The waters of the Honeywine, carrying the faint scent of ink, flowed gently beneath the arches of the stone bridge.
As Daemon and his party approached the Citadel, guided by Bethany and Garmund Hightower, the first thing to catch their eyes was a pair of green sphinx statues flanking the main gate. They had the bodies of lions, wings of eagles stretched wide, and serpent tails curled elegantly on the stone pavement. The statue on the left bore a stern, male face, while the one on the right had softer, feminine features. Sunlight played on their scales, giving them a warm luster.
"These sphinxes have stood here since the Citadel was founded," Bethany Hightower explained from the front, her pale green dress sweeping over the moss by the bridge. "My ancestors said they symbolize the coexistence of wisdom and strength—just like the maesters of the Citadel, who must understand both the stars and mathematics, as well as healing and forging." She pointed to the buildings connected by the bridge. Countless glass lanterns hung beneath the stone domes. Though unlit now, one could imagine them at night, shining like a string of stars draped over the Honeywine.
Garmund followed beside her, the white tower sigil on his silver armor gleaming. He stared curiously at the maesters crossing the bridge. "Sister, are those men in gray robes the acolytes? The chains around their necks are so unique—some are iron, some copper." Clearly, this heir of House Hightower was making his first official visit inside the Citadel.
"The metal of the chain represents the subject they have mastered," Bethany explained with a smile. "Silver is for medicine, iron for warcraft, copper for history, and yellow gold is for astronomy—like Archmaester Vaegon. He wears a gold link because he knows the stars better than anyone in the Citadel."
As they spoke, an acolyte in a gray robe approached to greet them. He wore chains of silver and copper on his chest and held a parchment scroll. "Lady Bethany, Master Garmund, and your graces. The Archmaesters are currently in the Starry Sept discussing this year's celestial movements. They sent me specifically to welcome you."
Passing through several stone arch bridges, the core of the Citadel gradually came into focus. Most buildings along the Honeywine were built over the water, connected by short bridges. Herbs drying in the sun and astronomical instruments sat on windowsills. Occasionally, a maester clutching a book would hurry past, the rustle of pages mixing with the sound of flowing water—a quiet, academic melody.
The Starry Sept was a circular building with a glass-inlaid dome. Sunlight streamed through the glass onto the star map table in the center, where several maesters were debating. Their voices weren't loud, but they were intense with focus.
Daemon's gaze immediately landed on the man in the center of the group. Silver-gold hair hung down the back of his gray robe. His face was long and sharp, and his rounded shoulders gave him a slightly hunched appearance. A faint, almost imperceptible sneer twisted the corner of his mouth. With those distinctive features and Daemon's knowledge of history, this had to be his "uncle," Vaegon Targaryen.
He held a bronze pointer, indicating a specific spot on the star map. His voice was flat but carried an unquestionable certainty. "The trajectory of the red comet last year deviated by three degrees. According to the old scrolls, this isn't a celestial sign consistent with normal climatic patterns—"
Standing next to him was a burly, bald man. Judging by the look on Larys Strong's face—as if he wanted to speak but held back—this must be his father, Ser Lyonel Strong. He wore a simple black robe, but his appearance could easily mislead many into thinking he was a mere brute with nothing but strength, overlooking his intelligence and erudition.
Hearing Vaegon's words, Lyonel merely nodded slightly. "The Archmaester's observations are always precise. Perhaps we should send a raven to the maesters in King's Landing to compare with the records of previous years."
"Archmaesters, Prince Daemon Blackfyre of House Targaryen has arrived!" Bethany called out softly, and the debate in the Starry Sept ceased instantly.
Vaegon looked up. His violet eyes swept over Daemon, lingering first on his silver-gold hair and violet eyes, then on his extraordinary height. His brow furrowed slightly in thought. The face resembled the gentle Aemon of his memories, yet possessed the sharpness of Baelon. But that physique, far surpassing his peers, was closer to Aemon in his youth.
"Uncle Vaegon, Lord Lyonel," Daemon stepped forward, his gaze passing over the parchment scrolls on the star map table. "I have come to the Citadel for three reasons. First, by Grandfather's order, to bring you back to King's Landing for the tourney at the end of the year. Second, to bring Ser Lyonel with us to King's Landing to assume the position of Master of Laws. Finally, on a personal request from Lord Dustin, to bring his third son, Beron, to study at the Citadel."
