"
Death to the witch!" cried the begging brother, throwing aside his bowl and lunging towards them, a wickedly sharp knife in his hands aimed squarely at Lady Jade.
The sorceress yelped and twisted away from her attacker, the knife's point grazing along the outside of her coat as the man stumbled past. Overextended, the assassin tried to swing around but Jade was already behind him, bringing her hands together and slamming doubled fists into his exposed back. The man went crashing to the ground, his knife tumbling from his hands into the short grass besides the path.
Sarella already had her dagger out and turned to face the men—three of them, now, all in the same brown robes—coming up behind them. The beggars gawped at the man already lying beneath the sorceress's foot.
"Fuck," the leader of the trailing group said, then seemed to recover himself and called out in a much louder voice: "The witch must pay for her crimes! The Warrior guides your hands, brothers!
Rush the bitch!" He also produced a large knife and charged. His two companions followed suit, drawing heavy staves and shouting incoherently. Behind Sarella, the group of beggars between them and the
Carefree Victory issued their own challenge, rushing towards them.
Jade had just enough time to cry out "
Mayday! Condition zero!" before the gang of beggars was upon them. Sarella ducked a swing from an ugly bald beggar's stick, the heavy wood rushing through the air just barely above her scalp. She countered with her free hand, driving it palm-first into the ugly man's face. She felt his nose shatter under her hand and for a dizzyingly sick moment she found herself back in that cold cave beyond the Wall. The ugly man reeled backwards but Sarella didn't press the advantage, and in that moment the assassin who'd been following them jabbed his dagger in her direction. She pulled away, but neither fast nor far enough; the blade glanced off her left side. It felt like something cold dragging across her skin, followed by something red-hot.
Sarella lashed out at the assassin with a contemptuous kick. Her boot didn't catch anything vital, but it
did strike home in the man's right knee. The assassin went down howling, his knife falling away. Another kick aimed squarely at the man's stomach shut him up quite nicely. The action made her side ache all the more, but the sight of her attacker whimpering on the ground made up for the pain.
After everything I've seen, I refuse to die by your hand, she thought.
She turned to assist Lady Jade, who was staring down the remaining beggars between them and the ship. Her gauntlet was unfolded and pointing towards the lead beggar, a ragged man wearing mail under his robes and a dirty shortsword in his hands. The sort of things a poor sellsword or hedge knight might own, Sarella realized, not a devout begging brother. Clearly, there might be more to this business than what it seemed on first glance.
"Okay," Jade said calmly and clearly, "okay guys, fun's over. How about we talk about this like reasonable people, huh?"
The man in armor hefted his sword. "You think the Warrior's chosen will lie down for you, cunt?" he spat. "Suffer no witch to live, say the Seven. And besides," he added with a cruel smile, "the price on your head will pay for many good works. We aim to collect in the name of the gods."
Jade sighed. "Well, I offered. Remember that." She looked up at the ship. "And that's game."
Behind them, Sarella could hear horses thundering down from the castle. Above them, the faint and familiar hum of magic filled the air. The lead beggar had just enough time to tilt his head up before the familiars descended on them like a cloud of very large and angry hornets. The beggars shrieked and fell as the little round machines loosed bolts of sorcery against otherwise defenseless men. The leader tried to rush Jade one last time before three familiars dropped him at once, smoke curling gently from singed robes.
Sarella stepped over the groaning men to stand at her mistress's side. The pain in her side didn't seem to be getting better; in fact it seemed to deepen with every movement. "You couldn't have done that right off?" she said, trying to keep her voice light.
"Yeah, yeah, they always say that," Jade grumbled, giving her a sidelong glance. "You okay, Al?"
She shook her head. "Just a scratch," she said, her hand going to where the man's blade had sliced her shirt.
Jade's glance turned into a worried look. "Scratches don't normally bleed that much," she said, then whistled. Sarella blinked and pulled her hand away from the injury, covered in rather more blood than she'd expected. The ache continued to throb.
