Chapter Twenty Eight: A Freaking Westerosi Wedding, Part Six.
Twenty Second Day of the Eleven Month, 113 AC.
Watching a large gang of fifty-plus drunk men strip your sister naked and carrying her around without having your dragon kill them all.
Man, I hate Westeros.
"You do not care for this?" Ebermen asked.
I frowned, "I guess that is odd as well."
"Hardly," he scoffed slightly. "It is a custom, but customs are rarely universally popular."
"Where do you all fall on the subject?" I asked my guards.
"We never did it for my sister," Frederic shrugged. "But my father was a hedge knight who counted his luck that he was able to secure a lord's patronage. She complained about it a fair bit as I recall."
That was no surprise, the blonde's sister was the vassal of Hightower vassal's vassal. I supposed that a fanciful ceremony was somewhat out of the question for either of their pocket books.
It was still a bit messed up that she wanted it.
Lambert's snort agreed I guess, "There is nothing particularly special about it, my wife never made a complaint about. My father used to say that he had to break arms when one of the men got his blood up with my mother though, probably have gelded him on the spot, myself. Those sorts have no business being at a wedding."
"The whole thing is a bit overwrought," Edric shrugged his wide shoulders. "It is tradition, but I cannot say I like the idea of men, even friends touching a wife of mine naked."
Ebermen shrugged, "I do not care for the idea, I do not enjoy the notion of being stripped bare and left vulnerable to others. It seems improper for a night."
What are you a lobster? Then again this was Westeros…
It was a bit disheartening that none of them seemed to follow my own reasoning, but it was good that they seemed comfortable enough to give what sounded like genuine answers.
Even better that none of the answers sounded rape-y.
"Fair enough, never thought of it like that. I suppose I must be the odd one," I confided in turn. "Because quite a few of those men seem drunk."
"Why are we trailing after them if you do not care for it?" Ebermen asked as we paced behind the herd.
I shrugged, "I cannot really afford to be more of the odd one out. Besides, I wish to avoid things going sideways."
He nodded as our pack tailed behind the moving monument to how much I hate this world.
"I have the strangest feeling that we are going to be asked to charge them in a few moments," Frederick piped up.
"Would that be a problem?" Ebermen asked curiously (which was to say, in perfect monotone if you did not know him).
"Nope," He responded with a pop. "Can I go after the truly sauced ones? A few look like I can just give them a light knock and they will go tumbling quite easily."
"Frederick, the brave," I rolled my eyes.
"We have a dragon, my prince," The man of six and twenty laughed quietly. "I do think we have a chance."
"Assuming that Lady Clearsky does not just eat us instead," Lambert sighed as said dragon was smacking his hand with her head in her demands for cuddle-tribute.
Oddly enough, they arrived at the chamber without incident despite my guard planning out their metaphorical assault.
Well there were a hundred of them by that point (by Lambert's count) so it was more accurate to say 'as best I can tell' from where I was near the back.
I did find myself restraining laughter at how much the convoy slowed down when we got to the stairs.
The whole thing becomes less fun when you are carrying the heir up a flight of stairs and dropping her by accident could get you trimmed by a head within a few minutes (provided you did not get broiled by Clearsky immediately).
As the convoys dispersed from the chamber, I reflected that all things considered the day had gone fairly well.
No one had died, no one had sworn any blood oaths of vengeance and near as I could tell, no one of significance had been slighted.
I nodded to myself rather happily as I made my way down the stairs.
Now I only needed to repeat the day's success thirteen more times.
Huh, thirteen.
"I think things should be well enough by day seven, would you not agree?" I asked my shield.
Ebermen looked skeptical, "You do not wish to force yourself to go without sleep much longer then?"
"Correct," I stifled a yawn. "I need more than three hours a night. I would rather not die of sleep deprivation."
"As you say," the Bull chuckled in amusement.
I nodded, "Indeed now let us go find some-"
"GAAAEM!" Aeg shouted happily as he ran down the hall towards me, tailed by his small unit of guards.
I barely had a moment before he tackled me.
And so my guards betray me, I mentally groaned, getting him in the habit of not laying about had not been the best idea in retrospect.
Now the poor guards had to deal with a far less slow and inactive Aegon than they might have otherwise had to deal with.
To say nothing of my own guard who had not lifted a finger to save my personal from so vicious an assault.
Oh well, I sighed as I spread my arms to return his embrace.
"Why the shouting Aeg?" I asked dryly. "And the assault?"
"Shouting?" Aeg asked while tilting his head. One of the habits he had adopted from me. "I was shouting? Weird."
Way to forget the 'assult' part, Aeg.
