A Song of Sun and Stars [Man of Steel x ASOIAF]

Chapter 19 –

Sunlight poured through the narrow, arched window of the lecture hall, casting geometric patterns on the dusty floor.

Caelum, his black hair tousled and his blue eyes alight with a mixture of curiosity and disappointment, shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench.

Half a moon had passed since his arrival at the Citadel, and the glow of anticipation had faded, replaced by a nagging sense of disillusionment.

He'd come seeking the ancient magicks, the secrets of a power he knew thrummed faintly within himself.

Yet, the esteemed Maester Quillion and his study of the higher mysteries offered little to ease this relentless ache.

"True magic is dead," Maester Quillion had declared on their very first day. His voice, as weathered as the crumbling tomes lining the hall, echoed with a dismissive finality. "With the dragons died the last embers of sorcery, more than a century ago in the Dance of the Dragons. What remains are fragments of old power, echoes of a time lost. Mysteries, yes, but mysteries to be unraveled with logic, not spells."

"Consider the Wall," the maester had declared, his voice resonating with a strange mixture of awe and dismissal. "A towering edifice of ice, impossibly resilient against the passage of time and the harsh northern elements. Ancient magics, they say, wove enchantments to preserve it – potent spells now lost to us."

A hush had fallen over the room, the novices leaning forward in fascination.

Maester Quillion had continued. "And far to the south stands, here in the heart of oldtown, the Hightower, its foundation built upon an oily black stone unlike any found in these lands. Legends claim sorcery transported it from a distant realm, imbued it with strength beyond natural means." He paused, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Or perhaps some canny mage understood principles of architecture that we, alas, have yet to rediscover."

His gaze had swept the room, settling on each eager face. "Then there are the Valyrian roads, in parts of Essos, smooth ribbons of stone that defy decay, their construction a puzzle no mason of our time can solve. Did the dragonlords of old possess secrets of earth and fire that we can only dream of?"

He'd lowered his voice, a touch of drama lacing his tone. "There was a time, my dear novices, when the world thrummed with different kinds of power. The breaking of the Arm of Dorne, the uncanny bond of the skinchangers, the greenseers and dragon dreamers communing with visions… yes, there was once magic."

A tremor of excitement had run through the novices.

"But those flames have been extinguished," Maester Quillion had said firmly. "With the dragons died the last vestiges of true sorcery. Their fire-fueled spells, their blood-birthed rituals. Magic, however potent, was not inexhaustible. And now…" he shrugged, "now its echoes only serve to deepen the shadows of mystery."

He'd gestured towards the towering shelves that lined the hall. "Our task, here at the Citadel, is to illuminate those shadows. Logic is our torch, reason our weapon. It is by understanding the mechanics of the world, not clinging to faded enchantments, that we shall unveil the truth behind the wonders left in magic's wake. For now, in a world of men, there is no longer a place for such powerful magicks."

The Maester's words, like cold water splashed on a warm flame, had sent a ripple of unease through the eager crowd of novices.

A boy, barely into his manhood, raised a hesitant hand. "Maester," he began, a tremor in his voice, "if such powerful magics existed… could they be found again? Rediscovered, perhaps?"

Maester Quillion had stroked his greying beard thoughtfully. "There are those who dedicate their lives to this pursuit," he admitted, a hint of caution in his tone. "They delve into crumbling scrolls, seek whispers amongst dwindling folk in far-off corners of the realms and beyond. Why, some of these people are famous in the histories for their actions that shaped the realm. Brynden Rivers would be one such individual. Yet," he raised a warning finger, "know this: the ancient texts speak of sacrifice, prices paid for manipulating the forces of nature."

His gaze became distant, haunted. "Skinchangers forging a bond with beast… at the cost of a piece of their very soul. Seers, be they green-seers or dragon dreamers, delving into the mists of past and future… their bodies ravaged, their minds sometimes broken." He shuddered slightly. "And shadowbinding… ah, the tales from those dark rituals from the far and distant land of Asshai by the Shadow, make even the stoutest maesters tremble."

A collective gasp rose from the novices. Caelum felt his skin crawl, images of monstrous deeds flickering through his mind's eye.

Maester Quillion sighed, the weight of centuries of lost knowledge echoing in the simple act. "Some sacrifices were subtle – a measure of blood offered to the gods for a glimpse of the future. Others…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Let us just say that the price of bending nature's laws to one's will was often monstrous, the result rarely guaranteed. Sometimes, such horrifying sacrifices barely even bore fruit. Thousands of lives perished, but magic bore but a fart in the wind for wonder."

He had fixed them with a stern look. "Remember," he said, his voice ringing clear, "it's been a century and more since the last Targaryen dragon took flight. Whatever vestiges of flame-fueled sorcery remained has vanished with those magnificent creatures. Rituals, once perhaps infused with power, have now fallen silent. Magic may have left its mark upon the world, but as far as we know, it no longer walks among men. There is no room for it in the wiser world."

