Benjen pinched his nose.
"You can't mouthbreathe like an idiot forever," said Elijah, strutting down the gangway. "You might as well get used to it, hmm?"
"You don't have a nose," Benjen complained, even as he allowed himself to be bathed in the…aroma of King's Landing.
"I also don't have taste buds, and you don't hear me complain when I hear the sizzle of bacon on a hot iron pan."
"Yes I do."
"Yeah, I suppose you do. But my suffering is greater than yours, so deal with it," said James. "Jesus. What a massive city… I wonder if this is what Rome looked like in its heyday."
Benjen only knew a passing amount about Rome, but he had to agree with Elijah's sentiment. He'd been able to see the city from miles out; he couldn't imagine the volume of manpower it must have taken to build a wall so long. There were so many buildings built so close to each other, often stacked twice or even three times to conserve the limited land; even from here, though, Benjen could see the outline of the Dragonpit (and despite its rumored size, it was only a tiny little splotch on the horizon from here) and the spires of the Great Sept.
Passing through the River Gate was an experience; what felt like a wall of sound slammed into him. People talking, bustling feet and hooves, animals and children playing in the streets. The streets themselves were packed mud, while the buildings around them were most wooden constructions, with the occasional taller, brick buildings interspersed in between. Being next to the harbor, a massive fish market — maybe ten times bigger than the one at White Harbor — had sprung up using wooden posts and cloth. The scent of fish was overwhelming.
"I'm really craving some sashimi right now," Elijah muttered forlornly, his eyes following a fat salmon.
"What's with your obsession with fish?" Benjen said.
"You admitted the fish at White Harbor were good," Elijah accused, and Benjen shrugged. "Your cooks just can't make them properly. Christ, I wish I could've tasted that snow crab. It looked so good."
As Elijah tortured himself over the marine produce, Benjen weaved through the crowd. While he'd brought along the most drab clothing he owned, it seemed the people of King's Landing had a sixth sense for detecting finery, because they seemed to instinctively move out of his path, despite him only being a young teen. Benjen frowned, hunching into himself.
"Am I that obvious?" he asked Elijah.
"No idea," Elijah said. "I never went out much. Tourists can be pretty obvious, I suppose."
"Is that what I am?" Benjen asked, horrified. There weren't all that many people who toured the North — most preferred the warmth of the Reach, for example, or the (supposedly) breathtaking mountains of the Vale — but some did arrive, to witness Winterfell's architecture or to see the Wall, what with it being one of the wonders of man.
Tourists were almost universally hated in the North.
"Isn't it?" said Elijah, amused. "On the ship you were going on and on about how you were going to see the Red Keep and look for dragon eggs in the Dragonpit and burn the Great Sept down or whatever."
"Oh, no," Benjen muttered. "I'm a tourist."
Elijah laughed as Benjen continued to make his way through the streets. Walking for close to an hour brought him to the Street of Steel; the sound of hammers on iron and steel was almost deafening. Benjen wandered into said street, looking in awe at the armors and weapons lined along storefronts to exhibit the craftsmen's skills, but some also showcasing iron or steel tools for the common folk. Some were coppersmiths, there was a goldsmith's shop, and a few silversmiths — blacksmiths were the most common, though.
"That's a lot of iron," Elijah commented idly, as they walked side by side. A bustling apprentice walked straight through Elijah without noticing. "I wonder how they manage to haul it up this hill. Must be a pain."
"Like you made me haul felled logs up to Winterfell?" Benjen said dryly.
"Just so, young Benjen."
At the very top of the hill, Benjen's legs burning despite the training he'd been put through, he found a shop with a pair of doors made of ebony and a familiar-looking wood.
"Is that weirwood?" Benjen said, astonished. "How expensive would that be? So far south as King's Landing, no less?"
"If you're the best at something, you can charge as much as you want," said Elijah. "I knew a bloke called Ollivander. Man had an insane memory — he remembered every single customer. Your first wand, he'd charge you seven galleons. If you lost it or misplaced it, he'd lecture you for about an hour about the importance of wands to wizarding society and then charge you seventy."
