New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤 ✦ Arryk, desperate to save his brother, did not keep the king waiting.
In little more than a quarter hour, he brought a crowd of maesters, physicians, and healers to the main pavilion.
Viserys calmed the nervous men with a few words, then ordered them to examine Aelor.
From crown to heel, not even a hair was to be overlooked.
The maesters familiar with Aelor were not surprised.
Several had helped the Grand Maester inspect the frail prince from time to time.
Once their instruments were prepared, they began.
The examination was crude, but thorough.
First came bloodletting.
They studied the color and thickness of his blood.
One even let a leech taste it for signs of poison.
The rest found their own methods.
Large hands pressed along his limbs and ribs.
They checked his skin, teeth, hair roots, breathing, pulse, eyes, and anything else they could justify.
Then a gaunt old physician suggested removing Aelor’s breeches and examining his backside.
Viserys, as the boy’s father and king, almost allowed it.
Aelor went cold with horror and deeply regretted agreeing to any examination at all.
Fortunately, he was not the only one who objected.
Erryk acted.
He punched the old physician hard enough to break his nose, then knelt and begged the king not to let anyone humiliate the prince.
“Hang me if you must, Your Grace, but the prince should not be shamed.” Aelor had nearly been frightened out of his wits.
He hid behind Erryk, trembling despite himself.
Viserys did not rebuke Erryk for acting without leave.
He simply waved away the less convincing healers and kept only the maesters who looked as if they knew what they were doing.
One by one, they reported Aelor’s condition.
A royal maester spoke first, unable to hide his astonishment.
“Your Grace, the prince’s health has improved markedly.
His blood is far more vigorous than in previous examinations.” The others followed.
“The prince has long suffered from shortness of breath.
His breathing is clear.
I heard no rattle in his chest.” “His urine is clear and pale, not clouded.
The kidneys appear to have recovered rapidly…” The good reports left Viserys almost dazed.
He ordered the guards to escort the maesters out and reward them all with gold.
Soon, only Viserys, Aelor, and the Cargyll brothers remained in the pavilion.
Aelor spoke first.
“As the maesters said, my sickness is gone.
Ser Erryk helped me.” “He helped you.
I will show him leniency.” Viserys’s relief was sincere.
“I am glad you have your health.
When I meet your mother in the Seven heavens, I will not have to stand before her empty-handed.” “Father, I cannot speak for Mother or offer you the comfort she might have given.
I only hope you can look forward.” The mention of the mother who had died birthing him made Aelor’s heart tighten.
Rumors were like winter wind.
They cut like knives, and worse, they slipped through every crack.
They always reached the ears they were meant to wound.
Viserys carried guilt for forcing pregnancy after pregnancy upon Aemma until the last one killed her.
Aelor, born from that final labor, had once wondered whether he, too, was part of the reason she died.
As a young child, he had heard embellished whispers and carried a private guilt of his own.
Seeing the shadow cross his son’s face, Viserys felt a stab of pain.
He knew he had stirred old sorrow.
“Arryk,” he said, “I wish to speak with my son alone.
Take your brother outside and let no one near the pavilion.” “You may rely on me, Your Grace.” Arryk’s face turned solemn.
He pulled Erryk with him and stood guard outside.
Once they were alone, Viserys rose and came to Aelor’s side.
He set a gentle hand on the boy’s head.
“Were you badly frightened just now?” “What?” Aelor looked bewildered.
Viserys’s mouth curved with a mischievous edge.
“Physician Boros.
The old man who wanted your breeches down.” Aelor’s face went green.
“I will remember that name.” Viserys chuckled.
“A ruler must learn magnanimity, especially toward the healers who prepare his medicines.” “That is how adults play politics.
I only want to crack that shriveled old skull.” Aelor had no interest in royal magnanimity.
It was easy to speak of generosity when one was not the person being held down and inspected.
Viserys let the matter pass.
“Let us assume your story about the white hart is true for the moment.
Did a miraculous fruit truly restore you?” The question changed direction at once.
Viserys could not help thinking of his own body.
The Iron Throne had cut him again and again.
No treatment had ever truly healed those wounds.
Over the years, his body had gathered scars, rot, and places where flesh refused to close.
Pain gnawed at him without rest.
If the white hart truly possessed such fruit, perhaps it could help him as well.
Aelor understood why his father asked.
“I did not lie.
The white hart came close to me.
It fed me a fruit that restored my health.” Hope lit Viserys’s face.
“Can you find it again?” Aelor answered directly.
“That fruit was no ordinary thing.
There is unlikely to be a second one.
Even if we found the white hart, it would not help.” “How do you know without trying?” Viserys was unwilling to give up the possibility of a cure.
Aelor would not betray his friend.
“The white hart is an auspicious creature.
Those it favors may receive a blessing.” His voice cooled.
“Those who harm it may receive a curse.” Viserys watched him, searching his face for the smallest crack.
Aelor met his gaze calmly.
After a long moment, Viserys gave up.
“You may be right.
I hunted the white hart yesterday and never saw even a shadow of it.” Aelor was genuinely surprised.
He had not known that.
Viserys stroked his hair.
“You were more fortunate than I.” Aelor said nothing.
He did not know what he could say.
The white hart was his friend.
He would not sell it.
And the fruit had been the Explorer System’s reward, not something the hart could simply produce at will.
Even if he helped his father catch the creature, there would be no second fruit to cure him.
Viserys looked pleased, but another thought hid beneath that relief.
The white hart was a symbol of kingship.
He was king, yet he had not been granted even a glimpse.
Aelor had seen it.
That was more than luck.
Viserys had many things he might have said, but he held them back.
His son had encountered a wonder.
That, at least, was a rare blessing.
Then another thought came to him.
He took Aelor’s hand and led him to the brazier.
Under Aelor’s confused gaze, Viserys drew the dragonbone-hilted dagger from his belt and laid the blade in the fire.
When the Valyrian steel had grown hot enough to glow, he gripped the hilt and drew it out.
He held it before Aelor.
“Look carefully.
What do you see?” Aelor stared at the red-hot blade.
Under the heat, tiny letters had appeared along the steel.
“Is that High Valyrian?” With Valyrian Language Mastery, he recognized the meaning at once.
Then he remembered he had not truly learned High Valyrian, at least not in any way he could explain.
He forced himself to stumble.
“Prophecy…
bloodline…
the Song of Ice and Fire…” Then he stopped, pretending helplessness as he looked up at Viserys.
Viserys was not disappointed.
If anything, he seemed pleased that Aelor could identify even part of the script.
The reports were true, then.
Aelor really was a child who loved books.
✦ ✦ ✦ Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.