Thirty-One (Patreon)

King’s Landing

99 AC (First Moon—Day 01)

Gael V

When the last day of the tourney came, the dark night was lit by sparkling fire like stars that cracked with the cry of thunder, lighting the sky in glamorous and beautiful display.

It was a splendid sight to behold — celebrating both the close of something grand and the turning of the year alike.

Cheers and shouts had chased the night until the crack of dawn with intense fervour, and even then the merriment only dampened somewhat. Where the folk found the energy, the ale, and the will to dedicate themselves so wholly to so passing a thing was lost on many.

Though many welcomed it still — even with the knowledge that the aftermath would leave a very critical mark upon the city’s economy and order both. For though many had come for the splendour, few would return to their homes.

King’s Landing would have its numbers swelled, and therein lay the true problem.

Gael greeted the first day of the new year knelt over a bowl, her stomach emptying itself past her lips. For all the wonders of with child — chief and solely amongst them the bliss of bearing in her womb the babe of her brother-husband — she wholly disdained the discomforts it visited upon her body.

“I dislike this, Maelys.” She told her husband, who traced soothing circles upon her back and held her hair clear of the foul stinking vomit. “Why would the gods not rid us of these discomforts, when the praises sung by men are needed to keep them whole?”

If pregnancy was to remain so ill an affair — to say nothing of the excruciating agony that was the birthing itself — then women were like to swear off the deed entirely, if only to be spared the suffering.

“They shall know my wrath once I reach the heavens, my love.” Maelys whispered in mummery, acting out the anger with full commitment.

Gael could not help but grow fond of his efforts to make her feel better. The trouble was, she wished to be frustrated and annoyed with him — for it was his seed and his love that had brought this condition upon her.

“Do not feed upon my heresy, husband. I want to be displeased with you.” She shot him a forced glare, though she quickly sighed as the nausea fled her. “You ought to have taken a lady or three to your bed — mayhap then it would have been easier for me to bear the full experience of a pregnant lady.”

Her loveliest husband chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I have no bed save the one we share.” He whispered at her ear, seemingly undisturbed by her state. “That shame I will not bring upon you.”

Her heart quivered sweetly at his words. Spoken love.

Many ladies had true reason to envy her. What woman would not wish to be doted upon and loved by a man as handsome and devoted as her husband? None, if the looks he had earned throughout the tourney were any indication.

How Maelys kept himself from falling to temptation was entirely beyond her. Gael was not so appealing a woman as to hold a man’s sole devotion so steadfastly.

Yet she appreciated his loyalty, and hoped he would not force her to run a sword through his heart. She wished to desire pregnancy ten more times, after all.

“Let us be off, love.” She drew away from him. “I will have you the whole of today.”

Comfort was promised her, and Maelys was her loveliest comfort.

“You make so spontaneous a request with no care for whether I have duties to attend.” His arguments would ever be noise of little import. She had said what was to happen. It would be so, and in her most preferred manner.

“Be glad I do not intend to be wrapped in your arms the whole of the day, husband.” She warned him — teased him. She was smiling, for it was all jest. Maelys carried her, smiling along with her. Gael continued. “I do feel as though you have been avoiding my presence of late.”

Lies, of course. He had been more clingy than ever. Maelys tried to remind her of such.

She shushed him, for she did not want truth. “Agree with me.” She commanded.

He bowed his head. “Of course, my princess.”

She sighed lovingly and delightfully into his neck, taken by his romance. “Your affections will ever make a needy woman of me, my beloved.”

Maelys pressed his lips to her hair. “Then we are well matched, my love. For I am needier still.”

“…I am planning to give Ser Arthor land, you know. A village to look after. A quiet place by the western edges of Hreska.” Her husband said suddenly, drawing upon her attention while rudely ignoring the bad tidings his aide was reporting to him. “Some vineyards too. We shall call it Sweetdew.”

Gael looked up from her crocheting to gaze at him, her face fond. He had listened to her unreasonable request and kept her near, even as he saw to his duties. She did not mind, so long as he remained in her company and she was able to hum childhood memories at him.

She had wanted this.

“That seems an excessive reward, does it not?” She quite liked her shield — he was a diligent knight. But he had yet to truly show his valour. Gael was rarely presented with cause to seek protection. “And who is to shield me when he is gone?”

She looked pitifully upon her husband, and given her rather fragile emotional state, it was all too easy to be taken by her own delusions. Maelys had told her it was a good thing that she could give in to such feelings, though he implored her not to be lost within them.

Gael allowed herself true ease only while in his company, and he always steadied her. She would have no trouble with her moods. This small easiness of invoking tears would pass.

“Yes, that concern is worth having — and truth be told, I have been meaning to establish a small guard order for our protection.” A smile played upon his face. “They could wear blue cloaks and be every bit as pompous as the kingsguard.”

