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Barth's Whisper: HOTD SI Ch.1
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 11:19:55 +0000 UTCChapter 1
Jaehaerys had never seen his friend and confidante in such a state. The ever-pious, dutiful, and subservient Barth stood there in front of him, his entire being filled with guilt.
“Why do you wish to resign?” he asked.
Barth’s eyes remained rooted to the ground as he answered,
“Because I have sinned...”
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MAEGELLA TARGARYEN-96 AC
The end was near for Maegella Targaryen. She could feel it. Death had come for her, bringing with it a strange sense of relief.
After years and years of pain and agony, death was finally here. She was no stranger to death, and had spent years surrounded by it. The death that came for her was not the kind and timely death that came for old men, with long, happy lives, whose lives would end without much pain as their breaths would halt in sleep.
No. Not that kind of death.
This was the cruel death that she had witnessed swallow thousands. The kind that claimed children, screaming, writhing in pain, some even praying for the Stranger’s touch to finally take them.
A gift she could not give, no matter how much she loved them.
These were not common children. No, they were abandoned—left by their families, the maesters, even the Faith of the Seven. All because of one merciless affliction.
Greyscale.
To this day, no Maester had found a cure for this ailment, and even now, the disease was a promise of death itself. If the disease afflicted then a thousand men, it was certain to kill all but one and sometimes even that.
Even grown men feared it more than sword, arrow, or poison, and would often end their lives rather than subjecting themselves to its horrors at the first sign of the disease. The children, however, were not that smart and knew not what awaited them.
Their families, though, knew and would often abandon them at the first sign of disease.
Then they would be betrayed by the Maesters, and even by the Septas' faith of the Seven, for none would dare help them due to the fear of contracting the disease.
She was much older when she learned of them—of these children sentenced to death, all huddled together in dark, damp places at the edges of the city. All of them, confined to these large buildings like cattle, with the doors and windows bolted, as their captors waited for them to succumb to their illness.
And once she had looked inside one such building, she could not look away again.
Though most septas may be helpless in the face of this disease, the condition of those children could do little to help them, even if they wanted to, because of a lack of resources. Maegella Targaryen was no ordinary Septa. She was a Princess, one born of the dragonlords of old Valyria, and was the daughter of the Conciliator himself.
She was unlike her sisters and brothers, those who had children of their own. She was a Septa sworn to the faith. She would bear no children, she had none to carry her legacy, for no child would be born of her womb.
So, as she saw the miserable situation of those abandoned children, she decided to make them her legacy. She decided to help those who had no one to help them.
Many had tried to dissuade her. Even her own mother and father had begged her to change her mind, but Maegella had found her calling. And she may be a septa, but she was just as stubborn as they were. She knew they feared for her life, yet she could not abandon these children—Not after she had seen their suffering with her own eyes.
And so, the funds had come, and a building was made for these children as she began to care after them, trying to beat back the disease that all thought incurable. She learned of the various methods used by the Maesters to treat the disease and employed them over the years.
Yet hope remained scarce.
And every day, as she saw another child succumb to this damned illness, she felt a part of her die with them. She prayed as much as she could. She begged the Gods to ease their suffering and bless them as they held her hands and begged her for hope and relief.
Yet she was helpless. A Princess, she may be, she could do little but offer prayers at their side, and watch helplessly as the light vanished from their eyes. Hundreds she saw to their deaths, and now it had come for her.
She had gotten afflicted with the disease herself a few moons ago, and yet had continued with her work. Only now, for the last few days, she had stopped working, as the pain got too much and she found it impossible for herself to get out of bed.
And as she experienced for herself what the children in front of her had gone through, she wept into the nights and prayed for forgiveness and mercy. She wept at their bravery and at their misfortune and felt awe at their courage for not giving up.
While she lay there in her room waiting for her death, she was disturbed from her slumber by shouting and screaming coming from outside.
“LET ME GO! LET ME GO!” she heard a young voice scream as two others tried to stop this young boy.
