Chapter Text
What is honour?
What is glory?
What is power?
What makes a great man?
Why greatness, is goodness not enough?
What, then, makes a man good?
What even is a man?
Besides a miserable pile of secrets?
But, most of all, who is Viserys Targaryen?
As I look down on said monarch, the first of his name, these questions seem to dwell in me.
The alcohol of the previous night flows in my veins like slime, not making me focus beyond the conversation in front of me as these questions seem to pollute my mind.
I’m sorry; not really in a good mood right now.
My sudden cockiness in interrupting Otto Octavius’s stupider twin in the middle of Court earned me a bit of a tongue lashing and its sting still lingers.
The consequences of the decision to accept the acolyte’s invitation to explore the local taverns also still linger.
Black Bart and Visery’s conversation reaches a new crescendo in tone as only a conversation of a couple of enthusiasts can. They discuss every aspect of book making, writing and conservation; things pounded to us in a technicist, behaviourist and magister dixit kind of way since our first days inside the Citadel.
They expound further in the differences between lapiz lazuli and azurite as a pigment for painting the book’s illuminations; the type of gold leaves that had to be requisitioned from the goldsmiths down by Gold Street; the type of horse hair needed to make the brushes to paint the illuminations and handle the gold leaves; the differences between the typical parchment and vellum used by the westerosi and bravossi and the papyrus-style paper still used by the southern city states of Essos; etc etc etc…
In short? What a bunch of nerds.
However.
This enthusiasm, intelligence and excellent eye for detail is something that was never discussed in the same sentence as Viserys Targaryen when describing the king. His laziness, over-indulgence in feasts and inattentiveness to the realm, both generally and in his own home, were the characteristics usually spoken of him in A Song of Ice and Fire. Never his apparent kindness when he gave each of us acolytes water from a pitch, or his pride as he spoke of his family’s books, or his love for his wife as he apologized for being late and justified it as being with her all morning.
But then again, as I discovered, therein lied the rub: Aemma Arryn was still alive, although already heavily pregnant, so who knows if this version of Viserys would last.
Maybe, just maybe, this current version who so enthusiastically speaks of Maester Adalbert’s specific style of letter-forms, ligatures, signs, typology, fonts, graphemes, hieroglyphics, and signification forms in general, subsuming punctuation, syntagm and proxemics, abbreviations and annotations; if, maybe, this version of Viserys was the one that the Rogue Prince worked so hard to put on the throne.
My mind reconnected abruptly to reality as the subject somehow changed to dragons.
“… it’s a pity that we can’t replicate the feat. After all, I have seen how it protects the books from fire and the passage of time. It’s what makes them so valuable! But where am I going to get some? Kill one of the hatchlings and skin them like some common cattle? Never! And so few are born already. The most we can do is keep the books locked up.”
“A shame, but completely understandable.” Black Bart responds. “We will have to make do and make the covers of the new versions of these books in normal vellum.”
I blinked.
Did I understand that correctly?
Did the king and his family have books made of dragon skin? Or was it just the scales?
The skin itself? How hard would a knife or sword be for it to manage such a cut? Maybe of valyrian steel? But could Valyrian steel, fire made weapon, even harm a being of fire? They couldn’t possibly kill a dragon on purpose for such a thing and how many dragons even died of old age?
The scales then? How? By plucking them? Or do dragons shed? If they do, they don’t do it like snakes or any lizard I know of by shedding it or we would have heard about such a thing by now. Fantasy back home was never consistent in the portrait of dragons – the sheer amount of discussion over if ASOIAF’s fire breathing lizards were dragons or wyverns was a prime example – and assuming had the nice consequence of making an ass out of me.
I internally shrugged: might as well ask.
“Pardon me, your grace.”
This time it was Viserys who blinked. But his gigawatt smile returned and nodded for me to continue speaking.
I expertly ignore the side eye I was receiving from Lucian and Black Bart.
“Did I discern correctly that you have books made of dragon parts?”
