“You're awake!” Lynd, who had been amusing himself by teasing Glory, turned abruptly at the sound of movent from the other side of the bed. He saw the girl, unconscious for the past two days, opening her eyes and looking around blankly.
“Don’t move; your injuries haven’t healed yet,” he said. “Moving around will reopen your wounds.”
The girl didn’t respond, her gaze instead shifting to the top of the tent. Her expression was vacant, almost lifeless, as if Lynd had only managed to rescue her body while her soul remained lost.
Her reaction wasn’t surprising. After bringing her back to the camp, Lynd had placed her in his tent and summoned Maester Hawley, the camp’s traveling physician, to treat her. Upon examination, Maester Hawley had uncovered the extent of her grievous injuries—multiple fractures, severe internal damage, and devastation to her private parts so brutal it defied recognition. It was a miracle she was still alive.
Despite the Maester's best efforts, including the full use of his dical skills, her survival was uncertain. “All we can do now is pray to the Mother for rcy,” Hawley had said grimly.
Lynd hadn’t replied. He believed he had done his part by saving the girl and bringing her to the encampnt. If she didn’t survive, it could only an her fate had been sealed.
While Hawley tended to the girl, Lynd had taken the opportunity to observe Glory more closely. Despite having absorbed the cold energy from the cracked dragon egg, the cub showed no signs of abnormality other than an insatiable appetite. Glory devoured quantities of at nearly equal to his own body weight in each al, needing four als a day.
If this was Glory’s appetite as a cub, Lynd worried about the logistical challenges once he grew. Feeding Glory on his current salary seed unsustainable, so training the Shadowcat to hunt had beco a priority. Fortunately, the cavalry patrols under Lynd’s command included skilled hunters who could easily capture live prey from the surrounding forests.
For the past two days, Lynd had been encouraging Glory to hunt, releasing live prey to awaken his instincts. Though tad by Lynd’s care, Glory’s wild Shadowcat nature—and his hunting prowess—remained intact.
anwhile, life outside the camp moved on. The tournant at the Red Keep had proceeded as planned the day after the banquet, drawing nurous participants and stretching the event’s tiline. The archery competition alone, initially slated for a single day, had been extended to two. By midday, only 56 competitors remained, and the champion was expected to erge by the afternoon.
Throughout King’s Landing, betting was rampant. Nobles and commoners alike were placing wagers, with gambling houses flourishing. The largest of these was operated in the na of the Iron Throne by Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. Though King Robert had little interest in financial matters, Lord Arryn sought to mitigate the tournant’s expenses. Opening a gambling house as the banker offered a quick ans to generate revenue, easing the kingdom’s strained finances, even if only slightly.
Confined to the camp for security duties, Lynd hadn’t been able to watch the tournant but hadn’t resisted placing his own bet alongside his comrades. He wagered on a competitor from Dorne nad Anguy, a na he vaguely recalled from more than a decade later when an archer nad Anguy won the tournant welcoming Eddard Stark as Hand of the King.
Though Lynd didn’t expect this Anguy to share any connection with the one from the future, he had bet on him as a whim, hoping for luck. That luck didn’t pan out—Anguy was eliminated in the first round of the afternoon session.
As the competition continued, the title of archery champion went to a middle-aged man nad Bryn Rivers. Known for his friendship with Lord Brynden Tully, the Riverlands’ finest archer, Rivers was said to match Tully’s skill—a well-earned victory for the marksman.
Although the archery competition had concluded, the excitent in King’s Landing remained undiminished. The next day promised the most anticipated event of the tournant: the team competition. Known for its brutality and high casualty rate, the team competition drew eager spectators hoping to witness bloodshed. Unsurprisingly, bets were already being placed—not on the winning team, but on how many participants would die.
House Tyrell, renowned for their archers, had sent their best to compete in the archery contest.
However, in a shocking turn of events, all Tyrell archers were eliminated in the first round. The outco left Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South and Lord of Highgarden, visibly displeased as he returned to camp alongside his son, Garlan.
This was Lynd’s first ti seeing Lord Mace Tyrell in person. He had anticipated encountering soone unremarkable, and the reality did not disappoint. The middle-aged lord, barrel-shaped with a ticulously grood beard, epitomized diocrity. Yet diocrity, Lynd realized, didn’t imply incompetence. Mace Tyrell was more capable than many nobles. However, compared to the other great lords of Westeros, his rash decision-making and lack of strategic acun gave him a reputation as rely average.
Still, those who underestimated him often regretted it.
Back at the Tyrell camp, Mace Tyrell summoned the warriors who would participate in the team competition the following day. His goal was to gauge their readiness and inspire confidence, seeing the tournant as a way for House Tyrell to bolster its prestige. Unbeknownst to him, the Queen of Thorns back in Highgarden had little interest in the tournant, viewing it as an unnecessary display. In her eyes, House Tyrell didn’t need a public victory to enhance its renown.
With Lord Tyrell’s arrival, the security around the camp was reinforced by the soldiers of his personal guard, reducing Lynd’s responsibilities. Freed from so of his duties, Lynd prepared to take Glory and a few subordinates into the nearby mountains for a hunting expedition to train the Shadowcat.
However, his plans were interrupted by Maester Hawley, who requested Lynd’s company for a visit to Grand Maester Pycelle at the Red Keep. Lynd agreed without hesitation, delegating the rescued girl’s care to Raul and donning plain clothes. After informing Vortir’s entourage of his errand, he accompanied Maester Hawley down the slope of Lion’s Hill.
