- Location
- Singapore
Hey now it's just good old fashioned family bonding.
I am sure he would be fine.
Probably.
Maybe not.
A Reason to Live (ASOIAF SI)
- Thread starter Replicant
- Start date
- Novel
I am sure he would be fine.
Probably.
Maybe not.
A Reason to Live Chapter 7: The Shape of Happiness
- Location
- Singapore
A Reason to Live Chapter 7: The Shape of Happiness
What exactly is happiness?
Was it that warm feeling he felt when Leyla, for the first time in a long while, walked into the Library with a wide grin on her face? Finally, happy that she had just completed her masterpiece barely a day before her self-imposed deadline. At last, those sleepless nights and screaming matches with her father paid off.
Or was happiness that feeling he felt when one day, he found himself able to wake up from a dreamless sleep with a smile on his face? Content that, finally, finally, the nightmares and night terrors had ended. That the nights of nervous shiverings and breakdowns were over. At last, he could stand straight with confidence, basking in the morning sunrise with its promise of a better future.
Or was happiness that vicious validation he felt when Lena finally tried out his new orange fruit cake recipe that he made with his relatives? Was that vicious glee he felt as she tasted it and mumbled out her approval begrudgingly amidst a sea of reluctant nods from her clique of friends, real happiness?
It was a curious thing, happiness. That frizzle, nebulous warm feeling that comes and goes as it pleases. Never staying for long to settle, yet leaves you begging for more. So fleeting, always you have to chase for it because you just want to feel that feeling of content and validation.
Or, like always, he was wrong. Wrong in his understanding of how the world worked. Wrong in understanding how emotions function. Wrong at everything and was being pretentious as usual, masquerading as some wise sage from a bygone era. When truly, he knew nothing.
But, still for once. He wished to know.
What exactly is the shape of happiness?
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oscar woke up to the sound of whippings and the pained cries of the damned galley slaves, condemned to a short miserable life.
It was nothing new to him.
Dully, he got out of his hammock to reach for his sack of valuables. Hoping that no one during the night had stolen his one precious treasure. If he could, he would keep it in his pockets at all times, such was his paranoia. But then it would have slipped off into the sea when he was on duty. Or worse, one of his fellow crewmates would have just pickpocketed it.
Not like hiding it within his shoulder sack was any better, but he didn't have much of a choice in the first place.
He took a quick glance, his hands desperately shifting past his stash of coins and clothing. Hoping, praying the myrish spectacle was not stolen.
Oh thank the gods, it's still there. He let out a small sigh of relief and tied his shoulder sack shut. Just one more day, one more and this would be over. This hell would be behind him for good. He got up, straightening his spine, his resolve strengthened.
With his treasure now secured, he returns to his post and daily chores for the day.
Gingerly, walked through the mess of humanity. Careful not to step upon the mess of sleeping sailors, excrement and piss sprawling all over the bottom deck. He did not want to wake up a grumpy drunken sailor after all. The last person who accidentally stepped on someone's face was little Timmy, who lost half of his teeth to a punch by an angry, drunken Yoren.
Walked past the overseers screaming obscenities at the rowers, screaming and whipping at them to row faster. Always go faster. Heedless of their cries of anguish and pleas for respite. A dozen languages from a hundred nations screaming in shared suffering.
He quickened his pace, past a rower, suddenly slumped and collapsed. Dead before his head even touched the deck. An overseer sneered, screamed at two galley slaves to drag their former compatriot body above deck to be thrown overboard.
Oscar walked straight ahead. He did not look back. Must not look back. Once, the wanton casual cruelty on display would have disgusted him. Once he would have cried at the inhumanity of it all
Now he has learned to ignore it. Best he could do was pray that the unfortunate souls would find themselves in a better afterlife.
The tears had long since dried up.
He walked faster, nearly running now. Option 2: It was unwise for him to dwell on such dark thoughts. It would just lead to a spiral of self hate that would lead him on a path that he could not escape.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Think of something that could banish the cries of the damned.
…
He wants to hug Leyla again.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the half rotten wooden stairs leading to the upper deck. And not a moment too soon. The slaves' cries had begun to grate on him. Oscar knew he could not help them. Even so, he still listened.
That could have been him in another life. An unfortunate soul that was kidnapped and forced to row a galley for eternity. A naïve child from flea bottom, believing the words of a smiling fat recruiter. An essosi slave forced to row for pirate ships now "generously" transferred to serving under the King's royal fleet. Their new found freedom is a cruel joke. A drunk sailor press ganged by unsavory recruiters in a shady tavern.
These galley slaves could have been anyone of us.
He did not understand it. His desire to comprehend the cruelty of people consumed him. He wanted to know how people could ever justify inflicting pain and suffering. Yet he wished he would never understand why either, because he feared that the answer he fervently sought for would break his soul.
Oscar's philosophical pondering ceased for a moment as he, at long last, reached the upper deck, in awe of the enormity of the surrounding ocean.
Basked in the morning sun. Felt the sun warm on his skin. Listening to the crawls of seagulls, their cries an elusive promise that land is near. Heard the Captain arguing with the Quartermaster about provisions. Even spotted one or two dolphins leaping out of the waters near the war galley forecastle.
The hellish screams below deck gave way to the daily, mundane noise of sailors going about their tasks.
As if this was normal.
He knew he should be happy. He made his parents proud. His crew mates respected him for his hard work and reliability. His siblings looked up to him as a role model to emulate.
Oscar should be happy. He got everything he could want in this life. If he continued down this path, he could even get a captaincy of his own galley. Or even a squadron of galleys if he brown nosed the Master of Ships hard enough.
Yet.
Yet for a long time now, Oscar felt disgusted with himself. No matter how much he washed his hands, he could only see a river of blood dripping from his fingers.
No matter how much he tried to sleep, the screaming would not stop. No matter how much he tried to lie to himself, his self proclaimed ambitions tasted like ash in his mouth.
He did not regret his decision to leave the galley. Not one bit. If only because he could not lie to himself any longer. Or really, for the sake of his only sanity, he needed to leave this blasted ship. He could not stand living like this any longer.
But he was still worried. About the disappointment of his parents once he broke the news. If Lena could still be proud of him. If his cousins and uncles would express disgust that he left an apprenticeship that most would, figuratively speaking, kill for. Worried that his brother would lose hope, and withdrew to his fortress of solitude again, never to interact with the outside world again.
Yes, he knew he was being irrational and worried too much about things outside his control. Yet, Oscar could not help but ponder even as the Captain was walking towards him asking him to hurry up and aid the Quartermaster in securing the provisions.
Is this what growing up really liked? Is being an adult just constantly worrying about what others think about you? Working in apprenticeships and trades that they hated doing but still forced themselves, anyway? To ignore the suffering of others and just keep their heads down, praying it would not happen to them? If is this is what being a respectable adult really is, he could not, as absurd and stupid as it sounds, helped but asked himself this one question.
"If being a respectable person meant killing your own soul, what exactly, then, is the shape of happiness?"
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The warm heat from the morning sun woke her up from her slumber.
Layla chose to ignore it. She had burned several candles the previous night to complete her map, so in her own humble opinion; she deserved to sleep in for once.
Mitty, her brown bitch of a cat, had her own opinion regarding her owner's decision to sleep in.
A series of curses and a bed splattered with cat vomit later, Layla was truly awake and set about preparing her day.
Break her fast with a hastily prepared meal of oatmeal and salted bread? Check.
Changing her bed sheets after Mitty bitch tantrum? Check.
Fed Mitty her daily breakfast of mixed mackerel and chicken after squishing her face? Check.
Rinsing her mouth and rubbing her teeth with ground up alum powder and aromatic herbs so no one could complain her breath smells bad? Check.
Changed her night wear with her best red gown and white sleeveless tunic? Check.
Set aside Mitty lunch and bowl of water? Check.
And most importantly. Is her masterpiece in her satchel? Yes.
Her checklist was done. She wore her best boots and carefully locked her family two-story house black oak door shut.
Usually, she would turn right and straight ahead on the stone pavement to her father's library. But not today.
Leyla smiled to herself. Today is a special day.
She turned left, down to the docks. Today is Oscar's name day. Today is the day he returned home.
As she walked on the bustling street filled with people walking to work or doing their daily chores, Leyla could not help but felt nervous about her gift. What if Oscar hates her map? No,surely he won't hate it. Like he always said, he liked her rants on charts and maps, right? Right. Besides, he is a sailor so he should be able to appreciate her gift! Like, that sounded right in her head, so it should make sense, right? Oscar always liked the things she talked about, so it should be fine.
… Right?
But what if the map wasn't what he truly needed? What if he wanted something else instead, actually? Did she ever ask what he really wanted?
Did Oscar ever truly tell her what he was interested in?
She stopped walking. Her right hand slapped her temple in sudden shock and realization.
No. She never did know what he wanted.
She assumed that Oscar would like maps because he always nod in assent whenever she ranted about so and so Maester being dumb as bricks because he miscalculated longitude.
She just assumed Oscar's smile was of genuine interest in half rotten books on geography. When in actuality, he was just indulging her interest. Oh by the gods, how could she be so dumb when it comes to reading people's intentions like the book keeper w-
Leyla, so indulged in her own mental anguish, had failed to see that the stone pavement she was walking on had given way to poorly maintained muddy, dung filled pavements .
She failed to notice the speedy cart pulled by two mules, till it was far, far too late.
Leyla screamed in sheer distraught. Her best tunic and gown were splattered with mud and dung.
For a moment, her brain could not process the magnitude of what had just happened to her.
She wanted to die. This could not be happening. Today was her day. Her day to show just how much she appreciate her only friend in this idiotic world. She can't go and meet him looking, like, some kind of dung riddle hog or worse, just-
What was she supposed to do? She could go back and change but, but she had slept in because the previous night she was too worried about her map and had stayed up till she got way too tired to continue. She, gods, what's she supposed to do now?!? She would missed his ship entering the docks, but, but,what was she, she cannot go looking like this either?!? How, what's she sup- she, don't bother, purse, what, in her house, no why, gods she is - late, don't know, what ,shit, why how, so dumb, dumb dumb dumb dumb.
She curled up into a ball. Her hands were in a protective stance, shielding her head.
The mass of humanity walking to and fro ignored her.
Why, why, why, why. Why is she always like this? Why she couldn't do anything with her life? Why the gods hate her so much, why she was always so helpless. Why is she so godsdamn stupid? She should have known this would happen? Forget about this, she shouldn't have done anything. Why is it always, so ,so-
"Oh, by the gods, it's Leyla. Oi? Anyone home?" She heard a familiar voice calling out.
Oh.
Oh no. Not her. Not Lena. She cannot be seen like this, nononononono- please why her day just got so much worse, why anyone but no please someone i don't want to, i need help, i don't need help.
Layla could feel the tears streaming down her face. She curled up tighter in an ever smaller ball.
She could feel Lena standing there. A titan staring down upon her.
Judging.
Go away go away go away go away go away go away go awaygoawaygoaw-
She felt a finger poking her cheek.
She retreated further into herself.
"Oi, what happened? Did someone bully you again?" Lena curiously asked. "Or is it something else entirely?"
Leyla tried. She truly tried to say something, but it just came out in incomprehensible gibberish.
"Itsmothingdontmorryaboit." was what Lena could best translate from Leyla's mental breakdown.
Lena sighed. "Look, I could not help you if I don't actually know what you are suffering from, alright?"
"ITSMOTHINGDONTMORRYAB-." Leyla's shout ended mid sentence, interrupted by a wet cough. "-ack, gomawa."
Lena, of course, did not gomawa.
Instead, she grabbed Leyla by her nape and, with great effort, forced her up like a wet kitten.
Leyla could not meet her eyes, too embarrassed by her sorry state to even make a witty remark.
Lena, though, arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So, that's it? Really? Over a dirty dress??"
"Syasoorrawh." Leyla mumbled out, snot dripping down her face. "Yadont han da-"
She tried saying something, but Leyla quickly shut her line of thought.
"Look it's just a gown alright" Lena huffed loudly, annoyed at the conversation she was having."Just i don't know, buy a new dress? There's a couple of tailor shops close by?"
"BUTHAVENOMONAH!" Layla wailed even louder. This time, several passersby were openly staring at the two girls, wondering what the commotion was all about.
"Alright, alright, everything is okay, there, there." Lena awkwardly hugged the distressed taller girl in front of her. Gently patting her back. "Feeling better? You know, between you and me, Leyla, you and my brother are pretty similar."
"Whadabookkepper?" Leyla finally calmed down a little, questioned Lena.
"... Who else?" Lena deadpanned. "Both of ya are massive crybabies that constantly wailed about how much the world sucked or something."
"I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM." she yelled, incredulous that someone dared to insinuate that she and that boy were pretty similar in character. "He, he cried because of some harsh words fro-"
"Yes, yes, but you cried because your dress got some mud on it, so you two are pretty much the same to me." Lena cut Leyla's tirade off. A stony expression on her face, but her eyes betrayed the sheer amusement she was enjoying from Leyla flustering. "Anyway, since you are feeling better now, we should definitely buy a new dress. Don't worry, unlike someone here, I came prepared with a purse, HAHAHA."
Lena laughed softly as her brother's friend went on another rant about how she actually came prepared but did not foresee her dress being dirtied. Her previous self destructive spiral was nearly all but forgotten.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Leyla engaged in a fervent squabble with the tailor in front of her, Lena could not help but wonder about the difference between her, Leyla, and her brothers.
She could not truly understand their worries and their tendency to self sabotage themselves, especially her shut in older brother. Why do they worry about the future, anyway? Surely everything would be fine, right? Not much they could do, anyway.
To Lena, the answers had always been simple to her. Life is to be experienced. There would be bad times and there would be good times. When there's a hello there would always be a goodbye. In the end, people would leave just like how some of her friends had already drifted apart from her. But that was fine for her.
For you see, happiness does not have a shape. It's just the sum of all of her cherished memories with those around her. The times she enjoyed with them. Moments when she feels satisfied helping those close to her. Feelings of gratitude, being loved by her family and she in turned loved them. The pleasant surprise she felt when her bookish brother actually came up with a decent cake recipe.
That is it really. Not much there is to it.
Or that's what she thought anyway, not like anyone would ask her opinions. Too busy with other things, like agonising over a muddy dress.
She doesn't understand why the people close to her always worried so much, but the least she could was try to lift their burden. Helped them in any way she could.
Blegh all this thinking does not suit her at all. For gods sake, she is only twelve! Twelve! Not like some old geezer like, uh, King Jaehaerys or something.
But, if someone happened to ask her, what truly is the shape of happiness? Well, it's pretty simple, really.
All she had to do was point at Leyla, laughing in delight as she showed off her new blue sleeveless tunic coupled with a pure white gown.
Pearls of laughter echoed within the shop as she gleefully smile in relief. Her impromptu dance as she twirls round and round across the shop, her gown spinning around her.
That is the shape of happiness.
Now, if someone should ask her, what is the image of despair?
Well, Lena had a simpler answer.
The cost of Leyla's new dress.
Truly, she should have been a court jester.
Ha.
What exactly is happiness?
Was it that warm feeling he felt when Leyla, for the first time in a long while, walked into the Library with a wide grin on her face? Finally, happy that she had just completed her masterpiece barely a day before her self-imposed deadline. At last, those sleepless nights and screaming matches with her father paid off.
Or was happiness that feeling he felt when one day, he found himself able to wake up from a dreamless sleep with a smile on his face? Content that, finally, finally, the nightmares and night terrors had ended. That the nights of nervous shiverings and breakdowns were over. At last, he could stand straight with confidence, basking in the morning sunrise with its promise of a better future.
Or was happiness that vicious validation he felt when Lena finally tried out his new orange fruit cake recipe that he made with his relatives? Was that vicious glee he felt as she tasted it and mumbled out her approval begrudgingly amidst a sea of reluctant nods from her clique of friends, real happiness?
It was a curious thing, happiness. That frizzle, nebulous warm feeling that comes and goes as it pleases. Never staying for long to settle, yet leaves you begging for more. So fleeting, always you have to chase for it because you just want to feel that feeling of content and validation.
Or, like always, he was wrong. Wrong in his understanding of how the world worked. Wrong in understanding how emotions function. Wrong at everything and was being pretentious as usual, masquerading as some wise sage from a bygone era. When truly, he knew nothing.
But, still for once. He wished to know.
What exactly is the shape of happiness?
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oscar woke up to the sound of whippings and the pained cries of the damned galley slaves, condemned to a short miserable life.
It was nothing new to him.
Dully, he got out of his hammock to reach for his sack of valuables. Hoping that no one during the night had stolen his one precious treasure. If he could, he would keep it in his pockets at all times, such was his paranoia. But then it would have slipped off into the sea when he was on duty. Or worse, one of his fellow crewmates would have just pickpocketed it.
Not like hiding it within his shoulder sack was any better, but he didn't have much of a choice in the first place.
He took a quick glance, his hands desperately shifting past his stash of coins and clothing. Hoping, praying the myrish spectacle was not stolen.
Oh thank the gods, it's still there. He let out a small sigh of relief and tied his shoulder sack shut. Just one more day, one more and this would be over. This hell would be behind him for good. He got up, straightening his spine, his resolve strengthened.
With his treasure now secured, he returns to his post and daily chores for the day.
Gingerly, walked through the mess of humanity. Careful not to step upon the mess of sleeping sailors, excrement and piss sprawling all over the bottom deck. He did not want to wake up a grumpy drunken sailor after all. The last person who accidentally stepped on someone's face was little Timmy, who lost half of his teeth to a punch by an angry, drunken Yoren.
Walked past the overseers screaming obscenities at the rowers, screaming and whipping at them to row faster. Always go faster. Heedless of their cries of anguish and pleas for respite. A dozen languages from a hundred nations screaming in shared suffering.
He quickened his pace, past a rower, suddenly slumped and collapsed. Dead before his head even touched the deck. An overseer sneered, screamed at two galley slaves to drag their former compatriot body above deck to be thrown overboard.
Oscar walked straight ahead. He did not look back. Must not look back. Once, the wanton casual cruelty on display would have disgusted him. Once he would have cried at the inhumanity of it all
Now he has learned to ignore it. Best he could do was pray that the unfortunate souls would find themselves in a better afterlife.
The tears had long since dried up.
He walked faster, nearly running now. Option 2: It was unwise for him to dwell on such dark thoughts. It would just lead to a spiral of self hate that would lead him on a path that he could not escape.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Think of something that could banish the cries of the damned.
…
He wants to hug Leyla again.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the half rotten wooden stairs leading to the upper deck. And not a moment too soon. The slaves' cries had begun to grate on him. Oscar knew he could not help them. Even so, he still listened.
That could have been him in another life. An unfortunate soul that was kidnapped and forced to row a galley for eternity. A naïve child from flea bottom, believing the words of a smiling fat recruiter. An essosi slave forced to row for pirate ships now "generously" transferred to serving under the King's royal fleet. Their new found freedom is a cruel joke. A drunk sailor press ganged by unsavory recruiters in a shady tavern.
These galley slaves could have been anyone of us.
He did not understand it. His desire to comprehend the cruelty of people consumed him. He wanted to know how people could ever justify inflicting pain and suffering. Yet he wished he would never understand why either, because he feared that the answer he fervently sought for would break his soul.
Oscar's philosophical pondering ceased for a moment as he, at long last, reached the upper deck, in awe of the enormity of the surrounding ocean.
Basked in the morning sun. Felt the sun warm on his skin. Listening to the crawls of seagulls, their cries an elusive promise that land is near. Heard the Captain arguing with the Quartermaster about provisions. Even spotted one or two dolphins leaping out of the waters near the war galley forecastle.
The hellish screams below deck gave way to the daily, mundane noise of sailors going about their tasks.
As if this was normal.
He knew he should be happy. He made his parents proud. His crew mates respected him for his hard work and reliability. His siblings looked up to him as a role model to emulate.
Oscar should be happy. He got everything he could want in this life. If he continued down this path, he could even get a captaincy of his own galley. Or even a squadron of galleys if he brown nosed the Master of Ships hard enough.
Yet.
Yet for a long time now, Oscar felt disgusted with himself. No matter how much he washed his hands, he could only see a river of blood dripping from his fingers.
No matter how much he tried to sleep, the screaming would not stop. No matter how much he tried to lie to himself, his self proclaimed ambitions tasted like ash in his mouth.
He did not regret his decision to leave the galley. Not one bit. If only because he could not lie to himself any longer. Or really, for the sake of his only sanity, he needed to leave this blasted ship. He could not stand living like this any longer.
But he was still worried. About the disappointment of his parents once he broke the news. If Lena could still be proud of him. If his cousins and uncles would express disgust that he left an apprenticeship that most would, figuratively speaking, kill for. Worried that his brother would lose hope, and withdrew to his fortress of solitude again, never to interact with the outside world again.
Yes, he knew he was being irrational and worried too much about things outside his control. Yet, Oscar could not help but ponder even as the Captain was walking towards him asking him to hurry up and aid the Quartermaster in securing the provisions.
Is this what growing up really liked? Is being an adult just constantly worrying about what others think about you? Working in apprenticeships and trades that they hated doing but still forced themselves, anyway? To ignore the suffering of others and just keep their heads down, praying it would not happen to them? If is this is what being a respectable adult really is, he could not, as absurd and stupid as it sounds, helped but asked himself this one question.
