2 Chapter 2 - Pain
114 AC
Gerardys Pov
It had been fourteen years since I arrived at Dragonstone, the last stronghold of Valyria. The maesters dismissed the notion that the castle was built using Valyrian magic and sorcery, attributing its construction to mere architectural prowess. However, the records of Dragonstone revealed that the dragonlords had employed their magical abilities to shape the fortress into the likeness of multiple dragons. Unfortunately, the haughty archmaesters at the Citadel refused to accept such truths, belittling the significance of my Valyrian steel link and disregarding my expertise in magic and higher mysteries. Frustrated by their narrow-mindedness, I made the decision to leave the Citadel, despite it having been my home for most of my life.
When a raven arrived from King's Landing, requesting a maester for Dragonstone following the death of the previous one, I eagerly seized the opportunity. Thus, I found myself in Dragonstone, the ancestral home of the last remaining Targaryens. It was a place where I could freely pursue my research into dragons and the enigmatic island.
Upon my arrival, I was directed to the Stone Drum Tower, where the elderly queen resided. Due to her advanced age, I was informed that my services would be most required by her. Adjusting to the change was a minor inconvenience, as the rookery was situated in the Sea Dragon Tower, but I did not mind.
It was during my regular visits to the queen that I first encountered Mary. She was a girl just shy of eight namedays, and it seemed she was a constant companion to the queen. To an outsider, it would appear that she was a Targaryen, given her strong Valyrian features. Yet, I soon discovered that Valyrian blood coursed through the veins of nearly all inhabitants of the island.
Of all the people I encountered on the island, Mary had the most distinct Valyrian appearance, with her silver-blonde hair and lilac-colored eyes. The queen insisted on having Mary sleep beside her, which I assumed was due to the recent loss of her youngest child. It was remarkable to witness a noblewoman, let alone the queen herself, displaying such care and attention towards a mere servant girl. However, I harbored no prejudices against the smallfolk, for I had once been one of them until I was relinquished to the order of maesters after being abandoned by my birth parents.
As the years passed, Mary matured into a woman and eventually gave birth to a son. Speculation arose regarding the child's father, and rumors circulated that he was a bastard born out of wedlock. However, the rumors were promptly quashed by Ser Alfred Broome, the master-at-arms, who dealt with the originator of the falsehood in a rather severe manner. Witnessing his rare display of anger, I realized that Ser Alfred possessed a predominantly sullen disposition.
Unlike his mother, the child had pale white hair and eyes even paler than his mother's lilac irises. He was a strong and robust baby, his curious gaze always keenly observing his surroundings.
After three years had passed, the young boy approached me, seeking my guidance. I gladly accepted the opportunity, as my duties were limited, with Princess Rhaenyra rarely visiting Dragonstone despite being the crown princess.
Thus, I began teaching my new pupil, and I was astounded by his insatiable thirst for knowledge. He quickly absorbed all the information I imparted, surpassing acolytes three times his age. Just as I had been taught by various maesters at the Citadel, I imparted my knowledge of medicinal practices and the High Valyrian language to satisfy his hunger for understanding.
Ulf, as I came to know him, was truly a kind-hearted boy, beloved by the keep's servants, whom he would often assist. But fate was unkind to him. About a year into his education, Mary approached me, complaining of terrible headaches and stomach pains. If only I had been aware of her condition earlier, perhaps I could have done something to alleviate her suffering. Unfortunately, some things are beyond human control, and we are all subject to the laws of nature, destined to return to the soil from whence we came.
Despite diligently studying her condition over the past year, I could not identify an illness that matched her symptoms. It seemed to be a combination of wasting illness and something resembling gout. Mary's weight had significantly diminished, and she barely resembled the vibrant girl I had first met. During this time, Ulf remained constantly by her side, holding her hand during painful episodes that only the milk of the poppy could ease. And when she slept, Ulf would join me in our search for a cure. I even reached out to the maesters at the Citadel, but they were as perplexed as I was. Ultimately, it was my duty to inform Ulf that I had failed in my duty as a maester to save his mother—a failure that contradicted the core responsibilities of the maesters since time immemorial: to save lives, regardless of age, race, or any other factor, and to protect the realm from threats that could jeopardize the lives of people across Westeros, even at the cost of our own lives.
