'Cannibalism?' Havel exclaimed, aghast.

'I saw it myself,' said Gwyndalion, shaking his head. 'Smough is eating the executed.'

Gwyndalion and Havel sat in Gwyndalion's private chambers, both unusually devoid of armour or weapons. After what he had witnessed in Smough's quarters, Gwyndalion had hurried back to the centre of Anor Londo, sent a curious Artorias away and called for Havel; then he had paced incessantly up and down his room until the bishop arrived.

'Why are you telling me?' asked Havel.

Gwyndalion sighed. 'I can tell no other. Artorias, Ornstein – my sister, even – you are the only one I can trust not to tell my father.'

'We have to tell your father!' Havel declared. 'Smough must be punished!'

'He will not hear it if it comes from me,' Gwyndalion said. 'He thinks I am reckless, stupid. Any evidence against Smough, if it comes from my snooping, is only something that he can distrust. And -' he continued, seeing Havel about to speak, '- he will not believe that anyone else would be so foolish as to go spying into Smough's quarters.'

'Then what do we do?' Havel asked.

'We must find a way to put the evidence right in front of his face, without him ever knowing that it came from any source but Smough's own foolishness,' Gwyndalion said.

'We have to frame Smough?' Havel said in disbelief, and Gwyndalion nodded.

'Father has to find out for himself,' he said.

Havel spluttered indignantly. 'How are we supposed to make that happen? You're asking a bishop to frame a royal executioner -'

Whatever point he would have made was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps, and they fell silent, trying not to stare guiltily at each other. Artorias entered the room, and Gwyndalion could feel his eyes examining them through the ever-present helmet.

'Lord Gwyn demands your presences,' Artorias said after an uncomfortably long silence.

'Both of us?' Havel asked, surprised.

Artorias nodded, and Gwyndalion felt his stomach drop. There was no way Gwyn could have found out about his trespasses, surely? Unless he had been seen – but no, he would have noticed – wouldn't he?

'You are to be added to the small council, Bishop Havel the Rock,' announced Artorias, and Gwyndalion felt Havel let out a sigh of relief beside him.

'I am honoured,' Havel said, his voice trying too hard to sound unstrained.


Gwyn's small councils were a rare occurrence. Gwyndalion himself had held a seat since the council's inception, and had only been called to meetings three times in the long, if still young, history of Anor Londo. It was vastly becoming a larger council, though: at the first meeting, only Gwyn, Ornstein, Allfather Lloyd and Gwyndalion had convened. Now there were many more seats in the great many-pillared room, some noticeably empty.

Gwyn sat at the head of the council, of course, seated directly below a great statue in his own likeness. Beside it were two more statues of his two eldest children; Gwyndolin had never deigned to pose for sculpture. Gwyndalion took the seat to his father's left; he was the Firstborn, but not the second in power. That honour went to Ornstein, who held the chair directly to Gwyn's right. Then were Artorias and Ciaran, followed by an empty seat in which Gough nominally sat but rarely occupied due both to how busy he kept and his prodigious size making it rather difficult for him to fit. On the right again of the Four Knights sat Allfather Lloyd, a tall and extremely thin man. In the battles with the dragons, he had worn enormous armour with ease; Gwyndalion did not doubt that his great-uncle still possessed the strength to do so, but Lloyd was looking old. Beside him was Havel, in his capacity as Lloyd's second of the Way of White. Then there was a man Gwyndalion did not recognise: a small, hunched figure, with an oddly scaled face. Then an empty seat, as Gwyndolin once again avoided public appearance, and finally between her brothers' seats was Gwynevere, to the left of Gwyndalion.

Gwyndalion smiled at his sister as she took her seat beside him. 'It has been too long, sister,' he said to her, inclining his head.

'It has,' she said, descending gracefully into her chair; Gwyn's daughter did everything gracefully.

Gwyn raised his hand, and all around bowed their heads.

'I call you here,' said Gwyn, 'to make an announcement. Stand,' he said, pointing at the unfamiliar man with the scaled cheeks.

