Chapter 19

Oldtown, The Reach

As the city of Oldtown with the prominent tower of House Hightower came near, the travellers were ready to visit the new place. The Hightower which was once said to be the highest man-made structure in Westeros was now dwarfed by the twin lighthouses at the Bite. The Hightower was simply a long tower with a huge flame, but for Aryan, it was still not a proper lighthouse. The Northern lighthouses built on Aryan's design had two concave reflectors and were visible from a large distance. These reflectors had proved to be very fruitful, and many Free Cities had asked for assistance in the construction of lighthouses in their own places.

Right now, Aryan was giving orders to everyone.

"We will be here for three days. Ser Brynden, I want you to never let Arya out of sight. Take ten men with you," Aryan told them.

Then he looked at the assembled guards and servants. He had brought two hundred men with him, ready for any surprises. The Marauder, owing to its large size, could easily accommodate so many men. He addressed them, "You may spend some time at Oldtown. Just make sure that a hundred men always remain on the ship. Each of you will be given two silver stags to spend. Don't bring strangers to the ship. If you disobey, then I will personally deal with you."

The men's cheers decreased when he said who would carry out the punishment, so they happily agreed to follow his orders. Having a fearsome reputation has its uses.

"Ser Rodrick, when you are not with me, you will be with Arya or look after the ship," Aryan asked his loyal Master of Arms, to which Ser Rodrick Cassel agreed.

As the ship finally docked, they got ready to descend. As the servants were preparing the plank to get down, he saw several men wearing the sigil of Hightower and the Tyrell Rose. Two men stood in front.

"That is Wilas Tyrell and Baelor Hightower. Wonder how they knew we are coming here," the Blackfish said, identifying the men.

"You must have underestimated the Queen of Thorns. Besides, it was not exactly a secret that we were coming here. But why is the Tyrell heir here?" Aryan wondered.

As they got down, the welcoming party came forward.

"Welcome, Lord Stark, to Oldtown. I am Baelor Hightower, heir to Oldtown. This is Wilas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. It is a pleasure to meet you finally," Baelor welcomed them.

Aryan introduced his own party in return. "Well, I am Aryan Stark. This is my Uncle Eddard's daughter Arya Cailstark. Behind her is Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish. Finally, the one descending the ship is Archmaester Marwyn. Though I must ask you, how did you recognize me? I am pretty sure that we have not met before."

"It is a pleasure to meet you all. You are very famous everywhere, my Lord. Everyone knows of your violet eyes and black hair. Many people know about your longsword, Frostbite, too, which you are carrying. So it was easy to recognize you. Besides, you have met my Father, Lord Leyton Hightower. He has a rather high opinion of you," Baelor told him.

Aryan nodded at that. Suddenly, observing the crowd and decorations in the city, Aryan asked, "Is some sort of celebration happening here, My Lords?"

"Ah yes, Lord Stark. Lord Hightower is hosting a tourney in honour of the Citadel. It is not every day one becomes a Grand Maester," Wilas replied with a smile.

"Really. But I clearly remember no such tourney was held when Maester Pycelle became a Grand Maester," Marwyn said, thinking.

The two heirs looked at each other. Seeing this, Aryan checked the surface thoughts of Wilas. He found that it was a scheme of Olenna Tyrell to meet him. So the Tyrells had sponsored the tourney. The Queen of Thorns wanted to get to know him, and if his guess was right, then possibly have some sort of agreement to benefit the Reach Lords.

'Should I play the naïve card or should I show my true self?' Aryan thought to himself. Then, deciding against hiding his intelligence, he said, "We would look for accommodations then. I am sure my cousin would enjoy the tourney."

"Nonsense, Lord Stark. Everything is prepared for your stay at the Castle. Please go with Wilas. In the meantime, I would escort Archmaester Marwyn to the Citadel," Baelor said.

"I will see you later, Maester Marwyn," Aryan bid him farewell. It's a good thing that he had told Marwyn to keep the communication mirror with him at all times.

Marwyn nodded in response and went along with Baelor and his retinue towards the Citadel.

"That is quite the ship, Lord Stark. The biggest I have ever seen," Wilas Tyrell said.

The Marauder was attracting a lot of attention, owing to its large size and splendour.

"It was built using the Ironwood and assistance from the Braavosi ship makers, Lord Tyrell," Aryan replied.

"Lord Tyrell is my Father. You may call me Wilas," Wilas said.

Aryan smiled at that. He had heard that Wilas was a good man. So he told the Tyrell heir, "Only if you call me Aryan."

Both of them smiled at each other. Wilas then called for the horses. As they started to walk towards the horses, Aryan had heard that Wilas got injured in a tourney but not everything about the event, so he decided to ask.

"What happened to your leg?" Aryan asked.