Today, the room was nearly deserted.

The once enthusiastic crowd of novices had dwindled with each passing lesson.

Those who remained, like Caelum, were driven by a mix of stubborn hope and a fascination with the strange tricks and illusions that formed the core of Maester Quillion's teachings. Others merely wanted to replicate to head home, and swindle their audiences.

"Behold!" The maester's thin frame occupied the center of the worn stone room, his hands wreathed in flame. They flickered, a mesmerizing dance of orange and yellow, but caused him no apparent pain. "What sorcery is this? A simple trick, nothing more."

A few gasps of half-hearted awe echoed from the sparsely filled benches.

Caelum stifled a sigh.

"I will reveal the secrets to you," Maester Quillion continued, his voice rising in a dramatic flourish, "The common man sees and believes in wonders without understanding. Yet understanding is the true miracle. Sulphur, egg white, and a touch of purslane – harmless on their own. When combined…" He extinguished the flames, shaking the blackened residue from his hands. "…they form a barrier, shielding the skin from harm."

Caelum remembered that first day, when the room was crammed with excited faces.

Back then, Caelum's own secret, the strange power that pulsed below the surface, had thrummed in anticipation.

Now, the sensation was replaced by a dull prickle of frustration.

He couldn't wait for the lesson to end.

Lomas Longstrider and his adventures. Alongside a score of other books had filled Caelum's time outside of lessons. He couldn't take the books back with him to the inn, otherwise, he would have spent his nights reading too.

After he helped Fern take care of the inn with her father, Liernen that is.

The thrill of the scribe's explorations resonated with his own stifled longing for discovery. Longstrider's detailed descriptions of far-flung wonders had both stoked Caelum's desire for real magic and, frustratingly, confirmed Maester Quillion's assertions.

It seemed the world of enchantments and magics was bound to books, not a living reality anymore.

Besides, Caelum was well-versed in the mummer's concoctions.

Longstrider, bless his wandering soul, had detailed their uses and variations in one of his lesser-known treatises.

The Citadel's own library, a labyrinthine maze of scrolls and neglected volumes, had yielded that peculiar tome along with countless others devoured by Caelum's restless mind.

The Citadel's library held treasures beyond imagining.

Yet those dusty stacks also held a cruel truth – magic as a living, breathing force was all but extinct. He longed to feel its thrum, somewhere else than what was beneath his skin, but the secrets he sought remained frustratingly elusive.

Caelum's heightened senses had become both a blessing and a curse.

While they aided him in the mundane – deciphering whispers across a crowded tavern, spotting a misplaced book in the darkened library – they'd also led him down a precarious path.

The Archmaesters' conclave had become an irresistible temptation.

Desperate for news of the war, of his father and brother fighting alongside the Tyrell host against the Stormlanders, he'd begun eavesdropping on their whispered deliberations.

News at the Citadel was often frustratingly slow to arrive.

Ravens bearing messages from across the Seven Kingdoms sometimes brought reports of skirmishes and troop movements, but tidings from the Reach were agonizingly infrequent.

Archmaester Gyldayn seemed enthralled with these reports, meticulously adding them to his ever-growing tome "Fire & Blood." A tome he was working on that accounted for the complete History of all Targaryen Kings.

But for Caelum, they were scraps, fragments of a war he couldn't fully grasp, leaving him gnawed by worry for his family.

With the timing of Conclave meetings now ingrained in his mind, Caelum knew one was in progress this very moment. The allure of forbidden knowledge outweighed the tedium of extinguished flames and clever deceptions.

Maester Quillion's voice faded into a dull hum as Caelum focused, stretching his strange abilities towards the distant chamber where the Archmaesters gathered.

At first, the murmur of voices was indistinct, a jumble of sound barely louder than a buzzing insect.

But with practiced concentration, the words sharpened, resolving into a conversation as clear as if he were a fly on the wall.

"...reduced significantly," Archmaester Theron's gruff voice cut through the mental fog. "Lord Hightower's decision to dispatch Ser Baelor and Ser Garth eastward with the bulk of the Hightower forces and the fleet. To aid Lord Mace leaves fewer guards here than I'd prefer. The watch over the stones is particularly vulnerable."

A pause, then another voice, a reedy tone Caelum recognized as Archmaester Perrestan "Perhaps the stones aren't worth the trouble they've caused, Theron. Lomys shouldn't have sent half a cart loads worth of the shards to the citadel. This defiance of the North is the result from that accursed event. Had the meteor not struck the Reach, had the glass candles not momentarily flared alight across the realm, this war might never have erupted. The fool Marwyn is still trying to get his own glass candle to light up once again ever since."