"Oh," she said weakly. "
Fuck." He legs suddenly felt weak. She wobbled, and almost fell over, only stopped when the sorceress grabbed her by the shoulders. The horses were closer now, and Sarella forced herself to focus. Thoros and a pair of Tyrell guards rode down the path, shock evident in their faces.
Thoros dismounted, approached and said something, but the pain was too great for Sarella to focus on it. She only barely heard Jade's reply. "—what the hell they were doing here, and for who," Jade said to him. "No killing, no lasting damage, but I want to know."
"It shall be done, Captain," Thoros agreed. "I'll have them in the hold soon enough. Where will you be?"
"Medbay," Jade replied. The world swayed and Sarella had the impression she was being lifted up.
She's stronger than she seems floated irreverently through her head as Lady Jade pulled Sarella onto her shoulders. Her vision cleared for a moment and she could see all of their attackers on the ground, guarded by familiars.
I guess we made a bit of a mess. Poor Lord Mace, having to clean up after us. She giggled quietly at her own joke; it helped keep her mind off the pain.
Getting back into the ship and up into the ship's surgery was an unreal experience, drifting almost silently through the metal hallways on Lady Jade's back. The surgery was a small enough affair, an antechamber attached to the apothecary containing a single bed with a glass cover over it. The cover slid back as they entered. "Autodoc, table for one," Jade announced as the bed prepared itself.
The world swayed once more as the sorceress pulled Sarella off her shoulders and gently laid her down on the surgery bed. Then, with ruthless speed and efficiency, she found herself divested of all but her smallclothes.
I would have preferred a more romantic setting for this, she thought idly. Through the haze she could see Jade look at her, eyes wide with surprise and a hint of darkness on her cheeks. "Did I say that out loud?" she ventured.
For the first time that morning, Lady Jade smiled, just a little. "You did," she answered. "And it's very flattering. I think. Right now though…" she touched a control and a window of light popped into being before her. "Moderately deep stab wound and… looks like some kind of toxin. Huh." She whistled and another familiar buzzed into the room. "Wakko, remote link, message for Thoros: Secure those knives, they may have something on them." The familiar chimed and bobbed. "Okay, nothing that the doc can't handle, that's good. Okay Al, you just settle back and relax as well as you can, everything's going to be okay." Something chimed outside of Sarella's sight, and the glass cover slid up over her. "See you tomorrow," Lady Jade said.
The tube glowed with a comforting blue light. The pain in her side started to ease, and she felt very tired. The air was warm, the pain lessening and the sound of the magic working sounded like the calls of ravens in the distance. Sarella's eyes closed, letting exhaustion close over her like a comforting blanket.
LOG ENTRY: SURFACE DAY 228.1
I was better off in the frozen wastes dealing with the barbarians, the zombies and the goddamned ice demons than I am down here in the "civilized" part of Westeros. Christ on a fucking tricycle. I'm not sure if the people who just jumped us were actual religious fanatics, assassins disguising themselves as fanatics, or a mix of the two. Thoros is downstairs finding out the truth, and then I might be heading out to tase a few people while Al's mending in the autodoc.
Al. Fuck. One of a half-dozen people on this goddamn rock I actually
like got
shanked. Words cannot
describe how pissed I am right now, and the worst part is I'm mostly pissed that I was too busy being a showboating asshole to watch Al's back like a
smart person would've.
Note for future reference: Recycle a few drones and build more shield units, one for Al and one for Thoros. If this shit is going to escalate—and it probably
is—then I need to do a better job of protecting my people. Can't be everywhere all at the same time and anybody who rides with me is vulnerable.
It's too early in the morning to get drunk and brood, dammit. Might as well start recycling those drones and brood while I wait for the
next thing to go wrong.
