Chapter 30

1st Month 262AC

Dealing with Gormon Tyrell was something I hadn't particularly being looking forward to for the entire week. In fact, I like to consider the fact that I had dealt with the man more times than I would like. Couldn't the Citadel at the very least, sent another archmaester or something to oversee this bullshit?

Why did it have to be Gormon Tyrell?

Don't get me wrong, I had nothing against the guy. If anything, he seemed to be well suited to his title as archmaester, which he may or may not have bought with Tyrell gold or his name alone.

The good thing was that at the very least, he was nice enough to actually come in during the time that he had been booked in for. I was trying out a little something called appointments. It got tedious having to deal with a random person waiting for me outside what had bene designated as the 'Crown Prince's Office'.

Sure, there were some people that had yet to get the idea that unless it is a life or death matter, I had a secretary and two squires that are more than willing to write you into the appointment book, but that number had been decreasing steadily enough over the past few months. It also helped that I had something of a budging personal bureaucracy that dealt with all the bullshit that wasn't important enough for me to deal with.

I wonder if Westeros has coffee? I wasn't a particularly coffee man, never could stand the test, but apparently, it woke you up or gave you a quick perk and listening to Gormon Tyrell ramble on and on, I needed nothing more than a pick me up.

I smiled throughout the entire rambling. He was busy extolling the virtues of some maester or another for being the head of the...what was it again? Ah yes, some maester for being the head of the alchemy department of the school that existed physically but still had yet to receive it's first students.

The call had been made and I had received tentative replies from crownlander lords like the Brunes, Buckwells, Celtigars, Masseys, Bar Emmons among many others. The minor nobility of King's Landing like the Bywaters, Tides, Longwaters, Drifts, Merchants and the likes were already signing up second sons and even among the other houses, first sons as well. There was also replies when it came to sending their daughters as well.

Sure, Westeros was a deeply patriarchal society, but when it came to women, there where exceptions. They would be taught the same subjects as the boys, to make them better household managers whenever it came to running their own household when they married, but there was also the added benefit and incentive among the other houses to send their girls my way was because of the fact that there was bound to be a few heirs in the student list if I had anything to say.

And who knows, someone might catch someone's attention.

Or alliances could be built. Or something.

Taking my attention back from my thoughts to the real world, I found myself being hit with the truth of Gormon continuing to speak. I had already made my own decision about who was going to be the head of this particular department, but Gormon didn't know that.

He probably wasn't going to like it to know that it wasn't even going to be a maester. It was going to be my fine buddy Serret the pyromancer. Not that I was going to mention the pyromancer part. That would probably get him killed faster than Ryam.

This was how this particular dance had been going between me and Gormon and his master or compatriots at the Citadel. They had given me a list of all the half-maesters, acolytes and maesters that they could spare to serve as teachers for my school and in turn, I had gone through that entire list like a fine toothed comb.

Sort of redundant in my case since I didn't have a particular understanding as to whether the people given to me where actually serious about the vows they took or where the pets of...well, whoever in the Citadel that had some sort of agenda.

In other words, that had been the easiest part of the dealing with the Citadel. It was just when it came to the more finer administrative part of the equation that things began to boil down. I was being wholly reasonable to wanting my own people in charge of the running of my school that I was going to be paying the expenses to maintain and run, but for some strange reason, Gormon, perhaps even the Citadel thought this was unreasonable or something.

I held up a hand to halt Gormon right there. I was begin to tire of this. I smiled as disarmingly as possible. "Maester Garret sounds like a wonderful choice for the position, but unfortunately, I already have someone else in mind for the position."

I think I wouldn't be lying if I said Gormon's expression might have soured a little. I think this was like the fifth time or something that I had told him that I had found somebody else to run this department. "Who? If I maybe so bold to ask."

Alright, here we go. Serret was a pyromancer and there was probably still some people that would love to see him dead. Not going to mention the pyromancer part. Just going to say that he was a skilled alchemist from Essos.

It's not like he would be the first essosi that I had suddenly thrown into some position in my school.

"A learned man by the name of Serret. The master of whisperer's agents found him doing his trade in Volantis." There were millions of people who lived in Volantis and it's territories. And among those thousands, there was also an additional thousands upon thousands of people that practiced alchemy in some form or way.

That was my entire genius plan to keep his past from being found out, drown him in the multitude of bodies that called Volantis home. If the maesters want to do their own background check in Volantis, they had the go ahead as far as I cared.

They would be hard pressed to find anything organised about the alchemist trade there.

