Chương 204: Ned 1 295 AC
LoginRegister Remove ads User FictionSon of Man(Nis) An ASOIAF SI Thread starterCharlezany Start dateSep 16, 2019 Tags a song of ice and fire self insertFirst Prev21 of 22Next LastThreadmarksView content Remove adsThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 13: Brienne 1 View contentCharlezanyNov 3, 2019#302Brienne 1 295 AC
It was a strange thing, being a knight in service to a Lord Paragon, or a prince, if by title, and half of her wondered what her world would be like had she taken the other path those years ago in the Garden. Would it be her at the prow of the Sword there with him? Would she be happy?
Who could say?
Still, she had made her choice, and in the Seven's light, she would stand by it. Could have beens were not her concern. She was happy enough as it is, and even if he was not taking her as his bride, the Prince of the Narrow Sea had still taken her into his household as a knight, and not merely in practice, for when her father had sworn to him, he had beckoned her forward and knighted her by his royal mandate. She had become a personal bodyguard of sorts to him, under Ser Jaerys Velaryon, and alongside Ser Robert Saltspray, who as far as she could tell had no real business being a knight at all, being crude and entirely uneducated, if quick-witted.
Though in truth, her status was not so great as that of her comrades. The two of them were Sworn Shields in full, while he had bid her swear no oath beyond her word so that she might return as Lady of Tarth when her father passed.
That had stung. She knew why it had to be that way, but it had stung nonetheless. She had no desire to be a mastered knight, so she had strived to be ever diligent in her duties. She had even learned to use a rifle, as Ser Saltspray did. It was a noise weapon, and it felt strange to wield compared to a bow, but if it aided in the role she had chosen for herself then she would let no such qualms stand in her way, as long as they did not violate her oaths at least.
That… well, that had been a sticking point, she would not lie, for she had been aghast to learn that the rumors of the Prince being a sorcerer were true, at least in part. When she had gone to confront him about it, he had explained his way to her.
Now, she glanced down at the rifle at her side and wondered if he was wrong.
She could recall it now as sharply as the morn after it had happened, in the midst of the knight, when she had been sworn to guard him, she had entered the chamber where he was working, to see that he was moving bronze into some variety of the glowing liquid that let his capitol have lights without fire of sun or candle.
He had looked up, unperturbed, closing the lid above the vat, and removing the glass lenses from over his eyes. "Brienne," he had asked her. "What is it?"
"It's… I wish to speak to you regarding your sorcery."
She knew that it had been foolish to confront him that way, that if he were the sorcerers of stories he would have, well, turned her into a frog or something hideous probably. But he had just nodded as if he had known it was coming, which indeed he might well have known it was.
She had questioned him then, perhaps even berated him slightly. Why did he turn to foul sorcery when in all else he was so noble? Did he not know the seven forbade it? Had it not been the death of Lord Renly, the injury of the king?
He had sat there, and listened patiently, and let her throw her words at him, and when it was done, he had nodded gently and explained his mind to her.
"Brienne, I do indeed wield magic." He had admitted with no expression of guilt, "but please do not think that I do so lightly, or that I am not aware of The Faith's ban on it."
"But why-?"
"Why do I persist despite knowing it risks damnation?" Arthur had answered, glancing up towards the light above him, which buzzed low in the night. "Tell me, Brienne, do you know why my Uncle the King's sword could cut down the demon of fire that appeared at the battle of the red plains?"
"It was because it was of Vayrian steel."
"Indeed, and do you know, Brienne, how Valerian steel was made? Could be made again if I were vile enough to do so?"
"No, of course not, it was forgotten."
"Lost and forgotten both, but I found it again, and I tell you now that at minimum the blood of four living men or women was used in the forging of that blade my Uncle carries. And if they did not have a dragon handy then it was probably closer to fifty." He had shaken his head sadly. "The seven speak against magic because all magic requires sacrifice, and the evil will not make it themselves."
Brienne had been shocked, she remembered, as a young girl she had always dreamed of having a Valyrian steel sword, and indeed she doubted ant who followed the warrior's path had not, but to learn then of their origins had filled her with revulsion.
"And yet," the prince had continued, "no mortal blade would have cut the hide of that demon, and with the shadow of Qohor rising it will not be the last demon that needs slaying, so listen when I tell you this Brienne."
She could remember little of his face then, only those piercing blue eyes that crackled with lightning. "I would not mandate any sacrifice that I do not first make of my own flesh. These vats, and indeed those spheres that power this city are wrought of my blood and of copper, and I will see no other man or woman bleed for this unless they choose that course themselves, and I have done so first."
That had been what broke her, what convinced her of his righteousness, even when it seemed to flaunt the Seven's teachings. It was knowing that he had made himself suffer ahead of any other that had swayed her from her conviction.
That was noble enough, as far as she concerned, but knowing that his weapons were fired by blood, even in small quantities, well, she could only hope that the Seven saw fit to forgive her for their use.
She turned at the sound of a roaring crackle as the first of the fireworks went up, streaking above the fleet as they approached King's landing.
They were far less impressive in the daylight than they were at night in her opinion, but she imagined they'd do the job well enough for people who had never seen them before, and Arthur had insisted, wanting to ensure that his marriage to Princess Arianne was as grand as it could possibly be. She sighed as the band started up, loud and blaring with horns and drums, and with the men in dress uniforms preparing to march off the deck, and Arthur and Arianne the dressiest of the lot way up at the prow of the ship, already waving though the people lining the port were scarcely distinguishable yet.
Brienne thought that it all must be terribly exhausting, putting on such a show like a marshaled army of peacocks.