Benjen snorted, even as he approached the shop. Two statues flanked the doors, armored in red steel masterfully folded into the shape of a mythical Essosi unicorn and a griffin. He looked at the swords on display; the steel shone brighter than everyone elses, and it looked so sharp that Benjen felt like it could cut through stone.
His fingers wandered behind his back, where his purse had been tucked into his belt, and realized that he'd never be able to afford anything from this place.
"Why can't you conjure gold?" Benjen muttered miserably, and Elijah grinned languidly.
"I thought I told you? I cannot do so at the moment, I will not only need a wand but a body as well since it will heavily tax ones body." Elijah glanced at the store. "Besides, you need to earn a sword like that, I think, instead of relying on Daddy's credit card."
"Yeah, yeah," Benjen sighed, and reached back behind him, only to realize the purse was gone. He blinked. He twisted, and turned, but found nothing. It wasn't on the ground, either. He looked down the hill — as the sun began to set, shops were closing and the patrons were all leaving; one big crowd were descending the hill, and it would be impossible to find anyone in that throng.
"I hate King's Landing," Benjen said.
Elijah had the audacity to laugh at him. "That'll teach you to be a monarchist!"
"What does that have to do with any of this?"
Benjen sighed again, before looking around. It was futile, he knew. He'd never find the pickpocket again, of that he was sure; his gaze ended up resting on a girl who was looking at metal figurines on the Street. She was about his age, with flowing brown hair that reached her hips, wearing a white dress that was surprisingly unblemished and bright despite walking barefoot around King's Landing.
She noticed him looking; Benjen blushed a little as her brown, doe-like eyes examined his own. She gave a small, impish smile that gave him a bundle of thoughts he'd never really considered about anyone before.
Then she pulled her other hand into view. It was carrying a familiar, velvet purse.
"Hey!" Benjen shouted, and ran at her. The girl laughed freely like glass wind chimes tinkling in the breeze, before dashing off barefoot. Benjen shoved people out of the way, skidding into side-alleys that hooked and turned; the girl in the white dress was always in sight, but Benjen did not seem to be able to catch up to her, no matter how quickly or how long he ran. His breath turning ragged, he finally stumbled into a crowd of faithful smallfolk who were crowding in front of the Great Sept. It was massive, Benjen felt, but he didn't have the time or the inclination to properly appreciate it, as he gently pushed his way through the crowd looking for the girl.
"Ugh," Benjen said miserably, breaking past the crowd and into the marble plaza. It was supposed to be a gorgeous white, but it was covered with dirt and dust; not at all like her dress. How did she keep it clean? To think Benjen might have fancied her for even the briefest moment — his purse, his damned life-savings, this was a betrayal of the highest order…
"Whoa," someone chirped. "You really kept up? What do they feed boys in the North?"
Benjen looked around, then up — and upon one of the bell-towers, sitting on the windowsill, was the girl from before. She swung her (perfectly clean) feet with enthusiasm as she watched Benjen from below with a genuine smile. Her hair and dress shifted with an unfelt breeze. Benjen slowly approached the base of the tower, and looked around. None of the worshippers seemed to notice her presence at all.
"Who is she?" Benjen murmured, and Elijah frowned.
"We're at the Great Sept," he answered.
"Is she one of the Seven, then?" Benjen ground his teeth and glared at the girl. "First invaders, butchers of weirwoods; after centuries, if not millennia, of ignoring their worshippers, they finally show up just to steal my purse?"
"Hey," said the girl, in a convincing tone of hurt. "I was only trying to get you to follow me. You can have it back." And the velvet purse fell on Benjen's head with a thunk. Benjen rubbed his skull where the three golden dragons had hit him, glaring at the girl all the while. This time, he shoved his purse deep into his backpack.
"I curse you," Benjen called up at the girl. "You hear me? Murderers of my kin, of my gods! And petty thief!"
