272 AC
The road linking Highgarden and Oldtown was considered one of the most ancient on the entire continent. According to the stories of the bards and merchants we met throughout the Reach, it was laid by the Gardeners, former rulers of the Kingdom of Meadows and Fields, connecting the capital of the country with its largest port. According to legend, engineers from the far eastern empire of I-Ti took part in its construction, whose roads were not inferior in quality to the Valyrian ones. So the White Road, despite thousands of years of history, is still one of the most convenient for traveling and transporting goods in all the Seven Kingdoms, unlike the same Royal Route, which after every rain turned into a clay mess. Why the Targaryens did not pave their famous Valyrian roads instead, although they could easily do this, is unknown. It looks like it's not a royal thing to fly on a dragon and melt stones with fire.
One way or another, thanks to the good road and sunny weather, we were ahead of schedule, in five days we were on the spot. It became clear from the bright flame that appeared from behind the horizon - the fire at the top of the White Tower, the Hightower family castle.
- Gentlemen, let me congratulate you - we are in place. In front of you is the Old City. - I said, pointing to the picture that opened from a hill located not far from the city.
- Wow ... - The delight that appeared on the faces of Robin, Piper, Joen, Rick and Dick was understandable. The first two were villagers and had never seen real cities, and the redhead and brothers, although they had lived all their lives in Lannisport, had never seen such a beautiful city. Unlike many other cities in Westeros, even King's Landing, where no one oversaw the construction of the city, Oldtown was completely stone and completely paved with cobblestone, down to the last street. Even from here, the network of crooked alleys and nooks and crannies was like a web, where it is very easy to get lost and never get out.
But there were also exceptions. West of the local Honey River, so named for its deep orange color, rose the well-planned palaces of the Guild, the largest association of merchants in all of the Seven Kingdoms, which controlled most of the trade in the Reach, the Stormlands, and the Westlands. Upstream on both banks, connected by densely built-up stone bridges, rose the domes and towers of the Citadel, the purpose for which we had come to this city. Down the river was a stately building with black marble walls and rounded windows. Judging by its regular heptagon shape, it was the famous Starry Septa, the old residence of the High Septon, the local Pope. Well, where the Medovichka flowed into the bay, there was the White Lighthouse, or the High Tower - the residence of the Hightower family.
- Go. "My words brought them out of their trance and forced them back to reality. It was already the middle of the day, and we had to hurry if we wanted to make it to the Citadel before sunset. The gates were easy to get through - although the city guards of Oldtown are considered one of the few regular armies in Westeros, they are far from the same red cloaks. A few groats and light swings of the two-handed ax with one hand quickly beat off the desire to get into our pockets and carts.
There were three city gates in the Old Town - the central White, Port, located respectively near the city harbor, and Septon, leading to the city quarter near the Starry Sept, where mainly fanatic ministers of the Church of the Seven lived. We passed through the White Gate and along the main city street we could quickly reach our first destination - the main branch of the Iron Bank.
There, after checking my pendant and contract for authenticity and finding a copy of the contract from the bank sent from Lannisport, another 795 dragons were added to my contribution of 1714 gold dragons. In a year, on interest alone, I can get almost 250 dragons. Still, deals with the Iron Bank are always profitable if you know how to use money correctly. If I didn't want to travel and didn't have ambitions greater than that of many locals, no one would prevent me from living all my life in idle pleasure, without getting out of taverns and brothels. Although unlikely. They would have been robbed or killed before.
After that, the Citadel was waiting for us. Located in the northern part of Old Town, it was a large complex of buildings with their own unique architecture, built on both banks of the river and on small islands in its course. In fact, this is one large separate area of the city, where completely different people live and completely different laws rule.
Looking at the main gate of the local abode of knowledge, decorated with two winged green marble sphinxes with onyx eyes, one of which had a male face, the other a female, I understood that one of the most important stages of my life in this world was coming. Depending on how much knowledge I learn from this place in two years, my life can take a variety of paths. Despite the past years, the fact that in 10 years a terrible war will break out has been preserved in my memory. And it will not work to escape from it, because in Westeros I still have a family that will refuse to leave their homes.
Therefore, in the allotted time, you need to become as rich as possible, more powerful, smarter and stronger.
