novelnext Chapter 412 – The Raven Arrives at King’s Landing.
Chapter 412 – The Raven Arrives at King’s Landing.
[Chapter Size: 3900 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Westeros, 300 AC.
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Currently, the Arctican fleet is preparing to depart for the continent of Westeros, which was beginning to calm down after moons of conflict with the War of the Five Kings, leaving scars scattered everywhere.
Until, suddenly, everything collapsed, and all the stability the kingdoms were regaining turned into true chaos weeks ago.
News of the Arctican fleet had recently been reaching all of the west, but it was not the cause of the current chaos — not yet. Because, in recent days, the ravens Jon had sent since crossing the Wall, warning about the rot within the order of the maesters, had finally spread throughout all of Westeros weeks ago, as it had been more than a moon and a half since the Arcticans arrived in the south.
Jon had sent threats to certain groups of families some time after stabilizing on Bear Island, but the ravens about the order were the first thing he dispatched, while the ravens carrying the documents traveled through every castle, mainly seeking their lords and trying to avoid the maesters, since there were some who would break the Arctican seal to read it before passing it to their lords, as had already happened in the North.
The first thing that frightened everyone who saw the raven was the symbol of the blue snowflake on a white background as a wax seal on the letters and scrolls.
Only one place had that symbol, which meant the Arcticans had finally begun to act after all this time. Men and women who looked at the letter in their hands swallowed dryly.
Those lords from beyond the Wall, who had disappeared, while the entire world seemed strange... the sun had grown short, so short it was frightening, barely visible day after day, and the temperature had dropped greatly.
Whispers about them being in a mythical war continued to circulate. People wondered what had happened to the Arcticans. Were they really fighting the dead? Had they been destroyed? There had been no answer in the past year.
People were confused. Some said that due to their absence, declaring their destruction, this was punishment from the gods after everything they had done against Westeros.
Others said they were simply waiting for the moment to arrive.
There were so many discussions and no way to know, even more so with the War of the Five Kings, the death of Lord Stark, and also the independence of the North. Comments varied everywhere, depending on who and from which region.
Returning to the letters, every man and woman who got their hands on the letter — whether lord or maester — broke the wax seal, which cracked in an almost beautiful way. Even the seal itself, along with the quality of the paper, was unique, far more than they expected from a people living in the wasteland beyond the Wall. Far superior to Westeros...
Then came the next bombshell.
Something that would change Westeros forever from that moment on.
No one could have expected something like this from them, without any prior warning.
As each lord and lady read, they could not help but look horrified, while the maester who would usually be at their side, ready to understand what was happening and give his opinion, looked in surprise at their lord's expression, an expression that varied depending on who read the letter.
They took the documents and placed them on the table, and some looked in horror at their maester, seeing that it was their own signature.
There were documents that proved espionage, information passed directly to the Citadel, manipulation, commands, and actions carried out by the lords. There were even records such as "I suggested this..." or "Lord X is planning to redo that."
But it went far beyond that.
There were detailed reports on the houses' economies, food stocks, trade routes, numbers of soldiers, the condition of the walls, and even the morale of the armies. Records of internal conflicts, ongoing betrayals, and secret alliances that not even other lords knew about.
Some documents contained cold evaluations of the lords themselves: strengths, weaknesses, vices, fears… and how to exploit them.
There were letters suggesting political marriages, encouraging wars, or, in some cases, delaying strategic decisions to favor the greater interests of the Citadel itself. Advice that seemed innocent, but over time shaped the fate of entire regions.
There were also records of intercepted messages, with maesters opening letters before delivering them, copying their contents, and sending duplicates to Oldtown. Some even subtly altered information before it reached its recipients.
And the most disturbing…
There were documents showing that certain historical events were not merely influenced — but guided. Rebellions that received "wrong advice," wars that could have been avoided, decisions that led houses to ruin… all with small suggestions whispered over the years.
All of this was documented in the maesters' own handwriting.
The Citadel might lament the theft of books, vaults, and its most protected rooms. They might even pretend that was the greatest loss.
But it was not.
The real danger lay in the documents.
Perhaps some had not understood this. Since the elders… the grand maesters who died by Jon's sword in that massacre that day — those knew exactly what could be at stake with someone possessing those documents. Perhaps they believed it would never leave Oldtown. That is why they never got rid of it and used it as historical documentation.
Since the Citadel currently hated Arctic, but did not seem desperate to understand the danger of those papers taken beyond the Wall.
The maesters below the highest rank should not know what would happen if that fell into the wrong hands.
