Robb resisted the urge to smack the man across from him. The 'High Sparrow' had once again approached Robb and asked, no, demanded that he convert to the Faith of the Seven and be recognized by the true gods of Westeros. This had been an ongoing debate between the northerner and the priest ever since Robb had taken the throne. It was like the man was trying to pry a confession from Robb. He came once a month, surrounded by his religious thugs called 'sparrows', and asked for an audience with the king. He would then spend hours trying to persuade Robb.
It was very taxing.
"Please, your grace. Surely after all my visits, you have seen that trees, stones, and rivers are nothing but nature, not gods." The High Sparrow said, speaking to Robb like a maester lecturing a youngling. "The Seven are the true gods of Westeros! Always have been!"
Tyrion sighed. Robb had dragged his Hand to the meeting. He was better at dealing with the foolish fanatics than Robb was.
"High Septon." Tyrion sighed tiredly. "If the Seven are the true gods, as you have said many times, then why were they not worshipped until after the Andals invaded?"
Robb gazed at the older man. He was not like any septon that Robb had met, nor was what the leader of a large, organized faith should look like. He wore a simple white robe that reached just above his ankles. He didn't wear shoes, but his feet looked as tanned and as tough as leather. He did not adorn himself with jewels or colorful clothes. He was a simple man who had a will of iron and expected nothing but utter obedience to the Faith of the Seven from all.
After their first meeting with the man, Tyrion had warned Robb to keep an eye on him, warning that, if left unchecked, he would raise the faith militant. That was something that Robb refused to allow.
The High Sparrow glared at Tyrion. "Westeros was filled with barbarians and savages when the Andals arrived," he answered firmly. "Just because they had no knowledge of the Seven does not mean that they were not here."
"Careful," Robb grumbled. "My family came from those 'barbarians'."
"As did mine," Tyrion added. "Look, High Septon, is his grace's faith so important to you? He has married a good woman and has a child with her. He has protected and fed his people. He has been wise and just in his rulings. Everything the Seven demands from us, he has been."
The old man shook his head. "While his grace has ruled better than the monster born of incest, Joffrey, or the Targaryens, he still worships trees. That is unacceptable. As is the fact that he has allowed another pagan religion to stay in Westeros."
Robb raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
"The Red Priests." The High Septon all but snarled. "You have allowed them to preach in Westeros."
Months ago, a small group of Red Priests from Assahai had approached Robb asking for land around the city to build a temple. Robb had granted them their request but had placed strict limitations on them at the same time. They were not to preach outside of their temple, and any violent actions by the small group or their followers would be met with harsh punishments.
Truthfully, with the High Septon breathing down his neck and his last experience with a priestess from Assahai, Robb was hesitant to give them land or allow them to build a temple. But Margaery and Tyrion had advised Robb to do so, noting that they could very easily raise support for Daenerys if Robb wasn't welcoming to their kind.
"I allow all to practice the faith they are comfortable with, so long as they follow the laws of the land," Robb answered easily. "Do you have a problem with my judgment?"
Robb had given the man an out, but like always, he stubbornly refused to take it.
"There is only one faith, my lord. It is not a fire demon from across the sea nor is it a nymph of the forest." The High Septon declared. "If you do not protect our faith, I will do so."
The blood in Robb's veins went cold and his eyes narrowed as one hand was laid lightly on Claw, which leaned against the table. "Careful, High Septon. I am willing to overlook your blatant disrespect of my faith. But I will not accept threats to the peace of my kingdom."
The two men glared at each other. The High Septon had a will of iron, which gave him the courage to speak as boldly as he does. But Robb had faced down dragons and emerged victorious in the end. If the High Septon wanted to bring the Faith Militant back from the dead, Robb would snuff it out quicker than a breeze against a candle. Robb was not afraid to fight fire with fire, and he was positive that he would win against any ragtag army the zealot in front of him could raise.
"I think this meeting is done," Tyrion said gently. "Thank you, Your Holiness, for your words but I believe the king must once again decline your offer."
The High Septon glanced at Tyrion before standing up. "Very well," he said simply before leaving the room, followed closely by his men. When he was gone, Robb exhaled and slammed his hand against the table.
