The bright stars were disappearing one by one from the grey – blue sky, driven away by the promise of dawn when maester Cressen woke up with a jump from his shallow and unrestful sleep. The old man looked around hastily as if to make sure he was indeed in his own chambers and not some other place he visited in a nightmare and found himself sitting in his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace, fully dressed, with the maester's chain hanging heavily around his neck. The fire had gone out in the night and a fresh breeze was blowing in from the crashing sea below. The old man shivered from the cold it brought in as it swept across the balcony and flew into his chamber through the door Cressen forgot to close.
He must have fallen asleep while waiting for lord Stannis to summon him or come to visit, the maester thought sadly as he looked at the grey ashes covering the fireplace. There was a time, when Stannis would've done so without delay. A time when his dearest boy would seek his company and counsel, when he would tell the maester of his troubles and grief and find solace and wisdom in his tutor's words. But that time was alas long gone. The sad, sullen child Cressen knew since birth and loved better than a son had long since grown into a smart and strong willed man, who nowadays chose his own trustees and counselors and seemed to have little use for the opinions of an old maester.
But love and hope are most tenacious things, Cressen found. And so for years the old man waited every day for his beloved son to call whenever he had need of him. He rarely did.
Yet as much as Cressen missed him, Stannis's silent independence was a wonderful thing, the old man had to remind himself as he wrapped a woolen plaid around his bony, rounded shoulders. His poor lonely boy who had spent most of his childhood and youth shivering in the shadow of his brothers and doing his best to get a second glance form anyone was now not only enjoying the sunlight of power and glory, he radiated it.
How strange life is, Cressen thought shifting to make himself more comfortable in his armchair. Could the dear lord Steffon in his wildest dreams have imagined that his jolly, charming, favorite son Robert, the glorious rebel and ladies' man would end up as a drunken, petty and vindictive fool, a puppet king and a cuckload, unable to even sire himself a lawful heir? And that the dull, solemn little Stannis, a source of constant worry and disappointment to his parents would be hailed across the world as a wise, strong ruler and the greatest battle – general in Westeros?
No… Never… Because, sadly, love is not only tenacious, it is also blind.
But perhaps life isn't strange at all, the old man smiled. Perhaps it is natural for Robert, who was used to having whatever his heart desired just fall into his lap, to break down when the world didn't go his way. Like a dog, whose legs and spine were shattered by the first severe blow of fate because he didn't know how to fall and land. Maybe it was just as natural for Stannis, who had to fight tooth and claw for everything, to be the cat, landing on all fours no matter how far he fell. The cat that walks gracefully through life all on its own…
Thoughts slowly began to trail away and darkness covered his eyes as the old maester slowly dozed off again, lulled by the warmth of the thick woolen plaid and the monotonous rhythmical rustling of the waves far below. But was suddenly pulled out of his pleasant slumber by a hard, deep and familiar voice.
"What's the matter, old man? Why are you up at this hour?"
There was no warmth or affection in Stannis's tone, but Cressen was overjoyed to hear it all the same. Like many others, he was used to the lord's rough and prickly words and character and learned to accept Stannis' cold grumpiness for what it was – just his way.
"Wakefulness is the curse of the old, my lord" – Cressen smiled as Stannis slipped in and shut the door tightly behind him.
"It is just as well. I'm sorry to disturb you, Cressen, but I need you"
"I'm very pleased to finally hear it" – the maester grumbled with satisfaction – "That doesn't happen often enough these days…"
"You're not as young and strong as you used to be these days" – Stannis snapped, rolling his eyes. He hated Cressen's complaints as much as anyone else's. Of course the old man felt neglected in his lonely tower, but he truly was very old and frail and needed his rest. And all of the castle's needs as far as medicine was concerned were more than adequately met by the surgeons of the Royal fleet. Another fact the old maester was very unhappy about.
