Chapter 38
LADY GWIN ASHFORD
Maekar Targaryen was born with a healthy pair of lungs. It had taken her more than ten hours to push the babe out of her womb, but the second she had held the little bundle of cries in her arms all the pains and groans had become meaningless.
In that moment, as she looked at that flushed, scrunched-up face, she knew in her heart that she would face ten times the pain she had just to hold her babe in her arms. Her own mother had died some years ago, and so she had been much nervous on what it entailed to give birth to a child of your own.
She had asked the Queen and Lady Kiera, but they had both simply assuaged her worries and told her that it would be worth it, and they were right.
The castle was filled with cries of joy for hours, as the Maester declared the babe healthy. Letters were dispatched for the Red Keep and Pyke at once, to inform them of the birth of the new Prince.
They had decided on the name already, and Matarys had chosen to name the boy 'Maekar' in honor of his uncle who had died by his hands. He had already sought permission from it from all of Prince Maekar's sons.
All of them had given him his blessing except for Prince Aerion, who refused to answer any missives at all, though Matarys had not cared much for that. She had not objected to the choice either, and so Maekar Targaryen was born a healthy babe with ten toes and ten fingers.
But then the storm had come, and the cries had vanished. Gwin had been the first to sense the wrongness, and even in her weakened state, she had roared on top of her lungs to summon the Maesters.
The storm was unexpected, and though many thought of it as a blessing after two years of uninterrupted and sizzling heat, she did not quite agree. The wins and the rains did not let up for days, but it was her babe that worried her.
It started as a chill, and the cries died down. Then came the fever, and the maesters tried everything yet the fever refused to die down. Some said that it was the Spring Sickness, but in her heart she knew that it was not the Spring Sickness.
How she knew that, she could never know. But she did, and so she roared at the Maesters, but they refused to pay her any heed even as her babe burned hot.
They tried to cool him down with sponging. They used all the remedies they could, but the fever refused to let up. The maesters had no answer for her, and sometimes her babe would be so warm that the wet nurse would find it hard to feed him, but she knew that her son needed strength to fight.
So, she fed him herself even as her skin burned as he suckled at her teat. On the third day, they received a visitor, and it was a woman from the capital.
She had heard her name of course, but she had never quite seen her. Her mismatched eyes, though, reminded her of Prince Valarr and the King, but her arrival in New Haven was answer enough for her.
"It is a curse," she whispered as Lady Shiera held the babe in her arms, and she was exhausted. Sleep was scarce for her, and despite the pleading of the Queen and Lady Kiera she did not have the heart to close her eyes when any moment could be her son's last.
Those mismatched eyes turned towards her at once, and she did not deny her words.
"Why do you say that?" Lady Shiera asked, and the rumors often spoke of how Lady Shiera was the most beautiful woman in the entire realm, and now, as she stood in front of Gwin, she realized that they were all quite true.
She had a small face and silvery blonde hair. She was everything one would imagine a woman to be, and her mismatched eyes only enhanced her mystique.
"Because of you," but there were also whispers about how the woman bathed in the blood of her enemies and how her beauty was nothing more than a consequence of her dabbling in blood magic.
Her eyes fell to the babe crying in the cot beside her as she added.
"And because I am his mother," and Lady Shiera smiled.
"Perhaps, motherhood truly is magic itself," and she had not denied her words.
"So, it is a curse?" she confirmed, and Lady Shiera came and sat beside her on the bed.
"Yes," she finally gave her the answer she had sought for days, and Gwin's fists balled up as she heard that, and it pained her that she was helpless to do anything for her child. Gwin knew little about magic, and she knew that the same was true for her own husband.
"Can you stop it?" she asked, as she readied her heart and Lady Shiera's lips thinned as she refused to answer her.
"No," she gasped as her voice shook, and tears welled up in her eyes.
"No. NO. Noo," she whimpered as she held her hand tightly.
