Celestial Hymn (Celestial Forge/asoIaF SI)
By: Vagabond
[NSFW] - Celestial Hymn (Celestial Forge/asoIaF SI) by Vagabond
Status: ongoing
Published: 2021-09-04
Updated: 2024-04-09
Words: 79213
Chapters: 60
Original source: https/forum./threads/15937
Exported with the assistance of
Celestial Hymn (Celestial Forge/asoIaF SI)
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 1
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 1
-VB-
There was a rumor of a strange man and a strange house in the middle of nowhere in the Vale. The rumor spoke of a man who met with the head of the House Waxley of Wickenden, a town north of the Bay of Crabs. House of Waxley was responsible for much of the northern coast, and apparently, this man who sought and got an audience with the Lord of Wickenden managed to get himself a workshop for producing works of art.
Little by little, Wickenden, which was never a prosperous or powerful town, became enriched with art that - little by little - made other cities and towns look drab in comparison.
Renly realized that this was the truth. As he and his cohort approached the walled town of Wickenden, they saw a single statue adorning the left side of the entrance, holding up the battlement above. A giant of great white marble stood there, using his arms to sustain the battlement. His face, though contorted with great pain, showed great determination to continue his duty.
As they grew closer, the size of the statue became clear. At least four yards. No, maybe even five.
It showed off every muscle and curve. Details grew in complexity and number.
And Renly could not help but wonder if giants of the old were like this.
He gulped as he entered the open gates, and the lors personally greeted him.
"Welcome, welcome!" a thin man in yellow, white, and black greeted loudly with his own knights. His greying brown hair and moustache didn't make him look weak despite his thinness. "Welcome to this humble Wickenden, Prince Renly Baratheon!"
After he had just seen what had to cost more than a year's wage to feed a small army for a year, he didn't think this town was humble at anything.
Renly got off his horse and clasped the man's arms in a brotherly handshake.
"Thank you for the welcome, Lord Waxley," he said. "I did not know you were a patron of the arts."
"Oh, I certainly wasn't before. It took quite a bit to convince me."
"Like a genius artisan?"
Waxley looked pained. "Yes," he admitted. "He is too talented to be easily hidden, it seems."
Renly chuckled. "I think all of the seven kingdoms are aware of him."
"Already?"
"When you have that at the gate…"
"Ah yes. Alan called the statue 'Duty.'"
Alan and Duty. The name of the artisan and his first impression.
Renly just had to commission something from him.
"Come, my prince. I have prepared a feast in your honor!"
"Then let us be."
Perhaps later. Etiquette had to be observed, after all.
His paige came to take his reins and he walked with Lord Waxley, side by side. As they walked towards the central castle of the town, Renly noticed that there were other things.
A fountain that just perfectly sprayed water into the air. Small shrubberies along the side of the road that had little to no discrepancies. Smaller statues, more in line with normal individuals, in various forms and expressions.
"Which one is that called?" he asked, staring at a marble statue of a man who seemed to be thinking.
"Ah, the sculptor called it 'The Thinker.'"
A very fitting name.
When they entered the castle, he saw even more statues. Some were fantastic and mythical and others were more sublime and powerful.
And then they entered the hall.
Renly's eyes laid upon the resident lords chair and nearly let his jaw drop.
"That chair," Lord Waxley said proudly, diminishing the value by calling a proper throne, however wooden, a mere chair. "Was what got me to accept Alan's offer."
It was a throne of a single solid block of wood. Renly saw details upon it that went down to the size of a newborn baby's nails. It depicted battles, history, and even his older brother's rebellion and Lord Waxley's part in it. It was a piece of work that just screamed power and prestige.
Renly's best chair back home was worth less than a quarter of what this was worth.
"Very impressive."
"I am sure that a prince of your stature has better, and nothing can beat the Iron Throne in its prestige, but this is mine, and I am in love with it."
No, Renly was not jealous.
And then he saw a silver wine cup of the same quality. Though it lacked any studded gems and only boasted a thin line of gold around the rim, the ornate engravings looked far more valuable than a proper landed knight's armor set.
So meticulous in details did both objects contain that Renly swore he could stare at them for years to come and still find details he hadn't discovered before.
Genius artisan? No. No no no no no. This was a talent that came once every millenia. His patronage would see Lord Waxley's wealth surge high among the peerage. He would push aside all but the Lord Paramounts and the wealthiest of the Reach's noble houses.
"He's been with me for four years, and he's still only sixteen!"
Renly knew at this point that Lord Waxley knew he would lose his grip over this artisan. Renly knew he alone could offer land and titles that Waxley himself can only dream of. There was no chance Waxley could keep a hold of the personified gold mine.
"Would you like to meet him, my prince?"
'But Waxley could earn himself my favor. A favor of a lord paramount,' he thought as he nodded, unwilling to trust his mouth and lips to appeal properly.
"Very well, then! Let us feast first, my prince. It would be a shame to meet someone on an empty stomach and a grouchy mind!"
Renly laughed along with the lord politely as they walked up to the head of the hall…. And Waxley offered him to sit on the wooden throne.
Renly didn't hesitate.
The closer he looked, the value of this throne only increased and in turn multiplied the value of its maker.
"This is a marvelous… Chair."
Lord Waxley chuckled. "Indeed. It will remain in my house for generations to come."
-VB-
Later that day, Renly finally met the slightly older sculptor.
Alone in the hall with only the ternager and his sworn shield, Renly Baratheon stared down at the boy kneeling and keeping his head down.
"So you are the sculptor of all of those statues, including the giant one by the gate."
"Yes, your grace."
"What do you say about becoming my vassal?"
There was a moment of silence. Eventually, his sworn shield growled and shouted. "Answer when you are spoken to, peasant!"
Renly cared not for it.
"Well?" But he did want an answer. "Lift your head and give me an answer of any kind."
The teenager, older than Renly by a year, lifted his head. He looked plain. Brown hair, brown eyes, round jaws, thin lips, a thick nose bridge, and more. Just… average.
"I believe that the service and results I offer requires a better offer from you, your grace."
Oh, bold!
Before his sworn shield could even speak, the man continued.
"I have received letters from Lannister, Martell, and Tyrells, each offering me titles of nobility and land. For me to accept any offer less than what they offer would mean insult from a small folk to three lord paramounts, your grace. Even if you are the prince of the realm, making enemies of two houses of such high standing is not conducive to my survival. I imagine dying in a toilet with an arrow to my gut, a drop of poison in my food leading to a messy death on the way to the toilet, or simply go missing after going to the toilet."
Renly chortled. Then he laughed. "Well reasoned!" he snickered. "But why toilet?"
"People's minds tend to be in the gutter for most of the time, your grace. I know for a fact that one of the serving girls and the Waxley heir are ogling each other every meal."
He snorted and kept control of himself this time. "Very well. Let me hear what they offered."
"Martells offered me a barony and one of the Sand Sisters."
"I see a poison," Renly jibbed.
"Tyrells offered me a town."
"Better."
"The Lannisters have offered me a lordship."
And just like that, all humor left him. "Lord Lannister did, did he?"
"Yes, your grace, and he also left a subtle threat that a small folk enriching other houses first before his may not live long."
Renly snorted. "You are a very brave and refreshing man, Alan. Fortunately, I do not believe that I can up Lord Lanister's offer. However, I do wish to commission something before I make that offer."
"For the right price and time, I shall create for you anything you desire."
Renly liked the sound of that.
"What would one hundred dragons get me?"
A moment of silence settled as Alan contemplated. Then he spoke. "I will carve a statue of whatever you desire of a real man's height of whatever you desire, my prince, and it will be done in seven days."
… only seven days? Well, the man certainly had some guts.
"Then make a statue out of marble of the most ideal man."
Alan bowed his head. "As you command."
-VB-
Lord Harold Waxley always knew that he would lose the talent that had allowed Wickenden to begin prospering. He invested a lot into other things, because this was nearly a fever dream. One day, it would pop, and if he didn't prepare, then he would go back to the way it was before: lord of a town barely eking out a living in the Vale's mountainous coast.
With some of Alan's ideas and some investment, Harold managed to carve "terraces" into the side of the mountain, and there was more food around for everyone. He built a proper port, and because his was the only good port in the Bay of Crabs, merchants shipping goods down the river or up the river stopped by his port.
A week after the young prince's arrival, he stood next to that prince as they waited for the reveal of the promised statue.
Draped in yellow cotton fabric, no one among the crowd of fifty could see even after it had been gently wheeled into the hall.
"My prince," Alan spoke up, always too blunt. "I present to you Jon, the Perfect Man." Then he pulled the fabric away.
As always, Alan put a lot of time into the details. Harold could also tell that this was of a higher quality work. It was lifelike. Too lifelike. He mistook it for a man with paint for a moment.
Chiseled yet not overly muscular, tall yet not too tall, solemn yet not too serious, proud yet not arrogant. It was in the body, face, pose, and stance.
