Chapter 26: Kingsguard IV

Mid 155 AC

The thunderstorm began early in the morning, the distant rumbles rapidly turning to loud crashes overhead, and judging from the darkness that had swallowed the land, it looked to last the rest of the day. That meant no bow practice, no touring the Wytchmill, no quick jaunts to the Lowhill market or sept, and no riding the horses out to see the beef cattle whose numbers had so greatly increased since the latest calving. The prince was rather sad at this, though with a mindset more towards 'oh well' than actual despair, and for this Ser Thorne was grateful. He had come to care for the prince, perhaps a smidge more than what was proper, but he was as dutiful as ever in his charge's protection, and sadly that task was beginning to expand its parameters.

Baelor's nameday was to come soon, a prince turning one and ten, and with that he was coming closer to an age where he would begin to be noticed.

By girls.

Being a handsome boy already, what with his Targaryen features, this was not helped by the fact that Baelor had been seen by many of the smallfolk in Lowhill whenever he had gone to pray. Even with Wytch escorts guarding him closely, the prince often waved to or spoke with the smallfolk in the market, be they simple workers buying food or merchants haggling for trade goods. More than one mother had asked him to bless her child, just as they'd seen some smallfolk mothers ask Lord Wytch, and with a short prayer or two, Baelor had done so without complaint.

Some were already beginning to call the boy Baelor the 'Blessed' for his visits to the Lowhill sept. Why, Thorne didn't know, it wasn't as if he drove out demons or cured illnesses, but if he bothered to admit it, the title was rather catchy.

Still, keeping Baelor away from girls was easier said than done, especially when he was practicing in the training yard. Maids young and old might stop for a few moments to watch, the young ones giggling as they went off and the older ones clucking together like a bunch of hens. The cooks tended to serve the prince first, as was custom, but unusually it was the serving maids doing so whenever they could. Even when the pair of them went for a tour of a nearby village, the womenfolk would emerge from their homes to catch a glimpse of the prince. Despite Lady Wytch's forewarning that her son accepted the Dornish, Alliser always kept an eye on these women whenever they drew near, especially that maid, Jynessa or something. He'd caught her staring at the prince more than once as he pulled back his bow, yet she'd never done anything other than that. Hopefully, it would be no more than a childish crush, but it still fell to him to keep it as such, in any case.

With luck, any truly troublesome period for the prince would not be for a good five years yet. Baelor showed no inclination of noticing the girls staring at him, save for a friendly yet innocent wave or smile. If only Daena knew the boy now, and not the boy from before. It was a remarkable change in what was beginning to become a remarkable boy.

"My prince," he began, watching as Baelor sat silently in his chair, writing into a small book by candlelight. Although it lacked the suitable ostentatiousness, when softly glowing in candlelight, Baelor's room and his own quarters gave him a comfort his own rooms in the White Sword Tower did not. It was the relaxed feel, perhaps, one that reminded him of his old home.

"Yes, Ser Thorne?"

"If I may be so bold as to ask, what are you writing?'

"Just things I've given thought to these past months, ser. Nothing someone might find important, but if I'm to be of service to my brother one day, then practicing my handwriting will be a needed skill. Maester Gorman gave me this small journal as an early nameday gift, and I would see it used. I've learned my figures and letters enough to put them to good use, and what better use than writing conclusions I have come to since I arrived in the Stormlands?"

"Such as, my prince?"

"Despite the luxury in which I lived, before my fostering, I knew so little of the outside world. We live in a society that places a great emphasis on the nobility and the wealthier merchants, as they bring to our lands security, gold and foreign goods we cannot or do not grow or produce ourselves. Yet it is the smallfolk that are often left out of this great cycle of commerce, not because they are unimportant, but because they often have so little to contribute. The cabbages of the North or some turnips from the Riverlands have little if any value to anyone but those who depend on them to survive the coming winter. Many farmers are only able to grow enough to survive, simply because there is not enough pay in some lands for extra fields, nor enough hands to tend to such additional work."

He thought to humor the boy. "Indeed, the smallfolk farmers are the backbone of Westeros, for no lord grows his own crops that I know of, save for perhaps the poorer landed knights. It is the duty of lords and knights to protect them from the threats they can, of external war and discord amongst lords."

