Devola III
Devola stood in the small kitchen of the orphanage. The scent of spices, flour, and crackers filled the air as she and Hot Pie prepared a Westerosi equivalent of mock apple pie Popola came up with. Devola had convinced Septa Yoelith to allow them to use the kitchen. 'Convinced' perhaps was putting things too strongly. The Septa was pretty amiable from the start, hoping to bring a moment of joy into the children's day.
As they worked side by side, Devola could sense the anticipation building within Hot Pie. He found solace and joy in the act of cooking, it's something that's been fairly evident since their first few days in the city and today was no different. Hot pie held an immense focus as they cooked, complimented by the clinking of wood utensils and the occasional burst of laughter.
However, as the pie sat out to cool, Hot Pie's mood seemed to darken. A somber expression settled upon his face, and Devola could see the weight of a painful memory weighing heavily on him. Sensing his distress, she gently placed a comforting hand on his arm.
"What's troubling you, Hot Pie?" Devola asked softly, trying her best to not scare the young boy away from speaking.
Hot Pie sighed, his eyes damp with the start of tears. "I was just remembering cooking with my mother," he began, his voice quivering. "She taught me everything. We used to make pies together kind of like this, and she would tell me stories about my father and the customers who would frequent our bakery. But now..."
His words hung heavy in the air, and Hot Pie's tears began to flow freely. Devola pulled him into a gentle embrace, allowing him a moment to release his grief.
"Loss is indeed difficult, Hot Pie," Devola said, her voice filled with compassion. "It leaves an emptiness that can never truly be filled. But your passion for baking, the joy you bring to others with your creations, in a way is a beautiful tribute to your mother. She would be proud of you, I think. And those memories you hold of her, will always be there."
Hot Pie sniffled, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "You really think so?"
Devola nodded, her tone resolute. "I know so. The love and care you pour into your baking is a testament to the bond you shared with your mother. And in that way, she lives on through you. The loss of those who brought us into this world is no doubt one of the hardest losses to deal with, but all we can do is hope we are doing right by them and do our best to remember the good moments. As for this pie we've made, it will be thoroughly enjoyed I'm certain. The children will savor every bite."
Hot Pie offered a faint smile, a hope rekindled in his eyes. "Thank you, Devola. I needed to hear that."
The aroma of freshly baked pies wafted through the air as Devola and Hot Pie emerged from the small kitchen, carrying trays laden with the delectable treats. The children of the orphanage gathered around, their eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. The sight brought a warm smile to Devola's lips, knowing that this simple gesture would bring them a moment of joy.
Septa Yoelith, the caretaker of the orphanage, stood nearby her eyes filled with gratitude and awe. "Oh, this is a rare treat indeed," she exclaimed, her voice displaying appreciation. "Thank you, Devola and Hot Pie, for bringing such sweetness to these children."
Devola and the septa began to distribute slices of the pie to each child, their faces lighting up with delight as they took their first bite. The flavors no doubt dancing on their tongues, filling the room with a chorus of satisfied murmurs and happy munching.
As Devola watched the children savoring the pie, a sense of contentment washed over her. Seeing their joy and satisfaction was a reward in itself. It was in this moment of shared happiness that Popola quietly entered the orphanage, walking to Devola's right side. She glanced at the scene before them, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"The pies seemed to have turned out wonderfully," Popola whispered, her voice filled with pride. "They must be enjoying every bite."
Devola nodded, her eyes still fixed on the children. "Yes, they seem to love it, it was important to hot pie as well" she replied softly.
Popola then leaned closer to Devola, her voice barely a whisper. "The copper wires are ready," she said. "I'd like to perform the diagnostic as soon as possible."
Devola's gaze went to Popola. She nodded, understanding the importance of the task ahead. But before they left, she took one last glance at the children, bidding a heartfelt goodbye to Septa Yoelith, who still seemed overjoyed.
Together, Devola and Popola walked out of the orphanage, heading back to their home. Recollection of the children's smiles and the taste of the pie lingered in her mind.
Popola and Devola entered their private quarters, Devola took a deep breath, her heart pounding with excitement, knowing that this was a crucial step towards restoring her observer capabilities.
Popola meticulously laid out the necessary tools on a clean surface, her hands steady and precise. She picked up the four copper wires she had acquired, their shimmering surface reflecting the faint light in the room. These wires held the potential to fix or at least improve her technical issues, a gateway to her observer functions.
"Are you ready, Devola?" Popola asked softly, her voice a calming presence amidst the nervous energy.
Devola nodded eagerly, determined to start utilizing her abilities as soon as she was able to. "Yes, Popola. I'm ready," she replied, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.
Popola approached Devola, her gaze focused. With utmost care, she began the process, scanning Devola's neck for the precise location to insert the wires. Her fingertips glowed with a faint pulse of maso energy, a touch of the otherworldly power harnessed for this purpose. With a swift and precise motion, she delicately opened the skin, creating small incisions where the wires would be inserted.
