In the hall of the Hightower, Aegon sat upon the raised seat, one hand resting on the armrest, his fingertips tapping lightly against the hard wood.
Faint sounds drifted in from outside...
The wails, pleas, and screams of House Hightower's people as they were executed mingled together and drifted through the doors into the hall.
Those sounds rose and fell, sometimes breaking off abruptly, as though something had forcibly cut them short.
Aegon's expression did not change.
A guard entered the hall and bowed, his armor scraping with a faint metallic sound. "Your Highness, the man has been brought here."
Aegon lifted a hand.
The guard straightened and stepped aside.
A figure walked through the doorway.
He was short and stout, with a thick neck and a faded maester's robe thrown casually over him.
He walked to the center of the hall and stopped. His face was somewhat pale, and the flickering candlelight did little to improve it.
He stood there for a moment, then placed a hand over his chest and bowed.
"Marwyn, archmaester of mysticism at the Citadel, pays his respects to Your Highness."
From his elevated seat, Aegon studied the squat old man before him. His worn maester's robe hung loosely around him, unable to conceal a physique far too sturdy for a scholar.
Broad shoulders, a thick back, and short, thick fingers made him look more like a smith or a dockworker than a maester who spent his days bent over books.
The maester's chain around his neck gleamed with the colors of different metals in the candlelight: brass, silver, black iron... Each link represented a field of study he had mastered.
One dark gray link caught Aegon's attention. It was the size of a thumb, its surface marked with distinctive rippling patterns, a faint sheen