Elijah rolled his eyes. "Go talk to the girl, Benjen. She obviously didn't bring you here to fuck with you."
"Why should I? We hate the Seven."
Elijah looked down at him, with a disappointed frown. "And I don't like gods in general, but I also realize that it's inevitable I'll have to speak to some of them, because if their power isn't great enough to find us and make our life a bit more challenging, they wouldn't be gods. Do you think she'll let you pass through unbothered if you keep ignoring her?"
Suddenly Benjen felt very small, forcing himself not to look at the girl who was undoubtedly still there. "You could beat them back. Right?"
Elijah shrugged. "Probably. But I'd avoid needless conflict, and I don't think she intends to eat you or anything of the sort."
"How do you know?"
"Legilimency," said Elijah. "You'll learn as well, eventually. Now go talk to her."
Benjen looked back at the girl, who gave a hesitant smile and patted the windowsill beside her. He turned back to Elijah. "How?"
This time, Elijah did roll his eyes. "Are you a wizard or not, Benjen?"
Benjen shifted. "I'm not — I don't really know if I can do it yet."
"Come on, man. Destination, Determination, and something else I forgot. You'll be fine, and nobody's paying attention. Probably something she has a hand in," he said, gesturing to the girl. "Are you going to leave all girls hanging like this?"
"She's not a girl," Benjen protested weakly.
"Am too," she called from up high.
"There you go. Don't embarrass me, Benjen. You can do it!"
Benjen groaned before looking back up at the bell tower. He took a deep breath, and spun on his heel—
And he almost fell off the windowsill, if not for the girl's surprisingly strong grip. Benjen pulled his feet back in. The height of it made him a bit queasy, but… the view of King's Landing was incredible here. The only places that were taller than him were the Red Keep itself, and the Sept's main building. Benjen turned beside to look at the girl.
Her eyes were a warm, comforting brown, with a button nose and wide lips. There was a faint dusting of freckles on over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, almost invisible against her slightly tan skin. Her hair, while long and soft-looking, was a bit tangled in places, like Lyanna's, except in a slightly lighter color. She glanced at him slyly, and Benjen looked away, down at the people below him, his face turning bright red. If Father ever learned that he'd developed a crush on their ancient gods' old enemies…
"It's pretty, isn't it?" she said, and Benjen nodded as Elijah reappeared on the windowsill on the opposite side of him. "They say half a million souls live in this city. I know this place stinks — and you don't have to lie to me — but I wouldn't have it any other way. It's the scent of life. The scent of blood and sweat and tears. As far as you can see, from that gaudy red stone to the dingiest hovel in Flea Bottom — that's life. People growing, learning, everywhere and always. Each and every building contains a spark of life that are as complex and beautiful as any other."
"Yeah," said Benjen.
"You don't really understand yet. That's fine," she said. "Anyways, it's nice to meet you, Benjen Stark. I'm sorry I pickpocketed you earlier."
"Um, that's okay," Benjen muttered, hating himself for not being able to meet her eyes. "What's your name?"
The girl blinked, almost as if surprised she'd been asked that, then pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I don't really have a name. At least, I haven't, not for a long time… but you could call me," she paused, "Maideline?"
Elijah snorted.
"But that's not important," said Maideline, waving it away. "What is important that you have come here, and it's an opportunity for us both."
"For you?" said Benjen.
"For us," she corrected. "I am but one personality of Seven, but I speak with the authority from the others as well. We thought it was best for me to present our offer to you."
"Interesting," said Elijah. "She knows you're a Stark, a devout follower of the Old Gods, and will still present an offer? Does she think she can woo you with her face?"
"I can hear you, you know," Maideline said, and James laughed.
"You can hear me because I let you hear me," said Elijah, not quite derisively, but his tone was definitely a touch combative.
Maideline only sighed. "We could help each other, too. What's your name?"
"Elijah Stark, at your service."
