Chapter 33
They had dealt with the threat of Galen the Healer, yet the hidden Conclave gathered once more in secret as the Plague ravaged the entire Seven Kingdoms, and the anger that had once been focused on the Healer Galen now turned to the maesters who had brought about his downfall.
"How could we let this happen?" the younger Maester raged, as the most learned men of the Citadel rustled at his rage.
"Our reputation is being dragged through the mud and if it was not for a lack of an alternative they would have mounted our heads on pikes by now," and that was no exaggeration, for the anger and rage that they had stoked against Galen and his healers had now turned to them, and as the Common Folk saw their loved ones die, and wither they could not help but blame the men who had robbed them of their savior.
"The plague, it is unlike anything we have ever seen," added one of the older men.
"Indeed, we have dealt with plagues before and many a time they spread through water or rats, yet this one is different," and the Maesters had hoarded knowledge for years, and though a plague was a tragedy, the truth was that it was in many ways a necessity as well.
It allowed them to win favor and prove their usefulness. It also kept the people afraid and docile as they all looked to the Maesters for guidance and healing, yet Galen had broken that trust and monopoly, and given the people an alternative.
"What of the Healer's work? Could we not make use of that?" an older, much wiser voice suggested, and a few shook their heads.
"Most of it has been taken up by the Princess, and she is no friend of ours," and though their plan had worked, it had cost the Maesters much goodwill from the crown, and now the Dowager Queen and Winter Princess both refused to put in any trust in their order.
It would not have mattered much, yet the young Princess had been an apprentice to Galen and had taken over Galen's work, and was refusing to work with the Maesters.
"We must do something," the youngest voice from earlier raged again, as the Conclave grew silent.
"We must deal with this plague before it brings us to an end," and that was the conclusion they had reached.
"Have every Maester and acolyte in this Hall turn their focus to it. We cannot afford to fail," for this had turned into an existential crisis for their order.
"What of the healer? Do we have any word on his whereabouts?"
"We have word that he has lost an arm, and is now in Braavos...."
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GALEN
Galen had long lost what little trust he had in the goodness of men, and so he was not surprised when the good-natured merchant revealed the hidden hand behind his rescue.
As grateful as he may be, it was nearly unthinkable for a simple merchant to put his own life at risk to save one man, especially if doing so could bring down the wrath of the Crown upon you.
And he was proven right as the man admitted to receiving a letter from a rather influential family in Braavos. The House Ferrego was amongst the thirteen Keyholders and was also the family of the current Sealord, who had been chosen just a few years ago after the old one had died from consumption.
So, Galen had written to the man himself seeking an audience, for he grew tired of these games. It was obvious that they had saved him for a purpose, and so he would much rather confront them about it openly rather than working in the shadows.
So, a few days later, he found himself walking through the Halls of the Sealord Palace, with its stony floors, lush carpets, and tapestries. The palace was unlike any castle of the Seven Kingdoms and was a symbol of the power and pride of Braavos.
It was a representation of the City's wealth with its lush gardens and its fabled menagerie filled with animals of all kinds. And his arm still ached, yet he refused to sip the milk of the poppy for the pain would now be a permanent companion of his, and the sooner he got used to it, the better it would be for him.
Still, they came upon the solar of the Sealord, and the First Sword of Braavos stood there waiting for them, as the halted Elsa in her steps.
"You shall stay here," he said to her, and she acquiesced after a subtle nod from him as he, the First Sword, led him through the door, and the Sealord's solar was unlike anything he had seen.
The room was nearly as large as the throne room of the Red Keep. It had a carpet on one side with several large round pillows similar to the fashion of Pentosh, while there was a large table on the other side, with a large ornate chair behind it.
The Sealord sat there, and he was bald and old with not a single tuft of hair anywhere on his head, and as Galen walked up to him, he gave a small bow, and the aged man smiled.
"I believe that is not necessary," the old man began, and he had a rounder face and brown eyes, as Galen raised himself back up.
"Well, that is encouraging," Galen answered as the man smiled and had him sit opposite to him, as the servants poured them drinks and left the room.
"I had hoped that you would have recovered in peace before our meeting," the older bald man added kindly, and though he knew that to be a lie, he did not call him out on it.
"Well, I doubt time will make it grow back, so it is better that I grow used to living with one arm," and the man nodded.
"Indeed, it is a great tragedy to see a man of your prowess lose an arm to the jealousy and games of politics," and the phantom pain tore through his conscience as he gave a slight nod.
"I am grateful for your help in saving my life, but my past experience has given me an aversion to games and ploys. I sit here now because I believe that you demand something from me," and he cut through all the pleasantries and games, as the old man raised a brow and sipped his wine.
"Then I will not keep you waiting," and with that, he put down his wine and leaned forward.
"For centuries now, the Citadel has stood as the premier place of learning. Its Maesters with their chains cling and hoard their knowledge like herding sheep. Many say that you are the 'Walking Citadel', a man with all of the Citadel's knowledge burned in his mind," and he had heard right, though he was surprised that all of this had reached Braavos as well.
For indeed, a few did call him the 'Walking Citade', that moniker was nowhere near as famous as the one he had gained because of his healing.
"We hope that you can help us advance to match and perhaps even exceed the capabilities of the Citadel," and that was a humble enough request, yet for some reason he doubted that this was the only reason why Braavos had chosen to risk their relationship with the Iron Throne just to save him.