Devola's eyes widened slightly at the sensation, a mild pain and apprehension coursing through her veins. She trusted Popola implicitly, knowing that this was necessary to unlock her dormant abilities.
One by one, Popola carefully placed the copper wires into the incisions, ensuring they were secure and connected to the vital points within Devola's neck. The faint glow of maso energy enveloped the wires, seamlessly integrating them into Devola's being.
Popola, with her expertise in diagnostics, initiates the process by connecting to Devola's system. Devola quickly receiving a query asking if she allowed the sync, she confirmed. Allowing Popola to delve into the depths of Devola's programming. As the diagnostic commences, Devola's vision is immediately affected, flickering with distortions that blend the boundary between reality and code. Hexadecimal and binary characters scrolled before Devola's eyes. Amidst the chaotic display, a dark recollection emerged—the image of salt cascading between towering skyscrapers. The sight triggered an unsettling thought, cryptic symbols and fragmented memories frantically appearing.
Distressed by the disorienting experience, Devola turned to Popola, her voice filled with unease. "Popola, what's happening to me? These memory flashes and the code in my vision... Is this normal during the diagnostic? How long will it last?" Her voice quivered with unease. The unfamiliarity of the situation leaving her anxious, yearning for reassurance and answers.
Popola, ever the kind sister, acknowledged Devola's distress with a calm demeanor. She reached out a hand, gently placing it on Devola's arm. "Devola, I'm so sorry I understand how troubling this must be for you. The appearance of these memories and code is an unintended consequence of the less sophisticated wire route we're using for the diagnostic process. It's like peering into the inner workings of your programming, traversing the intricate pathways of your system from your hard drive, to your processor to your core. It's temporary, I assure you. The strange manifestations will fade as we progress further."
Devola sighed, finding some solace in Popola's comforting words. "I hope you're right, Popola. It's just... unsettling to witness fragments of memories and see these cryptic symbols. It's as if there's a hidden language I'm struggling to comprehend. What could it mean?"
Popola's spoke softly, "Sometimes, our inner workings hold mysteries even we, as androids, struggle to decipher. Our memories and experiences are complex, and they can intertwine in ways that defy logic. The memories you're seeing could hold a deeper significance, but it's not something we can fully grasp at the moment. Right now, our priority is to assess and repair the malfunction."
The diagnostic continued, and Popola tirelessly sifted through lines of code, meticulously examining intricate circuits within Devola's system. Time seemed to blur as minutes turned into hours.
As the moments stretched on, Devola couldn't help but express her growing frustration. "Popola, it feels like we've been at this for ages. Is there any progress? Are we any closer to finding a solution?"
Popola's paused for a moment, a pause that only made her feel more unsettled. "I won't lie to you. This is a complex issue, and the malfunctions in your Observer functions are more extensive than either of us initially anticipated. I've been searching tirelessly, examining every possibility, but..." Popola's voice trailed off, her reluctance evident.
Devola's heart sank as she caught the weight of Popola's unspoken words. She knew what was coming, and it filled her with a deep sense of helplessness. "Tell me, Popola. What's the verdict? Are my Observer functions beyond repair?"
Popola's gaze met Devola's, her voice holding regret. "I'm afraid so, Devola. The damage is extensive, and attempting to salvage the functions could lead to further corruption and complications down the line. I will have to close them off for now, It's a risk we can't afford to take."
Tears welled up in Devola's eyes as she contemplated what she lost. A sense of inadequacy and worthlessness reverberated through her, a crucial part of her identity had been stripped away. It was the hope she had, that she and Popola would be able to accomplish so much together both fully functional. How could she be of any use in the investigation into the missing girl if she couldn't fulfill her observer role? What even was the point?
Popola, sensing Devola's distress approached her slowly, "Devola," she began, voice filled with warmth. "Even without your observer functions, you offer so much to this world, to me, and to the people of Flea Bottom. You have a remarkable social intelligence, an understanding of people and their emotions that surpasses my own. You can connect with them on a level that I could only dream of."
As Popola spoke, Devola's tears began to subside, her attention drawn to her sister's comforting words. She listened intently, realizing that Popola saw her in a light that she hadn't fully recognized herself.
"I've always admired your musical talents, Devola," Popola continued, her voice filled with admiration. "When we sang together, you brought something to the songs that I could never replicate. You evoke emotions and touch people's hearts, a gift that goes beyond any mechanical function or program."
Devola's gaze met Popola's, hope and self-acceptance shining through her sister's eyes as it often did. Of course she understood there was more to her than mere data collection and analysis.
She nodded, a faint smile forming on her lips. She appreciated her sister's kind sentiments and recognized the truth in them. Despite that she was unable to shake the feeling that what was lost was irreplaceable.
Could she truly understand and connect with people in the same profound way without her observer functions? Were her social intelligence and musical talents enough to compensate for this significant loss? How much did her Observer Functions contribute to that intelligence? These thoughts gnawed at her.
