THE FLESH FAILURES

CERSEI

"Excuse me, Your Grace. Your visit has been quite... unexpected. If you had informed me in advance, I could have instructed my maid to prepare us a proper breakfast, tidy up a bit..."

Or dress yourself, Cersei thought. Her visit had caught Grand Maester Pycelle in bed, naked with his maid, a girl not much older than her Myrcella. Just the thought made her want to regurgitate the breakfast and scatter it around Pycelle's orderly room, but she restrained herself.

Pycelle nibbled on one of the cooked plums that the girl had hastily prepared. Judging by the expression on his face with each bite, it was clear the girl was better in bed than in the kitchen. The old maester looked at her with nervous eyes, probably wondering about the reason for her visit.

"I've seen that you were quite occupied, Grand Maester, so I'll try not to detain you too long. I just wanted to know if my father has sent a response regarding my request for more guards for my safety. Many days have passed since I sent the letter," Cersei said.

"No raven has arrived from Casterly Rock since your brother informed us of his return without incident. The raven may have gone astray; it wouldn't be unusual. If you wish, I can send another."

"Do it," Cersei said impatiently. She wanted to have this city under her control when she took the next step in her plan, and her father wasn't making it easy. She was sure the raven had arrived safely at Casterly Rock, and her father had received her letter days ago. He would respond eventually, as always, but his delay only meant he wouldn't dispatch all the troops she was requesting.

"Of course," Pycelle said. He stroked his long beard, snow-white except for the yellowish plum juice splattered on it. "As soon as we finish here, I will have quill and ink brought to me, and I will attend to it."

"Don't delay," Cersei ordered. "Do it now and send all the ravens you can to Casterly Rock. It's of upmost importance" The old maester was tremendously loyal to House Lannister, but sometimes his slowness and neglect for some things irritated her. Pycelle, Jaime, her father... Am I the only one who realizes what is at stake?

"Yes, certainly. I will get to it immediately, Your Grace." The maester rose laboriously, but once on his feet, he moved more quickly than she would have expected from someone of his age. The maid brought him a quill and ink, and in less time than it took him to eat the plum, he had written the letters to her father. The climb to the rookery was harder on Pycelle's decrepit legs, but before the sun had fully risen on the horizon, the letters were dispatched, and the ravens were flying westward.

"I'm glad to see you share my concern. By the way, is there any news about Stark? Does he still have the book?" she inquired.

Pycelle gestured to the girl to leave them alone and turned to her, his eyes thoughtful. Pycelle's hands, covered in age spots, scratched his head, trying to caress a mane he had been deprived of many years ago. "No, no, he returned it a few days ago. I remember him saying it was too heavy a read for him. I don't think he discovered anything."

"It may be, but it's better not to take risks. Burn the book or throw it into the sea. I don't want anyone asking about it again; it's too risky."

"I will do as you command, Your Grace, but there are more copies throughout the kingdom."

"How many?" Cersei asked.

"I'm not sure, but I think there were more in the Citadel, two or three copies, along with the original," Pycelle coughed.

"Talk to your colleagues and find out where the rest are. I will take care of making them disappear forever." That last statement still needed refinement, but she wouldn't allow even the slightest opening that could deny the legitimacy of her children as heirs to the throne. If Eddard Stark or Jon Arryn had gotten close, more capable and ruthless men like Varys, Vestra, or Littlefinger wouldn't take long to unravel the secrets it hid. She'd better hope they never did because only the Gods knew what they would do with such information.

"It will be a titanic task, my queen. Many years have passed since I left the Citadel, and I don't know who might have such information. Besides, wouldn't such questions attract unwanted attention? Perhaps it's better to leave things as they are," Pycelle coughed.

"I've left things as they are for fifteen years, Pycelle. Arryn didn't suspect anything until recently, and his death has only raised suspicions."

"Yes, yes… I'm sorry. I may have been neglectful in my services in recent times. Perhaps I should have saved the former Hand. He might not have suspected anything, after all."

"No," Cersei concluded. "What you did was right. If the book didn't tell him anything, the assassination attempt would have. Are you sure it was the poison that killed him?"

"Tears of Lys, Your Grace," Pycelle nodded. "The symptoms were unmistakable; it couldn't have been any illness."

"A shame," Cersei said, rising. She would have preferred that the old Jon Arryn's death had been due to natural causes. Now, she not only had to worry about no one discovering the incest affair or her own plans, but there was a murderer within the Red Keep. A murderer whose intentions she didn't know. With firm steps, Cersei headed to the labyrinth of shelves on the other side of the room.

The maester had an impressive collection of medicines and potions. Some, like the Poppy Milk or the Moon Tea, she already knew where they were, but it was impossible to navigate through the countless glass jars, tiny bottles, and ceramic vessels. It took her a while to spot it, under Pycelle's watchful eye, who took longer to get up from the chair than he had taken to write the letters.