With such thoughts, I, in the company of my friends, entered under the walls of the building, which in the near future will become our home.
***
P.O.V. Third party
274 A.D.
- Felix! Felix! - Loud, like an avalanche descending from the mountains, the voice dispersed along the walls and halls of the gigantic and ancient library. - Felix, fuck you! Where is this book lover buried?!
Its owner, a young red-haired youth, was dressed in a simple gray robe and gray trousers, with unremarkable shoes sewn at the knee. The only thing that stood out from his clothes were the links. Six links, four of which were in different metals such as copper, dull steel, lead and silver, and two of which were identical in red gold. This was an indication that the young man was a Candidate of the Citadel, versed in history, blacksmithing, poisons, and medicine, as well as having great knowledge in jewelry. An amazing result for his age.
- Felix! Mark my words! When I find you, then *****, and after that I will shove a sword into your ***** to the very *****, and good ... - But at the moment he did not show a drop of that good manners inherent in educated people, and swearing dirty like the last shoemaker at the Flea End of King's Landing. And there were reasons for that.
Passing by gigantic shelves full of books, most of which were many times older than him, having caught the time of Aegon and the Doom of Valyria, he kept looking around, in search of a single person. Looking for which here, according to most local residents, was tantamount to looking for a needle in a haystack.
And yet he was lucky.
In one of the unremarkable nooks and crannies, of which there were hundreds in this temple of knowledge, he saw the purpose of his search. He was a young fellow, very tall, muscular, dressed in a simple green doublet and gray linen trousers, with simple slippers woven from bark. At the moment, he was sleeping sweetly, using a pile of stacks of ancient books as a bed, which only miraculously did not fall apart from such an attitude. If someone from the conclave of archmaesters was here right now, then he would have a stroke for such disrespect for the source of knowledge.
- There you are, idiot! - But the young schoolboy was indifferent to such an attitude towards ancient relics. At the moment, he wanted only one thing - with all his strength to crack his negligent friend on the head, so that he would finally wake up.
What he did.
bah bah
- Ai! Joen, you're completely fucked up! The sleeper's reaction was immediate. After not the most pleasant awakening, the sleepy brain made the most rational, in his opinion, decision - to beat the offender and break something for him.
- Felix, stop! But the redhead's tongue was faster, bringing his friend's fist to a stop inches from his face. "In half an hour you have an exam with Archmaester Margakh, and then a meeting with the conclave of archmasters about our departure!"
From his words, the black-haired man seemed to be pierced by lightning. His green eyes, having lost the last signs of sleepiness, instantly flashed like a burning wild fire, showing that their owner was awake and full of strength.
- The seventh hell.
In just a few minutes, two young men raced headlong through the back streets of the library, trying not to be late for one of the most important events for the locals - an exam for forging one of the links for the meister's chain.
And while Joyoung ran with all his might, his friend, taking advantage of his longer legs and better physical condition, looked back with all his might, fondly remembering the past years in this place.
***
P.O.V. Felix
Once again, sharply changing direction and running into yet another narrow passage between bookcases, scaring and pushing the met mestres, candidates and scholars, I looked with nostalgia at the familiar roots of the old Talmuds, most of which remained unread by me.
Just think about it. When I arrived at the Citadel, I expected to see the most intelligent and worthy men of this world, who sacrificed everything worldly for the sake of knowledge and lived for one goal - the knowledge of this world.
How wrong I was.
It turned out that the Citadel is a place of a kind of soft exile, instead of the Wall, where most of the third, fourth and other younger sons of lords go. For them, it was a place where they could calmly study for a few years and receive the title of maester, giving them the right to return home, without the threat of being killed or expelled for fear of the inheritance by older relatives. They did not care about knowledge and science. Of course, this was only a part of the applicants. There were quite a few people who entered the Citadel on their own, at will, but not for the sake of knowledge. It turned out that the Hightowers have a whole tradition - every year they catch runaway students who have stolen some book or relic for sale, and return them back, where these cunning people could never rise above schoolchildren. And finally, there were enough simple idlers who joined the organization for free food and a roof over their heads. They mostly did the dirtiest jobs, serving as laborers, serving food, cleaning chamber pots, and storing and sorting books. Many of these "knights of knowledge," as the maesters originally thought, did not even know how to read at the end of their lives.
