Chapter 37
THE POETESS
In Braavos, it was said that a woman's beauty had the power to topple empires, but it was really the truth, for while a woman's beauty had great power in it, it could not quite topple empires.
Though the person standing beside her could. She was amongst the most sought-after courtesans of Braavos, and men would waste away their fortune just for a chance at spending an evening with her, yet here stood a man whose face did not even budge, even as she lay there before him in nothing but her bare skin.
He was tall, and the boyish features that had once adorned his face were now replaced by roguish charm. His hand was soft and tender as he slowly palpated her abdomen, pressing down slightly just as she exhaled.
"Do you have any idea what men would give to see me in this state?" she teased, as the Healer simply nodded.
"I do," he answered, and so she pouted slightly as she pushed herself up.
"And yet you stand there and show no reaction at all. Do you know how that makes me feel?" she challenged, and the young man simply chuckled.
"Do you not think that this game of ours has gotten a bit old?" and with that, he moved back slightly, as his brown eyes met her haunting golden orbs.
"Not at all," she remained steadfast, for while many of her colleagues would take lovers based on their beauty, charm, and valor. She was different.
She did not solely look for beauty or strength in her lovers. No, she preferred her lovers to be great thinkers. She appreciated a good sense of humor and self, and no man had ever caught her attention like the one in front of her right now.
"Such disregard," she feigned a pained expression, as the Healer shook his head.
"I am done with my examination, and you are just as healthy as you were a month ago," and this little tryst of theirs had been going on for the last three years when she had first heard rumors about a miracle healer who could cheat the Stranger himself.
The truth was that the Poetess was simply a title, and that she was but one Poetess in a long line of courtesans who had taken that name. A time that she had felt cut short because of a strange ailment.
It had come slowly, but she had begun to lose her vision. The words and the letters that had once been clear as day had begun to blur, and she had feared that her days as the Poetess had reached their end.
"You say that, and yet you have yet to listen to my heart?" she teased, leaning forward to expose her body in all its glory, and she knew the effect it had on men, and as indifferent as he may try to act, Galen was a man as well.
She felt her face redden, yet he reached into his bag nonetheless and took out a wooden device, as she pushed her chest forward and gave him a testing smile as he placed it on her chest.
The wood felt cold against her skin as he put his ear to one end.
"Do you hear it?" she asked, and he frowned.
"What?"
"The sound of my heart aching," she answered as she closed the distance and pulled his head closer to her own, and felt him stiffen.
"I have heard that you are leaving Braavos," and his eyes lit up in realization as he finally understood the reason behind her needful behavior.
"Is that why you had me summoned here so urgently?" and she did not need to answer that, as he shook his head and gave a sigh.
"I thought you were really dying," he complained, and she pouted.
"And who is to say I am not? Aren't you the one always saying that we are all dying?" She used his own words against him.
"I am," he answered as he pulled away from her.
"You are as healthy as you were just a month ago."
"So, it is true?" she asked, and he finally decided to grace her with an answer.
"Yes, I am leaving," and there was a somber tone to his voice.
"But hopefully only for some time," he added, and that did much to alleviate her souring mood.
"You are going back to her, aren't you?" and to think that a woman as powerful, rich, and influential as her would ever be jealous of another woman. The mere thought was preposterous, yet when it came to Galen, he had a knack for making the impossible possible.
In all of Braavos, she prided herself on knowing more about him than any other person. She knew of his parents and the life that he had lived. She knew of the ailment that had given him his scar. She knew of his prowess and the plots that had nearly robbed the world of the greatest mind they had ever seen.
"I am," and it would have been so easy for him to lie to her. One lie, and it would have soothed the pain in her heart, and yet Galen was not much fond of lies or plots.
And why would he be, when they had cost him his entire arm?
"That place nearly took your life, and yet still you go back to it. Why?" and her voice had risen by now.
"You are loved here, Galen. You are as rich and influential as the Sealord himself," and that was no exaggeration in any way. In five years, his wealth and influence had grown beyond that of the Sealord, and she knew that the sheer amount of money he made each moon by selling his medicines all over the world was more than many could imagine.
Such was his wealth that the Iron Bank had granted him a Key, making him an honorary keyholder, and so she reached out and grabbed his hand as she slowly pulled him into her arms.
"Here, you can have me and any other woman you desire," and she knew that many of her colleagues shared her own sentiment, and she was not quite territorial.
"And yet you still go back to that den of lies and ploys," and it was another one of his phrases, and he slowly turned to face her as his brown eyes met her golden orbs.
"I have a promise to keep...."
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MYSARIA—The Lady Mysery
In all but five years, she had gone from being a whore to the closest and most trusted confidante of the next King of the Seven Kingdoms. It was a rise few could ever expect of a former slave girl, and yet here she was in the tallest and most exquisite pleasure House in all of Street of Silk, watching over the city she all but ruled in the name of her Prince.
It had not always been so simple, and for a short period of time, both her and the Prince had been brought to ruin because of their part in the plot against the Healer, and yet it as if the Gods themselves came to their rescue as the plague in its dying embers chose to strike at the Royal Family once more.
