NOVEL NEXT Chapter 22: A Den Of Rats
Entering the Citadel was far easier than I thought. None of the maesters were foolish enough to reprimand a dragon rider. If Renolds Flowers is to be believed, many of the maesters—if not all—inside the Citadel knew of me because of the notes and drawings the old maester in Bloodstone had been sending.
"The figures of four royals and a maester…" Aegon thought as they were led to a larger room used by the Archmaesters for meetings. Inside, only four Archmaesters were present, seated on wooden chairs. The doors creaked in the background, echoing in the still air.
One Archmaester immediately caught Aegon's attention. He held a staff of black metal inscribed with what appeared to be old YiTish script, and his face was hidden behind a mask of Valyrian steel—its smoky patterns unmistakable. "I've been familiar with that metal for years," Aegon thought, "with my father's sword always by my side."
The old man rose suddenly from his chair, removing his mask as a gesture of respect. His wrinkled face was completely hairless, with mismatched eyes—one an intense black, the other as dark as night. His abrupt movement startled the other two Archmaesters, who stared at him in disbelief.
This was Koren Stone, one of the few maesters to bear a link of Valyrian steel. His belief in the validity of magic had made him an outcast, a symbol of resistance against the idea that magic was mere trickery. But now, with dragons as living proof and a Dragonlord standing before them, Koren's presence was not only a challenge to his detractors but a humiliating reminder of what they had dismissed.
The old man began to speak, his gravelly voice trembling with excitement. "Ah, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Princess Helaena Targaryen, young Prince Daeron—and the young Dragonlord of Bloodstone. My apologies, I mean Prince Aegon, son of Daemon Targaryen. It is a true honor to see you in person. When I read about you from the maester in Bloodstone, his mediocre writing and drawings utterly failed to capture your majesty. Please, lords and ladies, have a seat. I am Koren Stone."
The other two Archmaesters began to introduce themselves, but Aegon interrupted sharply. "No need. We'll be taking the old one as well, Grandmother."
Archmaester Koren blinked in confusion. "Excuse my misunderstanding, my prince, but what do you mean?"
Rhaenys glanced at her grandson, who had never lost his smile. She sighed, realizing their trip was about to become much more expensive. "My grandson seeks tutors and maesters of great talent," she said with authority, "and he seems to think you are a man of such talent. He wishes for you to travel back to Bloodstone with us when we leave the capital. The formalities of this request will be handled by Lord Corlys Velaryon and Prince Daemon Targaryen."
Her tone left little room for argument. Before the other two Archmaesters could protest, Koren rose again, his eyes shining like a child's. The opportunity to study a Dragonlord up close was once in a lifetime. Even if the Citadel refused, he would gather his acolytes and set sail for the Stepstones. At ninety years old—the oldest Archmaester in the Citadel—his remaining years were precious. His knowledge, gathered in Yi Ti among blood mages and shadowbinders, had already extended his life far beyond its natural span, but this chance was too valuable to miss.
"I will come with you, my prince," Koren said eagerly.
"Good. Now show me something interesting," Aegon replied with a smirk.
Third-Person POV
Over the next few days, the Winged Prince visited two key locations in Oldtown: the Citadel and the Starry Sept, where he prayed and conversed with five maesters and an Archmaester. These meetings laid the foundation for what would become the intellectual powerhouse of the Blood Dragon Fort—a cadre of brilliant minds, each destined to play a pivotal role in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.
Archmaester Koren, later known as The Immortal Sage, Maester Renolds, who penned The Book of the Dragonlord of Bloodstone, a tome of inspiration for those with ambition to thrive, Acolyte Rowan Robar, a visionary who transformed barren lands into lush fields, Acolyte Tobias Waters, feared as the bane of merchants, Maester Moro Celtigar, called The Warlord of Bloodstone for his revolutionary tactics in sea and aerial warfare, Acolyte Boros Swan, a master alchemist.
These men, secured through hefty donations, would elevate medicine, warfare, and agriculture in the Seven Kingdoms. It was said that Corlys Velaryon, upon returning to Driftmark, received a bill along with a simple message: "Thank you, Grandfather." What followed, reportedly, was a string of curses from the Lord of Driftmark.
Aegon the Winged's Thoughts
Having influential people around is one thing; having people who support your whims is another. My father, Daemon, tried to mold me into the great man he envisioned, but Corlys and Rhaenys tempered his teachings. They knew my character was neither that of Daemon nor the Velaryons—I was my own person. Yet I kept their status in mind. I fought to impress my father, sailed to earn my grandfather's approval, and studied politics and sang for my grandmother's favor.
In my spare time, I designed armors, ships, and forts. The Stepstones, though not entirely reclaimed, were brimming with potential—barren rocks, flat grasslands, and dense forests. I saw opportunities for military installations, dragon sanctuaries, and farmland. My father, however, dreamed of returning to the Seven Kingdoms, by his brother's side or Rhaenyra's. I didn't object; the sooner that happened, the more gold I would receive to make my plans a reality.