While she doubted she would ever marry, she swore to herself she'd have it in a small chapel by the sea, with maybe a dozen people and a Septon.
Besides, that dress would never fit her anyway.
__________________________________________________________1334311CharlezanyNov 3, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 14: Joffrey 3 View contentCharlezanyNov 4, 2019#305Joffrey 3 295 AC
The whistles and pops of the strange lights his cousin's vessels seemed intent on distributing everywhere filled the skies above as the Prince of the Narrow Sea made his grand entrance to the port, and Joffrey walked atop the sea wall, following behind the aged spymaster, who had shown him a small passage out onto it.
"Now, how do you suppose those work?" The man mused, scratching at his chin slightly. "Clearly by some property similar to his cannons, but I cannot understand how he avoids the entire charge exploding at once."
Joffrey looked up at the things, their bright lights dim against the blue sky, though more obvious when cast against the clouds that followed behind the fleet of massive ships.
If the Great Stag had made an impression years ago, then the vessels his cousin brought on this occasion were a show of force to far surpass them. That was a trader, these were warships, and as he understood it held a great many of his cannons in their hulls. The lead was painted white, and at his head, he spotted…
Joffrey stepped back, and was glad for the inward-facing battlements, for he very nearly fell some ten feet backward.
Whatever he had expected of his cousin, it had not been this. He had expected arrogance, a lust for power, dominance, and warring spirit, like his father but perhaps more cruel.
Instead, his cousin, and the Princess of Dorne, his bride with him, were cast beneath the shadow of a great thundercloud that rose from his back, and filled his body, monstrous and vile it formed a cloud of swirling soul-stuff above him, taking on a firm of a thunderhead, shaped much like a man, but also bestial in its own way, he saw odd shapes move within it, strange spheres in circles and bristles of what might be cannons at its edges.
It reminded him of the demon which had slashed his chest, though it seemed less directly malevolent, and at once stronger and weaker together.
He steadied himself, stepping back to the opposite ledge, and staring at that great towering soul-thing, wondering what exactly his cousin was to hold it within him. Surely it meant he was a sorcerer as the rumors said, but there must be more to it than that, for he had seen the alchemists at court, and they lacked any such shape, instead, their souls seemed to blaze at the edges with pale green flames.
No, whatever his cousin was, it was not normal.
"It seems he has no intention of dissuading the rumors, interesting." Vary mused, though Joffrey was not fooled into thinking he spoke only to himself. He could see the man's soul turned his way in part. "I imagine he wants to dissuade rivals through a show of force."
Joffrey followed the old man's gaze and saw the organized and disciplined men marching off the boats, carrying their small cannons in their hands. He even saw much of the court, his Father, Lord Stannis, and the Dornish party as well, a mass of happiness and bitterly suppressed anger, moving to the docks, to meet the column of brightly uniformed men, which split in half as if they had rehearsed the action a thousand times. Out of them came Arthur, beneath that great stormy cloud, and his bride to be at his side, with a retinue behind, though they were obscured from him by the shadow of the storm at this distance.
He felt a pang of annoyance in his heart, no such prestigious delegation had met him beyond the gates.
'But then, it is not my wedding.' Joffrey reminded himself, gripping onto the ramparts before him. He could see clearly now his cousin's face, unscathed by greyscale. He wore a proud smile, his whole form radiating power and pride that seemed to drown out all save the other Baratheon's present as he greeted them, hugging his father and mother, and greeting his King and new Father in Law, there was some tawny woman there who moved to the Dorne is party as well.
It was then the Joffrey noticed the crowd. All around him the press of bodies as more people climbed the walls to watch, and the cutthroat and beggars with their rotten souls that moved around him, a sea of orange and green that threatened to drown him out, and he realized with a start that he had lost sight of the spymaster.
He fought through the crush, half tempted to draw his blade and force a path, but restrained by Lord Eddard's teachings. When a man could draw his sword, and when he should not.
It was hard to focus in such a crowd, with so much going on around him, so many souls caught up in the fireworks show or the marching soldiers or the blaring horns that punctuated it all with loud and garish music.
He needed to make it back to the keep. To find his mother even. Whatever sickness availed her soul she would still at least know how to protect him in the coming days, for he had no doubts that the anger he had seen suppressed in the Dornish souls was directed towards his own family on her side.
He would have to tell Lord Tywin as well, let him know that they were plotting against him. The Golden lion would never let his family be hurt, and for all his pride he would know what to do.
Perhaps he could have one of the Kingsguard assigned to guard him if he asked his father, his Uncle would be best, but he would settle for any of them. He hasn't met the Demonsbane since the war had ended, but he had liked the man well enough.
It would be interesting to look upon his soul.
He smiled as he spotted the Starks in the hall as he reentered, leaving one of the balconies, smiling as he rushed to Lady Sansa's side. She at least would be an anchor of stability in this mad keep, along with the rest of the Starks in their pale greys and whites.
The girl seemed in good cheer, her smile radiant as she turned towards him. "Ah, Joffrey, did you see the dress Lady Arianne is wearing?"
He found himself completely flat-footed by the question. Lady Sansa smiling and excited as she toyed with her hair. "Er… well, yes."
He had seen it certainly but made little note in his mind. She had been under the storm cloud after all. It was hard to pay attention to such things when a titan stood above them.
"Isn't it beautiful?"
"...yes." Joffrey nodded, struggling to find his footing, the Pink of Sansa's soul almost overpowering his senses with its strength at present. "Though I think it'd look better on you."
"Oh!" Sansa exclaimed, covering her mouth, her soul flushing even deeper into its customary pink. "But-well, I am hardly a beauty like Lady Arianne. I'd not be able to wear it nearly as well."
