Casterly Rock

"Robert, tell me and I'll make this easy on you. Where the fuck did you hide the gold!?"

"I-I don't know! I don't kn-" The gaoler's fist meets the bleeding page's stomach, silencing his cries.

"I'll ask you once more. Where?"

"I didn't know what came over me," Robert Brax mumbles through his swollen lips and broken teeth. The chains strapped to his wrists hangs his limp body above the ground, allowing them to dig into his flesh. "I-I was just cleaning my sword when... It was a fistful of gold and-"

With another hard punch to the jaw, Robert is knocked out cold. However, the gaoler isn't done with him. Rubbing his hands together for the next part of his act, the gaoler picks up a bucket full of muck and-

"I think that's enough, Boar."

"Really?" the gaoler asks Ser Damion Lannister, the aged Castellan of Casterly Rock. "He ain't said anything useful."

"And there's not much use in a dead man, Boar. Leave him with the rats; that ought to get him talking."

"Yes Ser," Boar puts down the bucket before stretching his arms and legs. He's a bit disappointed that he won't be doing any torture on the poor boy. "How about the others? Can I..."

"Not yet," Ser Damion sighs. Boar can understand why. He may not be a smart man like the grey-haired Maester Creylen, but he knows his way around the castle talks and relations. All of these men and women in the dungeons have been suspected or caught in the act of stealing gold and other trinkets from the Lannisters. Some are even brazen enough to dip their hands in the Lannister gold in front of Ser Damion. All of that is turning into a great pain in the castellan's mind. "Gods, Boar, what has gotten into them? I've never seen such disrespect and disobedience, even from the Imp!"

"Dunno," Boar scratches his beard. "Maybe cause Lord Tywin's away?"

"Oh please," Damion scoffs. "During the bloody Rebellion no one attempted to steal from the vaults. Even the late Lord Tytos never had this much trouble."

"Didn't his mistress stole some gold?"

"Not steal, Boar. Opened the vault and wore some jewelries. And since she was some common whore, it was even more insulting, but nothing that we Lord Tywin can't manage."

Boar grins at the thought of some harlot from Lannisport wearing the golden lions of the Lannisters, golden coins dappled on her tits and ass. Maybe she'll even be the famed mistress of Tytos Lannister. Gods, it's been a while since I played around with whores. I wonder if Ser Damion will let me play around with some of the people in here? "At least you got the gold back for that one."

"Of course. Unlike now, it was only the whore that took the jewelries, not the guards and maids of Casterly Rock," Ser Damion groans before heading to the dungeon stairs. "Come up with me, Boar. I've things to ask from you and I'd rather not spend another moment in this stinking dungeon."

"Yes Ser." As the two climb out of the dungeon, Boar realises that he's still wearing his gaoler clothes. Not that he has different clothes in his closet, but guards and servants often give him odd and disgusted looks whenever he walks in the more lively regions of Casterly Rock.

Well, lively is a relative term to describe the Rock. Nearly two-thirds of the Seat of the Lannisters are never touched by sunlight, staying forever dark and lit by torches. The Lannisters, being the lions they are, often stayed at the one-third that is basked in sunlight. But Boar prefers the dark; the sunny blue sky reminds him too much of Essos, and he'd rather get that memory out of his head as much as he can. He likes the grimy and cold granite walls of the Rock, so impenetrable from the sun. And of course his job as a gaoler has been a great fun as well. Hearing people scream AND getting paid to do so? He's living the dream. "Robert Brax, Walder Frey, ten guards, and seven maids," Ser Damion breaks the silence. "All of their families have been in service to us for a very long time, so why did they now betray us?"

"Dunno, Ser."

"And so goddamn brazen! Not only do they try and steal from our vaults but they try and steal from my pockets as well! The other day, that maid I sent down to you, what was her name? Lasia? Lassie?"

"Lucy," Boar corrects him. He remembers that girl quite well, always sobbing in the corner as he readies his tongs and knives. Barely a woman, that one.

"Yes, that one. You know what she did? She grabbed my hand and tore my rings off. Damn near ripped out fingers, that one," Ser Damion says as he shows Boar his left hand. Sure enough, there's some torn skin on his fingers that's barely a day old. The Castellan sighs. "Gods, the world has really gone mad. And just when I had to worry about the sudden increase in the Rock's spending, I have to deal with this. How about you, Boar? Want to follow in their steps?"

"I like whips, Ser. But I want to be the one whipping."

"Of course you do, Boar. That's why you're the gaoler." The two enter a large chamber which is guarded by two pairs of Lannister guards, bearing lion helms and sharp spears. At the end of the room is a large ironwood door, carved with the image of a pride of lions atop a shining Rock; it is the doors to the Lannister vaults. "Good day, gentlemen. No one tried to pry open the doors?"

