Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Beans
The Necromancer of Westeros
Chapter 02: Patronage
— Princess Elia Martell —
She knew that many would see her plan to use a back alley doctor working from a brothel for the birth of the heir of the Iron Throne as absolutely insane.
Aegon would be King, after her husband. He should have access to the greatest of medical treatment but… she was fairly certain that was exactly what she was getting for him.
It wasn't just a matter of doubting the expertise of the maesters who had almost lost her Rhaenys, who had lost so many of her goodmother's children.
Dorne was one of the 'seven' kingdoms but they had, perhaps due to their own fault, never truly been accepted. Few were pleased to have a Dornishwoman set to be on the throne. Even her goodfather, the King himself, refused to be near Rhaenys as she 'smelt Dornish'. Few outside of Dorne would mourn her and Aegon if some… tragic accident befell her during childbirth.
And who would look twice? She was a frail, weak woman who'd almost died during her first childbirth and was told a second would kill her. If anyone wanted her gone, such as the Lannisters who made no effort to hide their desire to put Cersei on the throne, Aegon's birth would be the perfect moment.
Maesters claimed impartiality. That they merely served their castle and did not have political ambitions. She did not believe that for a moment. Anyone with eyes could see that Pycelle was Tywin Lannister's man. She wouldn't entrust her safety to someone bought by the man who would benefit the most from her demise.
She had sent some of her servants to get the measure of Edward Mercer. Nobody could place his accent, beyond him obviously being very well educated. They couldn't work out where he was from, what House or kingdom he originated from, if any. He was a mystery, his past erased. Even Varys was forced to admit he had found nothing on where Edward came from before he'd appeared in King's Landing.
No gate guard recognised the description, no ship claimed to have brought him in. Nobody had heard the name before, only vaguely remembering a handsome, far too polite, lordling enquiring about local businesses that might be interested in the services of a doctor before he found his way to Chataya's brothel.
She knew she was taking a chance. She was hoping that unknown translated to neutral, given his efforts to keep his head down even after he arguably saved King's Landing.
One of the only solid pieces of information she had on him came from one of the whores who'd asked him why he'd do all that work for nothing. Over a month of long days, gruelling work, risking his own health for no promise of wealth or glory.
Edward had simply replied that he'd taken an oath during his training to become a surgeon, and didn't intend to break it. Which meant he had been trained somewhere but that remained one of the bigger mysteries. The pieces he'd let slip that she'd gathered made it clear that he'd studied at some great place of learning under tenured professors, excelling at his studies.
But if such a place existed, she had no idea where to find it. That was more promising than most would suspect, because if he was truly from beyond their borders, he wasn't tied up in their politics either.
She'd even read his treatise, studying his methods in the hope of getting an idea of where he'd studied. Which foreign nation did his techniques best match. The answer? Seemingly none of them. No nation in the known world used the same techniques that Edward spoke of as if they were common knowledge.
He was a man who should, by right, be serving in a royal court, kept by the side of a powerful patron. Doran would certainly have kept Edward close, well paid enough that he wasn't tempted to wander. She imagined most Great Houses would do the same for a doctor who could work miracles and had a perfect childbirth rate. Disease was the army killer, and having someone who could so effectively combat it was worth more than a hundred knights in plate armour.
It was driving the Citadel mad, she knew. Wherever he'd studied made the Citadel look like butchers operating with dirty greataxes. Somewhere out there, an institute existed that made the Maesters seem inept and they couldn't stand it.
And yet, they ignored him for the same reason the Great Houses did. Nobody wanted to trigger Aerys' latest bout of paranoid madness. She was certain the King had since forgotten that a plague had even happened to begin with, but with everyone treading carefully, even those who knew of Edward's location hesitated to try and approach him.
But Dorne wasn't known for their caution. Doran would disapprove of the risk, wanting more information. He did disapprove and she and Oberyn had told him a fraction of what they knew. He'd hate the risk she was taking if she hadn't… carefully worded her letters to him.
Oberyn only approved because he too didn't trust the maesters of King's Landing and Aerys wouldn't permit her to return to Dorne for the birth of Aegon. It was telling that she'd rather make that long and arduous journey while pregnant than trust the maesters here.
There was one person who agreed wholeheartedly, and Oberyn would be baffled to learn that her biggest supporter in this was… her husband. But Oberyn didn't understand Rhaegar. Oftentimes, neither did she but sometimes she wasn't even sure Rhaegar fully understood Rhaegar.
His dreams kept him tossing and turning, and he'd even moved to a different bed not because they were distant but because as a frail, pregnant woman, she needed every night's rest and Rhaegar waking her with his dreams- his visions- was detrimental to her health.
