Chapter Sixty Nine: Room To Grow

Fairness was something the majority of people, if not all of them, desired. Alas, most of the time, fairness was merely a concept or a theory. A truly fair world could never come to be. There would always be some individuals who would discriminate against and remain above those lesser fortunate than them. So long as these parties had means and grounds to stay ahead of others, this mentality would exist forevermore. Even in modern Westeros, the tendency to point out one another's differences is strong.

The manner of prejudice could vary, depending on one's ideologies. Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, it was not uncommon to discriminate on basis of birth, status, age, experience, background, or ethnicity. However, the most commonplace, traditional, and prevalent form of bias was still the one imparted by gender.

Since the days of the First Men – that's another thing; no one ever wonders about the First Women – males had always dominated their female counterparts. Men had always been the warriors, the guardians, the scholars, the sailors, and the leaders. Any time a woman attempted to gain such a position, she would be fortunate to gain the respect and recognition of even a few men. Alas, even if she managed that much, she would usually been ridiculed or overlooked by most other men.

Certainly, one could always point out how gender never mattered in Dorne. For that alone, I'm glad to be from there. However, while that was undeniably true, Dorne was still just one place. Everywhere else in Westeros, men came before women in just about everything.

For over eight thousand years, it had been the law of both nature and civilization that men would have the power. One would think this policy would never change. Fortunately, everything in nature and civilization changes overtime. Including nature and civilization themselves.

While it may have seemed impossible for women to ever be more powerful than men, it was certainly possible for the two sexes to be equally powerful. Especially in modern times. In fact, in recent years, women had become more prominent than in any other time in history. That was primarily due to Lord Gregor Clegane and the formation of the Legion without Banners. In that prestigious organization, bias in any form was practically nonexistent. If ever a woman joined, no one batted an eyelid.

Although Lord Gregor was still the supreme commander of the Legion without Banners, the Legion's second-in-command was his wife, Dacey of House Mormont. Over two-thirds of all Legionnaires were male, but every one of them acknowledged Lady Dacey's authority. It doesn't hurt that she stands taller than most of them, as well.

Lady Dacey Clegane was the foremost example of how far women could rise in power. She was adored and respected by almost every member of her gender. Only the sternest and stuffiest ladies – In other words, the ones who think that women should wear only dresses and raise her voice only in the bedroom – frowned upon her lifestyle. Thankfully, the number who still believed in those outdated social norms were few in number.

Of course, Lady Dacey was not the only woman who currently occupied a position of power and authority. There were several others all throughout Westeros. One of them was the Mountain's younger sister, Ellyn Clegane. She was married to Tyrion Lannister, and the two of them were widely recognized for their wits, prudence, and intellect. Those attributes had made them quite popular with other nobles and smallfolk alike. Furthermore, their son Duncan was in the running to become the next Lord of Casterly Rock. Who would have thought a dwarf and a giantess could have such a happy marriage?

There was also Lady Asha Greyjoy. Gender roles were usually even stricter in the Iron Islands. Nevertheless, the Ironborn woman had managed to become captain of her own ship. Even after she wed Ser Edmure Tully, the heir to the Riverlands, she had retained command of her vessel. Whenever she stepped on board that ship, even her lord husband did not question her word.

The list of influential women in the modern world only went on from there. Lady Brienne Tarth, Lady Olenna Tyrell, Princess Daenerys Targaryen, Princess Elia Martell, and Queen Cersei Baratheon. And, of course, Obara Martell and Nymeria Martell. How could I ever forget my own sisters? They were actually half-sisters, but that was a minor detail.

Despite how powerful the fairer sex had become in modern times, there were still some things women could not do that men could. Most notably, they could not enlist in the Night's Watch or join the Conclave. However, women were not banned from the Wall altogether. With how much the Watch had grown in the last decade, women now had the option to assist the Watch by serving as cooks and laundresses. A number of the wildling spearwives even helped occupy and guard some of the castles along the Wall.

All the same, women were absolutely forbidden from setting foot in the Citadel. But that did not stop me.

As far back as she could remember, Sarella Sand had yearned to become a maester. She used to dress in maester's robes when she was younger, much like her sister Tyene would dress in the attire of a septa. To this day, they were both still partial to those respective forms of clothing.

However, Tyene only dressed up like a septa, but she had no intention to actually become one. That was the exact opposite of Sarella's position. Whenever she dressed as a maester, it was not just for fashion. Yet every time she did so, she put her own life at risk. Nonetheless, she was determined to forge her own chain.

It had been two years since Sarella first infiltrated the Citadel. Every day since then, she had lied about her identity. Her true gender was unknown to every person in Oldtown. She had had more than a few close calls, but so far, she had never been discovered. As far as her colleagues knew, she was Alleras, the son of a trader from Dorne with no ties to nobility whatsoever. That was all they would ever know. I'll keep this secret with my life. I have to. If ever her secret was exposed, it would mean her life.

Naturally, concealing her gender had not been easy. Every morning when she rose, she had to wrap her breasts tightly to her chest. Every night before she turned in, she undid her bindings. She never once forgot to remove them. I want my own chain, but I'm not going to sacrifice my bust to get it.

In addition to that, Sarella could never bathe or dress in the presence of the other acolytes and novices. Thank the gods I have my own bedchamber. She only went to the privy when it was empty. When she had her moon's blood, she would immediately tend to it and clean up the mess. Whenever she fell ill or required an examination, she never sought out the other maesters. In instances such as those, she always consulted Maester Caleotte. He alone can be trusted with this matter. After all, Papa, Aunt Elia, and Uncle Doran entrusted him with the truth of Uncle Rhaegar's children.

Although Caleotte was the only maester in the land who knew of Sarella's presence at the Citadel, he was not the only person who knew that. Papa, Tyene, and a few others in Sunspear were aware. Sarella had told them herself before she travelled to the other side of the continent.