"You have to do something. Please," she begged, and she had asked him about the rumors regarding the woman in front of her, and Matarys had told her the truth.
Lady Shiera did not bathe in her enemies' blood, but the woman did indeed dabble in magic. She was her only hope to save her child.
"Let me take the curse. I will take it. But spare my child," she implored, but she was offered only silence.
"I am afraid you won't be able to bear that burden, my dear," and she frowned.
"I can do it. I can bear any burden," she protested, but Lady Shiera shook his head.
"This is ancient magic. Magic that even I barely understand," and despair filled her heart at those words.
"If it were anyone else, the curse would have devoured them whole by now. But Maekar is not an ordinary child," and she looked towards the babe as she continued.
"He has the blood of Valyria flowing through his body. Weakened as it may be, his heritage is still doing its best to keep the curse at bay," and Gwin had a realization in that moment.
"The fever," she guessed, and Lady Shiera nodded.
"It is his body trying to fight the chill eating away at him, but he is just a babe, and with the dragons gone, the magic has been dying for quite a few years. It had been growing weak even before the Dance, but the loss of the dragons only hastened the process," and so there was nothing that she could do to save him.
"There has to be something you can do," she implored and begged.
"Believe me, Princess, if there was anything I could do, I would," she spoke with sheer desperation, and so all hope was lost.
"So, he will...," and she could not say those words. She just could not.
"Unless the magic in his blood is revived," and she looked up at that.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, clinging to hope.
"All magic comes from the Gods, but they need a conduit to channel it in some way," and it did not make sense to her at all.
"What do you want to say?" Gwin asked, praying for some miracle.
"Dragons," Lady Shiera answered with a sigh.
"Valyrian Magic is deeply connected to dragons, and the only way to rid your line of this cur..."
"Line," she caught on.
"You are telling me that the curse will...," and Lady Shiera nodded.
"Yes," and she felt her heart hasten at that as the realization dawned on her, but as she thought over her words, she remembered something.
"Dragons. You just spoke of dragons," and Lady Shiera nodded.
"Yes, a bond with a dragon could help rid your entire line of this curse," and she remembered something from years ago.
"Matarys. He tried to revive one," and Lady Shiera nodded.
"He did. He placed a dragon egg in King Daeron's funeral pyre, but he failed. The Egg refused to hatch," but he had tried, and suddenly Maekar burst out crying.
"AWWW! AWWWWW!" and Lady Shiera hastened to his side, as her heart leaped in her chest. She slowly put her hand against his forehead.
"The fever has returned," and if her words were true, then soon enough it would burn through him, and all she could do was watch helplessly.
"Matarys?" she asked.
"Does he know all this?" and Lady Shiera nodded.
"He rides towards New Haven as we speak. I do not know where he is right now, for he is riding hard day and night, but he is coming back," and he was her only hope now, and for some reason, Gwin believed in him, despite the odds.
"But I am afraid he will be too late," Lady Shiera's whisper made her head snap towards her.
"What?" she asked as dread filled her heart, and Lady Shiera faced her with angst in her eyes.
"He does not have much time," and she shook her head.
"No," she shook her head.
"No. He cannot die. He cannot," and he would save him. Matarys would save their child.
"Matarys. He will save our child," she spoke with certainty.
"Matarys has a great mind, but he has never dabbled in magic..."
"He will!" she nearly shouted, as she looked directly into those eyes.
"He will," she repeated.
"I know him better than anyone else alive. He will find a way. I am certain of it," but by Lady Shiera's words, her babe would not live long enough for that, and Lady Shiera passed the babe to her arms and tears slid down her face as her arms burned from the warmth of his blood, as he fought against the curse trying to kill him.
"I just need to buy him some time...."
.
.
.
Miles and miles away along the Gold Road, Ser Pate Parsley sat under the shade of a tree as the skies poured down heavily. He was a hedge knight, one of the lesser-known ones. He had no squire of his own, but he knew that he would soon have to find one because of his age.
