--===Rooms for novices, Citadel===---
[Citadel map: Take the 4th turn on the right]
SIGH
After walking through the confusing halls of the Citadel, I finally made it back to the dorms where kids my age were settling in.
Most of them are like me, novices just starting their life at the Citadel.
I have made few friends during my time in the orphanage—Gendrey, Hotpie, Smallfoot and Smelly Brandon, who gathered around me once I entered the dorm.
I couldn't help but notice the funny names common among smallfolk in Westeros, each one sounding more ridiculous than the last.
"'Kerith.'"
AGH
Smallfoot rushed over and jumped into my arms for a hug. "Keith, why are you so late?"
I gave a tight hug to Smallfoot, who, despite being the same age, was smaller, a classic case of low birth weight. "Just exploring the Citadel halls,"
SNORT
Brandon, the 9-year-old, snorted and grumbled like always, "I can't believe you navigate this maze."
I raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I'm just that good."
I noticed Brandon turning his face, but Smallfoot's eyes sparkled with admiration.
By remembering a tip from psychology books to emphasize my advantages, I basked in the moment.
[Human behaviour tip: Highlight yourself in any group without looking like a fool, then you're a leader.]
This is a Westeros equivalent of psychology. I'm unsure about the accuracy of certain tips. It is half and half for me.
YAWN
New faces came into my sight in the dorm—Aegon, Walder, Brenden and another Brandon. Their dress is far better than rags from an orphanage, which might as well be screaming their origins from the knight/noble households.
Among them, Walder is the most special. Being a bastard of a great lord. Having watched him for a while, it's clear that he had a bad upbringing.
His daily nightmares of shouting and apologies suggest that not all bastards are lucky like Gendry Storm. So, I updated his profile.
[AI Profile: Walder
A Frey bastard who grew up in the Twins. Insecure and prone to emotions. Lack of familial intimacy and warmth.]
I make these profiles on everyone I meet, using every minute detail I could find. Potentially, any info may help me in the future.
[AI Profile: Novice Aegon
A third son of a landed knight from Dragonstone.]
The mix of backgrounds in our little group made me realize how diverse the Citadel truly was.
--===Courtyard of citadel===--
The gravel under our running feet made the symphonic crunches, like an instrument. Gods, I missed the music.
CRUNCH
CRUNCH
CRUNCH
Even though Hotpie didn't like the idea, I convinced our group to run around the Citadel's courtyard and garden. It's gravel rhyming with our steps. I told them it is good for our health and they ran with that knowledge in mind.
The orphanage group had followed me since we were babies and did what I said with little fuss, trusting me wholeheartedly based on the fact we had known each other all our lives.
Though, it is a short life.
So, they did not have a problem reading exercise. Instead, the problem was me.
For me, running was challenging because I didn't like physical activity in the past life. It kinda carried over to this life.
But now, I knew it was necessary. So, I pushed myself.
Though, I noticed something exciting. Running as a child was easy; I had abundant energy.
CRUNCH
CRUNCH
While we ran, I saw the Bastard group, including Aegon, Walder, Brenden and the other Brandon, were keeping up.
I got curious about their fitness and stopped Brenden. "How the fuck are you in such good shape?"
He shrugged. "The master-at-arms trained us at our respective homes, but we weren't considered talented, so they threw us here."
Tears welled up in his eyes as he uttered those words. Quite the cruel upbringing.
So, normal Westeros talk.
This got me thinking about the idea of talent. It's real, regardless of the world. While everyone can reach the same heights, some reach it faster. So fast that it crushes any motivation from their peers.
I shook my head to clear away such thoughts and focused on the conversation.
Aegon, sounding angry and envious, as he shared, "My trueborn brother, who is the same age, had already started sword training in Dragonstone."
It was a benefit of being a true-born son of the landed knight.
I couldn't help but be curious. "Are you not allowed to train in a sword?"
Walder responded, "We could train, but we're not as skilled as the other bastards and not as fortunate as the trueborn. So, they threw us here. Fewer mouths to feed, it seems."
I stopped on track and faced him with confidence. "Talent only makes a better result. With enough effort, you will surpass them easily."
I tried to help him with my advice because helping his vulnerability felt like a good chance to get him as a friend/follower.
