A Thousand Year Voyage- Chapter 37

Despite several days having passed since the announcement, Jaime still felt as though he were caught inside a dream. Not a bad dream—just the kind that didn’t make much sense, where everything felt real and impossible all at once.

Somehow—and he still didn’t quite understand how—he had become a page. Ser Moongrum’s page.

It was, of course, the best thing that could have happened to him. After all, Ser Moongrum was easily the greatest knight Jaime had ever known. The man had only stayed in Casterly Rock for a short while, yet in that time he had made every other knight in the keep look dull by comparison. His strength was unreal—he could disarm everyone in Casterly Rock—be it Ser Harys, Ser Harold or Ser Myles—in three moves or less. He was also knightly in his behaviour, Ser Moongrum always courteous and polite, the man humble yet confident in his skill.

Before, as the knight had been staying at Casterly Rock, he had trained Jaime a little—showing him how to parry, how to parry, and how to parry again. It had all been about parrying, really. Moongrum said that the best swordsmen didn’t swing their swords, they simply waited for the enemy to swing theirs. Still, that had just been a visiting knight entertaining a noble scion.

Now, though—now it was real.

He was paging. Officially.

And even though he was happy—so happy that he could barely keep still—he couldn’t help but wonder why.

Knighthood was the only part of noble life Jaime had ever cared for. So, of course, he knew how pages were supposed to work. He was meant to serve under one of his father’s bannermen—a Crakehall, maybe, or a Westerling—or perhaps a sworn knight.  Not under a foreign knight who had appeared out of nowhere.

When he’d last asked Father about paging, Jaimie nearing the proper age, Father had said he was “waiting for the right knight.” He hadn’t said who that knight was, though. But that was before the Inbetweeners arrived, before Ser Moongrum ever set foot in Casterly Rock. So, surely, he couldn’t have been who Father had been waiting for.

And yet, after the Highgarden tourney, a letter had come, one sent by Father. As stated there, Ser Moongrum had apparently requested to take Jaime as his page, something the knight himself later confirmed. Jaime hadn’t seen the letter himself, his mother not sharing anything, but something bad must have happened during the tourney as well, as she was grinding her teeth the entire time. 

Still, she’d agreed in the end. She’d even said it was “a great opportunity,” though somehow she didn’t feel very happy, forcing the words through a clenched jaw.

Jaime hadn’t understood any of it. Not even a little.

Wasn’t this good?

He was going to train under the greatest knight alive. Ser Moongrum could beat anyone. He was strong, calm, and impossibly fast. What could possibly be wrong with learning from someone like that?

Mother didn’t tell him.

In the end, Jaimie had been put aboard the ship that would carry him from Casterly Rock—Wisdom of the Moon.

Well, calling it a mere ship felt wrong. The word was far too small. He had been on a ship before—Father once took him to Lannisport to sail one. But this one was something else entirely.

He’d seen its silhouette from the Rock’s windows, easily noticing the shape like a floating fortress in the city far below that glittered in daylight. But standing beneath it in the Lannisport’s harbor was even more striking, Jaimie having to crane his neck just to see its topmost decks.

It was so huge that it made the Lannister fleet nearby look like toys.

Onboard, the Wisdom of the Moon was stranger still. Numerous floors—one stacked upon another—were filled with endless corridors and chambers, each of a different size and purpose. A strange hum could be heard while traversing the vessel, the faint sound strange yet comforting.

The entire ship was filled with people and monsters both, though Jaimie couldn’t tell when one stopped and the other started.

Men in long robes and smooth stone masks. Towering giants without bellies—trolls, they were called—sitting patiently in the larger of the halls. Wolves, no, direwolves prowled the decks, their riders pale women. Jaime had even seen a red wolf once, large as a horse and with red fur, resting in the distance.

And everywhere—everywhere—there was magic.

Light came from hovering orbs instead of torches. The air was always warm. Even the rooms seemed to clean themselves. What to Jaime felt like something out of a fable was, to the Inbetweeners, entirely normal.

