Chapter 34
"What if he spills the secret to the Iron Throne?" questioned an old man who wore the same key around his neck that Ferrego had just offered to the fabled Healer earlier.
"He won't," the Sea Lord replied with ease, even as the old Key Holder's gaze narrowed.
"How can you be so certain?" he asked.
"For doing so would mean war, and with war comes nothing but death and misery," and Braavos had been keeping an eye on the young Healer for some time now, and had a good measure of the kind of man he was.
"And the Healer does not have the heart to see millions die because of his actions...."
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CORLYS VELARYON
The Stranger had cast its shadow all over the Seven Kingdoms, and the Plague that had once been contained to King's Kingslanding had now spread to all of the Kingdom. Old Town had been the second to succumb to it, White Harbor and Lannisport had followed that, and despite his best efforts at hoping that it would not come to his shores, the illness had found its way to Spice Town as well.
The spread may seem natural to others, but Corlys saw the hidden hand of the Crown in the ploy.
This was the work of Kingslanding. They may act oblivious and innocent, but Corlys saw through the facade.
The Crown had known about the plague for months and had shut down its ports and gates because of that, and yet in an act of desperation, they had rescinded that order, hence spreading the ailment to all of the Seven Kingdoms.
They blamed the Maesters and the starvation, yet Corlys believed them all to be lies. It was jealousy that drove this move. Jealousy, for the Crown, could not stand to see another city profiting off its troubles, and so it had decided to put the entire kingdom in jeopardy just to cut its own losses.
It was an act as cruel as any war, for thousands upon thousands died by the week as the Maesters and the newfound Healers scrambled for a cure. Corlys could only watch helplessly as Spice Town suffered losses in the thousands.
"This is all a ploy from the Crown," his brother lashed out angrily, and he agreed with him.
"We must protest against this," Vaemond suggested, and Corlys raised a brow.
"And what good will that do?" he asked.
"They must know that we are not blind to their machinations. That House Velaryon will not stand for this act of aggression against it," and an act of aggression it may be, yet they were helpless.
And as he gave him no answer, Vaemod sat back down and leaned forward.
"What of the Grand Council you spoke of the last time?" he asked, and it had been a mistake on his part, sharing his plans with him, for Vaemond was far too enthusiastic about them.
"Rhaenys will not wage war against her own kin," and that was a true tragedy, for she had the makings of a Queen.
The Crown was hers by right before the Old King had stolen it from her, and yet she refused to fight for it. She refused to stand up to Baelon Targaryen for her rights.
Yet Corlys did not desire a war either. He believed that change could be brought through other means. Many people had reached out to him, suggesting that she call a Council to fight for her right, and yet she had refused the suggestion.
"Why not?" Vaemond argued, and he had always been shortsighted.
"Because she fears that it would split the realm as in times of Maegor the Cruel," and Vaemond scoffed.
"She is no Maegor," and she was not. She was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
"You should convince her...." yet before Vaemond could say more, a servant came and knocked at his door.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
And the door to his solar shook, halting Vaemond's words as he looked up at the wooden door.
"Come in," and a servant walked into the room, nervousness obvious in his gait and eyes.
"My lord, the Maester is calling for you," and that was not an urgent matter to concern him with. The Maester could have come to him himself, and yet he had sent a servant in haste.
"Why?" he asked, not truly expecting an answer. Yet one came nonetheless.
"It is about Lady Laena," and Corlys's entire body stilled for a moment, the anguish and plots of his mind all lost in an instant as the servant uttered his daughter's name.
A rather dark thought tore at his heart as Corlys rose from his seat even as Vaemon spoke to utter the servant.
"What could be so urgent for the Maester to call on my bro..."
"I am coming," he cut in, surprising his own brother, and he moved without wasting any more time, as the servant led him through his own Halls, and they reached her room where his own Lady Wife stood outside pale and tearful, as the Maester whispered to her.
"My lord..."
"What happened?" he asked, not wasting any time, and the aged man refused to meet his gaze as he turned away from his wife.
"Nothing is certain yet my lor..."