She did not know much about Prince Viserys, yet apart from that day, she had never seen Daemon Targaryen cry. With him gone, Prince Daemon had lost his sole pillar of support apart from her as the realm gained a new heir.
The rumors had begun quickly after that, for few were happy with the ascension of the Rogue Prince. They called him cruel and immoral, yet their words would change nothing.
Daemon Targaryen was the heir apparent, and the Spring Prince had lost the spring of youth to bear any new son.
Yet the plots continued. The Velaryons began to gather their own support, and despite his ascension, the court continued to shun the Prince, trying its best to ignore the fact that he was to be their next King.
Yet now the truth became apparent, for it was not the court or the lords who doubted the Prince. No, it was his own King and father who had sown these seeds of doubt within the court, and now wished to supplant his own son with his sister.
"He won't be able to do it," another voice cut in, breaking her out of her trance, as Mysaria turned her head to face the other person in the room.
"What?" she asked, and as the court shunned its future King, Mysaria began to gather allies of her own. Hidden hands and ears ready to do her bidding. And of all the men and women she had gathered, none were as strange and intriguing as the one in front of her.
"He won't harm his father," Larys Strong added, as he dragged his misshapen foot forward and came to stand by her side. She had been surprised when the second son of the Hand of the King had offered her his services, and yet to this day, his motivations eluded her.
Larys Clubfoot, they called him, for his misshapen foot. He was the second son of Lyonel Strong, who was now the King's Hand, and was the King's Lord Confessor.
"Prince Daemon is brash, bold, and brazen, yet he does not quite have the heart to be a kinslayer," and Mysaria would agree with him. Daemon could be cruel to his enemies, yet he was fiercely loyal to those who shared his blood.
His loyalty itself was poisonous in many ways, and the lack of respect had only made him bitter over the years. But kinslaying. That was a crime even Maegor had initially shied away from.
"Then so be it," she answered, for the choice lay with him.
"It is not so simple, my dear Lady Mysery," Larys smiled as he leaned on the balustrade, and continued in a grave tone.
"The board has been set against him. If it comes to a Great Council, Prince Daemon would never be crowned King," and that did not quite sit right with her as she replied in denial.
"We have the support of the Lannisters, the Tyrells, and the Greyjoys," she counted out, and those were three of the seven Great Houses, and he shook his head.
"Prince Laenor Velaryon is still unwed, so the Sea Snake has more to offer to the Lannisters than we could ever hope to match. The Tyrells rule the Reach in name only. It is well known that the true power in the Reach lies in the Hands of House Hightower, and the Prince will hardly find a friend there. In the end, the Tyrells would much rather save face than be humiliated in front of their lords," and so they were left with only the Greyjoys.
"And do I even need to speak about the Greyjoys. They are pirates. Slavers. Thieves. They are reviled all over the land, and their support is as meaningless as their pride," and with that, he turned away from her, and this was what frightened her about him.
Most men, even Princes or Kings, were simple. They desired only three things. Wine. War. Women.
Yet Larys Strong exhibited no such voices. He would water down his wine, and he was no warrior. And despite years and years, she had not yet seen him frequent a brothel even once. Even now, as he stood beside her, he showed no interest in her as he highlighted the weaknesses of their plans.
"The Baratheons will favor Prince Laenor, and the Prince has burnt his relationship with the Vale already," and that left only two Kingdoms, and he belonged to one of them.
"Then what of the North and the Riverlands?" she asked.
"They will follow the King's word," and so the game was rigged from the start.
"The King has rigged the Grand Council against his own son," and Larys nodded.
"Indeed, Princess Gaels is already much more popular than the Prince among the small folk. Her ascension would be welcomed by all. The Healer's return will only add to that popularity, and he returns not as a simple healer but as one of the richest and most influential men ever." The reminder of her greatest mistake made her grit her teeth, as she was forced to think of the man who had nearly brought her and the Prince to ruin.
Galen the Healer was supposed to be a simple and inconsequential foe, and yet in bringing him down, they had nearly brought themselves to ruin. To this day, they suffered from the consequences of their actions, and now he was coming back to these lands.
"This is troubling," she whispered as her head snapped towards the Lord Confessor as she lashed out.
"Why wait for so long before bringing it up! Your father is the King's Hand, so you must have known about this all for some time now." She was irate with him, though she was more irate with herself for missing this all.
"I apologise for my oversight, but I had thought that you were already aware of it all," and he was insulting her, and she would have never let that stand, but if the situation was indeed as dire as he painted it out to be, then they needed him more than ever.
She needed him more than ever.
"Forget it," she huffed as she flung her hair and began to pace.
"If you were smart enough to see through this all, then I believe that you have a solution to offer as well," and the man smiled.
"I do, and to your delight, I have already set it in motion," and he smiled, as her feet came to a halt.
"And what solution is that?"
"The answer is truly simple. The King shall die, and we must seize the city for our Prince..."
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