Viserys’s smile turned melancholic.
“Oh, yes. There are a few books that survived from Valyria brought by the Exile himself to the island. The material they are made of I can recognize immediately!”
“And they are?” I asked leadingly.
“Why! Dragon scales of course. The whole cover of the book! They made it so it almost looks like a bag! With gold locks! Of course, the interior is still normal parchment, although of very high-quality material!”
“Ah.” I humm in understanding. So ASOIAF dragons must shed for this to be true, maybe like deers and moose as a seasonal thing but perhaps rarer. Maybe like collecting swan or peacock feathers, where it was just a labour of time and patience to collect enough to make what you want to do? “And your grace doesn’t know how the valyrians made such a thing?”
“I presume that some dragons simply died of old age. After all, back then there were a lot of them! And there is records of dragons dying during their wars. So, it is possible for it to be made, I suppose, but the event itself is so rare that it just makes the books more special beyond just their content!” Then Viserys scratches his right cheek with a thoughtful look. “When Balerion died he was cremated by Grandfather’s orders until only his bones remained, so I don’t know if it is actually true.”
“That is a very valid consideration.” I nod. It was true, I could be wrong after all. The Targaryens lived with dragons for all their lives, they surely must have noticed a lost scale, specially from the bigger dragons. “Thank you for your answers to my questions, your grace.”
“Ah! But this great conversation almost made me forget about you!” Viserys exclaims.
“Be it that it would have.” Murmurs Black Bart from my right.
“Have you already met with Lord Beesbury?” Viserys continues, not having heard the murmur.
“I have not, your grace.” I vaguely shake my head. “But he did send me a message through a courier: after this meeting I will eat and then go to him.”
“Well, I cannot wait to see what you can do together! Tell me: what types of things do you classify in the credit market – neat term for it by the by – as risks? I read the concept on your book but it’s not really my field, you understand?”
“Well, I can give you an example if you wish. Imagine the following scenario: a captain wants to make a voyage to some city or other looking for profit, however he can’t afford the trip. Between the wages of the sailors, the maintenance of the ship and his own private spending he does not have enough money to buy and sell goods to trade along the route he charted. So, he is forced to ask for money from someone. If the exchange occurs in Braavos, they maintain a somewhat medium rate of interest of 7% or below. Let’s imagine, that he doesn’t have friends so he doesn’t have anyone who gives him a rate of interest that he likes, they all give him a rate of 10% or more. Justifiably so, since they fear his ship will sink or raided by pirates and make the man unable to pay back his loans: these are the risks involved in the journey. Since those exist the merchants give a bigger rate since they fear their investment won’t be returned with profit. They can even go bankrupt depending on the amount invested.” I swallow a gulp of water from the cup in my hand. “A way to ensure that this does not happen is to pool a large number of people to give smaller amounts of money at a smaller rate of interest, so that these risks are minimized and at the end of the day everyone can turn a profit. A similar pool of merchants was probably how the Iron Bank first formed before evolving to become secure and powerful enough to act as a bank. Currently, the westerosi focus on a segregation between ships owned completely by nobility, mostly individual Houses, and those own cooperatively by merchants and citizens, so it is a mixed system as it were.”
“Really? And do you think it’s a bad thing?” The King questions.
“Not necessarily. However,– ”
This time it was my turn to engross myself in a highly enthusiastic conversation with the king.
At some point, because of my example, the discussion turned to harbour laws, the highly differing taxes maintained by the customs authority (which were very different depending whose land you stopped and which House owned it), if the customs authority should have a central building in the harbour instead of coming into each individual ship, how it should the building be made which then turned the conversation to fortress designs since the building needed to be strong enough to hold against an attack or thieving because there would be a lot of money inside said building. Then it turned into a conversation about urban planning with such a level of detail that very suddenly and abruptly it made me realise that the king, Viserys I, was not just an enthusiast in this regard but a master. He knew everything about how a city should be maintained and designed, always pushing for a distinctive valyrian design of flowing architecture and sharp angles. A keen eye for maintaining a good circulation of people and goods through the city’s arteries. The conversation then turned to architecture in general, which made me open my satchel and pick a few designs of buildings I sketched with different styles from back home, which the king took a particular liking to the flowing lines of the baroque style, although he seemed turned off by its characteristic excessiveness.
