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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 45: The Alchemist's Legacy
Joffrey sat at his desk, the Valyrian book open before him. The cabin was quiet, save for the gentle creak of the ship and the distant murmur of the crew on deck. A single oil lamp burned low, casting long shadows across the pages.
Resting on the table were his prizes from the black tower: the severed hand of the stone man, sealed in a new glass jar, and the black glass candle, smooth and cold, its surface almost appears to be drinking the lamplight as if it were hungry for it.
His eyes moved to the hand. "Still no traces of decomposition," he murmured. "How curious."
A couple of days had passed since they had resumed their journey east. But the hand remained unchanged...the grey skin still cracked, the fingers still curled, the flesh beneath still preserved.
He could have applied a stasis charm to prevent deterioration, but he wanted to see first how long it would take for natural processes to begin. A week? A month? A year? Beneath the rocky skin, there was flesh and bone and blood, just as one would expect from a normal human hand. But it did not behave in the same way, and that was interesting.
Joffrey could only draw preliminary conclusions. The curse affected more than just the skin. It altered the very nature of the flesh, slowing decay, perhaps even stopping it entirely. Did the Stone Men live longer than ordinary men? Were they immortal, in their own cursed way? Could the curse be used to extend one's life, if the worst side effects could be removed or minimized?
He would need a living specimen to answer those questions. A hand was only so useful.
Joffrey turned his attention to the glass candle.
The black stone was smooth as silk, cool to the touch, and when he held it, he could feel a faint pulse of magic.
He had read about such things in Westerosi texts. The maesters called them either obsidian candles or glass candles, though Joffrey was certain they were made from neither obsidian nor glass.
The materials used for their creation were likely another thing lost to the Doom of Valyria.
A few of them had found their way to Westeros, and they were considered relics of a forgotten age. Every acolyte of the Citadel who wished to study the mystical arts or, as they called them, the higher mysteries, was placed in a dark room with one of these candles on his first night and told to light it.
None ever did, and the lesson here was clear: magic was dead. The world was now governed by reason and knowledge, not by spells and sorcery. The glass candles were proof of that fact...cold, dark, useless.
Joffrey recalled a conversation he had with Maester Luwin, back in Winterfell. The old man had spoken of his Valyrian steel link, the one that marked his study of the higher mysteries. He had spoken of magic as if it were a thing of the past, a memory of a world that no longer existed.
"When the last dragon died," Luwin had said, "magic faded from the world. Perhaps the glass candles burned once, but they do not burn now."
The old maester had been wrong. Magic had not faded. It had only been sleeping, and Joffrey could feel it stirring now, awakening from its long slumber.
The reason for this change was still unknown to him, but he was not arrogant enough to believe he was the cause.
He placed his hand on the candle and pushed.
The flame that sprang from the wick was pale and cold, casting no heat, illuminating the room with a strange, unnatural light. Shadows danced on the walls, and for a moment, Joffrey could see things that were not there...pale faces moving in the darkness, a woman in a red dress, a wall made of ice...
He pulled his hand back, and the flame died.
Interesting, he thought. Very interesting.
He would need to study it further, to understand its properties, to learn how to use it as the Valyrians had. That would take time, but time was something he had in abundance.
For now, he turned his attention to the book.
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The translation was slow going. Old Valyrian was a difficult language, full of subtle inflections and multiple meanings, and Joffrey was still a novice.
He had taught himself the basics from the sources he found in the Red Keep, but those had been simple texts...genealogies, inventories, records of a household. This was something else entirely.
The book was written like a diary, with many entries detailing the date and what the writer was doing or what he had already done.
It was a personal account written by the occupant of the black tower, a Valyrian alchemist named Kaerion.
The name appeared throughout the text, often accompanied by titles that Joffrey could not fully translate...there was something to do with fire, with blood, with the Fourteen Flames, the volcanoes that had been the heart of Valyrian power.
Other than his occupation as an alchemist, Kaerion had been a Fire-Waker, or perhaps a Flame-Keeper. The words were similar, their meanings overlapping. Apparently, he was one of the sorcerers who tended the volcanoes, who kept the Fourteen Flames from erupting, who channeled their power into the forges and wove the spells that had made Valyria such a powerful empire.
It was obvious that something must have happened to him and the other Flame-Keepers, because in the end, the volcanoes had erupted and destroyed everything.
The diary described rituals involving fire and blood, sacrifices that had been made to appease the volcanoes, to keep them sleeping. Kaerion had written of them with pride and with a sense of duty that bordered on obsession.
He had believed that the Fourteen Flames were gods, or something close to it, and that the Valyrians were their chosen people.
Joffrey thought it was a very dangerous way of seeing things and one that usually ends in tragedy.
But the diary was mostly focused on the alchemist's experiments.
Kaerion had apparently been experimenting with blood rituals designed to combine human blood with dragon blood to create a new race of dragonlords who would be stronger and faster, with more resistance to fire and magic.
The Valyrians already had bonded with their dragons and had a great deal of control over them. They were also more resistant to heat than any ordinary man.
But Kaerion believed he could improve upon these enhancements. He believed he could create a superior line of dragonlords who would be practically immune to fire and could command dragons with a mere thought.
"The blood of the dragon is strong," he had written, "but it can be made stronger. The fire that burns within the Fourteen Flames is the same fire that burns within the beasts we ride. To merge the two...to make the blood of man and dragon one...that is the path to godhood."
Joffrey paused, considering the implications. Is that how they gained their abilities in the first place?
So far, he had yet to encounter anyone like himself. But he had felt some unusual qualities when he first met the Stark family. Their old bloodline appeared to hold some hidden power.