Harold could only hope to be as half as confident and powerful as the statue was. It was, as Alan titled it, the perfect man.
Prince Renly seemed to be in love with it. "It is perfect."
Women in the hall marveled at the statue. Some of the men compared themselves. Others looked upon it obviously.
It would be the first and not the last of Alan's work that would not adorn his home. Harold felt deeply sad about that. Alan had grown to be a good man. He was never arrogant, never greedy, and never lazy. Harold had even considered him a good match for his youngest daughter, but he would soon be a lord of a higher standing. His daughter, while not average looking or ugly, had no chance.
Not when he had secretly read the Lannister's offer. A personal fiefdom? That was something only the likes of the House Lannister could provide.
"Your value is truly worth a castle, sculptor," Prince Renly Baratheon spoke loudly as he turned to the man in question. "Lord Paramount of Westerlands was not underestimating you when he offered a castle. In fact, I shall go ahead and offer you more than just a castle. In the Stormlands, there is a long stretch of land in northeastern Stormlands. Many of its lords have died without heirs during the rebellion, and the House of Baratheons have been keeping them to hand out to future vassals. You, Sculptor Alan, can choose to become the lord of any castle and the lands the previous castle lord's owned and were responsible for. What say you?"
-VB-
A month after Prince Rennly left, he met with Alan for perhaps the last time as the man had chosen to accept Prince Renly's offer. They were in his study during the day.
"I bring you a gift, milord."
And Alan brought forth a small statuette. As big as four fists put together, it was that of a powerful ram, the unofficial symbol of House Waxley.
"May you live prosperous and as strong as a mountain ram."
It was a heartfelt gift.
"As do you… my friend."
Chapter 2
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 2
-VB-
Rosia stared up at the tall man who was the new lord of her hometown Mallonton and the other villages, towns, and the castle of the Brownspear Barony. Standing among the crowd who'd come to greet their new lord in his tour of the lordship, she watched on with her brothers and parents by her side.
Walking instead of riding, a man dressed in blue and white fineries wandered the cobblestone streets of Mallonton, and four men armored and armed and carrying the standard of the Brownspear Lordship, a black diamond shaped tear on a background of blue.
"He looks normal," her brother, Dan, muttered from her left.
"He ain't a dragon, if that's what you are asking. That's all I care about," dad said. He fought in many battles for the Baratheon. It was how they managed to get themselves a house in a town.
She continued to look at the man who supposedly made all of the lord paramounts gawk in awe over his sculpture of all things.
"He looks plain," she agreed with Dan.
Whatever it was that the nobles did, she couldn't give a damn.
All she cared about was whether this new noble would be better or worse than the last.
She stared at the roaring lion… statue.
When she first saw it, she screamed and jumped back. It was only after her brothers laughed at her - and then got scolded because they had the same reaction and thus was mean to laugh at her for it - that she realized how realistic looking the statue was.
Standing at the center of the town plaza on top of a thick and short pillar that was engraved so intricately that while it might look like some wavy lines from afar, it was in truth a pillar filled with winged angels singing praises.
Rosia got so caught in the beauty of both the pillar's angels and the lion that when her parents shook her out of it, she hadn't even realized that time had passed.
She understood. She understood why the nobles sought his skills. Why the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands willingly exchanged title and land to have majority attention or even monopoly over the sculptor.
He apparently finished this in a week, too, and he did it to commemorate his rise to nobility. Instead of keeping it to himself, he shared it so that all of the town could enjoy its beauty, too.
She had to give it to their new lord.
He was generous, at the very least.
Rosia stared down at Dan's bandaged leg.
He got into an accident at work, and it was clear to everyone that he should not be allowed to work, despite his insistence that he could at least do errands.
"The answer is no, Dan!" father shouted, having run out of patience. "Your leg was snapped in half! If it wasn't for the baron who somehow knew enough medicine to save your leg, you would be a cripple forever! Do you not remember his words?! 'No walking on that leg until I say so'! What happens if you permanently cripple yourself, hmm?!"
"I can hop around-!"
Mother punched the back of Dan's head, making him curl up in pain. "Mom!"
"No means no."
"But what about the farm!?"
Father grimaced. "With you being unable to work, we'll just have to do more."
"You don't know how long we'll have to do that!"
Rosia then remembered something.
"The baron is looking for a maid."
The family turned to her. Mother and father and Dan -. Well, everyone looked alarmed.
"We don't know what he is like inside his manor! You know what happens to a smallfolk who ends up in a room with a lord!"
"But we'll starve if I don't."
"No means -."
"Seeing as you are an adult if only barely, I will accept this, but is it not usually a custom for the man of the house to give you permission?" Baron Alan of House Marris asked her from across his plain desk.
For a man capable of creating beauty that spurred jealousy among nobles and Kings, he possessed very plain furniture.
"A-ah, yes, that is normally how I would get a job outside of the family business, but… you wouldn't turn me away for this, would you, milord?"
He didn't even stare once at the intentionally lowered neckline of her blouse and her own impressive firm and big tits.
She was honestly impressed, though this feeling was small in comparison to the fear of being here in the baron's personal office with no one else here.
Even though she came here looking for a job, she feared that he might… do things to her.
She expected it, honestly. She knew as well as any smallfolk did that noble men would force themselves on smallfolk women. She came here despite this because there were no other jobs in the town and villages. She checked.
At least if he fucked her, them he might be more inclined to let her stay and work, if only to fuck her more.
At the very least, her family wouldn't starve.
But the baron didn't do anything like that. He just asked her for her experience, jotted down notes, and asked her his latest question.
"I see. I see no reason to not hire you. Come back early tomorrow morning. I will have written up a list of your duties," he said as he signed something and pushed it towards her.
She fidgeted after staring at the paper.
"What is it, Ms. Rosia?"
"I-I don't know how to read."
"… Goodness. Stupid of me, actually. I apologize. This is a contract. It states that you will be working as a maid -and nothing else- for the Brownspear Barony. It states your monthly salary of five silver stags."
Her mind stuttered for a moment. Five stags a month?! That was a lot! She only held silver stags a few times in her life!
"And that should a grievous injury occur as a result of a workplace accident, you will be compensated depending on your injuries. You forfeit your right to ask to take the Black or any other forms of punishment escapes. You will be punished to the fullest extent of the law if you break any written laws."
Huh?
"You will be given a month to acclimatize and learn how to do your work to my satisfaction or risk firing and termination of the contract. Should you work for me for over twenty years, then you will receive ten stags for pension for each year you have worked up to that point and for each year afterwards."
Buh-.
"Are there any problems with the contract?"
"N-no! It is perfectly fine!" she said.
He slid a box with a weird dark pad inside over to her.
"Since you cannot read or write, press your thumb firmly on the pad and then on the unsigned line next to the cross. As all fingerprints are unique to the person, it will serve as identifier and acknowledgement of agreement."
She did it cautiously but firmly as she could.
He looked at the print and then nodded. He shelved it away. "I'll see you tomorrow then. You may see yourself out."
He went back to writing something on his open and blank book, and she hurriedly left without another word.
Today was a strange day.
She got scolded really badly when she got home, but when she explained that she got a job that paid five silver stags a month from the Lord, they couldn't keep their jaws from dropping.
Ellamen Storms was a bastard.
He was a strong bastard and let everyone know it.
It was because he was strong that he managed to become a soldier and then a man-at-arms.
Forty-nine others - some bastards like him but most who were just normal folks - joined him in serving the new Baron of Brownspear within a month of said lord's arrival and instatement.
The lack of knights in the baron's retinue surprised him, though. He expected knights! Knights were the power of any army!
Yet the baron had no intention of hiring knights.
It was a mind boggling question, but one he could not ask, not when even the master-at-arms refused to do so publicly.
It's been six months since he was hired, and most of his job consisted of training, patrolling, and "policing," whatever that meant.
It was…
Boring.
It was a boring life.
Since he met that maid, Rosia, he couldn't complain about this boring life, though.
Chapter 3
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 3
-VB-
The Brownspear Barony, I found, was a quaint place.
Placed deep in the Stormlands, it was no different from the rest of the Stormlands: rugged, windy, heavily forested, and sparsely populated.
It was… actually perfect for someone like me.
When one thinks about Celestial Forge, it's normally about making really powerful weapons, shiny technologies, or inviting eldritch abominations into their life. Instead, all I got was a very good skill at making shit beautiful. And whatever mechanic it was that I got this power, it took me years to get it, which meant that I was not going to be safe in any heavily populated places like King's Landing where intrigue and power plays were the norm.
Because a guy like me was certainly going to get involved in power-play whether I wanted it or not.
It was actually for that reason I chose to accept Prince Renly's offer instead of Lord Paramount Lannister's offer; there was no way that Westerlands was without power playing.