Popola, reached out and gently brought her into a quiet hug "Devola, I know it's hard," she said softly "Losing your observer functions feels like a tremendous setback. But remember, you've always had a remarkable capacity for understanding and compassion. It's a part of who you are, independent of any technology."
Devola's eyes met Popola's, "But Popola," she replied, her voice muffled, "my observer functions were more than just a tool. They allowed me to perceive nuances, to analyze emotions, and gain insights that went beyond what I could naturally grasp. They were like a bridge that connected me to the depth of human experiences."
Popola nodded, acknowledging Devola's words. She understood the unique perspective her sister had gained through the observer functions.
.
"You're right, Devola," Popola responded gently. "The observer functions enhanced your understanding, but they were never the sole source of your empathy and connection. They were a tool, but you yourself are what truly allowed you to touch lives and make a difference. You still possess that ability, even without the technology. It was always you."
Devola sighed, knowing her sister spoke the truth, and she wanted to believe it wholeheartedly. Yet, a part of her still clung to the void left within her.
Popola awkwardly was playing with her hair, Devola sensed that Popola still had more to say. "Devola, I did not mention this before and I should have, I may have found something significant regarding Leerah's disappearance. While cross-referencing the coins we found, I managed to get a match. They belonged to Jon Arryn."
If she had a heart she felt it would've skipped a beat there. Jon Arryn, the man she barely knew but who had come to her aid that fateful night. A weight discomfort and disbelief settled over her, struggling to reconcile the image of the helpful stranger with the possibility of his darker involvement. It was a shocking realization to consider he could've had potential involvement in Leerah's disappearance.
Taking a deep breath, Devola reminded herself that humans were complex, capable of both good and ill. She couldn't allow herself to be clouded by preconceptions or assumptions. If there was any chance of uncovering the truth and finding Barra's sister, she needed to remain objective.
A frustration about her malfunctions washed over her again, longing to utilize her observer functions to help locate the girl, understand The Hand of the King's involvement and thats before even considering the other potential can of worms, they faced the past day. The weight of her promise to Barra and herself grew heavier, and the goal of finding Leerah seemed increasingly distant and unrealistic.
Lost in her thoughts, Devola told Popola she would be leaving ensuring her she would be alright. She began to walk away from their abode, footsteps carrying her aimlessly through the city. The world around her faded into the background as she grappled with her thoughts.
As Devola continued her arduous journey through the bustling streets of the city, her senses relatively attuned to the ebb and flow of life around her by now, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Her gaze fixed upon a man seeming to make his way towards her within the throng of people. He didn't stand out from the crowd with his light beard and a face smudged with dirt, a common enough sight amidst the grit and grime of Flea Bottom. Though it was his choice of attire that truly captured her attention.
Dressed in a helm and donning black chain mail, the man's appearance contrasted to the typical tattered clothing worn by many denizens of the lower districts. It was a garb more commonly associated with those who guarded the opulent businesses and establishments that dotted the more privileged areas of the city. Sentinels of more stable businesses in a sense.
She couldn't help but wonder about the man's purpose in this part of the city. Was he a visitor from the higher districts? Were they finally giving flea bottom additional protection?
She delved deep into her mental archive of faces, diligently flipping through the memories she had accumulated over countless weeks here. Faces of residents, passersby, business owners and patrons, all recalled through her memory in a rapid succession of images. But as each face appeared and vanished, none aligned with the man standing before her.
It was frustrating. Devola prided herself on her ability to observe and remember, to connect the dots that others might overlook. But each attempt to unearth a connection only led to dead ends, leaving her with a sense of frustration. If she had her observer function intact she could at the very least identify his age and other biological facts.
"If I wasn't broken this would be easy." She mumbled to herself.
Her social mind, normally so adept at deciphering the intentions of others, faltered in the face of this. Perhaps her sister's words were wrong…
Devola's eyes widened slightly as the man, seemingly oblivious to her lack of recognition, began to speak.
"Good day, esteemed Minstrel," he greeted with a polite nod, his voice resonating with a surprisingly melodic quality. "I come bearing an invitation from Alayaya of Chatayaya's brothel. She has expressed a great interest in your talents and would be honored if you would grace her establishment with a performance this very night."
Devola's curiosity intensified with the mention of the invitation. This was not what she expected from Alayaya, truthfully she was looking out for a woman of the brothel, or a man who would seem a fair bit more out of place here. Yet giving the man a once over. She approved of the women's discretion. The man didn't quite disappear into the backdrop, neither did he catch the gaze of passersby. Those dressed as him were not a common sight but common enough, to not catch too much attention. No doubt a man or woman dressed in the varied attire of the street of silk would be a different manner.
It made her wonder who this man could be, given his attire he could very well simply be a guard for one of the establishments along the street of silk, or any of the even slightly more well off districts.
A slight smile played on her lips as she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "I am honored by Alayaya's invitation. Performing at Chatayaya's brothel would be an excellent opportunity to showcase my talents. Please convey my gratitude to her and inform her that I graciously accept."
