Chapter 7: The Lady of the Rhoyne
The march to Volantis was long, dull and many mornings had my comrades kick me awake. They always seemed to enjoy that. While I was normally an early riser, the recent training were all more intensive and my body couldn't wait to sleep and had a hard time getting up. I blamed myself for that.
It seemed Myles Toyne did take my words to heart and mind for we were given the new equipment I recommended. The rest of my team didn't like the idea of digging holes, but Galaerys explained that we needed to do it like the rest of the Company. I regretted putting forth my idea now that I had to dig trenches in the dry ground at the end of the long march sweltering under constricting layers of armour. Think about all those leaders, the ones who were popular with the men. Napoleon, I think was one of them, and Julius Caesar as well. In his campaigns he ate with the men, slept with the men. He was popular and they fought for him. It could be you. They'll respect you and fight for you. Maybe they'll follow you to hell and back.
I only hoped it would be that easy. It certainly sounded so in my head.
As the sun was beginning to set, we made camp in Mesylosh where the river linked the Lysene Coast to the southernmost twin lakes. On both sides of the river were massive estates, farmed by armies of slaves red-skinned under the blistering sun. Seeing nothing but fields for miles around, I could see why the Free Cities had such a demand. Slaves were useless if they were doing nothing so they were sent to the plantations and fields – with many of the luxury goods being exported to Westeros where nobles would pay through the nose.
We made camp when the sun was beginning to set. Our encampment always had the same layout which improved the speed it was built. Men with rope and pegs marked the layout and the rest of us needed to build it. We dug ditches, formed a mound of the dirt on the inside and planted sharpened stakes to dissuade any attackers. The inside was neat and orderly, the tents having been raised a fair distance away from each other to strike a fair balance of size and freedom of movement. The officers and important structures stood in the centre, living quarters on one side and loot on the other. The Golden Company had a lot of loot which was always under heavy guard. Whenever Jon Connington went over there, he was the focus of everyone's eye. Despite having Myle's Toyne's trust, he didn't have it from the men. Many hated him.
Speaking of hate . . .
"We're men of the Golden Company and we're made to do guard duty!" Jon Waters complained inside the tent. He was sulking atop his bedroll, arms wrapped around the knees pressed to his chest. "When I joined I hoped it was endless fighting in the Disputed Lands. If I wanted to be a guard, I would have joined the fucking gold cloaks."
Melodrama much, I thought as I cleaned my armour.
"It's easy money," Damon said, sharpening his knife with a whetstone. It was a nice looking knife with an ivory handle engraved with Valyrian runes. Simple, but I always found simplicity to look better than many of the gaudy things I'd seen so far. "It's only for a short time and guard duty has little risk. Besides, I always wanted to visit Volantis. I heard its brothels are among the best."
Mallor snorted. "You're thinking about Lys, you fool. The perfumed city has whores who were bred to be fucked. Many with the blood of Old Valyria. Volantis, in comparison, is like that soiled whore who had too many cocks in her."
"Maidens are nice, but the older ones know all the tricks. Beautiful whores are nice to look at, but doesn't matter if you're behind them and they say the homely ones are the hungriest once abed," Symeon grinned with a light shrug. "I won't care."
"Of course you won't," softy muttered Jon.
"Indulge in Volantis and you'll be given the pox," Qarro stated matter-of-factly. "I don't even think you deserve that."
As they continued their discussion, I thought about our latest objective. Haldon had informed me that Volantis was holding an election for the three ruling Triachs. From what I heard, those elections were usually chaotic, enough for the proud Volantenes to hire outside help to maintain the peace. It seemed the Golden Company took work like many private military contractors in that they provided security. Though I did think there was something else going on in the background. Myles was very eager with talking to the Triachs after the elections were done. If I was a betting man, I would wager he was looking for backers and support for the future invasion of Westeros. I would need to delay him if that was the case. We couldn't move until the War of the Five Kings, and perhaps some time after. The pragmatic time to land was when the land was a burning ruin and their armies devastated by war. Then we could land with fresh troops and blitzkrieg the remaining opposition.
