A Blade's Reflection
As far as all his neighbors could tell, Sydell was a simple man.
He got up early every morning and went to his work in the fish market, the bountiful waters and fair weather the Deep had been blessed with meant that ships carrying tons of fish arrived at the port all day, every day, which meant that work that was previously done by the crew or their families now required specialized workers to keep up with the supply and demand.
Men like Sydell worked tirelessly gutting, cleaning and processing fish to be sold in mass to merchants, who then salted it, smoked it, brined it or sold it to the inns to be consumed fresh. The only remarkable thing about him was how quickly and efficient he was with his knife, which earned him a bit more pay than most, but not so much that the most experienced workers could not match him in a good day.
During his break, he bought the same mug of beer and the same meal from the same merchant, his colleagues remarked that he did not speak much, but was good company all the same.
As far as the world could tell, Sydell was a very simple man indeed.
They would be right, but simple does not mean one does not hide secrets, and it certainly does not mean one is harmless.
The blade of The Thirteen was only trusted as much as he was because he was indeed very simple, and very good at keeping secrets.
He was also very dangerous.
Born and raised in the "Greatest City that Ever was or Will be" he always knew that such greatness was as fragile as a blade of glass, the "Garden of Bones" was both a reminder to outsiders and invaders that failing to pay proper respect to the kings of the city meant certain death, and also a reminded to the people of the city that their isolation was as much a danger to them as it was to their enemies, the sands would not care.
In the name of preserving that greatness he had done terrible things, the city needed the trade to survive, and it needed the slaves to produce food, and it needed to always appear safe and powerful or else all would realize how fragile everything was, and it was worth fighting for.
He could have been a sorrowful men, and in many ways he was, but he was always meant as a more personal weapon, first for his master and then, when his master rose as one of the kings, for the Thirteen as a whole, as a peace offering to the others, wary of how he had raised.
When the magic had returned he had gained some it, "Lesser but useful" the Warlocks had called it, and had offered him their lip-stained concoction, which he took once and never again, for he greatly disliked what it did to his head.
Magic to pass unseen, even in crowded areas, keen senses that allowed him to hear and see more than normal men, and finally the ability to keep track of individuals regardless of their distance to him, while being able to slip similar abilities from others had made him a valuable tool to The Thirteen.
In their name, and that of his city, he had slain rebellious slaves, troublesome travelers and even creatures that he did not know the name of.
He had also killed the families of those that had threatened the order of the city, he had killed one of the Kings when his greed had exceeded his love for the city, he had even killed a Warlock, for "Straying too far", what that was he did not care.
Now the enemies of the city lain in foreign shores, and the responsibility to keep track of them fell to him, he had let himself be captured and sold as a slave in a ship that was doomed before he had left his city. His "rescuers" broke his chains and brought him back, he had expected to have to pay them for his release, but instead he had been given some gold and left to make his way in the city.
One of the sailors had introduced him to a cousin of his, who got him work processing fish, he did not know how the Warlocks had managed to get the messages inside the guts of the fish, or how they made sure the merchants bought the right barrels with his reports, but it worked and thus he did not question it.
But he slowly began to question other things, the people of this city were strange, and not only because some of them were much taller, much smaller or much hairier than the people he knew, but because they were kind. The woman he bought his bread from had always slipped him a few pieces more when he had just arrived and pretended to not have much coin, and still did from time to time when she had some left at the end of the day, the workers from the market had given him beer when he knew they had to work long hard hours for what coin they had, the children were left to play in the streets instead of having to carry burdens or help in some other way. Was this how slaves, or former slaves always were? Welcoming because being kind to strangers made them all more likely to survive? Or was the city itself, the lack of the reminder of death beyond their doors, and the fierce battle for resources that made them soft?
The city was strange too, it lacked the grand walls he had grown used to, the buildings mostly lacked the ornaments carved by generations of families wishing to parade their wealth, the people itself did not dress as beautifully or with the abundance of gold and jewels that he had associated with civilized life, but it compensated in other ways.
There were no sick to be seen anywhere in The Deep, the houses of healing saw to that, the streets were clean and even the places that in other cities would have been slums did not smell of refuse, he knew lone women could take a walk alone after hours and arrive safe at their homes, even the poorest did not go hungry and the streets themselves bustled with magic, had the Warlocks hoarded all of these treasures for themselves, or where they not as great as they seemed?
One morning, the man that employed him decided to reward him for his hard work, he had paid for a visit to the house of mirrors, "That he could see his future, or that which he desired most", he had rejected it at first, but the jeers of the people that worked with him convinced him that the risk of being discovered in that place of magic was less than risking his cover by refusing this "boon", so he followed.
"It's right in there, all paid for, just walk in front of the mirrors and ask your question, the mages will take care of the rest"
He walked in front of the array of mirrors, reflecting each other into infinity, the possibility was there for him to see whatever he desired.
But he desired nothing, all his life he had always done what was needed, not what he wanted, and confronted with the question he also realized that for the first time in his life he did not know what he was fighting for.
He broke down crying, his friends carried him home and did not press when he could not answer their questions.
The following morning he turned himself to the inquisition, maybe they would have a use for a broken blade.
OOC: probably won't be canon as i just dont know enough about how Qarth works in ASWaH, but sure was fun to write about that hypotetical "Spy decides he likes our city more than wherever he came from".
