The candles flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the familiar tapestries of the Massey's hall. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and the last embers of the hearth. You, my quietest pupil, were staring out the window at the distant, churning sea of Massey's Hook, and I could tell you were pretending not to hear me. But I've known you long enough to see the way your brow furrows, the way your fingers trace the condensation on the glass—a sign you are indeed listening, thinking.

Your young brother, Steffon, was tracing the intricate stitching on his new doublet, and your youngest brother, Alester, seemed more interested in the ink blot on his finger than the lesson at hand. A lesser maester might have been disheartened, but I have seen enough seasons to know that an active mind often finds truth in distraction.

"The Iron Throne, you see," I began, my voice a low, steady murmur, "is like a great, iron chair, but with many, many cracks. Lord Robert Baratheon, our king, is dead." I held up a single finger. "His brother, Stannis, proclaims himself the one true king. He is our lord's leige, the Lord of Dragonstone. He is the first." I then held up a second finger.

"And then, there is Renly, the younger brother. He has a great host at his command and the backing of the Tyrells, a house with more gold and men than you can count." I let my hand drop.

"Then there are the wolves of the North," I continued, pacing slowly by the hearth. "The Starks. Lord Eddard Stark is dead, but his eldest son, Robb, has been proclaimed the King in the North by his own bannermen. He fights the Lannisters, who sit on the Iron Throne in King's Landing." I gestured towards the map on the table, pointing to the golden lion of House Lannister. "Young Joffrey, Lord Tywin Lannister's grandson, they say, sits upon the throne now."

I paused, looking at the children before me. Alester was now drawing his own competing stags, Steffon was pretending to be deeply invested in my maps, and you, were still at the window. I walked over and stood beside you, my eyes also falling on the waves crashing on the shore.

"It is a complex web of claims, loyalties, and betrayals, you and your kin must understand," I said softly, my voice meant only for your ears. "The world outside is changing. A new season is coming, and it will be one of iron and fire. Our House, House Massey, is sworn to Dragonstone. Our allegiance is to Stannis Baratheon. But as maester, my duty is to prepare you for the world as it is, not as I wish it were."