Three Eyed Raven: "And I took that personally."
A Song of Sun and Stars (Man of Steel x ASOIAF)
- Thread starter OrangePanther01
- Start date
- Crossover Movies Fantasy
- Location
- La Serena, Chile
It's inevitable Caelum catches his tree eyes and starts getting visits in his dreams
Oh and if adding dates troubles you, don't botter with them. Just write in the way that fits your better like usual
Yup, it depends how Brynden Rivers is gonna be portrayed as a reasonable guy who found a new alternative to the White Walkers being defeated or see Caelum as a threat because his presence had thrown him off the loop and he is to be dispatched.
The Weight of Power
Chapter 21 –
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Citadel library, illuminating the worn wooden table where Caelum, Pylos, Yandel, and Nerf huddled over an ancient tome.
The air was thick with the scent of parchment and beeswax, a familiar and comforting aroma that had become a constant companion during their weeks of study.
"I still can't believe Maester Lorcas had us dissect a human heart today," Pylos exclaimed, a shudder running through him. "The way he sliced through those valves... it was fascinating, but gods, it made my stomach churn."
Yandel offered a different perspective. "Dissection is essential for understanding the intricacies of the human body," he said, tracing an inked-down sketch of the heart with his finger. "Without it, we'd be fumbling in the dark, relying on outdated theories and guesswork."
Nerf, his amethyst eyes alight with curiosity, nodded in agreement. "I find it fascinating how the different organs work together to sustain life. It's like a complex machine, each part playing a vital role."
Caelum listened intently, his mind racing.
He had a unique advantage in their anatomy lessons, his magical sight allowing him to peer beyond the surface, to see the intricate workings of the body in a way no other novice could.
He'd witnessed the tiny creatures that thrived within the body after death, their movements a constant dance of life and decay.
It was those creatures, he now understood, that caused the rot of flesh after death.
He hadn't shared this insight with the others, of course, but it gave him a deeper understanding of the subject, a knowledge that went beyond the words on the page.
It wasn't just the human body either.
Everything, from the water they drank to the very air they breathed, teemed with these minute entities. They inhabited every corner of the world, shaping and transforming it in ways most were blind to.
He could see even deeper, beyond the flesh and blood, into the very building blocks of existence.
Each organ was a collection of tiny, interconnected structures, a symphony of motion and purpose.
Within those structures, tiny suns danced and vibrated, their movements governed by unseen forces.
It was like peering into a miniature cosmos, each tiny speck a sun, revolving around a core.
He realized that the world was a tapestry of intricate connections, a delicate balance of opposing forces.
The pull that held them to the ground, the invisible threads that bound objects together, the energy that fueled life and decay – all were intertwined, each influencing the other in a never-ending dance.
He saw that everything, from the smallest grain of sand to the vast expanse of the sky, was connected by a common, unseen consciousness.
Everything was connected.
Everyone was connected, by their collective consciousness.
It was as if the world was a grand, cosmic joke – a chaotic symphony of order and disorder, life and death, creation and destruction.
If only he knew how to share this revelation, to convince the maesters that their understanding of the world was incomplete.
But how could he explain what he saw without revealing the true source of his knowledge?
The thought filled him with a familiar frustration.
"Caelum!" Yandel's voice cut through his musings. "Are you alright? You seem lost in thought."
Pylos grinned, nudging Caelum playfully. "He does that sometimes. Gets caught up in his own little world."
Caelum blinked, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. "Sorry, I was just... thinking about the lesson."
"Well, don't think too hard," Pylos quipped. "We need to get back to the Learned Anchor. Fern will be wondering where we've disappeared to." He turned to Yandel and Nerf, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "We've been invited to the Starry Sept this evening for the seventh-day sermon. Would you care to join us?"
Yandel's face fell. "I'd love to, but Archmaester Ebrose has requested my assistance. He's negotiating a trade agreement with some Myrish merchants for a shipment of glass, and needs me to scribe the details."
"Myrish glass?" Pylos asked, intrigued. "What does the Archmaester need with that? It's expensive stuff."
"He's not saying," Yandel replied with a shrug. "Something about a device he's working on. He tried melting glass a few days ago, but didn't quite get what he wanted."
Pylos raised an eyebrow. "If he's trying to replicate their glassmaking techniques, he's out of luck. They guard those secrets closely."
Yandel shook his head. "It's not that. It's... something else. I don't fully understand it myself."
"Well, good luck with it, Yandel," Caelum offered.
"We'll see you later," Pylos added.
"Farewell, Yandel," Nerf chimed in, his voice soft.
Yandel smiled gratefully. "Thank you, friends. I'll see you all later." He hurried off, the heavy tome tucked under his arm.
"What about you, Nerf?" Pylos asked, turning to their new friend. "Will you join us at the Sept?"
Nerf hesitated, his eyes darting nervously between Caelum and Pylos. "I... I'm not sure," he stammered. "I have some... other matters to attend to."
Before Pylos could press further, a voice came from behind them. "Nerf!" The acolyte Patrick strode towards them. "Archmaester Marwyn requests your presence."
Nerf's amethyst eyes widened in surprise. "Archmaester Marwyn?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of confusion. "What could he possibly want with me?"
Caelum stiffened, a sense of foreboding washing over him. He glanced at Pylos, but his friend seemed oblivious to the tension in the air.
Patrick, clearly enjoying the attention he was garnering, shrugged nonchalantly. "Who knows what goes on in that mad old coot's head?" he said with a sneer. "But he's waiting for you by the glass candle chamber. You'd best not keep him waiting."
Nerf nodded, his composure returning. "Of course," he said, a polite smile gracing his lips. "Thank you for informing me, Acolyte Patrick." He turned to Caelum and Pylos, his smile widening. "Farewell, my friends. I hope we can continue our studies another time."
With a graceful bow, Nerf turned and followed Patrick towards the glass candle chamber, his long black hair swaying gently behind him.
Pylos sighed, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Well, it seems we've lost another companion for the evening." He turned to Caelum. "Shall we head to the Sept, then? Fern won't want to wait long."
Caelum nodded, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. "Go on ahead," he said, picking up the remaining books from the table. "I'll just return these to their shelves and catch up with you."
Pylos hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. But don't take too long, Caelum. Fern said that the sermon should soon after sunset, and I don't want to miss our first sermon at the Starry Sept!"
Caelum watched as Pylos strode away, his mind racing. He quickly gathered the books from the table, his thoughts consumed by a growing concern for Nerf.
What could Marwyn possibly want with him?
As he headed for the shelves, he focused his senses, straining to hear the conversation unfolding in the glass candle chamber.
Caelum, his heart pounding, strained his hearing towards the glass candle chamber. The voices, though muffled, were still discernible to his heightened senses.
"Welcome, little sphinx," Marwyn's voice echoed, a hint of amusement in his tone.
A beat of silence, then Nerf's voice, laced with confusion: "I... I don't understand, Archmaester. I apologize for any offense I might have caused."
"No offense taken, child," Marwyn chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me, Fern."
Caelum's breath hitched.
Fern? He was so confused.
"But... how did you know?" Fern's voice was barely a whisper now, filled with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"Your disguise was good. If I hadn't visited the inn, I wouldn't have caught on. I would recognize Hop-Bean's work anywhere." Marwyn replied. "How is the little dwarf? Is he still afraid of us big folk?"
Caelum listened intently, his mind racing to catch up with the revelation that his friend Nerf was actually Fern.
A wave of emotions washed over him; surprise, and confusion most of all.
"...not as afraid of me as he is of other people," Fern's voice was strained, barely a whisper. "Please, Archmaester, I apologize for the deception. I will leave the Citadel at once. Just... please don't tell Lord Hightower."
"Keeping secrets isn't a crime, child," Marwyn chuckled. "Especially not when those secrets are born from a thirst for knowledge. Many here at the Citadel harbor their own hidden truths. Archmaester Theron keeps a mistress and a bastard child at the Quill and Tankard. Ser Garth Hightower, the heir to Oldtown, prefers the company of men over women.
Even your... friends," Marwyn paused, his words heavy with unspoken meaning, "have secrets they wouldn't want the world to know."
Caelum's blood ran cold. Was Marwyn about to expose him?
"What... what do you want from me?" Fern's voice was barely a whisper now.
"To learn more about you, child," Marwyn replied, his tone softening. "Those amethyst eyes of yours... they're quite striking. Tell me, who was your mother?"
"She was a... a whore," Fern stammered. "From Ragpicker's Wynd. My father, Liernen, told me that much."
"Liernen isn't your true father, is he?" Marwyn asked gently.
Fern hesitated, a wave of shame washing over her. "No," she admitted. "He took me in when my mother died. I... I'm sorry, Archmaester. I never meant to deceive anyone. I just wanted to help my father, to learn the skills I need to run the inn."
Marwyn's voice was surprisingly kind. "You have nothing to apologize for, child. Neither you nor Liernen are in any danger." He paused,. "Raising a child that's not your own... it's a noble act. Paying the hundred silver stags to sneak you into the Citadel... that's not something most innkeepers could afford. Why do you think he did it?"
Fern's voice was barely a whisper. "My father's sister... she died a whore. He didn't want that for me."
Marwyn nodded slowly. "Liernen is a good man."
Caelum, listening intently, felt a surge of warmth towards the innkeeper.
He'd always known Liernen to be gruff but fair, he had given him a room at his inn, in exchange for work during the late afternoons.
"Did Liernen ever tell you about your blood father?" Marwyn asked, his voice once again filled with curiosity.
"Only that he was a lord from the crownlands," Fern replied. "But I never knew his name."
Marwyn's voice took on a professorial tone. "Valyrian blood, perhaps. I sense the potential for sorcery within you, child. A spark waiting to be ignited."
"But... will you truly not report me to Lord Hightower?" Fern's voice quivered, her relief palpable.
"Of course not," Marwyn chuckled. "Instead, I'll offer you the same choice I offered your friend, Caelum. Become my apprentice." His tone was enticing, promising secrets and knowledge. "I can teach you more about healing than Ebrose ever could. My knowledge of medicine surpasses even his, in some aspects."
Fern's voice sharpened with suspicion. "Why would you do that? What did Caelum choose?"
"Magic is returning to the world, Fern," Marwyn explained. "Your Valyrian blood could be a powerful asset. Besides, I'm writing a book, 'The Book of Lost Books', and I need a skilled scribe to capture my thoughts. I'll teach you how to disguise yourself better, how to hide your secret. You'll have access to knowledge and power few could dream of."
Silence hung in the air as Caelum strained to hear Fern's response.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Marwyn was a dangerous mad man, obsessed with magic and the arcane.
Why would he choose Fern out of all the potential candidates in Oldtown? There were likely hundreds of other children in oldtown that had Valyrian blood in their veins.
"What did Caelum choose?" Fern repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
"He hasn't given me an answer yet," Marwyn admitted. "But I believe he'll come around. He's a smart boy, and he knows a good offer when he hears one."
"I... I need to think about it," Fern said. "I need to talk to my father. Thank you for not betraying my secret, Archmaester."
"I understand, child. Take your time. I'll await your decision." Marwyn's voice was calm, almost soothing. "But remember, the world is changing. Opportunities like this don't come along often."
Caelum listened as Fern's footsteps faded away.
He was both relieved and deeply troubled.
He wanted to believe Marwyn's intentions were good, but something about the Archmaester's words and demeanor set off warning bells in his mind.
He thought of Fern, her kindness and the trust she'd shown him. Meredith would have done the same thing if she had been in her position.
If anyone deserved a chance at a better life, it was her.
But was Marwyn the right person to guide her?
Caelum couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this offer than met the eye.
He had to warn Fern, protect her from whatever Marwyn had planned.
But how? How could he do that without revealing his own secret?
If it became necessary, and Marwyn proved dangerous, he would damn his secret and tell her.
Damn his fears.
The weight of his own magic, the power that set him apart, felt heavier than ever before.
He longed for a world where he could be just Caelum, the boy from the farm, not some anomaly with extraordinary abilities. But that world, it seemed, was slipping further and further away.
If Fern was truly in danger, he would tell her everything.
Damn his anxieties.
He hastily shoved the remaining books back onto the shelves, their haphazard arrangement a minor inconvenience compared to the worry gnawing at him. He practically sprinted through the library's labyrinthine corridors, his mind racing with thoughts of Marwyn and Fern.
As he reached a heavy wooden door leading out of the library, he grasped the iron handle and pulled. To his surprise, the entire door came off its hinges, the rusted metal screeching in protest. Caelum stumbled back, the door crashing to the floor with a resounding thud.
"What in the Seven Hells was that?" A gruff voice echoed through the corridor as a guard in Hightower livery rounded the corner, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"I... I just tried to open the door, and it came off," Caelum stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment.
The guard knelt down, examining the broken hinge. "Rusty old thing," he muttered. "No harm done, lad. I'll have someone fix it." He gave Caelum a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You best be on your way."
Caelum nodded, grateful for the guard's understanding.
He hurried away, the strange incident already fading from his mind as he focused on his mission. He couldn't be late for the seventh-day sermon. It was his first time visiting the Starry Sept since arriving in Oldtown, and he didn't want to miss it.
The sun was setting as Caelum made his way through the cobblestone streets, the golden light casting long shadows that danced and flickered like the flames he'd conjured in his room.
He reached the Learned Anchor just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon.
Liernen greeted him at the door. "You're just in time, lad. Fern's gone to run a few errands, but she should be back soon. Could you help me hitch up the wagon? We'll need it to get to the Sept."
Caelum nodded, a wave of affection washing over him. Caelum's respect for the innkeeper had grown even deeper after learning of his selfless act in raising Fern as his own.
"Pylos is inside, finishing up his supper," Liernen said, jerking his head towards the bustling common room. "You can join him if you like."
"Thank you, Liernen, but I'm not hungry right now," Caelum replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "Where's the wagon? Is there anything else I can help with?"
Liernen pointed towards the back of the inn. "The horses are tied up behind the building. Hitch them to the wagon, and make sure the wheels are properly greased. They've been squeaking something awful lately."
"Will do," Caelum said, eager to keep his mind occupied. He strode towards the inn's back door, his thoughts still swirling with the cryptic conversation he'd overheard.
As he reached for the door handle, he pushed, expecting the usual resistance. Instead, the door flew open with a loud bang, nearly ripping off its hinges entirely. Caelum stumbled back, his eyes wide with alarm.
"What in the blazes was that?" Liernen shouted from the common room.
"Sorry, Liernen!" Caelum called back, his voice shaking. "I was rushing."
Liernen emerged from the inn, a bemused expression on his face. "Easy there, lad," he chuckled, shaking his head. "No need to tear the place down. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but slow down."
Caelum apologized again, his heart pounding in his chest.
He hadn't meant to fling the door open like that. That's the second time it had happened. Something was wrong.
Pylos, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, appeared in the doorway. "Well, that's one way to make an entrance," he quipped. "Thought you wouldn't make it back in time."
"I rushed as soon as I could," Caelum replied, his voice strained. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.
Pylos waved a dismissive hand. "Just call me if you need help, Caelum. I'll be here."
Caelum nodded, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach. He headed towards the back of the inn, his senses on high alert.
The two horses, their coats gleaming in the fading light, were tethered to a nearby post. Caelum approached the chestnut mare, his hands trembling as he reached for the rope. He untied it slowly, his gaze fixed on the horse's wary eyes.
As he began leading the mare towards the wagon, he gently tugged on the rope, intending to guide her into position. But the mare didn't budge. Caelum tugged again, harder this time.
Suddenly, the mare lurched forward, pulled with a force that should have been impossible for Caelum to muster. A cry of pain escaped the horse's mouth as it stumbled, its legs tangling in the rope.
Caelum froze, his eyes wide with horror. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, rushing to the mare's side. He quickly untied the rope, his hands shaking.
"Everything alright back there, Caelum?" Liernen's voice boomed from the inn.
"Yes, Liernen!" Caelum called back, his voice tight. "Just... just a bit of trouble with the mare."
Caelum crouched beside the mare, his hand trembling as he reached out to stroke her velvety nose. "Easy, girl," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
He focused on his touch, willing it to be as gentle as a feather's caress. His fingers brushed against the mare's warm flank, each stroke a conscious effort to control the strength that thrummed beneath his skin. To his relief, the mare's trembling subsided, her breathing slowing to a steady rhythm.
"There you go," Caelum soothed, his voice barely audible. "It's alright. I won't hurt you again."
He stood, his heart still pounding in his chest. This was new, this surge of power that seemed to respond to his every whim. Was this another gift from the gods?
He didn't know, but the fear of inadvertently harming someone else gnawed at him.
With renewed determination, he approached the black stallion, his movements cautious and deliberate. He spoke to the horse in a low, calming voice, his touch as light as a butterfly's wing. The stallion, sensing Caelum's intentions, lowered its head, its ears twitching in curiosity.
Caelum carefully attached the harness, his fingers fumbling with the buckles and straps. Every touch felt exaggerated, every movement magnified. Even a gentle tug on the reins felt like a powerful yank, but he persevered, his focus unwavering.
Finally, both horses were hitched to the wagon, their heads bowed and their bodies relaxed. Caelum stepped back, surveying his work with a mixture of pride and trepidation.
Next, Caelum turned his attention to the squeaking wheels. He approached the task with the same exaggerated care, treating the heavy wooden spokes as if they were as delicate as parchment.
He dipped his fingers into the grease, wincing at the sensation of the thick, oily substance on his skin. He carefully applied it to the axles, each turn a deliberate effort to control his newfound strength.
With a final grunt of exertion, he finished the task, wiping his greasy hands on a nearby rag. He stepped back, surveying the wagon with a mix of satisfaction and unease. The horses stood calmly, their harness secure, and the wheels no longer emitted their earsplitting squeal.
Just as Caelum finished, Fern emerged from the inn, a small basket slung over her arm. "All set?" she asked, a warm smile on her face.
It seems she had gotten her mummer's wig off, her short boyish brown hair were brushed, and her Amethyst eyes sparkled when they set upon him.
"Just in time, dear," Liernen boomed, clapping her on the back with a hearty laugh. "You did a fine job, Caelum. Let's be off to the Sept, then."
Caelum nodded, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
The wagon was ready, and he'd managed to avoid any further mishaps with his uncontrollable strength. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't touch anyone on the way to the Sept, not until he could figure out what was happening to him. The thought of accidentally hurting someone, especially Fern, Pylos or any of his friends, filled him with dread.
x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x
The Starry Sept of Oldtown was a masterpiece of architecture, its domed ceiling soaring high above a sea of flickering candlelight. The seven statues of the gods, each carved from a single block of black marble, stood sentinel along the walls, their enigmatic faces bathed in the soft glow of the countless candles.
Caelum, however, found little solace in the serene beauty of the place. He fidgeted on the wooden bench, his eyes darting from one statue to the next.
A strange unease prickled at the back of his neck, a sensation he couldn't quite shake. The air itself felt thick, charged with an energy he couldn't define.
His gaze settled on the statues' eyes, each one a gleaming shard of obsidian. The star-like stones seemed to glint with an inner fire, a reflection of the same celestial power that had brought him to this world.
The sight left him uncomfortable.
His fingers tightened around the armrest, the smooth wood a stark contrast to the rough fabric of his tunic. He was acutely aware of his own body, the power that thrummed beneath his skin like a caged beast.
The incident with the horse had shaken him, leaving him with a lingering fear of what he might be capable of. He'd barely touched the door, the horse, and yet the results had been... excessive.
He glanced at Fern and Pylos, seated beside him, their faces serene as they listened to the Septon's words. They seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil, their faith a comforting anchor in the storm of his own doubts.
Caelum wished he could share their tranquility, but he was too afraid that even the faintest touch from him would break something, or hurt someone.
"...and in these dark times, let us turn to the Seven for guidance and strength, for they are our shield against despair and our beacon of hope," the Septon's voice echoed through the vast chamber, yet the words seemed to bounce off Caelum, failing to penetrate the swirling chaos of his thoughts.
Pylos, noticing Caelum's restless shifting and the way his fingers drummed a silent rhythm on his thigh, leaned closer and whispered, "Are you alright, Caelum? You seem on edge."
Caelum forced a smile, his gaze fixed on the flickering candles. "I'm fine, Pylos," he lied, his voice barely a whisper. "Just a bit tired, that's all."
Fern, her brow furrowed with concern, leaned closer to Caelum. "Are you sure you're alright?" she whispered. "You look a little pale. And you've been so jumpy ever since Archmaester Marwyn visited you at the inn. Did he say something to upset you?"
Caelum swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "It's nothing, Fern," he lied, forcing a smile. "Just a bit overwhelmed by the sermon, I suppose."
Fern nodded, her amethyst eyes filled with empathy. "I'll pray for you, Caelum. May the Seven guide you and bring you peace."
Caelum squeezed her hand, a wave of guilt washing over him.
He longed to tell her the truth, to confide in her about Marwyn's visit. He would if Marwyn proved dangerous, but the fear of rejection, of being seen as a monster, held him back.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. But his anxiety only grew, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He gripped the armrest of the bench, his fingers tightening involuntarily.
There was a sharp crack, followed by a loud snapping sound. The armrest, weakened by age and Caelum's unintentional strength, splintered under his grasp.
The bench tilted, sending Caelum, Fern, Pylos, and Liernen tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs and startled cries.
The sermon came to an abrupt halt, the entire congregation turning to stare at the source of the commotion. A septa, her face etched with concern, rushed over, followed by a knight in gleaming Hightower armor.
"Are you alright?" the septa asked, helping Fern to her feet.
"We're fine, Septa," Liernen grumbled, rubbing his bruised elbow. "Just a bit shaken, that's all."
The knight examined the broken bench, his brow furrowed. "Must have been old and worn," he concluded. "No harm done." He offered them another bench, closer to the front this time.
Liernen apologized profusely, but the septa waved him off with a gentle smile. "It's no trouble at all," she assured him. "We should have been more diligent in our inspections."
The sermon resumed, but Caelum couldn't focus. His hands trembled, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He knew he couldn't stay here, not with this uncontrollable power coursing through him.
"I'm not feeling well," he whispered to Fern, his voice barely audible. "I think I should go home."
Fern's eyes widened with concern. "Would you like me to come with you?"
Caelum shook his head. "No, I'll be fine," he lied. "Just need some fresh air. You stay and enjoy the sermon."
He rose from the bench, his legs unsteady. With a final apologetic glance at Fern, he slipped out of the Starry Sept, leaving behind the flickering candlelight and the comforting words of the Septon.
Caelum practically fled the Starry Sept, the cool night air a welcome relief against his flushed skin. He stumbled through the open doors, the sounds of the sermon fading behind him as he emerged onto the vast marble plaza. The imposing silhouette of the Citadel, its towers and spires piercing the night sky, loomed over him like a watchful giant. It was a sight that had once filled him with awe and wonder, but now, it only served to amplify his growing sense of unease.
