"That Ramsay is a menace, Your Highness," Ser Jorah emphasized, clad in fine leather armor with a green brocade robe embroidered with a standing bear over it.
"Then what is your suggestion, Jorah? To make His Highness completely offend Roose? Don't forget, Bear Island is still in the North." Qyburn frowned slightly, dressed in grey with a direwolf emblem on his chest. "Roose must be aware of that fool's evil deeds, but this is his last son."
"Though Ramsay is indeed foolish and vicious," Qyburn added in his assessment.
Slaughter is a sign of madness, and the population of the North is a scarce resource; a scoundrel like Ramsay will sooner or later drag House Bolton down.
Ser Jorah fell silent. Ramsay's arrogance was also a result of Roose's lax discipline.
"Alright, Ramsay is indeed a menace, but the time to execute him is not now. It will be at a more crucial moment, and I will give Roose an offer he cannot refuse," Gendry said.
Reek has been executed, and Ramsay is already broken. Ramsay is a pervert and a killer, but his death is not now. Gendry wants a Ramsay who fears him more, to bark a few times for him in the North, and then resolutely face death.
"Sooner or later, Roose will be ruined by this son," Ser Jorah asserted. "The Roose I remember was a quiet man; Lord Domeric was his true son. Roose appeared gentle and elegant; he always spoke softly, never raising his voice, forcing listeners to pay close attention. Although Roose was cold, calculating, and ruthless, he at least had a mind and used courtesy as a cover."
"House Stark prides itself on justice, yet cannot fully control its own vassals," Gendry snorted again.
"It's not just Lord Stark; I'm afraid most Lords in the Seven Kingdoms are like this, lording it over their own lands," Ser Jorah said hesitantly. "It's simply that the North is mountainous and remote, and many Lords secretly still adhere to their ancestors' traditions."
"They will sooner or later have to adapt to one King, one contract, one law," Gendry thought. The prerequisite was that he could obtain that cold iron throne at that time. He needed to wait cautiously, like a leopard finding the right moment to hunt.
"Your Highness, there's one more thing. Regarding the tourney we're preparing, I think I should also go and check the safety situation again," Ser Jorah said before taking his leave. There was another lively tourney coming soon in Wolf's Den, which was a grand event.
"You've worked hard, Jorah."
"It is my honor, Your Highness." Ser Jorah felt revitalized; power had brought back the feeling he had in his younger days, rushing to the city walls, enjoying boundless glory.
"Maester Qyburn, how has your research been lately?" Gendry asked Qyburn after Ser Jorah left.
"I am ashamed, Your Highness. My experiments have made no progress; without good consumables, I cannot conduct them," Qyburn said awkwardly. "The Khal who died at your hands has completely turned into rotten flesh; it doesn't meet my requirements."
"Then wait a little longer; I think the Mountain would be a good subject," Gendry suggested.
The best subjects for this type of necromancy are strong and tall warriors; the Mountain, the gladiators of Meereen, and the Khas of the dothraki are all options.
The experiments were not only about the issue of consumables but also about the further surge of the magic tide. Only when the red comet arrived would Qyburn's necromancy experiments have a greater possibility of success.
"Then I wish you an early ascent to that throne. If Tywin falls, no one will care about the dogs he keeps," Qyburn smiled.
"It's too early to say; that iron throne is not just power, but also the responsibility of the Seven Kingdoms," Gendry replied.
"However, although my experiments have not yet succeeded, I have found some other useful information in historical records, concerning bloodlines and power."
Unlike other maesters, Qyburn's attainments in mysticism and magic were profound, even to the point of obsession.
"That is an interesting topic," Gendry told Qyburn to continue.
"Firstly, the Baratheon bloodline; this power originates from Durrendon. Whether it's the resilience of the lineage or sheer strength, the power is inherited within the bloodline," Qyburn said. "Generation after generation."
After all, this is Westeros; ancient noble houses spanning a thousand years are plentiful: Hightower, Stark, the Baratheon who took over Durrendon, Lannister. Certain miracles and bloodlines seem understandable.
"I can feel it," Gendry said. Among all his bloodlines, only the Storm's Blood was the most potent and active. His other bloodlines had not yet shown any miracles or enhancements.
