Chapter Nineteen: Fast Times at the Oldtown Hightower
Tenth Day of the Fourth Month, 113 AC.
I gently elbowed the boy next to me when he looked dangerously close to falling asleep on his feet.
"Ser Gwayne," I muttered to him while tilting my head slightly towards where my uncle sat on the feasting table with his empty goblet outstretched.
The boy blinked his blue eyes for a moment to shake off his boredom induced stupor and quickly moved with his wine jug over to the side of his supposed instructor while I resisted the urge to sigh.
The jug in my own hands was still full which was something I had grown used to in the week since I began my service.
Lymon Hightower was not much of a drinker, he sat at the head of the long tables in the main feasting hall with his goblet in hand like the other men but all he ever did was wet his lips with it. The Lord of Oldtown generally seemed averse to anything that kept him from functioning at peak efficiency.
But I still had my role to play, so I waited next to the other three Pages while my little cousin ran to pour wine for my rather noisy and less restrained uncle.
There were far more than five Pages in the Hightower, around twelve but the ones which I served with the most often were not chosen by accident.
Fossoway, Cuy, Roxton and Hightower.
It was surprisingly unsubtle to have me surrounded by children of Green Houses.
In any case, it really sort of backfired.
Four of them were a few steps farther than me than was strictly appropriate and shooting nervous glances in my direction even after a weak.
It was inaccurate to say that they were looking at me, they seemed more concerned by the armored giant standing next to me and the horse-sized dragon curled up behind us soaking up the sun.
I might have been a touch paranoid to think that it was a scheme as those were all Reach Houses and it would be strange for a Black to be sent to serve as a Page for a Green.
The only exception was my little cousin.
"Thank you," Garth whispered back to me as he scurried back from the table to take his place next to me. Ormund's son… did not take after his father, where my cousin was one leotard away from looking the part of a Golden Age comic hero his son was an unfortunate mix of husky and soft. I liked him enough, but the other boys mocked him when they thought he did not hear and simply lacked the malice to speak up about it.
"Just be sure to tell me if I nod off," I smiled back at the boy. It was easy to forget that he was two years my senior.
"Promise," He assured me.
Garth had quickly become a frequent companion whenever it came time for duties even if that was not as often as I had initially thought.
As I said, Lymon had struck me as a smart man and he knew that handling my time at the tower in the conventional way was not likely to get a desired result.
So I had considerable freedom in doing what I wanted as the mood struck as long as I kept up with my lessons and served him in public. The latter was easy, the former…
I sighed.
After the feast I was freed to go about my business until the time came to deal with the latter.
The other Pages went off to continue along with their meticulously planned schedules while I made my way back to my apartments. My instructor was not due to arrive for another few hours so I figured that there was time to go through with some preparations.
I frowned internally as we passed another pack of servants which edged away from us, that happened exceedingly often in the halls of the Tower.
I found it curious that they seemed just as wary of my Shield as my dragon, but I saw little point in concerning myself with it.
As was the custom, two of my nine guards were waiting beyond the hall and fell in line with us with mechanical ease. I went through my usual habit when seeing one of mine.
Gallen, twenty, sleeps around too much, son of an armsmen in service to a Hightower vassal. Primary concern is living up to his father's expectations. Current Priority: Allude to chance at a small tract of land in the future.
I found that I had at some point began to broaden the way that I approached my servants. I tried to know the hopes and fears of everyone in my service, get rid of those who were too troublesome, but I had begun to actively try and make them see their service to me as the key to fulfilling their hopes.
"Is the matter seen to?" I asked Hubert of the Reach.
Hubert the Reachman, forty-three, smarter than he looks and likes puzzle games, no family. Primary concern is learning and keeping himself financially stable. Current Priority: Continue to loan books from private collection.
The dark haired and heavily bearded man nodded slightly as he began his report, "As commanded, Your Grace. Ashur had the eggs swapped and Lady Serwyn'll be ill for a few days. He think's she'll be fine in a few days before Omeld sees her."
I nodded, the most annoying thing about moving were always the unlisted complications of a new house. My preference had always been to make certain that I got rid of the pests sooner rather than later.
I had brought an unusual number of staff (or 'servants') with me and my guards besides and sometimes it could be hard for them to mesh well with their surroundings or be preyed upon by those used to making certain abuses in the Westerosi manner.
For example, a certain lady-in-waiting that liked to humiliate her rivals by forging messages and rumors about them and some of the servants, rather raunchy ones. Fun for her and shame for her rivals, the Wall, geldings and dismemberment for the poor boys.