"If being a respectable person meant killing your own soul, what exactly, then, is the shape of happiness?"
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The warm heat from the morning sun woke her up from her slumber.
Layla chose to ignore it. She had burned several candles the previous night to complete her map, so in her own humble opinion; she deserved to sleep in for once.
Mitty, her brown bitch of a cat, had her own opinion regarding her owner's decision to sleep in.
A series of curses and a bed splattered with cat vomit later, Layla was truly awake and set about preparing her day.
Break her fast with a hastily prepared meal of oatmeal and salted bread? Check.
Changing her bed sheets after Mitty bitch tantrum? Check.
Fed Mitty her daily breakfast of mixed mackerel and chicken after squishing her face? Check.
Rinsing her mouth and rubbing her teeth with ground up alum powder and aromatic herbs so no one could complain her breath smells bad? Check.
Changed her night wear with her best red gown and white sleeveless tunic? Check.
Set aside Mitty lunch and bowl of water? Check.
And most importantly. Is her masterpiece in her satchel? Yes.
Her checklist was done. She wore her best boots and carefully locked her family two-story house black oak door shut.
Usually, she would turn right and straight ahead on the stone pavement to her father's library. But not today.
Leyla smiled to herself. Today is a special day.
She turned left, down to the docks. Today is Oscar's name day. Today is the day he returned home.
As she walked on the bustling street filled with people walking to work or doing their daily chores, Leyla could not help but felt nervous about her gift. What if Oscar hates her map? No,surely he won't hate it. Like he always said, he liked her rants on charts and maps, right? Right. Besides, he is a sailor so he should be able to appreciate her gift! Like, that sounded right in her head, so it should make sense, right? Oscar always liked the things she talked about, so it should be fine.
… Right?
But what if the map wasn't what he truly needed? What if he wanted something else instead, actually? Did she ever ask what he really wanted?
Did Oscar ever truly tell her what he was interested in?
She stopped walking. Her right hand slapped her temple in sudden shock and realization.
No. She never did know what he wanted.
She assumed that Oscar would like maps because he always nod in assent whenever she ranted about so and so Maester being dumb as bricks because he miscalculated longitude.
She just assumed Oscar's smile was of genuine interest in half rotten books on geography. When in actuality, he was just indulging her interest. Oh by the gods, how could she be so dumb when it comes to reading people's intentions like the book keeper w-
Leyla, so indulged in her own mental anguish, had failed to see that the stone pavement she was walking on had given way to poorly maintained muddy, dung filled pavements .
She failed to notice the speedy cart pulled by two mules, till it was far, far too late.
Leyla screamed in sheer distraught. Her best tunic and gown were splattered with mud and dung.
For a moment, her brain could not process the magnitude of what had just happened to her.
She wanted to die. This could not be happening. Today was her day. Her day to show just how much she appreciate her only friend in this idiotic world. She can't go and meet him looking, like, some kind of dung riddle hog or worse, just-
What was she supposed to do? She could go back and change but, but she had slept in because the previous night she was too worried about her map and had stayed up till she got way too tired to continue. She, gods, what's she supposed to do now?!? She would missed his ship entering the docks, but, but,what was she, she cannot go looking like this either?!? How, what's she sup- she, don't bother, purse, what, in her house, no why, gods she is - late, don't know, what ,shit, why how, so dumb, dumb dumb dumb dumb.
She curled up into a ball. Her hands were in a protective stance, shielding her head.
The mass of humanity walking to and fro ignored her.
Why, why, why, why. Why is she always like this? Why she couldn't do anything with her life? Why the gods hate her so much, why she was always so helpless. Why is she so godsdamn stupid? She should have known this would happen? Forget about this, she shouldn't have done anything. Why is it always, so ,so-
"Oh, by the gods, it's Leyla. Oi? Anyone home?" She heard a familiar voice calling out.
Oh.
Oh no. Not her. Not Lena. She cannot be seen like this, nononononono- please why her day just got so much worse, why anyone but no please someone i don't want to, i need help, i don't need help.
Layla could feel the tears streaming down her face. She curled up tighter in an ever smaller ball.
She could feel Lena standing there. A titan staring down upon her.
Judging.
Go away go away go away go away go away go away go awaygoawaygoaw-
She felt a finger poking her cheek.
She retreated further into herself.
"Oi, what happened? Did someone bully you again?" Lena curiously asked. "Or is it something else entirely?"
Leyla tried. She truly tried to say something, but it just came out in incomprehensible gibberish.
"Itsmothingdontmorryaboit." was what Lena could best translate from Leyla's mental breakdown.
Lena sighed. "Look, I could not help you if I don't actually know what you are suffering from, alright?"
"ITSMOTHINGDONTMORRYAB-." Leyla's shout ended mid sentence, interrupted by a wet cough. "-ack, gomawa."
Lena, of course, did not gomawa.
Instead, she grabbed Leyla by her nape and, with great effort, forced her up like a wet kitten.
Leyla could not meet her eyes, too embarrassed by her sorry state to even make a witty remark.
Lena, though, arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So, that's it? Really? Over a dirty dress??"
"Syasoorrawh." Leyla mumbled out, snot dripping down her face. "Yadont han da-"
She tried saying something, but Leyla quickly shut her line of thought.
"Look it's just a gown alright" Lena huffed loudly, annoyed at the conversation she was having."Just i don't know, buy a new dress? There's a couple of tailor shops close by?"
"BUTHAVENOMONAH!" Layla wailed even louder. This time, several passersby were openly staring at the two girls, wondering what the commotion was all about.
"Alright, alright, everything is okay, there, there." Lena awkwardly hugged the distressed taller girl in front of her. Gently patting her back. "Feeling better? You know, between you and me, Leyla, you and my brother are pretty similar."
"Whadabookkepper?" Leyla finally calmed down a little, questioned Lena.
"... Who else?" Lena deadpanned. "Both of ya are massive crybabies that constantly wailed about how much the world sucked or something."
"I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM." she yelled, incredulous that someone dared to insinuate that she and that boy were pretty similar in character. "He, he cried because of some harsh words fro-"
"Yes, yes, but you cried because your dress got some mud on it, so you two are pretty much the same to me." Lena cut Leyla's tirade off. A stony expression on her face, but her eyes betrayed the sheer amusement she was enjoying from Leyla flustering. "Anyway, since you are feeling better now, we should definitely buy a new dress. Don't worry, unlike someone here, I came prepared with a purse, HAHAHA."
Lena laughed softly as her brother's friend went on another rant about how she actually came prepared but did not foresee her dress being dirtied. Her previous self destructive spiral was nearly all but forgotten.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Leyla engaged in a fervent squabble with the tailor in front of her, Lena could not help but wonder about the difference between her, Leyla, and her brothers.
She could not truly understand their worries and their tendency to self sabotage themselves, especially her shut in older brother. Why do they worry about the future, anyway? Surely everything would be fine, right? Not much they could do, anyway.
To Lena, the answers had always been simple to her. Life is to be experienced. There would be bad times and there would be good times. When there's a hello there would always be a goodbye. In the end, people would leave just like how some of her friends had already drifted apart from her. But that was fine for her.
For you see, happiness does not have a shape. It's just the sum of all of her cherished memories with those around her. The times she enjoyed with them. Moments when she feels satisfied helping those close to her. Feelings of gratitude, being loved by her family and she in turned loved them. The pleasant surprise she felt when her bookish brother actually came up with a decent cake recipe.
That is it really. Not much there is to it.
Or that's what she thought anyway, not like anyone would ask her opinions. Too busy with other things, like agonising over a muddy dress.
She doesn't understand why the people close to her always worried so much, but the least she could was try to lift their burden. Helped them in any way she could.
Blegh all this thinking does not suit her at all. For gods sake, she is only twelve! Twelve! Not like some old geezer like, uh, King Jaehaerys or something.
But, if someone happened to ask her, what truly is the shape of happiness? Well, it's pretty simple, really.
All she had to do was point at Leyla, laughing in delight as she showed off her new blue sleeveless tunic coupled with a pure white gown.
Pearls of laughter echoed within the shop as she gleefully smile in relief. Her impromptu dance as she twirls round and round across the shop, her gown spinning around her.
That is the shape of happiness.
Now, if someone should ask her, what is the image of despair?
Well, Lena had a simpler answer.
The cost of Leyla's new dress.
Truly, she should have been a court jester.
Ha.
- Location
- Singapore
"Join the navy they said. See the world they said. Well all I got is weevil infested hardtack and the cries of galley slaves" - Oscar probably
A Reason to Live Chapter 8: Homecoming
- Location
- Singapore
A Reason to Live Chapter 8: Homecoming
First came the smell.
The gross odor of hundreds of thousands of dirty unwashed masses of Kings Landing. Rusty iron-like tang in the air of countless herds of cows, sheep, and goats that were slaughtered daily to feed the city inhabitants. The putrid smell of human excrement, piss, and refuse overflowing from the city's long overtaxed drainage system.
All corrugate to form the infamous, disgusting Kings Landing "fragrance"
Even a mile away from the city he could smell it.
Most outsiders entering the city for the first time would have gagged. Vomiting was not uncommon either, such was the stench that a few even passed out. Already several of the passengers that boarded the galley back in Hull are looking pretty green. He even witnessed a tyroshi man try to throw himself overboard, maddened by the City's overwhelming stench. Only for several of the crew and the Quartermaster dragged him back safely on deck. All while crying and screaming incoherently about how he could not bear to smell the stench any longer.
Oscar rolled his eyes. Foreigners and immigrants were always so dramatic. Sure the stench was… alright it was pretty bad. But it's not that bad a person had to throw themselves overboard to escape it. Even if the tyroshi did manage to swim away from the galley, where was he supposed to swim to? Duskendale? Swim the open ocean by himself? Silly Essosi.
The flock of seagulls flying above the galley sails squawk in agreement.
He sighed, and a huff of air escaped his lips. He probably was being too harsh on the Tyroshi. But still, he did not understand. After all, it's just the regular stench of any city really. Only significantly worse. If it was truly intolerable just… buy some perfumes? If you have the coin that is. If not well, everyone eventually gets used to it.
After all, despite how putrid Kings Landing smell like, it's still the scent of home.
On that thought, the corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards. Finally, the nightmare was almost over. He could just, almost smell the fresh fragrance of Lena's cooked pastries. The fresh smell of paint of his mother finished painting a portrait for one of their cousins. The noise of customers bargaining with his father for the best pierce for bolts of cloth. Of the sound of a quill being dipped in ink as his brother wrote another one of his fantastical tales.
He could just hear the sound of pages being turned as Leyla quietly read a manuscript.
Oscar could feel the hope burning within his chest. Right now, he feels like one of the seabirds flying high in the sky. Finally, this will be over soon. The screaming would end. The rivers of blood would soon be just a distant memory, only a nightmare.
Finally, He is coming home.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, this is awkward.
When Oscar first disembarked he nearly cried in relief. Even as his former crewmates congratulated him for his months of service, he just felt a sense of ease. That it was actually over. Not even Captain Roger's whispered remarks about favors could spoil his mood.
(He tried his best not to think about the galley slaves still chained to their seats, damned for the rest of their short lives).
Yet, as he stared at the scene before him, Oscar was for once, speechless.
Gobsmacked really.
What he saw was this:
A brunette girl wearing a slightly oversized white gown over a sleeveless blue tunic was busy cowering behind Lena's small frame. Gripping his sister's arms like she was drowning in the open sea with only a single driftwood board to cling to. The brunette was mumbling incoherently to herself, with Oscar faintly catching some words about how… he was going to hate it?
Whatever she was mumbling to herself about, witnessing Lena's black face, well, he'd wager it was something foul.
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, LEYLA WE ARE ALREADY HERE JUST GIVE IT TO HIM ALREADY COME ON," Lena screamed, her eyes twitched. "HE IS ALREADY HERE, JUST BE A MAN FOR ONCE." As she tried to throw off the other girl long arms warped around her torso. To no avail.
Wait.
That was Leyla.
Huh.
Wait what.
"... girl not boy." The aforementioned Leyla squeaked out from her poorly chosen hiding spot. " Not, bookkeeper."
On that note, Lena grinned like a cat, having spotted a gap in Leyla's verbal defense. "Ho? You sure are acting like my brother right now, always running away from uncomfortable situations. Like a coward." Seeing how Leyla's grip on her tightened in anger, Lena's smile widened. It was a gamble, but knowing Leyla's temper, it might just work.
Now for the dragon kill.
With an exaggerated sigh of dismay, she launched her bid to escape. "Truly, you two are so alike, why both of you even share the same hobbies! Reading dusty manuscripts and counting co-BLEGH." she blanched as Lena suddenly tightened her grip and started shaking his sister vigorously.
Alas, her gambit was an abject failure.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM LIKE HIM, HE CAN'T EVEN PRONOUNCE HIS NAME RIGHT. LIKE WHO DOES THAT. ALSO HIS WRITING IS LIKE PIG MANURE. INCOHERENT SENTENCES. SPELLING MISTAKES, IMPROPER USE OF GRAM-" Leyla launched into a mad rant as she viciously threw Lena around in circles.
Alright. As enjoyable as it was to witness this… spectacle. It's time to break it up. If only because the entire conversation had attracted a small crowd of unwanted onlookers.
Also with just how much her head was spinning, Oscar feared his sister's life might be in danger
But just as he was about to step in and break it up, someone else had been quicker.
"Oi." His brother, content with just sitting in the shadows till now, had decided to intervene.
"LIKE HE JUST SPENDS ALL DAY WRITING WEIRD STORIES OF THINGS THAT DON'T EX-". More passersby had stopped to gawk at the scene. Oscar noticed the crowd had grown bigger, much to his dismay.
"Oi Leyla."
"AND HE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER HIS FAMILY'S NAME DAYS WHO DOES T-" He couldn't watch this. The second hand embarrassment. But still, this was far too entertaining.
"OI LEYLA." Did his brother just shout? He never does that.
"SURE HE HAS SOME- WHAT." Oh gods, she finally noticed.
"He is right there, you fool." His brother, bless his soul, somehow did not collapse from the sheer number of eyes staring at them. "Just give him the gift and go, Christ." He sighed loudly as he slouched his back, eyes staring at the muddy pavement. Suddenly self conscious of the large crowd of onlookers whispering loudly.
"... Oh." Lena's eyes dilated as she half consciously let Lena out of her iron grip. Now finally aware of the magnitude of the situation she was in. The eyes staring at her. The disapproving and amused looks of passersby. The gossip spreading like wildfire.
Him nervously smiling by the wooden pier.
"Hey, Leyla. It's been a while." He said awkwardly. Praying she won't do something drastic. "Don't look at them. Look at me. It's fine, everything is fine."
"Everything is not fine." His brother unhelpfully muttered, eyes still focused on the pavement.
"I gred." Lena mumbled, her head still spinning from the uncontrolled ride Leyla gave her.
No, no, Leyla looked ready to run. Her hands had turned white from how hard she was clutching her gown.
"Not helping, you two." He mildly scolded them. "Lena. Lena look at me, it's fine, everything is fine." Please don't run. Please, please don't run. He just got back home.
"You saw everything?" She managed to squeak out. Gods, her eyes are like a frightened doe. Panic, so much panic in her eyes.
"It's a trick question, you are fucked. I can't help you now." His brother, it seemed, was determined to make this situation even worse.
"For once, I agree." Lena's betrayal cut deeply into his heart. What had he done to have two little shits as siblings?
"You two shut the fuck up for gods sake." He growled at them, not having the patience to snark back. Turning to Leyla, he spoke with a softer tone. "Yes, I saw everything. It's embarrassing but it's fine. Really!"
It did not seem to work. Her eyes are staring downwards, self-conscious of the awkward silence and ill-disguised snickering from the crowd. He could see her legs tensed as she was about to run away.
That was, till his brother decided to slap Leyla back. Hard.
Her angry squawk echoed through the suspiciously silent docks.
"Good, now you are angry instead of being a nervous wreck. Now, give Oscar the gift you've been working so hard on." He said with an indifferent tone. "Go on, shoo."
Leyla's head shot upwards, an angry retort on her lips, ready to lambast his brother for being a hypocrite. But instead of descending into another rant, she considered his words. And smiled?
Wait. Since when did she tolerate his brother's presence?
"Gods you are such an arse." She said with a sheepish look on her face. "But, for once, you are right. I have to do this."
He blinked his eyes. Since when did the two of them get along so well? What had he missed in just two sennights? Something clearly must have happened for both of them to not be fighting like cats and dogs.
"Here, your name day present," Leyla said with a nervous thin smile as she presented a rolled up parchment scroll from her satchel. He noticed her cheeks were red, from being angry or the blazing sun above them? He couldn't tell. "Well, it's more of a, uh present made by your ma actually since she was the one that did the illustration and all."
Nameday present?
"Don't sell yourself short, you did all the sketches and drawings yourself." Lena snorted as she poked Leyla's ribs, still nursing a petty grudge for swinging her around. "Besides, you did all the hard work while Ma just made it look pretty."
".... Ma had to spend like a dozen silver stag just to purchase the pigments for that map. … Not to mention the opportunity cost spent on the illustration instead of weaving cloth for the shop." His brother muttered.
Map?
"Did anyone ask for your opinion?" Lena sneered.
"No, but we cannot discount our mother's contribution-"
"Oh like your contribution to my cake huh."
"Look that's an entirely different thing altogether and you are shifting-"
Ignoring his sibling's bickering, Oscar half-dazedly opened the parchment scroll.
What his eyes saw took his breath away.
The towering red keep in all of its glorious monstrosity, colored in red-orange minium. Beside Aegon Hill, the busy docks of the City waterfront were painted brown. Quiet the unusual color, he had to ask Ma where she got that pigment from. On Visenya hill, lay the great sept itself, dyed in white chalk. Right next to the Great Sept, lay the Alchemist guild, which Leyla saw fit to depict as a dark forbidden dungeon in the middle of the city. Ma, probably amused by the irony between the sept and the guild, obliged Leyla and painted the guildhall black as sin.
And there was so much more.
The brownish slum of fleabottom. Chalk colored of the street of sisters. The brown flood of shit that is the street of mud. The massive brown walls of Kings Landing and the city's seven gates, which Leyla saw fit to draw different animal motifs on.
Even Blackwater Bay was colored in green pigment, probably because blue was too expensive for his ma to use.
She even sketched out their neighborhood directly below the Great Sept! Well, not the entire district, just the Sept facade of the Library with the word "home" on it. M a colored it in yellow, likely a compromise color as gold is too expensive to waste on the map.
And that's not all. Leyla saw fit to write down annotations. Details on landmarks or popular destinations in different neighborhoods were noted down. Even the estimated population of individual districts, which she based on the number of households. Notes on the geography of specific regions within the city. From the rock terrain of the hook to the neigh unnavigable northern slums, she wrote it all on her map.
All, all of this. In just two sennight.
Half a month.
Why?
"So, uh, is it good?" Leyla asked softly, now staring at the waters of Blackwater Bay, too embarrassed to look at his face. "I mean, I kind of halfassed it with our neighborhood, i wanted to draw like all our homes, the shops and all but there wasn't enough time so i just drew the librar-"
She was rambling. Again.
"And I got into an argument with your ma about it since I did i wanted to use some gold leaf for decorations but instead that was app-" She continued rambling, her hands clutching together, a nervous tick.
It was just a nameday present.
Why?
"So that's how we ended up with the positively hideous yellow color for the library!" It wasn't hideous, it's beautiful. He wanted to shake her and screamed. That this was too much for him. He did not deserve this.
Why?
"So uh, whatdoyouthinkabouthemapImade ?" She squeaked out.
Words could not express the feelings of gratitude and inadequacy bubbling deep within him. How could he say it? "Oh, it was a great gift?" "I loved it, thank you!" It felt awfully pathetic. Hollow.
Worthless words that could not convey the vastness of his emotions.
So instead of words, he chose action.
He pulls Leyla into a tight hug as if trying to squeeze out her feelings of nervousness and inadequacy. Tried his best to convey his appreciation to her with the simple act of holding her between his arms.
She smelled faintly like cinnamon.
"Eep!" Leyla squealed.
"Thank you for your hard work." He whispered softly into her right ear.
"Y-yeah I appreciate that." She stuttered as her face reddened. He frowned, whats with Leyla's face being so red? Is she down with a fever?
"I think you just broke her." Lena playfully suggested, hiding behind his brother's back.
"Am not broke you horse faced-!" Leyla shouted as she untangled her arms from his embrace. "Come back here ye coward!" She yelled while chasing after Lena, who had already scurried off… somewhere.
All while his brother stood still as a statue, with a deadpan expression on his face.
Oscar couldn't help it.
He laughed. A bright cheerful sound that even his dour brother could not help but smile as well.
It was good to be back.
(He forgets to give Leyla his present. The pair of Myrish glasses still laid forgotten deep in his woolen sack.)
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gods, he hates family gatherings.
Especially with extended family members. Cousins that he could not quite bring himself to care about. Uncles and aunties whose names he never bothered to remember. And why should he? They never did quite care for him. The feelings between them are mutual at least.
Indifference. He could live with that.
Except for one group of familial relations which he dubbed the Bloody Citrus gang.
"Finally found a lass you fancy?" The unwanted Uncle leered by his left shoulder.
"How did you find the citrus cake recipe? Was it hard to make?" The talkative auntie in front of him cut in.
