Cathay stood in front of the mirror, glaring at herself. She had, somehow, become a little lap-dog for the Mistress of Whisperers, despite her precautions against it. Angrily, she snatched up her wig and shoved it on her head. It looked ridiculous and haphazard. She sighed, and collected herself, delicately readjusting it to a more comfortable position. Best not to let her anger get control over her. She remembered reading the records regarding her father. Anger had got to him in the end as well. 

Cathay tied the shawl to her head, completing the disguise. This time, she looked old, a fortune teller hailing from Essos, who's years were long behind her. She didn't want a repeat of the tavern situation. At least this way, drunks would feel less inclined toward pulling her onto their laps.

She would find Gaemon Celtigar near the royal docks, where a flotilla of gold-sailed dromonds were readying for war. The Narrow Sea fleets had already departed to the Stepstones for the campaign, and the Gulttown fleet now took up the patrols, leaving the defense of Blackwater Bay to the royal fleet and the mainland levy flotillas. Ser Gaemon was pacing the length of the docks, shouting orders and kicking recruits into action, sometimes literally. His gold cloak trailed to the floor and his gilded gold armor had been polished to a sheen. 

"I want these ships ready for patrol by tonight, or there will be hell to pay, understood?" A browbeaten row of sailors nodded and Gaemon dismissed them. He turned away from the docks for a moment and began walking through the market stalls that popped up near the shipyards, full with fishmongers and whores and every other kind of merchant selling their wares. Gaemon ducked under a tarp and ordered a bowl of clam chowder, taking off his helm for a moment in this brief respite from his strict routine. 

Cathay, in her disguise, hobbled up to Gaemon, careful to rely on her staff to pull her along. She cleared her throat, and pointed one far too youthful-looking finger at his back. Hopefully, his eyes aren't as observational as hers. "You," she croaked. "You are a mystery, yes? Destiny swirls about you, like a bright typhoon filled of wisdom."

Gaemon turned, a skeptical look on his face. Like his kinsman he was a young man, though of considerably more serious expression, with close-cropped silver hair and a tightly trimmed beard. He snorted, "And to find out my destiny, is how much? Ten coppers? Twenty?" Gaemon was an experienced Kingslander, and already suspected some manner of grift. 

"Ah," muttered Cathay. "You are clouded, far too long, by Westerosi pretenders. They do not see destiny, in the way true maegi of the east do. To give a destiny is its own reward, and I ask no coin or treasure to apply my gift. Now give me your palm."

The Captain arched an eyebrow in surprise, "Maegi you say? I suppose there's no harm in trying." He took off one leather glove and held out a weathered palm to the supposed wise woman, "Tell me what you see, maegi." 

Cathay fiddled around with Gaemon's hand, prodding and poking, the way she saw many of her underground connections do. She had no idea what it meant, and she hoped that this captain had similar experience. "In the palm, I see many things," she crooned, continuing to play around with his outstretched hand. "I see your past, your future, and into your mind. Let me in, young man. Let me in." Then, she leapt back in feigned shock. "I detect dark thoughts within your mind. A conspiracy, of the largest degree. I feel it striking the hearts of the courts across the world, reaching even the high perch of the royalty. Tell me, tell me of this conspiracy. Confession, as those who taught me have said, is a cleansing of the mind."

Gaemon recoiled in shock, pulling his hand away from the woman, "How do you know about..." 
The Captain snarled and reached for the woman again, gripping her wrist tightly, "What is this? Witchcraft? Or espionage? What do you know? Tell me what you know!" One hand drifted along his belt, reaching for his cudgel. 

Cathay's eyes darted around the room. There was no escape, or at least no obvious one. It took all of her willpower not to shriek and slap him in the face. "I only know what I see in your mind. Relax yourself, I am not the enemy. Be at peace . . . " She reached up to clasp his other hand in hers. "Nothing to worry about. I am in body only a woman of many years. Now . . . you may speak your mind here, free of betrayal. Go ahead, it is not often I can entertain one who will end his life a royal, after all."

