The renowned Citadel, a sprawling complex on the banks of the Honeywine, lacks the grandeur of the Hightower or the holy splendor of the Starry Sept, yet it is perhaps the most intellectually rich site in all of Westeros.
Facing Whispering Sound, the Citadel's grand entrance is flanked by two towering green sphinxes, each with the body of a lion, eagle wings, a serpent's tail, and the visage of a man and a woman. Their eyes remain closed, as if forever contemplating some ancient, unsolvable mystery.
Samwell followed Ser Baelor Hightower through the gates. Inside, he found a lively marketplace filled with stalls selling books, maps, and rare scrolls. Many commoners lined up nearby, awaiting the assistance of acolytes to draft letters or manage other affairs that required literacy.
As they moved further into the Citadel, Samwell noticed a small island within the courtyard, shaded by an enormous weirwood tree. Its branches spanned nearly the entire island, and countless ravens roosted among them. The sight was strangely reverent, like a scene from a deeply religious painting.
Crossing a weathered wooden bridge, the two arrived at a vine-covered tower blanketed in moss.
Baelor stopped. "My sister Malora is inside, on the fourth floor, left at the top of the stairs. I have other matters to attend to, so I'll leave you to meet her on your own."
Samwell nodded and watched as Baelor departed. Then, he ascended the narrow, winding staircase alone.
At the fourth floor, he stopped before a door, knocked softly, and waited. A low female voice answered, "Come in."
He entered and was immediately struck by an unsettling blend of scents—rotting flesh, mingled with sharp antiseptic. The room was dim, with only a single, heavily draped window allowing in faint light.
Once his eyes adjusted, Samwell glanced around and barely contained his shock.
The shelves were filled with lifelike specimens: lizards, giant snakes, bears, leopards, and other creatures whose names he didn't even know. Each was preserved in detailed, eerie stillness, a silent testimony to a deep fascination with life—and death.
It dawned on him why Baelor had avoided entering the room; he hadn't wanted to be alone here.
"Ah, Lady Malora, I am—"
"I know who you are," Malora interrupted, her voice quick and impatient. "A servant told me you'd be coming when I got up this morning."
Her hands were busy with a small, sharp knife, skillfully dissecting the abdomen of a spider the size of her hand, greenish fluid pooling across her fingertips in a sight both grotesque and captivating.
Samwell steadied himself, managing a polite smile. "In that case, might I ask you for information on silver mining?"
"It's there," she interrupted again, jerking her chin towards a table stacked with books. "The one with the white cover. Everything you need is inside. If you have questions, come back."
He picked up the book and flipped through it, confirming that it indeed covered mining and refining techniques. "Thank you, Lady Malora. If I have any questions, I will—"
"Good." She was already returning to her work, clearly eager for him to leave.
Can I get a single word out without being cut off? he thought wryly as he made a hasty exit, stepping back into the sunlight with a sigh of relief.
The tales of "Mad Lady Malora" were clearly well-earned.
Flipping through the book as he walked, Samwell found a trove of information on silver mining and refining, though the dense technical terms and strange symbols made it challenging. He quickly realized his high school knowledge of chemistry wouldn't be nearly enough.
Before he could dive deeper, a commotion up ahead drew his attention. He closed the book and made his way towards the crowd gathered near the Citadel gates.
"… stripped of your maester's chain and all titles. You are no longer a member of the Citadel…"
It seemed a maester was being expelled. Curiosity piqued, Samwell edged closer, eventually glimpsing the target of the Citadel's ire.
The elderly, stooped man had striking blue eyes, and a faint, unwavering smile, despite the seriousness of the situation.
"Qyburn, have you anything to say for yourself?" asked the elder presiding over the expulsion.
Samwell's heart skipped a beat. He recognized that name—Qyburn, the same maester from the stories who would later serve as a loyal, if morally questionable, advisor to Queen Cersei Lannister.
For a moment, Qyburn remained silent, his eyes unfocused, as if searching for the right words. Another older man with a maester's ring sighed and said gently, "Qyburn, you are now free from your oath. You are no longer bound to serve the realm and may even reclaim your birth name if you wish."
"Birth name?" Qyburn murmured, with a faint trace of bitterness. "I've been here for forty years. Who still remembers my name now? I've even forgotten it myself."
The elder nodded solemnly. "But you still have your knowledge, that should be enough to get you a life of comfort. Just… refrain from pursuing unethical practices. The laws of the realm will be less forgiving."
With that, the elder and the others turned and retreated into the Citadel, leaving Qyburn standing alone.
As the spectators dispersed, Samwell stepped forward.
"Qyburn, maester—"
"I'm not a maester anymore," Qyburn interrupted.
Samwell simply smiled. "In my view, 'maester' is a title of respect for those of great knowledge, not merely a position."
Qyburn seemed taken aback, eyeing Samwell curiously. "You're simply too kind, young knight. Is there something I can assist you with?"
"I've recently discovered a silver deposit in my lands and need guidance on extraction and refining techniques. Would you consider helping me as an advisor?"
"You don't have a maester?"
"My castle isn't complete, so I haven't yet been assigned one."
Qyburn looked thoughtful, eyebrows furrowed. "Forgive me for asking, but where are your lands?"
Samwell met his gaze with a small smile. "I am Samwell Caesar, a knight commissioned by the Highgarden lord to establish a new settlement on Eagle's Eyrie in the Red Mountains. I currently govern over ten thousand subjects."
"The Red Mountains?" Qyburn's brows furrowed further, though he seemed slightly relieved to hear of Samwell's substantial following.
Remembering that Qyburn was expelled for his dark experimentation, Samwell added, "Qyburn, if you serve as my advisor, I will fund your studies to the fullest extent—provided, of course, they remain within the boundaries of the law."
"All the support I require?" Qyburn's eyes sparkled with renewed interest, and after a moment, he gave a slow nod. "In that case, Lord Caesar, I accept your offer to serve as your personal advisor."
(End of Chapter)