Hardly 10 of the people who lived in the quarters of the Citadel aspired to enlightenment.
But I must admit that even this tenth part was enough to assemble a titanic library in its volume over the millennia, several times larger than the Library of Congress in the United States, which is considered the largest on Earth. I still remember our faces with the guys when we saw these gigantic halls, illuminated with the help of a cunning system of hundreds of lenses and lamps, filled with seemingly endless rows of bookcases. Although initially our business here did not work out very well.
After almost instantaneous entry, expressed in the payment of one silver deer and the entry of our names in the general lists, and the receipt of housing in one of the poor quarters, we were immediately driven to local literacy courses. The only university in the Seven Kingdoms accepted everyone. Anyone could enter the training and continue their studies as long as they want. There were no specific entry requirements, neither age nor any other. And of course, most of those who came here could not read.
The literacy courses were taught by an old, but still strong, maester, who, according to him, produced hundreds of the same "loafers". He almost instantly found those who were interested in the opportunity to learn to read and write and began to study only with them. He didn't care about the rest, and he didn't even hide it. Later, when I asked him about the reason for such an attitude, he only nodded his head with a grin and said that with experience he had learned to see those who came here for the sake of knowledge, and who for the sake of a warm stew and a dry bed, and wasting time on the latter the old meister did not was going to.
The local language was called Andalos and was not the original language of Westeros. It was moved during the Andal invasion or migration, almost four thousand years ago, when these people were fleeing the expansion of Valyria. In its grammar, phonetics, vocabulary and syntax, it was very similar to the English language, albeit with its own characteristic features in spelling and pronunciation. Because of this, learning to read and write in it, already being a native speaker and being well acquainted with English, which was my second native on Earth, was very simple and took only a few days. Whereas it took my friends a whole month, with all their efforts. This was the first push that caused me to be called "Book Demon" in the future.
And then the problems started. Every schoolboy, until he forges his first link and becomes a candidate, is a sort of unpaid (and disenfranchised) laborer, doing everything that the maesters tell him, even if he is of noble blood. And it took up most of the free time that could be spent attending lectures or reading books in the library.
Naturally, this did not satisfy me. There were two ways out - either to become a candidate, having forged your first link, as many talented candidates did, or by paying a bribe of several dozen pieces of silver, so that your duties would be shifted to another, which was mainly used by the children of wealthy parents. I did not want to spend honestly earned money, and even more so to complicate the life of some poor fellow. Therefore, shocking all my acquaintances, I signed up for the next exam for a brass link symbolizing architecture.
Passing the exam was easy enough. Whoever laid the Citadel was a genius far ahead of his time. He wrote everything. All its laws, rules, punishments and rewards. This man looked far ahead when he created the code of maesters, knowing full well the nature of the surrounding ossified world and his habit of making others so. One of these laws was a set of rules for how the examinations for obtaining links were conducted. For example, in order to get a brass link, it was not necessary to cram hundreds of Talmuds on architecture and the names of their authors, and then retell it during the exam. It was necessary only in the allotted time to make a project of the structure, which the examiners would offer, and then defend it. I was lucky, because during my trial, it was necessary to propose a project for a bridge over a large, almost a mile wide, river. For the locals, who specialize mainly in the construction of castles and various fortifications, this was indeed a very difficult topic, but not for me. I just needed to copy one of the many ancient bridges that I have repaired all over the world, and whose structure has stuck in my memory. On that day, I became the only one to receive the coveted link and one of the youngest candidates in the entire history of the university. Although it was difficult to be proud of such a "success", because I perfectly understood that all this happened only thanks to the memory of my first life, and not because I was so capable.
The guys could not boast of such secret talents. Of course, Rick, Joen and Jack had enough knowledge to claim the red gold link, but they lacked the theoretical background. It was necessary, despite all their objections, to pay almost two hundred deer, so that they would not be touched until they received their first links.
Thus, almost the entire first month of our stay here was mediocrely spent. And time was limited. Therefore, I had to literally settle in the library and try to reach out to everything that was possible.
