King’s Landing
Gaemon’s lips broke into an awkward smile as the children on the street crouched down and ran circles around his pony, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes.
Meanwhile, the adults and elderly alike were pushing past one another to get a better look at him.
Seeing their eager expressions, Gaemon cursed whoever had started the rumor—and Daemon most of all, since he suspected his father more than anyone of spreading the tale that he had been blessed by the Seven.
It had been a week since Gaemon arrived in King’s Landing.
And as his uncle Viserys revealed to the court that Gaemon was perfectly capable of seeing and was, in fact, not blind, rumors began to spread regarding why he still kept a black cloth wrapped around his eyes, and how is able to see past them clearly.
Barely two days had passed before whispers of his eyes being blessed by the Seven spread throughout the city, and Gaemon started receiving looks of reverence from the more zealous followers of the Faith.
The High Septon himself had visited that very evening to verify the claim, much to the disgruntlement of King Viserys.
The old septon had been so enamored with Gaemon’s eyes that he nearly went stumbling through the keep, praising the Seven, only to look back at him every few steps whenever Gaemon’s gaze landed on him.
The next day, Gaemon heard that Septon felt like the Seven themselves were looking at him whenever Gaemon’s gaze landed on him.
All of that, in the span of a few days, had led to his current predicament.
The smallfolk of King’s Landing wore the same expressions, if not even more reverent ones, than the servants of the Red Keep.
And if not for his father threatening to ban him from training with the city guards should he refuse to come and bid him farewell, Gaemon would have gladly remained inside the keep.
Instead, he had to grit his teeth and make his way toward the Dragonpit.
Thankfully, the city guards whom he had befriended over the last week through daily training were there to protect him.
They had formed two columns around him, while two Kingsguard rode beside him upon white horses.
Their eyes remained fixed on the crowd, and their hands rested upon the hilts of their swords.
“I did not see a crowd this large gather even for King Viserys’s coronation.
You certainly have become popular among them, Prince Gaemon,” said Ser Harrold Westerling.
“Imagine what would happen if all of them got to see what they came here to see,” Ser Darklyn replied, sounding thoroughly amused even while glaring at a man attempting to push past a city guard.
“I fear we would not be able to hold them back then,” Ser Westerling answered.
“Why do I suddenly feel the urge to do exactly that, just so I can get back at you for all the teasings, ser?” Gaemon asked, turning his head toward Ser Darklyn.
“Think of me as well, my prince.
I have wronged you in no way.
If any harm comes to you in my presence, my honor will be tarnished beyond repair.
I also do not wish to raise my blade against them, knowing it is faith and reverence for the Seven that brought them here.” Ser Westerling’s bearded face took on a genuinely pleading expression.
“Fear not, Ser Westerling.
Prince Gaemon would never do something so childish,” Ser Darklyn declared with absolute confidence.
Gaemon merely looked at him with a smirk that was not too different from the one his father always seemed to wear.
Gaemon’s hands left the reins and slowly rose toward his blindfold.
“Prince Gaemon, please stop…” Ser Westerling shouted immediately.
“I was wrong, Prince Gaemon.
Please stop…” Ser Darklyn panicked as well, urging his horse closer alongside Ser Westerling in what looked suspiciously like an attempt to shield him from his own decisions.
Gaemon was about to laugh, but then he looked at the crowd, and the amusement died in his throat.
The smallfolk looked ready to trample the city guards beneath their feet for even the briefest glimpse of his eyes.
Men shoved one another, even pushing the elderly.
Women craned their necks, some even came here with their children who were still weaning.
Children squeezed through gaps between adults.
Every person seemed determined to claim the front row for themselves.
Seeing the chaos growing steadily worse, Gaemon decided to intervene.
“Stop.”
His childish voice rang out across the street.
The sound itself did not carry very far, yet the effect was immediate.
Those who heard the command repeated it to those farther away, and within moments the word spread through the crowd like ripples across a pond.
“Stop.”
“The prince said, ‘ Stop.”
“Stop pushing!”
Slowly but surely, the chaos died down.
Gaemon breathed a sigh of relief alongside the two white knights beside him.
Looking at the crowd that was giving him the same look as sheep give their shepherd, Gaemon made the decision that he thought was most apt to deal with this chaos.
“Hear me, faithful followers of the Seven and the Crown.
I will unwrap the blindfold, but in return, I ask for a vow from all of you, in the name of the Seven, that you will tarry here no longer than a few moments afterward and cause no further chaos.” Gaemon announced.
Those who heard spread the words farther back, and a murmur rolled across the clearing.
“I cannot keep them open for long, as my body is still too young to bear the burden they place upon me.
But for all of you, I will gladly endure the pain they inflict. This story is hosted at g.com.
The only thing I ask in return is that you do not harm one another or the city guards who are only performing their duties valiantly and honorably.”
Eyes widened throughout the crowd.
After a few moments, some began to cry and look at him with expressions full of admiration and reverence.
Others dropped to their knees and started praying.
Gaemon knew not whether those prayers were directed toward him or the Seven themselves.
The two Kingsguard remained silent and vigilant, watching the entire spectacle without uttering a single word, trusting Gaemon to handle the situation.
When Gaemon saw that the crowd had fallen completely silent and still, he decided to uphold his part of the bargain.
With a single firm motion, he removed the blindfold.
His eyes remained closed for a moment behind it.
Then, slowly, he opened them.
A flood of information assaulted his mind at once, like a delayed train hurtling toward its destination at full speed.
Though this time the pain is more bearable than it had been when he first received the eyes.
With the Six Eyes displayed in their full glory, Gaemon could clearly see the effect they had upon the smallfolk.
Many had come merely to verify whether his eyes were truly what the High Septon claimed them to be.
