The Red Keep, King's Landing
The King's bedchamber was cloaked in the heavy shadows of night, illuminated only by the faint, flickering light of a few wall-mounted sconces. Yet, the sudden blast of fire from Gaemon's mouth had cut a blinding, straight line through the gloom, momentarily bathing the entire room in a harsh, bright light.
King Jaehaerys was so startled by the sudden eruption of fire that he bolted upright in bed, momentarily shocked into absolute silence. As Gaemon abruptly closed his mouth and cut off the flames, the oppressive darkness rushed back in to reclaim the room.
The King's stunned silence was finally broken by the Queen.
Alysanne slowly pushed herself up, leaning back against the soft goose-feather pillows. Her eyes remained fixed on Gaemon, who stood casually near the foot of the bed.
"Gaemon," she began, her voice tight with a mixture of reproach and deep concern. "When exactly did you start learning tricks from those pyromancers? That is not a safe skill to play with."
Hearing the worry in his mother's voice, Gaemon immediately understood her assumption. She thought he had been secretly studying the Alchemists' Guild's dangerous parlor tricks.
Most "pyromancers" in Westeros had long since lost any true magical ability. They relied entirely on volatile alchemical substances and cheap illusions to control fire. It was a notoriously deadly profession; more often than not, those fools ended up burning themselves alive when their parlor tricks went wrong.
To clear the air, Gaemon quickly shook his head.
"Mother, I didn't learn this from the pyromancers. This is genuine Valyrian fire magic. It came to me in my dreams. I only need the magic that flows in our blood to cast it; I don't need any alchemical tricks or outside help."
To prove his point, Gaemon raised his right hand and beckoned toward the wall sconce he had just lit.
Instantly, the flame detached itself from the candlewick and floated smoothly across the room, coming to rest gently in the palm of Gaemon's open hand. The orange-red fireball hovered slightly above his skin. It cast a beautiful, warm glow, yet seemed to produce no heat against his flesh.
Finally recovering his wits, Jaehaerys threw off the heavy blankets and stepped out of bed, walking slowly toward his son.
Staring intently at the fireball resting in the boy's palm, the King reached out a curious hand and lightly brushed his fingers against the dancing tongues of flame.
A sharp, intense wave of heat immediately bit into his skin. Jaehaerys pulled his hand back, completely satisfied. The fireball floating above his son's hand was real, burning fire.
"You say you learned this from your dreams?" Jaehaerys murmured, looking from his burned fingertips to his son. "It seems the ancestral dragon dreams of our house have awakened in you. I just never expected a dragon dream to impart actual magical knowledge. Historically, the dreamers in our family have only ever received glimpses of the future. Never practical skills. You are the very first."
While the revelation that his son could use magic was startling, Jaehaerys found the explanation entirely plausible.
House Targaryen had a long, documented history of dragon dreamers. It was the dreamer Daenys the Dreamer whose visions prompted the family to flee to Dragonstone, saving them from the Doom of Valyria and making them the sole surviving dragonlord family. Even Aegon the Conqueror, who united the Seven Kingdoms, was recorded as a dreamer; his prophetic vision, "The Song of Ice and Fire," was still a closely guarded family secret.
Staring at the flames in his son's hand, Jaehaerys let out a quiet, wistful sigh.
The ancient dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold had commanded both dragons and magic. They possessed terrifying power while riding their mounts, but they were equally formidable on foot. The mastery of both disciplines was what made a true Valyrian Dragonlord.
But the Targaryens who fled to Dragonstone had lost almost everything. Today, they possessed only their dragons. The vast repositories of Valyrian magical knowledge had been lost to time. Even the mundane secrets of the Freehold—the forging of Valyrian steel, the shaping of fused black stone—were completely forgotten. As the last surviving dragonlords of Valyria, their entire legacy was reduced to two solitary Valyrian steel swords: Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Compared to the glory of their ancestors, it was a tragically pathetic inheritance.
Sensing his father's melancholic shift, Gaemon knew he had set the stage perfectly. It was time to drop the real anchor.
"Father," Gaemon said softly, dispelling the flame with a flick of his wrist. "I didn't come here tonight just to show off that I learned fire magic. I came because I have something far more important to discuss with you."
The King's demeanor instantly hardened. What could possibly be more important than the rediscovery of Valyrian magic?
"The magic I learned in my dreams isn't limited to fire," Gaemon explained, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. "I also inherited the knowledge of Blood Sorcery. Because the methods required are... cruel, I usually avoid studying it. But with Mother's labor approaching, I haven't been able to sleep. I'm terrified something will go wrong. I want to prepare a safeguard, just in case the worst happens."
Jaehaerys fell deathly silent, his face tightening into a hard mask of thought.
He understood exactly where Gaemon's fears were coming from. The horrific, blood-soaked memory of his wife's near-death experience four years ago was burned into his mind as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
As a King, a husband, and a father, the dread surrounding Alysanne's upcoming labor had been slowly consuming him. But he had been forced to bury those fears, projecting only strength and calm for the sake of his family and the realm.
If his son genuinely possessed a method to guarantee his wife's survival, Jaehaerys would never, under any circumstances, refuse it.
His immediate concern shifted entirely to how they were going to keep this a secret. Gaemon was only four years old. Both he and his dragon were incredibly fragile. As a father, it was his absolute duty to ensure his son lived long enough to reach his full potential.
The fewer people who knew Gaemon was a sorcerer, the safer the boy would be.
After a long, tense silence, Jaehaerys finally spoke. His voice was low and calculating.
"This Blood Sorcery... it requires specific conditions to work, doesn't it? Otherwise, you wouldn't have come to me in the dead of night."
Gaemon didn't bother hiding the truth. He had already decided to bring them into the fold; there was no point in lying now, especially since he needed their authority to make it happen.
He nodded grimly. "Yes, Father. If the magic is meant to save a life, the price must be paid with life. If we want to guarantee Mother's safety, we will need to use another's blood and fire to replace the blood and fire she loses."
Jaehaerys gave a slow, understanding nod. While he had never witnessed true magic before tonight, he was well-read enough to understand the dark, transactional nature of Blood Sorcery. Gaemon's horrific requirement didn't entirely surprise him.
"Very well," the King said decisively. "I understand what you are asking. Go back to your room. Do not speak a word of this magic, or what happened here tonight, to anyone. This remains a secret between the three of us. I will make the necessary arrangements. Go back to sleep, and pretend tonight never happened."
"I understand, Father," Gaemon replied.
He offered a respectful bow to his mother, turned, and quietly slipped out of the royal bedchamber, leaving his parents alone in the dark.