The huge double door to the conference room opened, and Ragaleon stepped in. His hands were crossed behind his back as he strolled into the room with big strides, his gaze fixed ahead.
The members of the small council rose to their feet and bowed their heads in courtesy as he approached the table.
Ragaleon took his seat, and the rest of the small council followed suit.
"What do you all have for me today?"
He asked, leaning back on his chair at the head of the table. His haughty eyes darting from one person to another.
Drigo was the first to rise to his feet. He was wearing a plain white robe belted at the stomach.
"Kyron has succeeded in overthrowing Nehoviah…just like I had predicted."
Drigo began, then paused. His eyes flashed at Josiah, but he quickly withdrew it and then continued.
"Kyron is coming for us next, although it is still uncertain." He added before taking his seat.
Priest Tailbon tapped his finger on the long oak table before steadily rising to his feet.
"Pardon me, your highness, if I am being too plain, but we brought this upon ourselves."
Ragaleon arched his brows.
"The realms are becoming divided every passing day; each kingdom swore loyalty to each other to keep the peace…" He was still talking when Josiah interrupted.
"Unfortunately, nowadays kings no longer keep to their words. We can no longer weigh out respect owed to what sprouts out from their lips." Josiah said bluntly, and the room became silent.
Everyone turned in his direction, including Ragaleon.
"You all know what I mean; I am not referring to you, my lord." Josiah said, clearing the air as he turned to Ragaleon.
Tailbon shrugged lightly.
"For the first time, I might actually agree with Josiah. Where are all our loyal allies? A lot of kingdoms swore loyalty to us; are their words nothing more than water upon a rock?"
"You have made your point, Tailbon; sit down." "Ragaleon," he said in a harsh tone.
"We can't always rely on our allies; they are feeble-hearted. Easily swayed by their own blindness to discern between right and wrong."
Ragaleon said, pushing his chair backwards, and he rose to his feet.
"A lot of kingdoms swore fealty to us, but we can't condemn them for not living up to their words. We also have ignored other kingdoms we swore loyalty to."
"Like Nehoviah."
The Grandmaester cuts in sarcastically. Ragaleon shot him a deadly glare.
"Is there anything you would like to say?" Ragaleon asked the grandmaester, who was now stroking his beard.
"We could have proven our loyalty if we had come to Nehoviah's aid when Kyron struck." The Grandmyaster retorted.
"By then it would have been too late; Nehoviah fell because of Titran's foolishness. The household of Ashram has been wiped off from the surface of the earth… for good." Brandon added rashly.
"All but one… Queen Tamina is still a living testament." The Grandmaester shot back.
Josiah lets out mocking laughter.
"What is funny?"
Drigo question peering at Josiah.
"We are here to discuss how to improvise for the betterment of this kingdom, not to counter each other's points." Josiah said, then turned to look at the grandmaster.
"Pardon my harsh words, but I think it is high time some of the members of this council were laid back. The younger generations should take over."
Josiah said, glancing at the grandmaster, he was indirectly saying that the Grandmaester was ripened with age and old enough to retire.
Grandmaester Parole was stunned by his words; his frail eyes darted to where Josiah was seated.
Drigo furrowed his brows at Josiah's words. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Ragaleon cut in sharply…
"The council is dismissed."
His voice boomed across the silent room. He made his way out of the conference room elegantly.
The Grandmaester's eyes darted to where Josiah was seated for the second time before he slowly rose to his feet and left.
Drigo glared at Josiah for a fleeting moment; he snarled, shaking his head from side to side in disgust.
...…..
Grand Maester Parole was bent low in the outer courtyard, his fingers brushing over the dew-beaded leaves of herbal leaves.
The evening sun barely grazed the thick mazes, so he squinted his eyes to be able to have a better look at the leaves he was plucking.
From behind came the soft patter of slippers against stone. A maid was making her way to where he stood.
In her hands was a tightly wrapped scroll, sealed with wax.
"My lord Grand Maester,"
she said, voice wavering. She extended the scroll to him, and he straightened up.
The old man looked up, his brows furrowed. Then, with a sigh, he wiped the soil from his hands onto his robes and reached out.
The scroll was warm from her grip. He took the scroll, then turned away, raising the scroll in the air, allowing the rays of the evening sun to reflect on it.
His eyes were retarded; he needed the rays of the sun to be able to see what he was about to read.
The maid walked away, leaving him alone to his thoughts.
He rolled the scroll open, and slowly his eyes began to trail the words on the paper. Soon his hands began to tremble, the scroll faltered from his grip, and his mouth breathed out a heavy gasp.