While Devola's response conveyed her eagerness to embrace the opportunity, a part of her remained guarded.
The man stilled for a moment regarding Devola with a thoughtful expression before posing his next question. "I've wondered, what compels you and your sister to care for this sorry corner of the city? What drives you to extend your compassion to those who dwell in such strife?"
Devola met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a deep sense of conviction. "Because they are humans, deserving of respect and care," she replied earnestly. "In this world of vast inequalities, it is our duty as fellow beings to uplift one another, to offer solace and support to those who need it the most."
She paused briefly, gathering her thoughts, before continuing. "For me, singing holds a certain power. It carries within it the echoes of memory, the ability to evoke emotions and bring joy. When I sing, it allows me to remember life itself, to connect with the essence of our shared humanity. While I can't speak for what it brings into the minds of others, if I can bring a moment of joy or peace to any one burdened, I believe I have accomplished something meaningful."
The man seemed intrigued by Devola's response. He followed up with a question "Do you believe that a ruler should possess a genuine understanding of the hardships faced by the common people before assuming the mantle of leadership?"
Devola pondered his unexpected inquiry, her brows furrowing slightly as she considered her response. "I cannot claim to fully comprehend the burdens borne by a king, for their experiences and responsibilities are far beyond my grasp," she admitted honestly. "However, the neglect and hardships endured by the residents of Flea Bottom and other districts are palpable and cannot be ignored. Perhaps an experienced ruler, one with a keen eye and empathetic heart, would be better equipped to address the needs and uplift the marginalized."
The man, a smile playing on his lips, expressed his thoughts. "You strike me as one of the finer bards I have encountered. Most are focused solely on pleasing the crowd, but your drive for singing seems ingrained in a broader outlook. It is a refreshing change in these times of turmoil."
Devola felt gratitude from his words, though the true significance behind them eluded her. "Thank you kindly for your words," she replied with genuine appreciation it was nice to hear praise after the day she has had.
With that, the conversation concluded. The man wished her well and departed, leaving Devola to contemplate the encounter.
With the invitation Devola decided to make her way back to their dwelling, she couldn't help but notice the small improvements in the surrounding area. The woodwork seemed more put together, and certain parts appeared cleaner than before. A smile formed as she realized the impact they had made, with the positive changes they had brought. Then her gaze fell upon the bones protruding from some men and women she passed by. It was a disturbing sight, a grim reminder of the prevalent issue of malnourishment and underfeeding that still plagued the district. The discomfort and sickly appearance struck her deeply.
Before heading home, Devola decided to make a brief detour to Meg's shop. As she neared, she noticed that Meg seemed less focused on her than usual, her hands anxiously gripping a knotted belt as she stared down at it with worry, perhaps longing? She wondered what could be troubling her, though given their complicated history she did not think it was the best time to inquire.
To her surprise, the transaction to purchase food from Meg today felt less passive-aggressive. The usual demands for more money were absent, and Devola was grateful that Meg had some bread available instead of just the usual bowl of brown. She bought a few bowls of food and additional bread, her mind already set on distributing them to those in most need.
As Devola walked back to their place, she approached the most destitute individuals she noticed, offering them the sustenance she had acquired. Some men seemed initially offended by the gesture, but they accepted the food nonetheless. They knew that this food, despite being less than ideal, could bring temporary relief, even if the larger issues remained.
Upon re-entering their home, Devola noticed her sister engrossed in sketching a new blueprint. As she took a closer look, she realized that the blueprint depicted the two of them. A guilt swept through her as she berated herself for not being able to salvage her observer functions, causing Popola to delve deeper into alternative methods for scanning. She couldn't help but feel responsible for the diversion of their focus from the city's problems. Delaying their analysis of the broader land.
Her frustration simmering, Devola thought to herself, Why couldn't my observer function just start working again?
Popola noticed Devola's presence and turned around, her expression reflecting embarrassment, undoubtedly wishing that Devola hadn't walked in at that particular moment. Before Popola could apologize, Devola quickly reassured her, "Don't worry about it."
"Popola, someone approached me and invited me to perform at the brothel I mentioned yesterday." Devola informed her.
Popola looked at her with a worried expression but nodded in understanding.
"And you said yes?" she asked cautiously.
Devola nodded in affirmation. "Yes, just as I said I would."
"Well, Devola, if you truly believe that it will help and it's something you want to do, I won't stand in your way," Popola replied, her concern evident. "But I won't deny that I'm still quite worried about it, especially now."
Devola met Popola's gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and muted sadness. "You closed off my observer functions to prevent further issues right?" Popola nodded,
"I hardly used them during our time in King's Landing. This doesn't really change a lot. I do wish they were functioning, but I can't sit here doing nothing, hoping for a miracle."
Popola's gaze softened, and she reached out to Devola, a reassuring touch. "I know you'll be fine, Devola. But that doesn't stop me from being worried."