“I WILL SEE HER! I WILL SEE HER NO MATTER WHAT!” and it was his voice, she recognised. As she heard that, her heart swirled with both hope and remembrance.
“I AM NOT SCARED OF THIS DAMNED DISEASE! I HAVE BEATEN IT ONCE AND I WOULD GLADLY DO SO AGAIN!” and she fought through the pain and rose from the bed and pushed herself towards the window.
She watched as the guards fought back against a young boy and tried to keep him out of the building where death and disease hung thick in the air.
“Let him in,” she whispered, and perhaps it was the Gods that carried her words to the ears of the guards, who looked up towards her as she pointed towards the door and nodded, speaking once more.
“Let him in,” she added, and saw them nod as the young boy rushed past them. The sound of his steps filled the building, and just as she reached her bed once more to sit down, the doors to her room swung open again and a young boy walked in.
“Mother Maegella,” he called her, and it was the name many a child had taken to calling her. Mother. And the words filled her with warmth, for she knew that they cared for her just as one would for a mother.
And though none of them had come from her womb, they were her children nonetheless—all of them.
Including the boy who stood in front of her. He was young, around the same age as her when she first joined Fate as a novice.
And in all her years of service and work, he was her most prized possession in a way, for he was the only child to live—the only one who had beaten back this perilous disease and had lived.
In these years, Maegella had cared for over two thousand children afflicted with greyscale, and of them, he was the only one who had survived. One child out of thousands.
And she saw his eyes widen as they landed on the scabs of dried skin that now covered her arm, reaching up to her face. The extent, she did not know, for she had lost the courage to look into the mirror long time ago.
“I had hoped you would only learn of it after I had passed,” she added, and it had been a prayer as well. For as much as she loved the child in front of her, she knew of the pain and suffering this place held for him.
She had hoped he would move beyond it. Beyond her, as he lived his life. But she should have expected nothing less of him, for Galen was special in more than one way.
“You…” and he tried to approach her, but she stopped him, raising her hand.
“I may have let you come in, but I will have them throw you out if you come any nearer,” and yet he ignored her warnings as he walked to her side and took her hand in his own as a tear slipped down his face.
“I would like to see you try,” he challenged, and she found herself chuckling at his words, seeing his eyes scan the disease’s progression, the working and whirring of his mind visible to her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and the reason was apparent enough.
“Because I knew that you would come,” and as she had suspected, he had come. With no care for his life, he had walked back into this tower filled with death and suffering.
“You had no right to decide that for me,” he raged, and her lips thinned as she caressed his face.
“You call me mother, and yet you question my rights.” his lips quivered at her retort, as he held back his sobs and tears and voiced out his grudge.
“Why have you given up?” That question was both painful and shameful for her.
Maegella had spent years asking little children not to lose hope, asking them to fight until their last breath. And yet a few moons and the disease had sucked the life out of her.
Although there was no treatment for it, various remedies could be tried. Yet she had seen each and every one of them fail a thousand times, and unlike her children, Maegella’s youth and bravery had long been eaten away by the years.
The remedies all came with pain. Too much pain, and Maegella, well into her years, did not wish to endure it. It pained her as she thought of that, but still, Maegella knew herself to be far less brave than the children here.
“Because I can feel it. The stranger comes for me, my boy. He has come, and I must go,” she answered, and as she had expected, he shook his head.
“I refuse,” he raged as he rose up and stared into her eyes. Her blue eyes filled with a burning fire as he spoke with passion.
“I don’t care for the Stranger or any other God for that matter,” and as a Septa and a faithful servant of the Seven, it pained her at some level to see him not believe in her Gods.
And yet it would never lessen her love for him, all for she knew that he was truly a blessed child, one who was meant to do great things, greater than even she could imagine.
Galen was no ordinary boy. And she did not speak of it because he had recovered from the wretched ailment of Greyscale. No, he was special even before that. His mind was unlike anything she had ever seen, sharper and faster than any man thrice his age.
He knew more about this world and its workings, including how it rained, why the skies were blue, what caused wounds to rot and fester, and so much more.
