The dawn broke over Highgarden, the Sun rays poured like golden mist, its white towers rising like Titans from a sea of dew-kissed greenery. Vines shimmering as if dusted by gold, while the air hummed with the drone of bees and the soft trill of thrushes. Rickard Flint stood amidst his retinue catching one last look at Highgarden's opulence. His white colt, Rosetail, pawed the earth, its saffron-tipped mane catching the dawn's glow.
Colton Holt turned. "Young master, We will depart for King's Landing to recruit craftsmen for our fief. By the grace of The Old Gods, May you be successful in securing a maester."
Rickard nodded, his gaze steady. "By the grace of The Old Gods, may you find skilled hands to bolster our lands, Ser Colton. But tread carefully—failure is no shame. We can afford to move slowly."
"Young master, your task is more difficult," Colton replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Convincing the old fogis of the Citadel is no small feat compared to swaying a few smallfolk. I'll have Hugh, Edric, and Attwel to aid me." He turned to Ralph Sedlow and Vulfgar Helm. "Keep our young lord safe and lend him your strength."
The two knights responded in unison, their voices resolute. "That goes without saying. The young lord's success is our own. May the Old Gods guide us all."
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The roads of the Reach unfurled like a master bard's ballad, each mile a verse of untamed splendor. Fields of rye and oats swayed in golden waves. Orchards laden with peaches and plums marked the sides of the road. Ancient hedgerows, tangled with blackberries and dog-roses, buzzed with life, their thorns glinting like tiny daggers in the light. The Mander coiled beside the path, its waters a ribbon of turquoise flecked with the shadows of herons gliding low. Villages dotted the way, their thatched roofs wreathed in woodsmoke, where children darted through meadows ablaze with cornflowers, their laughter a counterpoint to the creak of oxcarts.
At dusk, they lodged in hamlets too small for names, inns with sagging beams and hearths that roared like dragons. Some days they were able rest the night at some local village inn, able to hear chatter of local gossip - miller's daughter eyeing the village chad too coquettishly, Winemaker's wife allegedly getting caught in bed with some traveling bard who stayed a day here, while they ate their fill. They also had to camp in wilderness sometimes, gazing stars while they dreamt sweet dreams. Rickard, especially, savored these moments. On the one hand South's scenery, particularly as fertile as Reach, is absolutely breathtaking; on the other hand, if he succeeds in his goals for future, he wouldn't have time to travel like now.
Oldtown rose after a fortnight revealing The tower of legends, The Citadel, the bustling city surrounding it. Wharves bustled with ships—carracks from Lys, galleys from Tyrosh—their sails a mosaic of color against the river's embrace.Streets paved with ancient stone twisted past guildhalls and septs.
Rickard's party stayed at The Ivy Rest, a modest inn tucked in an ally where Ivy climbed the walls. Its furniture creaked with age, and the common room smelled like ale and freshly baked bread. Rickard gathered Ralph, Vulfgar, and Henry by a corner table, the din of merchants and sailors a shield for their words.
"Oldtown's a web," Ralph Sedlow said, his voice low to avoid being heard by others. "Young lord, We should carefully search if there is anyone that can help us."
"And how will we do that? We don't know anyone here. I suspect a letter from the heir of Highgarden should be enough, even if it wasn't we don't have enough money to pay requisite fees for a new maester. Surely, Citadel won't turn us away empty-handed, is it?" Rickard questioned, his voice showing a hint of concern.
Ralph looked at Rickard with honey in his eyes. "Young master, trust me. I can wrung out secrets from this old town. Watch me."
Vulfagar also chimed in lazily "Young lord, I can vouch for Ralph's ability. I'll also help by visiting taverns to collect all the information they have."
"Ain't you only going there to get drunk?" Ralph questioned Vulfgar while Vulfagar only let out a dry chuckle "I promise you, I'll honestly work this time."