Because those documents were not merely records. They were proof.
Proof of manipulation, of interference, of decisions shaped in the shadows. Proof that the Citadel did not merely observe the world… but guided it.
Jon was fortunate that they considered it a luxury to keep those papers, whether as an excellent source of research to understand events or even to use certain old tricks to control the path Westeros should follow in the minds of the old grey rats.
These documents were still, naturally, something to be kept. But now they had been taken from the Citadel amid a chaos that they themselves had caused at the time.
These documents fell into the hands of the Arcticans and, together with Maester Marwyn, who set aside his position as archmaester to go to Arctica, where he has his residence to this day and intends to live until the end of his days, in a magical kingdom as he had always dreamed. Marwyn organized all the documents at the king's request to map everything. He, along with Jon himself, Aemon, and other scholars of Arctic, read and reread thousands upon thousands of letters over the past years.
Events were consulted, mapping each action of each of the lords as the Citadel controlled or even suggested, whispering in the ears of their lords. Not all followed what they were told — they had to remain neutral on the surface — however, when they did not follow, they acted in other ways, in a more active manner, trying to place them on the path they desired.
The order considered itself an organization worthy of guiding humanity, and those documents basically revealed that. They wanted to build a world under the control of the Citadel, a world without any trace of magic, after all, they hated it as well, for not being able to explain it.
While in the middle of the game, men and women were manipulated like puppets, there were the common folk and those deemed useful, and there were also those who would be placed in key positions as players and leaders, such as Joffrey, Margaery, Robb, among others. And there were those who considered themselves the masters of the game, who stayed behind the scenes, controlling everything and their 'champions', such as Tywin, Olenna, Doran, Varys, Baelish, and many others.
However, there was another invisible group... This was not common knowledge. Not even the masters of the game knew about them. They had no idea that there was a group that disguised itself with good suggestions and a smile on its face, with that air of weakness due to age, controlling everything behind the curtains like a great system.
This was the Citadel, the order of the maesters.
Believing that it could guide the world and destroy all magic. Just as they conspired to kill the dragons, just as they plotted to destroy the Targaryen family.
The nobles reacted in various ways to those letters from Arctic. Some simply confronted those who whispered in their ears about the documents, with the maesters trying to argue or deny it. Others admitted it, since there was no way to deny the signature and handwriting used on those papers, stating that they did it for the Citadel and that they should always report everything that happened in the Seven Kingdoms.
Some lords did not like this. They ordered their maesters arrested and sent direct letters to the Citadel, demanding explanations.
Most of the lords were still at war, scattered across Westeros, so they could not respond. Those who responded were usually their wives or a younger son who were responsible for the castle, and their actions varied. Some isolated the maester, others imprisoned him in the dungeons and sent some knight or man to seek guidance from their husbands, or asked for them to return immediately. Some did not know what to do, merely asked for the maester to be watched, without imprisoning him, while he swore to remain loyal to the house.
Thus, the first crisis in Westeros had finally emerged: a wave of distrust from the nobles against the Citadel itself and its maesters, someone all lords were accustomed to having as part of their household.
Trust was broken, and Westeros was rapidly dividing, while those maesters who still had a chance tried to regain the trust of their lords.
The lords, who often were not particularly intelligent on their own, always depended on their maesters to deal with almost everything or simply to ask for an opinion. However, there was something Westeros had in abundance: pride. And no lord liked to think that he had been deceived all this time, entrusting the secrets of his house to a man of chains who was simply there sending correspondence to the Citadel, informing its strengths and, above all, its weaknesses — and how the Citadel could use them.
An order that wanted to guide the world as it wished. This was far beyond songs or legends. A silent maester, whom no one suspected all this time, was like a hidden knife or nearly invisible strings controlling each lord like a puppet. Their actions were not to raise arms, but to build subtlety and trust in the ears of the nobles, their frail appearance, wise mind, and good counsel over the years created the perfect weapon the Citadel needed.
When a particular raven, bearing the Arctican seal, arrived at the capital, flying over the city and even letting out some sounds of displeasure at the stench, it made its way to the maester's tower.
At first, upon landing, it looked for the correspondent Jon had sent to it through a mental message — the face of Tywin Lannister, so that it would place the letters before him. However, by fate, the maester was, at that moment, tending to the ravens in the cages and perches with grain. When he looked at the raven, he noticed a bundle of letters, which took him by surprise, as usually only one came for him. But there was a strap tied to the raven's back, with several letters fastened by a type of leather, to prevent any rain along the way from soaking them.
