One Who is Many - [Worm / Game of Thrones]

[The_Bajar]

Wracking his mind, Edric desperately searched his memories for those names. To his shame, it took him thirty seconds just to recall the identities of his future Lord Paramount and the man's younger brother.

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Dorne doesn't have a Lord Paramount but a Ruling Prince. The heiress is also Arianne Martell being the eldest (or did I miss a change from canon there?)

 

[Aeselon]

The thick plottens!

I'll be the first to admit I was concerned when you guys mentioned you were going to be expanding the magic of the setting and increasing its frequency, but I can honestly say this chapter alleviated all of those misgivings. What you've got here is far and above anything we see in the books or show, but it still has that ASoIaF flavour to it, the level of horror lurking just under the surface. I dig it.

 

[SilverEagle2121]

Scrimshaw_NSFW since you will be updating here as the primary source for this rather than SB, would you want to consider adding the informational posts to this thread as well. That way people who read this thread can get the better understanding of the characters and setting without having to go elsewhere to find out things. Other than that, I am glad to see this continuing and am sorry about all of the difficulties you went through on SB. I will be continuing to follow this as it is an excellent story.

 

[Ljapaubeaves]

It's good that i had an account here already for some Bleach/Worm Fic that died years ago.

now i can comment here and feel like not a thing had changed.
I enjoy the story on ff but since discovering forums for real, i don't want to miss the ability to address you directly.

thank you for writing this story.

 

[Scrimshaw_NSFW]

ah looting secrets a witch's work is never done lisa would say

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I imagine Lisa might be jealous about how Ophelia's gone from having just one blonde to two, never mind an entire family of impossibly beautiful people who adore her.

After all, with Tyene around, heh, poor little Lisa finally has competition.

That's a helluva trip! Awesome chapter!!

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Thanks! I asked Wyvern to let me step in and use this account to properly reply, so I'm really glad you had fun!

Oh he is just adorable. Is this moe? I think this is moe.

This whole snippet had me smirking and chuckling but this right here had me laughing.

Okay? Um... I think I've figured all the things in this but my brain is still full of fuck.

Have I mentioned that your Sarella is just plain awesome. I get the feeling that she should have a hat, bullwhip, and pistol. Well, maybe that or a British accent and another last name.

I get the feeling that if her sisters didn't stop her she would charge off to Yeen, past the Five Forts, and all kinds of other places.

Oh, and obvious curiosity as to what that is.

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According to certain members of the mod staff on SB, the entire scene with Edric was sexualizing a minor. And that we have a predilection for that. Yes. I'm dead serious. And it's not the first time these particular staff members have made those particular accusations.

And I'm glad we got a laugh! Qyburn is definitely one of my favorite POVs so far!

To be honest? We might have to do an omake where Sarella meets Indy and they go on a tomb raid together XD

There is a STRONG likelihood of that, yes.

Why, it's the familiar, of course~

Edric is hilarious, Qyburn was ominous, Lady Whent was interesting in the sense of seeing how someone more stealthily and more morally strict with their magic is and for info on Harrenhall.

Danelle was the most interesting part for me. She really got kind of screwed following her love into magic. It makes you realize really how lucky Ophelia is because if she'd had any other family some of her interests and actions would have already gotten her killed.

Something else interesting to me is that Danelle seems to be semi alive. Not quite as alive as Bloodraven but definitely not fully dead. I think she was glad she had someone to pass her life work and story to before she forgot everything.

On the blood in the mouth is this a reference to the "Wierwood paste" scene and it's implications? Also I'm guessing the fox was one of her skin changing bodies, which makes the cuddling not adorable and sad.

I could feel how worried Sarella was. Yeah I can tell one of these days running off is going to have bad consequences for Ophelia. Oh well, at least history, dark lore, and super birb egg have been obtained.

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I'm glad you liked the characters! They were fun to write and we tried to make it clear how they're fitting into the emotional and philosophical arc of the chapter.

Danelle is part tragedy, part inevitability. She wasn't the most stable girl on her own, but yeah, between the Bloodraven and the Seastar, well, she never stood a chance. Though that's not to absolve her of all responsibility, she did choose the pathshe walked.

Hmm. She's a skinchanger, and maybe something else, that still lives on in her many, many skins. To say that she's human would be massively wrong, but a part of the human that was once Danell does exist, yes.

Yup! It's actually a bootleg Valyrian blood magic version of something similar. Or, at least, that's my headcanon for what she did. As for the fox... it might and might not have been. Maybe it was just drawn there by Ophelia. Maybe, and do remember that she thought Sarella was Aisha for a moment, it was called there by Taylor.

Tbh, bit surprised no one's commented on the fact Sarella thought her sister had been raped. As difficult as that might be to imagine happening, Sarella seriously thought something like that had happened. And yeah. Ophelia gained from the experience. Just gotta hope its worth it.

Since this fic is no longer being posted over on SB, I'll post the poem I wrote there here as well, enjoy.

Ophelia & Tyene

We Dance
​

You flit towards me

You spin away​

Our waltzes drag us through the castle


We sing
​

You shoot off barbs without hesitation

You riposte each one with grace​

Our duets last long into the nights


We befuddle
​

They think you mad for your intensity

They call you witch for all you do​

Few are truly comfortable around us


We amuse
​

They delight when you surprise them

They adore what you create​

It is family, alone, who cares


We break
​

A part of me is missing, I lost it long ago

A part of me is empty, it was never full​

We are not as whole as others


We mend
​

You fill the cracks that lie within me

You show me what it's like to care​

We stitch each other back together​

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As always, thank you. It's gifts like these that help us continue to smile, as authors and as people.

Man a lot got cut from the SB version, was that really all that you could get past the censors over there?

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To be blunt, things got nasty. And we were told that it would either need a full rewrite of enough of it that we decided they were demanding we create an entirely new chapter. They were not polite about it either.

Dorne doesn't have a Lord Paramount but a Ruling Prince. The heiress is also Arianne Martell being the eldest (or did I miss a change from canon there?)

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That was partly an intentional mistake on his part and partly an in universe change.

Berric Dondarrion is a Stormlord from the Dornish Marches and Edric has started to pick up his terminology. Without going too spoiler heavy,

Spoiler: possible plot line

this is part of a possible planned storyline about Edric having "gone native" with a Stormlord's mindset, not a Dornish one, and the Darkstar using this as "evidence" against his cousin's right to claim the main lordship of House Dayne.

. As to Quentyn being his future lord, this is correct, as Arianne is engaged to Willas Tyrell and they are to be wed upon the king's return from the North. Quentyn stands to inherit as a result.

The thick plottens!

I'll be the first to admit I was concerned when you guys mentioned you were going to be expanding the magic of the setting and increasing its frequency, but I can honestly say this chapter alleviated all of those misgivings. What you've got here is far and above anything we see in the books or show, but it still has that ASoIaF flavour to it, the level of horror lurking just under the surface. I dig it.

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All I will say is that Magic always has a price.

Scrimshaw_NSFW since you will be updating here as the primary source for this rather than SB, would you want to consider adding the informational posts to this thread as well. That way people who read this thread can get the better understanding of the characters and setting without having to go elsewhere to find out things. Other than that, I am glad to see this continuing and am sorry about all of the difficulties you went through on SB. I will be continuing to follow this as it is an excellent story.

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We'll try and do that and move a couple other stories over here in the coming days too. And thanks! All we want to do is be free to write and post, apparently that's not in the cards XD

It's good that i had an account here already for some Bleach/Worm Fic that died years ago.

now i can comment here and feel like not a thing had changed.
I enjoy the story on ff but since discovering forums for real, i don't want to miss the ability to address you directly.

thank you for writing this story.

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You're VERY welcome~

And yup! We love being able to chat with you guys too!

 

[rad]

According to certain members of the mod staff on SB, the entire scene with Edric was sexualizing a minor. And that we have a predilection for that. Yes. I'm dead serious. And it's not the first time these particular staff members have made those particular accusations.

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... wut? I mean, there are parts in the story where I can squint and see where someone is coming from but this? This is the part they are concerned about? This was the most innocent, cornball crush that I can possibly imagine but they take issue with it?

To be honest? We might have to do an omake where Sarella meets Indy and they go on a tomb raid together XD

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Would read.

 

[ATP]

Good chapter,she would be stronger now.As if she need it.Lannisters,Varys,Others - she could finish them all with what her have till now.

 

[Witherlegion]

By the way Scrim. Do you plan on incorporating Coldhands into this story? He seems like someone that would make a good ally against the Night King/Whoever you have at the head of the Walkers.

 

[Scrimshaw_NSFW]

... wut? I mean, there are parts in the story where I can squint and see where someone is coming from but this? This is the part they are concerned about? This was the most innocent, cornball crush that I can possibly imagine but they take issue with it?

Would read.

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rad Thank you very much! We've gotten pretty much universal vindication, but the mods on SB are very clear. As to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Sand and Snakes, well, we might just have to push towards that XD

Good chapter,she would be stronger now.As if she need it.Lannisters,Varys,Others - she could finish them all with what her have till now.

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ATP While I'm glad you're so supportive of Ophelia, do be careful not to overestimate her. There are things far more ancient and far more terrible than her.

By the way Scrim. Do you plan on incorporating Coldhands into this story? He seems like someone that would make a good ally against the Night King/Whoever you have at the head of the Walkers.

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Witherlegion There is a plan for the Rat Cook, Cold Hands, and Patchface. Our plan is very, very vague atm, but there IS a plan for them. Or, at least, for them to serve as components to a greater plan. If you guys have any suggestions, you're more than welcome to leave them, doubly so since many of plans beyond the next two chapters (aside from the Warhawk's plotting to give Ophelia a harem) is very, VERY loose and vague.

 

[Broodlord]

According to certain members of the mod staff on SB, the entire scene with Edric was sexualizing a minor. And that we have a predilection for that. Yes. I'm dead serious. And it's not the first time these particular staff members have made those particular accusations.

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I don't suppose there is a place we could register a complaint on the site about that? Cause it seems like they were just out to get you and were willing to just throw out whatever they could to try and get rid of you and that is just unacceptable from a group of moderators.

 

[Kotawa]

It was an enjoyable read, if slightly frustrating. I had some trouble figuring who exactly was speaking at times during dialogues.

 

[ATP]

Harem for Ophelia...good idea.When kingdoms were created,first King usually take daughters from all major tribes.Westeros arleady is Kingdom,so when Ophelia take over she could get husband/waifu from all 7 kingdoms.And add NightQueen as bonus.
I would not add Rat Cook or Patchface.,thought.Maybe Coldhand?

 

[Jubjub3000]

Thanks for the chapter! Loved it!

I wonder how everyone's go in g to react to Ophelia's little adventure?

 

[MorDrakka]

Thank you very much! We've gotten pretty much universal vindication, but the mods on SB are very clear.

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With the change of venue, will there be more in the way of acknowledging what's going on behind closed doors in the narrative, or were you more or less writing it as you intended it to be written without regards to SBs known overzealousness?

 

[masterofmadness]

Alright I talked to the author and my usual reviews will be posted here, enjoy people!

Being a lord of an ancient house, squired to another lord, and travelling in the royal procession of the king was an altogether easy thing. In fact, it wasn't even all that different from his normal duties. His master was still an active man, after all, and Lord Dondarrion was nothing if not diligent.
That meant Edric woke up, got dressed, and had breakfast going before the sun peeked over the horizon.
That meant he checked the horses, packed up their gear, and attended his master's needs. Shaving, fitting him with his arms and armor, and then taking care of all the little things that cropped up in life. Rips, tears, nicks all accumulated, food stuffs needed to be carefully looked over, and the dishes needed to be scrubbed if they were breaking camp that day.

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An Edric Daye POV? An original choice if nothing else I suppose you have my attention for now.

The Lord of Blackhaven was a hard man, good, just, but hard. He had seen enough suffering and misery that it had taught him weakness in battle would be punished. Usually with death. Matches with the man were always short and brutal and then, after, Ser Beric would sit with him and they would work over every mistake, every misstep, every tiny flaw until Edric had mastered the stroke, the step, the tiniest movement of his eyes and feet and hands.
In the evenings, when they were at their own campfire, the older man would warm up the leftovers and make sure Edric stretched. Would show him how to work out cramps or pulled muscles or even just how to bandage bruises and the likes. Stories, some happy, some sad would be shared during those times.
Scars would be explained.
Not as great trophies, but as lost comrades and missteps.

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A little harsh by modern standards but it seems like Dondarrion is a good teacher for him by Westerosi standards. Especially compared to some of the deficient knightly 'training' we see from people like Robert done mostly for the prestige.

When his master drank, however rarely that was, he would sometimes mention how Edric was the last true Dayne. How the Darkstar was no Sword of the Morning, no matter how much the distant cousin of his pretended to it. And how there was king's blood - and a king's legacy - on his shoulders.

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Well I can't say I disagree with shitting on the Darkstar's emo ass. Though the natural contrarian in me can't help but think about how unfairly comparing him to Arthur Dayne and putting him down for it rather then judging him as his own man is part of the problem with his bad behavior.

He had even had to, politely, refuse the offer of more than one maid and more than one bed.
He was a lord too, after all.
And that meant politics was a constant concern when he was at castles or around anyone who recognized him. His master, after all, was a true knight and eschewed adultery. Somewhat to the point others occasionally thought the Lord Dondarrion a cold man.
The truth of it was that his master was wed to his duty.
Letter, numbers, and expenses were the three areas Edric was told that duty lay. The ability to read and write his own words and the ability to manage his finances were skills that were far too uncommon amongst even the idle elite, as his master said.
And the one vow he carried was to never shame his master.

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I am very much liking Berric's style of teaching even if it is probably a little biased by a child's viewpoint. Not only is he not neglecting the non combat aspect of his training he is living up to the example he wants to be followed. Not many people in Westeros truly even try to do that.

"Alright Fawn, that's a good girl." Patting the flank of his mare, the squire couldn't help but giggle when the horse began to lightly chew his hair. "No you dumb beast, you can't eat me."

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Fawn: FOOL BOY I SHALL FEAST UPON ALL YOUR KIND IN TIME!

What was new, however, was the company they were keeping.
A royal procession was a big opportunity for making acquaintances that you normally would never see. And none were as unusual or as mysterious as the southerners who seemingly held the attention of everyone around them. If Edric had to make a comparison, it was like the sun of their family crest. You were always aware of it when it was there and noted its absence when it was gone.
All knew about the Red Viper.
Even Edric knew a lot about the man's reputation and deeds, or misdeeds as some might refer to them. He was still larger than life, with a strange intensity behind every action he took, even when he was daring the other knights to a drinking contest.
Or the King, for that matter.
That had been a strange night as nearly two dozen of the greatest lords and knights had drunk from nightfall to dawn.

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Well nobody can deny Oberyn has charisma if nothing else.
Also this must be a strange experience for a young boy. This is probably his first time meeting the highest levels of his society and it is a mad drinking binge as they travel across the kingdoms. Not exactly a good impression for high society overall.

