Archmaester Marwyn

If one went by the old Dareon Hightower, a young man who loved nothing but weapons and charging on horseback,

he could never have become acquainted with an archmaester of the Citadel.

In theory, this learned man who pursued knowledge and sought the world's lost things had nothing in common with a young noble raised in the Hightower.

Even the routine visits to the Citadel were handled by his eldest brother, Ser Baelor Hightower.

Yet, from a certain perspective, the course of this world was driven by one seemingly impossible coincidence after another.

When Darean was fourteen, he had recklessly sneaked aboard a ship bound for Sunspear.

Earl Leyton Hightower, who was still managing affairs at the time, had naturally flown into a rage upon learning that his youngest son had actually run off to Dornish territory.

Relations between the Reach and Dorne had always been tense. The old man was not worried about his son; he feared Darean might fall into some bastard's hands and become a bargaining chip against House Hightower.

And so, Darean was "hauled back."

On the return voyage, they happened upon pirates who prowled the Summer Sea attacking a merchant ship bound for Oldtown.

Unable to sit still, Dareon Hightower had grabbed his sword and leaped aboard the other ship's deck.

With his sword, the young noble had saved Maester Marwyn, who had taken an arrow to the shoulder and had just returned from his travels in Essos.

What followed had come naturally.

House Hightower was the Citadel's favorite noble house, and now there was this life-saving connection as well.

For the next two years, Darean had come and gone from Maester Marwyn's study as he pleased.

When he had abruptly been ordered to Sunflower Hall, he had had no time to prepare.

Now that he had lands of his own, as a lord, he had effectively broken free of his restraints.

With questions to ask, he naturally thought first of Maester Marwyn, who loved telling stories.

Without anyone to guide him, Darean made his familiar way around the Seneschal's Court and arrived at Maester Marwyn's separate study on Rook's Rest.

Turning back to give a few instructions to Clyson, whose eyes were wide as he looked here and there, though he remained rather stiff and never dared meet anyone else's gaze, Darean said:

"Oh, just so you know, I'll be going in to see the old man in a moment. You can stay outside. Wander around if you like, and don't be surprised by anything you see. The old fellow has a habit of collecting strange things. Don't worry, there's no danger."

With that, Darean left his bewildered captain of the guards behind and stepped up to the shabby wooden hut beneath a weirwood.

Kicking open the unlocked door, Darean called:

"Old man, don't make me any of those drinks you learned from the warlocks of Qarth. I don't want to walk out with blue lips and have people look at me like I'm a monster."

The furnishings that greeted him were just as shabby and disordered as on his last visit.

Maester Marwyn took the unkempt habits of an old bachelor to their utmost extreme.

The sounds of cups being handled and liquid being poured came from the inner room, followed by a slightly deep male voice with a touch of the weariness of age drifting out:

"Heh, heh, I've already studied it. The ingredients of shade of the evening contain large quantities of hallucinogenic substances. Armed with that knowledge, how could I possibly keep drinking such rubbish?"

"Don't worry, little Darean. What I've prepared for you this time is quite rare."

"Look, this drink is made from a new plant I brought back from the fringes of the ruins of the Valyrian Freehold. It's delicious."

What the fuck?

How did I not know you were bold enough to go to that hellhole?

Clicking his tongue, Darean decided that today his mouth would be used for talking and nothing else. He had no intention of putting anything here into it.

The suffering he had endured here over the past two years was still vivid in his mind.

He found a relatively clean chair and sat down. Just as he settled into it, a short, stout figure dressed in gray emerged from the inner room carrying a tray.

Beneath his grizzled beard was a slablike jaw. Though Maester Marwyn was fat, he looked sturdy, and his movements showed no sign of age.

His eyes fixed on the two cups of strange liquid in a suspicious shade of purplish red, Darean swallowed and gave a dry laugh.

"Old man... this stuff... have you tried it yourself?"

Other people were cautious when traveling abroad, but this old fellow would try absolutely anything.

Sure enough, Maester Marwyn burst out laughing.

"No. Something this good-if you hadn't come, I wouldn't have been willing to let anyone else taste it!"

"You have no idea. I spent at least a thousand gold dragons just keeping this thing alive. Seneschal Theobald was glaring at me and bristling his beard over it, but I didn't give a damn about him!"

Knowing the old fellow's true nature all too well, Darean did not believe a word of it and struck straight at his weak spot.

"Really? Ignore him, and he won't approve next month's budget. Then let's see where you scrape together the gold dragons to hunt for magical artifacts in Oldtown."

At those words, the old fellow's unrestrained smile froze on his face as though struck by an ice spell.

After several seconds of embarrassment, relying on the thick skin he had cultivated over years of travel, Maester Marwyn drew a deep breath, rubbed his hands, and forcibly changed the subject.

"Well now, little Darean, I heard you were sent off to Sunflower Hall. What happened there?"

Darean shook his head, lifted his chin toward the conspicuous white tower visible to his right, and answered expressionlessly:

"The order came from there, issued in my father's name. I couldn't very well disobey."

Marwyn immediately realized something was wrong. His eyebrows rose slightly, and he was about to speak when Darean's next words cut him off.

"But fortunately, I have lands of my own now, on that headland across the Redwyne Straits."

"I came to see you this time because I want to pry a capable maester away from you and take him there. You know most knights aren't entitled to a maester of their own yet."

The old scholar in his mouse-gray robes was genuinely startled by this news.

A momentary dazed look passed through his brown eyes.

When he had first met Darean, he had been a boy who knew nothing but swordplay and had no idea of his own limits.

And now he was actually a knight with lands of his own.

"Enough talk. Is there anyone suitable here? I don't plan to stay in Oldtown for long."

He still was not quite sure which person in the Hightower was making trouble for him.

But in any case, every extra second he stayed here increased the chance of trouble coming to his door.

"No. Those gray sheep don't understand my-my research at all."

The old fellow shook the chain around his neck, which he could have taken off and used to bludgeon someone, and pointed to one of its links.

"A Valyrian steel link. It signifies a master of magic and the occult."

Marwyn's tone was mocking as he said coldly:

"Who would still study such things?"

Nodding, Darean rubbed his chin, thought for a moment, then asked tentatively:

"How about you come with me and serve as my maester?"