He had never met a Targaryen in person, nor any other Valyrian, but everything seemed to indicate that, just like the Starks, they also carried special abilities in their bloodline.
He could not guess the origin of the Stark gifts, but for the Targaryens, it was likely related to some blood ritual involving dragons that their ancestors had performed on themselves.
This would also explain their unusual custom of marrying brother and sister to keep their blood pure. If the origin of their power lay in their blood, then mixing it with outsiders would have a negative effect. In the worst case, they could become unable to control their dragons after a few generations.
Joffrey's eyes moved back to the pages before him.
The diary described the experiments performed by the alchemist in detail. There were dozens of them. Subjects had been brought to the black tower, volunteers and slaves alike, and subjected to rituals that Joffrey could barely comprehend.
"Subject Seven," Kaerion wrote. "A woman of noble birth, volunteered for the ritual. We administered the first draught of dragon's blood, mixed with the ashes of the Fourteen Flames. For three days, she suffered fevers and delusions. On the fourth day, her skin began to change. Scales formed on her arms and neck. Her eyes turned gold. She could no longer speak, only hiss. We were forced to end her suffering."
Some entries recorded death. Others recorded physical changes that had transformed the subjects into something inhuman.
"Subject Twelve," another entry read. "A slave, purchased from the mines. He survived the first draught but began to change on the second. His bones grew, his muscles swelled, his teeth became sharp as daggers. He broke his chains and killed three of my assistants before we subdued him. I have ordered that he be kept in the lower chambers for further study. He may yet prove useful."
Recorded cases spoke of changes in the skin, development of scales, changes in the eyes, body shape, and size. Most of the subjects seemed to have lost control of their minds and become violent.
"Subject Eighteen," Kaerion wrote. "The most promising yet. She accepted the first draught with minimal side effects. The second draught caused her to sleep for a week, but when she woke, her eyes had changed; they now reflected light like a feline. She claims she can see in the darkness. Her skin is warmer to the touch than it should be, but there are no scales, no deformities. I will proceed with the third dose tomorrow."
But the third draught had been too much.
"Subject Eighteen died this morning," the alchemist recorded. "Her body rejected the third dose. She burned from within. I could smell her flesh cooking before she screamed. The ritual must be adjusted."
All of the experiments were noted as failures by Kaerion. He had wanted to enhance the abilities already present in Valyrians without turning them into monsters.
As far as Joffrey could see while reading the last entries, Kaerion had never succeeded. Although he had been getting very close near the end. His last two experiments showed only minor mutations while granting great benefits.
"Subject Twenty-Four," the final entry read. "He has accepted all three draughts. His skin remains unchanged. His eyes are normal. He speaks, he thinks, he remembers. And yet...he can withstand the touch of flame. I held a torch to his arm, and he did not burn. His skin reddened, but the fire did not consume him. This is what I have sought. This is what I have achieved."
But there was a cost.
"There are side effects," Kaerion admitted. "He is stronger than any man I have seen, and faster, and his senses are sharp. But he is also... different. Cold. He no longer laughs. He no longer weeps. He eats and sleeps and speaks, but the fire has taken something from him. I do not know if it can be restored."
Unfortunately, the Doom must have taken place shortly after that. Kaerion never had the chance to perfect his method or do any further tests.
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Joffrey sat back in his chair, staring at the pages.
The implications were staggering. If the Valyrians had learned to combine their human blood with dragon blood to enhance their bodies and magic, then perhaps he could do the same. He was no dragonlord and had no ancient bond with the beasts of old Valyria, but he had magic. He was a powerful wizard with centuries of accumulated knowledge, and now he had the diary of a man who had spent his entire life perfecting these rituals.
Could he use Kaerion's studies to improve himself? To make himself stronger, more resilient, to gain resistance to magic and fire?
The thought was tempting.
He had already pushed his body far beyond its natural limits. But using magic to enhance his body had limitations, and he was already getting close to them. If he tried to push things further, his body would break apart.
The rituals that Kaerion described were something more elegant...a transformation of the blood itself, a rewriting of the body's very nature.
Unfortunately, at this moment, the risks were too immense. The diary described in detail what happened to those who failed to adapt to the dragon blood. Death, bodily mutations, or loss of sanity, among others.
Perhaps the stone men were also part of this list of failures.
A single mistake could be fatal. Or worse.
Joffrey closed the book and sat in silence, thinking.
There was another issue. He would need a proper, complete translation of Kaerion's experiments before he could even consider attempting anything.
The Old Valyrian text was dense, the terminology unfamiliar, and the descriptions of the rituals were often vague. He would need an expert on the language. He would also need to fill the gaps with his own knowledge, his own research, and his own experiments.
He looked at the glass candle, at the stone hand, and at the book that held the secrets of a fallen empire.
Time, he thought. This will take a long time and resources I don't have at the moment.
But he had time. Plenty of it. The journey to Qarth would take another month at least.
He thought about asking Lord Varys for help with the translation. But he recalled how much that man disliked magic. Also, the spider was far from trustworthy, and the knowledge in this book was too important to share it recklessly.
Perhaps I should wait until I meet the Targaryen princess, Joffrey thought.
Maybe the girl could prove to be a much more valuable ally than he had initially thought. She would definitely be interested in learning more about her origins.
But until then, there was still much he could do.
He picked up his quill and began to write, transcribing the symbols from the diary and translating them as best he could manage, making notes in the margins. The work was slow and painstaking, but it was also satisfying. Each word he decoded brought him a step closer to understanding. Each sentence he translated was a glimpse into a world that had burned four hundred years ago.
He continued to work until the lamp burned low, the pages before him covered in his careful script, the secrets of Old Valyria slowly revealing themselves to a wizard from another world.
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