Beneath the Mask
First Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
Rain dripped slowly from the laden clouds as the rider passed under the iron portcullis, just enough to slip cold streams past his cloak and under the collar of his doublet, sending a shiver down his spine. He told himself the reason he kept his head down was to ward off the rain. He was lying to himself.
He was too good a liar.
It hurt to leave the keep one last time, it hurt remembering the relief in Stannis' eyes at their last parting, to know that for him today marked nothing more than an end to months' long mummery. Head still bowed, the young man glimpsed his reflection in a puddle before his horse trod upon it, the face of Renly Baratheon, to which he had no right.
Yet he remembered running through the bailey as a boy, the taste of spring peaches straight from the tree, and falling asleep lulled by the sound of the wind over the battlements. He remembered the siege and how terrified he had been of starvation or treachery, and the comfort he had taken in Stannis' unyielding presence. Those were not his memories, and he had no more right to them than he did to the keep growing ever more distant behind him as a trot became a canter and then a gallop, as though the horse could sense that he wanted to be somewhere far,
far away.
"Shh... Silver, it's alright," the changeling said in his stolen voice, quieting the horse that like him was no truly mortal creature. For one irrational moment he hated Silver Mane for knowing his place where 'Renly' knew nothing, not even his name. Should he choose another he wondered, layer another mask of his own choosing over this lie?
And what if this had been of my own choosing? the young man wondered, horrified. Was all his anguish, all his pain nothing more than a fleeting interlude in the plots of some incomprehensible faerie mind that would come upon him at any moment, erasing him like dew before the noonday light? More than that he resented the face he bore, he feared what might lay under it.
The lights of a tavern shone up ahead, warm and inviting in the ever heavier rain, but the changeling could not bring himself to turn off the path.
What business did he have in the halls of men, presuming upon honors not his own? Then he would ride on and on to Weeping Town, from there he would take ship to Sorcerer's Deep to speak to the Dragon, and from there...
Abruptly he heard the sound of glass breaking in one of the inn's upper windows. Two figures were struggling, silhouetted against the candlelight within, and the sound of angry curses and desperate pleading carried through. One was a man while the other was clearly a child, smashed against the broken glass, bleeding.
How he got under the widow Renly would never know, though he was faintly aware that he moved swifter than he aught to have. "Jump!" he called up to the boy. Whether from desperation or simply knowing that he would end up over the edge anyway the boy did just that.
He seemed to take a long time to fall, like a leaf on the wind, giving the false knight all the time in the world to reach out and brace himself. The world sped up again. "Oof..." The bleeding child shivered in his arms.
"Can you stand?" the changeling asked. He did not have much experience with children other than remembering being one, but he figured it was always better to stand on one's own than leaning on another.
"I... yes. My uncle, he didn't mean to..."
As he set the auburn-haired boy down, the being who bore the face of Renly Baratheon realized he had not been recognized. No 'milord', no bowing and scraping, yet if he had not been here the child would be hurt, mayhap even dead if he fell badly. That had to be worth something, surely.
OOC: I was tempted to make this some kind of supernatural tangle, but I stopped myself because I remembered Azel's complaint about making everyone a bold hero standing up to otherworldly monsters. So this was just a garden variety drunk asshole tossing a kid out a window in a rage.