Year 110 A.C.
POV: Denovan
Three hours later...
Through Huginn's ears, it was possible to hear Queen Aemma's screams of pain and despair, who was writhing in agony during labor.
As much as I had hurried to get ready in case Viserys asked for my help, the king had refused to make any request up to that moment. I was leaning against the walls of the Red Keep, positioned so that, if called, I would reach the chambers as quickly as possible. But so far, nothing.
I remained attentive both to my surroundings in the castle and to the view from the window through Huginn's eyes. It was then that I heard the Grand Maester's voice sound low and grave in the stuffy room:
"Your Grace, the baby is having difficulty coming out and the position does not seem favorable... I am very sorry to say this, Your Grace, but..."
"Spit it out, Maester, do not stall," Viserys replied, his voice thick with tension and fear.
"I ask that you consider... For the life of the baby or that of your wife, I fear you cannot choose both. The queen is already weak and without strength for the delivery, and so far, no sign of the child."
POV: Viserys Targaryen
After hearing those tragic words, I could only remember that damned warning of Denovan's, uttered so many years ago:
'You will have to choose between the life of your wife and that of your son... and you will choose to eviscerate her... killing her with pain in the process, as she begs you to end it quickly... and even so, you will continue...'
"Huginn... call your master," I said in a loud and firm voice, breaking the mournful silence that was beginning to settle around the bed.
The black raven hopped onto the outside of the windowsill and replied with that unnaturally human voice that always gave me chills:
"Send a servant to fetch me at the fortress gates. I am already there, I just need permission to enter."
The bird then fell completely silent, staring at the despair in the room while the midwives backed away, frightened both by the talking animal and the horror of that stalled labor. I looked at one of the young servants.
"You... run to the fortress gates and tell the guards that I am ordering the entry of the man waiting there."
The girl, with a sweaty and pale face, began to walk hurriedly outside, but her steps seemed irritatingly slow to my despair.
"Go quickly, we do not have much time!" I shouted.
POV: Denovan
A few minutes later, the room's oak door opened quickly. I entered and greeted the king and the queen, who was moaning on the bed.
"Your Graces... forgive the intrusion."
"Do what you have to do," Viserys said, his face tense and defeated.
Before I could take another step, Grand Maester Mellos's voice cut through the air, laden with indignation:
"Your Grace! Why did you summon a wildling at such a chaotic time?"
Ignoring the old man from Oldtown, I looked directly at the king.
"Viserys, dismiss everyone here at once. We don't want them causing more chaos than necessary."
The king did not hesitate.
"Everyone out. Quickly."
The midwives and servants looked at him in bewilderment, as if they couldn't believe the order was directed at them. Viserys repeated sharply:
"I said get out, go quickly!"
"Your Grace..." the Maester tried to argue.
"All of you, Maester Mellos! Do not make me repeat myself."
When the heavy door finally closed, leaving only the three of us in the room, I looked at Viserys.
"I'm no midwife or anything of the sort, but I guarantee you that the queen will survive, even a direct cut to the belly."
"Then... what are you going to do?"
I pulled the sleeves of my tunic up to my elbows, exposing my rune-covered forearm, and raised it so he could see it by the torchlight.
"These designs are runes. Runes are magical scriptures of the First Men, which channel true magic if written with the right materials and in the correct way." I pointed to Aemma, who was breathing heavily on the bed.
"I will inscribe a few on your wife, and then she will have enough life force to withstand the cut to her womb. But not only that: I will put her into a deep sleep. That way, she will feel absolutely nothing of what happens to her body, and when she wakes up, the runes will have already started to regenerate her."
"Viserys..." Aemma's weak and trembling voice sounded. "What are you doing? You promised me you wouldn't involve this sorcery..."
Viserys rushed to the side of the bed and held her face with both hands.
"I beg your forgiveness, my dearest Aemma. But I would rather face your eternal anger than watch you die."
"Viserys... don't do this..." she whimpered.
"My Queen," my voice interrupted the tender and desperate moment. "If you believe so much in the Seven, then you must know that if something is done against your will, you are entirely blameless. The guilty one will be me. Me and your husband. You will go to heaven or wherever it is you wish to go and die in peace, you will not be damned. Rest easy."
The look she gave me overflowed with resentment, pain, and repulsion.
"And having my husband damned would be something that makes me die in peace?"
"I'm going to start... It won't take long," I said, cutting the subject short before exhaustion could take her.
I pulled from my pockets three small thick glass vials that stored fresh blood. They were the blood of Orochi, Fenrir, and Heimdall. Besides me and Melika, very few warriors had runes made with the combined blood of creatures with such pure magical conductors.
"What is that liquid?" asked Viserys, curious, following my movements.
"This is blood. For the runes to work perfectly, the materials need to be excellent magical conductors."
"And where does this blood come from?"
"From my creatures... A direwolf and an enormous serpent. The latter you've never seen," I said, unable to hold back a small smile as I carefully mixed the contents of the three vials. "She is colossal... I'm sure you would be fascinated. The third vial is from Heimdall, that immense black eagle that flew over the skies here years ago."
"I see..." murmured the king, nodding slowly.
I glanced at Aemma. She was silent with her eyes closed, only her pale lips moving quickly in what I imagined to be fervent prayers to her southern gods. I focused again on the thick red mixture in my hands.
"I believe three runes will be enough. I will carve my best ones on her. But as for the baby that will be born, I am not so sure... From what I remember of my visions, he will be born very weak and fragile."
