Duty and Glory Twinned With Secrets
Ninth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
Boys can be so stupid, Ysilla thought fondly, even as Thoros fretted over whether or not she was still mad at him but willing to set it aside so they could take advantage of the rarest of opportunities, to explore the city with minimal supervision or any meddling elder siblings to tell them to utilize their free time more responsibly. To her mind, the call of adventure in the City of Wonders wasn't at all about frittering away hours on games to begin with, no matter that they probably had more eyes on them from the King's fearsome and renowned Inquisition in the first place.
She huffed, if mages barely any older than her brother could become famous for stopping loathsome ghouls and fiends from preying on former slavers in their countryside estates, she was certain that they could stumble upon some mystery and intrigue in a city drawing in crowds from half the world over on an average day.
"Alicent, slow d--" Thoros was cut off as she led them through the Bazaar on a shortcut towards the western half of the city, only to stumble into a boy around Waymar's age, flaxen-haired and red-faced. "Oh no..." she heard her friend sigh, even as she glared up at the squire in Lannister garment... no, reversed colours. "What's a Lannister squire doing in Sorcerer's Deep?" she queried sharply, and she had to restrain the urge to blush as she realized the first thing she was prepared to blurt was a curse, not a question.
"I'm not a Lannister," the boy protested, then grew angry, "Just who are you--"
"I'm the one asking the questions here," Ysilla spoke over him, "You should watch where you're going, and be glad I don't have much time for the likes of you." The boy blinked, like as not several holes poked through to let the wind out of his sails. She eyed him carefully, "Almost believed any Westerland knights would be too frightened to venture here for a Tourney hosted by the Dragon King."
"We're not as to beaten dogs who come only at the call of the Old Lion. Is it not said that a Knight can be granted honors the same as they can offer service in turn, to any Lord known to uphold their obligations?" A young man with a white double-tressure upon a greenfield on their surcoat came to the boy's defense, or perhaps just knew she was attempting to provoke him to get a earnest admission of their purposes in the city.
Canny, she thought, even as the Knight of perhaps some twenty years introduced himself.
"Ser Garth Greenfield, my lady. And my squire, Renfred Hill. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Ysilla, being that she could not pretend that she wasn't a lady of some standing while dressed in garments of Myrish lace, curtsied on instinct and gave her correct alias, making all the right sounds even as her mind raced a mile a minute and Thoros introduced himself--and stepped forward all in the same motion, she noted, gladdened that all her regaling him with banners and Houses of the West hadn't been for naught, as even he realized a potential enemy to their liege before them.
"You're here to take part in the Tourney?" Ysilla asked, surprised as the bold-faced admission.
"Were not all the Knights of Westeros invited, from as far as White Harbor in the North, and even to those audacious talking birds spreading their invitations across half a dozen dockside taverns in Lannisport itself?" He demurred, though his eyes sharpened somewhat. "For a Knight seeking service there's little else that calls to them but a grand tournament. I hear tell that Viserys Targaryen has spent more on prize money alone than Robert Baratheon has in all ten years of reigning from King's Landing... and it is well known that he likes to throw many a tourney. As such, there should be many a skilled and worthy challenger attending, seeking to impress just as much as to strike gold."
It also wasn't lost on Ysilla that Ser Garth hadn't called either King Viserys or the Usurper by their assumed titles.
And you will be in for a surprise to know the Royal mint around here doesn't back their coinage primarily with gold, she thought with satisfaction of having learned something of trade and finance in her time spent south. There's more danger to dangling dragons coming from the Deep in the Westerlands from your purse than it is to trust in bullion mined directly from the Westerlands, and foolish all the more for it when the terminal granting access to realms of stone where the boulevards are paved with gold just let in a whole great caravan full of Xorn with alluring riches. And even
they are trading in the King's coins.
"Perhaps my lady and her companion would not mind showing us around the city before we acquire suitable accommodations? Unless we are unwelcome in your presence?" She wasn't sure if either was entirely welcome, given the squire was still sullenly glaring at her, but before she could think of a way to take advantage of his perception of her as nonthreatening in the extreme, they were interrupted by the clearing of a throat...
"I am afraid that will not be necessary," said a lilting Braavosi accented voice, gently nudging Thoros out of the way. "I thought I recognized you," Lord Uthero smirked. "Lady Alicent, wasn't it? A ward of my good friend's sworn sword, I believe."
