Knights from various parts of the Westerlands flocked to Lannisport for what promised to be one of the grandest tournaments in recent memory.
The city underwent a remarkable transformation, reminiscent of a bustling fair or carnival. The encampments outside the city sprawled like a besieging force, and multiple troupes of mummers competed for attention while wandering minstrels vied for the spotlight. Theodore took charge of the recruits and tasked them with constructing a stage. He monopolized all the performance acts.
Having visited three of the five major cities in Westeros, I couldn't help but notice how Lannisport excelled in terms of its diverse economy. Oldtown boasted culture, and King's Landing enjoyed a strategic location, but Lannisport reigned supreme in economic prosperity.
The buzzing marketplace impressed me with its trade, making me wonder why King's Landing couldn't strive for the same level of success, if not surpass it. Additionally, Lannisport boasted the most well-equipped and well-trained city watch I had encountered, ensuring its streets were possibly the safest on the continent.
I engaged in conversations with renowned merchants and esteemed goldsmiths who called the city home and had the pleasure of visiting a few renowned vineyards producing the region's famed spiced honey wine.
From brothels to market stalls, everything a superior quality. The people of Lannisport possessed an ambitious spirit that set them apart from the inhabitants of other cities on the continent, leaving me curious about the attitudes prevailing in Gulltown and White Harbor.
Of course, the feasts and banquets were plentiful.
During one such feast, Lord Farman regaled me with his unending animosity toward the Ironborn. As the Lord of Fair Isle, the Farmans had long been at the forefront of defending the Westerlands against seaborne raids. I heard tales of the Greenfields and their unique castle constructed entirely from weirwood and how the Baneforts proudly claimed descent from a mysterious hooded figure from the Age of Heroes.
One time, Lord Jason's daughters approached me with excitement, beckoning me to follow. I obliged, and they led me to one of the many dungeons within Casterly Rock, where they unveiled a caged lion.
The scene struck me as sad and disturbing, and I struggled to conceal my disdain. Nonetheless, I mustered up a show of astonishment, thanking them profusely for the opportunity to witness such a captivating creature.
But later that night, when all was quiet, we ventured into the maester's storeroom.
With Brien's assistance, we marinated some meat with a common sedative. Through a combination of bribes and clever maneuvering, we managed to smuggle the lion out, securing a crate for its transport.
Dawn was just approaching when we found a suitable place to open the crate, allowing the lion to stumble out. The golden rays of the sunrise bathed its mane as it vanished into the hills.
The lion never did turn to look at us in some form of thanks or acknowledgment, but we cheered all the same.
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When the time came for us to move on, I assembled the Rhaenari at the fork where the ocean and gold roads split off into three directions.
"You lot march on at a turtle's pace," I instructed, "Pheonix and Evelyn are in charge while I'm gone. Ser Steffon, please do the talking should any issues arise with local lords."
"Where are you going?" asked Sari.
"I need to make a quick stop at the Iron Islands."
Ser Steffon was not expecting this when he put on his white cloak that morning. Concerned, he said, "Forgive me, Prince Rhaenar. But—"
"Your head would be put on a spike if I were harmed, yes, yes." I said dismissively, "Thank you for the concern, Ser. Now then, I don't want to miss out on too much of the march through the westerhills, so I ought to be quick about it."
Theodore was unpleased, "I still think we should heed the archmaester's advice."
Brien nodded, "Agreed on the need to take heed."
"Your opinions have been noted," I said, and I climbed up the rope ladder to mount Sundance.
Once in the dragon saddle, I said, "Fare thee well. March no further than the Golden Tooth should I run late. I want to experience entering the Riverlands with everyone, together."
And with that, Sundance flapped his golden wings, and we were off.
I ventured northward to Lordsport, the largest "town" in the Iron Islands. There, I secured passage with a particular captain.
He was old, his salt-laden beard showing signs of his advanced age and growing frailty. Nevertheless, he had made the voyage countless times, and his son, who was in his prime, was poised to assume command upon his father's passing.
The journey ahead was treacherous, leading to a destination I would struggle to find on my own. Cautio was essential, for the open ocean held great dangers.
We sailed westward, through the Saltcliffe Strait until the towering cliff of Great Wyk bid us farewell, silently retreating into the distant horizon.
The voyage across the vast expanse of the open ocean felt desolate. I often gazed around in awe, wondering if we had lost our way.
However, the old captain skillfully sailed day and night, guided by the stars and experience, while the wind favored our journey. Within a week, we arrived at our destination.
