|Truths and Opinions|
|Summary:||Saffron seeks out Maester Pyrs for some help getting her bearings around the Riverlands, and it does not go as planned.|
|Date:||09 June 2012|
|Related Logs:||Current Events|
|Rookery, Four Eagles Tower|
|There's cages and bird shit everywhere!|
|June 9, 289|
Messages came daily however an increase of ravens had arrived since the arrest of the Charlton retinue in Stonebridge, rendering the Maester heavily occupied with transcribing messages back and forth from the Citadel. Here the murders cawked anxiously, waiting for food or simply communicating with one another. In a nearby bucket it was half filled with fresh cuts from various carcass leftovers which had created a foul odor in the rookery's air.
Peeking in from the rookery door is a red-haired head and bright blue eyes. She is cautious, as if she is crossing some sacred threshold into a room that she has no business in. She had heard the Maester would be found here, and though she could have waited until he was not worrying over the murders, she found herself impatient. So much was moving, so much too fast. "Maester Pyrs?" She inquires quietly at first.
Ink stained his fingers, sweat gathered across his brow. The maester has been up here for quiet some time and perhaps missed a meal or three. "Hmm?" His worn out voice was ripe with age. "Ah m'lady." This one he was not so familiar with though the red hair had sparked light in his memory. "What is it?"
As if she has been well-trained by the Maesters of the Banefort, Saffron enters the Rookery with a bit of wrapped bread, cut and warm interior buttered. "We have not met yet, Maester Pyrs," she says softly as she steps toward him with her offering of food. "I'm Saffron Banefort… Lady Anais's cousin… ?" There is a slight uplift in her tone, as though she wonders if he has heard of her. Not willing to fully wait for that confirmation, she continues forth. "I don't wish to keep you, but I was hoping you could help me with something."
"Banefort this far?" Pyrs questions however his head returns to the scribbled slip of parchment still in his hand. "Ah yes one of the captured girls." Recalling now how the name struck him familiar. Rolling the raven message it was slipped into a nearby jar and plugged with a topper afterwards. The man turns in his chair, frame hunched forward a little as he was not a man breed into the standing stigmas every highborn had suffered. Both hands rested upon his knees, "I'd stand m'lady however my foot has been giving me some trouble of late." Perhaps the reason why he has spent soo much time here or perhaps he didn't want to stand and bow. "How may I aid you?"
"You needn't worry about it, Maester," Saffron says with a gentle smile. "My own maester always said that I shouldn't come seeking knowledge for free, so I hope you will take this." She offers him the wrapped parcel gently before she finds herself a stool or something akin to take her own seat. She hardly cares if there may be bird shit, as she wears an older dress that fits her so poorly it puts to shame the status of her own house. Oh well. "Maester, I admit I had thought by now I would be in the Reach, preparing for my own wedding. But, I am not. I am here." She purses her lips a bit. "And I am torn by opinions and personal views on history and heraldry. I suppose I'm looking to get my bearings."
Gracious enough Pyrs accepted the wrapped parcel without hesitation. It was set upon the nearby table, postponed for opening until a later time. Both hands returned to his knees in waiting to hear the young woman's conundrum. "If you are here must be a reason." His cryptic tone softens after the girl speaks a little more. "Which would you follow? Opinions or truths?"
Saffron rests her hands in her lap, and she folds up her lips a bit with earnest thought. "I would…" She begins, slowly at first as if making sure she has organized her words properly. "Use truths to help form my own opinions and follow those." Her coppery brows arch up together, opening her expression a bit. "But, I suppose you will ask me how I know the difference between a truth and an opinion…"
"I could." Pyrs shared willingly as the two sat there within the rookery, ravens cawing from their cages. His aged steel blue eyes stared to the young woman without hint as to what was crossing his thoughts now.
