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Barth's Whisper: HOTD SI Ch.29
🕑 Added 2025-11-12 19:23:04 +0000 UTCChapter 29
The Red Keep had never been so chaotic in years. The maids and the servants were conflicted on whether to mourn the loss of the King, or question the Crown’s actions against the young Healer who had once helped them all.
Many did loathe Galen, for the closure of the gates and the ports which had been ordered to be opened again by their new King, yet as rumors and whispers of his ghastly condition in the Black cells spread, they also began to remember his kindness.
Kindness that had spared few within these Halls and the city, and so as many mourned the loss of their King, others questioned the reason for his confinement, and whispered how he just might die in that cell.
A few dared to whisper plans about a rescue, plans that reached the ears of another soul, who came upon two such people out of the blue.
“You are trying to rescue him,” she asked, small, sweet and innocent and the two men turned to pale stone, as they saw those auburn hair and brown orange eyes.
“I do not know what you have heard, my lady. We were just talking nonse…”
“I know what I heard,” the girl continued in her sweet voice, as she glanced around.
“You are planning to rescue the kind healer,” she repeated, and the two men did not know what to do, as one of them quickly fell to his knees.
“Spare us, my lady!” he begged as he clasped his hands in front of her.
“Those were just words! The Healer had been kind to us. He saved my wife and his daughter and if we do not help him now, we shall not be able to show face to the Mother or the Father,” the begged, and begged, as the girl shook her head in innocence.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered as their eyes widened in gratitude.
“Thank you, my lady….”
“Because I wish to help him as well,” and those words stilled the two men.
“For he saved the life of my mother….”
.
.
.
Pain had a way of altering one’s sense of time. The Black cells were so named because no light could penetrate into these cells, and those confined to them would often long for a ray of Sunshine.
Galen knew not how much time had passed, for his mind was numb with pain as the dagger kept his hand nailed to the ground.
The guards were all Prince’s men, and they laughed as they offered him food like an animal, and yet it remained uneaten as he simply lay there, numb with pain and fever as he awaited his trial.
A shame, for his sentence had already been decided. And as he lay there, he wondered about the dead, and about the plague, and how many would die because of this. Because of him.
They should have opened the gates, and the ports by now and with that the plague would spread and spread to other cities killing thousand—no, millions. All for what?
A slight to the ego of a Prince too proud to see through his own hubris!
He knew that the Rogue Prince had little love for him, yet it pained him that no one else cared enough to investigate the case against him at all. Not even the Queen.
Not even her.
So lost they were in their game that the life of a mere commoner was of no value to them. A life which they had now ruined twice.
“Forgive me, mother,” he whispered as he felt the fever tear apart his head, and his heart lessen with pain.
“I tried,” and he did not think of the mother who had sold him for silver but of the mother who saved his life. Of the mother whose promise had started him on this journey. A promise that would take his life from him.
And yet, in those last moments of sanity, he dabbed his finger into the blood pooled under his hand and began to scribble onto the ground his last message, with hope that she might be able to make sense of it and save the people he had failed.
And it pained him to move, yet he scribbled away, and as the darkness blurred, and the sanity vanished, the last thing he heard was the clicking of locks, and the whispers of men.
“We need to hurry…”
“We don’t have much time….”
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BAELON TARGARYEN
Baelon had never thought that the burden of the Crown would be such a heavy one. That he would become King, amidst whispers of treason and war and plague.
Yet he was King now, and it fell onto him to deal with those whispers and the reality behind them.
“You wrote to grandmother,” Daemon asked with narrowed eyes.
“Yes,” he answered as he stared at the bustling port, where ships loaded and unloaded their cargo once more, and the streets bustled with merchants and men.
“But I thought that we were not going to tell her about all this until the matter was resolved. Until we had proof of Velaryon treason,” Daemon’s words were true, but he had been too blinded by his grief and rage then.
“Your grandmother has ruled these lands besides my father for forty years. There is no better counsel than her in all matters of ruling,” he began, as he turned to face the son who had uncovered this plot of treachery and treason.
“What council does one need to deal with treason? Fire and Blood,” he answered, as Baelon shook his head, his mind now much clearer as the clouds of grief and death shed away.
“That is all one needs. As soon as that damned Healer confesses we shall rain down High Tide with fire and blood….”
“And has he?” he asked somewhat forcefully, for his son had grown too bold in his enthusiasm.
“What?” Daemon asked, taken aback by the interruption.
“Has he confessed yet?” and he shrugged non chalantly, as he sipped his wine.
“I know not,” and he had not. Baelon knew, for he had asked about him and had been much surprised by the answer.
“I thought I was clear in my instructions to not put him into the Black cells,” and Daemon’s lips thinned as Baelon made his displeasure known.
“And yet you defied me and put him there!” and Daemon shook his head.
“Nothing loosens a man’s tongue like those cells. I left him there just to loosen his tongue,” and he shook his head.
