The Archmaester of the Witch Doctors shouted without a shred of caution, "What could be closer to the future Emperor, to His Majesty Aegon's very body? For the sake of His Majesty's illness, the heir prince should set an example and try the medicine first!"
His voice echoed sharply through the medical chamber, grating on everyone's ears.
Maegor's eyes flashed with murderous intent. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tensing as he prepared to rush forward and personally silence the man who dared provoke him.
But Visenya's hand shot out, gripping her son's shoulders firmly. She gave him a small shake of the head.
Then Queen Visenya stepped to the bedside, her gaze sweeping the room. "Guards, enter and maintain order!" she commanded, her tone cold and absolute.
The order left no room for doubt.
Because of Harrenhal's unique nature, Aegon had stationed an elite garrison here to confine the various philosophical sects. These soldiers answered only to Aegon's command. Now that he lay unconscious, they naturally took orders from the heir's faction instead.
Rhaenys and Aenys immediately sensed trouble.
Rhaenys' brow furrowed as she watched steel-clad soldiers pour into the chamber. She turned to her sister. "What are you doing?"
Having been a political player for decades, Visenya understood far better than her younger sister just how ruthless the struggle for power could be.
Inwardly, she thought: Aegon is already at death's door, and the seed of life—never used—will likely be useless now. Why not end things swiftly here and rid ourselves of the threat that is Aenys?
Aenys caught the cold glint in his aunt's eyes. Forcing a smile, though panic flickered beneath, he said, "Don't be rash, Aunt! How can we experiment on the heir prince? Father has plenty of bastards—many here at Harrenhal. Bring one of them instead."
Visenya half-closed her eyes, ignoring his plea. "Archmaester Lodos is correct," she said coldly. "Only the bloodline closest to the Emperor can ensure accurate results. The king's eldest son is without doubt the closest blood. Let Prince Aenys test the medicine on the Emperor's behalf."
Rhaenys' eyes went wide with shock. "Visenya, you've lost your mind! You would harm your own nephew? You madwoman!"
Visenya raised her hand and gave her order without emotion. "Restrain Prince Aenys. Separate the others. No one is to interfere with the experiment to save the Emperor."
The elite guards moved instantly at Queen Visenya's command.
Aenys struggled with all his strength, thrashing violently, but his frail frame was no match for soldiers handpicked from the army's best.
Every member of Rhaenys' faction was swiftly subdued.
The gathered maesters erupted in a stir of alarm.
The Archmaester of the Witch Doctors stood frozen, mouth agape, stunned that his words had backfired so completely—endangering his own patron, Aenys.
Just then, the beat of massive wings sounded outside. A deafening crash followed, as though a giant had landed nearby. Moments later, Vhagar's colossal head loomed at the window, her wheel-sized golden eyes sweeping the room.
"No! You can't do this!" Rhaenys cried, collapsing to the ground. She shook her head, staring at her sister in despair.
Visenya's expression remained like ice. She strode to her fallen sister, gazed down at her disheveled state, and said quietly, "Power is poison. I regret ever tasting it…"
Behind her, the guards lifted Aenys onto a makeshift operating table. His mouth was gagged tight, allowing only muffled groans. His limbs were bound firmly to the surface.
Though he thrashed and trembled until his joints turned white, the guards obeyed Visenya's orders without the slightest hesitation.
"Meraxes! Save me!" Rhaenys' eyes flared violet as she frantically called upon the Bloodmage's resonance technique. Veins bulged at her temples, sweat running down her face.
"It's useless," Visenya said with a shake of her head. "Your resonance is too crude. You can't match the bond Aegon and I share—we can summon dragons from afar."
Her hand chopped down sharply against her sister's neck. Rhaenys' eyes flew wide, her body went limp, and she crumpled unconscious.
Aenys watched in horror as his mother and child were carried away by the guards. Terror closed in like a rising tide. Inwardly, he could only scream: It's over. It's all over.
Visenya drew Maegor back into the corner and watched Aenys' ordeal with cold detachment.