Well known to the servants but not to the lower-ranking nobility, certainly not even on my Cousin's radar.
She had regrettably opted to start a rumor regarding Floryn, Balerion's caretaker and one of Sky's groomers two days past.
Floryn, age nineteen, too much of a flirt, elderly mother in the care of younger brother. Primary concern is staying in my good graces. Current Priority: Ensure that he does not perceive himself in danger of losing his job.
A bit of a miscalculation on her part.
So I logically had her meals mildly poisoned and intended to issue a very polite warning.
A bit extreme but loyalty was key to my survival.
And she was a Mullendore anyway which meant that her house was a threat to me at any rate as they declared for the Blacks in the Dance of another world. They had been too far to be genuinely loyal to Rhaenyra in my mind, which meant that they were opportunists looking to turn on the Hightowers. So a threat, twice over.
If I were to be honest, it was no more extreme than some of the measures I had to employ in the capital at times. A rapist to the Wall here, a misleading maidservant reassigned there and so on.
I wish I could say that my behaviour had something to do with justice and that I was being the noble guy who looked out for the little people, but that would be dishonest. I did not think that what I did was necessarily in the right or even just, if it happened to be good and just then great but it was not the intended result.
I needed those pendants to mean something or they were just trinkets and the servants could be bought. More to the point, I needed it to be known that attacking them in any way shape or form was equivalent to an attack on my person.
"I do hope that she is not horribly inconvenienced," I tilted my head innocently.
"As you say," Ebermen snorted.
I had developed something of theory in the days since I moved into the abomination that was the Hightower.
Whoever built it had clearly hated servants. There were only three 'elevators' in the entire structure and they were all reserved for highborn use. Which meant that everyone else had seventy-plus flights of stairs as part of their daily routine.
It was an incentive to try and stay relatively fit if nothing else.
Curiously, most of the highborn men seemed to favor the stairs for that very reason. It gave them an excuse to exercise and it helped to give them a decent understanding of the time it would take to get around in the case of an attack or emergency.
I could admire that sort of practicality and tended to follow suit.
Even if it meant my legs were always a bit sore by the time that I made it into my apartments.
"I could carry you," Ebermen suggested as was his habit around the thirtieth flight.
Damn these short legs, "I am fine Ebermen."
I was for once grateful that Clearsky went out the nearest window whenever stairs appeared in her path. She had grown far too big for the tight spaces and she had hated the things even when she was small.
Said lizard usually awaited at the top of any given flight to seemingly taunt us with the inefficiency of our mode of travel.
The long and short of it was that I typically arrived somewhat winded to my apartments.
I raised a brow when I saw Nessa standing outside of the main door to my apartments with a less than pleased expression. The guards at the door bore similar expressions but guarding the main door had become something of a somber duty after the first day's fiasco. Granted my mostly Reachmen guard had adapted much more easily than my Crownlander governess.
Nessa had been having a bit of difficulty adapting to the Hightower, I could tell it from the way she had been working herself half-to-death to familiarize herself with the ins and outs of the literal and social structures of the House while getting everything sorted and establishing everyone in their new roles. That Lymon had insisted on augmenting my guard and household with some of his own men and servants had not exactly served to relieve her either.
The lack of sleep was obvious in the bags under her hazel eyes and the few hairs which had escaped her usually militant braid of golden hair. Granted her plain gown and the ledger she was idly glancing through seemed to have retained their typically immaculate neatness.
"My Prince," She smiled in greeting, fatigue making it a touch weaker than usual. "The feast was pleasant?"
She had become increasingly obsessed with her diction over the years, she still slipped every now and then, but the head of my staff had largely managed to refine her accent to the point that she was probably better spoken than many highborn.
"As pleasant as they ever are," I chuckled. It is genuinely pleasant to attend meals where the rumors, glares and snide remarks are unlikely to end in a kingdom-ruining, fratricidal bloodbath.
"Is that so?" She nodded. "I am glad, my prince. I am afraid that the Archmaester has decided to arrive early for your lessons."
Ah. Well that explains her manner.
"I will see to Arral then," I chuckled as I greeted my guards and proceeded into my apartments.
Lambert, age twenty-four, likes to read, brought a young wife, no children. Primary concern is making a comfortable living. Loyal so long as wife remains healthy. Current priority: direct to competent maester should wife become pregnant.
Edric, age thirty-nine, likes to sing, good voice for it too and handsome enough, wants to marry but bad prospects. Primary concern is earning prospects. Loyal so long as he perceives hope of marriage. Current priority: find a suitable girl not too fixed on Oldtown.