"I see you have those Tears of Lys you mentioned earlier among your potions," Cersei said, holding the small bottle. "Could the poison have come from here?"

"Impossible. Nothing has disappeared from here; I'm sure," Pycelle said. With the disorder he had, it was impossible for the old man to notice if a couple of vials went missing, but he didn't mention anything.

"Check again, just in case. If the poison came from your cabinet, that would narrow down the list of suspects," Cersei said. "Speaking of poisons... do you have many around here?"

"A few, yes. Almost all known to the Citadel, if I may clarify. Are you looking for a particular one? There are some I don't have, Dornish scorpions are not easy to bring, and there are several raw materials I'm short of, but..."

"Don't complicate things," Cersei interrupted him. If there was something Pycelle liked more than young girls, it was hearing himself talk, and she didn't plan to spend the whole morning listening to the Grand Maester's tedious anecdotes. "Something that could be mistaken for a natural death would be enough."

The maester stroked his thick beard once again. After a few seconds, he stretched his bony finger and pointed to one of the higher shelves on one of the racks. There were no potions there, only books, and she was about to slap the old man to see if that woke him up. To her amazement, after reaching to the point indicated by the maester, she found a small stoppered vial. It had a thick layer of dust that clung to her fingers, and its contents rang when moved. Unlike the rest of the vials on the shelves, this one wasn't labeled. She removed the stopper and observed a dozen small crystals smaller than a nail. They had such an intense purple color that they almost seemed to glow on their own.

"The Strangler," Pycelle said, followed by the jingling of his chain. "Just one of those small crystals is enough to take a man's life. Dissolve it in wine, and the person who drinks it will feel their throat close like a fist. Only maesters know its secret; to the rest of the world, it will seem like they choked on their food. Do you plan to use it on Robert, isn't that so?"

The old man is sharper than he lets on. Or maybe I'm too transparent. She hoped it wasn't the latter.

"With whom I use it is none of your concern, but rest assured it will be for the good of the realm."

"Yes, of course," Pycelle said, with a tired look. She wondered to what extent the Grand Maester would maintain his loyalty to House Lannister if someone insisted on extracting information from him. Perhaps she was depending too much on the Grand Maester, but he was her voice and ears in the Small Council, much more useful than Jaime and Lancel most of the time. If this went smoothly, she would have to take care of renewing Joffrey's Small Council. She would rid herself of those leeches and Renly and Ned Stark, replacing them with young and loyal men.

It was just an almost imperceptible moment, but Cersei could see Pycelle's eyes widen in astonishment when he realized the trap she had set for him. There were no ravens left to send to the Rock, so Pycelle had no way to warn Tywin Lannister of his daughter's intentions. The die was cast, and her father would have to accept the events that were to inevitably take place whether he liked it or not. The only thing she regretted was not having more soldiers at her disposal.

"Notify me as soon as there is a response from the Westerlands. And needless to say, inform only me," Cersei said, rising from the chair.

"Of course, Your Grace."

She put the vial back on the shelf, not without taking a couple of the violet crystals and tucking them between her fingers. She descended the stairs of the tower, trying not to stumble due to the steep and battered steps. By then, the sun was already high in the sky, and the castle had come to life. She passed near the courtyard, seeing knights and warriors training, or pretending to, as the little she saw seemed a deplorable spectacle. Most of the knights and important lords had already returned to their lands, leaving only the remnants behind. After looking around for a few minutes, she found the ones she was looking for.

Her cousin Lancel was sitting on a bench next to Tyrek, another of her cousins, this one from her uncle Tygett. They were so alike that more than cousins, anyone could mistake them for twin brothers, although there were more than evident differences. Tyrek had long, curly hair, and his face, though handsome, was too stern and rugged, an inheritance from his father. Lancel, on the contrary, had short hair, and his features were smooth and graceful. He looked like a copy of Jaime at his age.

A sad copy, thought Cersei. Jaime would have been training with the other knights and squires, his face full of bruises, not hiding behind Robert's shadow.

Her husband spent almost as much time training his squires as he did ruling. For him, they were nothing more than a couple of messengers, and the two fools seemed content to be just that. If her uncle Kevan knew what his son was doing as a squire, he would be begging Jaime to be the one to train him. Lancel would be delighted, of course, although Cersei doubted her cousin could endure even a day of real training. She just hoped Joffrey would never come up with the idea of appointing his cousin to the Kingsguard, as he would be less useful than a vase. Fortunately for her, Lancel was more than capable for the task she needed.