My bone needle was already filled, and everything was prepared. I began to approach Aemma's feet while continuing my explanation:
"If you truly want your heir to live, as risky as it may seem to the court, I recommend that I carve runes into him as soon as he is delivered. The runes will help him feed and stay strong. An excellent material for the ink would be dragon's blood. I am certain the child will grow strong, since the Targaryens have enormous compatibility with them. My recommendation is that we use Syrax. I believe Princess Rhaenyra can extract a drop or two from the dragon; that will be more than enough."
"You want to mark my newborn baby? You must be a demon," hissed Aemma, opening her eyes and glaring at me with anger. "What do you gain from this? What are you really after with all this profane effort?"
I did not respond to her insults and remained purely practical.
"Choose a place on her body for me to inscribe the runes. I recommend a more hidden spot, like the soles of her feet, or anywhere else you prefer."
"Are you not going to answer my question?" she demanded, in a surprisingly strong tone for her condition.
"Your death impacts many more things in the world than you imagine, Queen. The non-birth of your son could change the course of all of Westeros in the worst possible ways. Now, tell me the place."
"Do it on her feet," decreed Viserys, cutting the mood with a serious and definitive tone.
I nodded and positioned myself. The bone needle began to plunge in and out of the queen's pale skin at a methodical and rapid speed. The sharp tip met no resistance as it traced the symbols.
"Does it hurt?" asked Viserys, squeezing his wife's hand.
"My whole body hurts," Aemma replied, panting. "My belly feels like it's going to explode, the pain down below is unbearable, and my back feels like it's breaking, but on my feet... I barely feel anything."
"It only causes mild discomfort," I clarified, without taking my eyes off the design. "The needle only pierces the superficial layer of the skin and does not reach the flesh... Not when someone experienced is doing it."
The meticulous process continued uninterrupted for another twenty minutes.
"It's done," I announced, pulling my hands back and analyzing the work.
There were three runes precisely carved into the sole. Two of them were directional or "cardinal" runes—a complex magical grouping that possessed four latent functions in a single design, automatically shifting its effect to whatever the body needed most at the moment (such as vitality, resistance, or strength). The third was a common and potent rune of pure vitality, the critical element Aemma was about to need. The cardinal runes already displayed a very faint magical glow on the stroke that was currently active: the pointer fluctuated intensely between Resistance and Vitality.
"It is ready."
"Are you feeling better?" asked Viserys, searching for any sign of hope on her face.
"Nothing has changed," retorted Aemma, panting. "It only served to mark me with this pagan sorcery."
"The runes are actively increasing her vitality, ensuring the body withstands the trauma and heals much faster," I countered, wiping the excess blood from my carving bone. "Now, call the Maester. And, to my absolute disgust, tell him to begin the surgery."
Viserys briefly opened the bedroom door and ordered the guards to fetch Mellos in a hurry.
"And how do you intend to make me feel no pain while he is eviscerating me alive?" Aemma's voice sounded pale and distant.
I looked at the woman with genuine pity in my eyes.
"You are going to be fine... but it won't be as simple as falling asleep."
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.
"You will see."
It didn't take long for the Maester to cross the doors, accompanied by his entourage.
"Is the queen well? What has the wildling done to Your Grace?" Mellos said, rushing over to inspect Aemma. At my request, we had already placed thick socks on the queen's feet, completely hiding the runic secret from the eyes of the Citadel.
"Just begin the procedure," Viserys demanded, with a somber urgency.
The Maester ordered his assistants and the midwives to prepare the cloths and basins of water. He looked at the queen in the bed and whispered:
"I am sorry for this, Your Grace."
Before he could position his hands over her belly, the thunderous sound of something landing on the windowsill echoed through the room. The enormous Heimdall was there. The gigantic black eagle stared at everyone in the room, his sharp talons scratching the stone.
"He will stand guard during the entire process," I warned in an ultimatum tone. "My Queen, I ask that you relax your mind before the blades go into action."
I walked over to a high-backed chair in the corner of the room and sat down, closing my eyes comfortably. The Maester began to speak loudly, shouting frantic orders and voicing irritated opinions about the unacceptable presence of a bird and a northerner in the surgery room, but I decided to ignore him and let Viserys deal with that headache.
There, leaning back in the shadows of the room, I let my spiritual thread flow. The thread of energy, the same golden color as always, projected from my body invisibly and connected to Aemma's sweaty forehead. I then began a completely new process...
This was something I had mastered recently, exploring the capabilities of Huginn and Muninn. Through this mental technique, my ravens filtered the gossip of the Seven Kingdoms and passed on only what was crucial to me, pulling me into what I called the Mental World. There, when I focused my consciousness, I could stand face to face with my creatures or any being with whom I possessed a bond. I could see if they were well and talk to them on a dreamlike plane, as if the barrier of distance did not matter.
However, when I was immersed in that place, the real and physical world became completely muffled. I could snap out of the trance at any moment, but while I was there, I couldn't feel, hear, or have any idea of what was happening around me. I could have my throat slit without even noticing the danger. Therefore, entering the Mental World was a gigantic risk. However, with Heimdall on full guard by my side, I knew that no one would be able to get close to my physical body before the eagle tore them apart or I left the mental world.
The golden thread that I now linked to Aemma's exhausted mind was not to dominate her with warging or force her to be a submissive companion like I did with my creatures. It was merely a rescue duct to temporarily siphon her consciousness. I had already executed this before with Melika, and she had also completely disconnected from physical reality.
And that was exactly my objective with Aemma Targaryen.
To completely disconnect her from the pain of the material world, shielding her soul in my mental refuge so that the maesters could tear open her womb and rip out the child with precision. She would be oblivious to the cut, the agony, and her own spilled blood. And when I noticed, watching stealthily through Heimdall's vigilant eyes, that the brutality had ended and the heir was crying in the king's arms, I would simply dissolve the link, returning her safely to her body in the process of runic healing.