"What do we have here?", he said, approaching, trembling, as he opened the raven's pouch.
There, as he took several letters, his eyes widened. His own body seemed to freeze when he saw the first letter with a symbol.
It was not a star. It was the blue snowflake.
"So it is from that bastard... it seems he quite appreciates these documents...", Pycelle muttered, with growing irritation as he perceived the tone of provocation and mockery in the words.
He was loyal to the Lannisters and considered Arctica a band of savages who should be destroyed for what they had done to the Citadel, for it was never the same again — and also for what they represented.
But at the same time, there was fear. The fear that they had returned, that they were back — and now sought something that everyone had already foreseen: revenge.
Tywin Lannister should know about this immediately, Pycelle thought, though he did not fail to consider another possibility. Perhaps he could read the letters and inform the Citadel of Jon and Arctic's threats.
But Tywin no longer trusted him as much. Despite Pycelle always having demonstrated loyalty to House Lannister — after all, was it not he who opened the gates and facilitated the Lannisters' entry into King's Landing two decades ago?
Pycelle had been showing some difficulty in the council and in presenting better information, and not his usual flattery, which greatly irritated Tywin.
Pycelle should open those letters and read them, already suggesting a counter-response to appear more useful to Tywin. For a moment, he almost broke the seal. But, thinking better of it, Tywin might see that as an affront to his orders. After all, he had been instructed to deliver all letters directly to Tywin, especially because there was a certain internal conflict with the Tyrells at that moment, and the fear of spies intercepting any correspondence made everything be sent directly to the Hand of the King.
Because of this, he withdrew his hand from the seal.
As quickly as he could, he began descending the tower where the maester resided. He walked with some difficulty due to his age, going down the stairs while some people greeted him. Some lords looked at him with a certain suspicion.
"Since when can they do this to me?", he thought, irritated.
He was the Grand Maester, the one who advised the king, who had served three kings, no less. He deserved respect, he told himself. Soon, he ignored those looks.
Upon entering the garden and heading toward the Tower of the Hand, he could not help but notice someone staring at him. He looked to see who it was. There was the elderly woman, with a crowd of young people around her.
Olenna Tyrell.
Her eyes were fixed on him, then lowered to his hands, where he carried the letters. A slight arch of her eyebrow appeared on her face, while they gleamed with many thoughts, but she could not see the seal of the letters, so there was nothing she could know about... Even if it seemed important enough to make the maester go to the Tower of the Hand.
Pycelle did not care much and moved on.
He went forward, entered the place after being identified by the guards, and advanced to the upper floor, where he was stopped by some men.
"The Lord Hand is busy, Grand Maester Pycelle," said the guards.
"I must say that what I have to speak with the Lord Hand is of utmost importance."
"Sorry, Grand Maester, but Lord Tywin has asked not to be disturbed..." He tried to insist on sending Pycelle away, but what he had in his hands was something Tywin would never forgive if he were not informed immediately.
Pycelle's voice then became firmer. "Tell the Lord Hand that I have news of Arctic, Ar-C-Ti-C. Nothing less! If you do not bring this information to him, I will say that it was you who prevented me. And believe me, there is no greater enemy than the Arcticans for us at this moment. If Tywin learns that you refused when I tried to pass on this information, just to preserve his peace, you will have your head cut off."
He spoke slowly, watching the man before him go first through irritation, then surprise — and finally, fear.
"I will see what I can do," he said with displeasure, trying to maintain composure, and turned away.
As he knocked on the door, he heard Tywin Lannister say something. He did not seem to be in a good mood. The man knew he would be punished one way or another, but some difficulties were worth more than being beheaded for withholding information in the midst of a crisis.
"Lord Hand, he says he has news of... Arctic… he received a raven."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Only three seconds passed, and a chair creaked inside, louder than it should have been heard. "Send him in."
His voice was firm.
The man nodded and opened the door, while Pycelle entered the office, finding Tywin standing, looking out the window. He only did this when he was truly nervous, as he had clearly been seated writing something before — the quill and parchment were left aside on the table.
"Is this true?", Tywin turned to him with a firm tone, already looking at the letters, not taking his eyes off them.
"Yes, my lord. A raven arrived with strange equipment, carrying all of them in a belt fastened to its body." He placed the letters on the table.
Tywin approached carefully and observed the wax seal with the symbol. He had never received one personally. After all, he had never exchanged direct correspondence with the Arcticans before.
The only interactions they had were that time in Lannisport, when Tywin had to recover his son as a prisoner of the Arcticans and negotiate an eldenmetal steel sword. There was also the time when Tyrion brought the letter with information about his house's official Valyrian steel sword, in the hands of the Arcticans, which he had negotiated with Arya before the chaos happened.