Nevertheless, it wasn't the Prince that fluttered about inside Edric's mind. The one whose presence he felt strangely bothered by and most keenly felt the absence of whenever he was near the group. It was strange, as he'd never quite cared to pay attention to ladies, regardless of their age or wealth or beauty.
But his eye was still drawn.
His heart still skipped a beat.
His skin still felt clammy as a weight settled on his throat.
'Oh that. Congratulations lad, you're growing up.' His master's reaction was even more puzzling than usual.

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Aw! Little Edric has a crush on one of the Sand snakes? So cute!

And that, combined with master's advice, meant Edric was resolved to face this mysterious ailment with all his ability. But first he had to understand the symptoms so as to come to a conclusion of what was actually happening to his body and how to cure himself of it. His pride as squire demanded he devote all his energy to it!
First! Approaching the Dornish delegation caused him strange discomfort around the chest. If he stayed around long enough, he would grow shallow of breath.
Second! Though Prince Oberyn remained an exception to the rule, his daughters, the Sand Snakes as they were called, had varying degrees of the same effect.
Third! Though Edric was hardly talkative, he still felt his jaw grow taut as he approached them, thoughts muddling together as he tried to think of something to say to the bastard girls, despite not knowing them or their interests. He would need to ask his teacher whether this was a sign that he was being compelled by some form of magic.
Putting together all these facts, Edric came to the conclusion that one of the Dornish had somehow cast some form of spell or charm upon him.
There were rumours, after all, that one of them was a Witch.
So it all fit!

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Yes this is all perfect logic! Though it might not be possible for them to cease 'charming him'

Obviously, one of the Dornish girls was playing tricks on him. And as a future knight and lord, it was his duty to find the culprit and properly scold them for their lack of manners. Even if they weren't technically part of House Nymeros Martell, they should still be on their best behavior around other high nobles.
'But who is it?' That was the issue.
He couldn't just accuse all of them. It would be seen as him taking an issue with the Dornish as a group. He couldn't even voice his concerns, not when one of the Dornish girls was far and wide known as one skilled at drawing out secrets.
She should have been his first suspect, but Edric wouldn't put it past the other Sand Snakes. They could have learned some of the Witch's tricks after all. His honor would be put into question if he thoughtlessly accused someone with no proof to show for it other than the strange feeling of his stomach doing flips.

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No Edric you should definitely make an open declaration about how the sand snakes make you stomach do flips! It won't make it stop but they will probably find you so cute that you won't want them to.

"Looks like I finally found you. Anything interesting about that patch of wall?"
And just like that, he froze.
Every thought fled his mind and all he could do was give an ingrained bob of his head.
"M-m-my lady."
"Heh. Why so nervous? We don't bite… at least not when you're ten and two." A girlish chuckle and a hand ran through his mop of blonde hair. "You remind me of Trystane a lot, at least when you're training. But you're a lot more like Quentyn aren't you?"
Wracking his mind, Edric desperately searched his memories for those names. To his shame, it took him thirty seconds just to recall the identities of his future Lord Paramount and the man's younger brother.
"T-thank you my lady."

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Sorry Edric but now that you are noticed their is no escape especially after that display. Just get ready for your terrible fate of having a beautiful girl think you are cute from now on!

"Oh, I suppose it's not fair to tease you. After all, you're hardly ready for the big bad girls to do more than call you cute and mess with your hair. Though I must confess I'm a bit surprised that Obara hadn't made a move on your knightly master."

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Yes remember the boundaries around the child now matter how cute! Though you will probably be teasing him for the rest of his life about this conversation anyway once he is older.
Also I'm a bit surprised too but Obara does have a lot going on and is probably spoiled for choice for strapping men at the moment.

"My master is chaste and honors his lady wife, no matter the temptation!"
Surprising even himself with his vehemence, the defense of Lord Dondarrion came immediately and without hesitation. After all, defending his master's honor was just part of his duty… though normally he was a bit calmer about it.
"Oh?" The young woman's surprise came low and pleased. "I thought your master was only betrothed, not yet wed?"
Swallowing, and unable to reply with such vigor again, the young man couldn't help but find the stone flagons of the floor infinitely more interesting.
"They are to be wed, but it's the thought that counts."

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I'm sure your master would be very proud of you defending his honor. Though I doubt he considers this as much a threat to it as you do.

"Aye." With a gentle pat and an amused chuckle coming from the most dangerous woman he had ever met, the little lord suddenly had to force himself to meet her eyes. "I do suppose it is." An even more gentle smile graced the lips of Sarella Sand, the archer and scholar practically radiating endless amusement. "Now, my lord, would you do me the deepest favor of escorting me to the great hall? I fear for my reputation should I be seen alone."
Swallowing, no matter how dry his mouth was, he gave the barest jerk of his head.
If this was the game she was going to play then he wasn't backing out!
"Of course, my lady, I would be delighted to accompany you!"

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Daw! Sarella has found herself a little gentleman!

He desperately thanked the Seven that his master had taught him his formalities, else he would have been frozen before this Dornish snake! This… beautiful, intelligent, charming, wise, clever, skilled snake. Whose hand was gently resting on his arm and whom he couldn't stop thinking about.
'I think I figured out who placed the charm upon me.'

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Oh don't worry Edric Sarella is probably one of the best Sand Snakes to have 'charmed' you. God forbid it was Tyene or Ophelia since they are something of a very dangerous package.
Also I have spent so much of this chapter squeeing over how cute Edric is an I am not ashamed at all! His little crush and desprate attempt to stay a poltie little gentlemen through it is just perfect! Elia has a rival for the crown of childhood cuteness now doesn't she?

"That's it lad. All better."
Watching the sinews in the young boy's arm flex, the muscles pull taught, the stitching hold - the once maester felt pride in his work.
"Still hurts."
The poor lad hadn't cried, though there were silent tears slipping down his cheeks.
"I know my boy. But trust me, you're far too young for milk of the poppy. At your age it would be more dangerous than not." He gave the child, just turned ten, a pat on the head. "Let's go find your parents now, I'm sure Lady Whent is still sitting with them?"

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Qyburn is in the house it seems. Stitching up the local youth is a good reminder that is isn't only someone who can make zombie knights and is not the left hand of Cersei he was in canon. Qyburn here is still very much building up his status from a kick out maester and I assume that will matter to Ophelia.

Turning once more to finish his work, he could scarcely still believe how smoothly things had gone for him since he had found Harrenhal.
Nevermind the fools who thought to seize him in the Vale.
Those poisons had been expensive.
But that mattered not. Even if he hadn't interpreted the shadowbinder's prophecy properly, dying in this cursed castle might not be so bad.
"I suppose there's no end to the little things in life."

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So Qyburn was directed here by a Shadowbinder's prophecy? I am assuming beyond any other purpose we don't see it also was likely to put him in a place to be recruited by Ophelia but who? Quaithe? Melisandra? One we have not met from canon?

"He is well. I washed the thread in strongwine and cleaned the cut. There may be some slight dizziness and numbness, since the injury is so high up on his arm, but you're more than welcome to watch how I bandage it."

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I am not sure how much to this is standard citadel training and how much is his own but the fact he is disinfecting his equipment in alcohol is a good sign of his medical credentials in a medieval setting. Just something I noticed.

Obviously different from when he worked with the Brave Companions, not only was the wood and hay and linen and stone foreign to him, mostly because it was Riverlander and a little because it was simply Westerosi, but it was cool and the castle didn't stink of men rutting and dying and shitting.
In fact, it smelled clean and was cool and even a bit dusty.
His room had come with tables, all the supplies he could scavenge from the abandoned parts of the castle, the recently deceased maester's effects, and the odd trinket and curiosity he had once again begun collecting.
Lucky for him the previous healer had been an utter idiot, despite his chain clearly stating he was a master of poisons, and when it came to making sure the Lady of the castle didn't ask too many questions, well, he had the curse to thank for that.

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I am suddenly very curious about what happen to the previous Maester. Was he just an unlucky idiot? Someone who ran afoul of the curse? A member of the anti-magic faction of the citadel? Did Qyburn kill him?

'Guests?' He could somewhat easily guess.
Not many visited Harrenhal. And those who did didn't often stay unless they could bear the… unique atmosphere of the ruined fortress. Those living here. Those born here. They were used to the underlying scent of fire and ash.
And the underlying weight of thousands of dead men which seemed to stubbornly cling to the walls.
He certainly didn't mind.
If anything, living in a place with such a repellent reputation suited his purposes just fine. All the less likely for pursuers to tread here, should any follow, and all the easier to excuse any indiscretions. Not that he doubted the Brave Companions took offense at his rather sudden departure, but he did rather find the thought of them actually locating him a bit absurd.

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So people who are born and have lived near Harrenhal have better resistance to its effects? I wonder if that is true of other curses or magical places?

As for the girl.
She was looking at him.
Not just noticing him.
She was looking at him. Judging him, like a child would a freshly caught insect. Or, perhaps, a spider was more fitting. With a sense of curiosity that was cold and almost invasive. As if, reflected on the windows of her soul, his own self was being laid bare.
Qyburn felt his lips twitch.
'Well now, isn't this curious.'

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Mutual curiosity and respect at first sight? Not quite love at first sight but the foundation of a relationship nonetheless I definitely get the feeling this is the beginning of great things, terrible maybe but great.

What he saw… interested him. Or, at least, the individual that stood out to him did.
Obviously she was Dornish. Their kind stood out the further north they traveled. And just the same, he'd worked with plenty of them. Both living and not. Though it would seem the girl had been a recluse for quite some time - paler than the specimens he'd been so generously given to further his causes.
His trained eye could judge she was someone who spent quite a bit of time away from the light, even as her skin was taking on the tan of someone who spent a great deal of time in the saddle.
But more tellingly, there was the faint scent of herbs mingling with the usual bodily odors one might expect from a traveler. She hadn't been here for long. Travelers tended to catch the 'scent' of the castle the longer they remained.
"You are all certainly far from home. Might I enquire where you are headed?"
The older man made his pleasantries to Lady Whent, murmured the false name he'd used, and began speaking with the most curious of all the group.
"We are headed north with the King." He turned to look at the man. Not much different from your usual Mester, perhaps more well kept than the doddering old fools he was used to. There was a certain… energy to his gaze Qyburn wouldn't find even in the eyes of half grown youths.
'Curiouser and curiouser.'
"North? My, that's certainly a long journey ahead of you." Honestly, he couldn't care less. But verbal engagement was paramount for obtaining information these days. Even if oftentimes a corpse could be more talkative than a person had ever been.
"I suppose, though it would be discourteous to deny his invitation. Besides, it's not often one travels from the far south to the far north. Few have that luxury."
Making him guess at her purpose?
Clever.

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Yes Qyburn and Ophelia are certainly starting on the right foot, both seems to take great joy in dissecting the other. Ideally that will continue to only be a metaphor.

"An archmaester! Why, to think I'd have the honor of meeting you."
Qyburn deferred, it was safest after all, and when Marwyn - now that he'd gotten a good, long look the exiled wise man was sure of who it was - looked up, he wondered if it was good or bad that there was no spark of recognition in his eyes.
"I would ask after your chain, and what you did to lose it, but the Lady Whent has invited us and you into her home. So I'll bite my tongue."
Not overly unlike a bulldog in appearance, the Archmaester was one of the few whom Qyburn could say was truly dedicated to knowledge, not just what was found in books.
"Only the same thing that always riles up the conclave…."
That got him a snort of amusement and the tension relaxed somewhat, opening up a space for the young lord to interject.

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I always wonder what it was that lead to Qyburn getting kicked out of the citadel while Marwyn was able to stick around and be elevated to the rank of archmaester even if it is in a low esteem.
My guess was it was a matter of degree and visibility. Qyburn's experiments were rather gruesome in a way that can't ignored while if Marwyn has ever done anything of the more bloody parts of magic he hasn't done it were they citadel could see it. Marwyn for all his frustrating bullishness can be shunted off to the side as a 'crackpot' but ultimately a harmless fool to be ridiculed for his foolish studies, Qyburn is openly dangerous. And for whatever reason the citadel still keeps around the higher mysteries department even if it is just inertia they do need somebody to by head of it better someone like Marwyn whose scandal is at least manageable if they need to have one.

"So, good healer, are you here alone? Did you come with an apprentice or students?"
"Oh not alone. Not always, at least. One may find friends along the road if they have enough gold to spare. Or if they have skills to peddle. I imagine it would be the same for every scholar, if they were on a journey of learning, would they not make use of everything they had to reach their goal?"
The lord raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing dishonorable I should hope."
Lowering his head, Qyburn gave his standard smile once again.
"Of course not, my lord…."
"Lord Beric Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven, head of House Dondarrion. This is Lancel Lannister, squire to the king, and my own squire is Lord Edric Dayne, head of House Dayne and Lord of Starfall. This, as you know, is Archmaester Marwyn and the lovely young woman, Ophelia Sand, is the daughter of the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne. And if I'm not mistaken, she's his favorite."

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You know I am curious as to why these people occupancy Ophelia here? I don't think it is exactly an accident she is here talking to Qyburn and the Lady Whent so why them when she could theoretically invite so many people? She didn't even bring in one of her sisters, Marwyn makes easy sense since he is an ally who is also a maester as well. I suppose hat having some kind of respectable lord around is important for propriety and his taciturn nature makes Berric reliable to not cause any problems.
Ophelia's relationship with Lancel still baffles me a little though. I can see why he would latch onto her since she is one of the few people to actually show him respect and that trip to recover a valryian steel sword would have impress that she is no charlatan. I mean he certainly knows that Tywin can't even buy one with all the money in Casterly Rock and she pulled one out of a river atop a bed of eels that leaves an impression. But does Ophelia have any plans regarding him? Or is she simply being kind to someone without really thinking about how much this might affect Lancel? Sad as it is for all he is decent she can't forget he is still a Lannister. I do hope we see a chapter from his POV eventually.

"One of his favorites. In fact, I would say he has, oh, ten or eleven - depending on how you wish to count them."
"Every father has a favorite child." Giving her the best 'grandfatherly' smile he could, the once maester was genuinely interested in how she would respond. "There is no shame in it."
Instead of responding directly, the young woman merely looked away, almost staring off into the distance, before turning back to him.
"And yours would be?"
"Knowledge, of course. I am a man who has learned a little and still seeks to learn more. Nothing more, nothing less. Though if I had to pick my next path now? Well I have heard Dorne has been looking to lure scholars like myself."
In need of money.
And hungry for knowledge.
"Dorne? Are you sure your old bones could handle the heat and the distance and the sand?" The corner of Ophelia's lips twitched, a fleeting bout of mirth coming to the fore. "It gets everywhere."

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Hmm... I never thought about the idea of Oberyn having favorites given how we see events. From the outside it would makes sense, Ophelia is certainly the one with the most material investment given to her and he did go to the capital to defend her from accusations. It is not hard to see that she is the cause of a lot of Dorne's current success and basically her family's golden girl right now. That being said he certainly has no neglect for any of his children and treats the far better than most in Westeros do by a mile.
Oh good and on Ophelia for making him be the one who had to ask and making a Star Wars reference. Both are very big power moves.

