Lightbulb!
Chapter 39
Lightbulb!
Robb had a bit of a rough time that morning. The previous day had started off so well, in fact it had been almost perfect. Spending time with Hermione as they toured Old Town had been one of the best things to come out of this trip and using this time to lavish in each other's company had been everything he could have asked for. But of course, he had to ruin it by making a complete ass of himself when he took that Dornishman up on his challenge to eat that cursed dragon pepper. And damn, had he so quickly regretted it. Robb couldn't remember going through anything worse in his whole life. The milk had helped, but the heat had still come to him slow and brutal, with a wave of sweat streaking across his skin, like he was burning from the inside out. His face flushed and his mouth swelled up, then his guts started feeling like they were on fire and twisted about inside him like a snake in a sack. Even worse, he had embarrassed himself so tremendously when he had to find a public privy for the emergency that followed as he evacuated his bowels. It was all he could do not to plead to all the gods above and around to end his misery and kill him quickly.
Hermione had gotten him back to the inn and lied him down on their bed, but she chose to stay on a cot that she conjured. He had to assume he must have been pretty miserable smelling. She left him to rest with a water jug on the table beside him and Robb had made use of it several times in the night, though it now looked like it was empty. Thankfully, he was feeling a bit better now though, and believed he had the strength to get up. The sun had risen completely by the time he lifted his head from the pillows and observed their room. Hermione was already gone, likely having left for the Citadel to meet with the maesters. That left Robb to his own devices for the remainder of the day.
Right now, though, all he felt like doing was washing the horrible experience of that pepper off his skin. So, he called for a serving wench to bring hot water for a bath. He soaked until the day had grown hot and he was ready to get out.
With no traveling to do that day and no need to go about foraging for food or hunting in the forest, he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do with himself. Finally, he decided to write a letter home.
Mother,
In my last message I apologized for leaving unexpectedly to escort Lady Hermione to Old Town. Once again, I have to apologize for my journey back will be delayed yet again, for I have decided to study a bit in the Citadel for myself. I have made this choice as I’ve come to realize that having an extended education will be only a benefit to my future lordship. There have been a number of developments that have inspired this decision. I will endeavor to travel back immediately should there come to be an emergency. For now, I hear Bran is ruling wisely and I encourage him to seek your council. I will also send a second message to King’s Landing that will inform Father of this.
Hoping you and all the rest are well.
Your Son,
Robb
Ideally, she wouldn't be very cross with him. It was only for a little while longer after all. Just enough to establish some good report with potential merchants, and maybe he also wanted to stay a while in one place so his family would have the chance to write back and tell him what was happening on their end. Perhaps, based on the relations that he made here, the North would be able to develop another port aside from White Harbor. Somewhere on the west side of the continent, possibly around Sea Dragon Point. Maybe they'd manage to build a decent navy while they were at it. The North had been lacking one since Brandon the Burner set ablaze all the country's vessels after his father, Brandon Shipwright, sailed away toward the west and was never seen from again. That was hundreds of years before Aegon's conquest, and the North hadn't seen any equal seaports since. As he compared the strength of Oldtown's port, he felt it was time to rectify that.
A strong navy would connect them to more of the south and would serve to act in defense against pirates and rogues trying to invade from the west. Reserving a role for Theon to play involving its construction and growth would bring the idea closer to reality. Despite the ward being hailed from some notorious pirate houses himself, who would know more about pirates and how to defend against them than another pirate? And Theon was his friend. Building a strong naval base with good relations between their regions would benefit both of their interests.
As he rattled around ideas and paths that would make such a vision a possibility, he took his letter and went in search of a rookery with Grey Wind bounding along at his side. After sending it off, he couldn't help but glance back at the Citadel, wondering to himself how Hermione was getting on during her meeting with the maesters. He hoped she was safe, and she hadn't been outed as a powerful witch and potential danger that warranted being locked up. He didn't want to imagine what may happen to her if her abilities became common knowledge.
Just the same, he tried to put it out of his mind. She said she would try to be back by nightfall at the latest, so he would do his best not to worry until after. She had her wand, she could turn into her direwolf, and she could even fight with a sword if anything went wrong. Yes, Hermione would be just fine.
Right now, he had other things to focus on.