"No Ser," answers one of the guards. "We'll make sure that no one enter these doors."

"Good, let's keep things uninteresting in these parts. Unless, of course, you want to get acquainted with Ser Boar here?" Ser Damion lets out a malicious grin. All the guards visibly shiver at the thought of entering the dungeons.

Of course, Boar is not the one to send someone down to the dungeon; that'll be the job of the Lord of Casterly Rock or the Castellan if the former is not available. And in truth, there's not much difference in the two's cruelty. Ser Damion is always said by the others to be kinder and more forgiving than Tywin Lannister, but to Boar it doesn't matter. The Castellan had learnt much from the Old Lion, and it shows.

"N-No, Ser Damion."

"I'll leave you to it then. Guard those doors with your life."

Boar, though, is unsure whether the guards truly fear the Castellan or simply fear him due to his connection with Tywin Lannister. The Old Lion made a name for himself due to his often cruel punishment, not even sparing his own brood from his claws. But the Castellan... Boar won't voice it, but the old man isn't much of anything. He's simply a Tywin stand-in as the Old Lion prowl around hunting for fish.

Boar, though a simple gaoler for the Lannisters, still takes pride that he's well remembered and feared by those who entered his dungeons. He made sure that every captive has their memories well seared by Boar.

The two continue their journey up the Rock, often climbing nearly vertical stone stairs. They're used to such a trek, but that doesn't mean they appreciate it. Sometimes, Boar would take the supply lits up the Rock, though his presence often drive others away. Before long they enter the living halls of the Rock, entering the Castellan quarters. Damion urges boar to sit on one of the plush, decorated chairs; Boar is reluctant as he's afraid that the slightest touch would damage it. But after the Lannister insists, he relents. Satisfied, the Castellan pulls out some parchment and a wooden quill. "Now, please write down the result of your little interrogations. We need to find out why they're doing this."

"Erm, sorry Ser but I can't write."

"...Pardon?" the Castellan stares at Boar. "Didn't I tell you to ask Maester Creylen to teach you?"

"Didn't have time." That's a lie. Boar did have a lot of free time in his work as a gaoler, but he never really stuck around for Maester Creylen's teachings. He's a kind enough man, but the lessons on reading and writing bore him; he'd rather play with the paper.

"You damn simpleton... Fine, I'll write it for you," Ser Damion says as he grabs the quill and parchment. "So, what do you know?"

"It's strange, Ser. They all say the same things; didn't know a damn thing until the guards caught them. Said had no memories of stealing. Hard to believe since some were handling pocketfuls of gold dragons."

"All of it lies, then."

"I'm... Not sure Ser. I cut off their toes and fingers, but they all sing the same song. And they all look like they were telling the truth, it's all so strange."

Damion sighs. "I'm guessing it's the same for the Brax and Frey."

Boar nods.

"So none remember stealing from Lord Tywin's coffers? Or taking the rings from my hands? Or prancing around the castle with Lannister jewelry like some Summer Island bird? I find that hard to believe."

"Maybe... All of this is planned?" Boar asks.

"But who's the ring leader and how did they convince longstanding servant families to help them? Maybe it's some damn hysteria going around the Rock, but we don't know the cause of- Ah, Maester Creylen, can you come in for a moment?"

"Busy," reply someone behind Boar. He turns around to see the gaunt figure of Maester Creylen leaving the view of the door, carrying something that looks like a large bag with him. The chains around his neck clinks with every step the maester takes.

"Rude," Boar huffs.

"That man is always grumpy, just ignore him. Must have been trying to catch a raven or something," Damion sighs. "Now that another problem! Someone's been freeing all the ravens from the rookery, probably the same person leading all of this thievery. Makes it hard to inform the Freys and Brax."

"Freys?" Boar asks with a bit of curiosity. "I thought they were Rivermen."

"There's no love lost between House Tully and the Freys," Damion replies. "With Lord Tywin marching his forces there, we need all the support we can get. That's why Lady Genna married a Frey; us Lannisters never really had a foothold there. Of course this is made all the more complicated due to your little sessions with the Frey," Damion hisses. "The Lord of the Crossing won't care much if one of his brood went missing for the Twins have many more in store, but he'll not take such things lightly. They're not an honourable bunch."

Boar is now curious about the conflict. If the Lannisters win, then that means a higher pay for him and perhaps more toys to play with. "So how's the Old Lion? Crushed those bloody fish, did he?"

"We don't know."

"Huh?"