Of course, it would be stupid of me to make sure that his own background in King's Landing wasn't hidden or something. Thankfully, it seemed the alchemists had an MO of picking up urchins or orphans and inducting them into their guild.

And Serret happened to have been an orphan before he was inducted into said guilt, simply for the chance of having a bed to sleep and food to eat. The whole loving the substance thing came later he had told me. I...don't know how to take that. Apparent, if you weren't some sort of pyromaniac, the pyromancers apparently had the means to turn you into one.

I hope he wasn't lying to me, either wise, it probably would have been better for him to run off to Essos with the other pyromancers.

"Serret." Gormon repeated, tasting the word in his mouth. "Strange name for a Volantene." He finished, eyes narrowed and brows lowered ever so slightly.

I shrugged my shoulders as I leaned into the padded leather of my chair. "He says that his father was a Westerosi sellsword that settled down in the city. I'm of a habit to not believe it, but his Common Tongue is good enough that I'd believe it."

Gormon's expression frowned some. "How did you come to learn of him? Volantis is by no means a small city and I'm sure there are probably thousands more of his kind that dabbles in the natural sciences."

"In my father's employ is a man whose job it is to find out information or people. You've heard of him, yes? Ser Joffrey Massey. The Master of Whisperers." Okay, I may have been a bit difficult on that, but that was mostly my irritation showing through. "I wasn't aware of how the Citadel was going to react to my proposition about supplying the necessary staff for my school, so I had looked for other learned man to teach their trade. Ser Joffrey's agents found Serret and approached him. No doubt his ability to speak the Common Tongue gave him an advantage others, probably more learned and skilled than him did not."

Gormon had some sort of response in his mouth, but he held it back and slowly gave me a small incline of the head. "I'm sure his grace knows what he is doing."

I sure do, you condescending little bastard.

I picked up my glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and took a drink from it. "This comes to the last of the major appointments, yes? The position of Chancellor."

He perked up then. I wasn't surprised. The chancellor was the position of the person who ran the school. Of course he would be very much interested in knowing who was the person that he was going to try and woo towards the Citadels side or kill if they aren't agreeable. Gods, didn't people here have that simple scandal that would ruin a person professionally and force them to resign instead of killing them?

Or perhaps I was merely not giving the people of Westeros not enough credit. Surely having someone killed wasn't the go to method of removing someone from a position. Or throwing them into the black dungeons.

"Does his grace have someone in mind for the position?"

I nodded and gave him an honest answer to his question. "You."

A silence lulled over us for a moment.

He then broke it with a smile. "I'm honoured. But I have to ask, why me?"

I pointed to his maester's chain. "You have a chain in nearly all the metals of the subjects that are going to be taught." And then I moved my finger up from his chest to point at his face. "And that you also happen to be an archmaester. From my understanding, it's not easy to become such."

He shook his head. "No. Not at all easy."

I lowered my finger, remembering that my mother taught me that pointing was a very rude thing to do. "Exactly," I said with a nod of the head. "I'm of the mind that an archmaester is the only one suitable enough to be able to run this fine royal institution of education with the needed ferocity and zeal for education that only a maester can have."

He inclined his head. "You flatter me too much your grace. I shall endeavour to not disappoint in the task that you set upon me."

"No doubt you will. It doesn't matter, I think I made the right choice either way." I smiled at him. "That, and I think me and you can build quite the professional relationship."

Absolute bullshit of course. All of it.

I was of the mind to keep my friends close and my enemies even closer. Might as well keep Gormon from where I can see him. It also didn't hurt that his Vice-Chancellor was going to be a complete and utter royalist toad in that regard, so everything was hunky dory.

I'm sure that Gormon probably saw through this bullshit, but the position I was offering him was a position to promote the interests of the Citadel considering the minor influence they had in the capital apart from a couple of maesters assigned to the noble families that called court home or even dare I say, his family.

I rose up from my seat and held out a hand for him to shake. "I dare say, today was a good day, don't you think?"

Gormon did the same and grasped my arm. "A good day indeed, your grace." He replied as we shook hands.

And then we gave each other pleasant, empty smiles and lived happily ever after.

And I was already planning how many ways I can possibly get him killed. King's Landing was a big city, and people died every day.

xXx

In Cold Waters

3rd Month 262AC

"Look at the size of that thing!"

Samwell sighed as he watched some of the younger cabin boys pointed at the large sea cows as they laid about on the stony shore. He couldn't really blame them though for their excitement. He doubted any of them had ever seen such a creature before in their entire lives.

A big mass of fat that stood at more than double the size of the average man, and heavier as well, a sea cow was a large creature, And dangerous. "Don't get too close to them." He advised the younger lads. "They may seem harmless, but looks can be deceiving."