He took a few things from his rucksack, such as some plant paper and charcoal pencils that were inventions and gifts from Harry and Hermione. She had given them to him some months ago, though, if he was being honest, he hadn't really used them. He had pulled it all out today because he knew that Hermione sometimes found it easier to think if she could visually see her thought-process. At least the notebook was versatile and the wooden charcoal pencil was so much easier to transport than carrying around quill and ink. He made himself comfortable at a table outside the inn that had a decent view of the port and the bay while he drew up plans and drank mushroom coffee. At his side, he kept Grey Wind happy with some grilled squid.
Now, how was he going to build that navy?
Well, the first start of any project began with money, and attaining funds to build such a fleet would have to come from taxes. But the North, despite its massive size, was admittedly very sparsely populated. There were actually fewer people who lived there than any of the other seven kingdoms, and they didn't earn very much in revenue for new projects. There was always the option of raising taxes, but he didn't want to do that to his people unless it was absolutely necessary. It didn't seem fair to the commons even if the new port would benefit them as well in a number of large ways.
Was it possible for them to raise the funds with some new industries? What were their current exports at this time?
He tried to recall his lessons with Maester Luwin. Let's see, there was wool, lumber, animal hides, and White Harbor had their old silver mint. Then there was... wait. Was that it? Were those all their exports? He wracked his brain for others but only managed to recall the ones he had already listed. Maybe there was also fish and salt, but any seaside village could make salt and catch fish aplenty, so there was no real demand for exporting either of those. Their agriculture wasn't very strong, as most food and grain tended to spoil before it could pass through the swampy part of the Neck, and the earth wasn't as fertile as other kingdoms. So, much of their food was reserved and consumed by their own people.
Robb couldn't help but frown with the realization. How was it possible that they had so few resources with such a large deposit of land that was waiting to be utilized?
He recalled the exports of other kingdoms. The Riverlands were positioned between several of the other regions, so their agriculture was strong, as was the Vale's. With their mountainous region there were also rock quarries that mined marble and granite and other building materials. Robb perked at the memory and jotted that down. Finding someplace to open a suitable rock quarry would not be impossible, especially in the mountainous areas of the North. It was very hard work, but perhaps it would introduce the idea of building more keeps and strongholds along the roads and invite more people to populate the region.
That could certainly work even as such a project may need to take several years of planning and construction.
Let's see, what else?
"Excuse me, my goodman?"
Robb was brought out of his thoughts when he looked up to see a pair of young novices about fifteen or sixteen standing over him, adamantly observing the belongings spread over the table, namely the charcoal pencil and the mug of steaming coffee that he was sipping from as he thought.
"I hate to bother you, but what are you drinking? The aroma is very strange. Earthy, almost. Is it... it can't be mud, is it?"
Robb wanted to laugh. "Mud? No, it's coffee."
"Coffee?" They repeated with confusion.
"It helps me think and wake up," Robb explained.
The revelation had both of them leaning forward with interest. "Think?"
"Wake up?"
Robb handed the mug to one of them. "You can try a bit if you want."
The boy looked at the liquid with skepticism, but chanced a small sip. He savored it, unsure if the taste was something he liked or not.
"Hmm."
"I know," Robb said, understanding the lad completely. His reaction had been a bit the same the first time he drank the concoction. "Takes a moment to get used to it."
Meanwhile the novice's counterpart took the mug from him and tested it for himself. His face morphed into a scowl at the bitterness.
"I've been told the flavor can improve with sugar or even cream," Robb explained to the two of them. "I've gotten used to taking it black, myself."
The second handed it back to the first and he took another experimental sip. "I suppose I do feel a bit more alert," he remarked. Robb let him finish the mug off while the other one pointed down to his notebook and the pencil he was using to write with.
"What is that thing you are using?"
Robb held it in front of them. "It's a pencil. My friend invented it."
"It's a bit strange. Where's the inkpot?"
"It doesn't have one. It's made from charcoal and wood."
Their eyes all but sparkled with the revelation, moving on to the notebook in front of him. "What of your parchment? It's so white."
"It's made from plants, from what I understand, and the coffee was made using..." he trailed off as an idea suddenly burst to life in his mind. Plant paper was made using trees, and one of the key exports of the North was already lumber. In addition, the coffee was made from dried mushrooms that were indigenous to the North. They couldn't be shipped fresh before they spoiled but dried out and ground into a fine powder and they could last months.
