#mataryswaters

[westeros-rp]

The tower he stood on still amazed him every day, no matter how many hours he had spent on just admiring the great Hightower of Oldtown. There were far more complex buildings in Essos; from the Valyrian-inspired architecture of the Free Cities to the grandiose creations of Old Ghis, as well as breathtaking constructs of Yi Ti. Still, the sheer size of the tower on its own was amazing to Matarys. Standing behind the topmost aesthetic crenelations was always a joy - the boy could see the surrounding lands clearly and observe a new thing every day. In fact, he swore he'd gazed at the enormous wall on the other side of the continent on a clear day. "Come, Matarys. Your belongings are waiting outside the tower gates." The old maester's wispy voice made the boy pull his fingers into a fist while he turned to the man, as if he was irritated by the archmaester interrupting his daily routine although the truth stood elsehow. "Thank you, archmaester. I know the tower well, I believe I should be able to find my way downstairs." The acolyte turned once more, looking down at the Oldtown ports. But something was wrong. Far too silent. The old man behind him hadn't made any noise or shuffled his feet to move down the stairs. Matarys turned once more, his piercing gaze now a fierce glare. An inquisitive raised eyebrow made the archmaester speak again, "I'm afraid I must accompany you. You can lead the way, if you wish." A bright smile on the man's face spoke loud enough. He wasn't frightened of some spoiled adolescent, no matter how volatile the young man had proven to be. Matarys easily towered over the man, too, as he walked beside him and down the staircase. The bastard had already abandoned his cloak, instead wearing his new outfit specifically made for his Westeros endeavors. An obsidian black gambeson strapped tightly against his body from throat to knees, precisely decorated with red and gold accents, and a small belt along his waist to hold up what looked like a shortsword's sheath. Tight leather boots hugged all the way up his leg, to his knees as well, with only his face and hands as visible skin. His maester's chain, halfway complete (Matarys had finished about seven links of his chain, six of those silver), was wrapped around his left shoulder, almost reaching his elbow. The shine of solely silver and valyrian steel chain was a strange sight to most maesters, even moreso with the chain hung around the boy's arm rather than his neck. The tower being so large also meant it took some time to reach the gates, a journey down the many stairs that wasn't exactly pleasant for the archmaester that silently trailed behind the tall boy. No weapon was allowed inside the Citadel, and the old man's eyes flickered to Matarys' sheath more than once. He'd seen it before, three years past when the bastard enrolled into the Citadel. A pure black shortsword, that the maesters knew well to be dragonglass. The sword had its guard and grip made of valyrian steel, which made the maester wonder why the boy hadn't opted for a valyrian steel blade instead. Alas, the man had been told to swallow his pride and let the boy wear and wield what he wanted, as long as he quit the Citadel for good. With no comment of his chain, Matarys walked out of the gates in between the two sphinxes and turned to greet the maester one final time. "I wish you fare better out there, Matarys." the old man spoke, distate clear in his voice. "And I wish you the best of luck, Maester. Lords know the realm needs it, too." A disturbing grin ruled over his lips as he spat his venom. The maester slowly closed the gates, and Matarys turned to freedom. His advisor had responded to his raven in time, traveling to Oldtown and now had already started packing Matarys' chests onto the wagon. The older man pointed his workers around, until he saw his master. "The wagon is ready, your Grace. Have you any other tasks here?" High Valyrian was sure a relief to the boy's ears, and for the first time seeing his slave made him exhilarated. It meant he was back, back outside of that tower and back outside of those dusty libraries. "We ride the wagon into Oldtown, we can't forget Jaos (val: dog)." he replied in noble tongue, quickly seating himself in the horse carriage as they rode into town. One particularly loud inn was their destination. Matarys went in alone, letting Lāra (val: crow) and the three slave-soldiers guard the wagon. Having never entered a peasant inn such as that one, Matarys had some trouble orienting himself with the loud noise and overcrowded space. His target was easy to see, however. A man one head taller than the young bastard - with copper skin and green stripes similar to that of a tiger's running along his neck and face. "Jaos, come." Matarys spoke, having walked closer to the man who sat alone at a table - two wenches dancing around him in attempts of seduction as he drank his ale. The soldier was quick to react, pushing the women aside and stepping closer to his master before starting to lunge down to kneel. The boy caught his shoulders, pulling the slave back to his feet as he spoke again. "Stand. Not here. Come, we're leaving this shithole." Hearing Bastard Valyrian as Matarys swore brought a smile to the slave's face. Matarys was his master, but the previous three years without him had truly been uneventful for the Volantene slave. The two men walked back to the wagon and set off for their long journey.

one week later

Lara's suggestion to enter the Citadel three years ago had been good counsel. The massive library was obviously the primary benefit, along with being hidden from the royal family. But the ravenry had been a massive aid that none of the two had foreseen. Lara had advised they stay in Essos until the political climate was softer for them to land in Westeros, but Matarys had insisted on sailing west. Now, the climate would shift because of his moves. The young bastard was a player in a game of chess without anyone knowing about it. His carriage was flanked by five horsemen per side, two leading before the carriage, and four more protecting the rear. Jaos hung on the carriage, a heavy arm wrapped around one of the wooden pillars of the window. "Our girl is riding the Kingsroad as we speak, she should be there just in time for the feast," Lara informed, keeping track of numbers on his thick book. "Then, the Royal Family should be stuck in their city until the coronation." the man continued with a shaky old voice. "Yes, yes.  This way we can move without distractions," They had opted to ride the dirt roads that branched off the Roseroad, traveling through forests, hills and rivers in orrder to avoid the jams of the Roseroad. With King's Landing feast coming up in a couple days, most of the noble houses from the Reach would be traveling that route. Instead, Matarys ordered his slaves to follow along the sides of the Roseroad, that way they could have eyes on any opportunity to cross beyond the road and continue north of the Reach. As it was, they would be following the curve of the road which would take them towards the Stormlands. Matarys concluded it might slow them down by one day or two at most, but that was a small sacrifice compared to the possibility being seen; what was more suspicious than the sight of a foreign carriage flying no banners riding exactly the opposite way of the Capital? Surely with the night – when most noble carriages would stop riding and camp overnight – Matarys could find open spaces along the Roseroad and ride across.