( Archibald II )
The sun was hitting hard on the group, slowly making its way through the desert sands of western Dorne. Gerris and Quentyn were holding the heat fairly well, but Cletus looked as if he would drop dead from heatstroke at any moment.
The good news was that this time, Quentyn had managed to hold his horse correctly for the duration of the voyage from Yronwood. It was still far from his skills before his fall, but there had been a lot of progress since the first time he'd mounted a horse after treating his wounds.
"Remind me why we're here again?" Archibald asked, annoyed, as their escort started to rush forwards, likely spotting something in the distance.
"Lord Yronwood is exploring a possible betrothal with Lord Qorgyle's only daughter, Aliandra." Quentyn explained from his saddle. "He sent Cletus to meet with her and explore the possibility of said betrothal, as well as a possible alliance with House Qorgyle. They are of first men descent after all."
"And why are we here?" Arch groaned.
"We're good friends that are here to support Cletus during these trying times." Gerris laughed.
Archibald nodded. Although he wasn't forced to be here, he gladly followed his friends, but the voyage was long and tiring.
He thanked the seven when he finally saw the walls of Sandstone in the distance.
The city rose up from the desert, alone in an oasis. Although Sandstone in itself was quite small, the castle housing House Qorgyle was large. It wasn't larger than Yronwood, but definitely larger than the Tor where he'd been once.
A large moat separated the castle from the rest of the city, as the group slowly crossed it. A man not a year older than Cletus welcomed them.
"My lords, my prince, welcome to Sandstone." The darker-skinned man said. "My name is Gulian Qorgyle, son of Lord Quentyn Qorgyle. I have come to welcome you in our modest keep. If you could dismount and follow me?"
The group didn't take long to dismount. They had been riding for four days straight, if not five, and getting off of the saddle was a liberation.
Quentyn struck up a conversation with the heir to Sandstone. Gulian Qorgyle had short, brown, hair, and brown eyes. He was quite tall, taller than Cletus for sure, but not as tall as him.
He also had quite a reputation: one of a cunning lord, that mastered the poisons and subtleties of living in a harsh environment such as the middle of the damn desert.
"Most of the castle seems to be in ruins, why?" Quentyn asked the young lord.
"Most of it was destroyed after Lord Qorgyle had Lord Lyonel Tyrell killed, most of the old palace of Sandstone – or what remained of it after the First Dornish War – was razed to the ground. This time, we didn't bother rebuilding."
"I see."
"Forgive me, Prince Quentyn, but why the large bag?"
"Oh." Quentyn reacted. "Arch and I have an experiment to do."
"An experiment?" The Qorgyle lord sounded interested. "What kind?"
"Well, if you would come in this afternoon, once the sun has finished hitting hard on us, it would be a pleasure for me to show you."
The Qorgyle lord thought for a moment, before nodding.
"It would be a pleasure."
"Very well, I shall see you then. Enjoy Sandstone, my lords."
Well, Gerris and Cletus were soon off gods know where. Cletus likely was off to talk to Lord Quentyn Qorgyle about the alliance and Gerris was probably chasing skirts somewhere.
He stayed with the prince in an annex of his rooms, as he marvelled at the amount of stuff he had packed from his bags.
As soon as he entered the room, Quentyn launched him a pair of gloves.
"When you enter this room, put these on."
"Alright."
Arch knew better than to argue with Quent. These could go on for ages.
"What exactly am I wasting my afternoon on?" he asked.
"You don't have to be here, you know." Quentyn answered with a shrug. "If you wish to chase girls with Cletus and Gerris you can do so."
"You asked me to help and I answered. That's what friends are for, no?"
Quentyn smiled for a moment, before turning to the door, as a few knocks were heard.
"Enter, Lord Gulian."
The door creaked open.
"Please put these on." Quentyn said as he threw a pair of gloves to the young lord, who did as told.
"Please call me Gulian, prince Quentyn. No need for such formalities."
"Then call me Quent. All my friends do."
"And you can call me Arch."
"Quentyn and Arch. Well met." He looked around the room. "What are you making? Potions? Poisons?"
"Not exactly." Quentyn answered. "For the past weeks, I've been in contact with my cousin Sarella in Oldtown. She's been particularly interested in my experiments and my work, especially with this one, which I really hope will work."