"Yet the farmers of the kingdoms suffer endless toil for often meagre yields, mostly outside of the Reach and Riverlands as far as I can recall. From what books Maester Gorman has had on the matter, some kingdoms barely manage to feed their smallfolk in poor years, and in some, the winter droughts and snows kills more than any war ever has. The Stormlands has, in the past, suffered from this issue many times." Baelor's frown at the thought turned into a small smile. "Yet Casper has found the means of turning this problem around, ones I would see copied for the benefit of my house and our vassals."

Imitation aside, envisioning House Targaryen taking advantage of the same means of increased productivity in both food and local wealth certainly was something a prince could strive for. Baelor was a little young for such things, but starting earlier rather than later never hurt. "His seed drills and iron plows, my prince?"

The young Targaryen nodded eagerly. "How he has transformed farming must be a gift from the Seven, one that he sees fit to spread. Rather than keep it to himself, Lord Wytch has eagerly informed Lord Baratheon and some fellow Stormlords on it. Those that have taken him up on the matter, according to Maester Gorman, are already benefitting. Tarth has been seeding more fields than ever, and expanding their high meadow pastures is allowing for more wool and horses alike upon the Sapphire Isle. Soon, they might be major exporters of the stuff, and the Stormlands are known for their good wool."

"A man liable to spread his knowledge is less liable to have it taken from him," Alliser agreed. Too often those with an advantage hoarded it long enough that they could lose it, much as some tried to hold on to prior prestige or glory rather than winning more for their house.

"Especially when he's so far ahead of everyone else. It will be years before most other lords even try his methods, and without his help are likely to face setbacks he has already overcome. Drainage ditches, windbreaks, commercial gardens, hutches for small game, there is so much he has done, and I feel so much more he is capable of. His contributions to the smallfolk have greatly increased their contribution to the local merchants and House Wytch. I have never heard of such small lands growing or making so much, nor smallfolk in such good health and cheer. Compared to the poor slums of Kings Landing I have heard of but never seen, these lands must seem like a paradise."

"Where are you going with this, Baelor? Would you seek to bring such changes elsewhere?" This was... potentially dangerous. The boy was clearly idolizing his young Stormlord friend, and his influence seemed to infect the boy even in his absence. Returning to Storm's End or perhaps Kings Landing for some time would do good to mellow the boy's sudden aspirations, especially if contact between them could be kept to a minimum.

"In time, yes. For now, with the maester's aid in building the overall plan, I've sent my father the king the rough details for what we've talked about. It'll be a hard task, but I'm sure I've thought of everything needed for it. I would see the Crownlands match and even exceed Casper's prosperity and production from its own smallfolk and lesser lords. I do not know how long it will take for it to reach father. but I'm sure he will see the importance of it. It is imperative that House Targaryen builds itself a breadbasket within its lands should we find ourselves at odds with the Reach once more, and in doing so, we shall find no trouble in feeding Kings Landing's poorest with the new bounty of crops. After that has been accomplished, perhaps then we spread such advancements to the allies of our house, with perhaps North being next."

Well, hopefully the king would see the importance of it, but pass such developments over to older, more qualified, and most importantly, more experienced men. The prince, for all his enthusiasm and seemingly forward-thinking, was greener than the Reach. "The North? Those tree-worshipping barbarians in their snowy fields and cold keeps?"

Baelor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Those same barbarians came to the aid of my grandmother and then father during the Dance, when they could have freely sat up in their 'cold keeps' and kept to themselves, swearing fealty to the victors only after the dust had settled. The Starks and other great houses shall likely become kin, if my younger sisters are married off to them to secure alliances. My father the king has made no mention of this to me, but it's the best way of keeping them loyal without our dragons to cast our might."

"My apologies, my prince, I meant no disrespect," Alliser said with a bow. "So then, you would see the North reap such benefits as well?"

"Of course! They are the last line of defense against any wildling hordes that could make it past the Wall, and to have enough men and women to both go around the Wall and invade the North, these lawless peoples must be fiercely cunning and hardy. It is said those of the south often face hard times in the North, so the same could be said of those even further north."

"Granting an alliance through marriage and then seeing to the welfare of those that remained loyal to your family line would certainly be a kingly decision, my prince," Alliser said. "Other great houses would no doubt see it as just rewards for their contributions in the Dance, and those that did not support your grandmother and father would see it as your family reminding them that the Targaryens are still at the top of the wheel. Currying the favor of your father and brother would become an even greater priority, to profess their renewed loyalty to the Iron Throne and those that rule from it."