Apparently — something that now felt obvious in hindsight — it had been decided that Jaime would travel with the Inbetweeners for a time. Ser Moongrum had accepted him as his pupil, but the knight was also sworn to protect Queen Rennala—the tall, pale, and somewhat scary ruler from the Lands Between, who had lost her mind and whom Mother hadn’t liked at all.

And since Ser Moongrum served Queen Rennala, it meant he couldn’t stay at the Rock. Which meant that Jaime couldn’t either.

Surprisingly, Father had agreed to let him go with the Inbetweeners. Jaime didn’t know the exact terms—whether he would be Ser Moongrum’s page for years or just until the inbetweeners finished their task in King’s Landing—but he was sure it had already been negotiated, with terms full of words he wouldn’t understand.

And so, here he was.

Without Mother. Without Cersei.

Mother’s absence wasn’t that strange- she left from time to time in the past, not to mention she had been focusing on little Tyrion since his younger brother’s birth.

But Cersei—Cersei had never been away from him for long. Not truly. As she liked to say, they were one heart in two bodies.

The Rock had been loud the day it was decided he would leave. Cersei had shouted at Mother, calling her cruel for sending Jaime away. She had shouted at Jaimie, calling him cruel and foolish for agreeing, for wanting to leave her behind.

Jaime had tried to explain, to tell her it was a chance to become a great knight and he would be back soon anyway, but she’d only cried harder, which made him cry too.

Still, in the end, she had forgiven him.

Sort of.

Apparently, she’d found a distraction that made their parting easier to bear. One of the Inbetweeners had been teaching her archery for a while. Cersei had told Jaime that the woman, whom she called “that impertinent barbarian,” had declared it would be a “disgrace” to leave before teaching Cersei how to “shoot straight.”

Cersei had said it angrily, but there had been a little smile tugging at her lips when she did, which made Jaime glad. He hadn’t asked whether Mother already knew about that arrangement, though. Something told him it was wiser not to.

Still, everything felt oddly empty without his sister, Jaimie alone on the ship.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

The Martells of Dorne were passengers too, using the Wisdom of the Moon to return home since its route would take it past their lands. Jaimie hadn’t interacted much with Princess Obella yet, but Elia, his betrothed (word that still felt strange), had spoken to him once or twice. She was nice and patient, but just like in Casterly Rock, there wasn’t much for them to talk about, so their conversations were rather short. Her brother Oberyn, however, was much easier to talk to. He was loud, always laughing and seemingly unafraid of anything. Jaime liked Oberyn.

The biggest surprise, though, was that Uncle Gerion was aboard as well.

Apparently he had spent most of the last few weeks chatting with the inbetweeners in Lannisport and, for some reason, absolutely had to join them on their journey to King’s Landing. Mother had been furious upon finding out—there had been a long argument between them behind closed doors—but Uncle Gerion had come anyway.

When Jaimie asked why, Uncle Gerion had simply told him that he had something important to discuss with the inbetweeners’ ruler—Lord Hadwyn Caria. But when Jaime asked what that meant, his uncle had only laughed and ruffled his hair, telling him to be patient.

Now the Wisdom of the Moon was sailing southward along the coast, heading toward Oldtown to collect Inbetweeners from there, as apparently some of them had settled there. The voyage itself was rather peaceful besides that one time when Princess Obella had come down from the bridge muttering something about “fishmen following the ship again.” She’d laughed afterward, but it hadn’t sounded like real laughter. Jaime, curious and slightly thrilled, had leaned over the railing for half an hour afterward, staring into the green-blue waters below, but the sea was looking like it always did.

So, in the end, he decided it must have been a joke after all.

Since leaving Casterly Rock two days ago, Jaime himself had spent most of his time exploring the ship or training with Ser Moongrum.

The knight was patient but demanding. His fighting style was strange—every movement deliberate and graceful, the knight’s technique relying on reading the opponent’s movements almost as much as it did on a proper form.

No matter how much Jaime tried to copy him, he never quite managed it. Ser Moongrum told him not to worry—learning a new way to fight took time. Still, Jaime couldn’t help but frown every time he failed to raise his shield in time or deflect a blow.

Now, this morning, Jaimie was hurrying to meet Ser Moongrum again.

