Maester Kym
Once again, the old Dornishman silently cursed the natural curiosity and cocksuredness of young boys. The old oak in the Riverrun's godswood was mighty, sure, but by sheer dumb luck, or, rather, by it running out, young lords Tully and Baelish chose a weevily branch for their play.
Young Petyr got off easily, with just a dislocated elbow and some bruises, but Edmure managed to hit both his arm and his head, hard enough to break the former and to fall into an insensate state.
He remembered well the unconscious lordling being dragged from the godswood by the crying older boy. The broken arm was easy enough to fix, so was the elbow, but Edmure, while breathing, had remained unconscious for several days now.
There was a change yesterday, young lordling slipping into a delirious state, muttering snippets of words and twisting on his bed. Regular salves and medicines have proven to be ineffective, so maester has spent last night preparing a rarer and less orthodox option, now carrying a jar of leeches and several tourniquets and pumps. Maester Lomas' theory of humour pressures and their effects on the mind was less well-known than the air and water miasma theories of sickness, but it still had some traction amongst the brotherhood.
As he turned the corner towards the young boy's room, he saw two shorter figures shuffling awkwardly next to the door to young Edmure's room. Awkward small frame of Lord Hoster's foster and his younger daughter asking him something. A common sight in those halls, all the children were quite close, and such a tragedy happening, so soon after Lady Minisa's death, must have shaken…
Maester wasn't able to finish his thought as a blood-curdling wail pierced the stillness of the air in the corridor. He noticed as Lady Lisa squeaked in shock and grasped onto the sleeve of Lord Petyr's doublet but he didn't have time to waste here, as his feet moved rapidly towards the door and through it, opening it forcefully with his free hand, clutching the jar closer.
His grey eyes met another pair immediately as he entered, blues filled with terror and shock. Young lord Edmure was sitting straight as a stick in his tousled bedding, clutching it in his left arm, free of a cast to the whiteness in the knuckles.
"Maester… Kym" - boy's quiet tone was somewhere between a question and a statement - "I… I have seen the face of the Stranger. But I lived. I lived." - there were now hysterical notes in the boy's voice - "And I saw… I saw things. The knowledge… Is this a blessing? From the Smith? From the Crone? From all the Seven?" - the questions streamed like the murky waters of Tumblestone, when it swelled from spring and winter rains.
Lord Edmure suddenly jumped from the bed, wobbly on his unsteady legs - "I remember Maester, I remember I fell… I must pray, pray to the Gods. I must…" - he collapsed into a heap on the floor, teary-eyed and shaking - "F-father above, deliver m-me from injustices and… and bring the fortunes and wisdom to arms mine and mind mine and enstrengthen my joints with might and righteousness for defence of the house mine…" - the unsteady words turned stronger as the words of Father's prayer filled the room that was apparently more filled than old maester thought. By his side now stood both of the children that were waiting by the door, and several servants and one of the Tully household guards and even... Kym bowed his head at the man entering the room - "Lord Tully."
A sturdy, stout man of forty namedays, dressed in velvet dyed muted reds and blues, curtly nodded back and quietly responded - "Maester. Have you administered the treatment you have mentioned?"
"No, my lord." - Kym nodded towards the jar, still clutched under his arm - "young Lord Edmure had woken up just as I was about to enter. It seems that the endurance of his youth was enough to heal his wound, it just needed time. Although young Lord seems rather distressed by whatever dreams he had seen during his recovery."
"I can see that quite clearly, Maester." - Lord Tully responded with significant annoyance in his otherwise even voice - "Son." - he curtly brought boy's attention to himself, the muttered prayer stopping at the louder sound of his voice - "How are you feeling? What is the cause of such fervent zeal?"
"Father!" - Edmure attempted to get up from the ground, but his muscles, weakened by a week of inaction, seemed to fail him significantly, so he had to limit himself to a nod from the floor - "I have seen many things, foreign and beautiful and terrifying too. And I had seen death, death in battle in odd foreign lands, and it was I who had died. And maybe it's the Gods, Father? Maybe it's a sign?"
Lord Tully had sighed heavily as he walked up to his son and kneeled down to tenderly embrace him - "No man can truly know the will of the gods, son. But I know that I had been blessed by them today." - young Edmure sighted just as wearily and hugged his father back - "I am sorry, Father." - he said quietly, which elicited a mirthless chuckle out of the man - "Oh, you surely will be, son, you surely will be. Since you seem to have so much time to get into trouble, you would surely appreciate greater amount of lessons. You shall double the time in the yards as soon as your full strength returns and, since you seem so sure of what Gods' plan for you, you will learn all of the Seven-pointed star by your next nameday, boy, or so help me." - he turned his head towards young Petyr - "And if any other such idea shall cross the minds of either of you, I will put Ser Desmond to run you both around the walls until you can run no more, from dawn until the hour of the eels. Am I well understood?"
