Chapter III: Words of Wind
Grandmaester: The citizens of a multicultural trading hub like Braavos were never going to be all that fanatical about converting foreigners to the Lord of Light; that'd just be bad for business! Melisandre, we must remember, is from Asshai-by-the-Shadow, and though that city is also big on trade, it's definitely more homogenous than the Free Cities, and whereas the more liberal Ashai'i might engage in naval trade (that grand network of ideas), I don't imagine there'd be much debate in Asshai itself, a-like so:
"R'llor is Lord. The end. (And please buy our stuff, have a nice day.)"
"How dare you get a happy ending! How DARE you?!"
~ Hades, Kingdom Hearts II
"You are the fire that feeds Sora's anger."
~ Saix, Kingdom Hearts II
Postern, Ruins of Tarbeck Hall,
The Westerlands, Westeros
...now the rains weep o'er his hall,
and not a soul to hear.
A catchy tune, if a tad exclusive, mused the cloaked figure. No one now sang of the venerable Tarbecks who had joined the Reynes of Castamere in their infamous rebellion against the House of Lannister. Admittedly, one would have to really stretch their imagination to come up with a play on words involving the word "Tarbeck". He then looked up and about him at the ruins - azure and white shattered glass littered the overgrown rubble, the source of which was now a mutilated window, which had in better days depicted a seven-pointed star. Their House sigil did not really fit in with the bards' narrative of the rebellion as a civil war amongst lions: lions squabbled all the time in the wild, but a seven-pointed star, hurtling from the heavens? That would definitely have strained the meaning of the ditty.
The Seven-Pointed Star. The cloaked figure was not normally one for idle musings, but he had some time to spare for the moment. The Faith of the Seven was the foremost religion in Westeros' Seven Kingdoms, brought into the Sunset Lands by the Andals of the East millennium ago, sweeping away most of the old woodland idols of the First Men south of the Neck. As far as he understood it, the Faith revered a deity that had seven "faces" (not unlike faiths on several other worlds, but that was beside the point). Devotees of this seven-in-one god usually swore by the "Light of the Seven": referring to the shades of color pure light manifests as when split. That continuously called to mind the supposed Guardians of Light, and the separate aspects of the Seven (as recounted in some commoner lullaby):
The Father's face is stern and strong... King Mickey. Granted, he was not sure the rat could hope to pass as the personification of "strength", but kings had always filled the position of fathers to their peoples since that post had been conceived of, passing and administering justice in every sort of dispute among them.
The Mother gives the gift of life... Aqua. He may not remember much from his vessel's former life, but the compassion and guidance offered by the lost Keyblade Master to her two lesser companions still stood out.
The Warrior stands before the foe... Sora. Ever querulous, ever troublesome, ever ready to raise his blade against the Darkness in defense of the weak and the helpless... But against the Light? That could be interesting.
The Smith, he labors day and night... Riku. The boy had chosen the Road to Dawn, and now worked unceasingly to better himself and the worlds as a whole - after all, without his works, what would the Warrior possibly defend? - but ultimately, the others would receive most of the credit in the end. Pity.
The Maiden dances through the sky... Kairi. Next.
The Stranger waits outside the door... Lea, perhaps? Though popularly referred to as male, the aspect of the Stranger was actually genderless, representing the amorally equalizing force of death. Its motives were its own, if it had any; Death was beyond the understanding of human ken. It was therefore viewed with suspicion, and much like those poor Tarbecks, was excluded from all of the elder songs and prayers.
The Crone is very wise and old... Hrm. Might have to look into that one - assuming there is any connection with this Seven-Faced God at all.
Enough. He had others willing to investigate for him: for now, he must strategize. Thanks to the Heartless, the Old Lion would soon return to his den. Normally, the Darkness could not penetrate that accursed Wall to the North: its aged foundations had been laid in stone, but they had been sealed in blood (a similar enchantment hung about Maegor's Red Keep in the capital). Now, however, it seemed that cracks had appeared within even the mightiest fortifications of the First Men, and the Darkness was now becoming ever more tangible within the hearts of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.
With the bulk of the Lannisters' forces chasing after the rabid Northmen in the West, Stannis would have an easier time of winning the Iron Throne. Sure, that would put Westeros' Keyhole beyond his reach for a little while longer, but then the "Son of Fire" would have administrating and rebellions to deal with for a great while afterwards, prompting him (along with the Old Lion and the Young Wolf) to tarry in the South far longer than they ought to... and all the while, with the setting of the sun, the cracks in the Wall would grow ever wider.