A giggle slipped past her lips at the words. No, it was a worthy and fetching suggestion, she would not devalue it — but that little jape at the great sers was an unnecessary thing to say. Maelys seemed still aggrieved that his wager had turned out so poorly.

He kept arguing that he would have made a fortune from it. Three thousand gold dragons was not a fortune. Mayhap for a middling lord. Besides, by his aide’s own reckoning, he had generated near half a million in gold from his efforts throughout the tourney — workers’ wages accounted for, of course.

“I still think it too drastic a reward.” She argued yet, turning it over in her mind. Arthor was a fine man, all things said, but he would lack greatly in the keeping of land and folk. Gael wanted something softer for him if he were to leave her service. “Build him a manse and offer him a worthy allowance.”

“Ah — that is indeed a more fitting reward for his service. Though I had dearly wanted as many unaffiliated bannermen under my authority as I could manage.” He lamented, revealing that his so-called generosity was stalked by scheme after all.

He spun the pen in his hand, humming.

Gael shook her head, though she nursed no true displeasure in her thoughts. “Have the houses begun pressing their second and third sons toward you?”

She herself had received offers of ladies wishing to serve as her ladies in waiting. Many did so out of admirably transparent scheme. Few were simply lost to love and the desire to draw closer to the object of their affections.

Maelys could benefit from being more crude, she suspected.

“It was inevitable, and I am still in need of aid and resources.” He brushed a hand across his face, feigning fatigue and annoyance. “I had thought your showings in your court might deter them somewhat.”

She folded her arms across her chest with a frown. “My court is a thing of envy, husband.”

“The greatest envy.” He inclined his head swiftly, the act mirrored by his surprisingly patient aide. “Though it sits removed from custom, does it not. I have made no secret that Havenhall will hold firmly to the severities and rulings you have shown. Willas?”

“The judicial code, Princess Gael — a wondrous piece of legislation, though it is yet to be finished.” The aide addressed him, stern but not unkind. Gael disliked that she did not know this man, especially with her husband admitting to schemes in his presence. “It will be, however, once the maesters cease their quarrelling.”

Maelys’s proud smile soured somewhat at that last part, though he said nothing. She judged the hostilities between them were not new.

Digesting the man’s words, however, her eyes widened somewhat. “I refuse to be called the greatest danger to noble custom when you so blatantly craft law to snipe at their authority, my love.”

Gael knew well enough that her court was ill-received by the lords — most especially when she favoured women’s comfort so plainly over men’s pride. She would argue that there was greater fairness in her court than in her father’s. She was not above lending her own hand to settle disputes, after all.

All the same, they disliked her to a point. The only reason no great loudness had arisen from it was that she and her husband held considerable power between them and suffered no poor relations with the great lords.

“Well, better an ample-titted woman than a man, I believe.” He chuckled. Gael flushed red at his words, puffing her cheeks. “Mercy, love. I jest.” He raised his hands. “Though you are wrong in thinking yourself the primary target of their discontent. They know well enough that I and father have given our approval for such — they are simply too craven to point to us directly.”

“I feel a pawn now.” She glared at him.

“Whatever you wish of me, I shall do in recompense, my dear.”

Gael gave him a long look, and then her mind snagged upon something she truly wanted of him. Maelys must have sensed that she was plotting mischief by the way his eyes widened. It mattered little — he had vowed.

He could have promised nothing, and she was not troubled by being used. Not by him.

But she supposed he was wanting to wear a dress or ten.

Willas continued his reporting. He spoke of the situation in Havenhall, of which she was greatly interested. Those were her lands and her subjects. She ever wished to know how they fared.

“The buildings are coming up at a steady pace, Your Grace. Little to no trouble on that front. Some folk have already moved into the completed ones, though much is still needed before they can truly be called liveable.” The man held a pile of printed reports he attempted to pass to Maelys.

Her husband took only those requiring his seal and ignored the rest. Gael took them up and gave them her attention instead. She had no greater understanding than her brother — suspecting he was likely hearing this same report for the third time from different mouths.

“…The trouble lies with the management, I fear. There is a clear lack of manpower and those working there are strained.” Willas sighed. “Though I loathe to say it, I believe the maesters are at the heart of it. Too many of their departments in one place.”

“I have sent word for them to relocate.” Maelys responded. “And the septas will aid with the manpower. The transports will be focused on livestock for these coming moons.”

Gael was certain they had close to ten thousand people there already. Why was there so odd a distribution of labour? And why were the maesters even needed so early into the settling? All they ever did was quarrel.

Reading through the reports, she found it was the civil and architectural maesters — along with the pompous agricultural ones, whom she disliked most of all.

