Capítulo 37: chapter 37 lost knowledge
Two men approached the door where four Dothraki warriors stood guard—two on each side. The warriors noticed the approaching figures and, without a word, stepped aside and opened the door. They knew who these men were and the authority they carried.
"My khal," said Drogo, the Mountain standing silently at his side. His voice was deep, carrying the weight of a man who commanded respect.
"Yes?" I responded, looking up from the papers and plans scattered across the table before me. I had been lost in thought, contemplating my next steps and the pieces of my growing empire.
"We have found the alchemists' guild," Drogo continued, his tone firm. "They have a hidden entrance in Visenya's Hill, just as you suspected. What are your orders?"
"Lead me there," I said, standing. My towering frame made the air feel heavier in the room, and even these warriors of legend exchanged glances.
We set off on foot, a deliberate choice to avoid drawing too much attention, though subtlety was never my strong suit. Few could avoid noticing a man of my size. However, my men had already sealed off the area around the hidden passage. No prying eyes would witness where we were headed.
After navigating the winding streets of King's Landing, we arrived at a narrow alley tucked between two crumbling buildings. The Hound, his hulking presence always slightly menacing, moved forward. He pressed a specific brick on the wall. With a low grinding sound, the bricks shifted, transforming into a doorway.
"A marvel," I said, stepping inside. "The sort of thing Westeros has almost forgotten."
The passage beyond was wide and ancient, its walls slick with the dampness of centuries. The air was cool, carrying a faint metallic tang, and the soft flicker of torches illuminated carvings worn down by time. It was clear this tunnel had existed since the earliest days of kingslanding.
"Keep close," I commanded as Drogo and the Hound flanked me. My anticipation grew with each step. The alchemists had long been rumored to dabble in lost arts—alchemy, potion-making, and even whispers of forbidden magic and rituals. If their library held even a fraction of that knowledge, it would be invaluable to my plans.
At last, we entered a dimly lit chamber. A long table dominated the center of the room, around which sat several hooded figures. Their postures were tense, and they regarded me with a mix of fear and defiance.
"So," one of them said, his voice rasping with age, "you've finally arrived."
"You knew I was coming," I replied, stepping forward, my voice calm but edged with authority.
"We're not fools," the old man said. "Your men have made it clear we're not leaving through the main entrance."
"But surely," I said, my tone turning sharp, "you have other ways out."
"And risk our skulls adorning your throne?" the old man replied. His words earned nervous glances from the others, though he himself seemed unfazed.
I smiled faintly. "A strong reputation does wonders."
I stepped closer, and several of the hooded men flinched. "Do you know why I'm here?" I asked, letting my voice fill the chamber.
"Enlighten us, Skull Taker," another man, younger and seated beside the old leader, said with thinly veiled sarcasm.
I ignored the jab and addressed them all. "I'm here to bring back magic. To restore your order to its former power—and more. You've been hidden away for too long, clinging to scraps of a dying art. I will give you purpose, wealth, and the tools to reclaim what you've lost."
The chamber filled with murmurs. Even these secretive men could not conceal their excitement. I had them hooked. Yet, I could see through the thin façade of their confidence. They were weak. My men's reports had been clear—they were on the brink of ruin, their resources dwindling, their influence nearly nonexistent. If they didn't align with me, they would wither and die.
The old man raised his hand, silencing the whispers. He fixed his eyes on me, sharp and calculating. "And in return, what do you want?"
I allowed myself a smile. This one was clever—cautious but not timid.
"In return," I said, "you will serve me and me alone. All knowledge, all discoveries, will be added to my collection. Your guild will answer to my line for the rest of time. Even after my death, should it ever come, my heirs will rule you. You will be my vassals, bound to my house."
"And if we refuse?" the old man asked, his voice calm but his eyes glinting with understanding.
"Then you may leave," I said with a cruel grin. "Without your heads, of course. Your skulls will adorn my throne, and your guild will serve me regardless."
Several of the hooded men visibly paled, though the old man only laughed. It was a harsh, unsettling sound, echoing through the chamber.
"Since Aegon the Conqueror," he said, "we've had no true leader. The Targaryens abandoned us, leaving us to rot thinking sith their dragons they no longer need magic so thsy stopped our funding. Tell me, what do you think of us, Caesar Lannister?"
I regarded him carefully, choosing my words with precision. "You are the only heroes of this world. Not men with swords, not the Maesters who strangle knowledge in the dark and keep it to themselves. You have kept alive a dying art, even at the cost of your wealth and safety. You do not seek fame or riches—only the pursuit of knowledge. That earns my respect, for I, too, revere magic and its mysteries. Together, we will bring it back."
The old man's eyes narrowed. "And how will you accomplish this?"
I let my voice drop, the weight of my revelation hanging in the air. "I have three dragon eggs."
The room fell into stunned silence. Even Drogo shifted beside me, his composure momentarily faltering. The Hound muttered something under his breath, but I paid him no mind.
"Now," I continued, "the method to hatch them has been lost for over a century i know the method but not how to control them without being of Targaryen blood. That is where you come in. I know you have the knowledge to make them bow to me."
The old man's demeanor shifted. He stepped forward, removing his hood to reveal a face lined with age and wisdom. "We do," he said. "As the leader of the alchemists' guild, I offer my allegiance to you, Caesar Lannister. I relinquish my title and name you our master."
He knelt, and one by one, the others followed suit.
"Good," I said, looking over them. "Do any of you object?" None did, their faces now alight with purpose as they day dreamed of their soon to be rise.
The old leader—Jon, he called himself—led me deeper into the lair. At last, we arrived before an ancient door.
"My lord," Jon said as he opened it, "welcome to your library."
The sight took my breath away. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes stretched into the shadows, the smell of old parchment and ink heavy in the air. Many books were crumbling, their wisdom on the brink of being lost forever.
"This knowledge must be preserved," I said, already planning to set my men to work copying the texts.
"A word of caution, my lord," Jon said gravely. "If the Maesters learn of this place, they will burn it to the ground and kill us all."
I smiled. "You are under my protection now. And as for the Maesters—they will soon cease to exist. Their knowledge will be copied, and then they will draw their last breaths. They have meddled in the affairs of Westeros for too long, and their time is at an end."
Jon laughed, a wild, gleeful sound. "When the time comes, my lord, let me help. I know rituals that will make their destruction... memorable."
I smiled. "I'm liking you more already."
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