Pre-Chapter A/N: Welcome to September, guys! Let's smash whatever goals we've set ourselves this year. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
He hadn't even been dead for a few hours, and he looked so different already. I knew it wasn't anything physical. It was just like I had seen with Corlys. His animated expressions, his life, wasn't there, and it made all the difference. Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, was dead. And it had happened at the hands of a bastard from the Iron Islands of all people, with poison of all tools. The question then became, what would we do now? We had to tell Viserys. We had to. But then what were the chances that Otto wouldn't whisper something in his ear?
Hightower had hated Daemon more than anyone else, but he would still use his death to secure our doom if he could. But then what choice did we have? I'd considered destroying the body and saying he'd gone, but for one thing, Caraxes was still here. Caraxes, who had been roaring and growling all night according to Laena. He knew his rider was dead, and even if we forced him back to Westeros, he would still know.
"My Lord," Bernard greeted as he walked in. I looked at him.
"What can you tell me about the poison Pate used, Maester?"
"It was some version of the strangler. Made from mixing two local ingredients, both of them different strains of sea moss that call this island home."
"And you've got samples?" I asked. Did I even need to? Of course he did. He wheeled them out, long rolls of green.
"He was careful to clean his room, but he had samples on the ship he intended to escape with."
"How interesting. Did he intend to eat the poison?" I asked.
Bernard looked at me for a second before reaching down to one and pinching it before popping it in his mouth. Ser Ben, my ever-present shadow, made to stop him, but I just watched curiously.
"Either of them are edible on their own. Only by combining them can you get that effect," he said.
"And Pate just happened to know this? A bastard from the Iron Islands?"
"He was clearly somewhat educated. His writing is rudimentary but still good enough that I can tell he had the privilege of a Maester's tutelage at some point. My theory is that someone here—one of the crewmates, maybe—consumed both at once and died from it. It is not unusual for sailors to build an understanding of poisons in their vicinity in that manner," he said. Okay, that made some amount of sense. Yet, it all rubbed me the wrong way.
"Can you answer my own question then, my Lord?" Bernard spoke.
"Shoot," I waved him on.
"His journal indicates a desire to poison you both, and as we can see here, he clearly succeeded somewhat. So how was he able to kill Prince Daemon with his poison, but not you?"
"I retired early last night. Nerves around war, you know," I said. That was the story Laena had said we were going with, so I stuck to it.
"I see. I wonder what the ruckus in the courtyard could have been then," he said leadingly, leaving the rest of his implication to the imagination. I saw Ben's hand go to his sword again from the corner of my eye. I waved him off. Being defensive was no way to disperse suspicions.
"I wonder what it could have been as well. I'll be sure to get to it."
"Maester Bernard, correct me if I am mistaken, but you do have a link in Admiralty, yes?" I asked. And from the way his chest puffed up, that was indeed the right tactic to use. Just like PhDs from my old life, it seemed he couldn't resist talking about his research interests as well.
"Indeed. I studied the famed Arsenal of Braavos as my research project for the last few years of my scholarship. Your father found me indispensable in his attempts to recreate it, you know?" Those had been more my attempts than Corlys', but I said nothing regarding that.
"Then would you escort me as we go examine the boat Pate intended to use to escape? I have a feeling I just can't shake that we have missed something here," I said more than asked. Because phrased as a question or not, this was not one.
"My Lord, I am—" His tone began faux-regretfully. I turned to face him, trying to convey with my eyes that saying no to me on this would be a very bad idea. Something I did must have come across. Well, either that or Ben's presence at my side and the blade that he had begun partially unsheathing did the trick. I'd put my money on the latter.
"—overjoyed at the offer and will enjoy taking the walk with you."
"Excellent," I said, clapping my hands together and pointing forward.
"You can lead the way, Maester."
We must have made an interesting group walking through the castle. The Maester, the formerly poisoned Lord, and the Knight. It sounded like the beginning of a bawdy tavern joke. It would have passed in silence if I were not keen on getting the Maester's measure as we did so.
"So, Maester Bernard, tell me. What was your name before you became Maester Bernard?" I started with the most pressing question.
"We cast off our names to forge our chains, my Lord. My only name is Bernard, and it has been so for longer than you have lived." Ooh, I wondered if I had hit on something there.
"Yes, of course. But if you would satisfy my curiosity, then please do so," I tried again.
"There is no use in it, my Lord."
