Paul soon entered—the library. As high as the walls rose, so it seemed did the rows of books that encircled a winding staircase in the middle of the large chamber. They lined what felt like every inch of the curving stone wall: shelf after shelf, tome upon tome, boxes innumerable filled with scrolls, every last one of them,
Paul knew, rare and precious and most likely unique. There were so many of them that ladders had been erected connecting to a reading terrace above them—which was also filled with books. And, as if books in shelves or on a terrace were not sufficiently excessive, there were stacks of books as tall as Paul himself scattered about the floor. The knowledge that lay within them could never be absorbed by a single person in his or her lifetime.
Paul stepped into the heart of the library, his boots softly tapping on the polished marble floor, a faint echo bouncing off the high ceilings. The space opened up around him, vast and airy, with a cathedral-like reverence. Alcoves carved into the stone walls bore the sacred symbol of Eru, each one intricately engraved, glowing faintly with an ancient light. Between them, stained glass windows stretched tall, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. The shifting light filtered through the panes, mixing with the soft illumination from the room's central masterpiece—the Merlin Font.
In the center of the room, the font simmered like a living entity, a cauldron of unfathomable power. Pale blue mist coiled lazily above it, occasionally spitting up ethereal sprays of energy that danced in the air before vanishing. The mist curled upward, spreading like tendrils, thick with the scent of ozone and the hum of raw magic. The pool beneath it shimmered, a swirling vortex of magical energy so potent, Paul instinctively felt its pull in his bones—a force he preferred not to dwell on. This place, this font, was where magic lived and breathed, and the magnitude of it was overwhelming, even for him. It was magical liquid created by his father, it was created with help of Melange and other magical plants, it awakens magical talent and even old bloodline powers.
Paul's eyes traveled upward, and there, above the font, was Merlin—floating, levitating in a meditative trance. His robes billowed gently as if caught in a breeze that didn't exist, the fabric flowing around him like liquid starlight. His father's presence was commanding, the very air around him vibrating with ancient power. Merlin, a man of endless knowledge, a master of not just magic, but the arts of crafting, medicine, and countless fields unknown to most. Even after all these years, Paul still felt a flicker of awe when he looked at him.
For a moment, Paul hesitated, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the moment. The room felt sacred, the kind of quiet that made every breath significant, every step sacred. But he gathered his courage, his voice soft but steady.
"Father, I am here."
Merlin's eyes opened slowly, and for a heartbeat, it felt as though the room itself exhaled with him. His gaze met Paul's, warm and wise, as if he had expected his son all along. A smile broke across his lips, the kind that carried years of understanding.
Without a word, Merlin's body began to descend, drifting gracefully away from the font, the shimmering mist parting for him like water. His robes trailed lightly in the air as he lowered, his feet gently touching the ground in front of Paul. The landing was so effortless it seemed otherworldly, as though gravity was merely a suggestion to him.
Standing before his son, Merlin placed a hand on Paul's shoulder, his touch firm but comforting, the weight of his power balanced by the warmth of his fatherly affection.
"Paul," he said, his voice a rich, deep melody that resonated through the chamber, "you've come at the perfect time."
Paul's curiosity stirred as Merlin's voice, deep and measured, broke the silence between them. "I am leaving for Westeros soon," Merlin began, his eyes focused, yet gentle. "I know this is your first time managing the city alone, but I want you to know—you are not without support. Balthazar, Dastan, and N'Jadaka will be by your side. If anything goes wrong, they'll be there."
Paul smiled, the reassurance calming his nerves, and he nodded. Though the weight of responsibility was heavy, knowing those trusted figures would stand with him was a comfort. He then asked, "Father, what about your plan to travel to Yi Ti?"
Merlin's gaze shifted, thoughtful, as he considered his response. The golden light from the stained glass windows reflected off his features, making him seem even more ethereal. "I plan to journey there later," Merlin said, his voice steady, but layered with the complexity of his thoughts. "But Aegon... your uncle... he is thinking of choosing an heir, although he will rule for probably another decade.But still he asked for my help."
Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya had long passed the half-century mark, yet their appearance defied the years. Despite being over fifty, they retained the vitality and appearance of those in their prime, their faces smooth, their movements as graceful as ever. The secret behind their youthful appearance was Melange mixed l
potion created by Merlin.
Paul nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Uncle Aegon with Aunt Visenya and Aunt Rhaenys help was considered a wise ruler, but with his impending departure, the kingdom was entering dangerous territory.
Both heirs to the throne—Aenys and Maegor—were less than ideal. Aenys, with his gentle, indecisive nature, was ill-suited to lead a land filled with power struggles. Even though Targaryens had Dragons, they are
Maegor, on the other hand, was a force of stubbornness and iron will, too rigid to bend when needed. The realm required balance, something neither of them could easily provide. It made perfect sense why Aegon would seek Merlin's counsel.
Merlin's smile returned, this time with a warmth only a father could offer. He placed a hand on Paul's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "I know you want to come with me to Yi Ti," Merlin said, his voice softening, "and we will discuss that when I return. But for now, focus on your duties here. Westeros needs my attention, but this city—our people—need yours."
The air around them seemed to hum with the magic of the moment, the weight of responsibility settling over Paul like a mantle. He could feel the unspoken trust Merlin placed in him, and it filled him with both pride and a sense of quiet determination. The flicker of excitement about Yi Ti was still there, but now tempered by the understanding that his father had more immediate concerns.
Merlin stepped back, the light casting a halo around him as he prepared to leave. The world outside the library seemed distant, as if all of reality had faded to leave only the two of them in this moment of connection. Paul watched his father, admiring the ease with which Merlin navigated the pressures of leadership, magic, and family.
"When you return," Paul said, smiling, "we'll talk more about Yi Ti."
Merlin nodded, the twinkle of anticipation in his eyes matching his son's. "Indeed we will," he replied.
Merlin smiled at his son and said."I know you want to come with me to Yi Ti, we will discuss about this when I return."
While in Westeros Aenys married Alyssa Velaryon and had six children Rhaena, Aegon II Targaryen, Viserys I Targaryen, Jaehaerys I Targaryen, Alysanne Targaryen
and Vaella Targaryen.
While Maegor Targaryen had been wed to Ceryse Hightower since 25 AC, yet by 39 AC, their marriage had failed to produce an heir. The absence of children gnawed at him, a wound to his pride and a threat to his legacy. Whispers began to spread throughout the realm, fueling his frustration and suspicions.
Seeking to secure his bloodline, Maegor set his sights on Alys Harroway, she was the daughter of Lord Lucas Harroway of Harrenhal known for her beauty and youth. The marriage caused immediate outrage within the Faith of the Seven, for polygamy was forbidden, and Maegor had violated his sacred vows to Ceryse. But Maegor was unbothered. He consulted the healers of the Temple of Ulmo. After their examination, Maegor was assured that he was in perfect health, his virility beyond question. This confirmation, gave Maegor the justification he needed to blame Ceryse entirely.
The Faith's discontent was swiftly met with ridicule after all, can anyone blame Maegor for wanting to have children. He moved forward with his plans, taking Alys Harroway as his second wife in a grand Valyrian ritual, full of fire and blood.