Of course! Paper and coffee!
And Robb couldn't imagine a bigger demand for both of those commodities than in the Citadel and Oldtown, the birthplace of thinkers and scholars.
In one fell swoop, Robb had found his industry!
Hermione smiled pleasantly from her seat across from the three gathered men before her. They sat around a half circular table, observing the young woman at the other end and trying to silently surmise her motives and credibility. The scribe to report to them had been hasty in his explanation, earning their reasonable doubt, but his testimony had been cause enough for their undivided interest in the woman just the same.
Normally, she wouldn't have revealed her magic in the way that she did with the receptionist, but she had come a long way, and she honestly just wanted to skip a drawn-out correspondence with some misogynist that would refuse and refuse her until she finally had to prove her validity with a display not so different from what she ended up doing. Really, being forward about her magic with them from the beginning was just the path of least-resistance for her.
So, once the relevant people were gathered, she had strolled into their meeting with the cheeriest smile, introducing herself with a curtsy befitting any ranking lady and courteously asked for their names and titles in return. Now seated across from her was Maester Barneby, the receptionist that had greeted her and witnessed her first feats of magic, accompanied by Archmaester Ebrose, an archmaster that specialized in healing and was the unofficial head of the Citadel, and Archmaester Marwyn, known as Marwyn the mage. He was the one that Hermione wanted to speak with specifically as he was the maester in charge of magic and the mystic arts, though at the sight of him, she was not so confident in his abilities.
Marwyn had a thick neck and a strong jaw. He was short and squat with enormous hands, a thick chest and a hard ale-belly. He had white hair coming out of his nose and ears, was beetle-browed, his nose had been broken more than once, and his teeth were stained red from chewing sourleaf. Hermione wished he wasn't the only mage in the Citadel as he looked even less welcoming than Professor Snape was, even as his eyes glittered with excitement to see her.
It had been advised that this meeting be restricted between only the most relevant people, to reduce the number of people who knew she was a sorceress.
Harry's stolen acceptance letter was spread over the table in front of the men, accompanied by letters of recommendation from both Maester Luwin and Lord Eddard. In the slim chance that she could convince the maesters to accept her, she had asked them for letters for herself, which they had obliged even as they believed it would do her no good. Just the same, she convinced them that, at the least, it couldn't have hurt her chances.
"You claim to be a legitimate sorceress?" Archmaester Ebrose's voice was doubtful even as he glanced at Barneby, who had vouched for her up and down to both of his superiors.
"Yes, maester," Hermione nodded. "Before I go into more detail on the matter, can you confirm that this room is secure? What I show you may be frightening to some perspectives, and it would be an enormous breach in security if what I am about to tell you, reached the ears of less intelligent people."
The words had them exchanging curious glances between each other, now more interested than ever to see what she was about to reveal to them.
"I can assure you, my lady, that this room is indeed secured, and we are the only ones who know of your presence here at this time," Archmaester Ebrose affirmed.
"Very well then. I am willing to give you a demonstration of my abilities if you require it." She knew that would be the next question asked, so she pulled out her wand and prepared a spell, but waited for their confirmation, just the same. She didn't want to startle them.
Marwyn eagerly leaned forward while the other two drew back, far more wary of the suggestion especially with her promise that it may have been frightening. After a few exchanges of expression, they agreed to it with conjoined nods.
"May I borrow this?" Hermione waved her wand and summoned the quill that was on Ebrose's desk to her. The move made him jump but with the way the feather implement sailed through the air, he was watching now with the utmost attention. The feather quill floated right in front of her and all three men leaned forward curiously, watching as the color of the seagull plume began to gradually turn from white to green, its barbs extended and widened, and the tip of it grew a blue and golden eye. The seagull quill had transformed into a peacock feather right in front of them. That wasn't the end though. The woman twitched her wand, and the feather burst into blue fire, burning away the attractive plume and leaving behind the seagull quill just as it had been before she altered it.
The performance ended when she floated the implement back through the air and Ebrose caught it cautiously, studying its physical status with scrutiny to be sure it was indeed the very same quill.
"Is that enough or would you like me to summon a wolf into your office?" She asked, not entirely joking.