She went to him with her idea, and it had been like a bolt of clarity had hit him. Months of dreams he couldn't understand clearing in an instant. He was sure Edward had a part to play, though he admitted he didn't know what that part was. Even still, Rhaegar trusted Edward with his heir and promised to handle his father for reasons only he truly knew.
He was perhaps the only man in the Kingdom who could say they would 'handle Aerys'.
She just hoped that whatever he was doing in the Maidenvault didn't distract him from that promise if Aerys learnt of where she was and what she was doing.
Returning to Chataya's, she appreciated the secrecy involved. Chataya's brothel had an old secret tunnel, made by a Hand of the King who didn't want people to know of his visits, and the proprietor had revealed its existence once informed of her identity and the fact that she would be visiting Edward multiple times.
She had only had a very brief check-up during her first visit, as she couldn't be away for too long, but she'd found a better time where her absence would go unnoticed this time.
"Your Highness," Edward greeted, his eyes flickering behind her. It wasn't what was behind her that surprised him, but what wasn't, as her guards were nowhere to be seen. They were here, of course, but she didn't need them looming over her during this. "Please, take a seat."
"Doctor Mercer," Elia greeted, using his preferred form of address. It was an odd one, but the more she played into his habits the more he might let slip about his origin. She hadn't missed his repeated insistence that he was not a Highborn, but no smallfolk spoke with such eloquence and grace. Whoever he was, wherever he was from, he had clearly grown up in high society.
She didn't miss the multiple books scattered around his sanctum, quill and ink resting on his desk. They had no title on the front or binding. She recognised the type as a blank tome that was sold by a local trader. Was he filling that many formerly blank books with medical knowledge?
On another table, glass vials bubbled with a liquid she didn't understand. Glass was not cheap, and she doubted Chataya paid that much, even after the Bloody Flux. He must be spending every copper star he got his hands on to fund his research, and that was clearly what he was doing. Was that why he was willing to accept her as a patient? Whatever he was doing, it clearly wasn't cheap. She could pick up the scent of herbs that she couldn't place, and her agents (Oberyn, mostly) told her of whores from the street of silk buying herbs from merchant ships. Edward was wise to keep his head down while his name and face fell further out of Aerys' ailing mind.
"I've had time to consider your issue," Edward admitted, rubbing his chin. "And from what you have told me, you were already lucky once. Princess Rhaenys was small at birth, and for that you were extremely lucky. Simply put, your early birth has led to you being underdeveloped in several places but the most damning places are your waist and hips. Your organs are likely being crushed by the growing Aegon, and your hips are simply not wide enough to support an easy childbirth."
She knew this, though she hadn't considered what her growing child was doing to her insides. It had been repeatedly pointed out that she did not have 'child-bearing' hips, as part of why she was unfitting as a wife for Prince Rhaegar. People cursed her as they believed her weakness, her frailness, would be passed onto her children.
"The Maesters were right to warn you that your body was unlikely to survive a second birth. I have my methods, of course, but the world of conventional medicine has its limits," Edward warned. "This will be a dangerous birth, regardless of the operating doctor."
Studying Edward, she noticed something. She was a Princess, raised in highborn society where lies were as common as greetings. One did not survive without learning how to spot when someone wasn't telling the entire truth. His face twitched at the word 'conventional', distaste colouring his tone for a moment.
"If I wanted conventional, I would have stuck with the old greybearded maesters. Conventional is too dangerous, and I won't risk Aegon's life," Elia replied, watching him closely. "But you are not a conventional doctor, are you Edward?"
Edward didn't respond for a long moment. Another member of royalty might take offence to the 'disrespect' of his silence, but she merely watched him. He was restraining himself from something, though what she did not entirely know.
"Doctor Mercer, I want to be very clear. I do not care what methods you have to use, unconventional or outright heretical, as long as you can bring my son into the world, healthy and safe," Elia continued. He had a good mask, but once again he reacted… to the word 'heretical'. "No regular surgeon could do what you do. Nobody can save every single patient without a touch of the unnatural. Am I correct?"
"Perhaps," Edward admitted. She paused, because that single word was said with a coolness that briefly made her freeze. It was cold and dark, and something in his eyes changed. She knew when dangerous men were pretending to be something else, and Edward was, without a doubt, a dangerous man. He hadn't so much as blinked at Oberyn threatening him, either. "But do you know what you are asking?"
And the game was on.
"I'm asking you to save my life, and ensure my son is healthy and untainted by my frailty," Elia replied plainly. "You are no Red Priest, nor an Asshai Shadowbinder. The Maesters claim that magic is gone from the Seven Kingdoms, with the death of the dragons, but you've already proven that the Maesters don't know half as much as they claim, haven't you?"