Heartless would be the least of their troubles.
The Upper Commons, Royal Citadel
Radiant Garden
"…er high in the air!
He sniffed and roared and smelled her there!
She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair!
When he licked the-"
"The frigg are you singing, you idiot?"
From a niche in the Great Hall of the Citadel were a dual flight of stairs onto the Commons: an upper gallery available to the (now dwindling) public to observe the Committee's proceedings and deliberations. Only recently constructed, the Commons were less decorated than the Hall below, its Spartan furnishings lacking many a mosaic and uncomfortably nude sculpture. Instead, drywall of an off-white color covered the gallery, which periodically opened out onto several inward-looking balconies overlooking the Great Hall. It was from one of those balconies that the flippant singing of a mildly amused pyrotechnic could be heard.
The tall figure was clad in the black cloak characteristic of Organization XIII (which, if Sora recalled correctly, allowed their wearers to transverse the Realm of Darkness with no side effects). His black sleeves were bound closely to his thin wrists, which emphasized his thin, lanky frame. From the peak of his head burst a flurry of shoulder-length red hair, slicked-back into irregular spikes. Emerald green eyes shot open in acknowledgement, a flame appearing to dance in each iris, and he raised a thin eyebrow, lifting his right hand from his folded arms in a lazy wave. "Hey, look who it is! Roxas, Kairi, Riku - s'been a while."
Sighing despondently, the young Keyblade Wielder corrected him by saying, "That's SOR-"
"Sure it is. Well, that masterpiece that just graced your eardrums was just a little ditty I picked up earlier." At their blank, accusatory expressions, however, his spikes seemed to droop despondently and he said, "Oh. I get it. Look, I'm not a pervert, honest! I just heard those Westerosi singing it earlier – it's about a bear, you see-"
Sora held up his hand. "Nope. That's it. Don't need to hear any more."
"I think I do though." Kairi crossed her arms. "You said you heard it from the Dragonstone Delegation? What's your thoughts about them?"
Lea blinked. "Oh, them? They're really polite - you know, if you have enough titles, I guess." He frowned. "Bit of a shady bunch, though, aren't they? Yeah, I saw that brown-nosing down there. They come crawling in here asking for all sorts of favors right off the bat – that tells me they're not as well off in this war of theirs as they're pretending they are. And then, in the very dead of night, they slip out of town – at least the have the decency to hold their little tuning practice far from normal people. It's a wonder any of them got any sleep back on their world, what with the bonfires, and the yelping, and the singing…!"
"Huh." Sora grinned and folded his arms, leaning forward conspiratorially, and said teasingly, "I thought you'd be into that sort of thing, honestly."
"Singing? Yea, if it's good singing." Lea smirked and also folded his arms, though he leaned back and replied haughtily, "Oh, and don't get me wrong, kid – I like a blazing inferno just as much as the next pyro. I'm just not, well... religious about it, you know?" Lea held up his right forefinger, and a flame flickered to life above it. Flicking his wrist, it came to rest just above the back of his hand, and entertained himself by shifting the fire from knuckle to knuckle. "So, when'd you three get here? I'm surprised you didn't announce your arrival by crashing into the hall earli-"
"Put that out, Lea, would you? I truly don't want to have to drag you to Ienzo in as many days."
Lea scowled, and the spark died out - from the balcony's doorway loomed two very tall men, broad of shoulder and of face. Clad in dark slate grey guard uniforms and knee-high black boots, the curled heart of Radiant Garden adorned both their jackets and their white gloves. The jackets were framed by silver highlights and two rows of golden buttons. The wider of the two had a large, square chin (currently clenched in determination), and razor-sharp cheekbones, above which rested a pair of sky-blue eyes. His ginger hair was slicked back from his angular face in irregularly styled spikes, and from his belt hung a heavy axe, that handle of which the man's fingers tapped threateningly. It was the second, however, that aroused instant suspicion in Sora: a slimmer, black-haired man that had styled his hair in long dreadlocks, all but one of which was tied behind his head in a low ponytail; the last hung beside his face. Thick brows and sideburns framed his harsh face, from which glared a pair of shockingly violet eyes, and his gloved hand clenched tall lance with silver edges, a violet and silver handle, and a blue blade, below which had been forged the curled heart of the Garden.
