"How do you feel?" Aemon placed a bowl of black chicken and red date soup, meant to replenish blood and vital energy, on the small bedside table and asked with concern.
The dwarf struggled to sit up, leaning against the pillow at an angle. He picked up the bowl and gulped it down noisily until it was completely empty, then sighed with satisfaction.
"After the Battle of Meereen, I endured more than half a month underground. I finally get to eat normal food again.
"But I'm not doing well right now. From time to time, when I look at the same thing, I feel two completely opposite emotions."
"How opposite?" Aemon asked curiously.
"For example, right now." The dwarf pointed at the white porcelain soup bowl. "I think the saltiness is just right and the taste is excellent. But suddenly another version of me shouts, 'What kind of garbage is this? Why isn't there any sugar?' Then a third version of me steps out to argue, 'It should have some black pepper from Jaco Island added.'"
"Smack!"
The dwarf slapped himself across the face and cursed, "Seven hells! I've never even heard of Jaco Island in my entire life, and I don't even like spicy pepper."
"Well..." Old Aemon had served as a maester for nearly a hundred years, yet he still could not understand the dwarf's condition.
"Could it be that you were tortured into madness?" Pity appeared in his aged eyes.
"No. There are other people's memories in my brain. Those fragmented little memories are giving me multiple personalities," the dwarf lamented.
"But you don't seem insane now. The queen also said you've recovered," old Aemon said.
At this time, a week had already passed since Jenny's death. The dwarf had returned to the Meereen pyramid and remained unconscious in bed for five days. He had only awakened the day before yesterday and could barely get out of bed today.
"Those memories aren't complete. It's like a handful of rat droppings mixed into a bowl of oatmeal, not just one, but a whole handful!" The dwarf raised his fist to emphasize the point.
"My head is that pot of slightly rancid porridge. The rat droppings have already dissolved and mixed into the porridge. There's no way to separate them anymore!"
Old Aemon frowned slightly in disgust. "What exactly did Jenny do to you?"
"Sigh. Before she died, she forcibly activated the embryo of faith in my mind and summoned Balerion's will to descend upon me…"
Suspicion flickered in the dwarf's eyes as he hesitated before continuing.
"The queen said Balerion was trying to forcibly seize my body. The memories left in my mind are the aftereffects of my soul merging with his."
"But that doesn't make sense. I was in Slaver's Bay, and the queen was standing right in front of me. How foolish would Balerion have to be to invest so much power in me?
"Anyway, the final result was that Balerion's immense divine soul was completely burned to ashes by the queen."
Old Aemon shook his head and said wisely, "You cannot conclude that Balerion should not have done it simply because the result turned out badly for him.
"Just like when the allied forces besieged Slaver's Bay. At the beginning of the war, no one thought well of the queen. Even before the decisive battle of Meereen, the allied commanders were brimming with confidence. But what was the result?
"Hundreds of thousands bled on the battlefield. The hundred-thousand-strong army outside Meereen was destroyed by a single massive flood. Meanwhile, Dany had already prepared a method for the allies' defeat half a year earlier.
"According to your logic, the allied forces were utterly foolish. They should never have come to Slaver's Bay at all."
"Hm, that makes sense." The suspicion in the dwarf's eyes faded, replaced by gloom. "Even though Balerion's consciousness has been removed, what am I supposed to do about the fragments of memory left in my mind?"
This was exactly why Dany never fused with other people's thoughts or divine souls.
When a spirit was purified during the process of spiritual empowerment, the personal imprint on the soul was washed away, and so were its memories. By absorbing the spiritual essence of the Sheep Egg through empowerment, she could not obtain its memories.
In her previous life, she had often read web novels where the protagonist obtained the memories of some ancient Nascent Soul cultivator and suddenly became capable of refining pills, crafting artifacts, and mastering cultivation techniques. The protagonists would show off their power everywhere, humiliating opponents, and she had found those stories incredibly entertaining.
But after arriving in this world, when she looked back at those overpowered protagonists, she could not help worrying for them.
What if, after the souls merged, they lost their personal will?
After all, the other party was a thousand-year-old Nascent Soul monster, while the protagonist was just an ordinary mortal. In a contest of wills, a mortal would be nothing more than an ant before such an ancient being.
Even if the protagonist's plot armor allowed him to suppress the Nascent Soul monster's will and avoid having his body seized…
The protagonist might only be in his teens, while the Nascent Soul monster was a thousand years old. It would be like a one-terabyte hard drive where only a dozen gigabytes of memory belonged to the protagonist, while the rest was occupied by the old monster.
Would the protagonist really remain unaffected by those memories?
Just look at the dwarf now.
Was the Sheep Egg's martial power stronger than that of a Nascent Soul monster? No one knew without a fight. But its will and memories were certainly ten or even a hundred times more terrifying.
Because the Sheep Egg was not a single individual. Countless Valyrians existed within it.
If Dany ever voluntarily fused her soul with the Sheep Egg, it would probably go mad with joy, because that had always been its ultimate goal.
During the next two days, Aemon, Ashara, Myrcella, and others spent time talking with the dwarf. They discussed past events in Westeros, helping him recall and reinforce his former memories, habits, and personality.
This was the treatment plan given by the Dragon Queen after she hurried back once and diagnosed the dwarf.
"The harm caused by disordered memories isn't actually that great. In truth, we are constantly having our memories and habits changed by others.
"For example, when you become deeply absorbed in a book, you unconsciously imagine yourself as the protagonist. The adventures experienced by the protagonist become part of your own memories.