"Nonsense." Joffrey smiled, finding his self-confidence, now that the topic had turned to conversations he had touched on with the girl before. "When we are wed I will have them make you a dress finer and more beautiful than any in the realm. Even Princess Arianne will be green with envy."
It was the right thing to say, as Sansa threw her arms around his shoulders, smiling and hugging him. "You promise?"
"Yes, I promise." He smiled, reciprocating the hug as he noted that they had at some point lost the rest of the Stark Party.
"When we're wed I'll get you all the dresses you could ever want."
____________________________________________________________Last edited: Mar 20, 2020134132CharlezanyNov 4, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 15: Arthur 3 View contentCharlezanyNov 10, 2019#315Arthur 3 295 AC
I smiled and waved towards the crowd of commoners as we made our way towards the Red Keep. I had plotted a long route through the city for my entrance, and taken every effort to ensure that I looked every bit the Prince for the duration of it. While I was not stunningly handsome on my best days I was quite capable of cleaning up. My black hair hung down in waves to just above my shoulders, and my costume was the second best I had, with its superior saved only for tomorrow. Gold-cloth epaulets hung with braided strings on my shoulders, and my white cavalry cape was embroidered on the edges in similarly ostentatious fashion. Besides that, the uniform was reminiscent of the footsoldiers that marched behind me, my honor guard of sorts, selected from the prettiest of my marines, albeit not quite the best. Those were mostly in the Stepstones.
Ahead of me rode the greeting party that had come to meet me at the docks, my father and mother prominent among them.
I did not see them nearly enough these days. Storm's end was simply too far from any of my laboratories.
Besides me, of course, rode Arianne, as radiant as my nickname for her suggested. I knew she had spent at least as much effort preparing for this procession as I had, but she made it look far easier. I had wobbled at first, the remnants of mounting a horse after two weeks at sea, she was firm.
I caught a glimpse of a smile as she glanced over at me, and found one on my own face as well.
We both perhaps might waste a tad too much time smiling at each other, if given the opportunity, so I forced my gaze away. There would be time for that later. There was still a crowd to please, and we would have more than enough time with each other soon enough.
I smiled as the band changed tunes, a bastardized March half-remembered from a life that had already ended. It was cheerful and bright, just like the street fair around us, the colorful banners. The Flags of my color guard flapping behind.
I had to wonder how many in the crowd could guess at the significance of two of them. One of a variety entirely foreign to Westeros. One to show my loyalty to my uncle, and one that I would announce in full on the day of my wedding.
I already had the Cape prepared and everything.
There would be no greater indicator of my status as a marginally independent prince. The plain, unassuming bronze crown on my head wouldn't say as much.
The vipers would know though.
The shadow of the Red Keep over the city was a harsh reminder of their existence, that I was walking in a city of snakes and that one wrong step would put my foot in their nest.
'Good.'
Subtlety, intrigue, let them guess at my intentions, even as I spelled them out before their faces. Like my frigates in the harbor, I had no intention of hiding my power, indeed, I had agreed to have my marriage here, rather than on Storm-Sky, because of the opportunity that it presented.
Well, that and Arianne liked the idea.
Still, I would capitalize on the opportunity, I was here to Marry my wife, and in doing so, I would demonstrate my power. Whatever plots the serpents spawned would be knocked aside, forcibly, like gusts in the wind.
'Well, that might be a tad overdramatic.'
Thinking that way had become a habit of late, especially as my own power and understanding grew. Some quirk of my magic demanded it, probably. I might just be getting a big head.
It wasn't just me either, it was almost like I forced it on the world around me. Like my presence alone lead to grand pronouncements and ambitious grandstanding. Arianne and Asha seemed to have the same trend, if perhaps in different ways, and my lab assistants seemed prone as well.
I'd never forget the time I caught Gerald attempting to reanimate a dead dog, shouting some sort of Frankenstein monologue.
It hadn't worked, but damn if it didn't leave an impression.
I worried just how far it might stretch in time as we entered the courtyard of the Red Keep, I dismounted my Unicorn, Riggen, before helping my fiance off of her own, earning a cheeky smile from the woman, especially as I held up her bottom for a moment on the way down.
She was probably the only person looking forward to tomorrow more than I was, and it sometimes surprised me just how carnal the gazes she sent my direction were.
Westeros was much more open about sex than my own conceptions, and It was easy to forget that my sunshine had broken into my bedroom naked in an attempt to seduce me just a few years ago. I… well, at times I had a hard time reconciling it with how I thought about her, but then, I think she half put on the pure image she took in our relationship just because she knew I liked it. Her, well, her clothes were still revealing by my more prudish standards, but compared to what she had worn in Dorne they were positively conservative.
Still, they couldn't disguise the gazes she sent my way at times, or the biting of her lip in moments she thought I wasn't looking. Not that it mattered, for I loved that part about her too.
She just wasn't as sneaky as she thoughts she was.
I smiled as I took hold of her hand, heading towards my parents, and the rest of the party. I bowed slightly, deferentially to my Royal Uncle, who had lead the procession, and once again greeted my soon-to-be father-in-law, who was all smiles, for the moment at least.
"You had said, Uncle, that there was already a feast underway?"
The big man grinned (and indeed he was still the big man, for even though I now stood taller than my wife to be, he still had near a half-foot on me.) "Of course, of course. Good wine too, not any watered-down nonsense. This is a time for celebration after all."
My father looked like he wanted to say something, but after a moment just frowned slightly instead, letting Robert continue unabated.
"I'll have you in the Seat of honor beside me Arthur, along with Princess Arianne next to my lady wife of course." He smiled broadly. "All the better to heal old wounds."
