A Game of Thrones - Winter Chills | AGameOfThrones-WinterChills / Rhys Comes to Holdfast browse

(This takes place shortly before the Holdfast Fair thread; it's background for Rhys)

It had been a long, long journey, both by sea and by land. And it had been cold, colder in the last miles as the caravan of Dornish spice had travelled up the Kingsway from the White Harbour.

Now, since the smaller group of wagins gad turned off from the Kingsroad to take the road through the forest, the great Wolfswood, it had been errie as well. When they stopped at night, the had huddled around their fire and listened to the wolves howl. Over the crackle and roar of the logs in the fire, there had been pther strange creaks and groans in the forest too ... and gruntings too.

"Boar," said one of the Northerners who was riding with them. Pity we don't have time to hunt."

None of the Dornish were anxious to stop. Hunting was very different in the South. They huddled deeper into their furred cloaks and muttered prayers to the Seven to protect them.

All the next morning they followed the narrow track between the dense trees. Holdfast must be easily defensible, it would seem - an army must march down a track little wider than a wagon width. And over heard, stretching high, that oppressive dark green canopy of the trees.

It was early afternoon before the man riding as look-out gave a shout. The tallest turrets of Holdfast could be seen above the trees.

Rhys took the news with ambivalence. He'd welcome stone walls around him and the opportunity not to have to sit on a horse all day and some good, hot food...but on the other hand, part of him had no desire to stay here in the North and wanted to continue on with the traders as they once again headed south to warmer climes.

Once he had been excited to see snow. The novelty wore off all too soon. Rhys longed for the warm sands and bright sun of Dorne, to once again run bare-footed and shirtless and feel the sun bake into his skin. He doubted the people here ever ran anywhere barefoot, much less expose any part of themselves to the bitter wind and that weak sun.

Regardless, his great-uncle had sent for him, and after all these months of travel, he was finally here. What was Sewell like? he wondered. Old, certainly....kind or mean-spirited? Did he still have his teeth? Did he smell? Old people smelled funny to Rhys. What if he was mean and smelled and had no teeth and hair growing out of odd places and Rhys had to stay here with him forever? What then?

Trying not to dwell on the very vivid picture he'd managed to paint for himself, Rhys sat tall on top his horse and watched for his first glimpse of Holdfast.

The tree were thinning out and parting, and there were coming to small buildings - shabby and mean at first, just hovels. This was the small town of Holdfast that clung to the Castle Walls, where lived the smallfolk who tended the few fields cleared in the forest, and pursued other forest-based occupations. As they rode further into the town, the houses became more substantial - an indication that the little town was prosperous.

But everything was made out of wood, a substance Rhys had never (before this journey) seen employed in the construction of dwellings. There was no stone - apart from the Castle iself, nor any sign of adobe, or even the wattle and daub that had been common in some of the lands they had traversed. No - it was all wood.

He stared, unaware if he was being rude.

The gates of the Castle were open and they could ride in. Not so large as Winterfell (they had passed a night beneath its walls), but it was still of an impressive size and age.

There were small boys to one side, drilling with sticks in pretend combat. They looked up curiously as the caravan came in, but a shot from their armsmaster soon brought their attention back to the matter in hand.

Word must have been sent ahead, for people were waiting for them - a man who was clearly the steward, ready to commence negotiations, several kitchen porters, and a tall dark man, his hair and beard grizzled with grey, who stood aloof and austere, watching the others with brooding eyes.

It was not only the heavy Maester's chain around his neck that seemed to tell Rhys that this was his great uncle.

Rhys studied him. Old...yes...but not frail and bent-over. And certainly not dull in his wits with old age--Rhys saw that from the way the man watched the others. He continued to study the old maester until the maester found him in the caravan. Before eye contact was made, Rhys averted his gaze and looked the other way.

"Rhys."

The voice was closer than he expected, with a deep, rich power. It sounded more like the voice of a man in the prime of his life rather than one stricken in years. When he turned to look at the his great uncle, he saw that he had somehow appeared to cross much more of the courtyard more quickly than Rhys would have expected from so dignified a man, advanced in years.

Maester Sewell was smiling in greeting.

He has his teeth, Rhys noticed.

"Let Rhik take your horse," he said, beckoning a boy iin the livery of the castle forward. "You and I shall go to my Tower where a fire burns to warm you, and I have spiced wine to cheer you."

