A/N: Chap 26 review responses are in my forums like normal. Thanks for reading.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Into the Citadel
Lord Leyton's oldest daughter was old enough to be Taylor's mother. An attractive woman of forty, she'd been the first of Ser Gerald Dayne's conquests. Ser Deziel told Taylor that the woman was called the "Mad Maid" because she had no interest in marrying.
But looking at her, Taylor knew the woman was no blushing virgin. She began to wonder how much Malora Hightower was Ser Gerald's conquest, and how much he was hers.
The second of Ser Gerald's conquests was Lady Leyla, the only daughter of Lord Hightower's third wife. She was still in her twenties and also a strikingly beautiful woman, with her father's eyes and nutmeg-brown hair that made her porcelain skin almost shine. Her husband, a landed knight named Cupps, frowned sourly at the feast celebrating the end of hostilities.
Like her older sister, Lady Layla didn't look particularly broken up about having an affair. Nor, for that matter, did she seem upset that her lover was dead.
The last of Ser Gerald's conquests was the eldest daughter of Lord Leyten's fourth wife, Alysanne. Alyssanne was twenty-four, and on earth would have been a Victoria's Secret model. She was that beautiful. Her husband, another landed knight and one of Lord Leyton's more important liegemen, was Ser Arthur Ambrose. And like his good brother Ser Jon Cupps, Ser Arthur wore a bitter, angry frown over his cuckolding.
Lady Alysanne didn't even bother to look embarrassed. If anything, she looked pleased with the whole turn of events.
Ser Arthur was at least twenty years older than his wife. Ser Jon had a decade on his.
I'm beginning to see why Ser Jorah's wife turned out as she did.
For dinner, she'd donned a spectacular red and black dress fashioned for her by the Hightower seamstress. Even so, she was outshone by many of the women in their fine brocades, silks and precious gems. Taylor didn't care-even on her best day she would never be beautiful, and compared to her present company it felt foolish to try. Striking was sufficient for her needs.
The food tasted as rich and spectacular as anything she'd had. While it didn't have the spiciness of Volantine or Qartheen cooking, everything she put in her mouth burst with rich, savory flavor. There was succulent fish and crab. One dish was minced beef cooked in butter, diced cloves and onions, eaten almost as a paste on buttery pastries. There were soups and vegetable dishes, and enough food to feed the whole city.
The food was served on a huge slice of hard, brown bread. She'd eaten off wood trenchers, but never a bread trencher. Though she looked, none at the feast ate the bread. The dipping bowl for her fingers had a good workout as she dipped the various delicacies in their accompanying sauces.
She sat between Lord Leyton and his eldest son, Ser Baelor Hightower. Ser Baelor was just as handsome as his sisters were beautiful, reminding her of a more rugged Robert Redford. He had his father's blue eyes, but a head full of blond hair and surprisingly good teeth, which he flashed openly with genuine smiles. He shared those smiles quite often with his wife, who despite him being in his late forties, was only a decade older than Taylor.
She didn't seem to mind her husband, though. So at least their marriage wasn't a complete mess.
"Lord Leyton," Taylor finally said. "I think I have discovered the cause of this conflict."
"Aside from Ser Gerald?"
"Aye. Your family, my lord, is just too beautiful for the Dornishmen to resist. Your daughters are all breathtaking, your sons all strong and handsome. I may have to switch my Uncle's Dornishmen with my Unsullied just to protect our mutual honor."
It took the man a few seconds to realize what she was saying. But finally, he realized that she was in fact complimenting him, in a round-about way, and laughed at it. "Aye, the Gods have blessed me with beautiful children. Perhaps not all of them are as righteous as the Gods would wish, but no eyes have ever complained of their appearance."
When she left the meal in the company of Ser Deziel and several other knights late that night, she met the younger knight's gaze squarely.
"Do you know Prince Oberyn's natural daughters personally?"
"The Sandsnakes? Yes, I've met them."
"Would you trust them?"
The handsome young knight laughed. "No one in Dorne trusts them. Sand snakes are venomous."
"Good. You'll understand when I say that Lord Leyton's daughters, all of them, make the Sandsnakes look like infants. Make sure all our knights are accounted for and do not leave their rooms. A night's pleasure with a beautiful woman is not worth their head."
Ser Deziel looked alarmed for a moment before nodding firmly. "I'll see to it personally, your grace."
"And be careful, Ser Deziel. I saw at least two of those women staring at you."
The man gulped. "Thank you for the warning."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Despite Taylor's wishes, Lord Leyton required her presence on the second day as well. Nor was it something she could pass off. Oldtown was the largest and most wealthy of all the cities in her domain, and the families around it controlled the entire western portion of the Reach. So she essentially held court in the High Tower, a classical stone lighthouse that rose twenty stories above the city in the center of the mouth of the Honeywine river. It was a spectacular piece of bronzed-age architecture going back centuries, and reminded her a great deal of the Lighthouse of Alexandria.
