I should have chosen platinum, I thought as another gust of wind whipped snow under my hood. Cooper perhaps, any link except the one forged from electrum. My research intersected with a variety of fields, and when the time came to forge my first link I was confronted with an almost impossible choice. Archmaester Kassan had made a strong for platinum and the study of symbols, scriptures, and tongues, but he wasn't known to be pleasant man to work with. The suggestion of cooper, standing for history and political matters, had been made by Maester Tristifer, and it had almost convinced me. However, Tristifer's current aspiration to be named the archmaester of his field made me think he paid too much attention to his own politics to be a good mentor. Archmaester Wabald advised me to forge my first link from green-golden electrum as all discplines it stood for touched upon my field of study – the Iron Islands.
Wabald was a friendly and patient man, and during our conversations he always struck me as honest. "You might have to accept a few lesser assignments in the first years," he had said. "Geography may be less relevant to you than mapmaking and navigation, but none of these subjects should be neglected altogether. Once you're not so green behind the ears anymore, you'll select your own topic of research either way. It won't matter so much which link you forged first." Between Kassan's moody, sometimes outright rude demeanor and Tristifer's preoccupation with his campaign, I was certain to make the right choice with Wabald at the time. I had been prepared to take on unpleasant tasks, yet when the first assignment was given to me I almost felt lucky.
Maester Ellarian had fallen ill, I was told, and somebody had to take his place in the planned expedition. It concerned the customs of tribes in remote regions of the North first and foremost, however, it was also a chance to study the peculiar geography there. Ellarian had selected scribes and acolytes with relevant expertise, therefore I wouldn't have to worry much about the primary object of the mission. "A matter of completion," Wabald explained. "Little is known about these savage tribes or their habits. Yet the Conclave is aware of their presence, and knowing next to nothing about something that exists is a bother to them." Much of the geography beyond the Wall remained mysterious and uncharted, therefore I was delighted my first journey would take me there. I had dreaded the thought of a dull task far from any coasts, therefore the rivers of mysterious North struck me as the lesser evil. Scouts, trackers, and heavers would join the expedition at Bear Island, an arrangement Ellarian had already made with House Mormont's maester. I had nothing to worry about indeed – until I landed on the Frozen Shore.
﴾ _ ﴿
"Maester Otis!"
I still hadn't gotten used to my title, but I turned around when I heard it called nonetheless. It was Weldon who had addressed me, a scout from Bear Island. His stature and gruff voice almost comically lived up to his birthplace; a tall, broad-shouldered man who always sounded as if he had a bad cold.
"The hunters have found a promising trail along the Ice River," Weldon informed me when I joined his group by the fire. "Promising for your people anyway." He made no secret of his dislike for our mission, a notion most of the men from Bear Island shared.
"Believe me, I'd rather pursue my own studies," I assured him. "In recent years, many have theorized that Harlaw, Pyke, and Great Wyk were once fertile. You may not like the Iron Islands either, but had I gone there we'd both be spared from this insufferable weather."
"The cold ain't no bother." That was Burras; a short, burly trapper. His companions called him 'the lion' for his supposed golden shroud, though I only saw an unremarkable shade of ash blond under his hood. "It's the ice-river clans, the savages you came to study. We're about to enter the lands they inhabit. The last place on this earth a sane man would want to be." He sat down on a large boulder and turned the skewers over the fire, making sure the snow hares would roast evenly from all sides. "They won't be as welcoming as the walrus men or the caribou men on the Frozen Shore. Those ice-river clans, they're the true savages. They eat people. Did you know that?"
"I have heard about such customs," I admitted. There were many rumors about the remote peoples of the North; some outrageous, others mundane, none observed by scholars. "However, most of these claims were made by walrus men, and they are known to war against their northern neighbors. They might exaggerate to justify their quarrels and..."
"If you've heard such things, why do still want to go there?" It was a statement. Burras called my sanity into question, but he didn't truly expect an answer to that. "Aye, I know, your precious studies..." He looked up from the skewers, slightly shaking his head. "Do you maesters really have nothing better to do? Study flowers in the Reach! Some lady might be interested in the pretty colors. All you need to know about the savages is how to keep them away from your lands."