You know, Prince Doran had a hell of a poker face, and it reasserted itself very quickly, but he'll if that wasn't the madden I had ever seen him for a second.
Oberyn wasn't even trying to hide it too much, though he still refrained from speaking, and Arianne had a rather tight death-grip on my hand.
"I'm sure the feast will be excellent, Uncle." I put on my best brand smile, trying to ignore the suddenly very thick atmosphere. "Let's get to it then shall we?"
"Of course!" Robert smiled, patting me on the back and gesturing towards the hallway, "Though we will have to walk up those damnable stairs."
I nodded, keeping my smile intact, repeating a mantra of bulls hit to myself to avoid addressing that particularly sticky situation.
If I ignored the blood feud long enough, maybe it would disappear.
___________________________________________________________1267111CharlezanyNov 10, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 16: Jon Arryn 2 View contentCharlezanyNov 14, 2019#323Jon Arryn 2, 295 AC
The feast to celebrate the arrival of the Prince of the Stepstones, and indeed his wedding to Ariane Martell, scheduled the following week, was a collection of the most powerful and influential individuals in Westeros, all of the Lord Paramounts, save for Greyjoy, were in attendance, and even then both of his prospective heirs had arrived as guests with other parties.
Despite this collection of all the great players in the Game of Thrones, it was inarguable that the groom to be took prominent place from the moment he arrived, sitting adjacent to his Uncle in his striking outfit, and speaking in cheerful booming voice so that perhaps the whole hall could hear his conversation if they chose to. He had Robert's Charisma, even if he lacked his looks.
"My men should have the Basilisk Isles clear of pirates within the year." The young prince of the Stepstones laughed cheerfully from his Uncle's side. "I was thinking of having a series of plantations constructed there, to better supply the realm in winter."
Despite the pressing danger posed by say, Lady Olenna Tyrell, or indeed by Tywin Lannister, Jon felt Prince Arthur made no effort to hide that he was the biggest threat. Nor did he seem to much care for any conversation beyond his own. The boy seemed utterly unable to recognize the frigid air just across from him, where his betrothed and the queen were creating their own miniature cold snap of sorts.
What's more, Robert seemed quite happy to ignore them as well.
It was uncanny, the two towering Baratheons on one side, laughing and cheering and engaging with the crowd, and the Martell and Lannister on the other unwilling to so much as look at the other.
A mixed blessing to be sure.
On the one hand, it was good to finally meet the Prince in person, and especially to see how well he got on with Robert. It soothed the immediate fear of the man making a play on the throne, but if the way Prince Joffrey looked at Arthur and his party was any indication, a civil war might be unavoidable in time.
The boy had been glancing nervously at the disinherited Baratheon, and at those who had accompanied him in as if any of them might bite his head off.
To be fair, the said party was a show of power in its own right. The room was full of the most powerful people in Westeros, and an unfortunate number of them were amongst the prince's backers. It was as clear a sign as any that he desired the Iron Throne for himself.
The Martells were there of course. Indeed, before Prince Arthur had invaded the Stepstones he thought that they might have been behind his rise. Even once his ambition had been revealed so clearly to be his own, they were still no doubt plotting to help him onto the throne. Indeed, even on off chance, he didn't want it himself, they would probably seek to place him there.
Then the Stormlands Baratheons under his father, Lord Stannis, with their ties by his mother to the Florents in the reach. By all common knowledge, he still maintained strong relations to his parents, and if given the right reasons Stannis would no doubt side with the boy, just as he did Robert.
That alone aligned two kingdoms to his banner, and like the Starks, he had brought a claimant to the Iron Isles with him in his service, though by all rights she had the weaker claim of the two Greyjoys.
Still, Jon had known of all of those connections well in advance. They were no surprise at all, and if it had just been them, he would have had little to worry about.
Unfortunately, that was not the case, for if the party made anything clear, it was that the Prince had expanded his allies well beyond his immediate peers.
Manderly, Redwyne, and far more alarmingly, Royce, were only the most prominent of the coastal lords that flocked to his conversation. Engaging with him, speaking about trade deals and partnerships and penny-pinching.
If it were just merchants discussing it, that would be one thing, but to have his own vassals drawn into the economic machinations of the Prince of the Stepstones and his blasted company was entirely unacceptable.
What's more, the Royce's had always leaned towards sorcery, what with their odd connection to Bronze and the runes of the First Men, and Prince Arthur was whispered to know true magic, or at least employ those who did.
Even further afield, several Essosi of high status had come to attend the wedding, and while they weren't permitted to attend this party, he understood that they wielded considerable influence themselves.
The Prince of the Stepstones had put himself in a position to control near all overseas trade in Westeros and had multiple Kingdoms at his call. He had subverted, or at least put himself in a position to subvert many great lords to his side.
It wasn't as if Jon was the only one who could see it either. His alliances were right there in the open, clear as day. There wasn't even an attempt to hide it.
Jon looked toward Robert, feeling concern well up.
'So why don't you care..?"
The man seemed as willingly blind to his Nephew's ever-growing influence as he was to his own wife's open dislike for the Princess Martell.
Jon sighed, reclining into his chair. He had thought Robert better than this, after the war at least.
Now he'd have to…
'Wait.' He smiled, for once, he might not actually have to do it alone.
His gaze turned towards the Stark section, the Boy grumbling at the Greyjoy, the girl staring at Prince Joffrey, the Tully smiling at her daughter.
And in the middle of it all, there was Ned, an anchor like a great statue over the family, dour-faced and grim true, but never stupid.
Jon smiled.