It felt like I was manipulating him, but it was fine considering that both my heart and mind agreed on helping the 8-year-old.
SNORT
However, Walder got so angry at my words of advice that he almost heaved like a bull, "Says the most talented one here. Do you think we are blind? I say you going through an entire bookshelf, while I struggle to read a single book."
Seeing his watering eyes, I hugged him tightly and his tears wet my clothes. He gave a quick insight into his past, "He told me I wasn't worth the food fed."
Unlike my fellow orphans and me, the Bastard group had to face the world. A world that judged them because of their birth. Adding insult to injury, their families did the unjust treatment.
PAT
RUB
PAT
We stood there in the corner consoling him. Feeling his trembling body, I decided to help him.
"So, do you want to be a knight?"
"It's impossible. I am not talented at it."
"Do you like to be a knight?"
"We can't afford someone to teach us."
"Do you like to be a knight?"
"YES,"
"Good, then study well."
The gang looked at me like I was a dumb idiot, while Walder bluntly expressed: "That's stupid."
"OW, OW, Stop pinching my cheeks."
I viciously pinched his cheeks, disregarding his words, but Walter kept grumbling, "Kerith, how can studying help me lift the sword?"
I paused my cheek-pinching and looked at him in the eyes. "Only Acolytes can enter Oldtown. I'll handle the sword instruction. What do you want to forge a link in? I will help you with that."
"Gold."
Economics- an interesting choice. Perhaps he learnt something from the House Frey's taxing of traders for the crossing of the Twins.
"I will help you with that."
I soon saw others envious of Walder because I am a genius known to most of them. It's only a matter of time until a Maester recognizes and recruits me. I'll address that later, but currently, I must care for the pre-pubertal kids.
"If you guys want any help, just ask me."
The cacophony of noises from them reminded me of the days in medical school when I tutored my classmates.
--===Maester office wing===--
SCRIBBLE
SCRIBBLE
You know, when I was thinking about the maesters noticing me, I wasn't expecting this guy to be one.
In a way, this guy is now the most famous maester in the citadel. Even though no one knows him outside these dusty walls.
Maester Holster Bracken is a 38-year-old who is renowned for attaining maester status at 26.
Just from the fact that History Brandon only managed his single link at 22, shows how much of a genius Hoster Bracken is.
He is a researcher in healing, thinking of curing Shivers because of the loss of his family.
His status as a visionary makes him the worst person who could have approached me.
Let me point out again, he is a visionary.
He clashes with the Archmaester council, the ruling body of Citadel every other moon, about removing the oaths of maesters and freely teaching everyone. By everyone, he was including women. His view is that more maesters can leap the world forward.
Unfortunately, that means -Citadel losing most of its power.
So, most traditionalists who derive their influence from the Citadel and its long-standing customs directed their enmity towards him.
The Archmaester council finds him a nightmare, despite his noble status and genius in studies, because of his logical yet unacceptable views.
In Maester Hoster Bracken's room, I sat in a chair while being surrounded by towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, a large wooden table with research parchments scattered upon, and a faint scent of aged leather and ink lingering in the air.
Broken quills were piled in the room, evidence of countless hours spent in diligent study and research.
In this organized chaos, he spoke to me about his observations regarding me. "Kerith, the first time I saw you was in the Behaviour section, surrounded by a book pile bigger than you across the table. What were your assumptions about my thoughts about you?"
I just sat silently, not knowing the answer. But, I wasn't exactly hiding myself, since Novices couldn't take the books to rooms. I made the best of it by uploading the database near the bookshelves.
He didn't wait long and gave the answer, "Stupid Brat.",
My brows twitch at his blunt answer.
"One finds it difficult to understand the Man's behavior when one's view on the world is not yet formed."
His eyes, sharp and perceptive, dissected my being as he spoke.
"But you aroused my curiosity, especially when I saw this parchment."
I took the parchment and realized it was my list of novice dorm residents. It was a chore that everyone refused, but I took it since it would give me an excuse to roam around the corridors to explore.
One look at it and another parchment written by other novices revealed to me where I messed up.
My writing is smooth and understandable.
Despite being less tidy than an adult's, the writing is mistake-free. This is a remarkable feat according to the current standards. If I think about it, this feat is good, even among modern kids.