She had her suspicions, and Rhaegar's dreams had only intensified them. She did not believe her husband mad. Haunted, perhaps, but not mad.
"My master has forgotten more than their entire order has ever learnt," Edward replied with a wry laugh. "Nobody knows all there is to know, not I, and certainly not the Citadel."
"I don't need you to know everything. I just need you to know enough to deliver my child safely," Elia repeated plainly. "So I will ask you plainly. Do you know of a way to ensure that the birth goes smoothly?"
"I do," Edward admitted, and for a moment he smiled. The weight of having to keep his true skills a secret, she suspected.
"And what is the cost? Blood magic?" Elia asked, her tone hushed. To her surprise, he laughed derisively.
"I've heard the stories of what this land calls blood magic, but it is pathetic. I know practitioners of the art that would drain the so-called warlocks of every drop for daring to sully the name," Edward admitted with a dark smile. "My methods need no sacrificial lamb, or offered blood. I remain a doctor, and I won't take one life to save another, even to save a royal life."
There was a certain pride, a certain smugness, in his words. It was the type she saw in Oberyn when he saw other people trying to use a spear. The certainty that he was better in every way. Edward certainly had opinions on what Westeros saw as magic.
"And you? Are you a practitioner of blood magic?" Elia asked, highly curious more than anything else. Perhaps it was that curiosity on her face that convinced him to answer.
"Barely. My mentor mastered the art, but it was never where my skills lay," Edward admitted. "My talents lay with the art of fleshcrafting. You're right, I couldn't have saved everyone with merely my medical knowledge, talented as I may be. What I do have, is enough talent as a doctor to hide the magic."
"Fleshcrafting?" Elia asked, the phrase repeating in her head. At least the name was self-explanatory. Did he work flesh and bone like clay? It would explain why all his patients left in perfect health if he could command their bodies to heal. "And this art could ensure Aegon is born safely?"
To her surprise, Edward laughed at her question, arms crossed as he smirked slightly. Again, it was the look of someone incredibly proud of himself.
"Safely? I could make him superhuman, even in the womb. Stronger, faster, superior in every way. I could heal the frailty that has cursed your every step in minutes, turn back the passage of time until you looked like you were barely on the cusp of adulthood, empower your every sense," Edward admitted. "It has been… frustrating to be limited so. Pretending the best I can do is merely mundane."
"But if I walked out here with the body I was supposed to have, we'd both be seen as heretics by people who don't understand your powers," Elia pointed out, even as her heart ached for him to do exactly that and damn those who would judge her for it. "Is this a common art, where you are from?"
"It's rare, and met with mixed expressions. My art can harm as easily as it heals, and the major religion of my land forbids it as they see the flesh as belonging to the Gods. Still, healers are welcome in most places. It is one of the more accepted forms of magic," Edward admitted. "I spent much of my life as a travelling healer. The Bloody Flux is a plague I've stopped half a dozen times across the land, though we call it Dysentry."
"And that religion is why you left? You can't quite hide your distaste for the Faith, and I know bitterness when I see it," Elia pointed out, getting a laugh from him.
"The Goddess that condemned my practices is called the Mother. So, I wasn't entirely amused to arrive in a new land only to find another religion condemning magic with another Mother," Edward admitted with a shrug. "Though the Faith of the Seven has proven more tolerable than the Solaris Church, even if I wonder if that is because they lack the militant arm to enforce their doctrine. The Church of Solaris had its own magic, and Paladins, a form of holy knight, to enforce their beliefs. My Master and I bothered no-one, studying our art in an empty corner of the land, and still they decided to kick down our doors and slay us for our 'heretical practices'."
"Did they kill your master?" Elia asked softly, but to her surprise Edward laughed again.
"As if they could," Edward snorted. "No. She is just fine, though not exactly 'around' either. But you didn't come here to discuss my past, curious as you may be. You came here for a miracle."
"I did," Elia agreed. "My husband is to be King, and Aerys' health is rapidly deteriorating. He barely eats anymore, paranoid of poisonings, and he is withering away. The reason nobody has risen in rebellion over his insanity is because most are simply waiting for him to drop dead."
It was treasonous talk, the kind Aerys would have her tongue ripped out for, but she did not say it idly. Edward had revealed knowledge that could certainly get him into trouble. Not kill him, as he was too confident for that, but it would force him to flee King's Landing if she exposed him. She was simply returning the favour because as a Princess and future Queen, she liked the idea of having a Fleshcrafter by her side.