At the very least, he hopefully wouldn't have to confront Robert alone.
___________________________________________________________14941CharlezanyNov 14, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 17: Gerald 1 View contentCharlezanyNov 19, 2019#338Gerald 1 295 AC
The streets of King's Landing…
It had been years since he'd walked them, years since he'd taken the ship to Dragonstone, thinking to teach some brat the basics of alchemy, and here he was, feeling the pitter-patter of the soft rain atop his cloak.
It was gentle, calming even, but it didn't fool him.
This was Prince Arthur's Storm. It had followed them from the well-named place of its birth, and it was following them still. The bulk of it just hadn't caught up yet.
He could feel it in the air, in the way the wind shifted the rain and the sky buckled at points. The vast mass of it was behind them still.
No doubt it would arrive just in time for the wedding, a swirling pillar of power.
'Fitting'
He smiled as lightning crackled between his fingers, a sign of the magic he had been lucky enough to learn.
The storm's coming would at the very least bolster his own meager powers this night as he went about the task given to him. It could well be necessary, given how stubborn the order might be.
Carefully he weaved his way up from the port through flea bottom. Even in the rain the smell there was atrocious, but this mission obligated a certain degree of covert movement, and one more cloaked figure drew no one's eye in those streets, no matter the mind that lay beneath it.
He glanced up as he approached the Hill of Baelor, grinning as he saw the lights within the Red Keep, up there where his Grandfather no doubt sat, but where near all would no doubt be less than his master.
He imagined that Prince Arthur must be quite enjoying himself, knowing that his own development, his own power so far exceeded there own.
It was a shame to be true, that the workings and wirings of this throne had taken away so much time from his research into the reanimation of necrotic tissue (A possibility that the Prince had shared as a mere trifle, bless his grandiose heart). But it was a work of majesty nonetheless, and once it was all adequately assembled it would…
Well, it would be spectacular and give the Prince an unparalleled degree of control over the electricity in the city, but even he couldn't say for sure of all of it's exact functions. He simply lacked the innate understanding of the power that his master held.
'Ah, but enough of that thought.' He grinned beneath his hood as he stared up at the shimmering black dragonglass and polished Basalt fronting of the alchemist's guild-house.
Stepping forward, he rapped on the door slowly.
The slot slid open, revealing a chamber lit by green fire and a pair of dark eyes staring out at him.
"We aren't taking any-"
The man's voice died in his throat as he saw the tiny silver seal of flame, dangling from the third finger of his right hand and lifted before the slot.
"Ah, my apologies, I will open the door at once."
The heavy metal bolt slid back, allowing him entry, and he stepped inside, pulling his hood back.
"Welcome to the Guildhouse of King's landing Wisdom…"
"Frey, boy." He said, turning his gaze towards him. "Now go, inform the other Wisdoms that I have come to speak with them."
"Ah… but my master said!"
"Your master is no wiser than I, and if he thinks he is you may go and fetch him."
As the boy scarred off, Gerald felt his eyes drift about the chamber.
Had it really been so long since he'd left here?
No, in truth it had not, less than a decade, and yet it felt like half a century. He was not so old, though his hair had gotten grayer in that time, and in the last year had become white, tinged with green at the base, after an unfortunate result in an experiment.
There were no very old alchemists, not anymore. And if there were any they were the ones too terrible at their craft to have become Wisdoms by the time of the purge.
He could remember it like it was yesterday, the chief wisdom and his immediate successors dead within a week after Aerys' fall. And in short order, the rest of the Wisdoms were dead as well. He could keenly recall the months of fear as any that tried to take up the mantle disappeared.
It was more than a year before Wisdom Kavin Hallyne lived and then went on to promote the rest of them, himself included. It would be his old friend he would make his case to tonight.
The sound of soft muffled movement brought his eyes back to the hallway, where he saw the man himself approaching, his eyes green as the substance. Two other Wisdoms stood behind him, bald, short, and fat, Wisdom Lanus glared at him openly, while the broadly built Wisdom Tyan kept a more measured expression. He was wearing his beard long now. He had probably stopped burning it off.
Kavin blinked dully at him, his pale skin wrinkling in concentration as his gaze sharpened.
"You are Changed, Gerald."
"Indeed, I am, for I have found power beyond that our guild has held for centuries." He smiled broadly. "I come now to offer that you all join me in this new pursuit. That we might lend our talent to a leader that appreciates our talents, and indeed practices them himself."
"So the rumors are true then," Tyan said, raising an eyebrow. "You have taught the Rogue Prince Magic."
"He is hardly Rogue, his conquests, and realm are both sanctioned." Gerald smiled. "But yes, I have taught him, though he has long surpassed my feeble understanding. Prince Arthur lives and breathes magic, more, I think than he knows."
Kavin sagged slightly. "And you did not bring news of this back to the guild?"
"I hardly had the chance." He raised his hand. "He is a demanding ruler, and work is never short."
"That does not change the facts." The Grandmaster said, shaking his head. "And our own powers have swelled as of late, old secrets recovered, once more performable."
Gerald sighed. "Then you mean to have me prove myself?"
"We mean to make you leave, you-" Lanus started, but Kavin raised a burn-scarred hand, beckoning him to stop.
"What is it that you want Gerald, or should I ask what your master wants?"
"He wants the guild to relocate to Storm Sky, out from King's landing, to share secrets and knowledge with it, and to integrate it into his government."
The men stared at him for a long moment, but before it looked like Lanus was going to start up again, Tyan spoke.
"What does he offer us."
"Power, legitimacy, research facilities and a wide body of able-minded and literate apprentices. I myself have raised over two dozen adepts, and more are coming from his schools at all times, a far better pool of wit than this rotting city has to offer."
