POV: Bloodraven
The pyres had burned through the night again, as I reached my chamber on the tower of hand, I saw a letter on my table, it was still sealed and had no sigil.
I placed a glass jar beside it and opened the letter.
It was in familiar handwriting, even the parchment was familiar, well it wasn't parchment at all.
'Duncan.' I thought.
The letter spoke of creatures too small to see. Living things that entered the body and fed on blood and flesh until the host died.
The powder in the jar will kill these creatures. One small spoonful mixed with water, three times daily for seven days. Even those who seemed well must continue the treatment.
Some would be too far gone, those whose lungs were already drowning in fluid. But most would live.
Keep the powder dry. Keep it sealed. Burn this letter.
I read it twice. Creatures too small to see. It sounded like madness, but I had lived long enough to know that madness and truth often wore the same face.
I held the letter to the candle flame and watched it curl and blacken. The ash fell onto my desk like grey snow.
Then I took half the powder from the jar and poured it into a smaller container. Enough for tests. Enough to know if this miracle was real or just another cruel hope in a city drowning in false promises.
I called for a servant and sent him running for Grand Maester Malleon. Then I sat at my desk and waited. The jar caught the candlelight. White powder, fine as flour. So ordinary. So mundane. Could something so simple save a dying city?
Malleon arrived within the hour. His chains clinked as he hurried into my study. Whatever thoughts he had about being summoned at dawn, he kept them from his face.
I did not waste words. I pushed the jar toward him and told him I needed a trial. Ten patients. He was to follow the instructions I had written down exactly. One small spoonful mixed with water, three times daily, for seven days.
He picked up the jar and examined it.
"Where did this come from" he asked.
"That does not matter," I told him. "What matters is whether it works."
He bowed low, chains clinking again. He spoke of my wisdom, of the great debt the city would owe me. I waved him away and told him to do the tests and report back in three days.
When he left I sat alone in my study and felt the weight of what I had done. If this failed, if Duncan's powder was nothing more than ground Limestone, the dying would continue.
The pyres would burn until there was no one left to light them. But if it worked, if even half of what Duncan promised was true, then perhaps the city might live.
Three days. I could wait three days.
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Three days later,
Malleon returned on the morning of the third day. I had never seen the man so animated. His eyes were bright and his words came fast. The powder worked. Eight patients were recovering. Only two would die, and those two had been too far gone when treatment began. Their lungs were already filling with fluid. But eight out of ten lived. Eight.
I felt something tight in my chest loosen. Are you certain, I asked.
"Absolutely certain, my lord," Malleon said. "It was miraculous. I didn't understand how it worked. It was beyond anything in the Citadel's texts. But it worked."
"Good,"
He wanted to know what the powder was, where it came from, and what it was made from.
I considered for a moment. The truth was impossible. A skinchanger knight who claimed to get this medicine from Essos? I can't tell him.
I told him it was made from dragon bones. Ground into powder and mixed with certain herbs. An old recipe from Valyria.
His eyes went wide. Thinking of the pyres I had ordered, the sacrifices I had made. I must have used blood magic to awaken the powder's strength.
I said nothing. Let him believe what he wanted. Let him think I had worked sorcery to save the city.
He pressed for more details. What herbs. What ratio. What incantations. I gave him nothing. Eventually, he left, frustrated but still glowing with his discovery.
I sat back in my chair and allowed myself a moment of relief. Duncan's medicine is working and the plague could be stopped.
The knock came less than an hour later. A servant with wide eyes and a pale face. The king had sent for me, and it was urgent.
My relief died.
I found Daeron in his chambers, sitting in a chair by the window. He looked pale and tired and older than his years. On his neck, just visible above his collar, were three small black spots.
"Brother," he said quietly. "I fear I have not much time."
I crossed the room and knelt beside him. Something I rarely did for anyone. "The cure is working, I have seen it with my own eyes. You will live."
"Perhaps," he said. He smiled faintly. "But if I do not, I need you to promise me something."
"Anything."
"Help Baelor," he said. "Guide him until he is ready to rule on his own. He is a good man but he will need your counsel."
"I will."
"And the Blackfyres. If you can, end this threat before it tears the realm apart."
I nodded.
I then looked towards the servants. "Bring water and a spoon and get Grand Maester Malleon. Now."
We started treatment immediately. I measured the powder myself, mixed it with water, and held the cup to Daeron's lips. He grimaced at the taste but swallowed it all.
"You will live, brother."
He nodded weakly and dozed off in his chair. I sat with him until Malleon arrived to take over the treatment. Then I returned to my chambers and stared at the remaining powder in the jar. Not enough. Not nearly enough to treat the whole city. I would need more. Much more.
I was drafting a letter to Duncan when the knock came again.
I opened the door to find Princess Daenora standing there. Black hair and violet eyes, and raven feathers hanging from her ears. She had started wearing them to torment Aerion, back when they were betrothed.
Daenora had never wanted the match and she had seized on his fear with vicious delight. She wore the feathers like weapons. Now that the betrothal was ended she still wore them. A small rebellion against a family that had tried to cage her.
Her eyes were red from crying.
"Uncle, my father, and brother. They are both sick."
Rhaegel and his son. Both infected.
"Come in," I said.
She followed me inside and saw the jar on my desk. "Is that the cure that Grand Maester told me?" she asked.
"Yes." I pulled out the jar and poured powder into three small pouches. Enough for three people for seven days. It left me with almost nothing but I could not let Rhaegel die. Could not let his son follow him into the ground as well.
She clutched the pouches and left.
...