'I am an assistant of Seath the Scaleless,' said the man, and Gwyndalion felt Havel glance over at him in shock. They had heard the rumours: gossip could hardly have helped spreading after all had seen that white dragon so many years ago, but nothing of it had ever been confirmed. 'He sends me as his representative.'

'Good. Sit,' said Gwyn. 'I am bestowing upon Seath the Scaleless a dukedom and his own archives and laboratories, in return for his services to us in the war against the dragons.'

There was a stunned silence around the council. Allfather Lloyd nodded approvingly, but Havel beside him looked shocked.

'For what purpose does he require archives and laboratories?' Gwyndalion finally asked.

'He is a seeker of knowledge,' said Gwyn dismissively, and Gwyndalion noticed Lloyd smiling as if in statisfaction.

'He is a dragon,' said Gwyndalion angrily, but his father's burning stare silenced him.

'He did us a great service against his own, and for that he is rewarded,' said Gwyn with finality. 'Go and tell your master that he shall be Duke of Anor Londo, effective immediately.'

The scaled man nodded and left the room as quickly as he could.

'There is another matter,' said Gwyn. 'For his own brand of services, Executioner Smough is lobbying for a knighthood.'

Gwyndalion tried to hide his shock, but he could feel Gwynevere beside him watching him with concern and interest. To his great relief, he did not have to be the first to protest.

'Smough is no knight,' said Ciaran. Her voice always struck Gwyndalion as strange: it was clear that it would be gentle, but the echoes of her helm made it sharp-edged. 'He has no honour, no loyalty, only a hammer.'

'I must agree,' said Artorias, rather predictably Gwyndalion thought. He could not complain, though: he could trust Artorias to agree with anything Ciaran did or said, and if that meant that the two of them could save him the trouble of framing Smough then so much the better. 'Smough is an executioner; he is a good executioner, but that is his place. He knows only the joy of killing, not the honour of a fair fight.'

Gwyn nodded, looking to Ornstein. The lion-helmed knight simply nodded in agreement.

'Then it seems Smough has been denied knighthood by vote,' said Gwyn, but then Lloyd spoke up.

'There is no voting in the bestowing of titles, nephew,' he said in tones like cracked twigs. 'The annals will show: the Lord of Sunlight makes a knight of whomever has served him befittingly.'

'And Smough has served me befittingly?' asked Gwyn.

'By all comparisons, he is more deserving of the title than some you have named,' said Lloyd with some satisfaction, adding as an afterthought, 'Lord of Sunlight.'

Gwyn looked down for several moments. 'Then I cannot deny him a knighthood.'

'You cannot,' said Lloyd, and he sat back and was still and silent.

Gwyndalion exchanged glances with Havel. He knew that his friend was just as confused as he as to Lloyd's sudden sympathies for Smough, and he hoped that as Lloyd's second Havel would be able to learn something of the strange situation. It hardly mattered as to motivation, at any rate: they would have to frame Smough. He could not become a knight.


'You do not seem as well as usual, brother,' Gwynevere observed when the meeting had ended and the siblings were alone together in one of Anor Londo's many halls.

'I had hoped that it would not be noticeable,' said Gwyndalion, trying not to sound dejected.

'Something troubles you.'

Gwyndalion half-smiled. 'You always were the wisest of us, sister.'

Gwynevere did a mock curtsy, a smile that had won the hearts of many men on her lips. 'I know my brothers, even if I only ever see you once in a dark moon and Gwyndolin even less.'

'Don't let Father hear you call him brother,' Gwyndalion said. Gwyn was deeply ashamed of Gwyndolin, it was known: he would never admit that his moon-devoted child was a son and not a daughter.

Gwynevere laughed. 'You are more like Father than you care to admit to yourself, you know. Do not assume that "brother" or "son" is any more of a compliment than "daughter" or "sister". Gwyndolin is our brother, or perhaps he is our sister. Either way, he is family.'

'Wisest of us all,' said Gwnydalion.

'Now tell me: what troubles you? There was a time that only destruction and war could make you happy, but now it seems you care more about politics and social goings-on than you ever did about fighting.'

