Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 49: The Great Game V
Oldtown
Daemon 'The Bard' Targaryen
I looked at the sprawling city of Oldtown as Morghul made a few wide circles above the city and the Hightower. It was not the first time I had seen the view from the air— I had often used my birds to warg and watch the Hightower—but seeing it with his own eyes while flying on a dragon gives a completely different perspective.
When you fly as a bird, you feel small before the massive hills of buildings and the mighty stone tower that seems to pierce the sky. But on a dragon, all those buildings, all those people, become as insignificant as ants—just as they should be. I could see the panic spreading among the crowds as Morghul circled once more.
The most terrifying part for the masses was the absence of a roar. Only the faint slap of wings and the rush of wind announced his presence. The other sign was the brief vanishing of the sun as the dragon passed overhead, casting his shadow upon the city before the screams began.
Grinning, and finally growing bored, I gave an order. "Morghul, it's time to end the game. Announce your arrival."
I felt his pleased response before the powerful muscles beneath me tensed. Then—
ROAR!
A thunderous roar erupted from his maw, accompanied by a burst of flame that dissipated in the air moments later.
The dragon then dove and landed just outside the gates of Oldtown.
"Curse you, nephew," came the strained voice of Vaegon as we touched down. I looked at my maester uncle—who, surprisingly, had proven quite entertaining company—and saw him rubbing his ears, deafened by Morghul's bellow.
I only grinned and shrugged.
It didn't take long before four knights and one obviously noble lord arrived on horseback. The guards in the Hightower must have spotted the dragon from afar through far eyes and they were already on their way before Morghul became visible to the naked eye, because that is the only explanation for the speed they reached him.
I noted the Hightower sigil stitched upon the noble's chest. His eyes widened at the sight of Maester Vaegon, then shifted to me in confusion. That confusion deepened when he caught sight of Morghul.
Maester Vaegon stepped forward and announced, "Lord Hightower, you stand in the presence of Crown Prince Daemon Targaryen, Hand of the King, son of Prince Aemon Targaryen—and his dragon, Morghul. He is here under the express orders of His Grace, King Jaehaerys. We stopped at Highgarden, and Lord Tyrell has already agreed to all our proposals regarding the grave matter we recently uncovered among the realm's subjects. In fact, fifty riders from House Tyrell will arrive shortly to assist us, and we have timed our arrival to coincide with theirs."
I looked at Lord Hightower—the father of Ser Otto—and saw the puzzled expression on his face. His gaze lingered on my features, and I recognized the instant he realized where I hailed from, marked by a fleeting grimace that quickly vanished.
Interesting, I thought as I felt the man's deep frustration and surprise at my sudden appearance.
"My prince," Lord Hightower greeted, offering a bow that was just barely courteous, his reluctance plain. "Welcome to Oldtown. Yet I am confused, Your Grace. I was under the impression that Prince Viserys was the heir, as chosen by the Great Council at Harrenhal. Were it not for the dragon behind you, Maester Vaegon beside you, and the sword Blackfyre upon your back, your claim would be beyond belief."
I snorted softly, laughing under my breath. "Aye, you are correct in that, Lord Hightower—but as you said, your own eyes tell you the truth of it. Anyway, the riders will be here soon, and you have yet to bring guest rights. Send one of your knights to fetch them while we wait for my men. Then we will proceed with the matter that brought us here."
Lord Hightower bowed again, though reluctantly, and turned to carry out the order, his eyes still staring at my dragon every other second.
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In the end it was an easy task for me to find the meticulously recorded details regarding the maesters theft. After the small council meeting I had used my greendreams and even warging to scout the Citadel and see where the records were hidden. Fortunately, I even witnessed a meeting the Arch Maesters held in the past, where they discussed the theft and their plans for weakening the magical blood of House Targaryen. They spoke of poisons and of their successes with Princess Aemma and even my own sister Rhaenys, who had become weaker after Laenor was born because of their machinations.
Unfortunately for me they were clever enough not to write down their deeds against nobles or my house anywhere. The knowledge is passed down orally in their chosen secret cabal. The theft began under Septon Barth's handship, in the year northern finances started increasing drastically and taxes rose. A wealthy crown was dangerous for Septon's plans and he began the scheme with the help of maesters who were both the bookkeepers and auditors of the tax records.