"How can I assist you, my lord?" – Cressen asked beginning to get worried as he eyed Stannis apprehensively. He knew only too well that gloomy determined frown that darkened his dear son's brow…
"In a short while, Davos will bring in someone, whom I need you to look after and heal in utmost secrecy" – Stannis replied darkly – "Lock her in one of the old rooms and make sure that no one but you, me and Davos knows she is here, do you understand? Davos and I will assist you should you need any help."
"She?!" – Cressen smiled curiously, raising his eyebrows.
Could it possibly be that the prudish and faithful Stannis finally decided to allow himself some forbidden joy, he thought jubilantly. Not a very honorable decision, perhaps, but long overdue. Indulging in nocturnal activities only once or twice a year merely for the sake of duty was not at all good for a healthy man in his prime…
"Blast it, old man! You ought to know me better than that!" – Stannis snorted, utterly outraged – "And trust me when I say, that if your patient's whereabouts are discovered by anyone, it will most likely mean death for me and even my family"
"The Seven protect us!" – the old maester cried, throwing up his hands – "Who is it?"
"Daenerys Targaryen"
"I beg your pardon?!"
"Daenerys Targayren" – Stannis grumbled a little louder, annoyed at having to repeat the name twice.
"I heard you the first time, my lord" – Cressen smiled gently – "But what…"
"She fell off her dragon. I found her injured on the slopes of Dragonmont" – Stannis interrupted hurriedly – "Her right thigh is cut open, she has a broken wrist and ankle and I'd say about seven broken ribs. Left knee was dislocated, but I reduced it, hopefully without causing further damage. I checked for internal injuries, seems like nothing's wrong, but she's dizzy and lost consciousness twice"
"I'll see to her, my lord" – Cressen nodded and then added fearfully - "But the dragon… "
"It's sitting in the mountain somewhere" – Stannis replied – "I'm taking the castle garrison into Dragonmont to kill the beast"
"My lord!" – Cressen gasped feeling absolutely horrified by the thought of his lord and master putting himself in such danger.
"There're going to be many casualties, most of them with severe burns. The surgeons are already setting up a field infirmary at the foot of the moutain and they'll need all the medicines you can give them. You will also prepare the castle infirmary to receive some of the critically injured"
"But we only have twenty beds!" – Cressen gasped.
"That's why most will be treated at the field infirmary" – Stannis said crossly – "Can you manage all that?"
"Certainly" – the maester nodded.
"Good" – Stannis snarled, heading for the door. As he opened it he turned around and added – "I don't want anyone within a hundred paces of the Targaryen and I don't care how busy you all are, understood?"
"Yes, my lord!" – the old man whispered as he watched Stannis rush out of his chambers and run down the stairs.
Burns… The word was still ringing in his ears. A small word with a horrifying meaning, that only maesters could fully comprehend. Like any healer in the world Cressen had had his fair share of treating small burns that came frequently after a cook or servant had been careless with fire, but dragonfire meant very extensive burn injuries and that was another matter altogether.
The old man was not trained as a surgeon, so he was not used to seeing such terrible trauma. Only once in his life had Cressen seen extensive burns, when he was a young apprentice at the great Citadel and the memory was still as clear as if it had happened yesterday. One of the small dock houses had caught fire and soon the whole harbor was ablaze. Many good men were burned that day… more than he cared to remember.
No injury is worse than burns that covered a big part of the skin, the old maester thought anxiously. Burns are devious. They kill easily and never completely go away. Burnt once, a man is burnt for life.
How many men would the accursed beast burn today? How many would suffer if the warriors should fail to kill it? Hundreds? Thousands?
How many injured would he have in his care beside the Targaryen girl? The Seven help him, how in the world was he to cope? This was far too much for an old man of almost eighty to handle, Cressen thought desperately.