There was nothing preventing the people Sarella had confided in from sharing her secret with other parties. As long as those parties could be trusted, she did not mind. As it happened, Papa had told Lord Gregor Clegane of this matter. Sarella was certain of this because three weeks beforehand, she had received a letter from Samwell Tarly, the Mountain's notary.

The letter was addressed to Alleras, but the contents mentioned the recipient's connection to Prince Oberyn Martell. Sarella had continuously insisted to her fellow acolytes that her father was not a noble. As such, the only way Samwell or Lord Gregor could have known about her background was if someone had told them. Only Papa could have done that.

There was nothing in the letter that gave away Sallera's identity or anything else that could have incriminated her. That by itself was a blessing. There is no telling who could have snuck a peek at the letter in the time between when it arrived at Oldtown and when I got it from the rookery. The wax on the missive's seal may have looked unbroken when she first received the letter, but Sallera knew better than to be fooled by appearances. Which is more than I can say for every man at the Citadel.

In any case, the letter had fascinated her. Sallera was aware that Gregor Clegane had constructed a contraption known as a printing press earlier that year. She was also aware that someone had attempted to destroy the press not long after its completion. Everyone in the realm probably knew of that by now. Everyone in the Citadel already knows, at least.

Normally, she would have assumed that was just because the Citadel was very resourceful. However, according to Samwell Tarly's letter, Lord Gregor Clegane had acquired some evidence that the Conclave itself was behind the attempt.

Apparently, Moat Cailin's maester, Kennick, had stolen some black powder from the moat's stores in effort to demolish the printing press. First, he had paid some northern thug to do the deed. When that failed, Maester Kennick had tried to do it himself. That also failed. Moreover, it resulted in him getting caught in the act. At swordpoint, he had confessed to being under orders from his superiors to destroy the printing press.

Since then, Maester Kennick had been confined to his quarters and kept under constant guard. The populace of Moat Cailin had been told that a threat had been made against the maester's life. Lord Gregor had invented that excuse to cover up the maester's betrayal. It was possible that not everyone bought that lie, but it was sufficient to avoid arousing suspicion. More importantly, it did not give the Conclave any reason to wonder if Lord Gregor knew of their plot. It will only be a matter of time before they catch on, though. Thankfully, that had already occurred to Lord Gregor, too.

Although Maester Kennick had been removed as a threat, the Mountain was convinced that the Conclave still posed an even greater threat. He was concerned that they might make another attempt to destroy the printing press. Worse yet, he was under the impression that the issue of the printing press was not the only ploy the Conclave was involved in. Apparently, it may have been just one of many.

As such, Lord Gregor was determined to find out what else the Conclave had planned. That was why he had written Sarella. It seemed she was the only person at the Citadel he was willing to reach out to. Of course, he did not really know her, nor she him. We've never even met. All the same, they were both close enough to her father that Lord Gregor felt he could place his faith in her. His letter had claimed as much.

Most of the letter had been a summary report of recent events which the Citadel had or might have had a hand in. The rest of it was essentially a request for aid. Quite plainly, Lord Gregor Clegane wanted Sarella to be the Legion's eyes and ears within the Citadel.

Since Sarella was in the unique position of being both an acolyte and the Red Viper's daughter, she was already obligated to investigate the Conclave on the Mountain's behalf. Of course, she could not reveal to anyone that she was assisting the Legion; this was a strictly covert operation. Furthermore, she would not give her aid unconditionally.

Fortunately, Lord Gregor had assured her that he did not expect her to do anything that might get her thrown out of the Citadel or compromise her secret. All he needed was for her to do a little digging into the Conclave's innerworkings. Even doing that much would involve a considerable risk, but it was a risk Sarella was willing to shoulder. Papa always spoke fondly of the Mountain That Rides. So long as he counts Lord Gregor as an ally of his, he is an ally of mine, too.

She only wished she could be as useful to Lord Gregor as he hoped she could be. Thus far, she had not even confirmed that the Conclave was behind the attempt to destroy the printing press. Lately, no one at the Citadel had talked about the printing press. Most of them did not even seem to care about it.

However, that in itself might have been a promising clue. It implied that most of the Conclave was not involved in the plot to destroy the printing press. In fact, Sallera was reasonably sure that the novices, the acolytes, and the regular maesters were innocent of that scheme. The Archmaesters, on the other hand… she had more reasons to suspect them of foul play than not. They always preached about serving the realm for the greater good. Perhaps they did, but whose greater good? That was the real question.

Most likely, the Archmaesters are the only ones who mean to destroy the press. That at least narrows down the number of people I should investigate. But I'm still no closer to the heart of this matter than I was before.

The Archmaesters were even more secretive about their private affairs than Sarella was about her sex. Obviously, eavesdropping or spying on them in any way would be extremely dangerous. But it could be done. I know it can be done, and I'll do it. So far, this was her only lead. Her only choice was to pursue it. She would have to choose her approach carefully, though. Otherwise all her achievements so far would be for nothing.

So, how do I find out what they're up to? There must be a way.

"Alleras?" a voice interrupted her broodings. "Alleras? Sphinx, are you still here?"

Sallera hastily emerged from her reverie and turned in the direction of the speaker. It sounded like Armen. It turned out it was Armen.

"What?" Sallera responded in her soft Dornish drawl. After two years, she had perfected that masculine undertone. It was deceptive enough to fool even the sharpest master of accents.

"You were spacing out again," Armen remarked.

Sallera raised an eyebrow, looked around at the others, and asked rhetorically "Was I spacing out?"

"You certainly were," Pate confirmed, taking a swallow from his tankard.

"Well then, my apologies," she stated bluntly.

At that, Mollander raised an eyebrow. He learned forward and asked in concern "Alleras, is there something on your mind?"

"Something's always on my mind," Sallera answered him flatly.

"You know what I meant," Mollander mumbled drily, folding his arms, "Something's bothering you."