Barneby turned on them after the display, a painfully expressive I-told-you-so on his face. "Now do you believe me?"
Ebrose cleared his throat, trying his absolute best not to look so impressed. "It would seem that she's legitimate. Marwyn have you seen anything like this?"
"I've never seen anything of this kind. Where did you learn such a thing, my lady?"
"I went to a school for magic when I was younger. They taught me various spellwork."
Marwyn's eyes glittered while they followed the movement of the wand in her hand. It looked like she had that mage hook, line, and sinker. "Amazing. Now is it the rod that is magical or yourself?"
"Both, though we call them wands. It acts merely as a tool to channel my magic, but the magic comes from me and my individual ability. If you'd like, I'd be delighted to explain more in detail on this matter at a later date."
He looked deliriously happy at the prospect and Hermione counted it as a victory. He couldn't hope to learn anything if they didn't accept her, so it was comforting to know she had that to work with in her favor.
"How is this possible?" Ebrose breathed. "Where are you from? What brings you here to the Citadel of all places?"
"I wish to further my education."
The answer did not convince any of them and she honestly hadn't expected it to.
"Very well, the truth then." Hermione took a deep breath, preparing herself. Now was the moment for a sort of truth. "While in this land, I've been claiming I'm a foreigner from Lorath. This is not entirely true. The truth is... I am from an undiscovered continent."
All of them went very quiet.
"I beg your pardon?" Embrose asked.
"I am from an undiscovered continent," she reaffirmed. "Not Essos or Sothoros but another completely different land."
The men exchanged glances between each other. They hadn't dismissed her, so that was a good sign.
"What sort of land, Lady Granger?" Marwyn asked, even more interested now than before.
"I hail from a land cleverly hidden somewhere in the Shivering Sea. We call it the United Kingdom. Much like Braavos did for most of its history, we have maintained our secrecy in the interest of our nation's security."
Her words seemed to not only have convinced them but interested them exceptionally.
"A new continent you say?" Ebrose asked, leaning forward.
"Yes, Archmaester. That is correct."
She had had an abundant amount of time to consider how she was going to pitch this revelation to these men, wondering and agonizing over what they were most likely to believe and what would be less damning to herself. In the end, she decided that fabricating a whole new continent was best. One that was located in the Shivering Sea and was cut off from the rest of the world thanks to the glaciers and treacherous storms that safeguarded that expanse of water and made travel through it virtually impossible.
In her mind, she believed it was best to give them a believable lie to satiate their curiosity, preferable to trusting them straight off with the bizarre truth without either knowing them or understanding their intentions. She didn't need them to know the truth anyways, she only needed their resources and knowledge. Yes, it was better this way.
She had imagined how it sounded, even writing out her description for better believability and making corrections to anything that sounded farfetched or was missing consistency. It wasn't so hard to imagine a far distant continent, cut off from the rest of the world; completely independent and free to develop and build itself into a powerful nation through invention and discovery, safeguarded by natural geography and powerful sorcery. That sounded so much more plausible than a portal opening up into another world. It would also easily maintain their current backstory to being castaways from a distant land.
And, considering Westeros's primitive society, she had the added benefit that much of this world was still undiscovered. There was also the fact to consider that when observing the maps that displayed Westeros and Essos, she noted how abnormal the emptiness of the Shivering Sea looked to her. Certainly, there had to be something in that expanse of water. Some land mass or chain of islands wasn't so farfetched to picture for men like this. Who was to say that there wasn't something there after all?
All three men shared similar expressions of perplexion and intrigue. "I... I have so many questions," Barneby stuttered, reeling with the amazement at having been present in the room to hear such fascinating news. "I... I don't know where to start."
"What kind of land is your home country like?" Ebrose said, choosing his own question before either of his colleagues had found their senses.
Hermione had only one word to describe it, in both muggle and wizarding terms and in a way that would entice them the most. "Advanced. Centuries and centuries of progress the likes of which you could not possibly imagine."
It had the effect that she wanted as all three men leaned forward eagerly.
"How have they managed to stay hidden for so long?" Marwyn said, before Barneby could speak the question that had visually been on the tip of his tongue.
"We have not had contact with the outside world for many centuries. Long ago, our ancestors warred with the Valerians and their dragons. They often invaded us to plunder our resources and technology. It was by accident that our sorcerers finally managed to develop the barrier."