"Dear cousins," said Cersei, approaching them. Upon realizing her presence, the two young men stood up abruptly, only to then kneel before her. Utter fools. If they weren't family... Bah, they're not even worth it.

Maybe this was a mistake, but it was her best move. Besides, she wasn't going to risk Jaime, never.

"Good morning, Your Grace," they both said in unison.

"How may we serve you?" Tyrek asked, visibly nervous.

Cersei proceeded to sit on the bench previously occupied by her cousins, resting her elbows on her crossed legs. She looked at them intensely, weighing which of the two would be more suitable for the task. Tyrek was helpful, but beneath that facade, there was a hint of ambition, much like his father had had. Lancel, on the other hand, was like his uncle Kevan, but dumber, and he was also infatuated with her; she could see it in his curious and lascivious eyes.

"Leave us, Tyrek. I only need Lancel for now. I'll call for you if I need you," Cersei said.

Her cousin got up, gave a slight bow, and headed towards the group of soldiers who were training. Once she made sure Tyrek had moved far enough away and that no one was watching, she took him by the arm and made him sit beside her.

"Come. Come closer, dear cousin. Tell me, does my husband treat you well?" Cersei asked innocently.

"The king? Um, yes, of course," he said hesitantly.

"There's no need to lie to me, Lance. Not to me. I know very well how he treats you, just as he despises me."

"You? King Robert? I... I don't know what to say, Your Grace. Can I do something to help you? Please, I'll do whatever is in my power to serve you," Lancel said with more solemnity than credibility. More than a noble knight, he seemed like a child in armor, which wasn't far from the truth. He's as dense as Jaime can be sometimes.

"In fact, you can," Cersei said gently, taking his hand, intertwining her fingers with his, and dropping the two crystals into the palm of his hand.

THE LAST HREVELG

16 years earlier

It had been a long time since she had that dream. At least, not since they arrived in that world. It might not be true, and she might have forgotten she had, but she didn't believe that was possible. She never forgot that dream. She could never forget it.

There they were, with her, her ten siblings, trapped between iron bars and pain. Many years had passed, and their faces began to blur in her memories. Edelgard had known their faces like the back of her hand, but time had eroded them. Sometimes it was the color of their eyes, other times, their hair. Some faces were just gray shadows, and that caused her unimaginable pain, surpassed only by what was about to happen next.

"It will be all right," said one of the faces. It was Wilhelm, the oldest of her brothers and, until that moment, the one destined to inherit the throne of Adestria. His face remained clear and sharp despite the time, just like his worried expression, which he tried to hide. "Our father will never allow this. Don't worry."

She tried to close her eyes because she knew what was going to happen, what always happened. Her mind refused to grant her that favor, and once again, she saw her brother's face melting. His brown hair lost its color and fell as flesh and muscle merged with his skull in a grotesque spectacle.

The screams of horror and cries followed Wilhelm's death, but hers did not join. She forced herself to look, impassive, without a tear from her eyes or a scream from her lips.

The next to disappear were her older sisters. Nina's body vanished, and only her white bones remained. Her smiling skull looked at her, despite the unbearable pain she must have endured before dying. Of Emma and Anna, only dust remained. Those Who Slithered in the Dark had returned the dusty skeleton of Nina, or so they said, but she never heard anything about her other two sisters again. Even years later, after that tragedy, she tried to recover their bodies so they could rest with their siblings, but even that had been denied to them. There was a time when she harbored the faint hope that maybe there was a slight chance they were still alive, that somewhere her sisters were safe and sound, but deep down, she had always known that their lives had ended like those of her other siblings.

"Lights under the sky. Shadows walking the earth. Death, death..." a voice said. Leon had been repeating that phrase over and over since they brought him back to the cell, his body covered in bloody wounds that they hadn't even bothered to cauterize. She didn't remember his face, but those words had been etched in her mind forever. Her brother took ten more days to die from his wounds, and even on his last breath, he didn't stop repeating that phrase over and over like a madman.

Of the ten that were there at the beginning of her dream, only five remained, and even they would eventually disappear. Just as it happened. Just as it always happened, over and over again.

"I'm scared, El," Lea, the youngest, had told her. Her voice echoed in her dream, and her face, like Wilhelm's, could never be forgotten. She had hugged her with all her might when they came and took her away with Lukas, who was only a year older than her, and was also terrified. She felt their hands holding onto her, but she could only look straight ahead, into the nothingness, trying to make that nightmare pass as quickly as possible.

The hands pulled her again, and this time, she fell to the ground. When she got up, her eyes were fixed on the deformed bodies of her younger brothers, mutilated by Thales' horrible experiments. Their screams of agony mingled with hers, and then she realized that she, too, had started to cry. Dark shadows took Markus and Siegbert, who screamed and kicked in terror. Cold hands were placed on her shoulders, and Edelgard screamed.