Archmaester Theron sighed, a hint of exasperation coloring his words. "Lomys couldn't have known the value of the stones then. Lord Hightower has offered to take the bulk of those star-cursed rocks off our hands, I am inclined to agree… Damned prophecies have plagued the Targaryens for generations, Perrestan. The Prince was already obsessed those, much like his father is obsessed with Fire. All looking to rebirth the dragons. It was merely a matter of time before something else caused this damned war."

"I agree with the idea that we send the rocks away to the Hightowers." Another voice, Archmaester Gyldalyn, if Caelum recognized his voice correctly spoke up.

"There have been numerous attempts by acolytes, novices, and fools to nick the stones before they leave the citadel. The only reason they don't target the starry sept itself is fear of the wrath of the gods! Getting the faith to not start some form of the faith uprising after the King burnt the High Septon was hard enough, should those stones also be taken by the small folk, we'll have some sort of Faith militant marching to every house in oldtown by the end of the moon!" Perrestan's nasally voice wheezed, and even Caelum cringed at the sound.

"Then so be it, the stones will be sent to the Hightowers. We'll hold on to just enough that we can keep learning about it should things change in the future. The faith will hold, they too know that the King is cornered, the Dornish will send a small token force, only so far as Princess Elia is under the watchful eye of Jon Connington at Dragonstone." Theron sounded weary and exhausted.

"We have this… opportunity, Perrestan. It is time to rid ourselves of the last copy of 'Blood and Fire' outside of our vaults. The text poisons the minds of those susceptible to Targaryen delusions. It has done so for a century since the last dragon's breath turned cold." He said after a moment's contemplation.

Caelum didn't wish death for anyone, but the Prince had tried to kill him, and his brother at the Tourney of Harrenhal.

At least now he knew why he had done so irrationally at the time.

He just hated everything to do with the Reach. He didn't wish him death, but he certainly hoped he smells like the inside of a tourney helmet for the rest of his days.

Caelum desperately hoped they spoke about the Reach next.

All he knew was that Lord Mace had marched to the aid of some Lord to the east, along the Cockleswent and broken a siege there.

"Dragonstone, and Winterfell sent a raven requesting for a new junior maester. Walys believes he is not long for this world, and Gerard needs aid in preparing for the birth. We have the perfect opportunity. Queen Rhaella is entering the last phase of her pregnancy, in a few moons. Sending someone to finally gain access to Dragonstone's vaults should take care of that for us." Another arch maester, Edgerran, if Caelum's recollection of his voice was any indication.

"Has Ebrose taken the tests for the maesters in medicine already? Where is he? Marwyn's absence from the conclave is expected. Ebrose is another matter entirely… he may not like these meetings, but he attends them regardless." Theron asked after a moment's silence.

"Ebrose is out near the weeping docks. There have been reports from the small folk of violent ceaseless and bloody bowel movements recently…. He has gone down to investigate." Arch maester Castos informed the conclave.

Ebrose was a kind old man, and maester Lorcas had nothing but praises for the kindly old maester.

Caelum had met the old Archmaester on multiple occasions, the man liked to sit with the novices and acolytes while they attended Lorcas' lessons on healing. Despite being the Archmaester of healing himself.

"…but I can confirm, Ebrose has finished testing the new maesters. There are a few promising candidates. He was especially enthusiastic about Luwin." Castos continued.

Caelum was getting antsy, he didn't care which maester got assigned where. Which book the maesters wanted to be removed from where.

If you asked him, remove all books about some prophecy from everywhere.

All he cared to know was how the war was ongoing in the Reach. He knew they were unlikely to discuss his father by name, why would they?

But some news would at least soothe his beating heart.

They said, no news is better than ill news.

They haven't felt the frustration of not knowing, of worrying about the lives of family, knowing you can't do anything for them.

A sudden clap of Maester Quillion's hands, the sound amplified in Caelum's heightened awareness, cut through his eavesdropping. "This concludes today's lesson," Quillion declared, his voice bringing Caelum back to the lecture hall. "Study the texts, I will question you all on the use of Sulphur in lighting a recently extinguished candle."

With a start, Caelum realized the room was emptying.

He hastily gathered his parchment and quill, shoving them into his satchel. The thread of the Archmaesters' conversation slipped away, as his concentration was broken.

He wasn't getting anything important anyway.

He stepped into the sunlit courtyard, scanning the bustling throng for his friend Pylos.

Other novices and acolytes streamed out from various lecture halls.

Caelum joined their ranks, his mind still swirling with the fragments of conversation.

The other students, mostly highborn sons of knights or wealthy merchants, paid him little attention. Caelum had learned quickly that his simple upbringing and lack of a noble lineage marked him as an outsider in their eyes.

It didn't bother him much. He preferred to stay away from their prattling, and nonsensical boasts of chivalry. None of them were Knights.

He found Pylos waiting near the punishment pit by the Seneschal's Court.