"Yes Father!", "Yes Lord Tully!" - two young voices rapidly sounded off, and Maester Kym heard a loud nervous gulp from behind his shoulder.
"Good." - Lord Tully stood up, patting young Edmure on the shoulder as he did so - "Maester Kym will inspect your wounds once more, and once you are dressed and washed, I expect you at the Great Hall for the luncheon. You have three hours all. Try not to get distracted." - with that he turned to depart, throwing - "Maester, I shall be in my solar, report on Edmure's health as you finish."
"Of course, my Lord" - Maester Kym nodded and walked, now at his usual reduced, shuffling pace, common for his age, to aid Edmure back into the bed to examine boy's state of health. With his aid, Edmure managed to cautiously rise and unsteadily shuffle back towards the bed. The boy was even able to sit down slowly instead of dropping like a sack, even if his legs were wobbling like branches in strong winds. Edmure's countenance went slightly pale from exhaustion and shock, but as the maester went on inspecting his arm he started to relax, his eyes now glued to the chain that hung around Kym's shoulders.
"Maester Kym," - he quietly inquired- "you told me that each type of link responds to a different art. What do yours mean?"
Maester carefully adjusted the broken limb, it seemed to heal quite nicely, perhaps it would be all mended in moon's time, and answered, pointing out the links as he did - "Black iron, here, shows knowledge of ravenry. First one shows one can properly care for ravens, clean and feed them, second shows that one has knowledge of how to send messages with ravens and how to treat their ills. I also possess a third such link, as you see, which shows that I had proven to be able to train new ravens. I also possess three silver chains, signifying great knowledge of healing and prevention of illnesses. and those two forged of copper are for the knowledge of history and heraldry. A maester should have at least two each of any of those, and of gold" - he touched two links - "which is given for mastering numbers and monies, to be sent out to serve a lord. One may choose to not strive for it, but then your path is limited to either staying in the citadel or travelling the lands in search of knowledge. I have also forged several links of pewter, lead, steel and antimony, studying the shapes and materials, the laws of the realm and alchemy and poisons and antipoisons."
That seemed to send Edmure into a contemplative state, which he broke out of with another question- "So steel means alchemical knowledge?"
Kym shook his head - "Nay, Lord Edmure, steel stands for laws and lead is alchemy."
"And you have two links of lead." - the boy hummed - "I have seen things, when I was sleeping. Of alchemy and mechanics and the science of numbers and shapes. Can you teach me of them as well? I wish to know how true my visions were."
Kym smiled as he examined boy's eyes for burst vessels or uneven dilations, oft signs of the damage of the minds, thankfully finding none - "I hope you didn't forget what your Lord father had said, my lord? Your time in the yards is to be doubled and you would study with Septon Osmynd, I presume for no less time than your current studies with me take. But I will report your desire to Lord Tully, so he can decide on the proper way of action."
This caused young Edmure to smile and reply - "Thank you, maester." - before he slipped back into his contemplative mood.
Maester took some time gathering his medicinal utensils, that startle of activity echoing with tiredness and aches in his joints and feet, reminding him of the weight of his age and the effect rains and fogs of the Trident had on his stature. Born in a fishing village on the coast of the Greenblood, even at an advanced age of three and sixty namedays, half of which spent here, at Riverrun, he was still not adjusted to the dampness and winds of those lands, weathering men like desert winds weather rocks. Lord Tully, nearly two dozen namedays his younger already wore a netting of deep wrinkles over his face and hands, and his knees and feet started to need warming salves when the cold winds came and rains turned to sleet.
Of course, Kym could not forget how those same wrinkles furrowed a decade's worth in a month after Lady Minisa's death and his head was now half grey, turning so in but a couple of weeks. Love was what made a man mighty like the roots of the great oaks, and just like those oaks losing the roots, losing one's love rotted and brittled even the mightiest of men. Kym raised a silent prayer for the health of young lord Edmure and for ladies Lysa and Catelyn, for if Lord Tully were to lose one of his children, that he loved so dear, he would lay dead before next Winter came, and all of Kym's knowledge would be of no use, as even the whole Conclave could not concoct a salve for a broken heart.
His measured steps brought him to the door without him realising he was walking. It seems that the sleepless nights figuring out possible cures have taken their toll on his vigilance, he wasn't a young initiate anymore, and he supposed that the schedule of his duties permitted taking a nap, after the report to Lord Tully, of course, he wasn't too old to do the tasks assigned yet.
Deep in thoughts about the nature of age and duty, old maester didn't spare even a glance at servants waiting with buckets of water, soaps and washrags by the door, and only spared a brief glance to make sure that Lord Hoster's ward and youngest daughter were no longer milling about, probably sent off to attend their studies. Lord Tully seemed to be set on making sure children were either deep into studies or otherwise supervised at all times to prevent anything similar from happening again.
Old dornishman sighed and continued his shuffling walk to Lord Tully's solar, cringing from the occasional cold drafts, which had a nasty tendency of not letting up even in Summers.