Joffrey finally turned his attention to Archmaester Marwyn, the so-called "Magician," who had been waiting in patient silence.
The stocky man grinned at him, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained with mottled red—as if he habitually chewed sourleaf or some similar substance, unable to curb the habit or to cleanse his mouth before attending the royal presence.
Joffrey returned a faint smile.
Marwyn's nose bore more than one mark of old fractures, his hands were rough and oversized, and his attire could most charitably be described as careless.
At first glance, he appeared nothing more than a slovenly and irascible brute, a man who knew only how to brawl, create disturbances, and live at others' expense.
Yet he was, undeniably, a maester.
Moreover, the chain encircling his thick neck boasted nearly as many links as Grand Maester Pycelle's—an impressive testament to his diverse learning.
It was well known that the Grand Maester, selected by the Citadel's Conclave to advise the King, wore a chain forged of almost every metal known to man.
Joffrey's gaze settled on Marwyn's left hand.
The archmaester's thick finger bore a ring fashioned from Valyrian steel. It emitted a faint white luminescence, and within its band was etched a pattern that Joffrey recognized as a restoration rune.
"Archmaester Marwyn."
Joffrey's voice was soft as summer rain. "Is Valyrian steel truly indestructible?"
Marwyn shook his head with firm conviction. "Nothing in this world is absolutely indestructible, Your Grace, and Valyrian steel is no exception. Were it otherwise, how could the blacksmiths of Qohor reforge it? How would I possess this ring?"
He raised his left hand, displaying the black steel band that adorned his finger.
Marwyn knew far more than he revealed.
Yet at present, only two young women attended the King—along with the elderly Qyburn. The two acolytes Marwyn had brought to King's Landing had been exposed one after another, both implicated in the greater conflicts engulfing the Seven Kingdoms.
The atmosphere hung delicate as spider's silk.
Marwyn had gradually tempered his fanaticism for magic with prudence.
This was a private audience, he understood—a testing of waters between them, and a negotiation of great importance. At least, that was Marwyn's perception.
He burned with curiosity: how much did King Joffrey truly know about the higher mysteries?
Joffrey posed another question. "Beyond blood sacrifice and flame, what else might destroy Valyrian steel? Surely Archmaester Marwyn has conducted experiments in this regard?"
Marwyn recognized then that King Joffrey likely knew the answer already.
"Your Grace, repeated and violent collisions with swords or blunt instruments can diminish the efficacy of Valyrian steel, rendering it vulnerable to destruction, much like common steel in prolonged combat."
Marwyn met the King's gaze, finding it calm and unwavering as a frozen lake.
"If one seeks merely to destroy its form rather than divide it, Valyrian steel will gradually recover its shape independently.
"If it is severed into multiple pieces, it will not regrow to its original configuration, but instead will stabilize as separate, smaller pieces of Valyrian steel. These fragments retain their efficacy and maintain the characteristic hardness and self-restoration of the original.
"However, if the number of divisions grows excessive, it will produce degenerate fragments incapable of restoring their form, pieces that no longer possess the hardness and sharpness of true Valyrian steel.
"The upper threshold for effective division varies; almost every piece of Valyrian steel differs in this regard."
In Marwyn's observation, Daenerys Targaryen, the girl called Master of Whisperers, and Qyburn all maintained expressions of indifference, as if they were merely enduring a tedious story repeated too often.
"Therefore," Marwyn concluded, "Valyrian steel must incorporate multiple magical runes."
"These invisible and colorless, yet indestructible runes likely constitute the source of Valyrian steel's magical properties. They can be separated when the carrier is divided, though there exists some numerical limit to this process."
Sarella Sand and Leo Tyrell gradually succumbed to fascination.
Archmaester Marwyn had never before explained the mysteries of Valyrian steel in such detail, always revealing half the truth while withholding the remainder, stoking his listeners' appetite for knowledge without sating it.