The old maester sighed and traipsed himself slowly towards his workroom. He needed to start all preparations right away, but first he had to find a key to at least one of the old targaryen chambers. There was a whole bunch of them he had put away for safe keeping, but couldn't quite remember where…
The intricate maze of ancient tunnels that lay peaceful and forgotten for many years in the deepest bowls of mount Dragonmont was suddenly animated by the light of a couple of dozen torches and the quiet, cautious steps of seventy five knights and soldiers. Silent and wary, the warriors of Dragonstone were following their lord through the legendary secret passage that led from the dungeons into the heart of the old mountain. The other half of the castle garrison, led by ser Davos were to enter the mountain from the outside through one of the numerous caves and meet their comrades in some large cavity, Stannis called the 'geyser – cave'.
According to the lord of Dragonstone, it was a huge cave deep in the bowls of the mountain, about thirty feet high and fifty feet wide. Its walls were covered with many - colored obsidian that also hung in long stalactites from the top and lay in huge boulders on the floor, which was covered in endless fire – spitting geysers. They erupted in flames so often the cave was always lit up, bright as daylight and extremely dangerous to enter.
Years ago lord Stannis had found several dragon sculls in that cave and now expected to find the living thing that was supposed to have flown in from across the Narrow sea.
Although the men followed their leader without question, none of them could quite believe, they were about to face a real dragon. The beasts had been extinct for over a hundred years and most warriors thought the rumors of the three newly hatched Targaryen dragons that came from Essos to be just that – rumors. Fairy – stories, designed to excite and scare the gullible.
But lord Stannis, not known for his sense of humor, was dead – serious when, less than an hour ago, he suddenly raised an alarm, ordered the whole castle garrison to be armed with heavy bows, crossbows, swords, but wear no armor and follow him and his friend into the mountain, while his naval force was to stand by outside the cave, ready to join the fight if necessary.
Perhaps this was just another drill, most soldiers reasoned. One of the many, frequent and diverse trainings Stannis loved putting his men through. But why would the lord of Dragonstone show them the long – forgotten secret passage and take them into the mountain that was his refuge and folly to all others, the rest replied.
But whatever they believed, treading lightly and carefully the warriors of Dragonstone castle all walked somewhat reluctantly through the realm of old – world legends, dark magic and hidden fires, which was Dragonmont. It was so still and quiet, that every careful step was audible and every light breath seemed to echo across the passageways. The air in the tunnels was hot and damp and heavy. The obsidian floor and walls glowed and sparkled miraculously in the firelight and illuminated the cavities with different shades of green, yellow, red and purple.
"Step very lightly" – Stannis had warned his men before they left the familiar stone corridors of the dungeons to enter the unknown – "The passage is as deadly as it is beautiful. The floor is covered with sleeping geysers that wake up and spit fire if you disturb them. And whatever you do, don't touch the walls. The obsidian is sharp as a razor"
Suddenly the thick, sinister silence that hung above the ancient passages was shattered by a horrific thundering roar that rumbled through the mountain. It was followed immediately by bloodcurdling screams that echoed in every nook and cranny of the ancient tunnels.
The men froze in their tracks as they felt a wave of burning hot air rush through their tunnel and heard the very walls around them bray of fear and death.
Their comrades had found what they were all looking for…
"Seven Hells!" – Stannis shouted snapping momentarily out the stupor and sprinted down the passageway, throwing caution to the wind. His men followed closely. The disturbed geysers spat fire at them as they ran, setting some unlucky soldiers ablaze, but Stannis took no notice of his losses. Swift and light as a shadowcat he ran through the caves, completely unharmed by the springing flames. The air seemed to get hotter and the screams louder with every step.
In a few minutes the party reached the entrance to the cave. It was filled to the brim with raging flames black as the darkest night with flashes of red. Stannis and his men darted for cover behind the nearest obsidian boulders that burned with bright cold flames of all possible colors as dragonfire cracked and thundered all around them, swallowing everything it could reach. Davos and his men were on the other side of the cave hiding everywhere they could, blocking the Dragon's way out and showering him with arrows. However, most of them were already lying on the floor as charcoaled corpses.