"I never said that," she countered.

"You didn't have to," Mollander asserted, "I surmised it all on my own. Perhaps we should talk about it."

Where did this come from? Sallera sipped her ale and remarked "That is quite unnecessary. Just because you are a little perturbed-"

"It is not just me, Alleras," Mollander cut in, "It's all of us."

That piqued Sallera's interest. She inquired "What do you mean?"

Mollander apprised her with "The others did not want to say anything, but I cannot hold my tongue any longer. Listen… we are worried about you."

That took Sallera by surprise. He cannot be serious. Then she looked around the table at Armen, Roone, and Pate. They said nothing; they just lightly nodded their heads. He is. Now, Sallera was perplexed. "Why are you worried?"

"You've been rather withdrawn these past few weeks," Pate pointed out, "Even more so than you usually are. It is almost as though you've been avoiding everyone at the Citadel whenever possible. Including us."

"It is?" Sallera uttered in genuine surprise.

"Indeed," Armen affirmed, "We know you're not cross with us; you would have told us if you were. But it could be something even worse than that. Roone is starting to think that you might have plans to leave the Citadel."

The youngest of their group flushed and mumbled irately "You didn't have to tell him that."

"It's the truth, is it not?" Pate said sardonically, smirking.

Roone said nothing in response. He just frowned and gazed off to the side. Then it is true. Sallera did not wish to cause her friends such needless unrest. She informed them "If I have upset you, then I truly am sorry. I assure you I have no intention of leaving the Citadel anytime soon. There is a reason why I've been so withdrawn, but the reason is not as grand as that."

"Then what is the reason, Sphinx?" Mollander asked in interest.

"I have simply been preoccupied with a task for most of the last turn of the moon," Sallera disclosed. I cannot tell them everything, but if I just lie to them, I know I'll come to regret it later.

"What sort of task?" Roone queried.

"That, I cannot tell you," the Sand Snake proclaimed, "But it is imperative that I complete it. It was given to me by someone I cannot afford to let down."

"One of the Archmaesters?" Armen conjectured.

Be careful how you answer here, she cautioned herself. She revealed "No, none of them gave it to me. On the contrary; part of the assignment involves investigating the Archmaesters."

"Which ones?" Mollander enquired.

"All of them, really," Sarella claimed.

"Even Archmaester Walgrave and those like him?" Pate presumed in disgust. Sallera could not blame him. Just being near Walgrave makes me want to retch. Every time I approach his bed, nature calls him.

"No, the ones who've taken leave of their wits can be excluded," Sallera slyly pronounced, "But until I can prove otherwise, none of the other Archmaesters can be. I intend to observe and report on their activities."

"Can we at least know why you're so invested in this task?" Armen requested.

I would rather not share that information, but I suppose it wouldn't harm you, me, Lord Gregor, or anyone else. Sarella shrugged and murmured "I guess I can tell you that much. But I will not repeat myself, so if you truly wish to know, listen closely."

She waited until she had the men's attention, and then she informed them "The person who assigned me this task is a close friend of my father. A very close and personal friend, as well as powerful and influential. He has connections to Oldtown, and – for reasons I cannot divulge – he has discovered that someone in the Conclave is working against him. As a favor to him, I have agreed to look into the matter, and I have come to the conclusion that his rival must be one or more of the Archmaesters."

"How do you know that?" Roone asked.

"I cannot say," she muttered candidly.

"Aren't you concerned that by helping this friend of your father, you'll ultimately get yourself in trouble with the Archmaesters?" Mollander contended.

"Yes, I realize the possibility of that," Sallera proclaimed, "But that will only happen if I get caught, and I've no intention of letting that happen."

"Then I salute you for your boldness," Armen commented, raising his tankard, "But I pray you do not come to regret what you are doing."

"I won't," the Dornishwoman declared. She allowed herself another swig of ale, and then she added in "Long as the lot of you do not rat on me."

"Of course, we won't," Roone asserted. The other three men mumbled their agreement. "I myself would welcome the chance to learn something more about the Archmaesters. Doing so might even help us get ahead in our studies."

"Now there's a thought," Pate uttered in approval.

"Well, if that is what you believe, then feel free to do some investigation of your own," Sallera bade her friends, "But do not ask me to do any for you. My only goal is to accomplish the task I was given."

"Fair enough," Armen said blankly.

Silence reigned for about a minute. At their table, at least. Some of the other tables were being rather noisy. But that was hardly abnormal for the Quill and Tankard at this time of the day.

Mollander ordered another round, and Rosey the serving wench promptly brought them one. As she placed down five new tankards, she flashed a sultry smile Sallera's way. The Dornishwoman smiled back politely, but not in a suggestive way. You're beautiful, dear, but alas, I cannot indulge you. Through no fault of her own, Sallera – as Alleras, naturally – was quite popular with the serving wenches in this tavern, much to the envy of Pate.

Once Rosey was gone, Sallera and her companions helped themselves to the next round. Mollander took a sip from his fresh tankard, and then he turned to Sallera and told her "If you've no objections, I would like to know a little more about this friend of your father. How well do you know the man?"

"To be honest, only by reputation," Sarella admitted, "But my father speaks highly of him. He regards the man as one of the few truly good men in this world."

"That manner of man is rare," Armen thought aloud. Quite so.

"You must have a great deal of respect for this man if you're willingly jeopardizing your position in the Conclave for him," Mollander noted.

"Oh, I do," Sarella claimed, "But you needn't fret. He gave me explicit orders not to go out of my way for his sake. He told me himself that he does not want me to do anything that would ruin or effect my standing at the Citadel."

"He sounds a reasonable person," Roone observed, taking a long sip from his tankard.

"He's quite reasonable," Sarella validated, "More than that, he is fair. In my mind, he is perhaps the fairest man in the Seven Kingdoms."