"It is not so simple, Gerald, we have clients here."
"He'll foot the bill to pay all of them off completely if you agree to relocate to his territory."
That stopped the three men hard.
He saw that Kavin's eyes sharpened intensely.
"What secret of ours is so great that he-"
"There are several he desires, it's true, ones that did not work in past, for we have found other magics grow now as well, and some compatibly, albeit in small ways," Gerald spoke honestly, many secrets sat in the library of the alchemists. "But what he desires most of all is sorcerers to work his will and construct his wonders. Even with all of our resources, there is too much to do and we are stretched thin. Thirty Thousand men need a million bullets all needing a tiny charge of diluted substance at their base to give them light, and that is not even speaking of the new alchemy, his science of lightning."
Kavin looked at him for a long moment.
"You were right." He said at last. "You will have to prove yourself, in the methods described in the old tomes, ancient knowledge you lack, for you left it here with us." The pale, black-haired man sagged in his heavy robes. "I will tell you now not to think us conjurers of cheap tricks. Not anymore, we have no need to fool our clients when the magic burns so brightly."
Gerald nodded, he knew the rough outline of what the man spoke. He had felt it, and the prince had too, whatever Bulwark had held magic from the world was crumbling, like a falling dam on a rushing river, streams broke through, and with each day the magic grew stronger. "I will accept that challenge."
"Very well then." Kavin nodded, clutching his amulet. "Let us move to the arena. We will see if your new master has truly surpassed our order, and the knowledge we hold."
__________________________________________________________________________14953CharlezanyNov 19, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 18: Joffrey 3 View contentCharlezanyNov 24, 2019#359Joffrey 3 295 AC
Carefully, he placed his hands on the railing of the balcony, taking in a great breath.
The wind was coming in off the sea with the grim storm overhead, and the smell of saltwater at least drowned out the stench of King's landing.
It was a brief respite, but one he sorely needed, for the feast overwhelmed his senses so thoroughly, all the crowd so close to him, his mother's poison, his Father's wounds, the sycophants in their worthless greens, and, by some miracle, a few genuinely honorable men, and some lesser number of pure women.
None were so clean or so unstained as his Sansa.
And, over all of it, above the Lord's and Ladies, the powerful and the frail, his cousin had sat, some bloated puppet master of clouds and terror, a swirling vortex that grasped the souls of his minions in strings of lightning.
He had seen how the Greyjoy and the Princess of Drone twisted under those clouds as if directed by some great invisible hands within, how darkened tendrils of stormcloud stretched out and sought to shadow the whole of the hall in its presence, like some great octopus or monstrous dragon wing.
So close to his cousin now, he had even seen beneath it, to the shadowed soul of his cousin, that pillar of arrogance, crackling with lightning, suppressed only by the faintest sense of self-awareness. Harsh and Brass, and full of blazing green lights and turning cogs.
It had seemed to beat with a heart of its own, crackling and expelling lightning into the cloud above, and drawing down the cloud back into itself.
There was no doubt in his mind that Arthur, whatever blood they shared, was no man.
He was a monster, as sure as that demon that had walked from the corpse of the Dragon-prince. He might be less vile, less thoughtless and aggressive, but that thoughtfulness did not make him less dangerous.
No, it made him worse.
"Gya?"
Joffrey glanced over at the baby across the room from him.
Young Tommen was, well, not a baby exactly. His younger brother was just on the cusp of being a toddler, he could manage a few words, and stagger along with something to support himself.
Joffrey smiled at the innocent boy trying to climb his way out of his crib.
He was big for his age, black of hair and blue of eye.
Like his father, his uncles, his cousins.
If Joffrey and Myrcella had inherited all the Lannister traits it was sure the boy had inherited the Baratheon ones. Even his soul at such a young age was already so cheerful and lively, like the rest of the clan.
Well, save Lord Stannis, but his Uncle could hardly be considered the rule.
Joffrey sighed, turning away from his brother. It was odd that their mother seemed to care so little for him, leaving him mostly to the maids, but then, that might be better for the boy.
He felt a pang in his heart.
He loved his mother, he knew he did. Even seeing how toxic she was to those around her. How she seeped into Uncle Jaime, into Myrcella.
Into himself.
He could trace his own soul back to hers in more ways than he liked.
And that was hardly his only concern, there was his Grandfather too, and his plots. The Dornish and their obvious hatred for his family, his grandfather especially. Uncle Tyrion who all save Uncle Jaime seemed to hate, though he could not see why.
The Dwarf's soul was not clean, but relative to most of those here he was cheerful and wholesome, a hearty red, the other side of the house colors that his Grandfather bore no mark of.
And that wasn't even to speak of the other Lord's paramount, the Tully's, and the Tyrell's with their ambitious souls, his own party under Lord Stark as grey as ever, or the hundreds of lesser Lords and ladies, all possessed of their own dispositions.
He placed his hand against his forehead.
It was too much. All too much.
And even with all this knowledge what was he to do with it? What that wouldn't lead to accusations of being a sorcerer like his fell cousin.
He was still a boy in the eyes of everyone here, he had no realm, no army, no blasted company to ferry him gold or power.
A knock to the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Enter." He spoke, sighing and turning back into the room.
A grey bulwark entered, eyes cold, but there was warmth behind them.
"Joffrey," the Stark Lord said, staring down at him and raising an eyebrow. "You're missing the feast."
He felt himself freeze up, panic taking his heart, he couldn't tell him, couldn't…
No, even Lord Stark he couldn't tell.
He'd decided on that long before, he was hardly going change his mind about it now. Maybe Sansa, when they were wed, but not before, never before.
