The warm afternoon breeze rustled through the leaves of two strange, ancient trees standing on the edge of the castle's patio. Their twisted branches swayed like dancers, casting shifting shadows over the damp cracks in the brickwork below. Moss, thick and green, clung stubbornly to the gaps between the bricks, its soft carpet crushed beneath the enormous weight of a large black ceramic vat that had just been moved into place.
Belron stood at the front, leading several strong men as they carefully guided the water tank toward the base of the trees. The servants lowered it as slowly as their strength allowed.
But no matter how gentle they tried to be, the moment the heavy ceramic bottom touched the stone floor, there was a dull, resonating thud.
The surface of the water inside trembled, rippling out in circles. For a moment, the sky above was perfectly reflected—a serene blue canvas dotted with lazy white clouds drifting by. Then, three fish swam beneath the surface, their tails slicing through the water and shattering the reflection into a thousand glittering fragments.
These fish had been taken from the vast, open sea and placed into this confined tank. Yet, oblivious to their fate, they moved leisurely, weaving between each other without a hint of fear.
Belron rolled up his sleeves, crouched down, and reached into the cool water. With one swift motion, he caught one of the fish, its scales glistening in the sunlight. The creature struggled violently in his grip, its tail flapping hard enough to splash water onto the stone floor.
Holding it firmly with one hand beneath its gills, Belron pried open its mouth with the other. From a small pouch on his belt—taken from a silver ring—he poured in a measure of pale poison powder. The fish twitched, swallowing reflexively.
Once certain the poison had gone down, he tied a thin red string around the fish's body as a marker before tossing it back into the tank.
He repeated the process with the other two fish—one marked with a yellow cord, the last left unmarked. He wanted to see for himself how potent the Maesters' carefully developed poison truly was.
For the first two days, the fish showed no signs of distress. They swam about as usual, eating greedily whenever food was offered.
It wasn't until the second morning that a stir ran through Dragonstone.
The maid responsible for bringing food to Maester Arlin's quarters was the first to notice something was amiss. At first, she thought nothing of his absence, assuming he had gone out on some errand. But when she returned the next day and saw that the meal from yesterday still sat untouched, worry crept into her mind.
By breakfast time, the news of the missing maester had reached Viserys.
Belron sat at the long table, silently listening to the discussion. He chewed his bread slowly, his face unreadable.
"Have you searched the entire island?" Viserys asked, absentmindedly turning the ring on his finger.
"We've searched the castle and all of Dragonstone except for Dragonmount itself and the deeper reefs," reported one of the guards. "There's no sign of Maester Arlin anywhere."
Viserys's brows drew together. "There were no ships leaving the harbor today. That means he's still here—he couldn't simply vanish into thin air."
"Has he made any enemies recently?"
"No, Your Grace."
Viserys tapped the table thoughtfully. If the man was dead, it would either be due to an accident or by his own hand. And if it was murder, the culprit had to be on the island. But why would anyone target an old maester and ignore the far more valuable target—the Targaryen family itself?
Still, caution was a habit that had kept him alive thus far. "Search the coastline again," he ordered. "If you find even the smallest sign of intrusion, report immediately."
Belron finally spoke up. "Did Maester Arlin do anything unusual in recent days?"
A kitchen boy piped up with a clue. "Two days ago, he came to the kitchens asking for a large bucket of fresh fish. Enough to feed a man for three or four days."
The strange part was, no fish or meat had been found in the maester's quarters.
Viserys frowned. "What would he want with so many fish?"
"Either he ate them or gave them to someone else," Belron replied, pretending to be deep in thought. "But there's no way one man could finish that much so quickly."
A thought flashed in Viserys's mind. Not for himself… and not for another person… Then what?
For a moment, suspicion stirred in his eyes.
---
The disappearance spread quickly through the castle. Even those who had barely spoken to the maester were unsettled—when someone simply vanished, it left a cold feeling in the heart.
Rhaenyra, troubled, approached Belron. "Where could he have gone? He wouldn't just leave without a word."
"Your father will handle this," Belron assured her gently.
But Rhaenyra's confusion remained. She didn't particularly like the maester, but the sudden loss of someone who had always been there left an uncomfortable emptiness.