The method of making paper in Westeros has been known for almost eight hundred years. But all this paper is thick, hard and yellow. Not like the earth. Plus, all the books in this world are handwritten. I don't know why the printing press or its equivalent has not been invented here for so many thousands of years, but because of this, all local books are written by hands and rewritten with the same hands. Thank all the Gods that the Westerosians at least thought of writing in large print, due to which the number of grammatical errors in books becomes much less. And we must not forget about the love of the locals for drawings and illustrations, which often take up most of the book. All together, these factors create an interesting picture - here is a huge Talmud weighing thirty pounds (p.a. about 15 kg), and in fact the information in it is like in a small book of 100 pages. If we add to all this the reading speed of any person from the Earth from the 21st century, for whom most natives generally read by syllables ... Already in the first week, such a mountain of books formed next to my table that most of the maesters looked at me with dazed eyes .
Arriving at the Citadel, I set myself several goals at once:
Learn to read and write Andalos.
Learn the geography of this world.
Learn as many languages as possible, such as High Valyrian - local Latin, all its dialects, which are spoken by almost all of Western Essos, Dothraki, the language of the main nomads of this world, Itian, Ibenian ... and in general, everything that I can reach.
And finally, learn as much as possible about local politics, trade, relationships between different peoples and their history. Everything that the only local institute can give me.
There were no problems with the second point. Planetos, as the maesters called it, was a world of wonder, filled with unique places and anomalies. For example, the same Sunset Sea, washing the entire western coast of Westeros. According to legend, on its other side there are lands where there is no winter and death is not in power. A kind of paradise, to get into which, you need to overcome the most dangerous of all existing oceans, where storms do not subside all year round, which in fact should not be possible.
Or the famous Seven Natural and Nine Man-made Wonders of the World? When I read this book, "Man Made Miracles" written by Lomas the Traveler about the wonders of the world, created by man, I myself wanted to see them with my own eyes. An ice wall that goes into the clouds, a Braavos titan that is in no way inferior to its famous terrestrial counterpart, the Long Bridge in Volantis, which, according to legend, stretches for 10 miles... This world shocked me with its unexploredness and exoticism, as if inviting me to learn all its secrets.
"And soon my wish will come true. The main thing is to deal with these annoying old men," I thought, slightly speeding up my step.
With languages, there was a bummer. In this world there was no such thing as phrasebooks or dictionaries. Here the locals sometimes translated the paper so stupidly that I clutched my head from the absurdity of what was happening. I still remember how Rob complained to me over a glass of ale that he, even at the beginning of his studies, was immediately forced to rewrite a bunch of old and almost collapsed manuscripts. Half of them described how and what shit ... ahem, the kings of the Gardaner dynasty crap, almost 600 years ago. And there were dozens of such "works". Insanity, which in the Citadel, if you search, can be found almost everywhere.
For the sake of knowledge, I had to pester the meisters who often travel or visit Essos on business, and with the help of persuasion, threats, bribery or a fist under their noses (sometimes all together) ask to be my teachers. They did not know how to teach from the word at all, just giving me a bare theory and answering some questions. I had to often visit the harbor, not only for work, and communicate with visiting sailors and merchants in order to correctly put my accent. Because of this, in two years I mastered much less than I planned - I spoke well in high Valyrian, Volantian, Tyrosh, Lysian, Mirian, Bravosian dialects. He mastered Dothraki quite well, miraculously learned by one of the young maesters, a strange guy named Marvin, who adored magic, and the Valyrian dialect of Slaver's Bay. I would like more, but in recent years no one from the Citadel has visited Pentos, Lorat, Qohor, Norvos and Iben.
At the expense of I-ty speech does not go at all. For many years, no one from the local went so far to the east.
And finally, my constant research in all areas of life.
Despite all its shortcomings, about which you can write a whole book, the Citadel was an amazing place. Here, as if not noticing medieval realities, an atmosphere of enlightenment and science reigned. There was no strong enough religion or some stupid dogmas forbidding the study and knowledge of the human body and the nature around us. And if they were, then the Hightowers simply shut everyone's mouths with their influence and strength.
