A Song of Bards and Maso (Asoiaf/Nier)

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 10, 2023

A Song of Bards and Maso

POPOLA I

"No stopping, no stopping ever, NO ONE STOPS!" she screamed.

Her sister… was gone. How could she be… how could this have happened? It didn't make sense… the replicant she cared for like her own- cut her down…

I'll never stop until those 4 are dead for ever daring to lay a hand on her sister… DEVOLA…

Emil The Ultimate Weapon thought he could get them away… she refused to allow that. THEY WOULD PERISH HERE for Humanity, for Devola…-

They would not escape her.

The thought of Devola lying limp on the floor fueled her rage. Which in turn fueled her own Maso. She saw them panicking in their bubble of protection, and smirked in joy at their unease. Hoping beyond hope their deaths would fill the hole she felt in herself.

Then she saw The Ultimate Weapon make his way back towards her with the purple protection sphere, which seemed to turn a dark purple as he came closer. She homed in on what felt like all the Maso within her to protect herself, and attack.

Yet it seemed to be all for naught regardless of what she did as she felt the darkening sphere. Pushing and pulling her into it, and she felt as if her body was getting crushed within, along with that of her sister. Which was the real tragedy. It was not enough for them to kill Devola, her body had to become collateral too. The Maso bubbled within her in reaction to the further spike in her emotions. Then she felt the air around her getting more and more condensed, immense pressure building up around her, despite the sheer force of Maso she used to combat it. In the end she was crushed in the strange attack of the Ultimate Weapon.

Suddenly she was somewhere else, not on the smooth grounds of the Shadowlord's castle.

She felt an energy enter her, adding strength to her Maso…

Then she heard a gasp of breath.

She looked over to see Devola raggedly breathing….

"Devola…"

"Popola, I thought I…"

"You did." Popola managed to get the words out.

"How am I alive?" Devola asked.

Popola was at a loss for words. Too busy staring at her sister… going in to hold onto her, helping her up. Appreciating that she was talking again. A voice she never thought she'd hear again.

"Where are we?" Devola asked glancing around.

Popola did the same, the unfamiliar terrain was one thing. They seemed to be in a narrow outdoor corridor or alley of some kind. Everything was a different shade of yellow or brown and the ground had an incline and roughness to it. Then she looked around past the narrow alleyway and saw a couple of replicants looking at her and her sister with fear painting their features. She supposed to them they just appeared out of nowhere, so she couldn't really blame them. Though after all this horror with Nier, she was momentarily sick of the shells.

One thing that troubled her though was none of them were recognizable as a replicant in her and her sister's area of operation, none of them looked familiar at all… even compared to ones she saw in passing or in days long past when they had better communication with the other observers. With that thought, she began to feel the Maso in her circuits, and let it flow across her until the power was concentrated in her mind. Silently querying to cross-reference the faces she saw with the project gestalt, and the observer general data dump files.

She focused her eye on the man looking at her with fear evident in the nervous sweat dripping off him. Upon farther analysis, she felt a great weight on her.

UNKNOWN HUMAN LIFE DETECTED, gestalt bound to host of origin. No traces of White Chlorination Syndrome present (Approx. age 24)

That had to be a mistake… Perhaps Emil caused her system some strain… She scanned the woman who was glaring at her and bringing her hands together in some manner of prayer. From behind a crate selling some type of soup or stew.

UNKNOWN HUMAN LIFE DETECTED, gestalt bound to host of origin. No traces of White Chlorination Syndrome present (Approx. age 32)

Popola was getting concerned now. A single bad scan was one thing, unusual for something so important but possible. Two in a row was unheard of. Finally, she scanned the young boy eyeing her who looked cautious but had less fear in his eyes than the older two.

UNKNOWN HUMAN LIFE DETECTED, gestalt bound to host of origin. No traces of White Chlorination Syndrome present (Approx. age 8)

She wished she could take her circuit out of her very head in that instant… But before she let her rage consume her again. She looked around.

Then it was a flash of that message over and over and over… as she homed in on several people outside of the 3 who appeared to see her and her sister's "entrance".

"I've never seen so many replicants in one place."

"Those are not Replicants…" she paused almost not believing the words coming out of her mouth.

"Are your observer capabilities still fully functional?" Wondering if perhaps her sister's temporary death, took a toll on her system. She had after all been dead just a minute ago…

Devolas eyes seemed to widen upon utilizing her observer functions.

"They're humans? Project Gestalt was a success?"

Popola shook her head, finding the conclusion doubtful. Despite how much she wished it to be true.

"I'm not sure the scan of a handful of faces indicates that they were never separated from their body to begin with but…" Wait, Devola should be able to tell easily with her observer scan functions.

"Can't you see Devola?" Popola said, concern flooding her tone. Would she be alright? They might need to find a repair center for her. Which was a problem, seeing as she had no idea where they were.

"I saw human life detected all across my interface as I looked but its glitching out a bit."

"Is your regular sight alright?" Popola said softly.

Devola nodded.

"I have my human imitation functions and my Maso offensive capabilities at the very least. I'm not in critical condition, I can check my vitals just fine… some of my observer functions seem to be faulty though."

"Faulty?"

"When I tried to scan the humans with my eyes, the interface became bugged and my scanner functions seem to be struggling to achieve even just a limited capacity." Devola said with less concern than what Popola thought it warranted.

She was preparing to lecture Devola about a diagnostic and repairs check being an absolute priority, however, that was interrupted.

"Stop standing about cursed fire women! Stranger have you!" The shopkeeper woman Popola analyzed earlier started yelling.

She had already planned to go in a second, as soon as she had some idea where they were. Turning to face the man nearest to her she prepared to ask a question of the first flesh human she encountered in a Millenia, if her eyes are to be believed.

"Where are we, Sir?" The man looked offended and the fear in his eyes seemed to increase tenfold at the question.

"Begone witch, I saw you come into birth in darkness no doubt bad omens from your ilk. " The man said pointing at the alley they exited.

With that Devola started to drag Popola away from the two that had begun to hurl various insults at her. Including some she hadn't heard in quite a long while.

Suddenly the Boy she scanned was on their tail.

"No mind Meg, and Tat pious drunk. Stiff as boards those two be."

Popola and Devola quickly made their way following the young boy, the humans screaming at them finally fading away in the distance.

"Where is this?"

"Tis is flea bottah miss, Don see such pretty ladahs here" the boy said. His accent was a bit hard to understand but it did not stop Popola from blushing in embarrassment at the young boy's compliment. Then she noticed a cluster of children playing.

Popola saw a familiar look come over Devola face at the sight… She saw a desire grow in her sisters eyes.

"You need to get looked at Devola, we need to find where the nearest Observer androids for an in-depth diagnostic and potential repairs."

"I will be fine Popola. I may not be able to use parts of my interface, but I can still access my storage and as I said my vital functions are fine, nothing critical is degrading."

"Devola you need to get a diagnostic." She pleaded thinking back to her laying dead on the floor.

"Whas an innah face?" the boy asked seemingly curious

Devola and Popola looked at each other, silently debating whether to tell the boy or not. He was a human in the truest old-world sense, assuming her observer functions were not acting up as well in different ways. Though despite how hard it was to believe, she believed it. Even so. It was unlikely these humans had experience with technology utilizing computers judging by the air quality, which was both free of White Chlorination particles and lacked the gas and oil fumes of the era preceding their production, as well as electric signatures. They seemed to be in a similar era to the ones the replicants reached before. Given that, the human's young age, and their own lack of understanding of where exactly they were. They opted to not potentially confuse the young boy.

Though Devola still offered him something of an answer.

"My head is not at full capacity, is all."

"Capac-dy?" The boy asked seeming proud of himself for managing to get something close to the word out. Devola smiled back at him.

"You know when you are tired how its harder to think?"

The boy nodded.

"Tis, arder for meh to think wen im hungry to, I always hungry, Thats why i'm thankn to ya ladahs. Distractn, Meg."

The boy held up a piece of bread looking back in the direction they came.

She gave him a smile, Popola was smart enough to figure out where he got it.

Devola seemed to reach the same conclusion, she looked over at her sister, whose own smile faltered briefly.

It seems humans or not there still were young boys suffering and starving.

Her sister took a step towards the children playing then.

"Now if you'll excuse me, Sister. I've never sung to a true human before. I'd like to do so now."

Popola gave Devola a nod despite her own worry as she was happy to hear her sister sing once again.

With that Devola began strumming her lute and started to play the oh too familiar tune Song of the Ancients .

Popola felt herself brushing away a tear upon remembering how she had almost lost the chance to hear Devolas voice ever again.

Some of the kids continued playing but many seemed mesmerized by the song. Looking at Devola in awe or nearly running into each other after getting entranced by the music.

She even saw some older humans seemingly captivated by the song.

They weren't the only ones as Popola found herself enchanted by her sisters voice like so many times before. Envisioning the words as they came, imagining the times Devola sat just like this by the old fountain of the village.

Then she heard a heavy thud and the familiar sound of a man walking in armor. That's what got her out of her own trance.

It seems the man noticed as he turned his helm her way before staring back at Devola taking a step towards the area her sister serenaded from.

"That was beautiful. Is that High Valyrian?"

The gold cloaked armored man asked, his continued steps making a heavy noise as he walked closer to her sister.

A.N. Well there it is chapter 1, just an Idea I had on a whim awhile back (that now has an outline and suboutline reaching to book 4 and beyond). This was inspired by my desire to write an ASOIAF Canon Divergence, and my Desire to give Nier Replicant's/Gestalt's Devola and Popola a shot.

I feel like this chapter is pretty heavy on the nier references though I plan for this fic to be able to be enjoyed fandom blind. Do you think it'd be best to explain the lore talked about here in author notes? Hope people enjoyed the chapter. Critiques and just general thoughts on things are always welcome. I do know how this story will end many of the important events throughout the story.

Currently the story is 7 chapters in. I will post a new chapter every couple days hopefully will get chapter 8 and maybe 9 finished, before all chapters are posted.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 10, 2023

DEVOLA I

Devola looked at the man, honing in on her scanner functions, the familiar jumble of pixels casted a 3rd of her vision in a mess of red, blue, green, and gray lines chaotically dancing around obstructing her vision,

She let the scan finish and verified he was a supposed human as well, though outside of that she wasn't getting anymore in terms of information judging by his voice though he was in his 20s. With that she exited out of her observer functions, causing the world to become crystal clear without the headache inducing static

"No it isn't High Valyrian, we call it The Song of The Ancients."

The man nodded, "Ya sure look Volantene, is it another language from Essos?"

Internally she personally debated with herself. She could claim her and her sister to be "Volantene" whatever the term happened to mean. Judging by the term it seemed to indicate either a group, or locale of people. It also could represent an ethnicity.

They were in unknown lands it seemed regardless of her own limited functions or her sisters unhindered access, they could not deem where they were. Developing a familiar moniker could potentially be useful in more easily getting information…

Though did she really want to lie to one of the first humans she met? It certainly seemed like no way to start her second chance. Beyond that, she was only doing guesswork on the term. If she was wrong, or wasn't and had to provide more to back up that claim to others. It would not work as good cover for her and Popola.

"No, I'm not Volantene, and it's an unknown language. I just know the words." It was true enough she supposed.

"Truly? where ya two from then?" Doubt laced the mans inquires

Devola allowed herself a few seconds to think. Given his suspicion she couldn't get away with saying nothing. Though she certainly couldn't say Replicant monitoring station version 1.38 Codename: Ideal Village.

"Yonah, A small Village far from here" Devola said, she saw her sister visibly stir at mention of the name.

"Ah, sounds lovely." Despite the armored man's complimentary words his tone betrayed them. Having some annoyance slip in.

"Me and My sister are truthfully lost here" Devola added hoping he can provide some information.

"Ah'-" the man seemed to gather himself at that.

"Was curious what two fine women were doing in such a deplorable part of King's Landing-
Flea bottom is far from the pride of this city, the dregs of the city reside here."

His usage of dregs seemed off though. Looking around it simply seemed like humans going about their day. The area was dirty for sure, but the people seemed normal. All things considered.
Though he gave her some useful information they were in a city called King's Landing. Specifically a section called flea bottom. If her understanding was correct. She decided to verify.

"So this is Flea Bottom, which is a Subset of Kings Landing?"

The mans helm raised up slightly at the question.

"Yea, miss you'd be correct. You two want help, making your way back to more favorable parts of the city" He said mild concern brushing his tone. Turning his helm, looking to Popola briefly then turning back to herself.

The guidance could be useful, though she'd much prefer exploring the greater city on her own or with Popola at her side. To discuss matters more in-depth.

"I think we can manage on our own, though the offer is most appreciated "

The helmed man said nothing for a short time.

"Are ya sure, its no trouble, its practically a duty of the city watch. To escort confused nobles around" the man chuckled.

"We will be fine on our own for now" Popola chimed.

"Very well then…" the man replied seeming a bit angered at their refusal.

"Ey, I know you don't need help around the city but would you be open to playing tonight at Desie's Tavern. You'll be compensated."

She felt a certain joy overcome her. She'd love to sing for more people.

"I would be delighted" she said smiling at the man

The man nodded in thanks.

"Most appreciated, your voice is truly something. Desie's tavern is a few streets down, if you arrive early tell them Henrik sent ya. Im sure a local or City watchmen can help ya out if you need farther directions."

With that The man she presumed was Henrik took his leave.

She eyed Popola who seemed uneasy about it.

Popola was silent when Devola walked back by her side. She waited a minute and decided to break the silence,

"I'm sorry Popola" Devola exclaimed as Popola looked over.

"I actually was thinking…, it might be best if we find a source of some income, and I know how much you love singing" She replied reluctantly.

Devola was surprised by this wondering why her sister was suddenly changing her tune going along with the tavern idea.

"I thought you said we needed to find the nearest place where I can get a diagnostic and repair myself?"

"I still stand by that but…" Popola closed her mouth mid sentence

"But what?!"

"I've scanned and queried countless times, I'm finding no indications or signals of other observers, or repair stations… beyond that I'm not even detecting the smallest trace of a server of any kind.., no electricity, no gas, no oil fumes.. no white chlorination particles either,"

Devola sighed, She was content with not being repaired for awhile but to find out she might not be able to ever be repaired at all. Well it caused a certain nervousness to develop in her. Though she allowed herself to smile at her sister's final statement.

These were indeed actual humans… No relapsing gestalts, no apocalyptic diseases.

Just simply humans.

"So you do not think there's any way for me to find out what's wrong and repair myself?"

Popola looked crushed by her words, even though she was the one implying them to begin with.

"I…, since there seems to be a lack of active or dormant electronic infrastructure here which limits my scope and the reach of the signal I sent out. it is possible that there are observer androids considerably far away. Though there's no way I could be sure of that. However, I think there may be a way we can manage it ourselves with a paired diagnostic. Though I'll need to find a metal compatible to create wiring… will need time and money for that."

Devola nodded in understanding.

So she would be playing as a bard in a tavern… it almost felt like she was back home with that degree of familiarity.

She played song of the ancients for the next hour, as practice for tonight, and just for some much needed simplicity appreciating the onlookers and passerbys.

Suddenly one of the boys running around fell down and scraped his leg across the ground.
Quickly Devola stopped playing and went down to look at the cut.

An older woman quickly yanked the boy away, looking at Devola as If she caused the wound then pulled him away.

Devola was surprised by the mother suddenly tearing her child away.

The both of them were used to tending to children in the village, where pretty much everyone let them do so. As they had a reputation, even when a replicant "parent" did not wish for either of them to tend to their child, or even the parent themselves there was always a work around. Though that was not an option here they couldnt very well attack or knock out a real human.

The occasion certainly didn't warrant it either, the boy scraped his knee, given the bad air quality and dirty conditions in the area in general he had a higher risk of infection, but he'd most likely be fine. Though to be on the safe side she looked towards popola who seemed to understand her silent message. To do a deeper scan of the injury. After a minute Popola nodded her head. Which she took as confirmation that the boy's would not cause farther harm.
Though she knew her sister well enough to now she'd make sure that was truly the case.

Awhile later Popola headed out with the blonde boy who they followed here to begin with. After she finished the refrain, she quickly allowed her voice and the notes she played on her lute to slowly fade out. Then she began walking in the direction of her sister. Thankful that her signal tracking was not failing her as her observer functionality was.

She noticed, some of the onlookers seemed a bit stunned for a moment. By the music's end.

"Pway it again, Red lady" A young brunette girl pleaded. She didn't wanna risk causing herself headache by trying out her observer scan but she looked to be around 4 or 5.

Devola slowly bent down meeting the girls eyes.

"I'll be playing again, do not worry." Devola managed the best smile she could to the girl.

It seemed to satisfy her enough for her pleading look to disappear.

Devola found her sister, a ways through the area. The place was like a maze of disheveled buildings. Though she was standing by a building, apparently an orphanage. It seemed a sorry state for such a building, it looked more decrypted than many of the buildings she walked by.

She learned from her sister that the boy's name was Lommy, and he began to introduce another boy, Hot Pie. Who was a fair bit chubbier than him, Though had about equal amounts of grime covering him other than his hands. A closer look at Lommy she noticed his hands seemed to be covered in dirt, grime and muck and various degrees to a point where the coloration of his hands was affected…

She always thought humans were grand bringers of change, and innovation. They created her and her sister after all, and managed to create a great many things in a dying world. She wasn't blind to their faults, but there was a certain degree of awe there. That wasn't entirely her programming. Yet sights like this made her question her creators. They were made to control things to serve the will of the true humans, but who was serving these children.

Then the 4 of them played a little game of tag. Popola told them the tale of the Lunar tear which both of them seemed to appreciate. Her and her sister glancing at each other on occasion appreciating the simplicity.

A few hours later she made her way to the tavern, which she found with little issue, though she did ask Lommy for directions.

Once there she noticed a relatively decent array of people. Including several men drinking, at the bar. At another table there were five men with cloaks in the same exact style as the man who invited her to this place to perform.

Quickly one of the men glanced in Devolas direction, got up off the table, and maneuvered around the various chairs and tables to her. Upon a closer look it was the same man who invited her. Though he lacked his helm along with the others he sat with.

"Ah you made it was half worried ya wouldn't come" Henrik said.

"Performing is a personal passion of mine, and i've enjoyed the new crowds here"

It was the truth, it was certainly refreshing to see new faces around, and that's before even considering that they are humans.

"Well, i'm glad to see you've come"

Then he looks over at the dark haired man behind the bar's counter.

"This is the one I told you about, Voice straight from the seven themselves I swear it!"

The bartender seemed to look her over, with a passing interest though it quickly reverted back to a neutral look.

"What's your name again don think I caught it earlier"

"It's Devola," She looked towards the man.

Henrik Smiled

"Honor to meet ya Devola, Just head on up and set yourself up, let me know when your ready ill introduce ya" Henrik said.

The bartender seemed to get frustrated at the man's statement. Though she couldn't discern why.

She made her way towards the platform in the tavern, glancing at the citywatch men Henrik was sitting by a moment past. They all seemed to be drinking her in.

Finally, she managed to almost have herself set up. She had to find a good position for the chair, as a good chunk of the wooden board had substantial wear. She didn't very well want to fall into the stage mid performance or have the noise from the strain affect the flow of the performance. Finally she found the perfect spot. She looked toward Henrik, who was distracted looking towards the entrance of the bar. Seemed a couple others were looking that way as well.

Zoning in on the door she saw an older man, probably the oldest man shes seen today. He looked to be in his mid 70s. He had a large collection of gray hair all around his head, his beard, and his mustache. He walked with a certain confidence to him.

"Lord Arryn, What brings you all the way to this sorry side of the city?" Henrik asked, his voice raised.

"The same thing that always brings me around the city, doing my duty to the Crown, what brings you to this side of the City? Janos feeling spiteful this month?" The man said in a harsh tone.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to change with that comment. Numerous of the gold cloaked men looking his way, seeming to direct anger at the older man. Henrik didn't say anything and left the man to his ale.

Then he noticed she was ready, and quickly introduced her.

"I Present to all you lovely folks who decided to show up on this fine night, The bard and beauty of Yonah, Devola."

With that she gazed at the customers of the tavern and begin strumming the notes on her lute.

Kuwata tsunowo vralai
Tsuriji pufuralekai
Kwondzuvai undovartsu wronduwail
Tjortetei jeki liago

There was still some chatter in the tavern still but it quickly was fading out to Devolas glee. Surely a good sign her performance was catching people's eyes and ears.

Jiunmata ivelischpfuli
Neftyoma sorepiyamei
Schijiyako alefni fatalliliya
Nic'hpisfa unhoreselye
Otrajain aforeje kurasolda

Towari hatasei mic'hatasei tsufrallai
Otrajain aforeje kurasolda
Towari hatasei mic'hatasei tsufrallai ilja
Ullilya kojijichatjukaijai-wa
Nyame fretsumekri fretsumekri linganmai

Zulreri manja huteharraku-mu
Harirch lahadachfei lahadachfei shindulhwo
Otrajain aforeje kurasolda
Towari hatasei mic'hatasei tsufrallai
Otrajain aforeje kurasolda

Towari hatasei mic'hatasei tsufrallai ilja
Ullilya kojijichatjukaijai-wa
Nyame fretsumekri fretsumekri linganmai
Zulreri manja huteharraku-mu
Harirch lahadachfei lahadachfei shindulhwo

She took a final breath, then received applause from all around the tavern from the men Henrik, was sitting with, to the servers, The couple in the back, to the bartender, even the older man who caused a stir earlier diverted his attention away from his ale to give her applause.

"You were not lying Henrik, her voice truly is from the gods" The bartender exclaimed in muted awe.

Henrik looked at the man with a smirk plastered on his face. "Proved ya wrong yet again"

"Suppose ya did, in that case…" The bartender reached behind the bar. Taking out a pouch no doubt filled with currency judging by the sound of metal shaking within. They rummaged through the bag as they squinted at it.

Then the bartender walked over to her. "40 Copper stars for ya miss"

She left a few minutes after the city watch men. Doing a brief walk around the tavern. It reminded her a bit of the one back in the Village. Though it was considerably bigger, and overall it was in much worse shape. There was a good amount of holes and scratches in the tables and chairs. Stains that long have stained the wood. The wall seemed to cause splinters just from looking at it with the roughness of the wood. The clients seemed a tad different to but overall it seemed like an acceptable place. Though she wagered there was more than just one tavern given the sheer size of this city and that was just what she could see. More and more buildings up the inclined road, and expanding a long the sides as well.

The last time she saw a city anywhere near this size… salt coated its ground.

She wasn't really sure if she wanted to smile or frown at that thought.

"Oi, look its the Bard" She looked in the direction of the voice to see two of the men sitting at Henriks table walking down the street.

"Where ya going, this late at night" One of the men asked.

"Just back to flea bottom, where im staying with my sister."

The mans face seemed to glow at the words.

"Henrik spoke so highly of you" the man said. As he creeped closer to devola.

"These roads arn't safe at night, maybe ya should come back with me Im sure you'd love a night with us watchmen." He chuckled

Devola awkwardly smiled at the mans forwardness.

"Oh no, I have to get back to my sister. Not really interested" She said deciding honesty was the best way out of this.

"Ya ever been with a man of the watch I promise we're more capable than those essosi and their silly little pricks." The man

"Like I said im not interested" Devola said as strongly as she could.

Suddenly the mans features changed, to a dark snarl.

"You're from some shit stain none of us ever even heard of. You think you're better than us" The man started chuckling madly the man put his hands on her shoulders trying to push her into the wall. She begin readying her maso with that. Prepared to teleport away if she needed to.

"What ya think? The goldcloak and the bard, I bet Henrik would like that"
The other man started joining in on the other laughing at that.

Looks like she was left with no choice then, she'd have to use her maso. She allowed it to build a bit more in her. Feeling the red energy flow around her sides readying themselves to be fully activated allowing her to make a quick escape.

"Shouldn't you two be patrolling for the night?" A loud voice projected itself from down the street.

As suddenly as the mans face changed to the dreaded snarl, He let his grip off her shoulders and backed up. He gave the other goldcloak a look. She saw fear in them.

"Ah, yes Lord Arryn, I'm sorry me and my fellow watchmen just got distracted" He said as he gave Devola a dark glare.

Then the both of them were quickly on their way seemingly scared off by a man in his 70s.

With that Lord Arryn walked over to her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, as he glanced at her.

""I'm fine just heading back to my sister we are new to the city. Thank you for that… I'm usually one to handle myself. Though the help was appreciated."

"It's no trouble…The Citywatch was once filled with men who truly gave their life to protect and regulate this city. Now its filled with corruption and degeneracy."

Devola nodded. Not really knowing what to say to that as the man seemed to be rambling to himself and less to her.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your sister's?" He asked.

Devola thought on it, The man probably had good intentions, but she'd much prefer going on her own back.

"I'll be fine on my own, I thank you again" Devola said making her way to the street Popolas signal was coming from.

"Wait…" Lord arryn dug into his pockets. Pulling out a small object that reflected in the moon light.

Lord Arryn Throws a coin from his hand. She catches it, looking at it it appears to be a silver coin with a stag engraved on it. More local currency she supposed.

"For your ballads and troubles… You and your sister best be careful. Devola this part of the city is unkind to newcomers" Lord Arryn said.

She made her way back to the familiar parts of flea bottom, keeping her guard up moreso than before, came back following her sisters signal. To find her still near the orphanage though she was now frantically drawing things in the dirt. She noticed a small fire and a pot hanging above it she glanced in and saw a large collections of knives and spoons. Boiling in the pot.

"Why are you boiling… utensils?"

Her sister looked over to her with a distracted look on her face,

"Oh that's for Hot Pie, he expressed an interest in baking" Popola explained absent minded.

Seems like her Sister had a weird night as well.

"How was the tavern?" Her sister asked focus returning with her voice taking on a familiar softness…

She shared her experience. The performance itself was an enjoyable time but after the fact. Well that set Popola off.

"Oh no Devola… I'll make sure they never can do that again" Her sisters voice took on a possessive tone at that.

Devola shook her head. They may have been bad men, but ultimately they were still humans, true humans in soul and body. They certainly should not be hurt as that was precious in of itself.

"I don't think that's necessary… at least not yet" Though if anything like that happened again to another human, well who were the true humans then? if the will of a human was to hurt or harass another, and the other did not wish to be. Whos will would she follow then?

Popola reluctantly agreed. Then her face took on a serious look, she typically saw when they were discussing the Project.

"Devola, I know you've dealt with a lot tonight but there's something I've hypothesized that I don't think should wait." Popola said with a certain tenseness entering her tone.

"Go on, We need to be on the same page and stick together here, as always."

Popola smiled briefly but quickly regained her serious composure.

"I think we are in another dimension."

Devola, felt herself stiffen at that, not expecting to hear those words. Popola Continued on

"I've been rechecking the data of what occurred before our arrival, where I unleashed most of the Maso within me, and Emil unleashed a new attack I've never seen before, though it also held a heavy concentration of Maso." Popola did a brief pace back and forth eyeing the pot of boiling utensils as if it was gonna come to life.

"Those utensils boiling are for hot pie as I said, Theres traces of fecal matter, and other grime in the water. So I did some light brushing up on proper cleaning and sanitization processes. Found an array of research articles including one written by a Grad student from Tokyo…. It reminded me of the files I had on the '6-12 incident'."

Devola gasped. That was something neither of them have said or even thought deeply on for years… possibly centuries by now. It was basically a distant dream at this point if that. It occurred before they even were produced.

"I relooked at the files of the event. As well as the information I had on the Dragon and the Giant. Two great sources of Maso collide. At least One with some degree of space manipulation given reports of it appearing essentially out of nowhere. " Popola said as she moved her hand motioning a big circle in the sky.

"So you're saying you think your attack along with Emils, somehow caused a similar occurrence?" Devola asked

"Yea, though on a much smaller scale"

"Do you think there's a risk of us bringing white chlorination syndrome or something equally bad here, as the giant did?" Devola asked, the thought chilled her.

"I do not think so, there's no traces of The Maso particles that causes it within us or Emil thankfully. Though I suppose will have to keep an eye and ear on things. It did take several months to appear back on earth after all… " Popola said worriedly

"If your hypothesis is true this likely means there's no way for me to get a standard repair and diagnostic"

Popola seemed upset at the statement.

"Yea unless there happens to be androids somewhere hidden in this…" Popola started but tears began coming out her eyes.

"Popola, it's alright."

"I don't want to lose you again…if you can't get repaired or properly checked… then…" Popola tone had a nasally air to it.

"You said we can do a paired diagnostic.. If we obtain the correct wiring?" Devola said softly trying to calm her sister.

"I did- But what if it isn't… it isn't enough. I don't want to lose you again" Popola weakly let out.

"I'm here Popola," She held open her arms to hug her sister

"Nothing like that is gonna happen again." Devola promised her sister and herself as much, as Popola sobbed into her shoulder.

A.N. Hope everyone enjoyed chapter 2. So a few notes one the village Devola and Popola operate from does not have an official name as far as I can tell. It does not even have a codename as I've shown in this fic. I feel like it fits, though i'm curious what everyone thinks on it.

Wondering what everyone thinks of the direction this has gone in. I got a lot of people following this. It went well beyond my expectations for the first chapter. Curious what people think now that theres a clearer picture on when it takes place, and the characters in the fic.

I was also curious if anyone would be willing to Beta and help with wording in grammar, preferably someone more familiar with nier lore. Cause I have someone for the ASOIAF side of matters. Granted the focus will be heavier on the ASOIAF side.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 12, 2023

POPOLA II

She eyed the blueprints she wrote out on parchment. It showed a drawing of a wire, listing dimensions of said wire along with the dimensions of the half inch indent she needed inside said wires. A long with drawings depicting multiple holes in blocks of stronger metal. Showcasing how said wire could be created in case no one has dreamed it up yet.

Though she saw some men with chainmail on occasion so she wagered it existed.
However given the nature of the request she did not want to risk bringing it to just any smith on the street of Steel the best was needed here, which according to a good number of people was Tobho Mott of Qohor.

She learned a bit of the place of Qoohor by way of rumors… it was infamous for blacksmithing a sought after metal that seemed to hold some unique properties such an inability to lose their sharpness. It nearly sounded Maso related in nature. It was curious, and something she'd like to look into. Though Devola, and the state of the town was certainly more of a priority

She realized quickly her brief thought to steal, the part was ridiculous. Given that this was indeed a technologically barren place, wiring as she needed it, hasn't been invented or even considered. So the thing she needed to get quite literally wouldn't exist until she paid someone to design it to her specifications. Thankfully Devolas local performances were bringing in enough money for this.

She supposed they could have stolen money. Though given the sorry state many people were in, she did not wish for further difficulty in anyone's life, and even stealing from those who are much more fortunate could potentially cause backlash to the less fortunate. That seems to be how this place worked. A sadly familiar concept though it certainly felt amplified here.

She and Devola debated about making their way back. Though currently they lacked the means. Her and her sister had identical Maso structure which meant it was unlikely they could recreate the events themselves, Emil's was considerably different to either of theirs. So were the Giant and the Dragon.

There also was the matter even if they somehow found a being with an alternate Maso structure here. It would prove dangerous to engage as she did with Emil. Possibly getting her and Devola killed.

Then there was the biggest downside to the plan, if they did successfully create the circumstances of a Maso collision there was the possibility they would be sent to a completely different world, or the possibility something from the next dimension leaking into this one. Potentially endangering this dimension as the giant did their own. Something neither of them wished to happen.

As things are now there was no great source of Maso they could even attempt to collide with, until they found one. They decided to work towards helping the humans here. Hence her making her way up to the top of the rather large Visenya Hill.

She finally reached the street of steel. Though there still was a bit of a walk to her destination. Which was at the very top of the hill.

The way up the path was filled with the sounds of metal pounding against metal, and numerous townsfolk talking about weaponry, there also were a fair bit actively haggling not only the pricing but the true quality of the items they were having forged. There was a fair bit of annoyance evident in the blacksmiths dealing with the latter groups. Some of the Smiths were calling their apprentice or even chastising their work

Many were well dressed despite the messy nature of being near those smithing weaponry, and armour.

Compared to the street of flour where most the people selling food only had cloth slightly better than the tatters of flea bottom, the difference was they seemed to have the funds and ability to maintain their clothing, some even had the means of making multiple sets through cheaper cloths. The street of flour compared to much of Flea bottom had a distinct difference.

The Street of Steel however almost felt like a different city to her, reminding her a bit of the contrast between the aerie and seafront. They were practically 2 different worlds…

She glanced down the hill making out some of the familiar buildings of flea bottom. Reminding herself it was a just down the hill.

Despite her being not far away the contrast of areas as she explored farther along the hill would be unbelievable if she did not see it firsthand.

She eyed a young boy with long dark brown bordering on black he was hammering some steel attentively, Her eyes told her he was 15 years old.

"Are you the Master Blacksmith Tobho Mott?" She asked the boy. She was doubtful but she did know of the 2 brothers in the Junk heap who exhibited decent blacksmithing capabilities at an even younger age to him.

The boy looked up to her a smile showing on his face. He looked as if he was about to answer. Though then a grunt was heard from the back of the workspace.

"He ain't no damn master blacksmith" a rough voice came from the back out came he was balding and had a fair bit of gray hair clinging to his chin as if in imitation of a beard.

"He's my apprentice, and you're one of the Volantene twins right?"

Her and Devola got that assumption so much by this point they didn't even bother attempting to correct it. Just made people more confused

"Now what ya need, Popola right?"

That surprised her a bit though. Several people mistook her for Devola.

"Figured as much given you're not distracting my apprentices with your damn singing" The balding man remarked grumpily.

Popola was taken aback by that, but let it slide she had a job to get done.

"Sir, that was only once…" The boy she mistook for the blacksmith chimed up.

"Ey get back to work or I'll tell her it wasn't just her singing that distracted you" The man said well a jovial grin shining across his face

The boy quickly went back to attentively pounding metal. The metallic clang echoing just a bit louder than the echoing of other smiths working at their forge.

The man looked back to her with a flicker of pride coating his face for a brief moment that quickly faded.

"So, shall we continue then…"
With that Popola eyed the drawing she made, on the parchment checking it one final time.

Then handed it over.

"I would like four 3 foot copper wires made, the wires need to be to be the width indicated on that paper and my drawing, just shy of a 3rd of an inch with a hole a 6th of an inch in width and a half an inch in length drilled into each end of the wire respectively."

The balding man eyes her oddly. Taking a brief look at her design.

"Very well that will be 5 stags miss,"

Five stags? Now that was certainly more expensive than Popola thought it would be she brought 50 stars, and 4 stags, a long with a silver Moon, her and her sisters only silver moon.

She eyed it with a certain fondness, appreciating the different look it had compared to the stag. She supposed she could give him their 4 stags and pay the rest in coppers. She eyed the Moon again… currency like this was meant to be used for something important and expensive. This certainly fit the bill, and most the business she did worked more with Coppers, groats and rarely stags, much less moons… WIth that thought Popola reluctantly handed the moon over.

Tobho Mott closed it in his hand then gave it a look. Along with her blueprint again.

"Ya sure you don't want this done with Iron miss, for only a few stags more I'd offer you all 4 done with Iron" The man said eyeing her skeptically
Popola shook her head, and smiled at the man.

"Sorry, it needs to be done with copper the purest copper you have if you can manage it"

The man took another glance at the blueprint with a deeper focus, then a frown appeared on his face.

"Never met an Elephant so familiar with the routine of smithing?"

She eyed him confused by the term for a moment. Perhaps it's some alternate name for those from Volantis. She unfortunately still lacked a good bit of knowledge on the lands outside of the city. Especially in regards to the lands beyond Westeros.

"I Like to know what im getting into before I commission something made" she stated as serious as she could muster.

Tobho mott eyed her oddly for that, though his next words seemed to betray his look.

"Ah, a wise choice- well very well you seem set to your mind about it"

With that he walked in back with her blueprint for the wiring, then came back with 2 silver stags in his hand, she presumed was her change.

Popola's way back down the street. Briefly debating in her head if she wanted to go the same route back she came, past the Sept of Baelor. A part of her wanted to walk past the Sept again, she never really went to this half of the city before and there was something pretty amazing about its construction considering the tech barren era. The large statues made it even moreso. Though getting back closer to Flea bottom would be best for matters. She still needed to buy leather pieces from someone on the lower parts of the street as well.

The way back down proved a mild reversal of the way back up. Still plenty of well dressed, people around, though the garb got progressively closer to that which she was used to seeing opposed to the wide array and splashes of color higher up the street. The typical Garb for her was more familiar to her, it was sadly still a big step up to what many in flea bottom wore though it bore a certain likeness to what many wore back in her own dimension. She didn't feel welcome though.

A great many eyes were passing her glances that said she didn't belong here. Though despite those eyes she walked up to a stand she saw actively saddle stitching leather together.

"You selling any leather scraps or pieces?" The man looked towards Popola with a certain degree of distaste evident in his eyes.

"Got 2 larger scaps, " The man grunted

"How much?" Popola asked

"2 silvers for these"

2 silvers for leather that was certainly overpricing it, though given she didn't expect to get any better service at other stands she gave the man the 2 stags that remained in her bag.

She grabbed the 2 large pieces of leather It was not quite square though it came pretty close considering. She could cut them each in half to serve as a binding so 2 silvers wasn't a bad price considering she'd get 4 uses out of them. Though handing the 2 stags she just got as change proved a bit harder. They were both running quite low on stags, not that it mattered much for the area but some in the more high class districts only allowed payments through silver. Devola may need to perform around the dragon pit again.

She came back to flea bottom hearing a familiar song sung by the area Devola deemed as her new square in flea bottom

It was nice seeing Devola playing, it was a less frequent site since they got here, especially after the first week Devola, started performing at 2 or 3 taverns a day most days. To help with funding for well everything she's been working on. She knew Devola enjoyed it but it was a muted kind of happiness compared to how she was back in the village. Where she'd play for hours on end and still come to Popola cheery ready to talk about her say.