"... I have this, like perfect citrus sweet receipt for you coz, interested?" The introverted cousin hesitantly enquired to his right.
They don't quite get the memo that he wasn't interested in small talk. But still, he bore with it. After all, they did contribute to the feast in front of him.
Tarts, biscuits, and an assortment of puddings as well as pies. All citrus flavored, freshly made by Coz Adam and Auntie Jocelyn earlier in the morning with a couple of Lena's friends as well. While he and his sister were busy pulling each other's hair baking the name day citrus cake.
Fun times.
Honestly, in his humble opinion, there were way too many citrus-flavored pastries. But he did not dare voice out his thoughts. One unlucky unnamed cousin had whined loudly about the lack of variety only to be glared out of the house by the massive hulk of a man that mere mortals called cousin Adam.
He might be suicidal, but he still has some basic self-preservation instincts.
Besides it wasn't all that bad. The citrus cake Lena and him made turned out surprisingly well. It wasn't salty for one and it was not so sour that it tasted like biting into a lemon, actually, it had a hint of citrus fragrance as well, or it might just be his imagination since he is perpetually suffering from sinu-
"Ahem, could I have everyone's attention for a moment?" Oscar shouted amidst the general noise and livery of the feast.
Everyone quieted down. Even the bloody citrus gang has stopped their asinine conversation on which citrus breed was the best.
"So uh, first of all, thank you for taking the time to come and celebrate my name day." He nervously said. A wave of small laughter and sarcastic remarks of "How could we possibly turn down free food?" echoed across the hall. "Yeah, yeah free food whatever, that is one thing that unites us all eh?" Oscar jibbed back, an easy grin on his face.
A chorus of laughter again echoed through the hall.
"Anyway, I do have something important to announce." He calmly said, his face suddenly serious. "But first, I have to apologize."
Looks of confusion were shared among the crowd.
"I am sorry that I could not lived up to my parent's expectations." loud gasps were heard as several cousins stared in shock. His parents were stunned, ma was about to retort when Oscar continued his speech, ignoring everyone's reaction. "But after months of hardship and witnessing things best to forget, of the horrors man could inflict upon one another." His brother took a deep breath. "But for my immortal soul, I could no longer partake in such atrocities anymore. That's why I ended my apprenticeship with the Royal Fleet."
The hall was silent.
For a blessed moment, you could hear a pin drop.
And then everyone started talking all at once.
Lena was shouting at Oscar on how he could do such a thing.
His ma was pulling his father's arms, futilely trying to stop him from shouting his lungs out. Something about favors and being a captain.
Leyla was… smiling? Well at least someone was happy.
Oscar looked absolutely calm and serene for someone who started such mayhem, good for him.
The bloody citrus gang, bless their hearts, went right back to comparing citrus breeds.
As for himself, he could not breathe. His hands would not stop shaking. Too many people screaming their heads off as if this was some kind of world-shattering event. Shouting, always shouting. And the fistfights. It brought back bad memories of the past before all of this.
He sighed loudly.
This. This is why he hated family gatherings. The drama is just exhausting.
What's more sickening are the Uncles and Aunties pretending to give a shit. Offering snide remarks and false sympathies.
While gawking with barely hidden glee.
Guess it's a good time as any to disengage, nothing productive would come out of all this chaos. Probably a few days of arguments and harsh words. Maybe several fights between his father and Oscar. It's most likely just verbal spurs but still. He did not want to be anywhere near this house till then.
He gently closes the house door.
Well, at least today is a full moon.
Best time as any to take a midnight stroll eh?
First came the smell.
The gross odor of hundreds of thousands of dirty unwashed masses of Kings Landing. Rusty iron-like tang in the air of countless herds of cows, sheep, and goats that were slaughtered daily to feed the city inhabitants. The putrid smell of human excrement, piss, and refuse overflowing from the city's long overtaxed drainage system.
All corrugate to form the infamous, disgusting Kings Landing "fragrance"
Even a mile away from the city he could smell it.
Most outsiders entering the city for the first time would have gagged. Vomiting was not uncommon either, such was the stench that a few even passed out. Already several of the passengers that boarded the galley back in Hull are looking pretty green. He even witnessed a tyroshi man try to throw himself overboard, maddened by the City's overwhelming stench. Only for several of the crew and the Quartermaster dragged him back safely on deck. All while crying and screaming incoherently about how he could not bear to smell the stench any longer.
Oscar rolled his eyes. Foreigners and immigrants were always so dramatic. Sure the stench was… alright it was pretty bad. But it's not that bad a person had to throw themselves overboard to escape it. Even if the tyroshi did manage to swim away from the galley, where was he supposed to swim to? Duskendale? Swim the open ocean by himself? Silly Essosi.
The flock of seagulls flying above the galley sails squawk in agreement.
He sighed, and a huff of air escaped his lips. He probably was being too harsh on the Tyroshi. But still, he did not understand. After all, it's just the regular stench of any city really. Only significantly worse. If it was truly intolerable just… buy some perfumes? If you have the coin that is. If not well, everyone eventually gets used to it.
After all, despite how putrid Kings Landing smell like, it's still the scent of home.
On that thought, the corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards. Finally, the nightmare was almost over. He could just, almost smell the fresh fragrance of Lena's cooked pastries. The fresh smell of paint of his mother finished painting a portrait for one of their cousins. The noise of customers bargaining with his father for the best pierce for bolts of cloth. Of the sound of a quill being dipped in ink as his brother wrote another one of his fantastical tales.
He could just hear the sound of pages being turned as Leyla quietly read a manuscript.
Oscar could feel the hope burning within his chest. Right now, he feels like one of the seabirds flying high in the sky. Finally, this will be over soon. The screaming would end. The rivers of blood would soon be just a distant memory, only a nightmare.
Finally, He is coming home.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, this is awkward.
When Oscar first disembarked he nearly cried in relief. Even as his former crewmates congratulated him for his months of service, he just felt a sense of ease. That it was actually over. Not even Captain Roger's whispered remarks about favors could spoil his mood.
(He tried his best not to think about the galley slaves still chained to their seats, damned for the rest of their short lives).
Yet, as he stared at the scene before him, Oscar was for once, speechless.
Gobsmacked really.
What he saw was this:
A brunette girl wearing a slightly oversized white gown over a sleeveless blue tunic was busy cowering behind Lena's small frame. Gripping his sister's arms like she was drowning in the open sea with only a single driftwood board to cling to. The brunette was mumbling incoherently to herself, with Oscar faintly catching some words about how… he was going to hate it?
Whatever she was mumbling to herself about, witnessing Lena's black face, well, he'd wager it was something foul.
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, LEYLA WE ARE ALREADY HERE JUST GIVE IT TO HIM ALREADY COME ON," Lena screamed, her eyes twitched. "HE IS ALREADY HERE, JUST BE A MAN FOR ONCE." As she tried to throw off the other girl long arms warped around her torso. To no avail.
Wait.
That was Leyla.
Huh.
Wait what.
"... girl not boy." The aforementioned Leyla squeaked out from her poorly chosen hiding spot. " Not, bookkeeper."
On that note, Lena grinned like a cat, having spotted a gap in Leyla's verbal defense. "Ho? You sure are acting like my brother right now, always running away from uncomfortable situations. Like a coward." Seeing how Leyla's grip on her tightened in anger, Lena's smile widened. It was a gamble, but knowing Leyla's temper, it might just work.
Now for the dragon kill.
With an exaggerated sigh of dismay, she launched her bid to escape. "Truly, you two are so alike, why both of you even share the same hobbies! Reading dusty manuscripts and counting co-BLEGH." she blanched as Lena suddenly tightened her grip and started shaking his sister vigorously.
Alas, her gambit was an abject failure.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM LIKE HIM, HE CAN'T EVEN PRONOUNCE HIS NAME RIGHT. LIKE WHO DOES THAT. ALSO HIS WRITING IS LIKE PIG MANURE. INCOHERENT SENTENCES. SPELLING MISTAKES, IMPROPER USE OF GRAM-" Leyla launched into a mad rant as she viciously threw Lena around in circles.
Alright. As enjoyable as it was to witness this… spectacle. It's time to break it up. If only because the entire conversation had attracted a small crowd of unwanted onlookers.
Also with just how much her head was spinning, Oscar feared his sister's life might be in danger
But just as he was about to step in and break it up, someone else had been quicker.
"Oi." His brother, content with just sitting in the shadows till now, had decided to intervene.
"LIKE HE JUST SPENDS ALL DAY WRITING WEIRD STORIES OF THINGS THAT DON'T EX-". More passersby had stopped to gawk at the scene. Oscar noticed the crowd had grown bigger, much to his dismay.
"Oi Leyla."
"AND HE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER HIS FAMILY'S NAME DAYS WHO DOES T-" He couldn't watch this. The second hand embarrassment. But still, this was far too entertaining.
"OI LEYLA." Did his brother just shout? He never does that.
"SURE HE HAS SOME- WHAT." Oh gods, she finally noticed.
"He is right there, you fool." His brother, bless his soul, somehow did not collapse from the sheer number of eyes staring at them. "Just give him the gift and go, Christ." He sighed loudly as he slouched his back, eyes staring at the muddy pavement. Suddenly self conscious of the large crowd of onlookers whispering loudly.
"... Oh." Lena's eyes dilated as she half consciously let Lena out of her iron grip. Now finally aware of the magnitude of the situation she was in. The eyes staring at her. The disapproving and amused looks of passersby. The gossip spreading like wildfire.
Him nervously smiling by the wooden pier.
"Hey, Leyla. It's been a while." He said awkwardly. Praying she won't do something drastic. "Don't look at them. Look at me. It's fine, everything is fine."
"Everything is not fine." His brother unhelpfully muttered, eyes still focused on the pavement.
"I gred." Lena mumbled, her head still spinning from the uncontrolled ride Leyla gave her.
No, no, Leyla looked ready to run. Her hands had turned white from how hard she was clutching her gown.
"Not helping, you two." He mildly scolded them. "Lena. Lena look at me, it's fine, everything is fine." Please don't run. Please, please don't run. He just got back home.
"You saw everything?" She managed to squeak out. Gods, her eyes are like a frightened doe. Panic, so much panic in her eyes.
"It's a trick question, you are fucked. I can't help you now." His brother, it seemed, was determined to make this situation even worse.
"For once, I agree." Lena's betrayal cut deeply into his heart. What had he done to have two little shits as siblings?
"You two shut the fuck up for gods sake." He growled at them, not having the patience to snark back. Turning to Leyla, he spoke with a softer tone. "Yes, I saw everything. It's embarrassing but it's fine. Really!"
It did not seem to work. Her eyes are staring downwards, self-conscious of the awkward silence and ill-disguised snickering from the crowd. He could see her legs tensed as she was about to run away.
That was, till his brother decided to slap Leyla back. Hard.
Her angry squawk echoed through the suspiciously silent docks.
"Good, now you are angry instead of being a nervous wreck. Now, give Oscar the gift you've been working so hard on." He said with an indifferent tone. "Go on, shoo."
Leyla's head shot upwards, an angry retort on her lips, ready to lambast his brother for being a hypocrite. But instead of descending into another rant, she considered his words. And smiled?
Wait. Since when did she tolerate his brother's presence?
"Gods you are such an arse." She said with a sheepish look on her face. "But, for once, you are right. I have to do this."
He blinked his eyes. Since when did the two of them get along so well? What had he missed in just two sennights? Something clearly must have happened for both of them to not be fighting like cats and dogs.
"Here, your name day present," Leyla said with a nervous thin smile as she presented a rolled up parchment scroll from her satchel. He noticed her cheeks were red, from being angry or the blazing sun above them? He couldn't tell. "Well, it's more of a, uh present made by your ma actually since she was the one that did the illustration and all."
Nameday present?
"Don't sell yourself short, you did all the sketches and drawings yourself." Lena snorted as she poked Leyla's ribs, still nursing a petty grudge for swinging her around. "Besides, you did all the hard work while Ma just made it look pretty."
".... Ma had to spend like a dozen silver stag just to purchase the pigments for that map. … Not to mention the opportunity cost spent on the illustration instead of weaving cloth for the shop." His brother muttered.
Map?
"Did anyone ask for your opinion?" Lena sneered.
"No, but we cannot discount our mother's contribution-"
"Oh like your contribution to my cake huh."
"Look that's an entirely different thing altogether and you are shifting-"
Ignoring his sibling's bickering, Oscar half-dazedly opened the parchment scroll.
What his eyes saw took his breath away.
The towering red keep in all of its glorious monstrosity, colored in red-orange minium. Beside Aegon Hill, the busy docks of the City waterfront were painted brown. Quiet the unusual color, he had to ask Ma where she got that pigment from. On Visenya hill, lay the great sept itself, dyed in white chalk. Right next to the Great Sept, lay the Alchemist guild, which Leyla saw fit to depict as a dark forbidden dungeon in the middle of the city. Ma, probably amused by the irony between the sept and the guild, obliged Leyla and painted the guildhall black as sin.
And there was so much more.
The brownish slum of fleabottom. Chalk colored of the street of sisters. The brown flood of shit that is the street of mud. The massive brown walls of Kings Landing and the city's seven gates, which Leyla saw fit to draw different animal motifs on.
Even Blackwater Bay was colored in green pigment, probably because blue was too expensive for his ma to use.
She even sketched out their neighborhood directly below the Great Sept! Well, not the entire district, just the Sept facade of the Library with the word "home" on it. M a colored it in yellow, likely a compromise color as gold is too expensive to waste on the map.
And that's not all. Leyla saw fit to write down annotations. Details on landmarks or popular destinations in different neighborhoods were noted down. Even the estimated population of individual districts, which she based on the number of households. Notes on the geography of specific regions within the city. From the rock terrain of the hook to the neigh unnavigable northern slums, she wrote it all on her map.
All, all of this. In just two sennight.
Half a month.
Why?
"So, uh, is it good?" Leyla asked softly, now staring at the waters of Blackwater Bay, too embarrassed to look at his face. "I mean, I kind of halfassed it with our neighborhood, i wanted to draw like all our homes, the shops and all but there wasn't enough time so i just drew the librar-"
She was rambling. Again.
"And I got into an argument with your ma about it since I did i wanted to use some gold leaf for decorations but instead that was app-" She continued rambling, her hands clutching together, a nervous tick.
It was just a nameday present.
Why?
"So that's how we ended up with the positively hideous yellow color for the library!" It wasn't hideous, it's beautiful. He wanted to shake her and screamed. That this was too much for him. He did not deserve this.
Why?
"So uh, whatdoyouthinkabouthemapImade ?" She squeaked out.
Words could not express the feelings of gratitude and inadequacy bubbling deep within him. How could he say it? "Oh, it was a great gift?" "I loved it, thank you!" It felt awfully pathetic. Hollow.
Worthless words that could not convey the vastness of his emotions.
So instead of words, he chose action.
He pulls Leyla into a tight hug as if trying to squeeze out her feelings of nervousness and inadequacy. Tried his best to convey his appreciation to her with the simple act of holding her between his arms.
She smelled faintly like cinnamon.
"Eep!" Leyla squealed.
"Thank you for your hard work." He whispered softly into her right ear.
"Y-yeah I appreciate that." She stuttered as her face reddened. He frowned, whats with Leyla's face being so red? Is she down with a fever?
"I think you just broke her." Lena playfully suggested, hiding behind his brother's back.
"Am not broke you horse faced-!" Leyla shouted as she untangled her arms from his embrace. "Come back here ye coward!" She yelled while chasing after Lena, who had already scurried off… somewhere.
All while his brother stood still as a statue, with a deadpan expression on his face.
Oscar couldn't help it.
He laughed. A bright cheerful sound that even his dour brother could not help but smile as well.
It was good to be back.
(He forgets to give Leyla his present. The pair of Myrish glasses still laid forgotten deep in his woolen sack.)
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gods, he hates family gatherings.
Especially with extended family members. Cousins that he could not quite bring himself to care about. Uncles and aunties whose names he never bothered to remember. And why should he? They never did quite care for him. The feelings between them are mutual at least.
Indifference. He could live with that.
Except for one group of familial relations which he dubbed the Bloody Citrus gang.
"Finally found a lass you fancy?" The unwanted Uncle leered by his left shoulder.
"How did you find the citrus cake recipe? Was it hard to make?" The talkative auntie in front of him cut in.
"... I have this, like perfect citrus sweet receipt for you coz, interested?" The introverted cousin hesitantly enquired to his right.
They don't quite get the memo that he wasn't interested in small talk. But still, he bore with it. After all, they did contribute to the feast in front of him.
Tarts, biscuits, and an assortment of puddings as well as pies. All citrus flavored, freshly made by Coz Adam and Auntie Jocelyn earlier in the morning with a couple of Lena's friends as well. While he and his sister were busy pulling each other's hair baking the name day citrus cake.
Fun times.
Honestly, in his humble opinion, there were way too many citrus-flavored pastries. But he did not dare voice out his thoughts. One unlucky unnamed cousin had whined loudly about the lack of variety only to be glared out of the house by the massive hulk of a man that mere mortals called cousin Adam.
He might be suicidal, but he still has some basic self-preservation instincts.
Besides it wasn't all that bad. The citrus cake Lena and him made turned out surprisingly well. It wasn't salty for one and it was not so sour that it tasted like biting into a lemon, actually, it had a hint of citrus fragrance as well, or it might just be his imagination since he is perpetually suffering from sinu-
"Ahem, could I have everyone's attention for a moment?" Oscar shouted amidst the general noise and livery of the feast.
Everyone quieted down. Even the bloody citrus gang has stopped their asinine conversation on which citrus breed was the best.
"So uh, first of all, thank you for taking the time to come and celebrate my name day." He nervously said. A wave of small laughter and sarcastic remarks of "How could we possibly turn down free food?" echoed across the hall. "Yeah, yeah free food whatever, that is one thing that unites us all eh?" Oscar jibbed back, an easy grin on his face.
A chorus of laughter again echoed through the hall.
"Anyway, I do have something important to announce." He calmly said, his face suddenly serious. "But first, I have to apologize."
Looks of confusion were shared among the crowd.
"I am sorry that I could not lived up to my parent's expectations." loud gasps were heard as several cousins stared in shock. His parents were stunned, ma was about to retort when Oscar continued his speech, ignoring everyone's reaction. "But after months of hardship and witnessing things best to forget, of the horrors man could inflict upon one another." His brother took a deep breath. "But for my immortal soul, I could no longer partake in such atrocities anymore. That's why I ended my apprenticeship with the Royal Fleet."
The hall was silent.
For a blessed moment, you could hear a pin drop.
And then everyone started talking all at once.
Lena was shouting at Oscar on how he could do such a thing.
His ma was pulling his father's arms, futilely trying to stop him from shouting his lungs out. Something about favors and being a captain.
Leyla was… smiling? Well at least someone was happy.
Oscar looked absolutely calm and serene for someone who started such mayhem, good for him.
The bloody citrus gang, bless their hearts, went right back to comparing citrus breeds.
As for himself, he could not breathe. His hands would not stop shaking. Too many people screaming their heads off as if this was some kind of world-shattering event. Shouting, always shouting. And the fistfights. It brought back bad memories of the past before all of this.
He sighed loudly.
This. This is why he hated family gatherings. The drama is just exhausting.
What's more sickening are the Uncles and Aunties pretending to give a shit. Offering snide remarks and false sympathies.
While gawking with barely hidden glee.
Guess it's a good time as any to disengage, nothing productive would come out of all this chaos. Probably a few days of arguments and harsh words. Maybe several fights between his father and Oscar. It's most likely just verbal spurs but still. He did not want to be anywhere near this house till then.
He gently closes the house door.
Well, at least today is a full moon.
Best time as any to take a midnight stroll eh?
A Reason to Live Chapter 9: The Cabal
- Location
- Singapore
A Reason to Live Chapter 9: The Cabal
In a dimly lit basement of an abandoned shop house, four men waited silently at a round table for their acquaintance's arrival.
The Landlord, an obese man renowned for his gluttonous appetite, muttered to himself as he feasted on an apple pie. A quick supper before the meeting officially starts.
He was a messy eater.
To his right was the Maester, a scholar who fancied himself a lover of all knowledge, was currently reading a manuscript of the fall of Valyria. Idly passing the time. Yet he could not focus because of the Landlord indulging himself. The sounds of lips smacking and teeth sinking into the apple pie were too distracting. Not to mention the crumbles landing on his precious parchment.
Still, he did not reprimand him. Well aware of what happened to those that arose the Landlord's infamous foul temper.
They tend to fall off from apartment buildings.
Opposite the landlord and the maester, sat the Librarian. Annoyed at the Landlord's antics, yet his mind, his mind, was somewhere else. Worried about reports and tales with far-reaching consequences. The fear of their little conspiracy being uncovered plagued him. Frustrated, his closest ally wasn't available for this meeting, so he have to play peacemaker instead. Angry that the past kept coming back to haunt him.
However, his face did not betray his inner turmoil. Instead, if one looks at him face to face, he seems calm. Tranquil with a serene smile as he read a small red book that he always had by his side.
It was an act.
His three acquaintances knew that he already memorized every detail within that red book. Rereading it was the Librarian ritual of passing the time.
