Tinkering With Life (GoT SI)

"How do you feel about founding a medical school in Winterfell?"

He took a moment to grasp the proposal.

"Can you elaborate?"

"Actually, it's mainly Freya's idea, and she'd handle most of the teaching. That way, I can continue my own work and mentor Freya whenever possible."

The idea seemed excellent.

Nobody would object to learning from Freya.

She had become a cornerstone of Winterfell. As El appeared less frequently, Freya managed most of the medical care for all the patients, even without El's magical touch she was able to stabilize critical cases and keep patients alive until El could arrive.

It was no exaggeration to say that the entire North would rise up in arms to defend their new healer.

These were all compelling reasons; there was no reason to object. Yet, the look on El's face suggested there was more to discuss.

"The admission criteria will be quite brutal. We'll enroll new students each summer. I intend to personally select the inaugural class, limiting it to no more than six, primarily from the smallfolk."

There it was. That was something so out of the norm that it would cause every single noble to be pissed off at him. But he trusted him not to do something without a fair reason.

So he asked patiently, "Why?"

"It's primarily about growth. I can offer free tuition to smallfolk students who, in return, would commit several years to teaching after they eventually graduate. This arrangement wouldn't apply to nobles, who would instead have to pay full tuition, which is going to be quite high, ensuring fairness."

"But initially, I need dedicated students who will commit to educating future classes."

That… made a lot of sense. He understood what he was planning. There would be a lot of complaints, but they wouldn't matter in the larger scheme of things.

"What exactly would you be charging for tuition?"

"That's your decision, since you'll be paying for the first student. Just remember, subsequent noble families will pay around the same rate," El said with a grin.

He appreciated the gesture of trust but he knew he would need to give that matter some more thought, as it was too important to decide without a lot of consideration.

So, he asked something else, "Which one of my children would you recommend I send?"

"Honestly, the only one I could see successfully becoming a healer is Sansa, but even there, I need to warn you—learning how to mend the human body is quite a gruesome process. I cannot guarantee that she will be able to handle it."

"And the rest of my children?"

"Well, they would not have any issues with the gruesome aspects, but the art of medicine values the skill of patience too much, and it is a skill that I believe the rest of your children lack," El responded thoughtfully.

He grimaced at that and had no way to refute his statement, but he responded, "While I agree with your last statement to some degree, Sansa is not as weak-willed as you believe. She is a Stark. She is but a child now; she just needs to grow up," he said with a tone of finality.

El nodded in understanding.

"I'm relieved we've settled that. What's new in Winterfell? I heard you have some guests arriving soon. Is there anything you need help with?" El inquired, smoothly changing the subject.

"Just the Martells and Tyrells are on their way here," he said, recalling the letters he had received about their arrival.

"Ah, that could lead to some tension, especially with a Tyrion already in town," El remarked, sensing the potential for conflict.

"That's exactly what I'm concerned about," he grimaced, the prospect clearly weighing on him.

"Come on, cheer up. It'll likely be no more than harmless fun. Given they probably need something from me, I doubt they'll cause too much trouble."

Ned sighed. "I hope that's the case."

"When are they arriving?" El asked, leaning forward with a keen look.

Ned pondered for a moment before replying, "If they set out immediately upon hearing about your escapades in King's Landing, it should be a week or two."

"That gives you plenty of time to prepare, then,"

"I suppose you're right," Ned conceded. "However, there's some additional news from King's Landing that might interest you." He extended a folded letter toward El.

Taking the letter, El quickly scanned its contents, then let out a snicker. "I can't believe that little rat still managed to slip away. His ability to run away is truly unparalleled."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "You were aware of this?"

"Well, I was the one who tipped off the Hand about the Master of Coin's questionable antics. He must have taken my advice seriously and investigated. Everything unfolded after I left, but it seems he managed to escape even after being thrown into the dungeons."

"I doubt they'll catch him though, he might already be in Essos. He's quite adept at running away." He continued.

"Have you told your wife? I think they were childhood friends or something," El said, a knowing smile playing on his face.

Ned let out a long sigh. That was one conversation he was dreading. The prospect of telling his wife that one of her childhood friends, who until recently had been the Master of Coin, was now a wanted man on the run from the King's justice for stealing almost half the royal treasury, was not an appealing one.

----------

After that fun conversation I left the castle and headed toward the clinic, where I could see the ever-present line, which seemed to have fewer locals than before. 

I presumed this was a good sign that the health of the locals was improving. Additionally, the population appeared to have grown, as I could visibly see more children running around the streets.

I noticed the line of patients perking up happily as they spotted me approaching.

I greeted them and told them to start coming in.

Upon opening the door, I was greeted with an unexpected sight.