"Barrier?"
"A magical wall not so different from the Wall in the North. The spells that safeguard our land normally cause those that pass through the barrier to forget everything they know. It's an ancient security measure formed when the Valerians began to expand their empire. Our ancestors sought to protect themselves and their resources from tyranny, only now, the Valerians and their beasts are no more. In the centuries that have passed, we've discovered that our land has developed and advanced far beyond what the rest of the world has achieved. We've surpassed you abundantly, and now the threat to us is gone. I want to find a way to go back and tell them. I feel there is a great many things we can offer you."
"If you're telling the truth, why are there no documents of such a thing? Surely there would have been tales or rumors of a land even if there was such a wall that encompassed your continent."
"But there were documents," Hermione countered. "They were kept by the Valerians in their city, though I suspect they are long gone if the Doom that took their culture was as destructive as the stories say it was."
Ebrose's eyes narrowed, spotting a flaw in her story. "You claim that you came from this land. How did you find your way here and remember everything if the wall is meant to erase memory?"
"That is what brings me here. I'm under the belief that the barrier may be malfunctioning. I have a hypothesis that it uses similar spells that the Valerian sorcerers used to restrain the power of the Fourteen Flames... that is, until they didn't. If that is indeed what is happening, it's of the utmost importance to investigate this abnormality. I do not want to worry unnecessarily, but I do not wish to see my homeland fall to destruction the way Valeria did."
She felt like it was a good explanation, one that would satisfy them and hide her true intent, which now seemed far less dire as her truest motive was to merely return home.
"Then what would you have from us?"
"I would ask to search your library and consult you, Archmaester Marwyn, on your knowledge and expertise in magic. In return, I am willing to share with you information about my homeland and our progress and development. I have inventions and ideas aplenty that I feel would be a benefit to all, but circulating them will take the vouching of men who understand and know better."
"Why are you so confident that we would be interested in those?"
"On my journey here, I passed through a fair number of Westeros's cities and strongholds. While each one has their own charms, I can already see that Old Town far surpasses them in both beauty and accommodation. Being ruled by lords and kings is a glaring contrast to being led by maesters. I believe men like you would never pass up an opportunity to advance yourselves and the larger population. You recognize an investment when you see one and that's what separates you from the simple-minded."
While the flattery wasn't lost on them, they were a little too smart to be won over by that alone. "Have you an example of this?"
"As it so happens, I do." With those words, she conjured a leather cylinder of rolled-up blueprints. She came forward and spread them out on the table, so the men could observe them closer. "These are the diagrams for a hand crank water pump that is based on plans that originated from my home country. They are meant to draw water from wells with minimal effort. Lord Stark had them installed in several areas around and inside the buildings of his keep. They maintain the health and cleanliness of the water supply and minimize the effort that is used to draw and carry water in buckets directly from the wells. Now this design is of a relatively simple model, but someday I would like to introduce a system that will conveniently allow people to access water by simply flipping a tap and regulate the temperature with ease."
"Regulate the temperature?" Barneby asked.
"Meaning, you can control how hot or cold you would like the water to be."
The men stared at her, baffled and intrigued by the convenience of indoor plumbing.
Barneby stared at the drawings, pulling out his cumbersome eyepiece to study them closer. "Let's see. The lever there pushes the rod down, then the suction pulls it up through the pipes... ah, yes. I see how that would work. Suction. So obvious, yet so clever."
Marwyn looked up from his own observation. "You have other designs like this?"
"Yes. And as I said before, I'd be more than open to negotiate and exchange information, but..." and like that she rolled up the plans and vanished them in the air, further enunciating the next part of her statement, "I will need compensation for my knowledge. I'll leave you to ruminate on the matter. I suspect there is a council or at least other archmaesters that you'll need to delegate with before making a final decision?"
The men looked wounded to have the plans pulled out from them just as abruptly as they had been provided to them, but they didn't fight her on the matter. They indeed had other council members that they needed to inform and convince of this development. This decision was not theirs alone to make, after all.
For a moment Embrose looked like he wanted to argue, but then his better judgment won out and he relented with a sigh. "If you would give us the room, Lady Granger, we will gather the other archmaesters and collaborate. Barneby, if you would show her to our small hall and keep her entertained for the time being?"
