Today is my birthday, 08-05-2026, so I hope you enjoy the update.
Gaemon Targaryen (109 A.C. Third Moon)
King's Landing – Alicent Chambers
He and Aegon were let into the room by their nursemaid.
The chamber smelled of herbs, sweat, milk, and the faint sweetness of the oils the maids had rubbed into the sheets. The curtains had been drawn halfway, letting in only a soft wash of pale morning light.
Gaemon held Aegon's hand as they were guided inside. His brother toddled beside him, blinking with wide violet eyes, still half-confused by all the quiet excitement that had filled the Red Keep since before dawn. Aegon had known something was happening, but he had not truly understood it. Gaemon had understood too well.
Birth. Blood. Pain. Screams behind closed doors. The waiting. The fear.
He remembered it from another life, though he had never been the one lying in the bed. He remembered standing by Daenerys's side, holding her hand as she birthed Rhaella and Rhaegar.
As he looked toward the bed, he saw his supposed father.
Viserys.
Gaemon looked at him and felt nothing that a son should feel. No warmth. No bond. No pull of blood. His true father had been Eddard Stark, even if Rhaegar had sired him. That had always been the truth of his heart. It was similar to how he felt about Rhaegar, yet not the same. Rhaegar was a shadow, a tale, a man built from stories told by others. He had never known him, not truly.
With Viserys, it was worse.
Viserys was alive. Present. Close enough to touch.
And still distant.
The man smiled in public. He placed hands upon small shoulders. He called them his boys when lords were watching. He let the court see a kindly father, a king pleased with the sons his young wife had given him. But in private, the warmth faded. He was not cruel, not in the way Joffrey had been cruel, or Ramsay, or the cold men who wore kindness like a mask. Viserys was not that.
He was simply absent while sitting in the same room.
Gaemon had seen enough to understand it. Viserys did not care for Alicent, at least not as Gaemon had cared for Daenerys. No, Aemma Arryn had been Viserys's great love. At least, that was what Gaemon had understood from how Rhaenyra spoke of her, and how Viserys sometimes stared at the golden ring around his finger. A ring from Aemma. She was the wife whose ghost filled every empty corner of the Red Keep. Alicent was not loved in the same way. She was a duty. A comfort. A replacement placed beside a grieving king because Otto Hightower had seen an opportunity and taken it.
Gaemon looked from Viserys to the woman on the bed.
His mother.
Alicent sat propped against pillows, pale and worn, her brown hair loose around her shoulders. There was sweat still at her temples, though a maid had clearly tried to clean her up. Her face was tired, and her eyes had that distant look women sometimes had after birth, caught between pain, relief, and wonder.
Gaemon's chest tightened.
As he looked at her, holding the babe who had been born an hour ago, he felt something soften in him. He truly cared for her, which was something he had never had before and would treasure. He loved the way she cared for them, even if he knew it was duty that had made her do so at first. Alicent did not love Viserys. That had been clear early on. It was duty and Otto Hightower's scheming that had made it happen.
Still, he cared for her, and he truly loved her.
"Aegon, Gaemon, come see your little sister."
His mother's voice was soft and tired. It had been a couple of hours since her labors had started.
He smiled at his mother before he climbed up onto the bed, his little hands and feet struggling. But he made it up. He saw Aegon looking at him, and he helped his little brother up as well.
Yet seeing Helaena was something that both pleased and pained him. It brought back memories of seeing his little Rhaella for the first time. She would grow up without him, hearing only stories of him.
He shook his head and looked at little Helaena. She looked similar to his daughter, but Rhaella had his eyes and a different nose. Not that it would matter. He would treasure his sister, just as he had treasured all his other siblings in the past.
"She small, and preus," he tried to say in a two-year-old voice.
"Almost. It's precious, but a good try, my boy," Viserys said with a smile, and Gaemon had to hold back a frown.
His mother smiled at him. "Indeed she is. Do you want to know her name?"
She asked, and both he and Aegon nodded, not that he needed to know it.
"Helaena."
"Hela," he said, and both of them chuckled. Aegon tried it too.
"Hela."
"Almost, boys, but it is a difficult word," his mother noted. "Try with me. Hel-la-ena."
They did. It still came out clumsy for Aegon, but better for him. Soon enough, they all settled into a calm, and he and Aegon began asking them both questions.
Then the nursemaid came to pick them up, so his mother could have some rest.
A year later
His third name day had come and gone, and Gaemon found life boring.
As a child of three, he could do little, and he found that he had started to sleep less. When he was younger, the time had passed more quickly, as he had spent most of it asleep. Now he still slept, but not nearly as much. Most of his time was spent playing with Aegon, looking out for Helaena, or trying other things, like waving sticks around to train his swordplay. Yet he was still a toddler, and most attempts failed.
He had at least found one hobby he could do often, and that was drawing. Nothing good, as his coordination still lacked, but it was at least a pastime he could do alone, and it made the time pass more quickly.
Yet then, as he was drawing in the garden, he heard a loud roar.