He hurried past the towering statues of the Seven, their white starry eyes seemingly following his every move. The thought of their gaze, imbued with the power of the same star that had brought him to this world, sent a shiver down his spine. He needed to get away, to find a place where he could be alone.
His feet carried him past the clustered mansions of the pious, their windows glowing with warm light that promised comfort and safety. But Caelum knew he couldn't seek refuge there.
Not tonight.
Not until he understood the strange power that surged within him, threatening to turn his every touch into a destructive force.
He quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest. He passed beneath the arched gateway of the city walls, leaving behind the bustling streets and the comforting familiarity of Oldtown. The vast expanse of farmland stretched before him, bathed in the silvery light of the moon.
He followed a narrow path that wound alongside the Honeywine River, its gentle murmur a soothing counterpoint to the chaos raging within him.
As he walked, his mind raced, trying to make sense of the events of the day. The broken bench, the startled horse... it was clear that his magic had manifested in a new, frightening way. He didn't know how to control this newfound strength, and the fear of unintentionally harming someone he loved was almost unbearable.
He found a secluded spot by the riverbank, hidden from view by a cluster of willow trees. He sank to the ground, his head buried in his hands. He felt so lost, so alone. He had come to the Citadel seeking answers, but all he had found were more questions, more mysteries.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. He had to figure this out. He had to learn to control his power, to harness it for good.
But for now, he needed solitude, a space to grapple with the terrifying reality of his own strength.
Caelum breathed deeply, the scent of damp earth and river water filling his lungs. He needed to figure out how to control this new strength, but he had no idea where to start.
He wished Luke were here, his steady presence and calm wisdom a soothing balm against the chaos swirling within him. He longed for Meredith's gentle touch, her ability to ground him with a simple smile.
He glanced at a nearby willow tree, its branches drooping low over the water.
He reached out a hand, intending to brush a stray leaf from his face. Instead, his fingers closed around the trunk, a surge of power coursing through him. The tree groaned, its roots straining against the earth, then toppled over with a deafening crack, falling across the riverbank.
Caelum recoiled, his eyes wide with terror. He hadn't meant to do that, hadn't even realized the extent of his strength. What if he'd hurt someone? The thought sent a wave of nausea through him.
A muffled groan, faint but distinct, cut through the silence.
Caelum froze, his heart pounding.
Someone was in pain.
His magical hearing, honed by years of practice, allowed him to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It was coming from somewhere further along the river, a distant cry for help.
He hesitated.
He knew he should help, but he was terrified of his own strength. What if he made things worse? What if he accidentally hurt the person he was trying to save?
But then he remembered Luke's words, a mantra he'd repeated countless times during their training sessions back home: "Think, plan, weigh the dangers."
Caelum took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. First, he needed to understand the situation.
He followed the sound, his senses heightened, every rustle of leaves and splash of water amplified in his ears.
The groan led him to a small manse, a stone structure nestled amongst the rolling hills. Hightower guards patrolled the perimeter, their torches casting long, dancing shadows.
One of them, a knight in full armor, stood at the front door, his face a mask of stoic indifference.
Caelum used his magical sight, his vision piercing through the stone walls. What he saw inside chilled him to the bone. Maester Qyburn, his face pale and focused, stood over a table on which a man lay strapped down, his body exposed and his chest cavity opened wide.
The man's muffled cries echoed through the room, his eyes filled with terror as Qyburn's scalpel danced over his flesh.
Caelum's stomach churned.
This wasn't healing, this was... torture.
He scanned the room, his gaze falling on a small table cluttered with vials and instruments.
Among them, he recognized the distinctive shape of a milk of the poppy bottle. The man was being drugged, his pain dulled but not erased.
Caelum's anger flared.
He had to stop this, to rescue the man from Qyburn's cruel experiments.
But first, he had to assess the situation. His gaze swept through the manse, revealing more horrors: several cells, each containing a prisoner, their faces gaunt and their eyes filled with despair.
Caelum's eyes burned with a sudden, intense heat. A crimson glow filled his vision as he focused on a spot on the manse farthest from the cells, a section of the wall where no harm could come to the prisoners within. He inhaled sharply, ready to unleash the fiery power that surged within him.
But a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Caelum reacted on pure instinct, a surge of adrenaline fueling his muscles. He whipped around, his arm lashing out with a force he didn't fully comprehend. The figure behind him was sent flying, a startled cry escaping their lips as they slammed into a nearby tree.
Horror flooded Caelum's face as he rushed to the fallen figure. The moonlight illuminated a familiar face twisted in pain – Archmaester Marwyn.
"You... didn't mention that particular talent," Marwyn groaned, clutching his side.
Caelum's heart sank. He knelt beside the Archmaester, his magical sight revealing a fractured rib, a shard of bone pressing dangerously close to a lung. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with guilt and worry. "What are you doing here?"
Marwyn winced as he tried to sit up. "I'll live," he rasped, then coughed, a spray of blood staining his lips. "I had business outside the city. As I was returning, my glass candle ignited. It led me... to you." He looked up at Caelum, his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing out here, so far from the city?"
Caelum gestured towards the manse, his voice thick with anger. "Qyburn is in there. He's... he's cutting people open. Alive."
Marwyn's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?" he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
"It doesn't matter," Caelum retorted, his voice tight with urgency. "We have to stop him."
Marwyn raised a hand, his expression grim. "You don't understand what's happening here, boy. How did you know Qyburn was... experimenting?"
Caelum glared at him, his anger rising. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
Marwyn's face hardened. "Yes, I did. And I'm telling you, trying to interfere would be foolish. Take a moment, boy, and think. Who are those guards protecting the manse?"
Caelum's gaze shifted towards the Hightower banners fluttering in the night breeze. A cold realization washed over him. "Lord Hightower..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Marwyn nodded. "Leyton Hightower is a man of many interests, including magic. While Qyburn may not share that fascination, he is obsessed with understanding the mysteries of life and death. Lord Hightower has given him free rein to pursue his... research."
"Research?" Caelum spat out. "He's torturing people, Marwyn! That's not research, that's brutality!"
Marwyn's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "And how do you know that, boy? Did you simply stumble upon this place, or is there more to your abilities than meets the eye?"
Caelum clenched his fists, the anger threatening to consume him. "Yes," he hissed. "I can see through walls. I can hear whispers from miles away." He turned to Marwyn, his eyes blazing. "And I won't stand by while innocent people suffer!"
Marwyn's eyes gleamed with a newfound fascination, a predatory hunger replacing the earlier pain. "Most interesting," he murmured, clutching his injured rib. "So, the boy who fell from the stars possesses more than just dragonfire. You are a most intriguing find indeed."
He turned towards the manse, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Those 'innocent' souls you wish to save, boy? They are not as blameless as you think. Leyton Hightower delivers criminals to Qyburn – thieves, murderers, rapists. The dregs of society. Leyton has the right to punish them as he sees fit, and this is the method he has chosen."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "There are laws in this land, Marwyn. The King's laws. They can be sent to the Wall, or executed. But torture..." He shook his head, disgust rising in his throat. "Torture is not justice."
Marwyn laughed, a harsh, barking sound that echoed through the trees. "Your morality is... quaint, boy. But it's misplaced. Lords make the laws and enforce them as they see fit. Look there," he pointed towards the manse, "a knight stands guard. The very thing you aspire to. Do you think he questions his lord's orders? Knights are dogs, Caelum. Loyal only to their Lord. Which lord will you serve when you become a knight? Whose will will you enforce? Who will you make king?"
Caelum shook his head, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "He'll die, Marwyn! We have to stop him."
Marwyn raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He won't die, boy. Qyburn knows what he's doing. He needs his subjects alive for his... research."
"They're still in pain," Caelum retorted, his eyes blazing. "What do you propose I do, then? Just stand here and watch?"
"What can you do?" Marwyn countered. "Storm the manse, eyes blazing? Kill the guards? Kill Qyburn? And then what? Those guards are merely following orders. To them, they're simply carrying out the Lord's justice."
Caelum's hands clenched into fists. "We can get them out," he hissed. "Create a distraction, set the manse ablaze, free the prisoners..."
Marwyn's expression darkened. "You'd free criminals, boy? Thieves, murderers, rapists? Is that the kind of justice you seek?"
Caelum faltered, the weight of Marwyn's words sinking in.
He didn't know what to do.
His sense of right and wrong warred with the harsh reality of the situation.
Marwyn sighed, a hint of pity in his eyes. "Your morality is admirable, Caelum, but naive. These men are not innocent. They've committed heinous crimes, and Leyton Hightower has chosen a... unique form of punishment. However," his voice took on a conspiratorial tone, "there may be a way to stop this, but you'll owe me a favor."
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "Another one of your schemes, Marwyn? I heard you with Fern in the glass candle chamber. Your claim of Valyrian blood was nonsense. She may have Valyrian blood, but so do hundreds of others in Oldtown."
Marwyn chuckled, wincing slightly as his broken rib shifted. "You are a fascinating creature, Caelum Starborne. Yes, Fern is an intriguing little sphinx. I approached her to get closer to you, of course. And by helping me here, you'll be in my debt. A win-win situation, wouldn't you agree?"
Caelum weighed the proposal in his mind. His eyes glowed red for a moment, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. "If you harm Fern in any way," he said, his voice low and menacing, "I will not show you mercy."
Marwyn raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I have no intention of harming the girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. I see great potential in her." He paused, his gaze returning to the manse. "As for Qyburn... the best way to stop him is to expose his actions. Leyton Hightower may have given him tacit approval, but what he's doing goes beyond even a lord's right to punish. He's dabbling in necromancy, Caelum. Searching for the lingering essence of souls in the dead."
"How do we do that?" Caelum asked.
x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x
(A/N) I've been sitting on this chapter for over a week. I just haven't felt good at all. I'm very sick.
I am sorry for the cliff hanger, and I will continue it in the next chapter. Then we'll finally get to what's happening in the war. I had more planned for this chapter, but I just don't feel well enough to write for a while.
I hope this was worth the wait.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Citadel library, illuminating the worn wooden table where Caelum, Pylos, Yandel, and Nerf huddled over an ancient tome.
The air was thick with the scent of parchment and beeswax, a familiar and comforting aroma that had become a constant companion during their weeks of study.
"I still can't believe Maester Lorcas had us dissect a human heart today," Pylos exclaimed, a shudder running through him. "The way he sliced through those valves... it was fascinating, but gods, it made my stomach churn."
Yandel offered a different perspective. "Dissection is essential for understanding the intricacies of the human body," he said, tracing an inked-down sketch of the heart with his finger. "Without it, we'd be fumbling in the dark, relying on outdated theories and guesswork."
Nerf, his amethyst eyes alight with curiosity, nodded in agreement. "I find it fascinating how the different organs work together to sustain life. It's like a complex machine, each part playing a vital role."
Caelum listened intently, his mind racing.
He had a unique advantage in their anatomy lessons, his magical sight allowing him to peer beyond the surface, to see the intricate workings of the body in a way no other novice could.
He'd witnessed the tiny creatures that thrived within the body after death, their movements a constant dance of life and decay.
It was those creatures, he now understood, that caused the rot of flesh after death.
He hadn't shared this insight with the others, of course, but it gave him a deeper understanding of the subject, a knowledge that went beyond the words on the page.
It wasn't just the human body either.
Everything, from the water they drank to the very air they breathed, teemed with these minute entities. They inhabited every corner of the world, shaping and transforming it in ways most were blind to.
He could see even deeper, beyond the flesh and blood, into the very building blocks of existence.
Each organ was a collection of tiny, interconnected structures, a symphony of motion and purpose.
Within those structures, tiny suns danced and vibrated, their movements governed by unseen forces.
It was like peering into a miniature cosmos, each tiny speck a sun, revolving around a core.
He realized that the world was a tapestry of intricate connections, a delicate balance of opposing forces.
The pull that held them to the ground, the invisible threads that bound objects together, the energy that fueled life and decay – all were intertwined, each influencing the other in a never-ending dance.
He saw that everything, from the smallest grain of sand to the vast expanse of the sky, was connected by a common, unseen consciousness.
Everything was connected.
Everyone was connected, by their collective consciousness.
It was as if the world was a grand, cosmic joke – a chaotic symphony of order and disorder, life and death, creation and destruction.
If only he knew how to share this revelation, to convince the maesters that their understanding of the world was incomplete.
But how could he explain what he saw without revealing the true source of his knowledge?
The thought filled him with a familiar frustration.
"Caelum!" Yandel's voice cut through his musings. "Are you alright? You seem lost in thought."
Pylos grinned, nudging Caelum playfully. "He does that sometimes. Gets caught up in his own little world."
Caelum blinked, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. "Sorry, I was just... thinking about the lesson."
"Well, don't think too hard," Pylos quipped. "We need to get back to the Learned Anchor. Fern will be wondering where we've disappeared to." He turned to Yandel and Nerf, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "We've been invited to the Starry Sept this evening for the seventh-day sermon. Would you care to join us?"
Yandel's face fell. "I'd love to, but Archmaester Ebrose has requested my assistance. He's negotiating a trade agreement with some Myrish merchants for a shipment of glass, and needs me to scribe the details."
"Myrish glass?" Pylos asked, intrigued. "What does the Archmaester need with that? It's expensive stuff."
"He's not saying," Yandel replied with a shrug. "Something about a device he's working on. He tried melting glass a few days ago, but didn't quite get what he wanted."
Pylos raised an eyebrow. "If he's trying to replicate their glassmaking techniques, he's out of luck. They guard those secrets closely."
Yandel shook his head. "It's not that. It's... something else. I don't fully understand it myself."
"Well, good luck with it, Yandel," Caelum offered.
"We'll see you later," Pylos added.
"Farewell, Yandel," Nerf chimed in, his voice soft.
Yandel smiled gratefully. "Thank you, friends. I'll see you all later." He hurried off, the heavy tome tucked under his arm.
"What about you, Nerf?" Pylos asked, turning to their new friend. "Will you join us at the Sept?"
Nerf hesitated, his eyes darting nervously between Caelum and Pylos. "I... I'm not sure," he stammered. "I have some... other matters to attend to."
Before Pylos could press further, a voice came from behind them. "Nerf!" The acolyte Patrick strode towards them. "Archmaester Marwyn requests your presence."
Nerf's amethyst eyes widened in surprise. "Archmaester Marwyn?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of confusion. "What could he possibly want with me?"
Caelum stiffened, a sense of foreboding washing over him. He glanced at Pylos, but his friend seemed oblivious to the tension in the air.
Patrick, clearly enjoying the attention he was garnering, shrugged nonchalantly. "Who knows what goes on in that mad old coot's head?" he said with a sneer. "But he's waiting for you by the glass candle chamber. You'd best not keep him waiting."
Nerf nodded, his composure returning. "Of course," he said, a polite smile gracing his lips. "Thank you for informing me, Acolyte Patrick." He turned to Caelum and Pylos, his smile widening. "Farewell, my friends. I hope we can continue our studies another time."
With a graceful bow, Nerf turned and followed Patrick towards the glass candle chamber, his long black hair swaying gently behind him.
Pylos sighed, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Well, it seems we've lost another companion for the evening." He turned to Caelum. "Shall we head to the Sept, then? Fern won't want to wait long."
Caelum nodded, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. "Go on ahead," he said, picking up the remaining books from the table. "I'll just return these to their shelves and catch up with you."
Pylos hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. But don't take too long, Caelum. Fern said that the sermon should soon after sunset, and I don't want to miss our first sermon at the Starry Sept!"
Caelum watched as Pylos strode away, his mind racing. He quickly gathered the books from the table, his thoughts consumed by a growing concern for Nerf.
What could Marwyn possibly want with him?
As he headed for the shelves, he focused his senses, straining to hear the conversation unfolding in the glass candle chamber.
Caelum, his heart pounding, strained his hearing towards the glass candle chamber. The voices, though muffled, were still discernible to his heightened senses.
"Welcome, little sphinx," Marwyn's voice echoed, a hint of amusement in his tone.
A beat of silence, then Nerf's voice, laced with confusion: "I... I don't understand, Archmaester. I apologize for any offense I might have caused."
"No offense taken, child," Marwyn chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me, Fern."
Caelum's breath hitched.
Fern? He was so confused.
"But... how did you know?" Fern's voice was barely a whisper now, filled with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"Your disguise was good. If I hadn't visited the inn, I wouldn't have caught on. I would recognize Hop-Bean's work anywhere." Marwyn replied. "How is the little dwarf? Is he still afraid of us big folk?"
Caelum listened intently, his mind racing to catch up with the revelation that his friend Nerf was actually Fern.
A wave of emotions washed over him; surprise, and confusion most of all.
"...not as afraid of me as he is of other people," Fern's voice was strained, barely a whisper. "Please, Archmaester, I apologize for the deception. I will leave the Citadel at once. Just... please don't tell Lord Hightower."
"Keeping secrets isn't a crime, child," Marwyn chuckled. "Especially not when those secrets are born from a thirst for knowledge. Many here at the Citadel harbor their own hidden truths. Archmaester Theron keeps a mistress and a bastard child at the Quill and Tankard. Ser Garth Hightower, the heir to Oldtown, prefers the company of men over women.
Even your... friends," Marwyn paused, his words heavy with unspoken meaning, "have secrets they wouldn't want the world to know."
Caelum's blood ran cold. Was Marwyn about to expose him?
"What... what do you want from me?" Fern's voice was barely a whisper now.
"To learn more about you, child," Marwyn replied, his tone softening. "Those amethyst eyes of yours... they're quite striking. Tell me, who was your mother?"
"She was a... a whore," Fern stammered. "From Ragpicker's Wynd. My father, Liernen, told me that much."
"Liernen isn't your true father, is he?" Marwyn asked gently.
Fern hesitated, a wave of shame washing over her. "No," she admitted. "He took me in when my mother died. I... I'm sorry, Archmaester. I never meant to deceive anyone. I just wanted to help my father, to learn the skills I need to run the inn."
Marwyn's voice was surprisingly kind. "You have nothing to apologize for, child. Neither you nor Liernen are in any danger." He paused,. "Raising a child that's not your own... it's a noble act. Paying the hundred silver stags to sneak you into the Citadel... that's not something most innkeepers could afford. Why do you think he did it?"
Fern's voice was barely a whisper. "My father's sister... she died a whore. He didn't want that for me."
Marwyn nodded slowly. "Liernen is a good man."
Caelum, listening intently, felt a surge of warmth towards the innkeeper.
He'd always known Liernen to be gruff but fair, he had given him a room at his inn, in exchange for work during the late afternoons.
"Did Liernen ever tell you about your blood father?" Marwyn asked, his voice once again filled with curiosity.
"Only that he was a lord from the crownlands," Fern replied. "But I never knew his name."
Marwyn's voice took on a professorial tone. "Valyrian blood, perhaps. I sense the potential for sorcery within you, child. A spark waiting to be ignited."
"But... will you truly not report me to Lord Hightower?" Fern's voice quivered, her relief palpable.
"Of course not," Marwyn chuckled. "Instead, I'll offer you the same choice I offered your friend, Caelum. Become my apprentice." His tone was enticing, promising secrets and knowledge. "I can teach you more about healing than Ebrose ever could. My knowledge of medicine surpasses even his, in some aspects."
Fern's voice sharpened with suspicion. "Why would you do that? What did Caelum choose?"
"Magic is returning to the world, Fern," Marwyn explained. "Your Valyrian blood could be a powerful asset. Besides, I'm writing a book, 'The Book of Lost Books', and I need a skilled scribe to capture my thoughts. I'll teach you how to disguise yourself better, how to hide your secret. You'll have access to knowledge and power few could dream of."
Silence hung in the air as Caelum strained to hear Fern's response.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Marwyn was a dangerous mad man, obsessed with magic and the arcane.
Why would he choose Fern out of all the potential candidates in Oldtown? There were likely hundreds of other children in oldtown that had Valyrian blood in their veins.
"What did Caelum choose?" Fern repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
"He hasn't given me an answer yet," Marwyn admitted. "But I believe he'll come around. He's a smart boy, and he knows a good offer when he hears one."
"I... I need to think about it," Fern said. "I need to talk to my father. Thank you for not betraying my secret, Archmaester."
"I understand, child. Take your time. I'll await your decision." Marwyn's voice was calm, almost soothing. "But remember, the world is changing. Opportunities like this don't come along often."
Caelum listened as Fern's footsteps faded away.
He was both relieved and deeply troubled.
He wanted to believe Marwyn's intentions were good, but something about the Archmaester's words and demeanor set off warning bells in his mind.
He thought of Fern, her kindness and the trust she'd shown him. Meredith would have done the same thing if she had been in her position.
If anyone deserved a chance at a better life, it was her.
But was Marwyn the right person to guide her?
Caelum couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this offer than met the eye.
He had to warn Fern, protect her from whatever Marwyn had planned.
But how? How could he do that without revealing his own secret?
If it became necessary, and Marwyn proved dangerous, he would damn his secret and tell her.
Damn his fears.
The weight of his own magic, the power that set him apart, felt heavier than ever before.
He longed for a world where he could be just Caelum, the boy from the farm, not some anomaly with extraordinary abilities. But that world, it seemed, was slipping further and further away.
If Fern was truly in danger, he would tell her everything.
Damn his anxieties.
He hastily shoved the remaining books back onto the shelves, their haphazard arrangement a minor inconvenience compared to the worry gnawing at him. He practically sprinted through the library's labyrinthine corridors, his mind racing with thoughts of Marwyn and Fern.
As he reached a heavy wooden door leading out of the library, he grasped the iron handle and pulled. To his surprise, the entire door came off its hinges, the rusted metal screeching in protest. Caelum stumbled back, the door crashing to the floor with a resounding thud.
"What in the Seven Hells was that?" A gruff voice echoed through the corridor as a guard in Hightower livery rounded the corner, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"I... I just tried to open the door, and it came off," Caelum stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment.
The guard knelt down, examining the broken hinge. "Rusty old thing," he muttered. "No harm done, lad. I'll have someone fix it." He gave Caelum a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You best be on your way."
Caelum nodded, grateful for the guard's understanding.
He hurried away, the strange incident already fading from his mind as he focused on his mission. He couldn't be late for the seventh-day sermon. It was his first time visiting the Starry Sept since arriving in Oldtown, and he didn't want to miss it.
The sun was setting as Caelum made his way through the cobblestone streets, the golden light casting long shadows that danced and flickered like the flames he'd conjured in his room.
He reached the Learned Anchor just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon.
Liernen greeted him at the door. "You're just in time, lad. Fern's gone to run a few errands, but she should be back soon. Could you help me hitch up the wagon? We'll need it to get to the Sept."
Caelum nodded, a wave of affection washing over him. Caelum's respect for the innkeeper had grown even deeper after learning of his selfless act in raising Fern as his own.
"Pylos is inside, finishing up his supper," Liernen said, jerking his head towards the bustling common room. "You can join him if you like."
"Thank you, Liernen, but I'm not hungry right now," Caelum replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "Where's the wagon? Is there anything else I can help with?"