After all, the knight had promised a special lesson.

Jaimie’s teacher had been rather vague about what the lesson entailed, but it was supposedly going to be something quite different from everything Jaimie had learned so far—something perhaps even more important than parrying.

Jaime wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded exciting. Especially given the knight’s obsession with parrying.

He dashed along one of the upper decks, the faint hum of the ship’s strange power vibrating beneath his boots like a heartbeat. Around him, beings of every shape and size went about their work or simply rested leisurely.

He found Ser Moongrum waiting near the western railing.

The knight stood tall and still, gazing out at the endless blue of the sea. Sunlight played across the engraved metal of his armor, tracing every line and swirl as if the light itself admired the craftsmanship. His sword rested at his hip, his shield on his back. Only his head was bare—hair and beard the color of chestnut wood, eyes the bright blue, his helm was tucked under one arm.

As if sensing Jaime’s arrival, Ser Moongrum turned, his cape stirring. When he saw the boy, a small smile curved his mouth.

“Hello, Ser Moongrum,” Jaime said quickly, straightening his back and trying to sound grown-up and knightly, the boy trying to show a proper respect to his new teacher.

“Hello, Jaime,” Moongrum replied, his voice calm. He’d been calling him Lord Lannister in Casterly Rock, but had stopped after taking him as a page as the nature of their relationship changed to one of the teacher and his student. Jaimie rather liked it. “Are you ready for your lesson?”

“Yes!” Jaime said, a little too loudly, almost bouncing on his feet.

The knight nodded once, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and turned away from the sea, waving at the boy to follow. Jaime hurried after him, half-walking, half-skipping to match the long, confident strides of his teacher.

Normally, Ser Moongrum preferred to train on the upper decks—under open sky, in the open. But today, their path led inward, to the ship’s interior, the change most likely due to the lesson’s unique nature.

Jaime couldn’t help but feel a shiver of anticipation.

The longer they walked, the quieter the corridors became, the pair leaving the busy decks as they ventured deep inside the ship. Jaime could feel the ship’s heartbeat more clearly here, the vibration faintly humming in his bones.

After what felt like an age, they reached a door—taller than two men, made of dark, polished wood. Its surface gleamed faintly and was carved with intricate markings Jaime couldn’t decipher. He hesitated, unsure where this door might lead, but Ser Moongrum said nothing. The knight simply raised one gauntleted hand and pressed it against the wood, the door giving way without a sound.

Jaime’s eyes widened as he saw what was inside.

Beyond lay a room whose purpose he recognized at once—and yet not at all.

It was a library, but nothing like the one in Casterly Rock. Not even close.

Rows upon rows of shelves climbed toward impossible heights, each filled with books bound in every color imaginable—black, green, gold, and deep violet. Ladders moved around them of their own accord, gliding smoothly along their rails as if guided by invisible hands. Strange blue crystals jutted from the walls and floor in a few places, spilling a gentle light that pulsed in time with the ship’s hum.

Desks were scattered across the vast chamber—some of a normal size, some oddly small and some clearly built for beings far taller than any man. Upon them lay open tomes, scrolls, and bizarre devices that clicked, spun, and whirred softly to themselves, their purpose unknown to Jaimie.

Figures in long robes moved silently between the aisles, their faces hidden behind stone masks carved into the likeness of human features—the effect realistic yet oddly haunting. And towering among them were beings of solid stone: giants whose elongated limbs and chiseled faces made them seem like they were sculpted rather than born. Their appearance was grotesque, and yet they acted like scholars, holding quills delicate as needles between fingers of granite as they carefully traced letters across scrolls and pages.

Only then did Jaime notice the ceiling—and froze.

It wasn’t a ceiling at all.

It was another floor.

Above, people walked and worked upside down, their desks, shelves, and books somehow clinging to the surface without falling. Lamps hung like stars between the two halves of the chamber, illuminating both sides equally. It was like looking at a surface of the water and seeing a reflection of the surrounding, but in this case the reflection was real, the scene above unshackled to the scene below.  

Jaime stared, his mouth half-open.

