The Red Keep,
“Absolutely not.” Queen Aemma shouted the next moment, right after Gaemon finished.
Her smiling face, the one Gaemon was used to seeing every day, was now furious.
“You aren’t going near that barbaric place if I have any say in the matter.
And unfortunately for you, young man, I do have a say in the matter.” Gaemon sighed in defeat.
He should have approached his uncle when he was alone, but that was impossible, as his uncle was usually busy with courtiers vying for a single meeting with him.
“And why these Children of the Forest specifically, nephew?
We don’t even know if there are any left of them beyond the Wall.
Aren’t they all but a myth of old tales nowadays?” His uncle asked, confusion clear on his face.
“There is no safer opt—” The grinding of teeth stopped Gaemon before he could explain himself.
Seeing the look his uncle was receiving, Gaemon wisely decided to just shut his mouth.
“Your questions are telling me that you’re entertaining the thought, lord husband?
I hope it is just my assumption and not the truth.” Queen Aemma said with finality in her tone.
“It is just curiosity, Aemma.
And you think I would just let him go, knowing what lies beyond that Wall?” Viserys asked, a slight annoyance in his voice at being interrupted.
The king then turned toward Gaemon with clear obsession in his eyes.
“Continue, nephew.”
Gaemon looked at the Queen before turning his head toward his uncle.
“As I was saying, there is no safer option, uncle.
Besides the Children of the Forest, there are no sorcerers in Westeros who know of magic.
And the sorcerers of Essos, as you know, wouldn’t teach us because of our link to Valyria and our being the House of the Dragon.
The Children of the Forest isn’t just tales, uncle, they’re real.
I know it.” Gaemon said.
His uncle’s eyes widened a fraction, and his whole face tensed as his head leaned forward, watching Gaemon.
“Do… do you have dreams, Gaemon?
How do you know of old animosity between the House of the Dragon and the sorcerers of Essos?
And you speak with such confidence about the existence of these children?
Did you see them in your dreams?” His uncle asked.
Gaemon could see that Uncle Viserys tried to stop his voice from quivering, but failed miserably; his uncle’s wife, Aemma, seemed to feel the same, judging by the look she gave her husband.
Gaemon tried to tell himself that more lies would only lead to more, until he blew his cover and all of it came crashing down on him.
But one look at his uncle and he knew that with a single yes, he could very well get what he wanted.
Gaemon gritted his teeth as an internal battle raged inside his mind.
“You can trust me with this information, nephew.
And don’t hold back or try to lie, I will know it, as I did when you lied about your eyes that day.
Speak the truth, for dreams for a Targaryen could never be simple imaginings of the mind; they always aid us if we have the foresight to see what the heavens are trying to warn us of,” his uncle warned.
Gaemon’s eyes widened behind his blindfold.
Did his uncle know Gaemon was lying that day? This story is hosted at g.com.
Did his father, Daemon, and Aunt Aemma know as well?
Why then did he not confront Gaemon or pressure him into speaking the truth?
Gaemon’s mind went into overdrive as he processed all the information.
His thoughts were like wind in a tornado, swirling this way and that, until all of it quieted down with a single word that left his mouth before he could process it.
“Yes.”
Gaemon’s mind reflected the same silence that seemed to fill the entire chamber, and even the whole world, for him.
The quiet lasted only moments, but it felt like years, decades even, as Gaemon reflected on what he had done.
“Wh… what do you dream of?
What do you see?
Is it anything ominous?
Is that why you haven’t told us about this?” His uncle Viserys, instead of falling from his seat, let his body fall back into it as he leaned back into his chair, his expression unreadable to Gaemon, changing so fast that it left Gaemon confused.
“I have not dreamt much.
Whatever few dreams I have had, I have seen only my own future, a different me who had taken different decisions.
The reason I did not tell you is that I thought these gifts were not Targaryen dragon dreams but green dreams, caused by my Stark blood.” With what was done, Gaemon could only go with the flow.
But this time he decided to push further and see if he could profit from his lies, unlike before, when he had gotten nothing and been exposed every time.
“Green dreams?
Stark blood?
What are you speaking of, nephew?” His uncle jolted back from his lean, a confused and curious expression overriding his inner conflict.
“You haven’t read of the First Men’s magical ancestry and the abilities they had in the past?” Gaemon asked.
His uncle had a thing about reading everything about magic, be it even myth or tale.