"Just as I was thinking, Ser Thorne," Baelor said. "If father listens to my plan, the kingdoms that aided our family will be rewarded for their efforts, growing stronger as a result, and our family will grow stronger too. Those that did not support us or stayed out of the conflict will scramble to earn our good graces once more, if only to try and gain some of these same changes for themselves."

"What of the lack of the Faith in the North? Would that not present problems?"

"Perhaps, as I've heard they are a stubborn folk, but I'm sure there are compromises that we can make, for they allow the Manderlys to worship the Seven without much issue, and there's not been wars of Faith against the North for a long time," Baelor muttered. "Faiths are able to coexist, like in Braavos. Now, Ser Thorne, if my father follows the same plans as Casper has, do you think your family would do the same?"

"My prince, I am not sure I understand."

"Even though your uncle Rickard played a part in the Dance in favor of Aegon the Usurper, you have shown great loyalty. The Kingsguard may be bound to cut ties with kin when they join the order, but I suspect that's not always true. Your brother, Lord Thorne, is he amenable using these plows and drills?"

Alliser was rather shocked by this. The Kingsguard indeed was for life, but he had seen evidence of letters to their kin, rare as they were, in the White Sword Tower. It was oftentimes a valuable source of information for news from the rest of the kingdoms that did not reach Kings Landing quickly or accurately. "I… I have not seen my brother in some time, and we've written to one another extraordinarily little since my mother passed from a spring fever some years back. I've no reason to think he would not, but time may have changed him for all I know. An invitation by the king or his Hand would certainly make him more open to the idea, but in the end, I do not know what his decision would be."

"When we return to Storm's End or Kings Landing, if my father or uncle should permit it, I would see you write him on the manner. Even if it were marked by the sign of the king or his Hand, a brother's words are usually more amenable than a king's own. For now, though, there is something else I would have your opinion on."

Before anything else could be said, a low rumble that was not thunder, but the prince's stomach, sounded in the stillness of the room. "My apologies," Baelor mumbled, pink tinging his cheeks. "It would seem our luncheon is upon us, and I was talking about my plans so much that I have forgotten my hunger. To be continued after we have eaten then, Ser Thorne?"

"Indeed, my prince."

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Lunch was a rather small affair by the standards of when Lord Baratheon had been visiting, but larger than normal. With the fierceness of the storm rattling the shutters and lashing the grounds with rain, a great many of the orchard attendants and other nearby smallfolk had sought shelter within the hall. Prince Baelor, of course, sat at the high table with Casper's family, whilst the squires and pages who had stayed behind sat nearest, with the intermingling smallfolk seated further away, towards the very back of the hall. That Lady Wytch allowed such smallfolk to eat in the same room confused Ser Thorne, as such actions would never be allowed for in Kings Landing or other holdfasts, but after hearing the rush of the rain and howling of the wind, he made note to not say anything of it in front of the prince.

Forcing someone outside in such weather was as good as killing them on worse days, and he had no stomach for that. Besides, there were plenty of guards in the room, so there should be little to worry about.

One thing he did notice was that the smallfolk had, for the most part, separated themselves somewhat haphazardly, with some Reachmen intermingling with the native Stormlanders, and the occasional Dornishman seated amongst them, laughing and chattering away at whatever smallfolk talked about. However, the majority of Dornish sat apart in their own group, eating their food without complaint or rowdiness. Perhaps it was due to the storm, for the rowdiest of the gathered were the squires, and all they were doing were daring each other to drink as much of one cider or ale as they could. None had yet to throw up, but it likely would not be long before that happened, or they excused themselves to the nearby privy.

The prince, after finishing a hearty bowl of beef stew, asked Lady Wytch of the Dornish. Though Alliser himself had not heard the tale, and suspected trouble, he too wondered how these Dornish had come to find themselves in Wytch lands. Other than working as maids or in the orchards, both he and the prince knew little else of them.

A few moments later, at the bequest of Lady Wytch, the matriarch of their ensemble, a rather mature and gorgeous Arianne if he had to admit it, appeared before the prince, escorted by a pair of guards. One could never be too careful with the Dornish, after all.