Gaemon's grip slackened, his features becoming less hostile and more curious. He eyed her and said, "A royal you say? You see this in my future? Tell me what else you see." Gaemon's inquiry was earnest, eager of an answer. 

"I must hear it from you, for the . . . delicacies to take effect," Cathay whispered. "Tell me, have you a child? Perhaps one of a family with the king? Has fate given you that gift?"

The Captain straightened saying, "My children are no royals. But there is one... a cousin of mine. She carries a Prince's seed in her. The first Celtigar and Targaryen child in hundreds of years. Tell me, is this child how fortune takes a turn for us?" 

"Tsk tsk. Fortune is a fickle creature, giving with one hand and taking with the other," continued Cathay, squeezing Gaeron's hand. "However, you are still too tense. Many soldiers have come to me, asking their fates, but such will never be if they are coiled tight as a snake." This was further emphasized by a hard squeeze of his hands.

Gaemon visibly tried to relax, "Very well. I suppose I was a bit tense." He took a calming breath and said, "Do you see anything else at all? Any hint of what may come of this child?" 

Cathay silently groaned to herself. She was getting nowhere dancing around the subject like this. "I see . . . this child. Names, he has many, truth, he has none. I see . . ." she gasped, and let go of his hands. "Gold. Upon his fair head, rests a band of dark and red. Around him swirls darkness and secrecy! It seems the fair child has many enemies, so many above and below. Who is this child, truly? The secrets hide him so."

Gaemon seemed enraptured by the seer's vision, convinced he was witnessing a telling of the future and not the deception he had intitially suspected, and he worked his mouth trying to say something, "He will be a prince. Like his father. And if your visions are correct, he will be a king as well. A king with Targaryen and Celtigar blood. The blood of Jonquil Celtigar and Aemon Targaryen." 

"But the enemies! Forget not the enemies! There is another, an old man, weary of his place and his world. He will seek to crush this child! His name I have never heard, but he too wears the dark and the red! Away, warrior! Defend your child, for the old will swallow the new!"

Gaemon stepped back, disturbed and said, "What do you mean? Does this man seek the child's death?" He ignored the shop keep telling him his chowder was ready and was wholly focused on the wise woman before him. 

"Death, I know not. But perhaps, before I go on, you should rest. The mind needs fate, but not more than the body needs food. Drink, and let us continue." Cathay allowed herself a wan smile at that. She had always been . . . generous with this particular soup merchant. She didn't know the specifics of the contents within the chowder, but she knew too well what it did to people. Slight hallucinations, just outside the corner of their vision. A temporary dulling of the mind, and a strange desire to speak the truth and to put trust in those around them. "Drink, young warrior. You will need it." 

Gaemon absentmindedly took the chowder and took a long swallow. After a few moments he jumped in fright, reaching for his cudgel and turning but finding nothing. He shivered and his movements seemed more lethargic, not the motions of a trained soldier so much as a drunkard, "What is happening? Is... this some magic?" He gritted his teeth and held his head in one hand, "I feel strange." 

"Perhaps that is your body, for so long ready at battle, now finally allowing itself to feel content. Do you feel content? No doubt you do." Now, this was her chance! "But something tells me you are keeping a truth from me. Do you want to do that? No, that would be silly. Tell me this truth, perhaps it would help the connections between the now and the later."

Gaemon sat down and leaned against one of the market stalls, ignoring the cursing of one of the shopkeeps as he said, "Yes there is something. I know little, and only have suspicions. But I was at Claw Isle a few moons past, helping train the navy levies. My uncle had a visitor, a hooded man who did not show his face. He arrived in the dead of night to speak with Lord Ardrian and once he did, my uncle took him into his solar to speak with him, and they did not emerge by the time everyone was abed. The next morning, he was gone. This man... there was something about him. But a few months after he visited, I hear this news of Jonquil bearing a Prince's son. I think there is a connection." 

"Indeed . . . nevertheless, you have done well. Both for this child and yourself. You will have a long life of few regrets, and will go far in life. I bid you good eve." And with that, Cathay stood up, and hobbled out of the soup tent. The Mistress of Whisperers would want to hear this. More importantly, her brothers will need this for when their reascension comes.