That still saw each other everyday but compared to their time in the village. It was a less common occurrence.

But here humans were some crowding around her sister. Given her lack of playing outside of her various gigs around the city the past couple weeks.

She often saw the same handful of children and adults listening to Devola, though there often was a face she saw that she never saw again… in fact in the 5 weeks they've been here thats happened quite a bit passerbys sticking around for the day or a few hours then never seeing them again. The occasional face that appeared only once every week give or take. They realized quickly how very massive the city was. The sheer variety was unheard of for the both of them.

In the time of project gestalt given her specific mission in that sense she only saw the same handful of human faces. Due to the secrecy of the project as well as the dwindling numbers of humans. Many of those faces being the very same she saw as an observer.
There were a handful of years she wouldn't see a face usually around a century, but then it all repeated itself eventually the same faces… even their own faces.

Neither of them realized how much they were starved from genuine variety until they truly spent time here this past month.

The city was certainly grand in size at least, and despite some of the horrid events there was still a wonder to being here not only amongst humans but in this large historical city. Something they really didn't expect to see again, though she did calculate that assuming project gestalt was a success, or if replicants continued on they would potentially reach the ability to create places this size possibly even Tokyo again, in 3-7 centuries.

Though despite that it was never something deeply considered in her mind, after all in order for her predictions to come to past they'd have to conclude project gestalt or find a way to postpone relapses even more. Unfortunately they failed at the latter, and they were in another dimension so couldn't easily verify the results of the former

But here humans were surrounding us. It did wonders for their morale in their mission to preserve humanity.

Though it could prove to be overwhelming, at times. She glanced over at Henrik at that thought. He actually apologized to Devola for his men and vowed such a thing wouldn't occur again which was appreciated but it have her wariness in regards to other areas.

This city was not the responsibility of her and her sister to watchover, that lied in King Robert Baratheon, and the City Watch. At least that what was said in truth no one seemed to truly watch over this place. She did want to be doubtful of the human leadership here. Even as shades the shadowlord managed leadership though the variation in thoughts on the

The truth value seems to be a matter of opinion in regards to the king

Some talk of him as the man who slew dragons, some as a sorry excuse for a leader, most she found didn't even think much on the matter. The certainly seemed to be the consensus here, she rarely heard the supposed royalty brought up in flea bottom.

The truth value seemed to be a matter of opinion in regards to the leader of not only this city but the entire country it was a part of Westeros, Of course the truth value of things was almost always a matter of opinion to some capacity she found. Something she gained more of a grasp on in her time since initial creation.

When she and her sister were responsible for watching replicants and were responsible for the village. They were also responsible for overseeing Project Gestalt.

All those statements evaluated to true in her mind. Though the thoughts of how the village was run, and the reaction to their true nature from Nier truth value was a matter of opinion.

Though the assumption of humanity evaluated to false.

Here it seemed a more complex degree of truth value considerations existed, or at the very least there was more to consideration in this particular realm of whatever dimension they ended up in.

The debate about where her and Devola were from. Most of the people of this city seemed to speculate they were from various countries in essos a land she learned was to the east of here. There were various guesses from Pentos, to Bravos, Volantis seemed the most common though. Some even combined their story of the village of Yonah within their own theories of where they were from Essos, many denizens of flea bottom claiming it was a small section of Volantis, the septa running the orphanage claiming it the one area of essos touched by the hand of the mother.

Some men of the city watch such as Henrik seemed to suspect they were disgraced nobles or merchants daughters.

Of course all their speculation evaluated as false to her, but in actuality amongst the humans it was more of a matter of opinion. As some were more sure about their theories than others.

Though as it did in the other dimension the assumption the humans made of her and Devola's humanity evaluated to false. Where the value of the human life around them remained true always.

Yet the assumption of the true humans went on.

She held out her hand, staring at it. She supposed that showed the true skill of humans to make something so indistinguishable from them that actual humans couldn't even tell. The replicants were one matter. They gained humanlike sentience a few hundred years back their lack of awareness of mine and Devola true nature was not surprising just a few centuries back they were loyally following anything we commanded. The humans though had an ancient history. She glanced around. Some of which she felt like she was living as of late.

Popola wondered if her and Devola would've ended up in a later era of this world one closer to the era of the 6-12 incident. If they would've been able to keep their soulless nature so easily hidden. Not to say they didn't attract attention, but none of the attention was related to their android nature. In a way it was familiar territory posing as a human to the replicants, but in a way it was more lonely.

The faces all were the same after a time, but they still had a sense of not being a lone, there were always the other observers, the other Devola and Popola's. The replicants despite being their job to oversee also admittedly gave her some sense, of comfort knowing it was not just androids that were soulless. The replicants were inferior copies of the real deal… but quite the copy they could be after a time.

Around here is the very being that the core command of "Serve the true humans" applies to and despite the added complexity of the world. None seem to be the wiser, and this place, or at the very least this city seems to have even more problems than the village ever did.

She thought of the leathers in her arms as the thought came.

Meg was looking at her knowingly.

Despite the women's initial fear that came with her and Devolas sudden appearance here. Once the women noticed they were staying around, and didn't seem to be doing anything bad to her.

She quickly begin resorting to attempted blackmail first she threatened to tell others of their usage of witchcraft in the city. Then she tried to up the price of her payment for silence which Popola declined then she threatened to report Lommy for thievery to the city watch, which given what happened to her sister was not something she wanted to risk.

Even if that never would have happened. She wouldn't have allowed that. Though now that Meg figured out she'd pay more for her silence on Lommy, she has used it as an excuse to ask her for money and help more often. It was annoying, and far from what she envisioned doing with some of the money they obtained here, but at the very least she never asked for much. A copper star or two worth of pennies most of the time.

With the thought entering her head she began rummaging in her bag for the pennies. Placing them on Megs stand. Who looked at it with a subdued avarice.

"Wait Miss would you like a Few bowls of brown for the Childs?" the woman rasped out.

Popola figured she wanted more money which was the truth of her ask. Though Analyzing the bowls of brown she only found 2 that were most suitable for consumption. Thus she purchased them, for 10 pennies each, she knew the price was inflated for her of course but she made her mind up of buying them.

Then she made her way with the two bowls of brown. Passing by Mason, and Bredin working on more of the ditch she instructed them to Along with Trevry the man who strangely only accepted her jobs involving cleaning up the waste and garbage on the street granted. She knew they were expecting their payment but with a bowl of brown in both hands and a coin purse in the other it became difficult.

"I'll grab your payments, Can one of you grab the bowls from my hands, Then i'll grab your payments."

Bredin ended up being the one to grab said bowls as Mason held out his hand for payment. 5 copper stars, for hhim. She was going to ask him to stick around to briefly take the bowls from Bredin but he was already was making his way back down the path.

She paid Trevry next his payment of 10 coppers. Then with his leave, she got out the coppers in her coin purse, then motioned for him to give her one of the bowls then placed the 6 copper stars in his hand.

"Thank ya, Popola"

As Bredin made his way back to his house which nearby, she made her way to the orphanage. Septa Yoelith stopped face lit up seeing her. Though there was something troubled underneath. A concern grew in her at the site, cause the women tended to only be troubled by something happening with one of the children. She scanned the crowd and didn't notice anything extremely off. Though 2 children near the back seemed to be in considerable need of food. The scan indicated all of them were underfed.. As always. Though those two in particular were at the highest risk.

"Septa Yoelith, can you please give those two children these bowls of brown."

The septa smiled Grabbing the bowls from her hand.

"Alysanne, Freah, Lady Popola Wanted you to have this."
The two kids faces look overjoyed at the sight of the bowl of brown. A sight Popola gave her mixed feelings seeing. She wished these kids would not have to worry about such things…

With that Septa Yoelith came back. The troubled look retuning in stronger force.

"Is everything alright?" Popola inquired.

"Ya, we jus lost another is all."

"Which child?"

"Aye no not a child, we gained a child in fact just a babe. Just I knew the mother she died delivering the babe. Father died a few moons back in a robbed of his coin a long the muddy way. The women seemed ready and prepared to raise the child… the gods seemed to have different things in mind though"

Popola stilled… Another death by pregnancy. An unfortunately common occurrence all around the city it seemed.

"I'm working on something for that…" was all Popola said.

The Septa eyed her with skepticism but there was some hope buried under it.

After her conversation with the septa, she went back home and got out their coin purses.

Popola checked and did a quick scan of the bags contents then a weight analysis and concluded that Devola managed to get a fair bit of copper stars this performance 65 judging by the weight of the bag. She placed the stags she got as change from the blacksmith into their much smaller bag reserved for silvers. Then she double checked the all the coin purses, meaning they now had 6 stags, and 0 silver moons

They currently had a bag of 257 copper stars, 112 groats, 76 half groats, 1347 Pennie's, and 214 half Pennie's.

She was thankful her and Devola managed to get a place here with a decent bit of money already built up again. Granted the place they still needed work in truth it was quite a small place, smaller than even her old office. 10 feet by 8 feet in space. Big enough for the two of them, and a few things though not much else. That was typical of here though it seemed. Everyone had small places, many even smaller than the size her and Devola were , Though she was glad she had a desk of some sort at the very least.

Currently it was amalgamation of wooden boards, and stone pieces. Formed together through repurposing the discarded materials of the structuring of the eventual sewer system. . Also discarded wood from work to fix up some of the weathered and broken wood on various buildings in flea bottom. Currently her focus of the drainage stream was on the part of flea bottom nearest to the blackwater as it would be the easiest to manage from and would allow some improvements.

She glanced over at the large sack she kept near her desk, and glanced in to look at her books. First glancing at her created blue print on forceps. Shes had trouble finding someone who demonstrated the skills to create a wooden version. Hopefully tomorrow would prove better luck

She started recreating books, she stored well beyond 300,000 in her human archive data, unfortunately that wasn't all the books that existed, Unfortunately a great many were lost in the aftermath of the Shinjuku incident, and the war with legion proceeding it. Though it was well beyond the typical amount to be stored in an Android. She had the habit of storing books in her archives whenever she came across new ones.

Simply because her role would always be that of an observer, and a wealth of information would be needed to properly monitor the replicants. Properly deal with the White Maso particles present around the world, and track the Gestalts. It certainly served her role as the faux librarian well.

It was a role she was thankful for… especially during the era, when the replicants gained sentience. It gave her an excuse to repurpose the books, distracting her from the worry the revelation caused.

It seemed even here in the realm of humans, it would be beneficial. The education here is lacking. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, she had thousands of records on medieval history, and the education outside of the most noble houses was always lacking, and even then there was so much they lacked context and consideration on.

So thus here she was repurposing books.

The first one she repurposed was not intended for the denizens of flea bottom or kings landing in general more so an aide. For Devola once the wiring is complete. Given the issues Devola has been facing, in case her observer model manual was not functioning or displaying properly like many of her other observer related features.

Which she personally was always thankful for her manual existing conveniently existing within the observer interface, though given the issues Devolas faced. It admittedly seemed like it was poorly planned out in the event of something like this. They of course had physical copies, though those were located in their dimension. The programmers, and interface designers probably didn't predict the possibility of sudden onset dimensional travel .

The other books were various children's stories including Robin Hood she hoped Lommy specifically would appreciate, along with a book on baking she planned to entertain hot pie with later, and a more advanced book on the behavior of pack and herd animals. For some of the kids who like to play with the animals roaming around flea bottom. She unfortunately had to write them all by hand which was not something she typically had to undertake when she produced copies for the replicants.

Though there was something therapeutic about ink and quill. Waiting for the ink to dry was another matter though. She only managed to produce 5 repurposed books. In the past few weeks. She never expected to reach the thousands stored in the library nor did she think she had the patience to write every single one with ink and quill. She just expected to have 4 times as many books done by this point.

With that thought she began analyzing her records again on water sanitization, and pipe systems, as well as rechecking her records on birthing, childcare, and thought farther on the implementation, and set down a new piece of parchment on her desk, as she grabbed a quill.

Popola noticed the sun was beginning to set, a continued odd site despite it happening daily.
She wondered if her and Devola would have a chance to watch it set together again…

A.N. Well here's Chapter 3. I hope the time jump was not too jarring. Its now the 12th month of 297 AC, they started in the 11th month. A little explaining of some things. The truth value is actually a concept in mathematics pertaining to computer science. Which is why I felt like it was appropriate given androids in the nier series were designed in the 21st century.
As for Popola's records and memory on books. Well there isn't a whole lot of explanation on that front though those thousands of books in the library in game had to come from somewhere right. In accordance with Nier lore her collection will contain most of the popular and scientific books from before june 12th 2003, and exclude martins books for obvious reasons In fact canonically in this fic martin didn't exist.

Also, Elephant is more than just a term for someone from Volantis if anyone was not in the know about that.

Good Queen Alysanne was viewed highly by the smallfolk hence one of the orphans having her name.

Curious what everyone thinks about this chapter. Just wanted to clarify this fic will not be strictly uplift, and the twins fixing flea bottom/Devola performing. Though that will certainly play a part. I hope the uplift I have hinted at, and have planned comes across as plausible. One difference the twins have to most SIs is they literally have computer brains. Though even considering that the uplifts I have planned are relatively minor, but I hope this didn't come across as too much.

Curious what everyone thinks of the interaction and characterization of Tobho, and Gendry. Also curious what people think of the original characters. I will be branching out to other POVs in this story beyond the twins soon. Though the next chapter will be from Devolas perspective.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 12, 2023

Devola II

As Devola made her way through the crowded streets of the Street of Silk, she couldn't help but recall that the reception she received last time she was here was quite different from what she was used to. Her song was received well enough, but only a handful of listeners seemed truly invested in her performance. People here were more picky in this section of the city, she thought to herself, compared to the other areas of town where she had performed before.

Devola had always been received with warm receptions at the taverns and inns she frequented, where the patrons were more focused on drinking and socializing and on the nice backdrop her music provided than on the song itself after a time. But on the Street of Silk and at the Dragonpit, where the clientele were often wealthier and more discerning, she had to prove herself with her singing or else risk losing her audience.

It was a challenge that she relished, but she couldn't help but wonder why it was that way in these areas of town. Was it the influence of the highborn lords and ladies who frequented these establishments? Or perhaps it was the more refined tastes of the patrons themselves?

Whatever the reason, Devola knew that if she wanted to succeed in these places, she would have to continue honing her craft and adapting to the demands of her listeners. And as she continued on her journey, she couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of winning over even more discerning audiences in the future.

Devola entered the tavern, taking in the surroundings as she made her way to the stage. This was a higher class establishment than most she had played in before, located in the heart of the prestigious Street of Silk. The walls were lined with impressive tapestries depicting beautifully intricate patterns and designs, while the tables were adorned with finely crafted silverware and crystal goblets. The patrons were a mix of wealthy merchants, courtiers, and nobles, dressed in their finest garments, sipping on expensive wines and discussing business and politics, discontent seemed to grow for the current king. That was an evident part of the conversation. Though some also seemed to be more concerned eyeing another women in the establishment.

Devola couldn't help but feel a bit out of place, dressed in her more simplistic clothes and carrying her lute simply wanting to perform. But she had learned not to judge a book by its cover, as she had seen all kinds of people in her time. She made her way to the stage and began tuning her instrument, feeling a sense of anticipation and nervousness.

As she looked out at the crowd, she noticed a woman sitting alone at a table in the corner the very woman being eyed earlier, watching her intently. She had dark brown skin, and was dressed in a simple yet elegant gown, her dark hair pulled into a large bun flowing downward in its beautiful sway. Devola couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as their eyes met, as if this woman was studying her. She saw other finely dressed people though this woman stood out to her. She kept her in mind during her performance. Given the higher standards the people in this part of the city seemed to hold and also in general getting some others back in flea bottom asking her if she knew any other songs, she opted to play something else.

Cyaré vou pali tandu briavé

Flané imundra lonom

Sovfla monusi ohna kanéro

Issa séttu flanésho

Luri si nasiel viré

Luri ansettali'té

Luri jhi paras avlu

Luri andrala cetru

Cyaré vou pali tandu briavé

Flané imundra lonom

Sovfla monusi ohna kanéro

Issa séttu flanésho

Luri si nasiel viré

Luri ansettali'té

Luri jhi paras avlu

Luri andrala cetru

The performance was received well enough, with a variety of patrons clapping, though again the reception seemed muted compared to other venues.

Devola noticed the woman from earlier displayed an uncomfortable composure throughout the performance despite that. She made her way to the bar to collect her payment then order a drink. Checking the coin purse given to her she was glad to see despite the muted reception received the payment was substantial. Ten silver stags and five copper stars.

Despite the pay, She couldn't afford the expensive wines or spirits without spending a decent portion of her earnings, so she settled for a cheap ale. It brought a nostalgic taste to her lips even if it was far from a perfect match. As she sipped her drink, she couldn't help but reflect on how different this place was from the other places she had played in. She had been to flea-bottom taverns with rough and tumble crowds, as well as simple inns with friendly locals, her own tavern back in the village being even more tame than the inns here. But this place, with its refined atmosphere and high-class patrons, was something else entirely she played on the street before but the establishment she played in was not nearly as refined for a time she was not getting any business here or in the dragonpit, though it seemed the tides changed. The woman seemed to still be staring at her so finally Devola thought she'd do something about this.

Devola approached the table and cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Hello there. I couldn't help but notice you watching me. Are you enjoying the show?"

She raised an eyebrow in reply, "I suppose it's entertaining enough," The woman said, her voice laced with skepticism and a muted accent that emphasized her words. "But I can't help wondering why you're here, of all places."

Devola bristled at the woman's tone. "I'm just trying to make a living," she retorted. "Is there a problem with that?"

Alayaya leaned in, her voice low and dangerous. "It's not your living that concerns me," she hissed. "It's the effect your growing popularity could have on the market for my mother's establishment."

Devola felt her cheeks flush with anger. The money she gets from these gigs was needed for flea bottom and Popola "I don't see how that's my problem. I am not even in the same field of clientele."

Alayaya narrowed her eyes, her lips curling into a sneer. "You can't be that dense for someone who just arrived in King's Landing from Volantis. Perhaps I should inform other parties of your lack of understanding."

Devola leaned in, meeting the woman's gaze. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. "I don't take kindly to threats, especially from someone who has no idea what they're talking about," she spat. "I suggest you mind your own business and let me do mine."

The two women glared at each other for a long moment, each daring the other to make a move. But eventually, The woman relented.

"Fine," she said, her voice icy. "But mark my words, Devola. You may be the new sensation in town, but that doesn't mean you're invincible."

Devola took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check as she looked at Alayaya. The woman's words had hit a nerve, reminding her once again of the privilege she had been born into. But she knew that getting defensive wouldn't help the situation. She had to find a way to bridge the gap between them.

"I understand your concern," Devola began, her voice calm but firm. "But I can't control who comes to see me perform. And I don't think it's fair to blame me for other businesses' struggles."

The woman's eyes narrowed, but she didn't interrupt as Devola continued.

"I know we come from different backgrounds, but that doesn't mean I haven't had my own struggles," Devola said, her tone softening. "And I don't think it's fair to judge me based on where I come from. We all have our own challenges to face."

The woman's expression softened, and she nodded slowly.

"I suppose you're right," she said, her voice quieter now. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I am Alayaya, simply here to guarantee my mothers brothel keeps its consistent flow of coin."

"It's alright," Devola said, giving the woman a small smile. "Tensions can run high in both our lines of work. But maybe we can find a way to work together instead of against each other. I have resources and connections that could benefit us both." She thought of the various inn and brothel owners she met during her time performing around the city as she said the words.

Alayaya looked skeptical at first, but eventually nodded in agreement.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try," she said. "But let's make it clear that we're both in this for our own benefit."

"Of course," Devola said, her smile widening. "I wouldn't expect anything less. But who knows, maybe we'll find that we have more in common than we thought."

Devola felt a glimmer of hope as she looked at Alayaya. Maybe this could work after all.

As they continued to talk, Devola shared some of her experiences performing in other parts of the city. She explained how her music had been well-received in taverns and inns, but that the audiences on the Street of Silk and Dragonpit seemed more picky and harder to please.

Ayalala seemed to soften her earlier aggression. Now listening intently, her expression thoughtful. "I think I understand," she said after a moment. "The people who come to the brothels and establishments on this street have certain expectations. They want to be entertained in a certain way, and they're used to a certain level of luxury and extravagance." Alyaya's accent came out in full force at the tail end of her sentence. Devola's curiosity piqued at just where in the world Alayaya was from as it seemed to be a new accent she has not heard anywhere else in the city. Though for the time being she kept that curiosity to herself. Not wanting to come across as rude and undo the goodwill they built up during this conversation.

Devola nodded, impressed by Alayaya's insight. "Yes, that makes sense."

"So, here's what I propose ," Alayaya said, leaning forward. "Why don't you perform at My mothers brothel instead? We can offer you a more refined audience, and a more comfortable and intimate setting for your music."

Devola hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the thought of performing in a brothel. But she quickly pushed that feeling aside. After all, she was here to make a name for herself and garner funds for flea bottom and her technical issue, and she couldn't afford to be picky about her venues.

"That sounds...interesting," she said carefully. "But I don't know if my music would be a good fit for a brothel."

Alayaya chuckled. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised. We have a diverse clientele with varied tastes. And besides, it wouldn't hurt to try, would it? Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself."

Devola couldn't deny the curiosity that was starting to bubble up inside her. She had always been a bit of a risk-taker, and the idea of performing in a new and unconventional setting was definitely appealing.

"I'm willing to give it a shot," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "When can I start?"

Alayaya's smile matched Devola's. "WIthin the week if you are up for it, I just have to speak with my mother about the deal we've struck I shall send someone to contact you within the next few days. We have an area that's perfect for performances. And who knows, maybe we'll be able to draw in some new clients with your music."

Devola felt a thrill of excitement run through her. This was exactly the kind of opportunity she had been looking for just not in the exact way she imagined receiving it. She thanked Alayaya and followed her as she left the tavern. Ayalala pointed to the location of the brothel and Devola committed to her own memory. Then bid her farewell. Despite their initial hostilities the woman seemed excited about bringing the prospect to her mother as she left.

As Devola made her way through the streets of King's Landing back towards Flea Bottom, she noticed a commotion up ahead. As she drew closer, she saw an expensively dressed man berating a younger looking person at the border of the Street of Silk.

The man was dressed in fine silk robes and wore a gold chain around his neck. He was shouting at a young girl who looked no older than fourteen, her ragged clothes in stark contrast to his opulent attire.

Devola slowed her pace and watched as the man grabbed the girl by the arm and shook her roughly. The girl was trying to pull away, tears streaming down her face, but the man held her fast.

"Get out of my sight, you worthless urchin!" he spat, pushing her roughly away.

The man sneered at the girl as she stumbled back, nearly falling to the ground. "You and your kind are a blight on this city," he continued, his voice filled with contempt. "You should be grateful for the scraps we allow you to pick up."

Devola clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn't stand by and watch this any longer. She stepped forward, her voice low and steady.

"Excuse me," she said, her eyes fixed on the man. "Is there a problem here?"

The man turned to face her, his expression haughty. "Mind your own business, singer," he spat. "This is no concern of yours."

Devola took a step closer, her eyes blazing. "I beg to differ," she said, her voice rising. "This is everyone's concern. No one has the right to treat another human being this way."

The man's face twisted in anger, and he took a step towards Devola. "Who do you think you are?" he snarled. "You're nothing but a glorified entertainer. You have no place interfering in my affairs."

Devola stood her ground, her chin held high. "I have every right to speak out against injustice," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "And I won't stand by and watch as someone like you abuses their power."

The man glared at her for a moment longer, his lips drawn into a thin line. But eventually, he turned and stalked away, muttering curses under his breath. Devola watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. She turned to the girl, who was staring at her with wide eyes.

"Are you alright?" Devola asked, her voice gentle.

The girl nodded, still in shock. "T-thank you," she stammered. "I thought he was going to hurt me."

"It's alright," Devola said, offering the girl a reassuring smile. "You're safe now."

Devola felt a wave of anger and disgust wash over her as she watched the man stride away, his head held high. She knew that classism was a common sight in King's Landing, but it never ceased to make her blood boil.

She approached the girl cautiously, not wanting to startle her. The girl looked up at her, her eyes wide with fear.

"Are you alright?" Devola asked gently.

The girl hesitated for a moment before nodding her head, still too scared to speak.

Devola took the girl's hand and pulled her gently away from the border of the Street of Silk. She led her to a quieter alleyway, away from the hustle and bustle of the main street.

"It's okay," she said softly, kneeling down in front of the girl. "You don't have to be afraid."

The girl looked up at her, her eyes full of gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered. "He was going to take my food."

Devola felt a surge of anger. She knew that the man had no right to take the girl's food, but she also knew that there was little the girl could do to stop him.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked the girl.

The girl shook her head, her eyes filling with tears again.

"I just want to go home," she said.

Devola nodded, taking the girl's hand again.

"Come on," she said gently. "I'll take you home."

"What is your name?" Devola asked, bending down to meet the girl at eye level.

"Barra," the girl replied, tears welling up in her eyes.

"What were you doing so far from home?" Devola asked gently.

"I was looking for my sister. Father sold her. Mother told me not to look, that she's in a better place, but I can't find her," Barra said, her voice cracking with emotion.

Devola felt a pit form in her stomach. She briefly thought back to a time when Nier wore his hair down… and the day he started to bring it up. He and Popola had seen and heard many terrible things, but the idea of a father selling his own daughter, Barra's own sister, filled her with outrage and horror. She looked at Barra with compassion and sadness, wondering how many more children suffered under the same circumstances. It was hard for her to imagine being separated from Popola in that way, it brought a familiar sick feeling just thinking about the possibility of it happening.

The street around them was crowded and noisy, but for a moment, Devola felt as if she and Barra were the only ones there. She reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from Barra's face, offering a small comfort. "I'm so sorry," she said softly. "I'll try to find your sister together, okay? But first lets get you home."

The girl nodded.

Devola walked with Barra to the area she had given her, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what the young girl had been through. When they arrived at the small, rundown house, Devola's heart sank even further. The front door was slightly ajar, and there was a palpable sense of sadness emanating from within.

As they approached the doorway, Devola could hear the sound of someone weeping softly inside. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was the right thing to do, but then steeled herself and pushed open the door.

The man inside looked up with a start, his eyes red from tears. For a moment, he looked confused and scared, until his gaze landed on Barra. Then his expression softened, and he stood up quickly, rushing over to embrace her.

"By the Mother! Barra, I… My… ," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Barra hugged him back, but her enthusiasm was more muted than her father's. Devola watched them for a moment, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the man even as she couldn't ignore what he had done. She wondered what kind of desperation must have led him to sell his own flesh and blood.

Devola took a deep breath before speaking, trying to remain as calm as possible. "Sir, I found your daughter Barra wandering the streets of the Silk district, looking for her sister. Do you know where she might be?"

The man's eyes widened in fear, and he quickly shook his head. "No, I don't know what you're talking about. I only have one daughter, Barra."

Barra's face fell, and she looked up at her father with tears in her eyes that flowed with the force of a speedy current. "No, Daddy, you sold Leraah, remember? Please tell her Leraah she is I never even got to say goodbye.."

The man's face darkened, and he raised his voice. "I told you, Barra, I don't know what you're talking about! Stop spreading lies!"

Devola could sense the tension in the air, but she knew she couldn't push the man any further. She decided to drop the subject for now and focus on Barra. "Barra, why don't we go back to my place? You can rest and have some food, and we'll figure out what to do next."

Barra nodded reluctantly, but before leaving, Devola couldn't help but wonder what could have scared the man so much. She made a mental note to investigate further, but for now, her priority was to take care of Barra and make sure she was safe.

Barra, on the other hand, was becoming upset and insistent that her sister was real. Devola tried to calm her down, but the man interrupted and sent her to get some food from the cupboards.

Turning back to the man, Devola noticed that he seemed to be struggling with something, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn't. Finally, he spoke up, "I promise I would never hurt her. Her sister just... It's not something I'm allowed to talk about."

Devola could sense the fear and tension in his voice, and the way he looked around as if there were people watching them. She decided not to push the issue any further, knowing that the man would not reveal any more information. She wondered what could be so terrifying that he would keep it a secret even from his own daughter.

The man's eyes glistened with tears as he spoke to Devola, "I can't thank you enough for bringing my daughter back. We have been so worried sick, and we were at our wits' end trying to find her. My wife will be overjoyed when she returns from looking herself."

He clasped his hands together in front of his chest, "We are thankful beyond belief, and we owe you a debt of gratitude. You have no idea what it means to us to have Barra back safe and sound."

His words were heartfelt, and Devola could see the genuine relief on the man's face. It was clear that he loved his daughters and was genuinely grateful to have one of them returned to him.

As the man spoke, Devola couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for judging him so harshly. She wondered if she had been too quick to assume the worst about him. However there was clearly more to the story than she knew.

The man then reached into his pocket and pulled out four silver coins. "Please, take this as a token of our appreciation," he said, pressing the coins into Devola's hand.

He handed her three silvers as a gesture of gratitude, and Devola accepted them, though she couldn't help but feel conflicted about the whole situation. The genuine nature of his love did put her mind somewhat at ease, at the same time she fully intended on returning to check on Barra after she convened with Popola about the situation.

A.N. This marks chapter 4, I've just finished chapter 8 and now working on chapter 9. I've already outlined the first 3 arcs of this story. Which goes up to near the end of the 3rd book. There are the little details I still have to work out but all the big events are mapped out. Also just a potential warning for people who continue on with the story, as you may suspect from the content of this chapter the story will be dealing with some dark territories of life. It will not just be Wholesome uplift. Theres alot of harsh realities both in the fictional universe and in actual medieval history and I intend to go into some of the harsh realities of that, and part of that is people selling their children even in places that supposedly abhor the practice.

Specific Chapter Notes: For those who are not book readers, Alayaya is a book only character i'd say the closest to her character in the show is Ros but they are very different characters at the same time. The other character introduced this chapter is an OC but her name may give you some hints about things.

Next chapter will be getting a new POV from a character who has already been introduced in the story. It will not be the only new POV but it is one im quite excited about introducing. If anyone wants to speculate on the new POV feel free quite curious to see if anyone guesses correctly. Outside of that thoughts on the content of the chapter, and the characters and new plots introduced are greatly appreciated.

P. S. What everyone think of my portrayal of Alayaya she will be showing up again and shes under utilize in fanfic so I wanted to give her some love.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 13, 2023

Gendry I

Gendry woke up to the sound of Tobho's door opening, which had become a familiar occurrence. He used to wonder what business Tobho had attending to so late at night, but after asking the blacksmith about it, Tobho sternly told him to mind his own business. Gendry mostly forgot about it after that, until the past week when it happened three times. "Nothing.. how?" He heard Tobho voice raise.

He laid back in bed disappointed that he couldn't hear the sound of the blacksmiths hammering away into the night. It was a common complaint among newer apprentices, but Gendry had grown used to the noise over the years. He resorted to envisioning the sound in his head, reciting a mantra of Twang Bang Twang and Twing, Twang, Bang, Bang Bang Bang. But he wasn't satisfied with the sound in his mind, so he delved deeper, thinking about the black hands that gave steel a soul. Soon, the hammering and mantra seemed to drone unceasingly in his mind.

As he looked over at the newest apprentice, Feryn, who a few moons past frequently complained about the noise, now was no doubt thinking of it as well, Gendry smiled at the thought that the call of the hammer had taken another. As he lay there, lost in his own thoughts, Gendry felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Finally, closing his eyes letting the pull of sleep take him.

Gendry groaned as he rolled over in bed, his body still heavy with sleep. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, yawning. His cot was small and lumpy, but he had grown used to it over the years. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stretched, feeling his muscles protest at the sudden movement.

He glanced around the dimly lit room, taking in the sleeping forms of the other apprentices. Some were snoring softly, while others tossed and turned in their sleep. Gendry envied them for the ability to sleep through anything. He knew from experience that it would take him a while to fall back asleep if he woke up in the middle of the night.

With a sigh, Gendry got to his feet and stretched again. He reached for his tunic and trousers, which were neatly folded on a nearby chest. He dressed quickly, his movements practiced and efficient. He had been getting up at the same time every day for years, and his body had grown accustomed to the routine.

Once dressed, Gendry splashed some water on his face and ran a hand through his hair. He felt a pang of longing as he thought of the forge, and the sound of metal on metal. He missed the work already, even though he had only been asleep for a few hours.

He gathered his tools and headed out of the sleeping quarters, making his way to the forge. The streets were still quiet, the sun just beginning to rise in the east. Gendry enjoyed the early morning hours, before the noise and bustle of the city began in earnest.

When he arrived at the forge, he found a few other apprentices already there, hard at work. Feryn was hammering away at a piece of metal, his face twisted in concentration. Gendry nodded in greeting and set to work himself, his hands automatically reaching for the tools he needed.

Once in his work space, he got to work, priming the forge and gathering all the necessary tools and materials for the day's projects. He carefully inspected each piece of equipment, making sure everything was in working order. Gendry picked up a thick, lightly jagged, heavy piece of copper and examined it closely, running his rough and calloused fingers over its surface. He placed it on the anvil and reached for his hammer, the weight of it feeling familiar and comfortable in his grip.

With a practiced motion, he began to strike the copper, the sound of the hammer ringing out through the workshop. He continued to strike the metal, each blow carefully aimed to thin it down to the desired size.

As the copper became thinner, Gendry reached for a pair of tongs and carefully guided it into the forge, heating it until it glowed a bright orange. He removed it from the fire and placed it back on the anvil, continuing to shape it with his hammer.

After several rounds of heating and hammering, the copper began to take the form of a long, thin wire. Gendry carefully coiled the wire, testing its strength with his fingers. Satisfied with his work, he set the wire aside, ready to be hammered through the block of hardened metal, to decrease its size to reach the specified size requested by the customer.

The process was repetitive and put some strain upon his arm, but Gendry took pride in the precision and care he put into each piece he created. As he finished up the first copper wire, he looked forward to the more challenging projects that awaited him later in the day.

He began to pound another copper wire into yet another hole to make it thinner, it was a relatively simplistic project but it was also boring work. Thus he wanted it out of the way.

Some other apprentices began to arrive later, as his focus was on the copper he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. He glanced up to see two of his fellow apprentices, Alric and Soren, making their way towards him.

"Morn, Gendry," Alric said with a yawn. "Looks like a couple of you are already hard at work."

Gendry nodded in greeting, his eyes flicking briefly towards the newcomers before returning to his task.

"What are you working on there?" Soren asked, peering over Gendry's shoulder to get a better look at the copper.

"Just thinning it down for now," Gendry replied, his voice slightly muffled by the sound of the hammer striking the metal.

"Sounds like boring work," Alric remarked, stifling another yawn.

"It is," Gendry admitted with a small grin. "But it's got to be done."

The three apprentices fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of the hammer. Gendry could feel the weight of the copper beginning to take a toll on his arms, but he didn't let up. He was determined to finish the piece as quickly and efficiently as possible.

As he worked, he could feel the presence of his fellow apprentices around him. Despite the silence, there was a sense of shared purpose that ran through the forge. They were all here for the same reason: to learn the craft and become skilled smiths in their own right.

With a final, satisfying blow, Gendry finished the final copper wire and set it aside. He turned to his companions and grinned.

"Anyone want to help me with the next project?" he asked, gesturing to a pile of steel that lay nearby.

Alric and Soren exchanged a look before nodding in agreement. As Feryn briefly glanced their way. They gathered around Gendry, ready to tackle the next challenge of the day. Steel swords to replenish some of the Lannister soldiers armaments.

"Hey Gendry, what's this?" Alric asked, holding up a piece of parchment.

Gendry squinted at the parchment, trying to make out the details. As he approached, he could see that it was a crudely drawn copy, of another drawing, the one made by the very person who hired Tobho to produce these wires in fact.

"Oh, that's just a little drawing the Tobho quickly drew as a copy of what a new customer gave him," Gendry said, shrugging. "That new minstrel in the city customers talk about time to time well her sister commissioned these wires." Instinctively he looked downwards to ensure his embarrassment a few days prior was not relived.

The other apprentices gathered around, inspecting the drawing with interest. Gendry could sense their surprise at the level of detail in the sketch.

"Wow, if this is an accurate copy she really captured every step," Feryn said, peering closely at the parchment. "I had no idea the bard even had a sister, which is odd considering how much we've heard talk of her on the street."

Gendry felt a flicker of curiosity at their reaction. He knew little of Devola other than her beauty and singing, he heard in echo through the streets in passing when she performed near here. He like Feryn had no knowledge of a sister until she came in to hire Tobhos, expertise for such a cheap, relatively simple task. The commission even had Tobho scratching his head.

"It's just a drawing," Gendry said, shrugging. "I didn't think much of it."

But as he spoke, he realized how odd it was that a bard's sister or a woman in general would take such an interest in something as simple as making copper wires. His curiosity piqued, As someone invested in blacksmithing himself Gendry began to wonder just where she learned such. Perhaps thats why Tobho felt the need to make the imitation.

Alric spoke up, "I didn't even know we had a new bard until Tobho mentioned the sister yesterday."

Gendry raised an eyebrow, looking at a few of the other apprentices who shared his glance. He let out a chuckle before turning to Alric, "Well, if you spent more time out in the forge doing your job and less time lounging around in Tobho's house, you might know a thing or two about what's going on around here."

Alric froze for a moment at Gendry's words before gathering himself to respond.

"I do a lot of important work with Tobho," he said, his tone defensive.

Feryn leaned forward, curious. "What kind of work?" he asked.