The night of our arrival at Lonely Light was dark and stormy. Relentless waves clashed against the darkness, and when lightning struck, the white foam atop the waves resembled snow-capped mountains stretching as far as the eye could see.
Situated on the largest of a cluster of thirteen islands, it stood as the westernmost keep in the Seven Kingdoms, a lone spire of flickering flame.
Contemplating the voyage of Lady Alys Westhill, who once ventured westward aboard her ship, Sun Chaser, in search of uncharted lands, I couldn't help but marvel at her courage. Her fleet was caught in a storm near Lonely Light, forcing them to find land for necessary repairs. While the rest of the fleet eventually returned, Lady Alys pressed on, never to be seen again.
Yet, that was not the end of the tale. During his second of renowned nine voyages to Essos, the young sea snake believed he spotted the weathered Sun Chaser docked in Asshai, suggesting what lies West also lies East. I made a mental note to inquire about this intriguing account when I had the opportunity to speak with Lord Corlys.
Needless to say, Lonely Light was situated in a remote location, far away from civilization. According to tales, these islands were discovered by chance when some Iron Islanders sailing from Old Wyk were blown off course. The captain of that ship built a tower, Lonely Light, took the name of Farwynd, and has ruled there ever since.
Lord Farwynd must have been taken aback when he opened his gates, expecting a regular supply delivery, only to be greeted by the crown prince.
"You honor us, Prince Rhaenar," Lord Farwynd greeted me. It was difficult to discern whether he was genuinely delighted due to his loyalty to the crown or if my visit had earned his favor. "To have come all this way!"
"The honor is mine, my lord. If I may rely on your discretion."
"My discretion?"
A devilish grin crossed my face. "Yes. I wish to meet a guest of yours, Eldric by name."
Lord Farwynd's face went pale, and he stammered, "I... He... Your grace—"
"Fear no retribution, my lord," I assured him calmly. "I have no intention of passing judgment. I simply seek your good company and that of your family."
Relief washed over Lord Farwynd's face. "Then you shall have it and more," he replied, placing a humble hand over his heart.
"Good. Lead me to him."
We ascended Lonely Light until we reached a pair of rustic double doors. Rust echoed within the tower as I tapped the handle against the door.
"Enter," a voice called out from within.
The flickering flame of the candle I held danced in my purple eyes. Placing my hand on the handle, I glanced at Lord Farwynd, signaling that he was excused. With a humble bow, he left me to my own devices.
As I stepped into the room, my shadow elongated on the floor.
Through a thin slit in the window, I could glimpse the hailstorm raging outside. The chamber was dark and musty, but I could discern shelves lined with books on one end and a dwindling hearth on the other.
Near the hearth stood a desk with cauldrons, beakers, and various laboratory equipment, which reminded me of my gruncle. Yet, despite all these signs of occupation, there was no sign of anyone else.
"Archmaester Eldric?" I called out, "I apologize for the intrusion."
"Archmaester?" came the response.
Intermittent lightning illuminated the silhouette of a figure before me. On his outstretched finger perched a raven, greedily pecking at the meat in his hand.
"I am no archmaester," replied Eldric, his voice carrying a ghostly whisper, as if each word escaped his lungs like dissipating smoke. "And you will find no pardons from me."
A hissing laughter escaped his lips as he returned the raven to its cage.
"Yet who is this that comes and speaks with such respect?"
As Eldric took a step towards me, survival instincts surged within my stomach, causing me to flinch. Sensing the tension, the shadowy figure approached with caution.
I held out the candle, feigning the need for light to see his face. In truth, I wanted to create some distance between us until I could confirm he was unarmed and harbored no ill intent.
The face that greeted me appeared surprisingly youthful. The crow's feet around his eyes were not as deeply etched as those of Archmaester Runciter, yet I could sense that the man was of an age that even Gruncle Vaegon would consider old when he first joined the Citadel.
It wasn't because of his shining white goatee or his long, bushy eyebrows, nor was it because of his bald head (which, upon closer inspection, seemed the result of deliberate shaving rather than old age). The only real clue to his age was the sagging skin on his hands.
It was his eyes that revealed his true age to me, or hinted at it.
Paler than any stone, gray like drifting clouds, with pupils as black as the heart of Maegor. We exchanged a knowing glance, the kind that Summer Islanders would share in a room full of privileged, white-skinned Westerosi. In those eyes, I could almost sense a life beyond the man himself, and it felt as if he looked at me with the same understanding.
