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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,742Chapter 15
Fillion
"This is the greatest waste of time since…" Maester Baldwin threw his hands in the air, almost grasping the air for inspiration as the puffed up the stairs to the Tower of the Mysteries. "Since…."
"Since that last project of yours, involving the birds in the giant cage on the scales that refused to work properly?" Fillion asked with a wry smile. This got him a glare from Baldwin.
"That would have worked. No, this is the greatest waste of time since…"
"That other project of yours to see if you could use giant mirrors to set fire to Ironborn ships?"
Another glare. "That would have worked as well if that test ship hadn't moved with the wind a bit." They continued up the stairs. "This is still a waste of time though."
"Oh, I agree. However, when Arch-Maester Tudyk tells you to do something, what choice do you have?"
They continued upwards as the larger, more heavily bearded man mulled this point. "None," he confessed eventually. "None whatsoever. That said, I still say that this is a fool's errand. Luwin's wits have been addled by all that ice up in Winterfell."
They reached the top of the stairs and then looked at the short corridor ahead of them as they got their breath back. "I hate this place," Baldwin said eventually. "It reminds me of all the hours I put in to prove that something doesn't work. I hate that as well."
The nearest door opened and a cautious head with dishevelled hair peered out carefully. "Oh," said Maester Maher as he looked out. "What are you two doing up here?"
Fillion peered at Maher carefully. There was a note in his voice that he had never heard before. It was more than the usual querulousness about someone intruding his part of the Citadel, it was… fear? Something like that anyway.
"We're here on a mission from Arch-Maester Tudyk," Baldwin said with a snort. "A massive waste of time given the premise behind it, but we're doing it anyway."
Maher blinked at them both. "What is a waste of time? What mission?"
"Luwin sent a raven from Winterfell," Fillion muttered as he advanced down the corridor towards the room that contained the glass candles. "Wants us to check on those wretched things. He had a theory, or heard a legend, or something like that. Waste of time, addled wits, and so on. Now if you'll excuse us we have a short ceremony to complete, followed by the inevitable failure to light a glass candle and then a retreat down all those stairs back to more worthwhile pursuits. Plus dinner, wine and normal life."
"You can't!" Maher half-shouted as he darted in front of them with a speed that made Fillion and Baldwin both stop and blink. "I mean… those things should only ever be approached by a Maester as a part of his studies!"
Yes, there was definitely something in his voice, thought Fillion as he eyed the dishevelled man. Well, he'd always been untidy, but now that he came to inspect the man's appearance he looked gaunter than before, pale and with lines of care on his face. "Arch-Maester Tudyk, the Arch-Maester of Magic, amongst other things, gave us leave to do this," he said with a frown. "We have full permission. Now stand aside."
Maher wavered, clasping his hands together and Fillion exchanged a worried gaze with Baldwin, who was frowning thunderously. "Maher," the latter said with a growl. "What are you so worried about?"
The man looked at them worriedly. "Nothing," he said in what had to be the worst attempt at lying that Fillion had ever seen in his life.
He stared at him and then made the connection. "By the Seven above us, you haven't broken one of them, have you? I know of your fascination with them, your prodding and poking at them… Maher, if you've smashed one by mistake the Arch-Maesters will have your hide. Or worse still your chain."
This flummoxed Maher, who blinked at tham both. "What? Broken one? NO! Never!" Fillion peered at him and then relaxed a little. Well, in this case he seemed to be telling the truth. Whatever was the matter the candles were intact.
"Well then, get out of our way," Fillion muttered and opened the door. The chamber inside was a simple one. When an Acolyte was training, one of his tasks was a vigil within the room where he would try (and inevitably fail) to light any one of the three black candles. There they stood on the podium in the middle of the room, a testament to the fact that magic was gone from this world. "Right," he muttered as he recalled the words to the old ritual that was said to light them. "Let's get this over with."
"You know," said Maher in a strained voice, "I really don't think that-"
"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Baldwin roared. "You've done nothing but whinge and whine since you saw us up here. You know, we are all Maesters here, don't you? You might study lost arts that aren't worth the paper they're written on, less still the stinking hides that you have stored up here, but this is not your private workshop!"
Fillion tuned the men behind him out mentally and concentrated on the ritual. There were three versions of it. The longest took the length of a candle, the middle one took half a candle and then shortest but a few minutes. As Maher started to yap something about the need for proper procedures Fillion clapped his hands loudly, shocking them into silence and then muttered the words quickly.
As he said the last syllable he stretched out a hand and gestured at the nearest glass candle. Nothing happened. No light, no spark, nothing. He smiled. Yes, a waste of time. Baldwin muttered what he was thinking behind him but then, as he was turning away, he saw it. A faint shimmer of light within the heart of the candle he had pointed at. He stared at it, deeply shocked. Hearing receding footsteps he turned. Baldwin was walking towards the door, with one hand clamped around Maher's right shoulder in what looked like one of his friendly-yet-forceful grips of iron. "Maesters! Look!"
The two turned and then stared. Baldwin reacted first. "This is impossible," he gasped. "Impossible. What trick is this? Where are the ordinary candles? Where are the mirrors?" He raged around the room, looking into all the corners and nooks and crannies. "This is not possible!"
Fillion waved a hand to quieten him down. Yes, there was light there. Not very bright light, but there was still light. His ritual had been said quickly and quietly and by no means with intent, and if he recalled correctly from his studies all three could be factors in magic. "I'm afraid my friend that this is possible. The candle is alight." He bowed his head in thought and then with more intensity than the last time commenced the ritual again, this time looking at the glass candle next to the previous one. This time when he gestured at it the candle lit with more light than before. It was hardly a bright and shining light, but it was enough to be seen.
And then a light went on his own mind. He turned to Maher, who was wringing his hands in worry. "You knew that they would light, didn't you?"
The man flinched from his gaze. "No! Well… no, I hoped that they would not. They are supposed to be dead! Magic is supposed to be gone. I read about it, I might have wished that it was otherwise and…" The man looked as if he was about to burst into tears.
Baldwin stamped over to him and glared at the wretched cringing little man. "How long have you known?" Each hissed word made Maher cringe.
"I… I was in here ten days ago, with the Fourth Fragment of the Book of Malys," he stammered. "I thought that there was a way of pronouncing one of the words, based on a book I discovered on dialects of Old Valyrian and when I read out the words… the candles all woke. All three! Not very brightly, but… I thought that what I had done was dangerous! I've been trying to research it all, to find out what I did wrong, to make them go to sleep…"
Fillion looked at Baldwin, who subsided with a snort of disgust and then turned to look at the candles again. "Well," said the larger man, "At least this was not a waste of time. I'll go and get the Arch-Maester. Perhaps the snows of Winterfell have not yet addled Luwin's mind."
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