"That bloody man," he growled. "I'd rather face dragons again."
Tyrion, already cradling a glass of wine in his hands, nodded. "He refuses to take no for an answer. I would have loved to see him and my father clash. Or maybe him and the Queen of Thorns. A match for the ages."
Robb chuckled darkly. "I believe Lady Olenna would meet her match with that one. I wouldn't be surprised if he mentions the 'true faith' too much and she has one of the twins break the man's neck."
"My sister would have believed that she could control him." Tyrion mused. "Probably would have used the man to humiliate her enemies before she eventually loses control over the Faith and it brings her down as well."
"Speaking of your family, have Tommen and your brother accepted the offer?" Robb asked, pouring himself a glass of wine as well.
Tyrion nodded. "He does. He is willing to submit himself to whatever rules you will place on him. I'm glad he's coming."
"You miss him," Robb said. He could understand the feeling. Besides having Jon reside in the Red Keep for a year, all he could do was send letters to his family in the North. He did receive regular letters from Sansa in the Vale. She was very happy in the Eyrie, surrounded by honorable knights and pleasant ladies while Harrold courted her.
"I do," Tyrion said. "But I feared that losing so much would send him over the edge, both physically and mentally."
"You feared he would kill himself?" Robb asked. He remembered seeing the Kingslayer for the first time in Winterfell, which seemed like ages ago. The man had been the embodiment of arrogance and confidence. Thoughts of suicide seemed like the last thing the man would have.
"He had been the golden boy, your grace," Tyrion explained. "No offense to your father, but the moniker of 'Kingslayer' sullied his white cloak. When his crimes were revealed to the realm, the death of Cersei and our father, and being stripped of his knighthood, I did fear what he might do. That's why I tasked him with training Tommen. It very well could have saved him."
Robb nodded. "I don't know if your brother can make up for his past. But hopefully, he can do some good with the time he has left."
"You have a habit of giving people a second chance," Tyrion noted. "Me, the Martells, Jaime. Hells, even the Targaryen girl. You keep it up, you'll be known as 'King Robb the Reluctant to Kill'."
Robb chuckled. "That's why I have you, my brilliant Hand. You have that southern ruthlessness that my innocent northern heart doesn't."
Tyrion snorted and took a drink. "There's a compliment in there somewhere, I'm sure."
Samwell Tarly
A knock brought Sam out of his reading. He had sent his diagnosis to the maester at Harvest Hall and had received word that the ointment prescribed by Maester Tarvan was indeed working. Now he was finishing up the rest of the Glossary of Medical Knowledge and taking notes on questions that he would send back to the Citadel for answers.
Although Sam was a fine maester in his own right, there was still so much he had left to learn. With many of the books he read, especially regarding healing, he sent pages of notes back to the Citadel where an archmaester would read them and send answers back.
"Come," Sam called distractedly.
The door opened to reveal a servant, with a few more behind him, all bearing stacks of books. The servants came in and set the books down on a nearby table, carefully arranging them so that there was no chance they'd fall.
The lead servant handed Sam a scroll. "From Long Lake, Grand Maester."
Sam looked confused but took the scroll nonetheless. "Thank you…."
"Thurman." the man answered.
"Thank you, Thurman," Sam said.
The servants bowed and left, with Thurman closing the door behind him. Sam got up from behind his desk and grabbed a book at the top of the stack, carefully opening it up. It was filled with runes, a language that he couldn't read. Sam closed the book and looked at its spine, but the words there were also runes.
Sam set the book down and grabbed the scroll, breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment. It was a letter from Jon.
Sam,
These books were saved by Maester Luwin before Winterfell was burned to the ground. I don't believe they were in the library but hidden somewhere else. I'm not sure why, but Luwin rarely did anything without thinking.
As you might have already learned, these books are written in the runes of the First Men. The maester here at Long Lake offered to have them transcribed, but I sent them to you first. I do not know why, but there is something important about these books. Luwin was very protective of the library. There is a reason he kept these in the crypts. Whatever that reason is, you and Robb should know.