The memory of the heinous deeds committed by the Nobody, Xaldin, urged Sora to lash out at the guardsman - however, he remembered how effective that had been with Riku and Even. In any case, Dilan's attention was solely on Lea: the former Whirlwind Lancer grinned devilishly. "Still, if you get in trouble enough times, we might even get permission to kick you out onto the Postern entirely! Ah, it'd be just like the good old days -"
"Which I'd rather not revisit amongst mixed company, thank you," Lea said hurriedly, glancing at the Keyblade Wielders. "We all make mistakes in our youth, you know?"
"Some more than others, yes," Aeleus said reprovingly, causing Lea to scowl in irritation.
"Wait. What was Lea like as a kid?" Sora asked excitedly, eager to, at last, get some dirt on the elder Keyblade Wielder-!
Just as Dilan opened his mouth to divulge what were probably some of his darkest embarrassments, the former Flurry of Dancing Flames immediately changed the subject: "So, uh, how's Even doing? He seemed pretty composed during the hearing."
Aeleus scowled at the youth reprovingly. In his ominous monotone, he said, "Your little greeting nearly gave him a heart attack when he first woke up a week ago. It took a whole afternoon with intense psychotherapy with Ms. Gainsborough to calm him down."
"You know, Aeleus, I honestly don't know how you did it, but you just made being stuck with a pretty lady for a few hours sound like such torture!" For whatever reason, Lea refused to be put in a fowl mood that day. Beaming, he exclaimed, "Hey, just look on the bright side! He has a heart that can actually be attacked, now! We're making progress, right?"
Sora looked at him askance. "What did you do?"
"Well, Roxas-"
"It seems that Lea 'forgot' about the particular atmospheric composition of this world during his travails." Dilan looked down at Sora and explained, "Not for naught is Radiant Garden called thus. Lord Ansem's research indicates that, compared to others, our home's atmosphere has a notably higher concentration of oxygen. It promulgates plant life, yes, but-"
"Yea, it also kicks combustion and… oxidation rates through the roof? Life and fire go hand in hand, I guess." Lea shrugged. "Nearly blew up Even's face - on accident, of course. Probably brought back some bad memories for him, poor guy (I can sort of see how easily Malificent torched the place after we were gone, too)." He frowned. "Wait, we had wards for the oxygen. I know that much. Why haven't we gotten the wards back up, again?"
"Logistics issues, Heartless attacks, the aforementioned combustions -"
"Look, how many apologies do you want, exactly?"
"Words are wind," Dilan said dismissively, as if he were a deciding opinion on the subject. "You are a mobile fire hazard just waiting to happen (and no, that's not a compliment in this context). Keep it under wraps within these walls, or we'll be forced to escort you from the premises." Immediately, the two giants snapped to attention, legs joined heel to knee and arms by their sides. Reverently, they bowed to the small gathering, and before any of their heads could grow any bigger, Aeleus said, "We are honored to witness your return, Lady Kairi. Call on us if the need arises."
"Oh, th-that's not really necessary!"
"No, it isn't." Lea glared at the two Apprentices deprecatingly. "Quit groveling, we don't need the entire city blabbing about her! No offense, Kairi," he explained hurriedly, "but political situations are best handled... delicately. These two wouldn't know 'delicate' if it nipped them in th-"
"And… How is my being here in any way a 'situation?'" Kairi frowned, and folded her arms combatively. Dilan and Aeleus, similarly, now made no motion to leave, awaiting a response. "Do they not like me or something?"
"Uh…. It's complicated." Lea, showing a great deal more wisdom than usual, explained calmly, "Sure, your average run-of-the-mill citizen might be bouncing with joy at the return of the rightful heir, or they might curse you for abandoning this world and catching the first star off to the Isles, or they most likely just want a regular paycheck and groceries for the tykes at home. It's the elites you've got to worry about, few as they are. Your being here will only upset the already tenuous status quo of a developing Power, and there'd be quite a bit of noise made about your leadership qualities as well."
Kairi glowered - which both frightened and intrigued Sora. Nostrils flaring dangerously, indigo eyes alight, her stance tightened and she demanded, "It's not a sex thing, is it?"