It was, surprise of surprises, an actually interesting conversation!
And again my mind turned to those previous questions.
What type of reign would Viserys have if Aemma did not die?
“You draw very well!”
“Thank you, your grace. I have been blessed with a steady hand and after a lot of rough drawings I am now able to paint well too.”
“Paint? Like the braavosi? With the wall paintings and such?”
“Yes and with wood and fabric canvasses as well.”
“Really!? Painting on wood is common, but fabric? They tend to be so small… expensive too!”
“They tend to be made of flax but the method to make it just needs to be improved to make it bigger.”
“And you can do so?”
“I have already done so. I have a painting amongst my baggage’s that I have yet to take out: I can show you if it’s your graces wish?”
“Marvelous! Of course, I wish to see it! And if it’s good who knows! I might even ask you to paint a portrait of my family.”
“It would be an honour.”
It was then that some gentle knocking came from the door to the king’s solar interrupting us.
“Your Grace?” Came a muffled masculine voice from outside.
“Come in.” Viserys ordered.
A Kingsguard’s helmet came from between the opening gap, followed by the man’s armoured body.
“It’s lunch time, your grace. The Queen expressed her wishes to eat together in the Eastern Dining Room.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll be right with her.” The King exclaimed, then he waited for the Kingsguard to leave before addressing the group inside his office. “It was marvelous to speak with all of you! This afternoon I’ll have my steward show where you will be working: it is an old dining hall not used since the days of Maegor with enough space for your materials and projects and also with a good breeze so the air doesn't stagnate. Maester Barthold, you will receive a royal permit to requisition whatever materials you need for the work; just show it to my chamberlain or my steward or even the Grandmaester and it will be given to you. And Acolyte Alystair, I do hope I’ll see more of you in the coming weeks! Perhaps once the first audit reports are delivered to the Small Council you shall accompany Lord Beesbury?”
I almost stuttered.
“Thank you, your grace.”
We were then swiftly, but not rudely, expelled from the office into a long corridor.
The two Kingsguards posted at the door nodded at us at our exit.
As I brooded, slightly stupefied, over Visery’s existence, I was met with a sneer from a fellow acolyte.
“Already kissing arse, Alystair? It seems it does not matter if its in the Citadel or in the capital, a snake does as snakes do.”
Still a bit discombobulated, I answered mildly: “Be careful, Brook, this snake has fangs; see to it that you don’t get bitten.”
“Boys.” Black Bart started firmly. “Whatever you feel, fight it out on the sparring ring. Right now, you are acolytes of the Citadel. Behave.”
He sighed.
“Alystair, go eat. I’ll meet with you in two hours by your room.”
“O-” I coughed. “Alright, Maester”
“See to that you don’t get in trouble.”
“Yes, Maester.”
He turned around and the rest of the acolytes followed him.
Brook stalled enough to give one last sneer.
I stick my tongue out at him.
He gave me a weirded out look and then left, shaking his head.
“Idiot.” Lucian monotoned at me from my right.
“I know. Your eloquent tongue-lashing last night was already explicit enough.”
“Definitely not enough.”
“Where do you want to eat?”
“I heard about a good tavern by the Red Street?”
“What does it serve?”
“Some kind of meat with potatoes; the sailors I spoke with told wonders about the place.”
“Well, let’s go then. I have two hours to eat and then I’ll have to meet with the Master of Coin.”
“Oh, horror of horrors.” He monotoned again.
“Terrifying.” I deadpanned.
We left the corridor, Maegor’s Holdfast and then the Red Keep.
We ate roasted ham with a honey glaze and potatoes.
It was good.