"Quite," I chuckled slightly and he smiled back. "Now seriously brother, you were seeking me?"
"Yes!" Aeg said quickly. "Now that the stupid wedding is done for the day, I want to play with you and Sky!"
…WHY?! I wanted sleep damn it.
"Of course, brother," I smiled brightly. "I could do with moving around some. Feeling horribly stiff."
"You could just say tired Gaem," Aeg shook his head while adopted a body language and tone eerily familiar of the late Runciter. "Sounding older does not make you older!"
I laughed, I guess there were worst ripples than spreading snark.
"Very fair brother," I chuckled as our not-so-little party made our way through the castle. "We have been apart for too long in any case."
"I'll say," Aeg grumbled mildly. He might still have features some would call sullen but around me there was always a hint of a smile and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "It is not fair that they keep us apart! Twins should not be apart!"
There was nothing to do but to shrug apologetically, "I write as often as I can Aeg. You know I was not eager to leave the Keep."
"It is not fair!" He sighed. "Oh well, it won't matter much what I say."
"Do not be so rough on yourself," I patted his back. "At least no one is calling you a demon!"
Well, seducer. But I am not going to be the one to have that talk with you, I added mentally.
I chuckled but his expression looked pained as he dipped his head and muttered, "You are not a demon."
I sighed and smiled at him, "Put that from your mind."
"Demons don't snore," He looked up at me with a flash of humor in his eyes and a wry smile.
I snorted in amusement, that was a fair complaint.
"I do not do that anymore," I insisted. I said that it was fair, not that I would admit to it.
Aeg arched a brow before looking behind me, "Is it true, Ser Ebermen?"
"No," Ebermen said while shaking his head slowly.
"Ebermen!" I did my best to looked shocked and betrayed! "Where is your honor?!"
"My honor demands I speak the truth," Ebermen nodded sagely while Aeg laughed.
The snickers from my dragon-mouthed guards did not exactly add to my dignity.
As we went off into the Keep I could not help but smile to myself. I hoped that I could keep things going this smoothly forever.
I knew the chances were slim.
This was Westeros after all, there was a better chance of getting bitch-slapped by Cthulhu than things not going wrong despite every possible precaution.
And anyone who doubted Cthulhu was welcomed to take a look at the Hightower basement of doom.
Still, I let myself hope.
The sun had long-since set when I finally made it back into my quarters.
"You seem fatigued," Ebermen observed as I nearly crawled into my apartments.
I did not even bother looking up, "The sky is also blue."
"Not at the moment it is not," Ebermen noted.
"I meant the lizard," I yawned as I made my way into the apartments.
Ebermen shrugged, "As you say."
"I need my bath and then my bed," I muttered.
I was barely functioning by the time I dragged myself into bed and closed my eyes. Sleep was good. I needed some sleep and rest.
I think I earned it.
Unfortunately, that night was not one of my better ones and peaceful sleep went straight off the menu the moment my eyes closed.
…
Gaema tried to force her fingers to stop trembling as she adjusted her cloak.
"Calm yourself," she muttered the order to herself.
She had been working towards this for years. She had devoted her life to this.
It was far too late to give in to fear now.
She had worked too hard, she had endured too much to give in to fear now.
She could not leave, the shame would be too great, her family would discard her even as she was discarding them.
She could not give in.
Despite it all, she could not stop her heart from pounding, she could not steady her frantic breathing nor the twists in her stomach.
It seemed bitterly appropriate to her, she had at first thought the fasting was merely ritual and tradition, now she realized it was to keep the aspirants from emptying their stomach repeatedly as the time arrived.
She shook her head violently. She had to stop letting the weakness get to her. She was better than this!
Nodding to herself she left her quarters for what she knew would be the last time. Either she would move on to the quarters of the Order proper or she would…
She pushed the thought out of her mind as she willed herself down the hall. She could sense Qelos moving from his perch above her room to follow her.
That was a comfort, she was not alone in this at least.
Her master was waiting for her in the central antechamber as was to be expected.
He sat patiently next to his behemoth, utterly unconcerned with the events of the day, she was not surprised. If she failed it was far from the end of the Order, merely another failed aspirant of which she did not doubt that he had seen dozens if not hundreds.
As Qelos made to land next to her, the old master raised his head from the book he had been studying.
His impassive red eyes studied her for a moment before nodding, "You seem concerned."
That made her heart freeze for a moment in panic before he continued.
"Do not fear, it is to be expected," He raised his ancient frame from his seat. "Few walk into the chamber without fear, those that do."
He shrugged. "They rarely survive."