Edelgard opened her eyes with a groan, soaked in sweat. The moonlight entered through the balcony of the room, and the gentle sea breeze whipped her naked skin. The old scars that covered her body from top to bottom hurt, as if licked by an invisible fire instead of the wind, a reminder of the pain they had caused her so long ago. A pain that probably would never go away. Still, she didn't feel cold at all because, for several weeks now, the days had been getting longer and hotter.

She dismissed the idea of trying to cover herself with fur blankets or putting on something to cover her nudity. Like those nightmares, her scars helped her not to forget where she came from. And what her goal was.

The sound of breathing from the other side of the bed reminded her of how much she was deviating from that goal. He was smaller than when she met him almost a year ago; hunger had taken its toll on him, as it had on the entire garrison. Edelgard couldn't say what had broken him more, hunger or the things he had had to do to survive.

Probably the latter. The wounds of the soul are the hardest to heal.

There, lying down, sleeping peacefully, Stannis Baratheon didn't seem like much. He wasn't much different from any other young man his age, perhaps a little taller and with shorter hair. And yet, there she was, sitting naked on his bed after having slept with him that night. And the night before, and the one before that. She couldn't have said what led her to that. She liked the young man, true, but she also liked the rest of the Eagles, Randolph and Ladislava, or Byleth. She even felt a certain... special connection with the latter, but in the end, it was the young commander of this strange world she ended up lying with. She couldn't deny that she felt some attachment to him. Was that the love her father felt for her mother when they met at the Officers' Academy? She couldn't say, for lately, all the feelings she had managed to keep at bay for so long seemed to be slipping out of her control. She was thankful that at least on this occasion, Stannis hadn't caught her awake. The previous night, when she woke up, the young commander was standing in front of the window, making strange hand movements. When she asked what the hell he was doing, the young man blushed.

"I've been watching your companion Linhardt when he heals the wounded. I thought I could recreate it. I think I've captured the symbols he makes, but apparently there's something escaping my understanding," Stannis Baratheon had said, somewhat embarrassed.

"If you can't feel the power, no matter how well you make the runes, it doesn't matter. In my land, some are born with an innate ability for magic, although as far as I know, anyone can use it if they study and practice enough. Or has a good teacher. In the end, it's nothing more than a combination of different runes, something like learning a new language. The truth is that it's not my strong suit, and it took me years to learn even the simplest spell," she had replied, lying back down. When she thought she was asleep again, Stannis Baratheon had resumed his exercises. Once again, his efforts had been fruitless, but she found it amusing and even deserving of some recognition.

Knowing it would take a while to fall asleep again after that nightmare, she stood up, her bare feet feeling the cold of the stone bricks and walked to the balcony. In the dark sky, dozens of stars shone, scattered across the firmament as the moon rose, imposing. It was so similar to Fodlan's, yet there were obvious differences. The constellations were different, and the stars weren't where they should be.

It's something so beautiful, and yet so easy to forget. When I was a child, I didn't even pay attention, and now, however, I remember it better than the faces of my own brothers. When she left her cell under Enbarr's Palace, she had promised herself many things, including that she would enjoy everything she could of the starry nights, the gentle sea breeze, or the warmth of the sun, to accompany her in those dark moments when she couldn't. That promise, unlike many others, she hadn't broken, and a fleeting smile appeared on her face.

Will we ever see the sky again when this is over? She wasn't fooling herself; the situation hung by a thread once again. In the past few months, they had managed to survive barely, but the food was about to run out again, and this time the Tyrells wouldn't attack recklessly. They would wait and force them to surrender or die of hunger. Neither she nor anyone in the castle wanted to surrender, but neither did she want to die, not after how far she had come. They still had no news of this Robert person; he might have been dead for months, and this could be nothing more than a macabre joke. Stannis had confessed to her a couple of nights ago: in a few days, weeks, if they were lucky, when they had nothing more to eat, he would give the order to surrender.

Maybe that's what pushed me to be with him. A final act of freedom before being locked up again, she thought. No. Whatever it was, it had to be more than a childish tantrum. I don't know if it's love, but it's something.

Hubert had reproached her when he found out, shortly after it happened. And he wasn't wrong. Feeling emotional attachment, however minimal, to someone who wasn't even from her world could only mean trouble in the future. If they managed to find a way back to Fodlan, would Stannis follow her if she asked? She believed she knew the answer without asking.

Another scar, and this one I made it myself.

Though the real question was whether there was really something for her in Fodlan worth returning to. Assuming time flowed the same way in this world, she had been away from her homeland for almost a year. Many things could have happened in that time, and she had an idea of what might have happened. With an entire generation of young heirs from the most prominent noble families in Adrestia disappearing under the care of the Church, it wouldn't be surprising if Lord Arundel, or rather, Thales, had managed to unite the entire Empire against Rhea and her lackeys. He might even have gained the support of part of the Kingdom and the Alliance. That's what she would have done had she been in his position.