Nodding in understanding, Devola replied. "If it makes you feel better, I'll give you a description of the brothel and its surroundings. That way, if it gets late and you're worried, you'll know where to find me," Devola offered, hoping to ease Popola's concerns. "But I truly believe everything will be fine."
Popola nodded appreciatively. "That would put my mind at ease. Please let me know how it goes later."
"Of course, Popola," Devola replied with a gentle smile. "There's something else I wanted to discuss. I noticed that despite our efforts, there are still many malnourished and underfed individuals in the district. I detoured and bought some food from Meg, but I know it's not enough. My lack of observer capabilities prevents me from identifying those in most need. I'll go out again and make sure to get more food, especially while you're away. But you should go out as well, I know I've been without my capabilities for awhile but the fact my own technical issues are getting in the way of me helping most effectively in another way is frustrating."
Popola's expression turned sympathetic, understanding Devola's frustration. "You're doing everything you can, Devola. I appreciate your determination. I'll do my best to address the issue while you're gone, but remember, your well-being is important too, be careful."
Devola nodded, appreciation filling her. "Thank you, Popola. I know you're always looking out for me. Speaking of which, while I'm performing on the street of silk, I'll keep an eye and ear out for any mention of Leerah or Jon Arryn." Popola seemed like she was about to raise protest. So she quickly added, " I won't pry, but if anything catches my attention, I'll let you know. I know our focus is on the well-being of the people here, but if there's any mention of anything supernatural or odd in nature, I'll keep that in mind too."
With that, Devola gently strummed her lute, a brief practice to her upcoming performance, as Popola continued with her blueprints.
Devola stepped into the bustling brothel, the soft glow of flickering candles casting a warm ambiance over the room. Her eyes darting across the dimly lit surroundings, taking in the intricate details of the establishment. Colorful banners adorned the walls, many displaying unique patterns. The vibrant hues and meticulous craftsmanship caught her attention, no double a strict sense of artistry and attention to detail going into the craft.
Comparing it to the tavern she had performed at last time, Devola couldn't help but notice that this brothel, though less eye-catching in its overall appearance, exuded an air of refinement. Smooth and polished woodwork adorned the furnishings, giving the place an elegant touch. The pristine condition of much of the establishment spoke volumes about the meticulous upkeep. While there were a few instances of worn wood and long-held stains, they were few and far between, mere blemishes in the strangely immaculate setting.
Devola marveled at the contrast between the brothel and the streets of Flea Bottom. Even a seemingly dirtier spot in the opulent Street of Silk was ten times cleaner than the cleanest places in the impoverished district.
Amidst the vibrant surroundings, Devola's attention was drawn to Alayaya, the woman greeted her with a warm smile no doubt expecting her. Alayaya's presence immediately put Devola more at ease, a familiar face was nice to see.
"Devola! I'm so glad you're here," Alayaya exclaimed, her voice carrying a muted excitement. "We've been looking forward to your performance. Follow me, I'll show you to your spot."
Devola nodded, a slight nervousness still lingering in her eyes, but Alayaya's reassuring smile melted away her worries. She followed Alayaya through the bustling brothel, the sounds of hushed conversations and muffled laughter creating a pleasant backdrop to their footsteps.
As they weaved through the crowd, Alayaya turned to Devola, her voice gentle and soothing. "You're going to do great, Devola. Many patrons here appreciate the beauty of foreign music, and I have no doubt that your performance will enchant many."
Devola felt a surge of confidence welling within her, buoyed by Alayaya's encouraging words. "Thank you, Alayaya. I'll do my best," she replied, her voice conveying gratitude.
Finally, Alayaya led Devola to a small stand nestled in a cozy corner of the establishment. The stand was adorned with a soft cloth, and a comfortable chair awaited her, positioned perfectly to give her an optimal view of the room and for her music to reach the eager listeners.
Devola couldn't help but be touched by the thoughtfulness of the arrangement. A genuine smile graced her face as she settled into the chair, feeling the supportive cushion beneath her. They no doubt have had other performers in this spot in the past.
"I made sure to find a spot that allows you to shine, both in sound and sight," Alayaya said, her eyes conveying familiarity. "This way, everyone will have the pleasure of experiencing your talent."
Devola's nerves were replaced by a sense of excitement as she surveyed the surroundings. The vibrant ambiance, the attentive listeners, and Alayaya's surprising support filled her with a newfound eagerness to perform. She took a moment to adjust her lute, her fingers caressing the strings with a newfound confidence.
"Thank you, Alayaya," Devola said sincerely. "I appreciate your kindness and the effort you've put into making me feel welcome. I feel I am ready to share my music with this audience."
Alayaya beamed, her warmth radiating through her words. "The pleasure is ours, Devola. Your music will no doubt attract more clientele. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know. Enjoy your performance!"