It was the first time since my days spent with the late Queen Alysanne that I had felt someone might know about my past life. During those days, I had been under the watchful guidance of Alysanne's empathetic heart, which had the power to open others to hers.
However, the gaze from Eldric was different. He saw the same information, perhaps, but I knew he did not possess that power through the same empathic means.
"It is I, Prince Rhaenar Targaryen, first of my name, titles, titles..." I said dismissively. "We meet at last. If not archmaester, what shall I call you?"
"Eldric is fine," he replied, gesturing towards a seat. I took the offered seat, and he joined me by the dying embers of the hearth. "A Prince, you say? Yes, you do bear some resemblance to Vaegon."
I raised a diplomatic hand. "I apologize for any negative impressions left by my gruncle."
"Apologies are a waste of ink," Eldric said, glancing down. His smile revealed a set of pearly whites akin to those of a celebrity. "My, my, but I don't need to tell you that. Look at those hands of yours! They were made for the arts."
I rolled my eyes. My reputation as an artist had spread far and wide. I wasn't going to allow this moment to deceive me into believing that he could read my soul.
"My hands are my own," I replied, withdrawing them. "And so are yours, as far as I've heard."
Eldric seemed amused by that. "Believe little of what you hear, and even less of what you read."
"Then what should I believe in?"
"What you see," Eldric promptly answered.
I snapped my fingers and pointed at him with the pistol. "Reading is a form of seeing, for the most part."
"And yet seeing is not always reading."
"I have seen breadcrumbs," I continued. "Who is 'Strawberry'?"
A glimmer appeared in Eldric's eyes. "Strawberry! Now there's a girl I'll never forget. She had a knack for handling potions, that one."
"So the rumors are true. You experimented on live subjects."
Eldric extended his fingers as if imitating me when I had mentioned 'my hands were my own'.
"Correction, I experiment. Nothing more, nothing less. Judging by your respectful manner, I assumed you already knew?"
"...Please forgive my line of questioning," I said. "I only wished to confirm your expertise. It's possible that your talents are wasted out here."
Eldric smirked. "You would be the second Prince interested in my work."
"Gruncle Vaegon?"
"Yes," Eldric replied with a ghostly hiss. "Vaegon. He and the rest of the council. How they loathed my misdeeds."
"Regarding those misdeeds, they are still shrouded in mystery. I would love to hear your story if you're willing to share."
Eldric examined my face with a look of fascination. "So young and impatient!" he chuckled. "Prince Rhaenar, if I were to tell you my story, we would be here until the sun rose and set, going on and on until you had hair growing out of your ears. Besides, if I were to ask you the same, would you divulge yours? No, I think not. You have secrets behind those eyes, oh yes."
I couldn't help but laugh. People tended to respond to a prince's questions in a peculiar and almost childlike manner. After receiving such responses for thirteen years, I had grown accustomed to people easily sharing, and perhaps even oversharing.
It suited me well. Getting others to speak meant less time spent providing answers. Not that their questions would delve too deeply, and if they did, I would always respond with feigned ignorance and stick to surface-level courtly discussions.
So, I attempted to answer with my feigned ignorance, "Don't we all? None of us are without secrets."
"None but the dead," he replied.
For a moment, my heart leapt to my throat as if his words implied that he had some inkling about my reincarnation from a past life.
But after that, I realized it was logically impossible. It had to be a pirate reference of some kind, 'dead men tell no tales' or some such. That would make sense, considering Eldric had spent over a decade on the Iron Islands by that point.
"Even that may not be true," I responded. "Should the dead march south, we'll have to ask them."
Lightning cracked, ravens cawed savagely from their cage, and Eldric regarded me with an arched brow.
"The Others? Queer notions for a castle-educated prince-ling," he remarked.
"You'll find I have many," I responded with a heavy sigh. The conversation had grown tiresome, as I sensed that Eldric was evading questions much like I would.
I pondered my reply. "For instance, not executing you would be considered peculiar, as far as the Citadel is concerned," crossed my mind. However, I opted for a different approach.
"Fine, if you won't show me yours, I'll show you mine."
Reaching into my sleeve, I retrieved a small vial and handed it to him. Eldric promptly uncorked it and took a whiff.
"Shade of the Evening," Eldric said.
I nodded. "You have a keen nose. My gruncle has been kind enough to work on it at my request, but his research has reached a crossroads."
"A crossroads?" said Eldric.
