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Chapter 9 : The Hand of The King.
Kingslanding
1 week later
Septon Barth
Something was deeply wrong with the royal family, Barth thought, as he observed them during a private luncheon to which he had been invited. The queen had still not graced the Red Keep with her presence, even after the return of the king and the princess from the Dragonpit one week ago. Barth had been almost drowned in lords and duties for the past week as King's Landing prepared for the tourney to celebrate the victory over the damned Dornish. Even with all the work, Barth found some time to meet with the king and the princes individually to learn what had happened in the Dragonpit. To his complete dismay, all three were tight-lipped, and the only thing he could confirm was that Prince Gaemon had bonded with the Black Dread.
Barth was initially surprised that he had not been shocked by the news. After some pondering, he came to the conclusion that it had been inevitable. The prince had an extraordinary affinity with animals, more than anyone Barth had ever known. He had often seen Gaemon spending time with Balerion whenever he visited the Dragonpit to continue his book.
Now, as he observed the royal family and thought through all his interactions while eating, Barth suddenly came to a disturbing realization. What was wrong was not Gaemon, but Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon. Their lack of respect toward him was striking compared to how they had treated him before the war. In the past, the princes had listened to him with the respect due to the Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. But now, he was subtly dismissed and burdened almost entirely with the grunt work of preparing the tourney. Worse still, there was a faint look of pity in the eyes of Prince Aemon and Princess Alyssa that he could not ignore.
Barth nearly stopped eating in panic, but he forced his face into calm neutrality and continued to chew while listening to the princesses complain about inane things. He thought back over his activities, trying to discern how the Targaryens had turned against him. He had served with all his skill and talent in the duties assigned to him, never making any move against their interests. Whatever he had done was subtle and never substantive. Of course, he had shared with the Grand Maester whatever secrets he had pried from the mouths of dragonkeepers, so they might one day discover a weakness in the beasts. But they had ever acted upon that knowledge—it had remained only in thought. No one could know of it, no one could punish them for it except the Seven themselves.
The luncheon drew to a close, and the king dismissed everyone except Barth.
"Your Grace?" Barth asked with a frown.
"Barth, my friend," the king said with a faint, sad smile. "I can see the last month, especially this past week, has taken a toll on you. How are you?"
Barth hid his alarm. This was the first time the king had shown him such personal concernfor his well-being.
"Well, my king, the work has been hectic, but by now I am an expert at it and it is all right. Of course, if I could rest, I would, but serving you and the realm comes first for me. Such is the life I chose, after all," Barth said with a smile so carefully composed that few could see it for the mask it was.
"Yes, yes, Barth. You have served the realm, and me especially, very well," the king replied with an approving smile. "How many years has it been now? Nearly twenty-five that you have served as Hand of the King. Who would have thought? A septon, sworn to serve the Seven, has ruled the kingdom in my stead for such a long time."
"It is a blessing from the Seven themselves, my king," Barth said with a warm smile, though his mind raced to guess where this conversation was leading. "I believe serving the realm, where the Andals reside, is another form of service to the Seven, Your Grace."
The king nodded. "Of course. You can be proud of what you have achieved, my friend. Still, I feel guilty for depriving you of the path you once chose for yourself. You wished to serve as a septon, and I pulled you into my council because of your skills and talents. I was selfish then, a young man eager to make things better after the reign of the last king. Now, everything better, but the Dornish war and the events of last week have made me realize many things."
The king's gaze turned blank, as though his mind had drifted far away.
"Your Grace?" Barth prompted, his tension mounting with the suspense.
The king shook his head and then smiled faintly.
"My friend, I think it is time I showed more care for those who serve me so loyally. My firstborn son, Aemon, has been exemplary and performed wonders in thwarting the Dornish. He is my heir and the future king. I believe it would be better for him to gain experience in ruling now, rather than learning on the throne as I did. The fact that this would also give you well-deserved rest and relief is a blessing. Septon Barth, I thank you for your service as Hand of the King. I intend to name Aemon as the next Hand on the last day of the tourney. He will shadow you until then to see and learn what the Hand does."
Barth's eyes widened in shock, and his heart pounded with anger. Still, he forced himself to breathe deeply and restrain his feelings.
"Your Grace," Barth exclaimed with a bow, "I thank you for considering me, but I must inform you that I am still willing to serve you as I always have. You need not do this for my sake."
Jaehaerys waved his hand, dismissing the plea.
"No, my friend, this is a reward for both you and Aemon. You deserve to enjoy your time from now on. I will hear no more of this. My decision is made."