"There hasn't been a raven from Lord Tywin for the past two weeks, and oddly enough none from King's Landing as well. The last I've heard from them, Robert Baratheon's dying and Ser Jaime had assaulted Riverrun. Whether he's successful, we've yet to see."

"Wait, the King's dying? How?"

"Gored by your namesake," Damion comments, smiling as he pours a cup of wine for both of them. "Quite funny that one, must be a very painful experience to live through. Just like your tortures."

Boar chuckles at the comment and takes the glass offered by Damion. It's much sweeter than anything he tried before, though he can't say that he had much experience with any Westerosii liquor. "Thank you, Ser."

"You've done great work so far, Boar. I knew it was the right choice to hire-" Damion's praise is cut off as a regiment of guards run past the room. Curious, the two get up from their seat and look out of the doorway. "Hey, what's going on here?" Damion calls out.

One of the guards stay behind, a tall man Boar recognises to be Ser Lucas, one of the head guards. "Ser! There has been some commotion at the vauult. We fear that it's someone trying to steal from it."

"What!? Go there and capture him at once!"

"Yes Ser!" the head guard bows before leaving the two for the vaults.

Damion tighten up his cloak and grabs one of the maces hanging from the wall. The thing looks far too heavy for a thin man like him. "Boar, ready your knives. We're going down as well."

"Yes Ser."

"But don't follow them, it's too tiring running all the way down. Come, we'll take the lift."

Damion enters the supply lift with Boar before the attendant winches them down. The air grows colder the deeper they go; it's only now that Boar can see how deep the Rock actually is. The hole above them seem to stretch on forever into the dark. After a few minutes, they arrive at the vault floor.

Damion brandishes his mace, but from what Boar can see the man is not used to wielding such a weapon. Boar is already prepared with his own knives and tongs, but that's not really much use in fighting. They're hoping that the guards will at least already apprehend the culprit by the time they arrive.

But their hopes are soon shattered when they see the groaning and crumpled forms of the Lannister men. Lucas the head guard is among them, groaning on the floor with a visible dent on his chestplate, as if a warhammer had struck him. Damion ignores all of his injured men and instead focus his attention on the vault doors, which are now wide open. Taking a lantern from the wall, the two enter the darkness.

Boar had never been in the vaults before. Thus, he is amazed by everything that he sees. Gold dragons amounting to several years of work for him litter the floor haphazardly. Rich tapestries and gold-embroidered chests decorate the walls. He bumps into a large marble statue of a dragon, its eyes and scales encrusted with rubies and sapphires. All of the Lannister gold secured in one dark hall. Boar picks up a gold dragon and twirls it between his fingers. Maybe I can just take one and-

"Don't even think about it," Damion chastises, "or you'll be the one in the dungeons."

"But I'm always in the dungeons..." Boar flicks away the coin.

They walk further into the dark, going between pillars of stones and mounds of gold. Soon, they begin to hear the clinking of coins and the sound of laughter. Boar walks in front of Damion, readying his knife. Climbing on top of some golden chests, they see their culprit. Digging into the golden coins with their bare hands is a man with long, grey hair, their bag full to the brim with gold and jewels. He's wearing what looks like some elaborate golden crown on his head and a golden cape clasped to his back. When he turns around, the various jewelries around his neck clang in a cacophony of sound. The two are shocked upon seeing his face. "Maester Creylen!?"

"Who, me?" asks the thieving maester. "Oh, is that this old guy's name? Didn't know that, thanks for informing me!"

"What the- Maester Creylen! What in the Gods name are you doing!?"

"What does it look like I'm doing you old geezer? I'm trying to look golden," the maester replies as he pulls out two sets of gold-and-silver encrusted necklaces. "Tell me, which one matches better with my eye colour, the one on my right or my left? Eh, I'll take both if you two can't decide."

"Maester, have you gone mad? Are you betraying the Lannisters!?" Damion shouts at him, demanding an answer. But the grey man ignores him and continues to put on rings on all of his fingers. Damion looks near exploding in rage. "Damn it all! Boar, apprehend him!"

"Yes Ser!" Boar is quite happy for a fight, but he didn't expect it to be with the Maester of Casterly Rock. He didn't anything against the man, but orders are orders. I need to be careful though, that man is far too frail for my liking. As boar climbs up the mound of gold, the maester puts on a golden lion's helm and takes a fighting stance.

"C'mon you tubby!" Maester Creylen taunts, swinging his fists at Boar in a mocking manner. "I ain't afraid of some pig! Come at me!"

