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Barth's Whisper: HOTD SI Ch.10
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 16:56:14 +0000 UTCChapter 10
BALON TARGARYEN
For a year now, a deep sense of melancholy and uncertainty had taken hold over the Red Keep, for though the realm was held together by the King, the King himself was held together by a common son of a Blacksmith.
Barth, the name was nearly synonymous with King Jaehaerys himself, and though the histories may reduce the King's septon to a mere footnote in history, the truth was that his shadow hung far and wide over this castle and the continent.
The wise septon had been a common fixture next to the King, and had always given sage and adequate advice, and was amongst the only two people in the realm who could change the mind of the Conciliator himself, with the other one being his mother, the Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen.
Balon himself was much fond of the septon and had found him dutiful and honorable, and though they shared no blood, the man was like an Uncle to him, one who had taught him both the fates and his duties to the realm as a Prince.
So, he had been surprised to learn of that man’s dishonorable mistake and how his own father had tried to protect him from the shame that came with being an oathbreaker.
The fate of the maid impregnated by the Septon, and the child born as a result of that night, had been a tragic one, and he could see the guilt from it all eat away at his father. It was that guilt and gratitude that led the man to offer a council seat to Galen, along with the hope that the boy might possess the wisdom, sagacity, and honor of his father.
“It seems like Vaegon was right about him?” Balon added as his father summoned him to his solar at the end of the Council meeting, and though it had ended peacefully, the truth was that the boy had started a war—one which his father had long desired to wage.
This war was not against an army, or thieves, or rebellious lords. No.
This was a war against a monopoly of knowledge, innovation, and wisdom. A war that many a King had tried to wage, but none had ever succeeded.
Nearly a hundred years had passed since Aegon had landed on this very hill, along with his armies and his dragons. Though he may have conquered the Seven Kingdoms and brought them to their heel, the Crown remained deprived of several critical positions.
Kingslanding may be the capital, but the city pales in comparison to Old Town, the oldest city in the land, with its rich history and significance. Old Town held both the centre of the Faith and the centre of Knowledge for the realm.
And though the Crown did not care about the Faith so much, it had always irked his father that the Citadel, and through it House Hightower, maintained a monopoly on the realm’s knowledge and learning.
Aegon’s war had been one of fire and blood. This war, though, would be one of tomes and parchments and quills and histories.
“Yes,” his father agreed with him and as soon as they had learned that the healer who had saved Gael’s life was a disgraced Maester, he had written to his brother Vaegon and the bookish boy had sent back a rather short and succinct reply detailing the history of the young prodigy that had once been a part of the Citadel.
“He gives justice to his title of prodigy, and though I suspect he did not know of your apprehension for the Maesters the boy’s proposal offers us exactly what you have been seeking for years,” and his father’s desire was to create a rival to the Citadel right here in Kingslanding, yet doing so was easier said than done.
Many kingdoms had tried to do so, but none had succeeded, for the Citadel was built upon the hard work of hundreds of thousands of learned men and thousands of years of history.
To create a rival to an institute of such history and magnitude was a near-impossible task.
“He may be a genius, but the question remains—can he truly deliver on his promises?” And many had shown promise, but few could deliver upon them.
“Vaegon wrote himself that he knows no healer better than him and that the boy at his age knows more than many Arch Maesters,” Balon defended, as his father rubbed his chin.
“Yes, but it is a great ask?” his father feared, for undertaking such a project would mean alienating the Citadel which was a problem in and of itself, given that each castle held a Maester who more often than not read the Lords’ missives for him, wrote the answers for him, taught his children and advised him in critical manners.
It was this influence that irked the King, for though a Maester was sworn to his castle, no man was ever truly loyal to their vows—even Barth.
“He is Barth’s son,” Balon added, and his father’s eyes grew dim at the mention of his old friend as he turned towards the tall window at the side and stared at the setting Sun.
“Yes, that he is,” and even in the short time Balon had been in his presence, he could feel Barth’s blood running through his veins in his words and in his manners.
“But can we trust him?” his father asked, and though it was by no fault of their own they had wronged him and his mother, and then they had wronged him again as they accused him of assaulting a Princess and threw him into the Black cells.
The boy could easily bear them a grudge.
“You were the one who named him to the Council,” and of the King was genuinely unsure of the boy’s loyalty, then he would never have named him to his own Small Council.
“For a decade now, you have desired to have an institute associated with the Crown that could rival the Citadel, and now the Gods have allowed you to do just that,” Balon spoke for he was to be the next King.
He may not share his father’s skepticism for House Hightower, but he was not blind to his worries. It was House Targaryen that ruled the Seven Kingdoms, not House Hightower, and so they needed to break away from this chain, or at least have an alternative for themselves.
“And let us not forget that it also allows you to right some of the wrongs of the past,” and his father sighed.
“You know, even on his deathbed, Barth asked me of her, the maid he had wronged?” his father whispered.
“Even years later, he could not forgive himself for that one night,” even though it had been by no fault of his own, for it had been some other lords who had plotted the whole affair according to his own father.