"Yes, I know."
The Lord of the North nodded grimly, staring at him a long moment before shaking his head and taking a seat on one of the ornate chairs of the red keep, crafted precisely of thick dark wood.
"Would you like to talk?"
He was about to deny on instinct, to say no to everything, but after a moment's reflection, he sighed.
Even if he couldn't tell him about the visions, Eddard Stark was still kind, still understanding in a way that almost no-one else… no, no-one else at all was.
He set himself down in another chair, squeezing his brow, trying to find words to use.
Finally, he gave a simple answer, the best one he could.
"Yes."
________________________________________________________________13771CharlezanyNov 24, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 19: Gerald 2 View contentCharlezanyNov 30, 2019#369Gerald 2 295 AC
Green fire burned in a dozen brazed scattered above the rough sand of the Arena, it's dragonglass walls rising to a firm, rounded edge ten feet off of the ground, above which at least a fair part of the order had gathered.
He raised an eyebrow at the sight. Last he had seen it, the Arena was in a state of mild disrepair, despite its location deep beneath the black firmament of the alchemist guild house.
There was normally little use for it beyond initiation, after all. Alchemists were no warriors, and what spells had once been used to allow them some measure of combat ability had long ago been lost to the ages or ceased to function entirely.
Still, the old traditions were kept in some capacity, and Wisdoms could challenge each other to duels to settle grievances, or, as in this case, to demonstrate the worthiness of their magic.
Not that it had even been used for such a task in living memory, not since the Dance of Dragons.
Thus, the copper rod he had not held since initiation felt odd to him, heavy in his hand. He was not one for fighting himself, though that did not mean he would not demonstrate his powers here.
Across the sands, Lands stood, his bald head and fat form obscured by his cloak, but his height recognizable, in his hands a trifold staff, copper, silver, and gold running in circles about each other. A new design, then. The guild must have discovered the secrets of other metals.
Or rediscovered perhaps.
He placed the base of his staff in the sand, and Gerald mirrored his movement, as both men turned to face the chief wisdom, who stood on a small podium above the arena. The other three Wisdoms present in the city, as well as a gaggle of acolytes, gathered behind him.
"Tonight we have come in the manner of old, to witness the magic brought forth to us from the Kingdom of the Stepstones by wisdom Frey." The man nodded at him slightly. " He presents claims that this new magic is powerful and worthy reason for us to join with his Master, the Prince Arthur Baratheon."
The expressions of the gathered alchemists were unreadable with their hoods drawn over their faces, but the body language was mostly tense, not angry, but unsure of him.
He had been gone many years after all.
"Wisdom Lanus has objected to this new magic, saying that it cannot be considered a match for the old secrets we have recovered and that we are doing better than we have in centuries already."
The other man drew back his hood with a sneer, beady black eyes matching Gerald's gaze.
"In the way of the alchemists of old, this call be decided now. The matter shall be resolved when one yields or is rendered unable to fight by the skill of their foe." Kavin raised an arm, before bringing it down sharply.
"Begin."
Gerald moved swiftly, his hands clutching the staff, he drew deeply of the well of power within himself and thrust it forward like a spear, sending forth a shower of crackling green lightning towards Lanus, the metal at the tip dissolving into the blast.
He could remember when he had first discovered the principle, simple as it was, the Prince had been greatly pleased by it, laughing and saying something about unlimited power.
It was exhausting, certainly, but one could hardly argue with its effectiveness.
He frowned though, as Lanus reacted quickly, raising his staff and angling the silver end against the oncoming electricity.
The silver flew away, breaking apart and melting at the touch of the lightning but only for an inch or two before the blast was expended. The force drove Lanus to step back, but only two steps.
Gerald idly wondered if that was an innate property of silver or one that needed alchemy to bring it out. Such a diffusion was…
He was ripped from his thoughts as Lanus sent a wave of green wildfire rolling across the sand, slamming his staff into the ground as part of his own copper melted away.
Gerald had no similar countermeasure as Lanus silver, but there were still methods available to him, though in truth it was new, and experimental at that.
Still, left with little option, he grabbed hold of his staff, copper melting and reforming rapidly by its own resistance as he dumped nearly his entire reservoir into the quickly heating ball of metal.
Spinning, projecting, burning the palms of his hands, he grit his teeth as the swirling mass of metal lifted him mere feet off of the ground, defying the downward force of gravity and sending arcs of electricity ricocheting through both himself and the battlefield.
It was not a pleasant experience, and it quickly failed, falling away and coating his hands in quickly cooling copper, scalding his flesh.
Even the Prince had difficulty stabilizing such devices. He claimed the magnetic field of the world was too unpredictable to make them worthwhile.
Lanus laughed triumphantly as Gerald climbed to his feet.
"I can't say that that wasn't impressive Gerald." The man grinned broadly, his copper reserve almost depleted by the scale of the wave. "But it seems to have left you guardless now." The man twirled his staff, mockingly. "Still, rather than simply club you into submission like a primitive. I think I'll demonstrate for you the true power of an alchemist. The true requirement for becoming a real Wisdom in this new Era of power."
Gerald saw Lanus raise the staff and charged forward. The copper on his hands quickly melting into lightning as he went, crackling brightly across his body, giving power to his steps and sending pain shooting through him as his hair stood on end.
Lanus backed up quickly and slammed his staff into the ground, uttering a word of power that Gerald didn't recognize as the golden part of his staff began to fall away and melt-down to the floor.