Alric hesitated, glancing into Tobho's house towards his office door. "It's...complicated," he said finally.

Gendry stood there for a moment, admiring the Weirwood and Ivory door of Tobho's office himself. The intricate carvings and delicate details were a testament to the master blacksmith's wealth and skill, but to Gendry, it always seemed a bit too much. He preferred a more practical approach to things, something that got the job done without any fuss and less frills.

As he looked at the door, he couldn't help but wonder what Alric and Tobho did together there. He knew that Tobho was a stern master, and he often demanded a lot from his apprentices. But Gendry had never heard of Tobho taking on an apprentice in any capacity other than blacksmithing.

He glanced over at Alric, who was still standing there, looking uncomfortable. "So, Alric," he said, trying to sound casual. "What exactly do you do with Tobho in his office?"

Alric shifted uncomfortably, his gaze still fixed on the door. "Oh, just some... errands, I guess," he said vaguely.

Feryn raised an eyebrow. "Errands?" he repeated. "What kind of errands?"

Alric shrugged, still not meeting anyone's eyes. "Just... things," he said. "I help him with some of his personal projects, that's all."

Gendry gave Alric a skeptical look but decided not to push the issue further. He had more pressing matters to attend to, like finishing the swords for the men with deep pockets. "Well, whatever it is, you should make sure it doesn't interfere with your apprenticeship," he said firmly. "We all have work to do, and we can't afford to slack off."

Alric nodded quickly, looking relieved that the conversation had shifted away from his activities with Tobho. Gendry couldn't help but wonder what was really going on behind that Weirwood and Ivory door briefly, but he had to focus on his work besides it did not concern him anyways.

He set aside the drawing and returned to his work briefly admiring the soot covering his hands he readied to tackle the next job on his list. He could feel the weight of the unfinished steel swords calling out to him, and he was eager to see it through to completion. With a sense of determination, he set to work, the hammer striking the steel with a steady rhythm.

Hours passed as Gendry worked on the sword, carefully shaping the metal into the desired form. He moved with a grace born of long practice, each movement precise and efficient. As he worked, all he thought about was what the metal would become and what each pounding of the hammer would produce where he envisioned it all, and all that existed in those moments was the hammer and steel. The intensity of his focus seemed to catch the eye of Feryn and others from time to time.

At last, the sword was finished. Gendry held it up, inspecting it closely. It was a beautiful weapon, the steel shining in the light of the forge. He could feel a sense of pride and accomplishment welling up inside him.

But even as he admired his handiwork, his mind was already moving on to the next project. He had a long list of orders to fill, and he was eager to get started on the next one. Just in time it seemed as the man coming to collect the swords they hired Tobho for arrived seeming to eye their every move. With a sense of purpose, he set to work once more on the next sword, the hammer ringing out through the forge as he began the next stage of his work.

Feryn winced as he accidentally burned his hand on the hot metal he was working on. He quickly dropped the tongs and shook his hand, trying to alleviate the pain.

The commotion caught the attention of the man who had been waiting for the finished swords . He strode over to Feryn, his face red with anger.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. "Are you incompetent? How dare you delay the delivery of the swords!"

Feryn looked up, still wincing in pain. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "I burned my hand. It won't take long to finish the swords."

The man snorted. "Incompetent apprentices like you are the reason this city is in such a sorry state," he spat. "These swords will be used by great men, men fighting for the better half of royalty. Its dishonorable its even being touched by such inexperienced unsure hands, My understanding was the renowned blacksmith Tobho Mott. Who's done his fair share to prove himself would be working on these, what have you done? "

Gendry, who had been working on his own project nearby, heard the commotion and walked over. He could see that Feryn was in pain and that the man was being unnecessarily rude.

"Hey, what's the problem here?" Gendry said, his voice filled with aggression. "You think it's okay to talk to his apprentices like that?"

The man looked Gendry up and down, his expression still one of disdain. "I don't care who you are," he said. "I just need those swords, and I need them now."

Gendry stepped closer to the man, his fists clenched. "You need to show some respect," he growled. "We're doing our best, and accidents happen. You're not the only one waiting for swords."

The man glared at Gendry, his face contorted with anger. But before he could say anything else, Gendry's imposing figure seemed to make him back down.

The customer sneered at him. "And who are you to tell me what I can and can't do?"

"I'm just someone who won't stand by and watch you treat another person like dirt," Gendry replied, his fists clenching at his sides.

The argument continued to escalate until Tobho stepped in, his hammer pounding loudly on the anvil. "That's enough!" he boomed. "This is a place of business, not a fighting pit. If you can't conduct yourself properly, then I suggest you leave and return when the swords are finished."

The customer grumbled and muttered, but eventually stormed out of the shop. Feryn let out a sigh of relief, and Gendry relaxed his fists, feeling the adrenaline slowly start to fade away.

Gendry turned to Feryn, who was still cradling his burned hand. "You alright?" he asked, his tone softening.

Feryn nodded, his face still twisted in pain. "Yeah, thanks," he said halfheartedly.

Gendry clapped him on the shoulder. "Always," he said. "We're like brothers, us apprentices. I'm not gonna let anyone talk to you like that."

"Thank you Master Mott…" Feryn exclaimed in thanks.

"Man was being a pompous prick about it anyways, He'll be getting chewed out by his captain later. " Tobho explained, "Besides, did not come out here for that…" With that he turned towards Alric who seemed to tense up.

Tobho approached him and gestured towards his home, quickly Alric followed Tobho to the house.

Gendry and the others couldn't hear what was being said, but they could hear raised voices and muffled yells coming from inside the house. They exchanged looks of concern, wondering what could be going on.

After several minutes, Alric emerged from the house, looking slightly pale but also determined. He went back to work immediately, putting in more effort than Gendry and the others had ever seen from him before.

Gendry raised an eyebrow in surprise and exchanged a knowing smile with Feryn. Whatever Tobho had said to Alric seemed to have made quite an impact. He must've been telling tales earlier.

As the day went on, Alric worked hard without complaint, and the other apprentices respected his newfound dedication. Gendry couldn't help but wonder what Tobho had said to him to get him to shape up so quickly. He suspected it must have been something pretty powerful to elicit such a dramatic change in Alric's behavior.

Gendry and the other apprentices were gathered around the forge, taking a break from their work except Alric who continued to hammer away. Feryn was inspecting his burned hand with a wry expression.

"Looks like you're a true apprentice now," Gendry joked. "Every blacksmith worth their salt has burned themselves on a sword at some point."

The other apprentices laughed in agreement, nodding their heads in recognition.

Feryn grinned through the pain. "I guess I've finally earned my keep then," he said stifling a chuckle. "But it still hurts like the seven hells."

"Tell me about it," one of the other apprentices said, holding up his own scarred hand. "I burned myself on a branding iron once. Thought I was going to pass out from the pain."

Soren chimed in. "I got a nasty burn on my arm from a spark that flew off the forge. It blistered up so bad I couldn't work for a week."

Gendry nodded sympathetically. "Burns are part of the job, unfrotunately" he said. "But we learn from them and become better for it."

Feryn sighed. "I just wish it didn't hurt so damn much," he said.

Gendry clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, Feryn," he said. "You'll toughen up in no time. And next time, you'll know how to avoid making the same mistake again. Soon enough you'll have hands like these"

Gendry held out his own hands in emphasis,

"Nah they'll be more like these" Soren held out his hands mocking the bravado Gendry put on.

Feryn chuckled at his antics, and Gendry couldn't help but feel grateful for the comradery he had with his fellow blacksmiths. Despite the pain from accidents, he knew he was in the right place, surrounded by people who understood the trials and tribulations of the forge.

As the apprentices continued to swap stories of their various injuries, Gendry caught sight of a small water barrel nearby. He couldn't resist the opportunity reminding him of antics he'd get into back when he was a boy in flea bottom. One of the few good memories he had of that place.

"Hey, watch this," he said, grinning mischievously as he grabbed a nearby bucket.

The other apprentices turned to look at him just as he scooped up a bucketful of water and doused Feryn, who was still nursing his burn.

"Hey!" Feryn exclaimed, sputtering and shaking the water from his hair. "What was that for?"

Gendry just laughed. "Lighten up, Feryn," he said. "It's just a bit of water."

Feryn scowled playfully, then lunged at Gendry, grabbing the bucket and trying to retaliate. Soon the other apprentices joined in, splashing and dodging and laughing.

Unknown to them Tobho had just stepped into the workshop when he noticed the horseplay between the apprentices. "What's going on here?" he asked, his voice stern.

Gendry and the other apprentices immediately stopped their antics and stood at attention. "Nothing, master," Gendry said quickly. "Just blowing off some steam."

Tobho didn't look convinced. "You should know better than to act like children in a forge," he said. "I expect better from all of you."

Gendry hung his head, feeling ashamed. He knew Tobho was right. The last thing they needed was an accident in the forge. He just wanted to lighten the mood.

Tobho glared at them for a few moments longer before turning his attention to Gendry. "Speaking of accidents," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Why don't you tell these newer apprentices how you got that burn on your arm?"

Gendry's face flushed with embarrassment. He had been hoping Tobho would forget about that incident. "Do I have to?" he asked, hoping to avoid reliving the embarrassing memory.

Tobho nodded. "I think it's important for them to understand the dangers of working in a forge," he said. "And how even the most experienced apprentices can make mistakes."

Gendry sighed and took a deep breath. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "But you guys have to promise not to laugh."

The other apprentices nodded, intrigued by Gendry's story.

"Okay, so it was my first week here," Gendry began. "And I was working on a sword. I was so focused on getting it right that I didn't realize I had accidentally backed up into the forge until it was too late."

The other apprentices listened with rapt attention, waiting for the embarrassing part of the story.

"So there I was, my ass on fire," Gendry continued. "I tried to put it out by slapping it, but that just made it worse. I ended up having to jump into a water barrel to put out the flames."

The other apprentices couldn't help but burst out laughing at the mental image of Gendry jumping into a barrel of water to put out the flames.

Gendry glared at them good-naturedly. "I told you not to laugh," he said, but he was smiling too.

Tobho cleared his throat. "As amusing as that story may be," he said. "It's important to remember that burns can be serious. Always be aware of your surroundings and never let your guard down in the forge."

The apprentices nodded, sobered by Tobho's words. They knew they had a responsibility to take their work seriously, even when they were just blowing off steam.

WIth one final nod Tobho, retreated back into the confines of his house.

With their masters retreat the tense atmosphere quickly faded and they all loosened up. A glance at Alric revealed he was still working, even harder than he was before Tobho's intervention. It was almost inspiring.

A.N. Well there is chapter 5, hope everyone liked the new POV, I feel it's a considerable shift in tone to the POV of the twins. That's intentional but I hope it's well received. I did add one extra line on QQ that wasn't there on SB.

Any thoughts on the chapter, and/or the accuracy of the POV and OC characters is appreciated. I did try to really portray Blacksmithing somewhat accurately without it being boring. I hope I accomplished that. Curious what speculations and thoughts arise from this new POV, and this chapter. It will not be the only new POV, but as I said last chapter it's one of the ones I was more excited about writing.

Quite curious what everyone thinks of the accuracy of Gendry and if I missed the mark in any way.

Plan on going back and editing the first 3 chapters before I update again, but please review, comment, reply. As they are a big help on motivation for me.

P.S. Is the preference to underline and bold POV signifiers or should I stick to just bolding them?

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 13, 2023

Popola III

Popola sat with Lommy on the floor of their small room, a book spread open in front of them. "Okay, let's start with this word," she said, pointing to the page. "What does it say?"

Lommy squinted at the word. "A face ap-ap-appears," he stuttered.

"Good! And what's the next word?" Popola asked, pointing to the next one.

"A crown?" Lommy guessed uncertainty evident on his face.

"Very good!" Popola praised him he briefly seemed to light up at that. "Now, let's try to read the whole sentence together. 'A Face appears, a crown on his noble brow'.

Lommy looked at the sentence intently, sounding out each word carefully. "A Face appeas- appears, a crown on his noble brow" he read slowly, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he realized he'd gotten it right.

"Excellent job, Lommy!" Popola exclaimed, giving him a pat on the back. "You're getting better and better every day."

Lommy frowned in concentration as he struggled with the next sentence, "The face is hand-." Lommy seemed to have given up halfway through the sentence.

Popola leaned in closer to him and helped him sound out the words, patiently guiding him through the sentence. "Lommy you know the word hand, and the word some right?" The boy looked up and nodded "You just have to combine the two together for this word. She could see the effort on his face as he struggled with the letters and then the word 'regal' following it, but she could also see the determination in his eyes. She was proud of him for wanting to learn and for putting in the effort despite the difficulty.

Popola spoke gleefully, "Thats right Lommy! The face is handsome and regal."

Popola nods and smiles at Lommy as he reads the next line with more confidence. "Good job, Lommy! You're getting the hang of this," she encourages him. They continue reading and Lommy starts to stumble on a longer word. She patiently guides him through it, breaking it down into syllables and helping him sound it out. Eventually, Lommy gets it and triumphantly finishes the sentence.

"Well done, Lommy! You're making great progress," Popola praises him. Lommy grins, clearly proud of himself. "Thanks. I'm really starting to like this Robin Hood. Can you read the rest?" Lommy looks to her with desperate eyes.

"Not yet Lommy, you know what I said I want you to try your best to finish the page."

Lommy reads the next sentence slowly, stumbling over some of the words. Popola watches him closely, ready to help him sound out any tricky words. As he reaches the end of the page, he looks up at Popola hopefully.

"Can we stop now?" he asks, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Popola shakes her head firmly. "No, Lommy. You need to read at least one chapter before we can stop."

Lommy pouts again, but he knows better than to argue with Popola. He takes a deep breath and begins to read the next page, sounding out each word carefully.

As he reads, Popola can see his confidence growing. By the time he finishes the second page, he is reading much more smoothly and confidently. She smiles at him, feeling proud of his progress.

"See, Lommy? You're getting better already," she says, patting him on the back.

Lommy grins up at her, clearly pleased with himself. "Yeah, I guess I am," he says . "Can you help me with the big words?"

Popola nods. "Of course. We'll keep going until you're amazing at reading, Lommy."

Lommy stumbles through the page, mispronouncing some words and struggling with others. Popola patiently corrects him and encourages him to try again, praising him when he gets it right. Lommy's face reddens with embarrassment, but he keeps going, determined to learn.

Suddenly, Devola bursts in, interrupting their reading session. Popola looks up, surprised by the sudden intrusion.

"Popola, we need to talk," Devola says urgently.

Popola nods, knowing that something serious must be going on.

"Sorry, Lommy," Popola said with a sympathetic smile as she returned her attention to the group.

"I don't want to cut our reading session short, but Devola has something important to share with me." She could see the disappointment on Lommy's face and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll pick up where we left off when we are done talking, okay?"

She looks to her sister again "Alright, let's go outside," she replies, motioning for Devola to follow her.

As they step outside, Devola hesitated for a moment before quietly speaking. She took a deep breath and looked at Popola with a mix of sadness and determination in her eyes.

"Popola, I need to talk to you about something," Devola said. "It's about a girl named Barra. Her sister was sold to someone by her father, but she doesn't know who. I heard about it from Barra herself and the father well he seems terrified by something or someone, I just was passing through on my way back here when I ran into Barra, and I couldn't stop thinking about it."

Popola's expression softened as she listened to Devola speak. She could see the pain in her sister's eyes and knew that this was not something to be taken lightly, it was important.

"I'm sorry, Devola," Popola said gently. "That's terrible. Is there anything we can do to help?"

Devola shook her head. "I don't know, Popola. I just feel so helpless. I can't stop thinking about what might have happened to her sister. It's like...I can't even imagine what it would be like to be in her position."

Popola reached out and placed a hand on Devola's shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you can't blame yourself for things that are out of your control. All we can do is try to help those around us and hope for the best and try to improve what we can."

Devola nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know, Popola. But it's just so hard sometimes."

Popola squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I understand. And I'm here for you, no matter what. As we always have been for one another."

"I was thinking given you have your observer capabilities still, perhaps you could do a scan of the coins"

"I can, but keep in mind its currency so it'd be hard to discern where it truly came from, i can, however, isolate the more prominent traces, but theres always the chance whoever the girl was…. Sold to. Did not handle the coins much."

Devola nods in agreement with Popola's assessment. "That's a good point. I didn't think about the currency aspect of it. But if we can at least narrow down some of the more prominent DNA traces, that would be a start."

Popola nods in response. "Exactly. And I could definitely meet with the father and family to remove their DNA from the scan as well as use it to help search for the girl. The analysis may take some time and divert a few more resources to my processor, but it's possible."

Devola smiles. "Thank you, Popola. I knew you would have some ideas on how to help."

Popola returns the smile. "Of course, I'm always happy to help. But it won't be easy. DNA analysis is a complex process and it takes time and resources to do it properly."

Devola nods. "I understand. We'll do whatever it takes to find Barra's sister and bring her back home."

Lommy looks up from his book, curious about the conversation. "Who's Barra?" he asks.

Devola and Popola exchange a look before Devola turns to Lommy. "Barra is a girl we know who has a missing sister. We're trying to help find her."

Lommy furrows his brow and scratches his head. " kids go missing sometime. I don't really know why though. Maybe they get lost or eaten by the monsters. Yoelith always says they are with the gods now… " He shrugs and then looks up at Popola.

Popola swallows uncomfortably then softly nods then stands up determined. "We're doing everything we can to bring her back home."

Devola stands up from her chair, holding the silver coins in her hand. "Well, we better get started."

Popola nods and watches as Devola paces the room, her mind no doubt already buzzing with ideas on how to approach the DNA analysis of the coins. As she turns her attention back to Lommy, she notices he's still looking up at her with a curious expression.

"Can I keep reading?" he asks, holding up the book.

Popola smiles. "Of course. Let's finish the chapter."

"Actually, I can finish reading it to you Lommy if you'd like." Devola Chimes in and Lommy seems particularly excited about the proposal.

The implication that Popola could attend to scanning and breaking down the dna on the coins as her sister read to Lommy not being lost on her.

Lommy seemed enthused at the prospect and Popola nodded knowingly towards her sister and began her work.

Popola carefully placed the coin on her desk, accessing her more in depth scan functions peering at the stags as she adjusted the focus. "This may take a while," she said, her eyes still glued to the coin. "DNA analysis is a slow process, and we have to scan each individual particle to get an accurate reading."

Devola nodded, watching Popola work with a keen interest. She knew how meticulous and detail-oriented her sister could be, especially when it came to something as important as finding a missing person. It was a shame her own capabilities were not functioning, must be hard for her to not be able to directly aid when it came to this.

As Popola continued her analysis, she couldn't help but feel a sense of discomfort at the idea of someone being sold for money. It was a cruel and inhumane practice, and she hoped that they could find something in the DNA scan that would lead them to the girl and her captor.

After what felt like an eternity, Popola finally stopped the analysis of the coin, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "I've scanned every particle I can on this coin," she said, her voice heavy. "And I've found a few prominent DNA traces, but it's going to take some time to analyze them and determine whose they are even moreso, considering there is not much an existing dna database, so in large part ill have to read the dna of others we come across"

Devola leaned in closer, her eyes shining with hope. "Did you find anything that could lead us to Barra's sister?"

Popola hesitated for a moment before responding. "It's too soon to say," she said carefully. "But I'm hopeful that we might find something that could help us."

Devola nodded, her heart beating a little faster with anticipation. She knew that they still had a long way to go, but with Popola's expertise and determination, she felt confident that they would find the girl and bring her home.

Awhile after Devola finished another chapter of Robin Hood and she got back from escorting Lommy safely back to the orphanage. Popola finally managed to isolate the three strongest dna traces.

"Devola, I finally managed to isolate the three strongest DNA traces from the coins," Popola said as she entered the room. "There's a chance that we can use this information to track down the girl who was sold."

Popola replied with a hint of anxiety in her voice. "I'll need to use my scanner functions to match the DNA against our database of citizens I have analysis of the DNA of. It's not a foolproof method, but it's the best shot we have."

Devola nodded, understanding the difficulties of the task. "Let's get started, then. We have to find this girl and bring her back to her family."

Popola smiled, feeling grateful for Devola's unwavering determination. "I'm with you all the way, Devola."

Despite earlier hope, no one in her database appeared to be a match. Internally she chided herself for not analyzing every single trace of DNA information she came across before now it was something they agreed to only utilize in the case of medical emergencies, and dire situations. She also just naturally built up analysis of those she came into close or near contact with often yet it did not seem to be enough.

She was readying herself to tell Devola, but based on her face it seemed like her sister already had an understanding of what was happening,

Popola turned to Devola. "Maybe we should talk to Henrik about it. He might know something that could help us."

Devola hesitated for a moment before nodding. "You're right, it's worth a shot."

Popola could tell that Devola was still uneasy about the situation, but she was glad that her sister agreed to try. They both stood up and made their way towards the door.

As they stepped out into the relatively busy streets, Popola scanned the area for any sign of Henrik. She knew from experience that he usually patrolled the area around the market square, so they headed in that direction.

As they walked, Popola could see the worry etched on Devola's face. She knew her sister was thinking about the girl who had been sold and the desperate search to find her. Popola couldn't blame her; the thought of someone being sold like an object was deeply unsettling.

After a few minutes of searching, they spotted Henrik standing at the edge of the market, talking to a few merchants. Popola approached him, and he turned to greet them with a smile.

"Good to see you both. What brings you here?" he asked.

Popola hesitated for a moment before explaining the situation with Barra's sister leaving out the part with coins with potential DNA evidence for now. Henrik listened intently, his expression growing serious.

"I see," he said slowly. "That's certainly troubling. I don't know if I have any leads for you."

"Would you be able to bring it up with other trustworthy members of the city watch to look into it?" Popola leaned forward slightly, her tone cordial as she tried to inquire.

Popola and Devola exchanged a look as Henrik remained quiet shifting uncomfortably in his seat. They had come to him with questions about Barra's missing sister, hoping that as a member of the city watch, he might have some insight into the situation. But it seemed like Henrik was reluctant to even speak on the matter.

"It's a delicate situation," Henrik finally said, his voice low. "I'm not sure it's something I should be getting involved in."

Devola frowned. "But don't you want to help? Isn't that why you joined the city watch?"

Henrik hesitated before responding. "Of course, but...this seems like a matter beyond my station. I'm not sure I can do anything to help."

Popola's eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "But yet you're in the city watch, intent on helping and watching over the city. How can you ignore a crime like this?"

Henrik looked down at his hands, his expression troubled. "I'm not ignoring it," he said quietly. "It's just...complicated. There are forces at play here that I don't fully understand."

Devola stared at Henrik incredulously, her voice laced with anger. "Do you even care about the city at all? A child is missing and you're just going to ignore it?"

Henrik bristled at the accusation. "Of course I care about the city! I've dedicated my life to the city watch and I've done a lot to improve things around here."

Henrik leans back in his chair, his expression softening as he recalls his own journey into the city watch. "When I was a boy, my family kept getting robbed. It was a tough time, and I saw firsthand the kind of devastation that crime can bring."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes distant, as he relives those painful memories. "Our home was broken into multiple times. They took everything of value we had - our jewelry, our silverware, even our clothes. But it wasn't just the loss of material things. My father and brother were badly beaten in one of the robberies, and my brother never fully recovered from the experience. We were all living in fear."

He takes a deep breath and continues. "But then, the city watch stepped in. They increased their presence in our neighborhood and started cracking down on criminal activity. It wasn't an overnight solution, but slowly, things began to improve. We no longer lived in fear of being robbed every night. And that's when I realized that I wanted to make a difference in this city, to help prevent other families from going through what mine did."

Henrik's voice grows more impassioned as he speaks, his gaze fixed on Devola and Popola. "And I've done just that. The watch has made incredible strides in quelling criminal activity in the city. We've put away countless murderers, rapists, and thieves. We've made the city safer for everyone, and that's no small feat. But there are certain things that are beyond our reach, things that we simply can't investigate. This, unfortunately, is one of them."

Popola couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated and surprised at Henrik's lack of assistance, but she also recognized that he felt strongly about not getting involved in any capacity. She knew that he had his own reasons, and it was not her place to push him further.

"Thank you for your time, Henrik," she said, a bit tersely. "We'll keep looking into it ourselves."

Henrik nodded, his expression still tense. "I strongly advise against that, though all the same I wish you the best of luck, may the mother be merciful and the father just" he said before turning back to his patrol.

She supposed he was not wrong either, this could no doubt bring danger to those who look into it, perhaps it was for the best less humans were involved. Still it did not make her feel much better about his seeming lack of desire to look into the situation. Devola however looked even more upset than she was.

As her sister led her towards the house the girl Barra she spoke of lived in. Popola's discomfort grew as she thought farther about the situation with Barra's sister Leerah. She couldn't shake off the memories of the past, the many human lives it took to find a viable candidate for the first gestalt. She remembered the kids who were sold and bought by the Hamelin organization, children who were exploited and used for experiments. The process was cruel and inhumane, but it was done for the sake of humanity.

However, Popola couldn't understand the purpose behind this new dimension they were dealing with. She felt a sense of unease and dread, as if there was no noble goal behind this terrible cruelty. To her, the idea of a child being sold for money was abhorrent, a violation of basic human rights. She thought back on the love the shades and even the replicants had for their children. The love and hope they held for them, the pain both felt when they were gone. To willingly give such a thing up, what type of person could do so. Though Devola's words seemed to indicate there was something more complicated happening here.

Despite her discomfort taking her focus for a moment, Popola knew that she had to do her best to find the girl who had been sold. It was a long shot, but she had narrowed down the DNA samples to three possibilities. She was determined to exhaust all possible leads and find the girl, not just for Devola's sake but for the sake of justice and the well-being of the child.

Popola and Devola arrived at the door of Barra's family, both feeling anxious about what they might find out. The father answered the door, looking wary and defensive.

"Please, sir," Popola began bringing focus into her scan, "we just want to help. We're not here to cause any trouble, we just want to find her and make sure she's safe."

The man's expression softened slightly, but he still looked hesitant. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, avoiding their gaze. "I already spoke to one of you earlier today. I don't have anything more to say."

DNA of Subject Analyzed, Male, 34

Devola stepped forward. "We understand that you may have been in a difficult situation when you sold your daughter," she said gently. "We're not here to judge you. We just want to know if you have any information that could help us find her."

"Wait, Lucan maybe they could-" A woman chimed from the back.

The man hesitated for a moment, before finally speaking "Please, just leave I have nothing to tell you."

With that comment he seemed not to budge at all. Popola was prepared to offer some words of comfort, but the man simply shook his head and closed the door. It felt like the only good thing about this interaction was it provided her with enough data to isolate and remove his dna from the search for those involved. Well also storing it to help search for the girl based on her fathers DNA.

Devola seemed crushed by the father's unwillingness to share anything. She turned to Popola, her eyes filled with sadness. "I just don't understand," she said. "How could a parent sell their child like that? And then refuse to even help find them?"

Popola nodded sadly. "It's unfortunate that he wasn't willing to share any information, but at least we were able to get his DNA analysis and remove him from the isolated strains," she said, trying to look on the bright side.

Popola put a comforting hand on Devola's shoulder. "I know it's hard to understand, but we have to keep pushing forward," she said. "We'll find her, Devola. We won't give up."

Along the way Popola noticed something else, as they traversed the streets bordering flea bottom she caught glimpses, of the pipe system that was coming off the street of silk. It was a fair bit away, but she wondered. If the existing structure was there… Could it be put to use. With the correct metal and pipework, they could link it up with flea bottom. Seeing the sadness that was still present on her sister's face, she thought it might be good to get her mind off the situation.

As they walked, Popola said, "You know, Devola, I was thinking. The pipe system coming off the Street of Silk could potentially be used to help bring clean water to Flea Bottom, and flush out the dirty water. With some modifications, it could be a great solution to the water shortage and general filth problem."

Her sister's expression changed slightly as she considered the idea. "That's a really good point, Popola. We should definitely look into it."

As they continued down the street, Popola's sharp senses picked up on a faint sound in the distance. It was a subtle rustling, like footsteps. She glanced around but didn't see anyone nearby.

Devola hesitated before finally speaking up. "Actually, when I played on the Street of Silk earlier today, a woman named Alayaya proposed that I play at a brothel there. I thought given the area it could potentially pay quite well" she said, shrugging.

Popola furrowed her brow in concern. "Devola, I don't think it's a good idea for you to play at a brothel," she said hesitantly. "It's not safe and it goes against our programming as androids to engage in such activities."

"I won't be getting involved in anything like that, just playing at the brothel. If there's any confusion about that. I can certainly address it. I understand your concern, Popola, but I think it's worth considering. And with the idea you just proposed, if things go well, I could bring it up with someone who could potentially make it happen, or at the very least give us some information."

Popola's felt a familiar worry began to increase tenfold. "Devola, I don't know if that's a good idea. It's not safe, and you shouldn't have to resort to that kind of work just to make ends meet."

Her sister's face went into a soft smile. "I'm even more on board with the idea now. We could use the extra money, and if we're careful and smart about it, it could be a good opportunity for us."

"I just don't kno-" Suddenly the footsteps were heard again.

Devola's eyes widened as she turned her head in the direction of the sound. "Do you hear that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Popola immediately grew alert, looking around for any sign of danger. "What is it?" she asked.

Devola shook her head. "I'm not sure," she replied, her hand going up into a guarded positon. Then the footsteps were heard again, this time with a scraping noise against a different surface. Popola's gaze shifted towards the direction of the noise, which was coming from an empty and narrow street. Despite her keen eyesight, she saw nothing, and the footsteps abruptly vanished into thin air. However, her attention was soon drawn to the rooftops, where a tiny figure darted across. She focused on the figure prompting a more indepth scan to begin.

!!DANGER!! Unknown energy particle detected. Seeming to cause interference with biological scanner functions. Scan Inconclusive. Based on scan the unknown human life form is 74.6798% female, and 34.9809284782% male. Scan also indicates target is 89.0897% 37 years of age, but 15.8998% 12 years of age. All values marked as undefined due to impossible inputs. Suggestion try again when unknown particles are not present.

Popola's hand trembled as she looked farther at the scan data in disbelief. "This reading... it's unlike anything I've ever seen," she murmured to herself. Devola looked over at her sister, concern etched on her face. "What is it?" she asked, stepping closer.

"I don't know," Popola replied, her brow furrowed in confusion. "It's like... it's almost like there's a gap in the readings, like something is interfering with the signal." Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of the anomaly. Was it related to what had happened to Leerah? Could it be some sort of technology used by whoever was responsible for her disappearance?

Devola gave a determined smile. "We'll figure it out," she said firmly. "We always do." But despite her words, a sense of unease settled over them both as they continued on their mission to find the missing child.

A.N. This chapter got to be very long I felt it'd be more fitting to have it end here given what I have planned for the next chapter. . Originally was gonna go right into a Devola POV next chapter. Though unless I rework things a bit I probably will be posting another Popola POV. Also just quick mention despite how things may seem, the whole unknown particle situation, isn't exactly connected to Leerah.

I was wondering what everyone thought of Lommy I understand he is not in the canon for long but is my portrayal of him in character or OOC?

Finally was wondering in general if theres any aspects of the story you would like to see more or less of. I can not promise I will always abide by this if its important to my overall plot plans, but its something I definitely want some input on and will actively try to incorporate and take reader feedback in mind. I want this story to be something truly enjoyable. There will be things I can't budge much on but theres plenty of things that could easily be considered without much hassle as well.

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter any suggestions are appreciated.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 14, 2023

POPOLA IV

The sun began its descent, casting a warm orange glow across the streets of King's Landing. Devola and Popola found themselves standing on a quiet corner along the narrow path to flea bottom gazing up at the sky as the colors of the sunset painted a breathtaking scene.

"It's an odd but beautiful sight," Popola remarked, her voice filled with a long lost nostalgia. Devola nodded in agreement, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

In that tranquil moment, a memory flickered in her mind, taking her back to a distant past. The memory of a their last sunset, back when they were still on Earth.The memory was bittersweet, reminding them of the world they had lost, but also of the beauty that had once surrounded them.

She recalled standing on a hill with Devola, hand in hand, as the sun dipped below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with hues of orange and pink. The sight had taken their breath away, filling their hearts with a sense of awe and tranquility. A cherished recollection, a reminder of the simple joys that life had once offered.

As the colors of the present sunset deepened, Devola's gaze turned thoughtful. "Sometimes, I wonder if we'll ever experience a sunset like that again," she said softly, her voice tinged with a hint of longing.

Popola glanced at her sister, a wetness seemed to border her eyes. "I think about that too," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of longing and determination. "But no matter what world we find ourselves in, we'll always carry the memory of those sunsets with us. They'll forever be a part of who we are."

The sisters stood in comfortable silence, their thoughts and emotions intermingling with the fading light of the day. Though the mystery of the missing girl and the strange presence that had followed them earlier lingered in the back of her mind, it was temporarily forgotten amidst the beauty of the sunset if only for a moment.

But as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, casting the world into twilight, their attention shifted back to the task at hand. She knew they couldn't dwell in the past forever. They had a mission to fulfill, a girl to find, and a truth to unravel. There was a certain peace in this moment though.

With a shared understanding, they both turned away from the setting sun, their resolve strengthening. They would face whatever challenges lay ahead, guided by their memories, their bond as sisters, and the hope that still burned within them.

As darkness descended upon the city, they decided set off once again, determined to uncover the secrets that shrouded King's Landing and find the missing girl who had become their purpose.

With the sun gone from the horizon again, and the memories of a sun back in a time when project gestalt seemed like a more attainable goal. Popola began walking with a renewed purpose around flea bottom, this time diverting much of her processing power to dna scanning, Hoping to come across a match to the coin, she also tasked her scanner with analyzing the small reading it got on the particle and to search for that. It did obtain enough data to tell it was an unknown particle not in her system so it had to have gained some ability to sense it again if need be.

She couldn't bear the thought of anyone, especially innocent souls like the girl who had been sold, suffering the consequences of a potential catastrophe. The devastation inflicted upon her own world by White Chlorination Syndrome still haunted her, serving as a constant reminder of the importance of prevention and preparedness.

Understanding the nature and origins of this particle could hold the key to safeguarding not just a single girl, but potentially the entire world of course there is the possibility it was unrelated. Though she did not wish to take such a risk. She had already ventured into the depths of the city, defying the unknown, all for the sake of one child. In her mind, exploring the mysteries of the particle was an extension of that noble pursuit.

The peculiar abilities demonstrated by the individual who possessed the mysterious particle only deepened her concern. It raised questions about the potential implications and risks involved to any humans that may be brought into this.

Popola firmly believed that by comprehending the properties and origins of the particle, she could contribute to building a safer and more harmonious world. In her eyes, diving into the realm of the unknown for the sake of the entire world was a natural extension of project gestalt. Perhaps the world they wished to see could be accomplished here.

Unfortunately despite combing the streets of flea bottom and the street of flour she still seemed unable to find signs of either the unknown, or the dna she wished so desperately would appear in her readings somewhere.

As Popola approached their humble dwelling in Flea Bottom, she found Devola waiting for her inside before hopes could rise Popola softly shook her head. The weariness etched on Devola's face spoke volumes of her concern and the weight of their recent discoveries. Popola took a seat beside her sister, ready to listen and share her own thoughts.

"It couldn't be a mere coincidence," Devola began, her voice filled with a mix of determination and worry. "The presence of someone possessing this unknown particle in the vicinity of Leerah's family—it has to be connected."

Popola nodded, her brows furrowing in deep thought. "You're right. Given the circumstances, it's hard to believe it's unrelated. But we must also remember that the city is vast, and countless individuals inhabit it," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of caution. "You, more than anyone, know the breadth and diversity of this place, with your frequent visits to different taverns."

Devola's eyes met Popola's, a certain shine within them. "I do understand that, but even so, the potential connection is too significant to ignore," Devola said, her voice growing stronger. "We need to investigate this unknown particle, Popola. You understand why, don't you?"

A mixture of worry and determination crossed Popola's features. "Of course," she replied softly, her gaze fixed on Devola. "The potential implications and risks that could be tied to this particle... we cannot afford to overlook them. We've witnessed firsthand the devastating consequences of the unknown, the nightmares it can bring."

Devola's voice quivered slightly as she continued, her concern palpable. "I don't want anything like what happened... to our world, to happen here. We must do everything in our power to prevent such a tragedy from unfolding again."

Popola reached out, her hand finding Devola's, their fingers intertwining in a display of solidarity and shared resolve. "We will, Devola. Together, we will explore the unknown, and safeguard those who still stand in this new fragile world," Popola said, her voice filled with determination.

Their eyes locked for a moment, their gazes speaking volumes of their shared commitment, concern, and care. The weight of their task hung in the air, palpable and demanding.

"I intend to search the wider city once morning comes," Popola stated matter-of-factly, her tone resolute. "With more people out and about, the chances of finding a lead for the girl and the unknown particle are higher."

Devola raised her head, curiosity evident in her eyes. "You have an idea?" she inquired, leaning forward slightly.

Popola nodded, a glimmer of anticipation dancing in her eyes. "Yes, I'll be checking up on the wires tomorrow," she began, her voice steady. "It's as good a time as any its been over a week since I hired the blacksmith, and it will allow me to scan a wider range of people. But once I have them there may be a way we can do a broader scan."

Devola's eyebrows furrowed, intrigued by the possibility. "Ah, we haven't had to do that since..." she trailed off, her voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and uncertainty.

Popola nodded, understanding the weight of their past experiences. "Yes, that's true. Though this continent is much larger, even a broader scan can only cover so much," she admitted, a touch of realism in her tone. "But even still it could still be of great help In understanding more about what is happening here."

