The writing on the pages was ancient yet clear, no longer trivial notes but a structured treatise.
It began with an exploration of dragon physiology.
Next came a detailed analysis of the varying temperatures of dragonflame among different dragons.
The book also drew heavily from early Targaryen records of dragon-taming, examining the compatibility between dragonriders' personalities and their mounts' temperaments.
What truly set Lo Quen's blood racing, however, was the extensive section on the life cycle of dragon eggs—their physiological activity, and how different environments affected their development.
It even documented several secret magical experiments during the reign of Jaehaerys I, conducted jointly by the royal court and the Citadel, all aimed at reawakening "petrified dragon eggs."
The text described the preparations in detail, followed by thorough analyses of why each attempt had failed.
Lo Quen's gaze shot to the title page, searching for the author's name.
But all he found was a scraped patch. The ink stains and torn parchment made it clear: whatever name had once been there had been deliberately and violently erased.
Still, Lo Quen had a strong suspicion.
Who else but the legendary Hand of the King under Jaehaerys I—Barth, famed for his learning and reforms?
His most famous, and most lamented, work was that very book later burned on the orders of Baelor the Blessed: Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History
Lo Quen was nearly certain that the nameless tome in his hands was the surviving core of that lost masterpiece.
By some twist of fate, it had been hidden away in the dust of the Ravenry Tower's upper chamber, its title and author carefully erased.
Could it be that Jaqen H'ghar—or rather, the House of Black and White behind him—had risked everything to infiltrate the Citadel for this?
Were they hoping to find within it the means of hatching a dragon egg?
A cold light flashed in Lo Quen's eyes.
Whatever the Faceless Men were after, he would never allow this tome of dragon lore to fall into their hands—especially if they truly held a dragon egg.
A bold plan took shape in his mind.
Without hesitation, he carefully replaced the book, turned, and descended the stairs, returning at once to Marwyn's office.
When he shoved the door open, the sulking Marwyn nearly jumped out of his chair. "Back already? Found something?"
Lo Quen gave no explanation, instead asking directly, "Archmaester, do you have any books on dragons? Not the printed, widely copied ones. I need raw material—unbound manuscripts, fragments, the more obscure the better."
Though suspicious, Marwyn held his tongue at Lo Quen's serious tone. He rose and rummaged through one of his drawers, a cluttered chest of odds and ends.
At last he pulled out a bundle of loose papers tied with hemp cord, covered in hurried scrawls. "Here. Notes and fragments I picked up years ago during my travels in the East—bits from ruined temples, old peddlers. Plus some of my own speculations. They're a mess, never put into proper order. Take a look... Hey! What are you doing?!"
His words broke off in alarm.
Lo Quen had seized a quill, dipped it deep in ink, snatched several blank sheets of parchment, and begun writing in bold, sweeping strokes.
Marwyn, fearing for his precious manuscripts, rushed over to see—then stopped, dumbstruck.
The pen flew across the page with effortless speed, and the words left him reeling.
His eyes bulged as he jabbed a finger at the text, his voice cracking. "You—you mean to say this... this is true?!"
Lo Quen didn't look up, his hand still moving. "Of course it's true—I just made it up."
"You—you're not planning to mix this nonsense in with my manuscripts, are you?!"
Marwyn's beard bristled with fury. His scholarly dignity had never felt so insulted.
Lo Quen ignored his outrage, filling several more pages. The content grew stranger, even absurd—but written with such authority, citing sources and weaving arguments with a logic that, at least on the surface, held together.
After finishing his writing, he dug into the corner of the bookshelf and pulled out several strands of old cotton thread, darkened and yellowed with age, the kind once used to bind manuscripts. With quick, practiced motions, he stitched his freshly written "masterpiece" together with Marwyn's scraps, threading them into a crude, coverless "book."
"Archmaester, do you have any way to make these new pages look... older? As if they'd been stored for decades, even centuries?"
Lo Quen held up the freshly "forged" volume as he asked.
Marwyn, though seething with anger, looked at the boy's determined expression—clearly not one to quit until he got his way. And since Marwyn was leaving the Citadel behind anyway, why should he care if chaos followed?
A mischievous thought crossed his mind.
With a disgruntled snort, he went to a shelf crowded with reagent bottles, rummaged a moment, and produced a small beaker filled with a viscous yellow liquid. A smug, wicked grin tugged at his lips.
"Hmph! You asked the right person. This is one of my special concoctions—perfectly mimics the natural yellowing and brittleness of ancient parchment. Just a little coating and—"
Before he could finish, Lo Quen had already snatched the beaker. Without hesitation, he poured most of the thick yellow liquid evenly across the freshly bound book.
The pages absorbed it quickly, releasing a sharp, acrid stench—sulfur mixed with rotting vegetation.
Before their eyes, the edges of the parchment began to yellow and darken, sprouting stains like mold and watermarks. The corners curled slightly, giving the book the appearance of having aged decades in moments.
"You... you reckless brat! My reagent!"
Marwyn cried out in anguish.
Lo Quen carefully lifted the foul-smelling, now convincingly "aged" book, then flashed him a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon—and I'll return with something even 'better.'"
Before Marwyn could respond, he whirled around and bolted out of the office like a gust of wind.
Marwyn stared at the open doorway, then at the residue of yellow liquid and the empty beaker left behind. A powerful sense of dread crept into his chest. "What in the Seven Hells is that boy up to?"
...
Lo Quen raced back to the top of the Ravenry Tower.
He quickly located Barth's true manuscript, eased it from its place, and tucked it safely into his chest.
Then he pulled out the freshly "aged" fake, still reeking of chemicals. He brushed away the dust where Barth's book had lain and set the forgery down in its place with exacting care.
To complete the illusion, he grabbed a handful of dust from nearby and sprinkled it evenly across the counterfeit and its neighbors.
The attic now looked untouched, as if nothing had been disturbed.
With the priceless original secure against his chest, Lo Quen slipped back into Marwyn's office like a ghost.
When Marwyn saw him draw forth another tome—this one far older-looking, its edges frayed, binding nearly falling apart—his eyes bulged like copper bells, and his jaw dropped wide enough to swallow an egg.
"What in the gods' name did you just do? This... this is—"
The aura of true antiquity radiating from the book left no doubt. This was no mere bundle of scattered notes, but a treasury-level relic of the Citadel.
Lo Quen placed Barth's work gently on the desk, a sly smile flickering across his lips. "Nothing much. Just swapped the manuscript you gave me, plus my own 'masterpiece,' with a certain book from the top shelf of the Ravenry Tower."
"You stole a forbidden tome from the Citadel?!"
Marwyn's voice cracked as he jabbed a trembling finger at him.
Lo Quen only shrugged. "So what if they find out? What's it to me? By then we'll be safe in the Stepstones. And if they don't notice..."
He drew out the words deliberately, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Well, then things get interesting. Especially for a certain someone who risked everything to steal that 'secret manual,' only to follow its instructions... hmm."
Marwyn felt a chill run down his withered legs as he remembered the absurd ritual Lo Quen had jotted at the end of the fake tome—about "sacrificing one's manhood to hatch a dragon."
He could already picture some poor fool clutching that "ancient treasure" with reverence, only to go pale as they read through its "earth-shattering" incubation rites...