I have also sent the son of Torghen Flint, Artos Flint, to help. The mountain clans of the North still speak in the tongue of the First Men, and Artos is able to read many of the runes. He will have arrived with the books. Call upon him as you need.
I should also mention that it was my maester, Erwin, who found these books hidden in the back of the great hall before the castle was built. Luwin had hidden the books there in a chest. So, if any great discovery is made, then I hope you will include Maester Erwin as the one who originally found these books.
Your friend,
Jon.
Sam put down the letter and walked back over to the books, running a hand over them. He was very intrigued and wanted to start working on the books immediately. The idea that they may possess hidden or important information was something that tugged at Sam's scholarly heart.
Sam poked his head out of his door, catching the nearest servant.
"I need Artos Flint. He should have just arrived."
The servant nodded and walked off at the same relentlessly fast pace that all servants walked with.
Sam returned to his desk and immediately began clearing it of anything he didn't need. Archmaester Tarvarn's book and all the other volumes Sam had lined up to read later were all moved to another table. He then checked to make sure he had enough parchment and ink, knowing that transcribing anything took a lot of both. He couldn't help but feel excited. In the way some men look forward to a fight or a good meal, Sam always looked forward to learning. His world, especially early on, had been hell. Books had, and he would be the first to admit that food too, had been his escape from it all.
As an afterthought, Sam began to rummage through the library, pulling out any book that was related in any way to the First Men.
When he came back over to his desk, he found a young man waiting just inside the door. He was stout, with long, greasy hair and slight stubble forming around his square jaw. He was dressed in a leather vest that was only tied up halfway, exposing his muscular chest, and woolen breaches tucked into leather boots.
"You must be Artos," Sam said, placing the books down and nodding to the young man.
Artos nodded back. "You're Maester Samwell."
"Just Sam, please," Sam replied. "Jon said you can read the runes of the First Men."
Artos shrugged. "Some."
Sam grabbed the first book and opened it as he took a seat behind his desk, motioning for Artos to do the same. When the young man was seated, Sam passed the book to him. "Can you tell me what these runes mean?"
Artos took a moment to look them over before nodding. "I can."
Sam picked up a quill and dipped it into the inkwell. "Go on."
Jaime Lannister
Jaime leaned against the wall, watching as the master-at-arms worked with Tommen. The man wasn't as good as Jaime, but as Tommen's teacher, Jaime wanted the boy to become exposed to all kinds of forms and techniques. Jaime's style was tailored to fit his natural speed and agility, but he had also picked up tips and tricks from his time as a squire for the late Lord Sumner Crakehall and the fortnight he spent at Riverrun in his youth where he practically followed the Blackfish everywhere.
"Ser Jaime…." a guard said quietly, walking up to Jaime.
"Just Jaime," Jaime responded instantly before looking at the man. "What is it?"
"Lord Edmure has requested your presence."
Jaime sighed and pushed off the wall, following the guard into the castle. He had been expecting sooner or later to be summoned by the Lord of Riverrun. He expected that he would be summoned quite a bit by the lord of whatever castle Jaime and his group stopped at.
The two made their way through the castle with Jaime receiving his fair share of sideways glances. He figured that they would now be a regular part of his life and that he could either ignore them or allow them to get to him. After being called the Kingslayer for so long, glances were nothing.
"Lord Edmure is just inside." the man said, cracking the door open.
Jaime opened the door fully. Inside, the lord of Riverrun was speaking with a maester and an official-looking man, clearly a steward of some kind. Edmure himself didn't look much different from the last time Jaime and he had seen each other, which had been the courtyard of the Red Keep when Jaime had been in chains, escorted by men of Riverrun to face the king's justice for his part in the war.
"Vyman, Utherydes, give us a moment," Edmure ordered.
The two men both bowed and left, closing the door behind them. Edmure gestured for Jaime to take a seat across from him. A longsword was leaning against the desk very close to Edmure's right hand, while Jaime himself had only a hunting knife at his side. A woefully inadequate weapon against castle-forged steel in the hands of someone who knew how to use it.
"Your man said you asked for me," Jaime said, readying himself for whatever abuse was about to be unleashed on him.