Maideline tilted her head, looking at James and Benjen in turn. "Another Stark? Hmm. You have the same colored eyes, but… I didn't think the Starks had Valyrian ancestry."
Elijah only shrugged. "Speak your offer, godling."
"Whoa. Rude." Maideline pouted briefly, before turning to Benjen. "Very well, we'll be frank. You have immense potential, Benjen. Your magic — I suspect you inherited it from your ancestor Elijah here — is not the kind we've seen in this world. In the wrong hands, your power could tear the world apart. We could guide you in the correct direction, provide you with sorely needed support."
"And in turn you wish me to spread the Faith of the Seven to my ancestral homeland," Benjen said, narrowing his eyes.
"If it happens, it happens. We won't complain," said Maideline. "But our first priority is to protect our people from the influence of… less than pleasant gods."
"Like?" Elijah prompted.
Maideline glanced nervously, towards the east, the sky already turning into various shades of indigo. "I won't speak their name because, I'm sure you know, names have power. But magic is slowly returning to the world, and I believe you and Benjen's connection is one such symptom. And as magic returns… so do the gods."
"I know how this works," said James, his voice taking on some steel. "I have seen gods whose power would make you weep with shame, and I have killed them. More than anything, I value the safety of myself and my disciple here, and I'll not let your fear get in the way. Will you answer, or will I have to tear it from your mind?"
Maideline looked back at Elijah, her warmth entirely gone, her eyes almost black. "Who are you to command Me?" she said softly. "You have followed Me into My place of power, and yet you dare speak such words to Me? I still have strength left to smite you. 'Tis only out of respect for My guests that I give you warning. It will be the last."
Elijah and Maideline continued to stare into each other's eyes, and Benjen really wished he was back down on the ground.
"Elijah," he said quietly, "if you would… please not let yourself get smited down while you're stuck in my head?"
Maideline beamed. "Don't worry, I'll make sure not to hit you!"
"And I'd never let you get hit in the first place," Elijah said, patting Benjen's shoulder without sensation. "She can't hurt me, don't worry."
"Can too."
"Can not."
"What places should I be avoiding?" Benjen decided to ask, and Maideline turned to him.
"The interior of Sothoryos is covered in a fog that even the Crone's lamp cannot pierce," she murmured. "Stick to the coasts, and perhaps I could aid you if you are in need. Most of Essos is vague or warped to me, like looking at it through water. I can see better into the North, but as magic strengthens, so too does Winter fall."
"What about north of the Wall?" Benjen asked with a dread curiosity.
Maideline smiled grimly. "I'm trusting you to do something about it soon."
Those words did not fill him with reassurance.
"Is that related to that stink of necromancy that keeps blowing in from the north?" Elijah asked, and Benjen turned to him so quickly he almost fell from the ledge.
"Oh, yes. They have been waiting for a long time, but now they are awake and aware. And stronger than ever," said Maideline. "If for nothing else, we must ally against this threat."
"Hmm." Elijah glanced to the north. "We'll see."
"I still don't know why I should trust you," said Benjen. "The Old Gods made an offer to me, too. Why should I listen to you instead?"
Maideline tilted her head. "Why? Do you remember from where the Old Gods came, Benjen?"
"I — what?"
"Who worshipped the Old Gods first?"
"The… Children of the Forest?" Benjen said hesitantly. Maideline nodded.
"The Children, whom the First Men warred with for millennia. The Old Gods were never gods for Men, Benjen Stark." Maideline smiled humorlessly. "Think on that, won't you?"
And suddenly, Benjen found himself sitting alone with Elijah on the windowsill. The sun had long since set beyond the western horizon, and the skies were dark save for the few stars visible beyond the smog. He turned to Elijah nervously, who seemed to be deep in thought.
"Let's go find a place to stay," said Elijah, still not looking at him. "We can sightsee tomorrow, then we'll prepare for the trip to Sothoryos. We'll stick to the coasts, don't worry."
"All right," said Benjen. He looked towards the north, towards his home.
Just what was lurking under the life he took for granted?