"Farewell, King's Landing!"
As the ship left the harbor, Gendry took his leave of the splendid vessels behind him. Upstream on the Blackwater Rush lay the royal fleet, golden warships with their sails furled. Deepwater fishing boats and river barges moved back and forth without pause, alongside merchant ships from the Narrow Sea, swan ships from the Summer Isles, and royal pleasure craft.
Slowly, the Red Keep came into view atop Aegon's Hill. It consisted of seven immense drum towers protected by ironwork, a massive and forbidding keep, domed halls linked by enclosed bridges, barracks, dungeons, and granaries, all encircled by thick walls pierced with arrow slits, built from pale red stone. The crowned stag flew proudly along the battlements.
The two-masted sailing ship Gendry was aboard, the Far-eye, carried sixty oars and two masts, making it one of the fastest vessels afloat. Compared with the greedy Tyroshi and the indulgent Lyseni, the Myrish enjoyed a somewhat better reputation. The hold was crammed full of cargo, so there were few passengers aboard.
Gendry let the old man see only the side of his face, the cold black iron mask catching the light. He lifted his face toward the spray, as if the brisk sea wind might carry the past away with it.
"I can read a little, but not much," Gendry replied. The old man looked warm and approachable on the surface, yet for some reason, Gendry found him unsettling.
"Knowing more or less doesn't matter," the old man said as he stepped closer. "You've got a fine build. Truly enviable." He examined Gendry's appearance, though the iron mask hid everything but those deep blue eyes, then studied his physique, the proportions of his legs and frame.
"How old are you?"
"Thirteen or fourteen," Gendry said, adding a couple of years.
"A strong, sturdy boy. You'll be true steel someday," the old man praised in a low voice. "I'd wager you'll grow taller than six feet four inches."
...
A chill crept up Gendry's spine. There was something strange about the way the old man spoke, something that made him uneasy.
"Don't be afraid, child," the old man said with a smile. "I'm a scholar, and a healer as well. I simply understand a bit more than most."
"May I ask your name?" Gendry asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
"A name is only a label. Qyburn."
Gendry stared at him. No wonder the man had taken such an interest. He had been measuring him against his research subjects. Qyburn was obsessed with the study of invincible warriors. His methods were unethical, but his abilities were beyond doubt. One hand practiced medicine, the other delved into necromancy.
"Gendry."
"A good name," Qyburn said after a moment's thought. "Not a noble one, more like a commoner's. But your build and the way you speak don't quite fit that either. You're interesting."
"Thank you for the compliment," Gendry replied evenly. He was curious about Qyburn himself, but with no leverage to speak of, he decided to let things take their course.
"And your parents?"
"They're dead."
"My condolences. The Stranger shows equal regard for all."
"Other than the stench, the only thing worth looking at in King's Landing is the banners," Qyburn went on, no longer pressing Gendry with questions. "Black dragons on red, crowned stags, roaring lions. Once you cross the Narrow Sea, it's a world of cheese sellers and butter traders instead." His gaze drifted toward the Red Keep. "I still remember the days when the black dragon flew over those walls."
"Then why did you leave King's Landing?" Gendry asked.
"To eat, my boy. The lords I admired scorned and rejected me. The minor lords who accepted me were far too weak. Between survival and dreams, I had no choice but to try my luck across the Narrow Sea." With that, Qyburn turned away. "The wind is too fierce here. It's unsettling for an old man. I'm heading back to my cabin. If you ever feel like chatting with an old fellow, come find me."
"I'd be honored," Gendry said, watching the doomed scholar depart.
The Far-Seer skimmed across the water like a dragonfly, its oars rising and falling in perfect rhythm.
"That old fellow's a strange one, lad," the Myrish captain muttered softly. "Like a piece of dead wood. I'd say he envies the fire of your youth."
"Thank you for the warning, Captain," Gendry said.
The captain glanced at Gendry's iron mask, muttered a few words to himself, likely imagining some terrible scar beneath it, and then left him alone.
Gendry watched the sea rise and fall. It was his first time aboard a large ship, and his first time leaving King's Landing. Thankfully, he did not suffer from seasickness, and the journey was steady enough.
"The Spider!" The ship had already left King's Landing. Gendry couldn't help wondering what the Spider's reaction would be when he learned that he'd slipped away. Probably none at all. The Spider always held three or four pawns at once; losing the one at the very back hardly mattered.
"King's Landing doesn't just reek of filth. It stinks of the Spider and Littlefinger too. When I come back, I'll deal with them together." With that, Gendry headed down into the ship's hold to see the legendary Maester Qyburn.
The chaos in King's Landing owed much to the Spider and Littlefinger stirring the waters. One controlled information, the other money. King Robert and Lord Jon trusted them far too much, or perhaps simply looked down on them. A eunuch and a minor noble, after all. For thousands of years, it had always been the great houses that ruled the realm.
Gendry made his way below deck and pushed open Qyburn's door. The old man was reading quietly on his own, a cup of something hot resting on the table.
"I'm very pleased to see your interest," Qyburn said with clear delight. "For an old man, the vitality of youth is always a joy to behold."
Gendry glanced around the cabin. There weren't many books. Instead, the table was laid out with surgical tools: knives, chisels, thread, and poppy milk.
"It seems you really are a well-trained healer." In this age, doctors had to wield blades and cut flesh, needing both a butcher's resolve and considerable strength.
"What did you do before this?" Qyburn asked.
"A smith, Master Qyburn."
"A smith? Ah, a fine profession. But it's exhausting work, and the craftsmen of Myr are far more refined. There may not be a place for you there. Medicine, though bloody, earns more and carries greater respect. Where would anyone be without doctors?" Qyburn clicked his tongue.
On the table was a crude human model Qyburn had assembled himself. It was rough, but the bones and organs were clearly visible. Without real experience in anatomy, he could never have made it so precise.
"The human body is vast and profound. I've studied medicine for many years and still found no end to it," Qyburn said. "My age has caught up with me. I won't be the one to touch the future. Perhaps it's time to scatter a few sparks."
"Maybe you should stay at the Citadel and continue your research," Gendry suggested.
"Oh, spare me. That place is ruled by a flock of gray sheep. Why can't they predict the weather? Why do Others exist in the North? They exist to lock knowledge away, not to create anything new. I merely wanted to run a few experiments, and they cast me out for it. That's why I had no choice but to cross the Narrow Sea."
He lifted the scalpel in his hand and pointed it at the skeletal model on the table. "Does this interest you? I won't teach you those dreadful experiments. If you're willing, I'll teach you proper medicine."
"Why me?"
"Because you're suitable. It's that simple. You're young, strong, and capable. A doctor needs steady hands, strength for scalpels and splints, and plenty of stamina. Without those, it's impossible. Unfortunately, most young men in the Seven Kingdoms would rather ride horses and duel than pick up a scalpel. Still, someone has to love medicine."