27 Ch. 27 Medicine

Third-Day of the Third Moon, of the year 295 A.C

"Fine," King Robert Baratheon growled at his Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn.

"You have one year," Robert bit out to Prince Renly Baratheon, the king's youngest brother. "One year to have a Stormlands wife with a babe in her belly," Robert furiously commanded.

"I want a stop to these disgusting rumors," the king sneered. "I don't want to hear another word about the Pillow-Biting Prince," Robert said with blazing eyes.

Noticing Renly's reddening face and glistening eyes from unshed tears, Lord Arryn adopted a sympathetic look. "This is for the best, Renly," Lord Arryn said in a coaxing tone of voice. "The crown does not need another scandal right now."

"And who's fault is that?" Prince Renly angrily snapped at Lord Arryn. "The thief was your man, and you appointed him as Master of Coin," Renly lashed out in a raw voice. "We only found out after he died in a brawl in his brothel!"

Renly turned to Robert with tears in his eyes. "And the crown is in debt due to your whoring and tourneys!" Renly accused with righteous indignation.

"Enough," Robert bellowed as he slammed his fist onto the table. "One year or you lose Storm's End. Now get out," Robert growled at his youngest brother.

Renly stood before Robert with trembling hands and a single tear upon his cheek. For a moment, it looked as if Renly was going to speak again, but he bared his teeth at Robert before spinning on his heel and retreating from the King's Solar.

Robert didn't say a word about the blatant disrespect. He snatched his goblet off the table and downed the rest of the wine in a single gulp.

"Gods, what have I done to deserve brothers such as these?" Robert asked to no one.

Lord Arryn patiently watched Robert get up and refill his cup from the bottle of Arbor Gold. Lord Arryn observed his king's movements and waiting for the telltale signs of Robert calming down.

As Robert eased back down into his chair, Lord Arryn spoke up. "Sending Renly away will only give credence to the rumors," Lord Arryn counseled.

"What rumors?" Robert rhetorically asked. "Cersei's little chicks caught him in the act and went clucking back to their hen," Robert said with visible loathing on his face.

"Rather odd, that," Lord Arryn voiced. "The queen's ladies in waiting, visiting the stables so late in the evening."

"Nothing odd about it," Robert said as he stood back up. "Cersei bloody well knew what Renly was doing, and she sent that gaggle of gossips down there for just for this reason," Robert said in a surprising bit of cunning.

"But still, sending Renly back to Storm's End," Lord Arryn began.

"Is for his own good," King Robert finished before finishing off another goblet of wine. "She fooled me once to get Myrcella betrothed to her kin. And now she's aiming to put a Lannister on my Small Counsel," Robert confessed to his surrogate father.

"You don't need to strip Renly of his title of Master of Laws," Lord Arryn said. "You can always end Myrcella's engagement."

Robert threw his head back and let out a thunderous laugh. "End my daughter's engagement to Lancel Lannister, the heir of Casterly Rock, the future Lord Paramount of the West, and the youngest knight in history?" Robert mocked.

"You should have never knighted him so young," Lord Arryn said with a shake of his head.

Robert's laughter died down as he looked at his Hand. "That is one thing I do not regret." Robert proudly stated. "The boy is blessed by the Warrior, he is. Already won two tourneys and a melee, and only three and ten years old."

"Lancel has proven his worth, and shown the Seven Kingdoms he's earned his knighthood," Robert solemnly said before finishing the rest of his wine.

"Renly's still the Master of Laws," Robert said, changing the subject. "At least for the next year."

******************************

I sat in my own office, seated at the top floor of the War College, standing proud within the walls of Casterly Rock. After the grand tourney at Casterly Rock, Tywin gave his approval for the War College to be built. It only took eight months before it was finished and began its first class.

I busied myself with reviewing the reports from across the Legion. Everything from the annual levy training to the construction of paved roads across the Westerlands. I had no idea how much work changing the military was going to be.

When I first started, I would rush my own martial training to get to the War College. Now, after a full year of commanding nearly 9,000 soldiers, I rush to my own training. The fact I'm no longer getting beat-down by my combat instructors is also a nice incentive to keep training.

But I can only put off my duty for so long before I have to return to overseeing the men. Converting the Legion into a primary force of heavy infantry and light cavalry was no easy feat. Training the cavalry to be able to use the new composite bows while mounted wasn't nearly as difficult as teaching the auxiliary forces.

The logistical jobs were fairly easy to teach. The engineers, scouts, and saboteurs took a bit more time. The medical corps proved to be far too time-consuming for me to take on. Learning the truth of war, I placed healers at the top of my list of priorities.

The total annihilation of your enemies on the battlefield is a rare occurrence. In a typical battle, you can expect between five and ten percent casualties. That number can drastically increase if there is a rout. But something every commander needs to consider is the possibility of losing another five percent of his soldiers due to wounds and sickness.

So, seeing the importance of having a trained medical staff, I outsourced.

I sent two-hundred volunteers to the Citadel in Oldtown to learn medicine and healing from the maesters. The Citadel has the largest concentration of educated men and books in the entire world. There was no point in trying to create a medical school from scratch when I can have the Citadel to the heavy lifting for me.

Of course, I don't expect all two-hundred me to return, that's why I sent so many. But to increase the chances of the majority of my future doctors returning to the Westerlands, I offered them handsome rewards in gold. They would receive an annual ten gold bonus for ten years for each link in the healing subject they earned at the Citadel. I offered another gold dragon for each medical book they brought back.

Since the Archmaesters typically have between five and six links in their chosen subject, I put a limit of three years at the Citadel before they must return. And another bonus if they return with a link in two years.

Once my future doctors return, I'll share what medical advancements I remember from my first life. From there, they will be used to treat the soldiers and smallfolk for the experience. With any luck, they will be able to pass on their knowledge here at Casterly Rock.

As I set aside another report on supplies and expenses, I hear a knock on my office door. The door is opened by a broad-shouldered man wearing the rank of sergeant on his sleeves.

"Lord General, a visitor, is here to see you," the sergeant said in a rough voice.

Giving him a nod of approval, the sergeant steps aside to allow a slender middle-aged man to step in. The man is carrying a wooden chest, a bit smaller than his torso.

Once the sergeant shuts the door, the slightly tanned man gives me a bow before placing the chest on my desk.

"My lord," the man said in a musical accent. "Lys upholds her end of the bargain," The man respectfully said as he lifted the lid of the chest.

Lying in a bed of salt were two severed heads.