"The longer you delay, the more you convince me that there is in fact something here worth looking into. If there wasn't, then wouldn't you have already just said the name?"
"If it would please you, my lord. I was born Bernard Redwyne, third son of Lord Hoster Redwyne of the Arbor," he said finally.
"I see then. That would explain the interest in ships and building them," I said.
"Indeed. I got to see the Redwyne fleet from a young age, and it shaped my interests. I wanted to sail one myself, you know? But I was too feeble. In the end, I was little better than a coward with my weak constitution and lack of talent for the martial arts. In the end, I chose the Citadel. If I could not become a great Sailor, then I would exercise my love for ships in another way. I would learn about them as much as I could. If my body was too weak for me to become a Knight, then I would train my mind until I became a Knight of the mind," he said. It all sounded very inspiring, if I was being honest. It was a good story. It almost seemed like House Redwyde hadn't sent a third son into the Citadel to ensure that they would have a spy in another Great House.
I didn't know much about the Citadel's politics, but something told me a son of House Redwyne would never have been sent to a minor house. It was a waste of breeding and education.
"An inspiring story," I said and kept my thoughts to myself as we walked. Daemon's death meant that we would need to change our plans. It was a weight off my shoulders in that I would no longer have to worry much about the promised Kingdom we'd lay at his feet, but it was just one step forward and two back. Instead of worrying about Daemon's mercurial nature, we had to hope Viserys didn't choose to blame us for his brother's death. That would be… unfortunate. Especially with how things stood now in terms of dragons. We had three of them, and House Targaryen had one.
Syrax was smaller than Igneel even, and then we had Meleys and Vhagar on top of him. If I were Viserys, I would see us as his greatest threat, and the options he had were many. In his place, I would betroth Laena to Aegon or Aemond (when he was eventually born. If I had the timeline right, then Alicent would be pregnant by now) and secure the largest dragon to my side. And then after that, he would have one of his children claim Caraxes as quickly as possible. That would surely flip the equilibrium.
And there was nothing we could do about it. If Laena was offered a royal betrothal, Kings were not easily refused. But then I had to trust in Viserys' lack of logic. He would probably put protecting Rhaenyra's claim above common sense here, and if he did that, there was no chance he'd betroth Laena to any of his sons.
Surely, he would anticipate us wanting a queen out of my sister. Securing the most powerful house in the realm's opposition for your heir was a level of braindead I doubted he was capable of. Not even with Otto in his ear.
We reached the boat in a matter of minutes, and then I knelt to examine it. It was made by hand, that was clear enough. My experience making one allowed me to see that much. It was more a raft than a boat, if I was being honest with myself. But how had Pate built this under everyone's nose? I wouldn't accuse us of being the most attentive of people, especially when it came to the serving staff, but I could authoritatively say that there was no chance I had ever run into him on his way out of the castle. What were the chances of that?
"Well, this wouldn't have taken him very far," Bernard said with a hum.
"Indeed. And then that raises the question. Was Pate just an idiot, or was he never supposed to make it all that far in the first place? But that would have meant working with someone. His journal made no mention of that, and considering all the other things he had put down there, I doubted it was because he was scared of being caught." The fact that he had described the feeling of masturbating to a drawing he had made of my mother made me want to bring him back to life to have Igneel roast him to death.
Speaking of Igneel, I could finally hear his wingbeats again. That meant he was close. I didn't need to turn to watch his approach. I just studied the boat as best as I could. It was clearly made by hands that were not too large and not too small either. Like the kind of hands a person in his late teens—like Pate had been—would have. Every single sign pointed at the first explanation. Whether I liked it or not, there was no sign of conspiracy, and that meant only one thing.
I had been careless. I had failed. And today it was fine because Daemon had been the only one to suffer for it, but that would not be the case next time. If I allowed a next time. If I failed to secure and ensure the loyalty of those who served us, then this was practically guaranteed to happen again, and I would not be having it. I felt it when Igneel landed. Both internally through our bond and externally as the ground shook. I turned to him.
He had leaned a bit, losing muscle mass in some places. It was probably to improve his endurance more than anything else, especially considering the long flights we had been taking. I wouldn't take it as a nutrition issue. From what I knew, he and Meleys had turned into expert fishers while we were here. So he had to be getting enough food, yeah.
I turned towards him and reached my hand towards his snout. He was happy to see me. Not just that, he was happy that he had been able to help me in my time of weakness. Happy that I was still here, and now happy that I was up and standing. He wanted us to go flying. We hadn't flown for leisure in so long. He missed it.
