The Streets of Lys

The man was short, only an inch taller than Rhaena herself, and completely bald on his head, though he sported a pair of bushy white eyebrows and a queer beard that was a long thin strip hanging from his chin, and droopy moustaches on either side of it; they were as white as his eyebrows. He wore a set of robes that appeared to be simply made and cut, not of a particularly fine quality cloth, though they were the same deep shade of purple as the flower. "And women as well, your grace, so do not be overconfident that your sex will protect you from a seductive danger."

"I am brother Taeran," he added. "Welcome to the Vylar Temple."

"Many wonders of Valyria are known only to the Devoted of the Vylar, and we guard them well, the last keepers of the Freehold," the monk replied evasively. "You could perhaps learn them, if you chose to become an Initiate of the Vylem, but I am suspecting that this is not a preferred path for the Princess of the Westerosi," he added. His accent was strangely bland; he clearly had a mastery of the language of Westeros, though he had no hint of the other accents she had heard, when using common in conversation with other Lyseni.

A tiny sneer crossed the man's face, before it was replaced with a smile. "We leave the prosteletyzing to the lesser Faiths. Those red fools may awe the masses with their sleight of hand tricks, and the Lovers may fornicate with whomever they please in supposed honor of their 'Godess' but it is beacuse their Gods are false that they are driven to such displays. A foolish man will flaunt his wealth, and toss it about for the masses to see and marvel upon, while a wise man will invest it quietly using what he has gained to better himself."

The monk stepped forward toward the flower cluster, and bent down to carefully pick one of the flowers he had called the 'lovebloom.' He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, letting out a happy sigh of contentment at whatever he smelled. "You seek to find the secrets of Old Valyria in the east," he said simply, stating a fact rather than asking a question. "Many have sought such power and wealth before, but few, if any, have ever returned."

"Knowledge is power; a search for the former is simply the wisest path toward achieving the latter," he replied, sniffing the flower and smiling again.

"Tell me, Rhaena Targaryen, why do you seek power so desperately that you would value it above your own life?" the monk asked, though his smile suggested that he already knew the answer to his question, even if she did not.

The monk studied Rhaena's face carefully for several long minutes without speaking and Rhaena got the uncomfortable impression that he was weighing and measuring her in his head, down to each strand of hair and drop of blood. "Even those who seek power for the best of reasons may be corrupted by its alluring call," he said finally, sniffing the flower for a third time, but now frowning instead of smiling. "It is right and well to honor one's ancestors, but why is your family more deserving of the aid of such forces, than others?"

The Monk nodded, smiling widely as if he was very pleased she had given the right answer. He placed the purple flower carefully on top of the shrub from which he had picked it, and then plucked another. "The Gods of Valyria are far more subtle and confusing than the weak gods of the West, and those whose worship has grown popular in the east," he said. "They offer great knowledge, but the path is convoluted and dark; a single mis-step could send you hurtling over the edge into madness."

He inspected Rhaena's face for a moment, before speaking again. "I suspect you have the strength to survive such a journey, should you undertake it. Do you have the will to retain your sanity when you reach the other side?" he asked, offering the flower to her. "If you think you do, then breathe, and know."

Rhaena inhaled deeply from the flower, and immediately the world began to swirl around her. The green grass rose up to meet her, but the world went black before she it the ground…

When she awoke groggily, she was prone on a table, the blue sky open above her, not a single cloud visible. In her periphery she could see that she was still in the meadow, not far from where she had fallen, but the table she was was on had not been there; the Monk stood beside her, and when she tried to move she found that she was bound at the wrists, ankles, and around her midsection; she could not move enough to get the leverage to get free, and a funnel was forced between her teeth.

"I apologize, Rhaena Targaryen, but the path to Knowledge is rarely pleasant," he said in a tone that did not sound remotely apologetic. A vile substance entered Rhaena's mouth, and she was forced to swallow. The effects were just as fast as from the flower, though she did not lose consciousness. The Monk was nowhere to be seen and the princess was able to sit up slightly; her wrists and hips were still bound to the table, as were her legs and as she watched the skin and flesh slowly started to sizzle and melt off her bones, dripping down the side of the table onto the ground. Rhaena felt nothing, but the terror was so deep in her stomach that she began to scream, her crying shrieks echoing across the empty meadow.

Above her, the sky darkened from light blue to grey, and began to swirl in a maddening spiral, stars and clouds appearing and disappearing. The world began to rotate around a fixed point in the sky, and with each rotation a layer of… something was peeled away. Rhaena watched strips of her muscle and bone disappear, exposing her organs before peeling layers of them off as well. For a moment, Rhaena glimpsed a blurred shape inside her open chest, formless but with a hint of lilac, but then she was sick, turning her head to the side at the last second and vomiting into the grass.

Rhaena began to fall, and raised her hands to stop herself from landing in the former contents of her stomach and she hit the ground hard, the rocky gravel scraping her palms. She began to roll down the steep incline, and by the time she came to a stop at the base of the hill she was covered in bruises and scrapes. The young princess struggled to her feet, wobbling for a moment and toppling over again, landing on a soft bed of grass that reeked of manure. The sky disappeared, turned black, and then became a green and yellow striped monstrosity; she was sure it was a tent or pavilion for a brief instant before it collapsed on top of her. She struggled with the heavy canvas, as if she was drowning; it was cutting off her air, enclosing her, trapping her. She would never escape and there had never been anything else in the world.

The sound of a trumpet rang out, then another, and another, until there were dozens of blasts drowning out her screams which had been the only sound in the world. They changed after a moment, and Rhaena realized they were alive just before the first massive weight crushed down on her leg, flattening it into pulp. She had a brief thought of bloody elephants before her world exploded into agony. Dozens of the massive creatures were stomping around on top of her, crushing her flesh into pulp and her bones into dust. She screamed, and coughed and screamed again, and the world faded into blackness...