After the knights sworn to House Tyrell arrived at Oldtown, I entered the city with them. Lord Hightower tried to make us go to his castle directly, but I disagreed and we went straight to the Citadel.
The Arch Maesters were summoned and we all met in their council chamber where I revealed their treachery and demanded confession. Naturally they did not confess and for some reason mocked me, believing I had no proof, or perhaps they were simply mad.
Lord Hightower openly disavowed any relation to the Citadel's treachery, which suited my plans. I escorted the Tyrell guards and the trustworthy acolytes and maesters to the secret vault where the records were kept. The faces of the Arch Maesters who had mocked me earlier, when they realized where we were going, were far too entertaining. It took me hours to sort the trustworthy maesters after questioning them personally and using my empathy sense to the fullest to confirm what I had seen through my animals and greenseeing.
It took almost three days to sort the books and finally confirm hundreds of thousands of gold dragons stolen. The guilty were imprisoned under the command of Tyrell knights and by now all of Oldtown had heard the news of the theft and of my own heirship.
On the seventh day the court of Hightower gathered in their tower. I was seated in the throne of Hightower with Maester Vaegon at my left and Lord Hightower to my right. I could hear the slight grinding of teeth from Lord Hightower as I lounged in his throne because of my higher station. He couldn't even protest because of his own house hanging by a thread from treason.
It was finally time for the trial of the maesters and the declaration of guilt. The maesters tried to talk their way out, but even the uneducated smallfolk gathered could see the blatant thievery as the amount sent by the Lord Paramount dwindled by the time it reached King's Landing. I declared a guilty verdict and it was finally time for punishment.
Until then I had sat with my hands on my chin in a bored expression. I sat up straight with slightly tense shoulders and my hands on the hilt of Blackfyre, which lay horizontally across my lap. I observed the entire court and could see nearby lords had already arrived and even the High Septon was among the crowd. In the last days everyone had been surprised by my appearance and frightened by the sheer presence of Morghul, which kept them from protesting a bastard's accession to Crown Prince. I had to admit that the way Lord Hightower maintained deniability regarding the Citadel and yet supported me was masterful; even governments in my old world would take notice of such hypocrisy and face saving nature if they came to know of him.
I had tasked Maester Vaegon personally to go through the records to find a link between Hightower and the Citadel, but there was nothing to discover. I wanted to use my greenseeing to confirm, but my instincts screamed at me not to use that ability while I was physically here.
"My lords, sers and ladies of Westeros, today House Targaryen has failed in its duty as the protector of the realm." I said making many people in the court gasp in surprise. "We have defended its people from the cursed slavers, from pirates and even from the wicked Dornish marauders, but we failed to root out the rats in our own halls. Our hard earned money was looted by grey robed rodents sitting in a tower of books and used for nefarious purposes. While your sons starved and died for lack of money or service, the maesters bought worthless books, baubles and even rewrote many works for no reason other than vanity and to show their supposed learning on costly paper. More than that, they stole money from the Iron Throne, making it hard to build roads and to maintain the king's peace."
"My grandfather the king has worked five decades to give this realm an unprecedented time of peace. Westeros has never been so peaceful for so long. Trade has flourished and even the poorest farmer has food on their table because of my grandfather and House Targaryen. You could have even more if the rats had not stolen so much from House Targaryen. The records began only three decades ago but the plan was so meticulous from the start that it must have been going on since maesters were first appointed by the Iron Throne to keep the taxes. The guilt of the Arch Maesters, maesters and acolytes is proven without doubt. All the acolytes and maesters are sentenced to the Night's Watch where they will not hold any significant command position. All Arch Maesters involved in this treason shall be escorted to King's Landing where they will be sentenced to death."
I paused for several heartbeats and Lord Hightower beside my chair slightly relaxed, hoping the worst was over. I swallowed my mirth and immediately continued.