"Griff," called Symeon. I shook the thought out my head and turned to him. He must had been calling my name a few times because he looked annoyed. "Got wax in your ears?"
"No. I was just thinking."
Leo shook his head. "You think too much."
"Maybe," I agreed. "But what was it? Apologies for not listening."
Symeon rolled his eye. "What say you, Griffin? When it comes to women, are you an arse or breast man?"
I stared at him for a moment, shook my head, and continued cleaning the suit of mail. "Sometimes I don't know why I listen." Most of the time, Symeon just made stupid japes. I wagered this was one that would be made to ridicule me somehow. I wasn't going to give him the chance.
The ginger-haired squire bobbed his head in the corner of my vision. "You heard him. He likes being sodomised up the arse."
That caused Jon to laugh and call me effeminate.
I rolled my eyes. "You, sir, are a fool."
"I'm no ser. Not yet. But I will be soon. Sooner than you." Symeon grinned, revealing crooked teeth. "Then you'll have to do as I say for I'll be a knight."
"I fear the day when that happens," Qarro grumbled as he oiled his hauberk. "You can't command a thirsty horse to water. I'll dread to think how you'll deal with people."
"Still better than you," the younger boy shot back, pouting his lips. "When I'm captain-general, you'll be sorry." It was always Qarro and Symeon who had a go at each other, though I could see the Braavosi was amused from the reaction from the flicker of his one-sided smile.
"I'm sure you'll give him the thrashing of a lifetime," Damon butted in with his sing-song voice. "But now, I want to sleep and listening to you two promises none of that."
"Beauty sleep more like," I jeered. Sleep would be good though. On the morrow we'll be marching into Volantene territory. "You were always the vain one."
That made some of them laugh. "Only because I need to keep my position as comeliest member of Serpent Squad," Damon said, taking it in full stride. "If not for me, you lot would be called the squad of the ugly."
"If not for you, we'll be the squad of the skilled," Rickard mumbled. "Maybe you'll match the rest of us if you rip your eyes from the mirror long enough."
Letting them continue their verbal jabs at each other, I droned out the racket, put my equipment to the side and laid down. It would be a long day and busy march to Volantis and I wanted as much sleep as possible.
...
After days of forced march, we finally reached the rivers of the Rhoyne.
Captain-general Myles Blackheart ordered us to make camp and recover for a few days. We were ahead of schedule so he could afford to take the liberty. As usual, I didn't really have a chance to take a break like the others and instead pressed into my studies with Haldon, Septa Lemore and Duck – who'd been knighted by Jon and became Ser Rolly Duckfield just like in the books. After my language lessons with the Halfmaester, the other members of Serpent Squad appeared outside the pavilion where they requested I come with them and sneak out of camp. I was confused, initially, but peer pressure being the bitch that it was, I followed – though it was less willing and more them grabbing me by the arm and leading the way. To be honest, relaxing by the river away from the overprotective gaze of Toyne and Connington did sound appealing and they made the solemn, though untrustworthy, vow to not splash me this time. I wasn't convinced.
We left the palisade walls of the camp and walked along the river many of the men were bathing and pissing in. That was when Symeon spoke up about a possible witch who'd been said to live next to the river and Qarro proclaimed there was no such thing.
"It's true," the ginger-haired boy declared, his high-pitch voice breaking and earning a laugh from the lot of us. His freckled face went red with embarrassment. "The locals said so at the local cyvasse den. I tried to teach them checkers and they laughed at me." He pouted. "I lost most my coin but they told me of her. A witch who'd tell us the future. They call her the Lady of the Rhoyne. A blood mage."
"Rhoynish mage," Mallor corrected, fanning away a swarm of flies hovering lazily beside the flat waters. "Mayhaps one of the few who remained since Princess Nymeria sailed her fleet to Westeros."
"Isn't it Queen Nymeria?" I asked, remembering the histories I read. "They call her queen, not princess."
