A scholar's stubbornness

It seemed he thought he had misheard.

An unmistakable look of shock and bewilderment appeared on Archmaester Marwyn's face.

He scratched his completely unkempt gray beard.

Looking at Darean, who sat before him with little change in his expression, he joked:

"For what you just said, hanging you from the top of the Hightower to let the sea wind batter you for a full day and night wouldn't be unjust in the slightest."

It was not that Marwyn was being arrogant.

That was simply how things were.

Throughout the current noble hierarchy of Westeros, the Maester System had taken root in the castles of almost every prominent house.

But there was no denying that those sent out were not the Citadel's true core.

When had anyone ever heard of an archmaester serving as an adviser to some noble?

Even Pycelle, far away in King's Landing, was really just a passable fellow the Conclave had picked out and sent to that wretched place to fob off the king.

Marwyn was a member of the Conclave-the Citadel's highest governing body.

He could thump his chest and guarantee that, never mind Darean, even the current Earl of the Hightower, Leyton Hightower, had no right to say such a thing.

Darean cared nothing for any of that. He had not come intending to leave empty-handed.

His territory's medical resources were currently all but nonexistent. If he wanted rapid development, he had to solve that problem.

Otherwise, once something went wrong, the price would be more than he could possibly bear.

"No, that won't do. I'm here now, so you have to give me someone, one way or another. I'm a lord now. If my people keep dying from infected wounds or minor illnesses every day, who's going to follow me?"

He grabbed the cup of extremely suspicious "drink" on the table and held it beneath his nose for a sniff, under Marwyn's intensely expectant gaze.

Darean... put it back down after all.

Ah, no!

That smell...

What a rush!

"So you're refusing to leave me alone now!"

With a snort of laughter, Marwyn picked up his own cup.

Clearly an old hand at this, he downed half of it in one go.

Apart from a violent, involuntary twitch of his facial muscles, he showed no other reaction.

Respect. I concede defeat.

Eight years of traveling through Essos had given the old fellow an iron stomach.

But this was not the time to concern himself with that. Darean said earnestly:

"Look, you promised you'd repay me for saving your life someday."

Marwyn paused, scratched his eyebrow with a carrot-like finger, and smiled.

"Yes, I did. So you intend to call that in now?"

Darean leaned back in his chair, spread his hands, and said helplessly:

"If not now, when? Who knows, you might hear one day that a new House Hightower has sprung up in that place."

"Who knows when I'll be back next? If you pull another disappearing act, won't I lose out badly?"

Marwyn said nothing.

In the deeply religious atmosphere of Westeros, repaying a life-saving debt carried a powerful sanctity.

It was much like Guest Right, which every noble constantly praised.

If someone insisted on violating it, there was indeed little anyone could do to them.

But from then on, they had to be prepared to be forsaken by the gods and reviled by the people.

The old fellow would not go that far, but with Darean putting it that way, he really could find no grounds to argue.

Still, whatever the case, the rule that archmaesters did not "go out to the countryside" remained.

Marwyn was a burly man who could take off his chain, tie an iron weight to it, and use it as a flail... no, a scholar. A scholar.

He had to preserve a little dignity.

His brown eyes shifted, and the old fellow decided to set Darean a difficult problem.

"Seven above, you know I've never managed to produce any solid results in my field of research."

"If I go off to the countryside with you now, won't my experiments be ruined completely?"

"You wouldn't want to see that fellow Theobald tear me to shreds, would you?"

Darean was dumbfounded.

Wait, who was it who just shamelessly boasted that he paid Steward Theobald no mind whatsoever?

And you old swindler, you actually know your research burns through money without producing anything.

It really hasn't been easy for the Citadel to put up with you this long.

Darean tapped the tabletop and drew a deep breath, telling himself he absolutely could not let this old fraud lead him in circles.

"What are you researching now? Why do I get the feeling this thing of yours is doomed with or without me?"

If the old fellow pulled out a Dragon Egg and said he was researching how to hatch whatever was inside, Darean would believe him.

But the question was, did its success have anything to do with where he stayed?

He had better not think Darean was easy to fool.

Marwyn froze, seemingly not having expected Darean to avoid his obfuscation entirely and instead go straight for the sore spot.

The old fellow, who had been preparing to put together another spiel, was left speechless.

The room fell silent as the old man and the young man stared at one another.

At last, under the scrutiny of those sharp young eyes, the old man conceded defeat.

An embarrassed expression appeared on Marwyn's face, and his voice lacked confidence.

"Er... it's that thing you're holding now."

Darean instinctively glanced down to see what he had in his hand, then spotted the cup of "drink" he had just set on the table.

Wait, you... you really are researching this stuff.

Darean believed the old fellow had brought it out of the Valyrian Freehold.

But that brought them back to the same question.

If you don't come to the countryside with me, can you somehow work miracles studying it in this shabby room of yours?

Rubbing his hands together, Archmaester Marwyn said slowly:

"What you see now was all made from the leaves of the original plant I brought back from that hellhole."

"That's the problem. No matter what I do, I can't find a way to make their seeds germinate."

"It's strange. I've tried almost everything, but I just can't get these damned seeds to put out even the tiniest green shoot."

"Once this plant withers, this species will effectively be extinct in Westeros."

Producing a seed the size of a little fingernail from somewhere, the old man tossed it to Darean, his words filled with helplessness.

Originally, the Citadel had been very supportive of his efforts to expand the flora of Westeros.

They had provided him with considerable funding.

But with no results forthcoming, anyone would doubt whether it could actually work, fearing it was a bottomless pit they could never fill.

A large part of the reason the old fellow did not want to leave was that he wanted to use this final round of funding to import some expensive materials from Lys and try again.

A scholar's persistence and stubbornness.

It was not hard to understand.

Catching the seed, which looked like an apricot stone, Darean tossed it in his hand.

Something stirred in his mind, and he suddenly thought of something.

After silently sensing it for a moment, Darean smiled.

That smile raised goosebumps along Marwyn's back across from him.

"Old man, how about a wager?"

Struggling to keep the corners of his mouth from lifting, Darean said softly:

"If I get you a seed that can grow, you'll come with me. How about it?"