In Stormlands at the very least, I would only be disdainfully ignored for being both new and not being a warrior, which was apparently something the Stormlanders took pride in.
It was… a bad decision.
As much as the Westerlands was a land of intrigue, it was also somewhere that expected excellence in all things lordly. A lord must be a good lord. He could be cruel, greedy, or even a lustful bastard, but he had to maintain his land well. Lord Tywin expected no less from those whose actions reflected on him.
The Stormlands was a place that saw such things as beneath them and left the management of lands to stewards or castellans.
Especially a land that's been without a proper owner like the Barony of Brownspear had been devastating to its infrastructure and management. It was a lot of work.
The castle that served as the seat of the barony was rundown; I had to spend a lot of dragons to fix it.
The roads were messy; I had to pour gold into improving the road.
There was no security; I had to hire peasants without any training and get the stuffy master-at-arms to train them.
See what I mean? It was actually too much work.
I probably spent the majority of my first year as a baron as nothing but a paperwork slave and manager.
It sucked.
What the fuck was this? When I accepted Renly's offer, I thought that I was going to be a lord, not a logistics slave! I wanted a harem, I wanted power, I wanted to make wonders!
I wanted to cry right now.
Worst. Deal. EVER!
At least, I was able to get a small mine rolling, and the mine netted me some crystals I could use for the sake of my only magic skill.
… At the rate that things were happening for me, it was unlikely that I would be able to stay out of the big affairs of the kingdom. I felt it in my bones that I would be involved in the War of Five Kings.
I needed to protect myself.
I needed… a plan.
-VB-
"Milord…?"
I looked up. It was one of the maids of the castle, but my eyes were a little strained and the morning light cast a contrast that made looking at the door and the part of the room currently not baptized by the life-giving light too hard to see.
"What is it?" I muttered out. "Too sleepy…"
"A-Ah. It's just that you asked us to alert you if there was anyone important that might be coming…"
Important? Who, like Renly? I only gave out that order like four weeks into my stay here, and it's been a few months since then.
"Who is it?"
"According to the list you distributed… It's King Robert Baratheon."
… Well, then.
Maybe I could get one of my plans rolling.
"Of all places, I have no idea why your father would come to visit the fief of a lowborn," mother snarled across from him in the carriage.
Joffrey, who sat next to mother, snarled just like her, but his eyes were focused elsewhere, looking out at the fields where the smallfolk farmers were working.
Myrcella fidgeted. She wasn't used to these long carriage rides, and the bumpy road wasn't making it any easier for her or Tommen. She wanted to rest, but she knew better than to ask; mother might not care, and even if she did care enough, then the moment they left the carriage, Joffrey might do something to the smallfolk outside.
He always did.
She kept quiet even as her stomach churned and squeezed.
And then she heard something that was like a cup of cold fresh water at the height of summer heat.
"Woah… We've arrived."
She perked up along with Tommen, but she couldn't move. Not yet. She was a princess, so she had to act only when it was proper for her. She didn't burst out of the carriage no matter how much she wanted to and plant her feet solidly upon the sturdy and unmoving ground.
Mother looked out… and hummed. "A paved road this deep in the Stormlands? Unusual."
Myrcella got curious. She looked out of the window just like her mother, and lo and behold, she saw what her mother was talking about.
No, she was more.
There was a pattern there on the road. Carved rocks that looked like they were nothing individually slowly came together.
Her mother and she gasped at the same time as they saw the whole picture at the same time.
The road was a mural, a beautiful mural that played out a scene of the best of the summer. Of happy people and feasts and celebrations.
The road was beautiful.
And as her gaze wandered, she soon realized that it wasn't just the road. It was the whole town. Water fountains with intricately carved sculptures, flowerpots arranged tastefully in a smallfolk town, and more artistic touches decorated the town.
"Is this really a small town…?" she muttered to herself in disbelief. Many corners of the Red Keep looked worse off than here. Most of the capital looked worse than here.
"… majesty… to…"
"… Your town looks prettier than mine!"
And that was her father, boisterously laughing.
"Well, I was taken in by Lord Renly for my skills, your majesty," the supposed lord's words came out clearer this time. Were they getting closer?
A few more words were said, but in the shuffle of bodies close to the carriage, she couldn't hear any of them.
"Ah, well. My kids and my wife!"
Mother stepped out first.
And then Joffrey.
And then she and Tommen.
When her eyes laid upon the supposed lord, she froze up.
Dressed not in armor or splendor, the lord was dressed in a long white robe that concealed everything beneath it. The robe had a hood that would have covered his head if not for the fact that he had drawn it back as it was proper for a vassal to show all of himself to their lord.
He also carried a long staff with a number of purple crystals embedded along the upper half of the staff's length, complete with a large blue crystal encased in artfully twisted metal spines at the top of the staff.
She couldn't help but feel that the crystals were glowing…
As for the lord himself, he looked… normal? Average looking if with narrow eyes and a smile that reminded her of snakes and foxes.
But it was a smile that wasn't like the other snake she knew of: Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin.
"Ah, greetings, your highnesses and your graces," the man bowed low, keeping one hand on the staff but still dipping low enough for his back to be horizontal with the ground. "It's an honor. I am Baron Alan Marris of the Brownspear Barony. I welcome you all to the humble town Mallonton."
And then their eyes met.
Myrcella shivered.
Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to return to the carriage…
She had magic.
The First Princess had enough magic for me to detect it.
How… fortunate.
I smiled as I led Robert Baratheon, the first of his name of his dynasty, to my castle where I had all of the beer acquisition from the town and beyond in the barony. Oh, I paid for it all, but not everyone had wanted to part with it.
But for my plan to work, I needed it.
I gave him and his retinue the feast they expected.
I laughed with the king as he made a raunchy joke.
As the day wore on, he drank and drank and drank.
He certainly didn't notice my staff glowing lightly, not when I had it positioned very close to the braziers close to us.
He didn't notice how I made him feel better about me. How friendly and trustworthy I was.
The next morning, he did something that went wildly against my plan.
"I hereby declare that Alan Marris is betrothed to Myrcella!" he boasted proudly, much to the ire of his wife and the shock of his high noble retainers.
I was not fucking expecting this.
-VB-
Rolled Powers
Makeshift Weaponry
Did you just duct tape that magic wand together? Never mind, apparently you CAN do that. Using exceedingly mundane tools, you are able to repair and make improvements to weapons that by all rights shouldn't be able to be repaired that way. Why yes, you CAN glue the detonation stick back together and make it work just fine. Oh and don't worry about that shattered elemental sphere, we can just tie it back together with twine!
Chapter 4
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 4
-VB-
"Your Majesty-" I tried. I really did. My spell were supposed to only make someone friendly towards me!
"I won't hear any more of it!" King Robert Baratheon harrumphed with a glare. "You're a good man with a good head on your bloody shoulders."
"But I am a mere baron, Your Majesty. Would this not cause ire among the great nobles of the realm?" I asked humbly. "Are there not better matches?"
"Ugh, stubborn as Stannis," he mumbled.
The two of us sat in my solar in private; Robert had one Kingsguard (I wasn't sure who) and one of my own retinues standing outside, keeping all out.
And then, to my surprise, someone else entered my solar. Or rather, they knocked on the door, and Robert gestured for me to tell them to come in.
"Enter, please." It never hurt to be polite.
And my eyes widened when I saw someone I never expected to see.
Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.
"It was actually my idea."
I quickly rose up and gave him a bow. "Lord Paramount. Welcome to Brownspear."
"Sit, sit," the stately yet grandfatherly man sighed and I did, after I offered him a seat. Sure, this was my solar, but I was a baron and he was the lord paramount of the Vale of the Arryn. Etiquette, such as the host having the say in seating, didn't quite work as stated between unequal ranks. "So you are the one that Renly found so interesting."
What exactly was going on?
"May I… ask what you are visiting this barony for, milord?"
He hummed. "You are an interesting person, Baron Marris."
He didn't answer my question, yet.
"Thank you…?"
"Over the span of a year, you brought this small barony from just another Stormlander fief to one of the five riches towns in the Stormlands."
Wait, what? But I didn't do much.
"Oh, it's nothing compared to the richest of the Reach, the trade ports of the Vale, or even the Crownlands," he replied with a smirk while the king began to reach for a bottle of wine that had been on my table (I've been nursing that bottle last night after the announcement, and the bottle was still half-full).
I winced when the Forge tried to drop something on me again, but nothing came. I did feel heavier, though.
"I am honored by your praise," I nodded with a polite smile.
"On top of that, there is a demand on your art," he told me as he leaned forward. "And while Robert refuses to undo this betrothal, I agree on your behalf that a baron could not simply be wed to the royalty… not unless he provides a significant contribution to the royal family."
Oh. Oh.
Jon was using Robert to monopolize me, huh? Since I accepted Renly's offer of vassalage, Jon couldn't snatch me up; he'd been late to the "snatch up Alan" game. Robert didn't come to some dingy barony for no reason. He came here for me because Jon Arryn wanted me.