"Yes, archmaester."
Hermione followed the receptionist out, remaining a few steps behind him while he wove a path through the chambers and stone passageways. All the way, Hermione had the distinct impression that Barneby was vibrating with an endless flurry of questions, but resisted, possibly because they were in an open hall where anyone could overhear them. It must have been too much for him, because he slowed down to walk beside her rather than in front to better voice what was on his mind.
"Um... you said your society was advanced. What other advancements have your people made besides the water pump?"
Hermione smiled endearingly at him. "I would be more than happy to share with you those things, Maester Barneby, but I'm going to have to deny that request for a bit longer. The access to that knowledge relies heavily on me being accepted by the council to use your resources. We'll have to wait and see if Embrose and Marwyn can convince the lot of them, and if not, then you'll have to find a way to make them see reason in your own way."
He must have understood that she wasn't going to give up her bargaining chip so easily and he went quiet yet again. Yet his interrogation wasn't forgotten about entirely and he silently debated on what line of questioning he could try that would provide him with some satisfying answers.
"How long have you been in Westeros?"
It was an innocent question. "Almost two and a half years by now."
"That's not that long."
"It's been quite long from my perspective. I very much miss my home."
"Do you really believe the citadel possesses the resources you need to return you to your homeland?"
"It is the best place I can think of to find the answers I may need. After that I will consult Archmaester Marwyn about other options he would suggest."
He paused while debating that. "I suppose that's reasonable."
They reached the small hall which was a wide stone chamber lined with tables and benches where students of the citadel ate and conversed with one another. There were very few there at this time of day yet Barneby still found a table that was out of the way in the corner. "Would you like some ale?"
"I'd prefer cider if you've got it, but if not, I'll take that ale."
He left momentarily to fetch a flagon for both of them. In that time, Hermione sat alone, reviewing her journal and the notes she had in English. Even tucked off in the corner, it didn't stop her from gaining the attention of a triage of passing novices. She could hear them shuffling from the door as they spotted her.
"A girl!"
"Oh, my gods. It is a girl."
"And she's pretty. Look at those curls. I love a girl with curls."
"What's she doing here?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"Go and talk to her."
"You go and talk to her."
She did her best to ignore them until they found their way inside the small hall, approaching her cautiously. One of them stepped forward, looking eager. Hermione sensed his approach and looked up, casting all three of them a pleasant smile.
"Oh, hello there. It's nice to make your acquaintance. What's your name?"
The acolyte paled and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. For some reason he couldn't manage a response to Hermione's question, though she failed to see why it should have been so difficult for him to answer.
"Are you alright?"
If it were possible, he went even paler with that additional question and he began to shake nervously. She had never seen a person who was so terrified towards what she believed was a perfectly innocent line of conversation. The man finally seemed to find the will in him to turn around and slink away, unable to voice a single word. Hermione stared after him, concerned.
"Is he alright? Did I do something?"
The second man stepped forward with an oily confidence, chuckling while he offered an explanation in a joking tone. "Oh no, you're fine. He's just never been so close to someone with a vagina."
"Excuse me?" Hermione reeled back, appalled by his comment towards her genitals. The man's bravado shattered as he realized his mortifying mistake. His face took on an expression that was not so different from the horror that had been on his mute friend. Perhaps now, he too wished he had remained as silent, seeing how his own words had done nothing but destroy his first impression to the lady. After a long agonizing moment, he finally seemed to realize there was no way to repair the damage he'd done and slinked away in the same obscure direction as his friend. That left the third man, who stood their twiddling his thumbs nervously while he tried to find the words that would explain the behavior of his companions in a kind and understandable way. Hermione eyed him expectantly. He shuffled on his feet, chuckling dumbly and babbling unintelligible words.
"Hey, it's not... they're just... don't... um... I-I... uh..." It didn't take long for him to start sweating worse than a frog in a desert under her judgmental gaze. At last, his nerves failed him, and he followed the other two with a face that blazed with humiliation.
Hermione sat there with her mouth gaping in confusion. What on earth just happened? She had been left cringing with second-hand embarrassment towards such a bizarre exchange, and she hadn't even done anything. That had been so beyond painful. Were there going to be more awkward men like that here?