The olive-skinned boy rolled his dark eyes. "We of the Rhoynar never had kings nor queens. We had princesses and princes. Nymeria was a princess, not a queen. Only those north of the Red Mountains think otherwise, and they're wrong. They don't understand."
"Looks like you struck a nerve, Griff," laughed Jon, bumping me in the side with an elbow. "Princess, queen. What's the difference? All high and mighty and above the likes of us."
Maybe except me, though I kept that thought to myself.
Eventually we reached it. Rising from the side of the stream was a shack. It was the most clichéd looking thing I'd seen in this world. It was like one of those herbalists huts one would find in a game. The building was dark with a tall peaked roof of mouldy thatch and surrounded by a garden with chickens and fenced off patches of vegetables. Clustered around the shack were tall trees, all warped and creepy with jagged branches and a terrifying presence. Leaning over the waters were willows, their long leaves dangling into the shallow river that fed the greater Rhoyne.
I shivered, suddenly feeling cold despite the sunny day.
There is no such thing as magic, but I knew those words didn't matter anymore. This was Essos, not earth. To deny magic here was to deny the very laws of physics. Yet, as we proceeded closer, I couldn't look away. There was something in the air. The whole thing felt unnatural, unsettling. I trailed behind them, glancing at the thick foliage growing on the sides of the stream. The place was secluded and would be easily ignored by anyone who weren't looking for it.
"I can't believe you roped me into this," I grumbled.
"Craven," Symeon taunted mischievously, turning around with a toothy grin. "Scared of an old woman in a shack?"
"No," I stated. "I'm just cautious about ominous buildings in the middle of nowhere. What if it's a trap by slavers?" In truth, I knew magic was real in this world and I didn't want to be on the receiving end of it. How much magic was to be debated, but seeing as there were tales of bloodmages forcing people to mate with animals to bring forth half-human abominations, I was cautious. Not to mention shadow assassins.
Qarro rolled his eyes. "Should slavers come, we can take them. We're men of the Golden Company. Not to mention, pirates rarely come this far south. This area is patrolled by the Volantenes."
"The Titan is correct," Damon said wryly, running a hand through his annoyingly perfect curls. "Come, if you're man enough. Otherwise wait in the swarm. Bloody river attracts them like flies to a rotting corpse."
I reluctantly agreed and fidgeted as they knocked the door. The door opened to reveal a young woman. I rose an eyebrow at the sight. She had dark-olive skin and dark-brown eyes. Her hair, too, was brown and an untamed collection of ringlets. She could be considered attractive, in a way, through her face was closer to being plain.
"And what have I here? A troupe of boys at my door. It must be my name day." She sounded tired. The woman spoke in the Volantene tongue though there was a foreign drawl to her voice, making it sound slightly sultry. "If you're bandits and the like, you've done a fine job. Don't hide or attack me unawares, just walk right to the front door. At least you do so to my face, even if your balls are yet to drop for any of you."
They all bristled at that and Jon grumbled a curse under his breath. "We're not bandits," Rickard declared, puffing out his chest and trying to appear taller. "We are men of the Golden Company."
"So bandits draping themselves in gold?" She rose an eyebrow. "Not much difference there. So tell me, boy, why come here if not to sack my home and rape my person? Tell me truthfully and quick. I don't have all the time in the world."
"We heard you were a bloodmage, milady," Damon said with a boyish grin. "We want to see what you can do."
"I'm a spectacle to you? To dance for your entertainment? Oh, thank you. That means the world." Damon flushed and I grinned. Then her attention turned to me. Her dark eyes stared at me and they were cruel. "Blue hair is it? People only cover that if their either vain or have something to hide. Which one are you?"
"Vain," Jon answered for me. "Never seen a worse lad."
Her thin lip's formed a smirk. "Mayhaps. Why come here? I'm a healer but also a mage. Not a bloodmage which, frankly, makes me sound less skilled than I actually am."
She's the vain one. "You were said to see the future," I said. I know so I can tell if you're truthful.
