As he was about to enter the castle hall, an old man in maester's robes walked out to meet him, followed by two young maesters who were trembling slightly.
The old man looked up at Viserys entering from outside, a complex emotion flashing in his cloudy eyes.
"Your Majesty Viserys, Princess Rhaenys..." he murmured, "I truly didn't expect it to be you who returned."
"Hello, Maester Cressen. I didn't think we'd meet again either," Viserys said, not without a touch of emotion. Rhaenys gave him a silent nod in response. After all, she was only three years old at the time and only had a vague memory of everything about Dragonstone.
This old maester was the one who had helped him with his coronation on Dragonstone all those years ago. He was already quite old back then, and it was unexpected that he was still alive more than a decade later.
Maesters were a special group of individuals, arranged by The Citadel to serve the lord of each castle. They didn't care who the castle's master was, and their positions were essentially for life. Only upon death or when they became unable to handle their duties would The Citadel arrange for an assistant maester to help.
However, only the maesters of great lords had this privilege, as The Citadel's number of maesters wasn't that abundant. Of course, not everyone was like this. For instance, Grand Maester Pycelle, who featured prominently in the original work, secretly pledged allegiance to Tywin, and Maester Luwin of Winterfell died protecting the children of House Stark.
These actions went against the original principles of a maester. Moreover, Viserys believed that most maesters were merely informants sent out by The Citadel to constantly monitor the Seven Kingdoms.
"I was on the verge of death not long ago, but the Stranger didn't take me, Your Majesty," the old man replied to Viserys, seeming a bit rambling. "I've served on Dragonstone for forty years, from the Targaryens to the Baratheons, and now I witness your return."
He paused and bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, Dragonstone is the home of the Targaryens. There is no more resistance here. Everyone in the castle is willing to pledge their loyalty to you."
Viserys nodded and asked him, "Do you know where Stannis's family is?"
Maester Cressen's expression changed slightly but quickly returned to calm.
"Lady Selyse and Lady Shireen are in the castle. They are staying in the room that originally belonged to you, attended by several handmaidens."
Selyse Florent was standing in the room at that moment, holding her daughter tightly.
Shireen was eight years old, a quiet and introverted girl. Half of her face was ravaged by greyscale, her skin hardened into stone-like grey scales stretching from her cheek down to her neck.
Because of this, she had been confined to her room since childhood, rarely seeing anyone. Stannis never spoke of her. But in the original work, her fate was to be burned alive by her own father, Stannis, as a sacrifice to the lord of light.
"Mother," Shireen whispered, "what was that sound outside earlier?"
Selyse didn't answer. She had heard the Dragon Roar and the shouts of the guards, but now there was only silence outside. She had already guessed what had happened.
Viserys, on his part, nodded to the old maester and said, "Then I'll go see them first. We can talk more during supper, Maester."
Maester Cressen could only helplessly turn and step aside, watching Viserys's departing figure. He now only hoped that Viserys hadn't inherited the Targaryen madness and wouldn't slaughter the innocent.
The castle was no different from Viserys's memory, only looking more dilapidated. The torches in the corridors were sparse, and many room doors were tightly shut, covered in dust.
They proceeded unhindered along the way, not even encountering a single guard. Finally, they stopped before a door—this was Viserys's former bedroom. Hearing their undisguised footsteps, a weak woman's voice came from inside the room.
"Who's out there?"
However, Viserys paid her no mind and directly reached out to push the door open. The reason he wasn't afraid of an ambush inside was that he already knew how many people were in there.
Once the door opened, Viserys first saw two plainly dressed handmaidens standing together, shielding two figures behind them.
Looking past the two of them, he saw a woman in her thirties with a thin, pale face, golden hair tightly coiled at the back of her head, wearing an exquisite blue gown. She tightly gripped the hand of a little girl behind her, as if it were her only support.
The little girl's other hand tightly clutched her mother's skirt. But her eyes looked over her mother's shoulder, curiously gazing at the silver-haired, purple-eyed man before her. There was no fear in them, only curiosity—the unique curiosity of a child long confined to a castle, rarely seeing strangers.
"Selyse Florent," Viserys addressed them, "and Shireen Baratheon."
The woman looked up. Her initially somewhat fearful eyes now gazed at him coldly.
"Targaryen," her voice was hoarse, not as forceful as her gaze. "Have you come here to kill a woman and a child to demonstrate your power?"
Rhaenys originally felt some sympathy for them, as Viserys had previously explained Shireen's illness to her, mainly because Viserys was afraid she would be startled upon first seeing it.
But hearing Selyse's words, she immediately frowned and wanted to step forward to argue. However, Viserys stopped her and even smiled at the women before him.
"If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be corpses," he said. "Your husband, Stannis, raised an army against the Targaryens. Do you know what that means?"
Selyse was taken aback. She bit her lip and said nothing. She knew that the wife of a traitor was usually executed directly or sent to the Faith's Silent Sisters to spend the rest of her days, a fate worse than death.
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