Edmure simply regarded him. His blue eyes gazed into Jaime's emerald ones. The man had changed since he had been Jaime's prisoner so long ago at the onset of the War of the Five Kings. He had been overconfident and seemed slightly stupid, both attributes that had allowed Jaime to capture him in the first place. Now, he seemed much more naturally confident and sure of himself. Lordly, if such a word could be used without being obvious. He was analyzing Jaime, almost in the same way Robb Stark had during their meeting after the Battle of King's Landing.
"You think I called you here to curse you out or threaten you," Edmure said finally. "I have every right to, but that's not why I asked you here."
Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Why did you ask me here?"
Edmure sighed. "I asked you here to thank you."
Jaime was a little taken back. "Why?"
"My father was with Ned Stark when they reached King's Landing at the end of Robert's Rebellion," Edmure explained. "He and my uncle would have died if not for you."
Jaime shook his head. "Don't thank me. That little act of chivalry didn't exactly help me in any way."
"Because you didn't tell anyone about it," Edmure grunted. "You let people assume that you killed the Mad King because of your father. You never explained to Robert or even your father why."
Jaime nodded slowly. "Fair. Thankfully, the wildfyre has been disposed of."
"So I've heard," Edmure said. "Your brother and Prince Oberyn are said to have played a large role in ridding the city of the substance. There have even been restrictions placed on the pyromancer's guild written by Lord Tyrion."
Jaime remembered the letters from Tyrion detailing just how close the city had been to utter destruction. With the combined intellect of Prince Oberyn and Tyrion, along with Ser Davos Seaworth's knowledge of the city, it took two months to safely collect and defuse the wildfyre. How they managed that, Jaime had no idea, but he could feel the relief in his brother's letters after they had managed to get rid of the damn stuff.
Jaime had the numbers burned into his mind. Two hundred and fifty barrels under the Red Keep. fifty barrels under each gate. Twenty barrels had been placed under each main street throughout the city. Two hundred under the Dragon Pit and the Great Sept. Every room that held a barrel had been placed at bedrock, meaning that the explosion could only go up, or so Tyrion had explained to him.
Prince Oberyn estimated the explosion to be heard for leagues around and seen as far south as Sunspear. All that would have been left of King's Landing would have been a giant, smoking crater that would have made Summerhall look like a candle.
"Tyrion has a tolerance for stupidity," Jaime said quietly. "Brewing a lake of wildfyre for a man called the 'Mad King' exceeds that tolerance."
Edmure grunted. "Wasn't one of the men you killed the guildmaster?"
Jaime nodded. "Rossart. He and two others had been the ones who worked with Aerys on the plot."
"What happened to the other two?"
"They were found dead in the days after the city was taken," Jaime responded. "I had already killed one. I thought I might as well complete the set."
Edmure chuckled grimly, pouring himself a glass of wine. He glanced at Jaime, the question obvious, but the ex-knight shook his head.
"So what are you now?" Edmure asked. "Lord Jaime Lannister? You're not a knight anymore."
"I'm just Jaime Lannister," Jaime answered. "I'm not lord of anything and don't ever plan to be. My only goal is to train Lord Tommen in the way of the sword."
"Does he have potential?" Edmure asked, thankfully avoiding asking if he had his father's talent.
Jaime shrugged. "He's not bad. I'm relying on the lessons taught to me by Ser Barristan and the Blackfish."
"Will he train under my uncle at King's Landing?"
Jaime nodded. "He will. I also hope to have a few of the kingsguard instruct him as well. There is no true way to swing a sword. By exposing him to many masters, I hope that he develops techniques used by all."
Edmure raised an eyebrow. "Smart. I'll keep that in mind when Hosten is older."
The two men fell into an awkward silence. It lasted for a few moments before Jaime couldn't stand it. He got out of his seat, bowing slightly to Edmure.
"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord," Jaime said. "I should see that Tommen makes it to his lessons."
"Of course," Edmure answered easily.
Jaime strode out of the room without another word. If every meeting goes like that, then Jaime thought that perhaps he could make it to King's Landing and back to Casterly Rock before getting a sword stabbed in his chest.