Canon Omake: The Artisans Pride IV
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The Artisans Pride IV
<< PreviousSlowly and with even strokes moved the oar through the blood red liquid. It seemed incongruous to use a decidedly mundane piece of wood shaped for maritime purposes in this endeavor, but the two standing on the rim of the basin were nothing if not practical. The liquid at their feet was elevating the words noxious and caustic to heights undreamed off, readily dissolving the glass they had lined the basin with and eating through the over-sized steel spoon they had first used with alarming ease and speed. Then they tried to lower a shard of pure Adamant into the mix, which came out a good bit smaller only moments later.
They were reasonably sure that Dragonsteel would withstand the liquid, but when having to pick between commissioning an oar for a few thousand marks that probably wouldn't melt after the first use, they had instead gone into the city and tossed a carpenter a Faith for six wooden oars. Sure, they were melting too, though not quite as fast as metal due to some peculiarities of what they were stirring. And they were less likely to disturb the thin patina that kept the glass from dissolving entirely. It's not as if they couldn't just buy a new set of oars with the change in their pockets and they were only on their fifth.
Frugality too was strong in the two of them, even if they could casually command more wealth then the richest of merchant princes in these days. Former Maester, now Wisdom, Qyburn had to make due with the little money he could make by plying his skills as a healer in the free time between his studies. Luckily for him the brothels of Old Town were perfectly fine with the healer coming in the dead of night and the women there appreciative of him fixing what moon tea couldn't change anymore. As for Vee, she had grown up without seeing much more then a bent copper now and then. In he swamps of Braavos, you made due with what you had and preferably with less, so she still was cutting corners wherever she could.
They were an odd pair, standing here under the hills of Lys and stirring what smelled like a Daemons cesspit. The young girl technically being the superior of the old man with the oar, though her leadership style could be best summed up by 'don't make me come over there'. It was somewhat surprising to her that she did in fact not have to do that even once so far. Sure, she kept a close eye on the events in Gogossos, what with the batch of colorful personalities working in its bowels. Though she didn't fancy returning to Elaheh Maritas workshop there without good reason.
"It is ready," the old man proclaimed, taking out the oar from the noxious liquid and carefully placing the charred stump next to the other four on a sheet of glass laying on the ground. In its stead, he took scalpel of adamant with his right hand and began making an incision on his left arm. Not a single sound he made while cutting into his own flesh, the motion well practiced and purposeful.
Meanwhile, the young girl cautiously ran a hand throw the vapor rising from the pit, mumbling spells all the while. A dash of life added to Qyburns death, so that the seed would grow. When he work was done, she took a step back again, calmly observing the former Maesters work. "You know, they could be called your children in a sense." The thought had come to her earlier, shortly after they had made the first of them, but seeing him extract the seed made her recall it. "Flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood. That's how your folk says it, isn't it?"
He chuckled a bit as the only acknowledgement while continuing his work. "It seems unlikely that most lords were thinking of something like our work when they coined the phrase however many millennia ago. At least I can say I never thought about it like that." Silence fell for a bit while he kept cutting and mending, a piece of his own flesh carved out carefully. He had never asked for someone else to do it for him and so Vee had never offered. He didn't strike her as one who was all that used to aid of any sort and that was a habit that would never break by force. "The question of having children has been resolved decades ago for me when I started forging my chain." His tone made it clear how much he cared about the option in the first place, making any further debate of the topic a moot point.
Then he was done, the prize of his grisly work held carefully pinched between two fingers while magic mended the wound it had come from. A small black and glistening sphere, looking like something that a Mindflayer would create with all the slimy little tentacles growing on it. They were twisting and squirming, clinging to his fingers and hugging them in a mix of affection and desire for the nourishing blood within. The thing was neither truly alive, nor truly dead, but somewhere in between. Just like what they were creating here.
The patrons of the forge had objected to it at first, quite vigorously at that, but they had come around to the idea. Bloodraven himself had a hand in the matter, seeing an opportunity to make things easier for himself. It was on the fringes of the Green Dream where he found support for the creatures they were brewing here. Among those minds whose rage was beyond measure and who would have broken every oath and offered even their own kin if it meant to vanquish that of the cold. Among those who were so faded and shattered that they lost their own voices and left only their desires. Among those who wished to have flesh once more before oblivion claimed them.