"In exchange for some blood I can see your future," she said to us all, sounding like she'd said those words a thousand times before. "I'll only accept one at a time and for five bronze marks from each of you. I don't want my home to be full of sellsword spawn."
"You should speak to us more politely," Leo grimaced, patting the sword at his side.
She looked as fazed as if we were a bunch of mice threatening a lion. "I'm quaking in my sandals. Who's first?"
"I'll do it," Damon grinned, pulling out the coins from the purse on his belt. "I know I'm destined for great things. Here's the time to prove it." She looked amused by that but allowed him inside, slamming shut the door behind her.
I shot a glance at the rest of Serpent Squad and we waited. We threw rocks at the river, talked and even pressed our ear to the door to listen in. All the shutters were locked from the inside and the room was oddly silent. Eerily so.
I took my chance after Damon. Taking out a few coins I got from running errands within the Company, I was allowed access. Honestly, I was impressed and repulsed at what I saw. Leaning against the walls were shelves packed with an impressive display of sealed pots and jars filled with dried herbs, sweet smelling spices and various fluids, each one labelled with tiny handwriting. On the tables were frogs that had been cut open, their innards exposed and swarming with flies. I shuddered at the sight. The smell was strong enough to make me feel like throwing up. In the centre was a table with a bowl of water and beside it was another containing two burning matches of aromatic wood.
The witch sat at the table, casually drawing on the wood with the tip of her finger. She seemed to know my presence but refused to acknowledge it. When I took a seat, she looked up. Her eyes were cloudy but seemed to look into my soul. Thin lips pursed, expression serious.
"I heard you knew magic," I said, somewhat sceptical. I made myself comfortable on the wooden chair. One of the legs was shorter than the others which made me rock back and forth. It was annoying her already.
"You heard correctly, Tyroshi," she tipped her head to the side. Her eyes bore deeper. "But you're not Tyroshi are you?"
I smirked. "You discovered my secret. May I ask how you came to find out such a revelation?" I put my elbows on the table, immediately removing them when she stared daggers. Darn she looked threatening when pissed off.
"Your accent. I don't need magic for that. You lack the drawl required for such a dialect. No, your voice is different from what I usually hear. Never heard such an accent in my entire life and I've known a few. I'm sure you didn't come to listen to me speak of this. The coins?" I emptied my hand on the table and she scooped them up. "How old are you, boy? Ten?"
"Twelve." Twenty.
"Could have fooled me. Give me your thumb."
I did, but pulled away when she took out a pin. "Is that clean?" I didn't want to get a disease from a filthy needle. The medieval ages didn't have that good cleanliness and I doubted a shack in the middle of the woods would hold high standards.
"Of course it's clean. I wash them in acid." She rolled her eyes at that. "I'm no fool. Those girly fingers of yours are safe from being cut off."
I narrowed my eyes at her words. In truth, I was surprised there was one who knew the dangers of unclean medical equipment. Hesitantly I offered my thumb and she jabbed at it, not tenderly like the nurses I've had. It was a sharp pain and blood came to the surface. Taking my hand, she faced my thumb down to the pool where a few drops turned the clear water a shade of pink. I raised an eyebrow at the witch who muttered some words I didn't understand. I guessed she was performing magic like what was done with Cersei and the mage she visited. It would be interesting to see what this woman said. No doubt I've already created butterflies by my very arrival in this world.
She stared down at the bowl for what felt like an eternity. Then she slowly looked up, her eyes were glassy and face was plastered in horror. "What are you?"
I felt a cold shiver go up by spine at those words and I leaned back. The chair almost slipped backwards. Only at the last moment was I able to keep my balance. What she said: what not who. Having those spoken to me felt dehumanising. Then the realisation dawned on me. Damn it. She must have looked at my past. A mage I ask to look to the future looked backwards instead.
I felt sick. I wanted to keep it secret. I needed to keep it a secret.
"How is this possible?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I came here." I tried to keep my voice calm but it hitched.