A group of older acolytes, their faces contorted in a cruel mockery of amusement, were hurling tomatoes at a hapless boy who stood shivering in the center of the pit.

Caelum felt the punishments were too cruel, but it was better than handing them over to the Hightowers to be kept in the cells.

As he approached Pylos, he asked "What was he accused of?"

"Hmm? Oh, him." Pylos said, as he greeted Caelum "Well, he was caught near the vaults. A lot of people have been trying to steal the stones from there. Enough about him, how was the mummer show today?"

Caelum rolled his eyes, a wry grin forming on his lips. "Very funny, Pylos. It was riveting as always. I'm surprised those benches aren't full to bursting."

Pylos snorted. "You'd be surprised. More than half the students have already dropped Higher Mysteries. Can't imagine why you're still attending."

Caelum sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've been wondering the same thing myself, to be honest. I am thinking of leaving… we'll see. I will join you in the library for the next lesson, either way."

"Now you're speaking my language!" Pylos beamed. "In celebration of your newfound sanity, I'll even buy you dinner at the Quill and Tankard. It's on me."

"I'll hold you to that," Caelum chuckled. A warm meal sounded much more appealing than another afternoon of Maester Quillion's theatrical demonstrations.

"Speaking of dinner," Pylos said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I need to start memorizing the 'Flora of The Seven Kingdoms' for Lorcas's next lecture. Fancy helping me out? I don't understand how you already have it all stored in your head. It's not fair that you can handle four lessons while the rest of us struggle with three."

"Why would you want to take four lessons?" Caelum raised an eyebrow. "Most of these highborns are allowed to become acolytes with just one link. If you should be jealous of anyone, it's of them."

Pylos scoffed. "Well, I can't exactly change my birth, can I? And I'm not jealous, you fool. I just think you're mad for taking on so much."

He clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll help you with those plants. Why don't we take a stroll through the gardens, that will help you identify the herbs."

Caelum had helped Meredith, Aunt Marna and Aunt Serra on multiple occasions in preparing poultices for the sick back home, he knew almost half these herbs already.

He'd already begun working towards four links - a rare undertaking for a novice, but he was determined to excel. A yellow gold link for money and accounts, silver for medicine, platinum for languages and negotiation, and the Valyrian steel link for the study of higher mysteries.

But the disappointment with Higher Mysteries had cast a shadow over his goals.

The low number of maesters who forged that link wasn't due to its difficulty, as he'd initially thought, but rather to its lack of substance. Only one in a hundred maesters forge a Valyrian Steel link. They all hoped for a deeper understanding of the forces that Caelum knew existed, but found only dusty texts and disillusioned scholars.

In his frustration, Caelum had sought solace in the library, delving into books on history and ravenry, subjects far removed from his initial focus.

The vast collection was a chaotic wonderland, overflowing with scrolls and tomes organized with an infuriating disregard for any logical system.

Yet, even in its disarray, the library offered a quiet refuge from the disappointments of the classroom.

Pylos, too, was working towards three links: yellow gold for money and accounts, silver for medicine, and platinum for languages and negotiation. A path more typical for a novice, especially of low birth, but one he pursued with a single-mindedness that Caelum found both admirable and slightly amusing.

As they entered the library, the scent of aged parchment and beeswax filled their nostrils. The towering shelves seemed to stretch towards the heavens, a dizzying labyrinth of knowledge waiting to be explored.

"There has to be a better way of finding books in this mess!" Pylos complained as they began searching for another copy of 'Flora of The Seven Kingdoms: A Medicinal Exploration' in the healing herbs section of the library.

They had to find a copy every time they wanted to read it when they explored the library. It was a daunting task.

Luckily, it was one of the books that maesters used in their lessons and had high demand.

They were readily available for maesters, acolytes and novices to peruse. One just had to find it in the mess.

"If you find a better way to search for books, then please inform Archmaester Guyne. He'll have finally succeeded in his endeavor to organize the library. And you'll have been the first in centuries to do so. You'll make history at the very least!" A voice slightly amused, drifted from a nearby alcove.

Caelum and Pylos turned to find two boys perched on a worn bench, their eyes fixed on the newcomers.

One, with pale skin and a mop of unruly ginger hair, sat beside another, long dark-haired with striking amethyst eyes, and a lithe small frame, who held the familiar tome, Flora of the Seven Kingdoms, open on his lap as he observed them with a curious tilt of his head.

Pylos gasped. "You're Yandel!" he blurted out, his eyes wide with surprise. "Everyone knows you. You grew up here, didn't you?"

Yandel, clearly used to the attention, offered a polite smile. "That's right," he confirmed. "And this is my friend, Nerf. We're both novices."

"I'm Pylos, and this is Caelum," Pylos replied, eager to meet the other novices of the citadel. "We just arrived a few weeks ago."