"I understand," she forced her words to be coherent, but she knew Qelos gave her away. The tension in his growing frame was obvious to anyone.
"You will not do yourself any favor presenting a brave face," her master chided. "As said fear is to be expected, resolve is admirable before the others, but it is foolish to think that I do not know you."
She had known the ancient for eight years of her life, she knew that she was exposed to him in a much more complete manner than the book he carried.
"It is not for the sake of appearances, master," she admitted. "It is to force my legs to move forward."
He master smiled, "Is that so? That is acceptable I suppose."
The sounding of the gongs informed them that they were out of time as the massive gates of the citadel's ritual chamber opened. Massive gates of living stone in the shape of Meraxes, the Lady of Crafts.
Gaema for a moment considered a brief prayer to the Lady but ultimately decided against it. The lords of Valyria offered no blessings, such comforts were for the myriad other gods engulfed by the Freehold.
As they moved descended deeper into the chamber her master spoke again.
"I must confess that I am quite eager to begin your proper education," he sighed.
Gaema blinked a few times before registering the reassurance her master was offering her.
"I look forward to it as well," Gaema answered as the heat grew. The discomfort was natural where they were going, it was part of what was expected.
She was being honest, she desperately wanted to just runaway to her bed and wake tomorrow to find this all complete.
Her master nodded, "I have been in the order for… a great deal of time. You do not need to fear, I am confident that you will succeed."
She nodded back but stayed quiet.
As she evened her breathing focused on the frescos which lined the massive winding corridor, carved so large that even her master's behemoth could tread through it comfortably.
She knew well enough that the fresco's retold the story of the Order's founding along with the central narratives of the fourteen orders, born of the mastery of dragons and the perseverance of her people. The story of simple folk who were driven from their homeland by their foes, mocked for their weakness and made the slaves of others as it suited them.
People who through perseverance and a will born of humiliations beyond counting, reforged themselves into the conquerors that crushed their foes and repaid their debt fourteen-fold with the gifts of the gods.
She often heard men speaking of how Valyria had fallen from the virtue of those brave shepards who struck the pact, but she found reassurance in knowing that their blood still ran in her veins. That had to count for something.
That steeled her, for hundreds of generations her people had sacrificed and struggled to grow in power, why should she be the exception?
She had lived her life by the Fourteen Tables, she had paid homage to the six faces of the Earth-Bone in hopes of glimpsing the seventh. She had followed the trials laid out by the First Hammer whose legendary blood resided in her veins.
Why should she fail?
As she resolved herself they emerged into the ritual chamber.
It was massive and glorious on the scale that only her people dared to still dream, the beating heart of Oros Akte enlarged and shaped by the power of Chisels.
The chamber was spherical and massive enough to fit fourteen shelves upon which sat thirteen dragons, some larger than that of her family's largest dragon while some such as the one bonded to the Grand Master was large on a scale that she could scarcely imagine. The chamber still flowed with the lifeblood of the mountain, warped into climbing webs by the might of their sister-order.
The heat was enough that she felt her bare feet scalding against the warmed stone and the discomfort on her skin made her desperately wish for water.
"You will do well," Her master repeated as he climbed up his own companion which gentle moved its way to the empty shelf which remained.
Gaema took one more breath as she mounted her Qelos, the scales against her bare skin discomforted her but she knew this was part of it.
To ride as the founders had to the summit of Syrax, when the last of their precursors had called to them.
Qelos leapt into the air as she held herself against his scales. He moved towards the central platform and over the hissing heart of the mountain, she wondered how many aspirants had suffered the humiliation of slipping off their mount at this juncture? Perhaps the secrecy of this was for the best.
As she dismounted she walked towards the alter in the middle of the platform. It was roughhewn stone like the rest of the platform. She would not be surprised if this had been here since the city's founding millennia ago.
Upon it was a dagger, an old one. The straight hilt was carved of dragonbone and carved with runes of the old tongue, the lost dialect that preceded the modern language of Valyria.
Gaema could scarcely make out what they said for time had worn away at them. She did not need to read the tongue to know the meaning of the words, however.
Where Others Rest, We Shall Serve. Where Others Sleep, We Awaken. Let My Life Become As Steel.
Tied to the hilt was a blade of flaky black crystal, the strange and blessed material that was sometimes found around mountains of fire and still used for rituals across the Freehold. The blade was chipped but she could still sense a strength coming from it that made her hesitate as took it in hand.
"Who comes forward before the Order of Meraxes?" The Grand Master asked. Gaema did not know how she heard the old one so clearly, for it spoke from across the chasm and softly, yet she might as well have been whispering in her ear.
"Gaema!" She shouted.