Boar charges at the man with his full weight, intending to just tackle him and hold him down until the guards arrive. But the maester is faster than he looks. He steps aside from the charge and lands a powerful punch into Boar's gut, nearly causing him to lose his lunch. As Boar reels back, the maester spins around for a roundhouse kick. Though Boar blocks it with his arms, it's strong enough to send him tumbling down the mountain of gold.

"That hurts..." Boar groans as he gets back up on his feet. He's surprised by the maester's strength and agility, nothing like the usual hunched figure poring over some dusty-old books. The rings on his hands cause more pain to be sent up Boar's gut, so it's clear that he has some thinking in combat. The man in front of him right now acts like an experienced brawler, like those fighters back in the pits of-

"What in the Seven Hells is wrong with you, Maester Creylen? Do you want higher payment, is that it?"

"I. Want. GOLD, BABY, GOLD!" the maester cheers, throwing a golden goblet at the two. "So much gold it'll drown an entire city!"

"That's it, I've had it with this madness. Guards!" Damion shouts towards the vault entrance. "Help us apprehend this madman!"

"Oh no you don't!" The maester jumps on top of a priceless lion-skin rug and slides down the mound, pushing down Damion in the process. Boar slashes at him with his knife but only manage to cut through his bag of gold. The thief dashes out of the vault as the two try to chase him; sadly, neither are so used to running.

Once out of the vault, they're greeted by a new groups of guards. Servants and maids drag the unconscious ones away to the infirmary. "Ser, what happened here?"

"That damned Maester Creylen, he betrayed us! He stole the gold and took off running!"

"Any idea where he went, Ser?"

"Look," Boar points into one of the corridors. On the stony floor is the unmistakable golden glint of a golden dragon. He goes to pick it up, noticing the notch caused by Boar's knife.

Damion snatches it from his hand. "Follow the gold coins! And don't pick them up," he hisses at them all. "I'll carry them back myself."

They all begin following the maester's golden trail down Casterly Rock. Though Ser Damion insists on picking up all the coins and jewels himself, Boar occasionally picks up some that the Castellan missed. It's the same for the other guards, and Boar wonders on how much richer they're going to be by the end of the day.

The group eventually find themselves on the spiral staircase heading down to the Lion's Mouth, the roar of the sea blasting through the corridor. Even from here Boar can smell the salt. "Check all the boats and ships," Damion commands as they enter the wharf. "Don't let anything exit this harbour."

Boar shields his eyes as he looks through one of the longships. It has been a month or two since he had seen the sun; he's far too used to the dim light of torches and the darkness of the dungeons.

"Ser, there he is!"

At the far end of the wharf, Maester Creylen pushes his skiff away from the dock and starts rowing away, the sail still folded. As he starts to get some distance, Boar sees Damion running up the wharf. "Maester Creylen, stop right this instant and I'll let you live!"

The maester replies back by throwing middle fingers and lannister gold into the sea, jumping and laughing like a fool as he does so.

"That's it, take him down!"

"But Ser, he's-"

"We can get a new maester. Shoot him!"

"Aye!" The guards let loose a volley of arrows and crossbow bolts, though most of them miss the mark. Some arrows bounce off the lion helm. Boar, having a bit of a higher ground on the longship, picks up a crossbow placed on the wayside and climbs up the stern. He takes careful aim at the maester and lets the bolt loose. It strikes him in the chest, sending him sprawling on the deck of the skiff. The golden cloak that he wears slowly turn brown with blood. After a few moments, the guards manages to secure the boat with an arrow tied to some string and start to drag it ashore.

Boar heads down to the wharf and sees Ser Damion biting his fingernails. Maybe he's thinking about Lord Tywin since if I remember correctly, it was him that chose Creylen. Oh, how I would like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

"New maester... Gods, how much will that cost? And of course the Citadel will ask what happened to Creylen," he can hear Damion murmur.

Boar steps onto the boat, curious at what happened to the maester. As the guards turn him around to unclasp the cape, he sees a disturbing smile on the maester's face. Boar touches his neck: no pulse. He's dead for sure. Damion steps aboard as well, taking the bloody coins and necklaces off the dead man. "Disappointed that there wasn't much fighting," Boar huffs.

"Shut it. At least we got back the gold."

"Excuse me, Ser Boar? Ser Damion?"

The two turn around to see a blonde serving girl holding a golden Lannister chest. Boar remembers her as Pina, one of the girls from two years back who stole some bread from Lord Tywin. He had some fun with her. "Girl, why are you holding that chest?"

"Ah Ser, a guard told me to bring a chest to hold all the gold that man stole," the girl replies. Boar lock eyes with her, but she doesn't have the usual yelp or fear; she just smiles back at him.