Perhaps, the Sealord saw his silence as hesitation as he added grandly.
"You will be generously compensated for your services of course. As Sealord I can assure you that you shall want for nothing, and none here in Braavos shall ever lay a hand on you," and he did not doubt that, for all the riches of the Seven Kingdoms it could never compete against the might of the Iron Bank and Braavos.
Even though they had a competitor in the form of the Rogare Bank of Lys, Braavos was still the wealthiest and most formidable of the Free Cities.
"That and we also hope that you shall build upon your work from the Kingslanding as well. Your abilities as a healer are almost legendary, and Braavos would be happy to help you in any way to desire in that regard," and it was in many ways a blank cheque that came with little to no strings attached.
But few things in life were ever free, and nor could it all really be so simple.
"That is not all of it," he commented, calling out the half-truth as the Sealord raised a brow.
"And what makes you say that?" he asked.
"Because if that was your only goal, you would have long bought an Archmaester and given him the same offer as me," and that made him smile, as Galen slowly reached for his own wine and took a sip, and found himself surprised by the sweet and aromatic vintage.
"What makes you think that we did not do that?" and he shrugged.
"For then you wouldn't have called for me, Lord Ferrego," he answered, as he put down the glass.
"I greatly appreciate your offer, and would even be willing to accept it, given that you tell me no more lies. You see, I have grown tired of lies," he added, and the Sealord did not answer at first.
"I see," the Sealord added, as he leaned forward.
"Do you know about the history of Braavos?" he asked, and he nodded.
"I do," and he doubted there was a child in the Seven Kingdoms who did not.
"We were a city built by escaped slaves who chose to flee the cruel Dragonlords of Valyria. They took refuge in the lagoon, hoping and fearing that their masters would never turn their gaze towards them," and with that he looked him in the eye.
"Then the Doom came for Valyria, and the dragonlords vanished. At least most of them except for a few who took refuge on Dragonstone," and this was history that nearly every child knew, for afterwards Aegon came and conquered the seven Kingdoms.
"Ever since its inception, Braavos has held a deep friendship with the Seven Kingdoms, yet some fifty years ago that was put to the test," and this he did not know, for fifty years ago the Seven Kingdoms were in absolute ruin for Maegor ruled the lands, and the Seven Kingdoms were embroiled in a great upheaval.
"You talk of Maegor?" he confirmed, and the Sealord nodded.
"I do, for as he was killing thousands many of the Smallfolk turned to Braavos hoping to save themselves from Balerion's rage, yet in that moment the King on the Iron Throne burned through half a dozen ships carrying exiles, killing them all as he wrote to my predecessor reminding Braavos that Freehold may be gone but the echoes of its cruelty and prejudice yet lingered," and there was a promise of rage and violence in that voice.
"An alliance of more than fifty years was torn apart because of the whims of one man, and we were reminded once more of our helplessness for cruel as he was none would ever dare oppose Maegor for he rode a beast that is the epitome of destruction and devastation," and it all clicked together in that instant, as Galen felt his heart race for he understood his intentions now.
He understood them without the need for words.
"You suffered a fate similar to that yourself, for the Targaryens took you in as well, and promised you their friendship and support only to turn on that promise the second they felt as such," and he could point out the differences, yet he did not have the heart to, for the man was essentially right.
One could argue that it had not been the Targaryens who had betrayed him but one singular individual, yet the tragedy that he had suffered could have been avoided had a single one of them chosen to intervene.
The dowager Queen, the King, Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, and her. Any one of them could have stopped it all, yet they had not.
Perhaps it was wrong of him to blame them. Yet that was the reality of the situation.
"I would like to see that such a fate never befalls Braavos ever again. I would like to make sure that Braavos will never again have to fear devastation because of the remnants of the Valyrian Freehold," and that was perhaps as obvious an answer as one could expect.
And decades ago, just as Jaehaerys Targaryen had come into power, a great scandal had rocked the kingdom, as three dragon eggs were stolen from the isle of Dragonstone by Elissa Farman.
The trail for them had run cold here in Braavos, and for a time, the two Kingdoms had nearly gone to war over the issue until a secret deal had been made and peace was obtained. Though the contents of the deal remained a secret, many speculated that Braavos had simply bought off the eggs from the King in return for forgiving the great debt incurred by the kingdom over the disastrous rule of Maegor the Cruel.
This was all speculation, but many wondered why Braavos would go so far just to get their hands on some dragon eggs, yet now it made sense.
He had expected a secret, yet this went beyond any of his expectations.
"They say you are blessed with the greatest mind ever seen in all of human history. That if there is a man who can make the impossible possible, it is you," and then he slowly reached for his doublet and unclipped it, before he unchained a necklace from around his neck.
Galen took one look at it and recognised it at once for these things were just as famous as the dragon eggs of Elissa Farman. This was the key that signalled one as a keyholder of the Iron Bank.
This was a symbol of absolute power here in Braavos.
"This shall be your reward," he said, and this went beyond any castle or title, for with this key, Galen would have access to nearly unlimited resources and manpower. If the last offer was like a blank cheque, then this was perhaps something even beyond that.
"For making sure that this city need not fear the echoes of its haunted past ever again...."
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