Caelum, his eyes drawn to the coveted book in Nerf's lap decided to take a direct approach. "Forgive my interruption, but I couldn't help but notice that you have Flora of the Seven Kingdoms. Would you mind if I borrowed it once you're finished?"

Nerf, the quieter of the two, nodded readily. "Of course," he said, pushing the book towards Caelum. "We were just discussing the medicinal properties of sweetsleep. Fascinating stuff."

"Indeed," Caelum agreed, his eyes scanning the pages eagerly. "It's a useful plant, especially for treating insomnia."

Yandel's smile widened. "We attend the same lessons with Maester Lorcas, actually." he said, gesturing towards Caelum and Pylos. "I've seen you there a few times."

Caelum and Pylos exchanged surprised glances. They hadn't noticed the boys before, their attention usually focused on the task at hand.

Yandel was somewhat well known at the citadel. Arch Maester Edgerran had raised the lad himself.

"Well, then," Caelum said with a grin, "we should definitely study together. Four heads are better than two, as they say."

Nerf nodded eagerly. "Absolutely!" He tapped the book in Caelum's hands. "I find this particular subject fascinating. Did you know that the bark of willow can be used to ease pain and inflammation?"

Caelum's eyebrows raised. "Yes, I've heard of that. My aunt used to make a potion from willow bark for pain. She also used moldy bread for treating wounds, though I'm not sure how that works."

Yandel leaned forward, his voice hushed with excitement. "It's the mold itself! It has properties that can prevent infection."

He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Speaking of infection, Maester Lorcas' next lesson will be all about leeching. You both should read up on it beforehand."

"Leeching? I've heard of it," Caelum said cautiously, "but I haven't seen it used firsthand. Is it effective?"

"Surprisingly so," Nerf replied. "They can help drain excess blood and reduce swelling. Some maesters even believe they can draw out infection."

Pylos, who had been listening intently, interjected, "But how do they know which blood to take? And how do they stop the bleeding afterward?"

Nerf shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure." He paused, then added with a grin, "Perhaps we could ask Maester Lorcas about it during our next lesson."

Caelum nodded, frustration rising in his head again. 

He had seen the tiny infectious creatures that caused most disease, with his magical sight.

He knew those little critters caused infections and most diseases.

In fact, he had brought up the idea to Archmaester Ebrose when he had sat by him during a lesson that Maester Lorcas taught sometime, a few days ago.

The Archmaester had been amused by the idea, and Caelum had felt frustrated.

He didn't know how to explain that he could see those beings with his very eyes without letting him know of his magical sight.

The kind old maester had offered to investigate the idea further, but Caelum doubted it would go anywhere.

The conversation shifted, flowing from one topic to the next as the hours passed.

The scent of parchment and beeswax mingled with the faint aroma of the Honeywine River wafting through the open windows.

Caelum learned that Yandel, much like his mentor Archmaester Edgerran, was pursuing a copper link in history for his first link, alongside red gold for money and accounts, and black iron for ravenry.

He, too, had taken on a fourth lesson, for the silver link of medicine, mirroring Caelum's own ambitious path.

Nerf, on the other hand, was focusing on the red gold link for numbers and sums, alongside silver for medicine and yellow gold for money and accounts.

A practical combination, Caelum mused, but one that lacked the allure of the less-trodden paths.

As the afternoon sun began to cast long shadows across the library floor, the four novices closed their books with a reluctant sigh.

The initial awkwardness of their meeting had given way to a sense of camaraderie, a shared hunger for knowledge that transcended their differing backgrounds.

Their study session was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and a hushed conversation.

A familiar figure, the lanky acolyte Patrick, emerged from the stacks, leading a frail yet distinguished-looking man towards their table.

"Archmaester Ebrose," Patrick announced with a hint of self-importance, "I believe these are the novices you wished to speak with." He gestured towards Caelum and Pylos, a smug smile playing on his lips.

Archmaester Ebrose, his eyes twinkling with warmth, nodded at Patrick. "Thank you, Patrick. I will take it from here."

Patrick bowed stiffly, his back ramrod straight, and retreated back into the labyrinth of shelves.

"Too stiff that one" The old Archmaester chuckled when Patrick was out of ear shot. Then he turned to the group and said "Good afternoon, my young scholars, I hope I'm not interrupting your studies."

"Not at all, Archmaester," Caelum replied, rising to his feet. Pylos and Yandel followed suit, while Nerf offered a shy nod.

Ebrose's gaze lingered on Caelum for a moment. "Caelum, would you mind accompanying me to the Weeping Docks? There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you. Your friends are welcome to join us, of course."

Yandel and Nerf exchanged a quick glance. "Thank you for the invitation, Archmaester," Yandel said, "but I must return to assist Archmaesters Edgerran and Gyldalyn with their work on Fire & Blood."

"Of course." Ebrose smiled and nodded as Yandel began packing his rucksack.