"Yes, Prince Baelor? How may I serve thee?" she asked with a polite curtsy.

"My lady, Lord Wytch once told me a story, the one your journey to his lands, including the troubles with the 'bandits' within Craggner lands. He said you lost many along the way."

"Indeed, my prince. It was luck and perhaps the blessings of the Seven that we found refuge in these lands, so far from what had been our home."

"Where exactly was home for you, in Dorne, my lady?"

She smiled, a sad one to Alliser's eyes, filled equally with melancholy and fondness. "My father, bless his departed soul, was a knight in service to the Jordaynes, lords of the Tor. They were kings once, the Martells having once been their vassals, but then the Yronwoods claimed them, and then so too did Nymeria in her war. He was a good friend of the current lord's grandsire, but was never awarded with lands to tend, for he instead was offered a place in his retinue. With my late mother he had many children, sons and daughters alike, who had scattered to the winds by the time of his death. Some, like my older sister whose letters I receive through the merchants passing through, moved to the lands of the Wyls, and others to wherever they could find work."

"What did you do for a living? I know you now work in Lord Wytch's orchards, but I've little knowledge of their running."

"My late husband and I found work in the orchards along the Greenblood near Planky Town and grew our family there. We tended to olives, plums, pomegranates and other fruits, watering the orchards with the wells or through the irrigation ditches, weeding and pruning when needed, and always gathering for the harvests. Many times we would arise with the sun and not leave the fields until dusk was upon us."

"Yet you are here, in the Stormlands. How did this come to pass? I've never talked with someone from Dorne, and only that it is hot and lacks widespread farmland."

"Indeed, much of the soil is rocky or sandy in many places, but in many others, the rivers give life to the land, as do the wells our people so fiercely guard. In our time, a dispute grew between the jurisdiction of two lesser lords over the ownership of a spring, and the water that flowed from it. One sought to divert the spring for a project of his, but the other said that none owned a spring that had long since been used by all who were supported by its water."

"My maester has told me water rights are special, and no doubt even more so in lands as parched as portions of Dorne," the prince said. "So, I take it there was trouble?"

"Indeed, enough that our friends and family felt it safer to flee than to stay. We booked passage out of the Greenblood and made it through Planky Town, with Sunspear being our destination. Yet we were set upon by pirates, likely from the Stepstones, and we only escaped our pursuers through a storm that drove us north. After landing in the Stormlands, we could not go back, for we did not have enough coin for it, and the local Stormlord did not wish us to remain in his port. We had, however, heard rumors of a land that might accept us, a land the merchants said had plenty of work, for good pay, and was as safe as any other might claim to be."

"The lands of House Wytch. So, from the coast, you made your way to Stormhall, losing many of your fellows, but after arriving, were given shelter and a new start by Lord Wytch?"

"Indeed, my prince, and for that my friends and family shall be ever grateful," she said with a bow. "Had he not accepted us, we were unsure of where else we could go."

"Then why do most of your party sit away from the others? Why not join in with the others?"

"We have only been here for just over two years, my prince. Some of the men have managed to make friends in the work they do, as a common bonding experience can overcome some of the… difficulties we have faced thus far. Yet I would say we have not been here long enough to fully be accepted by the local smallfolk. The distrust of Dornish, even those who serve their lord, is an ancient and ingrained behavior, and as I saw for myself in the fighting between those two lesser lords, not one to be dismissed out of hand."

Alliser spoke up. "In my experience, truth and falsehoods often go hand in hand, and some may be mere reflections of another, twisted for one's own purpose."

"I agree with Ser Thorne. You have shown loyalty to Lord Wytch and his family, and I applaud you for that, but I noticed something else. You mentioned writing letters to your sister in Wyl lands, correct?"

"Indeed, perhaps once every few months we send a letter along with the caravans passing one way or another."

"Did your father teach you to read and write?"

"That he did, though with difficulty. Most of my younger brothers did not take to it as my sister and I did, but I have made sure to instruct my children, and theirs, in such matters. It would not do for them to lose a gift my father was so luckily able to learn and pass to his children."

The prince nodded sagely at this, which Alliser could not help but agree with. Whilst smallfolk knowing how to read and write was rare outside of certain craftsmen and scribes, if one were to learn it, it made sense for them to try and teach it to their children. Such gifts could not be underestimated in their usefulness. "What do you write of to your sister?"