He has taken that from me as well. That was my war, everything I had been working for these years. I have nothing left now, she thought resignedly. She thought of her father, who by now would probably be dead. He would have died alone, surrounded only by leeches, without having been able to say goodbye to his last living child, just as he hadn't been able to say goodbye to the rest of his offspring. If she ever managed to go back, she would kill them. Even if it cost her life, she would rid her world of each and every one of those vermin.

More promises I won't get to fulfill... I promised I would change Fodlan, free the people from the chains Rhea and the Church had put on them, and then destroy Thales and his followers. How quickly everything has vanished.

"Enjoying the view?" Stannis Baratheon's tired voice said. He was only covered by a tunic, but she had already seen what was beneath it several times. The young knight also had his share of scars, although not as many or as grotesque as hers.

"They're spectacular," Edelgard admitted, looking at the bay. "Although I have to admit I've never liked the sea."

"It's beautiful and terrible at the same time. When I was just a child, the sea swallowed my parents, and yet I can't bring myself to hate it. I can hate people, but nature... Well, it is what it is."

"Some would say it was the will of the gods."

"Hmph. Well, remind me to kill them if one ever appears before me. Although I doubt it; so far, I haven't seen them do anything."

"In that, we agree," Edelgard said. She liked that man more and more. Perhaps, when she explained everything, she could convince him to come with her.

He's not the only one I owe an explanation to. The others also deserve to know. They deserve to know that all this suffering they've been subjected to is my fault.

Knock, knock. The sound of a fist against the door of the room startled her, and Edelgard hurried to dress before someone caught her naked. She quickly put on underwear and a nightgown, and was starting to put on pants that, judging by how loose they were, probably weren't hers when she heard the knocks again, this time accompanied by Hubert's voice.

"Lady Edelgard. Lord Stannis. I apologize for waking you, I hope, but it is a matter of extreme urgency. You must come with me," Hubert said from the hallway, stoically. Stannis looked at her. He didn't say anything, but his face asked her if she knew what he might be referring to. She answered by shrugging.

Has he found another way to escape the siege? He knows I won't abandon these men voluntarily, so... A shadow of doubt crossed her mind. Perhaps Hubert was planning to force her to leave the castle by force? She knew Hubert would never harm her, but if that meant saving her life, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Stannis waited a few seconds for her to finish dressing and opened the door. Hubert was waiting on the other side, torch in hand and a clear expression of weariness on his face, although he tried to disguise it. He was accompanied by a second figure, maester Cressen.

"Cressen... What is it? Are the Tyrells attacking?" Stannis asked, surprised, but on guard. This situation was most peculiar, and the presence of the old man had only confused her even more, although it made her discard the idea that Hubert intended to force her to flee. Well, almost entirely.

"What's happening, Hubert? It must be important for you to wake us in the middle of the night," Edelgard said. She felt her cheeks flush, realizing that both Hubert and Maester Cressen must be fully aware of the reason for her presence in Stannis's room.

Do the others know too? Does the garrison know? She'd rather not know the answers to those questions, but it was evident that she would soon have to give explanations to her friends. At least they would be more understanding than Hubert, or so she hoped.

"Good news, my lords," Hubert said with a sinister smile. It had been a long time since she had seen him smile in that way, and seeing him like that again comforted her, strange as it might seem.

"I'm no lord, Vestra," Stannis replied, gritting his teeth, although there was a certain relief in his tone. "Is it about my brother? Do we finally have news of Robert, Maester?"

"More or less. It's better if you see it for yourselves," Cressen said.

Hubert and Cressen led them through the halls of Storm's End, slowly but steadily. They left Stannis's quarters and descended a narrow spiral staircase to the depths of the castle. They passed through the lower floors, the great hall, and the armory, and ventured into the depths of the fortress. Edelgard noticed that they were no longer surrounded by brick walls, but by bare limestone rock. The torches along their path were increasingly spaced, so that the only light illuminating their way was the torch carried by Hubert. She looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger. She thought she knew where he was taking them, but she didn't understand why. Hubert just returned a smile, angering and unsettling her at the same time.

They passed by a narrow passage and then in front of a huge metal door, guarded by a couple of battered and dirty guards. As they passed, they saluted them and straightened up, but leaned back on their spears once they had left them behind. A deep smell of salt filled her nostrils when they passed through the door, and Edelgard instantly knew without asking that this was where they were keeping them.

If there is truly any god in this world, he will surely punish us for this. Us and Tyrell.