Armen, Pate, and Roone seemed impressed by that statement. She wanted to think Mollander was likewise impressed, but at the present, it was hard to read his countenance.

Just then, Mollander picked up his tankard and drained its contents in one long, steady gulp. Once it was empty, he slammed it down, belched into his shoulder, and rose to his feet. He announced "I've some business of my own I must attend to before I turn in, so I am going to head back to the Citadel now. You lot, stay here as long as you like."

Oh, I plan to be here for at least another hour or two. This is the first time I've gotten out since I received Lord Gregor's letter. Until I make some more progress in my search, I won't be leaving the Conclave again. So, I'm going to savor this respite and make it a long one. Who knows? Maybe I'll get so drunk that I'll give answer to Rosey's flirting.

Of course, Sarella was more responsible than that. She knew better than to get drunk whilst living a mummer's farce. Still, the thought was tempting. Pate was always very keen to point out that Rosey was an attractive girl, and Sarella found herself agreeing with him. That's my Dornish heritage at work, she thought in amusement. She was the Red Viper's daughter, after all.

An hour and a-half and two more rounds later, Sarella and the others decided to call it a night. By now, Roone was so inebriated that he could hardly even stand straight. As Armen handled the bill, Sarella and Pate pulled Roone to his feet, and they helped him to the door. The four of them exited the Quill and Tankard together, and they staggered all the way back to the Citadel.

Pate and Armen were not quite as tipsy as Roone, but they both seemed more than a little lightheaded. Luckily, Sarella had not as much to drink, and she was an expert at stomaching her alcohol. As such, she was still mostly sober.

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the dormitories in the Citadel. Roone managed to avoid passing out until they delivered him to his bedchamber. After dropping him off, Sarella, Pate, and Armen retreated to their own chambers.

When Sarella was safely within the confines of her room, she locked the door. Then she pushed a chair in front of it. That was a precaution in case someone ever picked the lock or came by with a skeleton key. The chair would not be guaranteed to keep such individuals out, but it would buy her enough time to wake up and hide away her feminine characteristics. I can always explain why I barricaded the door. There's no way I could ever explain why my chest is not flat.

Once the door was secure, Sarella walked over to her bed. She began to undress. First, she removed her chain. It was a small chain; it only had three links. Still, that is not too bad for an acolyte. The most recent link she had forged was copper for history.

After setting her chain on the nightstand, she slipped out of her acolyte robes. Beneath those she wore a tunic and breeches. She started to pull her tunic over her head, but when it was halfway over her head, she stopped.

She stopped because she thought she heard something. She listened closely, and it sounded like… humming.

At first, it was just humming. Then actual words replaced it. A voice quietly chanted "As he came into the window… it was the sound of… a crescendo."

At that, Sarella lowered her tunic and turned her gaze to the window. For as long as she had lived in this bedchamber, she had kept the window shut and sealed. At this moment, it still was. So, the voice could not have come from the outside. It was coming from within her bedroom.

The voice muttered softly "He came into her apartment… He left the bloodstains… on the carpet."

What does that mean? The floor of her room was hard, and she would have noticed if there was blood on it. But if I am not careful, there might be some soon.

The voice appeared to come from behind her. She glimpsed out the corner of her eye, and she saw a figure standing in the shadows. She could not make out the figure's face, but he appeared to be smirking. He added in "She ran underneath the table… He could see she… was unable."

That much was true. At this moment, she was unable to flee or fight back. But that did not mean she was defenseless. She was prepared to deal with intruders, and she had taken precautions for incidents such as this one.

Sarella calmly knelt before her bed and slipped her hand underneath the mattress. As she did this, the figure murmured "So, she ran into the bedroom… She was struck down… it was her doom."

That last line was the most ominous one so far. Still, Sarella did not panic. She just kept feeling around under her mattress. To her horror, she soon discovered there was nothing there. Where the hells is it?!

Right then, she was grabbed from behind. She raised both her arms in attempt to fend off her assailant, but before she could fight back, a knife was held at her throat. A very familiar knife. The figure stated wryly "Looking for this?"

It only took Sarella a moment to confirm that it was her knife. The very same knife she had concealed under her bed for protection. She lowered her hands in angry defeat.

"Good choice," the figure commented approvingly, "That's the smart thing to do."

This time, she recognized the voice. She peered over her shoulder and whispered "Mollander?"

"Hello, Alleras," he rejoined, easing his grip on her, "Or should I say… Sarella?"

The Sand Snake was flabbergasted. Initially, she was inclined to feign ignorance or deny the accusation. However, there would have been no point. He had seen her chest wrappings, and that strange song of his implied that he at least had an inkling of the truth. If he already knew her name… he must have been certain of himself.

Sarella was more curious than anxious now. She sighed and uttered inquisitively "How long have you known?"

"Since the day we met," Mollander disclosed, "Before then, actually. I knew you would be coming to the Citadel long before you even got the idea to."

Now Sarella was downright confused. She thought aloud "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"I cannot fault you for thinking so," he stated, "I shall explain my meaning. I will also explain why I am here, and if you have questions, I will answer them to the best of my ability. I'm certain you've many."

To say the least. At that, Mollander lowered the knife and helped Sarella back up to her feet. She was considered trying to seize her knife from him, but her instincts told her not to fight him. Unlike a moment ago, he was treating her gently. As she turned to face him, he told her sincerely "I'm sorry if I scared you or hurt you. I assure you I have no intention of harming you in any way. I just needed to get your attention, and I needed you to take me seriously."

"You could have just asked to speak to me," she wryly stated.

"Yes, but that wouldn't have been as effective," Mollander contended. Perhaps not. "Besides, under normal circumstances, if I confronted you on your sex, I'm certain you would have denied it. If possible, you might have threatened me in order to keep my mouth shut."

