Vyman took a moment to let his words settle. He looked out the window at the tumbling waters of the Tumblestone, seemingly lost in the ghosts of history.
"You are largely correct, Edmure," he began, his voice taking on the weight of a lecturer. "The Valyrian rule had definite characteristics that are absent in the Targaryen era. There were dragonlords, yes, but beyond that, the Targaryens have morphed themselves into rulers of Westeros, rather than morphing Westeros into a Valyrian domain. We see no massive trade empires, no royal navies that dominate the Narrow Sea, and no drive to colonize. They do not even forge new Valyrian steel blades."
Vyman leaned forward, his chain clinking. "Either the Targaryens are an outlier among Valyrian nobility, or they see Westeros as a side business. Perhaps they are biding their time to re-colonize the smoking ruins of their homeland. The Doom was only four hundred years ago. Others have tried. A high member of a Valyrian family once took a grand army and navy back to the peninsula after the eruptions stopped. Like all the others, he vanished. Never to be seen again."
"Maester Vyman," Edmure asked, his voice quiet. "Do you think this world has an arrow of time? A trend? Not a prophecy, but a direction? The Citadel has studied magic for centuries. Is it declining, or is this a temporary waning cycle?"
"Westeros has less magic now than in the Age of Heroes," Vyman admitted. "I am among the few who believe the Wall in the north has a definite relation to this. But the trend is not merely magic. Sothoryos has giant creatures. The seas are ruled by krakens. Valyria had dragons before the Valyrians were even shepherds. The Rhoyne had giant turtles. Yet, despite these non-human forces, the world is ruled and shaped by humans. The trend, I presume, belongs to us."
"And do you think there are beings monitoring this trend?"
"I don't think so," Vyman said. "The Citadel and the Faith disagree here. We hold that the Seven do not exist in a meaningfully observable way. Other gods—the Old Gods, the Drowned God, R'hllor—have verifiable manifestations. We see the seers, the resurrections, the flames. But even they do not monitor. They send prophecies, but they do not hold the reins tightly. Why? Do you plan to dabble in the occult?"
"No," Edmure said, revealing a piece of his long-term strategy. "Not yet. But I plan to heal a weirwood tree in the Riverlands."
"A tree? Single?" Vyman blinked. "That must be the one at Raventree Hall, the seat of House Blackwood. Your concern should be political, not divine. House Blackwood remains loyal to the Old Gods. They claim the Brackens burned their weirwood by treachery centuries ago. Healing it would mean backing the Blackwoods in a blood-feud that never ends. The Faith of the Seven would see it as a provocation. Lords, knights, and peasants—the entire culture is built on the Seven. Wading into this mess without preparation is foolish."
"I have no enmity against the Seven," Edmure clarified. "I know healing that tree would net me the lifelong loyalty of the Blackwoods. But my motive has nothing to do with humans. I cannot say much for fear of who is listening, but in twenty years, Westerosi politics will be moot. An old enemy will march south from the Land of Always Winter."
"The Others!" Vyman whispered, the blood draining from his face. He saw the look in Edmure's eyes, the lack of a bluff. "Well... this is beyond an old man like me. It seems the Starks are right. Winter is indeed coming."
Vyman rose and, to Edmure's shock, knelt. "I forsook my past when I put on this chain. I swore to serve the realm. But I break that vow now. As long as you draw breath, I am in your service. Regardless of what happens to the Trident or House Tully."
"Maester Vyman, there is no need for this," Edmure said, helping the old man up. "I am comfortable with our current roles. I won't put the House in danger. One day, we will laugh about this as the fancies of our youth."
"The fancies of youth? Ha! You are a good master, selling talks of youth to a childless old man to keep his loyalty," Vyman chuckled.
"I don't despise the Seven," Edmure concluded. "But when two tigers stare at me, one alive and one a statue. I know which to watch. Now then... can you tell me how to poison a horse? A pony, specifically?"