Taking a moment to survey the atmosphere, Devola's eyes swept across the room, observing the many patrons within the brothel. The women present were a spectrum of beauty, each wearing varying tiers of provocative attire. Some wore elegant gowns that hinted at their curves, while others flaunted their assets with more revealing outfits. Their presence emphasized the nature of the establishment, leaving little doubt as to its purpose.
Devola's gaze settled on one particular woman who caught her attention. With dark, flowing hair cascading halfway down her back, she moved with a natural grace, her hips swaying sensually with each step. Strong emerald eyes laughing as she guided a stumbling man deeper into the establishment, their intertwined hands conveying an unspoken promise. It was a sight that left little to the imagination, a reminder of the intimate experiences this place offered.
As Devola continued her observation, she couldn't help but appreciate the diversity of the patrons. Among them were men of different ages, some with silver strands peppering their hair, while others boasted youthful vigor with thick locks of black, brown and blonde. Their eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions — desire, curiosity, and perhaps even a touch of vulnerability.
The women, too, encompassed a range of appearances and backgrounds. Devola noticed a mix of races, from fair-skinned to those with rich, bronzed complexions. Some possessed slender figures that exuded elegance, while others showcased their voluptuousness with confidence. In a way It was a tapestry of humanity, woven together within the walls of the brothel.
Yet, despite the unique crowd and the intimate nature of the establishment, Devola found solace in the fact that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The patrons engaged in conversations, laughter, and flirtation, but there seemed to be an unspoken understanding of what was acceptable. No one appeared to be bothering anyone against their will. It was a testament to the professionalism of the establishment.
Devola's initial apprehension began to subside as she realized that this place, despite its reputation, was a haven where individuals sought connection and pleasure on their own terms.
Feeling a newfound sense of ease, Devola's focus shifted back to her own purpose in the brothel. She reminded herself that her role as a bard was not to watch others but to enchant the listeners with her music. With that in mind, she straightened her posture and took a deep breath, ready to immerse herself in her performance and share her musical gift with yet another audience before her.
With a gentle strum, a haunting melody resonated from the strings, filling the air. The first few notes reached the ears of those engrossed in their conversations and encounters. Slowly, heads turned, and eyes fixated on the source, a subtle transformation began.
Ier namhorie teneri
Yelschv fehrtsa lvfo parschu yastii
Kiischfur parhamirto hatsna
Ahsirie atselyatuya tahstetorman-yo
Mehriyetorfari
Alzhyamiyeoreifra
Martoreinyaromqompro sheiyoremno
Talnomproshvahsi
A couple locked in an embrace swayed with newfound tenderness. Where others seemed to slow in their, Erm… actions. Devola noticed a few men reaching into their pockets, pulling out silver coins. With a touch of astonishment, she watched as they placed the gleaming currency into a small bowl on the side of the stage. The shimmer of the silver caught her eye. Gratitude filled Devola's heart as a soft applause mingled with gentle clinking of coins. She felt her confidence rise, knowing that her music had touched something within these souls. She understood that this new audience brought a different energy, a response she hadn't experienced before.
Unfortunately the relative tranquility was soon disrupted by the arrival of a man with brown hair draped in a rich red cloak. He held an unsteady gait as he made his way from distant bed chambers to the front of the stage. He leaned in too close for comfort, his breath reeking of alcohol, and his words slurred as he uttered, "Well, well, what have we here? A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be wasting her time with songs. I can show you a time, even the maiden would be proud of."
Devola felt a discomfort begin to form like a weight. She took a step back, attempting to create some distance between herself and the unwelcome intrusion. Her voice stern as she responded, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm here to perform, not to entertain personal advances."
However, the man persisted, his voice growing louder and enraged with each passing moment.
He leered at Devola, his eyes scanning her up and down, as he jeered, "Look at you, pretending to be a bard. You should stick to strumming your little strings, girl. A woman like you has no business being here."
Devola's face flushed with anger and indignation, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She tried to maintain her composure, refusing to dignify his remarks with a response. But the man continued his verbal assault.
Before the situation could escalate further, Alayaya, who had been discreetly observing the interaction, swiftly stepped in. Her voice carried an unwavering authority as she firmly addressed the intoxicated man, "That's enough, sir. Your advances are clearly unwelcome here. Please respect the boundaries of our establishment and the dignity of our guests."
The man's face twisted into a mocking smirk, his speech slurring even more as he scoffed, "Boundaries? Dignity? We're in a brothel, aren't we? What's a little bard like her doing here if not to satisfy some desires? She belongs on her back, not on a stage."
Alayaya's gaze hardened, her tone laced with a steely resolve as she shot back, "The brothel is not solely for the satisfaction of carnal desires. It is a place of entertainment, art, and companionship. Devola is a talented bard who enriches our patrons' experiences with her music. You will show her the respect she deserves or leave."
The man, momentarily taken aback by Alayaya's firmness, attempted to save face with a forced laugh. "Fine, fine. I was just having a bit of fun. No harm intended," he muttered, his voice dripping with insincerity. Turning away, his drunken swagger guiding him towards another part of the brothel, leaving Devola and Alayaya in a momentary silence.