Shit.
Uh. Holy shit.
I thought I was being clever when I made Robert become friendlier to me.
"And since the king refuses to undo the betrothal, we must come to an arrangement on how you intend to provide that contribution."
Fuck… they just wanted to milk me because I got rich quickly, and this was just the excuse.
I knew what the fuck was going on now. Myrcella, being a girl, couldn't inherit the throne. Sure, she could be used as a bargaining chip to earn loyalty or alliance, but the current dynasty already had plenty of alliances; Renly was close to the Tyrells and controlled Stormlands, the king was a former ward of the Arryns, the king was a friend of the North, the king had a Lannister wife, and Riverrun was an ally of the the king's allies and friends. Only the Iron Islands and Dorne were not part of this great web of alliances, and they were too weak individually and combined to present any threat.
So what was the only problem that Jon Arryn saw right now?
The debt.
The staggering amount of debt that Baelish accumulated on behalf of the crown under the pretense of "spending as the king commanded."
And then here I appeared with a huge income that seemed to grow every month, mostly because I was getting better at making art and kept increasing the price on them as the demand, just as Arryn put it, was there.
But why? Wealth could be earned -.
…
It wasn't -.
I leaned back slowly.
"May I be frank?"
"You may."
"The realm is hemorrhaging money. It's obvious to anyone who pays attention."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he uttered, definitely intrigued by my take. "And what does this have to do with your situation?"
"You want me to contribute, but I don't have the raw gold reserve of the Lannisters. In fact, I will not be able to gain anything close to a tenth of that if my situation doesn't change, so why does the Lord Paramount and Hand of the King, come in here asking for contributions…?"
Robert, who just finished off my wine, looked also intrigued. He might not like "counting coins," but from his perspective, this was certainly an interesting mystery as well.
"Yeah!" he agreed with me. And then turned to me. "Go on."
"The yearly tourneys. They promise too much for the realm to upkeep."
This time, Robert was not so keen on listening to that. "You sound like him now…" he grumbled. He shook the wine bottle. "Got anymore?"
I obediently produced another bottle from one of the cupboards.
"Gold Arbor. Now, that's a good stuff," he hummed happily as he uncorked it with his finger and thumb alone. Jesus, mate. What's your finger strength?
I turned back to Lord Arryn. "But you said my products have demand. You want me to contribute." I paused and then smiled. "You might not be able to replace all of the tourney rewards, but certainly, a certain few might be acceptable and thus reduce the expenditure."
Jon looked impressed and then annoyed. "That… is the intention, yes. Initially, I merely intended to offer you a position, but then…" he glared at the king.
The said king was all too happy drinking to care.
Lord Arryn sighed.
"Well. What's been done is done." He turned to me. "Do you understand your role now?"
There was no negotiating here. The Hand of the King expected me to work for him, if indirectly.
"… As you wish, Lord Hand," I replied resignedly. I again paused. "What right will I have to acquire the materials necessary for this?"
-VB-
The magic-induced, drunken episode of a betrothal contract, I realized, brought with it another trouble.
Cersei "I'm too rich to be subtle" Lannister.
Yikes.
I better start making people loyal to me, lest they be bribed to poison me.
Fuck…
I should have gone with Lord Tywin.
Chapter 5
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 5
-VB-
I sat across from Myrcella in a more comfortable room that wasn't my solar or my bedroom with no guards around us.
Since the king and the Hand of the King could not be budged on this, I accepted that… I was now betrothed to the First Princess Myrcella Baratheon. As such, I requested that we try to get to know each other in the short amount of time we did have together.
Of course, the queen rejected, and the king, seeing the queen reject, accepted just to spite her.
I smiled because I didn't know what else to do with a young lady in front of me.
"Well," I spoke up, deciding that I wanted to be open with her. As long as she didn't despise me, it should be a good start, right? "This is awkward."
She giggled.
Success!
"Let's start off with something simple," I added. "Things like who we are, what we like, dislike, or want to see. I'm Alan Marris, and as you know, I am the baron of the Brownspear Barony."
She nodded. "I am Princess Myrcella, the third child of the Baratheons of the Crownlands. It's a pleasure to meet you, ser."
"… It's a bit of a pro-." I stopped myself. Lords and ladies weren't supposed to be a "professional" at anything but courtly conduct, war, and management. I was an "upstart" lord who got his position because of his "professional" work. If I start asking her about how she felt about my work, then I might be make her think that she was marrying someone unworthy of her position. So I quickly amended and asked something else. "-proposal, but would you like to have me make a portrait of you?"
Drawing was one of the more courtly things that lords and ladies of the realm accepted.
Everyone liked how well they looked on a piece of paper or parchment.
"Oh! I would like that!" she smiled.
Ugh. Bright.
"Then let's start, then!"
"E-Eh?! Right here? Right now?"
"Yup!" I replied as I reached into and drew forth a simple pad and a few papers I kept on hand for note-taking. It wasn't the highest quality paper, but it would do for a quick sketch for me to get all of the details so that I could later make a proper portrait. "You don't even have to stay still. We can talk, and you can move about. It'll actually help me get more details."
"O-oh, okay," she mumbled. She fidgeted. "C-Can I ask you why you accept lordship from uncle but not grandfather?"
Hmm? Politically astute girl or just curious?
I chuckled nervously. "To be honest," it wasn't honesty. "I was kind of scared of Lord Lannister."
"…" she sighed. "I suppose I can understand that."
"But it was more than. Prince Renly Baratheon came to personally visit me. He showed me that he valued me more than Lord Lannister did."
She nodded slowly.
"But more importantly, Prince Baratheon, when I asked, promised 'freedom of expression' as part of my feudal contract."
"Freedom of expression?" she asked me curiously.
"For example, I have before painted a woman and man in bed," I replied without even a hint of shame as my power brought up power… and then did nothing.
She blushed. "U-Uh."
"Such a lewd scene might not be acceptable in most courts. In stricter places, some might even storm my own castle to burn whatever else they didn't appreciate. On a more serious note, I have also painted a picture with Prince Baratheon as a not-so-strong leader."
Her eyes widened.
"It was, however, within reason and not provocative. I did not need permission to make the painting," I said as I began to sketch. "Of course, I do not display that one openly nor have I sold it; it was a proof of concept."
"Does he know?"
"Oh, he knows. He's seen it." I smirked. "In fact, he asked me to do the same with Prince Stannis Baratheon."
"!?"
I laughed at her scandalous expression. "Even to a baron like me, it's known that the princes and His Majesty does not have the best of brotherly relationships. That is fine. I do not personally expect all that is good from everyone. We do as we must. Enough about me, what about you?"
She seemed to think about that for a moment. "W-Well, I like the flower garden in the Red Keep. There is over five dozen different flowers. My personal favorite is the Leonheart."
"What kind of flower is it?"
"It only blooms after Winter, so I haven't been able to see it lately. It's a short flower with red petals with interspaced yellow stripes."
Basically Lannister's house colors?
"But it's more important to keep the flower even though it doesn't bloom because all plants that are around it do better than plants that aren't next to a Leonheart." Interesting. "Mother doesn't like it. She says that the flower mocks our house because it doesn't show the brilliance of our house colors all of the time." The insecure and hypersensitive bitch would say that.
"Everyone has their tastes and favorites," I hummed. "I'm sure she has her own favorite flower."
"What about you, Ser Marris?"
"Hmm?"
"What's your favorite flower?"
"… You know, I don't have one actually," I replied with a frown. "It never came up."
"Really?"
"… I mean, if I had to choose one, then I'll choose the dandelion."
"Why?"
"Everyone considers it a weed, but it's edible and its leaves can be brewed to make liver tonic."
"So it would be good for father?"
I snorted mirthfully. "If you can get him to drink tea instead of wine, yes."
She giggled, too.
I supposed that this was a good start to our relationship, however unexpected it was. However, I didn't want to play the part of the royal financial life-support. Wars were coming, and I, as a lord of the Stormlands close to the Crownlands, was more or less going to be involved in the wars to come.
I was stupid for thinking that I could stay out of this world's troubles.
Smiling at her, I made the final touches and turned the clipboard around.
She saw my sketches of her and her eyes brightened.
But for now, I could just enjoy the smiles of a young girl.
-VB-
That moment did not last forever.
Eventually, the royal entourage left and Myrcella left with it.
To "prove" my worth, I offered the royal family one of my "masterpiece" statues: David the Thinker. Yes, that Thinker.
Once I saw them off, I began to plan.
For what?
Victory over this world, of course.
Chapter 6
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 6
-VB-
A whole month had passed since the visit of the king and the royal family, and yet, not a single power came to me from the Celestial Forge.
Bummer, really.
I made a grand promise to myself about "raising myself up through technological revolution," but here I was without much to show for it in a span of time other Celestial Forge-blessed individuals might have already gone and made a name for themselves that rung around the world like it was nobody's business.