"That's… fairly accurate," Sarella confessed. She could be very persuasive, and it was normally easy for her to get people to cooperate. While she was determined to keep her identity hidden at the Citadel, she had been prepared to deal with the fallback if ever it was discovered. If anyone ever learned the truth, she had been confident that she could intimidate that person into staying silent. After this encounter with Mollander, she was inclined to believe otherwise. Trying to intimidate him would have been a lost cause. "If someone was to expose my sex here, my life would be forfeit."

"Well, you needn't worry about me," Mollander proclaimed, "Your secret is safe with me."

That was a little reassuring. Despite how he had just held a knife to her throat, Sallera felt she could trust Mollander. He's kept quiet about my identity for this long, after all. Still, one particular question on her mind was left unanswered. Sarella stated "If you're not here to harm me, extort me, or toy with me, then why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mollander drily remarked, giving a light smile. Not especially. When she did not supply an answer, his smile dropped slightly. He let out a slow breath, and he revealed "I'm here to help you."

Sarella raised an eyebrow in interest. She asked, "Help me how?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," he pronounced, "But before we get into that, I would recommend that we sit down first. I could be here a long time. Maybe all night."

He could always sleep here, if need be. Sarella grinned wickedly at that thought. We both know how that might turn out. In actuality, that thought was not meant to be a lewd one, but it could still be viewed as somewhat suggestive, all the same.

Sarella amused herself. Just a few minutes ago, he was holding a knife to my throat. Now, I'm already willing to let him poke me with another object that can pierce. Sarella was not really expecting that to happen. Nor did she wish it to at this time. If she and Mollander did that, they would end up having much less time to talk. Right now, this conversation was at the top of her list of priorities.

"Alright, let's have a seat," Sarella ultimately conceded, gesturing to the table against the wall opposite the bed. She and Mollander swiftly walked over to the table. The table had come with three chairs. One of those chairs was still bracing the door, but the other two were in their usual spots on either side of the table. The acolyte and the novice sat down in them, and Mollander placed the knife in the center of the table's surface. Now neither of them was armed. I hope we won't have to be. Once they were settled, Sarella resumed the discussion with "So, what do you aim to help me with?"

"With your task," he clarified, "The one given to you by Lord Gregor Clegane."

Now Sarella was astounded. "How could you possibly know that?"

"It was simple, actually," Mollander pronounced, "Since I knew you who were all along, I also knew that your father is Prince Oberyn Martell. Earlier at the Quill and Tankard, you said you were helping a friend of your father's. I know the Red Viper has no shortage of friends, as popular as he is. But you described this particular friend as 'one of the few truly good men in this world' and 'the fairest man in the Seven Kingdoms.' That narrowed the list down to just one single person."

He has a point. Lord Gregor is known far and wide for his benevolent nature and his firm system of justice. Sarella muttered "I understand your logic. But that does not explain why you are suddenly so interested in my task."

"Indeed, it doesn't," Mollander commented, "Allow me to elaborate. While I do want to help you succeed in your task, I am not helping you solely out of the goodness of my heart. Truthfully, I am looking out for my own interests, as well. You see, I am endeavoring to make contact with the Mountain That Rides."

That provided some clarity. Sarella assumed "And you mean to get to him through me?"

"That is the idea, yes," Mollander confirmed, "I've been looking for a way to correspond with him for a very long time."

"Then why are you only talking to me about this now?" Sarella enquired.

"Because while I'm certain Gregor Clegane already knew your secret, I had no way of knowing if you knew that he knew," Mollander professed. "Until tonight, of course. But if I approached you before tonight and it turned out you were unaware of that, it would not have ended well for either of us. If worse came to worst, both our secrets would have been needlessly exposed."

Sarella was intrigued. "What do you mean 'both our secrets?'"

"Your gender and my background," he replied.

"Your background?" she mumbled enquiringly. When he nodded, she said "I mean no offense, but what's so special about that? You're from the Stormlands, your father was a knight, and the reason you did not become a knight yourself is because of your clubfoot. That's all you've ever said about your background."

"That is only part of my background," Mollander explicated, "There's another part that no one knows about. Due to the unusual circumstances surrounding it, no one – including you – can ever know about it, either. Except Gregor Clegane."

"Why only him?" Sarella queried.

He hesitated a moment. At first, it seemed as though he would not answer her. After that, he looked her in the eye and pronounced "Because that part of my background is very similar to a part of his."

Sarella did not know what she was expecting Mollander to tell her. But she was taken aback by his answer. It was quite blunt and quite vague at the same time. She muttered in a flat tone of voice "What in the Seven are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that 'source' Lord Gregor is known for," he illuminated straightforwardly, "I have the very same source."

Sarella did not know what to say to that. Ultimately, she remarked "I thought you said you've never met the Mountain."

"I haven't," he validated.

"Then how do you know that you and he have the same knowledge of the world?" she inquired.

"Because I know what the world would be like if he hadn't used his knowledge," Mollander enlightened her, "It would be very different from what it is now. It would be in complete disarray. The Seven Kingdoms would be torn apart by power struggles and war. Westerosi politics would be overrun with scandals and corruption. All nine Lords Paramount would have died in the span of five years. The Free Folk would have laid siege to the Wall. And even after all that, the Others would still have yet to march south."

Again, Sarella was speechless. I do not know if I can accept this. Or if I should accept it. All this ominous information was almost too much for her to process. A thought occurred to her. How do I even know he is being honest? For all she knew, he was just making all this up on the spot. Then again… he doesn't have any reason to mislead me. He came here to help me, after all.

"If all that startles you, it shouldn't," Mollander debated, "As of now, that is merely what could have happened. Thankfully, most of those crises have been averted. For the present, there are only two widescale issues we should be concerned about. The first and foremost being the return of the Others, of course."

That goes without saying. The entire realm was aware of that impending threat. Every living person in Westeros had been preparing to face the Army of the Dead for the last six years. In fact, the only people on the continent who seemed wholly unfazed by the return of the Others were a number of the Citadel's Archmaesters. Sarella stated curiously "And the second one?"

