103 AC, Maegor’s Holdfast
Gaemon looked at Rhaenyra, who looked older than him but was still a child, perhaps six or seven years old.
She looked at him then, and their eyes met.
An instant look of realization came upon her face, only to be replaced by a jubilant expression.
Her steps now carried little urgency as she made her way toward Gaemon’s side of the dining table.
“Gaemon!
You’re my cousin Gaemon, right?
I’m really happy that you’re here now.
I’ve heard so much about you from my mother and Uncle Daemon.” Rhaenyra babbled excitedly as she made herself comfortable on a chair beside Gaemon.
Gaemon smiled at the look of excitement and happiness on Rhaenyra’s face.
He was about to reply when a loud ding suddenly rang inside his head.
His gaze swept across everyone present to confirm that it had indeed sounded only in his head and that no one else had heard it.
Judging by the looks they were giving him, it seemed so.
[The condition has been met.
The host is in the presence of all members of the current royal family in their own keep.
The reward will be granted in three…]
Gaemon’s face contorted into shock.
He had a system?
But hadn’t the entity that had sent him here told him that no system had been given to him?
[…two…]
Gaemon turned toward Rhaenyra, who was now looking at him with a crestfallen expression.
She seemed to have mistaken his lack of response for disinterest in meeting her.
Daemon, Viserys, and Aemma were also looking at him with slight confusion and unreadable expressions on their faces.
[…one… please be prepared for pain, host.]
Gaemon’s mouth opened to retort, but it was not words that escaped his throat.
It was a scream.
His eyes burned as though someone were pouring molten lava directly into them.
Then the pain spread, erupting through the nerves connecting his eyes to his brain.
Gaemon scrambled, suddenly aware of every nerve linking his eyes and mind.
Slowly, agonizingly, the pain spread from his eyes and brain throughout the rest of his body.
Gaemon heard someone shouting for a maester, but to him, the sound was muffled, like someone calling out from a great distance.
He could barely hear it before the noise faded, and his mind was dragged back into the endless sea of pain that refused to release him.
Soon, Gaemon’s perception tilted, and he felt himself falling from the chair.
But before he could hit the ground, someone caught him.
Before darkness finally swallowed his vision, Gaemon heard Rhaenyra calling his name in concern.
An hour later
Viserys stood at the edge of the bed while his nephew lay unconscious upon it, a peaceful expression resting on his face.
Viserys much preferred that expression to the one twisted in agony that Gaemon had worn while screaming in pain.
The boy had lungs like dragons.
His screams had been so loud that all of Maegor’s Holdfast servants now knew something terrible had happened.
Even a few Kingsguard resting in their tower had come running after hearing them.
Grand Maester Runciter had practically run here in his old age to examine the prince, who had not stopped screaming for nearly half an hour.
Yet the old maester of the Citadel had been unable to find anything wrong with Viserys’s nephew.
In fact, after hearing Gaemon’s age and examining his body, he had gone as far as to claim that the boy was more than merely healthy.
Daemon, furious at Runciter’s inability to determine why his son had screamed for so long, had kicked the old man out of the room.
Since then, he had been sitting beside Gaemon for the past hour.
Daemon’s face had cycled between concern and anger the entire time.
Viserys looked at his daughter, who was on the other side of the bed, staring at Gaemon with a tear-streaked face, ready to cry again at any moment.
Rhaenyra seemed to blame herself for Gaemon’s pain, though Viserys could not understand why his daughter would think such a thing.
Aemma sat beside their daughter, consoling her and trying to make Rhaenyra understand that it was not her fault and that they would soon discover what had happened to Daemon’s son. Read this novel at novelping.com for the best experience.
Viserys’s stomach growled, making him aware of his hunger, but he suppressed the feeling and remained where he stood, refusing to let a primal urge get the better of him at a time like this.
A member of his family was suffering from something unknown.
Viserys would not touch food until he heard that his nephew was safe and sound.
But for that to happen, Maester Runciter needed to examine Gaemon once more, to see if he had overlooked something.
“Brother, let Grand Maester Runciter examine Gaemon again.
Maybe this time he can find what caused Gaemon such pain,” Viserys urged Daemon, concern for his nephew leaking into his voice.
“No need, brother.
That grey rat is incompetent, just like the lot he calls his brothers.
Did you forget how every one of them has failed our family?” Daemon replied with a snarl, taking out his frustration on Viserys.
“If you have forgotten, then look around.
We’re the only ones left of House Targaryen.”
Viserys did not entertain his brother’s anger and instead replied, “Then what do you intend to do, Daemon?
Sit beside him and hope he wakes up miraculously?
By the Seven, we do not know if whatever happened to him—or is still happening—is worsening his condition.
The only thing we can do in a situation like this is seek help from a maester who specializes in healing.”
“Look at him, Viserys.
Do you see his condition worsening?” Daemon asked, pointing toward Gaemon.
“What I see is my son sleeping peacefully.
His heartbeat is calm and steady, so there is nothing wrong with him right now.
I trust my instincts, brother, and they’re telling me that Gaemon is fine and will wake up soon.”