"Do not lie to me," and his own patience with the men of Citadel was growing rather thin, as he repeated harshly.
"Tell me what happened to my daughter?" and the old man hesitated for a few seconds before he opened his mouth once more.
"I cannot speak with certainty yet, but the young Princess has come down with a fever along with some chills..." and the words were damning enough, for no matter what the aged man may utter afterwards, Corlys knew exactly what it meant.
"Plague..."
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GAEL TARGARYEN
Gael had studied under Galen for around a year. She had seen him work and learned as much as she could from him.
And yet it had taken but a few weeks of effort for her to realize the sheer enormity of the burden that Galen had shouldered all by himself. It was truly mindboggling how he was able to juggle over a thousand tasks while sifting through so much information, all at once.
In but a month, he had been able to narrow down the list of vectors from over a hundred to but three, and yet even a moon later, she found herself absolutely boggled by his work.
Even in his presence, she had found his mind to be so fascinating, and yet in his absence, the feeling was only enhanced, for despite her best efforts, she found herself incapable of replicating even a fraction of his brilliance.
He was able to sift through a massive amount of information in but a second, his mind taking it all in with just a glance and then seeing patterns and causalities in but a few seconds. For mere mortals like her, the task proved itself to be impossible, and despite the efforts of over a dozen underlings, she was unable to make any meaningful progress, as they failed in replicating but a fraction of Galen's brilliance.
"Dragonlords," she whispered, and her own family had been blessed in their own way. There were legacies within her blood, of the Dreamer and the Conqueror, and yet she often wondered just how many lives had those legacies saved.
Aegon's conquest had killed over half a million souls, and the wars that had followed suit had ruined many more lives as well. The Dreamer had tried to warn Valyria of the Doom, and yet he had failed to convince them of the veracity of his dreams.
In the end, Valyria had fallen and only the Targaryens had managed to survive it.
In comparison to her own family, Galen had used his powers to do nothing but good. He could have used his brilliance to fuel his own rise and make a name for himself. He could have hoarded his knowledge he could have used it to enrich himself.
Yet he had done nothing of the sort. He had tried to help people. He had saved thousands of lives, even though he was no King nor lord who held any responsibility for them.
In many ways, he had used his blessings for the good of the people while her own family had brought nothing but death and devastation to the realm.
"This is impossible," Doran Waters began, and he was a former disciple of the Citadel who had been kicked out of the place in his youth for offending the son of a Lord. The man had then gone to Essos to further his studies, yet the tale and legend of Galen had brought him back to their shores.
He was old and experienced, having worked for the Purple Hand Guild of Braavos for a decade. The man was perhaps as knowledgeable as an Archmaester and had been serving as her aide ever since she had taken up Galen's work here in the Hospital.
"He was a madman," Doran whispered, and he was not insulting even though it felt like that.
"I cannot fathom how he was able to make sense of it all," he added, as the table infront of them was filled with papers, parchment, and ledgers.
"We cannot hope to match his prowess," she whispered, accepting her defeat, as silence filled the room, and with the plague wreaking havoc across the Kingdom, failure meant death and devastation.
"At this point, I believe we have no choice but to try and use what he has left us with," Doran suggested, yet controlling three vectors all at once was easier said than done.
He had not yet made a suggestion regarding that. How would they even go about doing that? It all weighed down on her greatly, as Gael felt truly lost.
"We can..." yet before she could continue, they were interrupted as another one of the former apprentices came into the room.
"Princess," he greeted her, as she nodded.
"What brings you here, Healer Hugh?" she asked, and the man hesitated before replying.
"My lady, there is a woman outside. One who claims to have the remedy for the Plague," and a dozen such charlatans rose up every day, trying to deceive people.
"We do not have time for this farce. Send her away...," the aged man uttered, with some frustration, yet the young Hugh's gaze was troubled.
"No," she raised her hand and stopped her aide from saying more.
"Who is she?" she asked, and the man gulped down as his gaze fell to the floor.
"It is her, my Princess. Lady Elsa, the sworn shield of Healer Galen," and her eyes widened at that name, as she heard that name.
