"Some among you are favored by the Gods. Nothing is certain, yet one of you may bear blood fit to aid any soul in need. Think of a woman bleeding in childbirth. You would stand between her and the grave. The lucky man shall earn a safer work, better coin, and better meals. But mark this. If I see you grow fat and idle, you return to the ranks, and I'll work you like an ox. Understood?"
Bam!
All of a sudden, the door opened, and Qyburn peeked out. "My lord! I found one!"
Wylis perked up, ordered the men to stay put, and rushed back inside the lab. He looked at the slides Qyburn had placed aside, and truly, a reaction was there. There were clumps in the blood, grainy.
But he wasn't satisfied. He did the test again, used that same blood, and poured drops of O-type. Again, clots very quickly, sooner than actual clots occur.
"We found a negative type!" Wylis exhaled.
This wasn't the O-negative, however. What they had found was one of the other negative types. But now they had blood, they could test the O on. So, Qybun gathered all the O-type samples from soldiers, and they performed the clump test on the negative type.
"There! There! My lord! This one shows no clumps!"
Wylis quickly looked, and it was as said. But he didn't believe it instantly. He ran the blood through a serum test again to ensure it was actually an O type. Then he ran the supposed negative type through the serum test as well.
Once he was sure that they were an O and a non-O type, he repeated the blood on blood test. A gulp echoed from Wylis after a few seconds. There was truly no clump. The blood remained smooth until actual clots started to form many minutes later.
However, all the excitement vanished once he looked at the name on the cork of that tube. His shoulders fell, wondering what kind of joke this was.
Without saying anything, he ran the test a few times, but the result was the same. The first O-negative donor had been found.
He said nothing to Qyburn and walked out of the room again, finding almost fifty men seated with hopeful smiles on their faces. No matter how good they were as soldiers, and happy, a safer and gentler job was everyone's dream.
Except for one.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wylis looked up at the tall man. "Chett… It's you."
"Lucky bastard!" Someone from the soldiers cursed.
"His mum must've prayed to the Gods, eh?
"Gods, I wish I were him."
However, there was a frown on Chett's face mirroring Wylis.
"No!" Chett roared, his feet moving backwards. "My lord! I'm your squire, how can I sit idle? I don't want some idle task. Take my blood as you will, but I won't abandon your service. I swore an oath to you, my lord."
Wylis sighed, rubbing his beard. Now this was a double-edged sword to him. On the one hand, Chett had the blood that would work on anyone. On the other hand, Chett would always be at risk as he could only receive blood from another O-negative. It made being a knight in Westeros a tougher job.
But again, blood transfusion wasn't a thing to begin with. Yet, he felt troubled because he didn't want to bench Chett. The man had boundless potential to become a great knight.
"Enough of that. From this day, you train twice as hard. Should you falter or spill too much blood, there will be no saving you. So be a master of steel, one none can lay a hand upon. You will spar with me each day I'm in the castle. And we will search all of Ramsgate for more of your kind. Ramsgate counts near five thousand. There must be others."
And he knew that O-negative wasn't the rarest type of blood. What mattered was that they had a rh-negative template. With that, his eyes landed on the soldier who had the negative, non-O type.
"Herbart, your blood is a rare thing. No blessing in it, but it leads me to one who is. I have need of you alive," he ordered the average-height man of mid-thirties. "On your feet. Back to your duties. The castle and the cit—town won't protect itself. Chett, send the others when their watch is done."
Quickly, the men stood up and left the dungeon one by one. That night, Wylis planned to feed them extra meat and flavors to erase any distaste left for using them as test subjects. He still, however, felt conflicted about Chett.
And he knew he wouldn't feel right unless he found another O-negative.
Why stop at Ramsgate? I've got women giving me babes outside.
With that, an idea was born. To make the world as safe as possible for women to give him children and lifespan.
####
King's Landing, Flea Bottom,
"What in the Seven's holy arse is this? Bolga, come look at this! You can read, can't you? All I make out is one big bloody sigil."
Putting aside the tray with stew of questionable contents, thirteen-year-old Bolga walked outside the rundown, almost-tavern. He walked beside his father, staring at a large parchment stuck to the shop's wall. A small crowd had gathered already, as paper was rare, and paper with something written on it was even more rare. At least for them.
