Flashback
The vault was surprisingly easy to enter, the city was under siege and the Citadel thought they had greater things to worry about than a locked chamber full of books that few knew about.
He knew that they were wrong. A man has something to hide, he thought to himself. But a man does not know its value. The citadel was becoming careless as of late.
For the third consecutive night, he had been in the vault. The inventory was regularly checked, even though it was poorly guarded. He would be here for a while, so he read the books and copied them, he would translate them later, of course. On his last night here, maybe he would steal a few books, and disappear before the inventory was checked.
Currently he was halfway finished writing a copy of a book known as the fall of dragons, he had been told that any books pertaining to the subject of dragons were his priority, but there was so much more in the realm of forbidden knowledge to discover. He would find the secrets that he had been tasked to find, and then some.
The grey sheep, as some called them, had secrets to hide.
Melisandre
The flames on the candles and the hearth were flickering with the usual music. Melisandre had to get the wood for the fire herself now, most of Stannis Baratheon's retainers went south with Jon Snow including Devan Seaworth, who was probably squiring for Stannis once more. The wall was no longer a safe place to be.
Jon Snow had marched south with several thousand men. She hated to admit it, but there was no denying the destiny that the lord of light had set before him. He was Azor Ahai reborn.
She turned to face the fire in the hearth before opening her eyes. The visions came. She saw other visions of a lion fighting another lion. She saw a strong giant fighting a hound amidst the shadow of a great black bat. In their wreckage a lion and a wolf were snarling at one another and looking for weakness. Other visions showed a bloodied rose washing out to sea, and everywhere she could see eyes. The eyes of the great Other, though she could not actually see them, she could always feel its presence. She saw a frigid ocean giving up its dead, amid a winter gale, and one more vision of a wounded crow coming home to rest. The last vision would often be the most immediate, to happen. She turned her gaze towards the South Gate at Castle Black. The castle was now fortified with wooden palisades.
Tensions between the free-folk and the remaining members of the Night's Watch were still thick. Food supplies heading in the direction of Mole's Town had been completely cut off. Not too long a large horde of free-folk tried to storm Castle Black and plunder the food stores. They were thrown back, but the casualties were high on both sides. In the aftermath of the riots, the castle garrison of Long Barrow mutinied with their officers who were loyalists of Jon Snow.
There was no word from the Shadow Tower, for nearly a fortnight. She had already seen its fall in the fires. Bowen Marsh was just as stubborn in his refusal to do anything as Jon Snow was to do too much. Many believed that the Weeper's battle-hardened warband had overwhelmed the garrison, which now numbered less than a hundred men. The few that ventured that far west from the Nightfort had yet to return.
The Night's Watch had no chance of holding back the Great Other in their current state. They were weak from infighting, which had reduced their numbers to some greatly. There was no official lord commander of the night's watch since Jon Snow left the wall, Bowen Marsh was the castellan but refused to call elections, for fear of the tensions that went on with the remaining members of the Night's Watch. Everyone knew that he would win, so really there was no point in opening the wounds of the Watch.
Their numbers were dwindling; many wildlings were discharged from the watch. Bowen Marsh and his followers did not consider the free-folk worthy to take the black and were more concerned with preserving precious food supplies. Desertion was also common; many were losing faith in the security of the wall. Wildling bands now roamed much of the North with many a former black brother to be found.
She saw a man limping through the gates. The red preistess recognized the man as Alliser Thorne. Soon Bowen Marsh came out to greet him.
"We thought we had lost you Ser Alliser, how did you get here?"
"Fuck you." Melisandre heard the angry gruff voice of Alliser Thorne. He punched the castellan in the face. A man tried to pull the angry knight away, but was thrown to the hard packed snow.
"You sealed the gate, before I could return. But, there was a special door by the Nightfort for any brothers that can't climb the wall."
"Where's your command?" Melisandre knew that two men had accompanied Ser Alliser on his ranging.
"Dead," was his reply, "they were good men who managed to get me here even in death."
His tone was respectful when speaking of his fallen brothers but everyone knew what he meant. Cannibalism had become widespread in Mole's Town, and it was no surprise that a ranger cut off from supplies would eat his already dead brothers. Her followers were strong here at Castle Black; but the followers of demons and trees resisted the influence of Rhllor. Anybody who would dare commit such acts against a man's flesh should have been given to the Lord of Light.
