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

[Organmonkey]

Marwyn hinting that it's likely an innocent skin changer who served the realm alongside Bloodraven got the axe because the maesters didn't like her is kind of chilling.

If I had to guess what rumors were true I would say it likely that she skin changed bats and did drink blood (although likely not human) due to bat influence from skin changing.

On another note Yronwood and Martell being on the same side with aligned objectives makes for a very different political situation in Dorne than normal. If they can stay that way Dorne is a solid block of unity when normally it definitely isn't.

Darkstar Ophelia interactions are hilarious. I honestly can't tell if he's trying to establish his edgy cred with her or if that's just Darkstar being Darkstar. Also Ophelia disagreeing with him on everything even when she actually agrees lmao.

 

[stads]

nice chapter thx for writing i
interesting plot by dorn wonder if or when it works what danny will do with all the sell swords dead that was a good piece of her army gone.
good to see the mc taking some secrets from the red order

 

[ATP]

Thanks for another great chapter.
So,Thoros is now her plant,but some eldrith abomination hidden in Harrenhal would try get her? well,whatever it is,it would lost.Just like other abominations - if i were in Others shoes,i would go sleep for another 8000 years.Just to be sure,that all Taylor descendents passed out.

 

[Yupthisisforporn]

Marwyn hinting that it's likely an innocent skin changer who served the realm alongside Bloodraven got the axe because the maesters didn't like her is kind of chilling.

If I had to guess what rumors were true I would say it likely that she skin changed bats and did drink blood (although likely not human) due to bat influence from skin changing.

On another note Yronwood and Martell being on the same side with aligned objectives makes for a very different political situation in Dorne than normal. If they can stay that way Dorne is a solid block of unity when normally it definitely isn't.

Darkstar Ophelia interactions are hilarious. I honestly can't tell if he's trying to establish his edgy cred with her or if that's just Darkstar being Darkstar. Also Ophelia disagreeing with him on everything even when she actually agrees lmao.

Click to shrink...

Marwyn is a bit biased. He has firm opinions and beliefs, even if they're aren't necessarily true. So don't see what he says as absolute gospel. More like one man's take on things.

Canonically, the Martells and Yronwoods are very close thanks to Quentyn fostering with them. The Yronwood's heir was even one of Quentyn's biggest supporters before he died to dragon fire.

Darkstar is Darkstar, lol.

nice chapter thx for writing i
interesting plot by dorn wonder if or when it works what danny will do with all the sell swords dead that was a good piece of her army gone.
good to see the mc taking some secrets from the red order

Click to shrink...

They aren't dead yet. Also, the plan for Dany hasn't really been put into motion yet. Other than the secret pact with Viserys being abandoned, nothing for her or Viserys has changed.

And aye. The Red Priests are a tricky bunch, but Thoros is no Melisandre.

Thanks for another great chapter.
So,Thoros is now her plant,but some eldrith abomination hidden in Harrenhal would try get her? well,whatever it is,it would lost.Just like other abominations - if i were in Others shoes,i would go sleep for another 8000 years.Just to be sure,that all Taylor descendents passed out.

Click to shrink...

I would say Thoros is a hard alcoholic with a particularly exploitable vice.

And I think Harrenhal is going to be a nice surprise for everyone. It's not just ghosts waiting there~

 

[Megaman915]

Well since SB is censoring you I guess I'll read this over here.

 

[Helixical]

Well, I'm glad you folks made it through the puritanical monkeys over on SB flinging poo without getting too upset. This is a good chapter of a good story! Keep up the good work!

 

[Yupthisisforporn]

Mostly it's the accusations of pedophilia that seems a bit much.

 

[Broodlord]

Mostly it's the accusations of pedophilia that seems a bit much.

Click to shrink...

Can it even be considered pedophilia if both parties are underage? Not saying what you wrote in the first place would fall under that category since it's nowhere near explicit enough but even if it was pedophilia is when an adult has sex with a minor and that isn't the case here.

 

[Gloweye]

Migrating here for the actual, full chapters.

