No matter how powerful a wizard is, their strength lies only in the realm of mysticism. In every other aspect, eating, drinking, bodily needs, aging, sickness, death, they are flesh and blood, just like any mortal.
In this world, there are two major schools of thought. One is hard science, represented by the city of Oldtown, where every bit of knowledge is grounded in tangible science. Maesters there study architecture, metallurgy, medicine, flora and fauna, astronomy, geography, astrology, and the changing seasons. Every noble household has a maester who has passed Oldtown's rigorous exams, an all-knowing advisor who handles any problem requiring expertise.
Opposite to the maesters' scientific knowledge lies mysticism. This includes prophecy, magic, alchemy distinct from the maesters' methods, theology, necromancy, and more. Mystical knowledge cannot be understood or explained through scientific means, it simply defies rational explanation.
Those who practice mysticism include wizards, priests, silent sisters, clerics, monks, warlocks, shadowbinders, bishops, monks, outcasts, and green seers, among others.
Gregor Clegane had ambitions to change his fate. To do so, he needed capable people from all fields under his banner. He came with Jeyne and Lord Gawen to find the witch, appealing to her with reason and emotion, but the witch remained unmoved. Her response to Jeyne and Lord Gawen was colder still, devoid of any familial warmth.
Gregor asked, "Grandmother, don't you want to come to the Seven-Gods Chapel in Clegane's Keep"
"That's not my home." she replied.
"Neither is this place your home."
"I've grown used to it here."
"You'd be more comfortable somewhere else. You need help with daily life now, Grandmother. You're old."
"The chosen children of the gods do not fear aging or death."
"Uh… alright then." Gregor hesitated before continuing, "Grandmother, do your gods tell you what I'm about to do next?"
Her murky yellow eyes pierced through her long hair as she stared at Gregor, her expression terrifying.
Her refusal was clear.
No wizard knows everything. Many specialize in only one field, like the fire sorcerers in King's Landing, who study wildfire but know little of other mystic arts.
Wizards spend long hours in labs concocting strange potions, leaving them physically weak and frail. Older wizards especially need caretakers, usually apprentices.
Their combat skills are no better than ordinary folk; any swordsman could easily take down a group of them.
Gregor did not stand but, from across the table, gently lifted the witch up. She grew furious and cursed him through her clenched teeth, but it was useless. Gregor held her firmly, stood, and strode toward the door.
Though the door was closed, Gregor did not open it by hand, he charged at it with a powerful crash, shattering it to pieces.
Jeyne and Lord Gawen were stunned!
The witch's small wooden hut creaked and wobbled, nearly collapsing from the shock.
Jeyne and Gawen hurried outside, fearing the entire shack might fall at any moment.
Gregor placed the cursing witch onto the carriage. She struggled to get off, but Gregor held up a hand to block her.
To the witch, Gregor's hand was an unbreakable wall.
Gregor spoke respectfully, "Grandmother, you may curse me all you want, but you will not leave this carriage. If you do, I will burn all your potions and your house to the ground. And I will punish the neighbors on this whole street."
The many potion bottles and herbal supplies around her were her lifeblood. The witch was old and relied heavily on the neighbors' help for daily life.
She paused, no longer daring to leave the carriage. She slumped back, cursing Gregor wildly with frantic gestures. She even dragged into her tirade her deceased husband, her two sons, grandchildren Sybell and Rolph, Samwell, Lord Gawen, her grandson-in-law, and great-granddaughter Jeyne, all were cursed.
Twenty-two years ago, ten-year-old Cersei Lannister threatened to burn the witch's house and hang her from a tree to force the witch to reveal her future. This showed the witch's physical strength was effectively zero. She may have had hidden deadly means, but certainly not through brute force.
Perhaps due to some taboo, or the disappearance of dragons, she could not use dark magic freely to kill.
In this world, the dragons' complete disappearance caused magic scrolls and spells to fade and die out. Magic power waned, and wizards lost their dominant status. maesters from the academic city seized the opportunity to rise, gaining more power daily. The king's royal advisors and noble assistants were now maesters; wizards were completely excluded from high politics and noble influence.
Gregor asked Lord Gawen to hire a guard and rent an ox cart. Together, they packed all the witch's bottles, plants, and herbs onto the cart. The witch dared not get off, standing on Jeyne's carriage, cursing and yelling at them for misarranging her precious potions.
Lady Jeyne stood aside, cradling a kitten, marveling at her grandmother's fiery temper and relentless energy for insults.
Half an hour later, everything was packed, and the witch had worn herself out with cursing. Jeyne didn't dare ride with the witch and mounted Gregor's horse instead. Gregor usually switched horses three times when riding out.
Gregor sent a guard to buy a small barrel of oil from a shop on the street. Amid the witch's furious curses and stomping, Gregor poured the oil onto the roof of her wooden hut, then tossed a torch up.
Flames burst forth instantly. Neighbors on the street grabbed buckets of water but dared not approach. Only when the fire spread to the narrow alley and threatened the next house did Gregor call for retreat.
One by one, wagons rolled out, escorted by eight guards with hands on sword hilts. People hurried out of the way.
Gregor and Jeyne rode beside the carriage carrying the witch.
Once they were far enough, the neighbors rushed to put out the fire. The blaze was quickly extinguished, but the smoke soared into the sky.
Suddenly, the witch threw back the curtain, pointed at Gregor, and cursed, "You damned Demon Mountain! I want salted snow roast meat. And I will never use chopsticks at the table, only iron utensils!"
"Very well." Gregor replied politely.
"I want silk clothes, the finest silk from Qarth."
"I will have someone buy the best Qarth silk for you in Lannisport's trade market. Grandmother, did you live in Qarth when you were young?"
The witch ignored his question. "Gregor, I want three servants: one to grind, gather, brew, and taste my medicines; one to wash and comb my hair, draw my baths, wash clothes, and cook; and one to clean the chapel, tidy the rooms, care for the chapel torches, replenish holy oil, and assist in ceremonies and prayers."
"Grandmother, all of it shall be arranged for you."
"And one more helper." The witch brushed aside her hair, her pale yellow eyes fixing Jeyne with an unsettling stare. "Gregor, your fiancée looks quite suitable. Ask her if she's willing."
A/N: You can read up to 100+ chapters in advance of the current story on Patreon. You can read up to chapter 123 there! patreon.com/vynthor