Oh, playing coy wasn't she. Well, he knew how to be blunt when needed to.
"Come now, I'm sure that a learned young woman like yourself knows all about it. Just a few years ago your own uncle offered gold out of his own coffers, seeking learned men, priceless books, and artifacts. Sunspear is perhaps one of the best places to be for men like me, who seek knowledge. And perhaps a touch of mystery."

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Hook line and sinker gentlemen, we have our necromancer.

"Now I know you're flattering me." The old man's words were bitter. "But I don't suppose you happen to be a mage as well? With the witch girl around, well, I wouldn't be surprised, no matter how unlikely such a thing should be."
"Whatever do you mean, oh Maester Marwyn?" The Dornish girl tittered. "Are you saying that we are not fated to meet a terrible sorcerer in the cursed castle of a mad king, once ruled by a witch so terrible her powers drove her to madness? Would this kind, gentle Lady Whent, who I am sure would never harm a soul-" That got a snort of laughter from the lady in question. She'd earned her position and she'd fought for it with everything she had. "Who so kindly took us weary travelers in, how could we even suspect that she's in league with the most dreadful healers to stitch up peasant boys and deal fairly with small folk. Oh, woe is us."
"Do be careful my dear." He couldn't help the smirk that he felt climbing up his own lips. "Curses are quite real." Truly, Qyburn was blessed with the most golden of fortunes. "And dark secrets have a way of surprising you at the worst times and in the worst of ways."

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It amuses me to think about the possibility of this story being told straight sometime in the future when Qyburn has done something a little more public disapproved of. I mean the rumors write themselves when you are literally meeting in a cursed ancient castle of an evil king!

'What a pleasant guy.'

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The genius hope of Dorne everyone! Master Judge of Character!

It had been a long time since Ophelia had been able to play around with someone who wasn't related to her or a possible enemy. Of course, she wouldn't count the maester out from having an agenda of his own, that way lay disaster.
What she truly enjoyed was the chance to speak with someone who wasn't aware of who she was and didn't suspect everything special or interesting about her was about magic.
Even if he was very clearly aware of the magic, yes.

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Yeah this makes a lot of sense both of these too crave intellectual stimulation and can provide that to the other in spades so of course they will get along. Exactly how far the will go and what they will do to obtain it is another story all together and may lead to conflict. While Ophelia is while to do dangerous thing for knowledge it is usually herself she puts in danger and only really harms other when they have done major acts of wrong, Qyburn has fewer ethics so it will be interesting to see how they go.

As much as she was enjoying the trip, she could only put up with stares of awe and suspicion for so long, and many of those who were traveling north with her family still suspected she had nefarious purposes in mind. Which was a mistake, of course.
They should have been suspecting Tyene.

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For many a lethal mistake I imagine, though I think if anyone truly knew what Tyene was capable of they would probably not let her within the same kingdom as the royal family.

Which was why she appreciated the quiet meal and pleasant company without underlying tension. She could breath without having to consider silly questions like how her sister might cause the next scandal, or which person would be selling secrets to whom on their next stop. Attentive though she might be, Ophelia was still on vacation.
Her father was the one handling intrigue.
Her sisters were the ones causing trouble and getting each other out of it.
Whether or not she was directly responsible for a good deal of all the trouble that had occurred on her alleged vacation, the simple fact was that she was the one who didn't go seeking trouble.
Just magic swords.
And to mend the bond between parent and child.
Who happened to be a king and his royal bastard.
Plus she had outed herself as being magical.
'No, there's no way I could be a hypocrite about this.' For a moment she was worried. 'Totally not.' Sighing, she slumped forward. 'Well, at least I'm doing my job.'

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Yes totally just a vacation and not a major political mission that is reshaping the foundation of an entire continent's political scene. At least you are somewhat aware of the issue I suppose. Though I would still question whether the line about not being the one looking for trouble is still true, the wildfire for example was trouble. It was very profitable trouble but still trouble which I think is a better description would be as a one women info network she finds plenty of trouble automatically and only starts the profitable kind.

Ophelia was here mostly to have others gasp in awe at or be the showpiece which drew their gaze. Something she was more than comfortable with. Being a symbol of horror and suspicion hit a bit close to home, but if it helped her family move about as they pleased, she didn't mind dusting the warlord books.
Nevermind the secrets she'd uncovered and learnt about since leaving Sunspear.
Priceless artifacts.
Political secrets.
Scandalous affairs.

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Yeah, Ophelia is definitely downplaying herself a great deal here. I think she might be a bit unwilling to acknowledge she is back to being a warlord already even if on a smaller scale now.
Even her role as a 'showpiece' could better be described as being the face of all Dorne, she is practically the exemplar of Dorne's future to the public eye. That is something many would kill for and it has lead to her developing something that everyone in Westeros wants; a Reputation. That is something people like Tywin have worked and killed for over decades to get! She might not be responsible for all of the action but she gets the credit for most of it and that has made her a name to be respected practically overnight. plus her actual contribution are not something to sneeze at either, even if she is not truly the leader of the Sand snakes she is certainly the one setting the pace for them overall.
... with the major exception of the Cersei situation of course.

The Witch of Dorne craved knowing things. Craved knowledge of this strange world which had become her new home. And the mysterious home of cursed stone and dragon fire where their group temporarily resided.
The closest thing she could imagine were the Targaryen Ghosts.
A dynasty of grudges holding onto their resentment for decades, if not centuries. Rage the likes which could keep something alive well beyond its natural lifespan.
But this was different.
This was a scar on the land.
An ugly reminder of a tragedy which still tainted everything it touched.

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Hmm so no King Harren haunting the place trying to get vengeance from beyond? Just a story of terrible tragedy in the pursuit of power. I'm not sure if that is better or worse on one hand it mean their is not something directing that power but on the other it means their is nothing you can decapitate to defeat it.

"This place gives me the creeps."
Ophelia started.
"Have you been talking to my sisters?"
Marwyn the mage, Maester of the Higher Mysteries, smiled coyly.
"Perhaps."
'Gods dammit, Sarella. Stop spreading my vocabulary.'

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No Sarella keep spreading her Vocabulary! And Ophelia you should appreciate your sister more!

"The chainless maestar."
She nodded.
"He is familiar?"
Marwyn continued walking, nodding as he did so.
"The simple fact that I think he is, means it is highly likely that he is."
"How many chainless maestars have you known?"
Ophelia's question was fair enough. In theory, they should be rather rare.
"More than is good for me, less than my enemies accuse me of." He shrugged. "I'm an old man."

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So Marwyn to some degree remembers Qyburn? I imagine after this trip he will be able to refresh it and that may lead to some... drama.

"You would be surprised. Many come here seeking solitude. Or perhaps believe themselves hunters of treasure and mystery. Either way, foolish."
"And which one are you, Milady?" the witch leaned forward.
"Why, both! Of course!"

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It's official I like her.

"It is. But there is a certain prestige to be earned by taking on Harrenhal. I imagine a witch wouldn't let herself be taken by superstitions and hearsay though. I'm curious to hear what you think of my home."
The witch pursued her lips.
Well, she certainly had an impression of Harrenhal. But she wasn't all seeing or all knowing. The stones in the walls didn't whisper secrets and there was no guide eager to take her to the place where the cursed resided at its strongest.
Not like Black Tom and the Ghosts of the Red Keep.
Because there wasn't a place like that.
"When I say cursed, Lady Whent, I don't mean that the castle brings misfortune to those here. I'm sure it's part of it. But Harrenhal isn't haunted, it's not something you can point out and say that is the cause. Harrenhal itself is cursed from its foundations. The tragedy which took place here was so… devastating that the castle itself remembers… the stones and soil and sky can't move past these events."
It wasn't an angry spirit biding its time for revenge.
This place was a timeless scar on the land. History made manifest.
"The walls remember the fire." The older woman agreed, almost breathlessly.

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Yeah, see my previous statements on the subject.

You must have seen a lot."
"It loses its charm after the first dozen times. The pain is the same."
Ophelia had no intention of asking what being burnt by Dragonfire felt like.
"I would ask you why you stay, but's obvious too." She paused when Marwyn gave her a look. "It's in her blood. Her bones." Opehlia turned to the noble woman, aged as she was. "That's the energy that burns inside you. The magic."
"Aye." The old woman inclined her head, almost smiling. "My ancestor may have been less discrete. And my husband, well…." Sadness dimmed her gaze. "Magic always demands a price. He paid it for both of us.

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Oh Damn, I mean respect to her husband for an act of self -sacrifice to protect his wife but that is a sad thing for her to go through. I can't help but wonder if his role at the tourney at Harrenhal played any role in his choice.

"That's why you still live." Amazement filled Ophelia's mind, wonder plain as day at what she saw before her. "The dragonfire, it consumes you and you are reborn. Each and every night."

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Holy Shit that sounds horrifying.

"Well, it's not immortality, but I've never been sick a day in my life. I refuse to do those ridiculous sacrifices the dragon keeps demanding though. Utter hogwash."

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Wait, the Dragon? So Harrenhal bares some connection to Balerion who burned it and it wants sacrifices? Does this relate to the Targaryen ghosts? Or is it just a part of the specter of the flames remaining here

Ophelia looked away, cheeks coloring in slight embarrassment.
Maybe they didn't quite agree on the need for ritualistic sacrifices. But at least she only did them when she was angry enough. And the victim happened to be a family enemy.
That totally made it ok, right?

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TFW you blush because of that ritual sacrifice you did to one of your enemies. Personally not going to shed any tear over Lorch and what happen but I understand her sentiment here.

That's what woke her up.
Wings, the air, fluttering, flying, rapid, jerky movements, and an ever present screech. It was only Ophelia's long, long practice in the body of flying creatures that helped her avoid panic. Not that controlling a small flock was any comparison to the situation she was in now.
There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of bats swarming up and out of caves and broken towers and trees. A truly unimaginable number of creatures, all moving in a single, unstoppable wave of skin and sinew and screams.
Right then, in that moment, the sheer amount of life she could feel amazed the witch.
From fetuses gestating in some of the females to wizened ancients, there were a half dozen generations moving with singular purpose.
But she had no control.
It wasn't her shrinking radius either, in fact it seemed greater than ever before. But instead of it just being her dwelling within the skins of all living things around her, there was a… shadow. An echo of something other.
However, it was distinctly not hostile. More gentle, guiding, though very old and very alien.
If she was seeing what happened to a warg when they were lost in their skins, then it would be a very, very old warg indeed.

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Danelle? You're still around then?

And then, a predator screeched.
Great, black claws locked closed around her, smashing through creeping green vines that had even then been slowly worming their way along her form, slipping under her skin and binding her body to the tree. Now, though, a terrible beast, like a great eel with eight, misshapen, twisted limbs had snatched her up and thrown her into the sky.
Looking down where Harrenhal would one day sit, there was instead a monster.
With smooth, broad shapes for its face, and teeth as long as a knight and rider, it opened its maw.
Within, she saw time itself blur.
Within, she saw tens of thousands of men and ships and nations live and die.
Within that maw, Ophelia saw every moment of greed and lust and hunger and rage that Harren Hoare had engendered with his great work. The cruelty and blood poured into this fortress and the hatred of the Riverlords for the Reaver King.

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On my first reading I was a bit confused since this appear to contradict the previous statement about their not being an any single thing to be point to as the cause but I think I got it the second time around. This monster is a representation of the curse, it is like a monster endlessly devouring and capable of some thought but not sapient itself like you might say of the Targaryen Ghosts.

She also saw every single thing she had ever desired.
Power, wealth, women, men, magic, armies, a kingdom, an empire.
This castle, if restored, could become a bastion of magic and power beyond any other.
A tongue licked at her mind, something wet and unclean reaching places that should never be touched. Voices from a hundred different times, from conquerors and conquered long since dead. There, she saw them, hanging in the back of the great eel's throat. Burned, charred by dragon fire, and seared by stomach acid were the corpses of hundreds of lords and ladies.
And so she saw too the price of trying to "rule" Harrenhal.
Blood, seared into the stones by dragonfire, and forever added to the great beast the castle one day yearned to become. So that it might pour out its hatred and evil on all the world.

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What a paradox of power Harrenhal is.
If you could restore it then you could have ultimate power, yet those who own it are doomed by the very power they want to use to be destroyed by it. Yet is that it not the path that any who seek to claim it to do the impossible anyway? To defy what others would call an impossible task and do what other would never do to claim power and glory eternal? And even beyond the magic is not a self fulfilling prophecy? If you seek to rebuild Harrenhal you must have the resource of a king already, Harren spent his reign bleeding his kingdom to the very bone to build it and the same would have to be done to rebuild it. If you wanted to truly command Harrehal you would have to walk the tragic path of Harren and somehow win where he failed.
... Goddamn now I want a whole story based around exploring this idea in its totality!

Smiling, something unnatural on the face of such a monstrous being, the Eel merely opened its maw wider, thrashing about with its eight limbs, and exhaled. A breath of fire and acid and pure bile billowed out.
Screaming, she fell.
Desperately attempting to break the fall, she began furiously flapping her wings, trying to juke and dodge and flee, only for charred hands to grasp her throat. They were massive and her form was tiny and it was only when she twisted around, her body bruised and scratched by the violent throttling that she realized who it was.
The ruined, blackened remnants of Ser Amory Lorch wrapped the skeletal remnants of his hands around Ophelia's throat.
With a charred corpse-grin he forced her down into the stream of evil and she could do nothing but suffer.

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Oh shit!
I also see two different ways to interpret the presence of Lorch dragging her down her. First is this is actually some remnant of Lorch that through the connection of Dragonfire to his sacrifice allowed him to be a part of the beast. The second is that this is a sort of symbolic response to her rejection, she rejects the offer of power at the price of evil? Well here is the sins of her actions come back to haunt her and rag her down. No matter what she says here or how she justifies it she chooses to burn Amory Lorch of her own free will as part of her scheme. Ophelia can make no claims to sainthood.

Washed in this torrent of death, her fur and flesh and muscle turned to ash. Her eyes melted to jelly and that terrible heat even turned that to nothing. In the end, all that was left was a single, screaming heart - beating and beating and beating as it was consumed again and again.
Then, just as those awful teeth were about to close around her, a hand plunged into the stream of fire and plucked her free. They were flying again, a great bat thing holding her aloft as it soared through the heavens.
There, trapped in its claws, her body reformed.
It was strange and confusing and unnatural in every possible way.
But, in the end, she was whole and human - if sore in every possible way.

