurpers golden dragon banners hung from the walls of the castle that sat above the port town. Gaemon was immediately concerned for the fate of Nettles; he was shocked that Lord Manfryd Mooton had betrayed the cause of the Queen, having been one of her earliest supporters.
The story had been relayed to them after they had landed by a tearful maester and a petrified Lord Manfryd. According to them, they had been ordered to kill Nettles by the Queen herself, due to rumors that she had been carrying on an affair with Prince Daemon. All of the information had stunned him. Despite having been threatened by the Queen herself, he couldn't bring himself to believe that she would willingly break Guest Right. Maegor had been unwilling to believe the tale told by their terrified hosts, arguing that words were wind, and that recent events had ruled out trusting any Green. He refused until Lord Manfryd's Maester, Norren, had presented them with the letter itself.
"Sers, you must believe that we took the path we all deemed most honorable. The Lady Nettles was allowed to depart in the morn. Lord Daemon broke his fast with us, before departing for Harrenhal. Not long after we struck the Queen's banners, believing ourselves to be traitors. If you will not spare me, I beg thee to spare my children, and the people of this town. They had no part in this treacherous business."
The proof of the Queen's ruthlessness had been a sobering experience for both Gaemon and Maegor. When they had spoken amongst themselves, Gaemon had offered his thoughts.
"Lord Manfryd seems genuine. I do not feel he deserves to burn. More than anything, I feel we are in his debt for sparing Nettles."
His mind had struggled to process all of the events and new information of the past several days. It felt as though years had passed since his departure from King's Landing for Pinkmaiden. While the news of Nettle's supposed affair with his father was shocking, he couldn't help feeling that the entire idea was hilarious. The image of his aloof and disinterested father plowing the lowliest and most foul-mouthed peasant girl he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting threatened to send a howling cackle forth from his lips, despite the grim circumstances.
Maegor then spoke, his tone a bit softer than it had been for days. "I… I suppose that for sparing Nettles we ought to forgive Lord Manfryd."
Addam had wordlessly nodded his agreement, and Gaemon had delivered their decision to the pale Lord moments later.
"Lord Manfryd, as arbiters of the Queen's will, you have undoubtedly committed treason. But as men, we are in your debt. We had not been informed that the life of our friend and fellow rider was in danger. Your actions saved her life, and for that, we have decided to spare yours. Men of honor such as yourself are a rare sight in the midst of a war as cruel as the one we are embroiled in, and it would not do to discourage such actions."
The Lord had fallen to his knees as he heard the proclamation, thanking them for their mercy, both on his behalf and on behalf of the town.
Gaemon, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, had finally asked the Lord of Maidenpool if he had any idea of Nettles' whereabouts. The Lord denied having any knowledge of where she had gone, uttering only that "she vanished into the morning mists as she flew over the Bay of Crabs."
After the Lord and his entourage had departed, the riders had decided to fly for Harrenhal, in hopes of finding Prince Daemon and martialing what forces remained to the Queen. Gaemon found himself sorely tempted to fly across the Bay of Crabs and search for Nettles. As he cracked his Dragonwhip above the Cannibal's head, urging it to propel itself into the evening sky, he could not help but cast a wistful glance across the bay, his eyes straining for any sight of his lost friend.
"Ser Gaemon, what are your thoughts?" Asked Alan Beesbury. The eyes of the party turned to regard him, some cold, some blazing with fury.
Gaemon sighed. "We already forgave the actions of Lord Manfryd. We cannot afford to go back on our word, and our honor. If we do so, we will be no better than the likes of the Usurper's lackeys." Tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword, he racked his brain for a course of action. "Firstly, we must needs determine whether the Kinslayer lives. If the Red Wyrm and its rider slew him and Vhagar, our concerns are unfounded."
"Where might we ascertain such information?" Asked Lord Alan Tarly.
"We ought to explore the pile of ashes once known as Harrentown. In my youth, I attended a tourney beneath these same walls. In those days, this town was bustling, full of life. If the Seven favor us, some of that life may remain, hidden away out of the sight of dragons and their riders." Beesbury posited.
Addam Velaryon stroked his chin, adding "it is quite possible that some survivors remain. Harrenhal has changed hands several times. The smallfolk that remain would likely have developed an understandable fear of dragons."