Medicine was especially developed here. I personally attended several autopsies, where we were shown and told in detail about the structure and functions of the human body. Here, even operations were sometimes performed, removing appendicitis or sewing up damaged blood vessels. At the same time, most of them were successful, because the maisters knew perfectly well what hygiene is and why it must be observed.
Of course, there was no discovery of microbes or viruses, with the help of which most diseases on Earth were explained and why one should not live like a dirty pig. It's just that at one moment, one caustic maester named Pylos, almost two thousand years ago, studying operational journals and notes, noticed that people, for some reason, die much less often after performing operations in clean conditions. In the future, there were hundreds of disputes, experiments and discussions on this topic, but, in the end, it was simply elevated to an axiom - cleanliness is one of the keys to successful treatment. True, not everyone observes this rule, even among maesters, until they encounter the first death from blood poisoning or gangrene. After that, this postulate becomes the main one for them. If they survive the wrath of the lord they serve.
Now, at the end of my studies, I have become the proud owner of a full-fledged chain, which already hangs under my clothes. True, I cannot become a maestro - to obtain this "proud" title, links from all metals are needed, with the exception of Valyrian steel. I have only one copper link, symbolizing history and geography, and two gold links, showing my skill in matters of finance. Iron, for military affairs, lead, for knowledge of poisons, silver, symbolizing medicine, and the red-gold link were received only in the second year of study, and even then with a stretch. And finally, my pride - three links made of brass and the same number of dull steel, was proof that my knowledge in architecture and blacksmithing was at the level of the archmaesters of the Citadel. 13 links out of 21. Not a bad result for two years. Although there are geniuses who manage to become meisters in just 5-6 years of study, such as the same Marvin and Qyburn. And if you remember that the presence of more than one link of the same metal is a sign of a very old and smart maestro, and sometimes even an archmaester… you can call yourself a very smart person.
"You can't praise yourself, no one will praise you"
Under such sad, but at the same time warm memories, Joen and I ran to the main building of the Citadel, where my last exam will be held. If everything goes well, then today the chief healer Margah will give me the second silver link.
***
-… last question. What antidote should be used for poisoning with basilisk venom? The voice, creaking like sandpaper on glass, carried through the audience, causing the majority of those present to wince reflexively. Margakh was an old and gray-haired old man, who had long passed over 70. He was dressed in a simple meister's robe, without any decorations and frills, with the exception of a very long chain, full of links from a variety of metals. Nothing in his appearance betrayed the fact that before you stands the universally recognized best doctor of all the Seven Kingdoms, and even the world, for the last hundred years.
- A mixture of mandrake tincture, white melon peel, wasteland grass stalks and the blood of the basilisk itself, taken from the iron regions. The proportions depend on the age, weight and sex of the patient. A complete table of proportions is given in Maester Duncan's "Numbers in Poisons and Antidotes". – My answer was exactly according to the textbook, without any additions or clarifications. The current archmaester of medicine not only did not like me and considered me an upstart, for too quick a set of links, but also had a nickname quite suitable for his character and appearance. Old ram. Every inhabitant of the Citadel knew about his obstinacy and ossified views. He considered worthy links only noble and people of "venerable" age, not accepting any innovations and changes in long-established processes. If it were his will, he would have destroyed half of the rules introduced by Peremohr Hightower himself, turning the only university in the Seven Kingdoms, and even in the entire known world, into its analogue in the Middle Ages - a completely closed place, more restricting general progress, rather than developing.
"Unfortunately, most of the conclave is like that." I thought as Margah consulted the answers in his book. Yet old age is not a joy and insanity for him is just around the corner. - "One hope for you is Ebroz"
His gaze shifted of its own accord from the old ram to the middle-aged man standing behind him. This was Ebrosis. Already, this good-natured man, known for his quiet voice and golden hands, was considered one of the most respected doctors in the Citadel. Everyone knew perfectly well that he, after the resignation of Margakh, would become the next archmaester of medicine in the conclave. I always hoped that with his arrival the situation here would be better.
- All right. Candidate Felix has earned the right to wear his second silver link. - Finally, the examiner announced, to the general applause of all those present in the audience.