From the point where it met the sand a burst of white fire shot forth, and to Gerald's shock began to hiss and smoke. The flames reformed, shaping into the recognizable shape of a serpent, perhaps a dozen feet long but coiled and sitting on its tail. Its body formed pale opaque fire, and its eyes blazing balls of light.
Before he could even comprehend the sight, it was lunging for him, and he was barely able to avoid its first lunge for the lightning that crackled in his veins and the speed it gave him.
He threw himself to the wall, his eyes snapping between the alchemist and the serpent he had summoned. The beast showing no sign of disappearing as it prepared to strike again.
Gerald sighed to himself. He would need to defeat Lanus while avoiding the monstrous fiery snake.
'This won't be easy.'
_____________________________________________________106211CharlezanyNov 30, 2019View discussionThreadmarks Part 2 Chapter 20: Ned 1 View contentCharlezanyDec 13, 2019#373Ned 1 295 AC
Kings Landing was…
Well, it was different from how he remembered it. Last he had visited the city it had been so soon after the end of the rebellion when the Lannisters had sacked it. It had been covered in scars. Back then it was hurt but seemingly proud in spite of it. An injured giant. Now, it was just… filthy.
Gods, that seemed so long ago now, had it really been only fifteen years?
His life was so different now. He had Cat, and the children and they weren't fighting.
Well, not right now.
How many men had led armies in three wars, in all the history of Westeros, a fair number to be sure, but most lords didn't see two nonetheless.
And two of them had been no small affairs either.
Now, the whole capital seemed to be balanced on the point of a knife. The court was full of useless fops and Robert, well, he was better than he had been at the start of the last war, but he spent most of his time traveling the realm.
Eddard could see why. Anything to get out of this city.
And now Joffrey thought the Martell's plotting against the Lannisters, for reasons he could well guess, given the Brutes Lord Tywin used and their actions.
Understandable though as such a desire for vengeance might be, they surely must realize that it risked throwing the realm into war once again.
He glanced out the window, sighing. He had comforted Joffrey as best he could, but he honestly feared for the boy's future. He was not Robert, not some impregnable tower of confidence and bloodlust. Would he be able to survive his own reign in the world they left him?
He seemed insightful at least, but that might not save him with his warlord of a cousin such a clear rival to the throne.
Meeting the Prince of the Stepstones had been something of a shock. He had expected the man to take after his father, dark and brooding, but more ambitious as everyone knew from his growing empire.
Such thoughts were washed away however even upon just seeing the man enter the throneroom, talking boisterously with his uncle about how far his vessels would soon reach; Black hair short and slicked back in some clear Essosi style, tall as Robert had been at fifteen, and dressed head to toe in white and black garments threaded with Gold Lace.
At first blush, one might think him a merchant as much as a Lord of territory, and in some respects that was true. Edward had seen his company in White Harbor, and from his dress, he gave off the impression of an up and coming man, proud to display his wealth.
Such a man, as Jon had taught it, would be laughed out of the courts of his betters. Though truth be told most new better than to present themselves so gaudily in the North. Still, there was little laughter at his coming, except perhaps for some of the Lord's who already favored him, cheerfully joining his circle alongside the King and his Father.
No, no laughter or scorn issued, as he had been taught it should, because everyone there knew two sure things. First, that the King's nephew held his favor, and second, that however gaudy his appearance might be, the empire he forged was all too real.
It was almost supernatural, the way conversation in the halls of the feast that followed sputtered out whenever he spoke as if he was drawing all the air to himself like some great Bull in a house of Rabbits. It did not silence everyone, but enough for it to be noticeable.
The same effect was true of Robert, though in Eddard's mind most did not notice.
He thought Lord Tywin and his dwarf son might have, but they were too far away to speak to, but most seemed to just take it as a matter of course as if they had already accepted the Prince as their better, something not afforded to all Lords Paramount, at least, not outside of their own halls.
No, the Prince was odd, too odd, and odder still that no one seemed willing to speak up about it.
Well, that wasn't true, Joffrey had spoken plainly of the threat he thought his cousin was, and Eddard was inclined to agree. Something about the entire affair simply struck him as-
"Wrong."
He nearly jumped out of his skin as a croaking voice spoke behind him. "Wrong, Wrong, Wrong,"
He turned to face the sound, relaxing as he saw it was the raven that had followed him south, the warg, or whatever it might be that let it speak like a man, was clearly in it, for the feathers on its forehead had turned pale.
He could recall the first time it had spoken to him, telling him of the Long Winter to come, just after the end of the last war. It spoke unclearly as if it were always choking the words out, but the thought behind them was there.
He had been shocked at first, magic had been a terror then, with the demon's of Essos still fresh in his mind, but this crow was calmer, more natural, not a burning thing of fire and evil.
An agent of the Old Gods, if ever he had seen one.
"What is wrong then, Raven? Speak, I would hear your council."
The Raven made a hacking noise as if it could hardly breath "Storm." It finally choked out, raising its wings as if they could scrape the clouds pouring in from the sea. "World" it cried "Time, wrong, wrong, wrong"
Eddard found himself staring at the crow, trying to pace its meaning. As always, it was easier said than done.
"Do you mean to say that the world is endangered by the Storm?" He asked a simple question and one which elicited a harsh nod from the crow. "Storm… Follow, weak must speak strong."
The bird suddenly cast off from its perch on the windowsill, diving down away from him.
He moved to watch it go, coming to a rest in the gardens below. 'Probably on the heart tree.' He nodded, stepping up from his chair.
If the creature could be needed to speak to him there, and with such urgency, he would hear it's words, even if it meant that others might well see him go.
Besides, to them, it would just seem he had gone to pray.
Not an entirely inaccurate supposition. Given what might well be the Crow's origins.
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