"It is mostly of how our families are doing and the work we do. She writes of the troubles in Wyl lands these days, local disputes, rumors, and such. I have not written to her in some time, but by then, I do hope to have good news." At this, Arianne turned to Lady Wytch. "Jynessa has caught the eye of one of the hedge knights that have pledged themselves to your house, one of the Westerland twins, and unless I misunderstand her feelings on the matter, the attraction is returned. It is my hope that, one day, she might leave your employ, my lady, and become the wife of a knight of House Wytch."

"I have noticed her time near the stables has increased recently," Lady Wytch said with a pondering look. "Yet she seems to have eyes for the prince at times, as do a great many of the maids."

"A prince of the realm is bound to attract the attention of silly young girls, but if your lady and the prince wishes it, I will speak to her to stop such actions. She has spoken of you, my prince, but never in terms that I would yet find suspicious or potentially problematic." There was a sudden edge to her tone that, for the briefest moment, reminded Alliser of his own grandmother, and the sudden echo of a sting across his backside reminded him why he had always behaved whenever she was nearby. Gods, the memory of the damage she could do with a mere slipper would never leave him, so long as he lived.

"I don't mind, all we ever talk about is my bow practice and the tales of your home, such as Wylla of Wyl and the coming of Nymeria," Prince Baelor said.

"So long as her intentions remain pure, then there is no harm, but I will still speak with her of this 'gawking' behavior, my prince. She will trouble you no longer when she has duties to attend to."

After Arianne returned to her fellows, and the meal finished, Baelor turned to Ser Thorne as they departed for their rooms. "A most enlightening experience, wouldn't you say?"

"Perhaps, my prince. What did you learn from it?"

"That for all the bluster between Dornish and Stormlanders, there can be a common ground found, if they just look hard enough. These Dornish could easily have been spies sent by their Jordayne or Yronwood or even Martell lords, yet have done nothing other than integrate as best they can with Wytch smallfolk and the orchards they tend to. That they have been here for two years and caused no trouble, nor had trouble come for them, is a good sign."

"They still could be spies, my prince."

The prince nodded. "Indeed, they could, sent to watch out for yet another Stormlord. The merchants from the Reach and Dorne could be spies, sent to keep an eye on their neighbor. Those hedge knights could be spies, sent to learn secrets of his success. Or the Dornish are truly refugees that have found a new life in Wytch lands, those merchants care more for the higher quality of the goods they can buy in bulk here, and the hedge knights truly do wish for a lord they can pledge themselves to that will grant them lands to tend in his name. Or maybe some of that is true, and other things are not, but we don't know for sure."

"The question remains, my prince, that it will be up to Lord Wytch to finally decide on any such matters."

"Indeed, Ser Thorne."

The Kingsguard nodded. "Now, if I recall, you had a question for me before our lunch, and wished to discuss something with me. It was a bit after you mentioning you'd sent your project to your father to gain his approval for it."

"With the harvesting of the Kingswood, should father allow it, a great deal of change will come to the Crownlands, especially with so much wood available. Tell me, what do you know of ships, built and manned for trade and exploring?"

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Maester Gorman V

Mid 155 AC

The final touches to the roof had been completed mere weeks ago and were holding strong against the great storm outside. Maester Gorman was not a man to travel in such weather without reason, but he was needed down in the Stormhall Engineering Corps facility.

Namely, to meet a man.

Actually, a pair of men, for reasons both similar and separate.

It was not a usual thing for the S.E.C. to put up guests, as most of the rooms within were taken by engineers and their support staff. However, a select few had been created, situated on the lowest floors and with a direct line to both the kitchens and the great communal showers, these select few rooms were suitably decorated and equipped to handle the needs of any passerby who saw themselves as parts of the greater educated community of Westeros.

He had been the one to convince Lord Wytch of the necessity of such spare rooms, though few. Should any learned men find their way through Wytch lands and in Lowhill, spending time in Stormhall might be against their sensibilities. So, to supply such few passerby with such needs, he had personally seen to the creation of these rooms, which in the meantime were often used by engineers for private study or stock rooms. This one had been a quarter filled with blocks of cheese, as a larder was reorganized after some was discovered to have spoiled, and even with it gone, the place still smelled of it.