To his left sat the Captain. A lifetime of futile struggle against corruption and petty crime had taken its toll on him. A large horizontal scar on his broad chest, courtesy of a frothing iconoclast fanatic blade. His back, was decorated with burn marks, courtesy of his former gold cloak superior, fearing he knew too much about his illicit dealings with slavers. Finally, his crowning failure, his right eye. Or what used to be his right eye. Shot by a crossbow of a flea bottom scum. They have to curve it out, for fear of infection.
A lifetime of struggle, only scars to prove it. He wasn't corrupt enough to be promoted. Too useful to be cast out.
Yet, he did not regret it. Not once.
Not even when the Merchant first came to him with a proposition.
For what they did was necessary. Treasonous. Heretical even. But righteous.
However, the Captain had doubts. Their conspiracy had ended a year ago, yet the Librarian had called this meeting of past acquaintances. Although he wasn't one to doubt him, the Captain was well aware of how the previous meeting went.
Broken limbs and bruised egos.
He is not optimistic that this current congress would be any better. But the issue at hand threatened to unveil their hidden past. This meeting was long overdue.
So despite his reservations, the Captain fervently prayed, hoping for a decision to be made tonight.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Landlord was the first to break the silence. "Well, is the Septon coming or not?" He grumbled while stroking his finely kept short beard.
"Patience, he would come." The maester reassured him while reading his manuscript. "Besides, he isn't just a mere wandering septon anymore, now that he is a Most devout. Hard to slink away into the night to meet people like us."
The Landlord was not happy with the maester's feeble excuse.
"Ha! Don't we all have our own responsibilities and businesses to attend to?" He snorted, raising his right hand to his two compatriots, showing off half a dozen golden rings. "What? Do you think these rings paid for themselves? Yet that fop of a septon can't even arrive on time like the rest of us!"
"Or maybe he just doesn't like you." The Librarian cut in, annoyed with the Landlord whining.
"The feeling is mutual." The Landlord sneered, pie crumbs dripped down his mouth. Much to the disgust of everyone else in the room.
The maester opened his mouth to retort back, but a warning glance from the Captain made him think twice.
Awkward silence permeated the room.
Only to be broken by the sound of someone's heavy footsteps entering the basement door.
The Septon had finally arrived. He was a thin, frail-looking elderly man. Mud covered his simple linen stockings. Evidently, he had walked instead of riding with an escort. Unlike the other Most Devout's, he refused to wear silver vestments and the crystal coronal that signified their rank within the faith. Instead, he wore the drab brown cowl of the wandering septon, and he had his hair cut into a tonsure, leaving it uncovered. On his right arm, the Septon held a painstakingly handwritten bible of the Seven-Pointed Star. The Captain remembered faintly a time when the Septon proudly proclaimed that the bible was his only worldly possession other than the clothing on his back.
He idly wondered how long before the Septon would inevitably succumb to base greed like so many before him. For the temptation to clothe oneself with finery and the riches of the Seven Kingdoms…
No.
The Septon was holy and just. That was beyond doubt.
After all, he was the first to cast the stone.
"My brothers, forgive my tardiness." The Septon smiled apologetically. "I had matters to attend to. Preparations for the ecumenical council required my personal intervention."
"There is nothing to forgive." The Maester easily replied. " We did not have to wait that long, anyway."
"Just get this over with." The Landlord scowled. "I could hear my women screeching for my absence." He said as he grabbed another pie, mackerel this time, from his satchel.
The Septon blinked in surprise, realizing they were short of an individual. "It seems we are missing a person. Should we wait for him?"
"Ah, he is currently engaged. His son name day celebration." The Librarian replied. "It's fine. The meeting could start. Corlys would relay our decision to him."
The Captain nods in affirmation.
"Fah, this meeting can't be that serious after all." The Landlord retorted. "If even he could not be arsed to turn up, then what was the purpose of this entire meeting?"
"You know how much he cared about his sons, especially what happened to his youngest." The Maester muttered timidly.
"Brothers! I understand your concerns, but more importantly, I wished to know the true purpose of this reunion." The Septon pointedly looked at the Librarian.
"Here is why." The Librarian said as he took out a leather pouch and dumped its contents on the table. Silver stags and gold dragons poured out in a stream. "Over several months, there has been… an increase in false coinage appearing in this district. Corlys knows this."
"... Those we arrested are unaware they are using false coinage." The Captain grumbled. "A pity. It would be so much easier if someone had an inking where all these counterfeits are coming from."
The Landlord frowned as he inspected a gold dragon between his grubby, fat fingers. "For false coins, these are remarkably similar to the originals. No shaved marks. The weight feels the same as authentic coins. And look at this. King Jaeheary's face! Whoever minted these clearly went to great lengths to pass them off as genuine coins."
"No, no, that cannot be right." The Maester frowned as he snatched the coin from the landlord's greasy hands. "No point in minting fake coins when you don't shave it off. That's how it usually works for counterfeits. Unless.."
The maester, struck by sudden inspiration, grabbed a small knife and tried to scrape the coin surface.
The thin golden facade gave way to reddish brown copper.
The maester blinked in surprise. "So that's how it is. The purpose wasn't base greed. But that makes little sense. Wait. No. That cannot be right."
"If you have an idea who is behind it, just spit it out, Edric." The Librarian impatiently replied.
"Mind, it's just a guess." Hesitantly, the maester voiced, "But I suspect someone minted these coins not for profit but to increase the supply of coinage within the city itself."
For a moment, the room was dead silent. The implications of what the maester proposed needed a moment to sink in.
The Librarian was the first to speak. "Such an enterprise must require several accomplices. And friends in high places as well, an endeavor of this scale…"
"Speaking from personal experience?" The Landlord snarled.
The Librarian ignored him and continued. "Regardless of the complexity of such an enterprise, I struggled to understand the purpose of it. If what your hypothesis is implying, there are other ways the crown could finance itself."
"No, no, there is no other way." The Septon cut in, as sweat formed on his temple. "The Iconoclast had pissed away gold to flea bottom. In his insanity, the treasury was all but spent. Pissed away to book burnings and icons deemed heretical. What's left when King Viserys began his one year reign had to be doled out to the Noble houses and the traditionalists as appeasement."
The Captain, till now silent, had to step in. "Such might be the case. But the Crown should have more than enough funds in the treasury. How else did King Aegon spend so many coins on his feasts and mistresses?"
"How else but borrowing from creditors?" The Septon sighed. "The Late King Viserys had to borrow. Nay begged from Essosi merchant houses for loans to pay off disgruntled lords and traditionalist Septons. King Aegon, instead of paying off his uncle's debts, he borrowed even more, this time from the Faith."
"And they said usury was a sin." The Landlord guffawed.
The Septon ignored him. "Either way, despite what the city criers said about a full treasure and the vaults brimming with gold dragons. It couldn't be more different from the truth.
'Something isn't right." The Captain questioned. "If the Crown is behind this, the King could simply just order more mints to be established. Which was what Late King Viserys did."
"If it was only that simple." The Maester groaned out loud, his hand clutching his temple. "Just yesterday, the city criers announced that King Aegon sold off the crown rights to oversee the Westerland mines over to the Lannisters. Making Casterly Rock the sole overseer of the Seven Kingdoms' main silver and gold mines."
"For a sum of two hundred thousand gold dragons." The Septon continues where the Maester left off. "Enough to repay some of the Iconoclast old loans. But with King Aegon's decision, the Crown might experience… fiscal difficulties."
"Bah, it's not like the Dragonlords had any control overseeing mining production since the dragons died." The Landlord pointed out. "Might as well mortgage it off for some quick coin, since lannisters are the ones that are doing all the work."
The Septon nods in acknowledgment. "That is most likely the case, yes. However, the Crown now faces severe restrictions on its ability to establish more mints. In theory, the King could simply order Casterly Rock to produce more gold. However, the fallout of the Iconoclast's reign is still being felt, and with the coming ecumenical council…" The Septon let out a huff of air.
"So the King cannot do anything," the Librarian said. If what Edric suggested is true, then what purpose does it truly serve?"
"If I may." The maester quickly replied. "The purpose is twofold. One, to repay the Crown's long-standing debts to its creditors. The second is more strategic in a sense." The maester speech was cut short because of the Landlord suddenly bleaching.
"Ugh, get to the fucking point you twat," He sneered.
"Anyway, as you may already note, the Crown had mortgage off its overseeing rights to mining production." The maester continued, albeit annoyed. "So the counterfeit mint would serve… as a last resort? If for whatever reason the Westerland decided to not meet the yearly quota of gold and silver delivery to the Capital, there is still a mint to produce coins, false ones, but still."
"To add upon Edric point, the realm is currently experiencing a bullion famine." The septon said. "More specifically, the Faith had noticed a rising trend of silver flowing eastwards to Essosi cities for luxury goods. Even as the Iconoclast tried to stop this with trade bans, the smuggling continued unabated."
"Not to mention the population growth of the Seven Kingdoms, especially in King Landing." The Maester muttered. "Decades of relative peace and prosperity had caused the cities to grow faster than the supply of gold and silver could keep up. Hence the reason for the famine."
The Captain was skeptical. "But the Westerlands have an abundance of silver and gold mines? How could there be a severe shortage in bullion in the first place?"
The maester easily replied, pushing up his reading spectacles, "The famine's effects have an uneven distribution. Jaehaerys edict on the Westerlands' annual gold tribute had not been updated since the Dance, and the population of Kings Landing had doubled, if not tripled, since then. Not only that, but geography also played a pivotal role, with kingdoms such as the Vale and the North relying mostly on local silver mines that barely covered their expanding economies." Realising everyone was staring at him, he broke off his rant with a fierce blush of embarrassment.
"Basically, what he was trying to say is that nobody bother to update the gold quota and lannisters could not give an arse about the other kingdoms. Hence shortage." The Landlord succulently summarised the maester rant.
"More importantly, it's likely that the King is not aware of this." The Librarian said as his acquaintance easily nodded in agreement. Aegon was far more likely to chase after skirts than scheming. "Rather, it's highly possible that Robert Reyne is the chief plotter behind this scheme."
"The master of coin?" the Landlord snorted. "Of course it's him. Probably too proud to beg his liege for more coins and so started this entire convoluted harebrained scheme in the first place, ha!"
"But what we have are just theories and ideas, no hard evidence." The Librarian continued speaking. "So here is what we are going to do. Flowers have your rats scoured for any hints of possible hiding spot concealing a minting press."
The Landlord, for once, nods in respect and agreement. "Ya, I could do that."
The Librarian turned to the septon. "Septon Hugh, forgive me for burdening you, but have your friends listened for any rumours of Reyne's activities?."
"There is nothing to forgive." The septon smiles in acknowledgement.
"Corlys, your connection with the city gangs here would be vital. Have them monitored for any suspicious movement and activities." He gazed at the Captain.
"I am already on thin ice with my superiors, but aye, I could do it." The Captain grumbled.
"Edric, your student scribes working in the Red Keep would prove crucial here. Have them listened to any rumors and, if possible, gather some crucial evidence of illicit activities would prove incredibly useful." The Librarian stared at the maester. His task was the most important of the five of them.
"I see what I could do, but what about you and Davos?" The Maester questioned.
"I would question some smugglers of suspicious movements of large hauls of copper. This counterfeit mint required large quantities of base metals that would be hard to move under any circumstances." The Librarian easily replied with a small smile. "And for Davos, probably get him to pull some strings within the textile guild and see what they came up with." He shrugged.
"I don't need to remind you all to be cautious and stay safe." The Septon cautioned. "Each person only has one life, so it's important to be cautious and stay safe," the Septon cautioned, reminding everyone. Be careful when chasing leads my brothers."
"Well said Septon, and with that, we conclude this meeting. Anyone have questions? If not, safe travels, my friends." The Librarian hurriedly conclude, wanting to go back to his house as soon as possible.
For the night is dark and full of terrors.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was the first to admit he wasn't the brightest person.
This might very well be his biggest mistake.
He knew it was unsafe to go out at night. Even in this neighborhood, which has street lamps every few meters on the main street. Even with the occasional night patrol of gold cloaks walking about to deter any evildoers.
It wasn't safe.
The gold cloaks were just as likely to mug you as any other thugs. Worse still, the patrols were sparse. Who knew what was going on in the back alleys and within abandoned shop houses?
The street lamp shined ominously above his head. He saw a beggar dressed in rugs curiously staring at him with pleading eyes for alms. To his right, in a dark alley, a drunken couple were doing… things.
In an abandoned building, he saw a pack of stray dogs out scavenging.
Yet despite the potential danger, he did not want to go back. Not yet. It felt like a world war was going on in that house.
Hmm, what to do, what to do. On a moonlit night like this…
As he strolled the nearly deserted street, pondering his destination, he failed to notice the beggar's scowling face. Angry at his implied disrespect.
A grimy hand caught his leg.
He screamed. Shaking free of the beggar's hand, he ran.
And ran.
Out of animalistic fear of the supernatural and the creatures of the night, he dashed as fast as he could. Not knowing where to go except somewhere.
Such was his terror that he once again failed to notice his surroundings.
Or the people chasing after him.
His mindless run came to an abrupt end as feminine arms grabbed his torso.
"Stap, fucking, ran. Twat." was all he could hear from desperate gasps of air as she released him from her embrace, only to fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Heavy breathing and desperate gulps for air filled the street for a moment.
Only to be interrupted by the sound of someone jogging.
"Fancy meeting you on such a glorious night, baby brother." Oscar had an amused smile on his face. For a moment, his chest felt heavy with disappointment. Why was he so happy when he just had metaphorically fucked the entire house upside down?
"Why the fuck are you here?" He made his displeasure known.
"Eh, they threw both of us out of the house. Something about being a disappointment," Oscar continued, smiling still. Something about being a disappointment." Oscar continued, smiling still.
He had the sudden urge to slug his damn face.
"Nay, just you." Lena muttered, still sprawling on the pavement. "I just came along because your ma said so."
She shot up to her feet, arms crossed. "Anyway, mind explaining why were you running from us?"
"I didn't notice you lot were chasing after me." He shot back. "Besides, it's embarrassing anyway, so don't ask why."
"Why?"
"Fuck off."
"No, seriously, why?"
"Oscar, get your wife away from me."
"Who the fuck are you calling wife?"
"No, no, this is far too entertaining." His damn brother's infuriating smile just became infinitely more smug. "Please continue. This is hilarious."
"If it is hilarious, why is no one laughing?" A new yet familiar voice entered the conversation.
Why can his life not be normal for once?
"Father? Why are you here?"
Oscar's face paled.
Ah shit.
They were screwed.
Well, at least his brother isn't smiling now.
Heh.
In a dimly lit basement of an abandoned shop house, four men waited silently at a round table for their acquaintance's arrival.
The Landlord, an obese man renowned for his gluttonous appetite, muttered to himself as he feasted on an apple pie. A quick supper before the meeting officially starts.
He was a messy eater.
To his right was the Maester, a scholar who fancied himself a lover of all knowledge, was currently reading a manuscript of the fall of Valyria. Idly passing the time. Yet he could not focus because of the Landlord indulging himself. The sounds of lips smacking and teeth sinking into the apple pie were too distracting. Not to mention the crumbles landing on his precious parchment.
Still, he did not reprimand him. Well aware of what happened to those that arose the Landlord's infamous foul temper.
They tend to fall off from apartment buildings.
Opposite the landlord and the maester, sat the Librarian. Annoyed at the Landlord's antics, yet his mind, his mind, was somewhere else. Worried about reports and tales with far-reaching consequences. The fear of their little conspiracy being uncovered plagued him. Frustrated, his closest ally wasn't available for this meeting, so he have to play peacemaker instead. Angry that the past kept coming back to haunt him.
However, his face did not betray his inner turmoil. Instead, if one looks at him face to face, he seems calm. Tranquil with a serene smile as he read a small red book that he always had by his side.
It was an act.
His three acquaintances knew that he already memorized every detail within that red book. Rereading it was the Librarian ritual of passing the time.
To his left sat the Captain. A lifetime of futile struggle against corruption and petty crime had taken its toll on him. A large horizontal scar on his broad chest, courtesy of a frothing iconoclast fanatic blade. His back, was decorated with burn marks, courtesy of his former gold cloak superior, fearing he knew too much about his illicit dealings with slavers. Finally, his crowning failure, his right eye. Or what used to be his right eye. Shot by a crossbow of a flea bottom scum. They have to curve it out, for fear of infection.
A lifetime of struggle, only scars to prove it. He wasn't corrupt enough to be promoted. Too useful to be cast out.
Yet, he did not regret it. Not once.
Not even when the Merchant first came to him with a proposition.
For what they did was necessary. Treasonous. Heretical even. But righteous.
However, the Captain had doubts. Their conspiracy had ended a year ago, yet the Librarian had called this meeting of past acquaintances. Although he wasn't one to doubt him, the Captain was well aware of how the previous meeting went.
Broken limbs and bruised egos.
He is not optimistic that this current congress would be any better. But the issue at hand threatened to unveil their hidden past. This meeting was long overdue.
So despite his reservations, the Captain fervently prayed, hoping for a decision to be made tonight.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Landlord was the first to break the silence. "Well, is the Septon coming or not?" He grumbled while stroking his finely kept short beard.
"Patience, he would come." The maester reassured him while reading his manuscript. "Besides, he isn't just a mere wandering septon anymore, now that he is a Most devout. Hard to slink away into the night to meet people like us."
The Landlord was not happy with the maester's feeble excuse.
"Ha! Don't we all have our own responsibilities and businesses to attend to?" He snorted, raising his right hand to his two compatriots, showing off half a dozen golden rings. "What? Do you think these rings paid for themselves? Yet that fop of a septon can't even arrive on time like the rest of us!"
"Or maybe he just doesn't like you." The Librarian cut in, annoyed with the Landlord whining.
"The feeling is mutual." The Landlord sneered, pie crumbs dripped down his mouth. Much to the disgust of everyone else in the room.
The maester opened his mouth to retort back, but a warning glance from the Captain made him think twice.
Awkward silence permeated the room.
Only to be broken by the sound of someone's heavy footsteps entering the basement door.
The Septon had finally arrived. He was a thin, frail-looking elderly man. Mud covered his simple linen stockings. Evidently, he had walked instead of riding with an escort. Unlike the other Most Devout's, he refused to wear silver vestments and the crystal coronal that signified their rank within the faith. Instead, he wore the drab brown cowl of the wandering septon, and he had his hair cut into a tonsure, leaving it uncovered. On his right arm, the Septon held a painstakingly handwritten bible of the Seven-Pointed Star. The Captain remembered faintly a time when the Septon proudly proclaimed that the bible was his only worldly possession other than the clothing on his back.
He idly wondered how long before the Septon would inevitably succumb to base greed like so many before him. For the temptation to clothe oneself with finery and the riches of the Seven Kingdoms…
No.
The Septon was holy and just. That was beyond doubt.
After all, he was the first to cast the stone.
"My brothers, forgive my tardiness." The Septon smiled apologetically. "I had matters to attend to. Preparations for the ecumenical council required my personal intervention."
"There is nothing to forgive." The Maester easily replied. " We did not have to wait that long, anyway."
"Just get this over with." The Landlord scowled. "I could hear my women screeching for my absence." He said as he grabbed another pie, mackerel this time, from his satchel.
The Septon blinked in surprise, realizing they were short of an individual. "It seems we are missing a person. Should we wait for him?"
"Ah, he is currently engaged. His son name day celebration." The Librarian replied. "It's fine. The meeting could start. Corlys would relay our decision to him."
The Captain nods in affirmation.
"Fah, this meeting can't be that serious after all." The Landlord retorted. "If even he could not be arsed to turn up, then what was the purpose of this entire meeting?"
"You know how much he cared about his sons, especially what happened to his youngest." The Maester muttered timidly.
"Brothers! I understand your concerns, but more importantly, I wished to know the true purpose of this reunion." The Septon pointedly looked at the Librarian.
"Here is why." The Librarian said as he took out a leather pouch and dumped its contents on the table. Silver stags and gold dragons poured out in a stream. "Over several months, there has been… an increase in false coinage appearing in this district. Corlys knows this."
"... Those we arrested are unaware they are using false coinage." The Captain grumbled. "A pity. It would be so much easier if someone had an inking where all these counterfeits are coming from."
The Landlord frowned as he inspected a gold dragon between his grubby, fat fingers. "For false coins, these are remarkably similar to the originals. No shaved marks. The weight feels the same as authentic coins. And look at this. King Jaeheary's face! Whoever minted these clearly went to great lengths to pass them off as genuine coins."
"No, no, that cannot be right." The Maester frowned as he snatched the coin from the landlord's greasy hands. "No point in minting fake coins when you don't shave it off. That's how it usually works for counterfeits. Unless.."
The maester, struck by sudden inspiration, grabbed a small knife and tried to scrape the coin surface.
The thin golden facade gave way to reddish brown copper.
The maester blinked in surprise. "So that's how it is. The purpose wasn't base greed. But that makes little sense. Wait. No. That cannot be right."
"If you have an idea who is behind it, just spit it out, Edric." The Librarian impatiently replied.
"Mind, it's just a guess." Hesitantly, the maester voiced, "But I suspect someone minted these coins not for profit but to increase the supply of coinage within the city itself."
For a moment, the room was dead silent. The implications of what the maester proposed needed a moment to sink in.
The Librarian was the first to speak. "Such an enterprise must require several accomplices. And friends in high places as well, an endeavor of this scale…"
"Speaking from personal experience?" The Landlord snarled.