Rhys passed his leg over his horse's neck and slid off with the grace and ease of long practice. Even at fifteen, Rhys still had to look up at his great-uncle. He bowed to Sewell the customary one-armed greeting of the Dornish merchantmen, the bow not as graceful as the dismount. "Thank you, sir. I would be most grateful."

The Maester regarded him with a certain approval. "Good, boy. This way."

He led off across the courtyard with a swift, ground-eating stride, to a tall tower that stood to one end of the castle, with its own entrance.

Rhys glanced back over his shoulder at the caravan, but they were already making preparations to stay for a few days and in the bustle of arrival no one was paying any attention to him.

He turned and ran a few steps to catch up with the maester, then matched his stride.

"The lower floors," he said, as they began to climb, "are the library - such as it is. The Hardies have never been great book readers, you'll find. An old family, and an honorable one, with the blood of the First Ones proud in their veins, but readers? No. I attempt to pound the rudiments of learning into the boys and their older cousins, but I believe they see my lessons as chances to catch their breath between bouts in the tilting yard."

Rhys grinned to himself.

'As it has ever been with the Hardies, I suspect," [Sewell continued,] "But they have the respect that the unlettered sometimes show for learning - this is a good place to be a Maester, Rhys, if you want to study - well, certain branches of knowledge."

He turned and smiled down at his climbing nephew. "Although mayhap you're set on a course as a merchant of Dorne, and I will not say I'd blame you. The way of the Maester is hard and lobnely. Very lonely."

Rhys looked back at him quizzically, but said nothing. He had no interest in becoming a maester. As a merchant he could travel, see new sights, learn new things, life would never be dull...or lonely.

They had reached the third floor now, and Sewell indicated a half-closed door. "Our sleeping quarters. We'll share a bed for warmth - you'll discover the nights here can be cold." He smiled more broadly. "Yes, colder than the days. I dareasy you think it's been cold already - but we've had some mild nights recently - for the Fair is nearly here."

"Yes, the caravan master mentioned wanting to stay through the Fair. It would be an ideal venue for him to sell and buy wares," Rhys replied as he looked around. "I thought it was already pretty cold...though I was sleeping outside and not in a bed...so just how cold does it get here?" He looked at his great-uncle askance.

"Very," said the Maester drily. "Not so bad at the moment - it is summer, after all. And you'll be spared the sight of the snow lying so deep that it reaches the steps we climbed to the entrance to this tower. Fires roar day and night here in winter, in a bid to warm the stones enough for us to live - although we still end up with chillblains ... In summer we just need them by night. Now, leave you things here and I'll take you to my study."

Rhys dropped his saddlebags as bidden, scooting them up against the wall as not to be in the way, then followed his great-uncle.

Sewell led the way up to the top of the tower. Whereas, on lower floor, the rooms were bulit in segments around the central screw of the spiral stairs, this top level was flat and open - indeed, there was a trapdoor that could be lowered over the staircase, sealing it off and creating on vast room.

Within there was a desk, and several long tables, two of which were covered with charts. Near one window was a curious device, wihich seemed to be circles of glass arranged at irregular intervals in a framework of delicate wrought iron that presented the form of a large open cylinder. Two more of the long tables also held an assortment of glasswork - beakers and alembics and curious devices of copper.

One wall held a bookcase with more than twenty books - some of which were in the style of one which was open by the charts, its pages half-filled with small, neat handwriting.

Another wall held open shelves on which were arranged a vast variety of phials and small wooden boxes. Pinned to the top of this were drying herbs.

And there were windows, all with heavy shiutters, but not opened wide to catch the sunlight.

Rhys whistled in appreciation as he slowly turned around, taking in the entire room, his eyes wide. He settled on the curious device of glass and wrought iron and walked over to marvel at it. "Sir, what is this? What does it do?"

"Ah," said Sewell. "Well that ... that is a work in progress, you might say. I am greatly interested in studying the stars."

The young man studied the device from various angles as the maester talked, careful not to touch it.

"Indeed, one of my more useful contributions to ... ah ... our knowledge has been my study of the Northern skies - a subtly different perspective than one acquires in Dorne. You may have observed that on your journey?" He looked hopefully at Rhys.