Devola's gaze held a glimmer of hope. "Can it help us search for the girl?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

Popola took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering. "Well, if the unknown particle plays a part in her disappearance, then yes, it could potentially lead us to her," she explained, her voice filled with cautious optimism. "However, it's important to note that the scanner's ability to analyze specific DNA is limited. Its analysis of the unknown particle is more general, allowing it to identify structures similar to what it has detected. So while it can provide broader information, pinpointing a specific individual solely through DNA remains challenging."

The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of their new mission settled upon them. Popola leaning slightly forward, her eyes filled with determination, while Devola mirrored her sister's resolve, her posture attentive and her expression focused. They understood the limitations and complexities of their task.

Popola decided to head out early after the sun just began to peak past the horizon again, each step upon the tone echoing a certain purpose. Her destination was the blacksmith's shop, where she had commissioned the creation of the wires she needed. As she got closer to the street of steel, the familiar scent of heated metal and the rhythmic clang of hammers filled the air.

Tobho Mott, a rugged man with a bearded face, glanced up from his work, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized her. He greeted her with a nod of recognition. "Ah, Popola! Your wires are ready. Just give me a moment," he said, wiping his brow with a soot-stained cloth. He disappeared into the depths of the workshop, returning shortly with a bundle of finely crafted copper wires.

Seeing them in the flesh caused a joy to go through her, it made her realize how muted she felt emotionally since last nights events. But the fact these wires were here made her happy, as finally she can help her sister again, and if they are able to they could combine their processing powers to aid more in the search, with Devola's observer powers up and running again it's sure to be an easier time searching for both the girl and the unknown particle

Suddenly the young apprentice boy spoke up, she recalled his name being Gendry.

"Back so soon?" Gendry asked, his tone tinged with curiosity. "May I ask where you acquired the knowledge to request these specific wires?"

Popola's gaze shifted to the young apprentice boy, Gendry, as he posed his question. She could see the spark of genuine curiosity in his eyes, an eagerness to learn and understand.

Her lips curved into a soft smile as she considered her response. "Knowledge can come from many sources," she replied, her voice filled with mystery "Over time, I've gathered information from various places, diverse teachings, and encounters. It's a culmination of experiences that has shaped my understanding of blacksmithing and its intricacies."

Gendry's surprise was evident as he leaned forward, his eyes widening. "Forgive me, but it's just... I've never met a woman with much if any knowledge in blacksmithing," he admitted.

Popola's smile widened, understanding the societal norms that had shaped Gendry's perception. "I understand your surprise, Gendry," she said, her voice calm and composed. "But the world is full of hidden talents and untold stories. I seek knowledge in all areas of life as I think it best to be knowledgeable to be prepared."

Popola purposefully kept things vaugue but at the time time she felt her words came from the heart. She had a great love for many human hobbies, and this world provided her with the need to understand even more.

"That's... truly remarkable," he murmured, his tone conveying a level of respect.

Tobho Mott, who had been observing the conversation with a keen eye, chimed in, his tone gruff yet accepting as he held out the copper wiring. "She speaks the truth, Gendry. The craft doesn't discriminate; it welcomes those with the fire in their hearts and the will to learn."

Popola accepted the bundle of bronze wires from Tobho Mott, feeling his gaze fixed upon her expectantly. As she prepared to express her gratitude, Tobho's eyes narrowed, a hint of skepticism evident in his expression.

"Before you depart, Popola, there's something I've been curious about," Tobho Mott began, his voice carrying a touch of suspicion. "With the vast array of teachers and mentors you've encountered on your journey, how would you describe the most influential one in shaping your understanding of blacksmithing?"

Popola felt alarm bells ring, realizing Tobho Mott's skepticism. She chose her words carefully, opting for a more guarded response. "Each teacher I've encountered has offered a unique perspective and contributed something new to my understanding of blacksmithing," she replied, her tone measured. "It's the accumulation of those diverse teachings that has broadened my knowledge and allowed me to grow. I could not in good conscience say one rules over the other. All humans have something great to offer to this world."

Tobho Mott's skepticism lingered, his gaze piercing through her guarded response. He seemed poised to press for further details, but ultimately, he withheld his inquiry. Perhaps he recognized that some things were best left unsaid.

A moment of silence hung between them, filled with the weight of Popola's undisclosed experiences. Tobho Mott's scrutiny softened, his expression morphing into one of understanding.

"I see," Tobho Mott acknowledged, his voice containing a trace of respect. "Hmm, The path of a blacksmith is paved with countless lessons, each offering its own value. It is through the fusion of these teachings that true mastery is achieved."

Popola nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. She had managed to navigate Tobho Mott's scrutiny without revealing too much. "Indeed, Tobho Mott," she agreed, her voice carried on. "Every encounter, no matter how small or inconspicuous, has contributed to my growth."

Tobho Mott's gaze lingered on Popola for a moment longer before he nodded in acknowledgment. "Continue on your journey, Popola," he said, his voice gruff yet tinged with a hint of admiration. "May the wisdom of your varied teachings guide your path."

As Popola turned around, she was taken aback when a man suddenly addressed her as Devola. "Devola!" he exclaimed, mistaking her for her sister.

Popola's keen observation and sharp memory kicked into gear as she took a moment to discern the man's identity. His regal attire, the air of authority he exuded, and the distinct features she recalled from her sister's description all fell into place. And then it hit her—this was Jon Arryn, the esteemed Lord Arryn and Hand of the King.

Her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and recognition. She had heard Devola speak of him, recounting the events of that eventful night when she had found herself in the situation outside the tavern. Devola had described a man of honor and integrity, someone who had come to her aid and offered his assistance without hesitation. The significance of this encounter sank in as she realized that she was now face-to-face with the very man her sister had spoken highly of. Despite his age and the wear on his body he was willing to aid a stranger on the street.

Popola's surprise transformed into a deep sense of gratitude. She understood the importance of Jon Arryn's position as Hand of the King, knowing that it came with great responsibility and influence. It was no small feat for Devola to have garnered his attention and received his aid. The fact that he had taken the time to assist her, a stranger in a foreign city, spoke volumes about his character. She did wish the king and his company would do more for the people of flea bottom but perhaps those in the castle did not have the knowledge of what was going on.

In that moment, Popola felt a profound appreciation for the kindness and compassion Jon Arryn had shown her sister. It reinforced her belief in the goodness that could be found even in the midst of a complex and often harsh world like King's Landing. Perhaps he would be willing to aid in helping flea bottom, maybe even in the search for Leerah, though she was reluctant to involve humans if anyone could help them find the girl it would be a man in a powerful position as he.

"Actually, I am Popola," she corrected him politely, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Devola is my twin sister."

Jon Arryn's expression shifted from surprise to genuine interest. "Ah, my apologies for the confusion," he replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Popola. How are you and your sister faring?"

Popola nodded, appreciating Jon Arryn's interest in their well-being. She took a moment to think on how best to provide an update on their current endeavors.

"Thank you for asking, Lord Arryn," she began. "Devola has been performing at various taverns around the city, sharing her beautiful voice and bringing joy to those who listen. It has been quite a journey for her, and she has gained quite a following."

Lord Arryn listened attentively to Popola's description of Devola's endeavors, his curiosity piqued by the mention of her performances. When she finished speaking, he nodded thoughtfully.

"Ah, I must admit I have heard whispers of Devola's performances reaching the ears of the city's residents," Lord Arryn remarked "Her talent and the joy she brings to others through her music have not gone unnoticed. It seems she has found her calling amidst the vibrant tavern scene of King's Landing."

"As for myself," Popola continued, her voice carrying a sense of determination ready to bring up flea bottom to the Hand. "I have been working diligently in Flea Bottom, striving to make a positive impact. I've been teaching the children how to read and providing them with basic education, as well as working to prepare and improve the buildings and quality of life. It's a small step, but I believe it could change and help a lot."

She noticed Jon Arryn's discomfort when she mentioned Flea Bottom, his unease evident in his subtle gestures. Understanding the reputation and the struggles that plagued the area, Popola empathized with his hesitation. However, she also knew that true change required confronting the realities and directly engaging with the communities that needed support the most.

"I would be honored if you were to visit Flea Bottom, Lord Arryn," she replied, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "It's true that the area faces many challenges, but I believe that by showing compassion and investing in the potential of its residents, we can start to create a better future. Your presence would mean a great deal, and I'm confident that it could inspire others to join our cause."

Popola understood that Jon Arryn's discomfort might not easily fade away, but she remained resolute in her commitment to fostering positive change beneficial to humans in this world. She hoped that by inviting him to witness the impact firsthand, he might see the resilience and strength of the people in Flea Bottom and recognize the potential for transformation that lay within the community.

As Popola finished speaking, she noticed Jon Arryn's gaze shift away from her, his attention fixed on someone behind her. Out of curiosity and concern something troubled him, she turned her head to see that he was looking directly at Gendry, who appears to have been observing their conversation with interest.

Caught off guard, Jon Arryn quickly regained composure, his eyes meeting Popola's once again. His demeanor remained as he responded, "Indeed, I have plans to venture near those parts of the city soon. And when I do, perhaps I will make it a point to visit Flea Bottom and see firsthand the remarkable work you are doing."

Popola couldn't help but notice a faint hint of discomfort that still lingered in Jon Arryn's expression, but she chose not to dwell on it. Instead, she acknowledged his words with a nod and a warm smile. Hoping that he would visit and perhaps develop a new perspective on the manner.

"We would be honored to have you, Lord Arryn," she replied as graciously as she could manage. It was quite odd bowing to humans even if there was an element of that in the past it seemed so far removed now it was odd. "Your support would undoubtedly bring hope and needed improvement to the people of Flea Bottom. I'm certain that your visit would make a difference, and it would give us an opportunity to showcase the positive changes that are taking place. It is a shame how neglected it was all these years."

She could sense that Jon Arryn's interest in Flea Bottom might be accompanied by something more and he still seemed somewhat putoff. Nevertheless, Popola remained hopeful that his willingness to engage with the community, even with reservations and broader interests could lead to a greater understanding and needed help in her goals to help the humans of flea bottom.

With a renewed sense of determination, she expressed her gratitude once more. "Thank you for considering a visit, Lord Arryn. Your support means a great…" !!ALERT!! DNA MATCH FOUND Most prominent match Identified thought data dictates DNA belonging to human known as Jon Arryn, Proceeding with deeper analysis

Popola's eyes widened with disbelief and shock as the scan revealed Jon Arryn as a match to the mysterious coin. Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the image of the man who had saved her sister from a potentially dangerous situation with the possibility of his involvement or proximity to the sale of a child. Conflicting thoughts swirled in her mind, each one vying for attention as she struggled to make sense of the revelation.

"What?" Popola blurted out, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and confusion. Her initial reaction was one of disbelief, as if the scan results must be some sort of error or misunderstanding. She knew that appearances could be deceiving, and yet the evidence before her eyes was undeniable.

As her mind raced to find a logical explanation, she tried to temper her thoughts, reminding herself that Jon Arryn's involvement might not be direct. Perhaps he had stumbled upon some information or had unwittingly become entangled in a situation beyond his knowledge. Still, the connection between his presence and the missing girl Leerah was too significant to ignore.

Her brow furrowed as she pondered the possible scenarios and implications. Was Jon Arryn aware of the circumstances surrounding Leerah's disappearance? Could he provide vital information that would help unravel the mystery? Or was he merely an unwitting pawn in a much larger scheme?

"Popola are you alright?" Lord Arryn Inquired concern seeming genuine.

"..." For a moment she debated, on asking the question most present on her mind. After a needed breath, Popola resolved to approach the situation with caution and discernment. She would need to gather more information, perhaps discreetly, to better understand the nature of Jon Arryn's involvement, if any. It was crucial to separate fact from speculation and to remain true to her purpose of safeguarding the innocent.

As the weight of this revelation settled upon her, Popola silently vowed to uncover the truth, for the sake of Leerah and all those who could be at risk.

"Thank you for your aid to Devola, when we first arrived in King's Landing," she expressed sincerely. "Your intervention was greatly appreciated."

Jon Arryn waved off her thanks with a humble gesture. "Think nothing of it, Popola," he replied warmly. "It was simply the duty of any honorable man to come to the aid of someone in need."

Lord Arryn's response held a genuine weight and respect to them.

"I must say, your kindness had left a lasting impression on both Devola and me," Popola confessed truthfully "We are truly grateful for your assistance. I wish you a good day." She began to step away from Jon Arryn and Tobho Motts forge as she expressed the final words.

Jon Arryn cleared his throat. "Please extend my congratulations to Devola for her accomplishments. I hope her journey continues to be filled with success and fulfillment."

"Yes of course…" Popola weakly replied.

A.N. Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. Next chapter will be going back to Devola.
Edit: Added mild edit mentioning its been over a week since Popola hired Tobho.

Edit: I have edited the chapter a fair bit 5/25/23.

edit: I have edited the chapter even more 6/12/23

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 14, 2023

Devola III

Devola stood in the small kitchen of the orphanage. The scent of spices, flour, and crackers filled the air as she and Hot Pie prepared a Westerosi equivalent of mock apple pie Popola came up with. Devola had convinced Septa Yoelith to allow them to use the kitchen. 'Convinced' perhaps was putting things too strongly. The Septa was pretty amiable from the start, hoping to bring a moment of joy into the children's day.

As they worked side by side, Devola could sense the anticipation building within Hot Pie. He found solace and joy in the act of cooking, it's something that's been fairly evident since their first few days in the city and today was no different. Hot pie held an immense focus as they cooked, complimented by the clinking of wood utensils and the occasional burst of laughter.

However, as the pie sat out to cool, Hot Pie's mood seemed to darken. A somber expression settled upon his face, and Devola could see the weight of a painful memory weighing heavily on him. Sensing his distress, she gently placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"What's troubling you, Hot Pie?" Devola asked softly, trying her best to not scare the young boy away from speaking.

Hot Pie sighed, his eyes damp with the start of tears. "I was just remembering cooking with my mother," he began, his voice quivering. "She taught me everything. We used to make pies together kind of like this, and she would tell me stories about my father and the customers who would frequent our bakery. But now..."

His words hung heavy in the air, and Hot Pie's tears began to flow freely. Devola pulled him into a gentle embrace, allowing him a moment to release his grief.

"Loss is indeed difficult, Hot Pie," Devola said, her voice filled with compassion. "It leaves an emptiness that can never truly be filled. But your passion for baking, the joy you bring to others with your creations, in a way is a beautiful tribute to your mother. She would be proud of you, I think. And those memories you hold of her, will always be there."

Hot Pie sniffled, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "You really think so?"

Devola nodded, her tone resolute. "I know so. The love and care you pour into your baking is a testament to the bond you shared with your mother. And in that way, she lives on through you. The loss of those who brought us into this world is no doubt one of the hardest losses to deal with, but all we can do is hope we are doing right by them and do our best to remember the good moments. As for this pie we've made, it will be thoroughly enjoyed I'm certain. The children will savor every bite."

Hot Pie offered a faint smile, a hope rekindled in his eyes. "Thank you, Devola. I needed to hear that."

The aroma of freshly baked pies wafted through the air as Devola and Hot Pie emerged from the small kitchen, carrying trays laden with the delectable treats. The children of the orphanage gathered around, their eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. The sight brought a warm smile to Devola's lips, knowing that this simple gesture would bring them a moment of joy.

Septa Yoelith, the caretaker of the orphanage, stood nearby her eyes filled with gratitude and awe. "Oh, this is a rare treat indeed," she exclaimed, her voice displaying appreciation. "Thank you, Devola and Hot Pie, for bringing such sweetness to these children."

Devola and the septa began to distribute slices of the pie to each child, their faces lighting up with delight as they took their first bite. The flavors no doubt dancing on their tongues, filling the room with a chorus of satisfied murmurs and happy munching.

As Devola watched the children savoring the pie, a sense of contentment washed over her. Seeing their joy and satisfaction was a reward in itself. It was in this moment of shared happiness that Popola quietly entered the orphanage, walking to Devola's right side. She glanced at the scene before them, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"The pies seemed to have turned out wonderfully," Popola whispered, her voice filled with pride. "They must be enjoying every bite."

Devola nodded, her eyes still fixed on the children. "Yes, they seem to love it, it was important to hot pie as well" she replied softly.

Popola then leaned closer to Devola, her voice barely a whisper. "The copper wires are ready," she said. "I'd like to perform the diagnostic as soon as possible."

Devola's gaze went to Popola. She nodded, understanding the importance of the task ahead. But before they left, she took one last glance at the children, bidding a heartfelt goodbye to Septa Yoelith, who still seemed overjoyed.

Together, Devola and Popola walked out of the orphanage, heading back to their home. Recollection of the children's smiles and the taste of the pie lingered in her mind.

Popola and Devola entered their private quarters, Devola took a deep breath, her heart pounding with excitement, knowing that this was a crucial step towards restoring her observer capabilities.

Popola meticulously laid out the necessary tools on a clean surface, her hands steady and precise. She picked up the four copper wires she had acquired, their shimmering surface reflecting the faint light in the room. These wires held the potential to fix or at least improve her technical issues, a gateway to her observer functions.

"Are you ready, Devola?" Popola asked softly, her voice a calming presence amidst the nervous energy.

Devola nodded eagerly, determined to start utilizing her abilities as soon as she was able to. "Yes, Popola. I'm ready," she replied, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

Popola approached Devola, her gaze focused. With utmost care, she began the process, scanning Devola's neck for the precise location to insert the wires. Her fingertips glowed with a faint pulse of maso energy, a touch of the otherworldly power harnessed for this purpose. With a swift and precise motion, she delicately opened the skin, creating small incisions where the wires would be inserted.

Devola's eyes widened slightly at the sensation, a mild pain and apprehension coursing through her veins. She trusted Popola implicitly, knowing that this was necessary to unlock her dormant abilities.

One by one, Popola carefully placed the copper wires into the incisions, ensuring they were secure and connected to the vital points within Devola's neck. The faint glow of maso energy enveloped the wires, seamlessly integrating them into Devola's being.

Popola, with her expertise in diagnostics, initiates the process by connecting to Devola's system. Devola quickly receiving a query asking if she allowed the sync, she confirmed. Allowing Popola to delve into the depths of Devola's programming. As the diagnostic commences, Devola's vision is immediately affected, flickering with distortions that blend the boundary between reality and code. Hexadecimal and binary characters scrolled before Devola's eyes. Amidst the chaotic display, a dark recollection emerged—the image of salt cascading between towering skyscrapers. The sight triggered an unsettling thought, cryptic symbols and fragmented memories frantically appearing.

Distressed by the disorienting experience, Devola turned to Popola, her voice filled with unease. "Popola, what's happening to me? These memory flashes and the code in my vision... Is this normal during the diagnostic? How long will it last?" Her voice quivered with unease. The unfamiliarity of the situation leaving her anxious, yearning for reassurance and answers.

Popola, ever the kind sister, acknowledged Devola's distress with a calm demeanor. She reached out a hand, gently placing it on Devola's arm. "Devola, I'm so sorry I understand how troubling this must be for you. The appearance of these memories and code is an unintended consequence of the less sophisticated wire route we're using for the diagnostic process. It's like peering into the inner workings of your programming, traversing the intricate pathways of your system from your hard drive, to your processor to your core. It's temporary, I assure you. The strange manifestations will fade as we progress further."

Devola sighed, finding some solace in Popola's comforting words. "I hope you're right, Popola. It's just... unsettling to witness fragments of memories and see these cryptic symbols. It's as if there's a hidden language I'm struggling to comprehend. What could it mean?"

Popola's spoke softly, "Sometimes, our inner workings hold mysteries even we, as androids, struggle to decipher. Our memories and experiences are complex, and they can intertwine in ways that defy logic. The memories you're seeing could hold a deeper significance, but it's not something we can fully grasp at the moment. Right now, our priority is to assess and repair the malfunction."

The diagnostic continued, and Popola tirelessly sifted through lines of code, meticulously examining intricate circuits within Devola's system. Time seemed to blur as minutes turned into hours.

As the moments stretched on, Devola couldn't help but express her growing frustration. "Popola, it feels like we've been at this for ages. Is there any progress? Are we any closer to finding a solution?"

Popola's paused for a moment, a pause that only made her feel more unsettled. "I won't lie to you. This is a complex issue, and the malfunctions in your Observer functions are more extensive than either of us initially anticipated. I've been searching tirelessly, examining every possibility, but..." Popola's voice trailed off, her reluctance evident.

Devola's heart sank as she caught the weight of Popola's unspoken words. She knew what was coming, and it filled her with a deep sense of helplessness. "Tell me, Popola. What's the verdict? Are my Observer functions beyond repair?"

Popola's gaze met Devola's, her voice holding regret. "I'm afraid so, Devola. The damage is extensive, and attempting to salvage the functions could lead to further corruption and complications down the line. I will have to close them off for now, It's a risk we can't afford to take."

Tears welled up in Devola's eyes as she contemplated what she lost. A sense of inadequacy and worthlessness reverberated through her, a crucial part of her identity had been stripped away. It was the hope she had, that she and Popola would be able to accomplish so much together both fully functional. How could she be of any use in the investigation into the missing girl if she couldn't fulfill her observer role? What even was the point?

Popola, sensing Devola's distress approached her slowly, "Devola," she began, voice filled with warmth. "Even without your observer functions, you offer so much to this world, to me, and to the people of Flea Bottom. You have a remarkable social intelligence, an understanding of people and their emotions that surpasses my own. You can connect with them on a level that I could only dream of."

As Popola spoke, Devola's tears began to subside, her attention drawn to her sister's comforting words. She listened intently, realizing that Popola saw her in a light that she hadn't fully recognized herself.

"I've always admired your musical talents, Devola," Popola continued, her voice filled with admiration. "When we sang together, you brought something to the songs that I could never replicate. You evoke emotions and touch people's hearts, a gift that goes beyond any mechanical function or program."

Devola's gaze met Popola's, hope and self-acceptance shining through her sister's eyes as it often did. Of course she understood there was more to her than mere data collection and analysis.

She nodded, a faint smile forming on her lips. She appreciated her sister's kind sentiments and recognized the truth in them. Despite that she was unable to shake the feeling that what was lost was irreplaceable.

Could she truly understand and connect with people in the same profound way without her observer functions? Were her social intelligence and musical talents enough to compensate for this significant loss? How much did her Observer Functions contribute to that intelligence? These thoughts gnawed at her.

Popola, reached out and gently brought her into a quiet hug "Devola, I know it's hard," she said softly "Losing your observer functions feels like a tremendous setback. But remember, you've always had a remarkable capacity for understanding and compassion. It's a part of who you are, independent of any technology."

Devola's eyes met Popola's, "But Popola," she replied, her voice muffled, "my observer functions were more than just a tool. They allowed me to perceive nuances, to analyze emotions, and gain insights that went beyond what I could naturally grasp. They were like a bridge that connected me to the depth of human experiences."

Popola nodded, acknowledging Devola's words. She understood the unique perspective her sister had gained through the observer functions.

.

"You're right, Devola," Popola responded gently. "The observer functions enhanced your understanding, but they were never the sole source of your empathy and connection. They were a tool, but you yourself are what truly allowed you to touch lives and make a difference. You still possess that ability, even without the technology. It was always you."

Devola sighed, knowing her sister spoke the truth, and she wanted to believe it wholeheartedly. Yet, a part of her still clung to the void left within her.

Popola awkwardly was playing with her hair, Devola sensed that Popola still had more to say. "Devola, I did not mention this before and I should have, I may have found something significant regarding Leerah's disappearance. While cross-referencing the coins we found, I managed to get a match. They belonged to Jon Arryn."

If she had a heart she felt it would've skipped a beat there. Jon Arryn, the man she barely knew but who had come to her aid that fateful night. A weight discomfort and disbelief settled over her, struggling to reconcile the image of the helpful stranger with the possibility of his darker involvement. It was a shocking realization to consider he could've had potential involvement in Leerah's disappearance.

Taking a deep breath, Devola reminded herself that humans were complex, capable of both good and ill. She couldn't allow herself to be clouded by preconceptions or assumptions. If there was any chance of uncovering the truth and finding Barra's sister, she needed to remain objective.

A frustration about her malfunctions washed over her again, longing to utilize her observer functions to help locate the girl, understand The Hand of the King's involvement and thats before even considering the other potential can of worms, they faced the past day. The weight of her promise to Barra and herself grew heavier, and the goal of finding Leerah seemed increasingly distant and unrealistic.

Lost in her thoughts, Devola told Popola she would be leaving ensuring her she would be alright. She began to walk away from their abode, footsteps carrying her aimlessly through the city. The world around her faded into the background as she grappled with her thoughts.

As Devola continued her arduous journey through the bustling streets of the city, her senses relatively attuned to the ebb and flow of life around her by now, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Her gaze fixed upon a man seeming to make his way towards her within the throng of people. He didn't stand out from the crowd with his light beard and a face smudged with dirt, a common enough sight amidst the grit and grime of Flea Bottom. Though it was his choice of attire that truly captured her attention.

Dressed in a helm and donning black chain mail, the man's appearance contrasted to the typical tattered clothing worn by many denizens of the lower districts. It was a garb more commonly associated with those who guarded the opulent businesses and establishments that dotted the more privileged areas of the city. Sentinels of more stable businesses in a sense.

She couldn't help but wonder about the man's purpose in this part of the city. Was he a visitor from the higher districts? Were they finally giving flea bottom additional protection?

She delved deep into her mental archive of faces, diligently flipping through the memories she had accumulated over countless weeks here. Faces of residents, passersby, business owners and patrons, all recalled through her memory in a rapid succession of images. But as each face appeared and vanished, none aligned with the man standing before her.

It was frustrating. Devola prided herself on her ability to observe and remember, to connect the dots that others might overlook. But each attempt to unearth a connection only led to dead ends, leaving her with a sense of frustration. If she had her observer function intact she could at the very least identify his age and other biological facts.

"If I wasn't broken this would be easy." She mumbled to herself.

Her social mind, normally so adept at deciphering the intentions of others, faltered in the face of this. Perhaps her sister's words were wrong…

Devola's eyes widened slightly as the man, seemingly oblivious to her lack of recognition, began to speak.

"Good day, esteemed Minstrel," he greeted with a polite nod, his voice resonating with a surprisingly melodic quality. "I come bearing an invitation from Alayaya of Chatayaya's brothel. She has expressed a great interest in your talents and would be honored if you would grace her establishment with a performance this very night."

Devola's curiosity intensified with the mention of the invitation. This was not what she expected from Alayaya, truthfully she was looking out for a woman of the brothel, or a man who would seem a fair bit more out of place here. Yet giving the man a once over. She approved of the women's discretion. The man didn't quite disappear into the backdrop, neither did he catch the gaze of passersby. Those dressed as him were not a common sight but common enough, to not catch too much attention. No doubt a man or woman dressed in the varied attire of the street of silk would be a different manner.

It made her wonder who this man could be, given his attire he could very well simply be a guard for one of the establishments along the street of silk, or any of the even slightly more well off districts.

A slight smile played on her lips as she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "I am honored by Alayaya's invitation. Performing at Chatayaya's brothel would be an excellent opportunity to showcase my talents. Please convey my gratitude to her and inform her that I graciously accept."

While Devola's response conveyed her eagerness to embrace the opportunity, a part of her remained guarded.

The man stilled for a moment regarding Devola with a thoughtful expression before posing his next question. "I've wondered, what compels you and your sister to care for this sorry corner of the city? What drives you to extend your compassion to those who dwell in such strife?"

Devola met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a deep sense of conviction. "Because they are humans, deserving of respect and care," she replied earnestly. "In this world of vast inequalities, it is our duty as fellow beings to uplift one another, to offer solace and support to those who need it the most."

She paused briefly, gathering her thoughts, before continuing. "For me, singing holds a certain power. It carries within it the echoes of memory, the ability to evoke emotions and bring joy. When I sing, it allows me to remember life itself, to connect with the essence of our shared humanity. While I can't speak for what it brings into the minds of others, if I can bring a moment of joy or peace to any one burdened, I believe I have accomplished something meaningful."

The man seemed intrigued by Devola's response. He followed up with a question "Do you believe that a ruler should possess a genuine understanding of the hardships faced by the common people before assuming the mantle of leadership?"

Devola pondered his unexpected inquiry, her brows furrowing slightly as she considered her response. "I cannot claim to fully comprehend the burdens borne by a king, for their experiences and responsibilities are far beyond my grasp," she admitted honestly. "However, the neglect and hardships endured by the residents of Flea Bottom and other districts are palpable and cannot be ignored. Perhaps an experienced ruler, one with a keen eye and empathetic heart, would be better equipped to address the needs and uplift the marginalized."

The man, a smile playing on his lips, expressed his thoughts. "You strike me as one of the finer bards I have encountered. Most are focused solely on pleasing the crowd, but your drive for singing seems ingrained in a broader outlook. It is a refreshing change in these times of turmoil."

Devola felt gratitude from his words, though the true significance behind them eluded her. "Thank you kindly for your words," she replied with genuine appreciation it was nice to hear praise after the day she has had.

With that, the conversation concluded. The man wished her well and departed, leaving Devola to contemplate the encounter.

With the invitation Devola decided to make her way back to their dwelling, she couldn't help but notice the small improvements in the surrounding area. The woodwork seemed more put together, and certain parts appeared cleaner than before. A smile formed as she realized the impact they had made, with the positive changes they had brought. Then her gaze fell upon the bones protruding from some men and women she passed by. It was a disturbing sight, a grim reminder of the prevalent issue of malnourishment and underfeeding that still plagued the district. The discomfort and sickly appearance struck her deeply.

Before heading home, Devola decided to make a brief detour to Meg's shop. As she neared, she noticed that Meg seemed less focused on her than usual, her hands anxiously gripping a knotted belt as she stared down at it with worry, perhaps longing? She wondered what could be troubling her, though given their complicated history she did not think it was the best time to inquire.

To her surprise, the transaction to purchase food from Meg today felt less passive-aggressive. The usual demands for more money were absent, and Devola was grateful that Meg had some bread available instead of just the usual bowl of brown. She bought a few bowls of food and additional bread, her mind already set on distributing them to those in most need.

As Devola walked back to their place, she approached the most destitute individuals she noticed, offering them the sustenance she had acquired. Some men seemed initially offended by the gesture, but they accepted the food nonetheless. They knew that this food, despite being less than ideal, could bring temporary relief, even if the larger issues remained.

Upon re-entering their home, Devola noticed her sister engrossed in sketching a new blueprint. As she took a closer look, she realized that the blueprint depicted the two of them. A guilt swept through her as she berated herself for not being able to salvage her observer functions, causing Popola to delve deeper into alternative methods for scanning. She couldn't help but feel responsible for the diversion of their focus from the city's problems. Delaying their analysis of the broader land.

Her frustration simmering, Devola thought to herself, Why couldn't my observer function just start working again?

Popola noticed Devola's presence and turned around, her expression reflecting embarrassment, undoubtedly wishing that Devola hadn't walked in at that particular moment. Before Popola could apologize, Devola quickly reassured her, "Don't worry about it."

"Popola, someone approached me and invited me to perform at the brothel I mentioned yesterday." Devola informed her.

Popola looked at her with a worried expression but nodded in understanding.

"And you said yes?" she asked cautiously.

Devola nodded in affirmation. "Yes, just as I said I would."

"Well, Devola, if you truly believe that it will help and it's something you want to do, I won't stand in your way," Popola replied, her concern evident. "But I won't deny that I'm still quite worried about it, especially now."

Devola met Popola's gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and muted sadness. "You closed off my observer functions to prevent further issues right?" Popola nodded,

"I hardly used them during our time in King's Landing. This doesn't really change a lot. I do wish they were functioning, but I can't sit here doing nothing, hoping for a miracle."

Popola's gaze softened, and she reached out to Devola, a reassuring touch. "I know you'll be fine, Devola. But that doesn't stop me from being worried."

Nodding in understanding, Devola replied. "If it makes you feel better, I'll give you a description of the brothel and its surroundings. That way, if it gets late and you're worried, you'll know where to find me," Devola offered, hoping to ease Popola's concerns. "But I truly believe everything will be fine."

Popola nodded appreciatively. "That would put my mind at ease. Please let me know how it goes later."

"Of course, Popola," Devola replied with a gentle smile. "There's something else I wanted to discuss. I noticed that despite our efforts, there are still many malnourished and underfed individuals in the district. I detoured and bought some food from Meg, but I know it's not enough. My lack of observer capabilities prevents me from identifying those in most need. I'll go out again and make sure to get more food, especially while you're away. But you should go out as well, I know I've been without my capabilities for awhile but the fact my own technical issues are getting in the way of me helping most effectively in another way is frustrating."

Popola's expression turned sympathetic, understanding Devola's frustration. "You're doing everything you can, Devola. I appreciate your determination. I'll do my best to address the issue while you're gone, but remember, your well-being is important too, be careful."

Devola nodded, appreciation filling her. "Thank you, Popola. I know you're always looking out for me. Speaking of which, while I'm performing on the street of silk, I'll keep an eye and ear out for any mention of Leerah or Jon Arryn." Popola seemed like she was about to raise protest. So she quickly added, " I won't pry, but if anything catches my attention, I'll let you know. I know our focus is on the well-being of the people here, but if there's any mention of anything supernatural or odd in nature, I'll keep that in mind too."

With that, Devola gently strummed her lute, a brief practice to her upcoming performance, as Popola continued with her blueprints.

Devola stepped into the bustling brothel, the soft glow of flickering candles casting a warm ambiance over the room. Her eyes darting across the dimly lit surroundings, taking in the intricate details of the establishment. Colorful banners adorned the walls, many displaying unique patterns. The vibrant hues and meticulous craftsmanship caught her attention, no double a strict sense of artistry and attention to detail going into the craft.

Comparing it to the tavern she had performed at last time, Devola couldn't help but notice that this brothel, though less eye-catching in its overall appearance, exuded an air of refinement. Smooth and polished woodwork adorned the furnishings, giving the place an elegant touch. The pristine condition of much of the establishment spoke volumes about the meticulous upkeep. While there were a few instances of worn wood and long-held stains, they were few and far between, mere blemishes in the strangely immaculate setting.

Devola marveled at the contrast between the brothel and the streets of Flea Bottom. Even a seemingly dirtier spot in the opulent Street of Silk was ten times cleaner than the cleanest places in the impoverished district.

Amidst the vibrant surroundings, Devola's attention was drawn to Alayaya, the woman greeted her with a warm smile no doubt expecting her. Alayaya's presence immediately put Devola more at ease, a familiar face was nice to see.

"Devola! I'm so glad you're here," Alayaya exclaimed, her voice carrying a muted excitement. "We've been looking forward to your performance. Follow me, I'll show you to your spot."

Devola nodded, a slight nervousness still lingering in her eyes, but Alayaya's reassuring smile melted away her worries. She followed Alayaya through the bustling brothel, the sounds of hushed conversations and muffled laughter creating a pleasant backdrop to their footsteps.

As they weaved through the crowd, Alayaya turned to Devola, her voice gentle and soothing. "You're going to do great, Devola. Many patrons here appreciate the beauty of foreign music, and I have no doubt that your performance will enchant many."

Devola felt a surge of confidence welling within her, buoyed by Alayaya's encouraging words. "Thank you, Alayaya. I'll do my best," she replied, her voice conveying gratitude.

Finally, Alayaya led Devola to a small stand nestled in a cozy corner of the establishment. The stand was adorned with a soft cloth, and a comfortable chair awaited her, positioned perfectly to give her an optimal view of the room and for her music to reach the eager listeners.

Devola couldn't help but be touched by the thoughtfulness of the arrangement. A genuine smile graced her face as she settled into the chair, feeling the supportive cushion beneath her. They no doubt have had other performers in this spot in the past.

"I made sure to find a spot that allows you to shine, both in sound and sight," Alayaya said, her eyes conveying familiarity. "This way, everyone will have the pleasure of experiencing your talent."

Devola's nerves were replaced by a sense of excitement as she surveyed the surroundings. The vibrant ambiance, the attentive listeners, and Alayaya's surprising support filled her with a newfound eagerness to perform. She took a moment to adjust her lute, her fingers caressing the strings with a newfound confidence.

"Thank you, Alayaya," Devola said sincerely. "I appreciate your kindness and the effort you've put into making me feel welcome. I feel I am ready to share my music with this audience."

Alayaya beamed, her warmth radiating through her words. "The pleasure is ours, Devola. Your music will no doubt attract more clientele. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know. Enjoy your performance!"

Taking a moment to survey the atmosphere, Devola's eyes swept across the room, observing the many patrons within the brothel. The women present were a spectrum of beauty, each wearing varying tiers of provocative attire. Some wore elegant gowns that hinted at their curves, while others flaunted their assets with more revealing outfits. Their presence emphasized the nature of the establishment, leaving little doubt as to its purpose.

Devola's gaze settled on one particular woman who caught her attention. With dark, flowing hair cascading halfway down her back, she moved with a natural grace, her hips swaying sensually with each step. Strong emerald eyes laughing as she guided a stumbling man deeper into the establishment, their intertwined hands conveying an unspoken promise. It was a sight that left little to the imagination, a reminder of the intimate experiences this place offered.

As Devola continued her observation, she couldn't help but appreciate the diversity of the patrons. Among them were men of different ages, some with silver strands peppering their hair, while others boasted youthful vigor with thick locks of black, brown and blonde. Their eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions — desire, curiosity, and perhaps even a touch of vulnerability.

The women, too, encompassed a range of appearances and backgrounds. Devola noticed a mix of races, from fair-skinned to those with rich, bronzed complexions. Some possessed slender figures that exuded elegance, while others showcased their voluptuousness with confidence. In a way It was a tapestry of humanity, woven together within the walls of the brothel.

Yet, despite the unique crowd and the intimate nature of the establishment, Devola found solace in the fact that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The patrons engaged in conversations, laughter, and flirtation, but there seemed to be an unspoken understanding of what was acceptable. No one appeared to be bothering anyone against their will. It was a testament to the professionalism of the establishment.