The Librarian ignored him and continued. "Regardless of the complexity of such an enterprise, I struggled to understand the purpose of it. If what your hypothesis is implying, there are other ways the crown could finance itself."
"No, no, there is no other way." The Septon cut in, as sweat formed on his temple. "The Iconoclast had pissed away gold to flea bottom. In his insanity, the treasury was all but spent. Pissed away to book burnings and icons deemed heretical. What's left when King Viserys began his one year reign had to be doled out to the Noble houses and the traditionalists as appeasement."
The Captain, till now silent, had to step in. "Such might be the case. But the Crown should have more than enough funds in the treasury. How else did King Aegon spend so many coins on his feasts and mistresses?"
"How else but borrowing from creditors?" The Septon sighed. "The Late King Viserys had to borrow. Nay begged from Essosi merchant houses for loans to pay off disgruntled lords and traditionalist Septons. King Aegon, instead of paying off his uncle's debts, he borrowed even more, this time from the Faith."
"And they said usury was a sin." The Landlord guffawed.
The Septon ignored him. "Either way, despite what the city criers said about a full treasure and the vaults brimming with gold dragons. It couldn't be more different from the truth.
'Something isn't right." The Captain questioned. "If the Crown is behind this, the King could simply just order more mints to be established. Which was what Late King Viserys did."
"If it was only that simple." The Maester groaned out loud, his hand clutching his temple. "Just yesterday, the city criers announced that King Aegon sold off the crown rights to oversee the Westerland mines over to the Lannisters. Making Casterly Rock the sole overseer of the Seven Kingdoms' main silver and gold mines."
"For a sum of two hundred thousand gold dragons." The Septon continues where the Maester left off. "Enough to repay some of the Iconoclast old loans. But with King Aegon's decision, the Crown might experience… fiscal difficulties."
"Bah, it's not like the Dragonlords had any control overseeing mining production since the dragons died." The Landlord pointed out. "Might as well mortgage it off for some quick coin, since lannisters are the ones that are doing all the work."
The Septon nods in acknowledgment. "That is most likely the case, yes. However, the Crown now faces severe restrictions on its ability to establish more mints. In theory, the King could simply order Casterly Rock to produce more gold. However, the fallout of the Iconoclast's reign is still being felt, and with the coming ecumenical council…" The Septon let out a huff of air.
"So the King cannot do anything," the Librarian said. If what Edric suggested is true, then what purpose does it truly serve?"
"If I may." The maester quickly replied. "The purpose is twofold. One, to repay the Crown's long-standing debts to its creditors. The second is more strategic in a sense." The maester speech was cut short because of the Landlord suddenly bleaching.
"Ugh, get to the fucking point you twat," He sneered.
"Anyway, as you may already note, the Crown had mortgage off its overseeing rights to mining production." The maester continued, albeit annoyed. "So the counterfeit mint would serve… as a last resort? If for whatever reason the Westerland decided to not meet the yearly quota of gold and silver delivery to the Capital, there is still a mint to produce coins, false ones, but still."
"To add upon Edric point, the realm is currently experiencing a bullion famine." The septon said. "More specifically, the Faith had noticed a rising trend of silver flowing eastwards to Essosi cities for luxury goods. Even as the Iconoclast tried to stop this with trade bans, the smuggling continued unabated."
"Not to mention the population growth of the Seven Kingdoms, especially in King Landing." The Maester muttered. "Decades of relative peace and prosperity had caused the cities to grow faster than the supply of gold and silver could keep up. Hence the reason for the famine."
The Captain was skeptical. "But the Westerlands have an abundance of silver and gold mines? How could there be a severe shortage in bullion in the first place?"
The maester easily replied, pushing up his reading spectacles, "The famine's effects have an uneven distribution. Jaehaerys edict on the Westerlands' annual gold tribute had not been updated since the Dance, and the population of Kings Landing had doubled, if not tripled, since then. Not only that, but geography also played a pivotal role, with kingdoms such as the Vale and the North relying mostly on local silver mines that barely covered their expanding economies." Realising everyone was staring at him, he broke off his rant with a fierce blush of embarrassment.
"Basically, what he was trying to say is that nobody bother to update the gold quota and lannisters could not give an arse about the other kingdoms. Hence shortage." The Landlord succulently summarised the maester rant.
"More importantly, it's likely that the King is not aware of this." The Librarian said as his acquaintance easily nodded in agreement. Aegon was far more likely to chase after skirts than scheming. "Rather, it's highly possible that Robert Reyne is the chief plotter behind this scheme."
"The master of coin?" the Landlord snorted. "Of course it's him. Probably too proud to beg his liege for more coins and so started this entire convoluted harebrained scheme in the first place, ha!"
"But what we have are just theories and ideas, no hard evidence." The Librarian continued speaking. "So here is what we are going to do. Flowers have your rats scoured for any hints of possible hiding spot concealing a minting press."
The Landlord, for once, nods in respect and agreement. "Ya, I could do that."
The Librarian turned to the septon. "Septon Hugh, forgive me for burdening you, but have your friends listened for any rumours of Reyne's activities?."
"There is nothing to forgive." The septon smiles in acknowledgement.
"Corlys, your connection with the city gangs here would be vital. Have them monitored for any suspicious movement and activities." He gazed at the Captain.
"I am already on thin ice with my superiors, but aye, I could do it." The Captain grumbled.
"Edric, your student scribes working in the Red Keep would prove crucial here. Have them listened to any rumors and, if possible, gather some crucial evidence of illicit activities would prove incredibly useful." The Librarian stared at the maester. His task was the most important of the five of them.
"I see what I could do, but what about you and Davos?" The Maester questioned.
"I would question some smugglers of suspicious movements of large hauls of copper. This counterfeit mint required large quantities of base metals that would be hard to move under any circumstances." The Librarian easily replied with a small smile. "And for Davos, probably get him to pull some strings within the textile guild and see what they came up with." He shrugged.
"I don't need to remind you all to be cautious and stay safe." The Septon cautioned. "Each person only has one life, so it's important to be cautious and stay safe," the Septon cautioned, reminding everyone. Be careful when chasing leads my brothers."
"Well said Septon, and with that, we conclude this meeting. Anyone have questions? If not, safe travels, my friends." The Librarian hurriedly conclude, wanting to go back to his house as soon as possible.
For the night is dark and full of terrors.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was the first to admit he wasn't the brightest person.
This might very well be his biggest mistake.
He knew it was unsafe to go out at night. Even in this neighborhood, which has street lamps every few meters on the main street. Even with the occasional night patrol of gold cloaks walking about to deter any evildoers.
It wasn't safe.
The gold cloaks were just as likely to mug you as any other thugs. Worse still, the patrols were sparse. Who knew what was going on in the back alleys and within abandoned shop houses?
The street lamp shined ominously above his head. He saw a beggar dressed in rugs curiously staring at him with pleading eyes for alms. To his right, in a dark alley, a drunken couple were doing… things.
In an abandoned building, he saw a pack of stray dogs out scavenging.
Yet despite the potential danger, he did not want to go back. Not yet. It felt like a world war was going on in that house.
Hmm, what to do, what to do. On a moonlit night like this…
As he strolled the nearly deserted street, pondering his destination, he failed to notice the beggar's scowling face. Angry at his implied disrespect.
A grimy hand caught his leg.
He screamed. Shaking free of the beggar's hand, he ran.
And ran.
Out of animalistic fear of the supernatural and the creatures of the night, he dashed as fast as he could. Not knowing where to go except somewhere.
Such was his terror that he once again failed to notice his surroundings.
Or the people chasing after him.
His mindless run came to an abrupt end as feminine arms grabbed his torso.
"Stap, fucking, ran. Twat." was all he could hear from desperate gasps of air as she released him from her embrace, only to fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Heavy breathing and desperate gulps for air filled the street for a moment.
Only to be interrupted by the sound of someone jogging.
"Fancy meeting you on such a glorious night, baby brother." Oscar had an amused smile on his face. For a moment, his chest felt heavy with disappointment. Why was he so happy when he just had metaphorically fucked the entire house upside down?
"Why the fuck are you here?" He made his displeasure known.
"Eh, they threw both of us out of the house. Something about being a disappointment," Oscar continued, smiling still. Something about being a disappointment." Oscar continued, smiling still.
He had the sudden urge to slug his damn face.
"Nay, just you." Lena muttered, still sprawling on the pavement. "I just came along because your ma said so."
She shot up to her feet, arms crossed. "Anyway, mind explaining why were you running from us?"
"I didn't notice you lot were chasing after me." He shot back. "Besides, it's embarrassing anyway, so don't ask why."
"Why?"
"Fuck off."
"No, seriously, why?"
"Oscar, get your wife away from me."
"Who the fuck are you calling wife?"
"No, no, this is far too entertaining." His damn brother's infuriating smile just became infinitely more smug. "Please continue. This is hilarious."
"If it is hilarious, why is no one laughing?" A new yet familiar voice entered the conversation.
Why can his life not be normal for once?
"Father? Why are you here?"
Oscar's face paled.
Ah shit.
They were screwed.
Well, at least his brother isn't smiling now.
Heh.
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So, here's where I write a small rant on gold-backed (representative or commodity) vs fiat-backed currencies. Both types of currency can be fucked up, but gold-backed currencies have inherent flaws that can't be avoided without effectively ceasing to be representative currencies. One of these flaws is that you can only have as much currency in circulation as there is gold (or other commodity) to back it which can lead to severe deflation. The gold in your pocket is worth more, but nobody wants to take the gold out and use it which fucks the economy up nicely.
Unfortunately, you can't just fake your way out with false or debased coinage because if trust in your countries currency is lost then nobody will want to take it in trade.
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- Singapore
Except this happened all the time in medieval Europe. Heck this happened so often that at one point in time one in ten of every coin in england were counterfeit. Despite Queen Elizabeth reforms and the death penalty, the problem wouldn't be solved till Issac Newtown came up with the idea of ridged coins which stop counterfeiters from simply shaving off coin edges.
More often than not, counterfeits are just… accepted in transactions. Mostly because it's hard to prove it was counterfeit in the first place.
I am aware of the deflationary nature of gold back currency. The problem is in ASOIAF the currency of westeros is inflated. The only way I could reconciled with the difference is either a) limit the gold and silver supply somehow b) lower the content of precious metal within coins which doesn't really make sense in the context of the endless stream of precious metals flowing out of the westerlands.
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- Pronouns
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Oh man, this one is such a classic, Oskar is the unlucky sucker this time, but RepliSI will get to relieve this joyful experience soon enough I am sure!
But-but the money and prestige?! Bringing disgrace to the family smh
Yes, good luck getting shanked lol
Anyway, this really takes me back, such family gatherings are really universal experiences huh
- Location
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- Pronouns
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Simply flood the Yi-Tish market with milk of the poppy, and there you go, problem solved!
See, should have known better...
Poor Oscar, though I suspect his father will be more understanding than he expects. He did seek him out and did not immediately engage in sandal throwing... so who knows. Might go better than he expects.
In any case, the plot thickens, something is rotten in the 7 Kingdoms!
A Reason to Live Chapter 10: The Growing Crowd
- Location
- Singapore
A Reason to Live Chapter 10: The Growing Crowd
Their punishment was the absolute worst.
Instead of being screamed at for running away from home, their parents had decided upon an… unorthodox idea.
Never in his wildest dreams would he ever think of becoming a glorified debt collector?
But here he was. Apparently, there have been cases of manuscript borrowers who had failed to return the library properties punctually. Sometimes, it's just plain forgetfulness, which is understandable. Other times, it's because of more malicious intent. Like trying to sell it in the marketplace to third parties. Hence why the Library required prospective borrowers to deposit a collateral of two silver stags.
A policy that is going to be revised because of his somewhat pointless suggestion that maybe the Library should consider collateral based on the percentage of the manuscript value. This should encourage an increase in the number of borrowers since two silver stags is a tad too high in his op-
"Alright, here is the list of names of the individuals who failed to meet the deadline," Ronald said as he thrust the wax tablet into his hands.
"And since Corlys is busy, I trust Oscar would be more than sufficient as an escort." His eyes narrowed at Leyla. "Do not return until at least half of the list is clear."
With that, the Library's wooden doors ominously slammed shut.
Leaving three gloomy teenagers staring at the bustling street. With a very long list.
Awkward.
Well, it was his fault, after all. Should not have run off like that last night. In hindsight, that was pretty stupid of him.
But to apologize and say he was sorry for what happened right now? Something tells him that would piss the other two off even more than they already were. So, what to do, what to do…
Wait. This could work. Or not.
Yeah, why not? Fortune favored the bold, right?
"So, have you ever wondered why the Seven Kingdoms didn't have a professional standing army?"
On second thought, he should have kept his mouth shut. But. Someone got to break the ice. Somehow. At least lighten the atmosphere a little. Right? Right.
Two flabbergasted faces swivel to stare at him.
"..."
"..."
… Alright, he might have misread the room here. Did he say something weird? Or is his physical appearance too atrocious? Must be his unkept hair, should have brushed it earlier in the morning ugh.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Leyla's blank face turned to Oscar. "Was he always like this?"
Oscar sagely nodded his head. "At least you weren't there to listen to his rumblings about economics. Something about copper counting but better because gold standard."
"Gold standard?"
"Hey don't look at me, do I look like I know what he was ranting about?" Oscar snorted. "Something about gold bars being reserved for more confidence in coins or something."
"Huh? Explained yourself. Now." Leyla demanded.
"Asked him yourself?"
"His rambling is neigh incomprehensible for normal people like us!"
"Hey, this is my brother you are talking here!"
"You didn't deny it, though." She snarled back.
"I mean, yes, he speaks in a rash and most of the things he says is gibberish. But at least I tried to understand him, not like someone here." Oscar's eyes widened, realizing too late he might have offended Leyla.
Awkward silence once again reigned.
He noticed Leyla's face had turned into a tomato. Embarrassed? Of what? Is it because of Oscar talking back to her? Unlikely. Was she angry? Again, there was nothing to be angry about. Pride? Did he damage her ego? Most probably?
He blinked his eyes. There was still something he was missing. This wasn't the first time this had happened before. The conversation about him. Maybe it was his fault that things had become so awkward between the duo.
Maybe he should try again. As a distraction. This time, he spoke with clarity in his voice. No slurring. No rambling.
Just be as clear as possible. Right. He got this.
But just as he opened his mouth to speak. Someone else beat him to it.
"So, uh, what do you think is the reason the Seven Kingdoms don't have a standing army?"
"Sorry, I was such a cunt."
"..."
"..."
Oscar just sighed in dismay.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"All I am saying is that there is no reason for any lords to rise a standing host. Like, what's the point? Men of arms could easily deal with bandits, right?" Leyla said, as her eyes burned. Death glared at the sea of humanity, moving sluggishly in front of them.
Everyone and their mother had turned up in every street and alleyway in Kings Landing. Something about an ecumenical council? Eh, not his problem. He has other priorities, like getting this list done and over with. Now, if only the aunties in front of him stopped chatting and moved onwards, that would be great.
"Hmmmm. Centralization of political authority? Having a standing army would make it easier to deal with pesky Bannerman?" Gods, he can't think straight in this heat, and the incessant, mindless chattering all around him isn't helping. "No need to raise levies so men could just go back to farming or their trades?"
"Host." She quickly corrected. "Also, what even is centralization of political authority supposed to mean- no say nothing, it's not a question. Besides, you still don't get it. Bandits? A lord or a ser could just lead a lance or two to deal with it. Border dispute? Take it up with the Lord Paramount or the King himself. There is no reason to raise this "army" of yours."
"How are you both still talking in this infernal heat?" Oscar wailed as he took off his sweat-drenched shirt. "Just our luck. We are stuck in the middle of a crowd, right as the sun was a hideous bitch."
"Aren't you supposed to be a sailor? Man up a bit, would ya?" Leyla's eyes slide towards Oscar, ostensibly to reprimand his behavior. But her reddened face said otherwise.
Disgusting.
He had to come up with a distraction, fast. "I mean, that's exactly my point. What if it's the Crown or the Lord Paramounts established a professional army? There won't be a need to rely on lordly houses levies any longer and the nobility power would decline-"
"And why again is the bloody point?" Leyla snorted as she whirled her head towards him, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. "All those men you have to pay for steel blades, plate armor, chain mail, and war horses. Not including building bigger barracks to house them, bigger stables, rations, and oh yeah, not to mention paying them a monthly income on top of all that."
"So why exactly should our most illustrious King Aegon the Fourth, defender of the Faith, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, entertain such a crock of shit especially from people like us?" She grinned, white pearly teeth brandishing danger.
… He did not have a proper rebuttal to her rant. The points made by Leyla are entirely valid. There is really no reason for Westeros to have a standing army when dragons once played the same role and reigned supreme.
Once.
He saw a path to victory in this war of words. He could use this and maybe turned the tide against her. It isn't a complete rout, not just yet. Yet.
Is there a point to this conversation? So what if he said it? Would that change her mind? Would that change her mind if he used his vocal chords to communicate his opinions? What's the point of this entire debate in the first place? Professional army in Westeros? Who even starts a topic of discussion like that?
In the end, he never changed at all.
A risping crack-like sound escaped his lips.
"Wait, why are you laughing? Did i say something funny?" Leyla stared in disbelief.
"Nothing! Nothing. Just realized something." He said with a genial smile. Some things remained unspoken. Some things would never change. He would always fail, but at the very least, he remained himself. "Just figured something out about myself. Thank you, Leyla."
"... If you said so," she replied with an arched eyebrow. "Thought you were laughing at me."
"Nah, you aren't that humorous." he replied cheekily replied. "Just been feeling down for a while and your rant cheered me up. That's all."
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Disbelief? He did not understand why. Even someone like him could experience bouts of happiness after all.
"Is it just me or the crowd is growing even larger?" Oscar suddenly exclaimed. Now that his brother mentioned it, the sea of humanity had grown significantly worse. Bodies pressed tightly together into a titanic wall of flesh. The screams, shouting, a hundred and one conversations all morphed into one endless screeching in his ears.
They were lucky not to be swept away by the unseen currents of the crowd.
"Sod it, let's hold hands," Leyla replied. "That way, we won't get lost in the crowd." Her face studiously stared at the clique of chatty aunties right in front of her.
"HUH."
"Eh, why not?" He said as his hand clasped Leyla's fingers. It's just holding hands for safety reasons, that's all. The last thing they need is one of them to get lost among hundreds of people.
"See? Even he is on board with the idea, so don't be shy now, Oscar." A maniacal evil grin slowly grew on her face.
"... Fine. " Cold sweat lazily dripped down from Oscar's face as he gingerly, tentatively, forced his fingers to move.
Come on now, you can do it, brother. It's just hand holding you can do it. Was what his inner thoughts were at the moment. He braved storms, fought off pirates, and witnessed eldritch horrors that mere mortals could not comprehend. What are two hands touching each other?
Slowly, painfully slowly, Oscar's hands moved. Inch by inch. Sweat glistening, fingers shaking in a tremor. The sun's tyrannical gaze blazed down upon them as his brother's face sweated profusely.
Come on. He can do it. He believed in Oscar.
Nearly there. Their fingers are nearly touching each other now. Half an inch more-
… Only for Leyla to just snatch his arms instead with a smug smile on her face
He could not help it. A raspy, dry sound busted from his windpipe as he laughed uproariously at Oscar's plight, tears dripping down in an undignified manner.
As Oscar vainly tried not to die from embarrassment and Leyla giggled softly with a wide smile on her face. At that precious moment in time, he could only think of one small wish.
May these unchanging summer days last forever.
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Thankfully, not long after that minor incident, the gold cloaks finally arrived. Armed with wooden cudgels and shields, the city watch organized the crowd into smaller, more manageable groups to move away from the main street and towards the side roads. Screaming their voice horse and not too gently cuffing any troublemakers, they somehow are making progress.
Which leads them here, in a tavern getting lunch after spending the entire morning just standing in the middle of the road getting a terrible suntan.
And they still need to make progress on the list. Fun.
"Thank the gods that this is over and done with. What's with everyone turning up just to see some septons?" Oscar huffed as he inhaled the mackerel pie he ordered, annoyed they had to wait for an eternity for the crowd to disperse. "At least this tavern was first on the list, so might as well get some grub before we get down to business."
"Isn't j..st a mewch of smpton." Leyla said with her mouth full of lamb stew dripping down her lips. "Ish ah ecumental chcil."
"Don't talk with your mouth full of shit." He said, shoving his white handkerchief onto her side of the table. "You have soup dripping down your mouth for god's sake."
She ignored his comment, electing to use her hand to wipe off the stain from her face. Rude. He had fashioned that handkerchief out from scraps of textile refuse from his father's shop. Granted, his embroidery could use some work, but still.
"Anyway, as I was saying, it was not just some Septon but an ecumenical council called by the High Septon," Leyla said as she stirred a slice of bread in the brown slurry stew. "Something to do with the Baelorites most likely."
The bustling and lively tavern suddenly went mute. His heart feels like busting. Something isn't registering in his brain. His ears must have misheard it. He could not feel his hands. Or his feet. This wasn't real. Certainly did not feel real.
Is this shock? No, he must have misheard something. The script he knew said nothing about Baelorites. No, no. This ecumenical council was just something minor, no need to panic. It's all part of the script. Must have been part of the book series. There was nothing wrong here. There's nothing wrong at all.
