Chapter 5

Master Addam leaned over his broad oak desk, running his weary yet vigilant eyes through the parchments that were scattered on it, trying to make sense out of their writings. The neat study chamber was quiet except for the burning embers that crackled in the fireplace, adding a savory taste in the crisp morning air. Reports from White Harbor, Lannisport, Oldtown, Gulltown, King's Landing; they were all there on his desk. Perhaps the word 'report' was an exaggeration. They were small notes scribbled by his men all over Westeros, telling of things that might be of note to their employer. Master Addam had spent months finding and placing loyal men all over the port cities of Westeros, and now the hard work was paying for itself. The South might have forgotten his legion, but Addam hadn't. They went by a different name now, but the Waywatchers remembered their roots.

Addam decided to take a break, unable to crack the labyrinth, again. Leaning back on his plush chair he ran a hand through his salt and pepper stubble. The air was nippy again that morning as another early summer snow fell outside the glass window, painting Wintertown in a dour white. Addam let out a sigh. 'The world is a tapestry,' he remembered Archmaester Gyles's statement from a lifetime ago when Addam had been a novice at the Citadel. The Old man loved to bore the statement into the minds of all his pupils. "A colorful intricate tapestry made by the Gods. Everything is connected! Though one will not find it through casual eyes. It is up to the person's wits to see it for himself and appreciate the beauty. Seeing, the real seeing, that is what is required." For all his urgings about this mysterious 'tapestry', the old man died of a broken hip before he could find it himself.

Here Addam was now, no longer a boy novice at the Citadel listening to the words of grey men, but the Head of the Waywatchers and the harbinger of change, a grown tempered man of forty six with greying hair and eye circles, and a voice that could inspire and intimidate men and women. Despite all that Addam still held the old archmaester's teaching to heart. At the moment he was looking for hints of a different tapestry, spun not by the Gods, but by men.

Or rather, dragons. A Company of them.

'What are you planning Rhaenyra,' he whispered. He glanced at the wall length map of Westeros to his right, all dotted with castles and towns. The Company of the Dragon were up to something, they had to be. Winter was over, and it was time to act. Rhaenyra and her followers had left the continent after they all were routed by Lord Whent's knights in Harrenhal. But they soon resurfaced after the War of the Ninepenny Kings, when they struck the hot iron and took over the weakened Golden Company. That was when Addam's own group at Winterfell had realized that it was not the end of Rhaenyra and her prophecy obsessed followers.

At the moment the Company were talking to the Prince of Dragonstone Rhaegar Targaryen, that much was clear from what he and the others could decipher. The messages stopped making sense after that, and that was what worried Addam. Everything seemed normal to his senses, but his heart screamed otherwise, and Addam languished in this turmoil in silence.

It was all too much. Addam trained his eyes away from the map and the reports. Instead he reached for his wine flask on the desk and poured himself a drink. Golden wine, shipped all the way from the Arbor. His eyes closed on their own in bliss as the vintage went down his parched throat, soothing his throbbing senses like a woman's whisper. He remembered Holly. Yes, there she is. His beautiful wife, smiling teasingly from whatever heaven she was in now. A lifetime ago Addam had tried giving her a taste of his cherished golden vintage. Northern to the bone as she was Holly had rejected it outright, naming it 'yellow water for Southern ladies.'

The Northerners don't have sense for the finer things anyway, thought Addam. For a person who was Southron to the bone Addam had ended up in the unlikeliest of places. The North was grey and hard, and cold, so cold! Nothing like the village beside the Honeywine where Addam was born and brought up, with its sunlit streets and golden fields of wheat and melon. Not a day had come in all of his time here when Addam could wear anything other than heavy wool or fur. Everyone around him wanted strong ale or sour wine, and it had taken some effort on Addam's part to arrange for periodic barrels of the Arbor gold.

Maybe the fault is with me, he told himself. He had two sons, Horas and Matthos, from his two different wives. Both his sons were doing just fine in the North. Horas was born from his first wife Karla whom he had met in the South. She and Addam had raised him together until she died of a fever, and from then on Horas had spent most of his time with the Northerners. He was a man now, a Northern man, a tall, strapping lad of seventeen years. And Matthos, a boy of seven, he even spoke like them, in their careless Northern accent. His mother Holly was a Northerner too. She was one year widowed when he first met her, and Addam had dared to fall in love again as he got to know the woman more. Holly died giving birth to Matthos, and after that the boy was practically being raised by the Northerners with Addam always being busy. Addam had never even told his sons where their father had come from, where he was born.

My Southron-ness will die with me, Addam mused as he looked down at his half empty cup. He wasn't sure what to think of that.

Addam decided he was done for now with his little espionage scheme. Being the Head of the Waywatchers there was no dearth of issues requiring his attention. Besides, Lord Rickard didn't have to know about what Addam was up to in his private time. That knowledge was limited to only those who had been with Addam since the start. While Addam was loyal and owed everything to the Starks, things may not remain good if the Lord Rickard found out that Addam had been spying on all of Westeros.