The fire soon died down and Stannis's men peeked cautiously out of their hiding places. Sparkling obsidian light shone brightly from every corner of the vast cave, allowing them to see their foe clearly.
Though deadly and fierce, the dragon was marvelously beautiful! Its body was long and mighty, but at the same time slender and elegant. Most of its scales were black, but the horns and spinal plates were blood red. Its graceful muzzle was twisted into a mask of ferocity, baring long ivory teeth. The dragon's eyes burned like two deadly red fires. Its wings were spread aggressively stretching almost twenty feet from tip-to-tip.
The dragon's hide was flecked with glowing silvery lines, some short and straight, some long and winding, which Stannis suddenly realized to be the beast's blood. It was flowing out of the its wounds and dripping off its scales to the floor. The silvery fire turned into a stinking black liquid, thick as treacle as soon as it hit the ground and the cave floor was completely covered with it.
Every part of the poor beast's body was pierced with arrows and cuts, big and small, some partly healed, but most new. The dragon was still very young and its scales were soft enough for some weapons, such as crossbow arrows to get through it. And the long obsidian stalactites cut into its hide cruelly when the dragon was careless enough to touch them.
"Aim for the eyes!" – Stannis shouted as he sprang to his feet and held up his crossbow – "Fire!"
A shower of arrows flew at the dragon's muzzle. Most of them bounced back, but some hit him. The beast roared with pain, sending torrents of black and red flame at his attackers. Stannis barely managed to dodge out of the way and take cover behind his rock as the deadly flames consumed most of his men. Many fell dead to the floor, burned to a crisp. Some had merely lost consciousness from the heat and unless they were carried out quickly, they would soon be dead too.
"Fire!" – Davos's voice echoed through the cave as another bunch of arrows was launched at the beast, followed by another roar and another explosion of black flames.
Dizzy from lack of air, his eyes blurred with sweat from the unbearable heat, Stannis stood up, aimed and fired his crossbow arrows with every chance he got. His few remaining men did the same, praying they would destroy the beast before its flames consumed them all.
Suddenly one of the arrows reached the fiery slip of the dragon's eye and extinguished its flame. A stunning roar exploded from the dragon's maw. Its body squirmed and spasmed as the dying beast screamed in pain and fury, throwing flames at his enemies with his last breath and slashing its huge tail. Like any true warrior, the dragon didn't intend to leave this world alone.
Darting away from a mighty lash of the dragon's tail, Stannis all of a sudden felt but his foot slip on the thick black blood. The last thing he remembered was falling onto the filthy floor and seeing black flames consume the world around him in one final fierce stroke.
When he opened his eyes Stannis found himself lying comfortably on soft, thick, green grass under a huge weirwood. The sunrays were glittering through its thick white branches and a warm summer breeze was rustling its blood - red leaves. The air was filled with the scent of a million herbs and flowers, mixed with sea – salt and the cheerful voices of chirping birds that made their nests in the thick spreading crown of the ancient trees.
Stannis heart leaped with joy as he recognized his surroundings. He was at the small godswood at Storm's End. The remote and secluded corner of the old castle that was his favorite place in the world. The one he thought of first when he remembered his home.
Stannis loved it ever since he was a very small child. An emotion he inherited from his grandmother the princess Rhaelle, who used to take her favorite grandson to the silent solitude of the weirtrees and read him books, tell him stories or play with him. Later when Rhaelle had died, Stannis continued to come to the godswood by himself and was always to be found sitting high up in the huge weirwood trees, reading or thinking or just lying on the grass, lazing away in their shade. He came to regard the weirtrees as his oldest and dearest friends, who knew his secrets and bore witness to the happiest and saddest moments of his life. Even during the long and hard year of siege, he would often come to the godswood. Not to pray, never that. To rest and sleep. As if the old trees could give him strength and courage, when he felt desperate and at the end of his tether…
"Are you sleeping, cousin? Or are you in hiding again?" – came a light, melodious, gentle voice Stannis knew only too well and would have recognized out of a million others – "You really ought to get up, it is too pretty a day to be wasted like this"
Stannis looked up and saw a handsome young man sitting next to him on the grass. He was looking down at his cousin like he always did - with a tender smile on his lips and warm affection in his huge, thoughtful, sad dark purple eyes.