When Barneby came back, Hermione couldn't resist telling him about what she had just gone through.
He wasn't surprised by the exchange, but he certainly shared in the embarrassment. "Those fools. I think I know who you're referring to. Unfortunately, you may end up having similar exchanges with other men and boys while here. Few of them see women of any kind and the skill in which to converse with them is one that many of them struggle with."
"Perhaps there ought to be a class about that then?" Hermione joked. "You could call it the Art of Speaking With Women."
Barneby chuckled a bit with the suggestion. "It would need its own chain link."
"I wonder what metal would be used for such a subject."
"Something with gemstones. Maybe pearls."
"Or a seashell."
They continued their conversation without issue, and he grilled her with more questions. Some she answered, most she didn't. Hours went by, leaving her to wonder if the debate between the archmaesters was proceeding productively. Finally, an acolyte was sent to fetch them.
She arrived back to the room only now there were five additional maesters gathered around the table, with varying looks of impatience.
Men of ages between thirty and sixty years old looked back at her warily.
While Marwyn looked abundantly un-maester-like, all of these men were exactly as her experience with maesters so far had looked. In a way, they all resembled Luwin and she wondered if maesters or archmaesters just in general were typically very old, because it seemed like so few young people wanted to throw their youth away in the pursuit of celibacy. She couldn't blame them. Now that she had had a taste of what sex was like, she wasn't about to make any promises not to enjoy the best years of her life to the fullest, even if they may have complicated her goals to get home.
She banished those thoughts though, as she kept her focus on the men in front of her.
As they looked at her, all their expressions betrayed the same thought: distrust.
"And this is the girl?" One of them said skeptically.
"Maester Perestan, this is Lady Granger," Ebrose explained. "She is a traveler from a far distant continent that has yet to be discovered. I would assume you, out of all of us, would be exceptionally interested to document what she knows."
He looked doubtful. "I would be interested if there was better evidence. One person is not enough to entice me. For all we know, she's a charlatan playing a mummers farce on all of us."
To that, Hermione began to speak in her native English. "Hear these words. Do you understand what I am saying? Any of them. Did you ever study such speech in any of your lessons?"
They all stared at her, confused and without any inclination for what she had just said to them.
"That was the language I was raised on," she explained, switching back to their common tongue. "It is called English and is a developed tongue that my people use. When first arriving to Westeros, I did not know a word of the Common Tongue and had to study many hours in order to speak it fluently. Is there a maester among you who is skilled with languages?"
One of them raised a hand. "I know thirty-two tongues, my lady."
"And have you ever heard anything like what I just said."
"No, my lady."
Despite that, they were still doubtful.
"Assuming you are telling the truth about an advanced nation that occupies the Shivering Sea," a different one of them offered, "what exactly brings you to Westeros and why didn't you lose your memory when passing through your magical barrier?"
Hermione took a breath, she had already explained this, but perhaps the archmaesters hadn't shared with them that detail yet. "Rather than erasing our memories completely, it only erased the most recent ones involving what led up to us leaving our home country. It's my hypothesis that the barrier is malfunctioning. If so, I need to find a way back somehow in order to warn them. If it became out of hand, I fear it could have the potential to transform into something catastrophic similar to the Doom that claimed the Valerian empire. At the best, perhaps the barrier would merely stop functioning. At the worst, perhaps it would cause a wave of energy that would erase the memories of everyone within the boundary. If that's the case, I don't wish to know the devastating effect that would befall an entire population to suddenly lose their memories in one fell swoop."
She had hoped that that explanation would be enough for them to empathize with. Even more than their lives, these men valued their knowledge above all else. To lose that would be worse than killing them.
If anyone could understand the importance of memory, it was them.
Still, many of them did not look entirely convinced.
"I propose a test," one of them offered. All of them turned to the man to speak. "If she truly is someone who hails from an advanced society, then let her see the glass candles. We are told they are powered with sorcery, but none have burned since the Dance of Dragons. If she is as intelligent as she says, let her try to light them herself."
"That is a test we reserve for the end of graduations," Ebrose argued. "We cannot expect a woman to take part in such a thing."
"Well, if she is truly a sorceress and one that hails from an advanced society, then lighting the glass candles will be no challenge for her. If she succeeds where hundreds of others have failed, then we shall accept her with no more argument."