To be frank, I agreed with the scouts and their dislike of our mission. I hated the cold, I hated the wind, I hated the snow, and I hated the isolation. The prospect of observing and documenting man-eating rites didn't make things any better. But as appalling as the thought was, it was my first assignment as a maester. I could hardly turn around and tell the Conclave that I considered their task to be a waste of my time. Despite my personal dislike for the subject, I had to set an example for the acolytes and scribes. They were not far behind myself in their respective studies. Many would likely forge their first link upon our return to Oldtown, and we all wanted to remain in the favor of our mentors.
And so we marched on through ice and through snow, along the banks of the frozen river, into the uncharted expanse of eternal winter. Our sleds were well-stocked for our laborious journey, my companions were pleasant enough, yet the tristesse of the white landscape almost got to me on this journey. White rivers, white hillscapes, white mountains, white ground, and above us the endless, grey monotony of the sky. Why, in the name of the Seven, did people chose to live here? The lands north of the Wall were sparsely populated. Certainly a more hospitable place could be found without angering neighboring tribes. Except for two encampments near the shore – one belonging to the caribou men, the other to their walrus-worshipping brethren – we hadn't come across any inhabitants of these wildlands.
Unfortunately, this lack of sightings extended to the tribes we were sent to observe. After almost seven weeks of travel along the Ice River we still hadn't located a settlement, though the scouts and trackers had finally picked up traces of life. In the foothills of a mountainous area Weldon had spotted the remains of several seals; slain by arrows, not the claws of wild beasts. Holes carved into the ice of the river and a nearby lake suggested somebody had been fishing, though the frequent snowfall made tracking the fisher's path impossible even for our seasoned scouts. However, we were confident that the savages would return here sooner or later. The lake was located in a small valley, surrounded by a fir grove, and we discovered that some of the trees had been cut; often a telltale sign of a nearby village. Furthermore, our own fishing efforts yielded an unexpectedly good catch, and it seemed unlikely such rich fishing grounds had been abandoned.
We made camp higher up in the mountains where tall cliffs sheltered a plateau from the worst winds. From the lake and the valley we couldn't be seen; Weldon and his scouts made sure of that for our safety. On the other hand, we had an excellent view from above and would be able to spot approaching savages from the distance. Once we knew the direction of their settlement we'd send scouts to learn about its size and population. Should it be deemed safe to approach, we'd try to make contact – without giving away the position of our own camp.
Almost a week passsed without further sightings. Stronger storms and heavier snowfall plagued the desolate landscape, therefore we rarely left the shelter the tall cliffs provided. The caribou men – who I considered a marginally more reliable source than the walrus men – had been certain that the ice-river clans were not truly nomadic. If a camp was attacked, they might erect the next one in a more secure location, but they'd stay close to the river banks, I was told. Halmat Wise Caribou Brother, the queerly named chieftain of the tribe, had drawn a crude map for us in exchange for a far-eye. According to him, the river branched off in two different directions, both of which led to entirely uncharted regions. Therefore, Weldon had deemed moving on too great of a risk, and I firmly agreed with his assessment.
﴾ _ ﴿
It was the nadir of the fifth night in the mountains when our long, shivering wait on the plateau yielded results. I sat by the fire with one of the acolytes, Azaleo, and passed the tedium of the night watch shift with daydreams of more fulfilling studies.
"Geography has always been my passion," Azaleo said with a sigh. "Coastal geography, island formations. The Broken Arm and the Stepstones, the sea stacks of Pyke. There's nothing I can learn from a frozen river."
I nodded in resigned agreement. There was nothing here for me either, and his words served as a painful reminder that it was summer on Pyke. Barren or not, the Iron Islands were by far more appealing than the shivering cold of the far, unexplored North. "Between you and me, I did not volunteer for this expedition either," I said. "I'd much rather pursue my own studies of Ironborn culture. Not much is written about the early history of the Islands, and unsolved mysteries of that kind tempt me. Once I get to plan my own expeditions I'll take you along. Get you closer to those curious sea stacks."
"Why's a Valeman like you giving a shit about the Iron Islands anyway?" the not-so-golden lion barged into our quiet conversation. "Don't give me that tired line about 'leaving your past behind' when you forged that shiny thing on your neck. Plenty of Vale boys in the Shadow Tower. I know the accent when I hear it."
Piqued, I glared up to him from under my hood. "And they, too, give up names and titles when they take their vows. It should not be such a foreign concept to you." I pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders, though the night was windless and calm for once. "Is our shift over?" I then inquired as it certainly felt as if I had sat here for hours.
"Don't know," Burras gave back with an indifferent shrug. "But there's movement in the valley. Thought you'd want to know."