At the door, there was a knock, and opening it, Gorman smiled. Flanked by a pair of Corps guards, men serving Lord Wytch specifically for this facility, were the two men he had been waiting for, both a bit wet but looking nonetheless healthy, as he had hoped. There was also one of the more matronly maids patiently waiting behind the group, her gaze severe but not unkind. It was likely the mud on their boots.

"Brynden, Jonos, come in, come in! Have a seat by the fire, warm your bones and dry off while I send for some stew and bread."

"Many thanks," the one named Brynden said, as the guards let them be and entered the room.

"When you said you were sent to Stormhall, I'd thought I'd never see you again, old friend," Jonos said, removing his wet traveler's cloak. "Why meet here, though? Why not in Stormhall?"

"For reasons that will become clear shortly," Gorman said, nodding to the waiting maid, who moved off without a word. What was her name again? Mya? "Now then, my friends, how was your journey?"

"Kings Landing was dry, and as filthy as usual," Brynden said, pulling up a stool and putting his back to the fire, with Jonos mirroring his actions. "Trying to find Jonos here was a hassle until I greased a few palms. The sewage systems are backed up again, and it stinks something awful on most days."

"So, entirely unchanged from when you arrived?"

"Aye, still the same," Jonos muttered. "Hard to believe a couple of boys from the Riverlands went their separate ways, only to all come back together, here in this… what was it you called it again?"

"The Stormhall Engineering Corps," Gorman replied. "S.E.C for short, and something I had a hand in helping make almost two years ago now. One of my proudest moments, I'd unashamed to say."

"You in charge of this place?"

"No, Brynden, I just helped make it, I spend most of my time up in Stormhall. I'm a maester now, remember?"

"I've heard some strange things about Stormhall up in the capitol, but never about this 'S.E.C.' we're in. Is this for those roads?"

"That, and much more, Jonos."

"Well, can't say it I don't like it, it's dry and warm, and the walls, this made of that 'Wytch-stuff' you wrote to us about?"

"Indeed, Wytch-stone, a remarkable material whose capabilities we are only just beginning to realize, and I trust you haven't spoken to anyone of it?"

Brynden snorted as the maid returned with a kettle of stew, with another trailing behind, holding aloft a tray filled with several large, fresh rolls and a large stick of butter. "Come off it, Gorman, you know we wouldn't do that. Besides, all we've ever told anyone is exactly what we've heard from the merchants passing through."

"Besides, not like anyone we know of has shown any interest in it. Remarkable stuff, from what I've seen, and if what you say is true-,"

"Which it is, I assure you."

"-then this stuff could change the face of building in Westeros, if not the world. How did you come by it?"

"Lord Wytch spent a great deal of time making it, somehow, though with my assistance for the later portions. A most remarkable boy, and likely to become a more remarkable man, in the coming years."

"That's high praise, coming from you," Brynden said, scratching his chin as the maids deposited to food on their single table and left. "He's that good, huh?"

"I would wager my chains on it, old friend."

"So then, why bring us all the way out here? I mean, the scenery is great when it's not so fuckin' windy the rain is fallin' sideways, but there must be more to it than the rumors we've heard."

As they moved from the fire and seated themselves, with Gorman pulling up an extra stool, he smiled. "What this Corps represents, my friends, is an opportunity for Lord Wytch to make an additional lasting impact upon his lands, and the Stormlands in turn. Perhaps even Westeros, generations down the road, should we do this right."

"Now you're starting to sound like your old man, always thinking ahead he did, or still does, last I heard," Brynden muttered, dunking his roll in his stew. "This won't be your only project with this 'Casper', will it?"

"No, especially not once I convince him to create a means of bridging the gap between the learned community of the continent. He occasionally is stubborn on a subject but learns quickly and adapts even quicker. That's part of the reason for our meeting here, for I would not wish for word of this to get out until the time is right. Brynden, in our time in the Citadel, what would you say their worst flaw was?"

Chewing down his soaked roll, he chuckled. "Well, in my most humble opinion, they keep to themselves too much. They're like rats, or maybe a bunch of great owls, always stashing stuff away, hoarding it, and keeping it to themselves."