He looked up at the sky and saw the Blood Wyrm dotted against the clouds. His eyes widened. It was the first time he had seen the dragon. Blood red, with a body shaped somewhat like a worm, Caraxes was truly something different from what he was used to. Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon had all looked similar, and when they had gone to the Dragonpit, perhaps to find him a new egg, he had seen Dreamfyre. She had looked similar to the three dragons, and he wondered if she had been their mother.
Sadly for him, there had been no egg that connected to him. Still no dragon bond that he felt, not like he had felt with Rhaegal.
Even if Dreamfyre was their mother, Caraxes the Blood Wyrm still looked odd compared to the others. Yet he also knew what this meant. Sadly, his sister was also returning after him. She had been on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms, trying to find a husband. Yet she came back empty, without a betrothal or any indication that she had found someone she was interested in.
No, the man in the sky, or perhaps the Kingsguard at Rhaenyra's side, was who she was interested in.
A week earlier.
They had been eating in the royal garden when Viserys finally arrived to join them. Gaemon saw that the man was not happy. As he sat down, he poured himself a cup of wine and quickly downed it.
"Husband, unwelcoming news?" his mother asked.
"Rhaenyra," he muttered.
At that, Gaemon looked toward his father, while Aegon continued eating his buttered piece of honey-bread.
"She has decided to return, cutting the process short, saying she has yet to find a husband. She has grown tired of it and feels there is no man worthy," Viserys added with a sigh, rubbing his temples with his good hand. The man had lost two fingers on his left hand half a year ago. Viserys had an ailment that did not seem to go away, some form of rot, and as he looked at his mother's husband, Gaemon felt pity.
A young girl married to that, while his own daughter was squandering an opportunity to make a good match for herself.
"Perhaps she needs time to reflect and wishes to ask yours or our opinion on the matter," his mother noted diplomatically.
"Unlikely. Rhaenyra is stubborn, and marriage has always been a sore point for her," Viserys replied, putting butter on a piece of bread.
"She might surprise you," his mother added.
"Nyra coming back?" Gaemon asked with a smile.
"Yes, your sister is coming home. She sails from Storm's End," his mother replied.
"Yeah, and did she see a stag?" he added.
His mother and Viserys frowned.
"A stag?" they both asked.
"Black stag. On the picture in the book, and what you told us, Father. The stag."
"Oh, you mean the Baratheon sigil," Viserys muttered. "Yes, perhaps she did. There are quite a few stags in the Stormlands. Well done, lad. Quite smart."
Gaemon nodded and smiled. "Cool, although a white stag is cooler."
That made his father frown slightly before he went on eating.
"When will Rhaenyra be back?" his mother asked.
"In about a week," his father replied.
Now
"It seems your uncle is back, boys," his mother said, looking up from where Gaemon and Aegon sat in the garden with their nursemaids. Her eyes had gone to the sky, following the fading shape of the Blood Wyrm as it circled above the city.
Caraxes.
Even from so far below, the dragon looked strange to Gaemon. Long, red, and lean, with a body that curved through the clouds like some great serpent of fire and blood. The roar had sent half the servants in the garden still, and Aegon had dropped the piece of fruit in his hand.
"Dragon," Aegon whispered.
"Yes," Alicent said, though her voice was not as warm as it might have been. "Your uncle's dragon."
Gaemon looked at his mother and saw the change in her face. She was calm, as she always tried to be, but there was a tightness about her mouth. Daemon's return meant trouble. It always had. Even a child could see that, and Gaemon was no true child.
Alicent turned to the two nursemaids. "Bring them back to their chambers. I am quite sure my husband will want to prepare a small dinner in the garden to welcome his brother."
The nursemaids curtsied and gathered them quickly. Aegon protested, wanting to keep watching the dragon, but Gaemon took his hand and tugged him along.
"Come," he said. "Dragon later."
Aegon pouted, but followed.
That evening, Gaemon saw little of what happened. Children were not invited to such dinners, even royal ones, and so he, Aegon, and Helaena remained in the nursery. Yet the Red Keep had a way of whispering even when doors were closed. Servants carried news faster than ravens. One of the nursemaids returned from the lower halls with bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
Prince Daemon had come back wearing a crown.
A crude thing, they said, made of driftwood. A crown of the Stepstones. He had bent the knee before the King, handed over the crown, and called Viserys the true King. The court had cheered. The brothers had embraced. Wine had been poured, laughter had returned, and for a moment, perhaps, Viserys had believed his brother changed.
Gaemon doubted that. His uncle was the rogue, the princess, and even when he was married to Laena, Rhaenyra, the man still did what he wanted. He just had moments when the man was content; it looked like he had changed, before doing something rash, foolish, bloody, and getting banished again.
He thought of the way Caraxes had moved in the sky, bold and restless. It suited Daemon. A dangerous man on a dangerous dragon.
Still, the evening passed quietly enough in the nursery. Helaena slept early, one little fist tucked beneath her chin. Aegon tried to stay awake, demanding that Gaemon tell him about the red dragon again, but his head soon drooped against the pillows.