I like Joffrey appearing to grow some balls. Very much approved.

 

[Tiberianfest]

Yay glad this is continuing and that's it's over here as well.

 

[FoxGirlFan]

Pisses me off that the story had to be moved in the first place. How many lore conversations were there over on SB that got derailed by someone's thoughtlessness? Thats the kind of thing that keeps authors wanting to write more!

Also, great chapter. The fact that the plot moves at the same speed as the queen's wheelhouse does not bother me in the slightest, and seeing the dominos being set up beforehand is a treat.

 

[Yupthisisforporn]

Migrating here for the actual, full chapters.

I like Joffrey appearing to grow some balls. Very much approved.

Click to shrink...

Joff is still a bit of a bitch. But his dad and uncle and step dad (lol) are all cheering him on. He's gotta be able to do a little something XD

Pisses me off that the story had to be moved in the first place. How many lore conversations were there over on SB that got derailed by someone's thoughtlessness? Thats the kind of thing that keeps authors wanting to write more!

Also, great chapter. The fact that the plot moves at the same speed as the queen's wheelhouse does not bother me in the slightest, and seeing the dominos being set up beforehand is a treat.

Click to shrink...

Aye. The thread lock definitely killed a lot of muse for a good long while. But c'est la vie.

And I know it's so slow, but it's all gonna pay off eventually... I hope XD

 

[The_Bajar]

I also started tracking this version. If I read the previous chapters on SB, I presume the ones here are what I would remember?

 

[Yupthisisforporn]

I also started tracking this version. If I read the previous chapters on SB, I presume the ones here are what I would remember?

Click to shrink...

Yup. No censoring at all!

 

[Jubjub3000]

Yup. No censoring at all!

Click to shrink...

What's being censored anyway?

 

[Yupthisisforporn]

What's being censored anyway?

Click to shrink...

Some of the stuff with Tyene mostly. There was some high impact hand holding that got cut. They almost wanted the whole first chapter to be cut too.

 

[Organmonkey]

What's being censored anyway?

Click to shrink...

Ophelia and Tyene being closer than most sisters are.

 

[Matthewzoo]

>my name is darkstar and i am the night.
Sometimes you forget that GRRM made a sonic OC.

Still though top work as per usual.

 

[The_Bajar]

What's being censored anyway?

Click to shrink...

Nothing that, in my opinion, is actually NSFW (it might change, I don't know what the authors will write next, but atm there is nothing in this story I would have issues with reading at work (apart from the fact I am supposed to work at work that is))

 

[Noxy]

Just saw the post on Spacabattles, didnt know you also posted here.

 

[Mecharic]

Spacebattles will miss you, but I will not! (love the story, btw)

 

[Organmonkey]

Saw the news on spacebattles (my SB account has a different name), I was already following it here to get a more unfiltered version but am sad to see you getting done dirty again.

If it's any consolation I don't think you did anything wrong. It certainly wasn't even to the level of the original books.

 

[Megaolix]

I just went to check on what happened on SB.

Now, with recent events, I'm not going to hit the first one that started for necromancy due to exceptional event, but maybe wait until the guy actually post here first? If you wanna rant about SB, that's what the SB rants thread is for.

 

[Scrimshaw_NSFW]

AN: One chapter a month is what we promised and one chapter a month is what we deliver! So, welcome boys and girls to the next installment of One Who is Many, headed by yours truly Wyvern and my co-author, the Warhawk! Cutting it close, I know, but Life has been getting on our nerves lately.

AtW: Perhaps. Perhaps not. This has actually had a good few sections toned down, to avoid it turning into 20k of just snooping around a castle. But yeah. Hope you like it.

CW: I imagine we have some people in the audience who would love 20k words of pure exploration. But unfortunately we must keep the ball rolling. Otherwise we'll never get to where actual canon starts.

Now then, onto the reading!

As always, if you want to support our writing, make sure to follow us! And if you want to see about getting something written by us for you, we'll soon be resuming our commissions, so look forward to that!

