He look over his shoulder to be certain nobody was following him, and ventured into the forbidden section of the Citadel library. There, he grab the book, not too old, but clearly mistreated with some pages burned or tored apart. Lately, he has been doubting of what his teachers said. He is certain there is a lot of things Grand Maester Joffrey is not telling. As part of his education, he had read the sanctioned books about the old Realm, the one that extended from the southern coast of Dorne, all the way up to the North wasteland. He read about the curse city of King’s Landing and its famed Iron Throne, about the Mad Targaryen kings, who burned the whole Realm with wildfire and considered themselves dragons. Small wonder they kill themselves. He read about the many civil warfares: brothers against brothers, sometimes they were dragons, sometimes they were stags, or wolves, or krakens, or lions; about all the Blackfyre pretenders, from Dameon to Aegon. This and more he has learned in his three years o the Citadel without a shred of doubt. Certain that the old Maester order has always been truthful. How coul they not? It has been only through the science of the maesters that the Sunset Kingdom is now at peace. Surely, the maesters care only about the truth, his younger, gullible version thought. But after founding the remnants of an old book from Maester Marwyn he started to have some doubts. In it, he learned about lost books and misterious lands, he learned about Ashaii-by-the Shadow, Old Valyria, and how the mighty Iron Bank of Bravos had ended, once and for all, the tyranny of the slavers and the Silver Queen, last of her kind. He knew that Essos still guards many secrets beyond the Maesters’s grip, but here, at home, he thought he knew. He felt confident that magic was just the way their ancestors described what they didn’t understand and that the legends of yesterday were only that, legends no more accurate that unicorns or the tree people. He would have sworn by the Seven that, until yesterday. What he heard last night was more frigntening that a Dothraki horde and hit close to home. “Sailor’s tales”, he thought at first. But when the Bravoosi talked about dead things at the feet of the Titan, cold and vengefull, of people who rised from the death, unable to speak, but determined to kill everything it moves, he remembered the bedtime story his nan use to told him about Lady Stoneheart, the shadow of the forest. He never thought such tales, rooted deep at the Green Fork, could reach Bravoosi ears. But they did, somehow. Or maybe there was some thruth on that. Everyone has heard about the myths of old age. About the giants and direwolves, dragons and ice spiders, childrens running wild in the forest and people who could change their skin, crows a top of a wall and bloodmagic. Everyone think those are just stories to scare children, like the Imp or the Young Wolf, but, what if there are no tales? What if there is some thruth behind? What if the great battle of the dawn, did in deed happen, so many years ago. For the seven hells, what if the maesters knew all along? That’s why he is stole the key from the chamber of Grand Maester Joffrey and enter, in the dead of night, in the forbidden section, to learn about what they are hiding. That’s why the took the book of shelve, blew the dust of the cover and read its title: A Song of Ice and Fire, by Maester Samwell.