"Punishing the guilty treats the symptom, not the disease. The Seven Kingdoms have only one ruler, the king who sits on the Iron Throne, and no person or institution is above the king. The Citadel has long acted independently under the counsel of supposed learned men with selfish interests. Three decades ago they tried to strongarm the king and my father to punish me for improving the kingdom. They were punished for overreaching and for trying to cause a war, and now the Citadel again stands guilty of treason and theft of unimaginable wealth. Thus, from today onwards the Citadel is not independent or under the patronage of House Hightower. The lands belonging to the Citadel as well as the Citadel itself are confiscated to compensate the Iron Throne for the unfathomable sums they stole and will henceforth be ruled by House Targaryen forever."
"My own uncle Maester Vaegon shall be the new head of the Citadel in a position called Master of Knowledge, which will carry a place on the Small Council when they are present in King's Landing. The Master of Knowledge shall be selected by the king"
I finished my announcement and could feel the horror and anger from Lord Hightower beside me. He nearly rose from his seat before sitting back and closing his eyes, breathing harshly while trying to control his emotions.
The cleverer lords among the court immediately understood the implications and many were pleased by the loss suffered by House Hightower. House Hightower could not openly protest against my seizing something they had built and poured countless dragons into because of the treason by the Citadel. If they protested blatantly, House Targaryen could blame them and then punish House Hightower as well. A cautious house like theirs will never go there, and I intended to exploit their caution.
The murmurings around the court increased and I dismissed the assembly before I wasted my time on some irrelevant people's complaints.
======================================
Evening
I was standing at the highest point of the Hightower, near their great beacon in the open air. It was sunset, and the view from the Hightower was mesmerizing.
"Hello, uncle," I said before Uncle Vaegon could begin. He arrived behind me, panting from the climb he had to endure to reach me.
"Curse you, nephew," Vaegon snapped between breaths. "You invented a position that was never approved by the king and then forced me into it. You left me to deal with those vultures protesting your new rules. Lord Hightower is already grumbling and calling you a tyrant."
I didn't bother to look at my uncle directly. A raven flying above kept its eye on him as he approached—just in case.
"And I thank you, uncle, for dealing with those idiots," I said calmly. "Lord Hightower may grumble, but he knows the reality for what it is. Even the other Reach lords are pleased that the Hightowers have finally been humbled for their arrogance, especially House Tyrell. No one will openly support them when they are still wondering how much of their wealth was actually stolen." I shrugged.
"Your arrogance is overwhelming, nephew," Vaegon warned. "The only reason no one dares to act openly is because my father is still king. It is his image—the strength of the Iron Throne he built over the last five decades—that holds them in check, not the rumours of your powers that you spread when you were a bard."
"Then it is a good thing your father will live a few more years, thanks to my potions," I said with another shrug. "That should give the realm enough time to get used to the idea of me being heir."
I wanted to explain to my uncle the true nature of the Hightowers' cowardice, but I couldn't be bothered. Whenever a dragon appears in Oldtown, Lord Hightower bends the knee faster than anyone else. I was almost certain that if Daemon and Caraxes had appeared in Oldtown during the Dance, Lord Hightower would have yielded even with Daeron and Tessarion stationed there—though he would have prepared to betray Daemon the moment Aemond and Vhagar arrived.
"Now don't be so sour, uncle," I continued with a faint smile. "I know how delighted you were when it was revealed who among the Archmaesters were involved. I could feel your overwhelming joy and satisfaction. For all your efforts to run from politics and House Targaryen, you still have fire and blood in you."
Vaegon looked uneasy as he realized yet another of my abilities.
"What are you?" Vaegon whispered, his voice filled with horrified fascination. "I've read the records in our vault, and there is no one in even Valyria who could do what you do. Some may have excelled in one aspect or another, but someone like you—with so many powers—should be impossible."
I smiled as the sun finally drowned in the sea and turned to face my uncle.
"Ah, so you are curious about me—my powers, my knowledge," I said with an understanding smile. "Serve me well as Master of Knowledge, and rebuild the order of maesters so that they are loyal to House Targaryen above all else. They may keep their oaths to serve their castles, but since every castle lies under Targaryen protection, it will be easy to convince them that serving our interests serves the realm. Begin transferring books to King's Landing as we move the Citadel's headquarters there. Also, prepare to send all Valyrian steel in the Citadel's custody to the capital. From now on, for magical studies, use dragonglass or any other suitable material in their chains. Valyrian steel is far too valuable to be wasted on maesters who don't even believe in magic. Do this, and I will answer your questions."