"You were at the ball!" Ysilla recalled, he had been joking with Lord Sorin and his wife while Kyla made faces behind their backs since they had been insufferably affectionate to see her again, the thought of which made Ysilla twinge in longing for her own mother and father who likely would not be able to see her here in the Deep, though maybe one of her brothers might come to visit soon. There would be a great Joust after all...
"Indeed," the Lord Keyholder from Braavos replied, not at all worried about the possible spy or interloper sent from the West before them. As far as Ysilla knew, Lord Uthero had just bought a manse in the city near the Braavosi quarter in preparation for moving into the city, and was said to have dealings with the King's businesses. So she was not at all surprised to see him trailed by clerks, scribes as much as spies and bodyguards. A bravo with a blade might be underestimated on a battlefield, but given neither of the Westerlanders were wearing their armor right now that just showed that most Essosi from Braavos, if they were martially inclined, believed a fight could come at you at any time and it was best to be prepared for it in any situation. Or that's what her brother had told her, at any rate. "I have it on good authority that there will be some exhibition matches soon, spell weaving and single combat between knights or bravos with their blades. Even some of King VIserys' legion have come to participate later in the month."
"You don't say?" Ser Garth seemed interested. "Do you know where they will be taking place?"
"Some have gathered to display their talents on the training grounds, while the Circle of Battle is being... renovated," Uthero smiled secretively, drawing burbling laughter from both her and Thoros.
What will they think to see an arena that can seat over five thousand torn down by stone giants over the King's concern that it needs to be at least ten times larger to accommodate all the visitors in addition to the tens of thousands of immigrants who have moved here over the last few months?
Ysilla was eager to hear all the rumors from Waymar when he stopped being so busy with his duties, about the mischief he and Viserys had wrought upon the Usurper and their foes. It was one thing to casually display their might and innovations before their enemies, but she wondered what crystallized terror will be wrought of the deeds of magic performed in plain sight for all these knights and would-be spies sent to observe the King and his company in action. Most of them aren't even in the city right now, so they'll be disappointed.
It never once dawned on her that there could be some plot afoot to take advantage of that absence, either. If King Viserys did not take care of it, loyal men like the Lord in front of her would.
***
"What happened?" Her eyes were wide with surprise at the sight of Kyla and Jorel exchanging furtive glances at each other, the Darkenbeast which had been spirited away over night and was currently nursing its pride--or that's what it looked like as it say sullenly off to the side and ignoring wary glances from the crowds pass through the major thoroughfare off King's Street.
"Look," Thoros pointed, where King Viserys was near lividly dressing down a Legionaire, still floating in mid-air like a kitten held up by the scruff, through use of his mind-magic exerting will upon the physical world around them. "Looks like they got the wrong idea about the air show... tried to take a war beast and make it do tricks like a show pony," he shook his head. "Everyone knows dragons and thus their kin weren't the most graceful fliers... they're for war."
You wouldn't have known that if you didn't spend almost as much time with your nose shoved into books as Joran did, Ysilla thought, before thinking it unkind of her. After all, they had both seen plenty of dragons flying around in their time living in the Deep. One of them before her. She was not still sullen about their earlier arguments, or getting reprimanded by her minder for slipping their notice most of a day to spend it in the city with her friends. She was forced to have dinner at Kyla's with her family hovering all about because of it, too. She also wasn't at all jealous of the fey-wrought gifts her and her brother had gotten her being withheld by the Volantene almost-nanny, either. Doubtless the fact that Waymar would approve of it grated more... they only wanted to watch the mages go dueling!
She longed to test her skills herself, and sitting around reading and studying as her friends did wasn't as appealing as taking action, either.
"While it is clear your discharge was inevitable after this shameful display," the King spoke with such disgust that the man visibly flinched from each admonishment, whether in shame or fear, it was hard to tell which, "Allow me to make it even more clear. You have brought dishonor to those bearing the arms of the Legion and those honored fallen who fought for freedom's sake alone." Those words could more easily seal a man's fate than being brought up to the headsman's axe, but it dawned on Ysilla that in all of this the King could have saved the flying beast, as it still held value to him, and let the man fall to his death.
He quite pointedly did
not.
That's what magic should be used for, she decided then and there. Helping other people, whether they're smart enough to appreciate it or not.