"Oh this. An accident in a tourney a few years ago. I pitted against Red Viper Oberyn Martell. But he knocked me off the horse. But my leg stuck in the saddle and the horse fell on me. Since then, it is like this. The Maesters, especially Archmaester Ebrose, tried everything they knew, but nothing could be done," Wilas replied.

"Did he do it deliberately?" Aryan asked.

"No. Prince Oberyn is not that bad. It was my foolishness and my father's ambition that I was ready for a tourney. While the rest of my family do not like the Red Viper because of that, he and I are still friends," Wilas said.

"You really have an understanding nature," Aryan told Wilas, who smiled in response.

"You know what? I suggest you go to Winterfell. There is a man named Qyburn. He was stripped of his Maester title for what the Citadel considered illegal human experimentation. Qyburn can surely help you. I personally know he had done so for one of my soldiers who had suffered an accident. I am going to visit the Free Cities. From Sunspear, my cousin will go back to the North. I suggest that you go with her. Qyburn will make you well in no time."

With hope in his eyes, Wilas asked, "Really? I have resigned myself to the fact that I cannot walk properly again. Can he do what the Maesters at the Citadel failed to do?"

"The Citadel could not acknowledge Qyburn's talent, but I was able to see that and use it. Wintercity now has a hospital that receives a lot of people for treatment. People also have a rather good opinion of Qyburn. Qyburn was personally taught by Marwyn."

"Well, I have nothing to lose. While my father may be a problem, grandmother can deal with him. I will tell you about my decision soon," Wilas said.

"The tourney begins tomorrow and will go on for two days. All the major houses of the Reach are participating. Your stay has been arranged at the Hightower's," Wilas said.

By then, they had crossed the castle walls, and Wilas rode forward to speak to his men. Soon, the party reached the castle and saw the Hightowers there to meet them. Some had purple eyes, some had silver hair, and some had both. It seems that Rhaena Targaryen's marriage into House Hightower still gave the Hightowers the Valyrian beauty.

"Lord Stark. Welcome to our humble abode," the aging Leyton Hightower greeted him.

"Thank you, Lord Hightower. I can hardly call it humble, my Lord. Oldtown is still the oldest and one of the largest cities after King's Landing," Aryan replied.

Smiling, the Lord of Oldtown said, "After visiting Wintercity, I sometimes feel Oldtown is inadequate. The air around there is clean, unlike here or in King's Landing."

"It is a matter of sewage disposal. The first time I visited King's Landing with Mother while going to the North after the war, I couldn't bear the stench. We decided then and there that if Wintercity ever became a city, we would first make sure that there was proper disposal of waste. Also, the city guards are allowed to give public whippings to those who disobey. Thankfully, the people also cooperate," Aryan replied.

"Of course. Perhaps I should do something like that soon," Leyton said. He then proceeded to introduce his family, and Aryan did the same in return. "You have already met my son Baelor and daughter Lynesse. While most of the lords have arrived, more would be arriving soon. Please go and rest, Lord Stark."

Leyton then instructed the servants to take care of the guests, and Aryan went inside with his entourage.

As he walked unseen and unheard through the empty streets of Oldtown, Aryan observed the presence of guards everywhere. It seemed like the Hightowers were taking security quite seriously. He had been roaming around for quite some time. Till now, he was yet to see a single mugging or fight. A few quarrels here and there were quickly resolved by the guards. But he saw so many poor and destitute. But considering that Oldtown was the oldest city in Westeros, it was still many times better than King's Landing.

The whole city was built around the Hightower. Oldtown was a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets. The whole city was built in stone, with all its streets cobbled. As he walked across the bank of the Honeywine, he passed the Starry Sept. It was a beautiful structure. He could see many homeless sleeping outside. He saw the Citadel up ahead, sprawling across both sides of the river.

Soon, he reached in front of the gates of the Citadel. Like Marwyn said, he saw the male and female sphinxes—the bodies of lions, the wings of eagles, and the tails of serpents. Time had eroded the workmanship, yet the structures were still imposing. The gates were closed for the night. A simple Alohomora solved this problem.

Passing through the Scribe's Hearth, he saw the empty stalls on both sides, devoid of their vendors. After some time, he passed through a set of doors into a hall with a stone floor and high, arched windows. At the far end of the hall, there was a raised dais where a gatekeeper was sitting—but he was not alone.

He was arguing with someone. Aryan walked closer and saw that the other person was none other than Marwyn, who was clearly annoyed by the questions of the gatekeeper. Taking pity on him, Aryan walked behind the gatekeeper and cast a sleeping charm on him. The gatekeeper fell asleep slowly.

Surprised, Marwyn was about to wake him up when he was startled by a voice.

"Don't bother. He will not wake for a few hours."

The Archmaester turned around and saw an amused Aryan fading into view. Shaking his head, Marwyn said, "You are late."

