Chapter 21: All Dwarves Are Not Created Equal (IV)
As they were led into the inn, Luwin found himself experiencing no small amount of shock he couldn't quite contain. For a moment there, he could have sworn Marwyn the Mage had actually looked embarrassed.
They ended up in the Quill and Tankard's common room, sat around the longtable nearest to the fireplace blazing from the wall along the eastern side.
"Eat, drink, rest your feet and try not to murder each other," Marwyn told them before he followed Lord Stark to some private chamber or other.
Looking over his traveling companions, Luwin realized that was the first time they'd all been together in one place. It was an awkward feeling. He didn't know what was supposed to happen next. Neither did anyone else, it seemed. They ate mostly in silence, contemplating their hearty meals as much as they did each other. Everyone was either first man or northman, just like Hother had told him. Most were much like him as well, lacking other prospects outside the Citadel. Some seemed far too young to have their lives turned upside down as well, let alone traveling for sennights and moons in winter. Then again, how many more had been close enough to one or more of the executed archmaesters to suffer the same?
The awkwardness stretched long after they finished eating and began nursing what drink they could or couldn't stomach.
Then Mullin dug through his travel pack and pulled out something which he dropped on the table in front of him. A ring of chains. It thunk dully on the wood. "For those who don't know, name's Mullin. No last name."
For someone who could convey everything else so well, the man was short on details when it came to himself. His chain links were barely half the story, and not the best light to judge him by when you counted them. One grey steel link for smithing, one black steel for architecture and engineering, one black iron for ravenry, two silver links for healing or he'd not have been brought on at all. The only standout was the set of three links of grey iron signifying knowledge of warcraft. For a man of three and twenty years sent to the Citadel at eight name days, it was a small number indeed. But they didn't speak of his endurance, his athletics skill or the strength only Hother barely surpassed him in. They didn't talk of his freakish observational skills and his ability to replicate any physical feat within the space of an hour. There was a reason he was considered more a fighter than maester material, and it wasn't lack of a brain. To say nothing of his willingness to cut through any horseshit, like when Boar would wake up and narrowly 'miss' stabbing whichever of them had roused him from his beauty sleep. More than that, the man had an intrinsic ability to lead by example that Luwin had very rarely seen before the past few days.
Mullin was wasted as a scholar, Luwin thought but didn't say. Case in point, everyone soon followed in his proverbial footsteps and presented their own links as well.
There was young Colemon, a thin lad with a long, skinny neck. He had the expected black iron link for ravenry, three links of silver for healing and one link of platinum representing natural science. There was Gulian, short and brown-haired with blue eyes. He had a link of ravenry and two silvers of his own, but also one link of brass for animal husbandry, as well as one of antimony signifying knowledge of the wilds. There was the plump, red-headed Frenken with his two silver, one brass and one antimony, but also a lead link for diplomacy, three whole black iron links in ravenry, and one pewter link in agriculture, cooking and foraging. His friend Medrick came next, their bond clear from the four links of ravenry he brought with him, plus one in warcraft, one copper link for history, and one link for mathematics and economics made of yellow gold.
After so many before him, Tybald Snow seemed to find his courage. He was a red-haired and round-shouldered man with close-set eyes. It would have been easy to dub him a craven from his manner alone during the short time they were together. Luwin wasn't so sure though. No small number of lords considered it a good trait in a maester, he knew. But Tybald's choice of specialties belied it. Three silver for healing, three lead links in diplomacy, one link in mathematics, those were reasonable enough, though healing already demanded a strong stomach. But he also had three brass links for animal husbandry and just as many antimony links in surviving the wild. Didn't speak so much of cowardice as of preference for beasts, perhaps coupled with a hard-earned, more specific fear of men? Highborn men specifically, maybe. A specific highborn man perhaps?
Assuming Luwin wasn't just overreaching.
Tybald's knowledge at his young age seemed to intimidate those remaining. Luwin decided he may as well take his turn. Three silver links for healing, three black iron for ravenry, three copper for history, three links in mathematics made of yellow gold, one lead link for diplomacy, one tin for pottery, one electrum link in logistics, one pewter in agriculture, one bronze in astronomy, he even had three zinc links signifying languages. High Valyrian, Old Ghiscari and Old Tongue, learned from Hother. Hesitating, he then placed the valyrian steel link down as well.
Raising his head, he found most everyone else giving him looks ranging from admiring to intimidated. He tried not to feel overly proud, but it was difficult. At five and ten name days of age, that number of links meant he'd learned three links per year without fail. And finished his time as a scribe younger than most others there had been when they came to the Citadel in the first place.