Rhys stood up straight and regarded his great-uncle. "Yes...the constellations I knew in Dorne gradually slipped down below the horizon as we travelled north, replaced with stars I am unfamiliar with."

The Maester beamed. "Excellent! Excellent! A sound observation! Now ... we shall have to set you to some studying of the Northern sky. Early next month, I think I can promise you shooting stars."

[Rhys] looked back down at the glass and iron, absorbed by it. "I've heard tell that the world is flat and that it is round. Most men believe it is flat--it certainly looks that way, doesn't it?--but I think I agree with those that believe it's round. If the world was flat, then the constellations would get smaller as I travelled away from them. They did not. They stayed the same size but disappeared below the horizon. This is what would happen if the world was round like a ball and the stars were..."

Rhys suddenly trailed off, feeling his face turn red. Most of his countrymen didn't care to listen to his speculations: he was young and his ideas sometimes went against popular tradition. Why would the maester be any different? He risked a glance in Sewell's direction.

"At all events, I have been working on a device that will ... ah ... make the stars appear closer. Hmmm. Have you ever seen the effect when you look through a glass-leaded window? That sometimes the glass can make things appear closer or further away? Do you know why that is?"

Rhys thought about that a moment, his brow puckered in thought, then shook his head. "I've really no idea. Can you explain it?"

"It's to do with the shape of the glass," said Sewell, "Come over here."

He led the way to once of the tables, which was covered with a silken cloth. He lifted it, and Rhys saw that underneath was another silken cloth, with various circular piece of glass laid out, each about the size of his palm.

"Choose one," said the Maester, "and pick it up. By the edges, mind! We don't want grease or dirt from your fingers getting on the glass. And be careful - it takes me many hours of grinding to get each lens as I want it."

He watched Rhys closely as he carried out his instructions.

Rhys wiped his right hand on his shirtfront, then gingerly picked up the piece of glass closest to him. By the edges.

"Now ... look at your hand, and tell me how seeing it through the glass changes it."

He gazed at his other hand through the glass, then smiled. "Hey! It's bigger! I can see...I can see the hair on my fingers...How...?" Rhys looked up at Sewell. "It's just the shape of the glass? Why does that work?"

Sewell smiled. "It's a complicated process, Rhys. I've been experimenting with glass for some time. A fascininating substance - if the conditions are right, you can even create fire with it. But that should all be for another day, if you are interested. For now I'll tell you - The tube of glass lenses is an eperiment I am carrying out - or rather a series of experiments - to see if I can read the stars more accurately. If you wish, you can join me by night and we'll wach the stars together."

"I'd like that, thank you," Rhys replied enthusiastically.

He smiled. "There are compensations in a Maester's life, Rhys."

That caught Rhys up short. He looked at his great-uncle. "I'd rather be a trader, sir. I want to travel, see things, learn knew things...I want a family. You can't have a family as a maester, can you? Vows of celibacy?"

Sewell laughed. "I've no desire to undercut your ambitions as a trader, Rhys. Later on, when you know Holdfast a little better, we can talk about trade routes that might profit you involving the Castle and the town. All I wanted to assure you was that if you love learning, there are worse lives than a Maester's to live.

"Now, would you like to something of the herbs I have here? Some are bought from traders ... and some are local. Culinary and medicinal."

Rhys nodded. "Do any grow here locally?" he asked, the expression on his face dubious. "With all the cold..."

Sewell smiled. Another property of glass," he said. I haven't been able to do much, for glass is so terribly expensive. Fortunately, Lady Hardy enjoys the fact that she is able to offer her guests fresh fruit even in the depth of winter, and so funds have been made available. Then too, some of the Maesters at Oldtown were interested in my experiments ... " He turned back to the centre of the room, where the trapdoor was. "Come, and I shall show you."

The dubious look back in full, Rhys followed his great-uncle.

He led them back down the stairs, through the courtyard and then through a narrow gate in the wall. Beyond there was asmall garden, planted with such flowering plants as could take advantage of the cooler northern temperature and be prepared to rest during the long, hard Northern winters. Beyond this garden and through a gate was a second, more extensive garden, given up to what vegetables could be grown in the climate (there was space given for things that thrived in cold, such as root vegetables and the small hard round sprouts that tasted best when the frost had been on them.

Against the most sheltered wall was a strange-shaped structure of glass, built against the wall - lage enough for a man to stand upright, and perhaps six feet long. Inside, the floor was thickly lined with strsw, and so too was the wall the glass building stoo against.

