AN :
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait. The more Power Stones you offer, the faster the chapters come.
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"I honestly haven't given it much thought." the blond replied, rubbing his cheek with his finger. "I gave it to the church out of a sense of religious duty, but I have no such piety towards the Citadel." the Lannister stopped a moment in thought, before continuing. "And if the price is too small, I suspect father will be angry with me."
...
Marwyn considered him, tapping his finger on the table. He could imagine that the children of Tywin Lannister had ample reason to fear their father's anger.
The Rains of Castamere were occasionally heard as far away as Volantis. Still, this was good, the power was in their hands to make offers, even if the implicit threat that it couldn't be too small was there loud and clear. "You mentioned you wished to study at the Citadel, but your father denied it. Do you know why?"
"I expect he wants me home quickly, I'm returning from six months with my betrothed in Dorne," Callum said, cooly. "I had actually wanted to attend your lectures, Archmaester Marwyn, I'd heard of you during my time in King's Landing."
Marwyn felt his interest in this boy rise considerably. "A would-be student of the higher mysteries perhaps?" he didn't bother hiding his interest. "Is that sort of knowledge the payment you seek?" Marwyn considered the boy, strange, yes, but most who took lessons from Marwyn were strange. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up, considering the potential that such an arrangement might have for-
"Perhaps in some small part." The boy wore a resigned expression. "I doubt my Father would be content with it if I only pursued my own interest without considering that of House Lannister."
Marwyn frowned, leaning back in his seat. Ah, right, a potential interesting acolyte, thwarted by the politics of lords as they so often were. He sighed and scratched his face, tacitly letting Norren take over once again.
"Oh, well the Citadel does have some financial resources we could spare to purchase one or two of the special devices." the Linguist said quickly. "A few thousand dragons perhaps- or perhaps some famous artwork from our vaults?"
Callum turned back to the other Archmaester and frowned, his green eyes sharp. "Actually, I think I've just thought of what I'd like as payment." his mood seemed to improve as he spoke. "I think I should like, let's say… two dozen Maesters and Acolytes to come to teach in Lannisport for a few years… five years, let's say five years. They'd be teaching lessons freely open to the general public, on whatever subjects they specialize in, and there ought to be at least one with a good chain for maths and numbers."
Marwyn blinked, pulled back out of his disappointed fugue by the boy's offer. That… was probably worth a few thousand Gold Dragons, but would be less directly costly to the Citadel all things considered. It wasn't as if there weren't enough Maesters with nothing to do, hanging about wasting their time. "And what exactly would the citadel receive for that agreement?" he asked, tapping his rod on the table lightly, which made his mask clatter.
"I would, upon my return to Lannisport, ship down three copies of my printing press, along with a copy of the instructions to make it, and the type and ink used in it. I'd also include a primer on the nomenclature, terminology, and best practices for making use of the press, and so on. Essentially a full sharing of the technology." The Lannister boy said plainly.
"I suppose I'll also organize the construction of a teaching space in Lannisport for the visiting Maesters, that shouldn't be too difficult." He turned to Marwyn. "And since I'm being so generous, why don't you throw in some of those Valyrian glass candles you folk have so many of."
Marwyn blinked, then smiled. They were actually quite valuable in the east, but the citadel barely respected them anyway. He wasn't going to give them away freely but in a situation like this.
"I think we could spare one." Norren was nodding emphatically, the man probably thought they were mostly worthless. Like most of the order, he had little respect for magic. Marwyn could tolerate it just this once since it meant giving a candle to someone who might actually have an interest in using it.
"Good enough." The boy, Callum nodded. "Now, it's best we get this all written up in a contract and signed." the blond smiled. "I don't suppose anyone would have paper and a quill in the Citadel of all places?"
...
( Septon Callrik POV )
The scent of incense hung always in the sacred halls of the Starry Sept. Seven Hundred pillars spiraled up seven walls in the central chamber, the columns were white marble crackled with veins of blue and black stone, they stood in row upon row and held up the great dome that sat above the entire Sept.
Towering and mighty, the whole building was a wonder of Andal Architecture from the old days of the Gardener Kings, the once seat of the High Septon had lost much of its power in the years since Baelor had moved the faith to King's Landing, but not an ounce of it's splendor.
On the inside of the massive dome, there was an intricate painting of the night sky, some eight hundred years old, the painters had used powerful far-eyes purchased from Essos to view the Seven Wanderers in the heavens, the great spheres were each painted in glorious detail, sacred to the seven, leading to the light of the sun at the Dome's highest point.
It was the only source of natural light within the main chamber of the great sept, a single window at the top of the dome to represent the sun. The other lighting came from braziers at the sides of the pillars and prayer candles in the pews. To step into the Starry Sept was like stepping outside into a night where all the stars of heaven show with silvery light, a sacred place, a holy space.
There was no night and day within its walls, only the haze of incense drifting up from the altar and the sound of reverent chanting echoing through the pillars. Here, men came to beseech the Seven for truth. In these halls, more visions were given and prophecies made under the starry sky than in all the other Septs of the world.
Whatever they said in King's Landing, this was the true heart of the faith, as Callrik saw it. It was here that he led sermons every evening, and it was here that he spent his days, meditating before the altar and overseeing the lesser septons and septas as they went about their tasks.
His robe dragged behind him as he crossed the marble floor, his hands in his sleeves as he went to greet their newest guest. Normally, he only wore the full regalia of his office during sermons, along with the seasonal vestments that were expected to honor the seven faces of God. Today though, he was meeting with the son of a major House Lord, a Lannister son, and one who had been proclaimed blessed by the Gold Star Sept. As for whether that was true… Callrik was unsure.
On the one hand, many were the times that someone perfectly ordinary would be proclaimed blessed because of some quirk of fate or circumstance, sometimes perhaps they were truly blessed by the seven with some miracle, but not to the extent that it would happen twice. On other occasions, men simply made up fanciful tales and called themselves blessed, or enticed their friends to do so. It was difficult to discern the truth of the Seven's blessings without a thorough investigation of events.
This was not an ordinary case, however. The Gold Star Sept had not proclaimed this Lannister boy blessed based on something that had happened to him, but because of something he had done.
The child had crafted a tool, a stamp that could make books, copies of books, and endlessly in but a few moments. He had brought it to the faith with a holy mission, to give a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star freely to every household in the Westerlands. This much was not in contention. The Gold Star Sept had sent no less than ten of the copies they had produced south to Oldtown as proof. Callrik had one in his office.
There was thus no question that Callum Lannister had done a wonderful thing, a great work that all good men smiled upon, doubly so from a boy so young. The question was whether he had truly been blessed by the Smith, whether he had been given the knowledge, mission, and vision to pursue it by the hand of the divine, or whether it had simply occurred to him through mortal means.
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