"Blame it on the Tyrells. There are so many Tyrells and their cousins and their relatives that they could perhaps populate the whole Reach. Even Lord Hightower was annoyed at them. Thankfully, Mace Tyrell has stayed back in Highgarden. The Queen of Thorns invited me to sit with them in their pavilion tomorrow," Aryan said.

"Be careful with that woman. She is the power behind the Tyrells, and she is sharp. Old age has only wilted her body, not her mind," Marwyn warned.

"I can deal with her. How was your day? You have been away from this place for too long," Aryan asked him.

"It has been an interesting one. I am receiving so much respect today, which is surprising. Though I could see the distaste in their eyes, some of my colleagues were all praise for me today. My ascension ceremony is tomorrow. Also, I have heard that they are going to invite you for a debate. I have told them that you are highly intelligent, so they might want to test you. Expect a call from them," Marwyn said.

Thinking on the news, Aryan said, "It will be like a test then. I am sure I can easily deal with them."

"Personally, I think that they want to embarrass you by asking very difficult questions," Marwyn added.

"Leave that to me. Now, it is getting late. Let us start our work. I will become invisible to avoid risks," Aryan told him.

Marwyn nodded at that and started to lead Aryan into the Citadel. Soon, they reached a set of large doors.

Producing a black key from his robes, Marwyn said, "What we need is here. Everything from thousands of years—you will find it here. While some sections are blocked to acolytes and Maesters, being an Archmaester, I have access to everywhere."

He then turned the key and opened the doors. They stepped inside. The whole place was dimly lit, but Aryan could see a few shelves at a distance.

"Are we alone?" he asked Marwyn.

Looking around, Marwyn replied, "We must be. No one is allowed here at night."

To make sure, Aryan lifted his wand and cast, "Homenum Revelio."

Thankfully, the revealing charm did not show anyone's presence. Aryan then cast the next charm, "Lumos Maxima."

Both of them shielded their eyes from the intense white beam. Soon, the light ball broke from his wand and flew up. Then it broke into many small orbs and went to different positions.

Aryan gaped at the sight before him—books and books and lots of books. Several floors of shelves with ladders in between.

"That is a lot more than I expected," Aryan told Marwyn.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Marwyn asked.

"I can manage it," Aryan said, his voice determined but weary. "But after we are done, I'll be completely drained. You'll have to help me back to my room. I plan to sleep through till midday, so give them some excuse—perhaps a bad stomach. Wake me up when at midday, and make sure to give me the substitute for the Pepper-Up potion you made. I'll be in a terrible state by next night, but it's the only way. Now, show me which ones need to be taken."

They began their knowledge heist from the same floor. Marwyn indicated the important shelves, and Aryan cast the modified Geminio curse. It would still not be permanent, but they would get enough time to copy these books and scrolls using the basic printing press. For Marwyn, it was a fascinating sight—seeing books coming out of the shelf and doubling, then the original returning back to its place while the copy went inside the trunk.

They worked at a brisk pace, and in a few hours, their work was completed.

"Even after so many years of seeing you do magic, your magic still amazes me. And we have almost completed our job," Marwyn said.

"Almost? Is there even more?" Aryan asked, panting... almost exhausted.

"Not much," Marwyn said, walking toward a faraway corner. "A few more records kept here, and we are done."

On reaching the corner, Aryan saw that, unlike most parts of the library, this section was dusty and looked undisturbed. There were mostly parchments and records instead of books. He quickly copied all into his box. As he was about to turn away, he felt a tingle in his magic. He closed his eyes and tried to locate the faint trace. He found that the magic was coming from behind the shelf.

"What happened?" Marwyn asked.

"There is something behind this. I felt some magic coming from there," Aryan said, indicating toward the shelf.

Another Alohomora opened the door.

They heard an audible click, and a gap appeared on one of the sides. Aryan then pushed the shelf aside, and a small passage, wide enough for a person, was revealed. Without thinking much, he pushed forward, lighting his wand. Marwyn followed, closing the shelf behind him.

After some time, they reached a small hall that had two doors. The air was damp, and the whole way was blocked by spiderwebs, which Aryan simply vanished.

"A secret cellar inside the Citadel. I always wondered where some of the previous Maesters conducted their research," Marwyn mused.

He then pushed open the first door and went inside. Aryan followed him, lighting all the fireholders on the way. When he entered the room, they were met with a faint green light everywhere.

"Wildfire," Marwyn whispered. "Enough to blow up this whole place."

"Wildfire? Here? What do the Maesters need it for?" Aryan asked tiredly, gazing around.

"Maybe for some experiments. But I don't understand—why so much? And why are they storing it here? It is so dangerous," Marwyn said, aghast.

"Looking at the place, I doubt anyone here knows about this. Look at the dust—it is so thick. Perhaps some of the previous Maesters must have brought it here, then died before they could tell anyone else."

