24th Day of the 8th Moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Bat (10 P.M.)
Maester Marwyn, Lannisport, Lion's Den
Ever since a Hightower man brought a message, Archmaester Culler has been acting erratically; writing quickly and sloppily, causing him to make mistakes and swap parchments, nervously shaking his legs, and repeatedly tapping his index finger on the table.
Whatever the Hightower man told him, it made him want to finish the daily transcription of the magical war accounts as quickly as possible.
These transcriptions of the accounts acquired from the men who took part in the war have been happening every day since our arrival, and they have always been carried out diligently until now.
The message must have carried something of great importance to make him abandon his duties.
It likely involves the sorcerer of the north.
Normally, when anything involved him, Culler would send me on a distant mission while he went to handle the matter, knowing that I would report anything of interest back to the Citadel.
The only reason I was present at the meeting two days ago was thanks to Archmaester Gilbert, who brought me along with his assistant, Maester Ebrose. When Culler saw me there, his dissatisfaction was obvious, but it was already too late to send me away.
Something similar was happening at the moment. Today, Archmaester Gilbert, along with Ebrose, joined us in today's session.
They came to compare what they discovered in the autopsy of the Deep Ones with what we discovered during our research with those who fought them.
Something important enough not to allow them to cast it aside to deal with something of personal interest to the Hightowers, at least not without justifying themselves.
"The black eyes of the Deep Ones reflect light in the same manner as the eyes of fish, which they mimic. If we consider that the resemblance is more than just cosmetic, we can assume that their visual acuity is on the same level as that of fish, which would explain the low strike accuracy reported by those interrogated," Archmaester Gilbert hypothesized.
At the table we four sat around, there were two pairs of eyes floating inside transparent glass cups. One of the pairs was taken from the body of a Deep One, while the other pair was taken from a random fish.
The resemblance between them is visible and normal, until you consider that one of them came from a monster that was once a man, making the resemblance somewhat uncanny, though no less fascinating.
"Yes, it makes sense," Culler said apathetically in response to his fellow Archmaester's assumption.
We are uncovering the inner workings of the body of a magical being, and he seems to hardly care.
A few weeks ago, he would have been in ecstasy and would have been the one leading the meeting.
What news did the Hightower man bring him? Could it be that
"If the eyes are not just cosmetic, we can also assume that the same applies to the gills." Maester Ebrose, who held one of the parchments written by Culler and me, began with his own theory. "This reports that, even with their lungs pierced by spears, these beings continued to fight. With reduced strength, they still continued. A normal person would fall in the first minute, drowned in their own blood. Since this does not happen to them, I think it is likely that their gills function both underwater and out of it."
"Good observation, Maester Ebrose."
Pride colored Gilbert's tone.
Culler, meanwhile, continued to write what was said and proposed in an apathetic manner.
This apathy, this eagerness. I see no other alternative than contact with the sorcerer of the north having been made.
Knowing him well, only something magical would distract him from another magical thing.
It is time for me to act and for him to know the plans the Citadel has for him.
***
25th Day of the 8th Moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of High Sun (11 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Outskirts of Lannisport
Second day of the tournament. Once again, the first two events were archery and axe throwing. And once again, Aerys did not come to watch them.
This time, Murch Flint did not complain about receiving the magic that enhanced his performance. He was more than receptive to it. Probably because he wanted to maintain the ovation from the crowd from the previous day and because the other competitors were much more committed to winning now.
From what Rickard learned from Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully, and later explained to all of us, after Aerys revealed that performance would be tied to the division of the Iron Islands, all the great lords present began to pressure the men of their kingdoms who were participating to win, with promises of land and gold.
With everyone now aware that what is at stake is not just a few gold dragons, but rather lands in the only place untouched by destruction in Septon Mycah's vision, the tournament ceased to be about proving who was the best and became a geopolitical battlefield.
Apparently, some lords, like Hoster himself and Luthor Tyrell, even went so far as to pay the men of their kingdoms who competed to abdicate their place in the tournament in favor of others who were better, but who had not entered before because they were not interested.
Since Archery, Axe Throwing, and Dueling had already begun, it was not possible to change their brackets, but the others had their competitor lists almost completely altered.
This lack of alteration allowed Murch to take the victory in both events he competed in with ease. Even with the other competitors being much more focused, they ended up competing for second and third place.
"With these two more victories, it is impossible for us not to win any piece of land," Rickard commented confidently.
He was 100% right. With the North achieving an overwhelming victory in three events, we would now compete not to guarantee our own piece, but rather to ensure that it is not small.
When Murch Flint returned from the field and joined the northern section of the stands, he was greeted with cheers and applause from us.
Just like the previous day, Aerys arrived during the intermission for the next event, which would be Dueling. Predicting that I would be summoned again, I left the stands ahead of time and went to meet Luton in a place away from prying eyes and cast the three instances of Enhance Ability on him, raising his dexterity to 12.