WILLAS
After breakfast, Willas had intended to tend to his birds and perhaps do a little research into the Gardener kings and their connection to the Long Night. The previous night's display, terrifying as it was, intrigued him. The idea that the old tales had any truth to them had never truly crossed his mind before. Now, though… now there was evidence that there was more to the world than the Citadel had thought.
Perhaps much more crossed his mind. Ulthos was an empty spot on the map, marking the lands beyond Asshai and Yi-Ti, the perfect place to claim as a homeland for someone who had come from
elsewhere. That particular secret no doubt wasn't in his books, but perhaps there were other clues; the Tyrell libraries held hundreds of ancient books and scrolls from the days when the Andals wrote down all the First Men did not. There might be something in there worth examining.
Willas desperately wanted to dig deep and learn what the old kings knew, if anything. To learn what they knew and how it might be used to keep Highgarden safe in times like these. Instead of that, he was intercepted by a steward on his way out of the great hall and aimed back towards his father's solar. "Lord Mace wishes your counsel," was all the man would say on the subject, and so Willas went.
He found Father standing before the table he and Renly had plotted at for so many days, staring forlornly at the maps and piles of parchment upon it. "Is something wrong, Father?" he asked, limping up to his seat at the table. Father looked up and blinked, before returning his gaze to the large map of the Reach that lay upon the table.
"No," he sighed. "I was just pondering… all that effort, gone in moments. First Robert, now this woman falling from the sky to upend the board. What a
waste."
Willas didn't quite know what to make of that. "You couldn't have known beforehand," he said.
His lord father scowled. "I should've seen
Robert coming. The Lannisters are as predictable as the tide if you know what to look for, my boy. The moment that damnable woman got scent of our plans… ah well, no use crying over spilled milk."
"It was a foolish plan and you know it," his grandmother announced as she entered the room, her servants half-carrying her as usual. "Expecting that fathead to set aside the Lannister woman and her children for Margaery, instead of him treating her like just another piece of quim? I wish I knew what fever convinced you that made any sense."
"Renly was sure of it," Father replied. "He and Loras both thought they could convince the king…" he shook his head. "It no longer matters. I thought to gain some certainty with Renly but now this Ulthosi witch and her revelations have thrown it all into chaos again.
Willas looked up at his father. Even when truly indecisive, Mace Tyrell was good at appearing calm and confident. Now, he looked uncertain, not an encouraging sign. "You believe the captain, then?" he asked.
"Let us say I am more willing to believe than disbelieve, at the moment. It's a difficult tale to take in, but Lomys seems convinced and he's not one to lie. Not to me, at least. I am willing to accept that the witch believes her tale
and that the Reach needs take action before too long has passed. The problem is the king… I know not what His Grace believes in this matter, and it worries me."
"You crowned the boy," Grandmother chided.
"We've been over this, Mother," Father said tiredly.
"No,
I've been over this,
you've simply rolled your eyes and ignored what I had to say. As usual."
"What would you have me say, Mother?" wondered Father. "That proclaiming Renly king was a risk? I knew that the moment he and Loras retreated here. That we've put ourselves in a dangerous spot? We were always going to be endangered if the succession came to a fight, so why
not try to advance ourselves? Great reward requires great risk, and we have no better chance to put a child of Tyrell blood on the Iron Throne than now."
"We never should've gotten involved in the first place, you fat fool," Grandmother snarled. Willas flinched at the heat of her words. "Let Stannis and Renly batter each other senseless or kill Joffrey, if they can. Highgarden should stay above such foolishness."