Grand Maester Pycelle, now an institution at the Red Keep, had served four kings. His tenure and influence granted him a revered status among certain courtiers—so even held him in higher regard than King Robert himself. Recognizing Pycelle’s value, Lord Arryn had ensured his comfort and convenience. Pycelle was granted a residence near the castle library, direct access to the Red Keep, and even a purchased property along the private road leading to his quarters.
Pycelle had been instruntal in stabilizing the realm following Robert’s ascension. His key achievents included arranging Robert’s marriage to Cersei Lannister, securing the alliance with House Lannister, and ensuring the Iron Throne’s stability. Recently, Pycelle had expressed great joy over Cersei’s pregnancy and the birth of her son. He had also supported Robert’s decision to hold the tournant.
Yet, in recent days, Pycelle had withdrawn from public events, including the tournant and banquets. Instead, he imrsed himself in the castle library, focusing on organizing and docunting the history of the Targaryen dynasty. Pycelle’s ambition to compile this chronicle dated back to his tenure as Grand Maester under Aegon V. However, the Targaryen kings had consistently forbidden him from pursuing the project, citing the sensitive nature of their dynasty’s secrets.
Now, with the fall of the Targaryen dynasty and the rise of the Baratheons, those taboos had lifted. Many secret docunts in the Red Keep had been left intact during the rapid conquest of King’s Landing. Combined with records recovered by Stannis Baratheon at Dragonstone and contributions from House Velaryon on Driftmark, Pycelle had amassed an extensive collection of materials.
Confident in his resources, Pycelle was finally poised to complete the Chronicles of the Targaryen Dynasty, a project decades in the making.
The docunts Grand Maester Pycelle had collected were vast, complex, and often obscure. Many were written in secret languages, making their organization an arduous task even with the help of his assistants and students. Realizing the enormity of the project, Pycelle knew he would need assistance from maesters skilled in historical writing. Among the nas that ca to mind, Maester Hawley stood out as the most suitable candidate.
During his ti at the Citadel, Maester Hawley had earned a reputation for exceptional scholarship. His mastery of history allowed him to effortlessly answer questions about noble lineages, continental shifts, and historical events. Furthermore, his skill in identifying and correcting errors in historical texts made him invaluable. Were it not for his reclusive nature and his tendency to alienate powerful figures within the Citadel, Hawley might have risen to the rank of Archmaester of History, bearing the iron scepter and mask.
When Pycelle encountered difficulties with the Targaryen docunts, he asked an assistant maester, a friend of Hawley’s, to invite him to join the effort. Hawley promptly agreed and wrote back that he would travel to King’s Landing with House Tyrell’s entourage. Pycelle eagerly awaited Hawley’s arrival, but when the Tyrell forces reached King’s Landing, Hawley failed to present himself. Concerned, Pycelle sent soone to inquire at the Tyrell camp. He learned that Hawley was indeed there but preoccupied with unresolved matters, preventing him from coming to the Red Keep.
Though slightly annoyed by Hawley’s delay, Pycelle chose not to dwell on it. His priority was completing the Chronicles of the Targaryen Dynasty. He instructed his assistant to stay at the residence near the Red Keep and escort Hawley to him as soon as he arrived.
As night fell, Pycelle worked alone in his study. He preferred solitude while sifting through the trove of docunts, dismissing all servants from the room. By candlelight, he carefully sorted through materials related to the Targaryen royal family’s secret history, making notes on the most critical points.
Hours passed unnoticed until darkness fully enveloped the room. The faint candlelight weakened, rendering further reading impossible. Pycelle closed the books and stretched, preparing to eat and rest. At that mont, he noticed soone standing silently beside him.
Startled, Pycelle looked up warily. His hand instinctively moved to the dagger concealed within his sleeve. In the dim glow of the candle, he recognized a face, familiar but unexpected.
“Maester Henne? When did you return from Harrenhal?” Pycelle began, masking his unease. “I asked you to bring—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Sothing felt wrong. The figure before him didn’t align with his expectations. His frown deepened as a grim realization dawned on him. His voice grew cold. “How dare you show yourself here? The king’s warrant for your arrest remains unrevoked. There’s a bounty of 2,000 golden dragons on your head. Anyone would kill you for it. Why haven’t you fled Across the Narrow Sea? What are you doing in King’s Landing? Do you still intend to assassinate the king?”
The man raised a hand, silencing Pycelle. “Relax, Pycelle. I have no interest in your king. He’s not on my list. I’m here for a debt you owe .”
Pycelle’s eyes narrowed. “What debt?”
“You took my money and sent into a death trap,” the man replied sharply. “The target you claid was lightly guarded had four armored knights and a team of archers. Your false information nearly got killed. You owe compensation—refund half the money, plus damages—or I’ll make sure you don’t wake up tomorrow.”
Pycelle’s greed for coin was notorious, but he valued his life more than gold. He knew better than to defy the man standing before him. With a sigh, he prepared to agree to the terms.
Before he could respond, a knock ca at the door. An attendant called out, “Lord Pycelle, Maester Hawley is here. Shall I send him in?”
Pycelle hesitated briefly before signaling the man before him to remain silent. Turning toward the door, he answered, “Let him in.”
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