Liernen pointed towards the back of the inn. "The horses are tied up behind the building. Hitch them to the wagon, and make sure the wheels are properly greased. They've been squeaking something awful lately."
"Will do," Caelum said, eager to keep his mind occupied. He strode towards the inn's back door, his thoughts still swirling with the cryptic conversation he'd overheard.
As he reached for the door handle, he pushed, expecting the usual resistance. Instead, the door flew open with a loud bang, nearly ripping off its hinges entirely. Caelum stumbled back, his eyes wide with alarm.
"What in the blazes was that?" Liernen shouted from the common room.
"Sorry, Liernen!" Caelum called back, his voice shaking. "I was rushing."
Liernen emerged from the inn, a bemused expression on his face. "Easy there, lad," he chuckled, shaking his head. "No need to tear the place down. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but slow down."
Caelum apologized again, his heart pounding in his chest.
He hadn't meant to fling the door open like that. That's the second time it had happened. Something was wrong.
Pylos, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, appeared in the doorway. "Well, that's one way to make an entrance," he quipped. "Thought you wouldn't make it back in time."
"I rushed as soon as I could," Caelum replied, his voice strained. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.
Pylos waved a dismissive hand. "Just call me if you need help, Caelum. I'll be here."
Caelum nodded, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach. He headed towards the back of the inn, his senses on high alert.
The two horses, their coats gleaming in the fading light, were tethered to a nearby post. Caelum approached the chestnut mare, his hands trembling as he reached for the rope. He untied it slowly, his gaze fixed on the horse's wary eyes.
As he began leading the mare towards the wagon, he gently tugged on the rope, intending to guide her into position. But the mare didn't budge. Caelum tugged again, harder this time.
Suddenly, the mare lurched forward, pulled with a force that should have been impossible for Caelum to muster. A cry of pain escaped the horse's mouth as it stumbled, its legs tangling in the rope.
Caelum froze, his eyes wide with horror. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, rushing to the mare's side. He quickly untied the rope, his hands shaking.
"Everything alright back there, Caelum?" Liernen's voice boomed from the inn.
"Yes, Liernen!" Caelum called back, his voice tight. "Just... just a bit of trouble with the mare."
Caelum crouched beside the mare, his hand trembling as he reached out to stroke her velvety nose. "Easy, girl," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
He focused on his touch, willing it to be as gentle as a feather's caress. His fingers brushed against the mare's warm flank, each stroke a conscious effort to control the strength that thrummed beneath his skin. To his relief, the mare's trembling subsided, her breathing slowing to a steady rhythm.
"There you go," Caelum soothed, his voice barely audible. "It's alright. I won't hurt you again."
He stood, his heart still pounding in his chest. This was new, this surge of power that seemed to respond to his every whim. Was this another gift from the gods?
He didn't know, but the fear of inadvertently harming someone else gnawed at him.
With renewed determination, he approached the black stallion, his movements cautious and deliberate. He spoke to the horse in a low, calming voice, his touch as light as a butterfly's wing. The stallion, sensing Caelum's intentions, lowered its head, its ears twitching in curiosity.
Caelum carefully attached the harness, his fingers fumbling with the buckles and straps. Every touch felt exaggerated, every movement magnified. Even a gentle tug on the reins felt like a powerful yank, but he persevered, his focus unwavering.
Finally, both horses were hitched to the wagon, their heads bowed and their bodies relaxed. Caelum stepped back, surveying his work with a mixture of pride and trepidation.
Next, Caelum turned his attention to the squeaking wheels. He approached the task with the same exaggerated care, treating the heavy wooden spokes as if they were as delicate as parchment.
He dipped his fingers into the grease, wincing at the sensation of the thick, oily substance on his skin. He carefully applied it to the axles, each turn a deliberate effort to control his newfound strength.
With a final grunt of exertion, he finished the task, wiping his greasy hands on a nearby rag. He stepped back, surveying the wagon with a mix of satisfaction and unease. The horses stood calmly, their harness secure, and the wheels no longer emitted their earsplitting squeal.
Just as Caelum finished, Fern emerged from the inn, a small basket slung over her arm. "All set?" she asked, a warm smile on her face.
It seems she had gotten her mummer's wig off, her short boyish brown hair were brushed, and her Amethyst eyes sparkled when they set upon him.
"Just in time, dear," Liernen boomed, clapping her on the back with a hearty laugh. "You did a fine job, Caelum. Let's be off to the Sept, then."
Caelum nodded, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
The wagon was ready, and he'd managed to avoid any further mishaps with his uncontrollable strength. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't touch anyone on the way to the Sept, not until he could figure out what was happening to him. The thought of accidentally hurting someone, especially Fern, Pylos or any of his friends, filled him with dread.
x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x
The Starry Sept of Oldtown was a masterpiece of architecture, its domed ceiling soaring high above a sea of flickering candlelight. The seven statues of the gods, each carved from a single block of black marble, stood sentinel along the walls, their enigmatic faces bathed in the soft glow of the countless candles.
Caelum, however, found little solace in the serene beauty of the place. He fidgeted on the wooden bench, his eyes darting from one statue to the next.
A strange unease prickled at the back of his neck, a sensation he couldn't quite shake. The air itself felt thick, charged with an energy he couldn't define.
His gaze settled on the statues' eyes, each one a gleaming shard of obsidian. The star-like stones seemed to glint with an inner fire, a reflection of the same celestial power that had brought him to this world.
The sight left him uncomfortable.
His fingers tightened around the armrest, the smooth wood a stark contrast to the rough fabric of his tunic. He was acutely aware of his own body, the power that thrummed beneath his skin like a caged beast.
The incident with the horse had shaken him, leaving him with a lingering fear of what he might be capable of. He'd barely touched the door, the horse, and yet the results had been... excessive.
He glanced at Fern and Pylos, seated beside him, their faces serene as they listened to the Septon's words. They seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil, their faith a comforting anchor in the storm of his own doubts.
Caelum wished he could share their tranquility, but he was too afraid that even the faintest touch from him would break something, or hurt someone.
"...and in these dark times, let us turn to the Seven for guidance and strength, for they are our shield against despair and our beacon of hope," the Septon's voice echoed through the vast chamber, yet the words seemed to bounce off Caelum, failing to penetrate the swirling chaos of his thoughts.
Pylos, noticing Caelum's restless shifting and the way his fingers drummed a silent rhythm on his thigh, leaned closer and whispered, "Are you alright, Caelum? You seem on edge."
Caelum forced a smile, his gaze fixed on the flickering candles. "I'm fine, Pylos," he lied, his voice barely a whisper. "Just a bit tired, that's all."
Fern, her brow furrowed with concern, leaned closer to Caelum. "Are you sure you're alright?" she whispered. "You look a little pale. And you've been so jumpy ever since Archmaester Marwyn visited you at the inn. Did he say something to upset you?"
Caelum swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "It's nothing, Fern," he lied, forcing a smile. "Just a bit overwhelmed by the sermon, I suppose."
Fern nodded, her amethyst eyes filled with empathy. "I'll pray for you, Caelum. May the Seven guide you and bring you peace."
Caelum squeezed her hand, a wave of guilt washing over him.
He longed to tell her the truth, to confide in her about Marwyn's visit. He would if Marwyn proved dangerous, but the fear of rejection, of being seen as a monster, held him back.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. But his anxiety only grew, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He gripped the armrest of the bench, his fingers tightening involuntarily.
There was a sharp crack, followed by a loud snapping sound. The armrest, weakened by age and Caelum's unintentional strength, splintered under his grasp.
The bench tilted, sending Caelum, Fern, Pylos, and Liernen tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs and startled cries.
The sermon came to an abrupt halt, the entire congregation turning to stare at the source of the commotion. A septa, her face etched with concern, rushed over, followed by a knight in gleaming Hightower armor.
"Are you alright?" the septa asked, helping Fern to her feet.
"We're fine, Septa," Liernen grumbled, rubbing his bruised elbow. "Just a bit shaken, that's all."
The knight examined the broken bench, his brow furrowed. "Must have been old and worn," he concluded. "No harm done." He offered them another bench, closer to the front this time.
Liernen apologized profusely, but the septa waved him off with a gentle smile. "It's no trouble at all," she assured him. "We should have been more diligent in our inspections."
The sermon resumed, but Caelum couldn't focus. His hands trembled, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He knew he couldn't stay here, not with this uncontrollable power coursing through him.
"I'm not feeling well," he whispered to Fern, his voice barely audible. "I think I should go home."
Fern's eyes widened with concern. "Would you like me to come with you?"
Caelum shook his head. "No, I'll be fine," he lied. "Just need some fresh air. You stay and enjoy the sermon."
He rose from the bench, his legs unsteady. With a final apologetic glance at Fern, he slipped out of the Starry Sept, leaving behind the flickering candlelight and the comforting words of the Septon.
Caelum practically fled the Starry Sept, the cool night air a welcome relief against his flushed skin. He stumbled through the open doors, the sounds of the sermon fading behind him as he emerged onto the vast marble plaza. The imposing silhouette of the Citadel, its towers and spires piercing the night sky, loomed over him like a watchful giant. It was a sight that had once filled him with awe and wonder, but now, it only served to amplify his growing sense of unease.
He hurried past the towering statues of the Seven, their white starry eyes seemingly following his every move. The thought of their gaze, imbued with the power of the same star that had brought him to this world, sent a shiver down his spine. He needed to get away, to find a place where he could be alone.
His feet carried him past the clustered mansions of the pious, their windows glowing with warm light that promised comfort and safety. But Caelum knew he couldn't seek refuge there.
Not tonight.
Not until he understood the strange power that surged within him, threatening to turn his every touch into a destructive force.
He quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest. He passed beneath the arched gateway of the city walls, leaving behind the bustling streets and the comforting familiarity of Oldtown. The vast expanse of farmland stretched before him, bathed in the silvery light of the moon.
He followed a narrow path that wound alongside the Honeywine River, its gentle murmur a soothing counterpoint to the chaos raging within him.
As he walked, his mind raced, trying to make sense of the events of the day. The broken bench, the startled horse... it was clear that his magic had manifested in a new, frightening way. He didn't know how to control this newfound strength, and the fear of unintentionally harming someone he loved was almost unbearable.
He found a secluded spot by the riverbank, hidden from view by a cluster of willow trees. He sank to the ground, his head buried in his hands. He felt so lost, so alone. He had come to the Citadel seeking answers, but all he had found were more questions, more mysteries.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. He had to figure this out. He had to learn to control his power, to harness it for good.
But for now, he needed solitude, a space to grapple with the terrifying reality of his own strength.
Caelum breathed deeply, the scent of damp earth and river water filling his lungs. He needed to figure out how to control this new strength, but he had no idea where to start.
He wished Luke were here, his steady presence and calm wisdom a soothing balm against the chaos swirling within him. He longed for Meredith's gentle touch, her ability to ground him with a simple smile.
He glanced at a nearby willow tree, its branches drooping low over the water.
He reached out a hand, intending to brush a stray leaf from his face. Instead, his fingers closed around the trunk, a surge of power coursing through him. The tree groaned, its roots straining against the earth, then toppled over with a deafening crack, falling across the riverbank.
Caelum recoiled, his eyes wide with terror. He hadn't meant to do that, hadn't even realized the extent of his strength. What if he'd hurt someone? The thought sent a wave of nausea through him.
A muffled groan, faint but distinct, cut through the silence.
Caelum froze, his heart pounding.
Someone was in pain.
His magical hearing, honed by years of practice, allowed him to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It was coming from somewhere further along the river, a distant cry for help.
He hesitated.
He knew he should help, but he was terrified of his own strength. What if he made things worse? What if he accidentally hurt the person he was trying to save?
But then he remembered Luke's words, a mantra he'd repeated countless times during their training sessions back home: "Think, plan, weigh the dangers."
Caelum took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. First, he needed to understand the situation.
He followed the sound, his senses heightened, every rustle of leaves and splash of water amplified in his ears.
The groan led him to a small manse, a stone structure nestled amongst the rolling hills. Hightower guards patrolled the perimeter, their torches casting long, dancing shadows.
One of them, a knight in full armor, stood at the front door, his face a mask of stoic indifference.
Caelum used his magical sight, his vision piercing through the stone walls. What he saw inside chilled him to the bone. Maester Qyburn, his face pale and focused, stood over a table on which a man lay strapped down, his body exposed and his chest cavity opened wide.
The man's muffled cries echoed through the room, his eyes filled with terror as Qyburn's scalpel danced over his flesh.
Caelum's stomach churned.
This wasn't healing, this was... torture.
He scanned the room, his gaze falling on a small table cluttered with vials and instruments.
Among them, he recognized the distinctive shape of a milk of the poppy bottle. The man was being drugged, his pain dulled but not erased.
Caelum's anger flared.
He had to stop this, to rescue the man from Qyburn's cruel experiments.
But first, he had to assess the situation. His gaze swept through the manse, revealing more horrors: several cells, each containing a prisoner, their faces gaunt and their eyes filled with despair.
Caelum's eyes burned with a sudden, intense heat. A crimson glow filled his vision as he focused on a spot on the manse farthest from the cells, a section of the wall where no harm could come to the prisoners within. He inhaled sharply, ready to unleash the fiery power that surged within him.
But a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Caelum reacted on pure instinct, a surge of adrenaline fueling his muscles. He whipped around, his arm lashing out with a force he didn't fully comprehend. The figure behind him was sent flying, a startled cry escaping their lips as they slammed into a nearby tree.
Horror flooded Caelum's face as he rushed to the fallen figure. The moonlight illuminated a familiar face twisted in pain – Archmaester Marwyn.
"You... didn't mention that particular talent," Marwyn groaned, clutching his side.
Caelum's heart sank. He knelt beside the Archmaester, his magical sight revealing a fractured rib, a shard of bone pressing dangerously close to a lung. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with guilt and worry. "What are you doing here?"
Marwyn winced as he tried to sit up. "I'll live," he rasped, then coughed, a spray of blood staining his lips. "I had business outside the city. As I was returning, my glass candle ignited. It led me... to you." He looked up at Caelum, his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing out here, so far from the city?"
Caelum gestured towards the manse, his voice thick with anger. "Qyburn is in there. He's... he's cutting people open. Alive."
Marwyn's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?" he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
"It doesn't matter," Caelum retorted, his voice tight with urgency. "We have to stop him."
Marwyn raised a hand, his expression grim. "You don't understand what's happening here, boy. How did you know Qyburn was... experimenting?"
Caelum glared at him, his anger rising. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
Marwyn's face hardened. "Yes, I did. And I'm telling you, trying to interfere would be foolish. Take a moment, boy, and think. Who are those guards protecting the manse?"
Caelum's gaze shifted towards the Hightower banners fluttering in the night breeze. A cold realization washed over him. "Lord Hightower..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Marwyn nodded. "Leyton Hightower is a man of many interests, including magic. While Qyburn may not share that fascination, he is obsessed with understanding the mysteries of life and death. Lord Hightower has given him free rein to pursue his... research."
"Research?" Caelum spat out. "He's torturing people, Marwyn! That's not research, that's brutality!"
Marwyn's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "And how do you know that, boy? Did you simply stumble upon this place, or is there more to your abilities than meets the eye?"
Caelum clenched his fists, the anger threatening to consume him. "Yes," he hissed. "I can see through walls. I can hear whispers from miles away." He turned to Marwyn, his eyes blazing. "And I won't stand by while innocent people suffer!"
Marwyn's eyes gleamed with a newfound fascination, a predatory hunger replacing the earlier pain. "Most interesting," he murmured, clutching his injured rib. "So, the boy who fell from the stars possesses more than just dragonfire. You are a most intriguing find indeed."
He turned towards the manse, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Those 'innocent' souls you wish to save, boy? They are not as blameless as you think. Leyton Hightower delivers criminals to Qyburn – thieves, murderers, rapists. The dregs of society. Leyton has the right to punish them as he sees fit, and this is the method he has chosen."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "There are laws in this land, Marwyn. The King's laws. They can be sent to the Wall, or executed. But torture..." He shook his head, disgust rising in his throat. "Torture is not justice."
Marwyn laughed, a harsh, barking sound that echoed through the trees. "Your morality is... quaint, boy. But it's misplaced. Lords make the laws and enforce them as they see fit. Look there," he pointed towards the manse, "a knight stands guard. The very thing you aspire to. Do you think he questions his lord's orders? Knights are dogs, Caelum. Loyal only to their Lord. Which lord will you serve when you become a knight? Whose will will you enforce? Who will you make king?"
Caelum shook his head, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "He'll die, Marwyn! We have to stop him."
Marwyn raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He won't die, boy. Qyburn knows what he's doing. He needs his subjects alive for his... research."
"They're still in pain," Caelum retorted, his eyes blazing. "What do you propose I do, then? Just stand here and watch?"
"What can you do?" Marwyn countered. "Storm the manse, eyes blazing? Kill the guards? Kill Qyburn? And then what? Those guards are merely following orders. To them, they're simply carrying out the Lord's justice."
Caelum's hands clenched into fists. "We can get them out," he hissed. "Create a distraction, set the manse ablaze, free the prisoners..."
Marwyn's expression darkened. "You'd free criminals, boy? Thieves, murderers, rapists? Is that the kind of justice you seek?"
Caelum faltered, the weight of Marwyn's words sinking in.
He didn't know what to do.
His sense of right and wrong warred with the harsh reality of the situation.
Marwyn sighed, a hint of pity in his eyes. "Your morality is admirable, Caelum, but naive. These men are not innocent. They've committed heinous crimes, and Leyton Hightower has chosen a... unique form of punishment. However," his voice took on a conspiratorial tone, "there may be a way to stop this, but you'll owe me a favor."
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "Another one of your schemes, Marwyn? I heard you with Fern in the glass candle chamber. Your claim of Valyrian blood was nonsense. She may have Valyrian blood, but so do hundreds of others in Oldtown."
Marwyn chuckled, wincing slightly as his broken rib shifted. "You are a fascinating creature, Caelum Starborne. Yes, Fern is an intriguing little sphinx. I approached her to get closer to you, of course. And by helping me here, you'll be in my debt. A win-win situation, wouldn't you agree?"
Caelum weighed the proposal in his mind. His eyes glowed red for a moment, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. "If you harm Fern in any way," he said, his voice low and menacing, "I will not show you mercy."
Marwyn raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I have no intention of harming the girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. I see great potential in her." He paused, his gaze returning to the manse. "As for Qyburn... the best way to stop him is to expose his actions. Leyton Hightower may have given him tacit approval, but what he's doing goes beyond even a lord's right to punish. He's dabbling in necromancy, Caelum. Searching for the lingering essence of souls in the dead."
"How do we do that?" Caelum asked.
x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x
(A/N) I've been sitting on this chapter for over a week. I just haven't felt good at all. I'm very sick.
I am sorry for the cliff hanger, and I will continue it in the next chapter. Then we'll finally get to what's happening in the war. I had more planned for this chapter, but I just don't feel well enough to write for a while.
I hope this was worth the wait.
- Location
- La Serena, Chile
I hope you get better
And this was a Great chapter despite being shorter.
Caelum's newfound super strengh will very likely the factor that exposes his secret, since it's so difficult to supress/hide
And yeah, His ideal of Knighthood Will die or change as soon he realices how you just become the enforcers of your Lord's Will, no questions asked and consequences be damned
Untamed Power
Chapter 22 –
Marwyn's gaze fixed on Caelum, his eyes sharp and calculating. "Tell me, boy," he said, his voice barely a whisper above the gentle murmur of the river, "how many guards protect this... establishment?"
Caelum nodded focusing his magical sight on the manse. He counted silently, his mind racing as his vision pierced through the stone walls of the manse.
"Eleven guards," he reported, his voice steady, "and one knight. There's also a stable around the back, with several horses."
Marwyn nodded, a grim satisfaction settling on his face. "Good," he said. "Your task is simple, if not easy. Sneak into the courtyard, unseen. Lock all possible exits, ensuring Qyburn has no way to leave."
Caelum's brows furrowed. "And then?"
"Then, release the horses from the stable," Marwyn continued, his voice low and urgent. "Create a distraction. Something... spectacular. Something that will draw attention from the city."
Caelum stared at him, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that?"
Marwyn's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "You claim to see through walls and hear whispers from miles away, boy. It's time to put those abilities to the test." He paused, his gaze raking over Caelum's form. "I know you have no experience sneaking about like a common thief, but those gifts should prove useful."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "I'll do it," he said, his voice firm. He was still unnerved by his uncontrolled strength, but a flicker of determination ignited in his eyes. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll get it done."
Marwyn nodded approvingly. "Good. As for me, my cart is by the river. It's a half-hour ride to the city, and another ten minutes to the Citadel. I should be able to convince the Seneschal, Archmaester Theron, and a few others to investigate. The Seneschal has the power to put an end to Qyburn's... activities."
A flicker of doubt crossed Caelum's face. "Can you ride with a broken rib?"
Marwyn waved a dismissive hand. "I've had worse. Besides, this is more important." He rummaged through his satchel, producing a mask of Valyrian steel, its intricate design shimmering in the moonlight. It was the same mask he wore as the Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries, a symbol of his authority and knowledge. He extended it towards Caelum.
Caelum eyed the mask warily. "What's this for?"
"To hide your identity," Marwyn replied.
Caelum scoffed. "I thought you said my magic wasn't something to hide like a shameful disease."
Marwyn's lips twitched in amusement. "The mask is a precaution, boy. Should you get caught, unlikely as it is, you will be caught acting against Lord Hightower's guards. That could have... consequences."
"But this mask..." Caelum protested, gesturing towards the ornate design. "It's too recognizable."
"Only if you get caught," Marwyn countered. "And there's no chance of that, is there? Not with your abilities." His eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. "If you are spotted, the mask will paint a picture of a thief who made away with my belongings. I should have no issue corroborating that."
Caelum reluctantly took the mask, his fingers tracing the cool metal. "Alright," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'll do it."
He wrapped his head and body in cloth, leaving only his eyes and hands exposed. He donned the mask, the cold steel a stark reminder of the danger he was about to face.
"Remember," Marwyn said, his voice a chilling whisper, "be swift, be silent, and leave no trace."
With a final nod, Marwyn turned and limped towards his waiting cart, the pain in his side evident in every labored step. Caelum watched him go, a mixture of gratitude and unease churning within him.
He had no love for the enigmatic Archmaester, but he knew that Marwyn's help was essential if they were to stop Qyburn's horrific experiments.
As the sound of the cart wheels faded into the distance, Caelum turned towards the manse, his eyes scanning the imposing structure for a point of entry. His magical sight pierced the stone walls, revealing the layout of the building and the positions of the guards within. He circled the manse, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
The longest section of wall, on the west side of the property, faced the Honeywine River. Caelum noted the guard positioned on the upper floor, he looked bored beyond belief. He carefully avoided that side regardless, his eyes searching for a blind spot.