Others, far more devout, had accepted the High Septon’s words without question and arrived hoping to glimpse what they now called the Eyes of the Seven.
The effect was immediate.
The crowd simply stared.
Some forgot to breathe.
Others wept openly.
A few looked as though they had witnessed a miracle descend from the heavens before their very eyes.
Through his gaze, Gaemon saw every one of them.
He met each stare for the briefest fraction of a moment.
He even turned in his saddle so that those standing behind him could look upon his eyes as well.
Three full minutes passed.
An unnatural silence ruled the street.
The smallfolk at the front slowly moved aside and drifted toward the back, orderly and patient, like a disciplined army making way for its own ranks so that everyone might have a chance to witness the sight before them.
Not a shout.
Not a push.
Not a single protest.
Only silence.
Then Gaemon slowly wrapped the blindfold back around his eyes and looked at them once more from behind the black cloth.
“Now, please make way for me to pass.
May the Seven bless you all.”
The crowd parted immediately, creating a broad path through the street without a single word of complaint.
The sound of hoofs striking stone and the faint clinking of mail echoed through the newfound silence as Gaemon and his small party hastily made their way toward the Dragonpit.
Only after they had passed did the silence finally shatter.
“The Blessed Prince!”
“The Prince Who Sees All!”
“The Seven-Eyed Prince!”
“The Amethyst Prince!”
And finally, the title that made Gaemon smile despite himself:
“The True Prince!”
“If they held any doubts before, I do not think those doubts remain now.” Ser Darklyn spoke quietly, almost to himself.
“They fully believe what the High Septon has been preaching day and night upon the steps of the Sept.
Their admiration and reverence were plain for all to see.
At a single word from you, an entire crowd fell silent, listened, and obeyed.”
“Truth be told, such a reaction was within my expectations,” Ser Westerling replied, his gaze distant as if recalling the sight he had just witnessed.
“House Targaryen is already seen by many as gods among men, with their dragons and their otherworldly beauty.
Now that belief has only been strengthened.
In the eyes of the smallfolk, Prince Gaemon Targaryen is no longer merely a prince.”
Ser Westerling paused.
“He is becoming something closer to god in their minds.”
The knight fell silent afterward, his eyes still clouded with awe.
Of all the members of the Kingsguard, Ser Westerling had been affected the most by the sight of Gaemon’s eyes when he first saw them.
Gaemon kept his silence, though his head carried a slight ache.
The Kingsguard increased their pace as the horses picked up speed, and soon Gaemon saw the gigantic domed structure of the Dragonpit.
Caraxes was already out in the open, basking his blood-red scales beneath the sun, looking like the most innocent and beautiful dragon one could ever behold—if one did not know his deeds and ferocious nature. You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
When Gaemon’s eyes left the living, breathing lake of magic that was Caraxes, they turned toward his dear blackmailing father.
Daemon was listening to someone who looked to be one of the smallfolk.
His expression was one of immense satisfaction and immeasurable pride.
Gaemon dismounted his pony and made his way over.
The white cloaks followed him until stopping at a respectful distance.
Soon, he was within earshot of his father, and Gaemon asked, “What are the chances of Caraxes dropping in on you in the middle of the ocean from very high in the sky?”
Daemon only smirked.
That smirk infuriated Gaemon more than anything.
“As high as your chances of praying to the Seven for a father as competent as me in your next life.”
The reply made Gaemon glare at his father.
“That was a good move, letting them see your eyes.
Their adoration has a value all its own.
It will help you—not today or tomorrow, perhaps—but in the years to come, when other doors close in your face.” Daemon waved a dismissive hand.
“Now, as much as I would enjoy continuing this heartfelt farewell, there is another reason I called you here.”
“You don’t say.”
Sarcasm dripped from Gaemon’s tone as freely as honey from the bread his uncle Viserys ate at breakfast.
Still, his father looked at him with that same infuriating smirk.
“Corlys, with his traitorous wife and their brood, will be here shortly.
Call my dearly departed grandfather whatever you wish, but the Old King was right about one thing: Corlys Velaryon is a snake.
An ambitious snake.
The last sort of man who ought to be rewarded for the loyalty house Velaryon showed our House.”
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
“Do not trust him.
Do not trust his wife.
Do not trust any of their little hatchlings.
Corlys has a silver tongue and a hunger that never ends.
Keep him at arm’s length.”
Gaemon listened in silence.
“I will try to return soon.
Viserys is incapable of letting me stray too far from his side for long.
Before long he will be calling for me again, so until then, you are alone at court.
Stay close to Rhaenyra and Aemma, and do not give a shit about half the lords and ladies preening about the Red Keep.”
A snort escaped him.
“Viserys will tell you otherwise, but do not let those words take root in your head.
The notion that we must bend ourselves to please every puffed-up lord because he owns a few fields and a crumbling castle is as foul as a Flea Bottom fishmonger’s wife after a summer day.”
Daemon pointed a finger at his son.
“You are a Targaryen.
A Prince of the Blood.
My heir besides.
One day, you will sit the Iron Throne.
So act as a king should act.”
His smirk widened.
“As I do.”
Gaemon rolled his eyes.
The gall to speak of treason with that smirk of his, no less.
“I have already spoken with a few knights.
Tomorrow morning, they will introduce themselves to you.
They will oversee your training until my return.
I have also entrusted them with your protection should you ever decide to wander the city.”
For a brief moment, Daemon’s voice softened.
“So until we meet again.”
Done speaking, Daemon ruffled Gaemon’s hair and started walking toward Caraxes.
Sorry for the late update, my mother is in the hospital, and between looking after her and keeping up with work, writing just wasn’t something I could fit in.
I’m sorry for the wait.