The situation with Shiera was deeply unsettling, a scene that would unnerve anyone who witnessed it. Yet, the two maidservants standing behind her—deaf and mute—remained oblivious, unaware of the strange happenings. Despite the eerie silence between them, the courtyard felt unnervingly lively, as though a hidden tension hummed in the air.
"Calm down, Shiera, and everyone else, please calm down!" Viserys urged, his voice wavering with uncertainty. He had no idea how to handle this. His blood magic, fire magic—none of it seemed relevant to this bizarre situation. His newly learned water magic was barely sufficient to splash someone's face with a water arrow, let alone manage a crisis like this.
Fortunately, something finally happened. One of the maidservants crossed the courtyard to the Weirwood tree and plucked a few leaves. She chewed them, then approached Shiera and leaned down, passing the leaf pulp into her mouth in a gesture that was oddly intimate. The sight of it made Viserys' ears flush slightly with embarrassment.
But it worked. After swallowing the leaf pulp, Shiera seemed noticeably calmer. Viserys was surprised—could the Weirwood leaves really have such an effect?
"Lady... Shiera?" Viserys asked cautiously.
"I feel much better," Shiera replied, waving a hand dismissively.
"And the others?" he asked, referring to the conflicting voices that had just battled for control.
"They've calmed down as well," she assured him.
Viserys nodded, then asked, "Senior, are you in such a hurry to get a new body because this one is failing?"
Shiera took a sip of her mead before answering. "Yes. The magic that sustains my body is slowly losing its potency as the world's magic wanes. This body has only two and a half years left at most."
'Two years and a half', Viserys thought to himself. He was about to speak, but Shiera continued, "In fact, this body is reaching its limit, just like him."
She gestured toward the withering Weirwood, and Viserys understood she was referring to the current Greenseer, Brynden Rivers.
He pondered why Shiera was experiencing this. It seemed that each generation of her consciousness was relatively independent, possibly due to the different environments they lived in. This had led to a divergence within her—some parts of her mind longed for death, while others clung desperately to life. These conflicting desires had created a dangerous imbalance within her.
Viserys thought for a moment and said, "Shiera, and all the others within you—since some of you are weary of this world and others still wish to remain, I might have an alternative solution."
"Oh? What solution?" Shiera asked, her interest piqued.
"Have you heard of the Three-Headed God?" Viserys was referring to the Valyrian magic treasure in Tyrosh.
One head devoured death, another breathed life, and the purpose of the third head remained a mystery. After he had touched the statue, something had changed within him, leading Viserys to believe that the third head might be connected to the soul and consciousness.
"Perhaps," he continued, "the consciousness within you that has lived long enough could be separated through that magic treasure."
Shiera listened, then shook her head with a different voice, "I'm impressed you know of the Three-Headed God's true function, but I'm sorry to say it's not possible."
"Not possible?" Viserys frowned. "I don't even fully understand its true function, so please, enlighten me."
Shiera's spirit seemed to shift as she shared more, "You're close. That artifact did indeed have the ability to separate a person's memory and consciousness, placing them in other objects. Some descendants of the Dragonlords would use it to preserve their ancestors' consciousness in portraits to remember them. But now, it's impossible. That device requires an immense amount of magic to operate, and the world's magic has waned too much. Besides, I've seen it—the runes on it are half-eroded, and no one alive can repair it."
Her tone was proud, almost dismissive, as she added, "And besides, the Targaryens, though a Dragonlord family, were among the weakest. They were never worthy of using such powerful magic."
Viserys was taken aback. This was the first time anyone had suggested that his bloodline wasn't noble enough, but he understood her point. At its peak, Valyria had over a thousand dragons, and more than 800 of them belonged to just a few powerful Dragonlord families. When the Targaryens fled westward, they brought only three dragons, a paltry number by Valyrian standards. It explained why Aenar Targaryen, the first Dragonlord to come to Dragonstone, had left so easily.
But Viserys was still wary. He couldn't be sure if Shiera was being entirely truthful or playing a game with him. He knew he couldn't let his desires cloud his judgment. "Well, Lady Shiera, everyone, I'm not even sure I can give you what you want. What if I can't?"
Shiera's gaze pierced through him as she replied, "You got Faria pregnant. What are you afraid of?"
"Falia is pregnant?!" Viserys exclaimed, his disbelief evident. It felt like being jolted awake by a sharp slap during a deep sleep. Shock overwhelmed him, followed by a wave of panic. He had never been a father before, and now he was going to be one—twice over!
Falia was a woman who knew how to navigate the world, but how difficult would her life become if she was truly pregnant? An overwhelming urge to go to Braavos and find her surged within him.
Seeing the look on Viserys's face, Shiera spoke in a gentler tone, "She drank moon tea."
'Ah, that explained it. If Falia had actually been pregnant, I would have heard something by now.' "So, moon tea not only prevents pregnancy but also induces abortion?" Viserys asked.
Relieved, yet oddly hollow inside, he was thankful given his current circumstances. Still, a part of him couldn't shake the emptiness that lingered. He knew he'd need to return to Braavos and check on Falia eventually. 'But wait—how did Shiera even know about this?'
The question nagged at him, but a more pressing issue remained: how to refuse Shiera's request. An idea suddenly struck him.
"Shiera, do you mind if I make a, uh, donation?" he asked, trying to mask his intentions behind cryptic words. He figured he could at least try to offer her something less direct.
But Shiera caught on immediately. "No," she replied, her voice firm. "What I need is a union of body and soul. What do you think I am, a horse?"