She was a descendant of the Rhoynar, and Dorne had never been as negative towards magic as the rest of Westeros. She was not one of the Dornish who called themselves the Orphans of Greenblood and clung to their Rhoynar heritage desperately, but Dorne had many Red Temples and Edward wasn't demanding she burn anyone in flame to heal herself. More so, her husband was a firm believer that magic was not as gone as the learned maesters claimed and she truly believed that his visions were not merely madness.
His comment about making Aegon superhuman stuck with her, the idea that Aegon would not merely be spared her illness but granted the strength to survive whatever Rhaegar was sure was coming to threaten the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.
"My husband knows I am here, and he will protect you from the Faith and the Maesters, if you can deliver on your word," Elia continued calmly. "More so, we will sponsor your research into your art."
His comment on the fact that he and his master were studying far from civilisation told her a lot about his goals and desires. She had no doubt that if he wished for power, he could have taken it by force by now. For all his skills, he'd settled for being a brothel doctor, experimenting in a backroom. That didn't mean he wasn't ambitious, merely that his ambition was aimed at something other than political or economic power.
– Edward Mercer –
Revealing this much was a risk, of course, but there's a simple reality that I know all too well. People in power always want more power. Despite the power of the Solaris religion, pretty much every royal family had some form of magic user under their patronage. Why wouldn't they when Blood Magic can empower entire bloodlines, Fleshcrafting turning their princes into warriors unequalled with Reinforcement. Every old royal looks for a Fleshcrafter capable of using Alter Age at some point.
My Master is a prideful woman and refused to accept anyone's patronage, but I am not her. I lack her power and her pride. She could afford to laugh in the face of royalty because they couldn't do anything to stop her. I, however, am in an alien world with little by way of resources or support.
And the simple truth is that if I don't get access to more resources, more gold, more everything… It'll be decades before I can produce my master a new body in this backroom. I need a proper laboratory, a lair from which to work my magic. She offered to have House Martell set me up in Sunspear, but I suspect that she and her husband would prefer me here, at their command.
To grow my master a new body, I'll need a proper vat and the materials to create the liquid the body will be grown inside. It takes time, care and proper attention to grow it properly, and I won't present her with a substandard, malformed body. It'd be an embarrassment, to say the least. But I can't put a giant brass vat in the back of Chataya's and hope nobody notices the humanoid figure growing in it.
I need my own space, and royal protection would allow me to work in privacy. Aerys is a madman, but I won't cower from some delusional king with an ailing mind and equally rotting body.
Telling Elia as much, I smile wryly at her agreement to make me a clinic right here on the Street of Silk. Rhaegar gave her permission to negotiate and promise things on his behalf, speaking of a far closer relationship than one would expect given the rumours that he put her aside for a Stark girl.
"The only question then, Your Highness, is how far you wish for me to go. I could do the bare minimum to ensure that the birth goes smoothly. I can swear, here and now, that you will survive the birth and Aegon will be born healthy," I say, seeing her smile. "Or I can work to return you to the looks you rightfully deserve, undoing the damage your early birth did to you. One is far more noticeable, so I leave it in your hands."
"...I should take the first, but I refuse. The Gods cursed me with this… frail form, where a short walk leaves me gasping for breath. I want the body I should have been born with. I want to be able to see myself and not feel ashamed," Elia says, head held high. "You have an idea of how to hide your magic, I take it? You've been doing this far longer than I."
"I do. As I said, I hid my magic during the plague by disguising it as simple medical talents. We will 'reveal' the truth, that I am an alchemist from a foreign land. The Alchemists are accepted within King's Landing, even having your goodfather's favour," I point out, seeing her nod along. "Therefore, I shall disguise myself again. A surgeon and an alchemist, with a focus on brews that affect the body. Rather than do it all in one go, I can create… placebo potions to disguise the spells as I heal you, stage by stage. As I said, the main concern is your narrow hips and fragile organs, by focusing my attention there I can promise you a smooth and safe birth. That, I can do before you leave tonight. Internals are easier to hide, as few have reason to be examining your lungs or heart."
"What do I need to do?" Elia asks plainly.
"Disrobe, please," I ask in my most professional tone. She pauses for a moment, before she calmly reaches up and pushes her dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it as it pools at her feet. With equal calmness, her underthings are discarded and before long, the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is standing before me bare and exposed. I have to admit I'm mildly surprised at how easily she did that.
"Come now, Doctor. Given your promises, I hope you know where babies come from. From the moment I made my request, I knew that you'd be seeing me in my entirety," Elia points out at my look, and I just chuckle in agreement.