"Mother, you don't have to go this far..." Maegor cast a glance at his brother lying on the operating table, his brow furrowing as he spoke to Visenya with clear reluctance.
Visenya shook her head gently.
She lifted a hand and softly brushed the forehead of her son—now taller than she was—her gaze holding a complex warmth. Slowly, she said, "My child, though your father achieved a feat unmatched in history, he was never a natural-born king. He was just an ordinary man.
He did not understand politics, nor the dreadful nature of power.
If he had, he would never have let Aenys live until now.
Power—there is no right or wrong, no good or evil. There is only victory and defeat, life and death.
If Aenys survives today, even should you take the throne, your future will end in misery. The Aenys line has the most true dragons, and in Westeros, they hold the strongest claim to legitimacy.
Politics allows no room for naivety.
On this point, do not follow your father's example. He was too naive... and it was that naivety which left us with this mess, forcing you to bear the name of kinslayer."
Her words overturned Maegor's understanding, shattering the illusions he had clung to for so long.
First, his elder brother Aenys had secretly conspired with foreign envoys to plot against their father. Now that same brother had colluded with the new Citadel's scholars to see him dead.
In that instant, the sacred image of Aegon in Maegor's heart crumbled.
He murmured to himself, "He was a good father, but not a good king. He truly failed in that role. With Mother's guidance, I will become a truly great king."
From the operating table came Aenys' piercing, gut-wrenching screams, sending chills through the room.
The new Archmaester was indeed skilled—his cuts on the king's eldest son were as deft and precise as a butcher breaking down an ox, befitting the leader of the new school of medicine.
Holding a sharp knife, his eyes calm and focused, he made a clean incision. Aenys' skin parted easily, blood seeping slowly from the wound.
Once the Archmaester had opened his chest, an assistant maester carefully retrieved a glass vessel from a cabinet. Inside the purple liquid floated a ruby-like semi-solid mass of flesh, slowly shifting its shape.
The Archmaester used tweezers to lift out the [Seed of Life]. Its fine, hair-like tendrils writhed in the air as though alive.
His movements slowed, becoming far more cautious. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, but he dared not wipe them away.
Aenys' eyes widened in terror as he watched the Archmaester slowly lower the grotesque thing into his chest cavity. Though the poppy juice had numbed his body, his mind remained horribly alert.
His muscles locked tight, trembling uncontrollably. The violent shudders set the entire table quivering beneath him.
Visenya watched without the slightest change in expression, her gaze cold and steady.
Maegor, unable to stomach the sight, turned his face aside, his brow knotted.
Now came the most critical step—securing the [Seed of Life] within the flesh of the heart itself. Every stitch meant the difference between life and death.
The Archmaester drew a deep breath, picked up needle and thread, and began to sew with painstaking care, his hands trembling ever so slightly.
Such a procedure was far beyond the limits of contemporary medicine, but with the aid of certain dark witch medicines, the Archmaester of the Witch Doctors could just barely manage an open-heart operation.
"Stop the bleeding! Stop the bleeding!" The new Archmaester's voice rose, edged with strain.
The Witch Doctor Archmaester, hands shaking, sprinkled the witch medicine directly into Aenys' chest cavity.
Aenys saw clearly—it was made of tiny insects, smaller than mosquitoes, writhing and squirming inside him. The sight filled him with a bone-deep chill.
His heart surged with fear and rage. Inwardly, he screamed, What are they doing to me? Seven hells!
His eyes bulged from the tension, blood vessels bursting in the whites, and he glared at the Witch Doctor Archmaester with murderous fury.
"The bleeding is under control! Phew!"
The Archmaester of the New Medicine let out a long breath of relief.
The worst was past—suturing was far less demanding. Once the chest was sewn closed, they covered the wound with an herbal paste to ward off infection.
When the work was done, the new Archmaester swayed on his feet and collapsed in front of the table.
But no one in the room paid him any mind, for something far stranger was happening to Aenys.