"Let's just say it requires him to be unrestricted by certain things in which you are not."
"Ah," Eldric responded, instantly grasping the implications. I produced copies of Gruncle Vaegon's research, and Eldric examined them with interest. "I see. He's been quite occupied on your behalf. Yes, now I'm intrigued. It's anyone's guess what a young prince would want with such a substance."
"You will learn my intentions in due time, should you choose to accompany me. Now, speak. Time is of the essence. Who was subject Strawberry?"
Any excitement Eldric had shown at the prospect of joining me dissipated upon hearing the name. "Just a girl with a tolerance for poisons," he replied.
"Your notes mentioned she was of Mander stock. It's hard to believe that a peasant girl from there could make it to Oldtown on her own," I pointed out.
Eldric smiled thinly. "Perhaps she was an orphan?"
"The ages of your other subjects varied greatly," I countered, "boys and girls, young and old, from practically every corner of Westeros. How is such a feat possible?"
Eldric let out another laugh, this time tinged with a sinister tone. "What a morbid curiosity you have. Is it so difficult to believe that this old man had the strength to accomplish it all by himself?"
"I might consider it if I witnessed it firsthand. Seeing is believing. My theory is that you obtained your live subjects from slavers who frequent the ports of Oldtown. It's not far-fetched, considering that slavers from the Free Cities occasionally dare to raid the eastern shores of our kingdom.
"But some of your subjects came from the west coast, which is perplexing. Slave vessels venturing that far would surely be noticed, especially those sailing up the Mander and further into the country."
Eldric's smile grew wider with each word I spoke.
I pressed on, "This brings us to your association with Lord Farwynd. The simplest explanation is that, in exchange for your resources, Lord Farwynd granted you asylum.
"Why wouldn't he? It's cheap intellectual power, and even if the issue of your whereabouts were to become a topic of court discussion, who would venture all the way out here to make an arrest? The dragon's wrath may as well be a mirage in this remote place.
"However, I imagine you were concerned that even someone as temperate as my father could send a rider if it became a hot topic at court. The rewards must have outweighed the risks. It's those rewards that pique my interest, and I suspect they will shed light on the darker aspects of your story that are so strongly implied."
"Hmm hmm!" Eldric began stroking his goatee, "Rewards indeed. But the risk was inherited."
"How so?" I asked, my hope mounting as Eldric seemed ready to divulge more.
"My relations with Lord Farwynd go back to before he was even born. It was during the early reign of King Jaehaerys when the shadow of Maegor still lingered," Eldric began.
"In those times, the realm was in turmoil. Rebellions and Faith uprisings allowed the Ironborn to venture to the western shores with impunity, and they took plunder along the way."
Eldric paused, as if reminiscing about those days. "I was drinking at the Quill and Tankard, not yet an archmaester, when Lord Farwynd's grandfather happened to be in Oldtown. We struck up a conversation. Birds of a feather flock together, oh yes."
I couldn't resist teasing, "Sounds like the start of a romance."
But the way Eldric licked his lips and glanced at me with those pale, savoring eyes, I couldn't help but shiver.
"The late Lord Farwynd was indeed a romantic, you could say," Eldric continued. "True to the old way, he took many salt wives. That was the only plunder he took: maidens just before they reached womanhood. And let me assure you, when he gave me a tour, his longship was packed to the brim with such cargo."
"This world never ceases to amaze me," I pondered aloud. "Talk about greed."
"Yes," Eldric affirmed, "Greed. Lord Farwynd had no intention of sharing his wives with anyone. So he secluded them on an island known only to him. He relished it when they ran away. 'Run!' he would say, and with a crossbow in hand, he would hunt them down like animals.
"His son eventually discovered this gruesome tradition and, upon executing his father, decided to continue the practice himself. He found great amusement in it and thought, why not share this twisted pleasure with others? Thus, lords began making the secret voyage to the Lonely Light, where they could hunt maidens at leisure."
I scoffed, "This man was certainly ahead of his time. I'm surprised this is the first I've heard of this... sex island, harem hunt, or whatever you want to call it. And I suppose you played an integral part in all of this?"
"I played my part," said Eldric, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. "Among other things. It provided a convenient way to hasten my research at the time."
"Fair enough. On the topic of research..." I began.
Eldric let out another eerie laugh, a chilling whisper escaping his lips. "As I mentioned before, your bones would turn to dust before I finished its recounting it. I dabbled in various fields, arcane arts and the like. However, no matter where my studies took me, I always found myself returning to my experiments. They served to advance knowledge and provide me with personal satisfaction."