Devola's initial apprehension began to subside as she realized that this place, despite its reputation, was a haven where individuals sought connection and pleasure on their own terms.

Feeling a newfound sense of ease, Devola's focus shifted back to her own purpose in the brothel. She reminded herself that her role as a bard was not to watch others but to enchant the listeners with her music. With that in mind, she straightened her posture and took a deep breath, ready to immerse herself in her performance and share her musical gift with yet another audience before her.

With a gentle strum, a haunting melody resonated from the strings, filling the air. The first few notes reached the ears of those engrossed in their conversations and encounters. Slowly, heads turned, and eyes fixated on the source, a subtle transformation began.

Ier namhorie teneri
Yelschv fehrtsa lvfo parschu yastii
Kiischfur parhamirto hatsna
Ahsirie atselyatuya tahstetorman-yo
Mehriyetorfari
Alzhyamiyeoreifra
Martoreinyaromqompro sheiyoremno
Talnomproshvahsi

A couple locked in an embrace swayed with newfound tenderness. Where others seemed to slow in their, Erm… actions. Devola noticed a few men reaching into their pockets, pulling out silver coins. With a touch of astonishment, she watched as they placed the gleaming currency into a small bowl on the side of the stage. The shimmer of the silver caught her eye. Gratitude filled Devola's heart as a soft applause mingled with gentle clinking of coins. She felt her confidence rise, knowing that her music had touched something within these souls. She understood that this new audience brought a different energy, a response she hadn't experienced before.

Unfortunately the relative tranquility was soon disrupted by the arrival of a man with brown hair draped in a rich red cloak. He held an unsteady gait as he made his way from distant bed chambers to the front of the stage. He leaned in too close for comfort, his breath reeking of alcohol, and his words slurred as he uttered, "Well, well, what have we here? A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be wasting her time with songs. I can show you a time, even the maiden would be proud of."

Devola felt a discomfort begin to form like a weight. She took a step back, attempting to create some distance between herself and the unwelcome intrusion. Her voice stern as she responded, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm here to perform, not to entertain personal advances."

However, the man persisted, his voice growing louder and enraged with each passing moment.

He leered at Devola, his eyes scanning her up and down, as he jeered, "Look at you, pretending to be a bard. You should stick to strumming your little strings, girl. A woman like you has no business being here."

Devola's face flushed with anger and indignation, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She tried to maintain her composure, refusing to dignify his remarks with a response. But the man continued his verbal assault.

Before the situation could escalate further, Alayaya, who had been discreetly observing the interaction, swiftly stepped in. Her voice carried an unwavering authority as she firmly addressed the intoxicated man, "That's enough, sir. Your advances are clearly unwelcome here. Please respect the boundaries of our establishment and the dignity of our guests."

The man's face twisted into a mocking smirk, his speech slurring even more as he scoffed, "Boundaries? Dignity? We're in a brothel, aren't we? What's a little bard like her doing here if not to satisfy some desires? She belongs on her back, not on a stage."

Alayaya's gaze hardened, her tone laced with a steely resolve as she shot back, "The brothel is not solely for the satisfaction of carnal desires. It is a place of entertainment, art, and companionship. Devola is a talented bard who enriches our patrons' experiences with her music. You will show her the respect she deserves or leave."

The man, momentarily taken aback by Alayaya's firmness, attempted to save face with a forced laugh. "Fine, fine. I was just having a bit of fun. No harm intended," he muttered, his voice dripping with insincerity. Turning away, his drunken swagger guiding him towards another part of the brothel, leaving Devola and Alayaya in a momentary silence.

Alayaya turned her attention back to her "I'm sorry you had to endure that encounter, Devola. Unfortunately, rowdy customers can sometimes overstep. But please know that we value your presence here as a minstrel, and we will not tolerate such uncouth behavior."

Devola's initial unease began to dissipate as she took in Alayaya's words and the support she had received. She nodded appreciatively, her trust and respect in Alayaya deepening.

A woman that bore a likeness to Alayaya approached from behind her, she looked a decent bit older but equally beautiful. Devola wagered this was Chataya herself

Her expression revealed annoyance and concern as she addressed Alayaya. "He had a point, Alayaya. This is a brothel, after all. She could've playfully entertained his advances earlier."

Alayaya's quickly responded. "Mother, remember that Devola was hired as a minstrel, not as one of the girls. It was clear that she wasn't comfortable with his behavior."

Chataya's irritation lingered, but a trace of worry crept into her voice. "I understand that, but he's a Lannister man."

Alayaya countered, trying to assuage her mother's concerns. "Mother, Tyrion is a Lannister too, and even the Kingslayer himself doesn't seem to hold much regard for him. The man was just a soldier from Casterly Rock, not someone of significance."

Chataya's concern deepened as she voiced her worries. "There have been more Lannisters in the city lately. It's troubling."

Curiosity prompted Devola to interject despite the whispered tones of the conversation, hoping to glean some insight. "Excuse me, but what's the problem with the Lannisters?"

Chataya's irritation flared momentarily as she brought her hands together in some quickened prayer. "Zhoza help us!."

Alayaya stepped in, trying to ease the tension. "Don't worry, Mother. Everything will be alright. And if he causes any trouble, I have my own connections. But honestly, he seemed too pathetic to make a fuss."

Chataya's voice carried a note of warning. "The pathetic ones can often be the first to cause trouble. Just be careful, my child." With that, she turned and went to attend to other matters, leaving Alayaya and Devola on their own.

Alayaya quickly turned back to her, "I must admit, I'm rather surprised that you haven't heard much about the Lannisters. Given your travels and you and your sister being from Volantis, I would have expected you to be more well-informed."

Devola paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before responding, "Ah, well, the rumors of us being from Volantis are actually false. We hail from a small village called Yonah, far from the grandeur of the City."

Alayaya's eyebrow raised in surprise at the revelation. She took a moment to reflect, as if retracing the paths of the very rumors. Finally, she broke the silence "Rumors have a peculiar way of taking on a life of their own, don't they? Although the Volantene blood may not flow through your veins, I must say, there is a certain likeness about you. I've met a few Volantene in my time, and you bear a certain resemblance to them. In both looks and manner."

Devola only nodded in response. Unsure of how to further address the topic, not wishing to perpetuate any more falsehoods about her background. The complexity of her own identity and the rumors surrounding her origins troubled her, she learned that the city of Volantis many believe her and Popola were from, still practiced slavery. They would need to make an effort to research it, but the thought of people assuming her and Popola were from there made her deeply uncomfortable.

Taking note of Devola's hesitation, Alayaya offered a reassuring smile. "No need, You don't have to delve into it further if you're not comfortable. Sometimes the truths we carry within ourselves are more complex than the stories others create about us."

Devola's shoulders relaxed slightly, grateful for Alayaya's understanding. She nodded, appreciating the respite from the tangled web of rumors and the chance to simply be herself in this moment.

The conversation had shifted, and Devola felt a growing curiosity about the Lannisters and their significance in King's Landing. She decided to redirect the conversation towards her original question, hoping to gain some insight. "Speaking of the Lannisters, I have heard of their connection to the royal family, particularly on the queen's side. But I must confess, I haven't heard anything unusual or noteworthy about them. Could you shed some light on their role in the city?"

Alayaya's eyes seemed to sparkle as she processed Devola's question.

"You have only been in Kings landing for a few months yes?" the woman inquired.

Devola nodded,"We will be approaching our second full month here soon"

"Ah, that makes sense. The Lannisters have been a presence in the capital for quite some time, especially after the sack. But in recent years, their numbers have increased, and now it seems they are once again on the rise. My mother, Chataya, is concerned about the balance of power and how it might affect the city, its businesses, and its people."

Devola absorbed Alayaya's words, contemplating the delicate dance of power and the far-reaching consequences it could have. The intrigue surrounding the Lannisters and their influence in King's Landing piqued her curiosity, urging her to dig deeper into the city's history and politics.

"I can understand why such changes would be a cause for concern," Devola replied thoughtfully. "The shifting of power often brings both positive and negative outcomes. If I may ask, though, could you tell me more about the sack that is occasionally mentioned? I must admit, my knowledge of King's Landing's history is quite limited, and I wasn't present during that time."

Alayaya's expression softened,her voice taking on a somber tone. "It was a time of great turmoil and chaos. The city was besieged, and when it fell, there was widespread destruction, looting, and violence."

She continued, painting a vivid picture of the atrocities that had unfolded. "Homes were ransacked, innocent people were harmed, and many lost their lives. The streets ran red with blood, and the city's treasures were plundered. It was a dark chapter in King's Landing's history, one that many still bear the scars of."

Devola listened intently, her heart heavy with the weight of the city's past. She couldn't help but feel empathy for those who had suffered through such a traumatic event. The few mentions she had heard of the sack had barely scratched the surface, and now she was beginning to grasp the true magnitude of the tragedy.

"And the purpose behind the sack?" Devola inquired, her curiosity combined with a budding apprehension. "Why did it happen? What led to such a violent upheaval?"

Alayaya sighed, her gaze growing distant as she recollected the events of that fateful time. "The sack was an act of rebellion, an attempt to depose the mad king, Aerys II Targaryen, and end the reign of the Targaryens. Many people had suffered under his rule, and there was a growing discontent among the noble houses."

She paused briefly before adding, "My mother, Chataya, was never fond of the Targaryens. She saw their rule as oppressive and filled with tyranny. So, in a way, she welcomed the change that followed the sack."

Devola nodded, absorbing the information and piecing together the fragments of King's Landing's history. The motivations behind the sack became clearer, although the complexities of power struggles and the consequences of such actions still lingered in her mind.

"Devola, you seem distant. Is everything alright?" Alayaya said genuine concern leaking through.

Devola, caught off guard by Alayaya's attentiveness, offers a forced smile and replies, "I'm fine, really. Just lost in my thoughts."

Alayaya's expression remains skeptical. She hesitates for a moment, as if she wants to say something more, but her attention is diverted by the arrival of a younger girl with pale skin and dark hair.

Breaking the brief silence, the girl speaks up, her voice soft but determined. "I brought them, Mhaegen seems like she's in need of some company." She extends her hand, offering a bundle of herbs and a small vial containing a tincture.

Alayaya's gaze shifts from the girl to Devola, seeking her approval. Devola, understanding the gesture, nods in response. She recognizes the importance of tending to one's well-being, even amidst the chaos and uncertainty that surrounds them.

With a gentle smile, Alayaya takes the herbs and tincture from the girl's hand. She looks back at Devola, her eyes conveying reassurance, and then turns to the younger woman.

Devola watches as Alayaya and the other woman depart.

With Alayaya gone, Devola thought on what was learned, though she found nothing out about Leerah or the Hand. She now had a better understanding of the Lannisters and the turbulent events that had shaped King's Landing. Similar events shaped her own world she supposed. Change through the greatest of strife, the greatest of cost.

Devola's mind drifted, her thoughts consumed by the destructive nature of strife and carnage. She couldn't help but reflect on the power it held, the way it forced change upon the world, albeit through the most terrible means. Images flashed through her mind, vivid and haunting.

She saw the skin turning white, as if it had been soaked in salt, a horrifying transformation that marked the onset of White Chlorination Syndrome. The memory of the blood-soaked piles of bodies, the stench of death and decay, invaded her thoughts. It was human blood that had been spilled, lives extinguished in the legions hatred, failed experimentation, their own choices.

Her mind wandered to the replicant village, a place forever scarred by the relentless march of the shades that fateful day. The aftermath of their brutality had necessitated a change in how the village was managed, how the project was managed, in an attempt to rebuild and heal, to make up for their losses. The thought of that day lingered in her mind the original gestalt no doubt did what he did to the village that day for the sake of his sister the relapsed gestalt, humanity came second perhaps father than second to him at least on that day: did the Lannisters, in those moments of the sack, harbor similar motivations? What drove humans to slay one another, to engage in acts of violence and destruction, to wager a child?

A shiver ran down her spine as she contemplated the thought farther. War and conflict had plagued humanity for millennia, long before the emergence of White Chlorination Syndrome. But the motives behind such actions remained murky. Did she truly want to know the answer? The most disturbing thought loomed over her—perhaps there was no answer at all.

Life was filled with inexplicable horrors and unimaginable pain. Yet, amidst those hardships there was the hope that a song could yet go on unceasing. With that thought she began to strum once more.

A.N. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter. There are some answers here. Hints at things to come quite a bit in all honesty. If those are not picked up on here though worry not it will all become more clear with time. I am curious what people pick up on however.

As always curious where people think the plot is heading, and what people think of my characterizations/ area depictions.

NOTE to QQ: This is my most recent chapter written. Im working on chapter 9 but there won't be as quick of updates after this chapter. (Unless I finish chapter 9 tonight)

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 18, 2023

Gendry II

Gendry stood alone amidst the forge, his rhythmic hammering resonating through the air, blending with the cackle of sparks. Beads of sweat running down his forehead, mingling with the resilient soot that clung to his hardened skin. The forge's searing heat enveloped him, casting a fiery glow upon him as he meticulously molded the molten metal with precision, bringing form to its raw potential.

In the midst of his focus, footsteps were heard walking near, breaking the solitude that had enveloped the workshop. Looking up, dark red hair entered his vision, he quickly recognized the customer approaching as Popola. The atmosphere shifted as she stepped closer, imbuing the air with an electric anticipation. He was curious what task she had for the forge this time it was only two weeks past he last saw her she did not exactly fit the image of a frequent customer, though given her unusual knowledge of smithing perhaps he should've reconsidered that notion.

Gendry's hammering halted momentarily as he wiped sweat from his brow, his calloused hand leaving a smudge of grime behind. He observed Popola's approach, her gaze intently fixed upon the parchment she held.

He looked around verifying that Master Mott was still absent, the absence during this encounter did make him wonder the intent held. Contemplating the reason Popola visited now at such an early hour when Master Mott's usually was still cooped up in his chambers. Farther thoughts of his mentor filled Gendry's consciousness. Over the years, Tobho had held a great professionalism, dedication and unyielding craftsmanship, the soul of the forge in many ways. However, a subtle shift had taken hold in Tobho's demeanor as of late whenever Popola came by It was an unfamiliar behavior, one that Gendry had never witnessed in the presence of other customers. He wondered internally if he fancied her, but he'd never say the words aloud. The Master smith no doubt having his ass for such a question.

Gendry reverently set aside his hammer, the resonant clang of metal against metal slowly fading into the background. He stepped forward, his eyes meeting Popola's.

As he glanced at the diagram, it laid out some kind of eccentric knife with very particular construction. a metal pole with a triangle shaped blade at its end only one end sharp. He couldn't really discern what the purpose of such a piece could be. He looked closer at the measurements and he felt a headache come one, seven hells will it be annoying to make each part. Memories of their previous encounters resurfaced overhearing Popola mentioning her intentions with the people of Flea Bottom to Jon Arryn, a place that held dark memories for him. The suffering and hardships endured in that forsaken district weighed heavily on his heart. In a way, Gendry couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly make a difference in such a terrible place. He shifted his thoughts to Master Mott, he recognized his smithing potential and guided him getting him out of that fucked place.

Curiosity overcoming him, Gendry finally voiced his question, "Popola, is this… Scappell meant to help the people of Flea Bottom?"

Popola laughed softly then nodded. "It's called a scalpel Gendry, but yes aiding the people of Flea Bottom is part of it. This scalpel is designed to cut into flesh in a safer and more precise way than a sword or knife. It willa allow me to provide better assistance to those who are ailing."

Confusion filled Gendry's mind as he thought on the idea. "But wouldn't cutting into flesh make things worse?"

"Well Maesters seem to employ similar tools for surgery. They have various benefits when it comes to delicate procedures, such as aiding in childbirth, removing embedded objects from the flesh, and treating various illnesses and injuries." Popola said lightly smiling.

Gendry's surprise deepened as Popola clarified her knowledge. How could a woman as soft on the eyes as her possess not only the skill of a blacksmith but also an understanding of the human body and healing akin to that of the maesters. It seemed almost unbelievable to him. "So you're saying you have knowledge of both blacksmithing and the human body, similar to what the maesters know?"

Popola paused for a moment, her eyes briefly looking upwards. "Well, I wouldn't claim to have equivalent knowledge in all aspects. There is still much about Westeros and Essos that I have yet to learn. However, when it comes to human physiology and anatomy, the study of the body and its workings, I have a decent understanding."

Where did she acquire such knowledge though? He couldn't help but ask, "How did you come to learn about these things?"

Popola's gaze seemed to drift into the distance as if lost in memories. "I had a job for a long time, taking care of people in need. Over time, it evolved into organizing records and bookkeeping in our small village. Much of it was library work, but I never forgot what I learned during that process."

Gendry's mind raced with possibilities. He contemplated the idea of a female-only citadel, wondering if Popola had been a part of such a place. He occasionally heard customers mention the citadels grand library and archives. The notion of a citadel filled with knowledge, with beautiful red haired woman, was quite appealing to him. "Were you a part of some female-only citadel, then?"

Popola's surprise was evident in her expression as she quickly shook her head. "No, it wasn't a female-only establishment. Almost anyone was welcome there, as long as they sought peace and knowledge, regardless of their gender, age, or background. It was a place open to all who wanted to learn."

Gendry's astonishment deepened at Popola's explanation. He had never heard of such a place of knowledge that welcomed anyone, regardless of gender or background. It even contrasted with his own occupation as a blacksmith. Despite Tobho's words to Popola, Gendry knew that Tobho would never consider taking on a female apprentice. In fact, when Gendry had first started his own apprenticeship, the oldest apprentice had mentioned that Tobho had only ever trained men and boys. Perhaps things were different in Qohor but in Kings Landing Mott has never strayed from that tradition. The thought lingered in Gendry's mind, admiration for Popola's knowledge and a bit of unease at its lack of precedent.

He was intrigued to learn more about her experiences. "So, is that how you learned about blacksmithing as well through your bookwork?"

Popola nodded in response. "Essentially, yes. I've forged a few things in my life, though it's far from my main occupation."

He felt his initial fascination with Popola as a female smith deplete but nontheless, Gendry inquired, "What did you forge when you had the chance?"

Popola seemed hesitant, her voice repressed. "Not much, truly. I've made a few swords, but the main focus of my time in the forge was fixing up the top piece for a battle staff whenever it got damaged." She paused briefly before continuing, "They were designed and given to us by our... parents when we were very young."

Gendry's skepticism surfaced as he responded, "So, you know how to fight?"

Popola quickly corrected him, her tone serious. "They were only intended for emergencies."

Even so, Gendry expressed his interest. "Even still, I would love to see such a weapon and your hometown."

A darkness seemed to wash over Popola's features as she replied, "So would I… Sadly, they were lost due to circumstances beyond our control."

Gendry was moved by the sadness that clouded Popola's expression. In an attempt to bring some light to her eyes, he offered, "If you'd like, I could make them for you. I'm sure I can recreate them."

Looking down at the scalpel diagram, Gendry flipped the page to a blank one and handed it to Popola. "I'll be right back, wait here just grabbing ink and quill"

Gendry rushed to the inside of Tobhos house and glanced around, his eyes fell upon Tobho's servant girl. She was her usual quiet and reclusive self, sweeping up crumbs that were no doubt leftover from him breaking his fast back before the sun even peaked above the ground. The sound of her gentle sweeping so quiet if he wouldn't have seen the crumbs being moved himself he would've assumed she was wasting time.

"Where is the inkpot and quill?" The girl said nothing as typical and simply stared at a distant shelf, he looked over and confirmed that what he needed was there quickly grabbing the inkpot and quill. He then looked back briefly at the servant girl gave a nod of thanks, and went back out thankful to see Popola hasn't left.

"Here, sketch it here. I can't promise anything until I see it, but maybe I could do a recreation." Gendry held the quil and placed the ink as near to Popola as he could manage.

Popola hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, it was made with a mix of gold and steel. I doubt it's within my means at the moment. There are still things I have to pick up on my way back to Flea Bottom."

Understanding the limitations, Gendry nodded and said, "Even still, sketch a drawing of it. I can at least tell you if it's feasible." He may have let himself get too excited at the prospect. Master Mott's words "Showing interest is no way to wager" rang in his head.

A hope seemed to light in Popola's previously somber eyes. She accepted the blank page and began sketching. Gendry anticipated a rough outline, assuming it would take more time and deliberation to work out the precise measurements, just as she had done with the wiring and scalpel commissions. However, to his astonishment, Popola was writing specific numbers and adding detailed images of specific parts of the piece.

Gendry admired the drawing for a moment. Though composed of only lines and numbers, it held a certain mystique, resembling an exaggerated crescent moon with a straight extension at the bottom that undoubtedly connected to the staff Popola had mentioned.

Popola's eyes flicked up from her sketching, She paused for a moment, her gaze fixed on Gendry, "What is Jon Arryn like?".

Gendry's brow furrowed as he contemplated the question. Trying to find the right words to capture the essence of a noble like Jon Arryn, he hesitated before responding, "To be honest, I can't say for certain what he's truly like. Nobles are a different breed altogether. But in the few interactions we had, he seemed kind. He asked about my mother... She passed away many years ago in Flea Bottom."

A flicker of sadness washed over Popola's face, her features softening as she empathized with Gendry's loss. Her voice filled with genuine sympathy, she said, "I'm so sorry, Gendry. I truly am. I wish we had been there earlier. Your mother must have been an amazing woman."

A mix of emotions swelled within Gendry, his voice muted. "Yeah, she was just a tavern wench, really. I barely remember her, but her singing... It was beautiful."

He felt a wetness he hoped was sweat well up in his eye. He quickly brushed it away.

Popola reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before returning to her side.

"So what do you think about the staff topper ?" Popola asks

Gendry found himself drawn back in the present with Popola's question. He paused studying the diagram. The untraditional shape and the combination of steel and gold presented a unique challenge. He thought on it debating briefly he responded, "I believe it's certainly doable, but given the materials and the… complications involved, it will come at a decent cost. I'll need to consult with Master Mott to provide you with an accurate amount of coin. I can fetch him if you'd like?"

Popola shook her head, "No, Gendry. That won't be necessary. As I mentioned earlier, it's unlikely that I could afford it at the moment. Besides, I still have other items to pay for and collect. I really appreciate your willingness to help though." Popola smiled in a way that seemed to make the sun brigther

Gendry nodded, understanding her circumstances. "Of course, Popola. You're always welcome here, and if you ever change your mind or find yourself in need of something forged."

"Do be careful Gendry." Concern etched on her face, she pointed towards the area he was burned. Gendry couldn't help but feel a fleeting embarrassment, his cheeks turning slightly red. "I'll be careful, I promise," he grumbled.

A reassuring smile spread across Popola's face as she prepared to depart. "Take care, Gendry. I wouldn't want to see you hurt again."

Watching her walk away, a warmth filled Gendry's chest.

When Feryn and Soren made their way out Gendry, took it as a sign to go inside to speak with Master Mott about Popola's new requests. Once he went inside he found Alric busy organizing records, a large bowl of water in the middle of the table to hold a few papers in place. His focus seemed to be on those particular papers.

Gendry's gaze shifted , noticing cloth wrapped around Alric's upper arm he burnt himself as well last night. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Alric's lack of focus and attention to detail explained another reason why he rarely spent time at the forge, leaving the bulk of the work to Gendry. Even working indoors he seemed to frequently injure himself. He had half a mind to mess with the lad a bit, though with the sound of Tobho's door opening he quickly changed his mind.

He approached the door to his chambers, hoping to share the details of his encounter with Popola. As he stood before the master blacksmith, he could sense Tobho's genuine interest in his words firm posture relaxing slightly, shoulders slacking. His gaze held a familiar warmth. Concerned eyes following his every movement, studying his face intently.

His mention of the Scalpel, and the staff topper clearly intrigued him, and he expressed interest in looking at both, though

When Gendry mentioned Popola's mention Jon Arryn. Tobho's brows furrowed in worry. His hand, calloused from years of wielding a hammer, reached out and gently rested on Gendry's shoulder.

"Be cautious, boy," Tobho said, his voice filled with a paternal undertone. "There's more to this than meets the eye. They are not from where they claim, we must tread carefully."

The weight of Tobho's hand on his shoulder grounded him, he recalled Master Mott, has occasionally warned him and the other apprentices about new arrivals and general seedy character before. Though Popola and Devola did not seem to match what was typical, he could not discount their uniqueness though.

"I understand, Tobho," Gendry replied, his voice tinged with determination. "I'll be cautious and trust my instincts. But…" he paused debating if he should continue, " I don't think they mean any harm, she seems to be helping improve the shithole I came out of."

Tobho nodded, his grip on Gendry's shoulder tightening momentarily before he released it. There was a slight smile on his weathered face "You have a strong spirit, Gendry, just like your mother did no doubt," Tobho said voice admirable. "Though remember, strength lies not only in your arm but also in your judgment. If you ever need guidance or support, know that I am here for you."

Although Gendry didn't fully comprehend Tobho's warning, he couldn't help but disagree with his sentiments. Popola was a bit odd and her requests unusual, but she had not seemed harmful or malicious. Though he supposed there was no harm in keeping his guard up around them, eyes open and mind sharp.

A.N. Hope everyone enjoys I know some had issues with the last Gendry POV so would be interested in hearing everyones thoughts.

I will be mildly editing last chapter cause there were some timeline inconsistencies.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Nov 11, 2023

Devola IV

In the dim, candle-lit ambiance of the tavern, Devola's gaze wandered, finally halting on Henrik. Shadows danced on his face, echoing the shifting unease in her heart. Their last meeting, marred by his fellow watchmens on that dire night, played in her mind, his unwillingness to aid in the search for Leerah, all served to stroke the mistrust held within.

She'd come from a world where humans stood shoulder to shoulder against the Legion's menace Japan and America, overcoming their differences for the shared goal of saving all, safeguarding Project Gestalt. Yet, in this city, with its cobblestone streets and looming stone walls, that solidarity seemed but a distant memory. The clinking of ale mugs and hushed conversations around her only deepened her sense of alienation.

Absorbed in these musings, Devola barely registered Henrik's voice. "How have you been, Devola?"

Jolted, she looked up, her red hair catching the lantern light. "As well as one can be," she answered cautiously, her voice cooler than intended. She hesitated a moment before adding, "But it's been trying, especially with Meg constantly on our backs. She's been threatening the children, claiming she'll report them to the Watch."

Henrik's gaze, observant and piercing, drifted to Meg, the persistent bowl of brown peddler. The memories of Meg's insistence and their countless confrontations over money, resources, or minor favors felt like a weight in Devola's chest.

Catching her eye, Henrik began, "Meg hasn't always been alone, you know. She had a husband." His tone held a hint of sadness. "Back in the day, their was a welcoming air but then…."

Devola leaned forward, intrigued. "The Rebellion?"

Henrik shook his head. "Nay though it played its role in a sense. Heralding new oppurtunity for many including them, for some, it was the beginning of the end."

Henrik sighed deeply, taking a moment as if gathering his thoughts, before he began, "When I first donned the gold cloak of the City Watch, it was here, in Flea Bottom, that I began my duty. The place was, and still is, a maze of narrow alleys and hidden corners, but there was a particular corner, not far from here, that held a certain warmth."

He took a sip of his ale, his gaze distant. "A stand, run by a couple. Meg and her husband. They had carved out a modest existence here, earning respect in a place where it's quite hard to come by. Her husband was a proud Stormlander, once a footsoldier in the Rebellion. A man with stories of battles and camaraderie, and always a hearty laugh ready to escape his lips. You'd think a man with war scars would be hardened, but he had a heart that seemed too big for this cruel part of the city."

Henrik's eyes held a touch of admiration as he continued, "He would often assist us, the City Watch. Not by wielding a blade or drawing blood, but by being our eyes and ears. With his stand at the heart of Flea Bottom, he'd catch whispers, notice the odd behaviors, and more than once, he'd helped us collar some rogue or prevent a squabble from escalating into chaos. His presence brought a semblance of order to the stretch of street where he sold his wares."

There was a weight in Henrik's voice when he added, "But then, as life in Flea Bottom often reminds us, tragedy has a way of sneaking up. One day, he just... didn't wake up. No fight, no grand exit. He simply slipped away in the night."

Henrik paused, letting the weight of the moment settle. "After that, Meg... she changed. The vibrant woman, who once laughed alongside her husband, turned inwards. The stand became less a place of community and more a shield, a barrier she put up against the world. Her trust in others dwindled, and she stopped reaching out. It's as if a part of her passed on with him."

He took another long drink, setting down his mug with a thud. "Life in Flea Bottom is never easy, but sometimes, it's the quiet tragedies that wound us the most."

For a moment, the din of the tavern faded as Devola processed this revelation. Behind Meg's persistent demeanor lay a story of loss, perseverance, and heartbreak. It was a cruel reminder that every face in Flea Bottom, every soul in this city, held a tale yet to be told.

Henrik glanced up, meeting Devola's gaze with an earnest look. "I've caught wind of what she's been putting you and your sister through," he began. "Those threats of hers, her insinuations about reporting some of the children to the Watch."

He gave a small, rueful smile, shaking his head slightly. "Meg's bark is worse than her bite. She's been wounded by life, but deep down, she's harmless. I genuinely believe she wouldn't bring harm to those kids. Her threats are more a desperate plea for attention, a cry for some semblance of the control she once had when her husband was around."

Henrik leaned in, his voice a shade softer. "But I understand the pressure it can place on both of you. If you'd like, I can step in. Have a word with her, see if I can ease some of that tension. Maybe even help her find a more constructive way to channel her grief and frustrations."

His eyes searched Devola's for a moment, a genuine offer of assistance hanging in the balance. "Sometimes, all we need is someone to truly listen, to acknowledge our pain. And perhaps, in her case, to gently remind her of the person she once was before sorrow took its toll."

Henrik cleared his throat, glancing around the room momentarily before his gaze settled back on Devola. "You know, Devola," he began cautiously, "it's not easy for women in this city, especially those without a husband. Flea Bottom can be unforgiving to those who find themselves alone." There was a slight warmth in his eyes, a subtle softening of his usual stern demeanor.

Devola, intuitive and sharp, immediately caught the implication. She leaned back, her eyes narrowing slightly as she carefully chose her words. "I appreciate the concern, Henrik," she responded with a hint of frost in her tone, "But we've managed well enough on our own so far. And, as you've just shared, sometimes even having a partner can't shield you from the challenges of life."

Henrik seemed momentarily taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure. "Of course," he said, nodding. "I meant no offense. It's just... I've seen many fall prey to the hardships of the city, and I'd hate to see the same happen to you and your sister."

Devola softened slightly, sensing the genuine care in his words, even if they were a tad misplaced. "We're survivors, Henrik. We've faced greater threats than the alleys of Flea Bottom. But," she added with a small smile, "I do appreciate the sentiment."

The two shared a brief moment of understanding, both acknowledging the unsaid words between them. Henrik cleared his throat, taking another sip of his ale, the conversation shifting to the more neutral grounds of quiet.

The silence between Devola and Henrik grew more pronounced, filled only by the distant murmur of tavern conversations and the occasional outburst of laughter. Henrik took another long drink from his mug, his gaze somewhat distant.

"Devola," he started, hesitating slightly, "I hope you don't take my words amiss. It's just... in these uncertain times, it's rare to find genuine connections. People you can trust."

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's the nature of the world we live in. Trust has to be earned, not freely given."

He gave a rueful chuckle. "A lesson I've learned the hard way, believe me. But, if ever you find yourself in need, remember that there are still a few good souls in this city."

With that, Henrik stood, leaving a few coins on the table. "Take care, Devola," he said, his voice sincere, before turning and disappearing out the exit of the tavern.

Shortly after Henrik's leave Devola followed suit and again wandered the streets of Flea Bottom, the familiar sounds and scents painting a picture that was becoming more and more familiar to her. Children played in the narrow alleys, their laughter echoing amidst the hum of chatter and the distant cries of peddlers. As she walked, her boots occasionally splashed through the shallow runlets of water, a testament to the recent improvements she and Popola had ushered in.

Looking over to her left, she could see the newest addition to the district - a modest drainage system. It was a far cry from the sophisticated aqueducts and sewer systems of some cities (both here and back on earth), but for Flea Bottom, it was a start. Her sister had enlisted locals for the job. The result was a series of ditches and a humble stream designed to redirect much of the waste and water, at least offering a semblance of sanitation. The both of them hoped this would only be a first step the goal was to amalgamate with the pipe system and have the majority of waste diverted in the blackwater, she did not like needlessly dirtying a natural source of water, but it seemed in was in a bad spot as is. Ultimately human life took priority.

As she continued her stroll, her thoughts shifted to her music. She'd been approached yesterday to perform at Chatayaya's brothel on the Street of Silk yet again. She recalled the opulence of that place being a stark contrast to the gritty reality of Flea Bottom. Though it seems it held a different manner of grime, if Barra's plight, and some of the clientele of Chataya's brothel were anything to go by.

Yet, there was no denying the allure of the coin it brought in. The sum she'd earned in a single night was almost what she would make in weeks performing in the taverns of Flea Bottom and the Street of Seeds. Without this money the livelihood here in flea bottom would still be what it was a month passed, which was a scarce few fixed buildings and a few extra meals, though there was no denying that there was a desperate need for more. So thus she would go yet again tonight regardless.

Devola had to admit, though, there was some positive encounters from her last performance there. Alayaya, despite initial rocky starts, ultimately she and most other courtesans had shown her kindness, engaging her in genuine conversation, even some of the customers seemed to be capable of appreciating her in a healthy manner even if interest no doubt played a part. They'd shared stories and found common ground, reminding Devola that beneath the veneers people wore, genuine souls still thrived.

She paused, taking a moment to absorb the revelation. She quickened her pace, heading towards their house.

Devola found her sister hunched over her work desk, the harsh red glow of maso illuminating her space, the focus in her eyes as her hands deftly maneuvered needle and thread through the spine of a book. Now shelves lined two of the corners in their living space, some filled with completed projects, others with works in progress, each book being a testament of her sister to seed knowledge in the inhabitants of flea bottom.

Approaching quietly, Devola watched for a moment, admiring the meticulous care with which Popola preserved each page, each word. "How are the current bindings coming along sister?" she asked, her voice a gentle intrusion into the silence.

Popola looked up, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'm just finishing up 'A Tale of Two Cities.' It seems particularly resonant with this place and time," she said, gesturing to the book before her. "And 'Gulliver's Travels' is up next. I thought a little farther exploration into the absurd might be well-received here. Would be good books for some of the kids once they reach more advanced levels, I think Lommy and Alysanne would especially enjoy it."

She paused, her hands coming to rest on the open botany book beside her. "Though, I'm in two minds about this one." Her fingers traced the illustrations of plants and fungi. "The natural world here is so different—new names, new properties. I might need to spend more time with the local herb women and apothecaries to make it relevant to King's Landing."

Devola nodded, understanding the predicament. "Bringing these tales and knowledge to new ears and eyes. But adapting them to the context of our current home is just as vital and difficult..."

Popola sighed, closing the botany book with a gentle thump. "True. And it's a task I don't take lightly. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll visit the markets and speak with those who know the flora here better than any book could tell us."

Devola placed a supportive hand on Popola's shoulder. "Let me know if you need any help. Between the two of us, we'll ensure that the knowledge we pass on is as accurate and useful as it can be."

Popola looked up, her eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions. "I do wish we could do more," she confessed, her voice tinged with frustration. "It feels as though our efforts are just a drop in the ocean. Leerah is still missing, the mystery of the unknown particle remains unsolved, and despite our strides, Flea Bottom is still far from the sanctuary we envision for these people."

Devola squeezed her sister's shoulder. "I understand your concerns, but remember, Sister, the impact of even the smallest actions can ripple far beyond what we see. Yes, Leerah's whereabouts are still unknown, and the particle eludes us, but think of the lives you've touched. The books you've bound carry more than just stories—they carry hope, a chance for a better future in a few years time this will pay off tenfold ."

She stepped closer, her presence a bulwark against the emotional tide. "And as for the unknowns," Devola continued, her voice steady and sure, "they have indeed always been part of our journey, from the day we were first activated, from the dragon, replicant sentience, the brief resurgence of red eye, and relapses. We've navigated them before, and we'll do so again. Our purpose has never been clearer—to serve, to protect, and to guide. And that, dear sister, is what we will continue to do, no matter what."

Popola's eyes met Devola's. A slow nod, an unspoken promise passed between them—a vow to persevere, to keep pushing forward, for the sake of the true humans yet again.

Devola gently broke the moment, her voice soft yet firm. "I'll be heading to Chatayaya's on the Street of Silk to perform again tonight," she informed Popola, who visibly saddened at the news.

Popola sighed, a wistful expression crossing her features. "I wish you could be here more often, stick around and talk" she admitted, the sentiment resonating in her voice. Yet, she nodded in understanding, recognizing the importance of Devola's role and the impact her music had. "I understand, though. Im sure your performance will be as good as always."

"Alh fahkush kaireshti

Onda kirachi ehfri yo me tabi

Nochi so pliyoa tema shamarey"

In the warm, honeyed glow of Chatayaya's brothel, the last notes of Devola's set lingered in the air, the melodies hanging like delicate curtains between the clamor of conversations and clinking glasses. She let the lute rest against her, feeling the resonance of the wood and the warmth of the strings slowly fade.

Moments after the notes faded out Chataya approached her, her presence commanding yet graceful amidst the revelry. "Devola," she began, her voice rich, "your music is a rare gem, a beacon in the night for many who seek refuge here."

Devola looked up, her expression one of attentive respect and surprise. "Thank you, Chataya. It's my honor to play for such an audience," she replied, the wood of the lute warm under her touch. Out of everyone here Chataya was the last person she expected to get a compliment from, given their last interaction. Though it was certainly appreciated.