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And Danelle to the rescue!
Intellectually we have always known that Ophelia wasn't the biggest fish in the magical ocean but this is the first time we have ever seen it I believe. Ophelia would probably have been in huge shit if not for Danelle in a way that she might never have been able to recover from. It makes sense to me since this is the moment for Ophelia herself were she is first encountering being the little fish too, for all she was once Taylor who is made a career out of winning against tougher opponent Ophelia has had years to get used to being the bigger guy for years now. That has arguably been a good thing for her in other ways but it looks like won't be the case for much longer

Instead there was a woman there.
Beautiful, tall - taller than Ophelia even, with flowing red hair that fell past her waist and lips that seemed to be painted a bright, right crimson. It would be an understatement to say that she was gorgeous. But there was something in those features that hinted at being not quite human. As if there was a beast pretending to wear the skin of a sorceress and couldn't quite prevent a bit of the primal savagery from showing through.

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Hello Danelle! Thanks for the save! I guess it has been a while since you have had to wear clothes huh?

The woman was also utterly nude.
Pouncing on top of the confused, floundering young woman, the bat monster turned human pinned Ophelia to the ground - drawing another noise of pain from the Dornishwoman as she did so. And then the taller, impossibly strong red haired being did something utterly unexpected.
She leaned down and kissed the very, very confused witch.

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*Door slam* Tyene: The fuck is you doing here bitch?
Ophelia: Tyene? Thank gods you...
Tyene: You can keep going of course but not without me.
Ophelia: ... You are the worst sister ever! You know that?
Tyene: You know you lov...
Danelle: Oh dear god it Bryden and Sheira all over again, what did do to deserve thi... you know what nevermind.

And with that knowledge came visions.
Visions of a woman's life, from her birth to her death.
They were a jumbled, chaotic mess and most of it made little to no sense. Chief amongst the visions it focused on Danelle, for this was Danelle Lothston, and her love for Brynden Rivers. Ophelia saw them coupling, making love and fucking alike. She saw how Danelle worshipped the Bastard, but how the Bastard loved another. She even saw how Shiara Seastar had joined the duo.
Both in the bedroom, no matter how jealous Danelle grew, and, when Shiara deemed her worthy, in the workshop too.
It had been the duo of the Bloodraven and the Bloody Star that taught Mad Danelle Lothston how to weave her spells. They had shown her how to tap into the same powers that spawned her nightmares and fight back against the beast that was Harrenhall.
Or at least to direct its hunger.
Something that allowed all three to tap into powerful, powerful curses.
For there was no mistake in how the arrows of the Raven's Teeth always found their mark.

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Oh now this is interesting as it is sad.
We learn you can direct the power of the curse as Bloodraven did and arrows are probably only the start. Though I do imagine Sarella would love to be able to use that one herself if it wouldn't interest a few other sand snakes. But also how sad Danelle life really was, the third wheel in a romance with the people who taught her the terrible things she needed to stay sane. That is just a plain shit hand to be dealt.

The final flashes she saw were of the civil war, of a miscarriage, and, at the very end, of the Lady throwing everything she had against rioting peasants. All over something that the noble woman had thought minor, even. A single sacrificed peasant woman. A spy who had broken into Lothston's private workroom and met her doom for it.
That had seen hundreds calling for her, blaming her for every misfortune and mistake, and then, at the very end, when her body was consumed by fire - Black Harren Hoare and his monster looking on and jeering - her mind had fled into her skins.
So, so many skins.

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A Tragic end to a tragic life. I can't help but wonder if some minor act could result in a similar situation for Ophelia, people are always looking for someone to blame and a witch is always an easy target.

When day broke, Ophelia awoke, finding herself covered in bruises and curled up in the roots of the heart tree. She flinched when sunlight hit her eyes, so much pain and disorientation that the bastard would have sworn her head pounded like a drum.
Realizing the state she was in, the poor girl felt a moment of panic before memories of the previous night asserted themselves. Reaching out, she fumbled, the witch needing a second before she felt her swarm again. Latching onto them, she gathered every living thing she could, dragging them towards herself in a wall of life.

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Yeah I imagine this was traumatizing to say the least, I don't blame her for wanting any living thing for warmth right now but I do hope she kept it to small animals. It would be very awkward for all the horses in the camp to be suddenly gone.

That night, when her sister vanished from their room, Sarella had done what she'd done the last few times her younger sister disappeared unexpectedly without a trace. She'd waited for the witch to come back of her own volition. And when that failed, went out to look for her without telling anyone.
No need to tell the others, after all, her sister was known for going on… walkabouts.
Just another one of the many charming points of being the older sister of a practitioner of strange mysteries. You never knew if they had actually vanished or if they had left without telling you.
Ophelia, much to her frustration, was prone to doing the latter.

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Ah the constant struggles of being related to a protagonist!

So Sarella did as she always did.
Carefully left her room without waking up anyone and then aimlessly walked around Harrenhal in the middle of the night looking for a witch. Somehow, that made her think back to some of the outlandish tales Ophelia used to tell as a child.
How splitting up and looking for clues never worked.
And that snacks were not a good reward when it came to monster hunting.
Sarella, of course, disagreed.
'Both snacks and adventure? I'd kill for something to eat now.'

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Oh my god she told her about scooby doo? And this was the lesson she took? Sarella you are somehow cooler and a bigger nerd with every episode.

Stupid witch sister getting probably kidnapped by the stupid and probably cursed castle. After everything that happened back at King's Landing she really should have known better than to start poking around a place like this. And that was coming from the 'stupid adventurer

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I honestly have to agree with Sarella here about Ophelia having ought to have known better as the person who told all the story that made her sister so genre savvy. I mean i thought she was one of the responsible ones! Though it appears that is still a relative for a sand snake. Why is the medieval Indiana jones the one not the one in trouble in the ancient cursed ruin but you?
Worst of all she might have to forgive Sarella for Old town after this save!

Still, the token scholar of a family of ruthless bastards knew which signs to watch out for in case her sister ever went missing.
First rule of looking for Ophelia, she is most likely either in the woods or in some ancient hidden chamber.
Both happened when they stayed at the Red Keep.
Fortunately, there wasn't anything resembling an old forest of mystery around Harrenhal, so Sarella had to assume her wayward witch of a little sister had been spirited away to some forgotten corner of the fire-scarred castle. At least, she desperately, desperately hoped that Ophelia hadn't been taken to the Isle of Faces, because that… would be a bother to have to get her back from.

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Oh my god she has a methodology for tracking down her sister's mysterious magical disappearances and there is actually some logical too it.

'It's always her who gets taken to nice places.'
Nobody asked her if she wanted to go to the weird forgotten corners of the world.
'Always Ophelia, never Sarella.' she pouted.

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Can I just reiterate how good you get sibling relationships? This is the most petty sibling jealousy and I love it. Sarella you are literally getting into a big pout over your sister getting dragged off to whatever crazy destiny related crap because you want to be the one in horrible danger and it is not fair!

Your gut is your best friend.
Because spirits and the like didn't usually enjoy the company of the living, they tried to cause them discomfort whenever they got too close to the places they stayed at. Something Ophelia fondly described as giving someone the 'heebie jeebies'.
She was… halfway sure her sister was messing around with her.
But yes. Ghosts and curses caused you discomfort the closer you got to them, assuming they weren't trying to lure you in, but that was a pretty easy way to find them too. After all, a trap you knew about wasn't really a trap at all!
But most spirits, at least from back in the Red Keep - and it was almost impossible to imagined that monster of a castle being tiny, but compared to the utter leviathan that was Harrenhal that was an understatement - the dead felt like a coldness which seeped through the stomach, or the sensation of a hand gripping your heart. They were echoes trying to push you away from where they resided. Even without Ophelia around, Sarella had learned to trust her gut when it came to finding the strange and the mysterious.
Because of how much it didn't want to be found.

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Wah... your search method is to go where you can feel the ghost whisper get out and going "Yep it's that way!"
… Freaking Sand snakes.

'Crazy' and 'Insane', some might call it.
But to Sarella that was the appeal. The magic. The romance!
To tangle with certain death and the unknown just for the chance of glimpsing what lay beyond the understanding of mortal men. Of knowledge long forgotten and legends which had since faded from memory. Grasping out, desperately for an attempt at comprehending just a sliver of the Truth!
And this? This was her best chance.
Harrenhal. The castle burnt to the ground by dragon fire. Living history which tied the present to the far past. What sort of treasures and dangers would she find while looking for her sister? What tales would she tell to her family come the morning?
Her heart trembled with excitement.

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Okay I think I have to say something here because Ophelia you have ruined your sister! Telling all your stories clearly corrupted her young mind till she wanted to imitate the thing you told her, You managed to corrupt her mind with TV without even using TV! Truly its and your depravity know no bounds! Somebody clearly should have thought of the children!
More seriously I do wonder how Ophelia's stories have impacted her sister. As exaggerated as I made it there is an element to her I can't deny that in a modern setting I would call being a fangirl. A powerful desire to live out the stories she heard and loves as much as possible in her normal life.

Sarella was not like her father, who dabbled into the mysteries on occasion. Or like her sister who lived alongside them like some princess of an ancient tale. Sarella was blind to the shapes and wisps that they claimed to see. She was deaf to their words. But that just drove her to dive deeper into the shadows.
Because she wanted, desperately, to see everything.
A true scholar at heart - or at least that was the defense she would offer.

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Yes where does the thrill seeker start and the curiosity of the scholar end? Hard to tell with our darling Sarella at times.

"Ok, ok. What were the rules again?" Wracking her brain, Sarella tried to remember what Mawli said about finding hidden entrances. "First rule is that they need to be large enough for the components to be hidden from the outside. It'll either be big enough for a man in armor to get through or so small only a child could fit. And they tend to be somewhere obvious and easy to access once you know it's there."
Feeling around the door, she tried to find any loose stones then extended the search to the wall nearby. Finding a spot that was slightly damp - exactly six stones to the left of and one below the nearest torch sconce - she pushed at it. What she found was that the stone was loose enough to spin on a hinge down the middle, even if it did take a good amount of force.
Ultimately, she gained access to a small, dark cubby.
Peering inside, the intrepid adventurer saw that it was smooth and devoid of any joins or further devices and in the back was a simple handle - an ancient and rusted lock the only thing that secured it.
"Really, the sconce just gave it away. Even something like a colored lantern hook or a candle holder with special engravings would have been better."

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Sigh...of course she has learned all the procedure to identify secret passage ways and can given commentary! Why would you even expect otherwise?

Looking at the wooden slats, she found they were actually rather then and the rotten remains of a ladder sat atop it. It was too damaged to unfold, but Sarella was able to climb up the frame itself. Once in the hidden attic, the young woman was very glad to see a rather large window set into the far side of the wall. Prying the wooden slats open, and throwing up a lot of dust, she turned and saw that the room behind her was filled will hundreds of things that could only be described as "interesting".
More significant was the fact that every inch of the floor, ceiling, and walls had been covered in symbols.
"Well now."
Making her way over to the door in the room that should lead to the bricked up tower, she managed to open it with a few shoulder barges and paused.
"Huh. Makes sense I suppose."
What she found was soil. Or, rather, that the external tower was built on top of a natural hill. That it had been enclosed with stone, a passage leading to the top build, but dark, rich soil was definitely leaking through small cracks in the inner wall.
Following the stairs, she found herself coming to another door. This one actually broke a little when she pushed on it hard enough.
Stumbling, as she'd tried to barge through like the first one, Sarella took in her surroundings.
The nesting materials that covered the floor.
The giant weirwood tree at the far end of the broken down, open tower.

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I am assuming that this is the workshop mentioned in the visions from Danelle? I can old imagine this to be a potential treasure trove for all the damage brought by finding it. Even if it is probably decades old at least if any tools or lore about the magic that Danelle did with Bloodraven and Sheira exists beyond the man in the weirwood tree itself then it is here. Even damaged items are priceless and worth repair.
I do wonder who will be told about this and how they will manage it though, if they need to get things out it might be noticed but I think that despite the prestige it could bring finding Mad Danelle's workshop might not be worth the attention it bring with it.

And her sister - somewhat badly injured and nude - sitting in the middle of a near solid wall of life. Bugs, birds, even mice and rats and a few cats all stood frozen in place, every pair of eyes in the world seemingly now fixed on Sarella.
"'Phelia? It's me."
She spoke low and soft, hoping to communicate peace and comfort and safety.
Exploding into motion, the various creatures fled and crawled and slithered as reptiles and snakes she hadn't seen before disappeared just as quickly as the ravens and bats and rats.
All that remained was a single large fox, nestled up against Ophelia's chest.
Sarella didn't bother wondering how it had gotten where it did, that didn't matter. Instead, undoing the buttons on her coat, she wrapped her sister as best she could and started looking at some of the more serious bruises.

Click to shrink...

Christ, this is not the type of state you ever want to find your family in. Props for Sarella not panicking and having her first moves being offering comfort and immediately checking for injuries.

It was a very, very serious question.
Because right now her sister didn't look like she'd been visited by ghosts.
Discretely slipping her hands between her sister's thighs, Sarella probed somewhat for a feeling she prayed wouldn't be there. And, finding neither something sticky nor crusty and dried, she instead slowly slid her arms under her sister. Lifting her up off of the roots, the older sibling did the only thing she could and began checking to make sure there were no broken bones, that Ophelia hadn't hit her head, and then, when her younger sister stirred, the dark skinned teenager let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

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Fuck Sarella's first assumption of this situation was that this might have been her sister post-rape? I... honestly don't have any words to beside that is horrifying and disturbing.

"I wanna go home Aisha." Blinking, confused, it took another thirty seconds before the witch shook her head. "Sorry. Sarella. I'm… where am I?"
"Destroyed tower only accessible by a secret passageway that hadn't been opened in a hundred years."
"Huh." The one word answer was tired, worn down, and still a little confused.

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And she is so out of it her first instinct is that this is Aisha? I am assuming that is because of the similar skin colors but even if she has told Sarella her stories did we ever get confirmation she is a real person like she is implying by her actions here? It could be written off due to her poor state of mind but I don't think Sarella would forget anything about this moment for a long time. It doesn't speak well for her mental state, I really hope this is not a cause of permeant trauma.
This might be speculative but I wonder if Cersei would notice anything about Ophelia? Seeing the Witch of Dorne having to face the dark side of magic and that it can hurt even her could be an interesting bonding moment. Especially now that Ophelia is likely to get a bunch of information about curses from the workshop.

Sarella just pulled her idiot sister into a tighter hug, holding her close as the fox chose that moment to slip away. As it did, she noticed something it had been sitting on.
"Hey, what's that?"
Pointing at a fist sized, speckled, brown and white ball the scholar only flinched a little.
"Danelle's master work."
Swallowing, smiling, and shaking her own head the older sister gave a final response.
"Huh indeed."

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Goddamn it what kind of Cliffhanger BS is that! What is "Danelle's master work."? What does it do! Why did she make it? Why did she she lead Ophelia to it? I have so many questions!
Sigh... as an additional minor one what if this Masterwork has some sort of connection to the Lothson bloodline? Because the whole procession is heading to Winterfell where the Stark Children are all some degree of Wargs with a Whent grandma on their mothers side who intermarried heavily with their old liege lords. The whole red haired look Catelyn and Sansa possess comes from them and every one of the latter's children would have that connection. What if one of them feels drawn to it in some manner for some extra drama?