"I can relate in some ways," I replied thoughtfully. "My paintings have been hailed as groundbreaking, pushing the boundaries of art by a hundred years. While they may serve as inspiration for future artists, I create them purely for my own enjoyment. Although, I do derive some pleasure from knowing that I have played a part to help inspire."
A glimmer of light entered Eldric's pale eyes as he happily discussed his backstory, but then it quickly faded. "It is that pleasure, that sense of accomplishment, which we scholars crave," he said with a touch of sadness. "The joy of writing a thesis that future generations will ponder for centuries to come, and the hope of living long enough to witness the discoveries that future students can make based on that research. Alas, that joy has been stolen from me!"
Finally, I rose from my chair, determination fueling my words. "Then swear yourself to me, Eldric, and pledge to fill the library of Dragonstone with all the knowledge you possess. I will be your sponsor."
Without waiting for a response, I turned towards the exit. "Pack your things. We leave at once."
Eldric's voice betrayed his confusion, "In this storm?"
Just then, a screech, more piercing than the raging thunder outside, assaulted our ears. The shadowy form of wings became visible against the backdrop of the clouds illuminated by lightning.
Mockingly, I chuckled and replied, "You believe this to a mere storm? From where I stand, it appears a clear blue morning. Come, join me, and see through the eyes of a dragon!"
Eldric made his decision, though he hesitated to leave his written materials behind. Realizing the opportunity at hand, he exclaimed, "Just a moment!" and swiftly gathered his possessions. Among them, he carefully wrapped a thick, ancient yet seemingly new, dark purple tome. Eldric concealed it within a satchel hidden beneath layers of his cloaks.
And so it was that we bid our farewells to Lord Farwynd, the grandson of the man Eldric had initially met, and the son of the one who had initiated the practice of the "sex island." This practice had ceased during the peak of King Jaehaerys's reign.
Sundance caught a whiff of Eldric amidst the heavy rain and responded with a snarl. Motioning towards the rope ladder, I reassured my friend, "Don't worry. He won't harm you while I'm around."
It struck me as unusual to hear such a snarl from my lifelong companion, and I made a mental note of it. Without further delay, we took to the skies. Turbulent winds were not favored by dragons, and there were numerous accounts of flight being nearly impossible under such conditions.
The historic battle between Orys Baratheon and Argilac the Arrogant was famously known as 'The Last Storm' due to the severe weather that prevented Queen Rhaenys from riding her dragon. It was no coincidence that the bloodiest battle in Aegon's Conquest occurred without the involvement of dragons.
However, Sundance had always possessed an unrestrained nature. He constantly pushed the limits, urging me to fly faster and farther, engaging in rough play fights until the other dragons had to fend him off with fire and claws. So, whenever a storm approached, the more ferocious, the better.
On those days when most dragons sought shelter and rest, I couldn't resist giving Sundance a taste of his own medicine. Together, we braved every storm that swept over King's Landing, much to the chagrin of my parents.
I must admit that flying in storms was perilous. Sundance often struggled against the violent winds, and we narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion. But when I was with Sundance, and he with me, such thoughts were disregarded. And so, we became the first dragon and rider to conquer the storm.
With each powerful flap of his wings, Sundance jolted from side to side as we ascended.
Lightning narrowly missed us on several occasions, and he skillfully used currents to gain altitude before needing to exert more flap power.
Up and up we went until we neared what seemed like an impenetrable wall of black clouds, and then we pierced through that veil.
Above the storm, a sea of rolling, lightning-bolt black lay before us.
However, the sky itself was a clear, pale blue, reminiscent of Eldric's eyes, and the golden rays of the sun kissed our skin as it slowly made its way through the morning sky.
Eldric displayed surprising strength for an old man, his grip around my waist almost suffocating. Yet, as we soared above the clouds, rainbows reflecting off Sundance's scales, the warmth of the sun embracing us, and the tranquil atmosphere calming our spirits, Eldric's tension eased.
After taking in the breathtaking view, he exclaimed, "Incredible. Truly the eyes of a dragon!"
My laughter resounded. "Well said! The Ironborn adore the sea and scorn the sky. But look! The sky above is clear, and that sea below is nothing but treacherous!"
We flew towards the sun, for finding Lonely Light on my own would have been a daunting task given its small size.
Thankfully, the expanse of Westeros offered a different story.