He was reading the book the girl had left when she fled his room in all the haste a girl her age could make, when the door opened and two Measters appeared. The old one was leaning heavily on the younger Measter's shoulder and wheezing, his face distorted and eyes jittery, it looked like he could collapse right on the spot. But apparently the old man was made of stronger stuff, sluggishly he was waddling on his own to the balcony when he noticed him.
"Draco", he rasped out and froze. "My boy, I am sorry... I failed you, I failed every boy under my care, Robert, Renly, Patchface and Stannis, Stannis most of all. My links of chain, the symbol of my knowledge and my wisdom, worthless metals, what good they served my boys, my sons that I have not fathered, but raised? I should have been a knight, when there was a choice, and died in battle with a sword in hand. A short life, but glorious, the life in which I would not have aged enough to learn my worthlessness. Will you ever forgive me?" Maester asked him, but the voice he used, so pained and anguished, made Draco doubt whether it was him he saw or some other of his boys.
Malfoy chose to turn deaf ear and the silence stretched, until the younger Maester made his presence known.
"Maester Cressen, it is almost noon, it is my fault you did not break your fast. I saw the cook was preparing a fish soup and oatcakes must be still warm from the oven. Let me bring your luncheon".
"Thank you, Pylos, but it is not food I need now, an hour of rest and sleep should suffice. But our guest has not been properly fed for days, no patient of mine would die of starvation under my watch. Bring him porridge, warm and honeyed, but watery, a cup of milk and fresh black bread, if it can be found. Go now, Pylos."
When he was gone, Maester looked at him again, this time less despondent.
"Draco", he said. "You should leave sooner than what time I have thought was needful for you health. Tomorrow, yes, before the dawn, you will be moved to a different place. I have people who still care about me, not everything is lost, you will be safe... But for now I need my sleep."
He turned his back and watched the comet, a red tailed cosmic object still flying down or falling slowly. "This is my omen, yes. Maybe I am not a brave knight, but I am a skilled Maester. It might be the Gods have kept me this long to prevent the fratricide. Old gods or new, it makes no matter, no man is so accursed as the kinslayer."
The room grew quite when Maester Cressen went upstairs, the only noise that could be heard was coming from Draco's ribcage. It was close to bursting, when the main door hit the wall and the young Maester strode in with a food tray in his hands. He smiled apologetically and crossed the room.
"Do you feel better?" he asked as he put the tray on a bed-side table. When he straightened, his eyes swept over Draco's body. He was about to touch his head, when the wizard caught his hand and said.
"Much better, thank you".
"That is good news. Maester Cressen told us you might not survive the day, but now I am of opinion the Maester was too worried in his assessment."
Draco winced, the old Maester did not trust everyone, not even his assistant, and here he was exposing the old man.
"I wish you speedy recovery, physically you are not in perfect shape, but there is not a serious injury of notice. Not even a blister. However, I would not recommend you to strain your body, if there is any help you need, I am here to serve. You must be hungry now, if you do not mind me feeding you, let me aid."
The protests on Draco lips were drowned by deafening rumbling of his stomach, it was all the cue the maester needed. He propped the boy on pillows and seated himself on the sickbed, a spoon in hand all ready. Draco snatched it from his hand and waited the tray to be placed on his knees. The porridge was runny and too sweet, but he was too famished to be a snob, he wolfed down it all, even sour black bread, and licked the spoon. The maester was watching him, wiping bits of food he coughed from time to time and helping him to his cup of milk. When he finished the maester said:
"We were not introduced. It is sad when people with such bright minds like Maester Cressen grow forgetful."
"Age takes its toll," Draco voiced the old Maester's excuse without much thinking.
"Unfortunately. But I would say the lack of sleep is as much at fault. Maester Cressen does not sleep well these days, even the potion of sweet sleep grants three hours of sleep at best, when he should have a full night rest. Sometimes a daylight nap is all the luxury he has. I am most loathe to wake him then. But we were speaking of names. Well, my name is Pylos, and if I heard it right, yours is Draco?"
"Yes."
"Pleasure to meet you, Draco."
Malfoy was not in mood to return the curtesy, not after he was fed and treated like a baby. The silence was awkward, but he had had much worse experience before, the unwanted memory of refused handshake of friendship resurfaced on his mind, he winced once more.
"Maester Cressen also mentioned your memory loss. It is understandable that you would like to know about yourself and world more, is it why you chose this book?"