The Rhoynish mage stood up, confused, and prowled the room. She went through the glasses neatly lined up, scratched her face and rubbed her eyes, all the while muttering in a language I knew not a word of. That went on for what felt like five or so minutes, all the while I just stared, ready to defend myself if she lunged. Abruptly, she span on her heels to the look at me. The look of fear turned inquisitive and her thin lip's slowly formed a sly little smile. "I would never have expected this, son of Terra."
"Terra?"
"The place where you're from. It's not this world." Taking a deep breath, she sat back down opposite me, placing her elbows on the table and chin atop her knuckles. She no longer looked scared, but intrigued. "I'd consider you a spirit, but that wouldn't strictly be true, would it?"
"You know . . ." my words were little more than a whisper. "How?"
"The Mother Rhoyne knows all and will tell her most faithful the secrets of others should a proper sacrifice be available: a few drops. Blood has power. You should know that seeing as you are Valyrian, spirit or no spirit. You and your kind are special that way, despite your tendency for madness by your more than queer way of marriage."
"Incest."
"A darkness upon the soul, or so I'm told."
I glanced around the room. Why did I do this and allow someone to know my secret? I chewed my bottom lip. "If you know this about me, may I ask who you are, my lady? It will give us slightly more equal footing."
"Lyra. They call me the Lady of the Rhoyne. As well as hedgewitch, bloodmage, foreseer, spirit talker, shadowbinder and all other trifles. Those titles are not important and most of them are only spoken in hushed whispers." She leaned closer. "But you though, you're an interesting specimen, truly."
Great, I've encountered a bloodmage who sees me as a lab rat. Beautiful. I'll surely thank them should I make it through this. "You know I'm not from here. Is there any way I can go home. Out this kid's body and back to earth?"
"You'll go home."
That caught my interest. "When?" My voice was hopeful.
She chuckled, leaning back. "You know how this song and dance works. When the dark flame becomes the champion of the shadows of winter. When the chosen lays defeated. When the Old Gods become a burnt husk. Only then may you return whence you came."
"What the blimmin' . . ." Prophesy speak? Seriously? "What are you talking about? Speak normally. I don't have the patience for this sort 'a thing."
Lyra chuckled. "You know it's less fun if I give you the blunt response." She leaned forward once again, looking directly into my eyes. I flinched and averted my gaze. "You were rebirthed into this world. How? I don't know. Some force, maybe the gods. But whatever the cause, blood and bones keep you here. You will not return while you still draw breath. You won't ever return to the world you left."
I stared, quizzing at those words. Then I responded the most eloquent way I could, "Oh fucking fuck. Fan-fucking-tastic."
Lyra looked amused and then shrugged in a way that said she gave exactly zero shits. "I wish I could help . . . that is incorrect and no more than a lie. It would be interesting to study you and see how this worked, however."
I groaned, running a hand through my hair. I could feel tears run down my cheeks. I needed to think about something else. I couldn't let myself have a moment of weakness. The grief, the fury, I forced those emotions into a tiny box in the bottom of my subconscious and slammed shut the lid. All that I now felt was a cold clarity that would be my only safeguard. Taking a deep breath, I changed the subject to something that would aid me and avoid thinking of the past. I needed to think of the future. Solely the future.
"You said they call you a shadowbinder, a bloodmage. How do you know these? Where did you learn?" If this woman was being truthful, it was akin to finding a nuclear physicist in a secluded part of the forest, amidst world war two. Though the inside of her shack also reminded me of those conspiracy nuts who secluded themselves because they believed the government was watching them. Maybe a mad scientist? The fact that she'd been cutting up animals did nothing to improve my opinion of her.
"I was found by one of those maesters. The men with chains around the necks. Marwyn was his name. He came across the sea from the Sunset Kingdoms. He taught me the words for fire and blood and shadow. In return I taught him the language of the waters."
"You taught him Rhoynish magic and in return you learned other forms of magic from him?"
"Indeed. I learned much. I have respect for the western man. I have some of his books. They're my most valuable processions."