He crept along the edge of the wall, his senses heightened. He could hear the voices of the guards patrolling the grounds, as they made merry with their conversation, keeping themselves occupied, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path. He could see through the walls, their silhouettes shifting and flickering like shadows in a lantern's glow.
Caelum's gaze settled on the stable on the south side of the manse. It was the only structure attached to the main building, its stone walls seamlessly merging with the rest of the estate.
"That's it," he whispered to himself, a spark of hope igniting in his chest.
The stable offered a potential entry point, a way to bypass the guards and the guard's watchful eye.
He moved towards it, his movements swift and silent. He pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to be careful. One wrong move, one careless touch, and he could alert the guards or worse, cause unintended damage with his newfound strength.
He reached the stable door, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any sign of movement.
The coast was clear.
He pressed closer to the wall, each step a measured calculation of risk and reward. The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot drew nearer, punctuated by the low murmur of voices. Caelum held his breath, straining to hear their conversation.
"Heard the Lyseni slavers are getting bolder," a gruff voice said, a hint of unease in its tone. "With the Royal Fleet smashed, who's to stop them?"
"Aye," another voice chimed in, rough and weathered. "Those Myrish dogs are emboldened too. They say their ships are patrolling the Stepstones, some have even grown bold enough to sail towards the coasts of Dragonstone, preying on any merchant unlucky enough to cross their path."
Caelum listened intently, a frown creasing his brow. The war had indeed emboldened the slavers, giving them the opportunity to exploit the chaos and instability that gripped the realm.
The destruction of the Royal Fleet at Gulltown, and white harbor had been a devastating blow, not only for the Targaryen cause but for the safety and security of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.
"They'll get what's coming to them," a third voice interjected, its tone laced with contempt. "The Targaryens won't stand for it. The King will see to it that those slavers are brought to justice."
"The King?" the first guard scoffed. "He's locked up in the Red Keep, hiding behind his Kingsguard. It's the lords who are fighting this war, not him."
A fourth voice, younger and tinged with bitterness, joined the conversation. "I wanted to sail with the Hightower fleet," he grumbled. "Join the blockade at Shipbreaker Bay. But no, I'm stuck here, guarding prisoners for Maester Qyburn." He sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Can't say I'm too dismayed, though. It's peaceful out here, at least."
Caelum's heart pounded in his chest.
He turned his attention to the stable door, a massive wooden structure locked shut by a massive wooden beam. He had managed to hitch up the horses at the Learned Anchor, but only with the utmost care, his touch as delicate as a butterfly's wing. He didn't know if he could exert that same level of control on such a large object.
The fear of his uncontrolled strength gnawed at him. He couldn't risk breaking the door down. The noise would surely alert the guards. He had to find a way to open it gently, without causing any damage.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead. He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered above the beam. He focused on the sensation of his own power. He imagined his hand as a feather, a gentle breeze, a whisper of touch.
With the utmost care, he grasped the wooden beam barring the exit of the stables. The beam felt lighter than parchment to him, and the door creaked open, the sound barely audible above the murmur of the river and the distant chatter of the guards.
The stable's interior was dimly lit, the only light coming from a few lanterns hanging from the rafters. The air was thick with the sweet scent of hay and the warm musk of horses. Six magnificent steeds stood in their stalls, their coats gleaming in the dim light. They were a mix of breeds, from sleek coursers to sturdy draft horses, each one a testament to the Hightowers' wealth and discerning taste.
A large, ornate carriage occupied one corner of the stable, its polished wood and gleaming metalwork reflecting the flickering lantern light.
Caelum's magical sight revealed two figures near the stables. One was a guard, stationed outside the main building, his back turned to the entrance. The other was a stable boy, curled up asleep in a small shed a few feet away.
Caelum moved silently through the stable, his bare feet barely making a sound on the straw-covered floor. He approached the horses, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out a hand, his touch feather-light as he stroked the nearest horse's velvety muzzle. The animal snorted softly, its warm breath tickling Caelum's skin.
One by one, he untied the horses, his fingers working with the precision of a seasoned groom. He took care to avoid any sudden movements, his every action a delicate dance of control and restraint.
The horses seemed to sense his intentions, their eyes following him with a curious gaze as he moved from one stall to the next.
After a sweat trickling amount of time, with such careful movements that Caelum was left shivering at the end, he was able to untie all the horses inside the stable.
Caelum listened as the guards' conversation shifted. Their voices echoed through the open stable door, carrying snippets of their plans for the next day.
"Going to the Quill and Tankard tomorrow?" one guard asked, he sounded a ways away from the stable, and with his sight he realized it was the sentinel posted atop the manse. "Heard they've got a new brew from the Arbor."
"Nah," the guard outside the stable replied. "I'm heading to Ragpicker's Wynd. There's a new girl at the Honeycomb, they say she's a real looker."
"Best be careful there," the sentinel warned. "Ragpicker's Wynd isn't as clean as it used to be... best try the docks. If you're looking for a good time, I hear Peach is back at the Sailor's Wife. The things she can do with her tongue, maiden help me, I woulda taken her to wife if she wasn't a whore!"
Caelum's eyes scanned the courtyard, his magical sight revealing a grove of large, leafy trees just outside the stable. High up in one of the trees atop a heavy sturdy branch, sat a heavy lemur clung to a thick limb, its eyes wide and droopy, as it chewed on the bark of the branch.
An idea sparked in Caelum's mind. He spotted a hefty rock lying near the stable wall. It looked heavy, but to him, it felt as light as a feather. He carefully picked it up, his movements precise and controlled.
He aimed for the upper branches of the tree, the spot where the lemur perched. With a powerful throw, he hurled the rock upward. It struck the branch with a resounding crack, splintering the wood and sending the startled lemur scrambling higher into the tree.
The guard outside jumped, his hand flying to his sword. "What in the Seven Hells was that?" he shouted, looking around wildly.
"Did you see anything?" he called up to the guard on top.
"Nothing," came the reply. "Best go check it yourself."
The guard frowned, his eyes scanning the courtyard. "I'll go check it out," he muttered, moving towards the tree.
As soon as the guard left his post, Caelum seized his chance.
He vaulted over the stable window, landing silently in the flower-filled courtyard. He crouched low, weaving between fragrant jasmine bushes and fruit trees laden. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of jasmines, a stark contrast to the grim task at hand.
He reached the wall of the manse, his heart pounding in his chest.
He slipped into a dense cluster of jasmine, his body concealed by the lush foliage.
He could still hear the guards' voices, their confusion growing as they investigated the fallen branch.
"Damn lemur must have knocked it down," the guard grumbled. "Strong little beast."
Caelum smirked to himself. Now for the difficult part.
Caelum's magical sight swept through the manse, his vision unhindered by the thick stone walls. He identified two main doors, one at the front and one at the back, both crafted from heavy metal and reinforced with thick bolts.
Several windows dotted the façade, but each was barred with iron grates, a testament to the building's function as a prison as much as a residence.
Inside, Qyburn was meticulously stitching the unconscious man's chest closed. The Maester's movements were swift and precise, his hands steady as he manipulated the needle and thread. There was a clinical detachment in his demeanor, a focus that bordered on obsession.
Caelum's stomach churned as he watched Qyburn tie off the last stitch, his work a grotesque parody of a healer's art.
"Lyonel," Qyburn called out, his voice surprisingly gentle, "would you be so kind as to have our friend here taken back to his cell? And perhaps prepare for the next subject? A woman this time, if you please. And see to it that this table is thoroughly cleaned. I will be in my study."
"Of course, Maester Qyburn," Lyonel replied, his voice echoing from the hallway.
Caelum watched as two guards entered the room, their faces impassive as they lifted the unconscious man onto a stretcher and carried him away.
There were three guards inside the manse, one on top and seven outside. A Knight was on guard near the front gate, by the outer wall of the manse.
Caelum refocused on his task, his eyes tracing the path to the back door. He moved along the wall, his footsteps light as a whisper.
He avoided the flower beds, the fruit trees, and the wall of the manse, hidden as he was behind the jasmine hedge bushes.
Each step was a conscious effort to control his strength, a delicate dance between power and restraint. He couldn't risk alerting the guards.
Crouched behind the fragrant barrier of jasmine, Caelum shifted his focus to the front of the manse. Through the tangle of leaves and blossoms, his magical sight pierced the night, revealing a knight and a guard stationed near the outer wall. A crackling fire burned beside them, casting long, flickering shadows that danced in the darkness.
The knight leaned back against the wall, his polished Hightower armor gleaming in the firelight. His heavy castle steel shield and sword were placed beside him. His companion, a younger guard with a mop of unruly brown hair, sat cross-legged on the ground, his eyes fixed on the flames.
"...and then she says, 'My lord, you're as fiery as a Dornishman,'" the Knight chuckled, a lascivious grin spreading across his face. "Gods, I love that woman. She's got a spirit, a passion that my wife lacks."
"Aye," the guard replied, a hint of envy in his voice. "Sounds like you've got yourself a real firecracker, Ser Elmar."
"Firecracker indeed," Ser Elmar agreed. "Like a warm blanket on a cold night." He sighed, a wistful expression clouding his face. "What I wouldn't give to have a woman like that here, by the fire, on a night like this."
Caelum rolled his eyes. He needed to focus on the task at hand.
He crept closer to the front door, his eyes scanning the heavy iron surface. There was no obvious way to lock it from the outside. He couldn't step out into the moonlight to find something heavy to lock or barricade it.
He had to find a way to seal the door, to prevent anyone from leaving or entering the manse. A memory flashed through his mind, a history lesson about the dragonlords of Valyria, how they used dragonfire to forge their mighty weapons and towering cities.
Could he do the same? Could he use his own fire to melt the metal, fusing the door shut?
He took a deep breath, his eyes glowing with a fiery intensity. He focused his power, channeling the heat that surged within him. A searing beam of red energy shot from his eyes, striking the iron door with a hiss. The metal glowed white-hot, then began to melt and drip, the edges warping and contorting under the intense heat.
With a final sweep of his gaze across the warped and sealed door, Caelum cut off the flow of fire from his eyes. He stepped back, expecting the metal to cool and harden quickly.
To his horror, it continued to slowly drip and pool, threatening to leave the entrance completely open.
Panic welled up within him. He had to act fast.
Desperation drove him to a rash decision. He ripped off the cloth and the Valyrian steel mask, exposing his face to the cool night air. He leaned forward and blew on the molten iron, a desperate attempt to cool it.
A chilling sensation washed over his lungs, as if he had inhaled a lungful of ice. A blast of frosty air rushed from his lips, instantly solidifying the molten metal. It hardened into a jagged, misshapen mass, sealing the door shut.
Caelum stared in disbelief. He touched the frozen metal, his fingers tingling with the residual cold. He hadn't just melted the door; he had also frozen it solid with his breath. A new wave of astonishment washed over him.
Had the Seven blessed him with yet another magical ability?
His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. He had never heard of anyone with such power, not even in the ancient tales of Valyria. What did the gods have in store for him? He felt less human, more like an anomaly, a creature of myth and legend.
The thought of his destiny, whatever the Seven had in store for him, filled him with a sense of dread.
What danger would cause them to send down someone with power that he was being gifted with?
He had always dreamed of being a knight, a hero who earned his place in the world through hard work and valor.
But with each new revelation, that dream seemed to slip further away.
He shook his head, pushing aside the doubts and fears. He had a task to complete, a promise to keep.
"And the way she seasons that boar," Ser Elmar's voice drifted through the night, a hint of longing in his tone. "Sweet as honey, with a hint of spice. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it."
"Aye," the guard agreed, " Makes me wonder why you even bother with the kitchen at home."
"The wife is no slouch either," Ser Elmar chuckled in reply. "She may not be the firecracker that Alys is, but her cooking is heavenly."
Silently thanking the Seven that the Knight and guard had not spotted him, Caelum quickly donned the mask and cloth, concealing his identity once more.
He moved swiftly along the wall, keeping to the shadows as he made his way towards the back of the manse, shadowed behind the same thicket of jasmines he had used hugging the walls of the manse.
Caelum moved swiftly along the wall, his eyes fixed on the back of the manse. He passed by the distracted guard, who had returned to his post and resumed his conversation with the sentineled guard atop the manse.
"...and her arse," the guard on top was saying, his voice a low chuckle, "shaped like the finest peaches. Soft, round, and oh-so inviting. It's a sight to see when its red and shiny."
"Aye," the guard replied, a hint of longing in his voice. "I've heard tales of this Peach. They say she's the most sought-after woman in all of Oldtown."
"More than that," the sentinel insisted. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Skin like porcelain, eyes like pools of molten gold. And those nipples..." He paused, a dreamy expression clouding his face. "Pink as cherries, they are. Sweet as summer wine."
Caelum grimaced, a wave of disgust washing over him. He had no desire to hear the intimate details of the sentinel's exploits. He quickened his pace, eager to put some distance between himself and the crude conversation.
"And her cunt, Gods, her cunt" the sentinel continued, oblivious to Caelum's presence, "pink and velvety, softer than anything I've ever touched. Even my wife's..." He trailed off, a low whistle escaping his lips.
Caelum reached the back door, his senses heightened. The guard stationed there was slumped in his chair, his head lolled to one side, a half-empty flagon of ale clutched in his hand. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicated he was fast asleep.
Caelum moved closer, careful to avoid the lantern that hung above the guard's head. He could smell the stale ale on the man's breath, a pungent aroma that mingled with the scent of sweat and leather.
He removed the cloth covering his face, then the Valyrian steel mask. His eyes glowed crimson as he unleashed a torrent of fire, the heat searing the metal door. It melted quickly, a drop dripping and pooling at the base.
With a gasp, he cut off the flow of fire and blew on the molten metal, the icy chill filling his lungs. The metal solidified instantly, forming a crude but effective seal.
The sudden change in temperature seemed to stir the guard. He grunted, swatting at the air as if fending off a bothersome fly. "Damn... breeze..." he mumbled, his words slurring together.
Caelum held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Had he been discovered?
The guard shifted in his seat, pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, trying to ward off the unexpected chill, and settled back into his slumber, his snores resuming with renewed vigor.
Caelum exhaled slowly, relief washing over him.
Caelum quickly donned the mask and cloth, once again cloaking his identity in shadow. Now, he had to enact the final stages of the plan. The horses were ready to bolt, and all that remained was to create a distraction large enough to draw attention from the city and make his escape.
The question of how to leave the compound gnawed at him. He couldn't risk another distraction near the stable, and he couldn't scale the walls with his uncontrolled strength. He needed a way out that wouldn't draw attention to himself.
But then, as he watched the flames flicker in the lantern above the sleeping guard, a daring idea took root in his mind.
It was a risky move, but it was the only idea that came to mind.
His eyes blazed crimson once more, a surge of power coursing through him. He focused his fiery gaze on the interior of the stable, igniting the hay within. The flames roared to life, quickly engulfing the dry straw and wood. The horses, startled by the sudden heat and light, neighed in terror and bolted out the open door, their hooves thundering across the courtyard.
"Fire!" the sentinel shouted from the roof. "The stable's ablaze!"
The peaceful night erupted into chaos.
The guards in the courtyard scrambled to their feet, their relaxed demeanor replaced by panic. Ser Elmar barked out orders, his voice sharp and authoritative.
"Get water!" he commanded. "Someone fetch buckets from the well!"
"The horses!" the guard at the stable shouted, his voice filled with alarm. "Gods damn it! They're loose!"
The guard who had been dozing by the back door stumbled to his feet, his eyes wide with fear. "The door!" he yelled, as he tried to open it to get water from within. "It's sealed shut!"
Three guards crowded around the door, their faces pale in the firelight. "How did this happen?" one of them asked, his voice panicked.
"It looks like it was melted," another replied, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Inside the manse, Qyburn's voice rose above the din, a note of panic edging into his normally calm demeanor. "What's happening out there?" he demanded. "Open this door!"
The stable fire raged, the flames leaping high into the night sky, a beacon visible for miles around.
Caelum watched from his hiding place, his heart pounding in his chest.
The courtyard was now a scene of utter confusion. The guards, realizing they had no way to extinguish the blaze, were now desperately trying to break down the sealed doors.
Caelum saw his chance. He darted from his hiding place, keeping low to the ground as he made his way towards the western wall.
He reached the base of the wall, his eyes scanning the towering stone structure. He took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength he possessed, praying to the Seven that his strength was indeed something he could rely on right now.
With a mighty roar, he slammed his fist into the wall.
The impact sent shockwaves through the stone, a deafening crack echoing through the night. A massive section of the wall crumbled, raining down debris as Caelum stumbled back.
He had done it. He had created an opening.
Panicked shouts echoed through the courtyard, cutting through the roar of the flames. "What was that?" a guard yelled, his voice filled with fear. "Sounded like a thunderclap!"
"By the Seven!" Ser Elmar exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. "The wall! It's been breached!" He paused, his brow furrowed in thought. "Did someone bring a siege engine to the bloody manse?"
Caelum didn't wait to hear the rest.
He sprinted away from the chaos, his feet pounding against the hard-packed earth. He raced towards the river, the cool night air whipping through his hair as he ran.
He hoped Marwyn had made it back to the Citadel in time, that he would soon return with the seneschal to apprehend Qyburn.
But then, his magical hearing picked up a new sound, a desperate cry for help that cut through the din of the fire and the shouts of the guards.
"Help! Someone, please!" The voice was high-pitched and terrified, choked with smoke.
Caelum's blood ran cold. He had forgotten about the stable boy. The shed he had been sleeping in was attached to the stable, and now it was engulfed in flames.
"The boy!" a guard yelled. "He's trapped in the shed!"
"We're coming!" Ser Elmar's voice boomed through the courtyard. "Hold on, lad!"
Caelum's heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't let the boy die. He had caused this, and he had to fix it.
He spun around, without another though, and raced back towards the manse, his eyes fixed on the inferno that now consumed the stable.
Ignoring the gaping hole he'd created in the wall, Caelum sprinted past two dumbfounded guards. Their voices reached him in a jumble of panic and confusion.
"There is no siege engine here. Gods help us." one of them shouted "Who would attack a manse?"
"The gods are angry!" the first guard shouted, his voice trembling. "This is a sign of their wrath!"
Caelum paid them no mind. He raced towards the south side of the manse, towards the burning stable.
The horses were long gone, their hoofbeats fading into the distance. But the stable boy's cries for help still echoed through the night.
"Help! Please!" The boy's voice was raspy, choked with smoke. "I can't breathe!"
"Hold on, lad!" Ser Elmar's voice boomed from the other side of the inferno. "We're coming!"
Caelum skidded to a halt at the open stable door.
The flames hadn't reached this side yet, but the heat was intense. He could see the boy through his magical sight, huddled in the corner of the shed, his body trembling. The hay outside the shed was ablaze, the flames licking at the wooden walls.
"Everyone to the river!" Ser Elmar ordered. "Fetch water! Now!"
The guards obeyed, their figures silhouetted against the fire as they raced towards the Honeywine.
Caelum took a deep breath, his eyes glowing with a chilling light. He lowered the mask from his face, exposing his mouth, and exhaled a blast of icy air. A wave of frost extinguished the flames nearest the shed, creating a temporary barrier between the boy and the inferno.
He quickly readjusted the mask and rushed into the shed. The boy screamed, his eyes wide with terror. "Demon!" he shrieked, scrambling back into the corner. "Gods! Ser Elmar! Please! Demon! Stay away! STAY AWAY!"
"Calm down," Caelum urged, his voice muffled by the mask. "I'm here to help you."
The boy didn't seem to hear him. He continued to sob hysterically, his cries for Ser Elmar growing louder.
"Ser Elmar!" he wailed. "Help me!"
"Just a moment, lad!" Ser Elmar called from outside. "The guards are getting water!"
Caelum lowered the mask again, unleashing another blast of icy breath.
The flames retreated further, the temperature in the shed dropping noticeably. The boy's sobs grew weaker, his body going limp as he succumbed to the shock and smoke.
Caelum scooped the unconscious boy into his arms and rushed out of the shed, his heart pounding in his chest.
He sprinted towards Ser Elmar, who was waiting anxiously on the other side of the burning stable. The flames licking at his clothes.
Caelum dropped the limp boy outside the stable, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw the boy's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. But before he could catch his own breath, Ser Elmar lunged at him, his sword flashing in the firelight.
"Demon!" the knight screamed, his eyes wide with terror. "You came out of the flames! You're a monster!"
He swung his sword wildly, the blade whistling through the air.
"Stop!" Caelum shouted, dodging the attacks. "You're mistaken! I saved the boy!"
But Ser Elmar was beyond reason, his fear blinding him. "Liar!" he snarled, his voice choked with emotion. "You must have set the fire! You're a demon sent from the Seven Hells!"
Caelum weaved and bobbed, his movements almost effortless as he evaded the knight's swift attacks.
He could see the fear in Ser Elmar's eyes, the way his hands trembled as he gripped the sword hilt.
He knew he could easily overpower the knight, but he couldn't bring himself to harm him.
"Please!" he pleaded, his voice rising above the roar of the flames. "I'm not your enemy! I'm trying to help!"
But Ser Elmar wouldn't listen. "Die, demon!" he shrieked, lunging forward with a desperate thrust.
Caelum slapped the blade aside, the force of his blow sending the sword flying from Ser Elmar's grasp.
The knight stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock.
"I'm sorry!" Caelum cried, "I didn't mean to..."
But Ser Elmar cut him off with a roar, his face contorted with rage.
He charged at Caelum, bracing behind his shiny steel shield.
Caelum panicked, his instincts taking over. He thrust out his hand, his palm meeting the center of the shield with a sickening crunch.
The metal buckled and warped, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface. Ser Elmar's arm, trapped beneath the shield, twisted at an unnatural angle.
The knight screamed, his body collapsing as his arm detached from his shoulder, the severed limb clattering to the ground.
Caelum stared in horror at the mangled mess before him, his stomach churning. He had done it again.
He had hurt someone, and this time, it was far worse than a broken bench or a spooked horse.
He had crippled a man.
He staggered back, his legs trembling. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he vomited onto the cobblestones, the acidic taste of bile filling his mouth.
Caelum stumbled back from the gruesome scene, his stomach heaving once more. He fell to his knees, his body wracked with dry sobs. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth, a bitter reminder of his own power, a power he couldn't control.
Ser Elmar's moans filled the night air, a symphony of pain and terror. "Stay away," he whimpered, his voice barely audible. "Please... don't hurt me anymore."
Caelum knew he couldn't leave the knight to bleed out. Despite the horror of what he had done, a sense of duty, a healer's instinct, stirred within him. He had to try to help.
He crawled towards Ser Elmar, his eyes fixed on the gruesome wound. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Ser Elmar whimpered again, his eyes fluttering open. "Please..." he begged, his voice barely a whisper. "Help me..."
Caelum's magical sight revealed the extent of the damage. The knight's arm had been severed cleanly at the shoulder, the wound a gaping maw of torn flesh and exposed bone. Caelum knew he had to stop the bleeding, but he had no bandages, no clean cloth.
