Enjoy
He walked through the bustling market centre with a grim determination. His destination was clear in his mind, located in the less savoury parts of the city, still considered pleasant by most lowborn standards. It was midday and the streets were crowded with smallfolk and knights alike, buying drinks and wares for their families. The hustle and bustle made it hard to move for most. But the crowds did not affect him at all. A wide berth was given wherever he walked, people scrambling out the way with horrified looks, pulling away stunned children and letting out whispers and gasps at his abnormal appearance. It was irrelevant to him of course, let the unbelievers have their chatter. It was he who knew their fates, and he who could end them if he wished. Lucky for them his gods did not. The occasional seven worshipping septon would step into his path, demanding he repent his wicked ways and join their forces. Merely a glance would then cause that septon to stumble away in shock and horror, clutching their stars against their chests. Fools. The lot of them. Could they not see the truth?
Soon enough he had reached his destination. The city mainly boasted loud and colourful establishments, but this was one of his favourites. The scum lived here, the worst of the worst. The sort that would drink with you one night and cut your throat the next. His sort of people. The hired thug outside knew him by appearance, and nodded at him when he approached the door, sliding aside to let him through. The room was dark and dingey, the only lights coming from foul smelling candles, reflected through red glass that denoted the type of tavern this was. The reek of mould and tar filled his nose, a pleasant smell all things considered. A mere finger got the attention of the barman, who nodded and began pouring his drink of choice. They knew him well here, and liked him. He kept the peace when things got too rough, and his stories weren't the worse. Taking a seat in his favourite booth, with the least fungi growing underneath the seats, he waited patiently for his accomplice. Three drinks came and went, along with multiple women approaching him to ask for his patronage. He denied them all. Now was not the time for pleasure.
Eventually, the one who he was waiting for walked in. She seemed out of place, her normally joyful expression tainted by disgust at her surroundings. Through any man who mistook her for a whore would regret it, she did not seek out violence, and preferred to simply avoid the situation in the first place. She caught sight of him, and a small smile graced her lips. Sweeping her raven hair away from her eyes, she took a seat opposite him, grimacing at the state of the table. Purple eyes met his own, and he gestured to his tankard, offering her a drink. She hurriedly shook her head, looking quite revolted.
"I'd prefer not, thank you very much. I don't know how you could possibly drink that filth!" He shrugged, taking a sip of the thick ale, yeast so heavy you could cut it with steel.
"The gods protect me from poisons as they protect me from blades. I have no troubles." He bought both his arms across his chest and leaned back into the shadows. "It has been some time, Alyeth." She narrowed her eyes and leaned back herself.
"It certainly has, Romanus. I would like to ask why you have summoned me here, away from my business." He growled slightly at that, features contorting. Her business was not truly condoned by the High Priest. One of their most sacred rules was not profiting of the magic that their gods had imbued within them. By selling her potions, the magic could escape into the world.
"You are aware that many look down upon you and your business. Believe that you should be exiled for selling our sacred recipes." She rolled her eyes impatiently.
"I care not for what the elders think, if they have such a problem then they are welcome to come visit me in Lannisport." Romanus smirked to himself, though it was hidden in the shadow.
"I knew there was a reason you chose the Westerlands as your outreach. You have gained more freedom than most could even imagine while operating within Jupiter's finest."
"Jupiter does not command me" she purred. "However, should she wish, Trivia may send me a vision to halt my business. But until I receive such a message I shall continue." He gazed carefully at her before nodding.
"I suppose being free is what our champion is preaching for after all." She nodded slowly, a smile appearing.
"That he is, and quite successfully I should add." She smirked. "I heard about the trouble he caused in Oldtown." He frowned further.
"He did not foresee the southerners plots, however. This is…troubling." She looked confused, much to his annoyance.
"None of them did… I don't think they every would have realised had it not been revealed. That is not our major point of concern."
"Agreed…the Kraken Prince?" She shivered nervously.
"You should have seen Lannisport when those dreaded ships of his approached. People praying in the streets to whichever god would listen they did not turn towards the coast. The city would not have survived." He nodded.
"The same here, except Three Towers were not as lucky." Three Towers was a castle a little way east of Oldtown, and had been given the most brutal sacking he had ever seen. "He took the castle town. Lord Costayne barred his gates, but Terran had all the supplies he needed. Simply slaughtered them all and left, not a single soul alive in the town." Even for a member of Hades Tears, Romanus had been sickened by the news. Even his lord Pluto would not condone such evil. The god of the dead believed in death at the right time, not slaughtering an entire town in little more than anger and savagery. No. Killing for sport was an affront to his lord, and the Kraken Prince would be punished.
"Horrible" she murmured. "And how do we think the captain shall deal with it?"
"The flames do not show much, but I sense Greyjoys death is near. How many he takes with him though…" Ale's eyes widened.
"You know who?" He shook his head.