His chest heaved violently, and thick, rope-like veins bulged beneath his skin, twisting and writhing as if ready to burst.
Aenys howled in agony, his struggles growing more frantic. His body jerked and writhed so violently that the entire table shook, groaning under the strain.
"Aaahhhhhh—!" Aenys' screams tore through the medical chamber, so loud they made eardrums ache.
Bang! The straps holding him down snapped one by one as his muscles swelled and veins bulged. The teeth he had shattered from grinding them in pain were spat out, and in their place, new ones sprouted rapidly.
Bang, bang, bang! The bindings on all four limbs gave way. Aenys sucked in huge, ragged breaths, his chest rising and falling with violent force.
Visenya instantly sensed the danger. She drew the longsword from her waist, eyes locked on Aenys, ready for whatever might happen.
Maegor's hand slid to Dark Sister, his heartbeat quickening.
The imperial guards inside the chamber stood rigid, gripping their steel swords with white-knuckled hands, bodies tense as if before a deadly foe.
Everyone could feel it—a terrifying aura, or more precisely, a suffocating field of spiritual force. It pressed down on the entire chamber, making it seem as though Prince Aenys was no longer human, but a predator at the top of the food chain.
The natural enemy of mankind.
Clang, clang, clang! The pressure became unbearable. One by one, the guards drew their blades, aiming them at the growling, trembling figure on the table.
At last, Aenys stilled.
His chest pumped like a massive bellows, each breath unnaturally powerful—enough to stir the air in the room.
"Aenys?! Can you hear me?" Maegor called toward the figure on the table.
"Hah… hah! Good! Very good. I've never felt better. My dear brother, thank you… for the gift." Aenys' gaze drifted to the ceiling, his tone one of a man who had survived a trial by fire.
Maegor frowned and exchanged a wary look with his mother.
He kept his distance. "Can you still move? And what exactly did you mean by 'good'?"
"Hahahaha! I meant this…"
Aenys shot upright from the table in a motion that defied human anatomy, springing like a lobster from the floor. His crooked neck slowly straightened with a series of bone-cracking pops. His strange eyes locked on Maegor, full of madness and mockery.
Maegor's breath caught—those eyes were no longer human.
They were draconic—dark gold irises slit by a narrow vertical pupil, the tips tightening like a predator preparing to strike. The light in them was chilling.
Aenys dropped lightly from the table.
He gripped the frame of the metal table, and what had once been solid steel crumpled in his hand like brittle twigs. With a casual pull, he tore free a length of iron and swung it, the air howling around it.
"Ah… maybe I don't even need a weapon anymore." Aenys smirked, tossing the iron aside with disdain. It landed with a dull, heavy thud.
Then he began walking toward Maegor.
Each step landed like a hammer blow on Maegor's chest.
The pressure was overwhelming—several times greater than any opponent he had faced in the tourney finals. This was no longer a man. It was another kind of creature entirely.
Visenya stepped forward, placing herself between them. Her voice was calm. "Isn't it this powerful body that I've given you? Aenys, you should thank me. Don't you agree?"
She snapped her fingers.
Outside, Vhagar responded at once. The great dragon's claws smashed through the outer wall of the chamber, stone and brick collapsing with a thunderous crash. Dust filled the air as Vhagar's massive head pushed into the room.
The dragon's jaws opened, revealing dagger-like teeth, and a deep, rolling growl shook the walls as she fixed her gaze on Aenys.
He stopped, eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, there was hesitation—fear.
Then he smiled, though the curve of his lips was twisted. "Yes… I should thank you, Aunt. Hahaha! But that's enough for today. I'm hungry. Time to eat."
With a careless wave, Aenys turned and strode out of the chamber.
"He's changed," Maegor muttered, his eyes following Aenys' back, his voice heavy.
Visenya nodded. "Much stronger. That grip… it's hard to believe a human could have such strength."
"I'm not talking about his strength," Maegor said sharply. "I'm talking about his humanity. He no longer cares for human morals. When he walked out just now, he wasn't even wearing clothes. He's becoming more like a dragon… and dragons have no need for clothes."