He wanted to ask a dozen questions all at once—about the blue crystals, the upside-down ceiling, the living stone creatures—but then a dreadful, terrible thought bloomed in his mind, smothering every other question.

“…Ser Moongrum,” he said finally, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“Yes, Jaime?” The knight’s tone held the faintest trace of amusement, as though he already knew what the boy was about to ask.

“…Why are we in a library?” Jaime asked slowly, apprehension coloring every word. “Weren’t we supposed to train?”

He didn’t like libraries, though he had only been in two before. Or rather, he didn’t like books. They were heavy, they needed reading, and they were always so boring.

He liked swords. They made sense.

“Why, Jaime,” Ser Moongrum said mildly, the smallest of smirks touching the edge of his mouth. “We are here to train. We are here to train your mind, to be specific.”

Jaime blinked, his heart sinking at the realization, but before he could say anything, the knight already began to guide him into the library, stopping before a wide desk near the center of the chamber.

Upon it, arranged with unnerving precision, lay a neat stack of books. Several were alarmingly thick, their spines cracked from long use. Their covers loomed like tiny fortresses, warding off all joy.

Those books looked dangerous. Not in the way swords were dangerous—but in the way that promised a slow, painful death by boredom.

“When I trained you at Casterly Rock,” Ser Moongrum began as he approached the desk, his tone instructional, “you were not truly my page. As such, my guidance then was only provisional—merely a few simple techniques, just enough for you to understand the parrying’s allure. But now, you are my pupil in full. Which means your lessons must begin properly. Every knight’s training begins with foundations, Jaime—and it’s especially true when it comes to Carian Knights.”

Jaime stood stiffly, staring at the books as though they were about to leap at him.

“…But I thought you were going to teach me how to fight like you,” he said at last. His voice cracked slightly, the words coming out half-pleading, half-accusatory, the boy’s desperation clear.

“I plan to.” Ser Moongrum replied simply, as though it was obvious. His tone was calm, patient—and, worst of all, completely serious. “Everything you are about to learn is part of my fighting style. You cannot fight like me if you know only how to swing a sword or lift a shield. True parrying—the kind that matters—goes beyond instinct. Beyond just the mundane. It requires knowledge: of motion, of weight, of balance. Of physics. Of mathematics. Of astronomy.”

Jaime’s brow furrowed, his tone confused “…Astronomy?”

“Yes,” Ser Moongrum said, unbothered by the boy’s disbelief. “Even without delving into the sorceries—those would be far too complex for you yet—the heavens guide all things. The tides, the winds… even the rhythm of battle.”

He reached down and selected one of the tomes: a great, blue volume bound in leather that shimmered faintly in the light. Gold constellations had been stitched into its cover, tiny stars glimmering. The knight opened the book gently, turning its pages with gauntleted fingers.

“Now,” Ser Moongrum said, his voice taking on that unmistakable tone of a man about to begin a lecture. “We will start with the basics. I have had these translated into your tongue, though I admit the language of your realm lacks some of the terms used. I will explain those myself when it’s needed. As you can see here—”

Jaime leaned forward, only to immediately regret it.

The page looked as if someone had taken a spider, dipped it in ink, and let it run wild. Circles overlapped circles, strange shapes tangled together, and lines ran from one to the other in endless, dizzying loops.

Whatever was in the book, that might have been written in High Valyrian for all he could make sense of it.

Ser Moongrum began explaining — something about celestial bodies— but the words rolled past Jaime like waves, the boy’s eyes glazing over halfway through the sentence. He nodded once, very slowly, pretending to understand, but he really didn’t.

He looked down at the page again. Then up at his teacher. Then back at the page. Then back again.

Nothing made sense.

This wasn’t what he had imagined when he dreamed of being a page. In his dreams there were swords and tourneys and shining armor—not thick tomes and long words and drawings.

Jaime slumped in his chair, trying desperately to listen to Ser Moongrum’s lecture. The effort was heroic and futile in equal measure.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, he had been tricked.

That this was all part of Mother’s plan—a clever, horrible scheme to make him study.

***

Partially a standalone chapter, partially epilogue to Casterly Rock arc.