“But I had no answer him, and now a few moons later his son stands in front of me and I wonder, a boy whose fate seems too intertwined with tour family,” and he was connected to two Princesses, with Maegella calling the boy her son, and Gael calling him her savior.
“If we are to do this, we must not be seen as openly hostile to the Citadel,” his father added, and he had already thought of a perfect plan.
“I understand, and perhaps as a start, you could reject his proposal, but the whole realm knows of the Queen’s nature and how she worries about the plights of the poor and downtrodden,” and his father’s eyes narrowed as he understood his ploy.
“Indeed, no man can question Alysanne’s generosity and love for her people. It would not be so out of place for her to offer a Healer her own monies so that he may build a place for healing the people of her own city,” and with that, the Crown would not come into an open confrontation with the Citadel.
“I shall speak to her....” but before his father could say anymore, the entire castle turned quite as a massive roar shook the entire city, and he saw his father still for a second at the familiarity of the roar.
And even now, in his sixties the King had not forgotten the terrors spread by this dragon’s past rider, yet now it was ridden by his own son.
Balon stood up and walked towards the window, as a second roar as he saw two dragons flying above the skies of Kingslanding, one so dark and large that it cast a great shadow over the city. It was the oldest dragon, the only one alive, who had witnessed the doom itself.
Another roar from its giant maws, tore through the stone walls like thunder. Windows trembled. A hush swept across the courtyard as shadows of wings blotted out the sun as the Black Dread returned to the capital, bringing with him not the fear and anguish of Maegor, but the joy and jubilation of family.
The other one was young and raging, and pushed up old memories that Balon had taken years to forget, for it was the dragon of his own brother, his second half now ridden by his second son, Daemon.
“It’s Balerion and Ceraxes,” he confirmed to the King.
“Viserys and Daemon are here....”
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OTTO HIGHTOWER
Otto Hightower was born with nothing to his name. He was the spare son, born only because of a perceived need for stability of succession, yet even that need slowly eroded away as heirs and spares were born to his brother.
And with that, like many other second sons of the realm, he left his home to make a life for himself, for even as a spare, he had a duty to his family and his name. Otto was not born a commoner.
No, he was born a Hightower, born into a family that had existed for thousands of years and would do so for a thousand more, and as a son of that House, he had to aid in its prosperity one way or another.
So, he had gone to the Citadel not to forge a chain but to sharpen his mind before he set foot in the capital and joined the retinue of Prince Balon himself. Slowly, Otto had risen as high as a second son ever had, as he expanded the influence of his House and his family.
But now a threat had emerged. Remerged to be more precise, from the deep hovel of Old Town where he had once buried him before, a child who threatened the very ways of life and influence that had helped House Hightower maintain much power in the realm, for though the Tyrells may rule the Reach but their power was in name only.
And now centuries after the fall of the Gardners, the Reach and its lords looked to the beacon of Hightower for guidance.
And just as those thoughts were running through his mind, he reached his destination and stood outside the library, where a dozen or so acolytes and maesters all worked to complete their learning.
Many of them bowed to him as he moved past them and reached the man sitting down at the desk, writing meticulously in an old tome. The quill wrote each word in exactly the same manner, and the skill must have come from years upon years of hard work.
“Maester Mellos,” he called out slowly to not disturb him, as the bald man turned to face him.
“Ser Otto,” the man greeted him warmly, as he smiled.
“I was hoping to have some of your time,” and the young man nodded as he slowly put down his quill.
“Of course. I was just about to come to you myself, my lord,” and that was good for the man, must already know what he was here for.
The man rose, his chains clunking against one another as he led Otto to the study so that they may talk in seclusion. In the end, Otto stood face to face with the next Grand Maester and asked.
“I believe you must have an inkling about why I came to meet you,” and by now, the word about him must have spread to all parts of the Red Keep.
“Yes, I believe this concerns the young Healer, Galen,” Mellos replied quietly, and Otto nodded. He had thought he was finished with the young prodigy, but he was wrong, and now he faced him once more.
He saw in that boy the tremor that could unsettle centuries of silent dominion.
“Yes, as you must know already, the boy is a great threat not only to my House but to the Citadel as well,” and though a substantial faction of the Maesters held no loyalty for his House, each and every one of them was loyal to the Citadel and its values.
“Even before he tried to challenge the ways of the Citadel, yet his plans were foiled,” but then he had been held back by the chains of youth and Maestery.
But now he was free of those chains and had just gained the favor of the Queen herself.
“Indeed, but many others have tried and failed to build a rival to our great Order. He will fail as well,” Mellos was certainly confident, and though he believed the master, he also knew that if there was anyone who could do the impossible, it was him.
“Still, we must remain cautious. Elysar has grown old and does not share our worries. You must counsel the old Grand Maester so that he may advise the Crown against entertaining such charlatans while I shall try and do the same,” and he had the Prince’s ear, and planned on using that just as much.
“Of course, my lord. I will see to it...”
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Comments
FallenMetalGod
Thank you. It seems the plotting has begun against our Healer. I do hope he takes a page from Varys and Petyr's spy network. Of course, without the removal of children’s tongues and the inhumanity of Littlefinger's brothels. Great job as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