As he was about to leave, the old man said "Oh, and Yandel. Would you kindly apologize to Gyldalyn, and thank him and Castos for covering for me at the meeting?"

Yandel nodded, and said, "I will, Archmaester Ebrose."

Nerf then said, "I would love to come, but I fear I will be late for supper." He bowed to Ebrose, "Farewell, Archmaester. It was a pleasure meeting you. You too, Caelum, Pylos. I hope we study together again."

Caelum and Pylos nodded as they bid their new friends goodbye "We'll wait for you in the library. We should read together often."

Nerf smiled, and nodded as he too took his leave.

Caelum and Pylos looked at each other, their curiosity piqued. "We'd be honored to accompany you, Archmaester," Caelum said.

Ebrose's smile widened. "Excellent. Shall we?" He gestured towards the library exit, a hint of urgency in his tone.

Ebrose led them out of the grand library, its labyrinthine aisles fading behind them as they descended a winding staircase towards the Weeping Docks.

The docks, a chaotic tangle of piers and fishing boats, marked the edge of the Citadel's imposing structure, a stark contrast to the quiet scholarly atmosphere they'd left behind. Maesters looking to journey to the Bloody Isles usually take a boat from here.

The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the cries of gulls circling overhead.

Pylos, unable to contain his curiosity, nudged Caelum in the ribs. "What's this about, eh?" he whispered, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Why does the Archmaester want to speak with you specifically?"

Before Caelum could answer, Ebrose chuckled, his voice a warm rumble. "A few days ago, young Caelum shared a rather intriguing idea with me," he said, turning to face them with a twinkle in his eye. "He spoke of tiny, unseen creatures that might be responsible for the diseases that afflict us. I'd like to explore that idea further, especially in light of a troubling illness that's affecting the smallfolk near the docks."

Caelum's heart skipped a beat.

He hadn't expected the Archmaester to remember their brief conversation. It had been a passing comment, born out of frustration and a desire to share the knowledge gleaned from his unique sight.

Pylos, however, was brimming with questions. "Tiny creatures? What sort of creatures?" He looked at Caelum, his brow furrowed in confusion. "You never mentioned this to me."

Caelum shrugged, a nervous smile playing on his lips. "It was just a thought, Pylos. Nothing concrete."

Ebrose raised a placating hand, as they made their way down to the docks. "There's no need for alarm, my young friends. This is merely a preliminary investigation. But Caelum's insight intrigued me, and I believe it warrants further exploration."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the bustling docks. "The illness that's spreading through the Weeping Docks is quite a common occurrence. The symptoms are severe – violent cramps, bloody stools, and a rapid decline in health. We've tried the usual remedies, a concoction of wormwood, nettled wine, and warmed mint. We have learned our lesson with the Great Spring Sickness, and have isolated the docks from the rest of the city."

A sense of urgency filled Ebrose's voice. "The sickness should pass in time, but I believe that testing Caelum's idea would hold merit."

"Tiny creatures?" Pylos echoed, his voice rising an octave. "Invisible to the naked eye? Archmaester, are you sure it's wise for us to be here? We could catch the sickness ourselves!"

Ebrose chuckled, patting Pylos reassuringly on the back. "Calm yourself, young Pylos. If it were that easy to catch, half of Oldtown would be bedridden by now. Vapors are notoriously difficult to contain, after all."

Despite Ebrose's reassurances, Pylos remained visibly uncomfortable as they reached the edge of the dock. The smell of the salty Honeywine river wafted toward them.

A tall, slightly stooped man with kind eyes and a fatherly air approached them, his grey robes adorned with a heavy maester's chain. "Archmaester Ebrose," he greeted the Archmaester with a concerned frown, "why would you bring novices here? They shouldn't be exposed to this contamination."

"Maester Qyburn," Ebrose replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I assure you, they're under my protection. Besides, young Caelum here had an idea I wanted to explore."

Qyburn's brow furrowed. "An idea? From a novice?" He glanced at Caelum, his skepticism evident. "I must admit, I'm curious to know what could possibly intrigue the Archmaester of Healing."

Ebrose patted Caelum's back encouragingly. "Caelum believes that diseases might be caused by minuscule creatures, too small to see with the naked eye. I believe that if these creatures inhabit the vapors that cause this disease, then we may be on the verge of discovering an effective treatment for it. Perhaps burning incense laced with mould."

Qyburn's skepticism deepened. "Invisible creatures, you say?" he scoffed, though a spark of interest flickered in his eyes. "While I find it hard to believe that a novice could offer any meaningful insights, I'm always open to new ideas. After all," he added with a pointed look at Ebrose, "we mustn't discount any possibility, no matter how outlandish it may seem."

Ebrose chuckled. "Indeed, Maester Qyburn. Indeed. Now, shall see if his idea holds any water?"

Qyburn, his curiosity piqued, nodded and led the group deeper into the ramshackle town built inside the walls of the citadel, near the Weeping Docks.