"Perhaps we should tell them about this," Marwyn said.

"Right, you go ahead and tell them how you 'accidentally' stumbled upon this place and the wildfire," Aryan said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But in all seriousness, this does give us an opportunity. I know I am being reckless—hell, I am pushing my limits here—but I'm going to cast wards on the door. That way, no one will be able to remove with the wildfire pots."

"For what? And how will the wards help?" Marwyn asked.

"Like you said, if the Citadel comes to harm the Children of the Forest, I will use the wildfire to blow this place up. We can spread rumors that it was the Maesters' dangerous experiments that resulted in this. As for the wards, whenever someone tries to remove the fire pots, they will feel that they have some other important work to do," Aryan answered.

"That is a sound plan. Come, let us see the other room," Marwyn said while waiting for Aryan, who set up the necessary wards.

Soon, they reached the next door. As soon as they opened it, they were met with a horrible stench.

Marwyn just fell down and retched. Tears rolled from Aryan's eyes due to the stench, and he almost fainted. He composed himself and cast a Bubble-Head charm on both of their heads.

"Oh, thank the gods. I thought I was going to die due to that stench," Marwyn said, gasping.

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Aryan nodded and lit all the light sources in the room, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him.

"Dragon eggs. And dead dragons," Marwyn whispered in awe from behind him, moving towards them. Aryan followed him and saw a few broken dragon eggs, some malformed dragons—some without legs, others without wings. They all appeared to be only a few days old. Marwyn began looking through the records he found nearby.

Leaving him to his work, Aryan started to explore the other parts of the room. While most of it contained nothing of significance, he eventually came upon a few bodies, preserved and kept at the far end of the room. They were the bodies of small children, perhaps about ten years old, their faces frozen in grimaces of pain. He found some records nearby and began flipping through them, despite his growing misgivings.

"What happened?" Marwyn asked, looking up from his records.

"So, everything you said was true," Aryan said, his voice, though tired, carried a simmering anger beneath the words. "Do you know what these are? Children of the Wildlings—those with warging powers. The Maesters must have kidnapped them, probably through pirates, and dissected their bodies to study their abilities."

Marwyn closed his eyes, his expression pained. "I told you the Citadel is against magic. Remember when I told you I suspected the Citadel might be responsible for killing the dragons? Now I have proof. The previous Grand Maesters used to add Weirwood sap to the dragon's meat. The Weirwood sap acts as a slow poison—not only killing the dragon but also affecting its offspring. That's why the dragons of later Targaryens were small and weak."

Aryan's fists clenched. "Marwyn, if I were my old self, I'd blow this place to pieces and kill every Maester here in the most gruesome way possible."

"I have given my word to the Children of the Forest, Marwyn. This is the last chance I'm giving them," Aryan vowed, his voice steady. "When the Children of the Forest come to the North, and if they try to harm them, then I'll destroy this place and its occupants root and stem."

"You'll find no objections from me," Marwyn said quietly. "Come, let's go. Keep these records with everything else. I want to look at them later. It's getting late."

Aryan applied the Disillusionment Charm to both himself and Marwyn, leaning on him as they began making their way toward the Hightower. It had been a long, tiring day, and there was still much ahead of him.

"How do you find the Reach, Lord Stark?" Margaery inquired, holding his hand.

They were sitting in the pavilion, watching the tourney. Margaery seemed to have taken it upon herself to provide a running commentary, identifying each of the participating knights and their houses. After returning from the Citadel, Aryan had slept until midday, then drank the potion Marwyn had given him. Now, he was functioning somewhat properly without tipping anyone off. Arya was excited about seeing the tourney, and reluctantly, Aryan had accompanied them. The Starks were seated with the Tyrells, positioned at the back for a full view.

"I haven't seen the Reach enough to give you an honest opinion, my lady," Aryan replied.

"It's so green and colorful here, My Lord. You must visit Highgarden. You'll love it," Margaery said, smiling.

"Perhaps another time. I have other plans this time," Aryan told her. Strangely, Olenna Tyrell was sitting beside Margaery, silent. Aryan had expected her to take the lead in the conversation, but instead, she seemed to be testing the waters through her granddaughter.

"Why aren't you participating in the joust, My Lord? Most young lords or heirs try to prove themselves in jousts to catch the attention of maidens," Margaery asked, leaning toward him.

Aryan was distracted for a moment as he observed Margaery. The girl is good. Give her a few more years under the Queen of Thorns, and she'll be a force to reckon with, Aryan thought to himself. The truth is, that I don't have enough energy for both the Joust and the Melee. I would have preferred not to participate in either, but Arya kept pestering me about it.

