On the third day after Clay persuaded his grandfather, White Harbor received a raven from Winterfell.
Although Clay, who was asking Maester Theomore about the reserves of certain materials at the time, was the first to see the letter tied to the raven's leg, he did not open it himself. Instead, he went with Maester Theomore to deliver it to Earl Wyman.
As they climbed the winding stone steps inside the tower, patches of light from the arrow slits fell across them one after another. Clay realized that he seemed never to have taken a close look at this family castle, which had not been built all that long ago.
His grandfather's study was in the main keep's tower, twenty meters above the ground. This white tower, the broadest and most conspicuous of the entire cluster, with the most lavish carvings and decorations, also had an imposing name-the Sea Tower.
Clay looked at the maester walking somewhat unsteadily beside him. Around his neck hung two chains assembled from links made of various metals.
Black iron, copper, gold, silver, steel, and so on-each represented a different field of learning. Black iron, for instance, represented ravenry, copper represented history, and silver represented medicine.
He found it rather strange. A maester ought to hold an important position in a noble household, yet in all the time since his return, Clay had observed from the sidelines that Maester Theomore was, deliberately or otherwise, being excluded from the family's core affairs.
The maester was getting on in years, and climbing stairs was very strenuous for him. With little choice, Clay slowed his own pace to match the old maester's.
"Maester, have you ever been to Harrenhal? How does our New Castle in White Harbor compare?"
Remaining silent the whole time was awkward, so Clay started a conversation.
The old maester took a couple of breaths. His green eyes beneath sparse, pale blond eyebrows glanced at Clay, and he answered quietly:
"If you mean its size, it would probably take seven or eight New Castles put together to begin to approach Harrenhal's outline. But it is a ruin now, after all."
This answer surprised Clay. He had never been to Harrenhal, and had not even left the North since returning to Westeros. To his mind, New Castle was already an oversized structure. If it took seven or eight of them to rival Harrenhal, just how enormous was Harrenhal?
"Harren the Black squeezed the Riverlands for decades to build that fortress, the largest in all the Seven Kingdoms. If not for Aegon Targaryen's dragonfire, it would probably still be the most magnificent castle in the Seven Kingdoms today."
Whether the old maester was unwilling to discuss the subject further or simply disliked talking to him, Clay could not tell. After those few words, he closed his mouth, and silence fell over the quiet stairway once more.
Not understanding what he meant by it, Clay shrugged and followed Maester Theomore to the door of Earl Wyman's study. The two armored House Manderly guards at the entrance looked rather surprised to see Clay and Maester Theomore arrive together.
What surprised and puzzled Clay was that he actually detected wariness in the way the two guards looked at Maester Theomore. Why would the family be wary of its own maester?
Seemingly long accustomed to this, Maester Theomore held out the letter clasped in his hand and passed it to one of the guards.
"A letter from Winterfell. Please deliver it to the earl."
Having said this quite calmly, Maester Theomore gave Clay a slight nod, turned, and left without the slightest hesitation or delay.
The moment he left, the two guards' attitudes changed. The guard who had just taken the letter immediately bowed and opened the oak door painted with a merman for Clay.
Stepping inside, Clay immediately saw his grandfather drinking heartily from a bottle of wine. In the sunlight streaming in from the balcony, Clay examined the wine's color and guessed that it was Dornish summer red.
"Grandfather, a letter from Winterfell." Taking the letter back from the guard, who remained outside the doorway, Clay called to his grandfather. The guard smiled at him and closed the door without being asked.
"Hmm? Oh, it's you, Clay. A letter from Winterfell? What does it say?"
Mumbling, his grandfather tossed the wine bottle onto the desk, rose from a spacious cushioned chair that could have held two Clays, and looked at him.
Shaking his head, Clay walked farther into the room, looking over the decor, which positively reeked of gold dragons, in this very spacious chamber as he approached his grandfather's desk.
"No, I haven't read the letter yet."
Earl Wyman took the letter, but unexpectedly, instead of opening it at once, he asked:
"Did Theomore come with you?"
How did his grandfather know? Clay was a little bewildered, but on second thought, it made sense. The maester was responsible for correspondence in the first place, so the question was understandable.
"Yes, but he didn't come in. I suppose he had something to attend to," Clay said. To his surprise, his grandfather immediately sneered.
"Something to attend to, my ass!"
It was a rare sight: Clay saw undisguised contempt and disgust on his grandfather's usually amiable face, leaving him baffled.
"Keep your dealings with him to a minimum from now on," Earl Wyman said sullenly. His large hand snatched up the wine bottle, and he took another deep swig.
"Why, Grandfather? Aren't maesters quite useful to nobles?"
"Do you know his surname?"
The question caught Clay off guard. As he recalled, maesters' vows required them to abandon their surnames and become servants of all Westeros. Thus, Clay knew only that he was called Theomore, not his surname.
"Lannister. Remember that. He is a Lannister. Don't believe that bullshit about maesters' vows. No matter how many metal chains he hangs around his neck, I can still smell that sickening lion's stench on him."
Now Clay finally understood why Earl Wyman, and indeed the entire family, treated Maester Theomore this way. With his Lannister origins, it would have been a miracle for him to gain anyone's trust here in the North.
Clay did not know why a Lannister would come to White Harbor to serve as a maester. But as one of the North's noble houses, White Harbor might loathe the Lannisters, yet it could hardly slaughter Maester Theomore for that alone.
They could get rid of him with poison or some other means, but that would be dishonorable, after all. Or perhaps there were other reasons Clay knew nothing about. In any event, the family's way of dealing with Maester Theomore was to give him the cold shoulder: apart from handling official correspondence with Winterfell, they let him do nothing.
Learning this also made Clay a little more cautious about the people around him. Who knew what lay behind each of those people in this castle who called him young master? Fortunately, today he had only asked about the stock of one ingredient for the Swallow Potion, so no harm had been done.
"Now, let me see what this letter from Winterfell has to say."
Ignoring Clay's odd expression, Earl Wyman unfolded the letter and slowly read its contents aloud...
I'm posting first and fixing typos later. Doge face to save my skin!
I didn't make up this Maester Theomore. He really exists, and the old man really is wary of him. I'm not making things up, so don't accuse me unfairly. Pitiful face...