Alayaya turned her attention back to her "I'm sorry you had to endure that encounter, Devola. Unfortunately, rowdy customers can sometimes overstep. But please know that we value your presence here as a minstrel, and we will not tolerate such uncouth behavior."
Devola's initial unease began to dissipate as she took in Alayaya's words and the support she had received. She nodded appreciatively, her trust and respect in Alayaya deepening.
A woman that bore a likeness to Alayaya approached from behind her, she looked a decent bit older but equally beautiful. Devola wagered this was Chataya herself
Her expression revealed annoyance and concern as she addressed Alayaya. "He had a point, Alayaya. This is a brothel, after all. She could've playfully entertained his advances earlier."
Alayaya's quickly responded. "Mother, remember that Devola was hired as a minstrel, not as one of the girls. It was clear that she wasn't comfortable with his behavior."
Chataya's irritation lingered, but a trace of worry crept into her voice. "I understand that, but he's a Lannister man."
Alayaya countered, trying to assuage her mother's concerns. "The man was just a soldier from Casterly Rock, not someone of significance."
Chataya's concern deepened as she voiced her worries. "There have been more Lannisters in the city lately. It's troubling."
Curiosity prompted Devola to interject despite the whispered tones of the conversation, hoping to glean some insight. "Excuse me, but what's the problem with the Lannisters?"
Chataya's irritation flared momentarily as she brought her hands together in some quickened prayer. "Zhoza help us!."
Alayaya stepped in, trying to ease the tension. "Don't worry, Mother. Everything will be alright. And if he causes any trouble, I have my own connections. But honestly, he seemed too pathetic to make a fuss."
Chataya's voice carried a note of warning. "The pathetic ones can often be the first to cause trouble. Just be careful, my child." With that, she turned and went to attend to other matters, leaving Alayaya and Devola on their own.
Alayaya quickly turned back to her, "I must admit, I'm rather surprised that you haven't heard much about the Lannisters. Given your travels and you and your sister being from Volantis, I would have expected you to be more well-informed."
Devola paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before responding, "Ah, well, the rumors of us being from Volantis are actually false. We hail from a small village called Yonah, far from the grandeur of the City."
Alayaya's eyebrow raised in surprise at the revelation. She took a moment to reflect, as if retracing the paths of the very rumors. Finally, she broke the silence "Rumors have a peculiar way of taking on a life of their own, don't they? Although the Volantene blood may not flow through your veins, I must say, there is a certain likeness about you. I've met a few Volantene in my time, and you bear a certain resemblance to them. In both looks and manner."
Devola only nodded in response. Unsure of how to further address the topic, not wishing to perpetuate any more falsehoods about her background. The complexity of her own identity and the rumors surrounding her origins troubled her, she learned that the city of Volantis many believe her and Popola were from, still practiced slavery. They would need to make an effort to research it, but the thought of people assuming her and Popola were from there made her deeply uncomfortable.
Taking note of Devola's hesitation, Alayaya offered a reassuring smile. "No need, You don't have to delve into it further if you're not comfortable. Sometimes the truths we carry within ourselves are more complex than the stories others create about us."
Devola's shoulders relaxed slightly, grateful for Alayaya's understanding. She nodded, appreciating the respite from the tangled web of rumors and the chance to simply be herself in this moment.
The conversation had shifted, and Devola felt a growing curiosity about the Lannisters and their significance in King's Landing. She decided to redirect the conversation towards her original question, hoping to gain some insight. "Speaking of the Lannisters, I have heard of their connection to the royal family, particularly on the queen's side. But I must confess, I haven't heard anything unusual or noteworthy about them. Could you shed some light on their role in the city?"
Alayaya's eyes seemed to sparkle as she processed Devola's question.
"You have only been in Kings landing for a few months yes?" the woman inquired.
Devola nodded,"We will be approaching our second full month here soon"
"Ah, that makes sense. The Lannisters have been a presence in the capital for quite some time, especially after the sack. But in recent years, their numbers have increased, and now it seems they are once again on the rise. My mother, Chataya, is concerned about the balance of power and how it might affect the city, its businesses, and its people."
Devola absorbed Alayaya's words, contemplating the delicate dance of power and the far-reaching consequences it could have. The intrigue surrounding the Lannisters and their influence in King's Landing piqued her curiosity, urging her to dig deeper into the city's history and politics.
"I can understand why such changes would be a cause for concern," Devola replied thoughtfully. "The shifting of power often brings both positive and negative outcomes. If I may ask, though, could you tell me more about the sack that is occasionally mentioned? I must admit, my knowledge of King's Landing's history is quite limited, and I wasn't present during that time."
Alayaya's expression softened,her voice taking on a somber tone. "It was a time of great turmoil and chaos. The city gates were opened and it was besieged, and when it fell, there was widespread destruction, looting, and violence."