(Something is terribly wrong. He knew it. He knew all along. He wasn't as stupid as he liked to pretend. The past few weeks, the Iconoclasts and ecumenical council were the rage in Kings Landing. It's all everyone would talk about.
But he didn't care. Or care enough to pretend to not care. Till it was right in front of his face and he could't pretend any longer.
Ecumenical council? Probably just a minor theological doctrine change nothing special, back to recording ledgers.
It's not my problem.)
"Oi, what's wrong? You looked like you had seen a ghost." His brother's worried words jolted him out of his existential crisis.
I want to scream and cry and pretend this conversation did not exist and hopefully, my fucking brain could continue functioning like a normal human being the day after. That was what he wanted to say.
"Oh, is nothing, so who are these Baelorites are supposed to be, anyway?" Instead, his accursed mouth did all the brainwork.
"BLEGHA." Chunks of meat, vegetables. Spit and soup splattered across the wooden table, with a chunk of half-digested, spit-covered mutton landing right on top of Oscar's half-finished pie, much to the horror of everyone in the vicinity.
Except for Leyla. She was utterly calm, with a serene look on her face. Not a hint of anger or shock in committing such an atrocity. The complete opposite of a person should act after vomiting out their lunch.
Which, in his humble opinion, made her all the more terrifying. He would rather have her scold him for his ignorance rather than suffer from this false serenity. At least, then, she still cared enough to yell at him.
Her mouth parted, and he mentally braced himself from another tirade of vicious brutality.
"... Just gave me that handkerchief of yours, would you?" She signed dejectedly, back slouched. "No point being mad at ya for something you don't understand."
Well that was a surprise, albeit slightly disappointing but not unwelcome.
"Oi, what with that look on your face?"
Alright, fine fine. Best not to push his luck any further.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So as I was saying before, your ignorance forced me to vomi- what don't look at me like that Oscar, I paid for another pie for you alright?" Leyla scoffed as his brother shot her a dirty glance. "Anyway, Baelorites. Right, those wankers. Bunch of book-burning fanatics. Hate Icons. Also, really hate incest. That's the gist of it."
"You forgot to mention they worship Baelor the Blessed. Second coming of Hugor and all that." Oscar replied as he worriedly stared outside the Tavern's wooden window, concerned at the growing crowd despite the best efforts of the Gold cloaks. "Anyway, is it just me or the crowd is still getting larger even after we entered the tavern?"
"I mean, the last time a religious convention happened in the city was during Jaehaerys reign, right?" He answered, eager to show that he knew something, at least. "Been at least a hundred years since then, so people are naturally curious about this ecumenical council."
"Nah, it's more like they are eager to start a fight, bad blood and all that," Leyla said as she stared at the untouched, freshly baked mackerel pie Oscar was ignoring, eyes glistening with naked greed. "Well, at least we aren't like fucking Oldtown. Seven blessed us."
"What's so bad about Oldtown?"
"Half the city got burned down. The other half is too busy killing one another." Oscar flatly replied, eyes still staring at the window.
"Oh."
"Well, not that bad. Sure, riots occurred every fortnight and fanatics razed and ransacked the foreign quarter. "And yes, a horde of fanatics besieged the Citadel, but it's not that bad," Leyla defended, slowly crawling her hands towards the still untouched pie on his brother's plate. He probably should do something about it.
Nah. it's more entertaining to just sit back and watch.
The great fire burned a quarter of the city and resulted in the lynching of hundreds of foreign merchants. Tens of thousands died and the Starry Sept drowned in an ocean of blood. But yeah, it's not that bad," Oscar coldly replied.
"I mean, it could be so much worse without Hightower's quick response." Leyla retorted as she bit a hefty chuck out of the mackerel pie, flakes scattering across the table. "But yeah, it's not that bad."
Oscar, having enough, swiveled his head around to face her. "Leyla, you know that these are people's lives we are talking about ri- Did you just eat the pie you bought for me??" His eyes bulged at her audacity.
"What? I was hungry alright! Besides, you were busy looking outside the window instead of savoring the pie I bought for you." She retorted with confidence as she took another bite. And swallow. With an intentional gulp. "Anyway, if you are starving, I could just buy another pie for you, I guess."
"No, it's fine. We could just split the pie in half and share that way." Oscar's words spill out from his mouth before he can stop himself.
"Alright, that's fine by me," Leyla hurriedly said with a toothy grin that was just a tad too wide. A sinking feeling overcame him as he realized Leyla had scammed Oscar out of his pie. "Anyway, what are we talking about again?"
"Baelorites?" He tentatively answered,
"Oh right. What Oscar said. The Starry Sept was torn apart by Baelorites trying to overthrow the Most devout. Which failed because of the Hightower intervention, but the damage was already done.They smashed icons of saints," she said morosely while nibbling on the mackerel pie. They tore apart thousand-year-old manuscripts. The sept library burned into cinders. "
"You forgot to mention how the Iconoclast censured Lord Hightower for intervening against his fanatics," Oscar added as he snitched the pie away from Leyla's hands, despite her whining. "Drove Viserys to an early grave for that stunt."
"Oi, I had not finished with the pie yet!"
"You already eaten more than your fair share. Now it's my turn." Oscar flatly replied, with a deadpan stare.
"Just one more bite?"
"Another bite and you would be the second coming of Maegor with tits." He intervened, tired of the pie drama, and just wanted his history lesson.
"Eh, nothing wrong with being fat," Leyla reflexively said. "Wait, actually that would be bad, the number of sheep brained suitors would grow. Shite."
"See? So you should let Oscar have his pie back."
"Right. Finally, you are making sense, bookkeeper."
"Fucking finally, a succulent meal." Oscar sighed.
"Honestly, you could just have some of my onion soup. I am already pretty full, so I am fine if you had it, then Layla could just finish the pie." He offered his leftover half finished lunch to his brother.
"It's fine really, you know how I am with onions, too much gas." Oscar replied, waving off his concerns.
Just as Leyla opened her mouth for a witty remark, her eyes widened as she pointed out the window.
"The Cunts had finally arrived!"
Their punishment was the absolute worst.
Instead of being screamed at for running away from home, their parents had decided upon an… unorthodox idea.
Never in his wildest dreams would he ever think of becoming a glorified debt collector?
But here he was. Apparently, there have been cases of manuscript borrowers who had failed to return the library properties punctually. Sometimes, it's just plain forgetfulness, which is understandable. Other times, it's because of more malicious intent. Like trying to sell it in the marketplace to third parties. Hence why the Library required prospective borrowers to deposit a collateral of two silver stags.
A policy that is going to be revised because of his somewhat pointless suggestion that maybe the Library should consider collateral based on the percentage of the manuscript value. This should encourage an increase in the number of borrowers since two silver stags is a tad too high in his op-
"Alright, here is the list of names of the individuals who failed to meet the deadline," Ronald said as he thrust the wax tablet into his hands.
"And since Corlys is busy, I trust Oscar would be more than sufficient as an escort." His eyes narrowed at Leyla. "Do not return until at least half of the list is clear."
With that, the Library's wooden doors ominously slammed shut.
Leaving three gloomy teenagers staring at the bustling street. With a very long list.
Awkward.
Well, it was his fault, after all. Should not have run off like that last night. In hindsight, that was pretty stupid of him.
But to apologize and say he was sorry for what happened right now? Something tells him that would piss the other two off even more than they already were. So, what to do, what to do…
Wait. This could work. Or not.
Yeah, why not? Fortune favored the bold, right?
"So, have you ever wondered why the Seven Kingdoms didn't have a professional standing army?"
On second thought, he should have kept his mouth shut. But. Someone got to break the ice. Somehow. At least lighten the atmosphere a little. Right? Right.
Two flabbergasted faces swivel to stare at him.
"..."
"..."
… Alright, he might have misread the room here. Did he say something weird? Or is his physical appearance too atrocious? Must be his unkept hair, should have brushed it earlier in the morning ugh.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Leyla's blank face turned to Oscar. "Was he always like this?"
Oscar sagely nodded his head. "At least you weren't there to listen to his rumblings about economics. Something about copper counting but better because gold standard."
"Gold standard?"
"Hey don't look at me, do I look like I know what he was ranting about?" Oscar snorted. "Something about gold bars being reserved for more confidence in coins or something."
"Huh? Explained yourself. Now." Leyla demanded.
"Asked him yourself?"
"His rambling is neigh incomprehensible for normal people like us!"
"Hey, this is my brother you are talking here!"
"You didn't deny it, though." She snarled back.
"I mean, yes, he speaks in a rash and most of the things he says is gibberish. But at least I tried to understand him, not like someone here." Oscar's eyes widened, realizing too late he might have offended Leyla.
Awkward silence once again reigned.
He noticed Leyla's face had turned into a tomato. Embarrassed? Of what? Is it because of Oscar talking back to her? Unlikely. Was she angry? Again, there was nothing to be angry about. Pride? Did he damage her ego? Most probably?
He blinked his eyes. There was still something he was missing. This wasn't the first time this had happened before. The conversation about him. Maybe it was his fault that things had become so awkward between the duo.
Maybe he should try again. As a distraction. This time, he spoke with clarity in his voice. No slurring. No rambling.
Just be as clear as possible. Right. He got this.
But just as he opened his mouth to speak. Someone else beat him to it.
"So, uh, what do you think is the reason the Seven Kingdoms don't have a standing army?"
"Sorry, I was such a cunt."
"..."
"..."
Oscar just sighed in dismay.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"All I am saying is that there is no reason for any lords to rise a standing host. Like, what's the point? Men of arms could easily deal with bandits, right?" Leyla said, as her eyes burned. Death glared at the sea of humanity, moving sluggishly in front of them.
Everyone and their mother had turned up in every street and alleyway in Kings Landing. Something about an ecumenical council? Eh, not his problem. He has other priorities, like getting this list done and over with. Now, if only the aunties in front of him stopped chatting and moved onwards, that would be great.
"Hmmmm. Centralization of political authority? Having a standing army would make it easier to deal with pesky Bannerman?" Gods, he can't think straight in this heat, and the incessant, mindless chattering all around him isn't helping. "No need to raise levies so men could just go back to farming or their trades?"
"Host." She quickly corrected. "Also, what even is centralization of political authority supposed to mean- no say nothing, it's not a question. Besides, you still don't get it. Bandits? A lord or a ser could just lead a lance or two to deal with it. Border dispute? Take it up with the Lord Paramount or the King himself. There is no reason to raise this "army" of yours."
"How are you both still talking in this infernal heat?" Oscar wailed as he took off his sweat-drenched shirt. "Just our luck. We are stuck in the middle of a crowd, right as the sun was a hideous bitch."
"Aren't you supposed to be a sailor? Man up a bit, would ya?" Leyla's eyes slide towards Oscar, ostensibly to reprimand his behavior. But her reddened face said otherwise.
Disgusting.
He had to come up with a distraction, fast. "I mean, that's exactly my point. What if it's the Crown or the Lord Paramounts established a professional army? There won't be a need to rely on lordly houses levies any longer and the nobility power would decline-"
"And why again is the bloody point?" Leyla snorted as she whirled her head towards him, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. "All those men you have to pay for steel blades, plate armor, chain mail, and war horses. Not including building bigger barracks to house them, bigger stables, rations, and oh yeah, not to mention paying them a monthly income on top of all that."
"So why exactly should our most illustrious King Aegon the Fourth, defender of the Faith, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, entertain such a crock of shit especially from people like us?" She grinned, white pearly teeth brandishing danger.
… He did not have a proper rebuttal to her rant. The points made by Leyla are entirely valid. There is really no reason for Westeros to have a standing army when dragons once played the same role and reigned supreme.
Once.
He saw a path to victory in this war of words. He could use this and maybe turned the tide against her. It isn't a complete rout, not just yet. Yet.
Is there a point to this conversation? So what if he said it? Would that change her mind? Would that change her mind if he used his vocal chords to communicate his opinions? What's the point of this entire debate in the first place? Professional army in Westeros? Who even starts a topic of discussion like that?
In the end, he never changed at all.
A risping crack-like sound escaped his lips.
"Wait, why are you laughing? Did i say something funny?" Leyla stared in disbelief.
"Nothing! Nothing. Just realized something." He said with a genial smile. Some things remained unspoken. Some things would never change. He would always fail, but at the very least, he remained himself. "Just figured something out about myself. Thank you, Leyla."
"... If you said so," she replied with an arched eyebrow. "Thought you were laughing at me."
"Nah, you aren't that humorous." he replied cheekily replied. "Just been feeling down for a while and your rant cheered me up. That's all."
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Disbelief? He did not understand why. Even someone like him could experience bouts of happiness after all.
"Is it just me or the crowd is growing even larger?" Oscar suddenly exclaimed. Now that his brother mentioned it, the sea of humanity had grown significantly worse. Bodies pressed tightly together into a titanic wall of flesh. The screams, shouting, a hundred and one conversations all morphed into one endless screeching in his ears.
They were lucky not to be swept away by the unseen currents of the crowd.
"Sod it, let's hold hands," Leyla replied. "That way, we won't get lost in the crowd." Her face studiously stared at the clique of chatty aunties right in front of her.
"HUH."
"Eh, why not?" He said as his hand clasped Leyla's fingers. It's just holding hands for safety reasons, that's all. The last thing they need is one of them to get lost among hundreds of people.
"See? Even he is on board with the idea, so don't be shy now, Oscar." A maniacal evil grin slowly grew on her face.
"... Fine. " Cold sweat lazily dripped down from Oscar's face as he gingerly, tentatively, forced his fingers to move.
Come on now, you can do it, brother. It's just hand holding you can do it. Was what his inner thoughts were at the moment. He braved storms, fought off pirates, and witnessed eldritch horrors that mere mortals could not comprehend. What are two hands touching each other?
Slowly, painfully slowly, Oscar's hands moved. Inch by inch. Sweat glistening, fingers shaking in a tremor. The sun's tyrannical gaze blazed down upon them as his brother's face sweated profusely.
Come on. He can do it. He believed in Oscar.
Nearly there. Their fingers are nearly touching each other now. Half an inch more-
… Only for Leyla to just snatch his arms instead with a smug smile on her face
He could not help it. A raspy, dry sound busted from his windpipe as he laughed uproariously at Oscar's plight, tears dripping down in an undignified manner.
As Oscar vainly tried not to die from embarrassment and Leyla giggled softly with a wide smile on her face. At that precious moment in time, he could only think of one small wish.
May these unchanging summer days last forever.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thankfully, not long after that minor incident, the gold cloaks finally arrived. Armed with wooden cudgels and shields, the city watch organized the crowd into smaller, more manageable groups to move away from the main street and towards the side roads. Screaming their voice horse and not too gently cuffing any troublemakers, they somehow are making progress.
Which leads them here, in a tavern getting lunch after spending the entire morning just standing in the middle of the road getting a terrible suntan.
And they still need to make progress on the list. Fun.
"Thank the gods that this is over and done with. What's with everyone turning up just to see some septons?" Oscar huffed as he inhaled the mackerel pie he ordered, annoyed they had to wait for an eternity for the crowd to disperse. "At least this tavern was first on the list, so might as well get some grub before we get down to business."
"Isn't j..st a mewch of smpton." Leyla said with her mouth full of lamb stew dripping down her lips. "Ish ah ecumental chcil."
"Don't talk with your mouth full of shit." He said, shoving his white handkerchief onto her side of the table. "You have soup dripping down your mouth for god's sake."
She ignored his comment, electing to use her hand to wipe off the stain from her face. Rude. He had fashioned that handkerchief out from scraps of textile refuse from his father's shop. Granted, his embroidery could use some work, but still.
"Anyway, as I was saying, it was not just some Septon but an ecumenical council called by the High Septon," Leyla said as she stirred a slice of bread in the brown slurry stew. "Something to do with the Baelorites most likely."
The bustling and lively tavern suddenly went mute. His heart feels like busting. Something isn't registering in his brain. His ears must have misheard it. He could not feel his hands. Or his feet. This wasn't real. Certainly did not feel real.
Is this shock? No, he must have misheard something. The script he knew said nothing about Baelorites. No, no. This ecumenical council was just something minor, no need to panic. It's all part of the script. Must have been part of the book series. There was nothing wrong here. There's nothing wrong at all.
(Something is terribly wrong. He knew it. He knew all along. He wasn't as stupid as he liked to pretend. The past few weeks, the Iconoclasts and ecumenical council were the rage in Kings Landing. It's all everyone would talk about.
But he didn't care. Or care enough to pretend to not care. Till it was right in front of his face and he could't pretend any longer.
Ecumenical council? Probably just a minor theological doctrine change nothing special, back to recording ledgers.
It's not my problem.)
"Oi, what's wrong? You looked like you had seen a ghost." His brother's worried words jolted him out of his existential crisis.
I want to scream and cry and pretend this conversation did not exist and hopefully, my fucking brain could continue functioning like a normal human being the day after. That was what he wanted to say.
"Oh, is nothing, so who are these Baelorites are supposed to be, anyway?" Instead, his accursed mouth did all the brainwork.
"BLEGHA." Chunks of meat, vegetables. Spit and soup splattered across the wooden table, with a chunk of half-digested, spit-covered mutton landing right on top of Oscar's half-finished pie, much to the horror of everyone in the vicinity.
Except for Leyla. She was utterly calm, with a serene look on her face. Not a hint of anger or shock in committing such an atrocity. The complete opposite of a person should act after vomiting out their lunch.
Which, in his humble opinion, made her all the more terrifying. He would rather have her scold him for his ignorance rather than suffer from this false serenity. At least, then, she still cared enough to yell at him.
Her mouth parted, and he mentally braced himself from another tirade of vicious brutality.
"... Just gave me that handkerchief of yours, would you?" She signed dejectedly, back slouched. "No point being mad at ya for something you don't understand."
Well that was a surprise, albeit slightly disappointing but not unwelcome.
"Oi, what with that look on your face?"
Alright, fine fine. Best not to push his luck any further.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So as I was saying before, your ignorance forced me to vomi- what don't look at me like that Oscar, I paid for another pie for you alright?" Leyla scoffed as his brother shot her a dirty glance. "Anyway, Baelorites. Right, those wankers. Bunch of book-burning fanatics. Hate Icons. Also, really hate incest. That's the gist of it."
"You forgot to mention they worship Baelor the Blessed. Second coming of Hugor and all that." Oscar replied as he worriedly stared outside the Tavern's wooden window, concerned at the growing crowd despite the best efforts of the Gold cloaks. "Anyway, is it just me or the crowd is still getting larger even after we entered the tavern?"
"I mean, the last time a religious convention happened in the city was during Jaehaerys reign, right?" He answered, eager to show that he knew something, at least. "Been at least a hundred years since then, so people are naturally curious about this ecumenical council."
"Nah, it's more like they are eager to start a fight, bad blood and all that," Leyla said as she stared at the untouched, freshly baked mackerel pie Oscar was ignoring, eyes glistening with naked greed. "Well, at least we aren't like fucking Oldtown. Seven blessed us."
"What's so bad about Oldtown?"
"Half the city got burned down. The other half is too busy killing one another." Oscar flatly replied, eyes still staring at the window.
"Oh."
"Well, not that bad. Sure, riots occurred every fortnight and fanatics razed and ransacked the foreign quarter. "And yes, a horde of fanatics besieged the Citadel, but it's not that bad," Leyla defended, slowly crawling her hands towards the still untouched pie on his brother's plate. He probably should do something about it.
Nah. it's more entertaining to just sit back and watch.
The great fire burned a quarter of the city and resulted in the lynching of hundreds of foreign merchants. Tens of thousands died and the Starry Sept drowned in an ocean of blood. But yeah, it's not that bad," Oscar coldly replied.
"I mean, it could be so much worse without Hightower's quick response." Leyla retorted as she bit a hefty chuck out of the mackerel pie, flakes scattering across the table. "But yeah, it's not that bad."
Oscar, having enough, swiveled his head around to face her. "Leyla, you know that these are people's lives we are talking about ri- Did you just eat the pie you bought for me??" His eyes bulged at her audacity.
"What? I was hungry alright! Besides, you were busy looking outside the window instead of savoring the pie I bought for you." She retorted with confidence as she took another bite. And swallow. With an intentional gulp. "Anyway, if you are starving, I could just buy another pie for you, I guess."
"No, it's fine. We could just split the pie in half and share that way." Oscar's words spill out from his mouth before he can stop himself.
"Alright, that's fine by me," Leyla hurriedly said with a toothy grin that was just a tad too wide. A sinking feeling overcame him as he realized Leyla had scammed Oscar out of his pie. "Anyway, what are we talking about again?"
"Baelorites?" He tentatively answered,
"Oh right. What Oscar said. The Starry Sept was torn apart by Baelorites trying to overthrow the Most devout. Which failed because of the Hightower intervention, but the damage was already done.They smashed icons of saints," she said morosely while nibbling on the mackerel pie. They tore apart thousand-year-old manuscripts. The sept library burned into cinders. "
"You forgot to mention how the Iconoclast censured Lord Hightower for intervening against his fanatics," Oscar added as he snitched the pie away from Leyla's hands, despite her whining. "Drove Viserys to an early grave for that stunt."
"Oi, I had not finished with the pie yet!"
"You already eaten more than your fair share. Now it's my turn." Oscar flatly replied, with a deadpan stare.