And didn't that bring up some memories.
Mostly the day was spent with the various lords and ladies pledging fealty to her and gracing her with gifts of food, money or other sundries, all of which she intended to ship back to King's Landing to be applied to the debt. It was excruciatingly boring. She went through the motions anyway, fully aware of how important Oldtown was to her rule. More so, while the bulk of the Dornish forces were still pacifying the Westerlands.
Another feast that night left her barely able to walk. But being surrounded by all the ridiculously beautiful people left her with an itch she'd not felt since the night before her failed coronation. Nor could she ignore the fact that the senior knight of her entourage was one of the prettier men she'd ever seen.
Once back in the luxurious apartments she'd been gifted for her stay, she waved away the various servants and regarded her escort. "Are you married, Ser Deziel? Betrothed?"
"No, my lady. I am the head of my house and must be conscious of my duties when selecting a bride."
He barely came up to her shoulder. That was typical, she'd found. The Dornish were not tall people at all, even for Westeros. But by God they were pretty.
"Ser Deziel, how do you feel about tall women?"
"I've only known one, your grace, so I cannot speak to others. But the one I've known is magnificent."
Taylor sighed. "Right. Get out of that armor, Deziel."
The man grinned. "Yes, your grace."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Ser Baelor rode beside Taylor, while Ser Deziel and another Dornishman rode behind as her guard. They made their way through one of the wider streets of the city. The street was paved with cobblestones that clacked loudly with each step of the horses. The sky overhead hung low and threatening with the promise of rain. It made the air feel sticky and unpleasant.
"Yes, your grace, I studied here and even forged a link of iron for the war arts," Baelor said in answer to her question. "It was a simpler time of my life, one I admit I miss."
It took half an hour even on horseback to wind through the narrow, cobblestone streets from the Hightower to the Citadel. As they rode, Taylor found herself wondering just what the people in the city did. She still didn't have a good grasp of what medieval careers were like. All she knew was that there was an exponential disparity in wealth between the landed gentry, and everyone else.
Eventually they rode past a pair of large jade sphinxes onto a stone bridge that didn't just span the river, but had buildings as part of its structure. The rode past acolytes acting as scribes for people of the city. In a culture where less than five percent of the population was literate, scribing was an important job.
She wanted very much to put them out of business.
Finally, they reached a courtyard that had several poles mounted on raised platforms. She glanced at Baelor. "The Seneschal's Court, your grace. Where novices and acolytes are punished."
She realized that some of the rusted red on some of the poles was blood. A line from Pink Floyd drifted through her mind, but she dismissed it quickly.
They dismounted just in time for a group of very, very old men to emerge from the far side of the court. Lord Leyton, of course, sent word to the Citadel to expect her. And though they might have been insular in their beliefs, from what she understood the Order of Maesters was an intensely political organization.
The leader of the group bowed to her. "Your grace," he said. He was a man of Lord Leyton's age, but obviously not a warrior. "I am Archmaester Ebrose, the Seneschal of the Citadel. It is an honor to receive you today. Ser Baelor, a pleasure as always."
"Thank you," Taylor said. "Did you receive my request?"
The man bit back a frown. "We did, yes. The request was...somewhat unorthodox. The Conclave normally selects a Grand Maester to advise the King...or queen, in your case."
"Yes, I had a brief talk with Maester Pycelle in the dungeons," Taylor said. "He should be on his way back. His options were to return here and never leave the city again, or lose his head for his treasons against the Kingdom. I think you'll find that I am not an orthodox Queen. I have no desire for a Grand Maester. Rather, I'm looking for literate specialists in various fields who can perform actual work. For instance, I was told by several people the kingdom had no legal code. Do you understand the nature of my request now?"
"No...grand maester? No legal code?" He sputtered, as if unsure what to be more incensed about. "I can assure you we have a thousand years of laws recorded, and two hundred from the Tagaryen kings alone. As for a Grand Maester,.. Your Grace,there has always been a Grand Master, since the time right after the conquest!"
"And you can appoint one now if you wish," Taylor said airily. "But he'll stay here, if you please. When will you have the maesters assembled?"
The man stared at her, almost hurt. "Your grace, you don't understand…"
While Taylor had need of Maesters, she couldn't burn the place down. So, she stifled her first response. "Change can often be painful, Archmaester Ebrose. The amount of the pain, though, is often directly proportional to one's willingness to cooperate with it. Those who cooperate tend to suffer far less than those who do not. This is, of course, not a threat, but rather an observation on history."
He stared at her as if struck. She met his gaze squarely. Making sure he could see her lips, she whispered directly into his mind. Do not test me, Ebrose.