He smirked. "If only it were that simple - no, sweet Princess, apparently they'd be more concerned with your upbringing. The Sage-Kings of Radiant Garden have always pursued wisdom over wealth or political weight - I know Ansem's grandfather was a big astronomy nut (he put a lot of emphasis on the astrophysical sciences during his reign). Eventually, at some point in our history, they started to require that all of their potential heirs undergo strict tutelage in preparation for their future rule. I'm sure, smart girl as you are, you won't have a problem filling Ansem's shoes if you wanted to - we'd just need to prep you up a bit." Lea grimaced. "And then there's... that woman..."
"Melisandre?" Sora frowned. "Why would she care about Kairi's upbringing?"
"Ah, she probably wouldn't. In fact, Kairi probably could have been raised by some random blacksmith for all she cares. No, it's not that." Lea's eyes stopped dancing. "Even asked me to keep an eye on her. During the day, she's cooped up in the Royal Library, particularly in the section pertaining to the Royal genealogy, asking very pointed questions of the librarians about Ansem and his research into the heart. Also... I may have... picked up on some of her more covert conversations." Then he scratched the back of his head - at least he had the good sense to look sheepish, if only subconsciously. "Say what you will of eavesdropping, but it's certainly useful. Just before one of her little night sermons, I overheard Melisandre preaching to that old Hand of hers - 'there is power in a king's blood.'" Frowning, Lea finished, "I assumed she wasn't excluding any ladies in the family tree...?"
Sora's demeanor had gradually darkened as Lea explained the priestess' interest in Kairi, jaw clenching in ferocity. The well-being of his childhood friend - captured a year or two before by some witch seeking the power locked within Kingdom Hearts, and then again by Nobodies desiring the same - was a naturally touchy subject for him. To learn that yet another ambitious mystic sought ought her abilities had, at last, broken the camel's back, where he was concerned. "I'm gonna kill her," he spat out acidly in reply.
"Sora," chided Kairi by his side, "I can take care of myself, now." A Keyblade flashed into her hand - a modest length of red silk hung from the hilt, to which a Paopu Fruit had been clipped. the bottom of the hilt crested into a blue wave, while the top formed a vine of yellow sand which wrapped around a sunset-colored shaft. Sprouting from the sand was a bouquet of tropical flowers, entwining to outline a curled heart - though, looking closer at it, Sora found several varieties of flower not indigenous to Destiny Isles just beginning to bud as well; more temperate species native to Radiant Garden. "I know both Lea and I still have some training to do - but, between the four of us (and some magic tutoring from Merlin) we could probably give that woman a good run for her money; if she even decides to do anything."
"Our offer still stands as well, Lady Kairi," Aeleus pledged fervently. "You are a guest under the Committee's protection, and of the blood of His Lordship besides."
Dilan nodded. "If she offers you any trouble whatsoever - or cause to offend - we will know of it. Our warning to Lea applies to her as well, and doubly so, in fact. Come, Aeleus; we still have this stretch of patrol to complete." Snapping to attention once more, the two formidable guardsmen saluted and turned about, marching in lock-step formation into the Upper Commons.
Lea whistled. "Okay, now you have some extra muscle. Sora, I think you can take a breather, we're not just going to let Melisandre pull a sack over Kairi or something (no matter how funny that mental image is)."
"Yeah, Sora; why do you have to do so much on your own? You got friends, like us," Riku said supportively, smirking. "I won't let anything happen to you two; you know that, right?"
The question, it seemed, was directed only partially at them: he may not admit it, but Sora felt the Wielder of Twilight had let the red woman get to him, if only subconsciously. Perhaps his earlier betrayal of the two had prompted this vehement vow, but it was one easily reciprocated. Shoulders easing from their rigid stand, Sora grinned good-naturedly and said, "Ditto. Now, have I shown the two of you around yet?"
Flower District, Castle Town
Radiant Garden
"So, what brought on this great urge to see the sights?"
"Well... this is your home. I thought you'd like to see some more of it. And someone needs to show it off - Leon and the others have really fixed up the place, since the last time you saw it." It was with a racing heart that Sora had stood outside Kairi's room that morning and asked if she wanted to see the reviving city, sans Riku (who had suspiciously made himself scarce ever since the previous afternoon - though the Wielder of Twilight's snarky commentary was always appreciated, it wouldn't fit into his plans for today). He wasn't quite sure, himself, why he had chosen today, in particular, to take Kairi on a tour of her estranged birthplace. To show that she had potential supporters, maybe? Anyway, spending more time with her was the complete opposite of a problem, in his opinion (especially after the year or so they had spent separated). "Plus, I know this place like the back of my hand! Uh, not that I spend many afternoons staring at my hand, but-"
"I get it, shut up." Still, her brilliant smile somehow made his own faux pas worth it. Head tilted, she said, "This has been a great day so far - you know, for a bum, you sure have been taking a lot more initiative lately."
