Tinkering With Life (GoT SI)

I arrived back at the clinic just in time to see Freya getting ready to start the class.

Well, that was just unacceptable. I had to teach the kids something, or I couldn't in good conscience call myself a headmaster.

Seeing me enter, Freya stood up from the main desk and took a seat at the back of the room.

I glanced around, noting the familiar faces - Sansa and Jeyne, Nymeria, and a bunch of other students whose names I did not know yet. Of course, Frog was sitting attentively in the front row.

Damn, was I becoming an elitist already? 

Never mind, I would learn all their names later.

"Hello everyone," I began with a smile. "I'm sure you've learned the basics about different organs and body systems. Today, we'll explore how they all work together."

I had given this some thought on how to give a memorable lecture to a bunch of teenagers and had come up with a brilliant idea.

With a flourish, I used my powers to create tiny, palm-sized, anime-style characters right there in the classroom.

"Let me tell you a story," I said, as the characters playing the roles of different cells came to life before the students' eyes.

I introduced all the main characters and tried my best to play out the first episode of Cells at Work in a way that the kids from Westeros would understand, enjoy, and learn from.

What followed was a whirlwind tale of the body's inner workings - heroic white blood cells battling invading germs, diligent platelets patching up wounds, and hardworking red blood cells delivering oxygen.

The students watched in wide-eyed fascination as the drama unfolded.

It was more challenging than I'd anticipated. Controlling so many characters, giving them voices, and constantly creating new ones to add to the scene required intense concentration. 

I was actually starting to sweat as I pushed my multitasking abilities to their limits, determined to make this lesson unforgettable.

By the time I finished, the students were buzzing with excitement, peppering me with questions about everything they'd seen. Even Freya looked impressed and had some questions of her own.

I addressed the class one last time. "Alright, that's all for today. Before our next session, I'd like each of you to write a summary of what you learned and a list of questions about parts of the story you didn't fully understand."

The students filed out, their excited chatter filling the air. I slumped into a chair, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction despite my exhaustion.

Freya approached, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "That was... quite something," she said. "I've never seen you use your powers like that before."

I managed a tired grin. "Thought I'd try something new. Seemed to go over well."

She nodded, then hesitated. "El... is everything alright? You seem... I don't know, like something's on your mind."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't put this off any longer. "Actually, there is something I need to talk to you about. I'm planning a trip... north of the Wall."

Freya's eyes widened in shock. "North of the- El, what are you thinking? Why would you go there?"

I took a deep breath and recounted the events of the past few hours, explaining my concerns and why I felt I needed to investigate this myself. As I spoke, I could see the worry in Freya's eyes, but also a growing understanding.

When I finished, she was quiet for a moment before asking, "When will you be back?"

"I'm not quite sure," I admitted.

"When will you be leaving?"

"Most likely tomorrow," I replied, bracing myself for her reaction.

Freya didn't look happy, but I could see she understood the gravity of the situation. She took my hand, her grip tight. "Promise me you'll be careful," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I squeezed her hand back. "I promise. And I'll come back as soon as I can."

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Marwyn the Mad, they called him. He had never understood why. He had his doubts, of course, but he could never fathom why no one else shared his curiosity about the arcane.

Now, he finally understood.

It seemed the only reason he was still alive was that his death would have raised too many questions with the Hightowers. So instead, they had ruined his reputation, ensuring that anyone he tried to speak with dismissed his words as the ravings of a madman.

A snort escaped his lips at the thought. Who was the madman now?

He had been planning a trip to Winterfell to meet the White Mage and learn from him when he witnessed the cloud of death encompass the Citadel. 

He wouldn't lie and say he wasn't scared; in fact, he had nearly soiled himself at the sight.

But after what felt like an eternity - though it had only been a few moments - the swarm of locusts dispersed.

Only the screams of the people remained.

Even though every instinct screamed at him to stay away, his curiosity won out.

All his life, he had been in pursuit of magic, and he could not turn away from what was clearly a magical phenomenon happening right before his eyes. No matter how horrifying it was, he needed to find answers.

So he made his way back to the Citadel, only to find chaos reigning. Maesters scurried about like headless chickens, and he found himself in the unenviable position of being the voice of reason. It disappointed him greatly to see the state the Citadel had fallen into.

Half the maesters had run away, and Marwyn suddenly found himself the highest-ranking Archmaester left.

The title he knew had only been given to him as a joke now thrust him into a position of responsibility. It fell to him to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of this disaster.

Strangely, or perhaps worryingly, the swarm seemed to have targeted only the Archmaesters. The acolytes and lower-ranking maesters in the tower remained largely unharmed, save for a few injuries sustained in the panic.

Not one book or stone was harmed in any way.

This had all the hallmarks of an orchestrated assassination and a warning. 

The common folk and septons were quick to blame divine wrath, claiming the Citadel must have angered the gods. 

They weren't entirely wrong, he mused, just mistaken about which power they had offended.

Marwyn stood in the very chamber where the Citadel's former leadership had met their grisly end.

His eyes fell upon rows of leather-bound tomes lining the walls. Not just books, but journals - the private musings of those who had ruled from the shadows for centuries. With trembling hands, he pulled one from the shelf and began to read.

As Marwyn pored over the detailed ledgers, a fury unlike anything he'd ever known began to burn within him. Each page revealed new horrors, new manipulations. 