He nodded at my realization and continued his observations on me. "It aroused my curiosity, and I soon followed your progress."
The casual admission of him spying on me made me feel vexed, but I can't do anything about it.
"I saw you acting as a leader among the novices and, most importantly, saw you following the tips in the behaviour studies, calling the acolytes-Brothers to increase familiarity, and always showing confidence."
He rose and approached the window, gazing at the courtyard below. He stated, "The reason I gave this letter is simple. You had a sense of drive in your footsteps, which seemed to inspire your friends."
Though the inspiring part is deliberate by me, I saw him look towards me regarding my decision on his unspoken offer for an apprenticeship.
I considered the advantages and disadvantages. The clear disadvantage is the pressure from the Traditional faction, representing most of the citadel.
But realised that backing down from this opportunity meant refusing any relationship with the only guy I found close to modern thinking.
The most important reason was that I wanted to leave the citadel without taking my oaths while carrying the chains. It is the fuck you to the citadel tradition. So, I gave a nod like a good boy and declared, "I accept your offer. "
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[AI Profile: Hoster Bracken.
A visionary Maester who strives to push the healing level of the world. He is a former noble and was the regent Bracken for 2 decades and didn't usurp his nephew's territory. But, the occasional baths with him reveal he has 25% of his body tissue covered with scars and has been castrated. -No lust for power in the past. Less chance in the future, since he cannot have a family.
My parchment list made some rounds in the Maester circles. Hoster wasn't the initial discoverer. But he was the first one to investigate and approach me. -Quite assertive and sharp.
Spends 14 hours a day in researching the various diseases and herbs- Driven researcher.]
So, I let go of my worries and tried my best to learn. He remained unfazed despite being surprised by my learning capability. According to him, one of the old Archmaesters has a photographic memory.
Under Maester Hoster Bracken's guidance, my days became a whirlwind of learning. I delved into various subjects with his support, each aimed at mastery, focusing significantly on healing.
Diseases, herbs and procedures filled my days, demanding my attention and dedication like every other person.
However, despite the opportunity to pursue healing, I could feel the suffocation crept in. The Citadel, with its ancient walls and established traditions, contrasted with my past life experiences—a life where trips into the bustling cities were the norm.
As I grew more familiar with maester Bracken, I broached the topic of becoming an acolyte.
Yep, I did.
I yearned for a bit of freedom, a chance to explore beyond the Citadel's confined spaces. I couldn't ignore the pangs of jealousy from my friends who, unlike me, hadn't experienced the vibrancy of the world beyond these walls.
Also, it feels fantastic to establish a genius reputation.
Approaching maester Bracken, I asked about the possibility of becoming an acolyte.
His response is as expected by me, "Becoming an acolyte involves navigating a web of politics within the Citadel. It's not merely about knowledge and skills but about influence and alliances. The maesters, especially the old guard, can be resistant to change. Convincing them to accept a young acolyte of 7 years old like you is hard."
"But, not impossible, right?"
"Yes, there are precedents in the past. Talents like you that never forget. There was one person in the past who attained maester oaths by 10 name days. If I remember right, it was during the Andal invasions. So, acolyte is simpler. Though, I advise against it. You better proceed steadily."
I can understand his logic. He is well-meaning as medieval societies look with wariness and fear towards genius, much less in Westeros where living examples of magic fly over the sky.
"I am sorry, teacher, but I would like to do it. I understand your meaning, but I want to leave my name in history."
It would mark my first achievement in history.
He gave a weary smile in response to my answer and shook his head, "I hope you won't regret it in the future."
Even if I knew he might be right, I can't accept. I want fame, wealth, and power. Especially in a world where, without them, others can easily kill me. Unlike my teacher, I have a whole life ahead of me.
A potential family in the future in this world scares me. So, I racked my brain and thought up a solution. "Teacher, will it help if I dedicate something to Citadel?"
He gave a hum and thought over the situation, "As much as they are against breaking tradition, if it profits them, they will break the tradition into pieces even more religiously than me. You're telling me you have something similar?"
His question has a sceptic tone. Well, he will not doubt me after today.
I looked at him with a smile while pointing at the broken quills on the table. "What do you think of a quill that fills ink by itself?"
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