Gael IV 92 AC

Sometimes Gael wondered why House Targaryen, despite being the ruling house of Westeros, always seemed to employ only the dullest and most boring instructors the realm had to offer.

Grand Maester Elysar, in her personal opinion, though she was sure anyone who sat through a lecture of his would agree with her, probably could not make even the most adventurous and fantastical tale sound even mildly entertaining.

Gael tapped her nails on her desk as she stared at the chalkboard that the Grand Maester was writing upon. The chamber was fortunately bright due to its large window and the sunny day, letting in much needed breeze considering that Gael was being forced to sit between her blasted nephews.

Somehow her beloved Father deciding that she was now to share all of her lessons with Daemon resulted in her also having to share them with Viserys too which Gael still hadn't decided if it made the whole situation better or worse.

Viserys was calmer than Daemon, polite where his brother was rude. Gael enjoyed Viserys' company on occasion. He was the only one in the Red Keep who would pour over ancient Valryian scrolls with her in the library. But that was the extent of Gael's relationship with Viserys.

And while Gael studied so that her mind might be better equipped to put Rhaenys on the Iron Throne and so that she herself could avoid becoming a broodmare. Viserys, on the other hand, studied so that the dragon figurines he ordered the blacksmith to make looked more realistic.

"Princess Gael," at the sound of her name Gael immediately met her eyes to the elderly face of the Grand Maester. "The colors of House Lannister?" Elysar pointed to the name he had sloppily written on the chalkboard.

Gael rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the question. She internally thanked the Gods that Elysar was not the maester who oversaw her lessons when she was a child because she probably would've ended up illiterate.

"Gold and red, Grand Maester," Gael replied as politely as she could. "Their words are hear me roar and the Head of House Lannister is currently Tymond Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and you know the rest."

"That's very well done, Princess. I did only ask for the colors but you are correct." Elysar's voice droned. "Prince Viserys, the sigil of House Florent, if you will?"

Gael had never been proud about letting her mind drift away during lessons, but as she doubted that Elysar would ever say anything even remotely useful this time the Princess didn't feel the need to berate herself.

There was a light tap on her elbow and Gael turned to the right to see Daemon discreetly slide a piece of paper over to her. She flipped it over.

"Please get us out of this lesson!" Daemon had written.

She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow at the dangerous glint in his eyes. Gael glanced to the front of the room. Elysar was currently going on a long rant about the fall of House Harroway, clearly not recognizing that none of his pupils cared to pay attention.

Gael propped open her book before quickly writing back as quietly as she could and passing the note back to Daemon.

"No pranks or funny business for a fortnight. Tonight you give me your dessert. Final offer, take it or leave it."

Daemon clearly wasn't pleased with the bargain by the glare he sent her but nodded anyway in agreement.

Gael hadn't expected Daemon to agree so easily and in her head she cursed herself for not pushing for more. But what's done is done and she leaned over to Viserys and whispered, "I'm getting us out of the lesson, you might need to catch me."

Her nephew was slow to understand but once he did he gave her a small assuring smile.

That was all Gael needed. She closed her eyes, feeling the breeze on her skin along with the stuffiness of the chambers, and allowed her breathing to increase. Soon she inhaled faster and faster, before opening her eyes and looked directly at Elysar.

"Grand Maester," Gael spoke in the most innocent voice she could muster, biting her lip to create the perfect illusion of a pained expression. "I…" she kept her breaths fast and uneven. "I'm… something's wrong… I feel… lightheaded"

"Help her!" Daemon yelled at the Maester, doing his best to sell the act.

And as soon as Gael saw the Grand Maester hurriedly approaching her, she allowed her body to slump forwards toward the desk, into Viserys' waiting arms.

Gael did her best to remain as limp as possible when the Grand Maester and Viserys carried her to his solar. Daemon had already been sent to alert the King and Queen.

She felt herself being lifted onto a table, its wood smooth and polished. Gael could hear Elysar rummaging through his cabinets while Viserys held her hand and spoke soothing words.

Truth be told it had been quite some time since Gael had pretended to collapse. She didn't really know if she was to call it fainting but the last time she had done it was years ago when she and Rhaenys had to listen to the Septa explain the bedding ceremony right a fortnight before her niece's wedding.

When she was a little girl hardly a moon would pass without Gael passing out from either stress or fatigue. She had always been frail and although her condition had improved with age, Gael would never be blessed with perfect health.

A fact that Gael had resented. For not only had her weak constitution prevented her from doing activities like fighting or hunting or running but it also meant that her mother prevented her from doing activities she could do out of fear that her precious Winter Child might fall ill.

Gael was not to dance for more than an hour at a time. She was not to swim, unless it was one of the hottest days. She could not practice archery, even though Rhaenys had taught her with the lightest of bows. And while Gael was allowed to ride horses it was only at walk and never at trot nor canter.

The Queen couldn't bear to lose another daughter.

And so, Gael never felt guilty, in moments like these. For she had been cursed with a fragile body and there was hardly anyone she knew that chose to see past it. Gael might as use that to her advantage.

She heard the door open with a loud screech.

"Oh my darling," her mother's concerned voice echoed in the Grand Maester's chamber. "Are you alright?"

Gael slowly opened her eyes to see her mother's worried face. She started to sit upright and Alysanne tutted at her to lie back down until Elysar told her it was fine. Viserys was still by her side and when she turned to see the doorway, her father stood next to Daemon, who for some reason was glaring at Viserys. Her father, much to her initial disbelief, looked rather concerned.

"I'm so sorry, Mother," Gael said softly. "I was in my lesson and all of a sudden the room felt stuffy and then my head started to hurt… I really don't know what happened."

"Shush, sweetling," her Mother cooed. "It's alright, you're going to be alright."

Jaehaerys addressed the Maester. "What happened today is the same as what usually happens, correct? The Princess does not have a new ailment?"

"Most likely a combination of stress and fatigue, as usual, Your Grace," Elysar told the King. "I've prepared a calming drought for the Princess but in my view rest is what she needs."

The King nodded. "All of us will need rest," Jaehaerys looked around the room. "All of you children are present so it seems prudent that I let you know that my sons will be going to Tarth at dawn. It appears that some Essosi raiders have landed on the Evenstar's shores."

"Are you going with them Father?" Gael asked curiously. "On Vermithor? It would be the same as during the Dornish War if Caraxes, Vermithor and Vhagar all fought together."

Jaehaerys tilted his head, as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "I suppose the realm could use a reminder that the Old King can still burn down fleets." He flicked his hand. "Daemon and Viserys, help the Grand Maester get your Aunt to her chambers. No more lessons for today."

As Gael watched her Father leave the chamber, she hardly noticed the tonic shoved into her hands or the arms that were helping her to her feet while her mother offered reassuring words.

All she could feel was a churn in her stomach that seemed to warn something was about to go terribly wrong.