"What's the goal?" Gulian asked.
"The goal is simply the eradication of infectious diseases from the face of the continent."
Arch and Gulian froze.
"Sorry, what?"
"It's a long story, but the goal is to extract a certain substance from this." Quentyn pulled a few containers with what seemed like moulded bread in them. "The mould can actually kill surface infections. The goal is to extract whatever is in the mould to treat any infections that had entered the bloodstream. This is the goal here."
"And how can you be sure what you need to extract?" Arch asked.
"Long story, you…"
"…don't want to know, yes, I got it." Arch sighed.
Arch and Gulian looked on, intrigued and confused by the spectacle unfolding before their very eyes.
"Right." Quentyn continued. "Gods be good, it worked. At least I hope it did."
"How can you be sure?" Gulian asked.
"The cultures are a yellow colour. Most of the jar covers show yellow lines, which should mean that the culture has been successful. But we need more." Quentyn turned to Arch. "Did you put the glass in the oven like I asked you to?"
Arch rummaged through his things, and handed him the small glass container.
"Perfect." Quentyn answered. "Gulian, could you hand me a spoon of sugar, yeast, citrus, sea salt and…fuck me…"
"What's wrong?"
"I forgot milk powder." Quentyn said, shoving a hand on his face.
"I have that in my study, Quentyn, I can go get some if you'd like." Gulian answered.
"That…would be a life saver."
The Qorgyle lord was gone for a few minutes, and came back with some milk powder.
"We use it for some scorpion antivenom, I always have a stack lying around."
"Thank the gods, you saved the day, Gulian." Quentyn laughed nervously, pouring the powder in with the mixture.
Closing the glass' lid, he then shook the mixture until much of it was unrecognizable, and added the yellow substance in.
"What now?" Gulian asked.
"Now we let the culture reproduce. This should take a week or two. Then we'll be able to extract the result from it. With a bit of luck…it should work. But we'll see when we come back to Yronwood." Quentyn answered.
"Are you sure it will work?"
"If we manage to extract the culture at the perfect moment?"
"Yes."
"No."
"What are the odds of it succeeding?" Gulian asked.
"I'd say…one in a million." Quentyn replied. "Even with this amount, I would only be able to produce two thirds of what is needed to actually treat an infection, and that is without counting any adverse effects from outside conditions, or if I messed up any steps of the process."
"One in a million…" Archibald gasped. "You mean impossible. Why waste days of work just for this lone chance?"
"Because, Arch…" Quentyn sighed deeply. "If it was one in a hundred billion I would still go with it. Because if there is one chance, one single chance, of saving thousands if not millions of lives with what comes out of this jar, then it's worth it. And if it fails? Well, I'll only have wasted some time, a few jars and some limited resources. What was I going to do with this time? Trying to bed as many girls as I can like Cletus does? Or cause mischief wherever I go like Gerris? Or even try my hand at killing an opponent that can't strike back all day like you? I have time for that. But it's not as important as this. Nothing is."
"Respectable opinion." Gulian replied before Arch got a word in. "And you're right. A lot of antivenom and antidotes have been one in a million shots. And they save thousands."
"You know your way around antivenom?"
"A little."
Quentyn thought for a moment.
"What do you say about coming back to Yronwood with us? We could use you there."
"Yronwood?" Gulian thought for a moment. "It would be a nice change of scenery to be sure. But how will you convince my father?"
"Well, Cletus is negotiating an alliance, possibly by marriage, but I doubt Aliandra will be ready for a few years. However, bringing you to Yronwood so that you could meet Lord Anders and stay there for a year, perhaps visit Sunspear afterwards…"
Gulian chuckled.
"Smart." He smiled. "You're not what I expected, Quentyn. Your uncle told me you took a lot after your father, but I see more of your uncle in you."
Quentyn's face fell.
"Well, let's hope I have more common sense than my uncle." He said, grimly. "But I'm glad to have you on board the squad."
"The squad?" Gulian asked, confused.
"It's what Quentyn calls our group. It was either that or the GAQC, which is impossible to pronounce." Arch replied. "Now can it become the QCGAG?"
"It's worse." Quentyn replied.
"Well then." Arch shrugged. "Welcome to the squad, Gulian."
"My pleasure. I'm excited to get started."
"So are we."