He groaned. "I haven't really had any time to slack off, Kairi. I mean, you try crash-landing into a giant jungle and having to scrounge for food sometime. Like to see you napping then..."
It had been a pretty uniform tour so far: a quick stroll along the rejuvenated aqueduct (which would have provided an amazing view, if the Outer Gardens would just grow already) followed by a haphazard detour to the Marketplace, where three quarters of the vendors had foisted discounts on their purchases despite their protests ("no, Sora, they'd still recognize you, even with a fake moustache.") Then on to Scrooge's for some ice cream - sea-salt was, typically, all sold out due to popular demand, so Sora had opted for mint ("to help your teeth? Really?") and Kairi a strawberry-vanilla swirl. Eventually, they had stumbled onto a part of the city that not even Sora could recognize: a long system of sidewalks lined the meandering streets, through which chocobo-drawn carriages brought cargo to and from the now bustling Marketplace, cheerful warks filling the spring air. The setting sun cast brilliant orange light through a fairly thick canopy; tall-ish magnolia trees towered above the stretch of sidewalk they were currently following, snowy white flowers in bloom, their roots already seeming to protest against the stone constraints that confined them: certain sections of sidewalk jutted from the ground at sharp angles, allowing glimpses of defiant bark to be observed from above (and complicating matters for unwary pedestrians - a wandering mind threatened a fall courtesy of a 30 degree angle).
"And the ice cream was phenomenal - I don't even think Destiny Islands have that many flavors!" Spontaneously, she seized his rough hand in her own soft one and said, "Thanks again, Sora!" Gulping, Sora was all of a sudden very aware of how dry his tongue had grown, and how warm his cheeks had become, and how interesting their brilliant surroundings were. Cerulean eyes darting about at the vivid flora, he forced himself to look back at his childhood friend's own indigo eyes - something in the air (definitely pollen), apparently, urged him forward-
"Young love blooms, I see." An aged voice penetrated their reverie, and Sora blinked, returning to his frantic sightseeing from earlier, focusing on an area behind Kairi to behold the slim form of Lord Alester Florent, Hand of Stannis Baratheon, advancing towards them, looking unsuitably fierce in the wooded avenue, clad as he was in his red-gold armor, inlaid flowers flashing a harsh sapphire in the setting sun. "Perfect environs for it."
Sora, remembering Lea's account of the Westerosi discussing Kairi's bloodline with the red priestess, slipped out of her grasp and eyed him intensely, clenching his jaw slightly in irritation - however, Kairi, sensing a storm brewing in her companion's countenance, again took his hand in her own warm one and politely said, "Lord Alester - it's good to see you again. We were just leaving-"
"Oh nonsense, don't stop on my account. I shall not linger here for too much longer (I've already sent my things ahead of me), so I thought I might as well soak in as much ambience as I could before I am summoned by the King." Despite his martial attire, the Reachlord appeared very much at ease, sauntering up to the two Keyblade Wielders nonchalantly, gazing about at the brilliant flora appreciatively. "This place reminds of my home in Brightwater..." he trailed off, looking down towards the perilous street, and continued, "...right down to the jagged pavement. In my early years, I scraped my knee many times tripping over those accursed sidewalks." There was not much hatred in his voice, only a fond nostalgia underlined by the frustration of wounded youth.
Sheepishly, Sora nudged at one of the sidewalk's elevated edges and asked, "It sounds like a nice place. What's it like?"