"Something a little closer to home," Mollander responded. Whatever that means. A few seconds later, he specified his meaning. He told her straightforwardly "The Conclave."

Somehow, Sarella was not as surprised as he may have expected her to be. Lord Gregor Clegane did suspect that the Archmaesters were plotting against him. Still, if Mollander regarded them as the same type and level of risk as the Long Night… Could they really be that big a danger?

She murmured softly "You mean to tell me the Conclave is a hazard to us?"

He nodded lightly, and he declared "The Others may be the greater menace, but the Conclave has done enough damage over the last eight thousand years to match the Long Night a dozen times over."

An uncomfortable silence followed that revelation. Once it passed, Sarella whispered disbelievingly "Surely you jest."

"I do not," Mollander proclaimed. Then he smirked and wittily added in "And don't call me 'surely.'"

That just baffled her. "I beg your pardon?"

"That was a jape," he claimed, "It's more humorous when you know the context of it. But never mind that; it's unimportant. Let's get back to the topic at hand."

"Gladly," Sarella commented. Albeit more than a little reluctantly. I don't think I'm going to particularly like what I'm about to hear. Be that as it may, if this information would somehow help her accomplish the task Lord Gregor had given her, she would not overlook it. In any case, she gazed up at Mollander and queried "Now, tell me; why do you believe the Conclave is almost as great a threat as the Others?"

"Where to begin?" he said sardonically. After a brief pause, he proclaimed "I know; let's start with technology. From an industrial standpoint, how much progress do you suppose the Seven Kingdoms has ever made?"

Sarella thought for a moment, and then she professed "In the last two decades, it has made plenty."

"Yes, it has," Mollander admitted, "But that was after Gregor Clegane rose to power in the North. For now, I'm focusing solely on the events which preceded Robert's Robellion. How much technological progress would you say Westeros achieved before the Targaryens fell from power?"

Sarella thought again; this time for a few minutes. She knew the history of Westeros extremely well. I did just get my copper link. She tried hard to think of just one occasion when Westeros experienced a huge breakthrough in its culture. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not think of even one noteworthy example. Soon, she realized what exactly Mollander was insinuating. She answered him with "Honestly… hardly any."

"In other words, none," he argued, "That is just it. The people of Westeros are still using the same tools, equipment, and practices their ancestors used eight millennia ago. They live in a society with a culture that has always remained the same. That type of society is unnatural. Cultures are meant to grow, evolve, develop, and flourish. Other than going from seven actual kingdoms to seven kingdoms in name only, Westeros hasn't changed at all."

"Do you believe the Conclave is to blame?" Sarella presumed. If not, I have no idea where this is headed.

"The Conclave is to blame," Mollander insisted. He folded his arms and continued with "I've been at the Citadel for more than twice as long as you have. To the Archmaesters, I am just another struggling novice. They do not see me as gifted or exceptional. Some of them even regard me as incompetent, incapable, or unqualified to be a maester. However, that is simply an act meant to deceive them. Their lack of interest has given me plenty of opportunities to sneak around the Citadel. If I am cautious, I can go almost anywhere unnoticed. You may have been investigating the Archmaesters for the last three weeks, but I've been doing my own investigating for the last five years. That's long enough for me to learn of every misdeed the Conclave has committed over the course of all of Westeros's history. Perpetually suppressing the technological development of the Seven Kingdoms is merely one of them."

Sarella was totally captivated by this point. Things are really beginning to get interesting. "What all else have they done?"

"Well, the full list is so long that you would literally need a whole library to store it," Mollander disclosed, "As such, I have neither the time nor the drive to go over everything. I'll just supply you with some specific examples."

"You have my undivided attention," Sarella declared.

Mollander folded his arms and learned back in his chair. Once he was comfortable, he told her "Firstly, the Archmaesters were responsible for the extinction of the dragons. Ever since the days of Aegon the Conqueror, the Conclave has viewed dragons as a grave disruption of the natural order. For a while, they managed to tolerate the beasts. Then Aegon II fed Grand Maester Gerardys to Sunfyre. That was when the Conclave conspired to rid the realm of dragons. Over the course of the following century, they secretly fed the dragons vast amounts of a poison that slowly killed them off. By the end of Aegon III's reign, they were all but exterminated."

Sarella was stunned. So, it turns out Aegon the Unlucky is not the one deserving of the moniker 'Dragonbane.' She commented "Now that dragons have returned to the world, we should take steps to ensure that they will be protected from the Conclave."

"I concur," Mollander uttered, "But we do not have to worry about that just yet. The Targaryens understand how rare and important those three are. So does Gregor Clegane. We can count on them to keep the dragons safe. For now, at least."

"That's fortunate," said Sallera. We'll need the dragons when the Others march on the Seven Kingdoms.

"The Conclave is also culpable for the downfall of the Targaryen dynasty," Mollander notified her, "It is widely believed that pregnancies generated from incest produce madness in the resulting children. I've discovered there's no truth to that theory; it is complete and utter bullshit. A lie fabricated by the Conclave to cover up what was really going on."

"What was going on?" Sarella queried, even though she felt she would dread the answer.

"Poisoning again," he professed, "For two and a-half centuries, every Grand Maester who served on the small council slipped the Targaryens a drug that whittles away at the consumer's sanity. Thankfully, that particular drug is only effective about fifty percent of the time. That is why only about half of all Targaryens were mad. Even then, the majority of the victims only had slightly fewer wits than the average person. But there were some more extreme cases. Most notably Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, Aerion Brightflame, and, of course, Mad King Aerys."

"But there have been some cases outside the Targaryen lineage when incestuous relations yielded a child of unsound mind," Sarella notified him.

"That does not indicate a cause-and-effect relationship," Mollander countered, "Their poor mental health could be attributed to any one of a number of other factors. Poor upbringing, careless guidance, inadequate nurturing… or maybe the child was simply damaged to begin with."