He was looking at the book at his side. The tedious thing and so conflicting, there was not a piece of data that the wizard needed, but there was enough information to understand that Draco was in proper mess. He dreaded the slow realisation, which he was not ready to accept, not yet. Not now, maybe tomorrow, I'll think about it tomorrow, his inner voice was soothing him. But he could not stop reading the book and think. I'm dead, dead to the world where I was born and lived, burned and awakened in a world where magic is extinct... I should've killed him, I wouldn't have been here, if not him. Imbecile, I thought you were my friend, however dumb you was. I hope you woke up in some place, too, somewhere where trolls are roaming free, I hope they eat you piece by piece, starting with your tiny brain.
He heard someone cleared their throat, Draco blinked and looked at the person who cut short the gruesome scene enacted in his dreams. Maester was staring at him expectantly.
"The girl left it."
"The girl?"
"The ugly princess."
"Princess Shireen", he suggested with slight disapproval in his voice. "Ah, I see. This is her favourite book, undoubtedly she wanted you to read, she always does it. A poor soul and lonely, she does not understand that not every person is gifted with letters. Do you read?"
"Yes... a little."
"What do you like to read?"
"Uhm, I don't know. Maybe fairytales, yes, and myths." He lied through his teeth.
"Ahaha. Fairytales? A bit old for children's stories, are you not?" Maester Pylos took the tray and stood up. "Myths, you say?"
He went to bookshelves and looked through titles of leather bound books. He found what he was searching for at the bottom shelf.
"Myths and legends of the First Men," the Maester said as he wiped dust from its cover. "The book is crammed with tall tales of ancient lords and fishermen alike, but some stories might be entertaining, only be sure to skip all magic nonsense. Here is a candle, in Dragonstone the day will grow dark soon. Enjoy your read and get well sooner!"
The book lied untouched for good two hours, while Draco was thinking of the situation he found himself in.Penniless and wandless, helpless like a suckling baby in a strange world. He finally conceded that this was not his planet Earth, not even a hidden pocket dimension or a space extension somewhere in his world. So far he had came up with two possible solutions to his unfortunate predicament. The Malfoy heir had proverbially good and bad ideas: he formed the uncertain outlines of his first plan of acquiring a magic wand, no matter the cost; the second solution was a deal easier, it only required a jump, from that balcony favoured by Maester Cressen. But Draco was a coward and he was not sure if his desperation was greater than his self-preserving nature. Yet he could not rid of this foolhardy idea, the suicide was the last resort, he knew, but for some rotten reason he believed the way in was the way out. It is always an option, Draco admitted to himself.
Hours of grim ruminations made him sick of his own company. He wanted to talk to someone else, be it Maester Cressen or Patchy Face. He regretted his cruel and tactless words he spat out at a sad girl, he wished she was here and read her book for him. Alas, he was alone with his dark thoughts. At some point he wanted to wake the old Maester, but thought better of it. The old man wanted him out of this castle, he wanted to protect him and he was genuine in his notion, Draco sensed, but he also wanted him away from the witch. Whoever she might be, she had magic and possibly so much needed answers, Draco was determined to meet her. But for now he would read the offered book and silence his concerns.
Half a candle past Draco was disturbed by a ruckus from a floor above. He could hear wings flattering and cranky croaks of birds. Heavy footsteps followed with the slow creak of cane on the floor. The Maester appeared in the door.
"Pylos, where are you when I need you?!" an old man grumbled. Then he noticed his patient. "Why no one woke me up?"
"It's late", Draco stated matter-of-factly. It was dark outside, the room poorly lit, save for his candle and a comet still visible well above the horizon, absorbing all the light of nearby stars. He fought his fatigue, trying to find answers in a moth-eaten book, but he knew once he closed his eyes he might never have an access to this book, threadbare as it was, it had the information about magical creatures of this world, however obscure and contradictory, it was something. And tomorrow his stay would be no longer welcome, everything he learned about this world so far indicated that he would either be put in the darkest of dungeons or kicked out of this castle to a brave new world. Draco could not decide which outcome he fancied more.
"I have slept too long. They will be feasting by now . . . drinking . . . I should have been woken". The grey man opened the main door and called for servants. "Make haste, quick. And boy, Draco, yes, tonight I am going to stop this madness, this trickery, her sorcery, yes. Might be tomorrow you will have no need to leave us so soon. We will talk about seasons and dragons, yes, and herbs, but not magic, never magic. Go to sleep now, till morning".
The creak of the door stole the last bits of wizard's drowsiness. Draco did not like what the future held for him, not one last bit. The realisation came that the escape was the only option, but where?