Chapter 280: The Imprisoned Gods

In the Highgarden stables, Cleopatra, the white dragon, occupied a significant portion of the space.

Two stablehands cautiously approached, carrying chunks of meat for the dragon. They quickly placed the food before it and scurried away.

With a sudden burst of flame, Cleopatra roasted the leg of venison to perfection. Just as the dragon was about to devour its meal, it noticed Samwell entering the stable. Excited, the creature flapped its leathery wings and let out a resonant screech.

"Lord Caesar," the stablehands greeted hurriedly, bowing deeply.

Samwell acknowledged them with a nod and approached his dragon, patting its forehead affectionately.

Only then did he notice someone else in the stable—a peculiar-looking man.

This individual was short, stout, and brawny, with a thick neck adorned by a maester's chain, marking him as a scholar. Yet, he looked more like a dockyard ruffian, with his rugged demeanor and a menacing expression that suggested he was ready to break necks rather than study.

He wasn't wearing a traditional maester's robe, opting instead for a tight leather jacket stretched taut over his large belly.

"Are you the maester for House Tyrell?" Samwell asked, noting the man's intense gaze fixed on Cleopatra. He didn't like the way this stranger was studying his dragon.

"No." The man shook his head but didn't divert his gaze from the dragon. He seemed eager to approach, though the cautious distance he maintained suggested Cleopatra had already warned him off. "I'm a guest, here with Lord Hightower for the wedding."

"Is that so? Then why didn't I see you at the banquet?"

"I tend to avoid drawing attention."

Samwell scoffed lightly and stepped in front of Cleopatra, blocking the man's view.

"I think you're here for my dragon," he said pointedly.

The man finally turned his gaze to Samwell and grinned, revealing teeth stained red from chewing sourleaf.

"Lord Caesar, allow me to introduce myself. I am Archmaester Marwyn of the Citadel."

Samwell's attention shifted to the man's chain, where a unique ring denoted his archmaester status. Archmaesters were the elite scholars of the Citadel, recognized for groundbreaking achievements in their respective fields.

"Archmaester Marwyn," Samwell said coldly, "my dragon is not a research subject. Stay clear of it, or I can't guarantee it won't roast you alive."

Marwyn stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Please, Lord Caesar, believe me, I mean no harm. Unlike others in the Citadel who dream of a world without magic, prophecy, or dragons, I embrace them. I'm much friendlier toward such things."

Samwell had heard of the infamous "Mage" Marwyn and knew the man's reputation for delving into forbidden knowledge. In the original story, Marwyn had even sought to aid Daenerys Targaryen, a dragonlord in her own right.

"And why does the Citadel despise magic?" Samwell asked, seizing the chance to probe further.

"People instinctively hate what they cannot control," Marwyn replied. "The Citadel's rise coincided with the decline of wizards and pyromancers. In times of strong magic, lords heeded the advice of sorcerers rather than maesters. That's a power struggle the Citadel was determined to win."

"And you? As a maester, why are you so interested in magic and dragons?"

"I'm driven by curiosity, not ambition," Marwyn said with a shrug. "Even if magic heralds the decline of the Citadel, it doesn't bother me. I want to unravel its mysteries."

"Have you unraveled them?" Samwell asked skeptically. "The mysteries of magic, of dragons, or of the waxing and waning tides of magic?"

"Not yet. Which is why I was hoping to study your dragon." Marwyn rubbed his hands together, his expression almost predatory. "I'd only need a tiny sample—a drop of its blood, a sliver of its flesh. It wouldn't harm the creature, I promise."

Samwell shook his head resolutely. "I don't allow anyone to experiment on my dragon."

"Don't you have any curiosity, Lord Caesar?" Marwyn pressed. "Don't you want to understand the nature of dragons? These creatures may be the closest thing to gods in our world. Through them, we might uncover the secrets of the divine!"

Samwell's expression flickered, and he asked cautiously, "How could mere mortals hope to comprehend the divine?"

"Why not?" Marwyn's eyes gleamed. "I believe gods can be understood if we gather enough knowledge."

"I doubt it," Samwell replied, feigning skepticism. "The power of gods is beyond mortal comprehension. They can even bring the dead back to life."

"That's not as incomprehensible as you think. I've actually studied resurrection."

"Oh?" Samwell's interest piqued. "Enlighten me. What have you discovered about resurrection?"

Marwyn gestured toward Cleopatra. "You'll have to pay for that knowledge."

"That depends on whether your so-called knowledge is worth the price."

Marwyn chuckled and popped a sourleaf into his mouth, chewing as he began.

"Lord Caesar, what do you think gods are?"

Samwell raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps higher forms of life."

"Exactly!" Marwyn exclaimed. "And I believe they're higher forms of life that are imprisoned."

"Imprisoned?"

"Yes, trapped within the tides of magic. Like fish confined to a lake or sea." Marwyn chewed thoughtfully, red juice dripping from the corners of his mouth. "The world is teeming with gods—R'hllor, the Drowned God, the Old Gods, the Seven. We've heard their tales, seen their followers, and witnessed scattered miracles. But no one has ever truly seen these gods.

And when magic ebbs, the gods' influence vanishes. Prophecies fail, magic ceases, and priests lose their power. When magic flows back, so do the gods' miracles.

To me, this suggests the gods are not omnipotent. They're heavily constrained by the tides of magic. In fact, I'd say they're prisoners of it."

Samwell regarded the archmaester with growing intrigue. The man had delivered such heretical ideas with an almost casual air, yet his words carried undeniable weight.

"And how does this connect to resurrection?" Samwell asked.

"I wanted to illustrate that gods are not as fearsome as we think. Resurrection isn't an incomprehensible miracle; it's something that can be understood—if we acquire enough knowledge." Marwyn leaned closer. "Lord Caesar, are you familiar with the Drowned God's faith?"

"I know a little."

"Then you're aware of their drowning ritual?"

"Yes."

"Well, the priests claim the drowned are revived by the power of the Drowned God. But I've performed the same ritual on condemned criminals, none of whom believed in the Drowned God. And guess what? Some of them revived. Of course, not all—I'll admit there were failures—but many did."

Samwell smirked inwardly. He knew the so-called resurrection ritual was nothing more than crude CPR—a combination of chest compressions and forced breathing.

To an ignorant populace, it seemed miraculous, but Samwell understood it was basic medical science.

"So, reviving the dead is simply a matter of technique and knowledge," Samwell mused aloud.

"Exactly," Marwyn agreed. "If you like, I can demonstrate it with a prisoner."

"That won't be necessary. I believe you."

Marwyn's revelations had peeled back a layer of mystery surrounding resurrection. If something as mystical as the Drowned God's ritual could be explained by science, what about other forms of resurrection?

"What about R'hllor's resurrection?" Samwell asked, his tone serious. "Do you understand it?"

"The Lord of Light?" Marwyn pondered. "I've seen a young man revived by a red priest. I wasn't present during the act, so I can't say how it was done. But after his revival, the man became a fervent zealot, utterly devoted to R'hllor. He wasn't just alive—he was... a puppet."

Samwell's expression darkened as he thought of his brother Dickon. "Is there a way to free someone from that state?"

Marwyn paused, studying Samwell carefully. Finally, he nodded.

"Perhaps."

(End of Chapter)