As they passed through the narrow alleys, the sight of guardsmen in Hightower livery patrolling the streets was a stark reminder of the sickness's grip on the community.

The guards, their faces grim, politely urged residents to remain indoors.

One, recognizing Archmaester Ebrose, bowed respectfully and allowed them to pass.

"The sickness began spreading rapidly three days ago," Qyburn explained as they walked. He turned to Caelum, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "If, as you suggest, it's caused by tiny creatures, where might they originate?"

Ebrose, sensing Caelum's hesitation, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Take your time, my boy. Observe, and investigate. And think your ideas through."

Caelum nodded, closing his eyes for a moment to focus on his heightened senses.

The world around him sharpened, the ordinary sights and sounds becoming intensely vivid.

His vision seemed to pierce through walls, revealing the pale faces and writhing bodies of the afflicted within their homes.

Caelum closed his eyes, focusing his senses. The air itself crackled with whispers, each a fragment of suffering echoing through the narrow streets.

"...blood...so much blood..." a woman's voice, weak and trembling, reached him from a nearby house. "The fever... it won't break..."

A child's whimper followed, punctuated by the sound of retching. "Mama... hurts... burning..."

From another dwelling, a man's raspy cough echoed, followed by a string of curses. "Damn this flux! Another bloody stool... I can't keep anything down..."

A chorus of moans and feverish cries filled the air, a symphony of pain that sent chills down Caelum's spine.

He could almost feel the heat radiating from flushed skin.

As they walked, Caelum noticed something peculiar.

Every house they passed contained the same minuscule creatures in their water.

These tiny critters swarmed in the murky depths of pitchers and cups, their wriggling forms a grotesque dance of disease.

Caelum stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on a nearby guard. "Where do these people get their water?" he asked.

The guard, startled by the intensity in Caelum's eyes, stammered, "From the well, mostly. It's the same one that we use for the citadel. Some boil water from the Honeywine, but it's a salty river, not good for drinking."

"Show me the well," Caelum demanded, a sense of urgency gripping him.

Maester Qyburn, his brow furrowed, interjected, "You think the well is poisoned?"

"I don't know," Caelum replied, his voice barely audible. "But I need to see."

The guard, recognizing the authority in Ebrose's voice, reluctantly led them to a central square where a stone well stood, its wooden bucket hanging idle.

Caelum peered into the depths, his vision effortlessly piercing the murky water. On the surface, it seemed clean enough, but deeper down, a horrifying sight met his eyes.

The bloated carcass of a dog lay submerged at the bottom, its fur matted and its limbs contorted in a macabre tableau.

Without hesitation, Caelum seized the well's rope, untied the bucket, and fashioned a makeshift noose.

"What are you doing?" Qyburn asked.

"I am checking to see if my hunch is right?!" Caelum responded.

He lowered it into the well, his heart pounding as he fished for the dead animal.

"Aha! So it was poisoned!" Qyburn affirmed.

"Maester, you could call it poison, but the poison itself is a writhing mass of tiny living creatures," Caelum said, as he lowered the dead animal onto the ground.

Both Qyburn and Ebrose leaned over the carcass, their faces wrinkled in disgust.

"The poor creature," Ebrose murmured. "It looks like it was cut open. Its blood must have been drained before it was dropped in the well."

Qyburn nodded in agreement. "A tragic accident, no doubt. But there is hardly evidence of invisible creatures."

Caelum bit back a frustrated sigh.

How could he explain what he saw without revealing his secret?

The writhing mass of malevolent tiny life in the well water was undeniable to him, a stark contrast to the clear liquid that appeared to the naked eye.

Ebrose placed a hand on Caelum's shoulder. "Your idea is certainly novel, my boy," he said, his voice kind but firm. "But it lacks... substance. We need more than a hunch to overturn centuries of medical understanding."

Caelum nodded, a wave of disappointment washing over him.

He knew he couldn't reveal his true abilities.

But the truth, as he saw it, was right there in front of them, hidden in plain sight.

"Perhaps," Ebrose continued, a thoughtful look on his face, "we could conduct further tests on the water. See if there are any other anomalies we've overlooked."

Qyburn scoffed. "A waste of time, if you ask me. The dog's blood, and spirit, is the culprit, plain and simple."

Ebrose, however, seemed intrigued by Caelum's theory, however far-fetched it might seem. "I'll have the acolytes collect samples for further analysis," he decided. "We'll see if there's anything unusual about the well's water."

It would be futile, Caelum bit back a sigh.

Seeing something so small would require some sort of contraption capable of seeing the smallest of things.

Like a far-eye, but instead of seeing far, to see tiny things instead.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the docks, Ebrose turned to Caelum and Pylos. "It's getting late, my young friends. You should return to your homes before the gates close." He placed a hand on Caelum's shoulder. "You have a sharp mind, Caelum, and a keen eye for detail. You'll make a fine healer one day."