He had no sons to inherit his title, and no land to call his home. He had hoped to get some by participating in the war in the Iron Islands, for he knew that many a knight and lord had been slain by those Ironborn scum.
So, there was plenty of land to be distributed, but the Sickness had ruined his plans. He had hoped to make a name for himself in the war, but the young Prince had made quick work of the Greyjoy, and now there were rumors that he had won the war by single-handedly slaughtering all of Greyjoy's men.
He did not believe them, for he did not think that the young Prince was capable of such cruelty, but he had heard the same rumor in the last three inns.
Still, no matter the truth. One thing was certain, that the war was over and that his hope of winning some Great Lord's favor was now gone. Still, there would be celebrations soon, and he hoped to make some coin there.
"Curse this rain," he whispered, as the hedge failed to save him from the storming rain, and the skies thundered hard yet he refused to back down.
"Aye, I cursed ya," he roared at the skies, as the water drenched him from head to toe. Pate was old now, but he had not seen such a storm in years, and the dark clouds had come about in a matter of seconds, and now the rain had been pouring down for two days.
The land had been dry for some time now, and so the rain was a blessing, yet for some reason, it felt odd and ominous to him. But perhaps it was just his age.
He sat down under the tree and took a sip from his flagon when he spotted a pair of men walking through the storm. They had thick cloaks covering them, and he felt them look at him as they began to walk up to him.
They were fighters. He could tell from how they walked, and one of them was the tallest man he had ever seen, and carried a giant sack over his back. They had swords hidden underneath their cloaks, and so Pate reached for his own blade as he pushed himself off of the ground.
"Name yourself!" he roared as he put his hand on his blade as a warning.
The two men stopped, yet the cloaks still covered them from head to toe.
"I won't ask again," he threatened, and the dirt on their cloaks and boots told him that they had been walking for days, and he also noticed the slight limp in the little one's step.
The smaller one stepped forward and finally lowered his hood.
"I am Prince Matarys Targaryen," and Pate's eyes widened as he recognized that orange hair at once.
"You are a liar," he called out, not believing his eyes.
"The Prince is meant to be at Pyke! How dare you pretend to be him, you bastard?" and he brandished his blade at that insult.
"I am not lying. I am indeed Prince Matarys," and he raised his hand to show him the ring on his finger, and Pate hesitated as he stepped forward and saw the seal for himself.
It was indeed the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and as the realization dawned on him, his eyes widened.
"Forgive my, my lor..."
"There is nothing to forgive," the young Prince cu tin impatiently.
"I did not think that I would run into you. I heard that you were at Pyke," and he nodded.
"I was," he said.
"But now I must head home and for that I have need of you good ser..." and he knelt down on one knee.
"Pate. Ser Pate Parsley," and the Prince motioned for him to rise.
"How may this humble knight serve you, my Prince?" he asked, as he rose to his feet.
"Your horses," he said, as he looked towards his most prized possession.
"My friend and I have lost our horses to the muddied roads, and I need to reach the capital as soon as possible," and so he was asking him about his horses, and even though he was the Prince, those horses were all his wealth.
"I know I ask much of you, but fear not. You will be compensated appropriately for your service," and he turned towards the tall man behind him, who finally lifted his hood as he reached into the bag and plucked out a small bag filled with coins.
"Fifty gold dragons," and his eyes widened as he heard of that amount, and the surprise made him lose his voice as the Prince frowned.
"A hundred then," and he could not believe his ears.
"If you want more..."
"No!" he spoke up.
"A hundred is generous enough," and he was a knight, not a swindler.
"I am in your debt, Ser Pate," the Prince said as he put two pouches into his hands, and Pate offered him the reins of his two finest horses. He quickly mounted them along with his companion.
"If you ever find yourself in need of a home, know that New Haven will always have a place for you…." and with those words, he pulled on the reins as his horse rushed forth in the rain, and Pate found himself richer than he had ever imagined possible.
"I met him. I truly met the Matchless Prince…
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