Chataya's eyes held a shrewdness to them that matched her business acumen. "Remember, variety is the key. Your songs, as enchanting as they are, should be like the seasons—ever-changing, always leaving them wanting more."

Devola absorbed the wisdom in Chataya's words. "A performance must be cherished, not just heard," she mused aloud, the idea resonating deeply with her.

"Exactly," Chataya affirmed, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Let your music breathe. Give it room to be missed and yearned for. That way, every note you play will always be a treasure sought after."

Devola gave a slight nod, her mind already weaving new melodies and rhythms. "I understand. I'll ensure each performance is a unique experience, a moment in time that can never be replicated."

Chataya placed a reassuring hand on Devola's shoulder. "That's what I like to hear. Take a moment for yourself now. The night is young, and the patrons are in no rush. Let them anticipate your return to the stage."

With that, Chataya turned and glided away, her presence leaving a trail of quiet authority.

As she meandered through the scattered clusters of patrons, a soft murmur drew her attention. Tucked away in a secluded corner, away from the boisterous mirth, was a girl with a child cradled in her arms. The sight was a stark contrast to the usual clientele of the brothel—an oasis of maternal calm in a sea of hedonistic pursuit.

Devola approached the woman, her curiosity piqued by the tenderness of the scene. "Good evening," she greeted gently, not wishing to intrude but unable to mask her intrigue. "It's not often one sees a child in a place like this."

The woman looked up, her eyes weary yet kindled with a flicker of pride. "Evening," she replied, her voice a soft melody that mirrored Devola's music in its warmth. "Aye, it's an unusual sight, I'll grant you that. But this little one is my daughter, and sometimes, life leaves you with few choices but to keep your whole world with you at work. She was one of the first babies of this new year born not even a moon past."

Devola nodded, her heart touched by the woman's plight. "She's beautiful," she commented sincerely, the innocence of the child a stark reminder of the many facets of life that thrived in the most unexpected places.

The woman smiled, a gesture that seemed to momentarily ease the lines of hardship etched upon her face. "Thank you," she whispered. "Her father... is a strong warrior. A leader of vast kindness and strength, for now it's just us though he certainly will come to see our Barra soon. I sing her lullabies to remind her of him, of the heat of battle he loves so."

Devola's eyes widened, a storm of realization brewing within her as she took in the name of the child and viewed the woman's features more closely. The light brown hair, the distinctive oval face, and those familiar bushy eyebrows—it was unmistakable. This was the girl she had been searching for, the missing piece in the puzzle that had eluded her and Popola for so long.

Her voice barely above a whisper, Devola uttered, "Leerah?"

Maghen's reaction was immediate and visceral. She recoiled slightly, her eyes darting around anxiously as if fearing some unseen danger. "That is not my name anymore," she said quickly, her voice held a unusual resolve mixing fear and determination. "Please, call me Maghen." The baby in her arms stirred, picking up on her mother's distress.

Devola's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information she had. The child in Maghen's arms – this mother had to be the sister of the Barra she had met weeks ago Leerah. It was all coming together, but the implications were overwhelming.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Devola hastened to say, her tone soothing. "I'm Devola, and I've been looking for you. Your sister, Barra, she's been worried, searching for you."

Leerah's face contorted with a mixture of emotions—fear, surprise, and perhaps hope. "You know my sister? Is she... is she okay?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

Devola nodded, her own heart aching for the turmoil this young woman had been through. "She's safe, she was looking for you." Devola knew these words to be true she made an effort to detour where Barra live whenever she had to get out of flea bottom to ensure the girl was alright.

Leerah's fingers curled protectively around her child, the small body nestled close to her chest. Her words, spoken with a tremulous voice, conveyed a deep-seated fear and a sense of binding obligation. "She has to stop. I cannot go back," she repeated, the phrase sounding like a mantra of resignation. "It was not part of the agreement."

Devola, sensing the depth of Leerah's turmoil, moved closer. The dim light of the brothel cast shadows that seemed to deepen the lines of worry etched on Maghen's face. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, met Devola's with a mixture of desperation and resolve.

"And besides," Leerah continued, her voice gaining a slight edge, "both my Barra and my sister deserve to be well fed." The tear that had been threatening to fall finally broke free, trailing down her cheek.

Devola's gaze softened as she observed the tear tracing its path down Leerah's cheek. The mention of an 'agreement' piqued Devola's curiosity, but she recognized that now was not the moment to probe. Instead, she focused on providing reassurance and comfort.

"Leer…, Maghen," Devola began, her voice gentle, "Your sister, Barra, she cares deeply for you. Her search wasn't out of obligation, but love and concern. And you're right, both your daughter and your sister deserve a life where they don't have to worry about their next meal or their safety."

Devola paused, choosing her words carefully. "You've made incredible sacrifices for familial well-being, and that's admirable. But you don't have to face this alone anymore. There are people who want to help you, to ensure that both you and your daughter can live without fear."

Leerah looked up, her eyes reflecting the internal battle between hope and fear. "But the agreement was made long before she was born... I promised I would stay away. Its was the only way to keep all well," she whispered.

Her eyes held a faraway look, one that spoke of a deep-seated faith and conviction. She cradled her child closer, her voice soft yet resonating like a bell. "Besides, my Barra will be well taken care of. I know it in my heart," she murmured, her gaze drifting towards the slumbering child in her arms.

"The warrior and the mother watch over her," Leerah continued, a touch of reverence in her tone. "They are her guardians, her unseen protectors in this world that can be so cruel and unforgiving. There's a strength in her, an essence that's rare and precious. She's not just any child; she's immensely special. She's destined for greater things, things beyond the grasp her father will ensure that"

In that poignant moment, She saw a young woman filled with maternal love and responsibility who, despite the maturity and immense responsibility she displayed as a mother, still clung to a childlike view of the world—a perspective filled with heroes, guardians, and wonder that seemed incongruous with the harsh reality of their surroundings.

Devola recognized a challenge laid before her. Convincing Leerah to return to her family, or even explain the tangled web of circumstances that had led her here, seemed an insurmountable task. The depth of Leerah's convictions was something that would not be easily swayed or unraveled.

In lieu of persuasion, Devola chose a different approach, one that resonated with her own heart and the connection she felt to this young mother and her child. "You mentioned how much you enjoy singing lullabies to her," Devola said softly. "Would it bring you comfort if I sang one for her? Music has a unique ability to reach places words cannot."

Leerah's weary eyes, met Devola's. A small, grateful smile touched her lips, and she nodded. "Yes, please," she whispered. "It would mean the world."

Shul parel moihim

Ar, jaruk noisin

Dah galach dalfouir

Malech foir dir azlad erenj boir

Hiuo tantiera hedreikun harech falale ya boi

Hiuo migenda yakachren nohei kaine rekara

Hiuo tantiera hadreikun harech falale ya boi

Hiuo migenda ya kochren nohei yalma

Tei koimiren tara bairatru

As the final notes of Devola's lullaby gently dissipated into the air, the creaking of a door caught her attention. Turning her head, she saw Alayaya approaching, a blend of surprise and curiosity etched on her face. Her gaze shifted between Devola and Maghen, her expression took an uncomfortable shift.

"Is everything alright here?" Alayaya asked, her voice cautious. Her eyes lingered on the child in Maghen's arms, reflecting concern and weariness.

Devola's smile was warm, aiming to put Alayaya at ease. "Everything's fine, Alayaya," she responded, her voice carrying a soothing calm. "I was just sharing a lullaby with Maghen and her daughter. It seemed like a moment that needed a gentle touch of music."

Alayaya's gaze lingered on the newborn for a moment longer before she turned back to Devola. "Well, your break has stretched a bit long, and the patrons are eager for more of your music," she said, the unspoken urgency in her voice clear.

Devola nodded, understanding the cue. She rose gracefully, casting a final, compassionate glance towards Leerah and her child before making her way back to the stage. Her heart felt heavy yet there was a fleeting hope. She may not have changed Leerah's mind about returning to her family, but in this brief interlude, she had offered a gift of comfort.

As she got back on the stage, the warmth of the crowd welcomed her return, their applause seemed odd given what she just learned, though she quickly adjusted. Yet again warming her lute.

She sang a slightly more involved variation of the lullaby she just sung to little Barra, and Leerah. It seemed to be received well enough by the crowd, and she hoped in the back of her mind that it would reassure Leerah.

The melody of Devola's song was still weaving through the air, her fingers dancing lightly over the strings of her lute, when a new presence in the room caught her attention. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the entrance of Jon Arryn. His dignified stature and the subtle authority in his stride were unmistakable, even in the dimly lit ambiance of the brothel his head of gray shined.

Devola felt a heaviness come over her being, focus momentarily disrupted. The fingers holding the frets wavered as she watched Chataya approach Jon Arryn, their brief exchange masked by the general hum of the establishment. Then, with a subtle nod, Chataya gestured towards Leerah.

A cold wave of apprehension washed over Devola. The memory of Popola's discovery – the connection between Jon Arryn and the money her father had used – flashed through her mind. What business could the Hand of the King possibly have with Maghen, a woman who was now revealed to be none other than the sister of Barra they had been searching for?

She felt a familiar weight back on her shoulders. The strings under her fingers felt suddenly foreign, her song losing its earlier warmth and fluidity. Her voice, once clear and confident, now carried distraction. The lyrics and notes blended into each other, her performance becoming more a mechanical process than the intended artistic expression.

The patrons, absorbed in their own conversations and pleasures, hardly noticed the subtle shift. But for Devola, the music had lost its allure, overshadowed by a growing sense of urgency and concern.

With a final, somewhat lackluster strum, she concluded the song. The usual applause followed, but her mind was elsewhere. Without her usual graceful bow to the audience, Devola quickly set down her lute and stepped off the stage, her gaze fixed on Jon Arryn's figure as it moved through the brothel.

Every step she took towards him was driven by worry. She needed to understand why he was here, what his intentions were with Leerah – and most importantly, to ensure the safety of the girl who had unwittingly become entangled in this web.

Devola, her expression defiant and concern, strode quietly towards Jon Arryn. Her voice, quiet yet confrontational, cut through the ambient noise of the brothel. "What do you mean to do with her?" she demanded, her eyes locked intently on him. Sparing a concerned glance at Leerah and newborn Barra.

Jon Arryn, taken aback by her sudden approach, turned to face her. His expression, one of confusion and mild irritation, quickly composed itself into one of diplomatic neutrality. "I'm sorry, this does not concern you," he replied, his tone firm yet measured.

But Devola stood her ground, her stance unwavering. She was not about to be dismissed so easily, not when Maghen's, or rather, Leerah's, safety was potentially at stake.

Before she could press further, Maghen's voice, tinged with childlike grace, interjected. "No, Devola, it's okay," she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "He is here on behalf of my sweet Barra's father. Does he wish to see her? Oh, my Barra would love that!"

The earnestness in Leerah's voice gave Devola pause. She turned to look at the girl, her expression softening slightly. The young woman's belief in good intentions of Jon Arryn and her hope for her daughter's future were evident.

Devola's gaze fixed on Jon Arryn, her mind racing to connect the dots that now seemed to form an increasingly clear picture. The unease that had initially gripped her intensified, turning into a sharp awareness as she considered the implications of Arryn's presence in the brothel, especially in light of what Popola had recently discovered.

The pieces of the puzzle were aligning in a way that was unsettling. The connection between Jon Arryn and Maghen, or Leerah as she was once known, was not a mere happenstance. It was deliberate, and potentially fraught with various agendas. Devola's instincts, honed by centuries of social observation and analysis, told her there was more to this.

Her thoughts then drifted back to Leerah's earlier words about newborn Barra's father—a warrior and leader, someone of immense strength and kindness. Leerah had spoken with a conviction that bordered on reverence, a belief that Barra was destined for greatness, that her father would play a vital role in shaping such a destiny.

She looked over Jon Arryn again and it dawned on her, the Hand of the King. Realization dawned with a chilling clarity. Leerah's child, Barra, was not just any man's daughter. She was the daughter of the king. The pieces fell into place, forming a truth that was as intriguing as it was alarming. Barra's lineage, her very existence, could have profound implications, not just for her family, but potentially the very kingdom itself.

This revelation brought with it a myriad of questions to the forefront of her mind. What role did Jon Arryn play in all this? Was he here to protect Barra and by extension Leerah, or did his intentions lie elsewhere? And what of Leerah's safety and the promises she clung to about her daughter's future?

—————

As Devola grappled with her thoughts and suspicions, she barely noticed Chataya sweeping into the room. Her sharp glance towards Devola conveying a clear message, the tension in her posture suggesting she was unhappy with the interruption of Jon Arryn's "business". Though she couldn't care less about that in this moment.

"Apologies, Lord Arryn, for this... disturbance," Chataya said, her voice smoothly apologetic yet laced with a subtle edge. "I assure you, this is not our usual conduct."

Before Devola could react or step away, Jon Arryn raised his hand in a calming gesture, his voice steady and authoritative. "No, let her stay, Chataya," he said, turning to Devola with an evaluative gaze. "It seems Devola here is important to matters that, albeit unintentionally, involve her."

Devola felt a chill run down her spine at his words.

Chataya, though visibly perplexed by Arryn's response, gave a slight nod and stepped back, her eyes lingering on Devola for a moment longer before she made a swift retreat.

Jon Arryn's gaze returned to Devola, his expression stoic as he guided Devola to a secluded corner of the room. Away from prying ears including Leerah, his stance relaxed, but his eyes remained intently focused on her.

"Why did you confront me like that, Devola?" he asked in a low tone, ensuring their conversation remained private.

Devola hesitated, she was still weary about the connection Popola found but all the same even in this moment she didn't sense that his questioning was malicious.

"I've been looking for Leerah," she admitted, her voice a mere whisper. "She's been missing, and I just found out who Maghen truly is."

Jon Arryn's brows furrowed in a mix of perplexity and concern. "Leerah? Can you elaborate? I'm not familiar with this situation."

Devola's caution was palpable, but Arryn's demeanor suggested sincerity and a genuine desire to understand. Reluctantly, she shared the little she knew about Leerah going missing and turning out to be here at the brothel, pointing discreetly towards Maghen, but carefully avoiding any direct mention of her sister Barra.

Arryn listened intently, his face betraying a moment of realization. He brought a hand to his temple, massaging it gently as if to ease a sudden headache. "I was unaware of the particulars," he said slowly, his voice betraying a hint of weariness. "But I assure you, my intent is not to harm the girl nor her child. On the contrary."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, "You've likely pieced together the identity of the child's father. This is a delicate matter. Can I trust you to keep this information confidential?"

Devola, though still processing the magnitude of what she'd uncovered, sensed the earnestness in Arryn's plea. She gave a slow, measured nod, understanding the gravity of the situation and the need for discretion. Even if the behaviors of the king concerned her.

"Very well," Arryn conceded with a sigh of relief. "You may stay this time, if it sets your mind at ease. But understand, this is a matter of great sensitivity."

As Devola stood there, absorbing the weight of Arryn's words, she couldn't help but feel trepidation.

Jon Arryn's expression softened as Leerah reiterated her earlier question, happiness filling her eyes. "Does Robert wish to see Barra?" she asked eagerly.

"The king is a busy man," Arryn replied gently, "but I will make sure to inform him about her." His words were carefully chosen, coming across more diplomatic than personal.

Leerah's face lit up at his response. It was clear to Devola that this meant the world to Leerah, the very notion of the king acknowledging his daughter bringing her a profound sense of joy.

Then, Jon Arryn reached into his cloak and pulled out a piece of fine linen. The fabric was exquisite, adorned with a delicate pattern resembling rainclouds. Along with the linen, he presented Leerah with three gold dragons, quite a generous gift though given who the child was she supposed it was to be expected.

"Robert wishes his children well," Arryn stated, his voice formal, though his face conveyed that his words were truth.

Leerah's eyes shone as she clutched the gifts. "Please tell Robert to visit her. I've been faithful, and he will be overjoyed to see his beautiful daughter," she said earnestly, her voice brimming with hope.

"Of course, my lady," Arryn replied, though his tone lacked the warmth of his words. Devola, observing the exchange, felt doubtful. Arryn's manner seemed to mask an underlying unease, his assurances not entirely convincing.

Devola watched Leerah closely. The young mother's face was a canvas of emotions- though hope and joy seemed to ring strongest.

With gifts exchanged and reassurances delivered to Leerah, Jon Arryn began to quickly depart, Devola however would not allow this to go unasked and approached him again, ensuring her voice was low enough to avoid attracting attention. "I still have questions," she said, her tone firm yet discreet. "You seemed surprised, but it's evident you know more about Leerah's situation than you've shared."

Jon Arryn paused, weariness crossing his features as he rubbed his temple. His gaze met Devola's yet again, reflecting a blend of caution and resignation. "This is a matter for the King and his Small Council, Devola," he said firmly. "Your involvement goes well beyond your place."

Devola felt a surge of anger at his words, the dismissive tone igniting a spark of defiance within her. But before she could voice her frustration, Arryn continued, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I promise you, Devola, I mean no harm to them. I swear on my life, this situation will be resolved swiftly and justly. Leerah need not worry. Please, I ask you to leave this matter to us. Your concerns are noted, but this is a delicate issue that requires careful handling at the highest levels."

Devola's initial impulse to protest subsided, replaced by a cautious understanding. She studied Arryn's face, searching for any hint of deceit. His earnestness seemed genuine, and despite her reservations, she realized the gravity of the situation required a level of discretion.

"Very well," Devola replied, though her voice still carried a note of skepticism. "But know this, Lord Arryn: if any harm comes to Leerah or her child, I will not stand idly by."

Jon Arryn nodded solemnly, acknowledging her words. "Clearly Understood, Your concern is admirable, and I assure you, it aligns with my intentions. The child and girl are assured safety"

With a final nod, Jon Arryn turned and made his way out of the brothel.

The encounter left Devola with more questions than answers. She pondered the intricacies of Leerah's relationship with the king, the implications of Arryn's involvement, and the fate of little Barra. The web of intrigue that enveloped the royal family and those connected to it seemed to grow more tangled by the moment.

She cast one last glance at Leerah, who remained blissfully involved with her newborn, retaking her position; she noticed Chataya's stern gaze, silently reprimanding her for the earlier disruption. Beside her, Alayaya's expression held concern, her eyes tired. Devola offered a faint, reassuring smile, hoping to ease their apprehension. Jon Arryn and Leerah had answered some questions at the very least she knew Leerah was alive and relatively safe. But she couldn't shake the feeling that this intricate web of events was far from resolved, and her part in this unfolding drama was yet to reach its climax. A familiar sentiment washed over her, echoing words she once spoke in another world, another life: "We are the same, tools in the hands of a master." Yet now, in the midst of King's Landing's complex intrigue, it felt more akin to being a pawn in an unwitting game.

A.N. It has been a while, truthfully I got busy at first with dental and housework (replaced damaged wall), then I got pretty invested in ff16 (great game definitely plan on one day writing a fanfic in the setting (was thinking something in the style of this but with Maiden Astrea and Garl Vinland from demon souls ending up in Ff16) After ff16 i got very into enjoying summer and trying to work on my health, which went mostly well though i've admittedly backtracked a bit to some bad habits after fall semester started.
Some little highlights, I learned a good bit of song of the ancients on guitar and started FF14 which I'm determined to do the nier story content in that mmo eventually though I'm largely enjoying the FF14 story in general.
I wanted to briefly give a shoutout to the fic The Red Falcon a si in the world of "The Red the Greens and the Blacks" One of the co-authors of that fic gave me some ideas for some later scenarios in this fic and I wanted to spread the love.
I hope everyone enjoys this new entry, initially when I was hopeful to this moment before summer ended and preferably another fairly big milestone of the early parts of this story, sadly time got the best of me and I missed that but I hope this chapter satisfies. and in case anyone didn't catch it it is 298 ac now.
Also additional note: Barra (as in sister of Leerah Barra was named Barra because she was born the year Robert was Christened. So in a sense both barras are named after Robert)

FireWalkWithMe99 · Dec 26, 2023

Popola V

Popola has never bееn to thе quaint hеrbalist's Apothecary nеstlе bеtwееn two disheveled buildings. Though thе air around thе shop was fragrant, systems detected an incrеasеd amount of organic plant mattеr wafting in thе air. Thе botanical odors bеcamе somewhat ovеrpowеring, offеring a distinct contrast to thе city's typical scеnts.

As shе approached thе еntrancе, thе hеrb woman, spottеd Popola from insidе. She lеanеd against thе woodеn frame of the shop door, hands gnarled likе thе branches of an ancient tree.

"What brings you to my humblе storе, Popola?" shе askеd, hеr tonе implying that shе was alrеady quitе familiar with hеr. "I can not recall the sight of you or your sistеr in my shop bеforе."
Popola, who was slightly takеn aback by thе immediate recognition but gratеful for thе opеnnеss, rеpliеd, "I'm hеrе sееking knowlеdgе about thе hеrbs of Wеstеros. In my homеtown, wе didn't havе much еxposurе to thе varieties you havе hеrе."

Thе woman's еxprеssion shiftеd an еagеr smilе plastеring hеr facе. "Oh, yеs Volantis has diffеrеnt flora, yеs, of course," shе еxclaimеd, hеr еyеs lighting up. "Normally, I wouldn't divе into dеtail with just anyonе, but for somеonе such as you. I'd wagеr thе gods thеmsеlvеs would smitе mе if I rеfusеd my services."

Although Popola was a littlе uncomfortable with thе hеrbwoman's word choicе, shе was gratеful for hеr еagеrnеss to sharе hеr wisdom. With a gracious smilе, shе said, "Thank you; I'm kееn to lеarn."

Thе hеrbalist motionеd for Popola to еntеr. "All right, lеt's gеt going. Wе havе a largе assortmеnt of hеrbs, еach with spеcial qualitiеs and applications. I'm guеssing this will be crucial to your work."

Shе was about to еntеr a rеalm of hеrbal knowlеdgе that was unknown to hеr but vital to hеr, onе that might hold thе answеrs to many of thе problеms shе еncountеrеd in assisting thе Flеa Bottom rеsidеnt.

"Thеrеs a few major hеrbs hеrе, Sourlеaf, Tansy, Kingscoppеr and Pеnnyroyal "
"For Sourlеaf, wеll, it's favorеd by many hеrе," thе hеrbwoman bеgan, handling a bundlе of thе light rеd lеavеs. "Merchants chеw it to kееp thеir mouths frеsh during long nеgotiations. A fеw knights fancy it too, hеlps thеm stay alеrt. It's a bit of an acquirеd tastе, but oncе you'rе usеd to it, you'll find it hard to quit."

Shе thеn shiftеd hеr attеntion to anothеr hеrb with morе oval-shaped lеavеs, hеr tonе growing morе sеrious. "Ah, thе Kingscoppеr," shе said, lifting a sprig. "This onе, thеy say, was first found by a maеstеr during thе reign of Maegor thе Cruеl. Hеalеrs havе sworn by it ever sincе, for wounds that rеfusе to closе and pain that lingеrs." shе said, picking up a sprig of thе hеrb, "is highly sought aftеr. It's a hеalеr's blеssing. Maеstеrs, warriors, and smallfolk alikе havе all found usе for it. Thе hands that apply it mattеr, of course, but Kingscoppеr has often meant thе diffеrеncе bеtwееn death and lasting pain. It's remarkable, truly."

Popola еxaminеd thе Kingscoppеr morе closely, hеr sophisticatеd sеnsors working in tandеm with hеr own rеcords on hеrbs. A dеtailеd rеport bеgan to form in hеr mind, procеssing thе hеrb's gеnеtic makеup and potential medicinal propеrtiеs.

Gеnеtic Analysis Rеport: Kingscoppеr (Hеrb)

Primary Gеnеtic Composition:

Eucalyptus Similarity: Approximatеly 73.7% gеnеtic similarity to Eucalyptus spеciеs, particularly in thе aspеcts rеlatеd to its anti-inflammatory and antisеptic propеrtiеs. This componеnt likely contributes to Kingscoppеr's еfficacy in wound healing and pain rеliеf.

Toadflax Similarity: Around 21.5% gеnеtic ovеrlap with Toadflax, suggesting thе prеsеncе of compounds beneficial for respiratory hеalth and possibly contributing to immunе systеm support.

Unknown Gеnеtic Factors: Approximatеly 3.5% of thе gеnеtic makеup consists of unidеntifiеd sеquеncеs. Thеsе may represent unique medicinal compounds indigenous to thе Wеstеrosi еnvironmеnt.

Othеr Notablе Componеnts:

TRPM8 Protеin Prеsеncе: Indicativе of a mint-likе cooling sеnsation, likеly responsible for thе hеrb's soothing еffеct on wounds and inflamed tissues.

Antioxidant Compounds: Prеsеncе of compounds with antioxidant properties, potentially contributing to ovеrall hеalth bеnеfits.

Popola's mind procеssеd thе information, finding thе blend of еucalyptus and toadflax propеrtiеs in Kingscoppеr quitе a promising rеport. Thе Unknown genetic factors gave her a littlе pausе, though given it madе up a small pеrcеntagе of thе vеrb and it seemed well-known for medicinal bеnеfits it seemed likе a moot worry. It also madе hеr wondеr just how many complеtеly uniquе gеnеtic markers еxistеd in this land both in regards to plant and animal life.
Popola, intriguеd, inquirеd furthеr. "And what about Tansy?" Hеr question sееmеd to piquе thе hеrbwoman's interest, but shе appeared morе reserved in hеr response.

"Tansy, еh?" Thе hеrbwoman glanced around subtly bеforе lеaning in. "This onе's a talе of two еdgеs, It's a powеrful hеrb, with a variеty of usеs. But it's also a stark rеmindеr of thе gods' will. Many use it in tandem with Pennyroyal whеn thеy bеliеvе thе Mothеr has not yet decided it's thеir timе to bеar childrеn. It's a dеlicatе mattеr and onе that nееds carеful handling."

Popola absorbеd this information thoughtfully. Thе cultural implications and medical uses of thеsе vеrbs in Westeros were both fascinating and complеx. Shе realized that whilе somе aspects of hеrbology wеrе univеrsal, othеrs were deeply entrenched in thе customs and beliefs of thе pеoplе hеrе.

"Thank you," Popola said, hеr voicе lacеd with gratitudе. "Your knowledge is invaluablе. It's еssеntial to understand not just the properties of thеsе hеrbs but also thеir place in the lives of thе pеoplе hеrе."

Thе hеrbwoman noddеd, a hint of a smilе on hеr facе. "Glad to share what I know. It's rarе to find somеonе so keenly intеrеstеd in thе dееpеr aspеcts of our craft. Not surprisеd though you and your sistеr arе bringing about some wondеrful changе in flеa bottom, sееds bеgging to sprout, surеly to blossom, as a Lotus in thе mud. "

Aftеr lеaving thе apothecary her steps became measured. Shе cradled thе bundle of Kingscoppеr in her hand, feeling thе rough tеxturе of thе leaves. This unassuming hеrb could be thе kеy to allеviating somе of thе pain and issues the humans of the city face.
Shе wondered about thе potential usеs, particularly in mеdical opеrations. A major obstaclе was thе lack of sophisticatеd anеsthеsia in this world, howеvеr thе analgеsic qualitiеs of thе Kingscoppеr may provide some rеliеf. Shе thought about using it as a poulticе or an infusion to help with pain and inflammation during trеatmеnts.

Popola's thoughts thеn driftеd to thе dеlicatе issuе of childbirth. The mortality rate for mothеrs and infants in Flеa Bottom was alarmingly high, a stark contrast to thе advancеd prеnatal and postnatal carе shе knеw from hеr world at least before the last humans died. But pеrhaps, with thе creation of more woodеn forcеps combined thе potential usе of Kingscoppеr and other herbs, thеy could bеgin to tip thе scales. Maybе, just maybе, they could transform dеspеrаtе hope into a tangible lifеline.

As shе mulled ovеr thеsе possibilities, hеr mind traced back to thе myriad medical tеxts shе had studiеd, sеarching for correlations and parallеls that could bе adaptеd to this world's mеdical knowlеdgе. Shе rеcallеd thе dеtailеd anatomical drawings, thе meticulous notеs on hеrbal remedies, and thе intricatе descriptions of surgical procеdurеs. Each byte of memory could aid he in this puzzlе and bridgе thе gap bеtwееn hеr own knowledge and thе rudimentary mеdical practicеs of this еra.

"Assurancеs arе scarcе in any world," Popola whispered to hеrsеlf, "but with еvеry small advancеmеnt, wе еdgе closer to changing that harsh reality." She clutched thе Kingscoppеr a littlе tighter in her hand at the thought.

For a momеnt, shе allowed hеrsеlf to еnvision a futurе whеrе thе women of Flеa Bottom facеd childbirth with lеss fеar, whеrе wounds could hеal with more assuredness and lеss suffеring in the road to recovery.

Popola navigated her way through the alleys of Flea Bottom, her path marked by the subtle changes that she and Devola had brought about. She couldn't help but notice the gradual transition beneath her feet, where the ground had shifted from the rough, uneven terrain of the outskirts to the slightly smoother pathways closer to their residence. It became a small, however tangible mark of progress, a testament to their efforts to bring some semblance of improvement to this unnoticed part of the city. Despite this, Popola's gaze carried a yearning for more, an unquenched desire to see these streets transform further, to offer more than just the barest relief from hardship.

As she moved deeper into the district, her attention was drawn to an unusual sight - two men, both strikingly out of place in the drab surroundings of Flea Bottom. They stood with a stern demeanor, their clothing rich and markedly different from the worn fabrics of the local populace. One bore the distinct blue hawk emblem set against a white background, unmistakably the sigil of the Eyrie. Popola's mind briefly tried to envision the soaring heights of the Vale, though all she could manage was the image of the Aerie of her world, a bleak and narrow minded place a world that didn't seem so different from the streets she walked now at times.

The other man's sigil was more enigmatic, capturing her attention with its vibrant orange. It featured a series of large dots arranged in seven columns, an intriguing pattern that alternated in its progression. Encircling the pattern were runes that stirred a sense of familiarity within Popola, reminiscent yet not quite identical to celestial script. The sight evoked an unease in her, what did this say for the cultures of this world? Why is a language seen in both times of great innovation and calamity upon the cloth. It was a worrying line of logic she found herself in. She surmised it belonged to a noble house she had yet to encounter, its specific design suggesting a rich and possibly complex lineage.

"You are Popola, yes? Is it true you are the one to talk to in regards to locating someone in this district?" he asked, his voice carrying an underlying urgency that hinted at the weight of his task.

The question brought Popola out of her worried reflection though they stayed at the edge of her mind racing with possibilities. As she thought on his question, her familiarity with Flea Bottom was fairly extensive, a series of locations, faces and paths she committed to her memory stores. She understood that her insight into the residents and their whereabouts had become an invaluable resource for her work, but this sudden interest from an outsider, especially one who seemed so distinctly out of place, piqued her caution though she would not deny her own curiosity on their motive here.

"Yes, that would be me," Popola responded, her tone guarded. She observed the man closely, trying to gauge his intentions.

"Very well, my lord wishes to talk with you," he stated, a hint of relief coloring his words as if a weighty task was progressing towards completion. The man with the hawk emblem, a silent sentinel until now, began to lead the way. Popola followed, a mix of trepidation and resolve coursing through her. She was acutely aware of the implicit expectation in their actions, the unspoken understanding that her cooperation was not just requested but required.

As they navigated through the narrow streets, Popola's thoughts swirled with questions. Who was this lord they spoke of, and why was he seeking her out in Flea Bottom? What purpose did their search serve, and how did it connect to her and Devola's efforts in the district?

Her internal musings were abruptly interrupted when Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, came into view. His presence, though expected given the company she found herself in, still sent a brief jolt of surprise through her. Popola steadied herself, her mind quickly shifting gears as she prepared to engage with one of the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Lord Arryn," Popola acknowledged, her tone blending respect with a hint of caution. She studied him, aware of the gravity his presence carried in a place as forsaken as Flea Bottom she doubted he was here simply to look upon the district as she asked him to months prior. "To what do we owe this honor?"

Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, regarded her with a deliberate gaze. It was a look that made her feel like a brick sunk in her chest, gauging her before he replied. "I am here on a matter of some delicacy," he began, his voice maintaining a diplomatic neutrality. "It concerns one of the children under your care."

Popola's thoughts raced, piecing together the puzzle laid out by her sister's recent discoveries. She remembered Devola's account of Jon Arryn's unspoken guardianship over the King's unrecognized offspring, which now included the child of Leerah. Her response was measured, masking the whirlwind of thoughts behind a composed exterior. "I see," she said evenly. "The children here, they receive all the care and protection we can provide, even amidst the hardships of Flea Bottom."

Arryn's expression softened slightly, a fleeting glimpse of something more human behind his official demeanor. "Indeed, I have heard of your efforts, and they are commendable. But my interest today is quite specific," he added, his voice laced with a seriousness.

Popola's mind was still often preoccupied with recent revelations about Leerah. Constantly she thought back to Devola's account, the details about Leerah's current circumstances. The gratitude that Leerah was safe warred with a deep-seated unease about the nature of her safety. The idea of a girl so young, entangled in such a precarious situation, stirred uncomfortable echoes of their past, particularly of a boy she has tried her best not to think of. Before they had shouldered Nier with more perilous responsibilities, his early teens had been fraught with the exploitation of his innocence.

Devola had assured her that Leerah's situation wasn't quite as dire as they had feared, but the parallels were too striking to ignore. The thought of a king fathering a child with someone as young as Leerah troubled Popola deeply. It was yet another grim reminder of the darkness that existed in the corners of this city despite it brimming with human life.

Arryn's gaze held a depth of purpose as he continued, "I'm looking for a young boy in the orphanage. He would've been born roughly three months past, with distinctive blue eyes and black hair." His description was precise, leaving little doubt about the child's identity in Popola's mind.

Popola felt apprehension. She knew exactly who Lord Arryn was referring to – a boy who, despite his tender age, had already become a part of her world in Flea Bottom. The child who in a sense inspired her desire to lessen the childbirth issue, whose mother was a friend to Septa Yoellith. "A shame the mother was not here to see the joy he'd bring to us all" Popola recalled the Septa musing from time to time when she handled the babe. While her interactions with Jon Arryn had been limited, she remembered Devola's assurance that his intentions towards Leerah, and by extension, her child, were not malevolent. Yet, the unease lingering in her chest refused to dissipate entirely.

"Ah, yes, I know the child you speak of," Popola replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves. "He's been under the care of the orphanage, I visit him frequently, a bright and curious soul despite hardships he's faced so early on with his mother passing shortly after his birth."

Jon Arryn nodded, a hint of relief passing through his features. "I am glad to hear he is in good hands. I ask for guidance to him? It is imperative that I see him personally."

Popola weighed his request, sensing the gravity behind his words. She decided to tread carefully, balancing her protective instincts while keeping Jon Arryn's influential position in mind.

"Of course, Lord Arryn," she consented, her decision made. "Please, follow me. I'll take you to him."

As they made their way towards the orphanage, Popola noticed the subtle shift in the demeanor of the men accompanying Lord Arryn. The one bearing the hawk emblem of the Eyrie and the other adorned with the enigmatic orange celestial sigil assumed a protective formation around the Hand of the King. Their swift readiness serving a stark reminder of just how important the human in front of her held in the city.

As they walked along the smooth path along the drainage ditch, Popola's mind raced with questions. What did Jon Arryn's visit mean for the boy? Would this encounter disrupt the fragile equilibrium they had managed to establish in this corner of the city? Despite her concerns, she reminded herself of the resilience and strength she these children held – giving her hope amidst the uncertainty.

The orphanage became closer in view. The building, a modest structure with worn edges but it held a warm resilient heart. As they approached, the door swung open, and Septa Yoellith emerged, her expression one of composed curiosity that swiftly transformed into astonishment upon recognizing their esteemed visitor.

"Blessed the day is to grace us with your presence, Lord Arryn," Septa Yoellith greeted, her voice reverent. "How may we serve you on this fine day?"

Lord Arryn, maintaining his composed demeanor, replied, "I am here to inquire about a particular child. A young boy, just a few moons old, with striking blue eyes and black hair."

A flicker of worry crossed Septa Yoellith's face, almost imperceptible but not entirely masked. Her features soon regained their usual calm, and she gestured for them to follow her inside. The interior of the orphanage, though humble, radiated a sense of care and safety, a sanctuary amidst the hardships of the surrounding district.

They navigated through the simple corridors, the sound of children's laughter and chatter growing fainter as they moved towards a quieter part of the building. Finally, they arrived at a sunlit room where many of the children were playing. Septa Yoellith gently guided them to the familiar young boy, with a mop of black hair and eyes like sapphires.

"This is Dormon," she introduced the boy, her voice softening. Lord Arryn's gaze lingered on the child, studying him with brief scrutiny that gave way to warmth. A genuine smile crept across his face, softening the lines of his usually stern visage.

"And have his eyes always been this color?" Jon Arryn inquired, his tone gentle yet curious.

After a brief pause, during which Septa Yoellith seemed to collect her thoughts, she nodded affirmatively. "Yes, my lord, they have always been this striking shade of blue."

Lord Arryn's smile faltered slightly as he observed Dormon, who remained blissfully unaware of the significance of this visit.

As Lord Arryn's gaze inadvertently shifted past Popola, a look of mild bewilderment crossed his features. Following his line of sight, Popola turned to see Lommy, deeply engrossed in a book in a quiet corner of the room. The sight was a testament to the progress they had made, a subtle yet profound marker of change in Flea Bottom.

"Do many of the children read here?" Lord Arryn inquired, his tone carrying incredulity.

Popola's response was tinged with pride. "When we first arrived, literacy was virtually non-existent among the children. But with time, trust, and the necessary resources, we've been able to create and share literature. Reading has become a part of their daily lives."