They ventured further into the darkness and continued down the stairs until the smell of salt returned to her nose. This time it was a softer sensation, and she soon realized that it was the smell of sea water. They were heading to the coast.

"If you think you're taking me out of here by boat, Hubert, I think you've forgotten that there are dozens of ships out there blocking the castle. Besides, you know perfectly well that I'm not going to leave," Edelgard said, frustrated.

"It's not about that, Lady Edelgard. Wait a bit, and you'll see. We're almost there," Hubert replied, not even turning his head to look at her.

The passage carved into the stone became wider and, suddenly, led to a large cavern that opened to the sea, under the cliff where the castle was built. On the rock, they had erected a rudimentary dock, although she saw only half a dozen small boats, all with furled sails. The gate that closed the entrance to the cavern from the sea, formed by dark iron bars, was halfway up, allowing the passage of any small boat that wanted to enter. Or leave. Suddenly, she noticed that there were about a dozen guards surrounding one of the boats. It had black sails that merged with the dark tide. It seemed ready to set sail.

Before she had time to grab Hubert by the neck and demand answers, one of the soldiers noticed their presence and called out to them.

"My lord, my lord. Come! It's a miracle, my lord! A miracle of the Seven!" he shouted with a hoarse voice, and his echo resonated through the cavern. Those soldiers had seen more extraordinary things in a year than many would see in several lifetimes, so she wondered what could be so magnificent. Maybe it was just a trick to catch them off guard.

The soldiers stepped aside, revealing the black-sailed barge. It was loaded to the brim with boxes of salted fish, onions... There was even bread and some meat. On land, leaning on the side of the boat, there was a small man with straight brown hair and a short beard. He wore simple sailor's clothes, and he wasn't one of the garrison men, or at least she didn't recognize him. When they approached, the smell of food made her stomach growl.

"What is this? Who are you?" Stannis said, incredulous. His lips trembled, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. She realized she was doing the same.

"My name is Davos. Davos of Flea Bottom," the man said. "I figured you'd pay a good price for my cargo."

"A good price... Have you...? Have you breached Paxter Redwyne's blockade on the hope that I'd pay you a good price?" Stannis asked. His eyes were red, and he seemed about to burst into tears.

"I... well, yes. I wondered, who would pay better for this food than men who have been besieged for a year? And here I am," Davos said. The sailor spoke with too much naturalness, as if he didn't realize the feat he had just accomplished.

"You've saved my men, Davos of Flea Bottom," Stannis said, approaching and picking up one of the onions in his hands. He took it so delicately that it was as if he was afraid they were an illusion and would vanish between his fingers. "I think any gold I can give you falls short to reward you."

HUBERT

Hubert took his seat in the main box of the opera in King's Landing, tugging at the fabric of his cape. It was an unbearable ornament, and he longed for the moment to return to his rooms in the Red Keep to take it off. He would have done it now, but it was necessary. It was important to dress appropriately when one had a role to play.

He settled down to wait, while whispers filled the opera house like water in a glass. There was a large audience today, and rightfully so. The Mittlefrank Company had marked today as the premiere date for their new production, so anyone with a certain status in the city was present.

Hubert's reserved box could comfortably accommodate at least two more people, but except for a couple of his agents standing guard in the aisle leading to it, the box was empty. Like the other boxes in the building, it had comfortable seats, a carpet, and a red velvet railing. It had a good view of the stage, certainly, but today's performance didn't matter much to him.

Not that he didn't appreciate the art of opera, although it was far from his favorite things, but he could enjoy a show like any other noble. Today was not the case. No, today that evening held a different kind of interest for him.

From his seat, he glimpsed Lady Stokeworth, who had come accompanied by one of her daughters, the simple one, although knowing Falyse, the other daughter, that nickname would apply to either of them. Lord Renly was settling into one of the more central boxes, accompanied by the Knight of Flowers. He didn't see any Lannisters, but there were some of their knights, but he wasn't focused on the nobility. He recognized Baelish and a couple of his lackeys scattered among the crowd, one of whom looked in his direction more than once, and he also imagined that Varys's little birds would be lurking around. They could fill the hall with spies, but once the performance started, not even the slightest whisper would be heard, all of them covered by the music and songs.

The ushers extinguished the lamps, except for those illuminating the stage, the orchestra, and the boxes, and the constant murmur subsided as darkness enveloped the venue. The orchestra began playing the first of the night's songs, and the curtain opened, revealing the first act. Hubert glanced at the program again in the dim light of the torches. According to it, the play represented an ancient legend, in which two gods fought for the supremacy of a world, while humanity danced to their whims. The first scene represented just that, the creation of two realms, each ruled by one of the gods. He didn't know the tenor who played the first of the gods, but he knew the other.