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114 AC
Ulf Pov
The past year had been a living nightmare. Mother's health deteriorated rapidly, and the maester's efforts to find a cure proved futile. I was plagued by a sense of helplessness, my days consumed by watching her suffer and my nights haunted by vivid dreams of a world consumed by fire and blood.
Mother, at the tender age of twenty-two, deserved so much more. She was full of life and had dreams and aspirations that would never come to fruition. I had finally found someone who loved me unconditionally, and now I was faced with the harsh reality of losing her. The unfairness of it all weighed heavily on my young shoulders, and I questioned the gods and their sense of justice.
I spent every waking moment immersed in books, studying the various diseases documented by maesters throughout history. My time with Gerardys had taught me to read and write in the Westerosi script, granting me access to a wealth of knowledge. But despite my efforts, I couldn't find a single case that matched my mother's symptoms. It felt as if the world conspired against us, denying us a chance at happiness.
Yet, even in her agony, Mother remained strong for me. She would share stories from her childhood, attempting to distract me from the reality of her suffering. I would sit by her side, soaking in every detail of her face, her voice, and her smile, desperately trying to preserve those precious memories.
The servants' pitying gazes only fueled my anger. How dare they look at me as if my mother were already gone? I wanted to scream at them, to lash out and make them understand the depth of my pain. The dreams that plagued my sleep only worsened my torment, visions of a malevolent figure seated upon a throne of dragon carcasses, his lilac eyes mirroring my own. The sight of him smiling through a mouth filled with blood, only to be consumed by a shrouded dragon, haunted me endlessly.
On the first day of the third moon in 114 AC, Mother called out to me in a weak, labored voice. I rushed to her side, my heart heavy with dread.
"Ulf", I heard the labored breathing of my mother calling out to me.
"Yes mother, I am here", I said with my voice being as quiet as possible in order not to distress her.
She gently touched my face saying, "Ulf, I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of you. You are finally five namedays old. Now listen to me honey you are a good boy and I am sorry that I will not be able to see what a great man you will become in the future. I am truly sorry for leaving you alone, my sweet boy."
"It is time that you leave Ulf, I do not want you to see me in such a miserable state. No son should watch his mother die Ulf."
It was then that the dam broke and I started crying, I could not hold it inside any longer. The pain, the anguish of losing her was too much to bear.
With a final touch to my face, she urged me to leave, not wanting me to witness her last moments. It was a heart-wrenching decision, but I knew I had to respect her wishes. I kissed her forehead, feeling the coolness of her skin and the weight of her absence.
Leaving the room, I caught sight of Ser Alfred Broome heading towards Mother's chamber. But I paid him no mind, my thoughts consumed by grief and anger. I sought solace in Aegon's garden, where dark storm clouds loomed overhead, matching the turmoil in my soul.
As the rain poured down, I realized that Mother was gone. I was alone, drenched and battered by the storm, the pain in my heart mirrored by the ferocity of nature. In that moment, I cursed everything and everyone, the gods, the maester, the people who had failed us, and myself for being unable to save her.
The sound of dragons' roars pierced through the rain and thunder, awakening something within me. Determination ignited in my chest, and I knew that it was time to forge my own path. If I couldn't protect the one person who loved me, then I would seek a means to protect myself. Taming a dragon became my newfound purpose, even if it meant risking my life.
Driven by desperation and a flicker of hope, I made my way towards the dragonmont. The crashing waves and the relentless rain matched the turmoil in my mind. Doubt whispered in my ear, warning me of the danger and futility of my quest. But my heart remained steadfast. I had nothing left to lose, and a dragon was my only chance to survive in this treacherous world.
Then, as if by some divine intervention, the flapping of wings cut through the storm. A massive dragon with shimmering silver scales landed before me, its silver eyes fixated on my presence. At that moment, a single thought pierced through my mind—this dragon would be my ally. The dance of dragons would play out once again, and this time, I would emerge as the victor. It was the least I could do to honor my mother's memory.