"However, no matter how intently my mortal eyes might gaze upon the sun, I dare not stare overlong into its brilliance, much less claim to have glimpsed its true essence. My understanding must contain countless omissions and errors."
Marwyn inclined his head respectfully.
"I beseech Your Grace to correct my imperfect knowledge."
All eyes returned to the King.
Joffrey yawned softly, then withdrew a small golden figurine from within his sleeve and tossed it casually into the air.
The tiny figure tumbled downward in lazy circles, its limbs and body twisting in mid-descent.
With a whisper of sound, it landed gracefully upon the wooden table, its feet planted firmly, its body upright, making scarcely a sound.
"Chirp."
The figure took minuscule steps toward the King's right hand, which rested upon the table. Its pair of rice-grain-sized fists began to hammer against the royal knuckles, apparently expressing displeasure, though the gesture seemed more akin to a child's affected petulance.
Sarella and the others exclaimed in wonder, then immediately fell silent.
Qyburn rushed forward before Marwyn could move, his body bent so far over the table that he was nearly prostrate. "Is this the Child of Fire?! It lives!"
Marwyn stared at the diminutive being's every movement with obsessive intensity, as if beholding his most cherished treasure.
Child of Fire.
Marwyn savored this strange and evocative name.
Indeed, its body consisted of golden flame, born from fire itself—a creature of evident wisdom. What name could be more fitting than Child of Fire?
"This is the first piece of Valyrian steel born from my hands," the King declared suddenly.
Marwyn's gaze shifted to the King's left hand, which held a dagger as black as a moonless night.
"'Light of Peace' is its name. I once placed great hopes in Valyrian steel."
The King rotated the weapon in his hand, cold light dancing along its edge.
"The gods have blessed me with the all-knowing eye, that I might survey the world, examine souls, and perceive truth with perfect clarity."
"Through this gift, I have learned countless mysteries."
The King laid the dagger flat upon the table and sent the Child of Fire skittering onto its blade.
"Valyrian steel contains magical runes, and the power it engenders possesses the miraculous property of healing and restoration. This power created Valyrian steel itself, and has also blessed the priests who accompany my Holy War Army."
"It shall spread throughout all the world."
"With it, the wounded shall be reborn, swords shall become indestructible, and castles shall endure for all time."
"Surely this power alone suffices to bring glory to the Seven Kingdoms."
Imagining those wondrous possibilities—soldiers rising again and again despite grievous wounds, self-repairing magical swords, fortresses that could withstand any siege—Marwyn could only nod in profound agreement.
"But there exists more than one truth in this world, and more than one variety of rune."
The King tilted the dagger, causing the tiny Child of Fire to tumble to the floor. Immediately, the flames composing its form surged outward, expanding until the entity stood as tall as Marwyn himself.
The flames danced with hypnotic beauty, causing Sarella and Leo to retreat involuntarily.
"Fire, soul, light, information—compared to Valyrian steel, there exist all manner of more potent and wondrous magics. One need only research and apply them systematically, and the day of establishing the kingdom of heaven upon earth shall not be distant."
"Archmaester Marwyn," Joffrey said as he set aside the dagger, "that is why I have summoned you."
"What say you to this prospect?"
Facing the scorching golden flames of the Child of Fire, countless thoughts raced through Marwyn's mind with dizzying speed.
King Joffrey's manner had proven surprisingly elliptical, seeming to answer no questions directly while somehow conveying everything of importance.
Runes, magic, and magical creations of all descriptions—Marwyn had witnessed them with his own eyes.
He could discern no falsehood in what he had seen and heard.
It appeared that the King's discoveries drew closer to fundamental truth than anything Marwyn had encountered in his long travels, offering others a glimpse of realities beyond ordinary comprehension.
What cause remains for hesitation?
It is enough.
Marwyn removed the Valyrian steel ring from his finger, offering it to the King as he bowed with profound respect.
"I am at Your Grace's disposal," he said simply.
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