Dragonpit, the Red Keep
Gaemon and everyone present watched silently as the body of the Old King, who was Gaemon’s all-time hater, turned to ash in less than a few minutes.
Caraxes’s fire was magical in nature, so it burned far hotter than any regular flame.
It even reduced Jaehaerys’s bones to such a brittle state that a gentle touch from the septons shattered them.
They gathered all the ashes into an urn made of gold.
One of the White Cloaks took the urn once the septons were done with it.
Gaemon spotted expressions of disapproval on a few Silent Sisters, but the three septons who readily obeyed his uncle’s commands made those few hide their displeasure behind cold glares.
Gaemon was confused by the display of insubordination from the Silent Sisters when barrels of wine were brought forward, and to his shock, the contents were splashed upon the parched ground where the pyre had stood.
His attention shifted from the Silent Sisters and septons to the people pouring the expensive Arbor wine onto the earth.
His father must have noticed the shock on his face, because he leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone so only Gaemon and Rhaenyra could hear.
“It’s our tradition, dating back to Old Valyria.
It is done to honor the departed spirit and also to purify it as it enters the afterlife.”
Gaemon remained silent, absorbing the new information and turning it over in his mind as the world around him moved on.
Soon, the whole affair was over, and the royal family began making their way back to the comfort of the Red Keep.
Of course, Gaemon joined them.
Although he and Rhaenyra were riding in the same wheelhouse, the princess only sent him occasional glances and did not initiate any conversation.
Perhaps the somber mood that had settled over the royal family, and the city as a whole, had affected her spirits as well.
Anyway, Gaemon paid her little attention beyond a few moments.
Soon enough, his gaze turned toward the Dragonpit, where the ambient mana was.
He did not want to call it magical energy, as that did not sound appropriate.
Anyhow, he digressed.
The ambient mana around the Dragonpit existed in spades.
It was present in far greater quantities than at the Red Keep or any part of the King’s Landing as a whole, and it was more potent as well.
Gaemon could practically feel the mana tingling against his skin even from where he sat.
Maybe it was the dragons chained and housed there that made the place so saturated with mana.
Or perhaps the location itself was special, and Maegor had chosen to build the Dragonpit there because of it.
It could be anything.
Not that the reason mattered as much as how Gaemon could benefit from it.
To find that out, however, he would need to go there himself and spend time experimenting.
Soon, the wheelhouse came to a complete halt, and its door was opened by the White Cloak Ser Darklyn, the only Kingsguard Gaemon knew besides Lord Commander Ser Redwyne, whose name he had learned from conversations around the Keep.
Ser Darklyn helped the Queen and Princess down from the wheelhouse before turning toward him.
With an amused smirk, he extended his hand.
Gaemon merely stared at him.
Though, of course, the white knight could not see the unamused look, since the black blindfold was still wrapped around Gaemon’s eyes.
The Kingsguard were among the few people in the Keep besides the royal family who knew that Gaemon could see perfectly well through the blindfold.
Everyone else believed he had gone blind because of whatever had happened during the breaking of the fast today.
There were already several rumors circulating throughout the Keep regarding the whole ordeal, but they were nothing more than rumors.
Anyway, much like the servants and other nobles who constantly tried to help him under the assumption that he could not see, the Kingsguard did the same from time to time.
Partly to have their fun.
And partly to cement the idea, in the eyes of others, that Prince Gaemon Targaryen had become blind.
Because they thoroughly enjoyed watching Gaemon being treated as the Blind Prince.
“Thank you, Ser Darklyn, but I don’t think I need your help.”
With that, Gaemon stepped down and made his way toward the Targaryens, who were watching him with amusement on their faces, except for Rhaenyra, who looked more confused than amused.
“Nephew, your father and I have a Small Council meeting to attend right now, but afterward, we would like to talk about your eyes, if that is alright with you.” His uncle was the first to speak.
Gaemon thought it over for a moment before nodding.