Alester smiled at the teenagers good-naturedly. "It is situated near the head of the Honeywine River. It is inundated with groves and fountains, courtyards and colonnades... by night, the air is filled with the sounds of singing, piping, fiddling and harping. My brothers - Axell, Ryam and I - we all played at being knights-errant, tilting with misshapen branches, winning the hearts of imagined maidens whilst avoiding our lessons (and trust me, applying oneself to the art of governance is no small undertaking). And then there were the races..." Clenching his gauntleted fist mockingly, Lord Alester explained, "Poor Axell didn't really stand a chance, bow-legged as he is, but Ryam... ah, that was a worthy opponent! He actually attained knighthood in his later years; I never could catch him, down those treacherous alleyways." He sighed, and looked down morosely. "Dead, many years now. A simple fall off a horse... All that speed, and he could not escape the very earth." He looked back up at the two youths and declared, a fire burning in his eye, "His daughter, by right, should sit beside the Iron Throne. Selyse is Queen, and Stannis is King."
The tension in Sora had gradually been easing as he heard Lord Alester's description of his home and childhood. Though he certainly didn't approve of how he was going about it, the Keyblade wielder could see where the drive to crown Stannis originated: an old rivalry (which eerily reminded him of Riku and himself) that had never been fully resolved. Perhaps, by aiding Ryam's daughter and son-in-law gain power, the Hand of the King thought he would, at last, defeat his brother? Continuing, the Old Fox said, "Well, when we had all come of age, we each attended to our younger siblings doing the same, turning old Brightwater into their playpen. It's no great beauty like Highgarden, I admit, but it has its own quaint charm. Still..." he absent-mindedly fingered the Hand pinned to his ermine cloak and bemoaned, "I do not expect to see it again in my lifeti-"
"My Lord Hand!" A booming male voice was heard from the direction of the Marketplace - turning sharply to the left, Lord Alester was greeted by the hurrying forms of two people - one was the enigmatic Melisandre of Asshai, still clad in her scarlet red attire (one could be forgiven for thinking she had been born in them). By the red woman's side strode a tall, well-built man clad in a similarly warm color - an orange tunic and burnt sienna trousers, with a brilliantly rainbow-striped silk cloak trailing lightly behind him; obviously the source of the loud greeting.
"Ah, Lord Bryce." Alester Florent turned to the two Keyblade Wielders - gone was the genial grin of the reminiscent - the kindly old man that had conversed with them before seemed to have vanished altogether. In his stead was the unsmiling, elderly statesman that had stood resolutely before the Committee, now looking them both over with a critical eye. Formally, he said, "May I introduce to you Bryce of House Caron, Lord of Nightsong and the Marches of the Stormlands? Lord Bryce, these are two of the three that I spoke with you of."
The marchlord flashed the two an easy smile, saying, "A pleasure."
"Now, what word from the King?"
In answer, Lord Bryce mutely handed Alester a tightly sealed parchment, emblazoned with a golden seal. As the King's Hand broke his superior's seal, eyes darting over the written word, the orange lord hesitated and explained, "His Grace is... displeased with the Committee's decision. It will, however, have to wait, my lord. He has summoned you to the Blackwater - the assault on King's Landing will begin this very night." Lord Bryce eyed the red woman at his side critically. "He also requests that the Lady Melisandre remain in Radiant Garden for the time being." The bannerman's wording did not escape the trio: where the King felt free to summon his Hand hither and yon, he could only request the red priestess to do the same.
Still, to Sora's delight, she seemed rather distressed with her king's decision: the skin around her scarlet eyes tightened, and her lips pursed in disagreement. "I would be honored to continue representing the Lord's Chosen. Still... I would serve him better on the field of battle itsel-"
"The Iron Throne will be won by virtue of the King's right to rule, not by your conjurer's tricks, woman," Lord Bryce interrupted. "By the Light of the Seven, it is Stannis who shall prevail, not your red god."
While Lord Alester stood to the side stroking his beard, still perusing his orders (as if the coming stand-off were a familiar occurrence back on their own world), Sora and Kairi impartially observed the beginning of what could only be described by lesser minds as a pissing contest: Melisandre, lips twitching into a pitying smirk, replied, "Your Seven were naught but wooden idols, my lord. You were not present at Dragonstone at the time, but they burned easily enough (though fairly brightly, to their credit)."
Snarling, the orange lord spat out, "As you are an expert on the subject, I shall remind you that every fire can be snu-!"
"Peace, Lord Bryce." It seemed the Hand's deep reserve of patience had at last reached its limit. Creasing the letter from his King delicately in two, Lord Alester finally turned a reproachful look to his fellow bannerman. "His Grace, in his wisdom, has permitted the old faiths to continue under his reign; but it would behoove you to not abuse that right. Also recall that, here, you are a representative of not only the King, but the Realm at large. You will observe the proper courtesies, by that rainbow cloak you cling so desperately to, or you shall remain and lose any chance at the glories to be had this night. My Lady," he kindly addressed Melisandre, "the time has come. If you would be so kind..."