She got over it pretty quick...

"That man is Maester Creylen, girl. Or was Maester Creylen. Also, I don't remember asking the guards to bring me a chest, do I?" he asks his men. All shake their heads.

"Oh, so you don't need this then?" she raises the chest, its content clinking.

"No, please hand it over. I'd rather not let more grubby hands touch our Lannister gold."

"Sure, here you GO!"

"Wha-"

The girl swings the chest wide and strikes the Castellan right on his side, sending him into the cold brine below. Boar draws his knife but is too slow as the girl does an all-too-familiar roundhouse kick to his jaw, knocking him off the boat as well.

As Boar help the Castellan back onto the wharf, he sees the girl rowing away in the skiff, using the maester's dead body as a shield from the arrows. The shrill sound of her laughter can be heard all the way out of the Lion's Mouth.

Citadel

As Seneschal, Archmaester Theobald holds an interesting privilege in the Citadel. He was not the one chosen by the other Archmaesters; that honour had gone to the old and senile Archmaester Walgrave, the one so skilled in ravens. But as it turned out, the man was too incompetent and forgetful to even lead a Conclave meeting. And thus, Theobald volunteered to the position.

It's a thankless job being a Seneschal. Now he's stuck for one year dealing with documents and diplomats asking for Maesters and a whole load of other things. But with his lead mask and chains, he's at least proficient at handling these kinds of matters. He volunteered after all to analyse closely the functioning system that is the Order of Maesters in relation to Westerosii politics; there wasn't much going on in Westeros when he volunteered.

At least that was the case until a few weeks ago. Now he knows why Archmaesters absolutely loathes the position of Seneschal; he can't do any research. He can't go out there and analyse the political rivalries of the Lannisters, the Tullies, the Starks, and the many houses involved in this burgeoning conflict. History is forming just over yonder yet I'm unable to move from my seat, Theobald groans.

But he'll at least fulfil his duties; he secretly prays that the conflict lasts longer than the year.

Underneath the morning sun, Theobald sips on his mint tea, the sharp taste bringing him back to focus. It's a nice day out. As such, he's conducting this meeting on the Conclave's open-air balcony, enjoying the salty breeze flowing in from the Sunset Sea. The first order of the day is the one he considers to be the most important: the issue of the lost ravens. Just two days ago, for Gods know what reason, all of the ravens in the ravenry escaped. Not a single one was left in their cages. Strangely enough, a messenger from Hightower came to tell them that all of their ravens escaped as well. The Lords of Hightower demand an explanation for this chaos, but Theobald is still unable to provide any.

"Are you sure you locked the doors and windows for the ravenry, Walgrave? I know your record of forgetting things."

"How many times do I have to tell you people that I'm not senile!?" croaks Archmaester Walgrave, his black iron chains clinking against his chest. "I made sure. I made double- triple sure everyday to lock the windows and doors, Seneschal. Ask Cressen, that boy has studied under me for years!"

"Cressen? You mean pate the novice? He barely has a year of service."

"Pate?" Walgrave asks, his face contorted in confusion. Then it dawns on him. "Pate! Yes, Pate is the boy's name. That boy, yes, he'll vouch for me. He saw me lock those doors and windows, that he did."

"And yet there's no ravens in the ravenry," Theobald replies, writing down his notes on some parchment. This dilemma of the ravens is truly something for him to wonder. He doesn't really have any doubts on the Archmaester's claim that he locked the doors; as senile as Walgrave might be, the man didn't earn his iron links for nothing. And even if Walgrave did forget his locks, that does not explain how Hightower and other places throughout Oldtown lost theirs as well. "This is no light matter we're dealing with, Walgrave. Just from the Citadel alone, we lost all of the six thousand ravens from the ravenry. Six hundred of those are the white ravens we prepared for the coming winter. ALL of the white ravens, mind you."

"Geh, don't remind me Seneschal," the old man whimpers, looking as if he's about to cry. Theobald understands why, of course. It's well known throughout the Citadel of Walgrave's dedication and love towards those birds, especially the white ravens. The man even had gone so far as to offer himself to them if he were to die. "Ohh, it's a terrible news, yes. I still remember their names, Seneschal, those white birds. Yerren, Lyla, Ossen, Hyman..."

You remember those names but not the location of the latrine, Theobald wants to comment, but it'll most likely be in bad taste to insult a crying, old man. Instead, he sips his tea and continues his questioning. "How is it then that those birds escaped?"

"Perhaps... It was thievery?"

"Do you still have your key with you, Walgrave?"

"Yes?"