"Straw is an excellent insulator," Sewell said. "I am told you can cook in straw. You heat a pot of stew , place it in a box lined with straw, and by the end of the day the stew is cooked." The lifted a hand to his chin. "Hmmm ... that may be worth some experimentation."

There were shelves in the glass buidling, wooden shelves, carefully spaced and arranged to catch the most sunlight, and to leave space for plants to grow. Already there were plants bearing small green tomatoes.

"It's...warm in here..." Rhys stated the obvious, some wonder in his voice. "How...? Is it all due to the straw?" He paused, then turned to the glass wall and placed his hand up next to it, blinking against the light of the afternoon sun...and basking in the heat. "It's the glass," he concluded. His brow furrowed. "You said earlier that you could start a fire with glass. It somehow concentrates the heat of the sun?"

"A burning glass, yes," said Sewell. He reached into the pocket of his robes and removed a small velvet pouch which he held out to his nephew. "Here. Take this out - holding it by the edges again. So you see that pile of leaves? Interpose the glass between the sun and them. When you hold it at a correct distance, you'll see the sunlight through it concentrated to a small point. Hold it there, and see what happens."

Rhys took the pouch and slipped out the round piece of glass inside. He held it up, noticing it was thick in the middle and thin around the edge. With a glance back at Sewell, Rhys walked over to the corner of the glass room and scraped the leaves together into a tighter pile. He held the glass between the leaves and the sun, and a pale circle of light appeared on the pile. Interested now, Rhys found that by bringing the glass closer to the leaves, the circle became smaller and brighter...up to a point. If he got it too close, the circle turned larger and paler again. Rhys pulled back the glass until the circle was at its smallest and brightest. "Here?" he asked Sewell, looking up at him. "Now what?"

"Look at the leaves," said Sewell softly.

They were beginning to smoke.

Startled, Rhys almost dropped the glass. "Amazing..." he breathed, watching as the smoke grew into a small orange glow and a hole appeared in one of the leaves as it caught fire. He stood and stomped it out before the fire could spread and handed the glass back to Sewell. "Did they teach this to you at the Citadel?" he asked. By the wistful epression on Rhys's face, Sewell could hear the question behind the question: What other fascinating things do they teach there?

Sewell chuckled. "They taught me the principles. More importantly, they taught me how to study and observe and experiment so that I might profit in ways that could not be forseen. That is what the training of a Maester means.

Rhys's expression turns thoughtful.

"Now, more importantly, it is nearly time to dine, and you are still in your travel dirt. Run and put on your best finery - Lord and Lady Hardy are away on a visit, and we shall both dine on the High Table with the Hardy children - a measure of the honour a Maester is accorded here."

That honor was unexpected, and the surprise showed clearly on Rhys's face. "Will the caravan master be there too?"

"Below the salt," said Sewell. "Even on an informal evening such as this, our Lady's attitude to trade is respected. Traders she uses, but sees no reason to dine with them." His tone suggested a faint amused scorn. "It's a reason why she finds the River Wold such an outrage - but not the only one."

Rhys's ears perked up at the unusual name. Definitely a story or two there, but now was not the time to ask. "What are the children's names, and how old are they, if I may ask?"

"There's Lord Hardy's sons," said Sewell. "Kenrith and Godwyn. They've not had it easy. Their mother died with Godwyn was naught be a babe, and they're not liking their stepmama. Then there's Ser Godfrey's three - Gavrin's about Godwyn's age - he shadows him as Godwyn shadows Kenrith. Then there's the girl, Syndra, and the baby - Trey - although he's out of leading strings now. His mother's expecting her fourth. Too soon, I'd say - she had a hard time with Trey. But ... we must see. Ser Godfrey comes home but rarely these days - Lord Stark keeps him employed."

Rhys nodded with an intent look, committing the information to memory as a good Dornish trader would. "Thank you for inviting me to Holdfast. I'm sure I will enjoy my visit. My family sends greetings to you, and pray that the Seven may smile upon you." The little speech had the inflection of prepared lines, something Rhys had practiced to say. He bowed the Dornish one-armed bow again, then left Sewell to run back across the courtyard to the remnants of the caravan.

Categories: WinterChillsGameLogs, CastleHoldfast