As predicted, as soon as I returned to the stands, there was a Targaryen man waiting for me to inform me that I was being summoned by the king.
Before I withdrew, Rickard gave me one last warning.
"If he mentions the divisions of the Iron Islands, say that the North is interested in Blacktyde and Orkmont."
The islands closest to the North.
As soon as I arrived at the box, the first thing Aerys did was bring up the victory of the North.
"You certainly are the ones most committed, are you not?"
"We are just playing the game, your grace."
"You certainly are. So tell me, does the North have any preference as to which lands it would like to obtain? With the casualties suffered and war merits, added to already three victories, the North has already done more than enough to secure a good piece."
Just like that? I could ask and he would give it to me?
Before I could present Rickard's preference, the Hand of the King commented his disapproval.
"Your grace, while it is wise to reward loyalty and merit, it is even wiser to take into account various other factors when dividing them, such as context. The ability to manage and develop the lands, as well as the amount of resources and manpower capable of being distributed, are the most important factors."
In other words, the North is too incompetent to be able to choose the lands for itself.
"The North, in all its history, has never managed to solve its famine problem and populate its vast expanse of land," Tywin continued, knowing no end to his boldness. "I see no wisdom in giving much land to a kingdom that cannot manage the ones it already possesses, especially when these new ones are as infertile as theirs."
Unsurprisingly, everyone present, with the exception of Aerys, who stared at him with a crooked smile, looked at Tywin in a shocked manner. Even the Kingsguard present, which included Gerold Hightower, Barristan Selmy, Oswell Whent, Lothar Brune, and Harlan Grandison, looked at the Hand of the King askance.
If Gwayne Gaunt were here, I bet he would give the same look.
Their reaction was understandable.
This way he played the game, without any euphemism or flowery words to disguise the intent, goes totally against common sense.
One does not act in such a blatant manner in front of their opponent, not unless there are second intentions.
If I possessed a sense of patriotism and saw the North as my genuine home, and not the place I was born and where my best chances of survival lie, I certainly would have reacted erratically, which must be the reaction desired by Tywin.
To his misfortune, I do not lose my head.
Instead, I cast my daily Detect Thoughts granted by my Telepathic Feat, which can be cast without performing any somatic or verbal component, and does not generate any of the green particles that would give away the use of magic.
"But I understand that the North cannot leave with nothing. That would give a terrible image to the Crown." He spoke as if he were being generous. "So I say that the North could keep the lands of the ancient Houses Sparr and Hammerhorn, which are free from the mountains that occupy the rest of the island and possess the most fertile lands, having rivers running through them."
Without CONTEXT, his advice to the king really seems sensible, and perhaps even generous, potentially giving idiots the impression that the previous negative comments were just professional observations, without any malicious intent behind them.
But thanks to my Detect Thoughts, I know better.
'Close.'
'Pyke.'
'Saltcliffe.'
The words jumped from his mind to mine, revealing the desire to make the North stay close to those two islands south of the lands he recommended.
Islands that I presume will be delivered to him, if his veiled threat to Jeor in Pyke weeks ago was true.
"What do you think, Ser Alaric? Do you think Tywin is right? Is the North so incompetent that it needs to be given a small, but fertile, portion to manage not to fail?" Aerys asked with a smile.
These two are certainly an exhausting duo to deal with.
But now that my deal with the Hightowers has been concluded, there is no longer any reason to hold myself back.
"The Lord Hand is erroneously exalted in his view of the North. Millennia of hardships are not a sign of failure, but rather perseverance with the cards we were dealt. Even suffering from winters that would make southerners die in the first week, we persist. Even fighting in southern wars that are none of our concern, we persist. Even having to constantly invent a new means of stockpiling food for the winter while we wage our endless fight against the wildlings who jump the Wall, we persist. We have persisted for millennia, millennia before Lann the Clever bathed in oil and butter and stole the seat of the West, and millennia after."
While Tywin's face hardened upon hearing me mention a humiliating part of the mythology behind the founding of House Lannister, Aerys stared at me with an ever widening smile, casting occasional glances to see Tywin's reaction.
Intent on putting the Hand in his place, it was time to stroke the king's ego.
"The North is not only efficient with what it has, but is also wise enough to do the right thing when faced with difficult decisions. When Aegon conquered Westeros, the North did not bend the knee out of fear or cowardice, but out of understanding that this was the best decision, and since then, we find ourselves serving without EVER failing. And it is this capacity to make the best decision, putting pride and stubbornness aside, along with our loyalty, that makes us more than adequate to receive more than a considerable portion of the Iron Islands, Your Grace."
"And which lands would those be?"
"Blacktyde, Orkmont..."
Do I do this?
Fuck it, I will do it.
"And part of the eartern lands of Great Wyk, close to Orkmont."
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