77 AC
Queen Alysanne was past her fortieth nameday, yet she was about to face the trials of the birthing bed once again. In Westeros, medical knowledge was shockingly primitive. For any woman, childbirth was a brutal gamble between life and death, and even a Queen was not exempt from the peril.
Four years ago, when Gaemon was born, Alysanne had lingered on the very edge of death. Now, older and physically weary, her upcoming labor had cast a heavy shadow of anxiety over the entire Targaryen family.
Gaemon knew his mother had historically survived this particular birth, but his very existence in this world had already altered the timeline. He couldn't be entirely certain she would make it this time. Refusing to leave his mother's life to chance, he quietly began making his own preparations.
In his relentless study of his bloodline magic, Gaemon hadn't just discovered fire; he had also unlocked the grim realities of Blood Sorcery.
Because of its inherently dark and gruesome nature, he usually avoided the branches of magic dealing directly with life force. However, for the sake of his mother, he forced himself to reopen those mental vaults.
The fundamental law of Blood Sorcery was simple: Power requires a price.
He had unearthed a specific technique: The Art of Blood Transference. This magic allowed the caster to siphon life force from a living creature—willing or otherwise—and channel it into themselves or another person.
It was an incredibly dangerous art. The stolen life force was chaotic and impure. Pumping it into someone would cause immense nausea and physical distress. Worse, every time a caster absorbed another's vitality, it left a permanent, psychic stain on their own soul. Overusing the technique inevitably led to irreversible madness or a violent, magical backlash that ended in death.
Under normal circumstances, Gaemon wouldn't dare touch it. But if the worst came to pass in the birthing chamber, he was fully prepared to break his own rules.
To heal a human effectively, the life force needed to be highly compatible. While he could theoretically drain livestock, the most efficient and potent source of vitality for a human was another human.
But utilizing human "vessels" wasn't something a four-year-old prince could just orchestrate on a whim. He needed to speak with his father, King Jaehaerys, and figure out exactly how to handle this dark necessity.
And so, on the eve of Queen Alysanne's expected labor, Gaemon slipped out of his room and made his way to the King's bedchamber.
Even bathed in the orange glow of torches, the winding corridors of the Red Keep felt oppressive and dark. Outside the royal apartments, a line of heavily armed guards stood at attention. At the forefront of this detail were two towering figures clad in white enameled scale armor, their snow-white cloaks draped over their broad shoulders. They were an intimidating sight.
"Who goes there?" a low, authoritative voice challenged before Gaemon could even step into the light.
Gaemon knew the protocols of the Kingsguard well. He kept his voice steady and replied, "It is I, Gaemon. I need to speak with my father."
Despite recognizing the young prince, the white knight didn't immediately relax. His right hand remained resting casually, yet dangerously, on the hilt of his longsword, ready to draw steel at a moment's notice.
The knight watched closely as Gaemon's small figure emerged fully from the shadows. Only then did the man's rigid posture soften slightly.
"My prince," the knight said firmly. "His Grace has likely already retired for the evening. Whatever the matter is, it can surely wait until the morrow. The hour is late. You should return to your bed."
Gaemon knew the man was right, but the grim nature of Blood Sorcery wasn't something he could casually bring up over breakfast. It needed to be discussed under the cover of darkness.
"This is an urgent matter," Gaemon insisted. "I need to see him now. Please, Ser Gyles, send word to my father that I must speak with him."
Stepping closer, Gaemon had recognized the knight on duty. It was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard himself, Ser Gyles Morrigen.
Hearing the absolute certainty in the young boy's voice, Ser Gyles didn't argue further. As a true knight of the Kingsguard, his duty was to protect the royal family, not manage their internal affairs. If the prince demanded an audience, it was the King's place to accept or deny it.
Nodding silently, Ser Gyles turned, slipped through the heavy oak doors, and disappeared inside.
He returned less than a minute later. Stepping aside, he looked down at the boy. "My prince, His Grace bids you enter."
"Thank you, Ser Gyles," Gaemon replied politely.
He walked past the towering knight and stepped into the royal bedchamber. Behind him, the heavy doors clicked shut, leaving the Kingsguard to their silent vigil.
Inside, the room was warm and dimly lit. Gaemon saw his parents sitting up in their massive, ornate bed.
Before he could speak, Queen Alysanne smiled warmly, her voice full of tender amusement. "Oh, my little Gaemon. Whatever are you doing wandering the halls so late? Did you have a bad dream? Are you scared of the dark? Do you want Mother to come sleep beside you?"
Gaemon felt a sharp flush of embarrassment. He had the mind and soul of a grown man, but trapped in this tiny four-year-old body, everyone treated him like a fragile toddler.
"No, Mother," he said, trying to sound as serious as possible. "I came to bring you important news. Information that can protect both of you."
Jaehaerys and Alysanne exchanged a glance and chuckled softly. To them, it was incredibly endearing. What kind of world-saving news could a four-year-old possibly have? But, not wanting to crush their son's protective spirit, they humored him.
"Is that so?" King Jaehaerys asked, his eyes crinkling with a fond smile. "Well then, tell us. What grand news has Gaemon 'the Glorious' brought to protect his mother and father?"
Gaemon mentally rolled his eyes at the ceiling. This damn body. He was four years old; of course they weren't going to take a single word he said seriously.
Words are wind, he thought. If he wanted them to listen to the horrors of Blood Sorcery, he had to prove he was capable of the impossible first. It was time for a demonstration.
Making his decision, Gaemon locked eyes with his parents. "Father. Mother. I know you don't believe me. So, I'll just have to show you. Try not to be too shocked."
Without waiting for a response, Gaemon turned his head toward a row of unlit candles resting on a nearby iron sconce. He opened his mouth and exhaled.
Before Jaehaerys or Alysanne could even register what was happening, a razor-thin, concentrated line of searing flames shot from the boy's lips. The fire licked across the wicks, instantly igniting the candles and bathing the stone wall in bright, dancing light.
The casual display of impossible magic shattered the quiet atmosphere of the room.
Jaehaerys and Alysanne sat frozen in their bed, utterly shell-shocked. Their minds simply couldn't process what they had just seen. No parent, no matter how steeped in the blood of Old Valyria, was prepared to watch their four-year-old son casually breathe fire.
---