---

Chapter 11 ​

---

Edric Dayne​

---

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.

Normally, all of this only took a couple hours each day - Edric had learned very early on as a page not to let things build up.

Actual training tended to come up during the day.

In the mornings his master would select the bow or the sling or the spear for use. During the day Edric would catch their meals, though he had also learned that on spear days he should either try for fish or go bartering for meat as the weapon was still too long for him to properly use.

The missiles he loosed would be collected, small game such as rabbits, or fowl, or other things of that nature would be gutted and cleaned, and that would be their supper.

Most squires practiced with the bow against a target and only hunted sparingly.

Ser Berric said hunger sharpens a man's gaze.

On good days, the lad only needed one shot.

On bad, he at least got plenty of practice in.

For wrestling practice, he'd scrap with other squires, despite his lordship he was still only ten and two years old. And that meant he was small. So he had learned to be quick, rather than try to grapple.

When it came to the sword and mace and lance… those his master schooled him in more formally.

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.

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.

Mostly, Edric liked it when they ate at other fires. There the stories would be loud and raucous and sometimes bawdy, but always happy. Tails of triumph and toasts raised to men who were long since dust - but whose story yet lived on. Robert's Rebellion, the Scouring of the Stepstones, even the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He had heard of them all and more. Mostly he liked them.

But a little bit he thought all of them forgot to mention how much time was spent rubbing down the horses or picking beetles out of bread.

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.

"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."

But those were things that happened before.

It wasn't anything new.

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.

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.

Having finished checking up on the horses, the young lad bid good day to the grooms and pages and stable hands, what few of them there were, that serviced Harrenhal.

At the moment, his opinion was that it was a castle… and everything else seemed a bit superfluous. Not only was it too big to be a useful fortification, only a king could afford to maintain the place, and other than that it was just big.

It would have been more effective and cheaper to have created a half dozen different fortifications that were more reasonably sized than this great monstrosity.

Truly the world of adults remained mysterious, and so too did they remain rather silly. After all, the amount of work that would have to go into figuring out how to feed the garrison of such a place was daunting to say the least.

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!

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.

That and how his hands grew clammy, how his heart would flutter, and how his stomach would roll. Why, just thinking about it all made him… made him-

"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."

His cheeks were practically on fire and he couldn't meet her eyes.

"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."

"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."

"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!"

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.'

---

Qyburn​

---

"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?"

Climbing to his knees, Qyburn walked with only a little stiffness over to the door of his workshop, rapped on it twice, and wasn't the least bit surprised when the lad's father was standing right there.

"Honored Maestar, is my son-"

Holding up his hand, the man who was glad to be rid of his chain forestalled any other words.

"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."

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."

Sitting down on a tall, straight backed chair next to the cot where he had the child laid out - naked from the waist up - he indicated the pitchers of wine and water he'd kept next to the bed. While the alcohol might make the bleeding worse, if the boy's father believed pain relief from a diluted drink was worth the risk then Qyburn wasn't going to interfere.

Working quickly, he wrapped the boy's arm with the clean linen, gave the lad one last smile, and gave the man profusely thanking him his default smile and nodded along. After all, Lady Whent was paying for all this… but there was no need to mention that.

As the two left, the child in his parent's arms, the old man took a moment to simply take in his home.

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.

So, now that the boy was seen to, his hands were washed clean, and he had nothing else to do….

"Perhaps a spot of lunch might do me good."

It would do him some good to indulge. After all, the coming days promised to be interesting, if for no other reason than the waves the Prince of Dorne was making.

Moving through the scorched hallways of Harrenhal, Qyburn was used to the quiet of solitude - almost like a shadow he walked unseen, approaching the great hall, from which he could hear the animated sound of chatter. Louder than usual and from voices he did not recognize.

'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.

It was little surprise that none reacted to his arrival when he finally stepped into the great hall. He was used to it, certainly, relished in it too. Walking around the perimeter of the hall as they chattered, it gave him time to take stock of who their latest guests were.

