Master of Whisperers

Viserys took a deep breath and clambered awkwardly onto the dragon's back.

There was no saddle on the dragon's back.

But to Baelon's surprise, Viserys refused to follow his example and tie himself to the dragon's back with ropes.

He simply gripped a ridge on the dragon's back.

"Fly, fly." Viserys laughed with rare cheer.

"Everyone thinks I only rode Balerion once, but that isn't true!"

When Balerion lay drowsing in the Dragonpit, he had climbed onto his back and urged the great dragon to fly.

Sadly, he had never managed it again.

On the ground, Maester Orwyle held his breath and pressed a trembling hand against the dragon's warm scales.

This was a dragon!

An actual dragon!

Being so close to a living dragon filled Maester Orwyle with excitement.

Sitting on the dragon's back, Baelon beckoned to Maester Orwyle. "Maester, climb aboard!"

"It's time we returned to King's Landing!"

"Your precious time mustn't be wasted at sea."

Come back and get to work researching forceps for me!

Maester Orwyle's limbs went weak, his face flushed crimson, and he scrambled up on all fours.

Not far away, Ser Swan wore a look of resentment and envy.

Vermithor swept over the vast ocean, passing through the clouds.

"Seven above! Seven above!" Maester Orwyle cried wildly in excitement.

For ten thousand years, mortals had only been able to stand on muddy ground, bound to the earth, looking up at birds, great eagles, and dragons.

Flight was a privilege reserved for gods and dragonlords; mortals could only gaze up in longing.

Now, through the dragon's power, he had broken free of the earth's shackles. No mountain or ocean could bar his way.

Dizzy, Maester Orwyle reached out to grasp a fluffy cloud, wanting to see whether it was as soft as wool, but his hand closed on nothing.

He also wanted to see what lay above the clouds, more than ten thousand meters in the sky.

What lay among the stars?

Viserys returned to King's Landing, to his court.

Vermithor entered the Dragonpit briefly to have a saddle fitted by the Dragonkeepers.

Baelon had already chosen a territory for Vermithor to roost in.

As for Silverwing, after flying all the way to King's Landing alongside Vermithor, she roasted and swallowed a few sheep, then flew back toward Dragonstone on her own.

As soon as Viserys returned to King's Landing, he ordered the ranks of the Dragonkeepers expanded.

"There's one more thing."

"Cole the Oathbreaker is dead. One of the seven places in the Kingsguard is vacant, and it must be filled as soon as possible."

Baelon asked curiously, "The Landing Day celebration is in a month and a half. Shall we choose a Kingsguard knight at that tourney?"

Viserys nodded, looking rather worried.

"A Kingsguard knight suddenly died. What will the people of King's Landing say? The Seven Kingdoms have been talking about Cole the Oathbreaker lately, haven't they?"

Viserys was always as easily swayed as a doe.

"As far as I know, no one in the Seven Kingdoms cares about that," Baelon said.

"Father, do you remember the man who rendered such great service in capturing Cole?"

"He hasn't been rewarded yet."

Viserys frowned slightly as something came back to him. "That lame little bird?!"

Baelon smiled. "Meet him, Father."

"The Iron Throne needs his eyes and ears."

The Red Keep

The Council Chamber

Leaning on his cane, Larys Strong limped unsteadily into the Council Chamber.

Along the way, countless gazes fell on his congenitally deformed foot, some scornful, others pitying.

Larys smiled and calmly, composedly met those gazes, one by one.

"As you can see, my lord, my foot has been lame and twisted since birth."

He knew full well that he was too frail to be of any consequence, and that many at court looked down on him.

As soon as he entered the chamber, Baelon came forward with a smile and took him by the arm to walk beside him.

"Larys!" he said warmly. "Your mind and intelligence have made His Grace see you in a new light!"

"The king wishes to see you!"

Larys tightened his fingers around the crook of his cane, an eager flame dancing in his eyes.

King Viserys sat in his chair. "Larys Strong?"

Lyonel Strong's second son, born with a twisted, deformed foot.

Larys was small, thin, and taciturn, and Viserys had little impression of him.

He did, however, have a favorable impression of Lyonel's eldest son, Harwin Strong, a knight who had inherited Lyonel's towering build and was serving him as a squad captain in the City Watch.

"Your Grace," Larys Strong said respectfully.

"Baelon speaks highly of your mind and has recommended you to me as Master of Whisperers," Viserys said bluntly.

Larys's heart raced. Master of Whisperers?!

His once-in-a-lifetime chance to change his fate was right before him!

His chest heaving and his heart surging, Larys hurriedly steadied himself. "Your Grace, if you grant me this opportunity, I will never disappoint you or bring shame upon Prince Baelon!"

Viserys had always indulged Baelon, even though he did not believe the Iron Throne needed a Master of Whisperers.

Otto had plenty of eyes and ears serving him.

But just as Viserys had been willing to grant Rhaenyra's request and give her Criston Cole of the Kingsguard as her white knight, he was willing now.

He likewise did not refuse Baelon's request for this reward on Larys's behalf.

He nodded to Baelon.

And so Baelon approached Larys, holding the gold brooch of the Master of Whisperers.

"Lord Larys," Baelon said, "are you willing to accept this honor and grave responsibility?"

Overcome, Larys dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "I am."

"I swear by the Old and New Gods that I will fulfill my duties and never betray the authority entrusted to me!"

"I will serve my king with all my loyalty!"

Baelon pinned the brooch to Larys's chest.

Larys's heart beat furiously.

He had never imagined it could be so easy, that he would accept the king's appointment in the Council Chamber and become Master of Whisperers.

Baelon helped Larys to his feet with both hands. "Lord Larys, perhaps you would like to tell Lord Lyonel of this yourself?"

"You had best hurry," he said with a smile.

"Otherwise, when you and Lord Lyonel sit at the same table as father and son at tomorrow's Small Council meeting, that ever-serious expression of his will surely crack."

Larys could not help imagining the scene.

Would his father look surprised? His ever-overlooked second son would actually stand as his equal at court.

At the thought of that scene, Larys unconsciously clenched his fists.

He struggled to contain his surging feelings, repeatedly reminding himself that he had only just become Master of Whisperers and must not put a foot wrong.

But when he met Baelon's warm, smiling gaze, he hesitated for a moment, and a long-suppressed sense of pride and honor suddenly overrode everything else.

"Your Grace, my prince," Larys ventured, "might we refrain from telling my father for the time being?"

Baelon and Viserys naturally agreed to this harmless little request.

Larys gave Baelon a long look, then turned and left the Council Chamber.

Evening

Only after riding Vermithor to roost in the lush green forest outside the city did Baelon return to his bedchamber.

He pushed open the bedchamber door and paused.

The room was quiet and dark.

Baelon glanced back. Two knights stood guard at his door.

He closed the door and leaned against the handle. "Come out."

A dark shadow stirred in the corner. "Prince Baelon."