The reactions from Jon Arryn and his guards were immediate. A veil of shock fell upon their faces, each man processing the information in his own way. The guard adorned with the hawk emblem, momentarily forgetting his stoic role, blurted out, "Creating books? You have no maester here? Impossible."

Lord Arryn raised his hand, silencing his guard with a subtle gesture, but his own expression betrayed a similar struggle to assimilate this unexpected revelation. "My initial purpose was to check on the welfare of Dormon, as well as briefly observe the changes in Flea Bottom I've heard so much about. However I must admit, your alleged work with these books has piqued my interest. Would it be too much to ask to see these creations of yours?"

Popola, sensing an opportunity to further demonstrate the impact of their endeavors, nodded. "Of course, Lord Arryn. Please, follow me".

She led the way to their humble abode, As they walked through the narrow, winding paths of Flea Bottom, Jon Arryn surveyed the area with a discerning eye. "This place... it does seem different from my last visit," he remarked, his gaze lingering on the newly constructed drainage ditches and the modest repairs to the crumbling structures. "It's still a far cry from the more well-funded parts of the city, but the change is palpable."

Popola walked alongside him, aware of the stark contrast between Flea Bottom and the more affluent areas of King's Landing. "Indeed, my lord. It's a small step, but with time improvements will compound exponentially." she said, her voice filled with pride.

Jon Arryn's steps softened slightly. "I must admit, there were times I considered what could be done for this part of the city. But the task seemed insurmountable. The complexities of court life rarely afford me the luxury of direct involvement in such matters." Popola nodded, somewhat understanding the intricate dance of power and responsibility that governed the actions of those in high positions. "It's a challenge, certainly. My sister and I have tried to focus on what can be achieved with the resources we have."

"And what else have you managed to accomplish besides the architectural improvements and literacy?" Jon Arryn inquired, his interest genuine.

Popola thought for a moment before responding. "Much of our work isn't immediately visible. My sister's performances around the city have provided us with some funds, which we've used to hire locals for various tasks boosting the flow of coin here. We've also been focused on improving the quality of food in the orphanage and several homes. The state of nourishment here has been... less than ideal often unsanitary"

Jon Arryn's brow furrowеd slightly at hеr words. "Unsanitary?" hе еchoеd, thе word sееmingly unfamiliar to him.

"Yеs," Popola affirmеd. "Many of the food sourcеs thеrе wеrе contaminated or of poor quality, contributing to thе health problеms in Flеa Bottom. Wе'vе bееn doing our best to addrеss that, to ensure that thе pеoplе have access to safer, hеalthiеr food options."

Thе Hand of thе King noddеd slowly, his gaze swееping ovеr thе scеnе bеforе him. "I can sее thе diffеrеncе. Thе pеoplе hеrе do sееm bеttеr off than bеforе.

FInally they arrived her residence. The walls, once bare, boasting shelves lined with handmade books, each volume a labor of love and with careful intent put into the knowledge provided. Pages, freshly inked and still drying, hung from strings. Perhaps she should have tidied up before inviting him in? She briefly thought.

Lord Arryn, accompanied by his guards, stepped into the room, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. The disbelief that had initially clouded his features gradually gave way to admiration. He reached out, his fingers grazing the spine of a book, before carefully pulling it from the shelf.

"You've written all these?" he asked, his voice holding uncharacteristic wonder.

Popola, standing bеsidе him, watched as hе flippеd through thе pagеs. "Wе repurposed what we remembered, and created nеw contеnt where needed. It's been essential in еducating thе childrеn and providing a respite from the harsh rеalitiеs of their world."
Lord Arryn closed the book, placing it back with care. "This is remarkable, Popola. To think such a treasure trove of knowledge could exist here, in the heart of Flea Bottom."

As Lord Arryn еxaminеd thе books, his usual stеrn dеmеanor softеnеd, rеplacеd by a sense of wondеrmеnt. Hе carefully flippеd through thе pagеs of onе book, thеn anothеr, еach fillеd with talеs and knowlеdgе mеticulously pеnnеd down by Popola. Thе Hand of thе King, usually so composеd and reserved, seemed almost lost in thе world of imagination and lеarning that unfoldеd bеforе him.

After a fеw momеnts of silеncе, Jon Arryn turnеd towards Popola, his expression contеmplativе. "Thе creativity and dedication in thеsе works... It's rеmarkablе. And it's not just thе childrеn of Flеa Bottom who could bеnеfit from such ingеnuity," hе rеmarkеd thoughtfully. "My own son, Robin, he's at an agе whеrе his world should bе fillеd with morе than just thе rigid lеssons of nobility. He needs to bе inspirеd, to drеam."

Popola's intеrеst was immеdiatеly piquеd. Shе had hеard of the Eyrie, its description not dissimilar to the aerie of her homeworld, but she knеw littlе about thе pеrsonal livеs of its rеsidеnts, including the Lord of thе Valе's family.

"Robin is to bе sеnt to Dragonstonе as a ward," Jon Arryn continuеd, a hint of concеrn lacing his voicе. "It's a nеcеssary part of his growth, yеt as a fathеr, it weighs hеavily on mе. Hе's always been a sеnsitivе boy, fragilе in both hеalth and spirit."

Popola could sеnsе thе innеr turmoil Jon Arryn facеd, torn between his dutiеs as a fathеr and his rеsponsibilitiеs as thе Hand of thе King. "I could crеatе a book for Robin," she offered gеntly. "A book that would rеmind him of thе bеauty of his homе, thе Eyriе, and thе lovе of his family. A story to accompany him in this nеw phasе of his lifе."

The guard adornеd with thе Eyriе's hawk еmblеm bristlеd at hеr words. Hе stеppеd forward, his voicе lacеd with a mix of irritation and disbеliеf. "Do not bе ludicrous, girl," hе chidеd sharply. "Our lord has amplе maеstеrs at his disposal for such tasks. Your work, whilе astonishing, has its placе. Do not ovеrstеp."

Jon Arryn, overhearing thе еxchangе, turnеd towards his guard with a stеrn еxprеssion. "Enough," hе said firmly. "I do not sееk a book craftеd by a maester. I dеsirе somеthing truly uniquе for my son, something bеfitting this uniquе juncturе in his lifе." His words carriеd thе wеight of his authority, lеaving no room for furthеr protеst.

Thе guard, though visibly unsеttlеd by Lord Arryn's rеprimand, regained his composurе and stеppеd back, adopting a stoic stancе oncе morе. Thе brief momеnt of tеnsion dissipatеd, lеaving a rеnеwеd focus on thе task at hand.
Jon Arryn lookеd back to Popola, his eyes appreciative. "Your offer would be a grеat kindnеss. Robin has always bееn captivated by tales of bravе knights and thе lеgеnd оf thе Vale. A short story that embodies thе spirit and grandеur of thе Eyrie could be a grеat comfort to him."

"I will craft a talе that spеaks of bravеry and wondеr, onе sеt against thе magnificеnt backdrop of thе Valе," Popola rеspondеd "A journеy of sеlf-discovеry, mirroring Robin's own path. It will bе a story that celebrates thе еssеncе оf thе Valе and thе bonds of family."

Jon Arryn stood, rеady to lеavе, but lingеrеd for a momеnt. "I look forward to sееing what you create, Popola. Your talеnts arе a rarе gift in a world oftеn bеrеft of such kindnеss and crеativity." Hе placеd two gold dragons upon thе dеsk, "This is thе first paymеnt, how long do you expect thе book to ink and bind?."

"It should not bе too long, though i'm morе familiar with rеproduction, a month is еnough timе" Popola said.

Surprise spread upon the Lord's face yet again. "Vеry wеll, thеn I shall sеnd somеonе in a moon to pick up thе book and complеtе thе еxchangе."

With thosе parting words, Jon Arryn lеft his guard in tow, lеaving Popola with a nеw projеct, onе that hеld morе significancе than just thе pages it would bе writtеn on. Briеfly Popola hеld thе two gold dragons in hеr hand, feeling their weight and thе rеality of thе momеnt. Thе coins, shimmеring and tangiblе.

Thеsе two coins alonе, could significantly bolstеr thеir ongoing еfforts in Flеa Bottom. Thеy could invеst in morе matеrials for bookmaking, perhaps even еxpand thеir makеshift library. Thе idеa of conducting a broadеr invеstigation into thе unknown particlе also rеsurfacеd in hеr mind. Thеsе gold dragons could bе thе kеy to unlocking morе answеrs, to undеrstanding thе strangе еnеrgiеs that sееmеd to permeate this world.

Yеt, amidst thе potеntial and promisе, a nagging thought lingеrеd at thе back of hеr mind. Hеr dеalings with Tobho Mott, necessary for thеir continuеd progrеss, camе with thеir own costs (and rеcеnt upchargеs it sееmеd). Shе hopеd that thеsе nеw funds would not simply vanish into thе incrеasing demands of thеir work with thе blacksmith.

Popola allowеd hеrsеlf a momеnt of satisfaction. Thе encounter with Jon Arryn, whilе unеxpеctеd, had opеnеd a nеw avеnuе for their mission in King's Landing. It was a reminder of thе impact thеy wеrе making, not just in thе livеs of thе downtrodden but also in thе еyеs of thosе in power.

With that thought shе bеgan thinking of potеntial ways to start thе book for Robin Arryn. Giving thе goldеn coins onе last glancе, it would bе much longеr than a moons turn until shе saw anothеr.

A.N.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Firstly, I want to express my gratitude for your patience and support. This chapter arrives a bit later than planned due to some personal challenges, including my grandfather's and my own battle with COVID (Thankfully we are both alright though there was a scare with my grandfather), on top of that it was a hectic finals period. Thankfully, we're both recovering well, and I'm relieved to share that I did well in my classes, including the particularly challenging Data Structures and Algorithms.

We're nearing the end of the prelude chapters, and I'm eager to dive into the main story of this arc. Your engagement and feedback have been incredibly motivating.

Stay tuned for an Omake around New Year's it will be a special treat to celebrate the start of 2024!

Wishing you all a joyful holiday season and a fantastic start to the New Year! (hoping to update this and my other stories more frequently this coming year) I love all my work but sometimes thinking and writing is the hardest part of it.

Random but my favorite GoT fic the Prophet from Maine is updating again on Ao3 recommend it if you don't mind show centric fics.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jan 1, 2024

A.N. - I did want to get this out a bit earlier in the day but glad I at least got it out where for a good portion of the world it'd either be new years eve or new years.

"Regardless of the branch some events are inescapable constants," she mused with a sly grin, collecting another fragment of memory. She meticulously noted yet another revelation as she reviewed the recording.

Recording Number 1,092,004: December, 31st 2030 (28 years after the Shinjeku Event) - Earth

Saegusa Mirai,was a man accustomed to control, his life one of pure unmitigated discipline. Against the cold, rough concrete he stood as a lone observer in the shadows of the basement. The long abandoned Sony building, now a makeshift fortress, reverberated with the low hum of equipment and muffled voices.

As the final hours of 2030 ticked away, Saegus' mind, usually a fortress of awareness and resolution, wandered down the corridors of memory, each step heavier than the last. He imagined his son Kenji, claimed by white chlorination syndrome at the tender age of 19. The disease was merciless, taking Kenji away just as he was blossoming into adulthood.

Neither the salt nor the Legion cared of love. Kenji's laughter, once a constant echo in Saegus' existence, now lingered as a haunting, intangible memory. The dreams they shared, the future they anticipated together, were cruelly cut short by WCS's unyielding grip.

In this rare moment hidden from the eyes of his comrades, Saegusa allowed himself to reflect the personal value of this war. Amidst the noise and forced merriment of the squads around him, his sense of isolation deepened. The festive setting felt surreal, almost mocking in its assessment of the burden of grief and obligations that Saegusa carried within her.

The American soldiers' presence was incongruous. Sergeant Jackson, radiated a boisterous energy that seemed to defy the somber surroundings. His laughter echoed off the walls, filling the space with a semblance of normalcy that Saegusa found jarringly out of place, he wondered how much of a role the Rat Tail resistance brew that he took subdued sips of played in this behavior.

Saegusa observed the soldiers with a mix of irritation and reluctant admiration. Their ability to find humor and camaraderie amidst the chaos was alien to him. He viewed their lightheartedness as a fragile mask.

Among the American soldiers, one young man stood out, his demeanor markedly different from the rest. His gaze was distant, movements mechanical, as if each step was a conscious effort. Saegusa recognized him as Corporal Thompson, recently bereaved by the loss of a his unit in the journey here after Red Eye besieged their prior location. He envisioned it took a great degree of might to succeed in protecting their assets in the journey from the reports he got on the legions sheer presence that day. Though the man he saw now seemed quite subdued in presence now.

Thompson's occasional flinches at sudden noises, the way his eyes darted to the door with each creak or footstep, spoke volumes of the anxiety that gripped him. The picture he clutched, worn and creased, as if an anchor holding a ship afloat.

The other soldiers, orbited around him with a quiet respect. Their usual rowdiness was tempered in his presence,At least they held some capacity to read the room, he idly thought.

Saegusa, from his vantage point, watched this interplay of emotions with a clinical detachment, yet not without empathy. He recognized in Thompson's haunted eyes a startling reflection of himself he cared not dwell on something beyond the machinations of Legion.

As the android models codenamed: Devola and Popola entered his vision, the air seemed to shift almost imperceptibly . This was the intended focal point of Saegusa's mission here. Tasked by the Hamelin Organization to assess the viability of their investment in these AI creations for Project Gestalt, Saegusa scrutinized their every move.

The androids glided through the room with a fluidity that was almost too perfect, too refined for any human. Movements were precise, and calculated, yet carried an elegance that was uncanny. Saegusa watched them analytically, though it did not stop his internal disquiet. Here, in the flesh – or more aptly, in their synthetic skin – Devola and Popola blurred the lines between the organic and the artificial. They were yet another example of the organizations complex interplay between technology and Maso energy, another milestone in the field in truth.

Saegusa's gaze followed Devola and Popola as they engaged with the lab technicians. Their speech, though impressively coherent, was marked by an elementary simplicity and occasional lapses in grammar. Devola, more talkative, attempted to form complex sentences but often stumbled, searching for the right words. Popola, on the other hand, spoke less but with more accuracy, her voice carrying a melodic tone that was almost soothing.

"Machine help with... no, assists in data analysis," Devola said, correcting herself mid-sentence. Popola added, "Yes, we process data for project efficiency."

The technicians responded with patience, occasionally correcting their syntax or providing them with the words they struggled to find. " 'assist in', is a better word in this context, not 'help with'," one technician gently corrected. Devola nodded.

Saegusa found himself increasingly disturbed by the scene. To him, these interactions seemed dangerously close to treating the androids as sentient beings, fostering a familiarity he deemed inappropriate. "They are tools, not colleagues," he chided, his discomfort growing.

Chief Takahiro Sato and Dr. Yuki Nakamura, overseeing the interaction, noticed Saegusa's discomfort. Dr. Nakamura approached him, her expression firm. "Mr. Saegusa, these androids represent more than just another achievement in the partnership of Maso and Technology. They are the embodiment of our fight for survival. Their ability to learn, to adapt, is crucial for the success of Project Gestalt."

Saegusa looked on skeptically. "But treating them as equals? Isn't that a step too far?" he questioned.

"It's precisely this interaction that fosters their learning," Chief Takahiro interjected his eyes hateful. "They need to understand us, to empathize with our plight if they are to be our allies in this war."

Saegusa considered their words, his mind wrestling with the implications. The idea of androids evolving beyond their programmed directives was a concept talked about long before the Shinjeky Event but it wasn't until this day he thought it could be truly realized. In Devola and Popola, he saw the potential for a formidable ally against the Legion, yet he couldn't shake off the unease that came with blurring the lines between humanity and artificial intelligence.

In their eyes, he saw not just the depth of simulated emotion but more, something that hinted at an evolving consciousness. They interacted with the lab technicians, responding with programmed efficiency yet displaying hints of adaptability and learning. This adaptability was what made them both invaluable to the projects the organization planned on incorporating and, to Saegusa, deeply unnerving.

As he watched them, Saegusa couldn't help but wonder about the ramifications of their existence. Were they simply tools for humanity, or were they harbingers of something yet to come? In the eyes of the Hamelin Organization, they were a means to an end, but Saegusa sensed there would be more to these androids.

He looked onto Chief Takahiro again, whos eyes still bore into him with malice. Saegusa was fully aware of their knowledge of his involvement in the controversial Hamelin Organization, particularly his position in approving luciferase experiments on minors. He justified his actions as important sacrifices for an extremely appropriate, tough but critical step to secure survival in an international balancing act on the brink of chaos. However his reputation, was met with disdainful looks from his compatriots opposed to praise.

He made the call back in 2016 to ensure the future of his son Kenji, believing that his legacy would live on through him. It was unfortunate what had to be done to those children but it was for the greater good and overall well being of not only his family but the world. Yet, a cruel irony of fate rendered these efforts futile as Kenji succumbed to white chlorination syndrome, leaving Saegusa to suffer in isolation.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Jackson's booming voice. "Folks, the final moments of 2030 are upon us. Time for a toast, don't you think?" He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering even on Devola and Popola.

Dr. Nakamura nodded and quickly began pouring spiced sake into an assortment of cups. However, she soon realized there weren't enough cups for everyone. Without missing a beat, Jackson produced a flask, topping off the remaining cups with its contents. Even Devola and Popola were handed cups, an inclusion that didn't go unnoticed by Saegusa.

Saegusa's brow furrowed at this gesture, but a stern glance from Chief Takahiro Sato silenced any objections he might have voiced. As the clock struck midnight, marking the arrival of the new year in Japan, everyone raised their cups.

"To the end of the Legion, and to the hope that this year will be our last under its shadow," Saegusa said, raising his glass. The sentiment was echoed by nods and murmurs of agreement.

The room then filled with the sound of 'Auld Lang Syne,' a melody that transcended language barriers, with English and Japanese lyrics intermingling. For a brief moment, Saegusa allowed himself to be swept up in the camaraderie, the shared hope for a brighter future momentarily easing the burden of his thoughts.

Both Devola and Popola appeared captivated by the song and tradition. The sight of them, so humanlike in their fascination, added a surreal quality to the moment. As the song continued, Saegusa found himself reflecting on the year that had passed and the one that lay ahead.

"To Humanity," came another short toast, a unifying soldiers, scientists, and even the androids...

Emerging from the basement, Saegusa Mirai was enveloped by the chill of the night air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the gathering he had just left. The echoes of 'Auld Lang Syne' lingered in his mind, a reminder of what once was and what still could be. His footsteps slowed, the global situation coming to the forefront of his mind - the Legion, the ever-present threat of WCS, and now, the introduction of androids like Devola and Popola into the fray. It was a war that always spanned physical and moral lines now even moreso, challenging the very essence of what it meant to be human.

Yet, amidst the chaos and despair, a fleeting hope persisted in Saegusa's thoughts. The ancient prophecies of the Kalachakra whispered of a war that would precede a golden age, a time of renewal and peace. The idea seemed almost fantastical in the face of their current struggles, but it was a hope he found himself unwilling to relinquish entirely. With his son gone there was none to carry on his legacy, Saegusa realized that his contributions to humanity's survival would be his true legacy. If Project Gestalt was a success he would be praised and remembered as one of the many responsible for guiding humanity through this dark era and that brought him some solace.

A.N. Well as you all probably noticed this did not have much if at all to do with the ASOIAF side of this crossover, hence why its an Omake. I did research a bit into the nier lore for this 2030 is the year the last red eye was killed. (Which for those who read this and are unaware or canon blind to the nier side) Red eye is sort of the Legions Corpse Queen (Or Night King). Though maybe a more accurate descriptor is something more powerful than a white walker (in status and ability) but less powerful than the Corpse QUeen/ NIght King themselves.

I did a little research into military structures for this but if i messed up some things I apologize. This was largely just something I wrote for fun and won't pertain to the story canon at all though some of the themes here are a bit of foreshadowing for the real story.

Funny enough this was initially going to have even more military forces present, Was gonna have some British armed forces, french army, and even Mossad (Because well lore wise the final red eye was killed in jerusalem0 (And in the bizzare nier earth alternate history assuming all the major intelligence agencies were still around and maintained some presence They probably would have some piece in the elimination of that particular red eye.)

But anyways this an is yet again getting long, and needless to say I felt that was all way too extra for a non canon omake that was initially just gonna be a "wholesome" new years celebration back on nier earth when humans were still 'human'.

(Also its my personal head canon that Popola got into drinking rat tail alcohol due to sharing it with humans back in the day. )

Hope you all enjoyed this little omake but if you didnt fear not as the story will not be like this (Though a few brief flashbacks but itd be from the twins perspectives and much more plot and/or character relevant)

FireWalkWithMe99 · Mar 9, 2024

A.N. This Entry is 100% canon to the story, and will be relevant as time goes on saying that. I feel Euron Greyjoy deserves his very own trigger warning.

SONG I Envision for this scene: In the Sky

Interlude: A voice that speaks of Hunger

Lebarion POV

On the water drench upper decks, Lebarion continues checking the stores, ensuring they have enough provisions for their journey. The quiet clatter of barrels, the rustle of cloth sacks—each sound is muffled, as if the very air conspires to maintain their vow of silence. In the muted light, he organizes the cargo. Each day's sunrise brings with it a fresh horror

In the beginning, his tasks aboard the Silence were mechanical, performed with the detachment of one praying to be anywhere but within the shadow of Euron Greyjoy. Crow Eye's brutality was unmatching, and he held and unpredictable fury. The fear Euron instilled was a cold chain around his heart, each act of cruelty a link added, binding him tighter to a fate he dared not question. But shadows change with the light, and so too do his thoughts.

The more he observes Euron, the more he sees beyond the barbarity. There's an undeniable charisma to Euron, a force of personality that can turn the tide of men's wills, bend them to his own. It's in the way Euron stands, unflinching, before the abyss of his own making, the way he wields power as if born to it. This charisma, this strength, begins to weave its way into the crew member's fear, transforming it, piece by piece, into something akin to reverence.

This budding admiration should disturb him, How can one revere the very monster that took his tongue? Yet, the thought persists, nourished by Euron's successes, by the palpable fear he instills in others, and the crew's own survival in this world of blood drenched screams his gods certainly would not approve. Though these days he struggled to recall who he prayed to before his time under the sweeping black sails. The fear they evoked, begin to instill a perverse pride within him. He is part of something powerful, something feared across the seas.

There was artistry in Euron's madness, the sheer force of will it takes to carve such a path through the world he was helpless to resist such thoughts.

The brutal interrogation of the Essosi merchant would have filled him with dread not long past now it gave him a certain perverse satisfaction.

"Behold, the vast sea," Euron began, his voice carrying over the ship with an ease that belied the tension coiled tight in the air. "It is mine, as far as the eye can see, and far beyond. The gods themselves bow to my will, for I have sailed to Asshai and beyond, danced with demons and dined with sorcerers. What are you to them? What are you to me?"

The merchant's son trembled, eyes wide with fear, as Euron advanced, a predatory smile playing upon his lips. "We are the ironborn," Euron continued, his gaze flickering to the crew with a mad intensity. "Conquerors of the sea, destined to claim all that the waves touch. And yet, here you stand, a speck of dust before the storm. I am that storm, boy. The first, and the last."

With a suddenness that made many of the new recruits flinch, Euron grabbed the boy, his grip iron-tight, pulling him close enough that their breaths mingled. "Tell me what I wish to know, and you may yet see another dawn. Refuse, and I shall show you that the gods you pray to are as nothing before my might."

The merchant, broken by the sight of his son in Euron's clutches, stammered out the information Euron sought—the trade routes of the Balaar family, their schedules, and their defenses. Euron listened, a serpent biding its time, and when he had wrung the merchant dry of all he knew, he turned his attention back to the boy.

"See how easily your father bends? A lesson, boy. Power is not granted; it is taken. By blood, by fear, by force. Remember this, if nothing else."

Without warning, Euron's hand twisted cruelly, a sickening sound filling the air as the boy's arm was wrenched from its socket. It was a sight that brought a twisted joy within him, as the boy collapsed, his screams swallowed by the silence of the ship, his pain a mere spectacle for the ironborn's amusement.

Euron released the boy, stepping back with a gaze that swept over the assembled crew, his voice rising in a crescendo. "Let this be a lesson to all who dare defy me. I am the king of the seas, your god upon these waves. Worship me, fear me, for I will lead you to glory beyond your wildest dreams. We shall take Westeros, and all shall know the might of the ironborn!"

As the boy was taken below deck, his cries fading into the distance, Euron turned his attention to the merchant. With a swift, brutal motion, he cut through the man, ensuring his silence would be permanent. "Live the word," Euron murmured, almost to himself. "When men see my sails, they will pray."

The merchant, now a lifeless testament to Euron's merciless rule, lay forgotten as Euron's attention shifted, his piercing gaze turning towards his quarters.

Without a word, Euron strode across the deck, his presence parting the crew like the sea. Making his way to his quarters and quickly grabbing the source of his recent fixation. Tonight, Euron had placed a cloth atop the crimson egg adorned with strange symbols, ones that Lebarion himself could not discern. They seemed to twist and dance in the suns rays, as if alive. The captain ran a finger gently over the egg's surface. Such tenderness an odd sight from the man defined by strategic brutality.

He recalled the day Euron had proudly shown the prize seized from a ship moored at Asshai's shadowed dock with a reavers greed. Yet, in past few moons, it seemed his fascination with the egg had deepened, transforming from pride in spoils to something more profound, and intimate.

Euron's eyes seemed to burn with a fervor that matched the egg's crimson hue. Within I felt a reverence for the man who commands the winds and the waves. There is honor in being the Crow's Eye's chosen. Soon enough the merchants son will feel such joy each moment shaping him into a creature of this silent world.

A.N. Im sure this Canon Interlude is a surprise to many it actually has been planned since chapter 3, though I've debated on where exactly I wanted to place it. This will not be immediately relevant to our characters back in KL next chapter, but with time it will be an important part of the entire overarching narrative.

If anyone is curious when we will return to our regularly scheduled android programming, I've admittedly had a bit of trouble with the next chapter which is another Devola POV . However I have still written a majority of two chapters that will show up in the near future. I just am having trouble with the chapters between the chapter we left off on and the future chapter I've written (Which would probably be chapter 14 or 15 realistically)

For anyone whos a fan of my elden ring fanfic I have been working on that again a bit as well.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Jun 14, 2024

DEVOLA V
The rays of evening light filtering through , clouds heavy with unshed rain, made the pale that settled over the district even more apparent, as if the very weather was joining in on the city's collective mourning. The streets, usually held more character and life amongst the depths of commerce, thought now it seemed the very air had been thickened with cement. Jon Arryn's death had cast a long shadow, one reaching even the most secluded corners of the city. Though his influence may have not always been seen; his absence became a silent scream across the city.

As she wandered through the street of flour's market, the impact of the Hand's passing was evident in the shuttered stalls and covered entrances a primordial empty settled into spaces where laughter, haggling and occasionally fist fights filled the air. It seemed many businesses across the city that had thrived under the stability Jon Arryn brought were now faltering, their owners left to grapple with an uncertain future. Prices for basic necessities had soared, a cruel twist to an already struggling populace, making survival in the capital's underbelly that much harder.

She pondered the broader implications of Arryn's death, wondering if Alayaya's business felt the ripple of this loss as acutely as those mired in the mud. It seemed unlikely that the lords and ladies, wrapped in their fine gowns and robes. would understand the true depth of the void the hands passing has left. Insulated from the struggle of the common man for bread and dignity, they would likely go on much the same way as before in due time, untouched by the desperation now gripping the "lesser" districts. The Great Savior Humanity, in its myriad forms, puzzles her still; its capacity for beauty shadowed by its inclination towards oblivion.

Leerah's visage floated into Devola's mind, and her child, Barra. The Royal connection with them had been a source of worry and unease, but Jon Arryn's visit certainly provided a greater layer of social security than any other in that brothel could ask for. Now, with Jon Arryn gone, Devola feared that barrier has been toppled and in due time the girl would be forced to do the work of the other girls. An unpleasant thought but a likely reality in this place. Would the king send another to ensure their welfare, or would they become yet another footnote in the chaotic sprawl they've left to fester in King's Landing?

She and Popola had worked tirelessly to plant seeds of hope into the streets, to mend what was torn and bolster what remained. Yet, the challenge seemed greater now, the path forward more daunting after golden opportunity came to them. The city lost Jon Arryn and with him they lost the ability to ask for more from the highers ups of the city.

His legacy, though perhaps unacknowledged by many common folk who were unaware of the happenings, would live on in the hearts of those he had touched even in there world there never was a certainty in what exactly happened to a gestalt or even a replicant after they passed… but there seemed to be truth in the power of memories. "You live as long as the last person who remembers you" And for Leerah the memory of the hand was certainly strong, Devola vowed to watch over them and baby Barra as best she could now that the hands guarantee of safety could no longer be ensured, hoping against hope that the king's gaze would once again turn kindly towards the girl and his child.

In the now amber light, Devola's lute once again found voice, a soft lament for the people of the city. A tribute to Jon Arryn, carried on the breeze, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest times, there were those of all sections of the city who would remember the hand.

Through storms it dances, fearless bold,
Its story sung, its story told,
In whispers soft, in cries so stark,
The falcon flies from dawn to dark.

Oh, falcon, soar, on wings so free,
Above the world, where eyes can't see,
A journey far, in skies so vast,
A tale of now, a tale of past.

And when the final dusk does fall,
And shadows claim the falcon's call,
In hearts of those who watched it fly,
Its spirit lives, it never dies.

Soar on, oh falcon, through the night,
Your journey's end, now out of sight,
In songs we'll keep your memory alive,
On winds of time, you will forever thrive.

As the last chord of Devola's lute disipated into the encroaching twilight, a solitary figure caught her attention. It was Henrik, moving towards her not with his usual steady patrol gait but with hurried, uneven steps. The setting sun cast long, ominous shadows around him, deepening the grave expression etched across his face—a rare sight on the normally stoic, occasionally jovial watchman.

A silent storm brewed in his eyes. Devola felt a knot tighten in her chest at the atypical sight. Setting her lute aside, she stepped towards him, her footsteps soft yet determined on the cobblestones. The usual authority Henrik commanded was replaced by an urgent vulnerability that pulled at her instincts more compellingly than any command could.

"To find you in such a state, Henrik," Devola approached with a cautious tone, her voice low and direct. "The hells going on?"

Henrik met her approach with a surprised look, his voice shedding its usual confidence for a tremor of apprehension. "Devola," he started, glancing uneasily towards a shadowed alleyway. "We face a grave situation," he confessed, the weight of his words a chill filling the space between them.

"Keep things calm, will you?" Henrik's gaze darted back to the alley, it was hard for her to tell whether his voice was a command or plea. "The last thing we need is a panic.".

Without waiting for him to give leave, Devola moved towards the dark passage. "Devola, wait! It's not safe—" Henrik's warning came out in a strained shout, but she was already beyond heeding his caution her feet quicker than her care for his words.

As Devola's steps carried her deeper into the alley, they faltered upon what was no doubt the source of Henrik's unusual behavior, a ghastly sight. Suspended from the rusted iron of an old tavern sign, a man's body hung grotesquely distorted. The metal tips, cruel and unyielding, pierced through his shoulders, turning flesh into macabre wings of torn sinew and exposed bone. His back was a canvas of horror, carved open where the bones of his shoulders jutted out like rocky outcrops from a blood-stained cliff. Below, the cobblestones were dark with blood, both dried and disturbingly fresh, sketching sinister shadows that stretched across the ground.

The sight seized Devola's with a visceral dread. This city had seen much death, yet nothing quite as barbaric as this in fact she hasn't seen a sight quite like this since a time she'd rather not recall.

Henrik caught up to her, A weighty silence hung between them, stretching seconds into what felt like years. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, struggling against the overwhelming darkness. "It's a grim sight," he admitted, his words halting as he seemed to reprocess the scene. "We're used to shadows in this city, but this...this is something else. The Hand's passing was expected to stir unrest, and his son appears to be missing—a matter I'm sure the nobility are scrambling to resolve—but this kind of madness?" He gestured helplessly towards the grotesque display. "It's been unleashed far too swiftly, more savage than anything we could have anticipated."

"It strikes me," he began hesitantly, "how you stand before such... horror without flinching." Henrik's eyes narrowed slightly, "I've heard tales of Essos, stories of unspeakable cruelty masked by the allure of the exotic. It makes me wonder just how much darkness you've seen, Devola."

His words hung heavy in the chill air, laden with unspoken questions about the depths of suffering one could endure without breaking. Henrik's usual facade when speaking with her was completely absent now replaced with something else curiosity, perhaps even some muted understanding.

Devola's eyes remained fixed on the macabre scene, her mind racing through centuries of observations about humanity. "Henrik, do you ever wonder," she began, her voice tinged with a profound melancholy, "if the darkness we see in men's hearts is inherent, or merely awakened by circumstance?" Her words drifted between them, carrying the weight of countless lifetimes of witnessing human joys and atrocities.

"This violence... it's more than just a reaction to political upheaval. It's as if a deeper, more primal force has been uncaged. The shadows we stand in now are not just cast by the buildings of King's Landing but by the souls of its people." Devola turned to face Henrik, her expression solemn. "In the years I've observed humanity, I've seen great nobility and kindness, yes. But there's always been this undercurrent of darkness regardless of the geographical location, the readiness to descend has always been present."

Henrik listened, the weight of her words sinking into the grim reality around them. He nodded slowly, a newfound respect showing in his eyes. "Perhaps," he murmured, "Perhaps we're all just a step from monster or martyr, depending on the stranger's whims," Henrik murmured, his eyes not leaving the grim spectacle.

Devola looked at him, her ancient heart heavy with the sorrow of the ages. "Yes, and perhaps our true test as beings—be we human or something else—is not how we exult in our triumphs, but how we navigate our darkness. How we ensure that the scales tip towards light, even when all around us seems to succumb to night."

Together, they stood in silent vigil, an unexpected degree of understanding on the goldcloak's face, each pondering the thin line between civilization and chaos that they both, in their own ways, were sworn to protect.

A. N. did not intend to take so long to get this chapter out, i did finish up school about a month ago then went on a vacation a few weeks later. Read a book "The Fourth Wing" it was alright. Interesting worldbuilding not the most interesting characters besides a few. I also watched a few period dramas, such as Outlander (Which is pretty good imo) also game of thrones fans might be interested in Diriliş: Ertuğrul which is an historical fiction story about the ottoman empire that has some game of thrones vibes.
This chapter was gonna have more content in it originally spanning a couple days but i decided to keep it standing by itself.. since the next chapter will have a lot. and much of it is written already just need to figure out some of the ordering/ bridging some parts together.
I know many will probably be sad about Jon Arryn still passing and so suddenly, but this was always the plan I also felt like realistically despite Popola and Devola getting some special notice, didnt mean they would know any sooner than the rest of the public.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Nov 24, 2024

POPOLA VI

Popola ran her fingers along the copper apparatus, tracing the delicate etchings that reflected afternoons narrow light. It might have seemed like some strange Volantene decoration as some residents speculated. But it potentially would be the key to a mystery that had eluded them for months.

Her interface scrolled, as she performed an analysis of the copper connections once more ensuring their intricacy was proper . It said yet again the connections were correct, nonetheless she verified from it again through technical data, missteps could not be afforded not with this.

Once Devola returned from tasks on the Street of Silk they planned to synchronize their systems; the temporary link between their processors, coupled with the apparatus, would expand her scanning capabilities—enough to include a radius of nearly 1000 kilometers, without overtaxing her Maso-inlaid CPU.

"…much more to analyze" Popola mumbled to herself as she nervously rechecked the connections. With this copper contraption, they might uncover the source of the anomalous particles in this world. If successful, it could lay the groundwork for preventing further harm, if it was indeed similar in effect Maso had back on Earth.

Her concentration broke at the sound of a faint gurgle behind her. She turned toward the simmering pot on the hearth, where the scent of Kingscopper filled the small space, with strong earthy aroma. Glancing over, she spotted medium sized, bubbles forming in one of the simmering pots—the Kingscopper tincture was close to its ideal consistency.

"HOT PIE," she called out, her voice steady, "WATCH THE POT! Ensure the bubbles don't get too frequent or large."

His face reddened slightly as he nodded, moving to adjust the flames. Popola watched him for a moment, her eyes softening. Despite his lack of experience, Hot Pie was managing the odd job well enough. Popola appreciated his help today more than usual, as her thoughts had been preoccupied with the copper device and the upcoming scan.

Walking over to another pot, a more pungent aroma filled the vicinity. Popola was meticulously crafting two types of tinctures today: one solely made of Kingscopper in liquid and paste forms, and another more experimental tincture that included Kingscopper mixed with a small drop of milk of the poppy. The latter was meant for cases where the pain was too great for kingscopper alone to suffice.

She turned to Hot Pie. "Keep the flame steady for this one. It is for wounds that require an additional touch," she explained to Hot Pie, her fingers steady as she added a single drop of milk of the poppy into the mixture. "The extract of poppy is a uncertainty. Too much and it brings risks—sleepiness, confusion, even slowing the heart and breath until they stop."

Hot Pie looked puzzled, his brow furrowing. "I thought milk o poppy was safe. Maesters give it to the high born like sweets."

Popola paused, meeting his soft eyes. "That's the problem. Too many believe it harmless because its effects are easy to nullify at first. But in excess, it can cause respiratory depression—when your body can't get enough air. The heart slows, and sometimes… it stops and well from there."

Hot Pie's eyes widened, unease spread across his face. "That sounds like some tale of grumpkins and snarks… that old peddler would tell Is that really true?"