The king’s knowledge of the Children was proof enough that he had delved quite deep into the North’s past, as after coming into this world, Gaemon had found out that Maesters did not encourage this kind of reading and even went as far as mocking you if you read about them.
Gaemon himself had been mocked by Winterfell’s Maester when he was found reading about the pacts formed between men and the Children in the past.
“That I have.
Septon Barth had one book pertaining to how the First Men mingled with the Children of the Forest and gained some magical abilities, but it did not detail what these abilities were, save hearing birds and communicating with trees.
It certainly did not mention green dreams; Barth wrote it off as a thing of the past, since there have been no rumors in centuries from the north of a man with abilities like the one I mentioned.
The septon speculated that whatever magical blood flowed in the veins of the northerners had thinned over the past thousand years, since the Andals came and drove the Children beyond the Wall.” Uncle Viserys replied, stroking his goatee all the while.
Gaemon nodded in understanding.
Of course the Citadel would love to suppress all information on the magical ancestry of the North, especially from the Targaryens, the house whose current members were quite heavily interested in it.
“I assure you, uncle, the blood of the Children hasn’t thinned as much as Septon Barth speculated.
There are still wargs and skinchangers walking in the woods of the North to this day, but in this age of the Faith of the Seven, they hide themselves and suppress their abilities.” Gaemon said, before giving his uncle a small, quick rundown of what wargs are and what greenseers can do at their peak, like breaking the arm of Dorne and seeing the memories of the past through the eyes of a weirwood.
Once more, the chamber fell into silence, though this one did not last long, at least not for Gaemon.
“I think this much new information is enough for today, husband.
Let us retire to bed; we can continue this conversation tomorrow morning.” Aunt Aemma suggested, putting her hand on her husband’s.
“You can go on to bed, Aemma.
I will join you in a moment.” Gaemon saw his aunt blink, processing her husband’s words, before standing and taking her leave.
As the doors closed behind her slightly unhappy exit, his uncle spoke again.
“Go to the Grandmaester’s chamber now.
Tell him to send a raven to Dragonstone immediately.
I want my brother Daemon back before the dawn of the morrow.
Do not return if he is asleep; wake him if you must.” Ser Redwyne only nodded and went to work.
The knight had such a serious expression that Gaemon couldn’t help but think Ser Redwyne would cut off the Maester’s arm to wake him if the Grandmaster was a heavy sleeper and didn’t respond to being called by name.
“You have given me much to think on, Gaemon.
Truth be told, I know you are intelligent enough to understand what is going on.
The Citadel withholding the information you revealed is nothing unexpected from those grey rats.
But their withholding this particular piece is something I cannot let pass; they will pay for it.
The Crown and the House of the Dragon will have their due.” His uncle looked angry, though Gaemon knew why.
Three words describing House Stark in a new light were enough for his uncle to piece together a puzzle passed down through the House of the Dragon since Aegon the Conqueror.
Viserys went still.
When he spoke again, his voice had dropped, quieter, as though the weight of the thought alone was enough to hush him.
“The bloodline of Ice,” he murmured, half to himself.
“Gods.
I wonder how grandfather was blind to it, when the truth stood before us the whole time.
The King of Winter.
Winterfell.
The Wall of ice, raised by Brandon Stark himself.
It was all there, clear as bright day, and still we failed to see it.”
“What are you speaking of, Uncle Viserys?” Gaemon asked, faking ignorance.
“Something I will tell you once I deem you ready, nephew.
But for now, know this: a heavy burden has been placed upon your small shoulders since birth.
The winds foretold your coming, and the House of the Dragon has been waiting for it for more than a century.
Do not let my words trouble or frighten you, Gaemon.
I tell you this only so you understand why you must train hard, and give everything of yourself to honing what you are.
The rest you may leave to your kingly uncle.
Go now, get your rest.
I will call for you on the morrow, after we hear the roar of Caraxes.”
It was entirely unplanned for this reveal, but as I was writing ot flowed out, and I let it.
The more I wrote, the more I saw what I could do with this single exchange that took place in this chapter.
It was Viserys’s dream that it would be his son and his line that would bring the fortold prince, but now, since the prince is already here, would he marry Alicent?
This hint alone should be enough to tell you how the whole plot has shifted and changed.
Those who were expecting dance, don’t worry, I still have more than a few ideas of how I can make it happen.
Thank you all for your prayers and well wishes.
My mother is on a slow path to recovery, and I am managing stress well these days.