"The Baratheon bloodline can manifest in ferocity and strength, like a storm at sea. the mad storm, King Robert, and that comical Lord Borros, who wavered during the Dance of the Dragons but was also a fierce warrior on the battlefield. Severely wounded, Borros slew twelve knights, along with Lord Roland Dondarrion and Lord Jorah Mallister, before engaging Lord Kermit, but ultimately perished beneath the Morningstar of Lord Tully."
"But it seems to be only external strength," Gendry also felt he had reached a threshold. Perhaps more, stronger battles could further temper the Storm's Blood, but it would not transcend to a superhuman level.
"Sheer strength is far from enough," Qyburn analyzed. "I think with the end of the long summer, you might be able to touch deeper levels."
Knowledgeable people had already noticed the abnormality of the long summer; the climate might be linked to the resurgence of magic. In any case, this was a possibility. Moreover, the extreme cold Long Winter after a long summer could once again bring plague and famine.
"What levels?" Gendry asked.
"The manifestation of magic, just like the walls of Storm's End, which can completely block magical attacks. I believe this might also be crucial in the years to come," Qyburn said very seriously.
"Those stories of Storm's End!" Gendry murmured to himself; he had also heard the stories of Storm's End.
Legend has it that Storm's End was built by the first Storm King, Durran, in the Dawn Age. He once declared war on two gods—who had killed Durran's family and guests, and ruined his wedding to their daughter, Ynys. It is said that before Storm's End, he built six strong and tall castles, but all were destroyed.
The castle is said to be protected by spells woven into its walls, to prevent magic from passing through them.
"I will monitor climate changes and find ways to enhance your strength and safety, Your Highness," Qyburn assured Gendry. "I believe it won't take too long."
"Then I await your good news," Gendry smiled. "But also take care of your health, Maester Qyburn."
"Rest assured, Your Highness. Though I am old, I am still willing to fight for your cause. The battlefield for warriors is the plains, and my battlefield is the laboratory and the intelligence network," Qyburn replied proudly.
"There's one more thing, Your Highness. It's the intelligence about House Stark heading south: Lord Eddard, his two daughters, the bastard, and a hundred guards," Qyburn reminded him.
"The direwolf has come," Gendry had long expected it; a King cannot trust others.
However, Eddard seemed to have changed; he brought the bastard, and the guards were increased by fifty, though it couldn't turn the tide, the Old Wolf was at least a bit clever.
"Your Highness, that's not what I meant," Qyburn said awkwardly.
"You want to study House Stark?" Gendry looked at Qyburn, a true mad scientist.
"The old gods do not radiate in the Summerlands, but if there's an opportunity, I should be able to act. House Stark has the most magical stories, and they also have the miracles of the direwolf," Qyburn was eager to try. "Take Storm's End, for example; some believe the Children of the Forest participated in its construction, using their magic to build the castle, allowing Storm's End to resist storms. Others say a small Boy helped, the future Brandon the Builder, an ancestor of House Stark."
"Alright, my maester, curb your curiosity and grasp the present first," Gendry advised.
"I understand, Your Highness. Perhaps, I'm just saying this is one possibility," Qyburn corrected himself. But with the Old Wolf heading south, he at least had an opportunity.
"If only Marwyn were here," Qyburn sighed again. "My work would be twice as effective, and working with like-minded people is a joy."
Archmaester Marwyn, like Qyburn, was an anomaly within The Citadel; he possessed a valyrian steel chain, representing his profound expertise in magic and mysticism.
"Daenerys is here; he will want to come, to see the last true dragon," Gendry asserted.
"I think he will come too. But that person's whereabouts are uncertain; he might not even be in Oldtown right now," Qyburn thought for a moment before replying. "The Citadel in Oldtown is not a safe place, and Marwyn is a slippery one."
"Are you talking about the grey sheep?"
"Yes, Your Highness. The Citadel is dedicated to researching a world without magic and dragons, and they forbid maesters from studying it. Studying magic is considered shameful and a sign of mental instability. Fortunately, those Archmaesters are weak enough not to personally kill anyone; they can only find various excuses to suppress it."
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