Gaemon did not sleep so quickly.
As his mind lay on the possibilities of his uncle's return. Yet even a child's mind gets tired, and in the end, he lay his eyes to rest.
The next morning, they awoke to a changed world.
Gaemon heard the gossiping of the nursemaids while he, Helaena, and Aegon ate their morning meal. Helaena played with her food, as she had begun to eat solids, patting her little fingers into the soft porridge and smearing it across the tray before her. Aegon laughed and tried to feed her with his own spoon, missing her mouth more often than not.
Gaemon helped too, though more carefully.
It should have been simple. Peaceful. A morning meal with his brother and sister.
Yet all around them, the servants whispered.
"Banished again," one maid said softly while folding cloth near the hearth.
"The prince?"
"Who else? The King was wrathful, they say. Worse than wrathful. I heard he nearly struck him."
"Hush. There are children here."
"They are too young to understand."
Gaemon lowered his gaze to his bread so no one would see his expression.
Too young.
A useful mistake.
Aegon held out a spoonful of porridge toward Helaena. "Eat, Hela."
Helaena grabbed the spoon instead and slapped it down. Porridge splattered across the cloth.
Aegon laughed so hard he nearly fell from his chair.
Gaemon smiled faintly, but his ears remained on the nursemaids.
Gaemon shook his head. Either Rhaenyra and Daemon had slept together, or something else had happened. Yet Gaemon also knew part of the history that was spoken of from that time. Rhaenyra had likely slept with either Daemon, Ser Criston, or Ser Harwin. All of them were foolish choices, and he wanted to slap his sister for her foolishness.All of it was foolish.
She could have chosen a husband. She could have taken the power given to her and used it carefully. She was the named heir, the Realm's Delight, the daughter Viserys loved above all others. She had more freedom than many women of Westeros could dream of, and yet she seemed determined to mistake freedom for carelessness.
Prideful girl.
Gaemon wanted to slap her for her foolishness, though the thought was absurd. His hands were small, and she was nearly a woman grown. Still, the feeling remained.
Gaemon sighed turned his mind to a more delightfull sight of Aegon and Heleana playing with there food.
Late that night, their grandfather came to their room.
The candles were low, and Helaena was already asleep in her cradle. Aegon sat on the bed beside Gaemon, rubbing at his eyes. He had been woken, and he did not like it. Gaemon knew at once that something was wrong.
Otto Hightower stood in the doorway, dressed not as the Hand of the King, but as a man preparing to leave. His face was composed, his beard neat, his eyes sharp as ever, yet there was something different in him. A heaviness. A defeat he had no wish to show.
"My boys," he began.
He sat them both beside each other on the bed. Aegon leaned against Gaemon, sleepy and confused. Otto looked at Aegon first, then at Gaemon. With Gaemon, his gaze lingered longer.
"I will sadly have to go for a while," Otto said.
Aegon frowned. "Go?"
"To Oldtown," Otto said gently. "I may be able to visit in the future, or perhaps one day you may visit me there."
At that, Gaemon looked down sadly.
He knew full well that Otto Hightower had selfish interests in them. The man was no fool, nor was he some kindly old grandsire untouched by ambition. He saw bloodlines, claims, banners, marriages, and futures. He saw Aegon and Gaemon not only as boys, but as pieces on the board.
Yet Gaemon knew something else, too.
Otto still loved them.
It was a strange sort of love, tangled with duty and ambition, but many lords and ladies of Westeros loved that way. They loved their children and still used them. They kissed their brows and arranged their marriages. They prayed for their safety while sending them into the world as swords, shields, and alliances.
Even Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn had not been free of such things. Lady Catelyn in particular had thought in marriage pacts when war came. Arya to Elmar Frey. Robb to one of Lord Walder's daughters. Sansa to Joffrey had once seemed a glittering future to her, before the rot beneath the gold was known.
And his father, his true father, would likely one day have betrothed Robb to a Northern lady because his own marriage had tied Winterfell to the Riverlands.
That was the way of their world.
Still, Aegon did not understand that. His little brother's face crumpled.
"Grandpa, don't go," Aegon sobbed.
Gaemon took his hand at once and held it tightly.
Otto's face softened. For a moment, the Hand vanished, and only the grandfather remained.
"I have to," Otto said. "It is an order from your father. I disappointed him, even though I told the truth, or the truth was told."
Then he turned to Gaemon. "Gaemon, I know you are young, yet I have seen you. You learn quickly, and you are alert."
Gaemon smiled at his words.
Otto breathed in deeply. "I know it, Gaemon. You will be King, not only because it is good for our house, but also for the realm. Rhaenyra is not suited. She never understood her duty, much like her uncle."
Gaemon knew all this, yet instead of Aegon, it was him they put their hopes on, or at least Otto and his supporters did.
"King?" he asked in a small voice. "Like Kepa?"
"Indeed, like your father. I will write to you, and to you as well, Aegon. Be strong, both of you. You will need it in the years ahead, as will your mother. I see her awakening soon to the truth."
He kissed their foreheads and started to put them to bed.
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