For all of the good things I've done, comparing myself to those monsters made me feel a little pathetic.
"You seem down recently, milord."
I looked up from my paperwork and saw Rosia.
I sighed. "Just things not turning out as I want them to."
She raised an eyebrow with a mild exasperation. "Milord, you are betrothed to a member of the royal family, have a town that you turned into a city, and decorated the city with numerous works of art. This small township that has seen nothing good for generations has finally seen prosperity. What could have possibly gone not as good as you had hoped to, milord?"
I huffed while leaning back into my black leatherbound office armchair. I unfortunately did not have any powers or knowledge related to blacksmithing, so I didn't have springs and the like to make an office chair, which I also didn't know how to make. As such, I had been forced to settle for a normal chair, and this was one part of the whole that irked me.
"Yes," I grumbled honestly. "I had a high expectation of myself, and yet, all I have done falls short of it."
She looked at me incredulously.
"… Perhaps that is the burden of a great man."
I barked out a laugh. "I'm not great!" I chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Hell, I especially messed up when I kept getting the eyes of the big lords."
She hummed in understanding. "Smallfolk" like her lived a longer and peaceful life if they didn't catch the attention of the lords and their ilk.
I wondered what my life would have turned out to be if no one paid attention to me. I would still be in Vale living under that good lord doing whatever it was that I wanted to do. Maybe I would have gotten some ridiculous power sometime down the line, and I would have done… ridiculous things. I probably wouldn't have done more than carve out my own little fiefdom in the mountains.
Actually, that's not that much different from what I was doing now except my current situation had more scrutiny so I felt extremely uncomfortable about it all.
"Am I being too hard on myself?" I muttered as I leaned back.
"Yes."
I looked at her without moving my head from the rounded headrest of the chair.
She stared at me directly with respect and deference. She was also getting bold lately, wasn't she? Rosia spoke her mind to me more often than not as time passed.
"In fact, I would not be surprised if a few noblewomen or daughters of rich merchants came to see you and your art in the following months and years. Depending on how you treat them, I suspect that they will try to seduce you if only to get you to take care of them."
I raised an eyebrow and looked at her more directly instead of from the corner of my eyes. "Oh?"
"Milord, you are a responsible and rich man. As a woman, I would be glad if you took me on as a mistress because I know that you aren't one to abandon me on a whim or other duties, because you take the initial responsibilities and duties first before others."
I blinked. "… You are getting really bold, you know that, right?"
She smirked, cheeky woman. "Oh, I just know what I want, milord. If you don't want me, then I'll be a little upset and broody, but it'll be just that."
"You're not even going to try to seduce me as you said other women might?"
"We know about each other well enough that it would be too obvious, and if you haven't bedded me yet, then you certainly won't start bedding me now."
I snorted. "Whatever. Get back to work."
She bowed and left.
She also did so after making sure I got a good look at her rather shapely rear swaying back and forth.
I rolled my eyes at her antics.
Who knew that the women most suspicious of me when I first hired her among others would later come and bluntly ask me if I wanted her as a mistress.
Well, she did manage to cheer me up, though, so maybe I'll send her a bonus or something.
I winced as Celestial Forge "woke up" again and tried to reach out for something new. To my surprise, it caught something.
I was lucky I was alone in my office because a golden ball of something technologically advanced materialized over the course of a single second at my eye-level before dropping onto my lap. I caught it before it hit and I inspected it.
What the fuck was this?
There was a key already attached to a keyhole at the top. I turned it and…
I raised an eyebrow as a small computer opened up.
'Okay… '
I accessed all of its contents with only a few intuitive clicks. Slowly, my eyes widened as I grasped just how important this golden sphere was.
This was big.
The spherical ball that had dropped onto my lap was a database on all manners of armors, weapons, and items from a world that had high tech melee combat. How to build power armors and high-tech magic swords.
I cackled.
-VB-
Celestial Forge gives "Ar Tonelico Database"
Chapter 7
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 7
-VB-
So engrossed in my first technological "blessing," I ended up shutting myself in my solar for a whole week.
Yes, it wasn't a good look for a lord, but no, I didn't give a shit! Besides, I already made sure that the town and the keep could run without me beforehand, so this was alright! Completely alright… I just couldn't do it too often.
When I emerged from my solar, Rosia waited for me.
"… You are filthy, milord."
I laughed. "And a little sleep deprived~," I sang on a high note. Right now, I was very happy about the result of my little research session. Sure, I hadn't been able to directly make something, but I understood the basic principles of everything that came with the database now. I could apply them as soon as I was… Well, clean. It wouldn't do for a lord to come talk to the smallfolks smelling like one of them, right? "Can you prepare a bath for me? I have to go talk to the blacksmiths soon."
"Another one of your ideas, milord?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow but nodded.
I nodded back to her with a proud grin. "Yes. It'll make life… a little bit more interesting."
She hummed before bowing and leaving. Considering that my last idea had been to renovate the town and give smallfolks work that paid more while also providing for the food supply, she probably thought my new idea would also be beneficial.
She was a little cold like that.
See, Rosia was a pretty woman. She had a lot of people looking to woe her.
Her response?
"Do as half as good as the lord, and I will convince my father to offer my hand to you in marriage."
Yeah…
She set that bar real high. She was the opposite of her brothers, who were jovial, nice, and friendly. Rosia was friendly, but no one should mistake her for "nice." Can't fault a girl for knowing what she wanted, though.
"The bath will be ready in an hour, milord."
"Got it."
-VB-
It was noon by the time I dealt with all of my hygiene and met my keep's blacksmith.
"You want me to create these…?" he asked me while looking at a parchment with detailed requirements for what I wanted from him.
"Yes," I told him. "If you can't make it, then it's fine, but I want you to really try hard. If you succeed…"
"Then I get something. I know, milord."
"Good," I grinned.
"My lord."
I froze and turned around slowly.
Standing at the entrance of the keep's blacksmithy was my master-at-arms.
"Ah. Hi."
"Yes, hello, my lord. It's curious, isn't it?"
I tried not to gulp.
I gulped.
The scarred man lifted his hand and scratched his chin and looked to the side. "It's as if you are aware of the consequences of not joining me in training."
See, lords and knights, as well as their heirs, were all expected to be able to fight. Considering that this kingdom (empire) seemed to be on a one to two decade cycle in how often they fought a semi-major to major wars, being a warrior - or at least a battlefield tactician - was required, especially in the brutish North and Stormlands, the latter of which was where I had my keep and barony.
And my master-at-arms - who was also my only knight - had been shocked when he realized I had zero fighting experience, and became utterly determined in his horrified state to turn me into a "proper knight and lord worthy of the Stormlands" after he heard my response to war.
He had asked me how I would win a war if I was not a warrior.
At that point, I still hadn't fully let the idea of being a Westerosi lord sink into my mind, and had answered him like a lord (commander) should respond to how they would win a war.
"Burn and salt the fields, poison every well, strip every field bare,
Yeah, he didn't take kindly to my answer.
Normally, a master-at-arms would have zero authority over his lord. I fucking hired him, after all. However, he gave me a scalding lecture (in private) which allowed me to understand his mindset and acquiesced to his "request": train like a proper warrior and knight underneath him. As a result, I was just a normal man-at-arms as far as he was concerned when training was concerned, barring emergencies like the surprise arrival of the king.
The Celestial Forge chose this moment to act up… and promptly connect me to -.
Wait.
No no no no-!
The master-at-arms opened his mouth to speak when a sudden thunder erupted within the shop and left us all dazed.
And also left Warhammer40k servitors. You know, the people-turned-to-robot ones complete with inhumane cybernetic and mechanical prosthetics and other attachments.
Shit.
-VB-
Celestial Forge gives "Warhammer 40k Attendents." Category 1, Choice 1.
Chapter 8
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 8
-VB-
For all of the power bestowed upon me, physical prowess remained elusively out of my reach.
"FUCK!" I hissed as I stumbled across the finish line after running my thirtieth lap around the courtyard alongside my men-at-arms, or the Westerosi equivalent to them.
As I said (to myself), I lacked any talent in physical acts even before I got Celestial Forge. The one thing I was good at, swimming, wasn't that useful here or for any lords and knights. To that end, I needed to manually increase my physical "stat" so that I could be better. It was one of the reasons why I gave my master-at-arms free reign on my training.
I regretted it.
I crashed and flopped merely a few yards past the finish line. Slamming into the ground with my hands and knees, I coughed and sucked in air as quickly as I could.
In front, side, and behind me, my men-at-arms did the same.
"Slave… driver… !" someone gasped like they were dying from asphyxiation, and I agreed with him.
"Took all of you long enough for that thirty!"
I pulled my head up and glared at the owner of the voice. Posing and smirking, my normally stoic master-at-arms was indeed a slave driver.
A sadistic slave driver.