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By morning, the party ventured into the citadel, its gates flanked by sphinxes of weathered stone, their eyes seeming to judge all who passed. Sphinx looked like fantasy chimeras,with a lion's body, an eagle's wings, and the tail consisting of a serpent, except one had a face of a man, another woman. When Rickard walked past the sphinxes into the citadel, what seemed to be the reception hall welcomed him.
Reception hall of the citadel was vast, strewn with numerous people who yearned for a sliver of grace from the most wise men of this world. This gaggle contained both people from the outside world who came to seek a maester for their holds or assistance for their troubles and aspirations, and those souls who wanted to be like wise men of the citadel and walk their path.
Of course, the citadel's reception hall had a receptionist. A youngish man clad in grey robes sat upon a raised dais busily noting down names of those who entered. Rickard slowly walked up to him and spoke in a steady voice. "Good morning, I am Rickard Flint, heir to Flint's finger. I am here to request a maester from the citadel."
The receptionist looked at Rickard and nodded his head and scribbled his name in the ledger he was holding. "I have noted down your name. You'll be called when appropriate."
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Rickard sat down on a stone bench present in the hall along with his party. They waited a couple of hours. Ralph Sedlow attracted the attention of Rickard. "Ahem, Young lord, It seems like some of the people who got here after us are going before us."
Rickard nodded and smiled wryly. "Your observation is as good as mine. Why do you think this is happening? Do they have some sort of influence? Or is their luck is just better than ours? Or have you discovered something else?"
Ralph nodded in agreement. "I have discovered something,Young lord. Those who are called now have silently passed a penny to the scribe."
Rickard walked upto the scribe again and spoke thusly. "May I ask when will our turn come? Flint's finger is in desperate need of a maester."
The scribe looked up and stared at Rickard disdainfully. "The seneschal is an important person. He tends to the matters most important in all of the realm. He doesn't have the time for some backwater noble at the drop of the hat." While saying it he secretly extended his hand.
Rickard acted on cue and discretely handed him a penny. The scribe smiled sheepishly
"It is most unfortunate that one of the fief in the seven kingdoms is without a maester. This is definitely counts as one the most important tasks in the realm. I'll call you next."
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The Seneschal received Rickard and his retinue in his chamber lined with tomes of scrolls and books, air thick with scent of parchment that one can only smell in ancient libraries.His beard was a cascade of silver, his eyes sharp despite his age.
Rickard bowed slightly to the old man. "Honoured Seneschal, I , Rickard Flint, come to seek a maester for my fief. I humbly beseech you for a maester who has expertise in building castles, harbours, cities as well as someone who has well studied our customs and laws."
Seneschal slowly massaged his beard and slowly spoke. "You're a lad from the north, isn't it? Is your fief closer to the Iron Islands? Yes. You should have had a maester some time before there. You know the reason you've currently no maester there. Right?"
Rickard acknowledged with a nod. "Honoured Seneschal, I have prepared a large donation for the needs of the citadel. House Flint will give their fair share to you." As Rickard was saying this he also presented the letter from Willas Tyrell.
The Seneschal arched his eyebrows and took the letter and read through it. "Good. It seems you are not completely clueless how to properly go about things. This letter will certainly help smooth things over. Based on how much you donate to the citadel you might get your preferred maester instead of maester preferred by the council. Present this along with your donation three days from today at the council meeting you'll be getting what you want." Seneschal returned the letter along with a badge. "Show this badge to the scribe who sits in the front, he shall be your guide to the council."
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That afternoon Rickard and retinue returned to The Ivy Rest. Ralph along with others left to gather any information they could after the meal. Night fell on the inn in due time and Rickard's retinue met back at the inn.
Ralph started first. "I have heard of a maester called Murenmure, who is skilled in herbcraft and is second to none in legal matters as far as new maesters are concerned. Young master, I think this is the best maester we can get right now from what I can collect."
"Does this maester come from noble class or smallfolk?"
"As far I know this maester is not from any noble house. He has very ordinary looks but on the slimmer side. I also don't think he comes from any wealthy smallfolk house or influential one."