"I would love for us to go riding together. The grounds around Storm's End are so beautiful" – he continued – "Or if you prefer, we could stay here. I know you hate songs and poetry, but I want to sing my new song for you. For no one criticizes me as honestly as you do…"
His long silver hair was soaking wet and falling down onto his pale, beautiful face. He was wearing a suit of black armor and a long dark red silk cloak. His breastplate was smashed in and a small streak of blood, that was strangely not red, but silver was flowing out of the wound. It turned black as it dripped onto the grass.
"Rhaegar…" – Stannis said hoarsely as his chest tightened with yearning and regret.
Suddenly Stannis felt a sharp slap on his right cheek. The godswood and Rhaegar's face melted quickly, turning into a bright blue sky, lit up with early morning sun and an anxious surgeon kneeling over him. Davos's face was also hovering over his own. It was covered with dirt and there were a few minor scratches and burns on his cheeks and forehead, but otherwise his friend seemed to be quite well.
"My lord?" – the surgeon called – "My lord, can you hear me?"
"Aye, I hear you" – Stannis murmured, squinting from the bright light and the throbbing pain in his head – "I'm fine"
"Thank the Seven!" – Davos sighed with relief, helping Stannis sit up.
"Take it easy for a while" – the surgeon said as he moved away from Stannis on to his next patient.
"Is it dead?" – Stannis asked as he looked around.
They were sitting just outside the cave Davos's party came through a few hours ago. About twenty injured men were lying on the cold grey rocks, three surgeons were busy fussing over them and the sailors were carrying more injured out of the cave.
"We wouldn't be having this conversation if it wasn't" – Davos chuckled.
"How many dead?" – Stannis asked gloomily as he watched two sailors carry a severely burned soldier down the slopes to the field infirmary.
"Eighty seven" – Davos sighed heavily – "Another twenty eight won't last the day."
"Thirty five survivors?!" – Stannis gasped. He had anticipated heavy losses, but not quite as bad as that!
"Thirty five at best" – Davos shook his head – "Ten lads've been burned pretty badly. The surgeons say they're in no danger, but their military career is over for good. The rest of us just got lucky I guess"
"Seven bloody hells!" – Stannis gasped rubbing his forehead with his hand – "And that dragon was young and dying to begin with!"
"Gives you a whole new appreciation for Balerion the Dread" – Davos smiled feebly – "And those who couldn't defeat his fire"
"Yeah, you can say that again!" – Stannis snorted – "Bring the beast up as well. We're going to need it"
"What for?!" – Davos asked surprised.
"Just do as I say" – Stannis said tiredly. He really didn't want to explain anything right now. He was feeling completely tired out, as if all his strength had been sucked away. And he could swear he still felt Rhaegar's kind, melancholy eyes watching him…
Old maester Cressen's hands trembled uncontrollably as he was trying to tidy up his workroom after scouring it for all the ointments, powders and potions he could think of as he prepared himself and the infirmaries for the rush they were about to face. He was feeling dizzy from the bustle that filled the usually quiet and peaceful Sea Dragon Tower with servants scurrying back and forth, taking medicines and yards and yards of clean cloth down to the field infirmary. The surgeons sent word to the old maester that the castle infirmary would not be needed after all as there were a lot fewer injured and more dead than anticipated. They saw no point in taking the dying up to the castle and the survivors would be treated in the field and sent home shortly.