"That's the sigil of House Kaiser!" Bolga declared, recognising the sigil instantly. He'd known about it since young, now, having heard so many heroic tales of the Hero of the North, or the dozen other names smallfolk came up with.
"House Kaiser? You mean that giant fella? The Tyrant of the Trident, savior of King's Landing? Why in the seven hells would Lord Kaiser waste such fine paper on me, stinking little shop? When'd he slap that up here?"
Bolga stared at his father dumbly. At times, he wondered how he was able to gain half an extra brain than his father. Maybe it was his mum, may her soul be at peace. He sighed and gave the words a read.
"I doubt Lord Kaiser put this poster up himself. It says here… 'I need you! Ramsgate needs you!' Good people of King's Landing and all beyond, a grand new city is rising in Ramsgate, with many shops and foundries soon to open. There'll be steady work, fair pay, and proper food for the belly. If you've skill running a shop, working a smithy, sewing cloth, laying bricks, reading or writing, or even tending horses, then Ramsgate calls for you."
"By the gods, what kinda nonsense is this! Who'd be stupid enough to quit the capital and drag his ass up to some cold, godforsaken, backward northern town?"
Splash!
Before Bolga's father could say more, a woman opened the upper floor's window and spilled out an entire bucket full of piss and shit right onto the street. He jumped in time; others weren't as lucky.
"Backward?" Bolga stared at his father. "Anywhere is better than this stinking hole. I've lived in shit so long, I can't even tell the smell of shit anymore."
Woosh!
All of a sudden, he felt his father's tight grip on his shoulders, staring down at him.
"Here now boy, don't you go dreaming up foolish hopes like them lords give a damn about the likes of us. That giant crawled outta shoveling horseshit, but he's a proper lord now, ain't he? They all look down on us smallfolk. It's all lies, always has been. Go on inside and fan the fire proper. That stew won't boil on its own."
Bolga sighed and gave a nod. He knew better than to argue with his father. So he went inside and worked as he usually did. Only when it neared evening, close to sunset, did he leave. The little tavern had helping hands who worked only during the evening when the crowds came.
He was allowed to leave, however. As he had a different source of income. At thirteen, he had learned to read and write by visiting the nearby sept of the Seven. It wasn't easy getting the Septon to teach him; he only learned the basics by watching, and impressed the man enough to take him in.
But learning was the easy part; he even enjoyed it. Now, he wondered where to put those skills to work.
At the docks, he was able to help some sailors write letters to their loved ones for a little coin. It wasn't a valued profession, as those letters rarely ever reached the destination, usually lost during transportation by some trading caravan. Even when reached, it would take months.
But that night, he saw an unusual crowd at the docks. A lot of people had gathered around ships flying House Kaiser's sigil. Curious, he walked over to the nearest one and saw the same parchment as before stuck on a wall of wooden crates.
Bolga watched what was happening in silence. The sailors seemed particularly enthusiastic about talking, answering questions, and then taking in names. After listening a little, he knew what this was.
The people of King's Landing, some of them, were putting their names down to go to Ramsgate for a better life and work. Those very ships would take them for free when they make the return journey to King's Landing.
With a sigh, he ignored and went away. He did his usual thing, set up two crates, a quill, ink, and a handful of preciously rolled paper. He waited, and eventually a sailor came. He wrote down the letter for him and handed it over, receiving two pennies for it.
A few hours later, when the night dawned, he packed his items and walked back towards that previous Ramsgate ship. By now, there was no crowd left, yet a man was seated near the gangway with wooden crates, a thick ledger spread open.
He eyed the man at first. Looked like a sailor, but the clothes were clean, and his beard was shaved clean. Too clean to be a common sailor. But again, he reckoned knowing how to read and write helped.
"Are you from Ramsgate?" he bluntly asked, stepping closer to the crate.
"I am, boy."
"How much do you earn for each man you bring to Ramsgate?" Bolga asked, as though it were the most natural question in the world.
"..."
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Advance chapters on [PATREON] are in long-form format. I have 12 long chapters of this story on P@treon. That's equal to 45-50 Webnovel chapters.
Check out Solo Dacey Mormont & Wylis X Elia NSFW art, and advance chapters at [email protected]/MrPlotThickens Or Subscribestar.adult/mrplotthickens
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