The boys nodded their heads. "Yes, sir." They said in unison and then proceeded to observe the sea cows from a safe distance as they waddled in and out of the water.

Not for the first time, Samwell found himself regretting the fact that he was now the senior cabin boy. He had been happy at the time, it meant that he was getting dreadfully close to becoming a full fledged sailor, something that his late father would have been pleased with.

But if he had known that it included him looking after whelps, then he would have denied the privilege as soon as complaining. Father probably did this as well once upon a time. How would his father think? Hearing the thought that went through his head.

Hardhome.

That's what this place was called. It was further north than the wall. In other words, this was the furthest north that Samwell had ever come. All at his prince's orders.

Some of the older men had heard stories about this place. They knew it's history. A history that they had been willing to share with the others who didn't know.

It was said that a long time ago, nobody knows, but apparently, during the reign where Valyria still stood strong upon the world, Hardhome was the closest thing to a true town north of the wall. Ships from across the sea traded with the wildling savages that called this place home.

The thought of the honour less savages that he had heard stories about actually settling down and building anything sort of resembling a town was ridiculous, but apparently it was truth.

The story continued that some two hundred and sixty two years before Aegon's Conquest of Westeros, something dark and terrible happened during the night and Hardhome was destroyed. The sailors had argued amongst themselves of whether it was slavers carrying of it's inhabitants to be sold in the flesh markets of the Free Cities or whether the dragonlords had turned their attention on Hardhome for some strange reason for flames and ash were reported to be seen all the way south from the wall and only dragonfire can be such a destructive element to be seen from so far.

From then on, the settlement was abandoned. No one knows why the wildling savages didn't try to rebuild. Perhaps the fear of the slavers? Or attracting the ire of the dragonlords again? Samwell thought.

Which made it all the stranger as to why they were even here to begin with. What was so special about this place that Prince Aerys would order the repeated expeditions to this point of the map?

Who are you to question a prince? No-one that's who. Just a bastard boy and nothing else.

Still, Hardhome set upon a sheltered bay that protected it from the rougher northern seas and winds. The harbour was natural as well, deep enough for any ship to stay afloat.

"How long is this going to take?" One of the cabin boy asked, Lucas, he recalled. He motioned towards the site of where the town had probably rested upon, towards a group of men and women clad in red surrounding a bonfire that didn't seem at all deterred by the winds and cold. "They have been doing that ever since dusk, yesterday. Do they not sleep?"

Tytos shied away even more from the large group that was more than likely half the town away from them. "Witchcraft, I tell you. There's something unnatural about those fires and whatever they are chanting to this Rihiloo."

"R'hllor." Samwell corrected.

Tytos looked up at him, blinking. "Sir?"

"It's R'hllor instead of Rihiloo. A common mistake considering the word is distinctively foreign."

Lucas looked amazed and interested. "You know of this...Ri-R'hllor?" He asked, saying the word of the foreign god slowly.

"I've been to the Free Cities. R'hllor has quite a following there. It's where I learned of it." Being the cabin boy of his father's ship in the Royal Fleet had seen him travel all across Westeros and some of Essos as the protection detail of a merchant convoy of some kind.

The adventure and exploration was only one part of his love for sailing.

Tytos crossed his arm. "But why did we have to bring these priests here then? What are they doing?"

"Something we don't get paid enough to know, Tytos." Samwell licked his chapped lips from the cold. "And I didn't hear you complaining when we brought the septons and septas up here to bless this place."

"They are of the Faith. Not some foreign devil." He argued.

Samwell smirked. "He's not as foreign as you think. Some in Dorne follow him. As well as in King's Landing. I'm sure you would find a follower of him in any of the cities of Westeros."

Tytos looked aghast and looked away, mumbling things about heretics and the likes. He also mumbled some prayers for their souls whilst clutching a Seven pointed star that hanged loosely around his neck.

As amusing as that was, and although he disliked it himself of questioning the prince who had done right by him as much as he had done, he wondered what was the point of this. The septons and septas with their seven blessed oils and incenses. The Rhoynish priests and their strange water goddess. The moonsingers of Braavos. Now the red priests.

Just what was the prince doing with this place, to have it blessed by so many holy men and women? For one, he had never taken the prince to be so religious.

Shall we be ferrying more priests and priestesses in the future? He had to fight back a smile that threatened to come across his lips. Maybe in search of more priests, we could possibly go as far as the Summer Isles.

It was said that the Summer Islanders worshipped a love goddess through rutting. Now that was a god worthy of any mens devotion and one he wouldn't mind praying to.