The flames from the stable roared behind him, casting a flickering glow on the scene. The heat was intense, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and horsehair. Caelum's mind raced, searching for a solution.
He remembered a lesson from Maester Lorcas that wounds could be burnt shut with hot metal to stop such bleeding.
He didn't have any hot metal, but he had something far more potent.
"Forgive me," he whispered to Ser Elmar, his voice barely a breath. "Forgive me, Ser Elmar."
He closed his eyes, focusing his power once more. A crimson glow emanated from beneath the mask as his eyes blazed with fiery energy. He directed the heat towards the wound, the flesh sizzling and sealing shut under the intense heat.
Ser Elmar screamed, his body convulsing before falling still.
He quickly checked Ser Elmar's pulse, his magical sight confirming that the man's heart was still beating, though faintly.
He was alive, but unconscious.
The pounding on the manse doors intensified. "Ser Elmar!" Qyburn's voice called out, filled with urgency. "What's happening? Open the door! Ser Elmar!"
Caelum peered inside, Qyburn and four guards were trying to break the door down from the inside. The sentinel stationed on top with them.
Caelum glanced back at the inferno.
The flames were spreading through the stable.
He couldn't risk the fire spreading further, endangering the lives of the prisoners trapped inside the manse. The flames hadn't yet reached the main structure, but he couldn't afford to take any chances.
He willed himself to his feet, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he did so. He stumbled towards the southern wall of the manse, the one connected to the burning stable. The western wall was already breached, but he needed to ensure the flames didn't spread further.
He raised his fist, his eyes burning with a fiery resolve..
With a guttural cry, he unleashed his power, his fist connecting with the wall in a thunderous impact.
The stone cracked and splintered, a massive section collapsing inward, creating another gaping hole. The fire, now contained within the stable, roared in defiance, but it would spread no further.
Caelum cast a final glance at the unconscious Ser Elmar, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. He had saved the boy, but at a terrible cost. He had to get away from this place, from the violence and destruction he had wrought.
With a heavy heart, he turned and fled through the newly created opening in the wall, his tears mingling with the sweat on his face. The inferno behind him raged on, a fiery testament to his power and his desperation.
He didn't look back, his only thought was a prayer of forgiveness from the Seven, as he rushed to put as much distance between himself and the manse as possible as he rushed back to the city.
x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x
That's the rest of the chapter.
Caelum's made mistakes. Mistakes have consequences.
Too much power in the hands of a child, an untrained on at that. Not everything is going to be easy.
Superman had to spend years, learning control. I don't know about MoS, but in every iteration of Superman, control is either taught by Jor-El (Superman and Lois) or, by the Kents at the farm (most comics)
As for the conversations between the guards, locker room talk I imagine. I hope it wasn't too crude, or off-putting.
Marwyn's gaze fixed on Caelum, his eyes sharp and calculating. "Tell me, boy," he said, his voice barely a whisper above the gentle murmur of the river, "how many guards protect this... establishment?"
Caelum nodded focusing his magical sight on the manse. He counted silently, his mind racing as his vision pierced through the stone walls of the manse.
"Eleven guards," he reported, his voice steady, "and one knight. There's also a stable around the back, with several horses."
Marwyn nodded, a grim satisfaction settling on his face. "Good," he said. "Your task is simple, if not easy. Sneak into the courtyard, unseen. Lock all possible exits, ensuring Qyburn has no way to leave."
Caelum's brows furrowed. "And then?"
"Then, release the horses from the stable," Marwyn continued, his voice low and urgent. "Create a distraction. Something... spectacular. Something that will draw attention from the city."
Caelum stared at him, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that?"
Marwyn's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "You claim to see through walls and hear whispers from miles away, boy. It's time to put those abilities to the test." He paused, his gaze raking over Caelum's form. "I know you have no experience sneaking about like a common thief, but those gifts should prove useful."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "I'll do it," he said, his voice firm. He was still unnerved by his uncontrolled strength, but a flicker of determination ignited in his eyes. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll get it done."
Marwyn nodded approvingly. "Good. As for me, my cart is by the river. It's a half-hour ride to the city, and another ten minutes to the Citadel. I should be able to convince the Seneschal, Archmaester Theron, and a few others to investigate. The Seneschal has the power to put an end to Qyburn's... activities."
A flicker of doubt crossed Caelum's face. "Can you ride with a broken rib?"
Marwyn waved a dismissive hand. "I've had worse. Besides, this is more important." He rummaged through his satchel, producing a mask of Valyrian steel, its intricate design shimmering in the moonlight. It was the same mask he wore as the Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries, a symbol of his authority and knowledge. He extended it towards Caelum.
Caelum eyed the mask warily. "What's this for?"
"To hide your identity," Marwyn replied.
Caelum scoffed. "I thought you said my magic wasn't something to hide like a shameful disease."
Marwyn's lips twitched in amusement. "The mask is a precaution, boy. Should you get caught, unlikely as it is, you will be caught acting against Lord Hightower's guards. That could have... consequences."
"But this mask..." Caelum protested, gesturing towards the ornate design. "It's too recognizable."
"Only if you get caught," Marwyn countered. "And there's no chance of that, is there? Not with your abilities." His eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. "If you are spotted, the mask will paint a picture of a thief who made away with my belongings. I should have no issue corroborating that."
Caelum reluctantly took the mask, his fingers tracing the cool metal. "Alright," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'll do it."
He wrapped his head and body in cloth, leaving only his eyes and hands exposed. He donned the mask, the cold steel a stark reminder of the danger he was about to face.
"Remember," Marwyn said, his voice a chilling whisper, "be swift, be silent, and leave no trace."
With a final nod, Marwyn turned and limped towards his waiting cart, the pain in his side evident in every labored step. Caelum watched him go, a mixture of gratitude and unease churning within him.
He had no love for the enigmatic Archmaester, but he knew that Marwyn's help was essential if they were to stop Qyburn's horrific experiments.
As the sound of the cart wheels faded into the distance, Caelum turned towards the manse, his eyes scanning the imposing structure for a point of entry. His magical sight pierced the stone walls, revealing the layout of the building and the positions of the guards within. He circled the manse, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
The longest section of wall, on the west side of the property, faced the Honeywine River. Caelum noted the guard positioned on the upper floor, he looked bored beyond belief. He carefully avoided that side regardless, his eyes searching for a blind spot.
He crept along the edge of the wall, his senses heightened. He could hear the voices of the guards patrolling the grounds, as they made merry with their conversation, keeping themselves occupied, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path. He could see through the walls, their silhouettes shifting and flickering like shadows in a lantern's glow.
Caelum's gaze settled on the stable on the south side of the manse. It was the only structure attached to the main building, its stone walls seamlessly merging with the rest of the estate.
"That's it," he whispered to himself, a spark of hope igniting in his chest.
The stable offered a potential entry point, a way to bypass the guards and the guard's watchful eye.
He moved towards it, his movements swift and silent. He pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to be careful. One wrong move, one careless touch, and he could alert the guards or worse, cause unintended damage with his newfound strength.
He reached the stable door, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any sign of movement.
The coast was clear.
He pressed closer to the wall, each step a measured calculation of risk and reward. The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot drew nearer, punctuated by the low murmur of voices. Caelum held his breath, straining to hear their conversation.
"Heard the Lyseni slavers are getting bolder," a gruff voice said, a hint of unease in its tone. "With the Royal Fleet smashed, who's to stop them?"
"Aye," another voice chimed in, rough and weathered. "Those Myrish dogs are emboldened too. They say their ships are patrolling the Stepstones, some have even grown bold enough to sail towards the coasts of Dragonstone, preying on any merchant unlucky enough to cross their path."
Caelum listened intently, a frown creasing his brow. The war had indeed emboldened the slavers, giving them the opportunity to exploit the chaos and instability that gripped the realm.
The destruction of the Royal Fleet at Gulltown, and white harbor had been a devastating blow, not only for the Targaryen cause but for the safety and security of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.
"They'll get what's coming to them," a third voice interjected, its tone laced with contempt. "The Targaryens won't stand for it. The King will see to it that those slavers are brought to justice."
"The King?" the first guard scoffed. "He's locked up in the Red Keep, hiding behind his Kingsguard. It's the lords who are fighting this war, not him."
A fourth voice, younger and tinged with bitterness, joined the conversation. "I wanted to sail with the Hightower fleet," he grumbled. "Join the blockade at Shipbreaker Bay. But no, I'm stuck here, guarding prisoners for Maester Qyburn." He sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Can't say I'm too dismayed, though. It's peaceful out here, at least."
Caelum's heart pounded in his chest.
He turned his attention to the stable door, a massive wooden structure locked shut by a massive wooden beam. He had managed to hitch up the horses at the Learned Anchor, but only with the utmost care, his touch as delicate as a butterfly's wing. He didn't know if he could exert that same level of control on such a large object.
The fear of his uncontrolled strength gnawed at him. He couldn't risk breaking the door down. The noise would surely alert the guards. He had to find a way to open it gently, without causing any damage.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead. He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered above the beam. He focused on the sensation of his own power. He imagined his hand as a feather, a gentle breeze, a whisper of touch.
With the utmost care, he grasped the wooden beam barring the exit of the stables. The beam felt lighter than parchment to him, and the door creaked open, the sound barely audible above the murmur of the river and the distant chatter of the guards.
The stable's interior was dimly lit, the only light coming from a few lanterns hanging from the rafters. The air was thick with the sweet scent of hay and the warm musk of horses. Six magnificent steeds stood in their stalls, their coats gleaming in the dim light. They were a mix of breeds, from sleek coursers to sturdy draft horses, each one a testament to the Hightowers' wealth and discerning taste.
A large, ornate carriage occupied one corner of the stable, its polished wood and gleaming metalwork reflecting the flickering lantern light.
Caelum's magical sight revealed two figures near the stables. One was a guard, stationed outside the main building, his back turned to the entrance. The other was a stable boy, curled up asleep in a small shed a few feet away.
Caelum moved silently through the stable, his bare feet barely making a sound on the straw-covered floor. He approached the horses, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out a hand, his touch feather-light as he stroked the nearest horse's velvety muzzle. The animal snorted softly, its warm breath tickling Caelum's skin.
One by one, he untied the horses, his fingers working with the precision of a seasoned groom. He took care to avoid any sudden movements, his every action a delicate dance of control and restraint.
The horses seemed to sense his intentions, their eyes following him with a curious gaze as he moved from one stall to the next.
After a sweat trickling amount of time, with such careful movements that Caelum was left shivering at the end, he was able to untie all the horses inside the stable.
Caelum listened as the guards' conversation shifted. Their voices echoed through the open stable door, carrying snippets of their plans for the next day.
"Going to the Quill and Tankard tomorrow?" one guard asked, he sounded a ways away from the stable, and with his sight he realized it was the sentinel posted atop the manse. "Heard they've got a new brew from the Arbor."
"Nah," the guard outside the stable replied. "I'm heading to Ragpicker's Wynd. There's a new girl at the Honeycomb, they say she's a real looker."
"Best be careful there," the sentinel warned. "Ragpicker's Wynd isn't as clean as it used to be... best try the docks. If you're looking for a good time, I hear Peach is back at the Sailor's Wife. The things she can do with her tongue, maiden help me, I woulda taken her to wife if she wasn't a whore!"
Caelum's eyes scanned the courtyard, his magical sight revealing a grove of large, leafy trees just outside the stable. High up in one of the trees atop a heavy sturdy branch, sat a heavy lemur clung to a thick limb, its eyes wide and droopy, as it chewed on the bark of the branch.
An idea sparked in Caelum's mind. He spotted a hefty rock lying near the stable wall. It looked heavy, but to him, it felt as light as a feather. He carefully picked it up, his movements precise and controlled.
He aimed for the upper branches of the tree, the spot where the lemur perched. With a powerful throw, he hurled the rock upward. It struck the branch with a resounding crack, splintering the wood and sending the startled lemur scrambling higher into the tree.
The guard outside jumped, his hand flying to his sword. "What in the Seven Hells was that?" he shouted, looking around wildly.
"Did you see anything?" he called up to the guard on top.
"Nothing," came the reply. "Best go check it yourself."
The guard frowned, his eyes scanning the courtyard. "I'll go check it out," he muttered, moving towards the tree.
As soon as the guard left his post, Caelum seized his chance.
He vaulted over the stable window, landing silently in the flower-filled courtyard. He crouched low, weaving between fragrant jasmine bushes and fruit trees laden. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of jasmines, a stark contrast to the grim task at hand.
He reached the wall of the manse, his heart pounding in his chest.
He slipped into a dense cluster of jasmine, his body concealed by the lush foliage.
He could still hear the guards' voices, their confusion growing as they investigated the fallen branch.
"Damn lemur must have knocked it down," the guard grumbled. "Strong little beast."
Caelum smirked to himself. Now for the difficult part.
Caelum's magical sight swept through the manse, his vision unhindered by the thick stone walls. He identified two main doors, one at the front and one at the back, both crafted from heavy metal and reinforced with thick bolts.
Several windows dotted the façade, but each was barred with iron grates, a testament to the building's function as a prison as much as a residence.
Inside, Qyburn was meticulously stitching the unconscious man's chest closed. The Maester's movements were swift and precise, his hands steady as he manipulated the needle and thread. There was a clinical detachment in his demeanor, a focus that bordered on obsession.
Caelum's stomach churned as he watched Qyburn tie off the last stitch, his work a grotesque parody of a healer's art.
"Lyonel," Qyburn called out, his voice surprisingly gentle, "would you be so kind as to have our friend here taken back to his cell? And perhaps prepare for the next subject? A woman this time, if you please. And see to it that this table is thoroughly cleaned. I will be in my study."
"Of course, Maester Qyburn," Lyonel replied, his voice echoing from the hallway.
Caelum watched as two guards entered the room, their faces impassive as they lifted the unconscious man onto a stretcher and carried him away.
There were three guards inside the manse, one on top and seven outside. A Knight was on guard near the front gate, by the outer wall of the manse.
Caelum refocused on his task, his eyes tracing the path to the back door. He moved along the wall, his footsteps light as a whisper.
He avoided the flower beds, the fruit trees, and the wall of the manse, hidden as he was behind the jasmine hedge bushes.
Each step was a conscious effort to control his strength, a delicate dance between power and restraint. He couldn't risk alerting the guards.
Crouched behind the fragrant barrier of jasmine, Caelum shifted his focus to the front of the manse. Through the tangle of leaves and blossoms, his magical sight pierced the night, revealing a knight and a guard stationed near the outer wall. A crackling fire burned beside them, casting long, flickering shadows that danced in the darkness.
The knight leaned back against the wall, his polished Hightower armor gleaming in the firelight. His heavy castle steel shield and sword were placed beside him. His companion, a younger guard with a mop of unruly brown hair, sat cross-legged on the ground, his eyes fixed on the flames.
"...and then she says, 'My lord, you're as fiery as a Dornishman,'" the Knight chuckled, a lascivious grin spreading across his face. "Gods, I love that woman. She's got a spirit, a passion that my wife lacks."
"Aye," the guard replied, a hint of envy in his voice. "Sounds like you've got yourself a real firecracker, Ser Elmar."
"Firecracker indeed," Ser Elmar agreed. "Like a warm blanket on a cold night." He sighed, a wistful expression clouding his face. "What I wouldn't give to have a woman like that here, by the fire, on a night like this."
Caelum rolled his eyes. He needed to focus on the task at hand.
He crept closer to the front door, his eyes scanning the heavy iron surface. There was no obvious way to lock it from the outside. He couldn't step out into the moonlight to find something heavy to lock or barricade it.
He had to find a way to seal the door, to prevent anyone from leaving or entering the manse. A memory flashed through his mind, a history lesson about the dragonlords of Valyria, how they used dragonfire to forge their mighty weapons and towering cities.
Could he do the same? Could he use his own fire to melt the metal, fusing the door shut?
He took a deep breath, his eyes glowing with a fiery intensity. He focused his power, channeling the heat that surged within him. A searing beam of red energy shot from his eyes, striking the iron door with a hiss. The metal glowed white-hot, then began to melt and drip, the edges warping and contorting under the intense heat.
With a final sweep of his gaze across the warped and sealed door, Caelum cut off the flow of fire from his eyes. He stepped back, expecting the metal to cool and harden quickly.
To his horror, it continued to slowly drip and pool, threatening to leave the entrance completely open.
Panic welled up within him. He had to act fast.
Desperation drove him to a rash decision. He ripped off the cloth and the Valyrian steel mask, exposing his face to the cool night air. He leaned forward and blew on the molten iron, a desperate attempt to cool it.
A chilling sensation washed over his lungs, as if he had inhaled a lungful of ice. A blast of frosty air rushed from his lips, instantly solidifying the molten metal. It hardened into a jagged, misshapen mass, sealing the door shut.
Caelum stared in disbelief. He touched the frozen metal, his fingers tingling with the residual cold. He hadn't just melted the door; he had also frozen it solid with his breath. A new wave of astonishment washed over him.
Had the Seven blessed him with yet another magical ability?
His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. He had never heard of anyone with such power, not even in the ancient tales of Valyria. What did the gods have in store for him? He felt less human, more like an anomaly, a creature of myth and legend.
The thought of his destiny, whatever the Seven had in store for him, filled him with a sense of dread.
What danger would cause them to send down someone with power that he was being gifted with?
He had always dreamed of being a knight, a hero who earned his place in the world through hard work and valor.
But with each new revelation, that dream seemed to slip further away.
He shook his head, pushing aside the doubts and fears. He had a task to complete, a promise to keep.
"And the way she seasons that boar," Ser Elmar's voice drifted through the night, a hint of longing in his tone. "Sweet as honey, with a hint of spice. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it."
"Aye," the guard agreed, " Makes me wonder why you even bother with the kitchen at home."
"The wife is no slouch either," Ser Elmar chuckled in reply. "She may not be the firecracker that Alys is, but her cooking is heavenly."
Silently thanking the Seven that the Knight and guard had not spotted him, Caelum quickly donned the mask and cloth, concealing his identity once more.
He moved swiftly along the wall, keeping to the shadows as he made his way towards the back of the manse, shadowed behind the same thicket of jasmines he had used hugging the walls of the manse.
Caelum moved swiftly along the wall, his eyes fixed on the back of the manse. He passed by the distracted guard, who had returned to his post and resumed his conversation with the sentineled guard atop the manse.
"...and her arse," the guard on top was saying, his voice a low chuckle, "shaped like the finest peaches. Soft, round, and oh-so inviting. It's a sight to see when its red and shiny."
"Aye," the guard replied, a hint of longing in his voice. "I've heard tales of this Peach. They say she's the most sought-after woman in all of Oldtown."
"More than that," the sentinel insisted. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Skin like porcelain, eyes like pools of molten gold. And those nipples..." He paused, a dreamy expression clouding his face. "Pink as cherries, they are. Sweet as summer wine."
Caelum grimaced, a wave of disgust washing over him. He had no desire to hear the intimate details of the sentinel's exploits. He quickened his pace, eager to put some distance between himself and the crude conversation.
"And her cunt, Gods, her cunt" the sentinel continued, oblivious to Caelum's presence, "pink and velvety, softer than anything I've ever touched. Even my wife's..." He trailed off, a low whistle escaping his lips.
Caelum reached the back door, his senses heightened. The guard stationed there was slumped in his chair, his head lolled to one side, a half-empty flagon of ale clutched in his hand. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicated he was fast asleep.
Caelum moved closer, careful to avoid the lantern that hung above the guard's head. He could smell the stale ale on the man's breath, a pungent aroma that mingled with the scent of sweat and leather.
He removed the cloth covering his face, then the Valyrian steel mask. His eyes glowed crimson as he unleashed a torrent of fire, the heat searing the metal door. It melted quickly, a drop dripping and pooling at the base.
With a gasp, he cut off the flow of fire and blew on the molten metal, the icy chill filling his lungs. The metal solidified instantly, forming a crude but effective seal.
The sudden change in temperature seemed to stir the guard. He grunted, swatting at the air as if fending off a bothersome fly. "Damn... breeze..." he mumbled, his words slurring together.
Caelum held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Had he been discovered?
The guard shifted in his seat, pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, trying to ward off the unexpected chill, and settled back into his slumber, his snores resuming with renewed vigor.
Caelum exhaled slowly, relief washing over him.
Caelum quickly donned the mask and cloth, once again cloaking his identity in shadow. Now, he had to enact the final stages of the plan. The horses were ready to bolt, and all that remained was to create a distraction large enough to draw attention from the city and make his escape.
The question of how to leave the compound gnawed at him. He couldn't risk another distraction near the stable, and he couldn't scale the walls with his uncontrolled strength. He needed a way out that wouldn't draw attention to himself.
But then, as he watched the flames flicker in the lantern above the sleeping guard, a daring idea took root in his mind.
It was a risky move, but it was the only idea that came to mind.
His eyes blazed crimson once more, a surge of power coursing through him. He focused his fiery gaze on the interior of the stable, igniting the hay within. The flames roared to life, quickly engulfing the dry straw and wood. The horses, startled by the sudden heat and light, neighed in terror and bolted out the open door, their hooves thundering across the courtyard.
"Fire!" the sentinel shouted from the roof. "The stable's ablaze!"
The peaceful night erupted into chaos.
The guards in the courtyard scrambled to their feet, their relaxed demeanor replaced by panic. Ser Elmar barked out orders, his voice sharp and authoritative.
"Get water!" he commanded. "Someone fetch buckets from the well!"
"The horses!" the guard at the stable shouted, his voice filled with alarm. "Gods damn it! They're loose!"
The guard who had been dozing by the back door stumbled to his feet, his eyes wide with fear. "The door!" he yelled, as he tried to open it to get water from within. "It's sealed shut!"
Three guards crowded around the door, their faces pale in the firelight. "How did this happen?" one of them asked, his voice panicked.
"It looks like it was melted," another replied, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Inside the manse, Qyburn's voice rose above the din, a note of panic edging into his normally calm demeanor. "What's happening out there?" he demanded. "Open this door!"
The stable fire raged, the flames leaping high into the night sky, a beacon visible for miles around.
Caelum watched from his hiding place, his heart pounding in his chest.
The courtyard was now a scene of utter confusion. The guards, realizing they had no way to extinguish the blaze, were now desperately trying to break down the sealed doors.
Caelum saw his chance. He darted from his hiding place, keeping low to the ground as he made his way towards the western wall.
He reached the base of the wall, his eyes scanning the towering stone structure. He took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength he possessed, praying to the Seven that his strength was indeed something he could rely on right now.
With a mighty roar, he slammed his fist into the wall.
The impact sent shockwaves through the stone, a deafening crack echoing through the night. A massive section of the wall crumbled, raining down debris as Caelum stumbled back.
He had done it. He had created an opening.
Panicked shouts echoed through the courtyard, cutting through the roar of the flames. "What was that?" a guard yelled, his voice filled with fear. "Sounded like a thunderclap!"
"By the Seven!" Ser Elmar exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. "The wall! It's been breached!" He paused, his brow furrowed in thought. "Did someone bring a siege engine to the bloody manse?"