"The human body is capable of more than mere thirty laps around this tiny courtyard! Be grateful that you're only running thirty!" he snapped too giddily for any of our liking. "Up, up! Sitting down like that will only leave you cramped later! Walk around! Don't sit or stand! Up, up!"
I groaned as I stood up on shaky legs and did as I was told. All around me, my soldiers did the same.
What made this uncomfortable was that we all wore some manner of armor. Most of us, including me, wore thickly padded gambeson to simulate battlefield conditions. In a battlefield, my men-at-arms would have to fight and run in this armor, so it was only natural that we trained in them. While gambesons would not provide the same protection as full plate armor, they were lighter to wear, cheaper to make, and easier to fix.
I paused as the Forge lit up for a moment before… Huh. Nothing. Ugh. Whatever.
"Milord, your part of training is done for the morning! Come back after lunch for sword lessons!" Under the envious gaze of the men-at-arms, I ran out of the courtyard as fast as my legs would carry me. It was prudent for me to disappear from the master-at-arms' sight before he changed his mind.
-VB-
After an hour of rest, lunch excluded, and two hour long lesson with my master-at-arms, I found myself overseeing the work of the servitors.
When they suddenly appeared in the workshop, I had to think of a bullshit on the spot. To that end, the master-at-arms and the blacksmith now "knew" that I had a dealing with a Essosi warlock across the Narrow Sea.
I swore them to secrecy not because it involved magic, but I reasoned that the existence of a tireless worker that wasn't human would upset a lot of authorities.
When the blacksmith, a rather devout man, asked if this wasn't slavery, I tore open one of the servitor's arms to show him the wonders of mechanical engineering. While the sight of machine underneath the skin appeased one particular concern for the blacksmith, the man was now thoroughly inspired.
I digressed.
These cybernetic human workers needed some manner of oversight. While each of them possessed intelligence, it was someone closer to a machine than a person's.
I looked over the new furnace they had made behind four walls of cheap curtain. It wasn't that technologically advanced, not significantly compared to what the rest of Planetos used, but it was the start of a proper foundry. The purpose of this furnace was to help me mass produce high quality iron using reverberatory melting, which was basically a method of indirectly heating up the melt. Furnaces in medieval Earth and Planetos had metals directly touching the fuel for the heating.
Unfortunately, I wasn't sure if this furnace would work properly, which was exactly why servitors were building and testing this under my direction and supervision.
" Slowly tilt the furnace!" I shouted to them from a hundred yards away, flinching as their two pronged graspers - not hands - pushed and pulled at the metal chains that I had them attach to the furnace for this very purpose.
I grimaced when one of the servitors pulled too hard and the open top of the furnace came swinging down. Molten melt flowed out, but there were solid chunks, too.
"Ah, damn it," I grumbled. "Okay, that design is a failure. We need better way to do this."
Discovery and knowledge came with experimentation, and I would persevere.
… why did it have to be prohibitively expensive, though?
-VB-
Tywin stared at the marvelous portrait of his granddaughter.
He came to King's Landing for the latest tourney, and ended up seeing the picture.
It was… so lifelike.
He continued to stare at it, absorbing every little detail. Everything from the minor creases of the dress, the attention to the hair, and how the smile seemed to make the day brighter made this portrait one of the best portrait he had seen in his lifetime.
It made him decide on his next course.
'I must have one.'
Chapter 9
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 9
-VB-
"We did it!" I laughed uproariously as the servitors flipped the mold and out came from it a bar of iron.
Our castle blacksmith looked at the iron bar with wide eyes. "This is amazing," he muttered as he poked at it with a fireplace poker. "You can produce so much more iron this way than with bloomery. We can even mold it right away if we're adventurous enough."
I slapped him in the back, a little high from the achievement I've just accomplished after a whole month's worth of effort and work. "That's the spirit!"
He turned towards me. "What will you do with it, milord?" he asked with wide eyes. Was that a little bit of fear I saw in his eyes?
"It's only a step towards what I want."
"A step?"
"Yup," I nodded. "With high quality iron, we can make better tools. We use those to make even better tools. Then those better tools will let me make some truly spectacular things, either by cutting down on the time it takes for me or you to make a product or make something that can't be made without those tools. It'll be great, I tell you!"
"What could possibly need this much iron, though?"
I paused before looking at him. "By the way, how goes what I asked of you?"
"I am really close," he replied easily. "It's just that…"
"Yes?"
"I am not sure what it is supposed to be."
"Ah. Don't worry. Once I make it, I'll show it to you."
He bowed. "My thanks."
I turned to the servitors. "Clean up the area and lock the doors behind you."
The servitors moved on, wordless.
In the month that I invested into experimenting with metallurgy, the small area just outside of my keep that I set up the bessemer furnace had been upgraded with proper bricks and motor walls as well as assigning guards to patrol and prevent intrusions.
I also used some of that time to further improve the city by planning and implementing irrigation. Yes, the Stormlands were infamous for their storms and wind and rain, but those were unpredictable acts of nature. What my irrigation did was act as both drainage sites during times of torrential rain or as drought-resistant advantage for my farmers.
The first part was accomplished by linking the irrigation canals to two locations on the same river: one upstream and one downstream. However, the canals themselves were level, which meant that the downstream irrigation canal "exit" was higher up in elevation than the river itself. By closing the upstream input and opening the downstream output, I can help drain the water from farmlands that might be ruined by too much water.
When droughts came by, I could do the reverse to keep the water in. It would, unfortunately, require a lot of water to ensure that the water wasn't rotting near the fields, but better that than letting the crops die and my people starving, right?
The irrigation network wasn't a big one right now. So far, there was just a single canal that left the river, curved through the middle of the most productive lands, and then out towards the downstream location. Just that. A single canal. In the coming months, I hoped to expand from that canal-.
I paused as something caught my ears.
"What's that?" I asked the guards next to that. "Do you hear that?"
It was the middle of the day, so all of the smallfolks should be out farming.
… bandits?!
I cleared my throat hurriedly and then raised my voice. "Ready yourselves just in case," I said to the guards. The four guards on site nervously gripped their spears.
"Servitors, stand guard indoors."
I heard them stop cleaning and march up to the doors and then pause.
The sound was getting closer. It was a large group of people.
I winced as the Forge chose just now to activate. Got nothing again.
Ignoring it, I turned back to the approaching group.
I saw…
Oh dear. That didn't look great.
"Is that… the town folks?" I asked myself with a corner of my lips raised in incredulity.
The source of the sound turned out to be a large group of my very town's denizens, marching towards me in a large mob. Some carried pitchforks and others torches, in day light.
This looked awfully like a witch lynching mob.
"Who goes there?" I shouted, but I didn't approach the crowd.
"I am Septon Maran of the Brownspear Town!" the man at the lead yelled back. "And my flock and I are here to confront you, milord, about the witchcraft you practice!"
"What witchcraft?" I asked. "What you see before you is a forge!"
As they grew closer, I saw the man at the front. "Septon Maran" was a man I met before, but he was the lesser septon of the two that served my town. He was the richer of the two, though I wasn't sure why; normally, higher ranked septons were the ones who were richer mostly because the Most Devout - the ruling council of the Faith of the Seven - sent resources to them so that they could go and distribute that resource to others. By nature of logistics, they were the richer folks.
I didn't give it much thought before because the workings of the Faith of the Seven weren't my jurisdiction (people of all walks and ranks got prissy when someone not in the religion's ranks got involved in its affairs) but now that he was here at the head of a mob, my brain started to bring those oddly suspicious facts about the man that won't help in this situation to the forefront.
"We have heard from your keep that you keep slaves!"
I blinked.
"No, I don't have slaves," I replied slowly.
Slavery was a grave sin in the Faith of the Seven. Accusing me of that might get him a lot of momentum, even if it was false.
"And this is my land," I growled. "I did not give you permission to be here. Leave."
The guards formed up behind me. Even if all of them were from this very town, desertion via insubordination was also a very serious issue.
The mob stalled for a moment. They knew who I was. They knew who was responsible for their better life. Before me, they worked with inferior tools and died of diseases too quickly. Even simple treatments I helped to disseminate - balanced diet, replenishing bodily fluids not with pure water or alcohol but with saline, washing hands, and other similar but seemingly small details - had helped to lower diseases and death rate.
'What were they thinking?' some of them had to be thinking.
But not all of them.
"You first accuse me of witchcraft and now you accuse me of slavery? It looks like you're trying to find a reason to pick a fight with me!" I shouted as I stomped forward.
Surprised by my advances, the septon reeled backwards. His back met the first line of mobs, who were also surprised but held their grounds.
"You bring weapons to my land, accuse your lord of things he's not done, and threaten the same lord who's made your life better?!"
I was letting my anger get to me, but that was fine.
I am a lord.
They were peasants.
There was a boundary they shouldn't cross but they did.