'What makes you say that?'

'There are no battles now,' said Gwynevere. 'The only happenings now are political, and you care enough about something that is happening to be troubled by it. It is no insult, truly: I think you have grown up.'

Gwyndalion sighed. 'I thought all I cared about was strength in battle,' he said, slowly. 'But… there are people who are strong, who I would once have respected purely for that, but whose ideals I cannot agree with.'

Gwynevere examined her brother's expression for a long time. 'You really have grown up, brother,' she said, and kissed him on the cheek. 'Do not let me go so long without speaking to you again, will you?'

'Of course,' said Gwyndalion, and watched as his sister departed, handmaidens in tow.


Later, Gwyndalion and Havel sat opposite each other once again, neither sure where to start. Finally Gwyndalion broke the silence:

'We cannot allow Smough to become a knight.'

Havel nodded distractedly.

'If he cannot be ousted by vote,' Gwyndalion continued, 'then we must prove that he is not suitable.'

'Hmm,' said Havel.

'Is there something more important?' Gwyndalion asked irritably.

Havel looked up at him for the first time. 'No. Maybe. I think so. I'm not sure.'

'What is it?'

Havel shifted uncomfortably, grasping at his own forearms. 'I don't know about Seath,' he said finally.

'I don't think anyone does,' said Gwyndalion.

'It makes me uneasy,' said Havel. 'Making a dragon a duke, giving him free rein to research into… whatever he wants to research into.'

'My father has to show reward to those who serve him,' Gwyndalion said, 'just as he has to have those who go against his laws punished. It's justice.'

'Is it?' Havel asked, and Gwyndalion found that he could not answer. 'The executioner of your father's will is a cannibal! And a dragon holds a higher rank than I do! And no, this is not envy talking,' he said quickly, seeing Gwyndalion about to interject, 'this is the years of war with dragons talking.'

'How can we know that a dragon cannot be a good person?' Gwyndalion asked. 'Seath helped us destroy his own; he's hardly a typical dragon.'

'You cannot mean that,' said Havel, and Gwyndalion could only sit back uncomfortably. 'You cannot trust a dragon.'

'I'm not saying I trust him,' said Gwyndalion. 'I have no basis to trust or distrust him.'

'He is a dragon, Gwyndalion. Not a person.'

'I know that.'

Havel stared at the wall for a moment. 'If he does anything – anything – that goes against Gwyn's laws, I will kill him myself.'

Gwyndalion looked at his friend, and saw that it was true. Then Havel seemed to shake himself, suddenly asking, 'But to immediate matters – how do we frame Smough?'

Gwyndalion thought for a moment. 'Last time, I caught him after an execution.'

'Then he eats them straight away,' surmised Havel. 'Fresh meat.'

'We must find a way to lead them to him while he is in the act,' said Gwyndalion. 'When is the next execution?'

'Tomorrow, I think,' said Havel.

'Then all you have to do is summon someone to Smough's rooms straight afterwards.'

'All I have to do?' Havel spluttered indignantly.

'I can hardly do it myself,' said Gwyndalion pointedly. 'Father would barely trust me to tell him which direction the sun sets in.'

'Fine,' said Havel. 'But you must promise me something in return.'

Gwyndalion nodded. 'Of course, my friend.'

Havel leaned forwards. 'You must not trust Seath. And you must not trust anyone who associates with him.'

'That would include my own father,' said Gwyndalion.

Havel nodded.

'You distrust Gwyn?' asked the Firstborn in surprise.

'I do.'

'Lloyd?'

'He supports Seath. I don't know why, but I can no longer trust him.'

Gwyndalion looked at his friend thoughtfully for a moment.

'I will not trust Seath. And in return you will help me show them why they cannot trust Smough?'

Havel nodded again. 'The time may come that I ask you to help me do the same to Seath.'

Gwyndalion paused. 'I understand.'

The two shook hands.

'Then together we will find those who cannot be trusted and remove them?' said Havel, clasping Gwyndalion's hand tightly.

'We will,' said Gwyndalion.

Havel nodded approvingly.