Gaemon struggled to imagine how terrifying the lives of the residents of Harrentown must have been for the last several months. From what he had heard in King's Landing, Aemond had scoured the castle and town with Vhagar's flames several times during his campaign in the Riverlands. If any survivors remain, we must needs be on our guard. Our arrival on dragons will not have been greeted with open arms.
Leaving their mounts along the beach (along with stern warnings to leave the corpse of Caraxes unmolested), the group hiked in double file up the grassy dunes towards the remnants of Harrentown. Entering through what must have been a wooden palisade in the past, their exploration took them towards the center of the ruins, which in years past had likely been a market square. The winds of winter blew coldly, stirring up small whirlwinds of ash about their feet and causing them to pull their cloaks more tightly about their shoulders. Lord Tarly's eyes scanned the ruins warily, his sword hand never straying far from the hilt of Heartsbane. Gaemon and the other seeds kept their hands upon the hilts of their own blades, grateful that they still wore the castle-forged black plate that had been crafted for them. When they reached the blasted doors of a former inn, Gaemon very nearly jumped when a ragged man emerged from its dark interior, his hands raised. His stomach, distended from starvation, pressed outward against the rags that he had wrapped himself within.
"Peace, m'lords. I mean ya no harm. We saw you flying from the southwest and scrambled ta hide. Might I ask your business 'ere?"
Untying his satchel from around his shoulders, Gaemon withdrew a crust of barley bread and a sliver of salted pork. Offering it to the man, he spoke.
"We have come for information. We, as riders in the Queen's service, have come to learn the fate of the dragon Vhagar and her rider."
The man's eye lit up at the sight of the food. Taking them hesitantly from Gaemon's hand, he answered between bites as he tore into the offerings with brown teeth.
"Was that the -mmph- big green 'un? A couple 'o days back, two great beasts, one red, one green, took to the skies -mmph- above the lake. From where we were 'iding, we couldn't see exactly was 'appened, but it only took a few moments afore the green 'un hit the lake with a mighty roar. The red one -mmph- a mean bugger, pardon my language m'lords, crawled up halfways to the town ruins. I'm sure you've seen what's left of 'im though."
Gaemon exchanged looks with the others. "You are certain that the green dragon fell into the lake? And that it did not surface again?"
The man nodded several times for extra emphasis. "She 'asn't surfaced again masters. I swear on the Seven."
Tom Flowers' face broke into a savage grin. "Finally, some good fucking news. Whether the Kinslayer crawled out of that lake or not is irrelevant. The Usurper's greatest dragon is fish food."
The Alans clapped each other on the back, and a weight seemed to lift from Maegor's broad shoulders.
The peasant guffawed, clearly wishing to join in on the celebratory mood. He then cleared his throat before speaking.
"Pardon m'lords, but if ye want proof of 'is death, me and my lad could take our boat out and go fishing. I've got a boat 'idden in the reeds. Wouldn't be too 'ard to go diving and see what we find. Shouldn't be too dangerous since the water 'as stopped boiling."
Gaemon nodded. "We would be in your debt if you could bring us proof of the Kinslayer's death. The dragon would likely be too difficult to retrieve."
While he had meant the last part as a jest, the man nodded gravely, clearly agreeing that Vhagar's corpse would be nigh impossible to raise from the depths.
"Me and mine will set out at first light tomorrow, m'lords."
Nodding Gaemon handed him some additional bits of food from his satchel in thanks. As he scurried inside the ruined inn, the group gathered. The moon had risen high in the night sky, and with the absence of the Sun's rays the air had become bitingly cold.
"We must needs seek shelter. I've not made it all this way to freeze to death." Muttered Ser Alan.
"I second that sentiment." Added Lord Alan.
Almost in unison, they all cast their eyes towards the massive ruined towers of Harrenhal, its spires colored a mixture of silvery white and deep black by the rays of the moonlight.
"Haunted or not, Harren's folly certainly offers us the best prospects of a well-deserved slumber. Its previous inhabitants may have even left some of the furniture for us to use." Ser Alan quipped.
