Daeren returned to the Red Keep and asked to see his father, only to be told that he was meeting with the Grand Maester.
"All right, I'll wait."
There was nothing urgent anyway, so he might as well stroll around the court.
After the Trial by Combat, the repercussions only grew more intense.
His fame had first resounded throughout King's Landing, then spread across the entire Crownlands, racing through the Seven Kingdoms at astonishing speed.
Showing his face at the right times would help build his fanbase.
The King's bedchamber.
Pycelle was sparing no effort in slandering Daeren and speaking ill of him.
"Prince Daeren is too young to bear such a heavy responsibility."
"The post of Commander of the City Guard should be entrusted to someone older, more experienced, and more reliable."
"Your Majesty, an eleven-year-old Commander of the City Guard will only unsettle the people of King's Landing."
Just moments ago, the King had proposed dismissing the current Commander of the City Guard and promoting Daeren directly into the position.
Absolutely not!
Pycelle's cheeks trembled as he poured out a whole basketful of arguments.
He was loyal neither to the King nor to the Lord Hand.
As a veteran who had served three reigns, all he sought was stability in the realm and an orderly succession.
In his eyes, only Crown Prince Rhaegar could govern the realm well.
Before Rhaegar ascended the throne, every sign of obstruction had to be crushed.
Even if it was the King's favored second son.
"So what you're saying is that my son, Aerys's son, should start out as the lowest-ranking Gold Cloak, performing the most menial patrol work every day?"
Aerys's eyes were bloodshot, and he panted like a bull.
Pycelle jolted and hurriedly said, "No, no, no. Your Majesty can appoint Prince Daeren as Deputy Commander of the City Watch first, so he can learn under Lord Manly Stockworth."
This man was the Earl of Stockworth in the Crownlands and the current Commander of the City Guard.
His house words were: "Pride in Loyalty!"
"Lambs, lambs..."
Aerys muttered under his breath, then said irritably, "A true dragon learning from a lamb. The skies over the Seven Kingdoms have truly changed."
The sigil of House Stockworth was a white lamb holding a golden chalice on a green field.
It was neither imposing nor noble, almost excessively plain.
After some struggle, he ultimately accepted the suggestion.
"I'll take my leave first."
"Rest early, Your Majesty."
Seeing that he had achieved his goal, Pycelle withdrew in triumph.
He had not gone far when he heard the laughter of a boy and a girl.
"Who is it?"
Pycelle craned his neck and peered from afar.
"Finished with your business, Grand Maester?"
Daeren happened to turn around and spot the old bastard.
Cersei, who was gathered around him, was displeased. "Why bother with a filthy old man who reeks of age?"
She had not been angry that her uncle Kevan had lost to Daeren in the Trial by Combat.
On the contrary, Daeren's heroic bearing when he won the Trial by Combat had deeply captivated her.
"Cersei, go have fun first."
Daeren had no intention of indulging the girl's feelings. "I have business to attend to. We'll meet again another time."
She had merely "run into" him while he was out strolling, then latched onto him.
He had gone along with it and pretended not to notice as they made small talk.
Both of them believed that the finest hunters often appeared as prey.
"Damn it!"
Watching the prince who was almost hers slip away, Cersei snorted coldly and began to resent the old fool who had ruined her plans.
Pycelle asked doubtfully, "Prince, what business do you have with me?"
"What were you reporting to my father in his bedchamber just now?"
Daeren asked abruptly.
Pycelle's heart skipped a beat, and he covered up by saying, "Nothing much. Just a few trivial matters."
"Oh...?"
Seeing the guilt in his eyes, Daeren drew out the sound, guessing that the old bastard had surely been up to no good.
But it did not matter.
He had already made it clear that Pycelle was deliberately targeting him. It was nothing more than one more annoyance.
Daeren stated his purpose. "I need some medicine to stop bleeding and treat wounds. I need something fast-acting."
"Forgive me for asking, but what do you need these wound medicines for..."
Pycelle's professional habit surfaced.
"Grand Maester, just provide me with the help I need."
After cutting him off, he added, "I came back today to ask about the position arranged for me. I don't have time for idle chatter."
At the mention of the appointment, Pycelle's eyes darted about. He quickly said, "Wound medicine is easy to make. I have other matters to attend to, so go to the maesters' tower. The other maesters can help you as well."
Then he casually made up an excuse and left with a guilty conscience.
"Hey, don't go?"
Daeren stood there blankly.
Something was going on.
Which of his words had struck a nerve?
Carrying his suspicions of Pycelle, Daeren headed for the maesters' tower.
It was called a tower, and it truly was one.
Like the Tower of the Hand and the White Sword Tower, it stood alone, though its space was rather cramped.
The moment he reached the top floor, he heard a noisy commotion from the corridor.
Creak!
Daeren pushed open the research room's door. Inside were more than a dozen maesters dressed in maester's robes.
They varied in age. Some were meticulous middle-aged men, while others were young men with faces full of stubble.
Each was busy with his own work, gathering in groups of two or three to debate academic matters heatedly.
"Research really does make people age."
Looking at the air of weariness these maesters carried, one that did not belong to people their age, Daeren was reminded of his past life studying under his mentor.
Life had been fulfilling and enjoyable.
Please keep it away from me, thank you.
"Excuse me..."
After politely knocking on the door, Daeren tried to communicate with them.
"..."
No one responded.
Outside Maegor's Holdfast, the maesters were immersed in their own worlds and had not noticed that a prince had come to visit.
Daeren's expression darkened slightly.
"Your Highness, how may I assist you?"
Suddenly, a timid voice came from behind the door.
Daeren turned around.
A young maester in a hemp robe stood there, tall and gaunt, with brown hair and a sallow complexion.
He held a rag in his hand, with a bucket of water beside him, and was kneeling on the ground to scrub the floor.
"You're a maester too?"
Daeren asked curiously.
Maester Harvey had a thin mustache over his upper lip. He said shyly, "I'm a maester here. This week, I've been assigned to mop the floors and scrub the privies."
"No wonder."
Daeren nodded slightly.
The path of a maester was not an easy one. It was grueling.
When joining the Citadel, one had to spend years doing servant work and chores: cleaning, scrubbing privies, clearing away vomit, and the like.
Samwell Tarly from the show was a living example.
Only when the maesters considered one qualified, with a devout enough desire to learn, would they teach him alongside the others.
After reaching a certain level and earning a metal link in a particular field, one could be considered a true maester.
Maesters were merely middle-ranking.
Above them were archmaesters and the Conclave.
Ordinary maesters generally had two paths to choose from.
They could either remain at the Citadel for further study or serve at the castle of a great noble.
"Your Highness, what do you need?"
"I... I might be able to help."
Maester Harvey seemed somewhat insecure, and his voice was very soft.
Daeren did not disdain him. "I need medicine to stop bleeding and treat wounds. Can you prepare some or get some for me?"
Everyone had low points in life.
He believed Harvey would not disappoint him.
"O-of course!"
Harvey's eyes lit up. He tossed aside the rag and climbed to his feet.
To convince the prince, he even pulled the maester's chain out from beneath his collar.
On the chain were links of copper, bronze, silver, black iron, Valyrian Steel... seven or eight kinds of metal linked together.
They represented his profound attainments in astronomy, raven lore, history, medicine, the occult, and many other fields.
"You're quite talented."
Daeren was surprised.
Before you continue