"Just one more bite?"
"Another bite and you would be the second coming of Maegor with tits." He intervened, tired of the pie drama, and just wanted his history lesson.
"Eh, nothing wrong with being fat," Leyla reflexively said. "Wait, actually that would be bad, the number of sheep brained suitors would grow. Shite."
"See? So you should let Oscar have his pie back."
"Right. Finally, you are making sense, bookkeeper."
"Fucking finally, a succulent meal." Oscar sighed.
"Honestly, you could just have some of my onion soup. I am already pretty full, so I am fine if you had it, then Layla could just finish the pie." He offered his leftover half finished lunch to his brother.
"It's fine really, you know how I am with onions, too much gas." Oscar replied, waving off his concerns.
Just as Leyla opened her mouth for a witty remark, her eyes widened as she pointed out the window.
"The Cunts had finally arrived!"
Great chapter Repli loved the wondering about the centralised army and how it lead to the SI reflecting on themselves realising that even through all this they are still themselves. Love all the added lore with the religous violence and how pressed the FOT7 is in this unvierse by a schism (very catholic coded) hopefully Repli SI won't go completly mad when he realises this shit did not happen in cannon. Also really loved all the banter at the table and how what defeated Leyla was more sheep herder marriage proposals.
A Reason to Live Chapter 11: Faith
- Location
- Singapore
A Reason to Live Chapter 11: Faith
"Heratics."
"Icon breakers. Burn them all and let the Gods sort them out."
"They deserve excommunication. So why..."
Were the words murmured by a restless crowd, held in check by a line of stern-faced gold cloaks. Angry and rage-filled faces stared at the Baelorties as the heretics walked past them.
He did not understand the crowd's hate.
They looked so pitiful and downtrodden. Barefooted and wearing worn-out robes, the delegation of septons and their motley retinues stared at the restless crowd with sunken, condemned eyes as they walked towards the Sept of Baelor.
All except one.
Naked as the day he was born. His body was marked with crisscrossed whipped scars, leaving no hint of unmarked skin. Thin arms, all bones, and not a hint of muscle. hang limply on his sides. His ribs shined an unnatural glisten under the blazing afternoon sun. Sat on top of a mule like one of the ancient Septon kings of old, a crown of thistles and thorns adorned his head. His wide, ecstatic smile of religious favor stood out like a newborn star in a delegation of grim faces and resignation.
Staring at the crazed Septon smile, he realized this wasn't a council of faith, but a glorified execution ground. With the condemned gladdened to be martyrs for their faith.
"Why is he so ecstatic?"
Leyla turned her head to face him, a questioning look on her face. "Hmm?"
"The naked septon on the mule."
"Oh. Right. Him." Leyla's face turned dark. "The crowned one. Lead a sect that spread like wildfire across the Riverlands. Preaching death to dragons and end to the doctrine of exceptionalism. Also burned weirwood groves as well as lynched any old gods' worshippers he and his devotees could get their hands on."
"That doesn't explain the whipped markings on his back, though." Oscar interrupted, eyes staring at the mad septon in question. "Did the madman do that to himself?"
"Hmmm, I am not too sure about the specifics," Leyla said as she scratched her cheek, embarrassed. "The other day I heard from the regular in the Library that the Crowned one whipped himself in penance for every sin he committed in his life. Yet, my father said instead of penance, the mad septon whipped himself to be closer to the Gods themselves. It's probably both?"
"Madness. How does inflicting suffering on oneself, just…get you closer to the gods?" Oscar incredulously replied.
"Hey don't look at me, I am not a theologist alright."
"His emaciated figure. His mouth missing teeth and cracked lips. By deliberately starving himself, the Crowned one probably sought to attain a higher state of existence by getting rid of all earthly desires, as the Blessed did." He blurted out, mind far away in another world where such practices were not uncommon in some religions.
"Ho ho, Seemed like you are interested in the faith, heh." Leyla smirked, her hand petting his back not too gently. "We could a septon out of you yet, heh."
"Please don't joke about that."
"You could read all the books you ever want!"
"I still could do that in your library, women."
"Oi, you two quiet down," Oscar said, squinting his eyes ahead, scanning the horizon. "I think someone is coming to meet the Baelorites. Well, a lot of someones are moving."
"Wait wait, who is it? Who is it?" Leyla squeaked, shoving her head towards the wooden window.
"Oi, don't hog the window all to yourself! Some people want to see as well!" Oscar said as he shoved his body against Leyla, causing her to fall on the Tavern floor.
"Fine! Fine, not like I could see, anyway. It's just a mess of colors and blurred figures, so you can have the view all for yourself." She said as she got up, dusting her skirt. He noticed Oscar had an unexpected flash of hurt and… is that guilt?
Interesting. His brother is keeping secrets. Well, it wasn't his business to interfere, anyway. He has to do something before things get awkward.
"I could recount who is coming to meet the heretics?" He offered to Leyla, who was trying her busy to act nonchalant with a mask of indifference.
(He did not dare point out her tight white knuckle grip on her skirt.)
"It's alright." She instinctively responded. Only to pause and consider for a moment. "Never mind, just tell me what is going on because my eyes are worse than a blind spinster." Leyla grinned as she patted his back. Again.
"Sorry for pushing you down. I should have known better." Oscar apologized, eyes looking away from her with guilt.
"It's fine, really. I was being an ass anyway, so it's warranted." Leyla easily replied with a smile as she stared outside the window, eyes squinting at the delegation slowly meandering its way through the crowded street.
"Hey, Book Keeper."
"Yeah?" He replied with a jolt, mind elsewhere.
"Describe the septon on the right side of the Crowned ass on a mule." She murmured, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
Dark-haired. A tired, resigned look on his scar-riddled face. On his belt, a wooden scabbard carrying a sword. Holding a rainbow banner with his right hand, While, his left hand… he has no left hand.
"Dark-haired with scars on his face. Lost his left hand and carried a rainbow banner. Also carrying a sword on his belt." He replied.
"Ah, the half-handed warrior son," Oscar responded with a frown on his face.
"I thought they had disbanded the Faith Militant?" Leyla, for once, looked puzzled." Leyla, for once, looked puzzled.
"Well, it's more of a title than anything else," Oscar said as he pinched his nose bridge. "From the rumors I heard on the docks, he was once from a minor noble house but had a falling out. Heard whispers he was behind several peasant uprisings in the Westerlands. But the Crown and the Lannister's could not trace his involvement. He always got away in the end."
"Wait then, why he is here?" Leyla said, bewildered. "The half hand knows he is going to be executed, right? Involvement or not, he is under suspicion of committing treason. That is enough to get him on the gallows."
"What better way to die than to be a martyr for your faith?" He murmured. "Or the half hand probably was relying on the High Septon goodwill or something to not get his neck snapped. Either way, he wins in the end."
"Yes, but still-." Only for her response to be interrupted by the chanting of a victorious hymn.
Something approaches.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We praise thee, O Seven, who are one. We acknowledge thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth worship thee, the Seven everlasting.
To thee Father above, the heavens, and all the powers therein.
We pray thee, help thy servants:
Day by day: we magnify thee;
And we worship thy name: ever world without end.
Vouchsafe, O Father above, to keep us this day without sin.
O Mother, have mercy upon us: have mercy upon us.
O Mother, let thy mercy lighten upon us:
as our trust is in thee.
O Father, in thee have I trusted: let me never be confounded.
He had seen nothing like it in his brief existence living here.
A twin four-men column of slowly meandering its way to meet the Baelorite delegation. On the left, in a two-man column, marched King Aegon IV knights and men of arms. Resplendent in shining plate armor and chain mail painted with the Targaryen three-headed dragon heraldry. Armed with Intimidating halberds and two-handed pikes, they send a message that the Dynasty is watching the proceedings closely.
A message that's hammered home by the Man chosen to head the King's retinue. Leading from the front riding a black stallion and wearing his signature white gold three-headed dragon crest helmet, there was no mistaking him.
Aemon Targaryen. Lord Commander of the Kings guard.
Dragon Knight.
On the right, marched the less martially intimidating but still imposing faith contingent. In a twin column the septo- no Most Devout walked barefooted, singing hymns praising the father above, beseeching the aspect of the Seven for judgment against the Baelorites. Yet their fine silver vestments and crystal coronals undercut their supposed humility and piety. Their trust in peaceful dialogue was as thin as the barely disguised mail armor hidden underneath their official attires.
But it seemed the crowd could not see through the hypocrisy on display. As the columns slowly made their way through the street, the once rambunctious crowd fell silent and, as one, bent the knee and prayed.
But some stand.
Stand despite the thinly veiled insults hidden within the hymns. Eyes with murderous intent within them, despite the display of bare steel. Worn out half-starved figures wearing tattered clothing, they stand despite the shower of silver stags thrown by the Most Devout as they sang. Stand despite the gold cloaks, shouts and beatings to kneel in front of an official emissary of the High Septon.
Still, they stand. Eyes forward.
For coins could not buy their faith in something greater than themselves.
"We s-should probably kneel too, right?" Oscar whispered as his face seemed… pale.
"We probably should be fine. Wait, is there anyone kneeling too?" Leyla said as she looked around the pin-drop silent tavern. Everyone else was busy watching the proceedings instead of praying. Even the Tavern Owner was hogging a wooden window to himself, much to his family's collective annoyance. "Y-yeah, we should be fine, I guess. More importantly, is the Dragon Knight pretty? Can't see his face from here."
"As ugly as a boar."
"That helmet is blocking his face, Leyla."
"Hmmm…. Disappointing. Ah well made sense, I supposed." Leyla let out a huff. "Describe the Baelorite response for me, please?"
Baelorites, Baelorites.
Lucky that everyone is kneeling made it easier to watch what's happening without the pesky crowd hindering the view.
"Umm, it seemed they are pretty unamused. The Crowned One looked really ecstatic, though, like he was visiting a long-dead relative or something. The half hand looked as if he just swallowed his own shit." He replied curtly. Well, he might understate somewhat. The Crowned One was getting too excited. Murmuring to himself and gesturing wildly about something, much to the discomfort of the other Baelorites who gave him a wide berth.
Except for the Half Hand. He stared straight ahead with death in his eyes.
"Well, it is the Dragon Knight we are talking about here. It made sense why they are so twitchy." Oscar scoffed. "Especially the Half Hand."
"Why especially the Half hand?" Leyla said as she swiveled her head towards Oscar, accidentally hitting his brother's mouth.
"YOUCH."
"OI KEEP YE MOUTH SHUT. THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE YE HEAR ME." The Tavern Keeper yelled out, his beady eyes previously staring outside the window now turned to glare at Oscar.
"Sorry! Sorry." Oscar apologized with an amiable smile. Hands up in a placating gesture.
"Fuckin better be, humph." The Tavern Keeper sneered, his eyes turned back towards the window. He noticed several other patrons were also glaring at his brother for causing a scene.
Bah, busybodies should mind their own damn business. Best to ignore them.
"Does it hurt?" Leyla frowned, staring at Oscar's lips, as a slight bruise just beginning to form. "I shouldn't have turned my head too fast. It was my fault!"
"It's fine, honestly it is not a big deal." His brother said, waving off her concern. "Anyway, where was I?"
"Half hand and Dragon Knight." He chipped in helpfully a history lesson, not something he wanted to miss at all.
"Right, right. Hmm, where to begin with that one?"
"The beginning?" Leyla smirked, a cheeky smile on her face.
"Haha, hilarious." Oscar's deadpan expression said otherwise. "But anyway, no one is sure how it begins. From the rumors I heard, the Half Hand lost his hand in a duel with the Dragon Knight."
"Yes, and the Stranger himself has massive tits." He snorted. That the Lord Commander of the King's guard would duel someone like that, he found it to be an absolute farce.
"It's just rumours, no one knows for sure. Maybe he lost his hand in an uprising. Maybe he just hates the dragons for the simple reason they exist. Fuck knows. But knowing you, you cannot accept that, eh little brother?" His mildly infuriating brother said with a smug grin on his face. "Always have to know everything. It's frustrating, isn't it? We could never know what happened unless we asked him personally. Even then. Is it truly the truth? When the person in question has no reason to say what really happened in that time and place." A melancholy look wiped the grin off his face then.
For a moment, there was only silence.
He might be an idiot, but he knew his brother, as carefree as he liked to portray himself to be, had a heavy burden on his back. Sometimes he would sequester away that burden, not allowing everyone to see it. Sometimes, however, Oscar slipped up and he could glimpse it.
The future. Employment. Expectation. Responsibility.
The burden of the eldest.
Some things transcend realities, after all.
He might be an idiot. But he knows he has to do something about it. What is happening on the streets at this very moment might be of extreme historical importance and he would never in his remaining lifespan get another chance to witness it in person.
But he needs to have this conversation. It's important. For him.
But just as he lifts his head up (Since when he is staring at the tavern floor?), he feels two pairs of hands messing with his bed hair.
"It's just like you said, so greasy," Leyla said with a stern face yet gleeful eyes betraying her true feelings.
"But it's so nice to mess with." The traitor, that shall not be named, smiled with a nostalgic look on his face. "He liked it if you tugged his hair harder. Try it."
He, in fact, did not like his hair to be tugged.
"Huh. Interesting." No, please don't remember this moment. Why does this always happen when he is about to have a serious conversation?
"Ah, but your angry face is gone now. See, you are pouting. Pouting! It's hard to believe, considering he always wears a serious expression on his face." Leyla said as she bust into quiet laughter.
He did not, in fact, pout.
"Still, you don't need to worry so much. I got it handled." The traitor said with a wave of his hand. "Besides, I am the oldest so, It's my responsibility after all. Give it a couple of days and all this shit would just sort itself out, anyway. So smile for me, alright."
Liar. Liar. Liar.
But he cannot do anything about it.
All he can do is have some faith.
"...That's probably the worst smile I've ever seen."
Coming from a shut-in bookworm with no friends, that's some next-level hypocrisy.
"But he is trying, at least! And it's charming alright." The traitor said gleefully.
Why does this happen every time he is trying to be serious?
Ah well, there is always next time. Right now, he has to divert the attention and the embarrassment somewhere else.
"Oi. The Welcoming party finally reached the heretics, show, about to get started," He said, thumb pointing outside the tavern.
"Wait really?!?" Leyla swiveled her head towards the window, her arms not too gently slamming his spine. "Quick narrate for me!"
One of these days, he is going to introduce the concept of medical insurance. Christ.
"Seriously, go get a pair of glasses or something."
"Oi, don't ruin the mood alright."
"Right, right? Just a joke…"
For a moment, he nearly missed Oscar's slightly widened eyes and stiffening back.
….
It's probably nothing. And even if is something, his brother would sort it out somehow. He should just relax and stop being so damn paranoid. Show is about to get started, anyway.
But the sense of uneasiness just won't go away. Maybe it's just the tense atmosphere. Or the restless murmuring in the background. The sneers and constant whispering on the street. Perhaps it's the way the Gold Cloaks holding their wooden cudgels with an iron grip? Could be the tight smiles of the Septons or the stiff rim rod postures of the men of arms marching.
It's most likely he is just being paranoid. But still. He could feel it in the air.
Something bad is going to happen.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Halfhand. Heretic. Iconoclast. Mad man.
Titles his detractors heaped upon him. A mockery to spit on.
Champion. Holy Septon. Living Saint. Hugor reborn.
Titles acclaimed by his flock. A living embodiment of the Faith renewed.
Bastard. Penniless. Hedge Knight. Bereaved Father.
Titles he gave himself in his secret heart. Penance for sins of a previous life.
Titles. In a life before this one, he would have died for a single one. Had died for one. Now he had so many titles that he had forgotten his own name. Discarded away in the sands of time.
The name of a broke, mediocre hedge knight who won no tourneys is not something worth remembering.
Truth be told, he had half forgotten it as well. No point in remembering his tormented past. It's best to bury it deep and forget about it.
Yet staring at the loathsome dragon devil in front of him, his past came screaming back from the seven hells. Demanding justice. Vengeance.The Seven who are one will it. Why else had he survived this long where so many else had fallen? It's for this day and this day alone. Oh, how he yearned to plunge the banner of the Seven into that Arch devil's foul heart himself!
But alas, as much as his heart wished for it, he could not, for he had been given bread and salt. The sacred laws of hospitality demand no harm shall be given or received by both parties till they leave the city.
Till they leave the city.
He held onto that thought like a man gasping for his final breath. Faith has led him this far. It would lead him for a few more weeks. Then, only then, he could finally rest.
"Hail Septon Eustance and esteemed emissaries, His Excellency and Most Reverend Eminence, Most Devout Septon Hugh, by the grace of the Seven who are One and of the Holy College of Most Devouts, Archsepton of Duskendale, Grandmaster of the Seventist. Welcome thee to Kings Landing." the Herald announced, a pungy, fat Septon that could barely walk with his two legs.
Silence. Silence is the answer they gave for false hospitality and false friends. How many times does history repeat itself? He wondered. The false truces brokered, only for it to be broken by the dragon devils. Eager to end the true faith once and for all. Yet only to realise they overreach themselves in their false crusades. For every one of his brothers that fall, a dozen more sects rise. Then parley. Only for it to repeat all over again.
Castemare. Ashemark. Oldtown.
Tired. He realized. He was tired. A decade of service, only to be hunted down like dogs. Ten summers he preached the teachings of the Blessed One, only for it all to be nought. For the traitorous hand whispered evil onto the lords and knights, casting the true devotees down into the mud to wallow.
But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough for the traitor dog. No. For the Blessed One was too pure for this earthly realm and his spirit reveal the holy truth to those around him.
Kinslayer. Usurper.
May he burn in the seven hells for all eternity.
"Septon Eustace. It's been a while since we last met. Was it in Oldtown? The years have not been kind to you." The Most Devout said with a false smile on his lips.
"I have no words to say to a traitorous turn cloak such as you." The Crowned One sneered, much to the horror and shocked gasps of the surrounding flock. "Save thy poison for later, in the halls of the blessed one."
From the corner of his eyes, he witnessed the Dragon Knight grip on his reins tighten. Good. If that bastard lost his temper and made martyrs of them all even better. But alas, that's just a childish fantasy.
"And what was I supposed to do? Let your ilk burn all those you claimed to be deviants from the truth faith? Let thee make a mockery of our faith? Who are you to decide that?"
"Prior to his unjust imprisonment, the Blessed one himself gave his sanction to it!" The Crowned one's normally serene face twisted into a rictus of anger. "The Living avatar of the faith saw our works and deemed it true!' Unusual. The Crowned One was not one to quick to anger.
But he noticed it. The surrounding flock buzzed with murmuring. Angry murmuring. Frowning faces and sneers, scowling at the Crowned one speech. He spots a few sheep clenching fists, one or two even passing stones and cudgels.
Ah.
He sees it now.
"Aye, and we all suffered for it." The Most Devout said with false sorrow. "But the time for such words isn't here. Come. We shall escort you to the Red Keep."
No, that wouldn't do. That would not do at all. "Aye and as ye and your false knights shed your swords onto our flesh, just like in Old Town." He sneered. "Ye vile tongue won't sway us cur."
"Insolent bastard!"
"Blasmephy!"
'Cast him down!" Were the words screamed by hundreds of voices as the thin line of gold cloaks strained to control the flock of headless sheep. The crowd threw stones and other refuse at his fellow entourage, who all scrambled to cover their faces and bodies from the oncoming projectiles.
Except for the Crowned One. Whom, instead, just laugh heartily at the angry sheep lashing out towards their true shepherds.
He nod in approval. Theirs is a war for mankind's eternal salvation.Though tragic, the misled congregants were not to be blame for their transgressions, for they were ignorant of the beliefs of the true faith.
Nay, the ones who truly sinned are the ones in front of him.
"Peace, peace, they are under the protection of the Crown!" The Most Devout shouted, weaving his arms in a placating gesture, "We grant them bread and salt, and the grace of the Seven provides them with free passage!"" Yet his words are for nought as the flock surged forward once more, hurling abuse and stones. Only to be stopped cold by the gold cloaks improvised shieldwall. For now. He yearned that the misled flock would succeed. By being martyred right here in the city that was once the center of their true faith, disgracing the schismatics and their teachings.
An unwelcome cough dashed those thoughts tinged with pious hope.
"You and I remember Old Town differently, Half hand."
So the Dragon Knight has a tongue, after all.
"False words from a false knight held no sway to those of the true faith." He grinned, half rotten teeth glisten in the burning sun. "I prayed for your soul eternal salvation, repent for ye sins while you still can dragon knight."
The Dragon Knight shook his head in false sympathy. "I see the burning summer sun had not only burned your tongue but soften your wits as well. No matter." Insult given he turned towards the Most Devout, whom is trying his best to calm the raging flock. "Septon Hugh, my men are ready, but we need to hurry. The Gold cloaks could only hold the mob at bay for so long." He said as he skillfully wavered his stallion from several rotten cabbages being thrown at him.
There are still those who kept to the true faith within the misled flock.
His grin widened.
"Aye, you have the right of it, my prince." The Most Devout coughed. "Come now Septon Eustace and quickly, we can't guarantee your safety for much longer."
That would not do. "Aye, we need to move fast. Pity we left our mounts at the city gate." He snarkily replied.
"We do not have time for this, my pri-"
"FOR THE TRUE FAITH! DEATH TO THE DRAGONS UPHOLD THE STARS."