"Gaema? Gaema of whom? From where do you come?" The ancient had a strange voice, so twisted by the ages that it was difficult to discern whether it had been a man or a woman.
"I am come from Valyria," Gaema shouted as she undid her cloak. "From those that came before the one gave way to the forty."
She stood unclothed with the dagger in hand.
"You claim our blood? Blood of those who struck the pact?" The voice asked. "The sacred blood of those who preceded us?"
Gaema sucked in a breath as she dragged the knife across her hand and raised it.
"I claim the blood that confirmed the pact! Unmarred and true!" She tried to keep doubt from her voice. "I claim blood and I claim will, I claim bone and I claim iron!"
The voice sounded skeptical, "You claim blood worthy of quenching our steel?"
"I do," she confirmed.
I hope to be, she choked internally.
"You offer yourself to forge steel by dragonfire?" the voice pressed. "Blades for the legions? Blades for the kings? Blades for those that stand on the shores?"
"I do by dragon's breath freely given," Gaema recited.
Is it free? Is it sufficient? She looked over at Qelos.
The dragon was staring back at her, its eyes seeming to quietly encourage her.
"You claim mastery over the dragon?" the voice demanded. "You claim on of the children of the gods as a slave to your will."
"I do not," Gaema denied. "I claim the rights long lost and then found, I claim the pact forged a thousand-fold. I claim unity with the divine-made-flesh."
That much was true, Qelos was hers in the way of her arms and legs if not more. He was no mere slave to be used as suited her, he was something else. More like her heart, more like a soul.
"Do you claim to have broken that which is divine by command and whip! That which is above sanctity?" The voice feigned praise as she had been instructed it would.
"I do not," Gaema repeated.
She had felt the whip as he had, she could no more stand his suffering than her own.
"Do you claim to have broken that which is divine by curse and perversion! The sin of the fallen?" The voice now thundered."
"I do not," Gaema pressed.
The voice scoffed, "Then by what right do you offer dragon's blood and dragon's fire?"
"By right of being of dragon's blood," Gaema answered. "By right of being as one with that which stands freely by my side. By right of being oath-born, by right of the pact made anew."
She knew it was coming but she could feel herself trembling, the heat was becoming unbearable, the skin of her feet mad her want to beg for reprieve.
"Words are meaningless," The voice dismissed. "Prove yourself a dragon, prove your words and prove your steel."
With a final moment of hesitation Gaema raised the ritual dagger high.
"I swear upon the fourteen and our pact that I am worthy. I pledge my soul to She Who Is Steel!"
And the knife drove into her heart.
…
I woke up with such a start that I fell out of my bed.
I was covered from head to toe is sweat.
"No, no, no, nonononono," I hissed as I tried to get my bearings.
It seemed that I had woken up Clearsky because I looked to my side to see her starring me in the eye. Her own orbs looked terrified.
"No," I hissed. "Fuck the steel I am not doing that-"
To hell with it being useful! I cursed. No amount of slightly better swords is going to get me to stab myself!
I felt my stomach lurch, fuck no.
Holding my mouth shut, I choked back the contents of the feast.
"Thanks," I hissed bitterly at whatever god had given me the vision.
Sky snorted next to me.
"We are not doing that," I said blankly. "Whatever that even was."
A horrified corner of my mind thought back to the tomb in the Hightower, then to my visions and then to my home world.
I thought that I was learning to make Valyrian Steel, I surmised. Instead I was watching the human sacrifice to make it combined with some creepy terracotta-army/Aztec bullshit.
I drove my fist into the rug almost hard enough to break something in frustration.
What the hell? Can I literally get nothing going for me?
I looked at the wall of my room as if it might have answers.
No, that could not be it. I did not add up with the tomb unless 'Gaema' had been deceived her entire life with an incredibly complicated show.
Still…
"No," I repeated. "No way."
I did not understand what had happened and I had no desire to.
"No," I repeated.
I just kept starring at the wall waiting for it to turn into some diety and explain to me in what world was that fair? Sure, I will give you a 'gift,' how do you feel about a gun of dubious value that might go thermonuclear?
I shook my head, "I will deal with this in the morning."
Before getting back into the bed, I very deliberately looked up at the ceiling.
"Can you not be a prick and give me some normal sleep?" I asked acidly. "Or do you feel like I should dream about getting impaled next?"
With that I got into bed and closed my eyes… for about three minutes before a heard a knock.
"What is it?" I asked with serious homicidal intent. Like 'depending on the answer, I am seriously going to have Sky cook you' intent.
I heard Ebermen's own tired voice, "You have visitors."
"Great," I rested my head in my hands.
Just great.