Even though the news of so many deaths grieved the old man greatly, he couldn't help feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to witness the terrible process of the burns slowly consuming the lives of the poor victims.
At first the injured would be fairly well under the circumstances. They would talk, think, breathe and feel little pain if the burns were bad enough. But a day or two later the swelling would start. The victim's body would grow to double the size it was and become neigh unrecognizable. And the poor wretch would suffocate and die. And even if he managed to somehow survive, his flesh would rot and fester. Very few men survived burns and even then they wished they hadn't as were left disfigured for life…
The old maester shrugged as he remembered the burns he had seen in his youth and thanked the Gods he was sent to be the maester of a keep and not the surgeon of an army. Especially now, that he was week and slow and could only handle one patient at a time… Which reminded him to look in on the young Targaryen girl, who was locked away safely in one of the old rooms, sleeping peacefully after drinking a large dose of the 'Milk of the poppy'.
After at long last arranging all the pots and bottles to his satisfaction, maester Cressen took a small bottle of dark green liquid and went slowly out of his chamber, cursing each and every step of the long, narrow staircase. Looking around his finally empty tower he cautiously made his way to his patient's room. He opened the door quietly, entered it as quickly as he could and locked it behind him.
To his surprise, the girl was no longer asleep. She was lying wide awake, sniffing and sobbing quietly as huge tears ran down her cheeks.
"Why, child!" – the old man gasped – "What on earth is the matter? Are you in pain?"
That couldn't possibly be true, he thought as he eyed his patient apprehensively. He had administered a large dose of 'Milk of the poppy', that couldn't have worn off yet…
"No" – she sighed heavily, wiping her eyes with her good hand – "I'm crying for my poor dragon. I know he's dead"
"Yes, he is" – the maester nodded with a bit of surprise.
"I saw him die in my dream… And his death was terrible" – the girl said mournfully.
"I'm sorry for you, child, but it had to be done. Many good men died an even more terrible death because of him. There is nothing worse than being burned…" – the maester replied softly – "How many more would have died, had he been set free"
Danny didn't say anything. As hurt and angry as she was, she knew the old man was right. She had to chain up her Rhaegel and Viserion for the same reason the soldiers had killed poor Drogon. Dany remembered only too well the charred corpse of a little girl laid before her on the steps of the throne room in Meereen. She couldn't control her dragons and couldn't keep them out of harm's way… So every death they caused was just as much her fault as it was theirs. Even poor Drogon's…
"Come, my dear" – the old man said gently as he sat down beside her and poured her a small glass of wine, adding the contents of a small bottle he took out of his pocket – "Drink this. It will calm you down and help you sleep. You need plenty of rest to get better. Everything will be fine…"
With that he brought the cup close to her lips and held it while she drank the wine. It tasted strong and spicy from the potion and Dany soon felt a nice, soothing warmth spread from her stomach. The wine and the gentle old men's king words soon relaxed her body and somewhat calmed her spirit. Soon she shifted comfortably in her soft, warm bed, her eyes were heavy with sleep again.
"That's better" – Cressen smiled and petted her hand before getting up heavily from his chair – "Sleep now, I will come back soon"
"What about the man who found me?" – Dany asked suddenly as the old maester unlocked the door – "Do you know anything about him?"
"Of course. I know him very well…" – Cressen replied, looking puzzled.
"No, I mean… he was one of the soldiers who killed my dragon…"
"Yes he was" – the maester nodded calmly
"Is he alive?" – Dany asked with a note of worry in her voice – "I saw him in my dream… he fell…"
"Alive and well" – the old man smiled – "He is a great warrior, you know…"
"And the other one? The one who brought me here?"
"He is alive and well too"
"Is he a great warrior also?" – Dany smiled curiously.
"I'm afraid not" – Cressen smiled back – "His talents lie elsewhere. Now go to sleep girl. You are far too inquisitive"