A blond boy, likely a squire. Not yet full grown.

An older man with a chain hanging from his neck. A Maester? For one of them to be traveling with a group was quite the novelty since most of their kind remained static, serving a single Lord or satisfying their own need for higher learning. Qyburn would not begrudge them, he was much the same.

Another young man sat beside them.

Larger than the other and older than the squire for sure, he had fine, keen features. The black satin cloak was… eye catching if nothing else. He wouldn't deny a man his own sense of style. The lightning on his armor, however, was a bit much in his expert opinion.

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.'

Very well, he would do the honors.

"My apologies for my lateness, the young boy was brave but stitches always take time at my age. I do hope there is enough left for one more."

"Please, Maester, have a seat." Lady Whent nodded to him, somewhat grim as ever, and indicated one of the seats across from her.

And who was he to refuse the invitation. It wasn't often to have such refreshing new faces around, and he was eager to dissect the strangers. With his eyes of course. There was no need for any unpleasantness while eating.

'Not where the kind Lady can see it.'

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.

Perhaps he would have been quicker about stitching that boy's arm had he known this was the sort of entertainment he would have for the day. Far more enthralling than the usual variety of travelers to be sure.

The two younger men weren't of much interest.

One was clearly of Lannister blood. That particular shade of blonde gave it away. He'd seen it in half a dozen bodies. And the other young man didn't seem of much promise, strange choices of outfit aside. Just another proud, noble lord off to proudly and nobly chop the limbs off farmers and rape peasant women.

A travelling Maester and a young woman whose eyes glimmered with such ruthless intelligence, however?

They were the real prizes worth examining.

"What of you, Maester? Being this far north, you must forgive my curiosity. It is unusual to see one who does not serve a Castle."

'Ah, now she wants to play, very well.'

Giving her an amused chuckle, he decided that his lunch could wait a bit.

"I am not that much different than your group. I was traveling, finding work wherever I found myself. Harrenhal has sheltered me for some time now, but, as wonderful as the Lady Whent has been to me, I am afraid my time here will end as soon as a replacement for the previous maester arrives."

"He's speaking out of the corner of his mouth." Lady Shella spoke up. "Too clever by half, no chain, has no problems tending to peasants. If it wasn't for the robes and the fact he speaks like he grew up in the Citadel I'd say he was too good at his job to be part of your order, Archmaester."

Blinking, because this was a genuine surprise, he took a second look at the chain of the man across from him. And that's when it struck him exactly whom he was eating lunch with.

"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.

"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."

Her eyebrow quirked, just slightly.

A measured, practiced, movement.

"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."

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."

"Men who were kicked out of the Citadel for reading books they weren't supposed to."

This time the archmaester's words were almost bitter and Qyburn genuinely hoped this would all work out like that pretty shadow witch had told him it could.

"Reading books, talking to people we're supposed to disdain, asking questions that are imprudent. I'm sure that the Valyrian steel link would have been happily forged by your own fingers… should the council have permitted you the resources needed to truly investigate the Higher Mysteries."

That got a grunt.

"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."

---

Ophelia​

---

'What a pleasant guy.'

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.

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.

But most didn't.

Why would they with a perfectly good witch to stare at?

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.'

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.

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.

Animals were sullen and skittish. The people were moody and somber, with some intriguing exceptions. It was a place steeped in the shadows of the past which loomed over the living to this day. Ophelia could feel it in her Swarm and the few animals she'd used to explore the nooks and crannies of Harrenhal.

She could feel it in the way birds stayed far away or in the most distant of towers. Even the animals they'd brought with them, used to the company of humans, were deeply unsettled.

"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.'

Shaking her head, the witch keeped walking.

"I wish to speak with Lady Whent. Your company would not be objected to."

Right now Ophelia had actually bothered to change out of her riding leathers. In particular, she had changed it out for a rather thin yellow dress, with red Dornish roses done in lace along the sleeves, with linen undergarments that were almost as light as the ones she wore back home. Strangely enough, the coldness had yet to bother her, even while her siblings had all taken notice, in fact she was rather comfortable.