"All the wealth of the Reach cannot buy us neutrality, Mother!" Father snapped. "The Lannisters are to our east and west, Renly and Dorne to our south, the Arryns and the wolves to our north. All of them will look to the Reach for support, and the moment we raise our banners for one the others will fall on us like vultures. We are too wealthy to stay above the fray for long and not strong enough to fight when beset on all sides. Every time House Tyrell has tried to stay out of the crown's disputes, the war is inevitably fought at our gates, and every time that happens, with every drop of Reachman blood spilled our hold on Highgarden slips that little bit more." He scowled ferociously at the maps strewn about the table. "History tells us that the Reach may be
players in the game, or they may be the
playing field. The riverlands had that choice taken from them, and where are the river kings now? It's really that simple, Mother. Choosing to be players carries a risk and you might call it foolish—you may even be right. But
I say that pretending to be above it all and losing our bannermen by oath or sword one by one is a hundredfold times more foolish! I will not be the lord who sees the name Tyrell go into the rubbish pile like the Teagues or the Justmans, nor will I see the Gardener's kingdom sundered by a rabble of bloody Stormlanders or Westermen!"
"A pretty speech," replied Grandmother. "And now what? Your crowned boy won't dance to your tune, so you're willing to throw him from the walls? I daresay you won't find another puppet so easily if you discard them so quickly. Certainly not one who doesn't already have a puppeteer."
"That, I know not," Father said slowly. "Are you happy now, Mother? The fool admitting his foolishness to the world? Under my tutelage Renly will make for a fine king—" Grandmother snorted at that "—but if the Ulthosi is right then he cannot afford indecisiveness in this moment. Where that leaves us in the end I know not, but only the gods truly know where the end lies of any of us. Right here, and right now, we have things to decide upon."
"Bringing us back to Renly, and Captain Hasegawa," concluded Willas. "Does Highgarden take action with her, and what action should we take?"
"Aye, and there's the rub," Father said. "How far may we go, and what good will it do?"
"Commanding the smallfolk to begin preparations for winter seems wise enough, as far as it goes," Willas mused. "The season hasn't quite turned yet, but early storage isn't the worst thing to do. At the least it'll give our people something other than the war to worry about. And if the captain is right about everything…" he trailed off, leaving the unspeakable unspoken.
"Yes, that is within our rights as Lord Paramount at least," Father said. "The question of sending men and food north, though… it is tempting, very tempting."
"Sending anyone north is tantamount to allying ourselves with the Starks," Grandmother said, "and if Eddard Stark isn't already allied with Stannis then I'm a Frey. Renly would see us all dangling from nooses before he sent men to aid his brother's friends, you know that."
"Aye, and yet…" Father shook his head. "This entire situation is mad."
"On that, my son, you and I agree."
A knock came at the door. Father motioned and one of his grandmother's servants opened the solar door. A steward's head popped in and announced, "Captain Hasi… Hasa…
the witch has arrived, my lord."
Father sat down in his great chair, assuming the guise of a great lord of men. "Send her in," he commanded, settling back into his chair. Willas sat at his right, Grandmother at his left.
The witch strode in, disheveled and furious. Willas noticed reddish smudges hastily wiped away on her face and hands as she marched up to the great table, her little magic ball creatures swarming like bees around her.
That bodes ill, he thought, stomach clenching, as she approached. "I have had an
incredibly shitty morning," she announced. "I was jumped by goons, my apprentice was wounded and I am about
this close to snapping and just lighting shit on fire until people start
paying attention." She flopped into an empty chair opposite Lord Mace then threw them a bright, brittle smile. "So how's
your day going?"
Grandmother looked at Father, the question plain in her eyes. Father ignored her, looking at the witch dumbfounded. "I beg pardon, my lady," he said cautiously, "but did you say you were… attacked?"
The captain's eyes narrowed. "A pack of thugs disguised as beggars jumped Alleras and me outside the ship and tried to knife us maybe an hour ago," she said with exaggerated calm.
"Was the injury serious?" Willas asked. "Maester Lomys is quite skilled at healing, I trust him with my life." He held back a wince at the thought of the captain's apprentice taking serious harm at Highgarden of all places. Of all the things they needed right now, the Red Viper's ire was nowhere on the list.
Captain Hasegawa's eyes shifted to him. "It wasn't great," she said. "But my supplies are good enough for the job. Alleras is resting on board my ship, should be fine in a day or two." She nodded to Willas. "The offer's appreciated, though."