Caelum didn't wait to hear the rest.
He sprinted away from the chaos, his feet pounding against the hard-packed earth. He raced towards the river, the cool night air whipping through his hair as he ran.
He hoped Marwyn had made it back to the Citadel in time, that he would soon return with the seneschal to apprehend Qyburn.
But then, his magical hearing picked up a new sound, a desperate cry for help that cut through the din of the fire and the shouts of the guards.
"Help! Someone, please!" The voice was high-pitched and terrified, choked with smoke.
Caelum's blood ran cold. He had forgotten about the stable boy. The shed he had been sleeping in was attached to the stable, and now it was engulfed in flames.
"The boy!" a guard yelled. "He's trapped in the shed!"
"We're coming!" Ser Elmar's voice boomed through the courtyard. "Hold on, lad!"
Caelum's heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't let the boy die. He had caused this, and he had to fix it.
He spun around, without another though, and raced back towards the manse, his eyes fixed on the inferno that now consumed the stable.
Ignoring the gaping hole he'd created in the wall, Caelum sprinted past two dumbfounded guards. Their voices reached him in a jumble of panic and confusion.
"There is no siege engine here. Gods help us." one of them shouted "Who would attack a manse?"
"The gods are angry!" the first guard shouted, his voice trembling. "This is a sign of their wrath!"
Caelum paid them no mind. He raced towards the south side of the manse, towards the burning stable.
The horses were long gone, their hoofbeats fading into the distance. But the stable boy's cries for help still echoed through the night.
"Help! Please!" The boy's voice was raspy, choked with smoke. "I can't breathe!"
"Hold on, lad!" Ser Elmar's voice boomed from the other side of the inferno. "We're coming!"
Caelum skidded to a halt at the open stable door.
The flames hadn't reached this side yet, but the heat was intense. He could see the boy through his magical sight, huddled in the corner of the shed, his body trembling. The hay outside the shed was ablaze, the flames licking at the wooden walls.
"Everyone to the river!" Ser Elmar ordered. "Fetch water! Now!"
The guards obeyed, their figures silhouetted against the fire as they raced towards the Honeywine.
Caelum took a deep breath, his eyes glowing with a chilling light. He lowered the mask from his face, exposing his mouth, and exhaled a blast of icy air. A wave of frost extinguished the flames nearest the shed, creating a temporary barrier between the boy and the inferno.
He quickly readjusted the mask and rushed into the shed. The boy screamed, his eyes wide with terror. "Demon!" he shrieked, scrambling back into the corner. "Gods! Ser Elmar! Please! Demon! Stay away! STAY AWAY!"
"Calm down," Caelum urged, his voice muffled by the mask. "I'm here to help you."
The boy didn't seem to hear him. He continued to sob hysterically, his cries for Ser Elmar growing louder.
"Ser Elmar!" he wailed. "Help me!"
"Just a moment, lad!" Ser Elmar called from outside. "The guards are getting water!"
Caelum lowered the mask again, unleashing another blast of icy breath.
The flames retreated further, the temperature in the shed dropping noticeably. The boy's sobs grew weaker, his body going limp as he succumbed to the shock and smoke.
Caelum scooped the unconscious boy into his arms and rushed out of the shed, his heart pounding in his chest.
He sprinted towards Ser Elmar, who was waiting anxiously on the other side of the burning stable. The flames licking at his clothes.
Caelum dropped the limp boy outside the stable, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw the boy's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. But before he could catch his own breath, Ser Elmar lunged at him, his sword flashing in the firelight.
"Demon!" the knight screamed, his eyes wide with terror. "You came out of the flames! You're a monster!"
He swung his sword wildly, the blade whistling through the air.
"Stop!" Caelum shouted, dodging the attacks. "You're mistaken! I saved the boy!"
But Ser Elmar was beyond reason, his fear blinding him. "Liar!" he snarled, his voice choked with emotion. "You must have set the fire! You're a demon sent from the Seven Hells!"
Caelum weaved and bobbed, his movements almost effortless as he evaded the knight's swift attacks.
He could see the fear in Ser Elmar's eyes, the way his hands trembled as he gripped the sword hilt.
He knew he could easily overpower the knight, but he couldn't bring himself to harm him.
"Please!" he pleaded, his voice rising above the roar of the flames. "I'm not your enemy! I'm trying to help!"
But Ser Elmar wouldn't listen. "Die, demon!" he shrieked, lunging forward with a desperate thrust.
Caelum slapped the blade aside, the force of his blow sending the sword flying from Ser Elmar's grasp.
The knight stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock.
"I'm sorry!" Caelum cried, "I didn't mean to..."
But Ser Elmar cut him off with a roar, his face contorted with rage.
He charged at Caelum, bracing behind his shiny steel shield.
Caelum panicked, his instincts taking over. He thrust out his hand, his palm meeting the center of the shield with a sickening crunch.
The metal buckled and warped, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface. Ser Elmar's arm, trapped beneath the shield, twisted at an unnatural angle.
The knight screamed, his body collapsing as his arm detached from his shoulder, the severed limb clattering to the ground.
Caelum stared in horror at the mangled mess before him, his stomach churning. He had done it again.
He had hurt someone, and this time, it was far worse than a broken bench or a spooked horse.
He had crippled a man.
He staggered back, his legs trembling. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he vomited onto the cobblestones, the acidic taste of bile filling his mouth.
Caelum stumbled back from the gruesome scene, his stomach heaving once more. He fell to his knees, his body wracked with dry sobs. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth, a bitter reminder of his own power, a power he couldn't control.
Ser Elmar's moans filled the night air, a symphony of pain and terror. "Stay away," he whimpered, his voice barely audible. "Please... don't hurt me anymore."
Caelum knew he couldn't leave the knight to bleed out. Despite the horror of what he had done, a sense of duty, a healer's instinct, stirred within him. He had to try to help.
He crawled towards Ser Elmar, his eyes fixed on the gruesome wound. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Ser Elmar whimpered again, his eyes fluttering open. "Please..." he begged, his voice barely a whisper. "Help me..."
Caelum's magical sight revealed the extent of the damage. The knight's arm had been severed cleanly at the shoulder, the wound a gaping maw of torn flesh and exposed bone. Caelum knew he had to stop the bleeding, but he had no bandages, no clean cloth.
The flames from the stable roared behind him, casting a flickering glow on the scene. The heat was intense, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and horsehair. Caelum's mind raced, searching for a solution.
He remembered a lesson from Maester Lorcas that wounds could be burnt shut with hot metal to stop such bleeding.
He didn't have any hot metal, but he had something far more potent.
"Forgive me," he whispered to Ser Elmar, his voice barely a breath. "Forgive me, Ser Elmar."
He closed his eyes, focusing his power once more. A crimson glow emanated from beneath the mask as his eyes blazed with fiery energy. He directed the heat towards the wound, the flesh sizzling and sealing shut under the intense heat.
Ser Elmar screamed, his body convulsing before falling still.
He quickly checked Ser Elmar's pulse, his magical sight confirming that the man's heart was still beating, though faintly.
He was alive, but unconscious.
The pounding on the manse doors intensified. "Ser Elmar!" Qyburn's voice called out, filled with urgency. "What's happening? Open the door! Ser Elmar!"
Caelum peered inside, Qyburn and four guards were trying to break the door down from the inside. The sentinel stationed on top with them.
Caelum glanced back at the inferno.
The flames were spreading through the stable.
He couldn't risk the fire spreading further, endangering the lives of the prisoners trapped inside the manse. The flames hadn't yet reached the main structure, but he couldn't afford to take any chances.
He willed himself to his feet, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he did so. He stumbled towards the southern wall of the manse, the one connected to the burning stable. The western wall was already breached, but he needed to ensure the flames didn't spread further.
He raised his fist, his eyes burning with a fiery resolve..
With a guttural cry, he unleashed his power, his fist connecting with the wall in a thunderous impact.
The stone cracked and splintered, a massive section collapsing inward, creating another gaping hole. The fire, now contained within the stable, roared in defiance, but it would spread no further.
Caelum cast a final glance at the unconscious Ser Elmar, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. He had saved the boy, but at a terrible cost. He had to get away from this place, from the violence and destruction he had wrought.
With a heavy heart, he turned and fled through the newly created opening in the wall, his tears mingling with the sweat on his face. The inferno behind him raged on, a fiery testament to his power and his desperation.
He didn't look back, his only thought was a prayer of forgiveness from the Seven, as he rushed to put as much distance between himself and the manse as possible as he rushed back to the city.
x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x
That's the rest of the chapter.
Caelum's made mistakes. Mistakes have consequences.
Too much power in the hands of a child, an untrained on at that. Not everything is going to be easy.
Superman had to spend years, learning control. I don't know about MoS, but in every iteration of Superman, control is either taught by Jor-El (Superman and Lois) or, by the Kents at the farm (most comics)
As for the conversations between the guards, locker room talk I imagine. I hope it wasn't too crude, or off-putting.
- Location
- La Serena, Chile
Oh I believe it's the opposite problem for Caleum
Everything and everyone Is just too easy to break
Most people struggle with not being strong enough.
Caleum Will have to deal with both being too strong and finding problems his strength would not actually help.
And the conversations were perfectly fine
Fire, Blood and Growth
New
Chapter 23 –
It all happened too suddenly.
He should have left with the princess and her children the very moment the Spider's letter had arrived. He should have left the moment he had come to know of the Prince's demise at the hands of the Seven damned Starks.
If he had, Princess Elia would still be alive.
But he hadn't.
He had instead given the princess a day to say farewell to the home that would soon be far behind her, once the King secured her and her children at King's Landing. It was to be a day of quiet remembrance, a final pilgrimage to Dragonstone, a place of beauty and solace amidst the gathering storm of war.
Instead, it had become a day of fire and blood.
Slavers, disguised as merchants from Lys, had launched a sudden and brutal attack on the fishing village. Their torches had set the docks ablaze, turning the harbor into an inferno.
Among the princess's party was the novice Septa, Pia, a young woman who had become something of a handmaiden to Prince Viserys. The young prince himself, however, had remained behind at the Red Keep, feeling the need to be by his mother, Queen Rhaella's side so late into her pregnancy.
She had been the first to spot them, trying desperately to keep little Prince Aegon who had been secured in her arms safe from the ambush.
Prince Lewyn Martell, a valiant knight of the Kingsguard, had fought like a lion, his spear flashing in the dying light. He had managed to secure the escape of little Princess Rhaenys, sending her galloping back to the castle with a trusted rider. But his heroism had come at a terrible price.
The Princess Elia had perished amidst the flames, her lifeblood spilling onto the cobblestones as she fought to shield her infant son from the slavers' grasping hands. Prince Lewyn had fallen beside her, his body riddled with wounds.
The slavers had captured many of the villagers, women and children dragged away screaming.
And little Prince Aegon, barely a year old, had vanished into the smoke and shadows, alongside the little septa who tried in vain to protect the innocent babe. Both, in the end, were carried off by the slavers.
The fishing village now lay in ruins.
Jon Connington stood on the deck of the Sea Dragon, the wind whipping at his cloak as he gazed out at the darkening horizon.
Beside him stood Laenor Waters, the captain of the ship and a man Jon did not entirely trust. Waters had returned from the North claiming to have journeyed to Skaagos, yet before his departure he had been seen with Prince Rhaegar feasting at Driftmark.
The Sea Dragon, the Barrow captained by Ser Willem Darry, and the Swiftwing under the command of Omer Blackberry, were all that remained of the royal fleet after the slavers' attack.
They were swift vessels, some of the fastest in the realm's Royal Fleet, and they had given chase through the broiling storm that had arisen in the Narrow Sea.
They were almost to Essos, somewhere near the coast of Pentos.
As the waves crashed against the hull, Jon's mind raced.
He could not shake the image of Princess Elia's lifeless body, nor the cries of the villagers as they were dragged away. He had been one of the first to rouse the Garrison after the rider had returned to the castle with Princess Rhaenys.
The Spider's missive had warned of a Stark plot to kidnap the royal children, he should have departed then, but Jon had hesitated, consumed by grief and anger over Rhaegar's death. Now, the consequences of his inaction were laid bare.
But he would not fail again.
Of the five slaver ships that had once swarmed the harbor, three now drifted aimlessly, their sails ablaze like funeral pyres. Jon felt a grim satisfaction at the sight, but it was fleeting.
"The Swiftwing is moving to board, my lord," Laenor Waters reported, his voice barely audible above the crashing waves. "Blackberry will rescue the captives on board."
Jon nodded, his gaze fixed on the remaining two slaver ships. "May he find the prince among them."
A vicious cheer erupted from the Swiftwing as Blackberry's men swarmed onto the first disabled ship, their swords flashing in the firelight. Jon watched as the slavers were cut down, a small measure of vengeance for the innocents they had stolen.
His attention snapped back to the battle at hand as a volley of flaming arrows arced from the Barrow, finding their mark on the deck of the next slaver ship. The pirates scrambled to douse the flames, but the distraction gave Willem Darry the opening he needed.
"Loose the sail!" Laenor Waters barked, his command echoing across the deck of the Sea Dragon. "Oarsmen, give me speed!"
The ship surged forward, its battering ram aimed at the starboard quarter of the last remaining slaver vessel. The air crackled with tension as the thunder rumbled again, closer now, a warning growl from the heavens.
"Archers, knock!" Laenor commanded, his voice rising above the storm. "Aim for the sails! Fire!"
The flaming arrows flew as the Sea Dragon gathered momentum. The slavers turned to meet the threat, their eyes wide with fear.
"Brace for impact!"
The battering ram slammed into the slaver ship with a sickening crunch of wood and metal, sending splinters flying and the vessel lurching violently.
Laenor was quick to rally his men.
Helmed and armored, they were a burly, hardened lot, likely honed by years at sea and the grim realities of war. More of his men surged up from the depths of the ship, muscles corded from their labor at the oars, their faces grim with battle fury.
"Board them!" The man bellowed, his voice a thunderclap above the storm. "Cut down every slaver you find! We'll secure the captives and find the prince."
Jon nodded, drawing his sword. "I'm with you."
With a roar, they charged across the splintered wood, leaping onto the slaver ship as a volley of arrows rained down, thinning the enemy ranks.
The deck became a maelstrom of steel and blood.
Laenor's men, well-trained and disciplined, fought with the ferocity of cornered wolves. The slavers, though outnumbered, were desperate and cunning.
"Douse the flames!" a slaver captain roared, his face blackened by smoke. "Get those sails down before the whole ship goes up!"
"Push them off!" another cried, straining against the Sea Dragon's ram. "Don't let them board!"
Jon found himself surrounded, three slavers pressing in on him. He parried a wild swing, then thrust forward, his blade finding its mark in a slaver's throat. Another lunged, but Jon sidestepped and drove his sword through the man's chest.
As he fought, he caught glimpses of Laenor, his movements swift and deadly, like a dancer amidst the chaos. But the slavers were relentless, and soon Jon was separated from his ally.
"Over here, you whoreson!" a slaver snarled, shoving a terrified villager in front of him, a young woman with tears streaming down her face. "Another step, and the girl dies!"
Jon's advance faltered. He was hemmed in, a wall of hardened flesh between him and the slaver's captive.
The woman cowered before her captor, her terror palpable in the stormy air.
Her dress was torn and soiled, revealing the pale skin of her chest, marred by a bloody gash across her left breast, as the lump of flesh hung loosely by the nipple. Dried blood stained between her legs.
"Don't be a fool," Jon said, his voice low and steady. "Your ship is lost. Surrender, and I promise you a swift death."
The slaver laughed, a harsh sound that grated against the roar of the sea. "Surrender? To the likes of you? My men will have your ship dislodged soon enough. And then, you'll be the one begging for mercy."
Jon's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.
Jon's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. Behind the slaver, the main mast burned fiercely, the flames licking at the rigging. The wood groaned and creaked ominously, bending under the heat.
Three more slavers circled warily, their Lyseni features etched in the flickering firelight. Thunder crackled overhead, a drumbeat to the impending doom.
The mast let out a deafening groan, bowing further. The slaver, his attention momentarily diverted, barked, "Miklaz, see to the mast!"
In that split second of distraction, the woman acted. With a desperate cry, she snatched a dirk from the slaver's belt and plunged it upwards, burying the blade in his jaw. His scream was cut short as he crumpled to the deck, blood gurgling from his mouth.
"You bitch!" one of the circling slavers roared, raising his sword.
Jon didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his sword a blur of motion. The slaver to his right fell with a gurgle, his lifeblood staining the deck. Jon reached the woman, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her behind him.
"Get down!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the storm and the clash of steel.
The two remaining slavers attacked, their blades flashing. Jon parried one blow, then another, but they were relentless. A third slaver joined the fray, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"Die, you Targaryen dog!" he spat, swinging his axe with a mighty roar.
Jon barely managed to deflect the blow, stumbling back as the axe bit into the wood of the deck. He was open, vulnerable. He braced for the killing stroke, but it never came.
A figure materialized beside him, deflecting the axe with a clang of steel. It was Laenor Waters, his face a mask of fury as he drove the slaver back.
"You're outnumbered, you fools!" Laenor bellowed. "Throw down your weapons"
The remaining slavers exchanged glances, their resolve wavering. One of them dropped his sword with a clatter. The other hesitated, then followed suit.
Jon, catching his breath, turned to Laenor. "Thank you," he said, his voice gruff with gratitude.
Laenor nodded, his eyes scanning the deck. "We need to secure the rest of the captives. And find the prince."
The burning mast groaned one last time, a tortured shriek before it finally gave way. With a deafening crash, it toppled over the port side, its blazing sails trailing smoke as it plunged into the churning sea.
Jon turned to the men, his voice ringing out with authority. "Round up the slavers! Tie them and put them to the sword. No mercy for these scum."
The remaining slavers, faces pale with fear, fell to their knees. "Mercy, my lord!" one cried, his voice cracking. "The Wall! Send us to the Wall! We'll take the black and atone for our sins!"
Jon, who had moved to the woman's side, knelt beside her. He procured a strip of cloth from the burning sail of the ship, and gently bound her wounded breast, then draped his cloak over her shoulders to shield her shattered nakedness.
"Silence! We will not spare you to rape and pillage in the North," he said, his voice cold and hard. "You will face justice for your crimes."
The wall wasn't an option available to him anyway. The war with the damned Starks meant that the wall was effectively out of the question to send scum like these to spend the rest of their lives in misery.
The woman looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered. "You saved my life."
"Maester Gormon and Maester Gerard will tend to your wounds when we return to Dragonstone," Jon assured her. He signaled to one of his men, who gently lifted the woman and carried her to the safety of the Sea Dragon.
Jon turned to Laenor Waters, who was already directing his men in securing the deck and executing the slavers. "I'm ready to search below," Jon said.
Laenor nodded. "I've already sent men down to clear the lower decks. Any slavers hiding among the oarsmen and captives will be dealt with."
Jon's lips tightened in a grim line. "Good thinking. Let's find the prince."
They descended into the dimly lit lower deck with some of their men.
The air was thick with the stench of stale sweat and fear. Bodies of slavers who had resisted capture lay scattered across the floorboards, their weapons clattering as Laenor's men secured the remaining prisoners.
The hold was a scene of utter misery.
Women and children, most likely destined for the pleasure houses of Lys, were huddled together, their eyes wide with terror.
Some bore the same marks of rape as the woman Jon had saved on deck, their torn clothes and skin bruised.
Jon and Laenor pushed through the crowd, their eyes searching.
As they reached the aft section of the ship, they found a group of children huddled together in a corner. Among them, Jon spotted a silver-haired babe, barely a year old, clutched in the arms of a trembling woman.
He knelt beside her. "Is this child yours?" he asked gently.
The woman shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Nay, m'lord. They gave 'im to me to quiet 'im. They said a Valyrian babe fetches a higher price."
Jon examined the child. His silver hair and purple eyes marked him as Targaryen, as royal.
It was Prince Aegon.
"Thank the gods," Jon breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. He looked at the woman, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for keeping him safe."
The woman sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "Thank ye, m'lord. Fer saving us."
Jon gently lifted the prince from the woman's arms, cradling him close. "Come, my men will take you to the Sea Dragon. Rest assured, you are safe."
The woman sobbed harder, "Thank ye, m'lord. Thank ye!"
He turned to Laenor, a relieved smile on his face. "I have him."
"Let's get him safe aboard the Sea Dragon then." The man said as he turned to his men.
"Get these people to the Sea Dragon!" He barked to his men, gesturing towards the huddled figures of the rescued slaves. "Every man, woman, and child. See them safely aboard."
Jon added his own commands, "Carefully, now! These people have suffered enough."
As they made their way back onto the main deck, the sight that greeted them was grim. The Barrow, once a proud vessel of the royal fleet, was now a floating inferno. Flames danced along its rigging, casting a hellish glow on the faces of the men still locked in bloody combat.
"Seven hells," Laenor swore, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Darry's ship is lost."
Jon's heart sank. "We have to help them," he said, his voice thick with desperation. "Can we get closer?"
Laenor shook his head grimly. "Not until the people are rescued and aboard the Sea Dragon. The storm is worsening, and the Barrow is too far gone."
A wave of despair washed over Jon.
There was still fighting on the slaver ship, but it was clear the tide had turned.
Thunder cracked overhead, and the rain began to pour, a cold, relentless deluge that lashed at the decks and blurred the horizon.
"Faster!" Laenor urged his men, his voice raised above the tumult. "Get everyone aboard! We need to move!"
Jon watched as the slaver ship, its sails tattered and burning, slowly pulled away from the wreckage of the Barrow.
It felt like a Pyrrhic victory.
"We have the prince, my lord," Laenor said, clapping a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder. "And we took down four of their ships. That slaver vessel won't last long in this storm. They're as good as lost."
Jon nodded, a flicker of hope kindling in his eyes. Laenor was right.
The slavers had paid a heavy price for their crimes, and their remaining ship was unlikely to survive the fury of the Narrow Sea.
"May the sea grant them a swift end," Jon murmured, a prayer whispered into the wind. For the sake of the innocent souls aboard that doomed vessel, he hoped their suffering would soon be over.
Once the rescued souls were safe aboard the Sea Dragon, Laenor Waters gave the order to rally and make for the Swiftwing. Omer Blackberry's ship had fared the best in the battle and had successfully boarded and rescued the captives from the three smaller slaver vessels.
Within a day, they returned to Dragonstone. The fires at the fishing village had been extinguished, but the charred ruins still smoldered, a grim reminder of the attack. Men patrolled the port, their faces hardened against the driving rain.
As they disembarked, they were met by the castellan, Ser Harrold Thorne. The man's relief at seeing Prince Aegon safe in Jon's arms was evident, but it quickly faded. "My lord," he said, his voice heavy, "I wish I had better news."
Jon's heart clenched. "What is it?"