He collected the reports and threw them inside a drawer. For a moment the burning fireplace seemed a tempting place for the parchments, but Addam rebuked away the thought as soon as it came. He went for the ledger containing the various requests & demands for grants by the fieldworkers. Over the years the Waywatchers had come to be divided into five groups, or Orders as they had come to call themselves with pride. First came the Traders, mostly grown and tempered men who looked after trade and commerce all over the North. They were the strongest of the groups, having hands on the newly emerging trade routes. Next came the Planners, more women than men, charged with looking after the refugees and Wintertown's everyday life. Then the Scholars, mostly green boys and some girls aspiring to build a second Citadel in the North. The Watchers, consisting of gruff sworn swords and hedge knights whose task was to look after the law and order in the North, though they were mostly limited to lands sworn to Winterfell. And finally, there were the Soldiers, working more closely with Lord Rickard than Master Addam, thinking of ways to strengthen the Northern army. Except for the last one each of them was supervised and funded from Addam's chamber in the First Keep, who in turn was under Lord Stark.

The demands presented themselves, and he couldn't help but scowl. "Imbeciles," Addam whispered under his breathe as he began crossing out the moronic demands. He wondered why their naive ideas still annoyed him. He had rejected ten or twelve of the demands when he heard a knock on the door. "Enter," he drawled.

The door opened to reveal Lady Lyanna, and Addam felt the scowl on his face ease into a smile. She was a sight for sore eyes, the Young Lady of Winterfell. Her heavy grey cloak was flaked with snow, white as the steam coming from her breathe. "Lady Stark," he greeted, standing up. "How may I be of service?"

"Everything is fine Master Addam," said Lady Lyanna with a smile as she closed the door behind, dusting the snow from her cloak. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Not at the moment my lady," Addam replied. "Dismissing these demands can be done later, a drag on my time anyway." He pushed the ledger aside. "What happened? Did Horas do something?"

Lady Lyanna looked at him in exasperation. "He didn't do anything at all, not at the moment anyway." She walked to his desk and took a seat opposite to him. "You should go easy on him. Last I saw, he was helping in clearing the spring feast arrangements. There were plans to practice swords after that, I believe."

"How original," said Addam. Lady Lyanna often defended his son from Addam, at times very fiercely. Addam didn't mind at all. His elder son and Lady Lyanna were born in the same year and had grown up together for most of their life. Addam had taught them both along with other children and had seen them become friends. He had once wanted a daughter, and seeing his son befriend Lady Lyanna gave his heart a lot of joy. "I am sure you will understand when you have children of your own my lady. Fighting and revelry can only get you so far," he added. "He can't swing swords forever."

"Maybe, but they sure give the boys some pride don't they," said Lady Lyanna. "Horas wants to be a knight. You should've seen Brandon when he was our age. All he wanted to do was fight and ride."

"And chase girls, yes I know," Addam said with a tinge of impatience. "Horas isn't the Heir to Winterfell though. He has a different path to tread." Perhaps he was being unfair to his son, but in his experience hardly anything in life ever was, at least for the commoners and lowborns. That battle at Harrenhal still haunted Addam even after all this time. Good fighters had died fighting Lord Whent's knights at Harrenhal that day, spilling their blood and hopes uselessly on the grassy fields beside God's Eye while Addam and his friends had just run away. Thinking about that day still made him clench up in fear. Now Addam was working to build a new world, where swordplay wouldn't hold much importance for survival. He wanted his sons to fit and thrive in that world.

The easy look on Lady Lyanna's face flickered. "As you say Master Addam," she said. The young Lady Stark was like all other Northerners, fierce in her beliefs.

"I know he tries," Addam said on seeing the look she gave him. "I know his strengths," he added further, and Lady Lyanna's face eased. "He's strong and a has good mind, better than most anyway." Addam glanced at the ledger. "Most of the novices of his age who work under me are utter imbeciles with stupid ideas."

"Stupid? How so?" She asked inquisitively.

"These young people," Addam scoffed. "Insolent and naïve. They think they are the kings of the world, all high up and invincible in their cage of dreams. I hope they learn soon, otherwise that road only leads to brigandry, or worse, madness." Addam was once a mad dreamer himself until life taught him to find joy in more earthly things. His family for instance, and his pupils. "Just look at the demands in that ledger my lady. Today someone suggested paving the streets and castle with marble so that Winterfell can become as beautiful as the Sept of Baelor."

Lady Lyanna's face was mirthful. "I think I've heard that one before."

"Maybe. These ideas never are original," said Addam.

"Maybe there's a silver lining in it Master Addam," she said. "People in Wintertown are daring to dream."

Addam shook his head. "I am all for dreams. Dreams can be good. But these are delusions. You may not have heard the others that are floating around my lady. Retaking the Sisters from the Arryns, clearing the Wolfswood to settle the Wildling clans there, defeating Bravos and Lorath and force them to reduce their import tariffs, and what not. I all but ignore them now, it gives me time to address the bigger worries."

"And what are the bigger worries Master Addam," Lady Lyanna asked.