Grudgingly, she swept to the side and held her hands high in benediction - flames leapt from her fingertips, and she cried aloud in the arcane tongue of her world, "Prūmius Perzys!" Her flames burst forward and coalesced into the King's sigil: the fiery heart of the Lord of Light. It disappeared from view, and instantly, a great conflagration erupted from the wooded street, not quite reaching the trees' lower limbs in height, and bright, searing tongues of fire began to lap hungrily at the air.
"Follow behind me, if you would, Caron." The King's Hand turned back to Sora and Kairi - with the Corridor of Light at his back, and the sun setting in the east, he was cast ominously in a field of warm colors, his reddish armor enhancing the effect. He seemed as if he were a portent of doom, come to bring a fiery end to their world. "When we meet again, young ones, I shall have the full might of the Iron Throne backing me. Go and tell your Committee that His Grace cannot - and will not - be denied then." Neither of them knew what exact significance the Iron Throne held for this foreign party, but the reverence Lord Alester gave it in his prior speeches lent it great power - despite himself, Sora felt he ought to urge Leon reconsider his slow deliberations - but then, the moment was gone as the two lords immersed themselves in the flames and the Corridor flickered out of sight, the red woman the only remaining witness to their confusion. She simply smiled, and left.
The Red Keep, King's Landing
The Crownlands, Westeros
"That'll be all, Podrick - go fetch Bronn for me." With his squire's muted assent and hurried departure, the diminutive figure looked at the armored reflection in the mirror. Although he certainly didn't present an easy target, it never hurt to be prepared for the worst. The Little Lion. A beauty, Lord Tyrion was not. Born a dwarf, he possessed a stout frame, afflicted with stubby legs, and a curious mixture of shaggy blonde and black hair. From beneath a jutting forehead peered a pair of mismatched eyes gleaming with intellect: one black as night, the other green as the rest of his esteemed family's - a family which now depended on him more than ever before. As acting Hand of his nephew, the child King Joffrey of House Baratheon, First of His Name, titles, the defense of the Capital fell onto his very modest shoulders. Tonight, he would, hopefully, prove himself every bit as worthy of the name of Lannister a-
"My Lord Hand-?"
"AUG- gods be good, Varys, could you warn me next time?" Tyrion had not even heard the Master of Whispers until he appeared looming above in the mirror. Flinching terribly, Tyrion looked up balefully at a deceptively unassuming face; indeed, it seemed he tried very hard to appear as meek (and trustworthy) as possible. A plump, bald eunuch, his pale skin was soft (for whispering required little manual work) and perfumed with lilac (if he had not known Varys better, he would assume that was to mask the scent of blood). Tyrion had never even seen him wear anything remotely uncomfortable: eschewing the hard metal of armor, he preferred to dally about it expensive silks and vibrant velvets; completing the ensemble was a pair of mute slippers, which allowed him to (annoyingly) move without a sound. How much of that was due to his eavesdropping nature, rather than his apparent enjoyment of shocking others with his unexpected presence remained a mystery.
The eunuch only giggled in reply. "I could, certainly, but there'd be no fun in that - and joy is so hard to come by nowadays, in this musty Keep of ours."
"I'm not here for your amusement, I'm here for your protection. Keep on scaring me halfway to the Seven Hells and I might neglect to return." With an irritated huff, he turned around to face Lord Varys face-to-face. "Who then will keep Stannis from taking your scented head? Joffrey? My sweet sister?"
"Oh, I'd manage fine on my own, I think. Few know this accursed fortress as well as I. I bring news," Varys said abruptly, dropping the jovial tone and immediately donning a businesslike air, hands folding within his long sleeves. "My birds have related a new song to me: the alleyways are darkening, and children have gone missing amidst their wanderings. The word 'magic' features prominently...?"