"Oh? A young woman wouldn't rather send an old man away?" Marwyn chuckled and gave her a grin. "I do appreciate the permissiveness. Though, while I have your ear…."

Turning to look at the old Maestar, the witch paused.

"There are no others listening in. My Swarm will ensure it."

His eyes sparkled with interest for a moment, the clear desire to speak about magic having to be tamped down, and focused.

"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."

"And one who eschews politics."

Nodding, the old mage agreed.

"That is how I got to be so old indeed."

The duo shared a chuckle.

"Well you're doing great now. Stuck with a bunch of girls that like to cause problems, I'm sure things will stay nice and boring. Happily. Exhaustingly, even."

Marwyn didn't deign to reply. Instead, the pair having come to the door to the Lady's chambers, he gave it a sharp wrap.

"Enter!"

Inside was Lady Whent, knitting in front of a large fire. She was old, not small, but somewhat shrunken in on herself. Tiny, almost, but with an energy that seemed pointed, sharp, aggressive even. Wearing several layers of thick, woolen clothing, the witch thought the woman must have been at risk of heatstroke, but clearly she was fine.

There was an alertness to her gaze, a spark of interest as Ophelia and Marwyn entered the room.

"So, a witch and a mage come to visit me. No bad omens to give, I hope."

The dornish girl smiled wanly.

"None you haven't heard a dozen times, milady."

"Oh, aren't you a clever one." She rasped a laugh. "Come on in, take a seat."

Much like she did the Maester, Ophelia took her time eyeing Lady Whent. She wasn't quite what she expected.No, with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, the woman was far from the beaten down husk Harrenhal would have made of others. She seemed comfortable, or perhaps at ease.

"I'm sure you can guess why we are here?"

"Does one need more than the pleasant welcome of Harrenhal to warrant a visit?"

To her side, Marwin snorted.

"Pleasant, that's one way to put it."

Lady Whent's flinty eyes crinkled.

"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!"

They shared a quiet laugh.

"Ah, but you aren't here to listen to the ramblings of an old woman, are you, dear? You actually want to learn something, no?" Straight to the point, with no need to stand on formalities, Ophelia supposed that the older you got the less you cared about niceties. Most probably didn't live long enough to he half Lady Whent's age.

She liked it.

"Can you blame a witch for hunting secrets?"

"Well, you are certainly well behaved for one. Better behaved than half the little noble boys and girls I have to put up with. Always with the fake smiles and niceties. Counting the days until they can take control of this cursed pile of stones. You actually want to be here and not just to see me dead."

Sniffing around someone's home with an army of critters was hardly 'good behavior', but Ophelia suspected the woman might actually approve.

If only because it would be amusing.

"I don't see why they would. This place is cursed."

Lady Whent smiled grimly.

"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.

How long had she lived here, Ophelia wondered. Steeped in this place that refused to forget.

Had she seen the event in visions? Did she feel the flames climbing from the charred floor towards her body?

"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.

"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."

"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."

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?


The air was cool.

Obviously the weather had started to turn as they travelled North, that it grew a bit damper and wetter and the nights a little longer, but now it had a chill.

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.

Unsure what to do, what she could do, Ophelia let her body carry her up, up, up, and up.

And then, at the very climax of her ascent, she saw. Harrenhal was gone, there was no more ugly, broken castle. Instead, in the distance, there was only a wall of water. The wind screamed and rain slammed into her and hail battered her form, but still the bat's body held on. So high in the heavens that it ensured that she could see and see and see.

Because that wall of water was growing bigger and closer and angrier and faster and then, like the fist of God Almighty itself, it slammed into the distant horizon. Cutting, shattering, obliterating. Chunks of earth and debris flew for miles as the storm grew and grew and grew.

Desperate for shelter, for salvation, the witch turned and fled.

There, in the distance, though oh so much closer than the furious wall of water, was an island. Sat in the center of a lake, there wasn't so much as a drop of rain touching it. In fact, even the waters of the lake were still.