She had never learned how he knew it all. Yet he knew and could learn even more. It was why she had asked the Citadel to care for him after his healing, hoping that he would forge a chain and live a long and prosperous life.
“You helped me defeat it. Helped me live and survive. Now, let me do the same for you,” he added.
And the boy had gone beyond her hopes, his interest in diseases had made it so that he was the youngest in history to forge a chain, healing being his first link. And the most important, according to his own words.
“I am tired, Galen,” she answered with a broken smile before she began to cough again, quickly reaching for the cloth beside her bed as blood came out with her spit.
“You were young and spry and filled with life,” she began again in a raspy breath as she looked at his white face and brown hair, and those familiar brown eyes.
“I am old and tired...” she pleaded.
“...and have seen too much suffering. Let me go, child,” she spoke softly, and saw him shaking his head indignantly.
“I cannot. I have ideas, new ideas —better ideas. Let me try. I could help you! I could heal you...” he offered, and she did not doubt that. He had been part of the Citadel for but half a year and already had a chain forged.
Though he did not need the chain. Even as a child, he was filled with ideas, and he had helped her treat many boys, even as he was afflicted with it himself. In a way, he was her true child. Her real successor.
Her real son.
“Death has come for me, Galen,” she spoke clearly.
“I would much rather spend what little time I have praying and talking with you than with a healer, even you, cutting into my body,” she asked him, and saw his lips thin as tears continued to drip down his face.
“No...” he shook his head as he wiped away his tears, but she could see the acceptance in his shoulders as they shook. She could see it in his hands and in his lips as he stood there crying, and a tear ran down her face.
“Come sit with me,” she offered as she was reminded of her days of the past when she would ask him to do the same.
“And tell me about your days,” she asked as she pointed towards a chair, which he reluctantly took.
And so, he told her of his day, just as he did as a child. He told her about his chain, his work, and how the Maesters were surprised by his wit and knowledge. They tried to question him and prove him wrong, yet failed as he demonstrated his prowess.
‘Fools,’ she thought. She felt proud, like a mother, as she heard of him proving them all wrong and forging his first link, and then another and another.
And at that moment, she felt a deep sense of contentment. And wondered if this was how being a mother felt.
And they talked late into the night and into the early morning.
And as she lay there, she felt it, the Stranger’s presence, as a sobbing Galen held her hand.
“Cry not, my child. I go back into the Mother’s embrace, to a place far kinder than this,” she assured him as he closed his eyes and continued to sob as she coughed up once again.
“Know that whatever you choose to do with your life, I will be proud of you. Always,” she added, and saw him nod.
“And if the words you spoke to me on that day are really the truth,” she added, the words had lingered in her mind ever since that day. On the day he had nearly died, he had entrusted her with a secret about the wrong her family had done to him, and yet despite the pain her own kin had caused him, he had shared with her his greatest secret.
One that could decide the fate of the Targaryen family. And she felt him still at her words as she added with a single tear running down her face, as the shadows began to creep in.
“Save them… if you can… give them one… chance…”
She coughed again and felt relief run down her spine as she saw him nod, and then she felt the darkness, as pain took over her.
It was as if her body was waiting for that promise as she felt her eyes darken and close as his screams grew softer and softer.
“I..beg......”
And so died Maegella Targaryen, daughter to a King, sister to a Prince, and mother to a thousand dead children.
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Comments
IceAir
I only know GOT and HotD through fanfics and wikis. So recently, I just read Barth's wiki. Why is he not more prominent in HotD fanfics? His wiki read like he was 2 steps from being a wizard, the faith of the seven being the thing holding him back.
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and I am curious to see where this goes. I do hope for a Vaegon SI one day. It would be hilarious if Vaegon became the Black Dragon of the era somehow. Anyway, let's see how the SI will do and outdo everyone. Great job as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Hedgeboar
I can't wait to see him out maester the maester
Hamza Ikram
Hahaha. I never left. ;)
Beta117
Back to Westeros are we?