Not that he could truly refuse the King, but it felt good that his uncle had phrased it as a question rather than a command, as he very well could have.
Gaemon slightly tuned out the conversation that followed as they discussed whom to give the vacant seat on the Small Council and when they should travel to Dragonstone to cremate the ashes of the Old King.
Instead, he thought about how much he was willing to tell them regarding his eyes.
Though his father’s little speech about the blood of the dragon had been surprisingly heartfelt, Gaemon was not a fool, nor had he spent enough time with them to place his complete trust in them.
He had only read about these people in books, and those books had already proven themselves wrong about many things Gaemon had witnessed during the past year.
Ser Darklyn was given the duty of protecting Gaemon, and the knight accompanied him back to his chambers before taking up position outside the door.
Since Rhaenyra had gone off with Alicent, Gaemon was left alone with his thoughts, which, if he were being honest, was all he had been doing since breakfast.
Gaemon was about to sit in the cushioned chair facing the window, which offered a pleasant view of the White Tower of the Kingsguard, when he noticed a sheet of white paper resting on his bedside table.
Since it was not parchment, Gaemon instantly knew where it had come from.
With a sigh, he made his way over and silently prayed that it would contain at least some of the answers he wanted.
Hello again, Gaemon,
I write to you in good conscience that you have likely already received the gift I prepared for you.
If the chiming bell and the monotonous announcements that could only come from a System or an AI trouble your mind, let them not.
That particular act of mental violence and invasion of privacy was a one-time thing.
Until, of course, I feel generous again and decide to shower you with more gifts and turn you into the greatest nepo baby the known world has ever seen.
Still, fret not.
I shall do my utmost to avoid walking such a path and will heroically restrain myself from handing you additional absurd advantages.
You have likely already figured out their origin, and indeed, you are correct.
Rejoice.
Dance.
Perhaps even perform a backflip if your small body allows it.
For they are the eyes of the Honored One.
That title, despite all the theatrics attached to it, is far more truthful than you realize, and it is the only hint you shall receive from me about the eyes’ true potential.
The eyes have been adapted to the world you currently inhabit, so use them wisely and honorably.
Because I am watching.
Your All-Time Stalker
P.S.
Do not concern yourself.
When you and that royal cousin of yours inevitably begin exploring each other’s mouths—and, regrettably, considerably more than that—I shall politely avert my gaze and whistle a cheerful tune.
Gaemon’s eyebrows twitched in irritation at both the tone of the note and the afterthought the mysterious being had attached at the end.
Knowing there was a very real chance that whoever had sent it was watching him at this very moment, Gaemon plastered on the sweetest smile he could manage and raised his middle finger toward the ceiling.
[AN: The blasphemy!
To do such a thing before my dear readers!
And that too immediately after I blessed him with the Eyes of Gojo.
Shall we punish this puny, arrogant, and ill-mannered Targaryen?]
Gaemon released the note, and it dissolved into motes of light that scattered into the wind.
So there was no System after all.
Well, that was probably for the best.
There were not many threats in this world to begin with, and now that he possessed the Six Eyes, those threats were less troubling and worrisome than they had been.
Not to mention that he was a Targaryen.
Soon enough, Gaemon would have his own flying nuke.
Speaking of dragons, Gaemon remembered his direwolf, which was still making its way south.
Though it had been less than two days, Gaemon hoped Buri had not gotten himself lost somewhere along the Kingsroad.
He ought to check up on the wolf, but not right now.
He could sense that Buri was sleeping at the moment and only traveled during the night.
Perhaps after sunset, Gaemon would attempt to warg into him and guide him toward King’s Landing himself.
So we’ve hit the 15k word milestone, and while I have no intention of chasing the top spot in the power rankings just yet, I’d still love for this fic to climb high enough that more readers can find it.
So go ahead and shower me with stones; every one you throw earns you an update in return.
I’m a masochist that way.