"Bring her to me," and the words slipped out of her mouth without a second thought as the young Healer rushed to follow her commands. She then turned her gaze towards the aged man and whispered.
"Leave us," she said, and he asked no questions and gave her a bow.
"As you wish, Princess," and with that she was alone in the room again, mind racing for she knew what this entailed. There was a sliver of hope in her heart that Galen had not forsaken them.
That the betrayal from her family had not robbed him of any and all affection he may have once held for her, yet she could hardly fathom how much he had suffered all because of the machinations and actions of them.
Still, she would finally have some answers at least, and the young woman was brought to her, the cloak still covering her face, but those scars on her neck were hard to miss.
The young healer left, leaving her alone with Galen's sworn shield, who pulled off the cloak to reveal her face.
"Princess," she bowed, her tone cold, unlike before when it had been filled with warmth and respect.
"Lady Elsa," she greeted back as the two of them stared into each other's eyes, and the tension in the room was palpable.
"How is he?" she asked after some hesitation, and she saw those lips thin before the woman sighed.
"He is well now," she answered, and she did not miss the insinuation.
"Now?" she asked, and her question drew a scoff from the warrior girl.
"You don't really know, do you?" she asked, making her frown.
"Know what?" she asked.
"He nearly died, Princess," and the words made her gasp.
"The wound that Prince Daemon inflicted on his hand became infected. By the time we were able to rescue him, he was burning with fever, and the disease had spread up to his elbow," and from his own teachings, she knew how dangerous that was, and what the solution was for such a case.
"He had us cut his own arm, Princess. His arm!" and she closed her eyes, as guilt and rage at away at her heart.
"You abandoned us," and Elsa's voice became a whisper at that point as she shook her head.
"You abandoned me. You abandoned him," and Gael had to speak up.
"I did not know," she explained, yet the scarred girl frowned.
"I wrote to you myself. I wrote to you many times," she added, and she knew that. She knew that the same was true for Galen and her as well.
"I know, but the letters never got to me," she answered, though that did nothing for the girl.
"I came as soon as the news of it reached my ears," she continued.
"Then you came too late..." Elsa answered, "...for if we had waited for but a few more hours, then he would have lost his life," and she drew in a breath at that, and wondered if that was exactly the whole purpose of the ploy.
This entire thing was not just Daemon's ploy. There was a secret hand involved in bringing down Galen, and one day she would make them pay.
"Where is he?" she asked, hoping and praying that he had come with her.
"He is in Braavos now," and that was what she had heard as well.
"The Crown has dropped the charges of treason against him. He could return," she added, yet the girl was unmoved.
"Will he return?" she then asked, and she reached into her pocket and took out two folded letters.
"I do not know. He sent me here with these letters to deliver them personally," and Galen's hand shook as she reached for it.
"Is that all?" she asked, and the girl shook her head.
"I have one more. It is addressed to the Lady Alicent Hightower," and that was Otto's daughter, and she wondered why he had written to her.
"Alicent? Rhaenyra's friend?" she asked, and the girl nodded.
"The same one. I believe he wishes to thank her, for without her help, we would not have been able to save him," she replied, taking her by surprise.
"What?"
"The girl, she was the one who gave us the keys to the Black Cells," and that explained so much, for many within the castle had been wondering just how exactly Galen had been rescued.
And it pained her to see a little girl succeed where she had failed.
"Would you pass it to her? Or shall I do it myself?" and she gulped on her saliva as she gave her a nod.
"I will pass it along," and she handed her the second letter, and the writing on it had grown a bit wobbly, and perhaps noticing her gaze, Elsa was quick to add.
"He now writes with his left hand," she explained.
"He has improved greatly, but he has not yet mastered the art," and that made her guilt bubble up once more.
"I will be leaving in two days. If you or Lady Alicent wish to send a reply..."
"I will have the men find you," she replied, and with that, Galen's sword shield left her alone in the room, as Gael sat down and, with baited breath, broke the seal on the letter addressed to her.
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