The Grand Maester was a figure weathered by both time and duty.
His robes, once pristine grey, bore the faint stains of herbs and ink, their hems frayed from years of shuffling across stone floors.
Around his neck hung the heavy chain of his order, its mismatched links of iron, silver, copper, and gold gleaming dully in the sun.
His skin was as pale as a dead flower. His eyes, clouded yet sharp, carried the strange duality of a man who had seen too much.
He was like a link to the secrets lying within the walls of the castle. He always has his ears everywhere, but he never says a word.
His hands betrayed wrinkled and knotted by age, marked with old ink stains and burns from spilled experiments.
Despite the stoop of his back and the rasp in his voice, he carried an air of quiet authority. Every gesture, every pause, suggested knowledge too vast for one lifetime.
The fume vault chamber was one of the rarely visited rooms in the castle.
It was Grandmaester Parole's little den, where he did wonders with herbs grown and tended with his own hands.
The Fumevault, a place where the air never seemed clear, only thick with the tang of boiled herbs and the bitter smoke of burning experiments.
The Grand Maester sat hunched upon a stool, reading a large opened book in front of him. Bottles filled with cloudy liquids were clattered on the wooden table in front of him; various herbs were stacked for safekeeping.
There was a small pot bubbling on a fire, the liquid green and slimy. Some lamps were lit up to illuminate the place, but the atmosphere was wrapped up in thick smoke.
Cobwebs hung in the corners where no servant dared sweep.
But the Grand Maester worked on, reading through the book, following every single instruction. He took hold of a leaf, shoved it into a mortar, and began to grind it to powder.
A knock sounded faintly against the heavy oaken door.
He did not turn.
"Come in…."
He said, then coughed violently.
The knob of the door turned, and Drigo walked in. He coughed a few times before finally adjusting to the hazy smoke in the room.
"You work tirelessly; such efforts should be commended." Drigo said, trying to catch a glimpse of Parole through the cloudy smoke in the room.
Parole scoffed, increasing the pace he was using to grind the leaf in the mortar.
"My efforts are never rewarded, only shunned. I am only remembered in the time of court meetings or when someone needs medication." He grunted.
"About what Josiah said earlier…" Drigo was about to say something when Parole cut in rashly.
"He was right. I am too old."
The grand maester said bluntly.
"Josiah is only right when the situation is wrong. He only wanted to spite you; do not let his words get to you."
Drigo said, inching closer.
The grandmaester stopped grinding the leaf in the mortar; he paused, then turned to look at Drigo. He slowly retracted his gaze, reached out for a bottle of brown liquid, poured the liquid into the mortar, and then continued his grinding.
"I have always respected you, Drigo, mostly for the fact that you are reliable, not a coward like Josiah. Do you take me for a fool?"
He said without sparing Drigo a glare; his question stunned Drigo.
"Did I say anything offensive?"
"Do you think I can't see through the pathetic lies you are spewing? I know you do not support Josiah, but let's face it. I have overstayed my welcome in the small council."
"No! The council needs you more than ever; the wisdom of the aged can never be too much."
The grand maester laughed sarcastically.
"Say that to the letter the king sent me. I have been asked to respectfully withdraw from my position in the small council."
He paused what he was doing, then reached out for a scroll tucked away in a broken shelf. He handed it over to Drigo, then brushed past him, making his way to the pot of boiling herbs.
Drigo rolled the scroll open and read through it; after some seconds, his eyes darkened. He couldn't bring himself to read the rest of the letter; his shoulders dropped.
"I know Josiah is a fool, but to think that the king was easily swayed by his words." Drigo's voice was low, laced with annoyance.
"He wasn't swayed by Josiah's words; he already had it in mind but just needed an excuse to execute his plans." Grandmaester Parole said, then dragged in a heavy breath, inhaling the aroma of the herbs.
"I have served the king faithfully; even his father, Harris Clegane, would have testified to my good service. Sadly, my services are no longer needed when it comes to the things that concern the realm."
He added, before turning to look at Drigo.
"Do me a favor and leave the room; I would like to perform an experiment." He said, then turned away.
"When the paths become narrow, one must always seek the wisdom of those with grey hair, because they have seen far more than we have."
Drigo said calmly before putting away the scroll with the written letter.
"It is the King's orders; we can't defy it, we can only submit."
The Grandmaester said before turning to look at Drigo.
Drigo massaged his temples before saying…
"Then I am afraid we will submit ourselves to a deep pit, and the whole realm will suffer for it!