The man blinked and stumbled, instantly recognizing that she did not speak aloud. At the very least, he appeared to be intelligent. "Yes," he said awkwardly. "Yes, change can be...difficult. The Citadel is a large institution and we were unsure of your arrival, your grace, so it may take some time to gather all the Maesters, but it will be our pleasure to do so."
"Thank you, Archmaester. While we are waiting, I would love to see that famed library of yours."
She knew from Ser Baelor that women were not allowed within the Citadel proper. But she also knew that it was traditional for any king of the Seven Kingdoms to have access. Ebrose handled it with calm assurance.
"It is a wonder of the world. If you allow, your grace, it would be my pleasure to show you while my colleagues gather the maesters."
"Thank you, Archmaester. That would be lovely."
The library itself was extraordinary, both in size and in the intricate mirror lattice they created to light it during the day. Even under cloudy skies, enough light shone in to illuminate the dozen levels that rose around the central open space that held the lattice. There were easily several thousand books and scrolls.
What she was most aware of, though, was the smell of mold. "How many works do you lose to mold and rot?" She didn't mean to, yet she almost whispered it.
To her surprise, the Archmaester sighed. "Your grace, I...fear I may have done you wrong. That question proves you understand far better than I initially believed. Please forgive me."
And that admission made her regard the man squarely. "It's easy to make assumptions, Archmaester. But it takes a sharp and open mind to be able to adjust them, regardless of one's station in life." She looked around the library-it looked like something that needed to be captured in puzzle. "I was raised in magic and philosophy. Not works you would know, but I have a great love of literature. I can smell the mold-it permeates the entire room."
"We find works almost every year that are lost," Ebrose admitted. "We work tirelessly to copy them, but it is...difficult. Many are in languages that we have lost to time. Many assume that the First Men spoke a single language, but in truth every region had their own language, and none were constant with time. A Dornishman from a thousand years ago would not understand a Dornishman from today."
They need a printing press. "Perhaps, after this civil war is over, we can help each other. Make no mistake, change is coming, Archmaester. But in any kingdom I envision, there will always be a place for learning."
"That is good to hear, Your Grace."
Taylor had no desire to see the many dormitories where the Maesters lived like monks. She could smell them. She was surprised to find that Ebrose was the Archmaester of healing, though. He had heard of her own skills.
"What an extraordinary claim," he finally said as they walked back to one of the many courts within the citadel. "That infectious illness is caused by outside fauna? Fauna too small to see with the naked eye?"
"I've heard them referred to as germs." Taylor looked up at the mirrors. "Those are extraordinary. Myrish?"
"Yes. The Order purchased them with a gift from King Jaehaerys."
"So you are familiar with Myrish lenses, Archmaster?"
"Of course."
Taylor smiled at the man. "If curved glass can be used to see objects far away, cannot it not be used to find objects that are very close, but very small?"
It was difficult, sometimes, for Taylor with her thousands of years of learned knowledge to remember that knowledge was not the same as intelligence. It was a conversation she had with Alexandria once.
"The ability to look something up on a cell phone doesn't make a person smart," the powerful heroine once told her. "And the absence of knowledge doesn't make a person stupid."
She knew more than Ebrose, of that she had no doubt. But she also knew her knowledge was not earned. She obtained it through a shaped, engineered Shard of a vastly powerful, alien entity. Now, watching this elderly man who had never seen an airplane or computer quickly work through what she said, she realized that he was easily as intelligent as she was. Perhaps more so.
"Intriguing," he said at last. "And using such a device would allow one, in theory, to see these 'germs'. Have you, by chance, used such a device?"
"I have. In the lands beyond Asshai, we called it a microscope. It was a collection of lenses layered one atop the other that could be adjusted to allow us to peer at the smallest of objects. If you were to take a drop of pond water on a slip of glass and view it with proper lighting through such a device, you would see hundreds of living organisms within the water."
From Ebrose's expression, she had no doubt that the Citadel would have a working microscope within a year or two.
The tour continued. The Citadel was a massive structure, similar in size to the Red Keep. It had various courts, multiple libraries and all the facilities of a castle. It had kitchens and smithies, a commissary for writing supplies, and amphitheater after amphitheater where Maesters and Archmaesters held their classes. There was no attendance requirement, no roll-calls. Maesters came and spoke at a certain time, and it fell to the students to attend or not.
Achievement was not based on grades or studiousness, but the mastery of a subject. "Yes, it's true that some novices never achieve a link," Ebrose said. "Second, third or fourth sons who are not inclined to the military arts have been known to linger, if they have the coin."
Even in the dark ages, Taylor thought, there were professional students. She thought of her good friend Mujaji, who was pursuing a double major in communications and ethnic studies when she'd left Earth.
They emerged into one of the larger of the speaking theatres. Men milled about in their featureless gray robes, with their chains as always hanging about their necks like voluntary nooses. Most looked irritated at the interruption of their days. At a glance, Ebrose took her at her word and only assembled those Maesters who had not yet reached 30.