Dorothea wore a simple white tunic with ornaments that seemed to be made of gold, although it was probably nothing more than trinkets trying to imitate it. Simple sandals covered her feet, and her glossy brown mane was dyed a bright green. Either that or she was wearing a wig, but he bet on the former. However, his attention was not focused on Dorothea precisely, but on the fact that she was on stage in the first place. She shouldn't be there. She should be in the box, as they had agreed. Had something twisted their plans? Had they been discovered? It was impossible for anyone to hear them up there, so why...

Hubert let out a sigh of bitterness. Nothing was wrong, of course. Dorothea was just teasing him, once again. He rubbed his temples with his fingers, tracing circles and trying to calm his growing irritation.

A couple of minutes later, the scene ended, giving way to a new stage where what seemed to be the "human" protagonists of the play were presented. By then, Hubert had stopped paying attention to the stage, and he was just impatiently waiting for it to end so he could go down to the dressing room to meet with Dorothea. If it were any other day, he would have done it already, but with so many eyes watching, it was impossible for anyone not to notice his absence as soon as the performance started, so he reclined in his seat and tried to calm down.

It wasn't worth lamenting. He had at least a couple of hours ahead of him, so he could try to enjoy the show. He would settle scores with Dorothea later. He glanced at the program again, this time reading it more thoroughly, and saw that indeed Dorothea's name appeared among the singers for today.

How could I have overlooked this? Too many things on my mind; maybe I should relax a bit. The next few days will be even busier.

The minutes passed, and the plot of the play progressed, so Hubert let himself be carried away and left the issues that had brought him to the opera house in the first place for later. It wasn't a plot that excited him much: two young heroes fighting against an evil country that wanted to invade them. For how Dorothea had sold it to him, he expected more.

His attention shifted once again from the performance when he heard the faint but clearly noticeable sound of footsteps approaching down the aisle. Footsteps of high-heeled shoes, if he wasn't mistaken. He put all his senses on alert, in case it was someone unexpected, although he knew almost for sure who it was.

"Good evening, Hubie," Dorothea's cheerful voice said as she sat in the seat next to his. "Enjoying the show?"

"You're late," Hubert reminded her, angry. At least Dorothea had hurried to go to the box once her act was over. She hadn't had the time to change clothes, apparently.

"It's an important day. I couldn't leave those kids alone in front of such a demanding audience."

"They're old enough, and this is more important than your debut. Besides, weren't you thinking of retiring?"

"Remember that Edie and you haven't left me many other options. So at least allow me this little whim. The plan has been laid out for months; we probably don't have much to discuss anyway."

"Both Lady Edelgard and I appreciate your support, Dorothea," Hubert said, sighing. "You know that. And regarding the last part, there has been a certain... change of plans."

"Change of plans?" Dorothea asked confused. "What happened?"

"Lord Stark has agreed to lend us his support when the time comes."

"Are you serious?" Dorothea said, in a tone higher than she would have liked. Her friend immediately realized and lowered her voice. "How did you manage to convince him?"

"Let's say my arguments persuaded him," Hubert commented without mentioning the issue of Robert's bastards. "Anyway, I'm not getting my hopes up. His support will only be temporary, at best. Our goals are too divergent."

"I assume he doesn't know what we're planning for real. Or perhaps his friendship with our dear Robert isn't what it used to be?" Dorothea said as she assimilated the news.

"He won't betray Robert. Not more than he already has, at least." That thought made a smile appear on his face.

"More than he already...? Ah, that."

"Yes. Eddard Stark is not as honorable as he claims to be. Lady Edelgard has already been informed of the new situation."

Hubert rummaged in the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out the letter he had received from Dragonstone two days ago, and handed it to Dorothea. The brown-haired woman brought the letter close to the lantern light and proceeded to read it, with a furrowed brow. When she finished, she folded the note again and handed it back to Hubert. However, instead of putting it back in his jacket, he opened the lantern door and tucked the letter inside.

"So, the time has come," Dorothea murmured as she watched the flames consume the paper. "It's been years since we started this, and yet it seems like the day has come too soon, too fast."

"There's no point in waiting any longer. More time would have only served to strengthen our enemies," explained Hubert. The realm was in a more precarious state than it seemed, and an earthquake like this would tear it down to its foundations.

"I hope you're right, for everyone's sake."

"If you're so worried, Dorothea, I can always have more work for you to do. Not that I don't appreciate your help so far, but..."

"Don't insist, Hubert," Dorothea said. Her voice no longer held sympathy, fear, or curiosity, just coldness. "Lin and I have already been involved too much, especially after your bravado at Flea Bottom. You know I'd follow you to the end, but now I have someone to take care of. I won't leave my children as orphans."