Hother seemingly decided that was as good a time as any to take a break from going back and forth for new orders and otherwise mothering the increasingly daunted younger generation. He sat down and tossed his ring of links next to the growing pile. Two silver healing, three antimony for surviving the wilds, three agriculture links of pewter, three pottery links of tin, three grey steel links for smithing, three grey iron for warcraft, three electrum links for stewardship and logistics and one yellow gold link of mathematics. Luwin once more resented him being denied the red gold link of jewelcraft. Looking closer, Luwin tried to see if – yes. The zinc link was there as well. It was the first one Hother had gotten, ironically. Without studying for it. He already knew both Common and Old tongues when he came to the Citadel at age eight. At least the maesters didn't deny him that.
"That's it?" One of Luwin's few juniors asked. Harmune, it turned out. Disdainfully too. Probably because he'd somehow somewhere found a skin of wine that he'd been drowning his sorrows in all the while. So much for Hother denying him and the rest of his young age-mates the right to order any spirits worth a damn from the bar. Courage in a flask, Luwin thought drily. "Aren't you, like, dirt-old?"
"Older than any two of you together, you mean?" Hother finished for him, snatching the lad's wineskin away. "Think you're clever, aye? You've had enough today. This is mine till tomorrow."
"No! Gimme that! S'mine!
"No. You're dumb enough without it. And to answer your question, I've been busy."
"You bastard!"
"My pa's a randy cunt but my momma's an honest woman, I'll have you know."
"Busy how?" One of the others asked. Lomys, Luwin thought. The spindly, wispy-haired Reachman. Luwin honestly hoped he toughened fast on the road because he was already worried about his weak constitution. "You could forge your chain right now with all that… I thought…"
"That I'd be a full maester by now?" Hother scoffed. "Better shit to do. Copying books on my own coin and time and sending them home, you follow? Kinda pointless now with all the boatloads setting off, but what can you do? 'Sides, I've learned as much as the Citadel let me of what I wanted. Least without becoming one of'em and no way was I gonna make the vows."
Unfortunately, that admission that he was more than he seemed only served to leave the four boys even more intimidated.
Fortunately, Ryben, who'd been wallowing over having missed the whole episode involving Lord Stark and their distinguished 'friend' the Prince of Dorne, deigned to emerge from his slump enough to break the ice again. "I'll fall on my sword, sure. Why not?" He put down two links of silver, three in history and six links made of zinc, each for one different language. Very few for someone older than Luwin's age, but more in his specialty than anyone else there. Fitting for the Citadel's foremost expert on banned, forbidden, fraudulent, and obscene texts. "High Valyrian, Old Ghiscari, Dothraki, Summer Tongue, Rhoynar," Ryben said blandly. "Even Old Tongue, thanks to the brute over there."
"And not a day goes by when I don't regret it," Umber groused.
Luwin shook his head at the two of them. Ryben never failed to deliver his most prurient gossip. He failed ever more rarely to supply it in Old Tongue when Hother was there. Conversely, Hother never failed to mock him for his grammar and accent being still atrocious compared to little boys of eight name days.
The spectacle did its job at least. For someone of age with Mullin, Ryben had very few links indeed. It finally coaxed compliance out of the last four boys there, none of them older than four and ten. Hother proved to have perfect timing and plied them with warm cups of tea fresh of the stove at precisely the right time. All the while Mullin, sat between them like he was their only pillar of strength.
They boys would be pissing for hours when all the drink caught up to them, but they served their end.
Harmune sullenly showed off his lone antimony link for survivalism and the two silver links they'd all expected. Lomys turned out to have two healing links of his own, one ravenry, one mathematics link in gold, and even one of electrum in logistics. It was Wendamyr Pike, though (a bastard son of Lord Harlaw of the Iron Islands!) that could well turn out to be one of the most important of them all: besides the two silver links as healer, he had two blue steel links in seamanship. Which, in Citadel terms, meant less navigation and more the design and construction of watercraft. The lad also came with one link in warcraft and had been well on the way to getting his first black steel in engineering as well when the Great Deratting hit.
"Why are you even here?" Harmune asked sullenly. Suspicious too, but mostly sullen. "You could go back home with your blue steel alone."
"Because my old man was gonna kill me," Wendamyr flatly said, shutting him up quite nicely. "Never was much for finger dance, see? Big shame for the Lord of Harlaw to have such a coward grown out of his seed, if you follow me. Gave my mama to the drowned men, he did. Turns out what's dead just stays dead most of the time. My trueborn brother's the one who got me outta there. Joke's on the old cunt, though. Rodrik likes reading even more than I do."
Doubtlessly it was more complex than that, but everything was. "And then you got tangled with the grey rats," Luwin guessed.
"Unfortunately."