I grinned at that.
"You find that amusing, boy?" That removed the grin from my lips. "The superstitious woman who lives alone is funny to you?"
"No . . . my lady. I just . . . ugh," I ran a hand through my hair. "I-I'm curious as to why? I heard that magic has disappeared since the last of the dragons died out."
"It has," Lyra admitted before deciding to examine her nails. She looked bored of the conversation. "But there's still knowledge that is left from what had been. In the waters of the Mother Rhoyne, her gift still persists. She provides me with the gift I inherited. But I could only do so much with what I'd been given. I needed to do the rest myself. For you see, most people live their ways on an isle of vapid ignorance. They shy away from the dark and hungry waters that surround it. To gain knowledge – true knowledge of the world and how it works – one must brave the tides. But there is a danger to it. One cannot expect to see the shores ever again."
That sounded like how magic here works. Here, magic was dangerous and unpredictable. Effective should there be a skilled practitioner, but it was hard to even begin let alone master. "Well . . . I don't know how to respond to that," I confessed with a slight smirk. "Magic isn't really my forte."
Lyra rolled her eyes. "You don't say. We both know you didn't come to converse about magic. You wanted to see your future. Is that right?"
"I wouldn't mind talking about magic but, yes, I did come to ask about my future. Or that was why my compatriots dragged me here. Besides the whole not returning thing and winter's shadows . . . whatever that is . . . what is my future?"
Lyra the Mage looked once more at the bowl. "I see a dragon, battered and bloody, laying atop the bones and skulls of stags and lions. I see a wolf sitting atop a mountain of spikes. I see a monster with the face of a man and surrounded by a sea of withering tentacles. I see a brewing storm."
I blinked, my brain trying hard to process the information. I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair. I felt itchy all of a sudden. Sweaty. "That's a lot to unpack."
She grinned wickedly. "Put you on the spot, didn't I, Blackfyre?"
"Once upon a time, I didn't believe magic even existed. I believed in science and reason and still do. But magic though . . . you alone proved me wrong. But what you saw . . . can it be avoided?"
"Magic is just another field of science," she stated as fact. "One would be a fool to not properly explore it. But prophesy though, oh, prophesy is a complex beast. Marwyn quoted me the words of Gorghan of Old Ghis. He wrote that prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your cock in her mouth, and how it seems oh sweet and wonderful, then the teeth shut and your moans turn to screams. The nature is that, no matter what, it will find a way to ruin you. I personally despise the art of foretelling to be perfectly honest. But coin is coin and people love hearing about their future . . . until they hear it. Despite all the warnings, no matter what, everyone's life comes to the same conclusion. There are just some things that can't be avoided."
"Then I won't ask for more than. But do you think it can be changed?" Though from the way the books worked, it seemed predestination was a thing. One couldn't change their fate.
"The future is a river. One person's attempt to stop it is to throw in a pebble in the water. Pebbles don't stop a fast flowing river. Everything has a cause and effect. One thing I'll say, though, is that adherence to prophecy over common sense is nothing but foolishness. Especially if you can't be certain whether you're interpreting the damn thing correctly in the first place."
I looked up, felt the corner of my lips twitch. "You're saying me you may be wrong?"
"Reading the future is all interpretation. It's all imagery, for the gods don't let you get a clear picture of the future. With reading the future, either it's a perfect foretelling in which case nothing you do will affect the outcome. Or it could be false and therefore unreliable in which case there's a good chance the thing will mean nothing anyway. The alternative is that the prophecy has many interpretations and will adapt to changing circumstances in which case, again, you may as well listen to common sense."
I thought hard about it. The crazy thing was, it could be any. In truth, I despised the idea of prophesy and fate both in life and within stories. But this world . . . unlike earth, those things could be legitimate possibilities.
"I see you pondering."
"I am. You have given me much to think about." I smiled, feeling my thoughts click together into a coherent picture of what I needed to do. "Tell me, Lady Lyra. What is it you want most in the world? I'm curious."