 

[Gloweye]

Oh wow, dude, please remove some newlines there.

 

[masterofmadness]

Oh wow, dude, please remove some newlines there.

Click to shrink...

Thanks I believe I fixed it. I sincerely don't know how that happened.

 

[Gloweye]

Thanks I believe I fixed it. I sincerely don't know how that happened.

Click to shrink...

Did you copy from Spacebattles? Because that double the amount of newlines. If you copy everything back and forth a few times, it could start looking like it did.

And thanks for fixing.

 

[Ketzer]

The moment when there was a reason to return to SB. But...¯\_(ツ)_/¯
This is a very interesting job. I expected the worst from another taylorfick, but the author successfully dispelled my fears. I hope, without a war with moderation, the author will be able to hear his muses more clearly.

 

[ATP]

The moment when there was a reason to return to SB. But...¯\_(ツ)_/¯
This is a very interesting job. I expected the worst from another taylorfick, but the author successfully dispelled my fears. I hope, without a war with moderation, the author will be able to hear his muses more clearly.

Click to shrink...

All nine from ancient times,or new one from Hollywood ? But,jokes aside,story really is good.And Taylor,as long as do not pick fight with Drowned God,Nightking or whaterer lurk in Stygoi,is save to do whatever she want.

 

[Scrimshaw_NSFW]

AN: Well look who's back with some nice stuff. Wyvern and the Warhawk, Team Scrimshaw presents to you all the monthly goodies of One Who is Many. Much quicker than last time. Then again, some of the scenes we included here were planned months ahead. Hope you guys enjoy it!

AtW: Hopefully our pace picks up. Just dealing with stuff atm and drama never helps the muse. Anyways, if you have questions feel free to ask.

Now then, onto the reading

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One Who is Many - Chapter 12​

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Ophelia​

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When she came to, the first thing Ophelia did was flex her fingers around the egg she could feel at her side - right under the fingers of the one hand she had under the covers and nestled up against her leg.

The second thing she did was wince.

'Oww… everything hurts.'

Indeed, everything from top to bottom felt like someone had used her like a dummy to run warhammer drills on - from her calves to her stomach, even her forehead felt like someone had tried to stomp her down as deeply into the ground as possible.

Trying so much as to twitch did nothing but draw another wince from her as pain flared all over her skin, tender, sensitive, even a little warm. Almost like she'd gotten a mild burn over every inch of her body. It said something that the blankets she was sitting under seemed to be almost scraping against her skin, at least where the linen underclothes she wore weren't actually starting to chafe.

"Finally awake, I see."

Ophelia looked up, shaking off the last lingering dregs of sleep as her eyes slowly focused on the shape of her sister. Familiar flint eyes looking down at her with concern as the older girl's hand pressed against her forehead.

"No fever, do you feel anything?"

Ophelia blinked.

"It hurts."

Gods, even talking hurt. Like someone had bashed her face against the door and her voice was raspy. Almost as if she'd screamed herself bloody raw.

"Should we let the others know she's up?"

Her sister, blessed be her heart, shot the squire down.

"She's still recovering. Try and find Marwyn, or the other Maester. They should come see her first."

The young man behind her sister, Lancel, shuffled awkwardly before murmuring in agreement, clearly uncomfortable with seeing the so far invincible witch of Dorne bound to a sick bed like a common girl.

He left the room silently, the fact that his sword was at his waist and that he was wearing his full armor too.

"Lancel… did…."

Lips twitching, her sister nodded.

"Sat up all night. Watching over you when I needed to use the restroom. I don't think he moved from his post to so much as twitch, once he had his armor on."

Frowning, the witch tried to shake her head.

"I won't… let-"

Suddenly perking up, Sarella held a finger and then stood up. Ophelia tried to follow her as she walked around the bed, but her neck hurt too much to turn. Instead, she could only guess that her older sibling was pouring her a drink from the sound of scraping and liquid rushing.

"Here. Drink this."

Pursing her lips, the witch did her best to swallow when the slightly dry wine hit her tongue. It was strong and good and, almost choking, she managed to take in a few small mouthfuls.

"Easy does it there." Sitting the pitcher back down, the older teenager shook her head. "The drink is strong. Fortified enough to be considered medicinal."

"That explains why my throat doesn't hurt so much."

It took a few tries for Ophelia to fully form the words, but the pleasant numbness in the drink made everything bearable for the moment.

"Lancel, the boy, I won't let Robert punish him for my stupidity."

"Aye." Sarella had sat down again, slowly running her thumb over the witch's hand. "I know you would never allow him to suffer that. He does too, I suspect. It's why I think he likes you."

Drawing a groan from the far, far too sore dream traveller, the younger sister replied the only way she could.

"Is that necessary?"

Sarella, curse her heart, rolled her eyes at her.

"Yes, it is very much necessary. Do you have any idea where I found you?"

"At the stables? I feel like a dozen horses stampeded all over me."

"No, I found you in some weird secret chamber deep in the most cursed, haunted corner of this already cursed and haunted castle. How did you even get there?!"

Ophelia wanted to ask the same thing.

"I don't know? One moment I was somewhere, and then the next… poof."

Her sister blinked.

"Poof?"

Ophelia nodded sagely, no matter the twinges of pain in her neck.

"Poof. It felt like I was dragged somewhere, but I don't know where or even when it was. The castle must have spat me out in whatever corner you found me."

"You're lucky I found you. Who knows what the spirits wanted from you down there."

Ophelia shuffled, taking a deep breath as her chest complained in discomfort, the wine not enough to dull all the pain. And that was the way she liked it.

"Probably some kind of vessel. Lady Whent is getting up in years. They must have tried to get me to stay. Maybe take her place. I didn't understand half of what they tried to show me. But it looked like an offering."

Sarella looked disbelieving.

"So are you the new Lady of Harrenhal?"

"Clearly I refused. Which is why they took out their frustrations on me."

The curse of Harrenhal clearly felt something in her that it disliked. Perhaps her connection to the curse back at King's Landing. Those who died here probably didn't like that she spent some time with the people who burned them alive.

"Given how someone left a gift, I doubt you made a bad first impression."

More than a little confused, she responded as best she could.

"Huh?"

Pulling back the edge of the blanket, and it was only now that Ophelia started noticing that it really was warm in the room, the technically more adventurous of the duo indicated the prize.

"Congratulations, sister. You, little sister, are a mommy."

It was Danelle's egg.

"Perhaps." Running her fingers across the speckled. "If I told you I had an idea that the creature inside this little thing was a genuinely terrifying monster, would you believe me?"

Slowly nodding her head, the dark skinned girl asked the obvious question.

"Is it worse than a dragon?"

Pausing, the witch considered her words and, ultimately, decided that honesty was the only real explanation.

"I don't know."

"My ladies, I have returned." There was a firm rap at the door and Sarella threw the blanket back over the egg in question. "The Lady Whent and Healer Robert."

"Please enter."

Glancing over at Ophelia, the older sibling called out, somewhat worried but also unwilling to defy a noble in her own castle. At least without very, very significant back up. And, as dutiful as Lancel was, she doubted he would be able to project enough force to see the bastard girls granted their usual privileges.

Having an infamously violent father did have some privileges after all.

"Well, you lived." The old woman walked in, her back only slightly bent by age. "They visited me too." Lady Whent pursed her lips, walking over to Ophelia's bedside. "If it's any consolation, I didn't think they'd be so… vicious."

Bent fingers ran across a particularly ugly bruise that wrapped around the witch's throat.

"Do you have to deal with that every night?"

Shaking her head, the old woman responded with a sense of pity.

"No. My magic never was strong enough to fuel them so. But you, well, I think you know better than I do what this place is."

Knowing there was something very, very important she had to say, Ophelia stretched out with her powers. Ignoring the feeling of the castle, as now that she was aware of its gaze she couldn't help but feel it all around her, she brushed up against the egg and then the animals around her and she pushed and pushed and pushed until she found what she needed.

"If it helps you sleep at night, the dragon doesn't have your husband."

"What… I… how could you…."

It was clear that the young bastard had struck a nerve. And Sarella visibly tensed when the healer approached, the old, grandfatherly man checking how much of the strong wine had been drunk.

"Danelle, she saved them." With great difficulty, the young seeker of secrets raised her hand to the other. "Let me show you."

At the tentative contact, Ophelia let the tiny, tiny bond that existed between her and the great monster bat solidify before passing over to the older woman.

"The castle, I think it's taking their power, their… strength and will to exist. But Lady Lothston is taking their souls and letting them slip into her skins."

There were a few long moments of silence, lights and colors shifting, pain dancing up the witch's arm, and it was only when the old woman broke the contact did she realize that the reincarnated mortal hadn't taken a breath in almost a minute.

"Shella, you may call me Shella." Eventually, the Lady of Harrenhal replied. "I, well, words can never express what you have done for me." Her voice was thick and heavy, unshed tears pricking at her eyes. "Every night I prayed to the Gods, the Old, the New, the ones of Valyria that my ancestors worshipped… I…. thank you." Sniffling, it was clear that the old woman was totally overcome by emotion. "Healer, see that she is made well. I am sorry my dears, I must, well, I must pray I think. And then give thanks the right way too."

As the woman who had born the burden of the ancient curse turned to walk away, a tired looking - and extremely confused - Lancel Lannister caught her by the arm and glanced as the two Sand Snakes. At a small nod, he gave the two sisters an unsteady smile and gently but firmly escorted the Lady of the Castle towards the kitchen.

"He's a sensible boy." Glancing up, the Dornishwomen finally paid attention to the erstwhile healer. "Tea and company will do good for her, then she can go pray. Besides, I do not think the gods would begrudge her a few moments of peace."

"You knew what she was going through?"

Sarella's question provoked a question from the older man.

"I could guess. But it was never my right to pry. After all, a place like this has no use for an old man like me. The most I could have done is ease her physical pains, never the true ones."

Slowly, the archer nodded.

"Now, there is the matter of the healing." Robert continued, smiling. "I approve of your restraint, my lady, in the administering of the strong wine. But do I have permission to inspect your body?"

Ophelia nodded and the blankets were pulled back.

Now, in the light of day it was obvious how much damage she'd taken, though the healer had taken care not to reveal more of her body than he had needed. The thick, purple-black lines more than made her state clear.

"Well, firstly, I must ask the obvious my lady. Please understand I mean no disrespect by this, but I am given to understand that you were found nude, on your own, in a secluded area of the castle. That, combined with what I can very clearly identify as strangulation marks-" Here, he indicated the lines of bruises on her neck. "Indicate one likely course of events. Should you need care in that way, I can contact a midwife or, perhaps, prepare a letter for your father….?"

Once more, Sarella's tension was visibly increased and it took everything Ophelia had to reach over her free hand and take her sister's.

"No, good sir, but I was not raped. What I experienced was somewhat different than any normal, physical assault."

At this, he nodded.

"And you have no concerns with either myself or the boy hearing what you had to say to Lady Whent?"

This managed to draw a small smile out of Ophelia.

"I would ask what exactly, old man, would you say and to whom would you say it?" Even though it pained her, she managed a small chuckle. "That a young woman was viciously attacked and suffers delusions as a result of it? That I am a witch? That Harrenhal is cursed? That every last soul here is mad?"

Her small speech left the too tall girl sagging in the bed, clearly exhausted.

"No. I am not."

Snorting, the old man gave her an almost indulgent grin.

"I knew I liked you. That is a rather fiery tongue you have there. And speaking of fire, I would say that it's almost like all of your body has suffered some minimal burns. Other than that, there are the strangulation marks, what looks like injuries from being dropped, and, dare I say, almost something like the marks a bird of prey makes when it grabs its supper."

Unfortunately, it turns out addressing magically inflicted injuries required a significant amount of time diagnosing things, with the egg only remaining hidden by the discrete positioning of the blankets and Sarella taking them and "moving the bundle aside" so that the healer could see to Ophelia's legs. Something that moderately annoyed the witch when the man confirmed that he saw neither bruising nor other injuries he might expect of an intimate attack. After all, she had said it hadn't happened!

She would be lying if she said she wasn't a little happy at how worried her sister was for her though. It felt nice to have someone be so clearly protective.

'Other than Tyene, I suppose.'

Yawning, before the young witch even noticed it, she had dozed off, the healer smiling and leaving a few things with the older sister of the two before excusing himself.

Sarella mostly just chuckled, content to remain with her sister and decided to use the daylight she had left to read a tome borrowed from Lady Whent's library. Once the old surgeon had excused himself, she rearranged her sister's body, placed the egg back with the sleeping witch, and ended up slipping back into sleep herself.

Young Lancel, however, would keep his vigil, eventually switching out with Ser Dayne and only departing to explain things as best he could to the somewhat irate Lord Dondarrion.

After all, the dashing knight had already gotten his cheeks pinched once for raising his voice to Lady Whent! It would be a travesty if it happened again and the Lannister wasn't there to witness it.

---

Cersei​

---

Reclining in her tent, she gently sipped at her mulled wine as she wrote out the last of the three letters she'd finished today alone.

Aside from the normal scheming whores she had to put in her place, Cersei had absolutely no doubt about her loyalty to House Lannister. Her sons, after all, would need to be able to support each other. And if she wanted Tommen to inherit instead of the dwarf, she would have to ensure that the bannermen understood it would be in their best interests to support her son's claim and cause.

'Damn the mad king.' Her quill scratched particularly deep. 'But that wildfire, had it been even the most minutely bit more like Robert, the whole city would have burned.' Even if she'd never admit it out loud, discovering exactly how little she knew had been a bit of a wake up call. 'But at least with Pycelle gone my father now depends on me.'

A woman she may be, but no one else would rule her, not so long as she had her beauty and her mind.

"Sister, she's on her way."

Looking up, she noticed that her brother had stuck his head under the crook of the tent, locks of blond hair falling past his chiseled jaw, blue eyes still simmering with lust.

"Thank you. After this, would you check on Joff and Tommen? I think they wanted to spend the day with… the boy." Her voice grew clipped, but thoughts of sneering vengeance were not allowed to make her visibly ugly. "And Myrcella is with the septa, I think. Make sure she the Snake is somewhere not close to her." She paused, thinking for a moment. "Be a dear and tell the servants to bring tea and milk?"

He nodded, a less carnal type of love in the Brave Ser Jaimie's eyes, and let the flap of the tent fall as his woman's lips took on an amused quirk.

"Aye. And a little wine too, for the girl."

Cersei's smile faltered. Because of course word had reached the Queen that the Dornish witch girl had become entangled in some form of incident and came off worse for it. And that meant, as the responsible adult, she'd done the logical thing.

Politely inquire about it.

Of course, what she meant to do was test the emotional response from the girl's companions. Lancel in particular had been an obvious source of possible information. So too had she asked Tyene about what had happened, trying to gauge their reactions so she could have an understanding of the witch's actual condition and whether she was in any sort of danger or not.

For entirely tactical reasons, of course.