Viserys sighed.
He wanted to argue further, but he relented.
Truth be told, Gaemon did appear fine, aside from being unconscious.
So Viserys decided to wait a little longer before commanding his brother to step aside and allow Runciter to examine Gaemon again.
Half an hour passed in what felt like a blink as Viserys and Aemma tried to distract Rhaenyra from worrying about Gaemon’s condition.
Daemon chimed in from time to time, but whenever his attention drifted from their conversation, his eyes would return to Gaemon, observing every small detail of his son.
Viserys had not seen his brother like this since their father’s death.
Even their grandfather’s death did not make Daemon this grim; Daemon had merely laughed when he heard the news a few days ago and ridden north at Viserys’s command.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard entered the chamber.
Ser Redwyne looked toward Gaemon and Daemon before making his way to Viserys.
The knight stopped before his king, though his gaze flickered toward Daemon in hesitation.
Before he could speak, Daemon’s patience finally ran thin.
“Out with it.
I don’t want you stealing glances at me like some maiden in love,” Daemon said.
Ser Redwyne frowned at Daemon’s words but did not retaliate.
Instead, he turned toward Viserys and said,
“The Silent Sisters and the septons are here, Your Grace.
They request an audience with you.”
“You should go, brother.
We do not know when Gaemon will wake up.
It is better not to wait any longer and instead burn Grandfather’s body and put his soul to rest.” Daemon said, uncharacteristically compassionate toward the Old King, or maybe his brother just wants Viserys to leave him with his son.
“I think you’re right, Daemon,” Viserys said as he stood up.
It had been his own personal wish for the whole of House Targaryen to be present at the Old King’s funeral, but it seemed fate did not permit it.
Viserys was about to urge at least Aemma to accompany him when Rhaenyra suddenly shouted,
“Gaemon!”
Viserys’ eyes instantly snapped toward his nephew.
His eyelids fluttered open, and soon his body stirred as he slowly rose from the bed.
Viserys assumed it was because of the sudden light, and everyone else present thought the same, so they gave him a moment.
But even after some time had passed, Gaemon’s hands did not move away from his face.
“Gaemon, is everything alright?
Why are you shielding your eyes?” Daemon asked, moving to position himself between the light pouring through the window and his son so it would not sting his eyes.
“It is not the light.
My eyes have changed.” Gaemon rasped out, his voice hoarse.
Aemma immediately handed him a cup filled with water, which Viserys’ nephew took from his wife’s hands while keeping his eyes closed, as though he could somehow see perfectly without opening them.
Gaemon drank the water and handed the empty cup back to Aemma.
“Thank you, Your Grace.
As I was saying, my eyes have changed.
I can still see, but it’s too clear, too colorful, too… good.
My mind can’t process it all.
That’s why I closed my eyes.
And I can still see everything even with them shut.”
“What?” Daemon asked, utterly flabbergasted.
“Open your eyes, Gaemon.
Let us see them,” Viserys prompted.
He did not understand how his nephew could possibly see with his eyes closed, nor what he meant by seeing too clearly.
Did he mean his vision had become impossibly sharp?
Eyes like a hawk’s?
But when Gaemon opened his eyes, every thought of hawks vanished from Viserys’ mind like smoke scattered by the wind.
A collective breath escaped everyone in the chamber as they stared at the overwhelming magnificence that were Gaemon’s eyes.
Words could not describe some things; Viserys had learned that long ago.
He had learned it when he tried to explain to his dear friend Otto Hightower what it felt like to ride the mightiest creature in the world, what it felt like to soar above mountains and castles upon the back of a dragon.
Some things simply escaped the prison of words.
And now Viserys Targaryen had witnessed another such thing.
One had to see Gaemon’s eyes to understand them, to feel what Viserys felt in this very moment.
Gaemon’s eyes were still purple, like those of any Targaryen, Velaryon, or any person carrying enough Valyrian blood in their veins.
But only the color remained the same; everything else had changed into something beyond mortal understanding.
There were stars within his eyes.
Actual stars.
They blended so seamlessly with the purple that Viserys found himself wondering whether this was what one would see if they traveled too close to the heavens themselves.
Perhaps this was the space between man and stars made manifest within mortal flesh.
Tiny points of light drifted and shimmered within that violet abyss, like constellations living and breathing in miniature worlds of their own.
And there was something regal within them as well.
Ancient.
Vast.
Terrifyingly beautiful.
When his nephew’s gaze landed upon him, Viserys suddenly felt naked and defenseless.
It was as though those eyes stripped away every layer of him and peered directly into his soul, reading his life and every secret hidden within it like words inked onto parchment.
The young King of the Seven Kingdoms averted his gaze first.
For the briefest of moments, insecurity gripped him, sharp and cold as winter steel.
He felt almost unworthy of looking into the eyes of a young boy whose piss was greener than summer grass… and gods help him, that thought only made the feeling worse.
Someone asked me why I added the JJK tag.
Welp, here’s why.
Don’t worry, he only got six eyes, and he won’t become OP anytime soon.
Now let’s talk about the stones.
Are you throwing enough of them at me?