“Ah, regarding the livestock — the farms, rather.” The man turned through his vellums. “It seems we gave a wrong estimation of time for the formation of the fields. Two of the three crop fields and orchards have been completed—”

“Why is it that the estimations of time and resources are always amiss, Willas?” Her husband looked more confused than annoyed. “Who is in charge of that?” He snatched the paper from the aide’s hand.

“I believe they keep forgetting to account for eagerness, Prince Maelys.”

Gael giggled at the jest. This particular aide was prone to amusement, it seemed.

“That is not a quantifiable thing.” Her husband argued, then sighed. “Well, we have not two thousand people simply lying about.” He looked to her for a suggestion.

“You could always draw from the pilgrimage — many of them will not return home.” And further, the city would grant them no opportunities. “They could also help manage the abundance of food there, I would think.”

“…And cost us further on resources?” Maelys looked aghast.

Gael frowned at him, cheeks puffing. “You have added considerably to your wealth through this tourney, my love. I doubt sparing some of it for the faithful folk who so adore you would prove an ill investment.”

The men and women would be joyous — and all the more loyal — upon learning that their righteous trek to King’s Landing had in truth seen them with better lives and greater opportunity.

Her brother owed the folk who loved him more than just his smile and passing generosity.

He sighed, though Gael knew he would do as she suggested. She would help as well. She had coin enough to sponsor an additional thousand herself.

“What say you, Willas?”

“I would never argue to possess wisdom finer than the princess’s, Your Grace.” The man offered his flattery readily. “Though I do agree it would weigh heavily upon the coffers in the long run.”

Maelys shrugged, settling back into his chair and letting the vellum fall to his desk. “I never truly believed I would have excess wealth in my coffers once all was said and done. Mayhap a hundred thousand coins or so to waste upon frivolous things.”

Gael darted toward him and pulled him into an embrace. “Thank you, dearest.” She exclaimed. “I will even see the migration managed myself if you think it too troublesome a matter.”

It could be made a journey by foot — no more than a moon’s travel.

“That would be most welcome. You are owed a chance at governance, especially as I mean to leave much of the ruling to you once the war with Dorne begins.”

Gael was still displeased that he wished to involve himself in so trifling an affair. Though she supposed her husband was set to be caught up in countless wars in the years to come.

The aide cleared his throat, his face red. “Propriety, my royals.”

“You are not owed it, Willas.” Her husband argued, though he gestured for her to move. Gael complied. “How fare the men in their training?”

“Well enough, I believe. Vanys says they should be passable in obeying command.” The man was evidently keeping his attention carefully averted from her. She supposed her attire was somewhat improper. Winter was not a season to be greeted in a sundress.

Nobility was not to wear something of such tempting reveal. Gael did not particularly care. Nor was she troubled by the cold. And she wished to wear whatever pleased her when in her brother’s company — he did not mind.

At the very least she was not in her small clothes.

“Good enough, indeed. Let us pour some coin into them — armour and weapons both. Employ the smiths still remaining in the city.” Maelys told the man, then turned to her. “Close your ears for a moment, love.”

Gael did so readily. Unheard commands were exchanged, and those too were committed to writing. Part of her was curious what was being said. Another part had no desire to hear reports or discussion of people being cut open.

She did not need to know all of her husband’s deeds.

He gestured to her that he was done.

“This should be manageable, Your Grace. Though you will need more knights — devoted ones — within your army.” Willas told him. “The riverlanders have little enough to occupy themselves with in their sodden kingdom.”

“Now I am truly convinced I shall be left destitute.” Her brother pressed his seal upon a parchment. “Let us adorn ourselves in regal raiment, my love. Something wonderful is set to unfold in the coming hours, and it is a must that we impress both folk and nobles alike.”

Gael was given to more comfort than almost anyone save children, yet still she felt there was simply not enough time for leisure. Barely a thing accomplished today, and yet it felt as though she had done more than duty required of her.

“Viserys is giving a truly valiant fight against the stink.” Her brother said, his fingers moving gently against her hair.

As agreed, they had adorned themselves in fine clothing and made for the port. A carriage she had not seen before awaited them — blue, with a loud silver heraldry of House Targaryen upon its back. Ironwood, by the look of it. Though knowing her brother, it might well have been weirwood.

A fair number of nobles had followed them, chiefly those who had attached themselves to Maelys. Seeing how greatly their number had grown gave her pause — these sers were meant to have returned to their homes and spent some days with their families.

The tourney was over, even if the sight of things did not reflect it. Still, many nobles had chosen to depart. Most of the northerners had gone already. And speaking of those barbarian folk, she had noticed that Baelon seemed mighty interested in one of the northern ladies — the ones who wore their bear furs with such ease.

It made her wonder whether he had bedded her.

