Transmutations
Twenty -First Day of the Third Month 294 AC
Denys was staring off into space again, which hadn't been the first time, and there'd been some alarming moments where he was in the middle of some delicate work over the past month and only saved his hide from strange burns and odder smells, due to the simple fact that... even making exacting measurements for different arcane reagents had become so easy for him to grasp, easier still than the wielding of swords. Calculations were done just a little swifter, every time.
Having been caught in the grips of that thing that should never have been, back in Sarnor, he had come into strange insights of the web and weave of the world of form, and of that without any comprehensible form at all, not all, or even most, were welcome.
But they had done something to elevate his mind, to expand it beyond the horizons it could... he might as well come out and say it, sour as hemlock it tasted upon the tongue, but he was
smarter now than he had ever been before, and it was noticeable. He was making connections in their investigations so much faster than before, and it had none of the manic, almost frantic energy about it as it used to, when they were working with the bare necessities and nothing more, often surrounded by slums instead of stately architecture and finery.
They were noticing, Denys thought, the last had an edge of hysterics about it, as if he would
want anyone he cared about to notice what he'd seen--he sighed, putting down his belt of arcane vials before he made a mistake.
He felt the hand on his shoulder a fraction of a second before it was there, senses heightened by magic as he reviewed plans for the invasion once more, as he often did. Criston didn't have to shake him out of a stupor--that was actually part of the problem. Distractions didn't come as easily as they used to... there was something unnatural, an awareness of the world about him, indelibly so, a lie ripped away forevermore, like the skein of the world had come undone and revealed the truth hidden beneath, between the in-between, like when they had realized there was dangers out there that normal folk could not contend with.
It was not so base as simple confidence, or not simply confidence, that moved him anymore, but the type of bone-deep certainty he had seen only in the spirits that inhabited Sorcerer's Deep.
What was done could not ever be undone.
It reminded him of Mercy, actually, what she might think of his situation. Everything had a neat slot to occupy, easily placed into the world view of someone who envisaged themselves as a component to a greater whole, an immutable truth of their being that could not be denied.
"We have an issue..." Criston began, before trailing off, noticing the bags under the younger knight's eyes. "What's eating at you?"
"Horrors beyond sanity?" Denys replied, not even phased at the tone the man had taken with him, like he was a child to be coddled. Unfortunately they had noticed how little thought into offense he had taken for his own mental faculties, since the man swiftly changed from looking like he wanted to slug him and now twisting in unseemly concern. Denys changed the subject quickly, "What's the problem?"
"Ceria's patron gave her a task, and I don't mean from the Dragon or the Shadow." That statement was like cold ice running down his back, and it did make him somewhat concerned, perhaps unduly so.
Given what he knew, there were worse beings out there, some of whom they were dealing with this very moment, yet... Criston's next words weren't too surprising given their previous actions. "It's the Usurper's get. Bastards in King's Landing and elsewhere, set adrift and likely to come to harm in the chaos of the invasion, or just used to other people's own ends. He asked her to find them and bring them to safety. I'd give it up for a lost cause in most cases, not as if you're going to get as many as pliant as that Stone girl or the blacksmith's apprentice, but Ceria had this evil gleam in her eye. I don't know if the world can handle the kind of chaos she leaves in her wake, let alone half a dozen of her."
The words were said half in jest and half in legitimate worry, but Denys had come to learn enough in nearly half a year or so of the Dragon King's character that he would likely ride whatever storm they brought to his advantage and watch it with a sort of distant amusement at best. The man was the last to blame anyone for the sins of their father.
And on that sour note: "I don't think King Viserys would object if we detoured to escort a few children and their families to the Deep. Ceria can leap around the world these days, it's not as if we'd be taking advantage of the Crown's resources unnecessarily."
"That's what I was afraid of," Criston muttered. They had moved their conversation from their manse and out into... well, there were soldiers everywhere, scrambling to and fro about the city and generally not ones from the Legion or the garrison. "... did they increase security around here, or is it just me?" A man in a black breastplate trotted up to them, saluted, and then handed a sealed document marked by arcane fire.
Denys scanned the papers within. "Oh dear."
Criston snatched them from his hand while Denys considered whether or not he should really be wasting time worrying about rebel warlords in his homeland when he was beginning to count not-quite-gods and demon lords as among the foes he might one day be facing, even if only against their proxies. "Are we checking ourselves for compulsions regularly?" Denys honestly had lost track of who was placed in charge of that in his general orbit of affairs. Ceria, likely, she hadn't lost that paranoid edge, even if had softened somewhat toward certain people.
Criston grunted, "At least once a week..." he snapped his head up after reaching some portion of the report, his face going red, "Maybe that should be once a day."
"Sers, you'll have to come with us," the stormtrooper regretfully informed them. "There's been some...
improvements to security procedures since you've been gone."
The two knights shared a glance. "How invasive are these getting?" Denys asked.
"Well, the Companions were stated to have had the most extensive scans performed upon themselves..." the man trailed off, looking like a deer about to be ran down. "I suppose that was probably to serve as an example to the rest of the Bureaus, and to be frank, including the officials without any portfolio in that would probably be wise. Ser" The man glanced at the two of them meaningfully.
In his defense, Denys thought,
he's Essosi, and doesn't know how to place sworn knights in the hierarchy of the realm, given how some of the least of them act like the Seven's own gift to the world.
Denys and Criston were not Companions, not even close, but they were trusted and knew a lot of secrets not many in the King's company were privy to, and, Denys thought, likely also some they hadn't even meant to chance upon, just caught up in the general proximity of high lords and their game of thrones.
"Will we be surrendering our arms?" Criston was against it, even in Sorcerer's Deep, but Denys could probably cook up a bomb with minimal resources and preparation just about anywhere, so he wasn't overly concerned with the notion.
"That won't be necessary," the man, likely a sergeant as he placed him now, replied swiftly. Also to their credit, despite the repeatedly retold stories of their battlefield exploits, which they had counted minor in the grand scheme of things, Denys had failed to comprehend that slaying scores of undead in open battle wasn't something ordinary men were really capable of.
He had only recently stopped thinking of himself as ordinary.
And these hard-bitten sons of bitches didn't look all that awed.
Probably saw action against something nasty, he thought absently, even as they were taken away elsewhere in the city, caught up in the inscrutable schedule of Lord Garin.
They're going to see more action in the days to come, he thought grimly. He looked out at the city, at a higher elevation. Denys had only rarely taken more than a moment to contemplate this view in the past, but when he gazed upon it, truly looked... a city without walls, so much bigger than it used to be... scores of warships in the harbor... Heralds flitting about above the sea of witch-lights and buildings. And officials
everywhere, some going to their business, and some coming away from it.
He began to realize that he, the Dragon King's alchemist, might be giving someone out there their own nightmares.
OOC: Omake from @Crake. I just put up the title. a very nice look into Denys' psyche as he comes into his own, also of the way people like the Misfits who are not Companions but are personally powerful are treated in the Empire. 