I took a deep breath as I stumbled backwards. What had that been? Igneel was watching me with his head tilted to one side. Had those been Igneel's thoughts? They were clear. Very clear. That wasn't normal, was it? Not for us. I usually had to concentrate to tell what he was feeling. Just touching him and being thrust into his mind was jarring. I took a breath and then stepped closer before rubbing his snout again.
He was confused. Wondering why I was behaving so strangely. Was I still recovering from yesterday? I took another breath before I removed my hand. This time, it was more deliberate and less panicked, so Igneel didn't react as strongly to the loss of contact. Okay, that was intense. That was… It had to be him saving me. His magic was in my body now, for better or worse. I'd need some way to control it ahead of combat, though. I could already imagine being sucked into Igneel's battlelust even deeper than ever. Would I be able to maintain control in that situation? Restraint? I doubted it. But we had to figure it out, and ideally before we got shipped off to burn the ships our enemies were using to ferry men intent on taking all that we had fought for from us.
"Maester Bernard," I called to him. There was no need to do so; he was watching Igneel with wary eyes. I placed my hand on my dragon's neck as I stepped to the side so I could face the Maester better. The torrent of emotions and thoughts threatened to pull me under again, but I stood my ground, sending my own thought in return.
Igneel executed perfectly, head snapping to the side where he bathed the beach with his fire. The roar of the flames covered the sound of the sea waves crashing into each other for a second or so. And when Igneel was done with his display, there was a clean line of glassed sand to the side.
"Ser Ben, I'd advise that you step away from the Maester. And Maester, I wouldn't move if I were you. Igneel isn't really the most patient of creatures." Ben wasted no time stepping away, walking off to the side.
"What is the meaning of this, Laenor?" he blustered. It might have been more effective if Igneel could not smell his fear even from here.
"The meaning of this is that I must ensure the loyalty of all who would serve my family. I have suspicions about your order, and now you will either clear them or you will prove them to be valid. If the former, I hope we will be able to continue working together regardless of this unpleasantness. If the latter, then I am sure you can tell what would happen," I said, my hand on Igneel not leaving anything to doubt.
"I am a Maester sworn to Driftmark. My loyalty is beyond reproach. I swore oaths, not just to your Lord Father, but to the castle itself. I swore to serve the Lord Velaryon and every Lord Velaryon after him in perpetuity. If you require me to restate those oaths, then I am more than comfortable with doing so. But this threatening and blustering is not the way to achieve anything." I scoffed once he finished.
"So tell me why then you send reports of what happens in Driftmark to the Citadel," I said. His face remained blank, but Igneel could smell his fear spike when I spoke of reports. When I said Citadel, though, his fear had dipped. Wrong target then.
"I do no such—"
"Not the Citadel then. To your Lord Father? Brother? House Tyrell? House Hightower?" At the last, there was a spike again, but not a large one. I watched his face as well, trying to get any hints from there that I could.
"Otto Hightower? Is that who you send reports to?" Another spike. Correct, but incomplete.
"But I doubt you send them directly. No, you send them through someone," I fished, and Igneel's sensing of his emotions gave me all I needed to know.
"The Grand Maester," I said. Ding, ding, ding. Correct.
"So tell me how you could be loyal to my house while sending reports of our doings to Otto Hightower through the Grand Maester?" I asked.
"I do no such thing, Laenor."
"Do not lie to me again, Maester. I will have Ser Ben search your quarters forthwith."
"Forgive me, my Lord. But the Grand Maester advises the King and the Hand on the rulership of the realm. For him to do this job to the best of his ability, he needs information from across the realm. Is it not understandable that I would give him what information I can from Driftmark to allow him better to advise for the rulership of the realm?" A lie.
"I thought I instructed you not to lie to me again, Bernard," I asked.
"Ser Ben, please break the Maester's arm for me," I said, and Ben, to his credit, did not hesitate to step forward even as the Maester shied away, nearly weeping.
"I am sorry, my Lord. I will tell you everything. Everything you want to know."
"Ser Ben," I called him off. Part of me wanted to break his arm to drive the message home, but he didn't seem like he'd be able to manage a lucid thought in that situation.
"Good, Bernard. Now you will tell me everything I wish to know. If you lie to me, Igneel will have his dinner early, and as I am sure you have already seen, I will know if you lie."
A/N: Guess Laenor can't resist believing a conspiracy or five. Next five chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)(same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.