King’s Landing,
Two months later
Gaemon was lamenting, sulking in the corner.
Even after two months of enduring constant pain, there had been little success in manipulating his own mana to do his bidding, other than bringing it out of his body and watching it dissipate into the open air.
If Gaemon were honest with himself, he would admit that he had overestimated his own abilities due to two factors: the Six Eyes and the knowledge of many fanfic SI characters easily manipulating their magic.
It was exactly this overestimation that was making him disappointed in himself.
Slowly, he rose from the ground he was sitting on and made his way to his desk with quiet determination in his steps.
For the last two months, he had only tried to force out his magic and make it obey his will, turning it into fire, water, earth, or some elemental attack.
But since this approach had not worked well, Gaemon would try his luck with another.
Once comfortable in his chair, he took out parchment and started to note down every magical incident in this world that he remembered reading about in books and seeing in the shows.
An hour passed as Gaemon finished writing it all down, detailing as much as he could remember.
As his eyes skimmed through the several pages of parchment scattered across his desk, Gaemon got the urge to palm his face.
He should not have thought that merely possessing the Six Eyes would let him learn all there was about magic.
The eyes were like a gauge of water, giving him perfect awareness and control over the water stored within him, but if Gaemon did not know what to do with it, then the tool he had been given was useless.
As of now, he was practically firing in the dark, having no information or guidance on how the sorcerers of this world channeled power.
His knowledge of this world’s magic included the fact that blood magic was the strongest and that pyromancers, aeromancers, and shadow mages existed, and, of course, his own warging magic.
Since his own attempts had failed spectacularly, the only option left was to seek out and learn under someone who could perform magical feats.
Gaemon had some confidence that once he learned how to manipulate his magic outwardly in the manner he wished, his Six Eyes would help immensely afterward.
The problem was a lack of foundation; once he learned that, the journey afterward would at least become easier for him.
So, with that clear in his mind, Gaemon started to mentally lay out the places where he could learn.
Asshai came first to mind, but the thought was discarded as soon as it appeared because of the place’s reputation.
The Undying Ones would never teach him.
There were multiple maegis roaming across Essos, but most of them would rather die than teach the dragonlords magic again.
So, with that, Gaemon’s thoughts turned toward the one race that was oldest on the continent upon which he currently resided.
The Children of the Forest.
The Singers.
The Children.
They went by many names.
From what Gaemon knew about them, they were far from children, for their race was long-lived, unlike the race of men.
It was said that these Singers had separated Westeros from Essos, and tales of their green magic and songs of the earth were widespread throughout the North.
The Singers, though magic users, were not evil like the sorcerers of Asshai and perhaps would not be averse to teaching Gaemon.
Hopefully.
They were his last hope.
No—not his last, but his only hope, though not that Gaemon would ever admit defeat if the Singers refused to teach him.
Anyway, since the path was clear in his mind, the next question that arose was how to walk upon it.
To meet and learn under the Children, Gaemon had to go beyond the Wall.
And to do that, he needed permission from both the King—his uncle, Viserys Targaryen—and his own cousin, Rickon Stark.
Unless, of course, Gaemon could convince his uncle, the King, otherwise.
Gaemon was certain that his cousin, Lord Stark, had little fascination with magic and even less intention of ever letting Gaemon go near the Wall if he heard these thoughts.
So his only option was Uncle Viserys, the man who had an uncanny fascination—one bordering on obsession—with Valyria and the old magics.
The man who believed himself a dreamer.
Gaemon’s uncle could very well be his key to the lands beyond the Wall.
But to even broach the subject of going beyond the Wall, Gaemon needed to reveal a few things—or perhaps everything—about his eyes, things he had hidden from Viserys and the rest of the Targaryens.
Gaemon took a deep breath and stood up, collecting all the pages of parchment.
One by one, he fed them into the fire brazier in his chambers.
He had no need of them anymore, and it was better to turn them to ash than to hide them somewhere, because he had written the notes in the Common Tongue, which was essentially English save for a few words.
Since he had been holed up in his room for hours, the call for supper would be arriving any time now.
Gaemon had entered his chamber once he was done making his way through the feast that took place today.