My eyes rove over her form, but not in lust but with an analytical eye. Her breasts are barely noticeable, not quite flat but certainly close despite having given birth. She must have had to use a nursemaid to breastfeed her daughter. Equally noticeable is her ribs, visible through her incredibly skinny chest. Her skin is unhealthily pale, as her illness has forced an indolent lifestyle as any exercise could be fatal. For a Dornishwoman especially, she's far too pale from a lack of sunlight. She must stay indoors most of the time. No real muscle to speak of, not even the small muscles that would be made from regular walks. She's been cursed with an uncomfortable and difficult life, truly. It's a miracle that her daughter was born, and no surprise it put her in bed for months.
"Lie down, please," I say, gesturing to my bed. I don't have an operating room, and she won't want to be seen outside of this room so I can't use one of Chataya's, so the Princess of Dorne will have to settle for my bed. Watching her do so, I approach with a frown as I place my hand on her stomach gently. "Your organs are worse than I expected. I suspect the birth you already survived made your condition worse?"
"It did. I've always been short of breath, but after Rhaenys was born even a small staircase feels an impossible feat," Elia admits with a scowl, directed at her own body. "I had to be carried to even make it here."
"During your next visit, you'll arrive on your own two feet," I swear, focusing as I pump some of my magic into her atrophied organs. She lets out a gasp, feeling my magic. It must be an alien sensation as most people are not used to feeling anything from their organs. I don't go overboard, restraining myself as I encourage healing and growth in each organ. At the same time, I slowly begin to do the same with her flesh. She doesn't grow to anything that would be seen as above average, but her ribcage stops being so visible and her breasts grow to a small handful. More importantly, I ensure her womb grows with her to give young Aegon more room to grow. It's a curse, because her size means he's been equally crushed. I suspect Rhaenys is small for her age, and will grow to similar sizes to her mother without intervention. Elia's face upon my observation pretty much tells me that I'll have a second Princess patient before long.
Elia watches in silence, her eyes transfixed on her body as her hips grow just a little wider. If she keeps on a modest dress, it would be hard to notice just how much she has changed. Her skin has a slightly healthier sheen, though she'll need more sunlight to maintain it.
"Rise, please," I say, stepping back. There's a part of me that demands I perfect her, but I hold back.
"I came for a miracle, and it seems I found one," Elia says, her tone soft and awed as she examines herself.
"You'll need regular exercise, but your lungs have been restored and you should find daily walks a far more tolerable experience. You also need sunlight, two hours a day at a minimum. An unhealthy mother will only lead to an unhealthy child," I lecture, falling back into my typical doctor tone. "...your diet could use a change as well. Too much red meat, not enough white. Fish would be good."
Elia blinks in surprise, before she giggles which slowly becomes genuine laughter. I don't think she has realised that her laughing is causing her now more noticeable breasts to bounce slightly as she hunches over for a moment before she catches herself and wipes a tear from her eyes.
"I am sorry, Doctor Mercer. But you sounded like my father," Elia admits, getting herself under control.
"Then he was a wise man, whose advice should be heeded," I say, head held high. "But the point remains. I can return your rightful body to you, but it will fall to you to keep it. I will be… displeased if you come back to ask for me to fix what was caused by pure indolence. You need to eat more, around three times as much to be frank. Your body lacks the nutrients that Aegon needs. I have healed the damage, and given him more room to grow, but a proper diet is essential to a healthy life."
"Understood, Doctor," Elia agrees as she rises before she freezes. "I… believe we have forgotten a small issue."
"Oh?" I ask, watching as she picks up her dress and tries to put it back on. The issue becomes apparent instantly as she fails to fit into the bodice that was clearly custom-made for a smaller Elia. "Ah."
We stare at each other for a moment, before she starts giggling again as I call for Chataya. I have many talents, but clothing is not one of them.
— Bonus Scene — Brandon Stark
He didn't want to ride south. No Stark did. They didn't belong down below the Neck, and nothing good came from one of their blood leaving the North. History had shown that again and again.
And yet, what choice did he have but to ride for King's Landing after the so-called Silver Prince abducted his sister?! Many whispered that Rhaegar would be a fine king, having not inherited his father's madness, but would a sane mind abduct the daughter of the Warden of the North?
Lyanna had been shocked and baffled by Rhaegar's attention at Harrenhal, but nobody thought much of it beyond the insult to both House Martell and House Baratheon. It was strange, insulting and downright confusing but… nobody thought it would lead to something like this.
He didn't know why Rhaegar and his thugs had taken Lyanna, but by the Old Gods she had better be untouched, in every way, or he'd spill dragonblood upon the ground and see if it was as hot to the touch as they claimed.
He doubted it.
Author's Note: Whoopsie, rebellion time.
Written: 14/06/2026