"Well, tell your birds to dig their heads out of the sand. I've a city to defend; I have no time to chase after superstitious nonsense," he shot derisively, and Tyrion returned to the odyssean challenge of adjusting his austere cuirass (another disadvantage of dwarfism - the perpetual lack of fitting outerwear). "If they're so concerned about grumpkins, they're always welcome to take the black, but until then-"
"Come now, my lord, there is always a grain of truth within every desert of myth (for lack of a better expression)." Dipping his head lower to bring himself to eye level with Tyrion, he explained quietly. "The enemy is within the Wall, my lord. I fear not even the good men of the Night's Watch can hold back what is coming. Blades of steel can only do so much, after all."
"Well, we had better shore up our defenses, then, and keep an extra eye out for these shades of yours. And for that, we'll need more men. Any word from my Lord Father?"
The Spider released a morose sigh. Regretfully, he answered, "There is naught from the Riverlands, sad to say - I expect Lord Tywin has grown overly-fond of hunting wolves, so much so that he's forgotten the stag charging at his rear. However..." The eunuch eyed him levelly - and from deep within the recesses of his silken sleeve, he extracted a short length of parchment - the rusted color of blood did not escape Tyrion's notice. "I have received a raven... from Bitterbridge. There is good news, and bad news..."
"From Littlefinger? About bloody time." Following the collapse of Lord Renly's host after his death, the small council had dispatched its "loyal" Master of Coin to the Reach in an attempt to rally Highgarden to the cause of King Joffrey. Petyr Baelish had definitely not been Tyrion's first choice: hailing from a minor House of the Vale, Baelish held dominion of the least of the Fingers, those narrow peninsulas jutting into the Narrow Sea (and the source of his queer alias). The grandson of a Braavosi mercenary, Lord Petyr possessed no great army or mighty fortress; however, he did not lack for ambition - this, coupled with his financial adeptness, won him influence, contacts, and power. He stood to gain even more should his mission prove successful. The Tyrells' alternatives were few: either join the banners of the bellicose Stannis Baratheon, or shore up their forces in the Reach. By siding with the Iron Throne, they stood to join Lord Petyr in escalating their position amongst the Realm at large, naturally offered by the chaos of war.
Of course, where Baelish was concerned, things were rarely so simple. "There's a price involved, I take it?"
"The Tyrells have made some counter-offers. Margaery becomes Queen, yes, but they'll want positions of their own to seal the arrangement." He glanced down at the list. "In return for joining his banners to yours, and reopening the Roseroad to shipments of food to King's Landing, Lord Mace Tyrell desires a seat on the small council (master of ships, perhaps?), and his youngest, Ser Loras, wishes the great honor of joining His Grace's Kingsguard-"
"Let's hope the Flowery Knight has more patience than I, then, for both their sake... Is that all?"
"That is the extent of their explicit wants. However, it seems they may be more... willing than able at this stage." The Spider looked back down at the parchment, his lined forehead creasing contemplatively. "It appears that some... dark mist has fallen upon the Mander Crossing...? 'Day now appears as night, and though the good knights of Highgarden urge their steeds across the broad way, the poor creatures go mad with fear and rear blindly rather than trod this newly-damned bridge..." Varys shot a joyless smile at the Acting Hand. "You and I both know that Littlefinger, while dramatic, is no man to be taken in by superstition. Words are not always wind, my friend. The Tyrells send their deepest regrets, but their coming will be delayed. How long? Indeterminate." He returned the letter into his sleeves (blankly, Tyrion wondered how much he could realistically fit into them). "Aside from the garrison, the city is defenseless, my Lord Tyrion. You are our only hope, now."
"It appears so. Gods help us."
Prūmius Perzys: (High Valyrian) "Heart of Fire".
Ugh. I'm not really dragging Team Xehanort into this mess, am I? Probably would have done better with either an original villain or some Martinesque anti-hero, but I already (re?)introduced the Trio to the Radiant Garden cast, implying that they'd never met before, so: I am officially way in over my head...!
YOU GAIS XALDIN'S EYES ARE PURPLE HE'S A TARGARYEN HONEST haha no.
The whacky sidewalks in Radiant Garden were inspired by those in the scenic Garden District of New Orleans (and no, you should not run through there. Ever.) Also included in this scene is my attempt to make Alester sort of likeable. Yes? No? (Curiously, Lord Bryce never did rid himself of that rainbow cloak of his.)
... Why yes I do suck at the roamance, thanks for noticing.
To conclude: Lord Tywin's off gallivanting after King Robb in the Westerlands, and the Tyrells are all holed up in the Reach. Oh, whatever will befall Tyrion? Tune in "next week" to find out!