"Then I doubt it's thievery." Theobald hands him the parchment detailing the guards' report of the night of the incident. "Around the hour of the bat two days ago, the guards reported a massive cloud of birds leaving the Isle of Ravens. The sound disturbed quite a lot in the Citadel, thus they went up to the ravenry to have a look."

"I-I think I was asleep for this."

"That you were," Theobald continues. "When they arrived there, they found all the windows leading to the ravenry opened and covered in bird feathers. The doors were open as well, along with all of the cages. Not a single raven, whether that be eggs or juveniles, were left in the ravenry."

"No eggs nor juveniles..." Walgrave mumbles. "Yes, that doesn't sound like common thievery. Ravens would catch a pretty coin sold to the right people, so it's strange. And the eggs and juveniles as well..." The old man continues to read through the report while Theobald refills their cups. Then, "I've got it!"

"Hm?"

"Seneschal, what do you know of ravens?"

"Not much," Theobald confesses. "I never really trained for an iron link, Walgrave. I can send a message like any other maesters, ut they are not my expertise."

"Well, let me enlighten you, young man," Walgrave chuckles, the liveliness coming back to his face. "Ravens, they're smart birds. No, more than that: ravens, white ravens, and crows are all smart. Some admittedly more than others, but they'll remember your name and face like any man."

"That's why they're messengers, I know that well enough."

"Correct, but do you know? Some ravens, they would remember messages spoken to them and repeat it back to their destination. No need for parchment and ink, just your voice will do. Not only that," Walgrave leans closer, his chain links nearly spilling his cup of tea, "ravens, crows, they have their own languages."

"They caw and croak."

"No, language!" Walgrave corrects him. "Not the mindless barks and mewling of cats and dogs, Seneschal. The True Tongue. The Children, they spoke it thousands of years ago, and the birds still do the same."

"What does this have to do with the incident?" Theobald sighs, shuffling through his documents.

"Listen to this. A few days before they flew away, I remember now, few crows came through the ravenry window. I let them in, yes, but I shouldn't have. The birds. They talked to one another, not in caws but in hushed tones like rustling leaves. It was fascinating, so I watched them hop from one cage to the next, even to the white ravens. Never seen or heard anything like it. Also," Walgrave points to a section on the report, "it says here that wooden and metal sticks were left there. I own no metal sticks, so it must be those birds."

"You mean to say that those birds freed themselves?"

"With the help of those crows, yes. Crows, they're smart. I've seen them use tools and steal keys for food, but never anything like this," Walgrave says excitedly. "It's a conspiracy, I tell you. Those ravens conspired against us!"

Gods, he has well and truly lost it. I do hope we'll find a replacement for you soon enough, Archmaester Walgrave, and perhaps you'll die while at it. "While I do agree that it is a conspiracy, Walgrave, I have doubts about it being those birds. Perhaps someone snuck into the ravenry and freed those birds for a reason: to prevent us from communicating. I mean, it's only been a few days since the raven came bearing the King's illness-"

"Illness!? Why was I never told of this?"

"...You were told, Walgrave. I told everyone in the Conclave. You and Archmaester Ebrose went on a rant about how Pycelle was unskilled in the art of healing."

Walgrave's face goes blank for a moment before coming to a realisation. "Oh yes, I remember now! Ah, I still stand by my statement, yes. That man is unfit to heal our King."

Hearing the old man's senile ramblings is truly a test of patience for Theobald. He thanks inwardly for the teachings of the previous lead-linked Archmaester, Boros, for ingraining into him the importance of staying quiet and smiling. "Thank you, Walgrave. I'll take your explanations into consideration. I'll be seeing you again in tonight's meeting, so do please remember."

With the old man away Theobald lets out a long, tired sigh. There's no tea left but he can't really ask for more as there's still other matters at hand. The matter with the Hightower ravens needs to be dealt with fast. And since they can't answer their request of ravens, then Theobald needs to sacrifice Walgrave. Put the blame on him for the reason the ravens are lost. Were the Hightowers sabotaged as well? And for what reason? The Lannisters have nothing to gain from losing all of the Citadel ravens, so who could have done this?

He puts those thoughts away for now; maybe something will come up to shine a light on this incident. Putting those documents away, he moves on to the next large issue: the stolen books of the Citadel. Normally, the issue of stolen books would be easily dealt with as they are easy to track: the books are heavy, they are all marked, and by the Hightowers' decree all ports and gates are to be checked for books without shipping documents. It'll then be up for the Seneschal to dole out the punishment.

But it has been a week and they have no such results.

Theobald urges the head Citadel guard Corrad to sit with him and discuss this matter. "As I'm aware, you were tasked with finding these thieves but so far has failed."