That would explain the reports on Viserys Targaryen. She assumed "And all the Grand Maesters were an accessory to this plot?"

"Actually, there were a few who refused," Mollander pronounced, "Grand Maester Marwyn is one of those few. He is perhaps the only living Archmaester we can count as a good man. He has always opposed the Citadel's campaigns to control the Seven Kingdoms. That is why he was sent to King's Landing in the first place. You see, the Conclave doubted the Baratheon dynasty would last this long, so they did not deem it necessary to drug King Robert or his family. They appointed Marwyn to the small council just so he would not be at the Citadel to interfere with the Conclave's agenda."

It would seem the Archmaesters do not have impeccable foresight. That could mean good news for us and our allies. "So, Grand Maester Marwyn can be trusted?"

"Yes, he can," he affirmed, "But I cannot say the same for his acolytes. They may serve under him, but some of them still take orders from the Conclave. In fact, several months ago, a couple of them requested some ravens and other supplies to build their own rookery. Archmaester Norren was the one who provided them those materials."

"What would they need their own rookery for?" she inquired.

"Apparently, it's part of the Conclave's efforts to regain their standing in King's Landing," he revealed, "The acolytes appear to be working independently of the Archmaesters, but they are not working on their own. Somehow, House Lannister is involved in this affair, too."

That is hardly surprising. The lions' notoriety knows no bounds. Just then, a random thought entered Sarella's mind. Could the acolytes' rookery be somehow connected to the Pentoshi Bloodbath?

Before she could put that questions into words, Mollander went on with "Most recently, the Conclave launched a plot against Lord Gregor Clegane. I can confirm that they were indeed the ones who tried to destroy the Mountain's printing press. The Seneschal himself gave the order."

Although she had never doubted the Archmaesters' complicity in the printing press fiasco, Sarella Sand was astounded all the same. She stared down at her hands and mumbled "So, the Conclave truly is determined to obliterate the printing press."

"Not just the press," Mollander pronounced, "They've also targeted the man who patented it."

Sarella looked up in shock. She uttered softly "They're after Lord Gregor?"

Mollander nodded and expounded "The Archmaesters view the Mountain as the current biggest threat to their hold on the Seven Kingdoms. He is the first person who ever managed to revolutionize Westeros in every cultural aspect. Politics, economy, social order, the arts… even geography. While the rest of the realm has thrived due to his actions, the Conclave sees his deeds as an affront to their machinations. They are unwilling to allow these changes to go on for much longer. Therefore, sometime in the near future, they are going to try to kill him."

For a very brief moment, Sarella was horrified. Then her horror was expediently replaced with outrage. She spat through gritted teeth "Why would they dare to do that? Lord Gregor Clegane has done more for this country than all maesters have since their order was founded."

"You just answered your own question," Mollander drily stated, "I understand your fury. I'm furious myself. But the Archmaesters of the Citadel are an unscrupulous lot. We may have a king, eight Lords Paramount, and scores of lesser lords ruling over us, but at the end of the day, the true power comes from the Conclave. They will do anything and everything to stay in control of the Seven Kingdoms. They will even undo all the good Lord Gregor has instilled in the realm just to reassert their influence."

Sarella clenched her fists. Those bastard sons of pox-ridden harlots. She felt an almost overwhelming desire to stomp out of the room, march down the hallways, and strangle the first Archmaester she came across. Thankfully, she managed calm herself down and keep her anger under control, but her thirst for the Archmaesters' blood still lingered. She sternly muttered "Well, we cannot just sit idle and let them assassinate the Mountain."

"Oh, we won't," Mollander avowed, "I plan to stop them."

"How?" Sarella inquired.

Mollander was silent at first. Then a wicked grin gradually spread across his face, and he boldly announced, "By wiping them out."

Once more, Sarella was taken aback. She murmured quietly "Are… are you serious?"

"Completely," he proclaimed, "The Conclave is corrupt. It always has been, and unless we do something, it always will be. Therefore, I say we remove all the active Archmaesters from their stations. Permanently."

"How do you propose to do that?" Sarella uttered inquisitively, "There are scores of them. You are just one man. Even if I agreed to help you, there is no way we could eliminate them all. And even if we succeeded somehow, what would happen then? We would be labeled by everyone else as murderers."

"Unless the killings were to be interpreted as justice," Mollander countered. "That is why I want to get in touch with Gregor Clegane. If I bring my findings to his attention, I could persuade him to give me the Legion's support. That is critical. I will need the Legion's support in order to cleanse the Citadel."

"'Cleanse it?'" Sarella noted his queer choice of words, "Right now, I hate the Archmaesters every bit as much as you do. Yet even so, they are men, not vermin."

"Be that as it may, they are still pests," Mollander wittily disputed. I cannot really argue that point. "Once they're gone, their places will be taken by other men. Honorable, respectable men."

"I assume you have some idea of who these men might be?" Sarella asked rhetorically.

"More than an idea," Mollander informed her, "I have evaluated every maester currently stationed in the Citadel, and I have constructed a profile on each of them. I've already singled out all the ones who are more interested in the realm's prosperity than the Conclave's. Those are the men whom I imagine would occupy the heads of the branches."

"Impressive," Sarella commented. After a short pause, she asked "Once you've reformed the Conclave, who would you envision to be the next Seneschal?"

Mollander smiled widely, sat up in his chair, and declared "Me."

"You?" Sarella retorted, chuckling, "With all due respect, Mollander, you're still just a novice. Hells, even I am higher ranked than you."

"That may be," Mollander admitted, "But I have something no other maester has."

"What?" she queried.

"A gift," he told her, "The same gift as Gregor Clegane. Using that gift, he went from the impoverished son of a landed knight to one of the richest, most powerful lords in the Seven Kingdoms. That took him less than a year to accomplish. Every year since then, it has only made him stronger. Just think of all the ways that gift could benefit the Conclave."