Barth bowed at once. "Of course, Your Grace. I thank you for your consideration. I will meet with the prince and speak to him about learning from me until the tourney."
The king dismissed him, and Barth nearly ran from the hall, seething with frustration.
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Barth entered the chamber where he and Grand Maester Elysar had agreed to meet that evening.
"Elysar," Barth greeted him in Old Andalos, a language now only taught to those of the Enlightened. This secretive order was divided into two groups: the High Septon and the Archmaesters. Their aim was to guide the realm toward peace and to illuminate the path of man to Faith and science. Magic had no place in their vision of the world, and they had worked for centuries in the shadows to diminish it. The irony that their greatest success came when they started supporting a magical dragonlord like Aegon the conqueror always made Barth laugh.
"Barth, you look as though you carry dire news, my friend," Elysar replied in the same tongue. "Have you finally discovered what the devil prince did in the Dragonpit?"
Barth gritted his teeth, though he knew he could not afford to show open anger or defeat.
"No. As I told you before, everyone remains tight-lipped, and the rumors are so absurd they are not worth repeating. But I do have bad news. The king has finally decided to reward my loyal service with rest and relaxation. I am no longer to be Hand after the tourney. Prince Aemon will be the next Hand," Barth said bitterly.
For a moment Elysar smirked, ready to mock the septon's failure as he always did. Then the words sank in, and his face hardened.
"What? You are not to remain Hand? That is madness. Why should you accept it?" Elysar snapped.
"I had no choice, you fool. It was an order from the king," Barth snarled.
"This is a disaster. We need more time to uncover whatever magic they have and to destroy their knowledge of it. We still have no idea how to poison the dragons or their eggs. Worse, we have no access to them. Our only conduit was you, and all you managed were scraps from dragonkeepers with your pitiful attempts to gather information for your precious book," Elysar said with open disdain.
Barth had to take several deep breaths to stop himself from striking the arrogant maester. A man who had never navigated the dangers of court life dared to sneer at him with such contempt.
"Well, I don't see how the maesters have done any better. It was the first High Septon and Lord Hightower who decided to surrender when Aegon came to Oldtown, while the maesters wanted nothing to do with him. It was our plan that placed a maester in every castle, overseeing taxes and accounts. Before that, you were confined to the Reach and to a handful of fools who accepted any maester sent from the Citadel. Your order was so pathetic that not a single lord joined the Faith's cause against the Maegor the Cruel when we needed it most even when all maesters were asked to advice the lords to join in the rebellion" Barth said with derision.
Elysar scoffed. "That is because we were not fools willing to fight Balerion. I have studied the records. The Archmaesters refused to aid or bless the Faith's rebellion. It was your order that believed peasants with pitchforks and blind devotion could overthrow dragons. We warned you, and look what happened—Faith Militant broken, your strength shattered, and a septon forced to draft the Doctrine of Exceptionalism instead of leading men against it."
Barth fell silent, for he had no answer.
"Barth," Elysar said at last, his tone sharp, "are you certain Balerion is dying? Otherwise, a prince capable of riding him only makes our options worse."
"Of course he is dying. My eyes are trained, and I have seen the wounds worsening. His scales grow pale, and the sores deepen. What Aerea carried within her was nightmarish, and I am certain similar abominations are eating the Black Dread from within—slowly and, I pray, painfully."
"It has been decades, and yet the Black Dread endures, even while being devoured by monsters. And you idiots once believed peasants with pitchforks and fanatic zeal would defeat him," Elysar said with mirth, mocking Barth once again.
Barth, already frayed by the week's events, finally snapped. Rage surged, and his hand twitched with the urge to strike the maester. Only by shutting his eyes and taking two steps back did he stop himself from swinging.
"It seems your arrogance, your worship of intellect and knowledge, has made this meeting pointless. I am leaving before I do something I regret," Barth growled, turning on his heel and storming out of the chamber.
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Weeks later
Barth looked out proudly over the tourney grounds as Prince Baelon jousted against one of the Kingsguard. He felt satisfaction swell in his chest—it was his hard work and skill that had made the tourney such a success. Yet the pride was bittersweet. He knew the king was using him for the last time as Hand of the King. Even so, Barth wanted to leave his mark upon the post before stepping down. He wanted Jaehaerys to know that no replacement would ever match what he had done as Hand for over two decades.
Even now, rumors were spreading among the nobles about why Prince Aemon had been seen trailing and assisting Septon Barth so closely in the last month. Barth knew everything would become clear when the king announced his new Hand at the feast in the Red Keep that evening.