"Rhys saw a vision through the captain's fate. A line of people, their faces familiar. Two dead."
"Oh, no, how horrible" Ale looked on the verge of tears. She had always been emotional.
"Wanna place a bet" he smirked. "I reckon the mouthy one." Her features instantly turned furious.
"Do not joke!" she hissed. "We still do not know if this is a war we shall win, and everyone is valuable to him." He quickly diverted the topic.
"Speaking of the war, we should move to the reason I called you here." She raised an eyebrow expectantly, and he leaned forward with a low growl. "Their spreading. Almost killed the girl when they visited. Had it not been for me, the prophecy would have been dead and buried."
"You want a medal?" she snorted. "Where did you see them last?" He laughed harshly.
"I missed your sense of humour Ale." He sighed and shook his head. "They have been hiding away, but the last time I saw one he seemed in the middle of a large group...proselytizing I expect." He shifted forward, bringing his voice lower. "Rumour has it that they are gathering around a new leader, the priests that is. They never show their face, we don't even know if they are man or women, but they are gathering followers." She frowned, leaning her head back against the booth.
"Fuck..." she breathed. "This could not be happening at a worse time. But I thought Essos was secure?" He grunted.
"This side of Valyria is. Slavers Bay has always been too united in The Harpy to allow either of our groups to grow, and Yiti has no place for our gods. Asshai...well, you know about Asshai." He sighed. "The only explanation is unlikely, perhaps a-" his eyes widened as he caught sight of something sitting atop the bar. An hourglass contraption, but the sand had stopped. It was only then he noticed that all the noise had left them, and the barman was nowhere to be found. "Oh fuck" he murmured. As soon as he spoke, a flash of steel glinted past his eye, a curved sickle embedding itself in the wood beside his head. He lurched up and kicked over the table, forming a barrier between them and their attacker. He reached within himself to summon a flame, but something was blocking his magic.
"Rom, the sand, break the sand!" yelled Ale, who smashed a grey-coloured bottle on the floor, enveloping them in a cloud of thick smoke. He heard the scrabbling of feet on wood and with a snarl, pulled on his dragonbone mask. Unsheathing his jagged longsword, he leapt up with a roar, slicing his first opponent nearly in half with the force of the blow. The blood splatter stayed him for a second before the next one came with a snarl. Each wore red and gold robes, but these were no Lannisters. His sword clanged against a scythe, long and deadly with a wicked sharp edge. But not made for close quarters. He deflected the sizeable weapon into a wooden beam, and then pulled a dagger to plunge into the man's stomach with a quiet grunt. He squinted through the smoke and used his strength to shove aside a lost-looking attacker, before lunging for the bar. The moment his sword touched the hourglass, it shattered, the force exploding him backwards through the walls of the tavern. The wood splintered as he crashed through, searing pain in his shoulder and back before he hit the cobbled street outside. Screams filled his ears as the bystanders ran from the scene. Most got away, but one, a prentice maester was felled by a flying sickle as he tried to escape.
"Fucking Titanists" he muttered to himself, as two figures appeared from the smoky hole in the wall. But his powers had returned now, and although weak, a dull flame appeared in his palm. The heat coursed through him as he slung the holy fire at his attackers. But to his shock and horror it was deflected by an almighty wave of green magic, that erupted from one of their hands. His last defence broken, Romanus lay his head down on the cobble and gripped the coin he always kept on him tightly. "May my lord judge me kindly" he murmured, preparing himself for the scythe that was about to fall. But it did not. A flash of purple rushed before his vision, a figure ducking the swings and slashing her knife through the attackers like butter. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when he opened them the face of Alyeth appeared before him.
"ROM! Romanus, can you hear me?!" He grinned, reaching a hand up to caress her cheek.
"A beautiful face to wake up to. I don't suppose you have any of those healing elixirs about you." She blushed and raised an eyebrow.
"You mean the ones I'm not allowed to make or sell due to our rules?" He groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Point taken, but I think I may have broken my shoulder. If you would, please…" Ale reached into her satchel and pulled out a vial full of yellowy-blue liquid. The Blood of Apollo they called it, for its golden healing qualities. Uncorking the vial, she poured half onto his shoulder, where the fiery pain was immediately subdued, replaced by a warm tickling sensation. The rest she poured down his throat, and he breathed deeply in bliss.
"Better?" she asked, her head flicking around slowly to check for more danger.
"Much. No one makes them quite like you." She smirked slightly.
"I'm one of three that can make them."
"I know, and out of the High Priest, Ysabella, and you, I prefer yours indefinitely." She shook her head in exasperation and pulled an arm over her shoulder.
"Come, we need to get somewhere safe."
"Agreed" he grunted.
"Where's the temple?"
"Near the guildhalls, right against the city walls. More of your lovely potions there."
"If you drink any more, you'll explode. Now you have to heal the normal way."