Tywin had also seen that symbol in the letters he had been rereading — correspondence from Arctica sent directly to King Robert at the time, containing threats and justifications for why he was massacring and looting Oldtown.
There was also a very old letter that Tywin found among the records of old correspondence, sent directly from the Wall. That one, however, did not even have a seal, as it was the Wall itself that sent it. It was not the boy who wrote it at the time, but someone who conveyed his words when the king invited him to King's Landing, to become a knight at eleven years old.
'You can shove that promotion up your ass.' The boy wanted to say.
Tywin could not help but have many thoughts about the king of Arctic in recent moons. After all, he had been studying him all this time, almost obsessively. He needed to understand who he was dealing with — who they were about to deal with.
He had always known that Arctica would not remain vanished forever. And when they learned what had happened to Lady Stark… they would come.
He had not been wrong after all...
Tywin slowly picked up one of the letters. He saw that the message was for him — only for him. He could very well summon the council urgently and read it before everyone, whatever was written inside. But no. First, he would read it personally. He did not want to frighten his allies or give them reason to distance themselves or plot against his family. After all, the alliance with the Tyrells was full of doubts. Tywin feared that the Tyrells might turn against them out of fear of Arctican retaliation.
Pycelle did not even dare to breathe as Tywin began to open the letter, reading the first lines.
He remained there, watching, waiting to see what kind of threat the Arcticans would begin to make. He was certain that Tywin would find a solution to deal with them. No matter how powerful they were, the one who should command the Seven Kingdoms now was the great Lord Tywin — not the fool Lord Stark or Jon Arryn.
He saw Tywin's eyes narrow as he began to read, line by line. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead, and a trace of hatred and anger began to form.
Pycelle sharpened his curiosity even further.
But then he saw something he had never imagined witnessing.
Tywin began to grow terrified.
His face paled. His hands trembled.
Pycelle felt a tightening. "My lord… are you well?", he asked carefully.
What had the Arcticans written for the great lion to become like this? To lose his composure? Lord Tywin was the type who would rather die than show weakness.
He continued reading, line by line, without responding. Pycelle realized that his presence had been completely ignored at that moment. It was as if he were not even there.
Then, in a quick movement, Tywin finished the last line, placed the letter on the table, and immediately moved to another. He broke the seal aggressively, almost tearing it, and began to read again, even faster.
Pycelle's eyes lifted. He leaned forward slightly, trying to see the contents of the letter on the table. But his vision was no longer as good as before. He would need to be much closer to be able to read it.
Even so, he could clearly see Tywin's expression.
Pale.
And it did not change.
Even as he continued reading.
More horrified — and with more anger — he seemed.
Tywin continued trembling. He dropped the previous paper and opened another with even more haste.
On the third letter, it was different.
He felt Tywin's gaze fall immediately upon him. A gaze full of hatred, something Pycelle had never imagined receiving. Perhaps it was not directed at him as an enemy… but, at that moment, it seemed to be.
Pycelle could not understand.
Tywin's eyes returned to the letter. He regained his composure, firm and rigid, reading a few more lines. When he finished, he raised his gaze again — and that gaze fell upon Pycelle once more.
It was as if he had seen a ghost.
He simply placed the letter on the table and stared into the void, as if he were not looking at anything in particular.
"My lord… are you well?", Pycelle asked, approaching cautiously.
Tywin lifted his gaze. And the hatred was there. Pycelle saw his teeth clench.
"Guards!", Tywin shouted immediately.
The men rushed in. "Lord Hand?"
"Take Pycelle to the dungeons. Now!" The shout echoed through the chamber.
Pycelle went blank. Even the guards hesitated for a moment, confused.
"Now!", Tywin roared.
It was enough.
They moved immediately, grabbing Pycelle's arms.
"Wait! My lord, what is happening? Why? What have I done?", he began to shout, desperate.
Tywin did not even look at him. He lifted the letter again, rereading those lines that filled him with overwhelming rage.
'Aerys forced Joanna to go to his chambers some moons ago. I believe the baby she carries is the Mad King's. The bloodline of dragons may be being raised by lions. We must do something...' The handwriting was Pycelle's.
A message sent directly to the Citadel — one of the many documents attached to the massive correspondence Jon had prepared.
There was a raven in the office by the window, watching everything, curious to see Tywin's reaction.
And in its eyes, there was a subtle gleam — as if it was not at all disappointed with what it saw.
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