He refocused on Margaery, his thoughts fleeting as he replied, "Unlike the others of my age, I've proven my worth during the Ironborn rebellion. Perhaps you've heard that I'm also called the Bloody Wolf of the North. I consider jousts useless for warriors. I'm participating in the melee instead."

"You're like my brother Garlan. They call him Garlan the Gallant. He's a good swordsman. But he doesn't participate much in the tourneys. Perhaps today, he'll join the melee against you," Margaery said.

"I'm sure it was your brother Wilas who named Garlan that. It would be a pleasure to compete against the best of the Reach," Aryan said, winking at her.

They sat in silence for a while, watching as an Appleby knight unhorsed a Florent knight. Aryan didn't bother to remember their names.

He turned to Margaery and asked, "The tourney here has high attendance. It seems like most of the Houses are represented."

"The Reach is the heart of chivalry, Lord Stark. There's always a tourney somewhere here," Margaery replied.

"And you attend all of them?" Aryan asked, looking at her.

"Only the important ones, my Lord. Lord Hightower informed us that you may be coming to Oldtown, so I came with my family to meet you. I've always wanted to meet you. I've heard about how you dealt with the Ironborn. Since then, I've always wanted to meet you," Margaery said, batting her eyes.

Having enough of her pathetic seduction attempts, Aryan told her, "If you are trying to seduce me, I will say that you are not good enough. You are still a girl, a little girl, if I am to be more specific. Wearing a low-cut dress to show your non-existent teats, rubbing my hands, or batting your eyelashes are not going to work against me. Perhaps after a few years, it may work."

Margaery sat, eyes wide, cheeks red, and lost for words. She tried to speak but closed her mouth. But she was saved by her grandmother laughing.

"She has much to learn. Go on, dear, why don't you join Arya Cailstark and give her company?" she said, trying to dismiss her granddaughter.

"I doubt Arya would enjoy her company. She hates doing what normal ladies do. Let Lady Margaery stay here," Aryan told them.

Olenna shrugged at that.

"What do they feed you in the North, boy? You are as old as my Garlan, but taller than him?" Olenna said, looking over him.

"It is the harsh nature. It makes us strong. Uncle Ned says that if they had seen Greatjon Umber before Gregor Clegane, then Clegane would not be named the Mountain," Aryan told her.

There was suddenly a loud cheer. Brynden Tully had just unhorsed Renly, who was getting up and waving to the crowd.

"Is he any good? I can't say I am impressed by his performance," Aryan asked, referring to Renly.

"Lord Renly is a fine jouster and knight," Margaery said.

"Pfft. He is just a summer knight. All flowery without a backbone," Olenna scoffed.

"Well, also because he is no match for a veteran like the Blackfish," Aryan added.

"The Blackfish. Did you know he was to marry my niece Bethany? But he refused," Olenna asked.

"He must have his reasons. But I agree with you. Lady Bethany is surely very beautiful," Aryan agreed.

"What about you? You are of age to get married. Did you find someone?" she asked.

"No. There is no hurry. I could ask you the same? Lord Wilas is older than me. Why is he not married yet?" Aryan asked.

"We are still looking for prospective matches. And like you said yourself, there is no hurry. He has told me about your proposal. Can he really be healed?" Olenna asked.

"I can give you no guarantee. But Qyburn is quite skilled, and I have known him successfully healing a soldier from Winterfell suffering from the same problem. Besides, Wilas has nothing to lose. Still, it is up to you whether you want to send him or not," Aryan told her.

"Mace will need some convincing. Wilas is a sweet boy. If this Qyburn can fix his leg, then there is no reason my grandson should not go there," Olenna said.

"Send him at your convenience. I will send word to Winterfell," Aryan told her.

"Regarding marriage, do you know how I became Lady Tyrell of Highgarden?" Olenna asked.

Aryan had dug into Olenna's past. He found out that she had been betrothed to Daeron Targaryen, and her sister was betrothed to Luthor Tyrell. But somehow, Olenna ended up marrying Luthor. So he told her one of the possible scenarios that made most sense:

"As a matter of fact, I do. You were betrothed to Daeron Targaryen, while your sister was betrothed to Luthor Tyrell. Ambitious, you were, so you seduced and fucked your sister's intended, and he decided to marry you. And you became Lady Tyrell."

"Where did you hear that?" Olenna said, raising an eyebrow. "While what you said is true, I don't think anyone outside my family knows about it?"

"Here and there, my Lady," Aryan replied with a smile.

"That is not very specific," Margaery chimed in.

Still smiling, Aryan told her, "Because it is none of your business." Then, looking at Olenna, he said, "But a very concerned Lady told me this story when she learned that I would be meeting you." Then he turned his attention back to the joust.

Let her stew on that and try to find out who my source is and make her distrustful of her people, he thought. Aryan saw Olenna looking at him sharply from the corner of his eye.

After some time, she said, changing the subject, "The North's food production is affecting us."