That limited the pool from thousands to a hundred men, since most of the more vital Maesters were actually out at the various assignments advising and spying on the many houses of the kingdom.
The men were clumped by their various fields of study. The ones she approached first were those wearing gold links. Ebrose was at her side, with her escorts behind. The four men all bowed as she approached. Two looked skinny and pale, one was rotund and pale, and one appeared to have some Summer Island ancestry.
"Good morning," she said with a regal nod. "You have all achieved a link in the arts of accounting?"
The four men bowed again. The larger one spoke for them. "Yes, your grace."
"What does that entail, precisely?"
"We study the rates of exchange of coinage and it's value. We all know sums to take an accounting of a lord's property values for tax and what have you."
"Oh, that's perfect," Taylor said. She turned to Ebrose. "I want them."
"All of them, your grace?"
"To start. The day's still young."
Taylor knew the Red Keep had a maester for their ravens already, though she'd not spoken to the man. So she didn't bother with those with the ravenry link. She was tempted to claim a historian, but knew that history would take care of itself. Instead she grabbed two smiths who were working on recreating Valyrian steel, and all three of the maesters in construction when she confirmed they knew geometry and the underpinnings of trig.
Both they and Ebrose seemed impressed at her mathematical skills. For Taylor, though, she just needed something approaching an engineer. The Maesters were the closest thing she would find.
She grabbed one of the astronomers but ignored the astrologers. Ebrose himself recommended two of his own pupils in healing, which she accepted gladly.
The last subject stood apart, and was far older than she'd requested. "You are the oldest-looking thirty-year-old I've ever seen," Taylor told the man.
The man looked like a human bulldog, with a thick neck, receding hair, and a nose that had so many breaks it looked like a maze. He laughed openly and bowed. "I am Marwyn, the Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries, your grace. Sadly, I have no students to present to you. Magic is not the most popular of subjects here at the Citadel."
"And yet every student must attempt to light a glass candle before they forge their first link," Ebrose said. "And none of them succeed."
"The spell to light a glass candle is in Shadowtongue," Taylor said. "The pronunciation must be perfect. If it doesn't make your throat hurt and give you a headache, you're doing it wrong. I'm assuming you've been able to light yours, Archmaester Marwyn?"
Before Ebrose could speak, the Archmaester of Magic smiled. "I did, your grace. This morning, with your arrival."
"Truly?" Ebrose asked.
"Truly, Archmaester," Marwyn said. "It burns still, should you wish to see."
Taylor nodded. "I'm not surprised. While I was in Port Royal my priestess used a Glass Candle to communicate with another in the Riverlands. My dragons and I appear to be nexus points of magic."
"Are you able to light a glass candle, then, your grace?" Ebrose's voice straddled the perfect line between skepticism and genuine curiosity.
"I am. I practice a different form of magic than what is common in the world, Archmaester. My magic is not spell based, but rather based on an innate talent to harness the spiritual energy of the world around us. Life itself, you might say. It allows me to manipulate the world around me. For instance, do you see Maester Ester?"
The rotund maester of accounting stood speaking quietly with his fellows. With Ebrose's attention, she summed the Force and levitated the man off the ground. He unleashed a high-pitched screech before she placed him back down.
"Remarkable," Ebrose whispered.
"And rare," Taylor said. "I've yet to encounter any who can wield that magic this side of Asshai. As for the magic Marywn studies? It's based on blood, pain and sacrifice."
"A sword without a hilt," Marwyn said, agreeing.
"Precisely what my Shadowbinder calls it," Taylor agreed. She turned to regard Marwyn. "I'm assuming you came for more than an introduction?"
"Indeed, your grace," the Archmaester of magic said with a bow. "While my specialty is the higher mysteries, in pursuit of that art I've travelled the world, including Asshai and YiTi. It would be my deepest honor if I could join you."
"Have you ever committed human sacrifice?"
"No, your grace. I've seen it done while travelling to the Far East. The price of such magic on the caster is more than I was willing to pay."
"Fine, join the others. Bring one of your glass candles with you."
The man nodded, grinning.
The maesters she'd selected had gathered together in a small clump. She walked over to them. "You're to make for King's Landing at best possible speed. Your roles there will not be to advise. I fully intend you to do actual, practical work. But for that work, you will receive a salary worthy of your training and recognition of your role. If after six months we find you are unsuited for the work I've asked you to take on, you'll be free to return to your duties here at the Citadel. I do not wish to hold any free man against his will."
"Your grace, if it pleases you?" the large accountant said nervously. He still appeared shaken from his brief bout of weightlessness..
"Yes?"
"What...that is to say, what work shall we be doing?"
"Simple. You'll be helping me run the kingdom."