Barth clapped politely while the crowd went ballistic as Prince Baelon won the joust.
The prince took the crown of flowers and, as usual, crowned his wife, Princess Alyssa, further increasing the cheers and claps of the crowd.
The king stood after some time, and Barth's smile vanished as it was not in the plans. Barth wondered what the king had to announce to the public like this.
It was then that Barth noticed another thing that he had not ordered. As the crowd was entertained by Prince Baelon and his crowning of Alyssa, dozens of men were running around the tourney ground clearing the railing dividing the joust area, and to Barth's amazement almost all the tents of participants had already been cleared, making a rather open ground. Barth's eyes widened slightly as a horrific thought came to him. A dragon was going to land, and he wondered what the king was planning now to make a spectacle of.
The crowd was still hollering, and the sound was immense, such that even when the king stood and the caller shouted, it was not enough to quiet them. Suddenly a loud trumpet from a war horn blew from the sidelines. Barth looked sideways and saw three horn-blowers that immediately pierced the sound of the crowd and sent an adrenaline burst through everyone's blood to prepare for something. The horn-blowers were surrounded by a dozen people holding the drums that were used to signal in wars.
As the crowd's sound reduced in volume, Barth started hearing the low drumbeats, and to his amazement the drumbeats increased in intensity as the crowd reduced their volume, until there was no sound except the drumbeats, which rose to their highest intensity. The drummers ended it with a rapid burst of beats, and even before the crowd could start cheering, a piercing whistle of something nasty hit the entire crowd and made them hiss.
Barth immediately knew it was the sound of Valyrian steel on Valyrian steel, and he looked around to see who was responsible, but no one was visible. Barth looked at the king, and to his surprise Blackfyre was missing from the king's waist, and he understood it was a planned sound from the beginning.
"All hail His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the First Men, Andals, and Rhoynar, Protector of the Realm."
The king stepped forward to the edge of the king's platform so all could see him. There was pin-drop silence among the crowd from the intensity of the king and the tense atmosphere. Barth felt something was missing, and with wide eyes he realized it was the wind itself. Somehow even the air had stilled, as if something momentous was going to happen.
"My lords, ladies, and my people of Westeros, I know you enjoyed this celebration as much as I did, and it was a worthy cause to celebrate. The cursed Dornish felt it was their right to harm the good people of Westeros and attacked us. And your king and his sons protected you and ended the Dornish foolishness in a single day. It took three dragons to end their armada, and we are proud of it. Yet the question remains: why would the Dornish dare to attack dragonlords now? It is the Dornish today. Would the pirates dare to attack us tomorrow? Will the slavers try to kidnap the good citizens of Westeros into the abomination that is slavery? Where did they find the courage to attack?"
"I will tell you where the courage comes from. The courage came because they knew our greatest protector since the Doom, the greatest dragon alive today, Balerion the Black Dread, had been injured and no one was able to bond with him. Their courage came because my niece Aerea went with the Black Dread to cursed Valyria and stopped the monster there from ever emerging and ending this whole world, both Essos and Westeros." Jaehaerys stopped for several heartbeats, waiting for the gasps and whispers to stop at the proclamation. It didn't until Jaehaerys raised his hand to signal silence from the crowd.
Barth's eyes widened at the blatant lie, but even he heard the open gasp and amazement from the crowd. To his further surprise, he heard the slight sound of drums in the background. It was pure background noise and nothing more, and yet it added to what the king said.
"Yes, my beloved people, it was those life-threatening injuries that gave them the courage to attack us. The Black Dread helped my grandfather, Aegon the Conqueror, to unite this realm and grant it his protection. The Black Dread helped my cursed cruel predecessor end the foolish rebellion and betrayal from selfish people who infiltrated the Faith of the Seven, poisoning the minds of sons and daughters who was under the protection of its wings."
Barth didn't know how he didn't almost run to the king and attack him then and there for such a blatant lie and disrespect, but what made him almost lose his heart was the crowd's reaction. The crowd was eating everything up as if it was divine gospel. Barth, who had conducted many a divine meeting and blessing, had never seen such a reaction from crowds. The drumbeats upped their tempo again.
"And now, when we were threatened again, my son Prince Gaemon Targaryen decided it was time for Balerion to offer his protection again and claimed the Black Dread as his dragon, not knowing the wounds of Balerion were life-threatening even for the bonded rider. But the gods understood that his thought was only for protection and blessed them. Yes, my people, Balerion the Black Dread's two decades of life-threatening injuries have been completely healed by the gods themselves. I give you the protector of the people, Prince Gaemon Targaryen and the Black Dread."