She looked at me quizzing and answered slowly, "There are all different kinds of magic in this world. The Valyrians used blood and fire. My people use water. Qarth has the house of the Undying. Yi Ti specialises in the mysteries of the stars. All of them are related to magic. I have theories and ideas on how they all work together. What I want, what I truly want, is to rip open the world and the very source. I want to learn and study to see how everything functions. Seeing as you're a Blackfyre, a self-styled dragon born of the Sunset Kingdoms, you may want your mound of rusted iron. I want knowledge for knowledge is the only prize worth having."
"Knowledge is very important. The quill is mightier than the sword." I put on my most charming smile. She wasn't having it. "What if you join me? I'm a Blackfyre and will lead the Golden Company, the best sellsword company in Essos, maybe the world."
"You must think me a fool. I will not go with you just because you say so."
"Of course not. I don't think I have the charisma, nor can a few pretty words make you come with. But I do think it'll be in your best interest. I see your books and you have a few, but there are always more. If you join me, I could get you whatever you need." A mage would be a useful thing to have. Stannis had Melisandre, but where he would use her to guide the way, I could use Lyra for other things. A Rhoynish mage would certainly be a powerful asset. They fought Valyria's dragons and brought many down. That wasn't to mention she claimed knowledge of shadowbinding. With the rise of magic to happen later, it would be foolish not to get someone who is capable of wielding the stuff.
She hummed and I could see a shadow of a smile if for the briefest moment. "Knowledge is power indeed. I'm guessing you think you can use me to take what you think is yours."
"The Iron Throne." No, I don't want that. Kingship is poison. I'll be generous and let someone else shoulder that burden. "My birthright as a Blackfyre. Many see me as the rightful king." I supposed that was true.
She rolled her eyes. "There is no such thing as a rightful king. There are those who are powerful enough to hold a throne and those who aren't. Did the Valyrians have a rightful claim to my homeland when they decided to genocide and enslave my people? Did the Starks have a claim when they did likewise to the surrounding kingdoms? Did Aegon Targaryen have a claim to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros?"
"You don't seem to like the Valyrians. For justifiable reasons."
"You heard my words or do you have wax in your ears? My people were destroyed, my people's culture was destroyed, and Mother Rhoyne's power has forever weakened. Those who survive are like me and clinging on to whatever pieces remain. The others fled to the Sunset Kingdoms and have forgotten their way."
"I've seen the ruins. I've walked through temples and palaces long since fallen to the elements. I've even drawn what is left so I won't forget them. In truth, paper can't really preserve them, not even the vastness of the ruins. It would have been wonderful to see them when they still stood and were inhabited."
"Your people destroyed them."
"My ancestors but not myself. The sins of the father shouldn't be put on the child," I said slowly, calmly. "All that brings is ruin and destruction upon all. An endless cycle of revenge that will not stop. The only way to improve is to aid each other in common cause. You want knowledge and I'm sure you want to return the powers to your people. I can aid you in that. I can give you resources to do what you need to do. All that I ask in return is your aid. Whether knowledge of the supernatural or for you to perform them."
She laughed at me. "What says you can give me what I want? How can you get it? You're a Blackfyre yet you hide your hair in a queer getup. You're hiding your identity. That is clear for anyone with eyes to see."
"For now I'm hiding. But not for long. I'll allow you to think about it. Then I'll return. When I do, you have decision to make."
"I'll think on it, dragonspawn. One does not simply throw away an opportunity. But that doesn't mean I'll accept." She leaned forward once more, her eyes sparkling with unbidden interest. "Get me something to prove yourself first. An artefact, perhaps. One with magical connotations to your own people. Then, I may decide."
Silly Aegon, don't you know how RPG's work? You have to get her the quest items before you can recruit her as a follower. Silly me for thinking differently. I stood up, thanked her for her time and left the shack where my team were waiting. They were laughing and jesting. When Leo turned to me and asked me what we talked about inside, I simply said, "Nothing important."
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