"Greedy in a way, I'd say," Gorman said. "All acolytes know that there is no challenging the status quo of the Citadel, not unless you want to be disciplined or expelled. There are likely centuries worth of scrolls, tablets, books, and other knowledge that have been lost in some errant closet because they deem it their task alone to keep such knowledge in their stores. Yet in doing so, they make it impossible for such knowledge to be known elsewhere, and if everything known of something is in one place…"

"Then it makes it easier for it to all be destroyed, by accident or malign act," Jonos finished. "Or kept for the benefit of one particular kingdom, or even house."

"The Hightowers have long since been the patrons of the Citadel, ever since the days of Peremore the Twisted. Though neither of us saw it, it is likely they have a hand in its power, and benefit from it in some way or another. I would not be surprised if some more influential Hightowers have had access to the ravenry of the Citadel at times."

"Most likely," Brynden said. "Now, how does this concern this future idea of yours?"

"The S.E.C. will build a foundation for something that could see its influence spread across the whole of Westeros. What did you think of the roads in these lands?"

"Of a quality I've never seen before, outside of some major town or castle," Jonos said, taking a big sip of his stew.

"Same. We could sure have used roads like these in the Riverlands when it rained."

"That same quality could be spread to other roads in the kingdoms. Think of it, my old friends, roads of such superb quality and craftsmanship, likely second only to the Valyrian roads of old, stretching across Westeros like the vessels that carry blood within a man's body."

Jonos nodded. "Such lasting connections would facilitate better trade. Less goods and carts lost to muddied tracks, and the stones make for a quicker route as well."

"Armies marching on these roads would move quicker, and tire far less," Brynden added. "Half of the battle was knowing how and when to trudge through mud. Take that away, and your army need not worry about it as much."

"Exactly, my friends," Gorman said. "Now, imagine a facility like this one, dedicated to the advancement of Westeros, mirroring what Lord Wytch is doing. Efficiency whilst retaining tradition, advancement with an emphasis on measured progress, improvement without destroying the foundation that allowed for it, these are the things I have witnessed Lord Wytch accomplish in so few years."

"Sounds to me like you want to found something to rival both our schools," Jonos said with a chuckle.

"If it comes to that, perhaps, but I would hope more for an equal exchange, where ours covers what the Citadel and Kings Landing cannot. There is no need to supplant one or the other when they can coexist and fulfill separate needs. There will be a rivalry, no doubt, should it come to pass, but by the gods, should it come to pass, it will be glorious."

"How so?"

"As you said, Brynden, the Citadel's flaw is that it hoards it knowledge, rather than disseminating it. A vast repertoire of information is good and all, but ensuring it is kept safe in multiple places is far more logical than not. One does not keep one's eggs all in the same basket, after all."

"Never heard that one before. It's good, but where'd you hear it?"

"Lord Wytch said it once, and I agree with him. Much like it is harder to beggar a man if he stashes his wealth in many places, it is harder to lose knowledge if it can be found in more than one place. Just as well, experimenting with that knowledge, to find greater insights into the world and its wonders, that is a goal many have, yet few can currently hope to attain."

"So, this school of yours, should it come to fruition, would unify our disparate catalogues of knowledge, and seek to use them to find a greater understanding of the world? There's many a master and maester who won't like that, it might bruise their fragile egos of being the sole 'knights of the mind' or 'keepers of wisdom', my friend."

Gorman scoffed. "Bollocks to them, if we used the Citadel to it's full potential, then the kingdoms would not so needlessly suffer from tyrants, real or imagined, any more than they would from plague or famine. Lord Wytch has in a few short years has practically revolutionized his lands, much as the Andals did with their iron and steel weapons against the First Men, or the Targaryens did with their first dragons."

Maester Gorman watched as his friends mulled over this, finishing their bowls of stew just as he did his own.

"Well, I know it's going to be hard, but I'm convinced," Brynden said, turning to their friend. "What about you, Jonos? Seems like Gorman has an idea that he'll need help with, just like the old days."

"Aye, hopefully his Lord Wytch will take to it, but from what we've heard of the lad, he'll likely take to it like a Tully to water. Besides, I always thought your archmaesters were too like my masters, and not for any good reasons," Jonos said, taking another roll and buttering it. "So then, Gorman, my old friend, how can an ex-acolyte and a pyromancer apprentice help you achieve this idea of yours?"