"The protagonist loves cherry crepes and describes their taste and texture in vivid detail every time. Eventually, you try them in real life and end up loving the cherry crepes that you previously thought were merely average.
"What you need to do now is distinguish between your own memories and those foreign fragments. Clarify your true self, and reduce other people's memories to something like the experiences of a protagonist in a book.
"If you do that, it will be as though you've read a chaotic storybook with vividly defined characters.
"And also, when you have time, go outside more often. Don't stay cooped up in your room overthinking things.
"Listen to and observe the real world. Just like the plot of a book you read long ago eventually fades from memory, those disordered memories that do not belong to you will gradually fade as well."
That was how the Dragon Queen comforted him. As for whether it could completely cure the problem…
If it were truly that simple to eliminate the side effects, she would have fused with it herself already. After all, the secret techniques passed down for six thousand years in Valyria were something she had long desired.
After several days of recuperation, the dwarf gradually freed himself from the worst of the foreign memories' interference and began seriously contemplating a question that had troubled him for a long time.
Who exactly am I?
Well, it had nothing to do with philosophy. It was purely a question of genetics.
On this day, Myrcella excitedly went to find her uncle and announced the good news that the queen had appointed her as a court lady. She also asked for advice about several matters of governance.
One of her questions was how to ensure that maids would not leak the queen's and the court's secrets.
Tyrion suddenly realized that there was no point in racking his brain over it. Asking Barristan directly would be far more effective than anything else.
He went to Maester Aemon's study, interrupting the children's lesson, and anxiously asked, "Maester Aemon, when will Ser Barristan return?"
Aemon was displeased and frowned. "I am busy right now. If it is not urgent, go out first and we will talk about it at lunch."
Tyrion froze for a moment and looked around. Only then did he notice that the study had completely changed and was now filled with children.
The spacious room, bright and spotless with large windows, was about eighty square meters. The bookshelves had been cleared out and about thirty wooden desks were arranged neatly in rows.
Each desk was paired with a chair with a backrest. Two desks were placed side by side, and behind them sat two young children with childish faces.
None of them were older than twelve. There were dark-skinned people from the Summer Islands, fair-skinned Andals or Rhoynar, silver-haired Valyrians, brownish-yellow skinned Dothraki with almond-shaped eyes, and pale Qartheen.
Boys and girls of all kinds and colors filled the room, making the dwarf's eyes blur for a moment.
But only for a moment. His attention was soon drawn to a mixed-blood Dothraki boy sitting in the middle seat of the front row.
His silver hair, purple almond-shaped eyes, and handsome face were not the main reasons that caught Tyrion's attention. The boy possessed a unique aura. Among the children he did not display any domineering presence, yet Tyrion could see at a glance that he was different from the others.
Outstanding and exceptional, like a firefly in the dark night.
At least that was how Tyrion saw him.
"What are you doing, and who are they?" the dwarf asked with a frown as he looked at the boy. The boy was neither shy nor afraid and met his gaze openly.
Aemon's heart tightened. He placed the textbook in his hand on the lectern and casually stepped forward, pulling the dwarf outside the door.
"Today's natural science class ends here. Next is extracurricular reading time. Go to the bookshelf at the back and find a book to read. Remember to write a reading reflection of at least three hundred words. Hand it to the class monitor when you finish, and only then may you have lunch."
"Got it, Maester Aemon!" the children replied cheerfully.
"What is going on?" the dwarf asked, even more confused.
"I am teaching a class. You barged in without even knocking. That is extremely rude," Aemon said angrily.
"A class?" the dwarf said blankly. "I was only gone for a little over a month. How did this…"
Aemon interrupted him. "Not just a month. My courses have been running for almost half a year. Didn't Myrcella tell you?
"She is also a student here, though she is in the middle school division. I am currently teaching the primary school students."
"Middle school, primary school…" the dwarf muttered for a moment before suddenly understanding. "The queen wants to abolish the Citadel and establish a system of primary, middle, and higher schools. You are testing it in Slaver's Bay?"
"More or less."
"Who are those students? And who is that round-faced little Dothraki? The mixed-blood one sitting in the middle of the front row," the dwarf asked curiously.
"The students come from two sources: children of nobles and common children with sharp minds and outstanding talent. The little Dothraki you mentioned is called Simba. His background is not ordinary either. He is the son of a deceased khal and joined the queen's khalasar together with his tribe."
Aemon did not avoid the topic and calmly explained Simba's background in brief.
"That is a lion," the dwarf sighed. "A white lion of the grasslands. If he is properly trained, the queen will surely gain a fierce general and capable minister in the future."
"What makes you say that? He is only five years old," Aemon said, inexplicably pleased yet also very curious.
The dwarf pointed at his own eyes. "These things of mine are quite useful. That boy sitting among those children is like my father standing among the great nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. Tell me, how could he not stand out?"
Aemon's old face twisted.
"What did you come to see me for?" he asked gloomily.
The dwarf glanced around. This was a long corridor, and from time to time servants passed by, along with Unsullied leading mongrel dogs.
He brought the old man to his own bedroom before speaking with a serious expression. "When will Ser Barristan return?"
"It is hard to say. He is currently stationed at Dragonstone, handling Westerosi affairs for the queen. If nothing major happens, he may not return for a year or two."
"I want to use the magic mirror to ask him a few questions. Or perhaps, Maester Aemon, you might be able to tell me the answer?" the dwarf said, staring at the old man.
Aemon's heart skipped a beat, and he vaguely had a guess. "What do you want to know?"
"There are some very unpleasant rumors between the Mad King and my mother, Joanna…"
(End of chapter)
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