272 AC, Winterfell
POV: Maester Walys Flowers
From the maester's tower, I sat comfortably, finishing a report about the North for the Citadel. The ink was still fresh, but my thoughts were already flowing towards other matters.
In the past four years, much has changed. More than anyone of us — even the most educated in the Old Town — would have been able to predict.
And I still can't believe how easily I influenced Lord Rickard.
He himself proposed sending Eddard Stark to the Vale to be raised.
For the Citadel — a wonderful sign of progress and civilization.
For me — a sign that Rickard had begun not only listening to arguments but thinking with them. As if every decision had to have a political, logical value... and could be turned into silver.
When he asked me to write to the Citadel about the canal, and suggested presenting it as their idea — I knew something had changed forever.
The Citadel quickly approved the project, delighted with the North's previous "successes". They began thinking about how to convince the king to implement it.
And somehow it worked. Without Grand Maester Pycelle's involvement.
He has been complaining since then — that Tywin must have invented it, and the king simply stole his idea.
The king, wanting to overshadow the Hand, announced the canal's construction and allocated two million golden dragons for it.
Two Million.
I will never forget Rickard's expression when he read the decree.
His fingers slightly clenched the parchment, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
For the first time in years, he looked not like a lord... but like a player who had just won a war before the first order was given.
I just hope the Citadel doesn't now order me to study his new cultivation method.
I don't know who suggested it to him, or why he suddenly began promoting the "four-field crop rotation" in the North. I suspect it's the result of one of those conversations he doesn't invite me to — after which he remains silent longer than usual and stares into the fire, as if trying to see the future.
Maybe one of the managers suggested it. Maybe a traveling merchant.
Or maybe... that boy.
Brandon.
I have no proof. But something doesn't add up. I hope it's just over-interpretation.
But he is certainly not normal. Not for a child. Especially when he fights.
I still can't believe that Lord Rickard ordered him to train exclusively with the master-at-arms.
Because otherwise... he always wins.
Against everyone.
And the speed at which he adapts — is incredible. As if he sees the blow before it's even struck. As if his body already knows the outcome.
For me, as a maester, it's fascinating.
I have nothing left to teach him. He asks questions for which I must seek answers myself.
It's a pity he is the heir.
If he weren't — I would send him to the Citadel without hesitation.
I have a feeling that this entire sudden workload is related to him.
And one more thing.
I sincerely hope he is mistaken.
That he is just bluffing.
That this is all — a childish experiment of imagination.
Because if he really knows how to make glass...
I'm afraid of the response that will come from Myr.
They don't like competition. Especially from places they considered provincial and irrelevant.
But who would believe it was done by a boy with barely ten name days to his name?
Who would admit that a child from the North invented something that in Myr has been a secret of craft guilds for generations?
They'll probably think it was me. That I broke their monopoly.
I was about to stand up when a knock sounded at the door.
Three strikes. Short. Equal.
Not servants.
Not the guard.
I knew this rhythm.
I sighed quietly, put down the quill.
„Enter"I said, looking towards the door.
Because of course, it was him.
He entered completely satisfied, as if the sun was shining only for him today, and said with a smile:
„Good morning, Maester Walys. Father wanted me to inform you that he is waiting for you in the solar."
„Of course" I replied, standing up slowly. „I'm coming right away. Do you know what he wants me for?"
„I only heard something about finding a new mine. And about further development of WinterTown."
He said it in a casual tone, as if talking about the weather.
Another new mine. How lucky the North has been lately.
And WinterTown...
Well — it may never match Oldtown... but at least it doesn't smell like King's Landing.
Though if the pace of "development" continues, I'll soon have to prepare a report for the Citadel to draw more attention.
I just hope my success in the North doesn't become the reason for my premature death.
I thought the conversation was over when he spoke again:
„Oh, and also the matter of NorthHeal. They claim again that they have proof that the fluid theory is incorrect."
(For clarification: Fluid Theory — An old, proto-scientific approach that assumed the body consists of four basic fluids (humors): blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. Their mutual proportions and balance were supposed to determine health, temperament, and personality.)
Yes. The greatest curiosity created in the North — their entire "healing school" — constantly challenges the medical knowledge foundations of the Citadel.
I try not to think about it.
I constantly repeat that their "experiments" have no scientific justification. But then I hear again that someone was helped. And the worst part... sometimes I want to believe them.