Kindling Spirits
Twenty Fourth Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC
The lady Melisandre could only be called radiant as she returned to the world under the sun, to the steps of the newly erected temple of Sorcerer's Deep. Well not a temple really, as it had not yet been consecrated to the Red God, the fires have not yet been lit, though the presence of not only the priestess but so many bright spirits in his service turns evening into high noon just the same.
Here are there angels raised from the wreck of heaven and elementals given new purpose to burn the name of the Lord of Light. But above even them in the eye of the people of Sorcerer's Deep are the ones called among their brethren the Penitent. These are the fey
lords and ladies draped in diaphanous flame, the
pixies, like a rain of embers upon the city, and other even stranger forms, creatures of chaos and beings of light, prisoners of the war just won, repentant they say, who would count them more those wise enough to see which way the wind was blowing in the final hours of the war.
As Ymeri perished and her herald fled, those who could still outrun the hosts of R'hllor and the arcane wings of the Dauntless, many of the lesser hosts decided to partake of the better part of valor. Some raised their voices in praise to the Red God, but others chose a different path.
"Just as I had hoped, a more pleasant greeting," a
familiar voice calls out from among the glittering throng of fey spirits. "Granted, you did not alone light Her pyre, but you did provide kindling and mirrored glass by which its light could reach a thousand thousand eyes and minds... and hearts."
As you provide the pleasantry and greetings for such exalted and refined company, you contemplate the implications of the words. This had been the first time the Ministry of Information's silver eyes had seen anything so grand and perilous as the flight of the Dauntless in the face of a god's wrath, much less the war in which angels and mortal men fought side by side. In many cities where the worship of the Lord of Light is widespread, the faithful had held a daylong vigil and prayer by the Mirrors. There had been trepidation, there had been vigils, and when all the battle was done and victory assured, there had been jubilation.
In Volantis, Zherys had taken your example to heart and organized a festival of thanksgiving in which the Red Priests had their place of course and so did the spirits sworn to him, but much attention was also given to the men and women of the sky-fleet, those who had bled and yes, those who had died so that Ymeri might fall. The names of every man and woman who had perished aboard the Dauntless on that final pass had been carved in adamant and set before the gates of the new built library, upon the very ground Ymeri had once cursed.
Celebrations had been less grand in other cities, though no less sincere, with thousands lighting the canals of Braavos with candles in the night. You had even gotten a half-serious note from the Sealord asking you if you want to rent room in the Holy Refuge for yourself given how many who worship the Lord of Light, and even a few who do not, are now inclined to worship you.
Isn't that a question for the ages...
You turn your attention back to the fey lady before you and her motley gathering, representatives only of the spirits who had surrendered themselves into your care, for the next question she asks is one you must carefully consider. "Where shall we dwell, oh King of Men, in the realm that was once Ymeri's, amid the ruin of our home? I must confess that though we could dwell there comfortably in body, our spirits would be uneasy at the memory of death and ruin..."
"What about Valyria?" Rina asks, speaking for the first time since you had arrived here. She does not look entirely comfortable surrounded by fire fey, but Melisandre had suggested she come as a show of strength on the Empire's part.
There is no shame swearing to one who had gained the allegiance of even a winter fey, the likes of which are supposed to have vanished from the earth, is there?
"What of the Broken realm?" the fire muse asks, with and edge of something that might be curiosity or perhaps wariness.
"It is associated with fire, strongly enough that fey of your former court attacked a vassal of mine near there for meddling in her plans," you reply. "You and yours might settle there."
"I must confess the danger does not appeal... there is something rotten at the heart of that realm, and it calls to all those born of fire," the muse replies, but one of her attendants who has the look of a young girl, for whatever that might mean among the deathless fey, interjects, "I would dwell upon the marches if you will allow, my lady. There is much to learn there, much to become, as is the nature of flame..."
Other fey begin to speak up then, one after the other each with their own suggestion. It is clear the muse has no formal control over the 'Penitent' yet. Their ideas can be summed up as simply living among the folk of your realm as citizens, holding only loose allegiance to other fire fey.
Which do you favor?
[] Court of Flames (Settle in what was Ymeri's realm)
[] Guardians of the Marches (Settle in the Valyrian badlands)
[] Citizens All (Spread them out among the Empire)
[] Write in
OOC: I'm going to work out the numbers of fey later for now I just want to die this off so we can continue to consecrating the temple and then the coronation. Not yet edited.