"I will give thanks to the gods for that," Father said earnestly. He then slammed his fist down on the table with surprising ferocity. "PATE!" he roared. "GET IN HERE!"
The steward who had announced the captain scrambled into the solar. "M-my lord?" the man quavered.
Father pointed at Captain Hasegawa. "The Lady Hasegawa and her companions were
attacked," he thundered. "At the gates of Highgarden!
At my bloody doorstep! Did none of you even
think to inform me?"
"My lord," the man started, swallowed heavily, then began again. "My lord, the incident was over before the guards could intervene. We informed His Grace but you sent instructions not to be disturbed until the witch arrived."
Father's face was more florid than he'd ever seen it before. "My lady, please accept my deepest apologies for what happened," he said. "You are my guest here at Highgarden, and thus under my protection." He turned his attentions back to the steward Pate, who stood in the door like he was ready to flee at a moment's notice. "You," he growled. "Set guards along the path between the gate and the ship, and guards around the thing. None are to get within a stone's throw without my leave.
Mine, mind you, not His Grace's or anyone else. Understood? Now
go." Pate scrambled out of the room, white-faced and near pissing his breeches.
Captain Hasegawa's face softened a little, though her eyes remained skeptical. "Let's say it's a set of mutual errors, to be honest," she said. "But I accept your apology in the spirit it was given. Hopefully I'll get some details out of the goons before too long."
"My captain of the guard and the gaoler would be quite happy to assist, my lady," replied Father. "They're both quite skilled at obtaining confessions from the wicked."
The captain seemed oddly taken aback by the offer. "That's… very generous," she said. "But I think I'd rather Thoros did all that. In my country we've found that a priest can do better at extracting truth from a man than a torturer." She shook her head. "We'll get there when we get there. Now, since you asked me to meet with you for some
other reason, what would you like to talk about?"
Father settled back in his chair, his anger from the previous moment wafting away like smoke. "Have you and His Grace come to terms?" he asked.
"Not yet," she replied. "He didn't seem receptive last night, and this morning it felt like he was avoiding me? It's not exactly an encouraging thought, to be honest."
"Aye." Father looked at the captain, weighing her, this odd creature in green and black with her magic and devices. "His Grace is, naturally, most concerned with fighting the traitors and usurpers who contend for the Iron Throne against him. It is likely that he would rather focus on that than the… alarming nature of the intelligence you've given us."
The captain's face fell, just a little. "Yeah, they're brothers alright," she murmured, then continued on in a stronger, if no less weary voice. "Well, if that's the case then I doubt I'll make much more headway. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Tyrell. I suspect as soon as Al is good to travel we'll be on our way."
"Before you leave, my lady, consider this." Father gestured grandly to the table. "His Grace is concerned with matters of the throne, but he appointed me his Hand. As such, I have considerable leeway to act in the king's stead whilst he is distracted."
"Huh," the witch said, looking at his father with fully-open eyes. "That's an interesting move to make, milord. Also a dangerous one, if I understand it correctly."
"His Grace is a generous man, like his brother," his father replied with the tone of an indulgent father. "I doubt he'll demand my head for any minor indiscretions. Sending a few shiploads of food to Winterfell or White Harbor is just ordinary, everyday business, is it not? And should a few volunteers go along to protect the shipments from bandits and pirates, or as new recruits for the Night's Watch, well, that's the way of life in Westeros since before the dragons." He leaned back in his high chair, exuding a faint air of smugness.
Captain Hasegawa leaned forward intently. "Alright then, Mace," she said. "Let's talk turkey."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Fun Tyrant's Notes: Well, this ought to be interesting.
Don't really have anything else to say. So! Next time: skullduggery, fallout, possibly Florents and the next step in our tour of Westeros.
Until the next update, my lovelies!
xoxo,
The Fun Tyrant