The Green Dream was calmer for their departure and their new form served them well. There they could lay with those of like minds and live again as much as their minds could bear. Their peace ran deep, for they were content to just see and hear and feel the world, but in battle? There others came to the fore, and their wrath and fury would know few equals. Especially those who would come into the creature they were creating now. The liquids temper and volatility was a pale shadow of what it would soon become.
The black thing fell from Qyburns fingers, dipping into the red liquid without so much as a ripple on the surface. And thus it began. The liquid turning blotchy, from bright red to dark brown, churning gently without anyone to stir it. Now their part was done and the birth of new life would commence without further aid, leaving a few of the rare moments where neither of the two mages was busy with their work. "Why did you join the Citadel? And why healing? Can't imagine you passing up to study whatever they could teach about magic instead."
"It seemed more useful to me in those days." He gave the answer in his usual blunt tone, but had to laugh when Vee shot him a very dubious look. "The times were different then. There were no dragons, no miracles and no magic in those days. Some whispered that the most skilled among the Maesters could light a candle without flint and steel in a ritual that took a day." He shook his head, remembering names and faces of people that had been long buried by now. "There was talk of folding the Higher Mysteries into the History classes when I was forging my Dragonsteel links. Magic was fading and leaving this world after all."
Vee wasn't sure if she should pity them or laugh at those long dead Maesters. One wondered how Westeros would look had they tried to preserve and understand instead of convincing themselves that this power was dead and gone. "Why healing then though? Your bedside manner isn't the greatest and you don't care at all for the people you work on." One thing she did like about the old man was that he didn't mind her directness and bluntness. Most people would be mortally offended, but between the two of them, nobody would ever fault the other for speaking the truth in clear terms.
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on the swirling patterns in the noxious sludge between them. "It seemed more interesting and useful in those days, as opposed to studying something dry and pointless such as history or astronomy. As a young man, I wanted to learn something that was practical. I am not some doted on third son of a noble house, so it seemed prudent to have something that would keep me fed if I ever grew tired of the Citadel."
"Doesn't sound much like you," the girl dryly remarked, for nobody who had met him since joining the Imperium would have described Qyburn as anything but a passionate scholar.
"Maybe, but the man who thought so is gone for fifty years and counting. I quickly found my joy in learning for the sake of learning in those studies and likewise found my place among the Maesters less onerous for a while." Vee just nodded along as he spoke, careful not to threat too close to the sore topic of his banishment from the Citadel. One day she would ask him to learn what divinations couldn't tell, but that would require more trust then they had for now. He had done no worse then many others in Viserys service, so she felt no point in interrogating him over the details.
"I think it was my first vivisection that truly sparked my interest," he carried on. "It was a lamb I think... or a billy. Born with a malformed head, half it's brain missing as it turned out, so they had carted it from the Citadels stables to the lecturing hall so that we could see old Maester Rickard carve it open and show us how the innards worked. It was fascinating. Seeing it all laid out, the guts and the beating the heart, and how he had one of us use a bellow to make the lungs keep breathing for a while longer..." Then he chuckled, lost in the memory. "When it's heart finally stopped, I asked him what it would take to make the heart beat again. I got a lot of shouting and a beating for even suggesting such unclean practices. Took me years to find out what he thought I was implying."
Hearing this made Vee wonder what would have become of the man under different circumstances. She could all too easily see Lya in his place, being outraged at being denied some bit of knowledge that sparked her interest. Briefly she also imagined Qyburn to have instead taking a liking to smithing, becoming a creepier version of Tobho Mott instead of the creator of monsters. "You regret any of your choices back then?" She bit her tongue at having spoken that out loud. Last time she asked that question, Leto was very clearly contemplating murder instead of answering.