He smiled bitterly. "To be honest my lady, and blunt, at the moment my biggest concern are Wintertown's privy pits. They are filling up, and need to be redug."

Lady Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Seriously," she asked. "Privy pits? That is quite...unstimulating."

"Hardly, Lady Lyanna. You don't understand," he replied, and sighed. "I did discuss this with you father recently. Turns out we had been building our dreams on shaky grounds. Wintertown was never meant to be a 'town', it just became one in a rush. It certainly cannot become a city like White Harbor. Dredging and damming the stream hasn't turned it into 'the Mander', and soon we might have another water shortage. We can't house any more people if our present arrangement is to be sustained, but we can't keep them out either."

Lady Lyanna's face turned thoughtful. "Surely you have a solution in mind Master Addam," she asked.

"Why do you think so my lady?"

"Everyone in Wintertown knows you are the person with all the answers," she stated with a smirk.

Addam snorted in fondness. Lady Lyanna seemed to a little too blithe, given her close involvement with the Waywatchers and their work. Or perhaps she trusts me too much, like many others.

"That's what Lord Stark said as well, but it is not true," Addam replied. "We all have our limits. My hope is that the lands where the North's Way is being enforced should retain its smallfolk, and all should be fine," he paused. "I won't lie, I had expected better results from the spring talks. Nevertheless, all but the Boltons and Dustins have joined. Could have been worse. I'll take it." His throat went dry, so he drank some more from his glass of Arbor gold. "But still, with the smallfolk coming in everyday, we have to think for the future. Soon we may have to plan the streets and lay down sewers, or move the whole city to some other location, and that is a different headache altogether. I just hope everything stays peaceful in coming years. You never know when trouble might spring up after a long winter; with all the lords playing the game of thrones." The face of a silver haired woman flashed in front of his eyes, her smile malevolent as the stranger. Though Addam knew that she wouldn't look like that now after all the years that have passed. She would be old now, just like him. What are you up to Rhaenyra?

No reply came from young Lady Lyanna this time, she appeared to be thinking over what Addam had said. For a while the only sound in the chamber was that of the crackling fire. "Why did you come to me my lady," he asked, breaking the pause. "Can I help you with something?"

She looked at him. "You studied the higher mysteries during your time at the Citadel did you not?"

Addam blinked in confusion. "Yes..yes indeed I did," he spoke. "I have a Valyrian steel link to show for it."It was along with his other links piled up haphazardly in a large chest. Addam had forged a total of fifteen links, three more than the old crafty Maester Walys, but still wasn't eligible to wear them as a chain. "Why do you ask my lady?"

"I..I was wondering if I could borrow some books from you Master Addam," she spoke with some hesitation. "The subject has piqued my curiosity, and the library doesn't have many books for it."

"Of course you can Lady Lyanna," he replied, pleased on seeing his former pupil showing interest in reading for leisure. "All my books are on the shelf. The Higher mysteries are on the third row from the top. Help yourself." She stood up and walked to his large iron book shelf to the left, bustling with tomes of every size, Addam's most cherished possessions. She took her time in inspecting them in silence.

"Do you need help in finding the right book my lady?"

"No need Master Addam," she replied, her eyes not leaving the shelf. She finally pulled out a book, and then another. "I will return them soon Master Addam. Thank you." With this she walked out of the chamber, her gait measured and stiff. When she was gone Master Addam got up to inspect the bookshelf, curious about what his former pupil wanted to read about. She had taken two books, one of them was about prophecies and seers, while other was about the mysteries of Valyria.

Curious indeed.

He went back to his desk and opened the ledger of demands again. 'Twenty silver stags for buying sewing needles and other things, so the new women can learn knitting,' said the writing of Maggy, the former Septa turned Planner. Addam approved the demand with a flourish of his quill. Many demands that followed were prudent and practical, Addam was pleased to see. Perhaps there was hope after all.

There was a knock on the door again. It was Clydas, another of his pupils, a bright healer novice of seventeen years who worked with Maester Walys. "M'lord," he bowed his head.

"I am no lord dear boy," he replied with a fatherly smile. "What can I do for you?"

"You had a raven Master..Addam. From the Eyrie."

"The Eyrie," he exclaimed. "Is it from Ned?"

"Lord Eddard m'lord? I don't know. Why don't you see it yourself?"

Clydas handed him the scroll and shuffled out of the room. Addam broke the seal and unrolled it, and recognised the neat succinct handwriting of Ned Stark.

Master Addam.

I know what you have been up to. I spotted your man Symond when I visited Gulltown, and he told me everything. I approve of your work, and would ask you to take me into your confidence. The Company of the Dragon is planning something, and they seem to be very curious about the Starks and the North. It looks like we Starks would be at the heart of whatever their schemes are. I ask you to stay vigilant, and look out for dangers to our Kingdom. Convince my father to increase patrol of the East coast and White Harbor. Do whatever else you think fit. I will be coming to Winterfell soon, and we will speak more about this.

Your former apprentice and ally,

Eddard Stark.

Addam's mind was thinking very fast as he rolled back the note. Perhaps it was time to call for another meeting of his inner circle.