"You are a man of the Night's Watch; we are not that desperate for food." The old Pomegrante spoke as if Thorne was a wildling.
"Are we not," Thorne was exasperated and grabbed the castellan by his thick furs. "The Night's Watch is a ruin you fool, with many thanks to you. How many brothers do you think will still be alive in a moon's turn?"
"Everything I've done, I've done for the watch."
"Like murdering your lord commander?"
"He wanted to fight a war south of the gift.
"It was still murder. I hated him, but even the bastard could not have fucked up the watch this bad."
A steward entered the yard and cried out for all men to hear "Eastwatch is under attack from the sea!"
The sea has given up its dead.
Arya
Today, Arya felt almost as if she were she were nine years old. The last time she passed through this gate, her father had been executed; she still remembered the sweltering heat of that day. She had evaded the attention of the Lannisters dressed as a skinny orphan boy heading for the wall.
This time there was no need to pretend that she was a boy. Things were different this time; she was riding with a small army to the Riverlands under the leadership of a Lannister rather than fleeing from one. The snow by the wayside of the Kingsroad went up to her horse's calves.
Arya shuddered to imagine how cold it must have been at the Wall. She had heard about Jon's murder at the hands of his own "brothers." It was said that the red witch who rode with Stannis had brought him back. The kiss of life, Thoros had called it. Jon was now attacking the Twins where they killed Robb and mother. For the first time in a long time, Arya realized that she might actually get to see him soon.
She was still Jeyne Rivers to her comrades. A bastard of Tully blood she had decided, in honor of her mother's house. I'm almost like Jon, she thought to herself. Arya had no intention of using her real identity while under the command of a Lannister. It was known that the imp had married Sansa, but her good-brother did not strike her as the family type.
He was even more hideous than she remembered. A great scar covered much of his face, it was rumored that the scar was the result of an unsuccessful attempt on his life by Queen Cersei. He was missing a few teeth, which had long since been replaced with ivory.
As ugly and as feared as he was, the Halfman as many took to calling him was worshiped by his men. Arya could see why, he had a rough charm that appealed to the soldiers, and always made sure that they were well supplied.
That evening when they set up camp along the Blackwater Rush, she could not help but notice how organized the camp was. Water was drawn up the river from the latrines, and tents were set up in orderly rows.
Food was somewhat hard to come by in Westeros, but when suppertime came, she was served the best food that she had eaten since leaving Braavos. That was partly due to her job. Arya had a good understanding of medicine and surgery, and was the quickest person in her company with a blade, which made her a squire for Ser Tumcho. At the age of twelve; she was old enough to be a squire. A girl squiring for a knight, was not something unheard of under the banners of The Dragon Queen. Not even her supposed bastardy was a big deal, in an army that valued one's own merit over their birth.
She had easily beaten a dozen boys her age and one other girl for the right to squire. With the position, came a good horse, good clothing, and better food. For Arya, this was the life.
Samwell
Tomorrow would be a big day. He was going to leave Oldtown for the wall and certain danger. He almost felt himself shiver at the prospect of leaving reasonably warm Oldtown.
Circumstances at the wall meant that he would have to return sooner than later. He already feared the moment when he would tell Jon Snow that he had yet to complete his maester's chain.
He would understand, Sam decided. He would be bringing a needed men and supplies to the wall. The wall was greatly undermaned; he was hearing more tales of mass desertions from his brothers and bands of wildling brigands roaming the North.
At the last word, Jon was in the Riverlands beseiging the Twins. He had been murdered by his brothers. Samwell Tarly remembered how he felt when he first heard the news. For the first time in his memory, he was well and truly pissed that a brother would murder his friend and lord commander. He was not surprised that the red woman was able to return him from life. Many would dismiss the story as a silly rumor, but all pupils of archmaester Marwyn knew about the abilities of an accomplished red priest, which included the kiss of life.
He would lead nearly three hundred men, most of them Ironborn, to follow Aegon's army north. Food was plentiful in the Reach, and many lords had been generous in their charity of it. Many of the armaments that would leave Oldtown for the wall had been plundered from the Ironmen. He had searched the old store rooms on the Isle of Ravens, after his recovery and was delighted to discover three forgotten crates of dragonglass weaponry among many ancient neglected treasures.