Vaegon remained silent for a while, processing my words, before finally nodding. "You don't have to bribe me, nephew. You're married to my youngest sister. I am far more loyal to my siblings than to their idiotic offspring. I will support you anyway—but I will need loyal men to protect both the Citadel and myself."
"Don't worry, uncle," I said reassuringly. "I'll make sure the king sends you two dozen men-at-arms from King's Landing. As for your personal safety, I've already summoned fifteen of my sons from Winterfell to the capital. I'll send two of the more academically inclined among them to serve as your bodyguards—and perhaps replace you when you're old."
Vaegon's face twisted in disbelief and disgust when he heard the number of my sons.
"Academically inclined?" he scoffed. "What use will they be in protecting me from assassins?"
"Oh, uncle, you needn't worry," I said with amusement. "All my children are far superior to any other humans in this continent. That's another secret—they inherit my perfected body, the one I built with great effort. They are stronger, faster, and more durable than anyone else."
Vaegon sighed in defeat but his eyes gleamed with curiosity, and I realized he intended to test my sons. For a moment, I considered forbidding it—but then I decided to remain silent. I, too, wanted a proper measure of just how superior my children were. Even though each one was unique, I could at least use the results as a baseline for the unborn child Gael now carried.
When my uncle finally left, I remained on the tower, lost in thought as I watched the darkening sky. I had accomplished everything I came here to do. Now, it was time to focus on the Black Stone at the base of the Hightower.
I had felt its unease from the moment I entered Oldtown, a constant disturbance at the edge of my senses. Only on the first night, after entering the Hightower, did I pinpoint the source—the foundations built upon that ancient Black Stone.
Even standing in the center of the stone chamber, I couldn't understand the cause of my unease or the sense of looming doom. It took hours of meditation and self-examination before I realized that the Black Stone was trying to interact with my magic—trying to influence and corrupt it.
I smirked as I sensed the black shadows failing miserably to penetrate my mental defenses, the same barriers forged from my battles of will against Balerion, the Night King, and even Morghul. No wonder the Black Stone was once used to corrupt and create ancient monsters. Its passive aura alone was dangerous enough; being ritually bound to it would surely doom any human soul.
"Interesting," I murmured, opening my eyes. Finally, I understood the roots of the Citadel's, the Faith's, and even House Hightower's hatred of magic. It must have begun with someone who discovered the truth about these stones—and then extended that fear to all magic.
Still, I had neither the means nor the need to deal with the stones now. "Damn it," I muttered, "now I'll have to add two more of my children to the training regimen for mental defenses, along with the Mountain and his partners. More work for me."
=====================
Winterfell: Dreamscape.
I was in Highgarden on my return journey when it was finally time to meet my son, Mountain, face to face for the first time—or rather, as I corrected myself, in a sense face to face. I waited patiently for his consciousness to manifest.
When I had first heard the name "Mountain," I had grinned, remembering the infamous killer of canon times. Fortunately for me, my own son was far more good-natured compared to that scum of a man. I didn't have to wait long before the boy appeared before me.
He looked confused and curious, glancing around the dreamscape. It only took a few seconds for him to notice me standing a dozen steps away. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision and confirm that what he was seeing was real.
I looked at the boy in wonder and felt a rare sense of pride in my ability to unlock the potential of the Umber bloodline. I stood at six foot eight, my body lean and muscular with almost no fat. My son—still not fully grown—already stood eight feet tall, broad as an ox, and built like one. If not for the enhanced strength I had cultivated throughout my life, I might have had to rely on speed alone to survive a fight with the man standing before me.
"Hello, my son. I am glad to finally see you," I said with a pleasant smile, hoping to calm him.
"What the fuck? Why, in the name of the Old Gods, am I dreaming about you?" Mountain snapped, clearly struggling to make sense of his surroundings.
"This may be a dream," I replied lightly, "but let me assure you, it is very real. Or do you think warging is the only ancient ability our bloodline remembers?"