Too tired to fear the prospect of ghostly Harren and his sons, the group made its way into Harrenhal. The curtain walls alone were gigantic, far taller than any walls Gaemon had observed previously. Once through the massive gatehouse, the sheer size of the five towers themselves became apparent; their tops sporting fissured and melted stone, courtesy of the Conqueror. The sight was breathtaking. A castle truly befitting a King. Given their exhaustion, there was no time to explore, nor even to check for other residents. The six of them entered the nearest tower, its ground floor the size of a keep in and of itself. It housed a table large enough to seat sixty men at least. Tom Flowers, in no mood to seek out firewood, cut three chairs into manageable pieces before piling them into the fireplace and setting them alight. Maegor and Addam climbed the stone stairs cut into the tower walls in order to search for bedding, returning after a few moments with armfuls of furs.
Mindful that the men in their company had recently been prisoners, Gaemon offered to take the first watch. None protested, untying the leather knots that held their plate armor about them with a speed that would impress the most dedicated of squires before collapsing into their respective piles of furs. Wrapping what appeared to be a great black wolf's pelt about his shoulders, Gaemon took a seat near the tower doorway. He had little reason to believe they were in danger, but the shocking events of the past few days had left him feeling exposed and wary.
So much had transpired in such a short time. My father is dead. He thought matter-of-factly. He forced himself to confront the issue, examining his thoughts. Oddly, although he felt as though he should feel mournful, he felt nothing. Perhaps I would have felt differently had he showed any interest, or any acknowledgement of my existence. Baela seemed convinced that underneath the disinterested exterior he did act to some degree in my interests, but his advocacy to grant me Stone Hedge could have been a coincidence. Gaemon sighed. As cold as this sounds, his death is almost… liberating. Letting go of the Rogue Prince will make me stronger. It will make me my own person, living outside of his long shadow. For so long, he had found himself fixated on obtaining the Rogue Prince's acknowledgement. When he'd arrived in King's Landing and the man had turned his back on him, he hadn't been sure what to do. He was immensely grateful for Baela's presence during those times. She had meant more to him than many of the others during those difficult days. Her acceptance has helped me to accept myself. Not as Gaemon Targaryen, but as Gaemon Waters. He desperately hoped that she was safe, alive even. He couldn't imagine losing her at a time like this, if ever. I cannot lose her just as I am in the process of finding myself.
He reached below the collar of his shirt, grabbing ahold of the leather pouch that still dangled around his neck. Reaching inside, he pushed the cold golden dragon aside and grabbed the small lock of white hair still tied together with a tiny ribbon. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he smiled. She's twice the dragon that I am. What I would give to have her here now. Soft footfalls brought him out of his reminiscence.
Without his armor, Addam Velaryon was still a small lad. On Dragonstone, some had described him and his brother as 'silver mice'. Strangely, instead of finding that description insulting, he and his brother Alyn had taken those words as compliments. The silver-haired boy of no more than fifteen name-days brought over a chair to sit across from him, his deep purple eyes studying him. Gaemon nodded in greeting.
"I would have thought that you'd have been fast asleep by now, Ser Addam."
Addam gave him a wan smile. "It seems that the fates of women keep us both awake, Ser Gaemon." He paused. "Is she from Lys?"
Gaemon was perplexed by the question, until he realised Addam had been referring to the lock of hair in his hand.
"My grandfather tells me that Lys is home to many beautiful women who maintain the fabled looks of Valyria. I was curious if your secret love could trace her roots there."
Gaemon forced a grin. While Addam's smile was genial enough, there was an edge to it that he did not like.
"My 'secret love' does indeed take after Valyria's women of old. I suppose that growing up on the craggy bluffs of Dragonstone gave me a powerful appreciation for the beauty of Valyrian women."
Addam nodded. "While I might've been blessed with similar features to my father, I too share that appreciation." He smiled again, clutching a stag's pelt around his shoulders. He adopted a more serious look as he asked his next question.
"How does your love fare?"
Gaemon sighed. "I last saw her in King's Landing. I fear for her safety."
Addam nodded. "I also fear for a girl. She too was in King's Landing when I last saw her. I had hoped that she might've escaped via the Dragonpit, but if she had I would've expected her to fly to Maidenpool. It seems unlikely that she was able to flee. I had hoped to ride to war with her favor, but she was oddly reluctant to grant it when I departed for Pinkmaiden."
Gaemon frowned. "I am… sorry to hear that Ser Addam. It must have been painful to depart with such a rejection."
The boy opposite him met his gaze, his purple eyes searching his face. Whatever he sought, it seemed that he did not find it.
"It is… no matter. My grandfather assured me that the key to any maiden's heart is persistence." He chuckled. "He also said being the heir to an ancient and wealthy seat helps a great deal."