Beron hurried forward, clutching a letter of recommendation from Winterfell with nervous fingers. "I am Beron Dustin. I wish to study history and astronomy at the Citadel. I humbly ask the Archmaester to accept me."
Vaegon's gaze fell on Beron, and the sneer at the corner of his mouth deepened. Just as he was about to speak—"When did the North—"
"Archmaester," Lyonel suddenly stepped forward, forgoing the chance to speak with his long-absent second son, Larys. His black robe brushed the edge of the star map table. "A child from the North willing to come to the Citadel is a good thing. The Citadel has never asked about birth, only the desire to learn." He shot a glance at Daemon and Larys, clearly worried this notoriously acerbic Archmaester would say something hurtful.
Vaegon glanced at Lyonel. Though dissatisfied, he called out to someone outside the circle, "Bernard."
A small figure walked over quickly. Standing no more than five feet tall, his gray robe looked like an oversized coat on him. Four chains of different metals hung on his chest—copper (history), black iron (ravenry), silver (medicine), and yellow gold (economics). He appeared to be Vaegon's assistant or student.
"Archmaester." Bernard's voice was clear, his gaze quickly scanning Beron. "To handle the enrollment? I'll take this young master to register and pay the tuition."
Beron hurriedly followed Bernard, whispering a "Thank you, Prince" to Daemon as he passed, his eyes full of gratitude.
Watching their retreating backs, Vaegon finally turned to Daemon, his tone returning to the flat demeanor of academic discussion. "How are the stars in King's Landing lately? The last raven brought news that His Grace King Jaehaerys is still obsessed with old legends of the 'Long Night' because of some letters and empty dreams. We at the Citadel have organized some scrolls from the Age of Heroes; perhaps they will be useful to His Grace. Never mind, you probably wouldn't understand even if I told you—"
"Grandfather is indeed interested in old legends, but compared to the title 'His Grace,' I think Grandfather would prefer the title 'Father' from you, Uncle," Daemon nodded, recalling the words of the Child of the Forest on the Isle of Faces, though he said no more. "If the Citadel's scrolls are valuable, I will ensure they are brought safely back to King's Landing."
A flicker of surprise touched the corner of Vaegon's eye. This familiar style of speaking really did resemble Aemon, though it also carried a hint of Baelon's tone.
Thinking back to those years... because of that fool Daella, Baelon had brought their sister Alyssa, dressed her in chainmail, and taken her to the yard as his challenger. Alyssa, who had been holding a grudge over the incident with the Arbor gold wine, laughed heartily as she humiliated him in the yard, mocking him while that fool Daella watched from the castle.
Thinking of this, Vaegon couldn't help but take this "bastard" son of Aemon seriously. His nephew, this boy who rode the Cannibal, seemed like a storm of change altering everything around him. His father and mother, who were still arguing when he last left home; the "Prince of Spring" still grieving for Aemon and Alyssa; oh, and perhaps his rebellious niece, the "Queen Who Never Was."
As they spoke, Gael stepped out from behind Daemon. Her pale blue rose cloak brushed over the star map drafts on the floor. She looked at Vaegon, her pale violet eyes full of expectation. "Brother, how long has it been? Do you have nothing to say to me?"
Vaegon finally noticed Gael. His violet eyes showed little emotion, just a faint "Hmph." Gael frowned instantly, her tone tinged with anger. "I'm riding Dreamfyre now! Aren't you surprised at all? You used to say I was timid and didn't even dare to ride a horse fast!"
Vaegon's rounded shoulders shifted slightly, and a rare look of surprise appeared on his face. He glanced at Gael's clenched fist, then turned to look at Daemon with a probing gaze. "It seems little Gael riding a dragon has indeed changed quite a bit."
He paused, tapping his fingertips lightly on the edge of the star map table, his voice taking on a deeper meaning. "But... surely the person who helped you overcome your fear and dare to mount Dreamfyre wasn't just anyone you happened to meet, correct?"
Meeting Vaegon's gaze, Daemon didn't respond with words, only a faint smile. The breeze from the Honeywine blew through the window slits of the Starry Sept, carrying the dampness of the river and the scent of ink, gently wrapping the unspoken words into the quiet serenity of the Citadel.