“I agree with you completely, Maester,” Gavin said, leaning forward with open enthusiasm.
“We still don’t understand the human body well enough.
Without that knowledge, every treatment is just guesswork.
Medicine won’t truly advance until we study the body itself—that’s the foundation of everything.” Qyburn’s brow furrowed.
“Your thinking is exactly what modern medicine has ignored for too long.
But research of that sort is expressly forbidden by the Citadel.
We’re forced to limit ourselves to new drugs and techniques.” “What if the Citadel never found out?” Gavin pressed, eyes bright with excitement.
“We’d be doing it for knowledge.
For progress.
If we achieved real results, everyone would benefit.” “That idea is dangerous, Gavin.
You’re still young.
Focus on building your knowledge and experience first.
Study the theory all you like—I believe the Citadel may change its mind eventually.
But don’t throw your future away over this.” Before Gavin could answer, Qyburn waved a hand.
“That’s enough for today.
I still have medicines to prepare and surgery tomorrow.
Be here early.
Go on now.” Gavin rose at once and bowed respectfully.
“Yes, Maester.
I won’t keep you from your work.
See you in the morning.” He stepped out, closed the door with care, then rolled his eyes the moment he was alone in the corridor.
Old fox.
Wants the help but’s too scared to ask for it outright.
Been circling the same questions for over ten days now.
Gavin kept his expression neutral as he walked.
He’d already pieced together enough about Qyburn’s secret work with corpses to have real leverage—if the evidence were stronger.
Blackmail would be cleaner than this endless play-acting.
But one wrong move and he’d scare the man off for good.
Better to keep playing the eager, idealistic student a little longer.
Back in his cell he stripped off the formal acolyte robes, buckled his sword belt around his waist, and headed down into Oldtown.
Old John’s Tavern was loud, smoky, and packed with sellswords and pirates who could switch roles depending on the contract.
The air stank of cheap ale, sweat, and old fish.
Gavin followed a serving girl to a private room at the back.
Five men sat around a scarred table, laughing and drinking.
The leader was easy to spot: a big, broad-shouldered man named Domos Thorne.
A short axe rested on the table in front of him.
His leather armor was worn and scored with old fight marks.
Thick arms, veins standing out like ropes, and the cold gleam of that axe blade under the lamplight.
Gavin drew a breath, stepped forward with an easy smile.
“You must be Captain Domos Thorne.
I’m Gavin Flowers.” Domos grinned wide.
“That’s me.
Come sit, lad.
And thank you for patching up my man Luca last month.
He’s back on his feet because of you.” Gavin nodded and took the offered seat.
A month earlier he’d treated one of their wounded.
While talking with the tavern keeper John, he’d learned the crew had been hired by the Sealord of Braavos the year before and sent into the ruins of Valyria.
Most of the expedition died, but they’d found a usable channel into the Smoking Sea.
Domos had quietly drawn a simple map of it.
Gavin had shown strong interest and offered five gold dragons for a copy.
Tonight he was here to close the deal.
A stocky sellsword with a thin scar running down one cheek set his mug down and gave Gavin a sideways look.
“Heard you fixed Luca up.
Still, that chart’s worth something.
Ten gold dragons, seeing as you helped Tom too.” Gavin glanced at Domos.
The big man kept his face blank, but the price hike was clearly his idea.
Ten was still acceptable.
Gavin smiled.
“Done.
Ten gold dragons.” Scarface’s mouth twisted into a mocking grin.
“Changed my mind.
Twenty.” Gavin’s left hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.
He kept his voice level.
“Sounds like you’re not serious about trading.” The scarred man laughed, low and ugly.
“Kid, you want to draw that sword?
Tell you what—step outside with me.
You win, I’ll sell it to you for one gold dragon.
You lose, you pay forty.” Gavin didn’t even stand.
“No need to go outside.
Right here is fine.
I’ll give you the first move.” The sellsword’s face flushed.
He yanked his blade free with a snarl and lunged.
Steel flashed.
Gavin’s sword moved faster than the eye could follow.
A single sweeping parry sent the other man’s weapon spinning across the room with a ringing clang.
Before the sellsword could react, a thin red line opened across the back of his hand.
Gavin’s blade came to rest lightly against his throat.
The private room went dead silent.
The other four mercenaries stared, eyes wide.
Gavin smiled faintly, flicked a single gold dragon onto the table, and sheathed his sword.
“My thanks.” The scarred man swallowed, face burning with shame and fury.
After a long moment he muttered, “I misjudged you.
Your swordwork’s fucking good.” Domos threw his head back and roared with laughter, slapping the table.
“Told you the boy had teeth!” The tension broke.
The others joined in, the mood turning friendly again.
Night had fallen by the time Gavin finished copying the map.
He decided to stay at the tavern rather than risk the Citadel gates after curfew.
Acolytes caught out late meant reports, questions, trouble he didn’t need.
He paid the single gold dragon and took full ownership of the chart before the ink was dry.
The fight had broken the ice.
Over more ale he and Domos struck up an easy acquaintance.
The crew, Gavin learned, walked the line between honest sellswords and opportunistic pirates depending on which paid better.
Useful men to know.
Before he left the next morning, Gavin asked about the interior of Valyria and the Smoking Sea.
Domos and his men were happy to talk.
Gavin walked away with a clearer picture of the pirate factions that ruled the Narrow Sea, the constant wars between the Nine Free Cities, and a handful of wild stories out of Essos that might prove useful someday.
The map rested safely inside his coat as he made his way back toward the Citadel at first light.
One step closer to Valyria.