"I do regret the results, Seneschal," Corrad bows to him. "We've had a hard time finding anyone that may be stealing these books."

"Let's see... This week we've lost twenty books and five scrolls. Including the ones from the weeks before, that brings us to the total of thirty-five books and fifteen scrolls." Theobald raps his fingers on the table. "You know, I asked the Maesters in charge of the libraries how much they cost. Care to take a guess, Corrad?"

"No, Seneschal."

"Good, because any price you said will be far too low. They're PRICELESS, Corrad. Those books and scrolls are one-of-a-kind, and the knowledge they hold can't be found anywhere else! It's not like we can ask the dead scholars to write more for us."

"Um, I asked around the other maesters, and they said that the books cost around seven thousand golden dragons."

Theobald sneers at the comment. "Of course you people would put a coin price on those books. Yes Corrad, they can be sold for that much across the Narrow Sea. That much golden dragons can buy you even the Golden Company."

"Golden Company? The sellsword group?"

"Are there any other Golden Companies?" Theobald sighs. "Did you find out how and when they stole them?"

Corrad hands Theobald a report. "This is what we could come up with. So far, none that we know of occurred during daytime. It was hard to track anyone in the library due to the large size, but we managed to track a single dusty footprint in the Eastern vault."

Theobald looks at the trace drawing of the footprint. From the shape, the design looks to be from that of a boot. There's a five-pointed star print where the heel is, and the size is smaller than his. "Interesting... Only this one print?"

"Yes, Seneschal, just the one."

So whoever this thief is, they're careful of leaving a track. Clever indeed, but why the books I wonder? Does this have a connection with the birds? That would clarify why there was no sign of breaking in. Let's see... Theobald picks up the report for the lost inventory. Perhaps there is some conspiracy in the making here, but who's responsible? Why would they steal books and- Hm? "Corrad, I just noticed that half of these books are about the deeper arts. Is this correct?"

"We asked the maesters, Seneschal. Those records should be correct."

"I think that narrows our search then," Theobald smiles. "Not many in Westeros are willing to learn of the deeper arts. So, it's likely that they either have a connection with Essos, or," he chuckles, "they have a connection with Marwyn."

"Archmaester Marwyn?"

"Yes. That strange man, always speaking to all sorts of whores and vagabonds and strangers. I don't doubt he has some sort of connection to this. He's been acting strange ever since those... things." Theobald shivers at the thought of those things in the vault, glowing in their sickening, vibrant lights. "Where is he anyway?"

"I think I heard that he's receiving some visitor in the guest hall, Seneschal. Don't know what kind though," Corrad shrugs.

"Oh, I'm well aware of the kind." Theobald stands up, putting on his slippers. "Come, Corrad. I'll need to question that man thoroughly and I need you to be there to make sure things go well."

The two make haste out of the Conclave and into the main halls of the Citadel. Statues of sphinxes line the walls, their face resting in thought. Before long, they exit and cross the main courtyard towards the guest quarters.

"Are you sure you saw no one suspicious in these grounds, Corrad?"

"None whatsoever, Seneschal."

"So what's that?"

Theobald points across the courtyard and onto a gathering crowd. Beneath the two great statues of sphinxes, he sees a small platform set up for some sort of show. A few people are moving about said stage.

"Oh that? That's some mummer's show, Seneschal. We checked them out before letting them in; quite popular in the city apparently. Some of the Hightowers even came down to watch them!" Corrad chuckles.

"No one suspicious?"

"Just the usual bit, I think. Dwarves, mutes, some fools and jesters, a girl who juggles skulls-"

"How morbid." So you let strangers into the Citadel without proper checks? Maybe my first decree as a Seneschal is to cut his pay specifically. A new head guard and a new Archmaester, what a year it will be.

They soon reach the palace-like gates of the guest quarters. Due to the frequency lords and ladies that request help from the Citadel, the old architects have designed it fitting for a King: vaulted ceilings, open spaces, decorated tapestries, and anything in between. After asking the acolyte in charge of receiving guests, they stand outside the doors where Marwyn is talking to his guest.

"Stay outside the room, Corrad. The man won't appreciate you standing over him."

"Yes Seneschal," the head guard thumps his spear.

Without a knock, Theobald opens the door and enters the room. Immediately he sees Marwyn struggling to put on his mask and quickly bringing his Valyrian steel staff to attention. "Excuse me, Archmaester Marwyn, may I have a minute of your time?"

"Seneschal, can't you see I'm busy here!?"

"Yeah man, fuck off!"

"Hey, no need to be so rude to the Seneschal," Marwyn chastises his guest.

"Oops, sorry."