Qyburn just shook his head though, apparently having less reservations at the notion. "Maybe, but what is the worth of fighting yourself with hindsight as a blade? I'm far too fond of my work to wish it away, though I regret all the other fields of study that I never had the time to truly apply myself to." Then he paused, weighing some thought back and forth in his mind. "My magic I do regret somewhat. Aping the working of miracles seemed prudent at the time, back when magic first returned to the world. It was the only one we saw in Old Town that seemed to work reliably by study instead of spontaneous manifestation of the power, though I believe the Maesters under Marwyn knew more and didn't deign to share it with us others. Alas, it would take long study to change that now and the arcane arts have more trouble to create unliving beings then those of divine inspiration."
Beneath them, the pool had turned still again and the red had left the liquid. Instead, there was just a pool of dirty brown and green. It smelled of sulfur and stomach acid, not the indistinct stench that seemed to burn the hairs out of your nose. "You could always study what the Faceless shared with us. They are pretty good at everything death. Eternity is long, so you have plenty of time for studying." Carefully she eyed his reactions to her last comment, though she got no raise from him. "I am aware that you are brewing something up behind closed doors. I didn't miss that you took some samples after our last operation either."
Silently they stood for a moment while something began to stir in the dark liquid. A thin tendril shot out of pool and wrapped around one of the stones on the edge. Then another. Then another. They were the color of dried blood, glistening in the mage lights illuminating the chamber. Ever so slowly, a dark red mass dragged itself out of the pool, looking like a head-sized clump of clotted blood. While their creation lifted itself onto the dry ground, Qyburn spoke again. "I have sworn to not perform experiments on the unwilling, or create something living or unliving without one of my peers to examine it before animation. I will uphold these oaths."
Some measure of steel entered Vee's eyes at this response, making it clear why she was trusted to keep the likes of Qyburn in line with the emperors wishes. "This ain't a reprimand and we wouldn't chat here if I doubted that, but why the secrecy then Qyburn?"
"It is a somewhat radical idea and might be perceived as frighting by some. It would be preferable for me to work out the problems on my own, lest the project is cancelled over them." That he said with a straight face, while their shared creation was wriggling on the ground. It's tentacles where probing all around, tasting the air and drying off the last remnants of the pool that spawned it. The mold churned and twisted around itself, appendages forming and disappearing, skin rising and falling into the mass to dispose of the dried specks of dirt that clung to it. It had no form, save the form that it willed itself to have.
Vee wondered what he could be doing, but she had seen no evidence that it was truly dangerous so far. They had build some measure of trust between each other and she was loath to break it by pressing him to hard for falling into old habits of secrecy. "I will be the one who will look at you work when it is done. Maybe Viserys. Depends on what it is exactly." It was not a question, but as close to an order as Vee was willing to go, though Qyburn seemed fine with it. While they spoke, the mold had gotten it's bearings.
Suddenly it lurched into action, the slow and measured movements of moments before entirely forgotten. It almost raced over the ground, faster then the finest race horse. In the blink of an eye, tentacles formed, dug into the ground and dragged the living mass of mold along, away from the pool and to the giant iron boot standing nearby. There it paused not for a single moment, flowing and molding itself to the armor and slipping through the tiniest gaps in it as if it wasn't even there. Up it went, though they didn't see it they knew all the same, to the head of the armored giant that had to bow even in the huge chamber. The dome like helmet twisted the tiniest fraction, a blood red light shining from the visor as the mold was merging to it's vessel.
The armor whistled for a moment, air being drawn through gaps and into cavities that were never meant for this purpose. How they managed to speak from a skull that had neither mouth, nose or even eye sockets, even Qyburn couldn't tell so far, but speak they did. It sounded as if the bellow of a blast furnace had grown a mouth. "It is done. This vessel pleases us." It paused again, flexing unliving muscle and running a hand along the haft of the titanic axe the Black Brute wielded. "Let us come forth. Our vessels are worthy."
And on this command, more of the masses rose from the pool. Slow and halting at first, then racing off to the unliving servitors that they were meant to control, knowing unerringly where to find them. Meanwhile, Qyburn and Vee looked on, like proud parents seeing their children taking their first steps. "I will look forward to your opinion, Wisdom Vee," the old man spoke. And if the young girl was honest with herself, she was rather curious what he was cooking up herself.
AN: Some more background on the molds and some by-play between Vee and Qyburn.
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