There was a pause of grumbling around the table, but no one else had any better ideas.
"Would you consent to a test, Lady Granger?" Ebrose asked courteously.
She had heard of the famous Valyrian glass candles which were rumored to be made of obsidian. Historically they burned, but they had not been reported to burn in recent memory. Maester Luwin had explained that the night before an acolyte of the Citadel said his vows, he was to stand vigil in a vault with nothing but the three black candles and no other light permitted. He must spend the night in darkness unless he can light the candle. According to the maesters, this ritual was to show that even with all the knowledge one has acquired, there are still some things that are impossible.
Hermione had come so far, and though she was not confident in her ability to succeed in a task that seemed impossible, she was determined to try at the very least. "I will take your test."
The sun was setting over the horizon as they led her to the vaults where they kept the famous glass candles. Inside the chamber it was dark and only Marwyn carried a torch. He led her into the room and she had a moment to glance at the candles in the firelight as they sat atop three different pillars.
For a moment, it was only her and Marwyn in there, leaving the others outside where they wouldn't be overheard by the Archmaesters that were not completely aware of her magical abilities.
"If you please, my lady. I will take your wand for safekeeping during this test."
Hermione had suspected they wouldn't allow her to use her wand, but she was reluctant to give it to a stranger. The only way she would relinquish it was if there was a foolproof guarantee that she would get it back as it was. "I shall entrust my wand to you only under the condition that you do not damage it in any way and that it does not pass through anyone else's hands but my own when you return it. Agreed?"
The man scrutinized her outstretched hand before he at last reached forward and shook it. "I vow your wand shall be safe with me."
But before releasing him she pulled forward her wand again and tapped their clasped hands. A green light shot out and wrapped around them before vanishing into their skins. The man snatched his hand away, startled by the strange effect. Hermione was undisturbed as she handed over the tool to him and gave a brief explanation for what just happened. "If you break your word, you will die."
The blood in the man's face drained entirely as he took the wooden rod. He looked down at the tool and swallowed, possibly wondering if it was worth it to test that threat. He wouldn't actually die, Hermione wasn't that cruel, but if he thought about damaging it in any way or the wand left his person or if someone else touched it, he would begin to feel an excruciating pain in his gut until the wand was safely in his hands again. Hopefully that would serve as an appropriate warning.
He tucked it in his robes and left the room, leaving her in darkness.
She was glad her animagus wolf eyes granted her sufficient night vision. Otherwise, she may have been terrified of the all-consuming darkness.
Hermione studied the closest of the small glass pillars with scrutiny. She came forward to touch the candle, then tried to pick it up, but it was securely anchored into the pedestal. No amount of pulling would release it. Raising a brow, she decided to twist it and see if that would do anything. To her surprise, and with some persistence, it followed the direction she rotated it in. She continued to twist it and found that it was raising little by little. Eventually she had it free in her hand, leaving her to study it and its strange metal protrusion that had kept it screwed into the pedestal. It reminded her of an electrical contact of some sort. The thought had her pausing in consideration.
“Wait a minute.”
She touched the opening it had been secured into and felt ridges and a wire on the bottom. She wriggled it and received a jolt of something, which caused her to snatch her hand away. The sensation had her heart hammering with excitement. Was that electricity? Stooping to the ground where only a thread of light could be seen from under the door, she observed the candle through the filtered torchlight. It was difficult to see through the thick dark glass, but she could detect the faintest trace of lines or wires threaded through the glass. In a single moment, she suddenly realized why no one had been able to get these things to illuminate for so long. It was the same reason the scholars believed the Valyrians had ancient magic that no one could duplicate to this day. The realization tickled her and suddenly she was laughing. She laughed and laughed for a long five minutes until finally she regained her composure. With a beaming smile, she got back to her feet and twisted the candle back into its place. Her hands searched along its pedestal, or should she say, its power source. Eventually, she found the switch located at the base that would activate the device. It was cleverly located, placed in a way that would allow someone to kick it discretely, if they intended to keep its activation a secret from observers. She pressed the button, and light immediately filled the room from the tip of the black pillar, similar to the glow from a filament.
She smiled up at it as a burst of nostalgia filled her at the sight of the florescent light. These things weren’t candles at all. They were lightbulbs.