"You make a fine argument," Sarella contended, "However, the Seneschal is reappointed annually. Your tenure would only last a year."

"Then we'll revise the system," Mollander proposed, "Maybe we could arrange it so that the office of the Seneschal could be held by anyone indefinitely, as long as the incumbent is of a sound mind."

"While that process does have its own appeal, the other maesters might not be so quick to accept it," Sarella supposed.

"You're right," Mollander conceded, "I expect most of them would be averse at first. If so, I would probably have to turn to Gregor Clegane once more. He could help me to sway our colleagues' minds."

"Through what means?" Sarella inquired skeptically.

"Reasoning, not intimidation, if that's what you're asking," Mollander illuminated. It was indeed what Sarella was really asking, and that answer helped to reassure her. The Mountain does resolve conflicts through diplomacy far more often than force. "Unlike the Archmaesters presently occupying the Conclave, the maesters I have in mind are all good men. I would not wish to coerce them into cooperation. I simply want them to hear me out and give me a chance to prove to them that I am the best possible candidate to lead them."

"Then convince me," Sarella suggested, "Go on, tell me why you would deserve to be Seneschal for life. If you acquired that authority, what would you do with it?"

"I would better the country," Mollander apprised her, "Just as Gregor Clegane has."

"Tell me more," she bade him.

He continued with "The Conclave would look out for everyone's interests; not just its own. It will give the power back to the crown, where it belongs. The Iron Throne and the Citadel would be kept separate. The Grand Maester would be the only liaison between the two. Likewise, every maester assigned to the noble houses would serve the families first, not the Archmaesters. Additionally, we would no longer hinder any efforts made to advance or reform Westeros. In fact, it will aid in those endeavors."

"How so?" Sarella enquired.

"Gregor Clegane has already introduced a number of practical innovations," Mollander explicated, "Cement, concrete, black powder, the printing press… all of them are invaluable. That's another advantage of the gift: the ability to invent."

"What sort of things would you invent?" the Sand Snake said inquisitively.

"Things that would propel Westeros into a new age," he claimed, "An age of learning and discovery. If I told you of the things I plan to give this world, I am certain you would doubt me. In your position, I would be just as dubious. However, given time, I will bring these inventions into existence. Once I have, you will see for yourself what wonders they are capable of."

Sarella had mixed feelings to that revelation. She scratched the side of her neck and wondered aloud "Can the world even handle the sudden appearance of such inventions?"

"Some, but not all," Mollander contended, "Most of the inventions I have in mind are so forward-thinking that we will probably need to wait hundreds and hundreds of years before they can be introduced to the world."

Sarella snorted in amusement. "Just how long do you expect to live?"

"As long as I possibly can," he wittily rejoined, "Alas, I am not immortal. I know I will be long dead before the best of my inventions can be created. As such, I will have to leave behind detailed instruction manuals for the current generation's descendants to find. Writing the manuals will be simple. All I need to do is hide them somewhere and arrange for them to remain hidden until the time is right."

"My family might be able to help," she proposed, "The Martells are superb at guarding all manner of secrets. Granted, we've never kept one for centuries. That I know of, anyway."

"I appreciate the offer," Mollander professed, "I will keep it in mind, though I may ultimately choose not to utilize it. Somehow, I'll find a way to pass on my knowledge to the people of the Seven Kingdoms. But I will not do it rapidly or hastily. In my experience, progress is best made when it is steady and gradual."

"Some might disagree," Sarella debated, "But I suppose you would know best. It's your knowledge, after all. It's yours to share as you see fit."

"That we agree on," he stated frankly. There came a bit of quietness, and then he pronounced "I have many more ideas on how I would positively effect change as the Seneschal. There is one in particular which I'm certain you would approve of."

"What's that?" she queried.

He leaned forward and declared "When recruiting its members, the Citadel will no longer discriminate on basis of sex. Anyone will be allowed to join."

Sarella was surprised again. Pleasantly, this time. She asked hopefully "Do you honestly mean that?"

"Of course, I do," Mollander confirmed. He extended his hand and brushed it lightly against the front of her tunic. Normally, she would have slapped his hand away. For some reason, she did not. Strangely, she enjoyed it. It's been so long since a man last caressed my bosom. As he caressed her, he declared "Think on that. You would no longer have to bind your chest every morning before you leave this room. You would not have to continue living a lie just to bring your dream to fruition. You could take pride in your true identity and forge your own chain at the same time."

That's everything I've ever wanted. It almost sounded too good to be true. As Mollander pulled back his hand, Sallera stated "I would be most grateful, but you'd be going to a lot of trouble to do that just for me."

"It wouldn't be just for you," he confessed, "It would be for your entire sex. This policy of only allowing males into the Citadel is outdated, impractical, wasteful, and – above all – unfair. This world has always been unfair. It is past time we started thinking about how we could correct that. I say we should begin by opening the Citadel's doors to all."

Once more, we can agree on something. The world will never be fair, but there is much we could do to make it less unfair. By now, she only had one remaining reservation that needed to be lessened. She pointed out "We would be taking a tremendous risk."

"I realize that," Mollander asserted, "But no one ever accomplished anything without risks. You can attest to that."

"That is true," she admitted, gazing down at her bound chest. How I'd love to walk the corridors of this building without these bindings. That was her greatest desire.

When she looked back up at Mollander, he remarked "So, with all that has been said and done, I must know where we go from here. Will you work with me? Will you help me remake the Conclave into an association we can be proud of?"

Sarella needed a few minutes to contemplate her response. Ultimately, she told him "Alright, you've won me over. I'll write to Lord Gregor Clegane and tell him of your proposal. I cannot guarantee he will readily accept it, but he will at least give it some serious consideration."

"That is all I'm asking for," Mollander pronounced, a small, satisfied smile crossing his face.