"…You're right," Visenya said after a moment's thought, recalling the sight and nodding in agreement.
Maegor quickly ordered the guards to carry the Archmaester of the New School of Medicine away to rest, and to prepare for tomorrow's transplant of the [Seed of Life] into the Regalus.
The mood in the chamber shifted—heated, expectant. The [Seed of Life] had proven it could truly awaken the hidden potential of the human body.
The entire royal family and the senior lords of House Targaryen were elated—this meant Emperor Aegon's illness was no longer a threat.
But unlike his overjoyed kin and the ministers in the Targaryen court, Aenys was faced with a far more troubling problem.
He sat at the dining table, a carefully prepared steak placed before him.
Yet he found he had no human appetite. His brow furrowed, his eyes clouded with irritation and confusion. I'm starving… but what am I supposed to eat?
With a sharp motion, he swept the steak off the table and onto the floor.
The head chef of Harrenhal, standing nearby, turned as pale as chalk. Trembling violently, he dropped to his knees in fear and stammered, "Please forgive me, Your Highness… I will—will make a dish that suits your taste… please forgive me…"
Aenys' dark-gold slit pupils slid toward the kneeling chef. Why does this fat man smell better than the steak? he thought.
He rose abruptly, striding over in two long steps, and seized the chef's collar in one hand, his grip like an iron vise.
Then, with only that one hand, he effortlessly lifted the man—easily over two hundred pounds—and slammed him against the stone wall as though he were no heavier than a chicken.
Aenys narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the chef like a hound on the scent.
His nose stopped in front of the chef's belly. The scent… it's coming from inside him.
The chef shook so hard his whole body quivered. When he saw the wild, greedy light burning in Aenys' dark-gold eyes, terror shattered what little composure he had left. He lost control of his bladder, urine trickling down his legs as a sharp, acrid stench filled the air.
Aenys' sensitive sense of smell recoiled instantly. Disgust twisted his features, and he released the man, covering his nose as he strode out of the dining hall, abandoning the thought of eating altogether.
...
That night, Harrenhal lay quiet—save for the frenzied barking of the hounds, which roused the imperial guards.
They moved quickly, fanning out to search the grounds. At first, nothing seemed amiss. But with the Emperor gravely ill, the guards dared not relax and soon expanded their sweep.
In the heartwood grove beyond Harrenhal, a pair of dark-gold eyes flashed in the moonlight like a phantom—then vanished without a trace.
When the guards reached the spot, the eyes were gone. What they found instead was a scene of horror—a maid's corpse, her abdomen torn open and hollowed out.
Savage claw marks scored her belly, the flesh torn and bloody, her organs devoured as if by some wild beast.
Her frozen, terrified expression suggested she had seen something unspeakably dreadful before death claimed her.
The guards rushed to report the discovery to Queen Visenya and Crown Prince Maegor.
Maegor rubbed at his brow in distress. He was almost certain the one who had gutted the maid was his elder brother—those golden eyes were unmistakable since the [Seed of Life] transplant.
"Is this a curse…?" he murmured, his voice distant.
Queen Visenya ordered the guards to keep the matter quiet. Once they were dismissed, she began pacing the chamber.
Should she move to arrest her eldest son at once? The problem was, she had no solid proof.
Forcing Aenys into the experiment earlier that day had already drawn the ire of many lords. If she tried to seize him now on such strange, outrageous charges, what would the great houses think of her and her son?
And with Rhaenys now back at Meraxes' side, accusing Aenys of man-eating would all but guarantee a dragon battle.
The situation was already wound so tight that one wrong move could bring the realm crashing down.
Maegor, watching his mother wrestle with the problem, felt another thought gnawing at him—if the [Seed of Life]'s side effect was cannibalism, should they really use it to save their father, Aegon?
If they revived him only for the Emperor of House Targaryen to become a man-eating monster…
The very idea made Maegor's blood run cold.
...
[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]
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