Theobald turns to the Mage's guest. Surprisingly, she doesn't look anything at all like what he expected. Her black-and-white dress is full of frills, the same thing with her hat, but what catches him off guard are her hair and eyes: golden, almost a Lannister-look. Did Marwyn brought in a normal guest for once? And from her appearance, perhaps she's some highborn lady. The girl smiles at him and he smiles back. "I'm quite sorry for interrupting your meeting, Marwyn. There's just a little issue I'd like to discuss with you."

"Grey sheep."

Marwyn snickers at the guest's jab while Theobald tries to keep a straight face. He sighs inwardly. No... I'm just mistaken; she's just like the others.

"Seneschal, please do sit with us. We were just discussing a few things."

"Thank you, Marwyn." Thebald sits at the chair adjacent to them. He notes two odd things about this: the first is the fact that there is a third chair already in place even though there's only the two of them. Perhaps it was already there when they conducted the meeting but that doesn't explain how there's already a third cup of tea on the table, half-finished. Those two already have their own cups, so why the need for a third? I didn't see anyone else when I entered this room; but could it have been a third person? Did they jump out of the window? "Ah, how rude of me! I should introduce myself to the guest. My name is Theobald and I'm an Archmaester of the Citadel, currently serving as the Seneschal."

"'Sup! Name's Reimu, and I'm a shrine maiden!" the blonde girl says proudly, thumping her chest.

"A shrine maiden? Forgive me but I've never heard of such a position before."

"It's kinda like a priest, ya know?"

"Yes, a priest from a faraway land," Marwyn adds to the annoyance of Theobald. He wants to see if anything the girl says holds any water, and the Mage is interrupting his questioning. Besides, he doesn't like the fact that the man is hiding his face.

"Ah... And I assume that is your religious garb?"

"Oh, this?" Reimu pulls on the hem of her skirt. "Nah, it's just my day wear. I'm on a break, ya know?"

"A break? As an Archmaester with lead chains, I'm well versed in the study of religions," Theobald lies. "However, this is the first time I've heard of priestly order with such lax free time! Tell me Lady Reimu, what is the name of your religion? I'm interested to know more."

"Shinto," the girl answers a bit too quickly for him to not be suspicious.

"Shinto... Never heard of that as well. Where did it come from, exactly? What part of Westeros?"

"Ah, ya know... Up north," she flicks her hand up.

"Seneschal, why are you here? I'm sure you didn't interrupt my meeting for a little chat with my honoured guest," Marwyn interrupts. Theobald can hear the anger in his words.

"Sorry about that, Lady Reimu. I'm just very interested, that's all," Theobald chuckles. Now he knows for sure that the two are up to something. I may not have platinum links, but I'm well versed in the politics of the North: they don't have such worship there. This 'Shinto' religion may only be some mummer's farce she came up on the spot. The way she acts and says it means that she's a confident liar, but not a good one. And Marwyn, Theobald glares at the man, why are you protecting her? To what end? Are you conspiring against the Order for your own gains?

Theobald explains to the two of how books are being stolen in the Citadel. He watches closely for their reactions: the girl keeps up her confidence and says that she knows nothing of the situation. As it is a simple question, he's unable to discern whether she's lying or not. Marwyn, however, is keeping himself calm. He expected a larger reaction out of the man for the books are in the Mage's area of expertise, and thus it grows Theobald's suspicions even more. So Marwyn is aware of the state of the missing books... I wouldn't think the man is capable of stealing and pawning the books, and yet here he is. I truly am disappointed in you, Marwyn. Stripping your chains will not be enough for the loss of knowledge.

After urging them to report any suspicious individuals, Theobald bids them a good day before exiting the guest quarters with Corrad in tow. After entering the empty hall of statues, he speaks to the head guard plainly. "Marwyn has betrayed the Order."

"Truly?" the head guard says. "Will we need to arrest him?"

"Not yet. I'm positive that there's more involved than just those two individuals. For now, inform the other guards to not let them leave the Citadel. Keep track of them while I prepare the necessary documents for Marwyn's removal," Theobald sighs as he picks up his pace. "Now we'll need to search for two more Archm-"

*CLANG*

"Corrad?" Theobald turns around but sees no one behind him. The spear the head guard was holding is lying on the floor, rolling as if it had been dropped. "Corrad, where are you?"

No answer.

He can feel something watching him and it is not the statues. With cold sweat dripping from his back, he picks up the spear and thumps it on the floor. The sound echoes through the empty hall, but there's no response from anyone. It's only him, the sphinxes, and the spear in his hand.

Shit.

And before he realises it, he falls into the floor as well.