"It's a sight to behold, isn't it?" Jon breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam nodded in quiet agreement, both men gazing in awe at the imposing spectacle before them.
At long last, they stood at the entrance of the Citadel, a renowned bastion of knowledge not just within Westeros but spanning the vast reaches of Planetos. Poised upon the banks of the river Hoenywine, its spires and domes were connected by grand stone bridges, some wide enough to accommodate bustling houses and market stalls.
They were standing in front of the massive entrance, where the gates were flanked by imposing statues of green sphinxes, creatures of mythical significance with leonine bodies, eagle wings, and serpent tails—two guardians, one male visage, the other female.
Their arrival coincided with the pre-rush hour, attracting a diverse throng: Smallfolk, merchants, and all manner of folk seeking the services provided by the acolytes and novices dwelling within. After absorbing the scene, Jon turned to Sam and said, "Shall we proceed?" With that, he led the way, seamlessly merging into the flow of people streaming toward the dome's entrance.
"Are you sure we won't get caught," Sam asked almost whimpering as he followed after him, fiddling with the acolyte's robes he was wearing that Jon had somehow nicked. He didn't ever imagine that with his cowardice he would do something like sneaking inside the Citadel. He felt as if everyone was staring at him and that any second now someone would recognize them and call them out for frauds and imprison them.
"Don't worry! They won't," Jon whispered assuringly while patting his shoulder, he had spent the last few days scouting and mapping the insides of this humungous place with his special friend. So he didn't have to worry about wandering around like a headless chicken and getting lost and needing to ask for directions. He knew which paths would be the most deserted, and where all the exit points were, and had a foolproof plan of entering and exiting so he was sure that nothing could go wrong.
"But what if they do?" Sam asked, his eyes moving left and right while looking away the moment anyone even so much as glanced at him.
The moment they entered the gates, they immediately found themselves in the Scribe's Hearth. Here the citizens and Sailors of Oldtown came to hire scribes, usually, acolytes, to write and read letters for them. The Scribes were sitting and waiting in open stalls with lines of people in front of them. There were also other stalls here that sold, bought and copied books and others even offered all kinds of maps.
"They won't apprehend us," Jon restated, pausing to examine a statue of Dareon I Targaryen mounted on a noble stone steed. The path split here, Jon's gaze shifted to Sam, and he chuckled, "Even if they did, what's the worst that could befall us? Copying books?" He grinned, resuming their journey down the right path meant for acolytes, Maesters, and workers.
They passed by two guards standing on either who didn't even glance at them as they entered, with Sam not even looking up from the floor. If the guards weren't so incompetent, and Jon wasn't so good at acting like he belonged there they would have definitely caught them because of Sam, "T-They could kill us..."
"Who?" Jon scoffed, as they entered a maze of corridors which only a person who used them daily could navigate, "These Maester and Acolytes... who've barely even seen the sun once a week... pfft! As if they could even think of catching me,"
They also passed a monument inside of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, with a plinth on it that read, "He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one."
"Now keep your chin up and look like you belong here," Jon said as they were finally on the path to the library.
"But I don't," Sam whined but Jon wasn't stopping at all so he had no choice but to follow.
on had meticulously selected a secluded route, evading the bustling areas. Private chambers lined their path, often serving as lodgings for visiting nobles or Maesters from beyond the Citadel's walls. These chambers provided a direct route to the library—a convenient arrangement that Jon had skillfully exploited.
Just as they were about to turn a corner, they suddenly heard voices coming from the front and from the sound of them, they were two men, one middle-aged and the other one in his 70's or 80's. Swiftly, Jon ushered Sam into an unoccupied room, avoiding any potential interaction.
"I am telling you, Archmaester," the middle-aged man's voice carried, "These innovations could revolutionize our city."
"In what manner, Maester Felix?" responded the elderly man with an intrigued tone.
"Do you know how much of the budget we allocate every month towards just cleaning the street, Archmaester," Felix asked.
"I don't, but I assume that it would be a lot," the Archmaester responded. Oldtown, although the second most populous city in Westeros after King's Landing, maintained wide, fragrant, and immaculate streets—a feat that undoubtedly required significant resources and labour.
"It is," Felix nodded firmly, "And did you know that a substantial portion of those funds is devoted to cleaning up after horseshit? Now, imagine if we could replace these horses with the new invention—Starkhorses. We'd save considerable resources over a long long time..."
"And what of the initial costs of acquiring these Starkhorses?"
"That's a one-time expense," Maester Felix dismissed with a wave. "Moreover, if we execute the plan properly, I believe it could be entirely cost-free, requiring not a single penny from our coffers," he concluded with a triumphant smile.
The Archmaester halted in his tracks at the mention of "cost-free," a nearly magical phrase to someone overseeing the budget. "Explain."
"Firstly, we must ensure that these 'Starkhorses' are readily accessible to all," Maester Felix explained eagerly. "Given their novelty, I'm confident that our citizens—ranging from affluent merchants to modest households—will rush to procure them." He knew that the price might be steep for ordinary smallfolk in other regions, but in Oldtown, where some of the wealthiest smallfolk in Westeros resided, affordability wouldn't pose an issue.
"Go on..."
"Subsequently, after a reasonable period, we would establish a limit on the number of horses and animals permitted within the city. Over time, we could progressively reduce this limit, ultimately enforcing a complete ban. This could be executed without causing much dissent... Naturally, nobles and dignitaries could be granted exceptions."
"Hmm..." The Archmaester hummed thoughtfully, standing still for a moment before saying, "Your concept seems plausible and holds merit. However, this will remain a mere notion unless we can secure a bulk supply of these Starkhorses. As far as I'm aware, they're being primarily created in the North and others have yet to replicate their success. Obtaining a sufficient quantity and transporting them here would prove difficult and costly."
"That is the absolute best part," Maester Felix's voice grew animated, accompanied by a broad smile. "I received a missive just last night from my cousin, a merchant in Highgarden. They've received a substantial shipment of Starkhorses from the North—a supply that will not be limited to a single instance. In fact, it appears there will be a consistent flow."
Archmaester responded with genuine surprise, "That's truly remarkable." As they continued walking, he added, "If you can furnish me with a comprehensive proposal, including the required budget, by the week's end, I'll present it before the conclave."
The voices gradually faded as Jon eased the door open, an amused grin playing on his lips. 'Seems I'll need to correspond with Dacey to amplify production once again,' Jon contemplated with satisfaction. Turning to Sam, who had been on the edge of panic, Jon quipped, "Shall we proceed?"
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