"And do you think the rest of us don't?" Hubert asked, unable to contain his anger. "Do you think I want to put Sonia in danger? I'm doing this not just for Lady Edelgard, or for me, but above all for her." Dorothea paled at his outburst.

"I'm sorry, Hubie," Dorothea apologized. "I didn't mean to imply that you all don't care about your kids. It's just that... I can't, Hubert. Just the thought that something could happen to George and Brandon because of me makes my blood run cold."

"I'd also prefer if Sonia wasn't involved in all this," Hubert confessed. "I wish she'd stay in Dragonstone, away from all of this, writing her stories in that notebook she thinks I don't know about... Heh."

He preferred not to mention the fact that, willing or not, Dorothea's whole family would be in danger. Maybe not as much as his, or Lady Edelgard's, but their enemies wouldn't make distinctions or show mercy if they were to fail. He just hoped that Dorothea would realize sooner rather than later. In the not-too-distant future, her help could be invaluable.

"Heh, it's good to see that even you have your soft spot occasionally, Hubie. I still remember when Sonia was just a kid. You didn't leave her side for a second. Not even Edie could have come between you two," Dorothea said, recovering her smile.

Hubert knew he would go to any length for his daughter, but it was something that only he and Bernadetta knew, and it was better that it stayed that way. For years he had believed that his own father had been nothing more than a filthy rat when he decided to betray the emperor during the Insurrection of the Seven. If they had stayed in Fodlan, he had no doubt that he would have purged him once Lady Edelgard ascended to the throne. It wasn't until Sonia was born that he began to consider that perhaps his father had done that for a more personal reason. He didn't forgive him for it, but he had come to understand his motives. If one day he had to make a similar decision, he knew whom he would choose, and just the thought chilled his soul.

They continued the conversation, this time setting aside the most personal and family-related topics and focusing strictly on business matters. Now that they had the northerners, success was practically assured, although there were some last-minute details to refine and several letters to consider. Although it mattered little at this point. The gears had already begun to turn, and no one could stop them, not even him.

The acts of the play continued to unfold, and Hubert found himself increasingly captivated by the story. What initially seemed to be a simple tale of a pair of heroes saving the world had taken on more curious and interesting tones. By the time that, near the end, it was revealed that the evil emperor was none other than the hero's father, who had orchestrated everything as a plan for humanity to overthrow the gods, Hubert was completely immersed in the story.

"Interesting play. You certainly didn't lie when you said it could be your best work to date," Hubert remarked.

"Thank Petra for that. I based it on a story she told me a while ago. It must be quite famous in Brigid from what she led me to believe. Some kind of ancient legend sailors used to tell or something," Dorothea replied.

"I like it. It's deeper than I had imagined at first."

"Told you so" Dorothea stood up and adjusted her dress. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have one last act to close."

Hubert didn't object. Everything they had to talk about had already been said, so he sank into his seat and waited to see the conclusion of the play. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and he realized how many hours of sleep he had lost in the last few days. The accumulated fatigue in the recent days was beginning to take its toll on him, so he told himself that in the nights to come, he would make sure to rest well. When the time came, he would have his eyes wide open.

"On an ocean of stars. Lo, an angel they see…" Dorothea sang from the stage. Almost all the decoration had been removed, and only a couple of lonely lanterns illuminated her. The acoustics of the building made her friend's celestial voice resonate in every nook of the hall, filling his ears with a serenity and calmness he didn't know he needed. The rest of the audience, he observed, had also been overwhelmed. Hearing the Mystical Songstress sing was always an experience, no matter how many times one repeated it.

When the song ended and the audience managed to recover, a great ovation erupted among the spectators, and even Hubert found himself applauding, standing from his seat in the box. The crowd called for an encore, but by then, Hubert had already put on his coat and was descending the stairs leading to the opera's entrance. Not that he didn't like the song; quite the opposite, but there would be more occasions to hear it again. He needed to rest, and besides, his departure would divert the attention of Varys's little birds from his friend.

"And when I am gone, just ash in the wind. One life surrendered so yours can begin..." The echoes of Dorothea's voice could be heard perfectly even from outside the building, although the notes gradually faded as he moved away.

The darkness of the night enveloped him as he stepped out into the winding and nauseating streets of King's Landing. Among the stars, streaking across the black sky, an unmistakable crimson comet tore through the heavens, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Certainly, Hubert thought, if there is any god in this world, at least he has a great sense of humor.

Hello there.

This past months have been really busy but I could come up with another chapter just before the end of the year. This one has been one of my favourites to write and things are really getting heated. I hope to have the next chapter ready in a couple of months but it seems like it will be a really long one, so one can only hope.

Thanks again for reading this work and for your support, see you again in the next chapter: Our Chosen Paths.

Wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year 2024!