The drumbeats increased drastically, sending excitement and adrenaline through the crowd, who started cheering wildly in exuberance. For Barth, the drums allowed him to take breaths, as he had been frozen in panic, not even breathing, ever since the king said Balerion had been healed completely.
It went on for several heartbeats before everything was overpowered by one roar from the sky. It was like a thunderstorm of epic proportions. As the roar vanished, the drumbeats were heard again, increasing in intensity once more.
Then there was the sound of wind, and everyone looked upwards into the distance. Above the open water there was a slight black dot that grew larger and larger with every beat of the drum. The maester looked at Barth in absolute disdain as the black dot became the shape of a bird, and only several heartbeats later the entire ground was shadowed black as the sun vanished under the bulk of the Black Dread.
"That speed…" Barth whispered horrifically, as it was something not seen or recorded before.
The drumbeats increased in volume as the drummers panted like they were running at full speed. They sweated enough and looked as though they are under rain, yet their eyes gleamed with the excitement of fanatics making their masterpiece. There was no hitch or slowing in the drumbeats, and the crowd, who had frozen in fear when the shadow first covered them, now began cheering and whistling again, forgetting everything in the excitement generated by the music.
Finally the Black Dread landed in the cleared ground with a sound that deafened almost everyone and overpowered the drummers' finale. Just as the sound of landing ended, the drummers struck their final beat with one last big hit.
Barth shook his head to clear his eyes as he couldn't believe the sight of Balerion. The black scales, pale the last time he saw them, were now gleaming and shining. There were no injuries, and to Barth's horror even old battle scars had vanished, replaced by new scales.
The silence was broken by the sound of boots, and every eye looked at the Black Dread. A silhouette was clear because of the sun above, and yet a prince was walking over the back of the Black Dread. The boy walked down, and even with the slanted surface the prince walked upright and steady somehow.
The prince landed on the ground with a thud and bent his knee slightly to compensate for the fall. Barth was curious how the prince's knees stayed in place from the height through which he jumped. Prince Gaemon walked forward to the king's platform and bowed slightly while bending on one knee.
"Your Grace, I have bonded with Balerion with your blessings, and another loyal son of House Targaryen is ready to defend our land from scum and villainy." The sound of Prince Gaemon echoed around the grounds in supplication.
Septon Barth almost lost his seat as he nearly yelled his thoughts out loud.
'What kind of utter bullshit is this?'
Barth knew the relation between Gaemon and the king, and the king had never given permission or ever would. This screamed of a cover-up, and yet Barth wondered what kind of bribe the queen and king had given the feral prince to make him do this.
To the amazed gasp of the crowd, the king walked down from the platform while Prince Gaemon still knelt. The king reached him and raised his right hand sideways as if demanding something. Barth looked around and saw Prince Aemon coming from the sidelines, almost running to reach the king and the kneeling prince. Prince Aemon placed Blackfyre hilt-first in the king's hand.
The king drew the sword from its sheath and placed the flat edge on Gaemon's shoulder.
"No, no, no," Barth whispered as he realized the king was going to knight his ten-year-old son, the most uncouth child Barth had ever seen. Barth couldn't remember what happened next, as he was so immersed in his horrified thoughts. The next thing he recalled was Prince Gaemon rising to his feet as a knight, and the absolute deafening cheer from the crowd.
The king raised his hand to control the crowd's silence for the next announcement after basking for some time in their wild happiness and love. Even then the cheer was not silencing fast enough, and a horn was blown in the background.
The crowd became quiet enough for the king to be heard.
"Beloved people of Westeros, long have we lost the protective shadow of Balerion's wings, and long have we suffered from enemies who dared to attack us. I say no more. The dragons have been chained long enough, and I say no more. My son, the youngest knight of the Seven Kingdoms, will do his duty and he will fly over us to protect us from now on. For that I am grateful to my son, Prince Gaemon." The king finished with a loud yell of the name while raising his hands to clap thrice.
But it was enough for the crowds. The yell of the name and the exuberance of the crowd were enough to make even thoughts vanish from Barth's mind, leaving only one name in his mind for several minutes.
Gaemon!
Gameon!!
Gameon!!!
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Authors note: so any guesses what made Gaemon follow the script. The king nicely managed to become more beloved while freeing the dragons and sending messages to enemies all at the same time…
and yeah I gave Gaemon a cinematic entry scene!!!
Next chapter: various targs pov after the meeting in dragonpit and logan's revelation of memories/dreams of another life….
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