She couldn't just come out and ask to see her. By the Seven, no. As the queen she had been compelled to wait until the conversation had taken a natural turn towards the girl's recent absence and whether the events of the past few days would leave any permanent marks on her health. As someone obviously valuable to the Game, she was a very important piece to keep track of.

Yes, that's why she was taking a moment to adjust her hair and smooth out her dress now that she was finally getting to speak to the child. After being denied access to Ophelia's room by Harrenhal's physician - the nerve of which had almost seen him horse whipped - Cersei had been left to content herself with the words of others.

She was Queen and could very well visit a bedridden girl if she so wanted. Only she hadn't forced the issue as she normally would. Why, if a rumor started about her visiting the Dornish witch by her lonesome… Cersei couldn't think of anything worse.

"It's obviously bothering you. So why not go see her?"

Cersei pinned her brother with an unimpressed glare, both at the fact he was still standing at the front of the tent instead of checking on their children and that he would question her.

Trust Jamie to just go out and suggest the simplest solution to an issue with no regard for how it reflected on her.

"I already told you. I need to wait-"

"For an opportunity. Yes. You said that, many times. In fact, you told me last night how uncouth it would be if you forced your attentions on a young woman in her sick bed."

"I can't just barge into her room unannounced."

"The King certainly can. I heard he was euphoric at hearing her recovery was moving along quickly enough that he'd be getting those potions again. Gods forbid that he has to be sober for a day."

Cersei's nose wrinkled in distaste.

Robert and his wine.

Having had to spend just a few days without being able to recklessly imbibe had left him near in tears from the collective hangover. Because, quite frankly, the queen had almost laughed at her husband when he was left bedridden with a ringing migraine. It was almost enough to convince her that there was justice in the world.

Almost.

"There is a difference and you know it. Robert doesn't care what others think of his relationship with the Dornish. He would just as easily run them out of King's Landing as he would welcome them and none would bat an eye."

"And you, Queen Cersei, care about what others think of your friendship with the witch girl."

She pushed him, irate as she looked through the opening of her tent.

"Would you stop calling it that?"

"Well, what should I call it? You're obviously getting nothing out of the witch besides company. Unless I'm missing something…."

"No, Jamie, I did not bed the girl."

"Oh, good. I already have to drink until I pass out until Robert visits you, lest I run him through like I did the Mad King." His grin grew rakish for a moment. "Though I would have to applaud your taste if you wanted to acquaint yourself with the Snakes. Assuming they deign not to bite your breast. After all, I think Tyene, that is her name, yes? Yes. I think she might want to take my place in that respect."

Cersei dearly wished she had something to throw at her brother.

Then she realized that might have been what he wanted.

"Are you trying to get me angry?"

His charming smile held no deceit.

"Not at all, dear sister! I'm only saying that… should you need an excuse to go see the witch whom you feel nothing but ambivalence for, one of the best ways to do so would be to find an excuse to be there that did not sound like you got caught while trying to sneak past Mother to watch me train with the squires."

Her cheeks colored in embarrassment.

"That was one time, and you know it."

"Once was enough for her."

"Do you want me to injure you or not?"

"Well, if you don't want to do it I can go ask Oberyn."

She twitched.

"Since when have you gotten so close to the girl's father?" Cersei stared at her brother. "If any of them is likely to murder us it would be him. Unless, of course, you are thinking of another spear. One that might not always be in his hand…."

"Whatever you are thinking - drop it."

Her smile was a demure picture of innocence.

"I have no idea what you mean by that, brother dear."

"Cersei, I mean it."

"Though now that I think about it, you have been spending an awful lot of time around the man. Hoping to stab him with something other than your sword, hmm?"

"My queen, Ser Jaimie." And just like that, perhaps the worst possible person that could choose that moment to appear, did. "I must ask that if you wish to indulge with my father, that you do so somewhere my senses can not perceive." Here, the very witch the Lady of Lannister had been… well, not fretting over, she would never fret, but the point stood that the witch in question was standing at the entrance to her tent and smirking. "After all, he's rather taken with his newest paramour. Perhaps he even has another daughter on the way."

Here, the smirking Dornishwoman paused again. It was also an excellent opportunity to take in her new appearance. Mostly, she was clad in green - dark, if of a light cloth - with a dress, a cloak, and a veil. Her dress was full body, going from her ankles up to, presumably, her throat. It covered the whole of her body except for her hands - which were the only part of her left uncovered. The cloak was of a slightly darker color and of wool with a fur ruff, which was bound at her waist by a gold chain, and left only the front of her dress visible.

Tellingly, her ensemble was finished by a Dornish veil, something the young woman had never worn before, and that left only her face visible.

"But I do think it would be a lie to say he would not appreciate a form such as yours, Ser Knight."

Jaimie opened his mouth to reply, nothing coming out. Ultimately, once he had finished stuttering, he tried to sputter out a defense.

"My lady, I have no idea what you mean! Truthfully, please, I…." His face crumpled slightly. "I do not need to give the king any further reasons to accuse me of such things. Wait a moment-" The knight's eyes widened when Ophelia slowly lowered the veil she was wearing, seeing the yellow-purple bruises on her face. "Child, what happened, are you ok, who did this to-"

Reaching out, Cersei put her hand on Jaimie's shoulder.

"Love, check on the children."

This time the words were no request.

And, realizing what the hate already twisting his sister's face meant, he simply sighed and nodded. Pausing only to squeeze her hand and give the witch an uncertain nod, the Kingslayer withdrew.

"Who did this to you?" Stalking over to the wounded girl before her, the queen's fingers cupped her companion's cheek. "Tell me and I will make them scream."

Now, in full force, the anger and rage that so easily came to her made itself known.

Her teeth were grinding, her lips curled in sneer, fire practically burning in her eyes.

Somehow, it only made the girl smile.

"They are long since dead." Ophelia paused, shaking her head slightly. "It was my own folly that invited them back." Cersei's fingers pushed a little harder, enough to draw a wince but not to push deeply enough to truly hurt. "If it helps, I intend to go back there one day and finish what it started."

Emotions washed through the queen. A great many emotions in fact, mostly things she refused to consider at the moment. But the final thing she chose to focus on was… exasperation.

"The next time you choose to injure yourself most severely, you will be injured by someone I can torture."

Throwing her head back, the Dornishwoman laughed, showing the top of the strangulation marks just visible above her high collar line.

"I shall endeavor to keep that in mind, your grace."

Taking the young woman by the hand, the royal blonde decided the least foolish thing was to sit with the newly arrived hunter of secrets and talk. If only to find out the exact details of what had happened, perhaps even talking the young woman out of something similarly foolish in the future.

Cersei wasn't going to hold out much hope for that one.

---

Nymeria​

---

​

"And that was when Gandalf roared, slamming the butt of his staff downwards and onto the stone path. You shall not pass, he said! A spark of magic illuminating the caverns, piercing through the smoke and shadows cast by the Balrog…"

Nymeria watched as her younger sister rapped a cane against the bottom of the wheelhouse.

"Our heroes, beset by the heat of Durin's Bane, could do nothing but watch as the mighty beast reared backwards, its whip of dark fire ready to lash out… when…"

"Wheeeeen?"

Her captive audience, composed of very excitable children, plus a certain adventurer, leaned forward, eyes shining with interest as they hungered for details, hungered to know what would happen to the fellowship of heroes who embarked on a journey to prevent the rise of an evil king and his minions.

"The bridge shuddered, mortar and stone crumbling under the weight of the Balrog's next step!"

Chuckling at the appropriate "oohs" and "aahs", it was clear that Ophelia practically vibrated with satisfaction.

Truly, her sister remained a master of her craft, even in another kingdom.

"Did the Balrog fall?"

"Is Gandalf alright?"

The queen's youngest, Tommen and Myrcella, seemed enraptured by the tale.

Though they were not the only ones listening intently. As the second eldest Sand Snake could tell that her younger sisters were also listening in as the middle child spoke. Sarella, of course, listened with unabashed glee, genuinely loving these kinds of stories with an immense amount of passion. In fact, it was she who had helped Ophelia refine her ability to tell her tales by being a willing audience.

Who cares if this was the sixth time she heard the story? The little scholar still seemed to enjoy each time as it was the first.

Even if Ophelia had to convince her that, no, Middle Earth was not a cleverly disguised retelling of Westerosi history and that the witch wasn't trying to give her clues about where to find treasures like the One Ring or the Arkenstone. At this point, the last thing Nymeria needed was for her foolish sisters to get it into their thick heads that dragons kept hoards of gold and stolen treasure.

As it stood, there was a not unrealistic fear that they'd simply disappear in the night and wake up on a boat to Old Valyria the very next day.

Of course, Nymeria smiled when the children cried out as Gandalf's "dying" message was delivered, the wizard then falling to his certain doom alongside the demon of flame and shadow.

They seemed utterly insistent to Ophelia that the heroes should rescue him and save the day. Unfortunately, the witch shook her head and continued the tale with the remaining group making their escape. But the point was made that Gandalf had bought the Fellowship a chance at ultimate victory.

Let it not be said that Nymeria didn't recognize the sacrifice of a valiant man, even if her interests sway the other direction. Though she did think the idea of many genuinely heroic people in so many positions of power was a tiny bit silly.

It was a nice thought though.

Tyene, the last of the Snakes in the wheelhouse, whispered something into the queen's ear. Something that made Nymeria frown.

"It's impolite to talk during a show, little sister."

Cersei, the queen ,glanced between the two sisters. Nymeria gave her the same look she did to the twins when they were naughty. It actually made the older woman pale.

"Now, now, it was nothing but a little comment, big sister." The blonde demurred, but it was obvious how Ophelia had to glance at her first. "I mean nothing by it."

That actually earned a small frown from her.

"Of course not. I would hope that you would never think me suspicious of your intentions. But I must say that there is always a longing in me for warmer climates."

Nymeria's words caused a visible stiffening in her sister, doubly so when she pulled her fur cloak tighter about her shoulders. Neither the queen nor Tyene missed the fact that it was very, very impressively made. Underscoring her point, the second eldest of the Snakes pulled one of the corners down a little bit to the coat of arms done on the collar.

Small, discrete, and obviously a gift from a lord.

The message needed no more saying so, after taking a long look at the others in the room, Tyene dipped her head.

"Then allow me to apologize, especially to the dear children, for spoiling their fun."

Nodding her acknowledgement of the situation, the more discreet of the family's political operatives was glad that things might be less… overly dramatic in the future.

"Now, sister, tell them about Darth Vader." Turning to Ophelia, who jumped slightly as her eyes had gone milky white, the Dornishwoman was glad to see that the bruises were starting to fade. "I think they'll absolutely adore hearing about such a dark and mysterious knight."

"I was half considering the Lion King."

Even Cersei had a small chuckle at that, though she certainly hadn't heard the story yet.

"While I appreciate the gesture, I think my husband and his party have returned, yes?" Turning to the witch, the queen's eyes changed in a way that meant Nymeria was going to be able to tease her sister for a long, long time. "That is what you were checking on, yes?"

"The crown prince is safe, Robert is practically glowing with pride too."

Smirking, Nymeria could only pray that the boy's ego continued to shrink instead of inflate.

"How many prongs on the stag?"

"Four or five."

This time it was Sarella who caught on.

"Managed to finally bring something down with that crossbow of his?"

Ophelia only shrugged at this, letting the potential insult pass without comment. It was telling that Cersei's only response was to sigh and shake her head. The Snakes certainly didn't hear her mutter under breath the phrase "thank the gods it wasn't another cat".

"You were going to tell us about the greatest dark knight." Tyene interjected, pointedly. "Because you truly have done the children a disservice if you have yet to communicate that particular hero in his full glory."

Sarella snickered a little at just how sweetly her older sister acted and Nymeria leaned back into her seat. Things were safe when her sisters were like this. They were… stable.

Which was no small thing for their family.

Of course, their sister jumped back into her tale, more than willing to indulge Tyene' request.

"She is speaking of a dangerous man. A tragic man known as Darth Vader whose breath could freeze the heart of the bravest men and whose presence was like the night itself. You would be forgiven to think of him as nothing but a monster of cold iron and burning hatred whose blade killed many knights."

Nymeria settled down, watching with fondness as the children, plus her sisters, huddled closer to listen to a tale that was as wondrous as it was tragic.

Only her sister could imagine something as ludicrous as a city in the sky ruled by an Emperor drunk on power and the might of his magical terror. A clear reference to the Mad King, if nothing else. Having the heroes ride dragons to destroy it went a bit against the usual narratives, but copious use of duels as opposed to larger battles wasn't so different from the usual stories.

She was very fond of the tale, herself. And of the princess who took fate into her own hands to lead the resistance against the evil emperor.

'The empire should have won, my left foot. And by the gods did it ever give Tyene ideas.'

Ophelia was not helping her sister become Empress of the Galaxy.

And Nymeria would like to keep it that way.

As uneventful as the journey had proven to be at first, the second eldest of the Sand Snakes knew it was only a matter of time until one of the youngest, namely the magically gifted of the bunch, would get into some kind of trouble. There was no avoiding it, and they were all somewhat used to it.

She didn't have to like it, however.

And she liked the hastily covered bruises on her sister's skin even less so.

Because of all places to get into trouble, Ophelia had somehow been dragged to the depths of Harrenhal by what she had to assume was some kind of vengeful ghost from eight hundred years ago. Why? Because her sister had been cavorting with ancient Targaryen spirits in King's Landing of all places.

Nymeria suspected some kind of scent had stuck on her ,which ended up with her getting beaten black and blue. It was the only explanation that made sense. How else could such truly improbable events occur to place her little sister so squarely in the path of danger?

It had been a week before she had calmed down enough to merely be livid.

Of course, the second eldest blamed herself - she had taken her eyes off the girl for a couple of nights. Only a handful. And by now everyone knew that was all it took for Ophelia to somehow be spirited away by unknown forces for what was the second time this year. What made it worse was that Nymeria had only heard of her sister's… spelunking in the godswood because Elia didn't know it was supposed to be kept a secret.

And after a stern talking to, so had Ophelia.

'By the old gods and the new, she did not get into this much trouble back home.'

At least there she stayed in her personal study, working and developing medicines. Away from trouble and surrounded by her many exotic pets. Even if she ended up becoming a hermit in all but name, Nymeria was sure she would not get early gray hairs out of it.

But ever since leaving home, she'd heard nothing but trouble out of their young witch.

Digging around King's Landing for ancient swords. Dragging a great bastard into plain view of the entire court. Getting shown hidden paths by what she could only guess must have been a possessed cat. And then roping their father into ritualisticly sacrificing a man to the spirit possessing said cat.

Nymeria was not one prone to senseless punishments, but perhaps she should have a stern-er talk with Ophelia.

After she was done having an even sterner talk with her other troublemaker of a sister.

---

Ophelia​

---

"So this is Moat Cailan."

Another ruined castle stood in front of her, this one even more ancient than that of Harrenhal and just as ruined. Thankfully less magical.