"The queen... she is weakened. The Maesters did all they could, but... her previous losses took their toll. She gave birth to a daughter, Princess Daenerys, but..." Ser Harrold swallowed, his voice choked with emotion. "The maesters say she won't last the night."
Despair washed over Jon.
The queen was dying.
Dragonstone was no longer safe. He had to protect the remaining children, fulfill the king's orders, and secure the island against further raids of the like.
He turned to Laenor Waters, the man who had saved his life. "The king ordered me to bring Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to King's Landing," Jon explained. "As hostages against Dorne. But Dragonstone is vulnerable now. The slavers... and the Starks... they both want the children."
Laenor stilled. "The Starks, my Lord?"
Jon nodded. "The Spider has informed me that have sent an agent seeking to kidnap Prince Rhaegar's children. I cannot risk their safety here."
Laenor was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the stormy sea.
Then, he looked at Jon, his gaze unwavering. "I will not betray my family, Lord Connington."
Jon's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Laenor."
Within the hour, Laenor Waters set sail for King's Landing, the small figures of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys huddled on deck, their futures uncertain as the storm raged around them.
It would be a week when he realized that Laenor's family meant his wife, who had been hostage in the North, and Jon Connington failed his duty yet again as he lost Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to the Starks.
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The salt stung Caelum's chapped lips, a lingering reminder of the endless tears shed throughout the night.
His small room at the Learned Anchor, usually a haven of warmth and familiarity, now felt like a prison cell. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the bed linens, echoed with the phantom sound of Ser Elmar's agonized screams.
He had bolted the door as soon as he'd stumbled back to the inn, his hands shaking so violently he nearly splintered the wood.
Sometime during the night he vaguely remembered muffled voices beyond the door—Pylos, Fern, and Liernen, likely having returned from the Starry Sept and come to check on him. But he couldn't face them, not with the weight of his actions crushing his soul.
As dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Caelum's tears finally ran dry, leaving behind only a hollow ache in his chest.
He sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the Valyrian steel mask lying discarded on the floor. It seemed to mock him, a grotesque symbol of his monstrous power.
A sharp rap on the door jolted him from his bleak reverie.
He didn't move, his body frozen in place. The knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Caelum," a familiar voice boomed through the wood, the unmistakable tone of Maester Marwyn. "I know you're in there. Open this door, or I shall be forced to break it down."
Caelum flinched.
He knew the archmaester wasn't bluffing. With a sigh of resignation, he rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached for the door handle, his fingers trembling as they curled around the cool metal.
With the utmost care, he lifted the latch, the door creaking open just enough to reveal Marwyn's imposing figure.
Marwyn wasted no time, his bulk pushing past Caelum into the cramped room. He moved with surprising agility for a man nursing a broken rib, his eyes scanning the disheveled space before settling on Caelum's pale face.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice gruff but laced with an undercurrent of concern.
Caelum swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. "Is... is Ser Elmar alright?" he asked instead.
Marwyn's lips tightened. "He'll live," he said, "thanks to Archmaester Theron's swift intervention. But the man is... troubled. Raving about demons from the Seven Hells."
A shiver ran down Caelum's spine. "He is speaking of me."
Marwyn nodded grimly. "He claims a fiery creature emerged from the blaze and tore his arm off. The guards are calling it a demon attack, a sign of the Seven's wrath. The Seneschal doesn't much believe them, but there is evidence aplenty there for mystical sorcery." His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, boy, what truly happened at that manse?"
Caelum looked away, unable to meet the archmaester's gaze.
He recounted the events of the previous night, his voice halting and choked with emotion. He spoke of the chaos, melting the doors to the manse, and freezing them with his breath, setting the stable on fire, the fear shown by the stable boy he had accidentally trapped inside, and the horror of what he had done to Ser Elmar.
When he finished, silence hung heavy in the room. Marwyn stood motionless, his face a mask of contemplation.
After a long moment, Marwyn released a heavy sigh. "You should be glad to know, then, that Qyburn's trial at the seneschal's court is set for two days hence."
The news did little to lift the gloom that had settled over Caelum. "I should turn myself in," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I... I hurt him. Crippled him." The images of Ser Elmar's twisted arm and the stable boy's terrified eyes flashed before his mind's eye, a gruesome slideshow of his own failures.
Marwyn scoffed, "Don't be a fool, boy. You saved the stable hand, didn't you? As for the knight, it was a mistake, an unfortunate accident. You mustn't punish yourself needlessly for such things."
"But I almost got him killed," Caelum protested, his voice rising in pitch. "I... I'm a danger to everyone around me. I'm a monster."
"Yes, you did," Marwyn agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But mistakes happen, Caelum. And Ser Elmar survived. He will live to see another day."
"But he won't be a knight anymore," Caelum lamented, his voice thick with despair. "Not without his arm."
"Nonsense," Marwyn countered. "He'll likely remain a knight, perhaps even garner more attention from Lord Baelor Hightower for his sacrifice. And he lost his left arm, boy. He can still wield a sword with his right."
Caelum remained unconvinced, his guilt gnawing at him like a ravenous beast. "But I..."
Marwyn cut him off with a raised hand. "Enough of this self-pity, boy. What's done is done. Put it out of your mind and focus on what you can control. Focus on becoming better, on mastering your gifts." He paused, his eyes boring into Caelum's. "You have a rare opportunity here, Caelum. You can use your abilities to do great things, to help people. But first, you must learn to harness your power, to wield it with precision and control."
Caelum nodded slowly, guilt still staining his soul. "Will you help me?" he asked. "I... I don't think I know how to do this on my own."
He desperately missed Luke and Meredith. They would know exactly what to do.
"Of course," Marwyn replied, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "We can begin immediately, if you wish. There is no time like the present to face one's demons."
Caelum nodded, his throat too tight for words. Sleep was a dream for a guiltless mind, a luxury he couldn't afford until he had a semblance of control over his destructive abilities.
That took priority.
Marwyn moved swiftly, plucking the Valyrian steel mask from the floor where Caelum had discarded it. "I shall have this melted down," he said, turning the intricate object over in his hands. "Best not to have it recognized by anyone who may have spotted you."
"I'm sorry," Caelum winced.
Marwyn waved a dismissive hand. "Think nothing of it, boy. I never cared much for the mask anyway. Valyrian steel is wasted on such a thing anyway. There are far better uses for Valyrian Steel. I now have the opportunity to make better use of it."
He led Caelum out of the room and down the narrow stairs of the inn. In the common room below, Fern, and Liernen sat huddled around a table, as they ate their morning meal.
Liernen was working the counter, attending to the incoming stream of the morning patrons.
Fern's eyes widened as she saw Caelum, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a worried frown. "Caelum," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "Are you alright? You look dreadful."
Pylos nodded in agreement, his gaze darting between Caelum and Marwyn. "You left the Sept in a hurry last night," he said. "Did you sleep at all?"
Caelum forced a weak smile, careful not to touch anything as he leaned against the wall. "I'll be fine," he reassured them, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "Just a bit... under the weather."
Marwyn stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Caelum's shoulder. The touch was light, barely there, but Caelum still flinched involuntarily. "I shall take care of the boy," Marwyn assured them, his voice calm. "He will be in good hands."
He turned to Liernen, who was busy wiping down the counter with a damp cloth. "I apologize for the inconvenience, good man," Marwyn said, producing a few silver coins from his pouch. "Caelum will be staying with me for the time being. This should cover his absence."
Liernen paused, his eyes flicking between the coins and Caelum's pale face. "There's no need for that, Archmaester," he said, a hint of concern in his voice. "Just take care of him. That's all that matters."
Marwyn smiled, a faint upturn of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course," he said, placing the coins on the counter nonetheless. "You have my word."
Caelum stepped outside, the cool morning air a welcome relief against his feverish skin.
As he reached the archmaester's cart, he heard Fern's voice behind him, she had followed them outside. "Archmaester Marwyn," she called out, her tone hesitant. "May I have a word?"
Marwyn paused, glancing back at Caelum before nodding curtly, telling him to wait for him by the cart. "Of course, child."
He resisted the urge to use his hearing, to listen in on the conversation unfolding behind him.
He knew what Fern was likely discussing with Marwyn, and the thought filled him with a bittersweet guilt. But he was strangely alright with the decision. Marwyn would teach her more than the citadel could in time.
She wouldn't have been able to take the Acolytes vows just like him, on account of being a girl. Someone was bound to find out eventually, Marwyn could shield her from that.
He leaned against the rough stone wall of the inn, his eyes closed as he took in the sounds of the bustling city.
The fire atop Hightower looked magnificent under the morning sun.
Marwyn returned a few moments later, a small smile playing on his lips, his red sharp teeth glittered beneath his lips, stained by chewing sourleaf.
He approached Caelum, gently lifting him into the cart. Caelum flinched at the contact, but Marwyn's touch was gentle, almost hesitant.
With a flick of the reins, the cart rumbled into motion, leaving the Learned Anchor and the bustling heart of Oldtown behind. As they journeyed towards the city's outskirts, Marwyn's voice broke the silence.
"I expect there will be rumors swirling through Oldtown soon, boy. Tales of demons and fiery apparitions."
Caelum's stomach churned. "I know," he replied, guilt gnawing at him once more.
Marwyn chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't fret, Caelum. The Citadel will see to it that those rumors are quelled. We've already laid the groundwork, attributing the blame to Qyburn's... unorthodox experiments. Magic is a sword without a hilt, as they say, and the Seneschal is already convinced that Qyburn was meddling with forces he shouldn't have."
Caelum nodded, but the reassurance did little to ease his troubled conscience. "Qyburn deserved it," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "He's evil. But... I still feel responsible for what happened."
Marwyn shook his head, his voice firm. "You succeeded in putting a stop to Qyburn's cruel experiments. The people he held captive will be transferred to the cells beneath the Hightower. As they were criminals, they will be judged by their crimes, regardless. Though most of the lesser criminals like the pickpockets will be let go. On account of having suffered enough."
He paused, his voice softening slightly. "The murderers and rapists in the lot will face the executioner's block. All in all, you did good work, Caelum. You may have made mistakes, but you succeeded in what you set out to do."
He reached out a gloved hand and placed it gently on Caelum's shoulder. "Don't lose sight of that, boy. You have the potential for great things, but you must learn to control your power."
"May I visit him?" Caelum asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Ser Elmar, I mean. I... I want to apologize." He knew he couldn't reveal his true identity, but perhaps even an anonymous expression of remorse would bring him some peace.
Marwyn paused, his hand tightening slightly on the reins of the cart. "It would be unwise," he said after a moment of contemplation. "The knight is in a fragile state, blaming his misfortune on a demon. Let that sink in, in time the truth will be a distant memory, and the people will build their own lies to give reason to last night in their own way." He offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Perhaps in time, when the wounds have healed. Until then stay away. For now, it's best to let him rest."
Caelum nodded, accepting the wisdom in Marwyn's words.
The guilt still churned within him. Perhaps one day he could make amends, find a way to atone for the pain he had caused.
As the cart rattled along the cobblestone streets, leaving the towering walls of Oldtown behind,
"What about Qyburn?" Caelum asked, his voice tinged with apprehension. "What punishment will he face?"
Marwyn's expression darkened. "Qyburn was, and still is, under Baelor's protection," he said with a sigh. "So, I doubt there will be any imprisonment."
Caelum's heart sank. "But... his experiments..."
"At the very least," Marwyn continued, "Qyburn will no longer be a maester. He will be stripped of his chain and denied the resources of the Citadel to continue his research. Exile from Oldtown is a likely outcome. Both the Seneschal and the most devout of the Starry Sept will pressure Baelor to accomplish at least that much. Especially after all the blame for last night's sorcery will fall on the man's head."
Caelum nodded, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over him.
He didn't know whether Qyburn's punishment was just, he didn't think so. The guilt of his own actions remained a heavy burden.
He hoped being unable to use the resources of the citadel, Qyburn won't be able to carry out his experiments any further.
The cart eventually reached a secluded clearing a few miles from the city. The sun was high in the sky now, casting long shadows through the dappled leaves of the surrounding trees.
"We've arrived," Marwyn announced, his voice cutting through Caelum's troubled thoughts. "Far enough from the city, the Roseroad, and the Honeywine to ensure we're undisturbed by anyone. Travelers, guards and bandits alike."
Caelum nodded, his gaze sweeping over the secluded clearing.
Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves, casting dancing patterns on the forest floor.
A sense of unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, but a spark of determination flickered to life as well. He needed to master his powers, for the sake of others and himself.
He clambered out of the cart, his movements still cautious and deliberate.
Marwyn led the way deeper into the woods, stopping at a spot sheltered by a cluster of ancient oaks.
With practiced efficiency, he unloaded supplies from the cart, setting up a makeshift camp.
Once the camp was established, Marwyn turned to Caelum, his eyes sharp and focused. "To help you gain control, we must first understand the extent of your strength," he said. "Show me what you can do."
Caelum nodded, his gaze swept across the clearing, searching for a suitable target. His eyes settled on a massive oak tree, its trunk thick and gnarled with age. He approached the tree, his heart pounding in his chest.
He drew back his fist, his muscles coiling with barely restrained strength.
With a guttural cry, he unleashed a thunderous punch, his knuckles connecting with the oak's rough bark.
The sound of splintering wood filled the air as a shockwave rippled through the tree. It shattered, its trunk splitting open like a ripe melon, and the force of the blow sent several neighboring trees toppling one after the other behind them.
Caelum stared in awe at the devastation he had wrought.
A cold dread settled over him as he realized the sheer magnitude of his power.
Marwyn's eyes widened as he surveyed the scene, his weathered face a mask of awe and disbelief. "By the Gods..." he breathed, "your strength... it's extraordinary." He shook his head, the awe not leaving his face. "I must confess, I was somewhat skeptical when you recounted the events of last night. Seeing those broken stone walls at the manse certainly gave me pause, but this..." He gestured towards the fallen trees, his voice trailing off in astonishment.
A flicker of worry crossed Marwyn's face. "This is but a fraction of your full potential, I imagine," he mused. "One can only wonder how much further your strength will grow as you age." He paused, his gaze returning to Caelum. "But this was merely striking strength. I'd like to see other manifestations of your power."
Caelum, feeling a mix of worry and apprehension, nodded slowly.
He approached one of the toppled trees, its massive trunk lying prone on the forest floor. He knelt beside it, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the bark.
With surprising ease, he lifted the entire tree, roots and all, hoisting it above his head as if it were a mere twig.
Marwyn watched intently, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Impressive," he said. "Now, drop it. And then, grasp a thick branch—but only grasp it, do not attempt to lift."
Caelum lowered the tree back to the ground, the impact sending tremors through the earth. He then selected a sturdy branch, its thickness as wide as his wrist.
He wrapped his fingers around it, careful not to exert any pressure.
But even the slightest touch proved too much. The branch snapped with a sharp crack, the severed ends tumbling to the ground.
Marwyn nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he observed the splintered branch. "I believe I understand the issue," he said, a hint of a plan forming in his eyes. "This will take time, Caelum. A great deal of time. And the best method to learn anything is through practice."
Caelum braced himself, anticipating a tedious series of exercises and drills. He was determined to regain control, no matter the cost.
Marwyn's next words, however, caught him off guard. "Your first task is to gather all the fallen trees in this clearing," he instructed. "Strip them of their branches and leaves, carefully, mind you. Then, you will use the wood to build a shelter for our stay here."
Caelum stared at him, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that?! I can barely handle one branch with care!" he sputtered. "... that could take ages!"
Marwyn arched an eyebrow. "Indeed," he replied with a sardonic smile. "What did you expect, boy? Did you think I had a magical solution to your strength? Control comes with patience, discipline, and a great deal of hard work. Now, get to it."
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(A/N) I am back! Exams are done! Hope that was worth the long wait!
Naval battles are hard. Anyway, Princess Elia is dead. The Kidnapping is successful. And Ned Stark wasn't even spotted, lol. He was one of the helmed guards under Laenor Waters.
Why would the Spider not inform them of the entire plan, I wonder.
As for Caelum. Superman, whenever he accidentally hurt an innocent person, has always ventured to turn himself into the authorities. Most often that's batman, lol. Or the military, so Lois Lane's dad.
Marwyn put a stop to that. More character growth.
It all happened too suddenly.
He should have left with the princess and her children the very moment the Spider's letter had arrived. He should have left the moment he had come to know of the Prince's demise at the hands of the Seven damned Starks.
If he had, Princess Elia would still be alive.
But he hadn't.
He had instead given the princess a day to say farewell to the home that would soon be far behind her, once the King secured her and her children at King's Landing. It was to be a day of quiet remembrance, a final pilgrimage to Dragonstone, a place of beauty and solace amidst the gathering storm of war.
Instead, it had become a day of fire and blood.
Slavers, disguised as merchants from Lys, had launched a sudden and brutal attack on the fishing village. Their torches had set the docks ablaze, turning the harbor into an inferno.
Among the princess's party was the novice Septa, Pia, a young woman who had become something of a handmaiden to Prince Viserys. The young prince himself, however, had remained behind at the Red Keep, feeling the need to be by his mother, Queen Rhaella's side so late into her pregnancy.
She had been the first to spot them, trying desperately to keep little Prince Aegon who had been secured in her arms safe from the ambush.
Prince Lewyn Martell, a valiant knight of the Kingsguard, had fought like a lion, his spear flashing in the dying light. He had managed to secure the escape of little Princess Rhaenys, sending her galloping back to the castle with a trusted rider. But his heroism had come at a terrible price.
The Princess Elia had perished amidst the flames, her lifeblood spilling onto the cobblestones as she fought to shield her infant son from the slavers' grasping hands. Prince Lewyn had fallen beside her, his body riddled with wounds.
The slavers had captured many of the villagers, women and children dragged away screaming.
And little Prince Aegon, barely a year old, had vanished into the smoke and shadows, alongside the little septa who tried in vain to protect the innocent babe. Both, in the end, were carried off by the slavers.
The fishing village now lay in ruins.
Jon Connington stood on the deck of the Sea Dragon, the wind whipping at his cloak as he gazed out at the darkening horizon.
Beside him stood Laenor Waters, the captain of the ship and a man Jon did not entirely trust. Waters had returned from the North claiming to have journeyed to Skaagos, yet before his departure he had been seen with Prince Rhaegar feasting at Driftmark.
The Sea Dragon, the Barrow captained by Ser Willem Darry, and the Swiftwing under the command of Omer Blackberry, were all that remained of the royal fleet after the slavers' attack.
They were swift vessels, some of the fastest in the realm's Royal Fleet, and they had given chase through the broiling storm that had arisen in the Narrow Sea.
They were almost to Essos, somewhere near the coast of Pentos.
As the waves crashed against the hull, Jon's mind raced.
He could not shake the image of Princess Elia's lifeless body, nor the cries of the villagers as they were dragged away. He had been one of the first to rouse the Garrison after the rider had returned to the castle with Princess Rhaenys.
The Spider's missive had warned of a Stark plot to kidnap the royal children, he should have departed then, but Jon had hesitated, consumed by grief and anger over Rhaegar's death. Now, the consequences of his inaction were laid bare.
But he would not fail again.
Of the five slaver ships that had once swarmed the harbor, three now drifted aimlessly, their sails ablaze like funeral pyres. Jon felt a grim satisfaction at the sight, but it was fleeting.
"The Swiftwing is moving to board, my lord," Laenor Waters reported, his voice barely audible above the crashing waves. "Blackberry will rescue the captives on board."
Jon nodded, his gaze fixed on the remaining two slaver ships. "May he find the prince among them."
A vicious cheer erupted from the Swiftwing as Blackberry's men swarmed onto the first disabled ship, their swords flashing in the firelight. Jon watched as the slavers were cut down, a small measure of vengeance for the innocents they had stolen.
His attention snapped back to the battle at hand as a volley of flaming arrows arced from the Barrow, finding their mark on the deck of the next slaver ship. The pirates scrambled to douse the flames, but the distraction gave Willem Darry the opening he needed.
"Loose the sail!" Laenor Waters barked, his command echoing across the deck of the Sea Dragon. "Oarsmen, give me speed!"
The ship surged forward, its battering ram aimed at the starboard quarter of the last remaining slaver vessel. The air crackled with tension as the thunder rumbled again, closer now, a warning growl from the heavens.
"Archers, knock!" Laenor commanded, his voice rising above the storm. "Aim for the sails! Fire!"
The flaming arrows flew as the Sea Dragon gathered momentum. The slavers turned to meet the threat, their eyes wide with fear.
"Brace for impact!"
The battering ram slammed into the slaver ship with a sickening crunch of wood and metal, sending splinters flying and the vessel lurching violently.
Laenor was quick to rally his men.
Helmed and armored, they were a burly, hardened lot, likely honed by years at sea and the grim realities of war. More of his men surged up from the depths of the ship, muscles corded from their labor at the oars, their faces grim with battle fury.
"Board them!" The man bellowed, his voice a thunderclap above the storm. "Cut down every slaver you find! We'll secure the captives and find the prince."
Jon nodded, drawing his sword. "I'm with you."
With a roar, they charged across the splintered wood, leaping onto the slaver ship as a volley of arrows rained down, thinning the enemy ranks.
The deck became a maelstrom of steel and blood.
Laenor's men, well-trained and disciplined, fought with the ferocity of cornered wolves. The slavers, though outnumbered, were desperate and cunning.
"Douse the flames!" a slaver captain roared, his face blackened by smoke. "Get those sails down before the whole ship goes up!"
"Push them off!" another cried, straining against the Sea Dragon's ram. "Don't let them board!"
Jon found himself surrounded, three slavers pressing in on him. He parried a wild swing, then thrust forward, his blade finding its mark in a slaver's throat. Another lunged, but Jon sidestepped and drove his sword through the man's chest.
As he fought, he caught glimpses of Laenor, his movements swift and deadly, like a dancer amidst the chaos. But the slavers were relentless, and soon Jon was separated from his ally.
"Over here, you whoreson!" a slaver snarled, shoving a terrified villager in front of him, a young woman with tears streaming down her face. "Another step, and the girl dies!"
Jon's advance faltered. He was hemmed in, a wall of hardened flesh between him and the slaver's captive.
The woman cowered before her captor, her terror palpable in the stormy air.
Her dress was torn and soiled, revealing the pale skin of her chest, marred by a bloody gash across her left breast, as the lump of flesh hung loosely by the nipple. Dried blood stained between her legs.
"Don't be a fool," Jon said, his voice low and steady. "Your ship is lost. Surrender, and I promise you a swift death."
The slaver laughed, a harsh sound that grated against the roar of the sea. "Surrender? To the likes of you? My men will have your ship dislodged soon enough. And then, you'll be the one begging for mercy."
Jon's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.
Jon's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. Behind the slaver, the main mast burned fiercely, the flames licking at the rigging. The wood groaned and creaked ominously, bending under the heat.
Three more slavers circled warily, their Lyseni features etched in the flickering firelight. Thunder crackled overhead, a drumbeat to the impending doom.
The mast let out a deafening groan, bowing further. The slaver, his attention momentarily diverted, barked, "Miklaz, see to the mast!"