Gaemon nodded. "I would imagine that both of those play an important role in courtship."
"I would expect they do. My grandfather married a princess, so I would hope he would be an expert in such matters!" Addam grinned halfheartedly. "I have done my best to serve the Queen honorably in all things, and to bring honor to my house despite my bastard birth. I only hope my actions to this point have registered with the Lady whose heart I pursue."
He and I both fear for Baela. Despite his growing sense of apprehension, Gaemon was unwilling to be cruel to the boy across from him. It occurred to him that despite his initial jealousy of him, Addam might have even greater burdens to carry than himself. Legitimisation may have brought recognition, but he also carries the hope of an entire house on his shoulders- as well as the enmity of those whose hopes for inheritance he dashed. Gaemon couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. Reaching across the space between him, he gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"You know, you and I are not so different. Hull isn't that much larger than Windy Bluff, and certainly no more enticing to a highborn." He chuckled. "While you may not have been able to share a barracks with us on Dragonstone or within the Dragonpit, you are still a dragonseed. And dragonseeds must needs look out for one another!"
Addam offered a small smile. "I fear for my grandfather, and brother. It has been difficult to be apart from them, especially from Alyn. We've never been separated for this long before."
Gaemon nodded. "Maegor is as close to a brother as I am like to get, and I certainly would worry for him if we were separated. But have faith in your brother. I'm sure he and your grandfather will persevere."
Meeting his eyes once again, Addam spoke. "Thank you, Ser Gaemon."
Gaemon grinned. "Mayhaps it is about time for us to dispense with the need to use our knightly titles."
"Mayhaps it is indeed. In that case Gaemon, I will now take the second watch."
Nodding, Gaemon rose and took a place near the hearth. For many, laying so close would bring discomfort, but for him the heat and the flames instantly dispelled the cold from the exterior, washing over him like a wave. The flames danced and whirled, consuming the wood piled high within the hearth. The red and orange hues seemed to climb higher and higher in the hearth, and where they burned the hottest, the tongues of flame seemed to writhe in ways he'd not seen before. Before his eyes, they twisted into the form of a woman, whose eyes regarded him with cold appraisal. Sitting up, he glanced around the room, but all appeared to be asleep, save for Addam, who faced the door. Returning his gaze to the flames, he blinked, but the woman remained. When she opened her mouth to speak, embers spit and crackled forth.
"Gaemon, son of Daemon, son of Marys, we must needs speak. The flames have shown me much and more, and they could show you the same. Find me in the Kingspyre tower during the Hour of the Wolf."
Her eyes, despite being composed of white hot flame, sent a chill through him. She turned, seemingly walking back into the flames, and they died down, dancing normally as they had moments before. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, casting a glance around the chamber. None of the others had stirred, and Addam remained facing away. It was as though nothing had happened. While moments before he had been exhausted, his heart was now racing. The Hour of the Wolf cannot be far off. I must needs make my way there now.
Standing, he debated whether to don his plate, but decided that armor was unlikely to have any worth in the events that were to come. Reattaching his sword belt, he stood. Wrapping himself tightly in the great black wolf pelt once more, he approached the doorway. Addam turned to regard his with curiosity at his approach, but Gaemon assured him that he would not be gone overlong. Opening the wooden door as quietly as possible, he pushed outwards into the bitterly cold night. The moon still hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the castle yard and turning gnarled trees into grasping hands. Gaemon vaguely remembered from past conversations that Kingspyre Tower was the tallest of Harrenhal's spires, but as he walked amongst the titanic fortress, it was difficult to ascertain which of them fit that description. He was growing concerned that he'd never be able to determine where he was supposed to go when he saw the firelight. Light danced behind the cracks of the doors of the tower ahead of him, its fiery warmth a welcoming invitation for respite from the cold dark that surrounded him. Crossing the remaining distance quickly, he paused at the entrance, overcome momentarily by an intense feeling of foreboding. Pushing such thoughts aside, he drew the door back far enough to allow him to enter the great hall.