"I hope you're not considering adopting a lizard lion, dear child of mine."

Oberyn chuckled as he directed his horse over next to Ophelia's, the man smirking as he did so. In fact, he seemed almost inordinately proud for reasons that the witch somewhat feared to guess. That didn't mean her curiosity would go unsated though.

"While I am glad you're happy Father, but what has you so suddenly pleased?"

His grin spread and that was when she knew her mistake.

"Because I thought I would have a few more years before I would become a grandfather!"

Groaning, Ophelia turned her horse away and trotted off, ignoring the laughter that followed her, as she rubbed her stomach. There, bundled at her waist, was Danelle's egg. It was in contact with her skin as much as she could without overly risking the thing, because it was very much alive.

Inside the shell, itself as hard as stone, was a life.

A strange, different kind of life she'd never felt before, but life nonetheless. And it was growing. The only problem was that it was growing very, very slowly, something she knew she was supposed to remedy.

'But that can keep, I suppose.'

Turning her horse wide, she took in the causeway and the three towers and the rotten keep.

What had long, long ago been a mighty fortress was now sinking into the very earth it had been raised out of. Pillars of basalt, like weathered teeth, stuck out of the swamp of the Neck. This left access to the towers, such as they were, open. Mismatched, no two alike, three of the twenty were still mostly complete. Positioned over and around the patch of good ground, any attempt to pass along it would see a force ride under the towers and be subject to bombardment - at best.

In truth, it was obvious that just dragging a few pieces of the ruined wall over would be enough to block the road and moreover assault would be impossible.

Even now she was reaching out with her powers and calming the teams of horses the procession was using to ferry their supplies across. Remnants of a half filled in moat held the lairs of a great number of lizard lions and, even with her power keeping them away from the column, their musk and smell bothered the other animals.

All of this was made necessary by the clinging, sucking mud.

There was a swamp to their East, marshy and filled with brackish, green water that came up to the waist or neck of a man. Filled with leeches, lizard lions, and biting insects approach for any kind of a force was impossible, doubly so since the landing at Moat Cailin would be on jagged, broken ground where parts of the crumbled wall once stood.

Off to the West it was worse.

Seemingly normal, with thick grasses that stretched for leagues, the illusion was a lethal trap. Instead of firm earth any who walked into that field would find quicksand and boggy ground sucking them as they walked along. Oh, it wasn't all a death trap. But there was no straight line through it, nor any kind of cover, and the grasses were such that any attempt at passing through them would be made immediately obvious.

Not that the builders of the defenses trusted merely this. Not only did the Moat of the North still have part of its actual moat still intact, these deep grooves sat under a raised hill where she thought stakes might have been driven into raised earth.

This would have been an outerwork where troops could pour flanking fire onto the main causeway and command the vast field of death traps off to the western flank of the once castle. As she moved further up and along the road, she even saw that a tower once sate there too, one that would have been all too defensible.

Now though there were merely three, clustered together more or less, right around the causeway itself.

"Still, it is impregnable you know?"

Her father had caught up.

"Those towers alone make of the North a fortress."

Shaking her head, Ophelia couldn't help but marvel at the scene.

"Until the stone itself rots away this area is truly impossible to take. If only Dorne had so absolute guarantee we would be safe for ever and ever." Reaching out with her magic, she had to stop a horse from kicking out and bolting away from its owner. "I shudder to think how many bones rest in the earth around us."

"As many as it took to keep the North free."

Once more, the reincarnated had to shake her head at the audacity of her sire.

"Truly, you wish for the king to take your tongue."

Chuckling, the prince shook his head.

"And miss out on my wit and good taste? I think not."

Looking back over to the main group of men, far enough away and swearing loudly enough that none could possibly overhear them, Ophelia continued.

"You know that some whisper."

"Oh?" Raising one eyebrow, her dashing father asked the obvious question. "What do they whisper about?"

"About how we control the king, how I seduced him. Or his wife. Or the kingsguard. Or all three." Here she turned to face the man more fully. "They whisper how our contingent has displaced the traditional Players. More importantly, they whisper how things are changing."

"By that you mean how everyone around us seems less desirous of murdering each other?" Laughing, the Dornishman's ire came out. "Every night, I dream of Elia. I see my sister and her children bloody and burnt and broken." And just as suddenly it left him, weariness replacing it. "My child, I am tired of pretending. I am tired of dining with my enemy and drinking his wine."

Leaning over, she pressed her lips to her tired father's brow.

"For Dorne and for Uncle, you will endure." Ophelia wasn't sure if she believed her own words, but she knew it would comfort the man who had so loved her. "Besides, imagine the Old Lion's surprise when you've seduced both his daughter and his good son."

That restored his good humor, even if Oberyn's eyes still flashed with a hint of the lingering frustration and, dare she say, exhaustion.

"Robert might be worth seducing if he keeps up his training. Why, he almost looks ten years younger. The Demon of the Trident may yet be worth skewering if he truly manages to restore himself."

"So long as your attentions do not see us viewed with even more suspicion." Sighing, the witch was compelled to admit a few lingering fears. "I think I acted too hastily. Perhaps treating this whole thing like a joke was… too much, too soon. But I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"Have you considered finding a nice young man and making him very, very happy?"

Turning to look at her father, the young woman repeated his earlier gesture and raised an eyebrow.

"Peace, child, my words are only half serious. I do wonder though, if that it is boredom or consequence that now has you faltering."

Actually giving her father a small glare, Ophelia couldn't quite keep the heat out of her voice.

"Do you think that I'm unaware of the costs of what I have done? That I was not willing to pay those debts? Or perhaps did you think that I would come running to you or Obara or Nymeria or Tyene and ask you to simply make the bad things go away."

Smirking, her father responded in the way only a parent could.

"And was this not the first time you have truly been beaten?" Holding up his hand, he forestalled any further objections. "In Dorne, men died for daring to look too hard at you. Here, you are a witch and a bastard and my daughter all in one." His words turned soft and a bit melancholic. "You have not been denied in a long, long time, but when beaten for the first time in a decade you come out the other side. I am not complaining that you go to your sisters for comfort, it is good you trust them, only that you hide your wounds." Reaching up, he tugged at her veil, freeing her face. "Do not hide them, for they do not mar your beauty."

And with that, he left, turning to join Obara - who had arrived atop her own horse - and rode to the front of the column.

Looking through the eyes of a low flying bird, the witch saw that there was some commotion.

But also something even more curious.

Because as thoughts of her parent's gentle rebuke cast her actions since Harrenhal in a new light,Ophelia noticed Gerold Dayne of all people with a camp follower. And as much as he might agitate her, the man was not the kind to tarry with a whore.

Eventually, her instincts were proven right.

Having shadowed the duo for a while, just keeping them within her ever shrinking range, she saw something far more important than scandal or gossip. After rebuffing the advances of the woman, the elder Dayne handed her a letter and turned to stalk off. Subtly maneuvering off the muddy path and just into the nearby swamp where she knew the ground was safe by the beasts which had crawled along it, she waited until he was past and chose to follow the woman instead.

This investigation turned out to be both boring and disgusting, as the prostitute did her job as well as could be expected - something that the reincarnated woman was growing ever more tired of having to observe. Ultimately, it wasn't until it started to grow dark that the woman took the letter to a mummer dressed in bright, garish clothes.

He in turn handed it to a tall, thin, somewhat ugly horsemen who, without so much as a glance at the woman, set off at a steady trot.

Neither particularly shocked, though still a little disappointed, Ophelia turned her horse back.

The details of that letter were lost to her, but now she knew to keep an eye on the young man. It also occurred to her that this might even be a bit of an opportunity.

"Tyene has been itching to stretch her legs ever since Nymeria started drawing lines in the sand." With a mirthless chuckle the Sand Snake decided that this is what her sister needed. "Just a little project for her and her friends. Perhaps the Darkstar might even outlast their… attentions."

No matter what, the point was moot.

Either he was an enemy, and so would die, or he was an ally. In which case he would merely be annoyed into working the stick out of his ass.

Suffice to say, it would be amusing and Tyene would be free to blow off some steam, she could use it to brew some potions, and perhaps address the fact she's felt the need to lick her wounds. After all, Westeros wasn't Brockton Bay or Chicago and Ophelia could trust her sisters in ways she hadn't been able to trust even the Undersiders.

'And they didn't spend nearly as much time in my bed as the new bunch do.' Chuckling, she couldn't help but find it touching her siblings had decided that the nocturnally mobile amongst the group, as they put it, no longer got to sleep alone. 'It is nice having someone there though. I really did need to get out of my lab more if I'd forgotten how nice it felt to just be around people.'

Of course, Ophelia had one skill she had truly excelled at in this life and the last.

Rank denial.

Because she had yet to mention once, to anyone, that since that night in Harrenhal she had been nothing but pleasantly warm or pleasantly cool no matter how much or how little she had on or where she was or whether there was a fire roaring just an inch away from her face.

Stroking the egg held close to her belly, she practiced that skill just as deftly as she maneuvered her horse over next to Marwyn's, calling out to the man as she approached.

---

Cletus Yronwood​

---

"All good. How are the straps? Too tight?"

"No… no. They're fine."

Reaching out, Cletus put his hand on Quentyn's shoulder.

"I have your back, m'lord, the only scars your cousin needs to see will be on your front."

The Yronwood heir's best friend and future Prince glared at him. Quentyn Martell was suffering from nerves, as might well be expected from such a young man, but his brother in all but blood was a knight. Neither of them would shame themselves today.

"M'lord, our final approach is beginning now. The pirate ships herding us towards the beach have fallen back and are driving us into the cove. We have also confirmed with signalling mirrors and the Myrish lens that the encirclement is complete. When we run up the battle flag of Dorne, they will pounce."

"E-excellent. That will be all."

Frowning, the blonde Dornishman, even if his blood was actually that of the First Men, glared at the captain and even put his hand on his sword. The threat clear, the uncertain idiot scurried away to resume command of the hulk.

"Your father's plan is excellent and you will lead us to victory. Trust me, I know you. Once the fighting starts and your blood is up, the shakes will stop. I promise."

Once more, he privately cursed the Prince of Dorne.

Quite simply, Quentyn was not his father's son. He was gentle and kind and not at all bold or audacious. Not to say he was a coward, his best friend was excellent with the spear and axe and Cletus would gladly mock anyone who wanted to challenge the Martell heir to a sparring match, but that, put simply, his friend was a bit of a worrier. Prone to seeing how a plan could go wrong and then dwelling on those aspects of presumed failure.

At least where it came to himself.

In truth, sometimes, it seemed silly that a lad who had been practically born in the saddle would fret over the state of his tack and bridle - as if he needed them.

But that was simply how he was.

"You say that." The prince to be's eyes were slightly crooked, his face almost hilariously small under his arming cap. "But what if I fall? What if I catch a crossbow bolt through the slit in my helmet? What if my spear breaks?"

"Then you will stand back up, then you will lose an eye, then you will drive the haft of your weapon into the soft bellied gut of the nearest pirate rapist that dares to challenge you." The taller, older blonde gave his friend a lopsided smile. "You will do your duty, my prince."

And just like that, with a single word everything had changed.

Oh, there was still fear in his lord's eyes, but there was a set to his jaw and a stiffening of his spine. Because nothing would ever be allowed to shame House Nymeros Martell so long as there was yet blood in the young knight's veins. Something the Yronwood would be taking great care to ensure remained in place.

"Run the colors! All hands, prepare for impact!"

The time for action was upon them. Fumbling for a moment, Cletus made sure his lord's helm was secured and tied and then lowered his own visor. Grunting, he shuffled forward as the contingent of Dornish fighting men gathered near their lord and took their places at the top of the ramp. Mentally preparing for the coming fight, the eighteen year old knight went over the composition of the vanguard.

Leading the operation would be Ser Quentyn Martell, who would be first off the boat, followed by himself, Ser Daemon Sand, Ser Garlan Tyrell, and Lord Arstan Selmy.

They were Quentyn's bodyguard and would also serve as the first wave in the attack.

Behind them would come fifty other knights, led by Sers Blackmont and Fell from Dorne and the Stormlands respectively. Amusingly the two had both been minor, unlanded tourney knights, both had been cousins of the current lords of their houses, and both had experience commanding amphibious landings in Essos.

It had been the duo, whom had become fast friends, that had suggested the change in standard equipment for this operation.

Instead of being clad in plate, the force of fifty five knights wore chainmail and gambesons, carried shields and spears, and had been drilled relentlessly in quickly stripping off their helmets and armor. After all, even a small puddle of water could drown an emperor, at least according to a story the duo had recounted different, and consistently escalating, versions of.

"Hey, remember how the first time Blackmont told the story the Emperor had gotten stuck in mud and drowned in a small river."

"Yeah." Quentyn cautiously responded and Cletus took that as an excellent sign.

"Well, Fell told the story to the lads just a bit ago. This time he drowned because he slipped in horse shit and a donkey drowned him with its urine. The emperor also sounded suspiciously like Tywin Lannister."

Snorting, then chuckling, then shaking his head, the younger of the two men eventually gave his friend a single, small smile.

"Gods damn those two if the Lannisters take that as an affront."

Suddenly, there was a loud crunching noise and the whole of the boat shook.

"Though I know it was much, much cheaper, I do think I might resent the fact Father chose to purchase refurbished merchant ships."

And just as the young knight finished speaking, there was another shuddering lurch and the crew aboard went into a frenzy of action as they either started securing every last scrap of cloth or taking up javelins and cutlasses and bows.

Marines they might not be, but any weapons would be better than none.

"Impact imminent, we're over the sandbar, coming up the beach now!"

Ahead of them, there was a wide, sandy beach broken up by oddly placed large grey rocks. Mostly thought it was totally clear and free of any kind of defenders. Something the contingent was more than happy to exploit which, as about a dozen large, brawny men took up large wooden ramps, the whole of the crew and contingent braced for the final arrival.

First came a grinding noise.

Then a crunching sound.

Finally the front of the deck began to lean forward, the ship having been under full sail at the time had ground its way up the shore as far as possible and beached itself totally on the rock line.

Suffice to say, the men had been tossed around but there was a reason that it was a company of knights being sent on this mission.

They still needed a moment to collect themselves, reorder their force, and for Quentyn to cry out.

"For Dorne!"

Leading the way, he actually leapt over the side of the railing before the ramp was all the way down. It meant he stumbled and almost fell off, before just barely managing a recovery. Cletus wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his previously jittery, nervous friend rushing off on his own. Instead, he cursed his slowness in reacting and climbed onto the ramp to try and catch up with his idiot little brother.

There were pirates to kill, but that didn't mean immediately breaking ranks and running off was a good idea!

And all it took was a minute of a somewhat awkward dismount and the knights were assembled, not that the heir of House Yronwood knew, as he was more concerned with trying to catch up to his friend.

A friend who was being verbally accosted by what looked like a half drunk sentry.