That's why I love the locals - for them, honor is one of the most important arguments in their decisions. And it doesn't matter what kind of honor it is - a knight, a maester, a merchant, a swineherd, or someone else. Yes, here even prostitutes have some semblance of professional pride, though it quickly disappears at the first ringing of a coin. On Earth, he could bombard me with questions that no one knows the answers to, give me a bunch of reasons, sucked from the finger, and just not pass my exam. But no. The honor of an archmaester does not allow him to leave a person who deserves it without a link. And I deserved it, since almost all the questions were of such a level that Ambrose sometimes frowned with tension. But our knowledge of medicine is like heaven and earth.
Thank you, Archmaester. It was an honor for me to take your exam. - The phrase, which I had already said thirteen times before, flew out of my mouth by itself. In my thoughts, I have long been in a completely different place.
"So, the last formalities have been completed and you can safely hang a new link on my chain," I thought maliciously, leaving the audience and, together with Joen, heading to the seneschal's court. Rick, Jack, Piper and Robin were already waiting for us there, having already collected all their and my things, and waiting only for us. "I'm sorry I can't do it. I hope they let us out without scandal, just by taking away the chains."
The Courtyard of the Seneschal, as the residence of the head of the Citadel, was located in the very center of the university and was a majestic stone building, very similar in shape to St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican. The same dome, the same columns, the same style, except for the lack of gilding. Passing past the rows of stocks and the schoolchildren planted there, who, in their stupidity, either stole books from the maester's section or tried to escape, we entered the inside of a huge hall with a stone ceiling that goes far up, and large rounded windows, with various stained-glass windows depicting seneschals of past eras. At the far end of the hall on a dais, taking notes, sat the local secretary, a young maester named Vaelin, a very caustic and captious infection, who is a student of the current seneschal. I spoke with him only a few times while studying local astronomy, and it did not bring me much pleasure.
- And here you are. - Vaelin greeted us, justifying his famous nickname - Vinegar - in just four words. How it was possible to contain so much malice, acid and poison in every word that it would be enough to poison an entire army remained a mystery to me. "The Clave awaits you in the Seneschal's quarters. Let's go.
Behind the platform where he was located was an inconspicuous door, through which we were asked to enter with a casual wave of the hand. Behind the passage is a spiral staircase leading far up, several floors. There, at the very top, behind a gigantic slab, completely studded with iron, which can only mistakenly be called a door, were the apartments of the current seneschal Brandon, as well as the entire current conclave.
Today, all the benches for visitors in the reception room were empty, and this immediately made me understand that our business was bad. As I said, only one tenth of those who entered the Citadel truly aspired to knowledge, and not to free food and the opportunity to steal something valuable. Such people were carefully selected and trained with all possible dedication. We are in that 10%.
But those who can become a full-fledged knight of knowledge are not so many. In the official lists kept in the library, at the moment there are 21 archmaesters at the university who cannot leave these walls, 48 full-fledged masters, mainly engaged in writing and updating books, 93 candidates, at various stages of training, and countless students, most of which they perform the function of laborers here and will never rise above their rank. But this is only official, because the books do not take into account the position of most of them. For example, only now Qyburn and Marvin are absent from the Citadel, who took several candidates with them and sailed to Essos to seek new knowledge.
Meanwhile, people are mortal. Every year, 7-8 castle scientists die from old age, diseases, too much iron in the body and other factors. And new ones are everywhere. So the Old Town University is always starved of personnel.
Therefore, our case is unprecedented - 6 gifted candidates are dumped from the Citadel at once, which is equivalent to the loss of 6 future masters, who in the future can be sent to castles to replace the dead. Although there is no clause in the rules that candidates or schoolchildren are forbidden to leave the Citadel, the cat cried such cases, and basically it was the initiative of the university itself, when some especially gifted climbed into the forbidden areas of necromancy and bloody alchemy. So the conclave won't just let us go.
- Yes, guys. - I turned to the men behind me, who, after two years of studying together and a bunch of the most incredible curiosities on the streets of Old Town, became my closest friends. "Remember, when we go inside, only I will speak. Do not fall for provocations. Do you remember Walgrave? He will do anything to keep us here. Got it?
- Yes. – The joint chorus of voices became a completely expected answer for me. For several years of our acquaintance, they have long made me their unnamed leader, and in most cases they obey me.
- Well, no fluff, no feather.
- In hell!