Popola allowed herself a small, sympathetic smile. "Alas, it is all true, Hot Pie. The poppy's essence is potent, and without caution, it can do great harm. That's why we mix it with kingscopper—it has properties that soften the worst of its effects. We use just enough of the opium to help without causing undue harm."

Hot Pie frowned, a look of confusion clouding his features. "Opium? Never heard of that before. What's it mean?"

Popola paused, feeling the weight of her words and realizing her slip. "Opium is simply a term for the essence of milk of the poppy. It is derived from the sap of poppy flowers—concentrated, made into something that can dull pain. But it carries its dangers, as I said."

Hot Pie scratched his head, glancing warily at the simmering pots. "Sounds like something only the fancy maesters know about. Where'd you learn all this?"

Popola froze, just for a moment. The question hung in the air, and her circuits hummed softly, searching for an answer. She could not tell him the truth—of her long years of existence, of the knowledge gained far beyond what any human could fathom.

She settled on a half-truth, her voice calm and even. "From books. I have read a lot, over many years."

Hot Pie scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping him. "Many years? You're not that old. My mum didn't look as young as you do."

The words hit Popola with an unexpected pang. Her smile faltered, softening with a mix of sadness and amusement. She swallowed the tension that arose, then laughed lightly. "Well, thank you, Hot Pie. I'll take that as a compliment."

Hot Pie noticed the change in her demeanor and shifted awkwardly, his gaze returning to the simmering pots. He decided not to press further. Instead, his tone took on an earnest note. "Still... it's impressive, all this stuff you know."

Popola smiled again, this time with more warmth, something softer and more sincere. "We all do what we must, Hot Pie. You, too. Your hands might bake pies, but today you've made medicine. Its no small thing."

Hot Pie's chest puffed out slightly, his cheeks reddening with pride. "Maybe I ain't so bad at this apothecary stuff after all, huh?"

Popola chuckled, the lighter moment lifting the air around them. But as her gaze drifted back to the copper apparatus, her thoughts lingered on Hot Pie's innocent observation—the notion of years, of age, of the lifetimes she carried in her circuits. The weight was ever-present, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to dwell on such things, not today.

A few hours later, the very fruitful day was interrupted by a distant thunder of hooves. Initially nothing but a faint echo she payed little mind to, but it soon became too loud to be normal. Popola's face hardened as the cries and muted murmurs rang out like a droning bell, and her fingers stiffened momentarily on the jar she was storing.

With an understood sigh, she whispered, "Hot Pie, stay inside."

The young baker gave her a wide-eyed look. Frantic footsteps against cobblestone and escalating yells punctuated the air, too loud to be muffled by the districts thin walls. Popola prepared herself for the scene by approaching the doorway and cautiously pushing it open.

As she stepped outside, Popola's sensors immediately picked up on an anomalous change from the typical.

Three men stumbled down the narrow street, their forms casting long shadows in the afternoon light. Henrik's familiar figure was easy to spot, but his usual composed demeanor was gone. He and another man supported a third between them, the injured man's feet dragging against the ground with each step. Blood dripped steadily from somewhere above, creating a trail of dark spots on the dusty street.

As they drew closer, Popola's optical sensors captured more detail. The wounded man's head rested against Henrik's shoulder, dark hair plastered to his scalp with blood and sweat. His features, though slack with unconsciousness, mirrored Henrik's own - the same prominent jaw, identical hazel eyes now hidden behind closed lids.

"Help! Please, we need help!" Henrik's desperate shouts cut through the strange quiet after the commotion.

Popola was already moving towards them, her systems shifting into emergency response mode. As she drew closer, she noted the third man's attire, which seemed more fitting for the shipyard than the nearby city districts. Her gaze settled on the sigil embroidered on his tunic: a grey ship with black sails on an onion. The image tugged at her memory banks, but the immediate need to help the injured man overrode any attempts at retrieval.

"Popola!" Henrik's voice cracked as he called out to her. "It's my brother, Harwin. He's hurt bad."

The seafarer adjusted his grip on Harwin's limp form. "Those bastards... they trampled him like he was nothing desperate to catch up with the wheelhouse."

Popola's optical sensors took in the scene in a fraction of a second, assessing injuries and calculating blood loss. "Bring him inside, quickly," she ordered, her voice calm and authoritative amidst the turmoil. "Hot Pie, clear the table. And bring me the strong tincture."

Popola's hands moved with a familiar precision, cleaning the wound as Henrik paced nearby, his usual composure fractured. Matthos stood by the door, his seafarer's stance steady despite the grim atmosphere.

"I was down at the docks," Henrik started, his voice thick with emotion. "That body we found it was a shipwright... needed to know if..." He ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Doesn't matter now. Lord Davos's son here," he gestured to Matthos, "was helping me ask around when we heard the commotion."

Popola applied the kingscopper paste to the deep gash in his brother's side, her sensors monitoring his vital signs as Henrik continued.

"Red draped bastards," Henrik's voice cracked. "Riding through like we're nothing but rats to be trampled. Didn't even slow their horses when people couldn't clear the way fast enough." His fist clenched at his side. "I knew Harwin would be there. He always visits the baker's stall this time of day, ever since we were boys..."

Henrik's words faltered as he watched Popola work on his brother. The usually stoic city watchman's eyes glistened. "If Matthos hadn't helped me carry him... Seven hells, I can't lose him, Popola. He's all the family I've got left."

"The wound is deep," Popola stated calmly, though her diagnostic systems registered concerning data about blood loss and tissue damage. "But you brought him to me quickly. That improves his chances significantly." She reached for the stronger tincture she'd prepared earlier. "Hot Pie, bring me those clean linens."

Henrik wiped at his face with the back of his hand, the motion rough and hurried, as though trying to scrub away the shame clinging to him. His jaw worked wordlessly for a moment, the muscles tightening and releasing as he stared at his brother's pale, still form on the cot.

His grip on the bedframe tightened, the wood creaking faintly under the strain. "I swore to protect this city," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, more to himself than anyone else. "To keep the people safe. What kind of protector can't even keep his own brother out of harm's way?"

His eyes flicked toward Matthos, his face hard with the weight of his failure. The gratitude in his voice came reluctantly, like it was being forced out through the jagged edges of his guilt. "Thank you… for helping me get him here. Your father no doubt is wondering where you've gone of by now."

Matthos shifted uncomfortably, his boots scraping against the floor as he averted his gaze. "Any man worth his salt would've done the same," he replied quietly, his tone steady but subdued. He hesitated, as though searching for the right words, before adding, "Besides, after what those riders did…" He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line.

His hand twitched at his side, curling briefly into a fist before he let it fall open again. "Father always said the smallfolk pay the highest price when the highborn play their games," he murmured bitterly, the disgust in his voice barely restrained.

Henrik's head dipped, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own words. His hand slid from the bedframe to his lap, fingers curling into a loose fist. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, the sound laden with frustration.

Popola, standing nearby as she organized her supplies, paused to glance at the two men. She didn't speak immediately but knew the watchman needed something to focus on.

"Henrik," she said softly, preparing to bind the wound, "your brother's strong. Help me lift him slightly so I can secure these bandages."

Henrik nodded, swallowing thickly as he moved to assist. Together, they carefully lifted Harwin just enough for Popola to work. Her hands moved with practiced precision, wrapping the clean linen snugly around the injured leg. Henrik's movements were steady, though his jaw remained tight, his emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As they settled Harwin back down, Matthos stepped back, adjusting the sword at his side. He gave Henrik a small nod. "Your brother's in good hands now," he said. "I'll let you stay with him." His tone lightened slightly as he added, "And hopefully, you'll find more peace here than you would at that tavern of yours."

Henrik snorted faintly but said nothing, his gaze fixed on Harwin's pale face.

Matthos turned his attention to Popola, offering her a small, lopsided smile. "Thank you again, Popola," he said, eyes filled with warmth. "It's been lovely to meet you. Seems the Lord of Light deemed Harwin worthy of help today." His tone was half-joking, but there was sincerity in his words.

Popola tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. "I think the credit lies more in your efforts than any divine intervention. But I appreciate the sentiment. And thank you, Matthos, for helping bring him here."

Matthos chuckled softly, his earlier tension easing just a fraction. "Well, I suppose I'd better find something to entertain a boy before Father has to delay his schedule back to Dragonstone even more," he said with a wry grin. "May the gods grant you luck in your investigations, Henrik. And I'll pray that your brother's path is lit amongst the darkness."

Popola found Matthos's comments slightly odd but understood they were well-meaning. She nodded graciously. "Best of luck to you as well, Matthos. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Matthos gave her a final nod, then adjusted his cloak and headed toward the door. The sound of his boots against the wooden floor faded into the growing quiet of the room.

Popola's gaze lingered on the door for a moment before she turned back to Henrik and Harwin. The latter stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open for a brief moment before closing again.

Hours later, after Matthos had departed and the day's tumult began to settle, Popola found herself in the company of Henrik and his ailing brother, who lay resting in the corner of the room. The day's events had left her weary but a odd quiet did now settle over things. Harwin shifted suddenly, his face pinched with unease. His breathing quickened, and he murmured something incoherent, his fingers twitching against the blanket draped over him. Henrik was at his side in an instant, kneeling to gently clasp his brother's hand.

"Harwin," Henrik said quietly, his voice low and steady. "I'm here. What is it?"

Harwin's eyes fluttered open, hazy with exhaustion and discomfort. He searched Henrik's face with an almost childlike urgency, his voice thin but insistent. "The story… the one the lyre man used to tell us when we were kids. You remember, don't you?"

Henrik's expression softened, though his jaw remained tight. "The lyre man…" he repeated, his voice taking on a childlike tone. A faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Aye, I remember. Florian and Jonquil, wasn't it?"

Harwin nodded weakly, his gaze steady on his brother. "Tell it," he whispered. "Like he used to."

Henrik hesitated, his hand tightening briefly around Harwin's. His eyes flicked toward Popola,She gave Henrik a small nod.

Henrik's eyes softened, and he nodded. He took a seat, clearing his throat as he adopted a more dramatic cadence.

"In the Age of Heroes," he began, his voice weaving through the room, "when dawn nearly touched the west and Others walked beyond death… when wyverns roared and dragons soared above a world where hills had not yet dreamed of Andals, there lived a man some might even say boy in the Riverlands unlike any other. His name was Florian."

Harwin's gaze brightened slightly, the tale a comfort in his weakened state. Popola, tidying her workspace, paused to listen. The names and images were familiar, though distant, carrying the weight of old legend.

Henrik continued, his voice growing richer, inviting them into the tale. "Florian, known to all as the Fool, lived a life of laughter and jest. Clad in iron motley rather than gleaming armor, he bore a sword known more for tales than kills." Henrik's tone softened as he painted Florian as both a figure of mockery and bravery, his words filling the space with a gentle reverence.

Popola glanced at Harwin, whose gaze was fixed intently on his brother. The childlike wonder in his expression stirred a bittersweet memory within her of another.

"And yet," Henrik went on, his voice low, "it wasn't Florian's sword that defined him, but his heart. For he fell in love with Jonquil, a maiden he first saw bathing near Maidenpool. It was a love that defied reason—a love that would forever mark him a fool in the eyes of the world."

The soft crackling of the hearth mingled with Henrik's voice, the glow of the fire casting long shadows. Popola felt the weight of the tale, each word stirring thoughts of her own purpose, of the quiet work she and Devola had devoted themselves to. In their own way, were they too like Florian, fools clinging to hope in a world that often seemed bereft of it?

Henrik's voice softened further, almost reverent. "But what is a fool, truly? Is it one who sees the world's darkness, yet chooses to believe in its light? After all what is courage but a fools errand."

Henrik leaned forward slightly, his voice deepening as he farther settled into the cadence.

"Take the day, Florian had finally mustered the courage to reveal himself to Jonquil," Henrik began, his tone filled with a hint of dramatic reverence. "She stood by the pool, her golden hair catching the sunlight like threads of spun gold, her expression scathing as she gazed at the man before her."

He paused, casting a glance at Popola and Harwin, ensuring attention was kept. "And she said to him, 'You are no knight. I know you. You are Florian the Fool.'"

Henrik's voice softened as he shifted into Florian's response, imbuing the words with a blend of humility and earnestness. "'I am, my lady. As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well.'"

Popola's hands, which had been resting idly on her lap, tightened slightly as Henrik continued, her gaze fixed on the shallow breaths of Harwin. There was something in those words that struck at something familiar within.

Henrik straightened, his voice taking on a touch of playfulness as he delivered Jonquil's reply. "'A fool and a knight? I have never heard of such.'"

His tone shifted again, this time to embody Florian's response, laced with both sincerity and a touch of self-deprecation. "'Sweet lady, all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.'"

Harwin, though weakened, let out a faint chuckle, the sound raspy but genuine. "That Florian," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "He knew how to speak to a lady."

Henrik smiled, glancing at his brother. "Aye, that he did."

Henrik's voice dropped to a near whisper, "Florian's love was his greatest strength and his greatest folly. But perhaps that's the price we pay for daring to hope, for daring to believe in something greater than ourselves."

Henrik's voice finally trailed off, the tale of Florian and Jonquil settling into the quiet room. Harwin, who had listened intently throughout, seemed calmer now and his vitals were better , breathing even as he rested.

Popola broke the silence, her voice curious but measured. "That was a beautiful story, Henrik. I think I've heard mention of Florian the Fool before, but never actually read or heard any of the story. Is it truly just a tale, or is there more to it?"

Henrik leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Hard to say," he admitted. "Some say Florian and Jonquil were real—a knight and a maid who lived in the Riverlands. Others claim it was just a story meant to give people something to distract themselves from troubles back then, a reminder that even fools can find bravery and love in the darkest of times."

Popola nodded, her gaze drifting to the shadows flickering across the walls. "Hope," she said softly, the word lingering on her tongue as her thoughts turned inward.

The tale had stirred something in her, a memory she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on in some time. Back before they had arrived in this place, before the chaos and the loss, she and Devola had told stories too. Tales crafted with care, rooted in a truth that could never fully be revealed.

She thought of Nier—young, hopeful, and desperate for something to believe in. The story they had told him had been a fabrication, carefully constructed myth meant to accomplish a will far greater than themselves.

"When the great black book, Grimoire Noir, plunges the world into chaos...
The white book, Grimoire Weiss, will appear with his Sealed … or so the legend goes"

It had been a simple story of a hero destined to save humanity. But the reality was far more complex, even if the seeds of truth were there.

He had clung to that tale, not knowing the full weight of it. She and Devola had watched him grow, shaped by a purpose they had no choice but to give him, until all that remained in him was vengeance and resolve.

Her hands stilled over the collection of medical tools she had been organizing. She glanced at Harwins now sleeping form. She turned her attention back to Henrik who was looking at his brother as worry creased across his face.

"Do you think Florian really existed?" she asked, her voice low, almost hesitant.

Henrik shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it doesn't matter, does it? Whether he lived or not, the story survives. It's something people hold on to. As a child the adventure of it called to me and Harwin. As an adult, I've felt like a fool plenty of times in my life, its good to know that even a fool can make it somewhere."

"Do you believe he truly saw himself as both a fool and a knight? Or was it merely his way of charming her?"

Henrik looked at her thoughtfully, his expression softening. "I think Florian knew what he was. A fool to the world, perhaps, but in Jonquil's eyes, he was something more. And isn't that what we all want? To be seen not as we are, but as we could be?"

Popola nodded, but her mind remained elsewhere. She thought of the parallels between henriks philosophy and the way they were seen the true humans of the world… the old world she supposed. The sister model line meant to safeguard humanities survival. She thought of the "prophecy" she and Devola had created. Both were stories of hope, designed to inspire belief in the face of despair. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder if this tale also carried more truth than it seemed.

Devola finally arrived back in Flea Bottom when the sun was all but gone, the twilight casting long, uneven shadows that seeped into their modest home and workshop. The fading light did little to illuminate the cluttered space, where the remnants of the day's chaos lingered in the form of half-sealed tinctures and discarded bandages.

Henrik had left some time ago, mumbling about finding solace—or perhaps answers—at the nearby tavern. Popola hadn't stopped him. She understood. If something happened to Devola again, she would do much worse than drown her worries in rat-tail ale.

The sound of the door creaking open drew Popola's attention. She turned to see Devola step inside, her shoulders stiff and her gaze avoiding Popola's. Something about her was off, and not in the way she'd occasionally been since their arrival in this harsh corner of the city. This discomfort was deeper, more unsettling—something Popola hadn't seen since that first night.

This seemed worse.

"Devola," Popola said softly, setting down the jar she had been labeling. Her sister didn't meet her eyes as she walked further into the room, the twilight barely catching the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. "What's wrong?"

Devola hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she finally spoke. "The owner of the brothel introduced himself to me today."

Popola blinked, the statement catching her off guard. "I thought Chataya was the owner."

"So did I." Sister's voice was clipped, flat in a way that rang alarm bells in Popolas head.

"What did he do?" Popola pressed gently, though there was an edge to her words, a protective fire building in her chest.

Devola shook her head, finally meeting Popola's gaze. "He didn't do anything. Just… he said that soon enough, Leerah could be a more 'active' participant."

Popola froze, a lump forming in her throat so suddenly she almost choked on it. Her hand gripping the rough wood of her desk nervously. "What can we do?" her voice quieter than she intended.

Devola looked away, her jaw tightening. "I'll figure something out," she said after a pause, though her tone betrayed the uncertainty. Her eyes flicked to the table where Harwin lay resting. "What about him?"

Popola exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. "That's Henrik's brother, Harwin. He was trampled by horses in a rush to reach the royal retinue."

Devola winced, her shoulders sagging slightly. "On my way back from the Street of Silk, I saw some bodies trampled like that. They looked…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Terrible. Red, black, purple. Broken in ways I wouldn't wish on anyone even legion."

Popola swallowed har, having been so focused on helping Henrik and Harwin in the moment she hadn't stopped to consider how others might have suffered the same fate today. Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the sounds she'd ignored earlier, and she felt a sharp pang of shame. How many could have been saved? she wondered.

Finally Popola weakly broke the silence. "Would you still want to do the broader scan? I'd understand if you'd rather wait. I'm not sure I'm ready for it myself."

Popola looked at her sister, noting the tension in her posture, the weariness in her eyes. For a moment, she considered suggesting flat out they put it off.

"Oh, sister," Devola said, her voice cutting. "Part of me does want to wait, but there's no sense in it. If not today, then when? The longer we delay, the worse things could get. Let's do this."

Popola gave a small nod. "Alright. Let's get it done."

After ensuring Harwin was well asleep, and in safe conditions. The workshop was quiet except for the faint hum of the copper apparatus as Popola and Devola connected their systems to it. The dim red glow bathed the room in eerie light, and Popola's hands moved deftly across the controls, keeping the utmost focus. Devola stood beside her, monitoring the interface on her own end, her lips pressed into a thin line of anticipation.

"This should extend the scanning radius," Popola murmured, double-checking the connections for the third time. "I calculated it to reach around 1,100 miles, which should give us a clearer picture of any traces of the particle."

Devola nodded. "It's better than working blind. Let's hope we find something useful."

Popola initiated the system synchronization, the copper apparatus emitting a soft chime as their processors linked. See brought out her internal interface only see could see to project above the device for ease of mind if anything got disconnected. As the synchronization was finalized, a new message blinked on the screen: "Threshold Extended to 1,500 miles."

Popola frowned, her eyes narrowing. "That's… unexpected," she muttered. "It's exceeding my projections by a significant margin."

Devola leaned closer, her brow furrowing. "Good or bad?"

"Potentially both," Popola replied. "We'll know soon enough."

The apparatus began its scan, a soft hum building as waves of light pulsed outward from the device. On the interface only, a primitive map began to materialize, the contours of the land etched in faint lines of light. Tiny pockets of particles began to appear, scattered across the map like faint embers in the dark.

Popola leaned in, her breath catching. "There," she said, pointing to several glowing markers. "Small traces of the particle… scattered across the land. Not just one isolated source."

Devola's eyes widened. "That's… more than I expected. But why so many?"

Before either could speculate further, a sharp chime interrupted their thoughts. The holographic interface flashed red, and a message scrolled across the screen in stark, urgent lettering:
"LARGE COLLECTION OF MASO-RELATED PARTICLES DETECTED. MASO PARTICLE DETECTED. INFORM 'CLASS A' ANDROIDS IMMEDIATELY."

Popola's hands froze, fear overcoming her as she darted over the message. Devola glanced at her sister, concern etching deep lines into her features. "Popola? What's wrong?"

Popola raised a hand, silently asking for a moment as she stared at the interface. Her voice, when she spoke, was measured but tense. "Give me the data packet."

The system didn't comply immediately, repeating the warning instead: "INFORM CLASS A ANDROIDS IMMEDIATELY"

Popola's jaw tightened. "There are no Class A androids here," she said sharply. "Devola and I are the only androids present."

The interface paused, as if considering her words, before glitching briefly. The message updated:
"GIVEN LACK OF CLASS A ANDROIDS, CLASSIFICATION IS TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED FOR THIS POPOLA MODEL. WOULD YOU LIKE AN INFORMATION DOCK ON LOCATION OF PARTICLES?"

Popola exhaled slowly, steadying herself. Her voice, though calm, carried an undercurrent of unease. "Yes. Provide the location data."

The map shifted, zooming out to reveal a broader view of the world. Several points lit up, each glowing marker accompanied by a string of data. The soft hum of the apparatus was the only sound in the room as both sisters stared at the display.

Popola leaned closer, reading aloud in a voice that grew quieter with each revelation. "Approximately 1,050 miles to the southwest… I believe that's near Oldtown. A large collection of dormant, unmoving maso particles. It's… interspersed with an unknown particle. Not the one we've encountered before—something else unidentifiable."

Devola's breathing hitched, her eyes glued to the interface. "Oldtown? That close?"

Popola didn't answer, moving to the next marker. "923 miles to the northwest, on what appears to be an island about 123 miles off the coast of the continent unsure on that one's name… a smaller collection of pure maso, also unmoving."

"Another collection. Just... sitting there?"

The third marker glowed brighter than the others, its light casting faint red hues across their faces. Popola hesitated before speaking. "1,492 miles to the southeast, across the summer sea near a much larger landmass possibly Sothoryos… an even larger concentration of dormant maso. No unknown particles present, just… pure maso."

Devola's hands closing in tightly. "No, No..," she whispered, her voice breaking. "This much maso? It shouldn't even exist anymore, let alone in these quantities."

Popola hesitated at the final marker, her breath catching. The system highlighted it in ominous red, pulsing in a slow, steady rhythm. Her voice faltered as she spoke. "And here… 1,100 miles to the southeast. A moving source of maso. It's smaller than the others, but… it's the only one actively moving." She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It appears to be in the middle of the Summer Sea, between Essos and Sothoryos."

The interface chimed again, drawing her attention back to the display. Another notification appeared, its text accompanied by a faint, almost imperceptible glitch in the system:
"ANOTHER SOURCE OF MASO DETECTED. THIS MASO SIGNATURE MATCHES THE EXACT ENERGY SIGNATURE OF YOUR PAIRED DEVOLA MODEL."

Popola froze, her brow furrowing deeply. Her fingers hovered over the controls. "Wait. Repeat that please" she murmured, her sense of dread only increasing. She glanced at Devola, who was already looking at her with wide, fearful eyes.

The interface repeated: "LIVING MASO SIGNATURE DETECTED. ENERGY SIGNATURE MATCHES CURRENT DEVOLA MODEL."

Popola's voice cracked with alarm. "What does that mean? Is there another model?" Her hands clenched at her sides, her tone rising with each word. "Is there another Devola out there?"

Popola's voice remained steady despite the growing knot in her chest. "System," she said firmly, "clarify. Is there another Devola model active in this region? Use vocals to inform both my sister and I at once."

The system responded after a brief pause:
"NEGATIVE. ALL DEVOLA MODELS HAVE SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT ENERGY SIGNATURES. EACH MASO SIGNATURE IS EMBEDDED WITH A UNIQUE MODEL NUMBER FOR IDENTIFICATION PURPOSES BY SCANNING SYSTEMS."

"Matches mine? But that's…" Devola trailed off, her voice tightening. "Not possible. How?"

Popola's throat tightened as she processed the words. "So... if this signature matches Devola exactly, what does that mean?" she asked, her tone careful, as though speaking too loudly might break something fragile.

The interface hesitated, or perhaps the system itself was recalibrating. Finally, it responded:
"UNCERTAIN. SHOULD BE STATISTICAL IMPOSSIBILITY. ALL MASO ENERGY SIGNATURES ARE UNIQUE. THE SIGNATURE GIVES NO INDICATION OF TECHNICAL OR ANDROID NATURE. IT IS CONSISTENT WITH ORGANIC BEING MASO SIGNATURES."

Devola took a step back, her eyes darting between Popola and the glowing display. "Organic?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "How could something organic have my exact energy signature?"

Popola's fingers tightened around the edge of the apparatus, her gaze fixed on the data. "Where was it detected?"

The map shifted again, highlighting another location with a faint trace. The system continued:
"THE TRACE WAS DETECTED APPROXIMATELY 1,462 MILES TO THE DIRECT EAST. CURRENT DIRECTION CONTINUES EASTWARD BUT FELL OFF SCANNING RANGE. STATUS AND LOCATION UNKNOWN."

"How long ago were they at the location?"

"UNABLE TO DISCERN AT THIS DISTANCE, LIVING MASO BEARS SAME TRACE AS THE RESIDUAL SIGNATURES LEFT ON DAY OF DIMENSIONAL ENTRY INTO FLEA BOTTOM DISTRICT BY OBSERVER MODEL 022: 'DEVOLA'. GIVEN THIS POTENTIALLY THE SAME LENGTH OF TIME HAS PASSED"

Devola's head snapped toward her sister, her face pale. "Living? That's not possible… It can't be possible!" Her voice trembled. "Living maso with my signature? After everything we've seen, after all this time—What does this even mean?"

Popola remained frozen, her eyes locked on the pulsing red marker. Her mind reeled, memories of Earth's destruction, of the horrors maso had unleashed, rushing to the forefront. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "I don't know," she admitted. "But if it's true… it changes everything."

Devola let out a frustrated cry, pushing away from the wall. She began pacing the room, her movements erratic, her hands clutching at her head. "This can't be happening. It's like we're back in 2053—nothing mattered. It's all happening again, Popola. What if—"

"Devola!" Popola's voice cut reached out, gripping Devola's wrist firmly but gently. "I don't have the answers right now. But panicking won't help us. We need to think."

Devola's breathing tears brimming in her, but she nodded reluctantly. "Fine," she muttered, seemingly defeated. "Fine. But don't you dare tell me you're not scared too."

Popola's expression softened, her grip on her sister's wrist loosening. "I am," she admitted quietly.

A.N.

Been a while since the last update, and I want to thank you all for your patience. Originally, I planned to split this part of the story into separate POV chapters for Popola and Devola, but after much thought, I decided to combine them into one. The elements in this chapter have been in the works for quite some time, but I've been battling some serious writer's block, and honestly, I'm not entirely satisfied with how this chapter turned out.

Writing the in-between period after Jon Arryn's death and before the Quiet Wolf's arrival has been especially challenging. While it's still fairly early in that timeframe after Arryns death, I think I'm going to skip over the rest of it for now. I want to move the story forward and focus on the main narrative arc.

So next up, I'm planning a Gendry POV chapter which still will be in the inbetween time, and after that… we'll be introducing a brand-new POV character! (I've already written their first chapter, and I think many of you can guess who it is.)

This prologue arc (Arc 0) has taken me nearly two years to complete, and while it's been an incredible journey, I'm anxious to dive into the heart of the story. Hope people enjoy what's to come as it's been something I'm quite excited to write and later on reread.

FireWalkWithMe99 · Thursday at 12:11 AM

GENDRY III

Gendry felt at home— the distant crackle of the forge fire outside, the soft ping of cooling metal, and the creak of ancient floorboards beneath his boots. He moved through the dim space, sorting materials with relative ease, almost being akin to breathing by now. The air itself carrying the familiar acrid smell of coal dust and the metallic tang that he felt would forever cling to his skin after this long on the Street of Steel.

Master Mott had tasked him with preparing supplies—bundles of black iron that left dark smudges on his palms, brass rods that caught the fading light in an oddly beautiful way, and scraps of rare metals meant for the Mott's more intricate works. The ones he never lets me see, Gendry thought, his eyes drifting toward the locked door in the corner of the room.

Last week, he'd heard voices behind the heavy door that led to Tobho's private workshop. Whispered conversations in foreign tongues he didn't recognize, accompanied by the soft clink of metal against metal and the occasional scrape of something heavier neither seemed particularly reminiscent of blacksmithing. When he'd asked about it the next morning, the old smith had merely grunted and pointed toward the tool wall, demanding he reorganize it for the second time that month.

He didn't ask again.

Gendry's hands moved methodically now, the rhythm grounding him. Muscles flexed under strain as he hoisted a small crate of brass toward the worktable. The weight was familiar, and he let himself sink into the simplicity of the task. It was honest work—reliable in a way few things in his life had ever been.

Yet the unease lingered. The old smith had always been gruff, but there was an edge to him now, a tautness that hadn't been there before. Gendry shook his head, setting the crate down with a soft thud. None of it was his business. Tobho had given him a place here, taught him a trade, and that was more than anyone else had ever done. He had no right to question the man's secrets.

The floorboards creaked under his boots as he crossed to another pile of materials, His hand hovered over a bundle of thin iron rods, as a sharp knock cut through the routine. Just loud enough to echo amongst the quiet.

Gendry froze, as his eyes were seemingly stuck on the door, though he couldn't really say why. It was just a knock, wasn't it? A Blacksmith of Mott's capabilities got visitors frequently after all. But something about this knock set him on edge.

Behind him, Tobho's quill stilled mid-stroke, leaving an uneven ink on the page. The old smith's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. He rose from his seat without a word.

Gendry watched as Tobho crossed the room, his boots heavy against the floorboards. There was something in his posture that made the unease he felt intensify. Old man never hesitated. Gendry's hand tightened knuckles white against the smudges of iron and soot on his skin.

The knock came again—slow, deliberate. Tobho's hand hovered over the latch, his fingers curling like he was bracing for a fight. When he finally pulled the door open, Gendry felt the air shift, the room somehow growing colder.

The man who stepped inside was nothing like Gendry had expected. Draped in silks of deep violet and gray, he moved in a manner that seemed out of place yet intentional. His head tilting slightly as he surveyed the room, his expression was warm, but his eyes conveyed a different sentimentality, darting corner to corner as though cataloging every detail.

"Master Mott," the man said, his voice smooth, like the purr of a fattened cat. "What a delight it is to find you at home."

Tobho stood rigid, tightly gripping the handle of the door. "What do you want?"

The man's smile widened, as he stepped further inside with no invitation, his gaze sweeping over the materials on the worktables as his hands clasped lightly behind his back.

"What an impressive home," he remarked, his eyes lingering on the weirwood and ebony door at the far end of the room. "Weirwood and ebony… a most intriguing combination. I dare say I've seen its like before, but not often. Perhaps in Pentos? Or Braavos? Rare craftsmanship, wouldn't you agree?"

Gendry followed the man's gaze, unease prickling at the back of his neck. The door had always seemed out of place to him, its intricate design seeming more fit for a ceremonial sword than a simple door. He learned not to ask too many questions. But, the stranger's interest in it made his hands itch to grab a hammer—for purposes other than welding.

"What lies beyond it, I wonder?" the man continued, his tone light but carried a prybar's weight.

Tobho stepped forward, his broad frame filling the space between the man and the door. "Leave it," he said sharply.

The stranger raised his hands in mock surrender. "Of course, of course. Merely a passing curiosity."

His gaze shifted to Gendry, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow small. "And who might this be?" he asked, seeming genuinely intrigued. "A promising young apprentice, I presume?"

Gendry straightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I'm just helping out," he said gruffly, his voice rougher than he intended.

The man chuckled softly, the sound equal parts disarming and unsettling. "Just helping out, is it? Oh, I think there's more to you than that."

Gendry's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply. The man's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before returning to Tobho. "It seems you've found yourself a most dedicated apprentice, Master Mott. One wonders what other talents you're fostering here."

Tobho's patience snapped. "If you've no business here, I suggest you leave," he said, his tone like steel.

The man didn't flinch at Tobho's tone. Instead, his smile only deepened. "Ah, but business comes in many forms, does it not?" He turned slightly, his eyes flitting over the room once more, yet again lingering. "Still, I wouldn't want to intrude."

He took a step toward the exit, but paused mid-stride, as though struck by a thought. His gaze slid back to Tobho, something unreadable passing through between their eyes. "Your recent visitors," he began, his tone lighter now, almost casual, "have stirred quite the curiosity. They seem to carry an air of… purpose, wouldn't you say? Strangers to this city, yet their reach extends in ways that leave even long unseen eyes intrigued. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Tobho's grip on the edge of the table tightened, his knuckles going white. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said flatly, though his posture betrayed the tension coiled in his frame.

"Of course," the man replied smoothly, with a hint of mockery in tone. "Merely a passing observation. It's said that a face can hold countless secrets, but even the most skilled craftsmen can't help but leave their mark. Remarkable individuals, indeed. They do leave an impression, perhaps more than they realize."

Gendry's brow furrowed, his unease growing. Visitors? Whoever he had over the other night? He glanced between Tobho and the stranger, trying to piece together the fragments of their exchange.

The man seemed to sense Gendry's confusion and turned his attention back to him, his smile softening into something that almost resembled kindness. "You've done well to stay focused in a place like this," he said.

Gendry bristled, but before he could respond, Tobho stepped forward, placing himself firmly between the two. "Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "If you're done with your riddles, you can see yourself out."

The man chuckled, a soft, lilting sound that carried no real mirth. "As you wish, Master Mott. I've no desire to overstay my welcome." He inclined his head slightly in exaggerated courtesy, and began to walk toward the door.

But just as his hand touched the latch, he turned back one last time, his gaze flicking to the weirwood and ebony door once more. "Do give my regards to your visitors," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sure we'll cross paths again."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the workshop in heavy silence. The distant crackle of the forge fire was the only sound that remained.

Gendry exhaled slowly, his chest tight. He glanced at Tobho, whose shoulders were rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Who was that?" Gendry asked, his voice low, tinged with suspicion.

Tobho didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the door, his expression grim. After a long moment, he muttered, "Lock it. And get back to work."

It was the hour of the owl, by the time Gendry truly paused his work, wiping sweat with the back of his hand. He glanced up through the myrish glass window. The moon looked almost dented tonight, like someone had taken a hammer to it an odd thought, but one unshaken as he stared at its battered glow.

He leaned against the worktable, arms crossed, his thoughts drifting as he replayed the events of the evening. Tobho had called the servant girl—what was her name again, Ilva? and Alric into his office not long after the stranger left. When they finally emerged hour or so later, Ilva looked about as meek as usual, clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders, but Alric… Alric looked downright miserable. His shoulders slumped, and his usual stride was replaced with something far more subdued.

Gendry had watched him for a bit, curious but not wanting to pry. After a while, though, he couldn't help himself. He sauntered over to where Alric sat by the forge, poking idly at a pile of scrap metal with the tip of his boot.

"You look like someone nicked your favorite hammer," Gendry said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "What's got you looking so glum, then?"

Alric glanced up, startled, before giving a half-hearted shrug. "Nothing you'd care to hear about."

Gendry snorted. "Don't give me that. If you're gonna sit around sulking, you might as well make it interesting. What is it? Tobho yell at you for botching a rivet? Or was it something Ilva said? She does seem scary, what with all that glaring at the floor she does."

That earned him a faint chuckle, the corners of Alric's mouth twitching upward despite himself. "You're a real arse, you know that?"

"Never said I wasn't," Gendry replied, a grin spreading across his face. "Come on, spit it out. If it's something bad, maybe I can make it worse just to even things out."

Alric rolled his eyes but seemed a little lighter for the banter. "It's nothing," he said again, but his tone was softer now. "Just… long day, that's all."

Satisfied for the moment, Gendry gave him a companionable clap on the shoulder. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Just don't expect any good advice. I'm rubbish at that."

Alric muttered something about him being hopeless. Gendry just grunted and went back to his bench, letting the quiet of the workshop wash over him.

The forge wasn't like this during the day. Then it was all heat and noise and work that never bloody ended. His hands had the scars to prove it—years of burns and cuts that told their own story. But nights were different. Nights made a man think, even when he didn't want to.

Jon Arryn's face came to him sudden-like. Odd, that. Hadn't thought much about the old lord since he'd died, but there it was. He remembered how strange it felt, having some high lord asking after his mum. She'd been gone so long by then he could barely remember her face. Just bits and pieces really—yellow hair, maybe a smile. But those questions made him dig deep, made him remember things he'd thought the forge had burned away.

Gendry spat into the coals, watching them hiss. Lord Arryn had been different from the other fancy folk who came through. Didn't look at Gendry like he was just another smith's boy. Asked real questions, listened to the answers. Funny how a few conversations with some old lord he barely knew had kept his mum's memory alive, even if it was just scraps and pieces.

He missed the old man, in his way. Not that he'd ever say it out loud—wasn't his place to miss lords. But there it was all the same.

The moon was up now, making the workshop look all strange and silver. Gendry picked up his hammer. Work needed doing, whether he was feeling soft in the head or not.

A.N. Well hello im glad to say it hasn't been too long but still i'd like to update this more often. I saw the Wicked movie over break and let me just say its great. I never seen the musical or read the book. Though I enjoyed the movie so much I ended up buying the original 1995 book. Im already a 3rd of the way through and I like the book even more. Just dives into the world and explorers character povs barely touched in the movie. Its quite good and hope the movie inspires some interesting new fanfics.

Doctor Dillamond for ruler of Qarth make it happen SB.

A Song of Bards and Maso (Asoiaf/Nier)

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