Rickard furrowed his eyebrows "Then we only know he doesn't have any allegiance to those people. What about the citadel? Can he be trusted to not tell everything to them?"
"We can't ever be fully certain of this fact. But as far as what I've heard, he is very particular about following the laws verbatim. "
After some time they went down to the tavern to have a meal. A pale and gaunt man approached their table. "I'm Pate. May I ask, are you here looking for a maester?"
Vulfar replied coolly. "No, we are here to eat."
Pate slightly perturbed "I'm asking you the purpose of you coming to Oldtown is to look for maester for your fief."
Ralph looked at Pate intensely. "And what if we are? Do you have anything that can help us?"
Pate swallowed saliva. "I know a maester who might interest you. He is great at building castles and can build you the greatest of cities. If you're interested I can tell you more."
Rickard, who was carefully observing him, asked. "Can we meet this maester? If so, when?"
"Young master, Aren't you too hasty in meeting an unknown person? But why do you think we can meet this maester immediately?" Ralph calmly asked.
Rickard turned to Pate "Can't we? You sound like you were sent by the maester."
Pate was surprised. "It is as you say sire. We can go there immediately if you wish."
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Pate brought the Rickard and his retinue to Little Duck, a relatively luxurious inn in much better streets than The Ivy Rest. Pate hurriedly went to meet the maester and came back swiftly. "Maester Turquin welcomes and bid you to join him."
Rickard nodded. "Lead the way,then."
Inside the private room a middle aged man with head full of pepper and salt hair wearing maester's robes sat, his neck adorned with maester's chain,upon a mahogany chair.
The private room came with a small decorated fireplace. Its walls are decorated with portraits and murals. A ebony wood table in the middle of the room surrounded by four mahogany chairs, one of which was already occupied by the maester. The room also had glassed windows on either side of the fireplace which was half covered by dark straw colored curtains.
The maester motioned Rickard's party to sit. "I am called Turqin. I came to know you were looking for a maester. My foremost expertise lies in building aqueducts. But I also can handle any other stonework and some metalwork. I have recently put my efforts into studying where and how to find various metals. I believe my expertise would help your house more than anyone."
Rickard didn't show anything on his face and calmly asked. "Maester Turqin, If I remember correctly it is the citadel that appoints maesters to houses. They may take into consideration the opinions of the house they are selecting maester for, but in no way they are obligated to allow any house to pick a maester. I am also curious as to why you want to leave citadel to serve any house,in perticular my own. The citadel surely has more knowledge that can interest you than any house in all of seven kingdoms."
Turqin sighed and shook his head. " I like to tinker and build things. All you can do in the citadel is study and build small things in the small room. I am a son of a shoemaker, lacking any support from anyone here. Even though by accepting to go to a house, I may forgo the opportunity for studying countless tomes in the citadel. I think I'll be happier."
Rickard noted Turqin's answer. "Absolutely your goal completely aligns with mine very well. But I also require a maester who is very proficient in laws of Westeros because I plan to streamline all laws and implement some new laws within my fief. While I do want to build an aqueduct similar to the sweetwater river of Braavos it can't be done for a while. So, I prefer maester to Flint's finger to have a solid understanding of legal systems. Pardon me maester."
Maester Turqin became silent and caressed his chin with hands in deep thought. After a while the maester corrected his posture and asked Rickard. "Do you have anything that can influence the council?"
"I have a letter from the heir of the Highgarden."
Maester Turqin's countenance became more solemn, he ushered his words more slowly and more confidently. "Then all you need to do is to donate at least one million dragons then they will listen to your request and grant it."
Rickard thought for a while "We have Flint's Finger castle and a small town called Flinton. What if I promised them One million gold now and fifty thousand every year for ten years would they let me take the two maester I chose?"
Maester Turqin was taken back from the audacious question from the noble youth. "It is definitely worth a try if you really want to. You should ask a Seneschal to be sure.But never divulge that you can pay that much instead tell them you need the service of two maesters and specify their name. Then ask them what sort of donation is appropriate for such august help from the citadel. They'll ask for a similar amount you specified."