It would be completely within my right to have every single one of these peasants here executed… but I wouldn't.
But right now, I was angry.
I made their lives better, enriched their town, created more jobs, and even made plans to do more for their sake…
And I got this in return?
The septon suddenly jumped forward and stopped me.
"If…" he whispered. "You pay me. I will disperse this mob."
I didn't even bother.
"You dare try to bribe me?!" I roared.
I pulled out the dagger I always carried with me and stabbed him before he could retreat. I stabbed him again and again even as he remained still standing in shock.
And then I buried that dagger into his skull.
When he finally keeled over, I stood before the mob, bloodshot eyes wide with anger, blood of the septon sprayed onto my fine tunic and pants, knuckles white from how tight my fists were clenched, and a shadow cast over my front by the setting sun.
"… Go back home. I will deal with you lot tomorrow."
The crowd suddenly lost their momentum without the septon, and the sudden and brutal homicide of said septon by me left them floundering.
"NOW!"
They fled.
I took a deep breath once there was no one else but me and the guards.
"Take this septon's body and bury it in an unmarked grave far from the town. Search his residence for any form of wrongdoing and declare it for all to see. Go."
The spooked guards hurriedly left, running like they were being chased by wolves.
"… Ruined a fucking good tunic," I mumbled to myself as I left on my own shaking legs at a much more sedate pace.
The day couldn't be shittier if it tried.
Chapter 10
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 10
-VB-
My men-at-arms immediate stormed the now dead septon's house with the sight of the slit throat of said septon shown to every single one of them before they went to
Sufficed to say, the implied consequence for failure (not what I intended but what they asked afterwards) spurred them on with the speed of hell's escapee and eyes of a desperate detective.
They found what I wanted.
And they found lots of it.
-VB-
Brownspear Town (because it wasn't a city) faced my wrath the very next day, which was also when my Celestial Forge acted up and then quieted down without getting me anything.
I walked into the town with only ten men-at-arms, called up all of the town's leadership, and sat down in a private room.
I did not shout, yell, or destroy.
Four men and one woman sat in the room with me, and only three of them looked ashamed by what their town did yesterday. The woman looked confused and the last man looked affronted.
"What might this be about, milord?" the woman, the head of the town's weavers and tailors, asked me.
"Yesterday, a mob from this town approached me with weapons and demands with a septon at the head of the mob. The septon, a very rich man, asked me, once he was close enough that no one else would hear us, for money to disperse the crowd."
The woman looked at me disbelievingly with wide eyes and a pale face. She looked around the room, snapping her head from left to right to take in everyone's faces, body languages, and lack of denial.
"For daring to extort his lord, I killed the septon."
She now looked faint.
"I have come today to exact my demands on the town. Inability to agree or negotiate with my demands today will mean that I will have to carry out the full punishment smallfolks pointing weapons at a lord demands."
I looked around the table, and the three ashamed men looked even more ashamed, especially when the matron's face started to grow thunderous.
"What have you done?!" she shrieked at the men.
"We did what we thought was right!" the fourth man snapped back.
"And you are?"
"Robert, milord," the gruff and stubborn man grumbled. "Of southern Brownspear."
"And what was right?" I asked him.
"We thought that our lord dabbled in magic."
"And picking up weapons and pointing at your lord was the right decision?" I asked.
"We-!"
"That was a rhetorical question, Robert. Keep speaking like an idiot, and I'll put you down like an idiot."
He shut up after that.
"Does it matter if I dabble in magic? Have I sacrificed people like the Targaryeons? Have I conducted some dark rituals that fallowed the fields? Have I destroyed your lives by extorting you for money?"
He didn't respond.
"Have I not made your life easier? Are you suggesting that washing your hands before eating is magic? That bathing in the public bath I helped construct is magic?"
He looked down and away.
I turned to the others.
"You could have petitioned me. You could have asked me. You could have even spied on me. I'm sure that last option was not only viable but easy, considering that so many of your townspeople and kin work for me. Instead, you listened to an obvious corrupt man, a septon who was fatter and richer than his superiors, and rebelled. Had any other been here, you know as well as I do that dying would be the least of your concerns."
They trembled as I laid out the facts and options.
"I, however, consider such a response to be unjust. As unjust as you have acted towards me."
No one objected.
"I saw at least a hundred and fifty smallfolks, mostly men. Assuming that only half of them were the heads of their families, this makes Brownspear in a quarter revolt." I doubted that only half of them were the heads of their families; Brownspear, as I came to know it, had roughly two hundred and fifty-ish families, but of the two-fifty, thirty lacked a mother or father and fifty lacked grandparents. "I will not point out any single individuals that I remember the faces of. Instead, I will increase the tax on all forms of income and levies. Specifically, I will increase the levies by another ten percent and taxes by eight percent."
The woman looked aghast. "Milord, we cannot survive such an increase! Please have mercy!" she choked out.
"Agatha, ask where Samuel, Johan, and Yuren were yesterday," I countered.
She paled and then fainted. I did just name her husband, her firstborn son, and her eldest grandson. By right, I could have them all executed and end their lineage because it wasn't just that members of her family raised weapons against me, it was the eldest patriarch, the current head of the family, and the heir of the family who did so.
Celestial Forge popped up in my mental space, sparked, and then fizzled out. Nothing again, huh?
"Even if I did dabble in magic, it is no concern of yours," I added with a glare at them all before continuing on with my decree. "I know exactly how much you can take. I keep a strict record of how much you pay, after all. Living will suck for the next five years for all of you. That is exactly the point of this punishment. You live despite your crime."
The four men bowed.
I stood up from my chair.
"Have two hundred men ready within a week. I will be doing more construction, and they will be working as levies, not paid workers."
Which meant they would be fed but not paid.
"Yes, milord."
"Good. Don't make me have to do this again, because it won't be as pretty this time."
-VB-
With the additional levies, I began the construction of a second wall surrounding my keep. At about four hundred yards from my moat-less keep wall, I intended to
I, of course, got permission to do this. See, the thing about any feudal society was that military prowess, defensive and offensive, was the key to power. Without it, no financial, mercantile, social, and political power could exist. Upgrading a keep, as such, was a means of power.
Most lords did not take kindly to such a move from their lessers.
Fortunately for me, my Lord Paramount was Renly Baratheon, a man eager to obtain new and exotic art, so I sent him a glass kintsugi cup. Kintsugi was the Japanese art in which a broken ware was fixed with gold to fill in the cracks or edges.
The result? A one-of-a-kind glittering and shining cup.
He was very happy to grant me the permanent right to expand my castle as I saw fit (within my lordship's limit, of course) in exchange for an art piece only he had.
(In a letter accompanying the official and legal certificate that gave me the right to construct whatever I wanted, Lord Renly asked me to not make any more of those cups unless he gave permission, and if I agreed to his request, then I would be further granted rights not many lords had).
The second wall would touch up against the town, and played a role in what I intended to do in the future. See, I knew that leaving the town alone, which grew in power thanks to me, would be a bad idea. Such towns, once they gained enough power, would try to gain their independence. It was just the natural trend where power was concerned. The mob earlier this week was just the tip of the iceberg, and I refused to let it happen again.
For that reason, I intended to not only expand my keep into a proper castle but also incorporate the town into my castle.
They would be dependent on me, not the other way around.
Never again.
(… Also, it would protect the town better if any skirmishes or wars come to my lordship.)
I also reported the wrongdoings and crimes of the septon using the evidence I found in the dead man's abode, and Lord Renly gave me a commendation for rooting out a wicked man but also scolded me for taking justice into my own hands. However, the evidences absolved me, so I didn't get into any trouble. Hooray.
-VB-
A/N: we really don't have luck in getting those cheap goodies, huh? 3 chapters and 4 thousand words later, we got nothing.
Chapter 11
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 11
-VB-
Brownspear's denizens settled down.
My new trouble came from my neighbors.
Sorry.
Troubles.
See, my little fiefdom was surrounded by very powerful houses of Stormlands. To my north and south were the three lands of the Penrose, my western neighbors were the Errol of Haystack Hall, and the island off the coast was Tarth.
To convert those words into numbers, the Penroses each had retinue numbering in thousands. Errol had about as much as all of the Penroses combined. Tarth was Tarth; Tarth only came under Stormlands' control because in the ancient days, they married their daughter to the Stormlands' king. Tarth was powerful enough that political marriage of alliance was preferred by the Stormlands, the premier land-based warrior kingdom, over outright conquering it. They lost very little of that power, and the fact that they held trade ports used often by merchants crossing the Narrow Sea only made Tarth stronger and richer.
And my unbelievable misfortune that led to the death of a septon was reason enough for the Penroses and the Errols to start prodding into my affairs while Tarth began to eye me warily.
See, Westeros was not like the 21st century but directly comparable in many aspects to medieval Europe, which was a period of time when everyone was getting involved in everyone else's business. There was no such thing as "national sovereignty" or "his lands, his rules," an extrapolation of the "his lands, his religion," which came from the Peace of Augsburg.