"Really? So what? It is not a crime to grow one's own food," he replied to her.

"We are unable to sell our food. Well, it will not affect the vast wealth of the Reach, still, we are concerned. The smallfolk are suffering," Olenna added.

"That is not my concern. They are your people. It is up to you to make them content," Aryan told her.

"The North was our biggest buyer. We used to supply you food always. Don't you think it is your responsibility to protect the interests of those who used to provide you food in times of need?" Olenna asked again.

Giving her undivided attention and meeting her eyes, Aryan told her, "You know, I had looked over the journals of the previous Stark Lords. They used to buy food from the Reach. Did you know what I found? While you sold food, you sold it at cut-throat prices, knowing that the North would buy it as they are always desperate. You sold food at high prices and took all the hard-earned money from us, leaving the Northerners to live a hard life. That is why I and Uncle Ned decided that there was no need to suffer this. So we are growing our own food. The additional food needed is provided by the Riverlands at very cheap rates through Uncle Ned's marriage."

The Queen of Thorns did not say anything at that.

Aryan added, "I know there is discontent among the Lords of Reach due to this. Lord Mace is being called incompetent, as he is not able to find a buyer for the food grains. After all, it was the food that has made Reach rich through the years."

"We are not desperate, Lord Stark," Olenna said, not meeting his eyes.

"Whatever. But still, I can provide a solution to this problem," Aryan told her.

"And what would that be?" Olenna asked.

"I may be willing to buy food from the Reach, but at very cheap rates, like the Riverlands," Aryan told her.

"What for? If you are growing your own food, what will you do with the additional food?" Olenna asked.

"That is not any of your concern. If you are willing, send me word. I will send my representative to Reach for a detailed discussion," Aryan told her. It will help with feeding the Wildlings, and the remaining can be sold in Essos at a little higher price, making profits.

Mulling the proposal in her head, Olenna said, "Seeing that we do not have any better alternative, I will accept your proposal. Send your man when it is time."

"Excellent," Aryan announced.

Another cheer rose from the crowd. The Blackfish had won the joust.

"Looks like Ser Brynden has won the joust," Aryan said, turning to the others. "And it is time I got ready for the melee. See you ladies."

"Not so tight, Rodrik," Aryan added as his squire was tightening his armor behind him.

"Be careful, My Lord," Ser Rodrik said, handing Aryan his sword, Frostbite.

Pulling the longsword from its sheath, Aryan examined it closely. He had enchanted it to be ever-clean, ensuring the blade remained free of any bloodstains.

"Show them why you are called the Bloody Wolf of the North," Arya shouted excitedly from the sidelines. "I have bet five gold dragons with Lord Wilas that you will win."

Everyone turned to Arya in surprise.

"Arya, what would Uncle say? Gambling?" Aryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Lord Wilas said that his brother Garlan would win. I said you would win," Arya replied nonchalantly.

"Now I must definitely win the melee to save Arya's bet," Aryan said with a grin. If I was not tired, then it would have been a lot easier.

"My Lord, the melee is about to begin," a servant called out, bowing.

"I am ready," Aryan replied, dismissing the servant. He donned his helm and began walking toward the melee grounds, Ser Rodrik following closely behind while the others made their way to the seats.

Aryan entered the arena. He took a moment to observe the scene. Almost a hundred participants were scattered across the field. Some wore polished knightly armor, while others donned the more humble leather of sellswords. Aryan noticed Garlan Tyrell standing opposite him and gave him a nod in acknowledgment.

As the referee began to blow the horns, Aryan closed his eyes, focusing. With his enhanced body and sharp senses, he could hear every breath of the participants, feel the vibrations in the air. With the third horn, he opened his eyes, and everything seemed to move in slow motion.

He side-stepped a knight charging toward him, delivering a swift kick to the knight's side. The man crashed into another competitor. Aryan grinned. The battle had begun.

Strike, dodge, parry, kick—he moved through the fray with practiced ease, taking down opponent after opponent. Many noticed him as a primary threat, and soon enough, a group of them surrounded him. They worked together, trying to bring him down. Aryan swung at their shields, hacking and cleaving through the defences. 

Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his side and heard a voice behind him: "I am so sorry."

Without hesitation, Aryan turned, his sword flashing out and beheading the man who had raised a dagger, preparing to strike him again.

Before he could fully process the incident, he was engaged once more by the remaining combatants. Enraged by the attempted murder, Aryan unleashed a flurry of powerful strikes. Frostbite cleaved through armor, shields, and even shattered swords. His mind didn't linger on the wound in his side, knowing his magic would heal him soon.

Time passed in a blur. Before he knew it, only he and Garlan Tyrell remained. The Tyrell was on the defensive, clearly tired. As Aryan was fatigued, he decided to finish the match quickly.