Upon his entry, the great door squealed as it closed shut behind him. Apart from its groaning protest, the hall was silent but for the crackling of flames. Hearth after hearth burned brightly within Harrenhal's vast reaches, casting light and shadow all about the chamber. The flickering and dancing shadows gave the impression of a vast assembly, dancing some unknowable and exotic dance. As he crossed the great empty hall, Gaemon realised with a start that the great fires burning in each alcove appeared to be burning freely, without kindling. He charted a path in the most well-lit portion of the hall, where the light of the flames overlapped and the shadows were kept at bay. For what seemed like an eternity, he crossed the length of the hall, before slowing his approach when he saw the woman.
She stood before the greatest fire in the hall, which burned in a massive fireplace carved from great stone blocks. A great stone crest was partially illuminated by the flames, depicting a raven, a longship, a pine tree and a cluster of grapes, separated by chains. The crest was likely the height of several men, and was only partially obscured by a banner that had been hung over it, depicting the red, green, and blue stripes of House Strong. The woman beneath the sigils of ancient dynasties also radiated an aura of power, and Gaemon suspected that the scent of fire and smoke did not emanate entirely from the fires themselves. Long black hair fell unhindered down her back, whilst her stomach was noticeably pronounced, suggesting a pregnancy. Her eyes, however, were the most striking element about her. The light of the flames danced within them.
Stopping a few paces from the woman herself, Gaemon placed a hand on the hilt of his blade.
"I have answered your summons." He waited, unsure of what else to say.
An enigmatic smile danced across her lips. "You need not have brought a blade, Gaemon Waters. It would not avail you." Pausing, she turned to face the flames. "I did not summon you to slay you. I summoned you as I believe we have need of each other."
Letting his hand fall to his side, he joined her at the edge of the flames. "I do not even know your name. What leads you to believe that I have need of you?"
Turning once more to face him, the woman studied him. Now that he stood closer, he found it difficult to look away. She had an ageless quality about her, and the combination of flame and shadow only enhanced the effect, at once making her appear both a youthful girl and a matriarch. Now that he stood in her presence, he could feel heat radiate off her, as though she concealed a flame of her own.
"Your curiosity is understandable, Gaemon Waters. In my life, I have been known by many names, but for you, Alys Rivers will suffice. As for what I can do for you, you need only look into the flames."
Turning to face the roaring fire, he stared into its depths intently. At first he saw nothing but tongues of flame, orange and red and white. After a moment of concentration, however, fiery images began to manifest. A corridor, lit only by torches, lined with heavy doors, reinforced with steel. Each cell held an occupant. In the first, the Queen lay curled in a corner. Despite being stripped of her crown and finery, Rhaenyra was still unmistakable. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and they stared right through where he would be standing had he been physically present. Pulled outward, he found his vision thrust into the other cells. First Prince Aegon, sleeping fitfully amidst the rushes, the Prince Viserys, his small form shivering from the cold, and finally, Baela. Her food lay untouched at the foot of the door, and she still wore the close fitting clothes he remembered her favoring. To look into her eyes was to look into the eyes of one who'd lost everything. He wished desperately that he could reach through the flame to comfort her, or even to speak across the vast distances a single word of support. He raised his arm to caress her, but his hand only felt the heat of the flames. He regretted his action immediately, as his movement seemed to disrupt the vision, and the flames swallowed up Baela's image greedily.
"The flames can show us much and more, Gaemon Waters. No castle wall is too thick, nor any distance too great. I can teach you what I know of the flames, but I will need a favor from you in return."
Pausing, he considered her words. "And what is this favor that you require of me?
Alys Rivers turned to face him once more, her expression cold and guarded. "The fires of life flicker in my womb. My love has been taken from me, and I fear that I may lose his son as well. I have ne'er successfully birthed a child, and I couldn't bear to let this flame die out." She studied him silently for a moment. "The blood of kings runs in your veins, Gaemon Waters. I can feel its fiery power even from whence I stand. Grant me some of your blood, that I might use its powers to save my child. In return, I will teach you what I know of flame."
She requires my blood for her sorcery? Gaemon's eyes narrowed. His mind's eye returned him to a night weeks ago, when he could have sworn he saw eyes regarding him from the flaming brazier in their quarters. Perhaps she has watched me for some time. A voice within him told him to deny the woman who stood before him, wreathed in flame and shadow. A stronger voice urged him to grant her request. Without her, I may never see Baela again. The flames may also be able to show me events of great import; information that could turn the tide of the war.
"I grant your request, Alys. I will allow you to take some of mine own blood, freely given."