I continued the routine as we walked through my apartments and I greeted the maids and guards.
The girls, boys, men and women which were new would have been easy to pick out even if I did not track them. They seemed out of place and clumsy next to the mechanical and almost single-minded coordination of the others.
I supposed that it was natural, I had gone out of my way to foster a sense of community among the staff. Reading lessons by those who were literate, communal prayers and I even ate with them a few times a week.
The new ones would be either replaced or pulled as time went on. My men had already interrupted one of the new ones who got a bit frisky before being reassigned elsewhere, minus a few teeth and a finger.
To be perfectly frank, we could not reach an equilibrium soon enough. I had no patience whatsoever for having to resort to barbarism long before I was even strong enough to fight for myself.
I sighed as Gallen went forward and pulled the door.
Sure enough, he waited inside as he had every day since our meeting.
He was seated on the floor of the study and idly chewing on a lemon tart while pouring over the tomes he had brought with him. As usual, he had taken liberty to raid the books on the shelves and scatter them among what he had brought himself.
And as usual, I heard Nessa issue an annoyed sigh as she trailed behind me like the household head she was in all but name.
"AH!" The Maester's smile revealed a row of crooked teeth interlaced with gold, silver, iron and who knew what else between wizened teeth. "Gaemon! I had a thought!"
"Really, Archmaester?" I chuckled as I came into the study, Clearsky and my two most trusted humans coming behind.
Over the past week, a singular fact had become clear about the madman.
He was utterly brilliant. In a few days I had learned more from his lessons than I had from years with Melos and Nessa.
That he was apparently an old friend of Runciter only warmed me more to the maester.
"Quite! Your writings regarding expeditionary works!" He waved my manuscript while taking another bite of the tart. "They confirm my theory regarding the links between the Thousand Isles and Seastone Chair! I saw the chair once or twice! It fits the report you describe! Magnificent! Were it not for my fear of the sea I would be looking for the sites myself!"
I snorted, I had only written the memories of Gaema's few trips to the docks of Oros and her letters with her uncle, an explorer in the northern trade posts of Essos. "I am glad to have been of aid."
Arral waved me off while tossing the book over his shoulder. "Thank me if there is a result! I would need to get approval! The tyranny! What does money have to do with science?! Ignorance! Now onto the lesson!"
Arral was the sort of man who became stranger with every damned thing you noticed.
His balding head reminded me of an upside-down triangle, the fact that his face was extremely gaunt did not better things. The sides of his gunmetal hair were lime-stiffened which were worked into conical lines to become triangular along with his long beard.
His hairless upper lip revealed a thin scar which raced up to his eye. I had not noticed it at first since it was buried in the heavy wrinkles and cracks in his sun-worn skin.
That was the man in a nutshell, as crazy as he sounded, he was stranger with every detail.
That he punctuated his words by doing a handstand and somersaulting to his feet, momentarily revealing legs braced with ink only confirmed that idea.
"Now, you said you wanted to know about the early Ghiscari! Fascinating people! Horrible logisticians but truly gifted at repetition!" The mad Maester nodded to himself while knocking down a pile of books to dig out a ponderous tome. "Useful study if you want to understand how to not administer supply lines! Much like your great-great-great-grandfather! Just as ineffective at battling Rhoynar folk as well!"
I snorted as the Maester launched into his lecture.
He might have been mad, but he reminded me of Runciter in his own way.
Frankly, I enjoyed my first few weeks in the Hightower while barely leaving it. I was a creature by habit and I preferred to be systemic with exploration, I had little desire to explore beyond the boundaries of the Hightower until I knew every nook and cranny of the monolithic structure.
Which unfortunately meant that eventually I was forced to suck it up and do something that I really did not want to do.
I would have to go into the basement that no one liked to talk about.
It took me a few days to work up the nerve to mention it to the Lord of Oldtown and he sadly approved with the caveut that I did not go unaccompanied. Unfortunate, in that he robbed me of a valid reason to follow my instincts and run in the opposite direction of the place.
In retrospect, I had been a bit of a coward about the whole thing. It was just a creepy basement which the Hightowers regularly used as a storehouse, it was not even rarely used since granaries and a number of servant's quarters were there.
Absolutely nothing to worry about… is what I would have said if I had not been in Westeros and the planet did not actively hate me.
Sadly, I was in Westeros and things went the exact opposite of swimmingly.
Poor choice of words incidentally.