He went on the offensive, delivering a powerful slash. Predictably, Garlan blocked it with his shield, but the force of the strike staggered him. When Garlan looked down, he saw a tear in his shield. He looked up just in time to see Aryan's sword coming down on him again.

Garlan quickly rolled away, but Aryan didn't relent. He continued his onslaught, forcing Garlan into a corner. Soon, Garlan's shield was useless, shattered in the frenzy. Aryan's next strike broke Garlan's sword in half. The Tyrell heir stared at the broken weapon in wide-eyed disbelief.

As Aryan prepared to make the final strike, Garlan shouted, "Wait! I yield! I yield!" He threw his sword to the ground in surrender.

Aryan nodded, slowly lowering his sword and removing his helm. He grimaced, feeling the fatigue finally catching up with him.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Many eyes were on Aryan, some wide in admiration. He raised his sword, waving to the audience before starting to make his way back to the tent.

As he exited the arena, he noticed some defeated combatants giving him fearful looks. Ser Rodrik joined him shortly after, walking beside him.

"How did I do, Ser Rodrik?" Aryan asked, still smiling but feeling the exhaustion setting in.

With a respectful nod, Rodrik said, "I couldn't believe my eyes. It was just amazing. I knew from the days I was teaching you the basics that you would be a fine swordsman. And seeing it with my own eyes, I can say I was right."

Aryan smiled at the praise and entered the tent. The two Stark guards opened the tent flap for him. Aryan sat down heavily, still trying to catch his breath. Not long after, Arya and Ser Brynden Tully entered.

"So, how did I fight?" Aryan asked with a tired smile. 'He was really tired now.'

"You were like an animal. Your first kick made the knight lift off his feet. After you killed that man, it was like you were in a bloodlust. Your strikes were cleaving through whatever they struck," Rodrik said, already helping Aryan remove his armor.

"Don't worry about killing the others," Blackfish said "You only killed one. Ten others died, too, but the melee has its risks. That's why most don't participate in it. Still, seeing you fight, I must say it was Arthur Dayne's speed combined with Brandon Stark's power. I've seen both of them fight. You are very deadly with a combination of both. Many Lords, especially Lord Randyll Tarly, were impressed. I even heard him say he was considering you to foster his heir."

The Blackfish praised him, and Aryan nodded his thanks. While he wasn't bothered by killing the man who tried to take his life, the apology had stuck with him. I am so sorry

'Why did the killer try to apologize?' Aryan wondered. 

Interrupting his thoughts, Arya jingled a purse in front of him. "Look, I won some gold."

Everyone laughed at her antics.

The feast was in full swing, and many were already drunk. Aryan, the honored guest, mingled with Lords and their families, politely evading certain marriage proposals. It seemed that his reputation had only grown, and now he was attracting attention from the ladies. He had danced with several of them, and now he was taking a brief rest after dancing with a few more.

Blackfish had taken Arya away for the night, as it was growing late. But Aryan could tell the feast would continue for a few more hours.

"Lord Stark, pleased to meet you. I am Randyll Tarly, Lord of Hornhill." A well-built man came and introduced himself.

Placing his drink down, Aryan shook Lord Tarly's hand and said, "The only man who defeated His Grace Robert Baratheon. My Uncle has a rather high opinion of you."

"Lord Eddard is a good man," Randyll said. "This is my heir Samwell Tarly," he said, indicating a pudgy boy beside him.

"Pleasure meeting you, Samwell," Aryan greeted the boy and shook his hand.

"Now go to your mother, boy. I have to speak something important to Lord Stark," Randyll said, dismissing his son.

Samwell ran away with a fearful look towards his father.

Randyll turned to Aryan and asked, "I have a request, Lord Stark. I would like to foster my son with you."

Aryan had already known this from Ser Brynden. So he told him, "I am not even of age, Lord Tarly. How can I take him as a ward?"

"You are a fine warrior, My Lord. And from what I have heard, an excellent Lord. My son is regretfully a craven. I cannot have someone so weak to succeed me. The boy spends his time reading books. He likes songs instead of swords. Once I tried to make him skin an animal, he ran crying. I tried everything I could but I was unable to change his attitude. At his age, you fought against those Ironborn cunts. Your cousin Robb Cailstark had fought in Skagos."

"If your son does not like swords and likes to read, why don't you send him to the Citadel and let him become a Maester?" Aryan asked.

"Nobody sends their eldest son and heir to the Citadel to become a Maester, my Lord. If I don't have any other option, I would have to send him to the Wall forcibly," Randyll said.