As she closed the distance, her body battered, one wing barely holding together in tatters, she began to hear a song.

Beyond the edge of the storm there was a hymn.

Slow and refined, gothic even.

Fast and primal, a chase and a hunt.

Gentle and tender, a mother's lullaby.

Powerful.

Purely, simply powerful.

The song called out to her, soothing her weariness and pain, and each flap of her wings brought Ophelia closer. Alighting upon a branch, she felt exhaustion lap at her mind, claw at her form, and her eyes grew heavy.

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.

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.

Ophelia turned her head, knowing only that the disgust at this dark price overwhelmed any temptation to embrace its power.

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.

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.

As the great monster banked in the sky, it turned back towards the castle, now once more blackened stone, and descended. Flying to one of the broken towers, half open to the sky, Ophelia's savior dropped her to the floor of the tower with as much gentleness as a great bat could manage with a human. That is to say, she rolled, groaning in pain, when she hit the ground.

Coming to a stop, she panted, feeling the detritus of a hundred years under her.

Mostly it was soft.

Leaves, hay, rushes. And a gnarled, twisted Heart Tree with eyes that wept blood red sap growing up and out of the ruins. Beneath it sat a suit of black armor and a long sword so dark that it seemed to suck in the very light around it.

Pain kept her from exploring - her skin was still tender, red. So the witch lay there, trying to gather her breath.

And then, when the monster cast it's vast shadow over her, the moon behind it silhouetting a bat larger than a bear, it was gone.

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.

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.

When a tongue slid inside her mouth and the taste of copper filled her senses, the once warlord also instinctively recognized the taste of blood. Human blood too, if she was right.

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.

Struggling against the tide, things moved so rapidly the only thing the mortal could do was try and hold on. To center herself in that storm of sound and color and sensation which never seemed to hold still for even a heartbeat.

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.

Danelle simply sang something low and wordless, speech was beyond her now, and let the poor mortal rest her head in the dead sorceress's lap.

All while the moon and stars continued to twist in the sky, a billion, billion eyes looking down at them and never once blinking.

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.

---

Sarella​

---

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.

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.'

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'.

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.

'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.

Second rule of looking for Ophelia!

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.

'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.

So Sarella said nothing. Not as she silently weaved through corridors under the faint candle light of her lantern, steps light as she delved further and further into the darkness of Harrenhal with nothing but her own instincts and experience to guide her through.

And guide them she did

A cold touch on her shoulder.

A faint whisper in her ear.

Her cloak getting snagged on a door frame.

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.

What she found was a sealed up door. One that had been bricked up, likely a long time ago with how the plaster blocking it was literally falling apart, and tucked into the base of what Sarella thought was a tower. Unfortunately, that meant she was rather stuck. Being able to phase through solid stone wasn't one of the powers she'd picked up.

Still, it wasn't like there weren't always other options. After all, a bricked up tower probably meant a secret entrance. And secret entrances were actually kind of predictable.

"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."

Pulling the rusted lock thing free, she tossed it off to the side and turned the handle.

Despite a great deal of crunching and scraping and the damnable thing getting stuck twice, she was able to fully turn it three times in a counterclockwise direction before there was a loud bang, the grinding of several hidden gears, and part of the roof fell open.

Jumping back, she almost yelled when half a dozen rats fell out before the furry things scampered off.

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.

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.

"Hey. Maybe you let me get kidnapped next time." Her voice was watery, unstable. "Let the ghosts show me some love?" Because right now, the archer was more worried for her sister than she had been in a long, long time. "Are you ok?"

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.

"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.

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."

 

[stads]

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

 

[SinSinNombre]

That's a helluva trip! Awesome chapter!!

 

[rad]

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.'

Click to shrink...

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

"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."

Click to shrink...

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

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.

Click to shrink...

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

"Danelle's master work."

Click to shrink...

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.

 

[Organmonkey]

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.

 

[Sylent-M]

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​

 

[Broodlord]

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