These men, these self-proclaimed puppet masters, had played at being gods for far too long.

They had shaped the fate of kingdoms, snuffed out lives and entire bloodlines, all in the name of their grand design. Any trace of magic, any whisper of the extraordinary that they couldn't bend to their will, they had sought to destroy utterly.

His fingers clenched, nearly tearing the delicate pages. How many lives had been ruined? How many wonders lost to the world because of their arrogance?

Marwyn's chest heaved as the magnitude of their hubris crashed over him. They had believed themselves above the very gods themselves. And now, in their hubris, they had finally overreached.

The more Marwyn uncovered, the clearer the picture became. This attack wasn't random; it was retaliation. And while the masses might blame the gods, anyone with a working brain would know who the true culprit was.

Marwyn leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. The Citadel had made a grave error in angering the White Mage, and now they had paid the price. 

But what would come next? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?

He knew one thing for certain: changes had to be made to the Citadel, whether the remaining maesters liked it or not. 

And he intended to be at the forefront of that change, guiding the institution back towards the pursuit of true knowledge, rather than the consolidation of power.

He would need to sadly delay his trip noth, there was work to be done.

Marwyn eyed the journals, knowing he'd have to burn them soon. The plots contained within could throw the entire continent into anarchy if they fell into the wrong hands.

His musings were interrupted as Olenna Tyrell entered the room.

"Ah, Lady Tyrell. What can I do for you?" Marwyn greeted them.

Olenna cut straight to the chase. "Spare me the pleasantries, Marwyn. Tell me what you've found out."

Marwyn sighed. "Where do I even start?"

"How about what these morons did to get themselves killed in the first place?" Olenna pressed.

"Going through their misdeeds, it would be easier to list who wouldn't want them dead," Marwyn replied dryly, his voice dripping with bitter amusement.

Olenna's eyes narrowed, her gaze sharp as a blade. "We'll get back to that. What did they do against the White Mage to elicit such a reaction?"

Marwyn took a deep breath, his face grim. He recounted the Archmaesters' ill-fated plans to develop a poison potent enough to kill the mage. Their efforts, though zealous, had borne little fruit.

"But that plan was still in its infancy," Marwyn continued, his voice low. "What likely triggered this response was their insatiable greed. They wanted to get their hands on his knowledge through his apprentice... by abducting her."

"I doubt that went well," Olenna sighed, her voice heavy with foreboding.

"It went horribly wrong, as you expected," Marwyn confirmed, his eyes haunted. He described Archmaester Vance's ill-fated journey north, how he had hired mercenaries for his nefarious scheme.

"He had just returned to report back," Marwyn's voice dropped to a whisper, "when whatever curse the mage had placed on him triggered the swarm."

Olenna absorbed this information, her face a mask of careful neutrality. "So there was a good reason for these attacks."

"Why do you care so much about that?" Marwyn enquired, curiosity getting the better of him.

Olenna's composure cracked for just a moment, revealing a flash of genuine fear. "Because I have two grandchildren who should be in Winterfell right now, trying to gain favor with the mage," she replied, her voice tight with concern.

"Ah, that makes sense," Marwyn nodded, understanding dawning on his face. The stakes, it seemed, were higher than he had realized.

Olenna leaned forward, her eyes blazing with intensity. "What do you suggest we do now? My grandchildren could be in danger if the mage decides to retaliate further."

Marwyn stroked his chin thoughtfully, weighing his words carefully. "I don't believe your grandchildren are in immediate danger, Lady Olenna," he said slowly. "The mage's attack was precise, targeting only those directly involved in the plot against him." He paused, noting the worry still etched on her face. "However," he added, "it would be wise to send a message to Winterfell, making them aware of the occurrences and advising that we don't involve ourselves in the matter anymore."

Olenna nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Very well. I have already sent a message since I heard of the events and put the pieces together. I just didn't have any confirmation of what that order of maesters had done to elicit such a response." A flicker of pride crossed her face. "And I trust Willas to make smart decisions based on what he knows."

Her gaze sharpened again. "What other things have they been doing?"

Marwyn's face darkened. "Well, I don't want to list out everything, but I am going to burn this as soon as I look through it for anything important." He took a deep breath. "The main thing I think you should know is how they slowly orchestrated the fall of the Targaryen dynasty over the century."

"How?" Olenna asked, stunned.

Marwyn's lips quirked in a humorless smile. "It seems as though trusting a group of old men with delusions of grandeur to deliver all your mail was not the smartest of ideas."

Olenna's eyes narrowed dangerously. "...Is there anyone from that order still alive, perchance?"

"Ah, I was getting to that," Marwyn replied. "There is one still alive."

Olenna sighed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let me guess, it's the Grand Maester, probably soiling his pants in King's Landing at the news."

"Yes," Marwyn confirmed, a hint of dark humor in his voice.

"Very well," Olenna said, her tone turning cold. "I will have him dealt with. Best not leave any loose ends."

Marwyn nodded in agreement. He had never really liked Pycelle anyway.

Olenna rose to leave, but paused, her gaze sharp as a dagger. "I trust you'll keep me informed of any further developments?"

"Of course, Lady Olenna," Marwyn agreed solemnly.

As she swept from the room, Marwyn turned back to the pile of incriminating journals.

The game had changed it seems and he was very glad he was not playing it.

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A/N: If you wish to read ahead you can find 8 more chapters on my Pa treon