Caelum nodded, dejection coloring his face.

He bade the two maesters goodbye and left for the main city of Oldtown.

He needed to rest.

As they walked away, Qyburn and Ebrose continued their discussion. "This incident," Qyburn mused, "it supports my theory about residual energies. Every living being leaves a trace behind, and it's not so different for those in death. In this case, the dog's foul spirit corrupted the well's water."

Pylos, his earlier fears forgotten, punched Caelum playfully on the arm. "You have a keen eye, Caelum. I don't know how, but you always seem to want to run at the source of trouble…. But I am grateful, I suppose. If that sickness had spread beyond the docks, it could have been disastrous."

Caelum managed a weak smile. "I just hope they figure out the real cause," he muttered under his breath.

Pylos, sensing his friend's unease, grinned. "Don't worry, you'll get that silver link in no time. Ebrose clearly sees your potential. I'm almost jealous, to be honest."

Caelum chuckled, a touch of warmth returning to his chest. "Jealousy isn't a very scholarly emotion, Pylos."

"True," Pylos conceded. "But I am allowed to feel a pang of envy when his friend is clearly outshining him. Archmaester Ebrose likes you, and he takes the tests for medicine. That's one link that you have already forged as far I am concerned." He slung an arm around Caelum's shoulders. "Now, about that dinner at the Quill and Tankard… I believe I owe you two meals now."

Caelum smiled, slightly.

He was not feeling hungry anymore.

"Some other time, Pylos. I am not so hungry." Caelum said, as they walked past the Citadel's massive gates. "Perhaps on the morrow?"

Pylos hesitated, he could see his friend was feeling down "Yeah, tomorrow sounds nice too. Liernen should have good food at the Learned Anchor anyway."

The Learned Anchor was the inn where Pylos and Caelum had found board.

It was a distance away from the citadel, almost at the other end of the city of Oldtown. The Quill and Tankard was simply nearer to the citadel, and Caelum was in no mood to eat.

The stone streets of Oldtown were bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun as Caelum and Pylos made their way back to the Learned Anchor.

The city's labyrinthine alleys and bustling markets buzzed with activity, but Caelum barely noticed the sights and sounds around him. His mind was consumed by the mystery of how to get the Archmaesters to see what he does, without revealing his magical sight.

The imposing silhouette of the Hightower loomed in the distance, its peak painted gold by the fading light of the sun that engulfed the fire at its top.

By the time they reached the Learned Anchor, the sun had vanished below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in a deep indigo hue.

The inn was bustling with activity, its common room filled with patrons returning from the Starry Sept.

The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread mingled with the comforting aroma of hearth smoke.

Fern, her short boyish brown hair tousled and her amethyst eyes sparkling with curiosity, spotted them first.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're late. Were you held up by something important?"

Pylos puffed up his chest, a proud grin spreading across his face. "As a matter of fact, Archmaester Ebrose himself requested our presence."

Fern's eyes widened. "Both of you?" she teased, nudging Caelum playfully. "What could the esteemed Archmaester possibly want with you, Caelum?"

Pylos sputtered indignantly. "I said both of us, not just Caelum!"

Fern chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure he did, Pylos. But it seems our Caelum is quite the popular fellow. In fact," she lowered her voice, "another Archmaester is waiting for him upstairs in his room."

Caelum's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Another Archmaester?"

Fern nodded. "He arrived a few hours ago. I've sent him to your room. Don't worry, I've already told father you will be busy this evening."

Caelum felt gratitude for his friend, and said "Then I should go and see what he wants with me"

"Should I bring up food?" Fern offered, as he made his way toward the stairs past the crowd of patrons.

"No, thank you, Fern. I am not in the mood to eat." Caelum replied, "Though, write down Pylos' meal today on me."

"You're the best Caelum!" Pylos exclaimed "That's three meals I owe you now!"

"You owe me nothing!" Caelum shouted as he finally reached upstairs.

As he approached his room, he activated his magical sight, peering through the wooden door.

The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the pale moonlight from the open window.

A figure sat hunched in the shadows, his features obscured by the gloom.

What did Archmaester Marwyn want with him?

Caelum had tried to find the elusive maester after the disappointment that was Quillion's lessons, but the maester seemed to almost always be in his chamber, or somewhere in the city.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the door, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet hallway.

As he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

A shiny shimmering candle in the man's hand suddenly flared to life, illuminating the face of the waiting figure.

He quickly snuffed it with his right hand and turned to stare at him.

Archmaester Marwyn leaned forward, the moonlight dancing on his weathered face. "So, you are the one?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "It's you. You are the sun!"

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

Well, I have fleshed out the citadel as best I could.

Don't worry, Caelum does not have any added magic.

The Glass candle is reacting to Caelum's bio-electric field.