Before going to bed, he decided to have a look at the glass candle. He was going to miss this thing. Looking through it, he felt like a wizard. He decided to cast its eye on his pupils. He could see Lazy Leo, who was currently getting Shite faced drunk at the Quill and Tankard, with Mollander and Pate. Sam did not care for the particularly potent cider that originated from the place.
Funny, he thought. Alleras was not around, nor was Pate. He willed the candle to find their chambers. It was a good thing that were no girl maester's, otherwise Sam would have turned beet red at the idea of peeping on unsuspecting girls through the candle. He started with Alleras, he was gone. He then decided to spy on Pate's chamber. It too was empty. Before Samwell turned the glass candle to other curiousities that he would get to enjoy, he noticed a book protruding from a small chest. That's strange, he never considered Pate much of a reader.
He decided that he wanted to see what kind of books Pate read. Sam felt a queer exitement at the prospect of entering Pate's chamber unnoticed. What if he finds out that I was here, Samwell worried for a moment? It was his last night in Oldtown for a while, so it didn't really matter. Besides, Pate was too dumb to forge even a single link on his chain. It was a wonder that Pate had not been booted from the Citadel, especially since he was leaving midday tomorrow for the wall.
Sam opened the door quietly, and took a look at the book. It was a rough handwritten copy of the Fall of Dragons. The book felt cold in his hands, it was the type of book that would only be found in the Citadel Vault.
The Citadel had always kept a wary eye on Marwyn's pupils. They had not been watched as often however, since the siege of Oldtown began. The Citadel Vault was one such subject that nobody talked about for fear of scrutiny from the archmaesters.
Although the Hightowers were always strong supporters of the Targaryens, it was said only in whispers that the maesters had been plotting for years to destroy the Targaryens since the Dance of Dragons.
He flipped through the pages of the book, whose original no doubt resided under lock and key. The candle in his left hand was starting to shake.
Sam was a fast reader but he could feel his mind slowing as he tried to take in the information.
He could scarcely conceal his shock at the account of how the last living dragon had been poisoned overtime, by the maester who had been charged with his care.
With the death of dragons, the Targaryens were no longer above the laws of gods and men. The story did not end there, many years afterward, following the Second Blackfyre rebellion, an attempt to inflict the grey plague on the numerous Targaryens, was undertaken. The attempt failed, and resulted in the death of half of Oldtown, and three-quarters of the Citadel which must have the the epicenter of the epidemic. Sam felt cold at the thought, it fit perfectly.
Maester Aemon had been in Oldtown at the time, and was probably paid a visit by a family member. Most likely it was his father, Maekar. Maekar was king at the time, he remembered. He was not a popular ruler, in fact, many in the Reach still despised his legacy, he knew. He often pictured King Maekar as his father, with more hair.
He felt anger at the notion of the the Citadel trying to silence Aemon. Sam remembered what Marwyn had said to him about Aemon, "the grey sheep would have poisoned him if he had lived to see Oldtown again." Did he know about this, he wondered.
saw schemes and carefully arranged alliances that took years to cultivate and come to fruition detailed on the pages. Only eighteen years ago, an alliance of such strength had unseated House Targaryen. But it was all about Starks, wasn't it. No, it could not have been, Samwell Tarly decided. His father once commented that when people are ready for war, reasons don't matter. And so it was, too many lords were dissatisfied with the reign of Aerys II, and they were chomping at the bit to get rid of him.
He put the book back carefully; he did not want "Pate" to discover his presence.
He looked at other books, in the chest; he saw another crudely copied book title, The Prince who was Promised. He knew that he should leave, but his curiousity got the best of him. Samwell wanted to know what truths Maester Aemon was hoping to find.
"Slayer, what are you doing in here?"
Sam jumped at the sound and choked back a gasp.
He breathed a sigh of relief, when he turned around and saw Alleras.
"How did you find me?" Samwell had not expected to see his half-Dornish friend.
"the glass candle, Pate's up to something."
He could almost laugh, "Pate found some good books."
Alleras frowned, "put it back, Pate is coming"
The book was carefully put in its original position, then picked up his candle and took care to wipe up any melted candlewax that had spilled.
He felt giddy as he left the room and Pate's secret. They had climbed not one flight of stairs before Pate passed them, Sam noticed a particularly large rectangular bulge in the man's pack.
Next up: Cersei, Brienne, and Jaime.
seriously people, we need more Samwell stories (ones that involve Oldtown).