In that split second of distraction, the woman acted. With a desperate cry, she snatched a dirk from the slaver's belt and plunged it upwards, burying the blade in his jaw. His scream was cut short as he crumpled to the deck, blood gurgling from his mouth.
"You bitch!" one of the circling slavers roared, raising his sword.
Jon didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his sword a blur of motion. The slaver to his right fell with a gurgle, his lifeblood staining the deck. Jon reached the woman, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her behind him.
"Get down!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the storm and the clash of steel.
The two remaining slavers attacked, their blades flashing. Jon parried one blow, then another, but they were relentless. A third slaver joined the fray, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"Die, you Targaryen dog!" he spat, swinging his axe with a mighty roar.
Jon barely managed to deflect the blow, stumbling back as the axe bit into the wood of the deck. He was open, vulnerable. He braced for the killing stroke, but it never came.
A figure materialized beside him, deflecting the axe with a clang of steel. It was Laenor Waters, his face a mask of fury as he drove the slaver back.
"You're outnumbered, you fools!" Laenor bellowed. "Throw down your weapons"
The remaining slavers exchanged glances, their resolve wavering. One of them dropped his sword with a clatter. The other hesitated, then followed suit.
Jon, catching his breath, turned to Laenor. "Thank you," he said, his voice gruff with gratitude.
Laenor nodded, his eyes scanning the deck. "We need to secure the rest of the captives. And find the prince."
The burning mast groaned one last time, a tortured shriek before it finally gave way. With a deafening crash, it toppled over the port side, its blazing sails trailing smoke as it plunged into the churning sea.
Jon turned to the men, his voice ringing out with authority. "Round up the slavers! Tie them and put them to the sword. No mercy for these scum."
The remaining slavers, faces pale with fear, fell to their knees. "Mercy, my lord!" one cried, his voice cracking. "The Wall! Send us to the Wall! We'll take the black and atone for our sins!"
Jon, who had moved to the woman's side, knelt beside her. He procured a strip of cloth from the burning sail of the ship, and gently bound her wounded breast, then draped his cloak over her shoulders to shield her shattered nakedness.
"Silence! We will not spare you to rape and pillage in the North," he said, his voice cold and hard. "You will face justice for your crimes."
The wall wasn't an option available to him anyway. The war with the damned Starks meant that the wall was effectively out of the question to send scum like these to spend the rest of their lives in misery.
The woman looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered. "You saved my life."
"Maester Gormon and Maester Gerard will tend to your wounds when we return to Dragonstone," Jon assured her. He signaled to one of his men, who gently lifted the woman and carried her to the safety of the Sea Dragon.
Jon turned to Laenor Waters, who was already directing his men in securing the deck and executing the slavers. "I'm ready to search below," Jon said.
Laenor nodded. "I've already sent men down to clear the lower decks. Any slavers hiding among the oarsmen and captives will be dealt with."
Jon's lips tightened in a grim line. "Good thinking. Let's find the prince."
They descended into the dimly lit lower deck with some of their men.
The air was thick with the stench of stale sweat and fear. Bodies of slavers who had resisted capture lay scattered across the floorboards, their weapons clattering as Laenor's men secured the remaining prisoners.
The hold was a scene of utter misery.
Women and children, most likely destined for the pleasure houses of Lys, were huddled together, their eyes wide with terror.
Some bore the same marks of rape as the woman Jon had saved on deck, their torn clothes and skin bruised.
Jon and Laenor pushed through the crowd, their eyes searching.
As they reached the aft section of the ship, they found a group of children huddled together in a corner. Among them, Jon spotted a silver-haired babe, barely a year old, clutched in the arms of a trembling woman.
He knelt beside her. "Is this child yours?" he asked gently.
The woman shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Nay, m'lord. They gave 'im to me to quiet 'im. They said a Valyrian babe fetches a higher price."
Jon examined the child. His silver hair and purple eyes marked him as Targaryen, as royal.
It was Prince Aegon.
"Thank the gods," Jon breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. He looked at the woman, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for keeping him safe."
The woman sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "Thank ye, m'lord. Fer saving us."
Jon gently lifted the prince from the woman's arms, cradling him close. "Come, my men will take you to the Sea Dragon. Rest assured, you are safe."
The woman sobbed harder, "Thank ye, m'lord. Thank ye!"
He turned to Laenor, a relieved smile on his face. "I have him."
"Let's get him safe aboard the Sea Dragon then." The man said as he turned to his men.
"Get these people to the Sea Dragon!" He barked to his men, gesturing towards the huddled figures of the rescued slaves. "Every man, woman, and child. See them safely aboard."
Jon added his own commands, "Carefully, now! These people have suffered enough."
As they made their way back onto the main deck, the sight that greeted them was grim. The Barrow, once a proud vessel of the royal fleet, was now a floating inferno. Flames danced along its rigging, casting a hellish glow on the faces of the men still locked in bloody combat.
"Seven hells," Laenor swore, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Darry's ship is lost."
Jon's heart sank. "We have to help them," he said, his voice thick with desperation. "Can we get closer?"
Laenor shook his head grimly. "Not until the people are rescued and aboard the Sea Dragon. The storm is worsening, and the Barrow is too far gone."
A wave of despair washed over Jon.
There was still fighting on the slaver ship, but it was clear the tide had turned.
Thunder cracked overhead, and the rain began to pour, a cold, relentless deluge that lashed at the decks and blurred the horizon.
"Faster!" Laenor urged his men, his voice raised above the tumult. "Get everyone aboard! We need to move!"
Jon watched as the slaver ship, its sails tattered and burning, slowly pulled away from the wreckage of the Barrow.
It felt like a Pyrrhic victory.
"We have the prince, my lord," Laenor said, clapping a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder. "And we took down four of their ships. That slaver vessel won't last long in this storm. They're as good as lost."
Jon nodded, a flicker of hope kindling in his eyes. Laenor was right.
The slavers had paid a heavy price for their crimes, and their remaining ship was unlikely to survive the fury of the Narrow Sea.
"May the sea grant them a swift end," Jon murmured, a prayer whispered into the wind. For the sake of the innocent souls aboard that doomed vessel, he hoped their suffering would soon be over.
Once the rescued souls were safe aboard the Sea Dragon, Laenor Waters gave the order to rally and make for the Swiftwing. Omer Blackberry's ship had fared the best in the battle and had successfully boarded and rescued the captives from the three smaller slaver vessels.
Within a day, they returned to Dragonstone. The fires at the fishing village had been extinguished, but the charred ruins still smoldered, a grim reminder of the attack. Men patrolled the port, their faces hardened against the driving rain.
As they disembarked, they were met by the castellan, Ser Harrold Thorne. The man's relief at seeing Prince Aegon safe in Jon's arms was evident, but it quickly faded. "My lord," he said, his voice heavy, "I wish I had better news."
Jon's heart clenched. "What is it?"
"The queen... she is weakened. The Maesters did all they could, but... her previous losses took their toll. She gave birth to a daughter, Princess Daenerys, but..." Ser Harrold swallowed, his voice choked with emotion. "The maesters say she won't last the night."
Despair washed over Jon.
The queen was dying.
Dragonstone was no longer safe. He had to protect the remaining children, fulfill the king's orders, and secure the island against further raids of the like.
He turned to Laenor Waters, the man who had saved his life. "The king ordered me to bring Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to King's Landing," Jon explained. "As hostages against Dorne. But Dragonstone is vulnerable now. The slavers... and the Starks... they both want the children."
Laenor stilled. "The Starks, my Lord?"
Jon nodded. "The Spider has informed me that have sent an agent seeking to kidnap Prince Rhaegar's children. I cannot risk their safety here."
Laenor was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the stormy sea.
Then, he looked at Jon, his gaze unwavering. "I will not betray my family, Lord Connington."
Jon's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Laenor."
Within the hour, Laenor Waters set sail for King's Landing, the small figures of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys huddled on deck, their futures uncertain as the storm raged around them.
It would be a week when he realized that Laenor's family meant his wife, who had been hostage in the North, and Jon Connington failed his duty yet again as he lost Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to the Starks.
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The salt stung Caelum's chapped lips, a lingering reminder of the endless tears shed throughout the night.
His small room at the Learned Anchor, usually a haven of warmth and familiarity, now felt like a prison cell. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the bed linens, echoed with the phantom sound of Ser Elmar's agonized screams.
He had bolted the door as soon as he'd stumbled back to the inn, his hands shaking so violently he nearly splintered the wood.
Sometime during the night he vaguely remembered muffled voices beyond the door—Pylos, Fern, and Liernen, likely having returned from the Starry Sept and come to check on him. But he couldn't face them, not with the weight of his actions crushing his soul.
As dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Caelum's tears finally ran dry, leaving behind only a hollow ache in his chest.
He sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the Valyrian steel mask lying discarded on the floor. It seemed to mock him, a grotesque symbol of his monstrous power.
A sharp rap on the door jolted him from his bleak reverie.
He didn't move, his body frozen in place. The knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Caelum," a familiar voice boomed through the wood, the unmistakable tone of Maester Marwyn. "I know you're in there. Open this door, or I shall be forced to break it down."
Caelum flinched.
He knew the archmaester wasn't bluffing. With a sigh of resignation, he rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached for the door handle, his fingers trembling as they curled around the cool metal.
With the utmost care, he lifted the latch, the door creaking open just enough to reveal Marwyn's imposing figure.
Marwyn wasted no time, his bulk pushing past Caelum into the cramped room. He moved with surprising agility for a man nursing a broken rib, his eyes scanning the disheveled space before settling on Caelum's pale face.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice gruff but laced with an undercurrent of concern.
Caelum swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. "Is... is Ser Elmar alright?" he asked instead.
Marwyn's lips tightened. "He'll live," he said, "thanks to Archmaester Theron's swift intervention. But the man is... troubled. Raving about demons from the Seven Hells."
A shiver ran down Caelum's spine. "He is speaking of me."
Marwyn nodded grimly. "He claims a fiery creature emerged from the blaze and tore his arm off. The guards are calling it a demon attack, a sign of the Seven's wrath. The Seneschal doesn't much believe them, but there is evidence aplenty there for mystical sorcery." His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, boy, what truly happened at that manse?"
Caelum looked away, unable to meet the archmaester's gaze.
He recounted the events of the previous night, his voice halting and choked with emotion. He spoke of the chaos, melting the doors to the manse, and freezing them with his breath, setting the stable on fire, the fear shown by the stable boy he had accidentally trapped inside, and the horror of what he had done to Ser Elmar.
When he finished, silence hung heavy in the room. Marwyn stood motionless, his face a mask of contemplation.
After a long moment, Marwyn released a heavy sigh. "You should be glad to know, then, that Qyburn's trial at the seneschal's court is set for two days hence."
The news did little to lift the gloom that had settled over Caelum. "I should turn myself in," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I... I hurt him. Crippled him." The images of Ser Elmar's twisted arm and the stable boy's terrified eyes flashed before his mind's eye, a gruesome slideshow of his own failures.
Marwyn scoffed, "Don't be a fool, boy. You saved the stable hand, didn't you? As for the knight, it was a mistake, an unfortunate accident. You mustn't punish yourself needlessly for such things."
"But I almost got him killed," Caelum protested, his voice rising in pitch. "I... I'm a danger to everyone around me. I'm a monster."
"Yes, you did," Marwyn agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But mistakes happen, Caelum. And Ser Elmar survived. He will live to see another day."
"But he won't be a knight anymore," Caelum lamented, his voice thick with despair. "Not without his arm."
"Nonsense," Marwyn countered. "He'll likely remain a knight, perhaps even garner more attention from Lord Baelor Hightower for his sacrifice. And he lost his left arm, boy. He can still wield a sword with his right."
Caelum remained unconvinced, his guilt gnawing at him like a ravenous beast. "But I..."
Marwyn cut him off with a raised hand. "Enough of this self-pity, boy. What's done is done. Put it out of your mind and focus on what you can control. Focus on becoming better, on mastering your gifts." He paused, his eyes boring into Caelum's. "You have a rare opportunity here, Caelum. You can use your abilities to do great things, to help people. But first, you must learn to harness your power, to wield it with precision and control."
Caelum nodded slowly, guilt still staining his soul. "Will you help me?" he asked. "I... I don't think I know how to do this on my own."
He desperately missed Luke and Meredith. They would know exactly what to do.
"Of course," Marwyn replied, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "We can begin immediately, if you wish. There is no time like the present to face one's demons."
Caelum nodded, his throat too tight for words. Sleep was a dream for a guiltless mind, a luxury he couldn't afford until he had a semblance of control over his destructive abilities.
That took priority.
Marwyn moved swiftly, plucking the Valyrian steel mask from the floor where Caelum had discarded it. "I shall have this melted down," he said, turning the intricate object over in his hands. "Best not to have it recognized by anyone who may have spotted you."
"I'm sorry," Caelum winced.
Marwyn waved a dismissive hand. "Think nothing of it, boy. I never cared much for the mask anyway. Valyrian steel is wasted on such a thing anyway. There are far better uses for Valyrian Steel. I now have the opportunity to make better use of it."
He led Caelum out of the room and down the narrow stairs of the inn. In the common room below, Fern, and Liernen sat huddled around a table, as they ate their morning meal.
Liernen was working the counter, attending to the incoming stream of the morning patrons.
Fern's eyes widened as she saw Caelum, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a worried frown. "Caelum," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "Are you alright? You look dreadful."
Pylos nodded in agreement, his gaze darting between Caelum and Marwyn. "You left the Sept in a hurry last night," he said. "Did you sleep at all?"
Caelum forced a weak smile, careful not to touch anything as he leaned against the wall. "I'll be fine," he reassured them, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "Just a bit... under the weather."
Marwyn stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Caelum's shoulder. The touch was light, barely there, but Caelum still flinched involuntarily. "I shall take care of the boy," Marwyn assured them, his voice calm. "He will be in good hands."
He turned to Liernen, who was busy wiping down the counter with a damp cloth. "I apologize for the inconvenience, good man," Marwyn said, producing a few silver coins from his pouch. "Caelum will be staying with me for the time being. This should cover his absence."
Liernen paused, his eyes flicking between the coins and Caelum's pale face. "There's no need for that, Archmaester," he said, a hint of concern in his voice. "Just take care of him. That's all that matters."
Marwyn smiled, a faint upturn of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course," he said, placing the coins on the counter nonetheless. "You have my word."
Caelum stepped outside, the cool morning air a welcome relief against his feverish skin.
As he reached the archmaester's cart, he heard Fern's voice behind him, she had followed them outside. "Archmaester Marwyn," she called out, her tone hesitant. "May I have a word?"
Marwyn paused, glancing back at Caelum before nodding curtly, telling him to wait for him by the cart. "Of course, child."
He resisted the urge to use his hearing, to listen in on the conversation unfolding behind him.
He knew what Fern was likely discussing with Marwyn, and the thought filled him with a bittersweet guilt. But he was strangely alright with the decision. Marwyn would teach her more than the citadel could in time.
She wouldn't have been able to take the Acolytes vows just like him, on account of being a girl. Someone was bound to find out eventually, Marwyn could shield her from that.
He leaned against the rough stone wall of the inn, his eyes closed as he took in the sounds of the bustling city.
The fire atop Hightower looked magnificent under the morning sun.
Marwyn returned a few moments later, a small smile playing on his lips, his red sharp teeth glittered beneath his lips, stained by chewing sourleaf.
He approached Caelum, gently lifting him into the cart. Caelum flinched at the contact, but Marwyn's touch was gentle, almost hesitant.
With a flick of the reins, the cart rumbled into motion, leaving the Learned Anchor and the bustling heart of Oldtown behind. As they journeyed towards the city's outskirts, Marwyn's voice broke the silence.
"I expect there will be rumors swirling through Oldtown soon, boy. Tales of demons and fiery apparitions."
Caelum's stomach churned. "I know," he replied, guilt gnawing at him once more.
Marwyn chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't fret, Caelum. The Citadel will see to it that those rumors are quelled. We've already laid the groundwork, attributing the blame to Qyburn's... unorthodox experiments. Magic is a sword without a hilt, as they say, and the Seneschal is already convinced that Qyburn was meddling with forces he shouldn't have."
Caelum nodded, but the reassurance did little to ease his troubled conscience. "Qyburn deserved it," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "He's evil. But... I still feel responsible for what happened."
Marwyn shook his head, his voice firm. "You succeeded in putting a stop to Qyburn's cruel experiments. The people he held captive will be transferred to the cells beneath the Hightower. As they were criminals, they will be judged by their crimes, regardless. Though most of the lesser criminals like the pickpockets will be let go. On account of having suffered enough."
He paused, his voice softening slightly. "The murderers and rapists in the lot will face the executioner's block. All in all, you did good work, Caelum. You may have made mistakes, but you succeeded in what you set out to do."
He reached out a gloved hand and placed it gently on Caelum's shoulder. "Don't lose sight of that, boy. You have the potential for great things, but you must learn to control your power."
"May I visit him?" Caelum asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Ser Elmar, I mean. I... I want to apologize." He knew he couldn't reveal his true identity, but perhaps even an anonymous expression of remorse would bring him some peace.
Marwyn paused, his hand tightening slightly on the reins of the cart. "It would be unwise," he said after a moment of contemplation. "The knight is in a fragile state, blaming his misfortune on a demon. Let that sink in, in time the truth will be a distant memory, and the people will build their own lies to give reason to last night in their own way." He offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Perhaps in time, when the wounds have healed. Until then stay away. For now, it's best to let him rest."
Caelum nodded, accepting the wisdom in Marwyn's words.
The guilt still churned within him. Perhaps one day he could make amends, find a way to atone for the pain he had caused.
As the cart rattled along the cobblestone streets, leaving the towering walls of Oldtown behind,
"What about Qyburn?" Caelum asked, his voice tinged with apprehension. "What punishment will he face?"
Marwyn's expression darkened. "Qyburn was, and still is, under Baelor's protection," he said with a sigh. "So, I doubt there will be any imprisonment."
Caelum's heart sank. "But... his experiments..."
"At the very least," Marwyn continued, "Qyburn will no longer be a maester. He will be stripped of his chain and denied the resources of the Citadel to continue his research. Exile from Oldtown is a likely outcome. Both the Seneschal and the most devout of the Starry Sept will pressure Baelor to accomplish at least that much. Especially after all the blame for last night's sorcery will fall on the man's head."
Caelum nodded, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over him.
He didn't know whether Qyburn's punishment was just, he didn't think so. The guilt of his own actions remained a heavy burden.
He hoped being unable to use the resources of the citadel, Qyburn won't be able to carry out his experiments any further.
The cart eventually reached a secluded clearing a few miles from the city. The sun was high in the sky now, casting long shadows through the dappled leaves of the surrounding trees.
"We've arrived," Marwyn announced, his voice cutting through Caelum's troubled thoughts. "Far enough from the city, the Roseroad, and the Honeywine to ensure we're undisturbed by anyone. Travelers, guards and bandits alike."
Caelum nodded, his gaze sweeping over the secluded clearing.
Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves, casting dancing patterns on the forest floor.
A sense of unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, but a spark of determination flickered to life as well. He needed to master his powers, for the sake of others and himself.
He clambered out of the cart, his movements still cautious and deliberate.
Marwyn led the way deeper into the woods, stopping at a spot sheltered by a cluster of ancient oaks.
With practiced efficiency, he unloaded supplies from the cart, setting up a makeshift camp.
Once the camp was established, Marwyn turned to Caelum, his eyes sharp and focused. "To help you gain control, we must first understand the extent of your strength," he said. "Show me what you can do."
Caelum nodded, his gaze swept across the clearing, searching for a suitable target. His eyes settled on a massive oak tree, its trunk thick and gnarled with age. He approached the tree, his heart pounding in his chest.
He drew back his fist, his muscles coiling with barely restrained strength.
With a guttural cry, he unleashed a thunderous punch, his knuckles connecting with the oak's rough bark.
The sound of splintering wood filled the air as a shockwave rippled through the tree. It shattered, its trunk splitting open like a ripe melon, and the force of the blow sent several neighboring trees toppling one after the other behind them.
Caelum stared in awe at the devastation he had wrought.
A cold dread settled over him as he realized the sheer magnitude of his power.
Marwyn's eyes widened as he surveyed the scene, his weathered face a mask of awe and disbelief. "By the Gods..." he breathed, "your strength... it's extraordinary." He shook his head, the awe not leaving his face. "I must confess, I was somewhat skeptical when you recounted the events of last night. Seeing those broken stone walls at the manse certainly gave me pause, but this..." He gestured towards the fallen trees, his voice trailing off in astonishment.
A flicker of worry crossed Marwyn's face. "This is but a fraction of your full potential, I imagine," he mused. "One can only wonder how much further your strength will grow as you age." He paused, his gaze returning to Caelum. "But this was merely striking strength. I'd like to see other manifestations of your power."
Caelum, feeling a mix of worry and apprehension, nodded slowly.
He approached one of the toppled trees, its massive trunk lying prone on the forest floor. He knelt beside it, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the bark.
With surprising ease, he lifted the entire tree, roots and all, hoisting it above his head as if it were a mere twig.
Marwyn watched intently, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Impressive," he said. "Now, drop it. And then, grasp a thick branch—but only grasp it, do not attempt to lift."
Caelum lowered the tree back to the ground, the impact sending tremors through the earth. He then selected a sturdy branch, its thickness as wide as his wrist.
He wrapped his fingers around it, careful not to exert any pressure.
But even the slightest touch proved too much. The branch snapped with a sharp crack, the severed ends tumbling to the ground.
Marwyn nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he observed the splintered branch. "I believe I understand the issue," he said, a hint of a plan forming in his eyes. "This will take time, Caelum. A great deal of time. And the best method to learn anything is through practice."
Caelum braced himself, anticipating a tedious series of exercises and drills. He was determined to regain control, no matter the cost.
Marwyn's next words, however, caught him off guard. "Your first task is to gather all the fallen trees in this clearing," he instructed. "Strip them of their branches and leaves, carefully, mind you. Then, you will use the wood to build a shelter for our stay here."
Caelum stared at him, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that?! I can barely handle one branch with care!" he sputtered. "... that could take ages!"
Marwyn arched an eyebrow. "Indeed," he replied with a sardonic smile. "What did you expect, boy? Did you think I had a magical solution to your strength? Control comes with patience, discipline, and a great deal of hard work. Now, get to it."
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(A/N) I am back! Exams are done! Hope that was worth the long wait!
Naval battles are hard. Anyway, Princess Elia is dead. The Kidnapping is successful. And Ned Stark wasn't even spotted, lol. He was one of the helmed guards under Laenor Waters.
Why would the Spider not inform them of the entire plan, I wonder.
As for Caelum. Superman, whenever he accidentally hurt an innocent person, has always ventured to turn himself into the authorities. Most often that's batman, lol. Or the military, so Lois Lane's dad.
Marwyn put a stop to that. More character growth.