She continued, painting a vivid picture of the atrocities that had unfolded. "Homes were ransacked, innocent people were harmed, and many lost their lives. The streets ran red with blood, and the city's treasures were plundered. It was a dark chapter in King's Landing's history, one that many still bear the scars of."
Devola listened intently, her heart heavy with the weight of the city's past. She couldn't help but feel empathy for those who had suffered through such a traumatic event. The few mentions she had heard of the sack had barely scratched the surface, and now she was beginning to grasp the true magnitude of the tragedy.
"And the purpose behind the sack?" Devola inquired, her curiosity combined with a budding apprehension. "Why did it happen? What led to such a violent upheaval?"
Alayaya sighed, her gaze growing distant as she recollected the events of that fateful time. "The sack was an act of rebellion, an attempt to depose the mad king, Aerys II Targaryen, and end the reign of the Targaryens. Many people had suffered under his rule, and there was a growing discontent among the noble houses."
She paused briefly before adding, "My mother, Chataya, was not fond of the Targaryens. Their old kings rule was oppressive and filled with tyranny. So, in a way, she welcomed the change that followed the sack."
Devola nodded, absorbing the information and piecing together the fragments of King's Landing's history. The motivations behind the sack became clearer, although the complexities of power struggles and the consequences of such actions still lingered in her mind.
"Devola, you seem distant. Is everything alright?" Alayaya said genuine concern leaking through.
Devola, caught off guard by Alayaya's attentiveness, offers a forced smile and replies, "I'm fine, really. Just lost in my thoughts."
Alayaya's expression remains skeptical. She hesitates for a moment, as if she wants to say something more, but her attention is diverted by the arrival of a younger girl with pale skin and dark hair.
Breaking the brief silence, the girl speaks up, her voice soft but determined. "I brought them, Mhaegen seems like she's in need of some company." She extends her hand, offering a bundle of herbs and a small vial containing a tincture.
Alayaya's gaze shifts from the girl to Devola, seeking her approval. Devola, understanding the gesture, nods in response. She recognizes the importance of tending to one's well-being, even amidst the chaos and uncertainty that surrounds them.
With a gentle smile, Alayaya takes the herbs and tincture from the girl's hand. She looks back at Devola, her eyes conveying reassurance, and then turns to the younger woman.
Devola watches as Alayaya and the other woman depart.
With Alayaya gone, Devola thought on what was learned, though she found nothing out about Leerah or the Hand. She now had a better understanding of the Lannisters and the turbulent events that had shaped King's Landing. Similar events shaped her own world she supposed. Change through the greatest of strife, the greatest of cost.
Devola's mind drifted, her thoughts consumed by the destructive nature of strife and carnage. She couldn't help but reflect on the power it held, the way it forced change upon the world, albeit through the most terrible means. Images flashed through her mind, vivid and haunting.
She saw the skin turning white, as if it had been soaked in salt, a horrifying transformation that marked the onset of White Chlorination Syndrome. The memory of the blood-soaked piles of bodies, the stench of death and decay, invaded her thoughts. It was human blood that had been spilled, lives extinguished in the legions hatred, failed experimentation, their own choices.
Her mind wandered to the replicant village, a place forever scarred by the relentless march of the shades that fateful day. The aftermath of their brutality had necessitated a change in how the village was managed, how the project was managed, in an attempt to rebuild and heal, to make up for their losses. The thought of that day lingered in her mind the original gestalt no doubt did what he did to the village that day for the sake of his sister the relapsed gestalt, humanity came second perhaps father than second to him at least on that day: did the Lannisters, in those moments of the sack, harbor similar motivations? What drove humans to slay one another, to engage in acts of violence and destruction, to wager a child?
A shiver ran down her spine as she contemplated the thought farther. War and conflict had plagued humanity for millennia, long before the emergence of White Chlorination Syndrome. But the motives behind such actions remained murky. Did she truly want to know the answer? The most disturbing thought loomed over her—perhaps there was no answer at all.
Life was filled with inexplicable horrors and unimaginable pain. Yet, amidst those hardships there was the hope that a song could yet go on unceasing. With that thought she began to
strum once more.
A.N. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter. There are some answers here. Hints at things to come quite a bit in all honesty. If those are not picked up on here though worry not it will all become more clear with time. I am curious what people pick up on however. I've edited the previous chapter a little bit if anyone is interested in rereading. I actually got tendenitis in the bicep which inadvertantly caused me alot of issues with shoulder and even hand movement for a couple days. Im doing much better now but it was hard to write for a couple days there. (My original intent was to get a good chunk of this chapter written last week when i had 2 days off, but my arm had other plans I suppose you could say it was a 2b moment.)
As always curious where people think the plot is heading, and what people think of my characterizations/ area depictions.
Brief apology: I feel like I owe my readers and lovely commenters/repliers an apology. I feel I've been unintentionally rude or taking the fun away from the story in some replies, in regards to people speculating or simply given critique which I openly ask for and appreciate. I make no excuses for myself in that regard and I apologize.