All it took was a vaguely threatening gesture with a spear and Quentyn had zeroed in on the man - and it took all of fifteen seconds for the lad to finish his charge, let the pirate's spear thrust glance off his shield, and bury the point of his own weapon in the man's throat.

It was a movement straight out of a fighting manual, with a perfectly aligned extension of the arm and a full step into the strike.

Not a sound made it past the pirate's ruined throat, nothing but a bloody bubble of spit made it past his lips.

Unfortunately for the people the men of Dorne sought to destroy, this was their only guard. And now with him bleeding out on the sound this left the settlement, if it deserved such a term, wide and open for the now rapidly advancing body of men. Though, curiously, the lack of any other signs of life seemed almost impossible.

Like an ambush just waiting to happen.

"You idiot!"

Making sure to announce his approach, Cletus immediately moved to cover his friend's right flank.

"What were you thinking, running off like that!"

"Where are they?"

The response he got was not what he expected.

"It doesn't matter, we need to get back to the formation. Now."

Suddenly, the wail of a lone woman called out from the distance and the Dornish knights fully took in the town.

Firstly, it was a double row of buildings - back to back - with the town forming a long curved line along the side of a hill, Well enough constructed, it was clear where things like the tavern and the blacksmith and the cobbler were, but most of all it made the path of advance very, very clear too.

Swiftly falling into rank, first the other three knights of Quentyn's bodyguard, then the main force of knights, then some of the sailors fell in line. And, while it was clear from their looks that both Ser Garlan and Ser Daemon would have words for the young lordling, such disagreements would not happen in front of the others. Instead, the whole of the group quickly ordered the sailors and marines to form into loose bands and sweep behind the group and to the sides and behind the buildings while the knights advanced forward.

What they came to was genuinely.

There, at the end of the row, was the whole of the town gathered - perhaps three or four hundred people in all - at the foot of a hanging gallows. In it, an Essosi swung from a noose, shirtless, clad only in faded trousers of some kind, while a sobbing woman knelt at the foot of the feet of the hung man.

Strangely enough, Cletus felt that he almost recognized the dead man's face.

Unfortunately, the good fortune of the Westerosi warriors lasted no longer, as the men in the crowd and some of the women turned and shouted in alarm.

Every person there drew a weapon of some kind, either knives or axes or swords, and a few in the crowd had on armor and even fewer were carrying spears. On the whole, it seemed like the pirate settlement had gathered to hang a criminal amongst their own number.

"Surrender now, or die!"

Ser Sand had stepped forward, his longsword flashing in the afternoon light as the whole of the fifty man group of knights formed a line.

"Surrender, so you can hang us later? Damn you all! Fight my boyos, fight for you women and your lives! Don't let these blue blooded bastards rape your children and burn your homes!"

The oldest man in the crowd, perhaps only in his fiftieth year, roared and the crowd, shaking off its shock, roared back.

"Archers!"

Of the fifty or so sailors that had come with them, about twenty carried bows of various fashions. And, upon the order, they too shook off their shock.

"Get 'em!"

Of the whole of the crowd, about two hundred of them surged forward and rushed the defensive line formed by the knights.

Each of the archers took aim and fired, even as the first of the fallen were trampled under foot, even as the points of fifty spears were shown to them, still, the crowd surged.

What happened was a bloody scrum, with Cletus lashing out and doing his best to cover his friend's spear arm. Having formed up a line, three deep and filling the whole of the road, the knights fought in formation as they held their ground against the frenzied, screaming, crying, desperate tide of humanity.

However, their chances of mounting a defense died with their guard.

Utterly out of time to organize, the mob was stopped in their tracks by the line of mailed and shielded knights, then promptly flanked by the sailor's who had been sent around the houses.

Focusing solely on protecting his friend, the young knight did what all knights were trained to do.

He killed.

Cletus found that battle had quickly become rote, his arm punching out again and again, using the same motion to skewer man after woman after man. Even their blows were poorly aimed, trapped by the press of the bodies and out of formation the pirates tried to rain attacks down on the line and died for it. And ultimately the fighting ended quite quickly, cut down by arrows, surrounded, and unable to so much as land more than a glancing blow the fight went out of them soon too.

Roaring out, Ser Garlan in particular noticed the flagging morale of the crowd and forced his way to the captain, cutting the older man down with a brutal blow.

Finally, the fight went out of the rest.

Finding himself climbing over entrails and having to ignore the cries of the wounded, the young Yronwood was confused when he noticed Quentyn charge off.

Ignoring both the defeated enemy and the group which did not fight, the princeling instead climbed up the gallows and cut the man down well before his bodyguard could even catch up. Coming to a stop behind him, stinking like death, and smelling nothing but blood and shit the group of knights shared a single question.

"Who is he?"

The words were gentle, but forceful, and Ser Garlan knelt down to examine the corpse.

"My cousin. One of the ones Father sent out as spies. Tomas… he used to let me ride on his back as he showed me about the walls of the Shadow City."

Cletus put his hand on his friend's shoulder while the older men simply sighed, turning to see the work done. And, knowing that appearances had to be maintained, the knight did what he thought was best.

"Go with them. I shall keep vigil over his body."

A jerk of the head was all the acknowledgement he got for a long moment before, pausing at the foot of the gallows, the newly blooded knight lifted his visor and spoke in a voice that was a mixture of pain and anger and pure exhaustion.

"Thank you."

---

Brandon Stark​

---

Bran loved climbing.

Loved the feeling of the breeze running over him, whipping his hair from one side to the other. Loved the feeling of absolute focus as he looked after the next stone to grab onto, the next ledge to balance on as the sun warmed his back. Feeling the slippery ice and smooth rock and dry moss and rough wood and every other texture in the world as he kept moving upwards.

He'd been told, many times, by his parents that it was not safe for him to play on the old keep.

That it was dangerous and falling apart.

He didn't see it that way.

It was a challenge. Something to prove himself to. A task he could dedicate his mind and body to, it was a test he could excel at and feel proud of accomplishing every time he reached the top of the tower successfully. Sometimes taking an entire afternoon to finish because he'd enjoyed the climb so much, enjoying the breeze and the sun and the pleasant burn in his muscles.

Today was different.

Today he spent a little bit too much time enjoying himself and when he'd blinked, the sun was seemingly already close to setting and the sky was a beautiful shade of orange. Still, he was closer to the top than the bottom and the stairs were a safer way down than scaling the side in the dark, so Bran did his best to climb the rest of the way up.

Even if his hands felt tired.

Even if it felt like he'd been climbing for hours already.

Frustratingly, no matter how high he got, it was like he hadn't moved from where he was. Even worse, as the abandoned tower seemingly went on forever it was steadily getting darker and colder and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers. At this point, he wondered if he should start calling for help, even if mother would get mad and scold him again for climbing somewhere he was told not to go.

Truthfully, Bran was now starting to understand why.

"No, no!" Crying out, the young Stark was so close he refused to stop.

There was no way he wouldn't get to the top by the time the sun was set. In fact, Bran welcomed the challenge as he pushed himself upwards, sweat running down his brow and freezing on his cheeks as he looked towards the end goal.

The window into the top floor.

Not a challenge.

Bran already lost count of the number of times he reached it, this time would be no different!

And now he was finally nearing it. Inch by painful inch. Each step was painfully slow as his breath had grown fast. The air felt light and cold at the same time. No wind attempted to push him off the tower, but at the same time, he felt as if someone had tightly gripped his chest.

Even so, he continued no matter how much his body might have ached and his lungs burned and head pounded.

Then, right when his hand gripped the edge of the window, Bran screamed as something pulled him off the wall, up into the air, and then dragged him into the tower - the world swimming in his vision, misty as it was with sweat and tears.

Kicking, he was shaken about before being thrown into a mound of hay.

Not that it did much to cushion his fall as he hit the ground, back screaming at the impact, breath knocked out of his chest as he coughed and tried to keep from fainting. HIs vision grew dim before he could pull himself off the floor.

Looking up, suddenly the world came into focus, so sharp and clear it was almost hyper real.

Standing before him, likely the one who pulled him off the tower, was a… person?

He couldn't tell.

The sun had set and lack of any light meant he could barely see the shape of the being as they stepped closer, the sound of something clicking against the floor with each step. Like metal tapping stone. Bran tried to stand, tried to run away, but with his back to the wall and this stranger coming closer it was all he could do to scoot along the freezing wall and try to look for a way out.

Something that didn't involve jumping off the window.

He inched to the side and flinched as the figure pounced, wild untamed black hair covering a face so pale it was as if it was dead. Juking, he tried to dodge the tackle before his arms weres seized and claw like fingers snatched up the front of his clothes in a hard vice grip. Reacting, his own hands flew out to grab at the wrist, only to feel the cold of metal as whoever was there pulled him back towards them.

Holding him off the ground.

Yellow-green eyes stared out at him from a face that was seemingly stretched in terror. There were scars, many scars, that formed a spider web of damage across the lips and cheek and across one brow of the woman who held him. More than that there was a hole in her head - as if something had forced its way out from inside her skull. Where something unnatural twisted in the void formed by that terrible injury. A black chitined monster with a thousand, thousand eyes and legs and mouths, gnawing and stretching and sinking its hooks into the flesh beneath.

Frozen, seized by fear,, staring into the maw of an abomination beyond the wildest tails of the Far North and the Others, Bran finally screamed.

With every fiber of his being he cried out as pure, utter terror washed through him.

And then, at the very climax of this moment, he felt a single, impossibly pure thought press into his mind.

[QUERY?]

Bran's head rang in pain, staring in shock at the thing. Feeling like he was being peeled back layer by layer as it stared him down. The single word etched inside his head, repeating itself over and over again and pressed against his skull as if it was trying to shove information and context and meaning into spaces that weren't meant to hold such things.

He tried to say something.

Anything.

Only for the thing to speak again.

[DESTINATION?]

For a final time Bran screamed, his throat raw and sore, as if a nail had been driven into his head. Yet still the thought repeated itself over and over, countless meanings he couldn't even begin to understand forcing themselves through him as it peered at him. Eyes searching for something.

What for? He couldn't even guess.

Only hanging limp from its metal arms as it turned around, walking back towards the window as darkness claimed his vision.

"Bran, Bran, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

Screaming, kicking out, he only stopped lashing out when he realized his mother was besides him with his father holding him down to keep him from hitting them or himself.

Heart thundering inside his chest as he took deep calming breaths.

His parents calmed him, soothing him, and even his siblings gathered in his room. It took a long, long time before the household calmed down and even longer for Bran to be able to force himself to try and unwind.

But, even once he'd washed the sweat from his body he still spent the next few hours doing everything he could to convince himself that it was a nightmare, just a silly dream he had because he asked the Septa for scary stories again. Though he would not say anything about the dream itself.

Rather….

He found he couldn't.

Not to his parents, not to his brother or sisters, not even to the walls around.

That monster simply would not let him speak.

 

[Yupthisisforporn]

The moment when there was a reason to return to SB. But...¯\_(ツ)_/¯
This is a very interesting job. I expected the worst from another taylorfick, but the author successfully dispelled my fears. I hope, without a war with moderation, the author will be able to hear his muses more clearly.

Click to shrink...

What do you mean by taylorfick?

 

[Broodlord]

Emotions washed through the queen. A great many emotions in fact, mostly things she refused to consider at the moment. But the final thing she chose to focus on was… exasperation.

"The next time you choose to injure yourself most severely, you will be injured by someone I can torture."

Throwing her head back, the Dornishwoman laughed, showing the top of the strangulation marks just visible above her high collar line.

"I shall endeavor to keep that in mind, your grace."

Click to shrink...

Aw, Cersei really does care about her.

And then, at the very climax of this moment, he felt a single, impossibly pure thought press into his mind.

[QUERY?]

Bran's head rang in pain, staring in shock at the thing. Feeling like he was being peeled back layer by layer as it stared him down. The single word etched inside his head, repeating itself over and over again and pressed against his skull as if it was trying to shove information and context and meaning into spaces that weren't meant to hold such things.

He tried to say something.

Anything.

Only for the thing to speak again.

[DESTINATION?]

For a final time Bran screamed, his throat raw and sore, as if a nail had been driven into his head. Yet still the thought repeated itself over and over, countless meanings he couldn't even begin to understand forcing themselves through him as it peered at him. Eyes searching for something.

What for? He couldn't even guess.

Click to shrink...

So that is where QA ended up, no idea why it's trying to interface with Bran but it looks like QA didn't completely escape the bullet surgery Taylor got, maybe it's just hijacking any connection it can do to the damage it took?

 

[Kotawa]

Because she had yet to mention once, to anyone, that since that night in Harrenhal she had been nothing but pleasantly warm or pleasantly cool no matter how much or how little she had on or where she was or whether there was a fire roaring just an inch away from her face.

Click to shrink...

I feel this is significant, but I'm not sure whether I'm correct when I think her Targaryen blood has awakened, or something along those lines, or not. She did have some watered down dragon blood, right?

On another note, what is going on with Bran? I sure have no clue. The only thing I do know is that he really needs to stop trying to scale that damned tower.

 

[AsTheGlassMelts]

That monster simply would not let him speak.

Click to shrink...

About the dream or about anything?

 

[Organmonkey]

I feel this is significant, but I'm not sure whether I'm correct when I think her Targaryen blood has awakened, or something along those lines, or not. She did have some watered down dragon blood, right?

On another note, what is going on with Bran? I sure have no clue. The only thing I do know is that he really needs to stop trying to scale that damned tower.

Click to shrink...

My guess is that it tried to tap the green seer/warging connection given lack of the normal access point. Since she was trying to give info QA was probably trying to explain who she was looking for.

It also seems like Bran's third eye got opened with even wider and even more brutally than in canon. Didn't require a fall and fever this time though.

 

[Daemonflayer]

I feel this is significant, but I'm not sure whether I'm correct when I think her Targaryen blood has awakened, or something along those lines, or not. She did have some watered down dragon blood, right?

Click to shrink...

The ruling line of Martells descends, appropriately enough, from a Daenerys (in this case, the daughter of Aegon the Unworthy.) That marriage is what cemented Dorne as one of the Seven Kingdoms.

There's enough dragon blood in Westeros that pretty much anyone with a House can trace to them, and I wouldn't be surprised to find that most of the lowborn can do the same through bastards.

 

[Gloweye]

Whelp, looks like Ophelia needs to have a little chat with Bran.

 

[Broodlord]

About the dream or about anything?

Click to shrink...

I think that's just the standard entity block so that nobody discovers the truth about their existence but either due to the damage QA took when Taylor was killed, the fact QA is disconnected from the network, or something funky about Westeros in general, it can't just wipe his memory entirely of the encounter so it's doing the next best thing and putting a block on him talking about it.

 

[Prognostic Hannya]

Can't wait to see the QA and Taylor reunion.
Also, will you ever go into detail about how and why exactly Taylor and QA's powers translate over into ASOIAF-style magic? And what the source of them is?

'The empire should have won, my left foot. And by the gods did it ever give Tyene ideas.'

Ophelia was not helping her sister become Empress of the Galaxy.

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Well, you say that...