Gael would not begrudge him it. The lady appeared to have neither husband nor betrothal, and a great many lords and ladies had broken their marital vows here besides. Her own brother never had, and that was enough for her.

She would ask her husband of it later.

“It is a welcome change.” Viserra had come with them, finely dressed as well. “Though I believe the cold is the one deserving of the praise.”

“Well, the cold is a blessing here.” She added to the comfortable conversation. “Did you attend court today, sister?”

“Aye, though it was a dull affair. Baelon handled it, and only trifling matters were brought forth.” Viserra told her. “Many lords and ladies had foregone it entirely. I believe the excessive merriment has illed a great number of them.”

“Moderation is key.” Maelys said.

The trip was a short affair, and soon they stepped onto the dock, a small crowd of smallfolk and guards already gathered there.

“I had intended for this to happen during the tourney, but I suppose that would have been too pompous.” He said as they stepped onto the dock.

Gael was confused, and it seemed her sister was as well. What was her husband planning? Was this to be the spectacle he had promised? She was curious, though she was patient. Maelys plainly wished to awe her.

He took her arm into his, smiling.

A few minutes later, the harbour bell began to ring. There was no fog upon the waters, and so the sight of an approaching ship was visible from a distance.

It approached swiftly, and as it drew closer it grew clearer. The folk began to murmur amongst themselves. Fishermen forgot their labour and turned to watch the approaching splendour that gained vastness with each passing moment.

Gael pressed herself closer to her husband, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Maelys—” her sister’s voice came, confused and overwhelmed. “What is…”

At first it was only an impossibly large silhouette. Then came the sails.

Gold-trimmed navy canvas unfurled like royal banners across the horizon, vast enough to catch the winter sunlight and cast it back upon the waters.

Beneath them rose towering masts of polished ironwood — tall enough to overlook the city walls, she judged. Every rope and spar stood in perfect order despite the sheer enormity of the vessel.

Her heart thrummed violently, her eyes catching the silver sigil upon the sails. The three-headed dragon. The blue.

The ship seemed to glide rather than sail, barely staggering or swaying. The crowd held its silence, watching as the behemoth drew near at a steady and unsettling pace.

“Gods preserve us…” a man said somewhere at the back.

More detail came with its closeness. Though she possessed little knowledge of ships, Gael still had eyes enough to judge splendour. The hull of the vessel was a treasured thing — a work of beauty entire.

Dark lacquered wood reflected the sun like polished obsidian, while intricate carvings of dragons and flowering vines climbed along its sides in sweeping artistry. Golden inlays traced the edges of its frame, catching the light in flowing patterns that made the ship seem touched by fire. Rows of tall windows lined the upper decks beneath embroidered canopies, each framed by elegant metalwork in place of crude shutters.

At the prow stood the figurehead.

A woman sculpted in goldenheart — crowned and veiled, her arms extended toward the harbour as though offering succour. Soft. Long-haired. Endowed. Somewhat heavy.

Gael’s cheeks burned.

That was her. Maelys had placed a likeness of her person upon her ship.

As the vessel neared the harbour mouth, the true scale of it became undeniable. It dwarfed everything about it. Fishing boats rocked violently in its wake, while respectable trade cogs appeared as children beside it. Its shadow spread across the water and the docks alike.

At the foremost pier, attendants rushed to unfurl banners. A harbour master near lost his hat attempting to bow and issue orders at once. Fumbles and impatience both.

Then the great ascending stairs began to lower from the vessel’s side with mechanical precision, polished wood descending toward the pier.

Maelys stepped forward, drawing her along with him. “Come see our water’s home, my love.” He said, his voice proud and full of delight.

Gael startled, her eyes wide. Still she followed. Behind them the murmurs spread until they devolved into full-blown shouts and cheers — the smallfolk ever so quick and generous in sharing their good fortune with their voices.

“Maelys, this is—”

“Shush.” He cut her off. “Only enjoy it, love. I swear you will love it.”

And she did — more than anything. Gael had heard her husband speak of beauty, had heard him describe such grand and magnificent things to her. She could see how frustrated he grew in the explaining of it, frustrated that his words could not quite reach her.

She simply could not imagine his splendour — she had lacked the necessary reference.

And so Maelys had built her an incredible and beautiful mansion within a ship, so that she might at last understand the scale and brilliance of his dreaming. This was unlike anything she had imagined. It was beautiful as a treasured space belonging to the heavens themselves.

This was beyond words. It was everything.

“My love spoken through vessel, my dearest heart.” He told her.

A/N: Time skip and fast-paced storytelling in the next chapters. Results of the poll will be honoured. I think I was able to capture Gael’s erratic, if still lovely, emotional state in this. Though I did make one thing clear.

Kinda going through some weird stuff irl.