At the end, only young Rhodry was left. He had three links of silver and nothing else. The scrutinising stares he received were not borne with any sort of grace. The boy seemed on the verge of bursting into tears of humiliation before anyone even said anything. As if it was a small thing to be able to brew poisons, make medicines and sew people back together when you were just… "Rhodry, how old are you?"
"… Two and ten."
What? How early did he get his growth spurt? That was too young, too young by far! Did he not have anyone-?
"How long've you been at the citadel," Ryben asked before Luwin could, prompting a sharp look from Hother and Mullin both.
"Six name days."
Far too young, but that made six years for just three links? Something smelled ripe, and not in a good way. "Rhodry," Luwin said slowly as his thoughts sought the puzzle pieces missing from his mind. "When did you become an acolyte?"
"… This year."
That was an even bigger puzzle piece than he expected. Except it didn't fit anywhere at all. "When exactly?"
"… Eight moonturns ago? Nine?"
"You mean to tell me…" Luwin said flatly. "That you stayed a novice for five years and change?"
"I guess…"
"You mean to tell me," Luwin pushed, unimpressed with his shameful tone. "That you then somehow earned three links in less than a year?"
The lad seemed to shrink on himself, as if he weren't already. "I'd already been learning on my own time?"
"Except that only acolytes treat novices like they're lackwits, not the maesters. And you couldn't have gotten far with just the open lectures. Healing requires -"
"Luwin," Mullin said suddenly, looking at him pointedly. "Methinks you're sounding upset he went one better."
Did the man just imply Luwin was feeling inferior to that small child? Luwin paused at the uncharacteristic behaviour. Mullin didn't tease often. Actually, Luwin barely remembered him teasing anyone ever, unless it was to distract them from-
His mental puzzle suddenly found the unexpected piece slotting in far too easily. Looking over Rhodry more carefully, it occurred to Luwin that he sat closest to Mullin but far from the next man over. In fact, now that he thought about it, he'd stuck to the man closest all that time but always farthest apart from everyone else. Maybe not a self-centered cheat before his first shorthair, then. But if not that, then what?
"Right," he said, hoping he wasn't giving anything away. "My apologies, young one. I got a little carried away there."
"… You're not much older than me but whatever."
Their table fell under an odd, not entirely comfortable silence as people stopped just that tiny bit short of the point where they dared make small talk.
Luwin preferred it. He had a lot to think about. A boy of two and ten with voice barely half-way broken had learned three links in one of the most demanding subjects in less time than Luwin managed when he was at his best. Yet, somehow, that talent hadn't emerged for over five years leading up to it. Even accounting for the year it might have taken the boy to learn his letters in Scribe's Hearth, that left five years just gone to waste. What had he been doing all that time?
Or, perhaps, what had been done to him that he was held back for so long?
Bullying perhaps? Somehow, he didn't think so.
It was only later that day while they were getting ready to leave that he caught Mullin alone and discreetly inquired further on the situation. The answer left him feeling sick.
"Be glad you already knew your letters when you arrived," Mullin said lowly once he concluded his sordid explanation. "Kid only got set loose when his growth spurt came in and his voice broke. Fuckers lost interest after that. Or that's what I'm letting the kid think. He would've turned up dead in a ditch long before this if that were it. I figure he's pretty enough that the good maester at the Scribe's Hearth might've put the word out with the wrong people in advance. Or they were planning to send him back to the septons that raised him to it, once he was old enough for different tastes. Who the fuck even knows what deals are made in the mansions of the pious?"
Holy fuck. "You mean-"
"Yes."
"The maester-
"Not in the rats."
"Fuck."
"Lord Stark put a word with Ser Baelor Hightower the day before yesterday, but who knows if anything comes of it?"
Would anything come of it at all? "How do you know all this?" Luwin weakly asked when he had no other words left.
"Found the kid in an alley. Right mess of fright he was. Got him away just before the Hightower patrol passed by. Kid was finally starting to understand how messed up his life was. Thought the purge was because of the ones who'd done all that to him. He didn't take it well when I told him what was really going on. That's when the whole story came spilling out."
They left Oldtown within a turn of the hourglass that same New Year's Day, well before the first garlands and streamers timidly rose into the air. Either the people of Oldtown were too afraid to celebrate anything while the Stark was there, or the Hightowers had stomped on any plans for such until the northmen left. That Baelor Hightower personally escorted their party out of the city – lacking his eponymous 'brightsmile' the whole way – made Luwin lean towards the second possibility.
New Year's Day. Luwin had completely forgotten about it. And by the time he was reminded, he just didn't care. His mind was too occupied with thoughts of maesters, septons and mass purges.
He'd thought it had gone too far. Now he was seriously wondering if maybe it hadn't gone far enough.
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