Once more, a smile danced across the lips of the woman. She took his hand, and quickly ran a long nail across his palm. Blood welled forth, nearly black in the firelight. Unlacing her bodice, she pressed his palm on her swollen belly, and in that moment, he felt the child within her stir. The flames roared brightly, growing to nearly twice his own height before returning to their previous intensity. As he withdrew his hand, heat seared across where she had made the cut, sealing it and leaving only a faint scar.
"The blood of kings, freely given. The life of a child, saved." Finishing her proclamation, Alys Rivers sat before the flames, only inches from where they burned brightly. Beckoning for him to join her, she spoke.
"Join me, Gaemon Waters. I gave you my word that I would teach you, and there is much to learn. A pact made with blood and fire must be fulfilled."
He joined her at the foot of the flames. The heat washed over him in waves, its fiery embrace comforting and enthralling at the same time. He learned whilst the shadows danced.
The biting cold wrenched him out of his slumber. He awoke wrapped in the wolf pelt, but even its confines did little to shield him from the icy grip he now found himself in. Sitting up, he realized that he lay at the base of the great fireplace in Harrenhal's great hall. So the events of the past night could not possibly have all been a dream. He searched the cavernous chamber for signs of Alys Rivers, but could find none. The hearths were no longer lit, and the stones within them were cold, leaving no evidence of her presence in the night. The others will likely be wondering where I am. I need to return to them. He made his way out from the great hall, pushing aside it's great doors in order to exit. They protested mightily, but allowed him to pass. Walking between the massive towers, he realised with some surprise that it must have been after midday, given the position of the sun. Quickening his pace, he found both Maegor and Addam at the entrance to the tower that they had chosen to stay within. Judging by their faces, it was clear that they were relieved.
"We were considering splitting into groups to search the castle. Where in the Seven Hells have you been?" Asked Maegor.
"I left last night to clear my head. I… ended up sleeping within Kingspyre Tower."
Each of them studied him for a moment before accepting his explanation, at least on the surface. Before they could press him for any further details, a familiar voice echoed amongst the cobblestones.
"Greetings, m'lords. I've brought ya proof of the Prin… begging ye pardon… the Kinslayer's death. My youngest fished this out o' the depths. The lad swore 'e pulled it from the bugger's 'ead." The peasant caught himself, clearly not wishing to appear disrespectful. "Anyways, the boy found 'im at the bottom o' the lake, still chained in atop 'is dragon. The fish 'ad begun to feed, but these should still serve as proof."
He offered Gaemon a bundle of items held within a threadbare blanket. He gingerly drew back the coverning, and had to refrain from exhaling in shock. Cradled in the blanket was a blade unmistakably crafted of Valyrian steel. Its blade bore the distinctive rippled appearance, and its hilt was wrapped with a black leather grip. Both the pommel and crossguard were golden, wrought in flame-like designs. A red gem sat within the crossguard, looking more akin to a flaming eye than a bauble. Next to the hilt of the blade lay an intricately crafted golden orb, within which sat a large sapphire. It was marred only slightly by a deep gash that ran along its side. It appears that Aemond's false eye bears the mark of Dark Sister's kiss. Wrapping the blade and the eye in the blanket once more, Gaemon turned to the fisherman.
"I cannot thank you enough for braving the cold waters of the God's Eye to bring us this proof. It appears we have been conclusively rid of the Kinslayer. You deserve a suitably appropriate reward."
Gaemon thought for a moment, before reaching in the leather pouch that still hung around his neck. As he grabbed the golden dragon, he hesitated but for a moment. In his mind's eye, he could still see the scenario he'd spent his whole life picturing. As a boy, he'd dreamt excitedly about presenting the coin to his father, and finally getting the recognition he craved. Without any further delay, he withdrew the coin and placed it in the fisherman's hand. The man's eyes widened, and he bowed as deeply as he could in thanks. As he scrambled off, undoubtedly excited to show the other members of his group, Addam began to speak.
"I suppose I ought to tell the others what has just fallen into our lap, thanks to an intrepid fisherman and his son." After he'd entered the tower, Gaemon could feel Maegor watching him, surprise written on his face.
"I did not expect you to ever part with that coin, Gaemon."
Gaemon sighed. "I never expected to part with it either." Pausing, he turned to face his friend. "Alas, it felt fitting. I needed to let it go."
Maegor, seemingly understanding, nodded silently. Without another word, they turned to enter the keep.