Saffron gives the maester a careful look, and then she straightens up a bit on her tailbone. "I would say that… in order to tell the difference is… to inquire beyond the source. If the truth holds up, its a truth." She meets those aged steel eyes with her far younger blues, tilting her head a bit. Her round face has obtained a fairly even expression, though there is no way she can meet this maester in the skill of keeping one's thoughts veiled; curiosity is already starting to sneak into her eyes.
"You are far learned for a woman." Pyrs tells her as his knee cracks on his rise to stand. A few more pops come once he straightens his poise. "Truths are everywhere and no where. What may be widely accepted as truth may very well be a fabrication, or perhaps the other way around." The man shares as to prove his earlier refusal true he limps towards a nearby bucket of water, reaching a cupped hand within to splash upon his face and neck. "What in particular are you seeking the truth of?" What dresses are in season in the Vale? Thankfully a splash of water over his face could disguise his groan.
Saffron actually brightens just a touch. "My Lord father will never believe you, good Maester, but thank you all the same." Then she breathes in through her nose as he starts to move, but she keeps her butt firmly planted. Her eyes follow him as he moves to the bucket. "History," she answers. "As well as law and heraldry, specifically pertaining to the Riverlands. The Banefort may only be a stone's throw from the Riverlands, but my studies were always on the Westerlands. But… as we see… I'm not in the Westerlands anymore." She tightens her lips a bit. "And I'm afraid as the storm clouds start rolling in, I'm not sure if I should expect a flood."
The finaly splash of water has Pyrs reaching for a nearby strip of cloth to dry his face. "There are plenty of tomes within the reading room if I am mistaken? Have you not thought," learned girl, "to browse through the selections?"
"Of course, Maester Pyrs," Saffron says. "I'm not beyond cracking open a book. But, if I find myself needing to inquire on opinions verses truths, may I come see you? I would not ask you to give your knowledge freely, especially as I am not a child of the Roost." She holds her poise on the stool, keeping her eyes on the Maester's back.
"Then you are of the belief that the books within the Four Eagle's library would collect lies as well as truths for tools of knowledge. Do you believe that amassing such a collection would be beneficial to anyone if they are just mere fabrications?" The maester asked flatly. "Hmph." Shaking his head, Pyrs returns limping back to his stool. "You seek knowledge of the Riverland's history? You will find it there Banefort their words mark no different than those found within any library of any keep. To believe otherwise is foolish."
A sudden flush rises up against her cheeks, and she shakes her head a bit. "I'm sorry, Maester Pyrs… I did not mean to suggest that at all." She inhales through her nose, steadying herself a bit. "I have every faith in the library that has been gathered here. I came to seek guidance in where to begin and where to go if I have questions, nothing more." She offers him a gentle nod as she starts to rise. "I hope I have not insulted too deeply."
Pyrs' shoulders slump, that hunched over frame returns once he is seated. "Your words should be more careful m'lady. There are tomes dedicated to the history of the Riverlands and the Heraldry. They are not fabrications and personal opinions would not be found with them." He shakes his head. "No, you have not given insult. I was not the author of these books."
Saffron offers a small smile that still possesses a faint dimpling. "I don't suppose there's a book on speaking with more care…" She offers, though there is something terribly regressive about that attempt at humor. Oh yeah, it is impossible to feel old enough in the company of most maesters. She clasps her hands at her front, giving a more sober nod of her head. "Thank you, Maester Pyrs… I will start there."
As likely there was something awkwardly growing upon Saffron's face, Pyrs simply stares at her with blank eyes for far too long. "Young girls have Septas to educate them. Lords and Ladies of Keeps have maesters." He tells her, reminding the girl of common knowledge. "I'm too old for this."
"Of course, Maester Pyrs," is all Saffron says though. Though exactly to what, she's not going to clarify. She offers another nod of her head. "Forgive my interruption, and my ignorance." She turns to make her leave, though the second her back is to the Maester, she puffs out her cheeks with a slightly exasperated expression. At least she brought the old guy something to eat! (Even if he will feed it to the ravens…)