Aryan thought for some time and looked at Samwell sitting alone, listening to the music. Then turning his attention towards the Lord of Hornhill, he said, "Lord Tarly, since I am on a visit to the Free Cities, I cannot foster your son under me." Seeing the crestfallen expression on Randyll's face, Aryan continued, "But I have a better idea. From what you said, your son is very intelligent that he has learned everything that the books can teach him. What he needs is real-life experience. I suggest that you allow him to become a squire with Ser Brynden Tully. The Blackfish spends most of his time in the Riverlands or in the Vale, sometimes hunting the bandits. Once he sees the real world, he will change himself. Ser Brynden will ensure that he is protected. If you want, I can ask Ser Brynden Tully to accept Samwell as his squire. And Moat Cailin is closer to the Riverlands than Winterfell; he can visit there with Blackfish sometimes, and my uncle can assess his growth and send you the reports. After seeing those reports you can decide how to move forward."

Randyll mulled over what Aryan said. Then he said, "I must say that is an excellent idea. Best warriors are shaped by the harsh world around them. Under a renowned Knight like Ser Brynden, I am sure he will learn many things. And he will be knighted by a veteran like Ser Brynden, unlike some summer knight around here. And your suggestion about your uncle assessing him is also very good. Unlike others, he will not lie to me. Very well, Lord Stark, I can see the benefit of the idea. Thank you. I will have my son ready by the time you embark from Oldtown."

"Immediately. Don't you think Samwell must say goodbye to his family or pick his things from there?" Aryan asked.

"Nothing I cannot buy from here. As for saying goodbyes, I think it would be better if he did not. It will be difficult to take him in the presence of my wife and daughters," Randyll said.

Aryan nodded, looking over the hall. Noticing his looks, Randyll asked, "Who are you looking for, Lord Stark?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I was just looking for Lord Leyton Hightower. I could not find him since the feast," Aryan replied, casually scanning the crowd.

"He must be at the Citadel. The Maesters seem to have discovered a large cache of Wildfire inside the Library," Randyll informed him.

'Marwyn did his job,' Aryan thought and said, "Oh, Wildfire inside the Citadel itself is dangerous."

"I'm sure Lord Hightower and the Maesters would easily solve the problem. I would like to wish you good luck for your meeting with the Maesters. Seems like they are going to have a debate with you at the Seneschal's court," Randyll said with a smile.

"Thank you, Lord Tarly. I really hope it goes well," Aryan replied. After some time, Randyll Tarly went away, and Aryan decided to take a rest as tomorrow was another important day.

Finally, after three days of eventful stay in Oldtown, they were ready to depart.

Aryan noticed Randyll Tarly talking with Ser Brynden. His son Samwell was standing nearby. Aryan saw that Sam was crying.

"I must say, Lord Stark, in three days you have gained popularity here. The smallfolk are here to see you off. And of course, the Citadel. Those Maesters are singing high praise of you," The Hightower heir said.

"Why wouldn't they? Lord Stark has achieved something unprecedented in the history of the Citadel?" Wilas said, smiling.

Aryan smiled at them. Yesterday, he had visited the Citadel. The Archmaester had engaged in a discussion-cum-debate with him on various subjects. He had proven that he was proficient in those subjects. Not only did he have knowledge, but he also unashamedly read their surface thoughts through liberal use of legilimency. It was not his fault that for someone like him, they were practically screaming the answers. The result was hanging around his neck: a chain with ten links signifying his mastery in those subjects. After that, the Seneschal had officially announced the setting up of the University. Though privately, they had told him that the Citadel could not share all the books and records with them, to which Aryan easily agreed. After all, he had already taken everything the Citadel had to offer. He was going to send all the books and scrolls to the north from Sunspear with Ser Rodrik. Though he didn't know exactly what he'd be carrying, he had already given orders to Jaqen to start copying them as soon as they arrived.

He smiled at that and told them diplomatically, "All thanks to Maester Luwin and Marwyn for their teachings."

They all continued their small talk.

"My Lord, the ship is ready. We must depart before nightfall," His captain came and reminded him.

Aryan then bade goodbyes to Wilas and Baelor. Wilas had informed him that he would come to Winterfell within a year as he had to settle a few affairs in Highgarden.

Then he turned his attention to Margaery and gifted her a colorful rose made of glass, saying, "A beautiful rose to the Rose of Highgarden."

With wide eyes admiring the gift, Margaery thanked him, "Thank you, my Lord. This is very beautiful."

After that, he waved to the smallfolk who had come to see him off. Aryan had spent some time with them whenever he had the chance. While a few Reach Lords had grudges against him for taking away their source of wealth, the smallfolk adored him. The Bloody Wolf was popular here for the way he had saved many people from the Ironborn. The people cheered.

A change was coming in the Reach. The Old Gods were regaining favor. Soon, in a few years, the Faith of the Seven in the Reach would experience difficulties. Funny thing is, the person responsible for this shift didn't even care.

As the ship sailed into the Sunset Sea, leaving the docks behind, Aryan concluded, 'The visit to Oldtown was a successful venture.'