“And what if he dies there?” for Galen was no warrior. He was a man of words and wisdom, and a part of him still doubted that he had truly betrayed their family.
In his grief and rage, he might have believed it for some time, yet now that he had a calmer grasp of the facts, he wondered if he had made a mistake. It was this very thought, which had made him write to their mother so that she may stop him from making a grave mistake.
“Then what?” Daemon chuckled at the insinuation, for then they would have killed an innocent man.
“We have proof already…”
“We have nothing,” Baelon corrected his son.
“We have words, and whispers, and nothing more. What you have given me until now is not enough to prosecute anyone for treason,” and yet he had condemned him to a punishment for it.
“Everyone knows that grandmother and Gael have a soft corner for him, but you saw the mold and the materials yourself. The Maesters agreed as well. The plague, and this entire situation, might have been his own creation. That is treason,” and yet even the Maesters had spoken in maybe and could be’s.
There was no proof.
“Take him out of the cells,” he ordered, as Daemon’s lips thinned.
“But fath…”
“Take him out of the cells,” he repeated a bit more firmly.
“We must wait until I hear from mother again….” And yet before he could say anything more, the entire city found itself rocked by the visceral roar of a dragon. Even Baelon felt its rage and anger as he turned to his window and saw a shadow fly over the city, and though he saw but a glimpse, that was all he needed to recognize the beast.
He saw it fly over the Red Keep, as it circled the castle, its roars so visceral and jarring that it felt as if it would burn it down any second. And this was the fury he was named for.
It was none other than the dragon of his own father, the Broze Fury itself.
“Vermithor,” he gasped, as the beast began its descend though his mind began to think about the rider atop it, and there were only a few people who could tame the beast, and yet he felt as if he knew exactly who it was atop their father’s dragon.
“Who dared claim it,” he whispered, and he mouthed to himself the name of its rider.
“Gael,” and Daemon heard that name, as his eyes widened as Baelon rushed out of his solar and towards the yard. The guards followed after him, as he headed for the yard and as he walked through the gates he saw it land on the ground, as it roared angrily scaring of the men and dragonkeepers as his sister jumped of its back, her face flushed in rage as she walked towards him oblivious to the disaster that she had just caused.
“Who allowed you to clai….”
“Where is he?” she asked, dressed in her riding leathers. And Baelon had never seen Gael like this, for in that moment she no longer resembled the kind, and docile Winter Princess, but looked so alike their own mother.
“Who?” he asked, though he knew exactly she was talking about.
“Don’t be coy with me, brother. Where is Galen?” and Daemon had caught up to them by now, and chose to intervene.
“Be mindful on how you speak to your King,” and Daemon wondered in that moment, if he had done the right thing by listening to his youngest son.
“Mindful?” Gael scoffed, as he shook his head.
“Or what? Will you put me into the Blackcells as well?” and of course she knew about that.
“It would pain me to do that to someone of Royal Blood,” Daemon chose to taunt.
“But one cannot let treason flouri…”
“Enough!” he raised his hand and stopped his son from making this whole thing any messier.
“Galen was arrested on suspicion of treason,” Baelon clarified, and Gael scoffed.
“Seven Hells! I had really hoped that it was all a lie,” Galen whispered as she looked him in the eye.
“What were you thinking, brother? Galen, treason? How could you even think that?” and as the clod of grief shed, he began to see the flaws as well, yet the proof.
“We have proof,” he argued, and she took a deep breath.
“Then I shall see it for myself,” and with that, she reached into her pocket and passed him a missive.
“And so shall mother, but until she arrives, you are to take him out of those cells. The Queen has the power to do that,” and she did. Baelon did not open the missive, for that was his intention as well.
“Take me to the Cells,” she ordered, and Baelon nodded to the guards who began to lead her, and she stopped beside him, and turned to him.
“I saw that you have opened the gates and the ports,” she whispered, and he nodded.
“I did,” and she shook her head.
“Then you might have doomed us all,” and she moved past him, as Daemon stepped forward, leaving him alone with his guards and his son.
“You cannot let her…” and he stopped Daemon as he raised his hand once more.
“Let her go,” for it was not just Gael’s word. No, this was his mother’s order as well and until a coronation was held she was the Queen of the realm.
“You never should have put him in those cells….”
.
.
.
And as Gael was led through the Halls of the Black Cells, they came upon Galen’s cell and as the doors opened, it was the smell of blood that came first as Galen walked into the cell, and yet her heart stilled as she saw that it was empty.
The metal bars and chains had been cut, and the floor was still wet with blood, with a blade pushed into the ground for them to see, and yet her eyes saw only the empty cell, as pain and regret filled her heart.
“Galen…”
“Darksister…”
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Comments
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and Gael came in quite a fashion. I can't wait to see how everything will backfire for Daemon. Great job as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