A teenager with blood-blond hair was lounging in my chair as if he owned the place.

Before I could kick the brat out, he caught sight of me and quipped,

"El, forget healing—you could make a killing selling this throne. Actually, forget selling it; I know at least one king who would go to war for this throne."

Any sarcastic retort I had ready, died in my throat as I realized he was probably right. I had spent quite the amount of gold to get a nice comfy cushioned chair made. 

I exhaled deeply and asked, "What are you doing here, Tyrion?"

He flashed the biggest smile and said, "Oh, haven't you heard? I work here now."

It was way too early for me to deal with this.

"What?"

"What what?"

"Who hired you???" I yelled, my left eye twitching.

"Your pretty little apprentice did, of course."

His grin widened with each question I threw at him, clearly enjoying the rising frustration in my voice.

Before I could take the bait further, I heard said pretty little apprentice retort from behind me.

"I most certainly did not," said Freya in a dry tone.

"He just showed up one day, started asking an annoying number of questions... but he has been helping out, especially with translating for patients from outside Westeros."

It took me a moment to come to terms with the fact that Freya wouldn't have let him stay if he were truly a menace, but I still could not let this child in front of me win.

"I'm not paying you," I said flatly.

His infuriating smile still hadn't disappeared.

"Well, considering that I am in considerable debt at the moment, it is my hope that I will be able to pay some of it off during my employment here."

Now I was truly speechless. 

The sheer audacity.

Nevertheless… I couldn't help but be impressed. I already knew he was here for ulterior motives, but I highly doubted any of them were malicious.

"Well played. Sure, you can work off some of your debt," I conceded.

Before he could adopt a fully smug expression, I added, "At minimum wage."

Then I grabbed him by the collar and gently ushered him outside the clinic, but not before adding, "You start at sunrise tomorrow."

I gestured for the first patient to come in quickly before closing the door behind them.

Barely a moment later, I heard a shout from outside, "What's the minimum wage?!"

I snorted before ignoring him, confident he wouldn't cause too much trouble outside the clinic—or he would risk getting lynched.

Turning to my patient, I asked, "So, what seems to be the problem, other than the obvious, of course?" looking at his broken arm.

--------

She was very close to her breaking point; nothing brought her joy anymore. 

"Why can't I forget?" she whispered into the emptiness of her room, her voice a blend of anger and pain. "Why can't I erase that demon from my mind?" 

His face haunted her relentlessly, an unwelcome specter lingering in every corner of her thoughts.

"Cersei," came a voice, startling her from her reverie.

It was Jaime. She hadn't heard him enter. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she lied automatically, a reflex that had become all too familiar.

"You can't keep saying that when the entire Red Keep clearly knows something is troubling you," Jaime pressed, his gaze intense and probing as he searched her eyes for the truth.

His words surprised her, but as she reflected on the past few weeks, it made sense. Her struggle had been more visible than she realized.

The usual compliments from her handmaidens, who constantly remarked on her enhanced beauty, only deepened her bitterness—a cruel reminder of the steep price she had paid. 

In a fit of rage, she had dismissed them all, commanding them never to return to her chambers.

Even her visits to her children, including her perfect little lion, had ceased.

Joffrey had come to visit her once, of course.

But his ceaseless complaints quickly wore on her already frayed nerves, forcing her to feign illness just to escape his presence.

She was painfully aware of her uncharacteristic behavior and knew well how quickly gossip spread among the servants.

That realization struck Cersei, but she found herself indifferent to the whispers and judgments. 

She no longer cared.

Even her clandestine encounters with Jaime, once a source of thrilling risk, had dwindled to nothing. The excitement that once sparked between them was extinguished, leaving her with no desire to continue their forbidden liaisons.

Wait.

Was that why Jaime had come in now, demanding answers?

Her expression turned blank as she faced him. The slight satisfaction she felt at seeing him flinch and take a half-step back was a fleeting euphoria for her pleasure-starved mind.

But it did nothing to quell her simmering rage.

"Jaime," she said, her voice icy.

"Get out."

She didn't bother watching him scramble to get out. She had other important things to do.

She needed to see him.

She needed to go north.

But that was easier said than done.

If she, the queen of the seven kingdoms, did something like that, many questions would be asked.

Questions she could not answer.

Wait, If she couldn't go to him, she would bring him to her.

She had to somehow get The Mage called to King's Landing again.

Yes, she could do that.

But she needed to be smart about it; 

He could not find out that she had orchestrated this.

That would surely jeopardize any chance of convincing him to lift the curse he had placed on her.

She had to make sure it was something obvious. If she could successfully pull this off, she would be able to convince him to end his curse without threatening him.

How exactly she was going to do that, she didn't know yet.