"Bugger" he murmured. Slowly he could feel his bones start to knit back together, but the fatigue plagued him still as they walked.
"You told me they were getting stronger…that hourglass, the green flash…"
"Power of Saturn" he grunted. "That hourglass freezes all magic around it, suppose they wanted to make sure I wouldn't burn them immediately.
"Didn't stop my potions though."
"You brewed them with the god's power beforehand, only affects magic summoned at the moment in time. But the green-"
"It was time magic, wasn't it? All of it. It froze your fire before it could take shape, and then reduced it to smoke." She looked at him fearfully, and he could only nod in return. It was not often that those in their religion held fear. Although unbeknownst to the world, they were possibly the most powerful beings alive. True wielders of the god's wills. But now, they were challenged.
"The High Priest knew they would re-emerge long ago. No matter how much the other faiths hate us, they hate the Titanists more. So they went into hiding in the far reaches of the east."
"I've heard the stories. Ulthos right? And we've always had priests in Asshai to ensure they never travel west again." He nodded slowly, wincing as they hobbled up some particularly steep steps.
"I believe Priest Hodson is currently overlooking our temple in Asshai. But Asshai is long and far from here, and any news of their escape could have been lost to the wind."
"Have there been many others."
"A few. I sensed them a while ago. Oldtown being the biggest city in Westeros, it was a natural choice they dock here first. But they had no purpose then. When the captain docked, that was the first time one of them made a move. I killed that one and searched the rest of the city top to bottom. Found a couple, killed a couple. Thought I'd hunted all those in the city down. Apparently not."
"Did you not think to question them before killing them" she glared at him.
"Hmm…maybe not such a bad idea actually."
"Brute" she muttered, rolling her eyes. "But from what I heard, Hodson would have never let them through easily. My father knew him, he's a very strong priest." He nodded slowly, recognising the alleys and roads around them and pointing out directions.
"I agree, and so does the High Priest and Rhys. We believe that they may have discovered an eastern passage to the west." Ale's eyes widened in disbelief.
"An eastern passage! Across the summer sea!"
"Shhhh" he murmured. "Not so loud. Yes, it remains the only logical explanation. But if it's true, the results could be disastrous."
"Well, the good news is that the captain will not be turning west again, right?"
"True, but one day he will return, and I do not wish for him to return to a Westeros strewn with time magic wielding Titanists." They finally reached the temple, barren and empty of worshipers of course, few ever visited Oldtown, it being the furthest west their religion held sway. "It is our job to make sure that does not occur. I shall send word to the High Priest for more acolytes and followers to be sent to Westeros. Mayhaps even some Hades Tears to ensure the peace-" His eyes widened once more, as he noticed the dark dressed figure atop the temple roof, crossbow aimed straight at his heart."
"NO" screamed Ale, but it was too late. He shifted to push her away, and the bolt punctured his other shoulder, sending him to the ground. Immediately, more figures appeared from the temple, its marble pillars erupting as green flames started sprouting from inside. Wildfire, a disgusting creation of New Valyrians wishing to try and recreate the old magic. The madmen. Ale rushed forward to assist him, but he pulled himself up to his knees and grabbed her robes forcefully.
"NO, Ale, you must save yourself, we cannot both escape this." She looked horrified, and immediately reached for his arm, trying to tug him away with her.
"Shut the fuck up, I'm not leaving without you! Fucking move!" But he remained still.
"Get out of Oldtown, get a message to Rhys or the High Priest. Get them to send more men here, as fast as they can. We must not let Westeros be overrun-" A second bolt hit his back, and a third whizzed past Ale's head. Summoning the last of his strength, he bought his hands together, his mind thundering with anger. "Run. Protect the Snowstorms." As he bought his hands apart, a great torrent of black flame erupted forth, incinerating the first few Titanists and blocking the rest from approaching. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ale tear away from the scene, sprinting down the alley. He silently prayed that she would make it out of the city safe. He held the fire for around ten seconds, before another bolt caught him in the back. The wall of fire flickered, and then dissipated, leaving the air acrid and charred. Romanus hit the cold stone with a gasp, his final strength leaving him as his vision started to flicker once more.
"No more potions" a soft voice spoke from behind him. The sound of boots on stone filled his ears and he quietly muttered his final prayer to Pluto.
"I pray I have served my lord well, and be welcomed into his halls within the gardens of Elysium." He grasped his coin tightly, and brought it to his mouth, placing it under his tongue, before his arm fell limp. He smiled crookedly as a figure appeared above him, a green hood cloaking features.
"Your prophecy will never be fulfilled" the voice spoke, smooth and liquid. "Be it a year or ten, the Snowstorms shall never be your champions."
"Jaqiarzir naejot Pluto" he croaked out, before the man raised his crossbow, and his vision went dark. Peace at last.
Thank you all for reading :)