"So, you're a vaunted greenseer as well?" Mountain asked, his tone uncertain, as if recalling some half-remembered legend.
I nodded casually.
His expression shifted rapidly—from confusion, to realization, to anger.
"So, you could have met me in my dreams any time in the last fifteen years," he said through gritted teeth. "Yet you ignored all your children except for the bear bitch who got all your care—and even your presence in the flesh." His voice dropped to a low growl. "I didn't think I could hate you more, but you're making it easy for me."
My calm smile vanished at his words. "Son, let me give you a free lesson," I said quietly. "Do not provoke others unless you can survive the retaliation. Your sister is a good woman, and she had nothing to do with the choices I made regarding the children I left behind. And if she heard you call her that, she would break you. She is your elder sister, after all."
Mountain snorted and laughed. "If you think a weak little lady could break me, then you're a fool. Too bad she ran off to the south before I arrived."
I smirked. "No, my son—it's fortunate for you that she isn't there. I personally trained her from a young age, pushing her beyond every limit. She's been wrestling with Teddy, her cave bear, and even with Fenrir since she could walk. For all your size and muscle, a cave bear is stronger than you—and Fenrir is much stronger still. More importantly, you lack skill. Your sparring partners have been limited. Lyanna trained with the best, trying to surpass me. To put it simply, she would kick your ass from Winterfell to the Wall if she wished."
To my satisfaction, my son didn't dismiss my words as empty boasting.
"Let's agree to disagree," Mountain said finally with a dismissive shrug. "We'll never know, since I'll be going beyond the Wall soon—and she's in the south for the foreseeable future."
I sighed, tired and weary. "So even after Cregan informed you and your half-brothers of the true danger, you're still going?"
Mountain waved his hand dismissively. "Maybe the Wall was built for something more than men—I've seen it myself, and no sane person would raise such a thing for mere mortals. But there have been no tales of White Walkers for millennia. You only wanted to warn us because you don't want another king in this continent, even if he's beyond the Wall."
I closed my eyes, resigned. "You're wrong, my son. If not for the Walkers, I would have gladly approved your venture. You are also wrong about their absence—there have been sightings. It's just that no one survived long enough to tell the tale. You know about my journey beyond the Wall, and how I came to bond with both Winter and Fenrir. Now, I will show you what truly happened."
The dreamscape turned white for a heartbeat before my memory began to play. I saw panic flicker across my son's face as he watched a younger version of me approach the direwolf pack—then the attack began. The memory unfolded, and my son cried out in shock as he felt the psychic assault of the Night King and sensed the dread army I had once faced.
The vision ended with my younger self collapsing into unconsciousness. My son now knelt before me, frozen as he processed what he had seen and felt. The weight of the Night King's presence had driven him to his knees. I stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
"Son," I said softly, "as you just saw, the myth is no ancient lie. It remains true—and deadly. I will allow you and your brothers to go beyond the Wall, to conquer the wildlings, but only on one condition: you must first resist my attempt at possession. I will not let my bloodline be absorbed into the Night King's army. If you and your brothers cannot throw me off, then you will stand no chance against him. If you defy me and venture north regardless, believe me—I will find you, and I will personally kill you."
I withdrew my hand from his shoulder. "Now, let me visit your three brothers who plan to accompany you. I'll explain this to them as well. I will return later to hear your decision."
Mountain slapped my hand away, his anger barely restrained. He bowed his head, then looked up at me with fire in his eyes.
For a moment, I felt proud. That spark of defiance, that will to fight—it was mine. As I vanished from the dreamscape and returned to my body, I was already planning how best to train his mind, and what aid I could give to prepare him for what awaited beyond the Wall.
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Authors note: if anyone thinks matters at hightower and citadel was easy it is as daemon said, hightower was always bend the knee, swear to god we will be the most loyal type when trouble reaches oldtown… aegon came, they bend the knee.. maegor came and lord hightower assassinated the high septon and bend the knee again…. Jaehaereys came and they made peace… the only one who was ambitious enough to take reigns was ser otto only because of aemond had vhaghar and 3 realms support. then after loosing they kept themselves away from court and hid in oldtown again…
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