Belron, seeing she was still uneasy, suggested a hunting trip to take her mind off things.
"No," Queen Emma said firmly, drawing her children close. "Until Maester Arlin is found, no one leaves the castle."
Belron shrugged helplessly. He hadn't expected the disappearance to cause such tension. The number of guards doubled, their patrol routes expanded, and sneaking out became nearly impossible. With his freedom limited, he busied himself in the storerooms instead.
---
At last, a breakthrough came. At the foot of Dragonmount, a group of knights discovered tattered scraps of the maester's clothing along with the blackened remains of what could only be dragonfire. A wooden barrel lay overturned nearby, completely empty. A few fish scales glistened faintly on the ground.
Viserys let out a long breath. "It's clear now. He tried to approach one of the wild dragons on Dragonmount… and paid for it with his life."
Emma shook her head. "A foolish end. He knew the dangers."
Viserys agreed, though he still found it strange. "Maester Arlin has lived here for decades. He's well aware of the dragons' wrath. Why approach them now?"
"Perhaps age had clouded his judgment," Emma said simply. She seemed uninterested in the deeper reasons, and Viserys didn't press further.
Soon after, he wrote a letter to the Citadel, requesting a new maester to replace the one they had lost.
The confirmation of Arlin's death brought a strange kind of relief to the castle. Life returned to normal—after all, in a place like Dragonstone, death was never far away.
---
With the restrictions lifted, Belron finally slipped away from the castle. His hunts expanded—he scoured both land and sea.
One day, he killed a brightly colored sea serpent, extracting its venom glands.
[Venom Gland: Removes poisoning status.]
He knew the value of such items. According to the system, they could be used to create an antidote for non-magical poisons. The recipe was simple: one venom gland, a little seaweed, some coral, and a single magic point.
The ocean, rich with life, offered endless opportunities. Poisonous creatures, seaweed, coral—Belron gathered them all.
On the third day, his experiment began to bear fruit. The fish marked with the red and yellow strings stopped eating, drifting sluggishly at the bottom of the tank.
Belron scooped out the red-marked fish and gave it the antidote. Within hours, it revived, darting about the water with renewed energy. The unmarked fish and the yellow-marked one were not so lucky—by the next morning, the yellow-marked fish lay belly-up, dead.
He tossed the corpse into the sea to prevent anyone from accidentally eating it. The surviving fish were sent to the kitchens, where they ended up grilled and served at the evening meal.
---
That night, Belron slipped out again, spear in hand. He moved through the darkness unnoticed—no watching eyes, no circling ravens. For a moment, it felt as if the unsettling events of the past days had been nothing but a dream.
Then, a lone carrier crow cut through the night sky, heading straight for the tallest tower of Dragonstone. Belron's sharp eyes followed its flight. A cold weight settled in his stomach. The arrival of a raven rarely brought good news.
He tightened his grip on his spear. The peace of Dragonstone would not last.
---
The next morning, the golden sunlight pierced the mist. The raven had come bearing grim tidings.
Prince Belron of Spring Dawn was bedridden with an incurable illness.
Viserys's hand trembled so violently that the goblet he held slipped from his grasp, clattering across the stone floor. "Father… how is this possible!" He surged to his feet, his chair screeching across the floor.
Emma was at his side in an instant, holding him in a calming embrace.
Belron, wasting no time, promoted a loyal fisherman to act as his steward in his absence. He gathered all valuable supplies into his inventory, packed his gear, and made preparations to return to King's Landing immediately.
The Targaryen dragons were of no help—Balerion, the Black Dread, was long dead; Syrax, Rhaenyra's mount, was too small to carry a grown man; the remaining dragon eggs lay cold and unhatched.
Viserys, restless and anxious, paced the deck of the ship as they set out. The waves rocked the vessel, salt spray stinging the air. He wished desperately that he could fly, or teleport, or do anything to reach the capital faster. But all they could do was sail—slowly—toward their destination.
Belron leaned against the rail, the smell of salt and the swaying of the ship making him queasy. He closed his eyes and took Rhaenyra's small hand in his own, offering silent reassurance.
In his inventory, the thirty-three vials of antidote glimmered faintly, a reminder of the preparations he had made. Whatever awaited them in King's Landing, he intended to be ready.