His uncle had called for a feast at luncheon, so most of his midday had been spent there after his daily morning practice with Ser Luthor.
With nothing to do, Gaemon decided to make his way to the dining chamber before any summons arrived, if only to kill the time.
On the way there, he mulled over the decision of what to tell his uncle Viserys and whether he should tell him in the absence of Daemon, his father.
Because Gaemon is certain that Daemon would be angry as seven hells when he heard that Gaemon had hidden something about his eyes from him, and angrier still at not being there when he decided to reveal the secrets he had been hiding.
Gaemon acknowledged the presence of the King’s Guards standing at the door with a nod as they opened it for him.
Inside, his uncle Viserys and his wife, Aemma, were talking with each other.
Going by their looks alone, his uncle and aunt seemed happy, so it was a good start for Gaemon.
With slow, long strides of his little legs, he closed the distance between them and took the chair placed right before them.
“I thought you had at last forgotten how to make that icy face, Gaemon.
But it seems you need to attend more feasts and more jovial dances like the one you had with that little lady of Lannister blood today, if you still haven’t forgotten it,” said Viserys with a mischievous smile.
Gaemon’s ice-cold mask cracked a little as the memory of the dance came to the forefront of his mind.
He felt his blood defying gravity and rushing swiftly to his cheeks.
He had to physically shake his head to rid himself of the embarrassment.
All the while, Queen Aemma giggled at his expense.
“It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, Uncle,” said Gaemon.
“Why, but it was beautiful, nephew, both of you—”
“Enough, Viserys.
Don’t embarrass little Gaemon anymore.
You had your fun with all the teasing during the feast.”
Gaemon’s only savior in this whole city had come to his rescue once again.
“Now, Gaemon, I assume you’re here to talk about something important,” Queen Aemma said gently.
Gaemon smiled.
In so little time, his aunt Aemma had come close to occupying the place that Lady Stark held in Gaemon’s heart.
Turning serious once more, Gaemon nodded slowly.
“Yes, it is about my eyes.”
Viserys and Aemma looked at each other, and a silent conversation seemed to pass between them.
With a raised eyebrow, Gaemon’s uncle asked, “Your eyes?
Haven’t you already told us everything about them?”
“No, there is something I discovered about them over these last two months,” Gaemon lied again.
“Is that so?
Do tell us about your discovery then, nephew.”
His uncle leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear.
Gaemon nodded and recounted everything about his eyes, except their name—which he knew as the Six Eyes—and their origin.
At the end, there was silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Then Gaemon saw exactly what he had expected.
The obsession in his uncle’s eyes.
Viserys leaned forward even more, looking ready to tumble out of his chair altogether.
“I think I misheard you, nephew.
You say you can see magic?
Feel it?
Even discern its taste?
And that everyone’s magic tastes different?
Seven hells… everyone has magic inside them?” His uncle sounded utterly dumbfounded.
The wonder in his voice was almost childlike.
“Yes, Uncle Viserys.
Yours smells of blood with an undertone of something reptilian.
Aunt Aemma’s magic smells like a fresh breeze high in the mountains.”
Gaemon’s words hung in the air.
Viserys blinked once.
Then twice.
Queen Aemma looked no less astonished.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke, as if trying to imagine something that had never before crossed their minds—that there might be unseen rivers of magic flowing through every living soul.
Both his uncle and aunt were about to say something when the door suddenly parted and Ser Redwyne entered, his face bewildered.
“Whatever emergency there might be, Ser Redwyne, I will address it after I’m done talking to my nephew.
You may leave.” Dismissing the knight with a wave of his hand, Viserys’s eyes returned to Gaemon, several questions already on the tip of his tongue.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but it concerns Prince Gaemon.
Ser Darklyn and one of the city guards are standing without.
They said it is urgent and that I tell Prince Gaemon that Buri has arrived.”
Gaemon instantly straightened in his chair.
A jolt of excitement ran through him.
“While I might not have disturbed you if it were just that, there is another piece of news I have received.
There is a large direwolf waiting obediently at the gate of Maegor’s Holdfast, Your Grace.
The animal behaves with uncanny intelligence, and by order of Ser Luthor of the city guards, a few men of the same order are protecting the direwolf.”