He saw it.
He saw the stone launched by a woman dressed in rags. He saw her being clubbed by a gold cloak Sargent. Witnessed the stone struck the Most Devout skull. With glee he laughed as the Septon fell to the stone pavement, unmoving.
He laughed even as the crowd surged forward, overwhelming the gold cloaks. Laughed even as they hacked one of his fellow true septon to pieces.
He is still laughing as the Dragon Knight struck him with the side of his blade.
For once in a long while.
Darkness.
"Heratics."
"Icon breakers. Burn them all and let the Gods sort them out."
"They deserve excommunication. So why..."
Were the words murmured by a restless crowd, held in check by a line of stern-faced gold cloaks. Angry and rage-filled faces stared at the Baelorties as the heretics walked past them.
He did not understand the crowd's hate.
They looked so pitiful and downtrodden. Barefooted and wearing worn-out robes, the delegation of septons and their motley retinues stared at the restless crowd with sunken, condemned eyes as they walked towards the Sept of Baelor.
All except one.
Naked as the day he was born. His body was marked with crisscrossed whipped scars, leaving no hint of unmarked skin. Thin arms, all bones, and not a hint of muscle. hang limply on his sides. His ribs shined an unnatural glisten under the blazing afternoon sun. Sat on top of a mule like one of the ancient Septon kings of old, a crown of thistles and thorns adorned his head. His wide, ecstatic smile of religious favor stood out like a newborn star in a delegation of grim faces and resignation.
Staring at the crazed Septon smile, he realized this wasn't a council of faith, but a glorified execution ground. With the condemned gladdened to be martyrs for their faith.
"Why is he so ecstatic?"
Leyla turned her head to face him, a questioning look on her face. "Hmm?"
"The naked septon on the mule."
"Oh. Right. Him." Leyla's face turned dark. "The crowned one. Lead a sect that spread like wildfire across the Riverlands. Preaching death to dragons and end to the doctrine of exceptionalism. Also burned weirwood groves as well as lynched any old gods' worshippers he and his devotees could get their hands on."
"That doesn't explain the whipped markings on his back, though." Oscar interrupted, eyes staring at the mad septon in question. "Did the madman do that to himself?"
"Hmmm, I am not too sure about the specifics," Leyla said as she scratched her cheek, embarrassed. "The other day I heard from the regular in the Library that the Crowned one whipped himself in penance for every sin he committed in his life. Yet, my father said instead of penance, the mad septon whipped himself to be closer to the Gods themselves. It's probably both?"
"Madness. How does inflicting suffering on oneself, just…get you closer to the gods?" Oscar incredulously replied.
"Hey don't look at me, I am not a theologist alright."
"His emaciated figure. His mouth missing teeth and cracked lips. By deliberately starving himself, the Crowned one probably sought to attain a higher state of existence by getting rid of all earthly desires, as the Blessed did." He blurted out, mind far away in another world where such practices were not uncommon in some religions.
"Ho ho, Seemed like you are interested in the faith, heh." Leyla smirked, her hand petting his back not too gently. "We could a septon out of you yet, heh."
"Please don't joke about that."
"You could read all the books you ever want!"
"I still could do that in your library, women."
"Oi, you two quiet down," Oscar said, squinting his eyes ahead, scanning the horizon. "I think someone is coming to meet the Baelorites. Well, a lot of someones are moving."
"Wait wait, who is it? Who is it?" Leyla squeaked, shoving her head towards the wooden window.
"Oi, don't hog the window all to yourself! Some people want to see as well!" Oscar said as he shoved his body against Leyla, causing her to fall on the Tavern floor.
"Fine! Fine, not like I could see, anyway. It's just a mess of colors and blurred figures, so you can have the view all for yourself." She said as she got up, dusting her skirt. He noticed Oscar had an unexpected flash of hurt and… is that guilt?
Interesting. His brother is keeping secrets. Well, it wasn't his business to interfere, anyway. He has to do something before things get awkward.
"I could recount who is coming to meet the heretics?" He offered to Leyla, who was trying her busy to act nonchalant with a mask of indifference.
(He did not dare point out her tight white knuckle grip on her skirt.)
"It's alright." She instinctively responded. Only to pause and consider for a moment. "Never mind, just tell me what is going on because my eyes are worse than a blind spinster." Leyla grinned as she patted his back. Again.
"Sorry for pushing you down. I should have known better." Oscar apologized, eyes looking away from her with guilt.
"It's fine, really. I was being an ass anyway, so it's warranted." Leyla easily replied with a smile as she stared outside the window, eyes squinting at the delegation slowly meandering its way through the crowded street.
"Hey, Book Keeper."
"Yeah?" He replied with a jolt, mind elsewhere.
"Describe the septon on the right side of the Crowned ass on a mule." She murmured, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
Dark-haired. A tired, resigned look on his scar-riddled face. On his belt, a wooden scabbard carrying a sword. Holding a rainbow banner with his right hand, While, his left hand… he has no left hand.
"Dark-haired with scars on his face. Lost his left hand and carried a rainbow banner. Also carrying a sword on his belt." He replied.
"Ah, the half-handed warrior son," Oscar responded with a frown on his face.
"I thought they had disbanded the Faith Militant?" Leyla, for once, looked puzzled." Leyla, for once, looked puzzled.
"Well, it's more of a title than anything else," Oscar said as he pinched his nose bridge. "From the rumors I heard on the docks, he was once from a minor noble house but had a falling out. Heard whispers he was behind several peasant uprisings in the Westerlands. But the Crown and the Lannister's could not trace his involvement. He always got away in the end."
"Wait then, why he is here?" Leyla said, bewildered. "The half hand knows he is going to be executed, right? Involvement or not, he is under suspicion of committing treason. That is enough to get him on the gallows."
"What better way to die than to be a martyr for your faith?" He murmured. "Or the half hand probably was relying on the High Septon goodwill or something to not get his neck snapped. Either way, he wins in the end."
"Yes, but still-." Only for her response to be interrupted by the chanting of a victorious hymn.
Something approaches.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We praise thee, O Seven, who are one. We acknowledge thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth worship thee, the Seven everlasting.
To thee Father above, the heavens, and all the powers therein.
We pray thee, help thy servants:
Day by day: we magnify thee;
And we worship thy name: ever world without end.
Vouchsafe, O Father above, to keep us this day without sin.
O Mother, have mercy upon us: have mercy upon us.
O Mother, let thy mercy lighten upon us:
as our trust is in thee.
O Father, in thee have I trusted: let me never be confounded.
He had seen nothing like it in his brief existence living here.
A twin four-men column of slowly meandering its way to meet the Baelorite delegation. On the left, in a two-man column, marched King Aegon IV knights and men of arms. Resplendent in shining plate armor and chain mail painted with the Targaryen three-headed dragon heraldry. Armed with Intimidating halberds and two-handed pikes, they send a message that the Dynasty is watching the proceedings closely.
A message that's hammered home by the Man chosen to head the King's retinue. Leading from the front riding a black stallion and wearing his signature white gold three-headed dragon crest helmet, there was no mistaking him.
Aemon Targaryen. Lord Commander of the Kings guard.
Dragon Knight.
On the right, marched the less martially intimidating but still imposing faith contingent. In a twin column the septo- no Most Devout walked barefooted, singing hymns praising the father above, beseeching the aspect of the Seven for judgment against the Baelorites. Yet their fine silver vestments and crystal coronals undercut their supposed humility and piety. Their trust in peaceful dialogue was as thin as the barely disguised mail armor hidden underneath their official attires.
But it seemed the crowd could not see through the hypocrisy on display. As the columns slowly made their way through the street, the once rambunctious crowd fell silent and, as one, bent the knee and prayed.
But some stand.
Stand despite the thinly veiled insults hidden within the hymns. Eyes with murderous intent within them, despite the display of bare steel. Worn out half-starved figures wearing tattered clothing, they stand despite the shower of silver stags thrown by the Most Devout as they sang. Stand despite the gold cloaks, shouts and beatings to kneel in front of an official emissary of the High Septon.
Still, they stand. Eyes forward.
For coins could not buy their faith in something greater than themselves.
"We s-should probably kneel too, right?" Oscar whispered as his face seemed… pale.
"We probably should be fine. Wait, is there anyone kneeling too?" Leyla said as she looked around the pin-drop silent tavern. Everyone else was busy watching the proceedings instead of praying. Even the Tavern Owner was hogging a wooden window to himself, much to his family's collective annoyance. "Y-yeah, we should be fine, I guess. More importantly, is the Dragon Knight pretty? Can't see his face from here."
"As ugly as a boar."
"That helmet is blocking his face, Leyla."
"Hmmm…. Disappointing. Ah well made sense, I supposed." Leyla let out a huff. "Describe the Baelorite response for me, please?"
Baelorites, Baelorites.
Lucky that everyone is kneeling made it easier to watch what's happening without the pesky crowd hindering the view.
"Umm, it seemed they are pretty unamused. The Crowned One looked really ecstatic, though, like he was visiting a long-dead relative or something. The half hand looked as if he just swallowed his own shit." He replied curtly. Well, he might understate somewhat. The Crowned One was getting too excited. Murmuring to himself and gesturing wildly about something, much to the discomfort of the other Baelorites who gave him a wide berth.
Except for the Half Hand. He stared straight ahead with death in his eyes.
"Well, it is the Dragon Knight we are talking about here. It made sense why they are so twitchy." Oscar scoffed. "Especially the Half Hand."
"Why especially the Half hand?" Leyla said as she swiveled her head towards Oscar, accidentally hitting his brother's mouth.
"YOUCH."
"OI KEEP YE MOUTH SHUT. THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE YE HEAR ME." The Tavern Keeper yelled out, his beady eyes previously staring outside the window now turned to glare at Oscar.
"Sorry! Sorry." Oscar apologized with an amiable smile. Hands up in a placating gesture.
"Fuckin better be, humph." The Tavern Keeper sneered, his eyes turned back towards the window. He noticed several other patrons were also glaring at his brother for causing a scene.
Bah, busybodies should mind their own damn business. Best to ignore them.
"Does it hurt?" Leyla frowned, staring at Oscar's lips, as a slight bruise just beginning to form. "I shouldn't have turned my head too fast. It was my fault!"
"It's fine, honestly it is not a big deal." His brother said, waving off her concern. "Anyway, where was I?"
"Half hand and Dragon Knight." He chipped in helpfully a history lesson, not something he wanted to miss at all.
"Right, right. Hmm, where to begin with that one?"
"The beginning?" Leyla smirked, a cheeky smile on her face.
"Haha, hilarious." Oscar's deadpan expression said otherwise. "But anyway, no one is sure how it begins. From the rumors I heard, the Half Hand lost his hand in a duel with the Dragon Knight."
"Yes, and the Stranger himself has massive tits." He snorted. That the Lord Commander of the King's guard would duel someone like that, he found it to be an absolute farce.
"It's just rumours, no one knows for sure. Maybe he lost his hand in an uprising. Maybe he just hates the dragons for the simple reason they exist. Fuck knows. But knowing you, you cannot accept that, eh little brother?" His mildly infuriating brother said with a smug grin on his face. "Always have to know everything. It's frustrating, isn't it? We could never know what happened unless we asked him personally. Even then. Is it truly the truth? When the person in question has no reason to say what really happened in that time and place." A melancholy look wiped the grin off his face then.
For a moment, there was only silence.
He might be an idiot, but he knew his brother, as carefree as he liked to portray himself to be, had a heavy burden on his back. Sometimes he would sequester away that burden, not allowing everyone to see it. Sometimes, however, Oscar slipped up and he could glimpse it.
The future. Employment. Expectation. Responsibility.
The burden of the eldest.
Some things transcend realities, after all.
He might be an idiot. But he knows he has to do something about it. What is happening on the streets at this very moment might be of extreme historical importance and he would never in his remaining lifespan get another chance to witness it in person.
But he needs to have this conversation. It's important. For him.
But just as he lifts his head up (Since when he is staring at the tavern floor?), he feels two pairs of hands messing with his bed hair.
"It's just like you said, so greasy," Leyla said with a stern face yet gleeful eyes betraying her true feelings.
"But it's so nice to mess with." The traitor, that shall not be named, smiled with a nostalgic look on his face. "He liked it if you tugged his hair harder. Try it."
He, in fact, did not like his hair to be tugged.
"Huh. Interesting." No, please don't remember this moment. Why does this always happen when he is about to have a serious conversation?
"Ah, but your angry face is gone now. See, you are pouting. Pouting! It's hard to believe, considering he always wears a serious expression on his face." Leyla said as she bust into quiet laughter.
He did not, in fact, pout.
"Still, you don't need to worry so much. I got it handled." The traitor said with a wave of his hand. "Besides, I am the oldest so, It's my responsibility after all. Give it a couple of days and all this shit would just sort itself out, anyway. So smile for me, alright."
Liar. Liar. Liar.
But he cannot do anything about it.
All he can do is have some faith.
"...That's probably the worst smile I've ever seen."
Coming from a shut-in bookworm with no friends, that's some next-level hypocrisy.
"But he is trying, at least! And it's charming alright." The traitor said gleefully.
Why does this happen every time he is trying to be serious?
Ah well, there is always next time. Right now, he has to divert the attention and the embarrassment somewhere else.
"Oi. The Welcoming party finally reached the heretics, show, about to get started," He said, thumb pointing outside the tavern.
"Wait really?!?" Leyla swiveled her head towards the window, her arms not too gently slamming his spine. "Quick narrate for me!"
One of these days, he is going to introduce the concept of medical insurance. Christ.
"Seriously, go get a pair of glasses or something."
"Oi, don't ruin the mood alright."
"Right, right? Just a joke…"
For a moment, he nearly missed Oscar's slightly widened eyes and stiffening back.
….
It's probably nothing. And even if is something, his brother would sort it out somehow. He should just relax and stop being so damn paranoid. Show is about to get started, anyway.
But the sense of uneasiness just won't go away. Maybe it's just the tense atmosphere. Or the restless murmuring in the background. The sneers and constant whispering on the street. Perhaps it's the way the Gold Cloaks holding their wooden cudgels with an iron grip? Could be the tight smiles of the Septons or the stiff rim rod postures of the men of arms marching.
It's most likely he is just being paranoid. But still. He could feel it in the air.
Something bad is going to happen.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Halfhand. Heretic. Iconoclast. Mad man.
Titles his detractors heaped upon him. A mockery to spit on.
Champion. Holy Septon. Living Saint. Hugor reborn.
Titles acclaimed by his flock. A living embodiment of the Faith renewed.
Bastard. Penniless. Hedge Knight. Bereaved Father.
Titles he gave himself in his secret heart. Penance for sins of a previous life.
Titles. In a life before this one, he would have died for a single one. Had died for one. Now he had so many titles that he had forgotten his own name. Discarded away in the sands of time.
The name of a broke, mediocre hedge knight who won no tourneys is not something worth remembering.
Truth be told, he had half forgotten it as well. No point in remembering his tormented past. It's best to bury it deep and forget about it.
Yet staring at the loathsome dragon devil in front of him, his past came screaming back from the seven hells. Demanding justice. Vengeance.The Seven who are one will it. Why else had he survived this long where so many else had fallen? It's for this day and this day alone. Oh, how he yearned to plunge the banner of the Seven into that Arch devil's foul heart himself!
But alas, as much as his heart wished for it, he could not, for he had been given bread and salt. The sacred laws of hospitality demand no harm shall be given or received by both parties till they leave the city.
Till they leave the city.
He held onto that thought like a man gasping for his final breath. Faith has led him this far. It would lead him for a few more weeks. Then, only then, he could finally rest.
"Hail Septon Eustance and esteemed emissaries, His Excellency and Most Reverend Eminence, Most Devout Septon Hugh, by the grace of the Seven who are One and of the Holy College of Most Devouts, Archsepton of Duskendale, Grandmaster of the Seventist. Welcome thee to Kings Landing." the Herald announced, a pungy, fat Septon that could barely walk with his two legs.
Silence. Silence is the answer they gave for false hospitality and false friends. How many times does history repeat itself? He wondered. The false truces brokered, only for it to be broken by the dragon devils. Eager to end the true faith once and for all. Yet only to realise they overreach themselves in their false crusades. For every one of his brothers that fall, a dozen more sects rise. Then parley. Only for it to repeat all over again.
Castemare. Ashemark. Oldtown.
Tired. He realized. He was tired. A decade of service, only to be hunted down like dogs. Ten summers he preached the teachings of the Blessed One, only for it all to be nought. For the traitorous hand whispered evil onto the lords and knights, casting the true devotees down into the mud to wallow.
But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough for the traitor dog. No. For the Blessed One was too pure for this earthly realm and his spirit reveal the holy truth to those around him.
Kinslayer. Usurper.
May he burn in the seven hells for all eternity.
"Septon Eustace. It's been a while since we last met. Was it in Oldtown? The years have not been kind to you." The Most Devout said with a false smile on his lips.
"I have no words to say to a traitorous turn cloak such as you." The Crowned One sneered, much to the horror and shocked gasps of the surrounding flock. "Save thy poison for later, in the halls of the blessed one."
From the corner of his eyes, he witnessed the Dragon Knight grip on his reins tighten. Good. If that bastard lost his temper and made martyrs of them all even better. But alas, that's just a childish fantasy.
"And what was I supposed to do? Let your ilk burn all those you claimed to be deviants from the truth faith? Let thee make a mockery of our faith? Who are you to decide that?"
"Prior to his unjust imprisonment, the Blessed one himself gave his sanction to it!" The Crowned one's normally serene face twisted into a rictus of anger. "The Living avatar of the faith saw our works and deemed it true!' Unusual. The Crowned One was not one to quick to anger.
But he noticed it. The surrounding flock buzzed with murmuring. Angry murmuring. Frowning faces and sneers, scowling at the Crowned one speech. He spots a few sheep clenching fists, one or two even passing stones and cudgels.
Ah.
He sees it now.
"Aye, and we all suffered for it." The Most Devout said with false sorrow. "But the time for such words isn't here. Come. We shall escort you to the Red Keep."
No, that wouldn't do. That would not do at all. "Aye and as ye and your false knights shed your swords onto our flesh, just like in Old Town." He sneered. "Ye vile tongue won't sway us cur."
"Insolent bastard!"
"Blasmephy!"
'Cast him down!" Were the words screamed by hundreds of voices as the thin line of gold cloaks strained to control the flock of headless sheep. The crowd threw stones and other refuse at his fellow entourage, who all scrambled to cover their faces and bodies from the oncoming projectiles.
Except for the Crowned One. Whom, instead, just laugh heartily at the angry sheep lashing out towards their true shepherds.
He nod in approval. Theirs is a war for mankind's eternal salvation.Though tragic, the misled congregants were not to be blame for their transgressions, for they were ignorant of the beliefs of the true faith.
Nay, the ones who truly sinned are the ones in front of him.
"Peace, peace, they are under the protection of the Crown!" The Most Devout shouted, weaving his arms in a placating gesture, "We grant them bread and salt, and the grace of the Seven provides them with free passage!"" Yet his words are for nought as the flock surged forward once more, hurling abuse and stones. Only to be stopped cold by the gold cloaks improvised shieldwall. For now. He yearned that the misled flock would succeed. By being martyred right here in the city that was once the center of their true faith, disgracing the schismatics and their teachings.
An unwelcome cough dashed those thoughts tinged with pious hope.
"You and I remember Old Town differently, Half hand."
So the Dragon Knight has a tongue, after all.
"False words from a false knight held no sway to those of the true faith." He grinned, half rotten teeth glisten in the burning sun. "I prayed for your soul eternal salvation, repent for ye sins while you still can dragon knight."
The Dragon Knight shook his head in false sympathy. "I see the burning summer sun had not only burned your tongue but soften your wits as well. No matter." Insult given he turned towards the Most Devout, whom is trying his best to calm the raging flock. "Septon Hugh, my men are ready, but we need to hurry. The Gold cloaks could only hold the mob at bay for so long." He said as he skillfully wavered his stallion from several rotten cabbages being thrown at him.
There are still those who kept to the true faith within the misled flock.
His grin widened.
"Aye, you have the right of it, my prince." The Most Devout coughed. "Come now Septon Eustace and quickly, we can't guarantee your safety for much longer."
That would not do. "Aye, we need to move fast. Pity we left our mounts at the city gate." He snarkily replied.
"We do not have time for this, my pri-"
"FOR THE TRUE FAITH! DEATH TO THE DRAGONS UPHOLD THE STARS."
He saw it.
He saw the stone launched by a woman dressed in rags. He saw her being clubbed by a gold cloak Sargent. Witnessed the stone struck the Most Devout skull. With glee he laughed as the Septon fell to the stone pavement, unmoving.
He laughed even as the crowd surged forward, overwhelming the gold cloaks. Laughed even as they hacked one of his fellow true septon to pieces.
He is still laughing as the Dragon Knight struck him with the side of his blade.
For once in a long while.
Darkness.
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- Location
- England
Why is it that so many people see [batshit insane] and think [charismatic]? I want my leaders to be boring, careful and thoughtful.
Should be "Describe".
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- Location
- Singapore
Fixed.
Damn Repli you created a menace here loves his conviction and how willing he is to be the first martyr for what he wants. Also love how much lore and worldbuilding is done in this chapter makes Baelors reign much much worse and gives a better understanding why people hated him.
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