In medieval times, everyone eyed each other for a hint of weakness so that they may use their neighbors in their rise to dominance. In the Stormlands, a land dedicated to warriors, I was a foreigner without the right skills; I came from the Vale and was not a warrior, which were reasons enough for the Stormlands lords to hate the fact that I had a lordship.
And my neighbors saw my execution of the septon, no matter the pardon I was granted by the Lord Paramount, as a weakness and began to poke.
Errols, for example, decided to "pass by" my land to reach the Penrose for a formal meeting, and the Penroses "happened" to chase bandits into my land even though I had no record and rumors of bandit activity anywhere near our lands.
"Need I go on about how my neighbors are being assholes?" I grumbled to myself as I inspected the construction of the aqueduct. Currently, my levied workers managed to construct a whole five hundred yards out of stone bricks and mortar over the course of a month. So far, the construction was helped by the gentle slope and a stockpile of materials I have already procured prior to the construction.
However, I may have miscalculated the material cost, because I had more than a thousand yards to go but I have already used up two-thirds of the bricks.
I needed to acquire more. There was only three brickmakers in all of Brownspear, which meant that even at their peak production rate, they couldn't supply me enough of bricks and mortar to complete the aqueduct in a reasonable time period, even though they were also part of the town's levy and were working all day making bricks.
What could I do?
I could slow down the construction speed, employ the levies elsewhere, and wait for the stockpile of bricks to increase to a sufficient level before increasing the rate again.
Or I could spend my well-earned money to fund the aqueduct construction for a town that almost rebelled.
… Many other lords would call me too lenient. I knew that I was. For daring to raise a weapon at their lord, my neighbors would have put all involved men to death. Such was the medieval way.
However, I did this because water was a necessity I chose not to hold back. I remembered too many man-made droughts from my past life, saw the devastation they caused, and lamented my inability to help beyond sending money that may or may not help.
Being here changed nothing, except it did. I now had power, so I used it as how I saw fit.
I chose to be kind instead of wrathful. What would I get by being wrathful to the uneducated peasants?
Nothing, that's what.
In the wake of my wrath, I would have a people fearful and resentful of me. Truth didn't matter to these people, only their perceptions of reality. The fact that they nearly attacked their lord would matter little; only the deaths of their husbands, brothers, and sons would.
No, I will educate these peasants, instead. I will force them to think. I will force them to see the world rationally. I will force them to be skeptical.
At the very least, I could properly punish those who are well aware of what they are doing from start to finish.
You don't beat up a dog for being a dog. The same logic applied here, however crude to compare humanity to animals.
I lifted up my parchment megaphone towards the workers out in the field. "BREAK TIME!"
The levied workers hurried from the construction site to where the supply tents were, where I was.
I met the eyes of those who I remembered being there that day with the septon. I didn't glare or judge, but they turned away in shame. Others nodded and grinned as they passed by me, bowing in respect, because they knew what was coming.
Lunch.
And not just any old lunch: a proper meal.
See, cheese was a big part of the Westerosi diet, so I decided to see if I could make a dish with melted cheese.
Lo and behold, I taught the cooks how to prepare something decent with just melted cheese, flat bread, tomatoes, onions, and just a tiny bit of chicken.
The workers loved it. The guards loved it. The townspeople, once they learned how to make it, loved it.
It was my way of extending an olive branch. Sure, I had to punish them, but we need not continue to be angry or wary of each other, and sharing food (or recipes) tended to bridge gaps easier than most means.
I winced when the Celestial Forge reached out.
It's gonna miss again, wasn't it?
I watched mentally as it reached… and brought down a star.
I stood there with wide eyes as something settled into my chest warmly.
There was a mental click as this new power settled in. Then it paused. Rather, the Celestial Forge paused and asked me how much I wanted to invest into this power.
Though bewildered, I gave it the impression that I wanted it to be strong.
It did something, drawing from a well before… was that everything the well had? Compared to how much the well could hold, that was nothing! But it poured it nevertheless, and the power swelled. The Forge then resumed piecing the new power into the mosaic of powers in my possession, however small in numbers.
As the piece fit in, my mind exploded into nova and then coalesced back together. I saw how all of the powers interacted with this power.
Enchantments.
There was potential in this.
-VB-
Skills Enchanting
World of Darkness - Sorcerer Enchantment (500 CP, top rank bought)
The sorcery of creating items with magical abilities and properties. Five ranks, top rank cost 500CP. Examples of each rank below. [1] The Enchanter creates a minor item with limited use only and a tight area of influence. Such as a jacket that works as abnormally good camouflage in a crowd, or glasses that never fog. [2] The Enchanter creates a more powerful talisman that is noticeable as magic. A flask that blocks three bullets and no more, objects that increase a mundane skill by a noticeable amount when used. [3] The Enchanter creates a talisman whose function is obviously magical. Shoes that double running speed, a charm that can protect its wearer from magic three times a day. [4] The Enchanter creates a talisman that is able to defy several of the limitations of the Consensus. Clothing that grant superhumanly impressive but otherwise mundane abilities, a throwing knife that never shall never miss. [5] The Enchanter creates talisman with almost miraculous powers. A golem, or a ring that hides its user from magical detection.
Chapter 12
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 12
-VB-
I put three of my men-at-arms to oversee the levies at the aqueduct construction with clear instructions on how to manage the people there.
Once I did that, I entered my solar and started tinkering.
Well, enchanting.
The first thing I tried it on was a book.
I drew upon mana within me and -!
My eyes widened as my own magic told me that this was going to fail. I tried to draw it back immediately but to no avail. The book crumpled to ash in front of me.
"Ah fuck," I muttered.
This was one of the three outcomes of a failed enchantment: nothing, cursed, and broken, which also meant that my copy of the Seven-Pointed Book was now ash on my solar's floor.
"Well, shit," I mumbled to myself.
I was going to have to order a lot of things from my blacksmiths.
Still, I couldn't help the grin that started to split my face into two. This was it! This was finally the power that I could use to make some serious moves!
Ah, what should I do first~?
-VB-
"Are you fucking serious?!" I roared as I tossed the seventh shortsword.
I got Enchantment a week ago, but my progress was slow.
Some of it had to do with the nature of how Enchantment worked. It wasn't like Harry Potter wand magic where if I knew that spell and how to cast it, then I could cast it correctly as long as I was also coherent and able; Enchantment carried with it fickler elements of a different magic system that could not be completely controlled.
There were parts that I could control: intent, desire, and design. Intent came from myself in what I wanted, desire in how I wanted the magic to happen, and the design came from the sword.
A good example of this would be the shortsword.
It was a weapon of war, and so the enchantment I put on it had to be related to war. Well, technically speaking, it didn't have to be strictly related, but more success resulted from applying concepts that were related. As a weapon of war, I could desire an enchantment that made the blades sharper - cutting through more than it should - or reach longer - striking a target that, physically, was not within range. I could even make it so that anyone who held the shortsword knew how to fully utilize it like a trained Roman soldier could.
And that's what I wanted for these shortswords.
However, I have succeeded exactly once out of the eight shortswords my blacksmith was able to supply on demand.
The rest?
Well, four were dust, three broke, and only one remained unbroken.
To put that into perspective, iron and steel - especially quality iron and steel - weren't cheap in medieval anywhere. Stealing a steel sword, regardless of the sword's condition, was ground enough for summary execution of the thief. At least, if there was evidence.
To tell that story into numbers, I just lost seven men-at-arms' yearly wage in one sitting.
Even for me, that's not cheap. Sure, a single artwork I chiseled to life will without a doubt get me more than enough silver and gold to let me buy a thousand swords, but here's the thing about medieval economy: there are no supply and demand. Iron? That shit came from a territory so fucking far away from me that I couldn't just walk over and buy more iron. I could send a caravan, but no caravan would be allowed to buy as much as they want. Mines owned by lords and cities limited how much someone could buy at a time.
And if I broke enough steel, then there was a good chance that I might not have enough steel to arm my men when I needed to.
Also, I needed to dispose of the cursed swords safely. There were some… rather nasty curses there, ranging from rapid aging in exchange for strength to instant death.
Which all pointed to one thing: enchanting steel weapons would have to wait.
For now, I needed to enchant other items that wouldn't put such a strain. What could I choose? I still wanted to enchant weapons so that my soldiers would be better at fighting than most.
… What about the shaft of a spear?
-VB-
I winced as another spasm from the Forge took my attention away from the spear shaft in my hand, and it exploded spectacularly as the flow of mana stopped in my distraction and destabilized the entire structure.
My hand became a discount porcupine from the numerous splinters.
"Fuck," I hissed in pain as I began pulling out splinters.
ZOOOM!
"EEK!" I yelped in surprise. "FUCK!" I shouted when I clenched my hands in said surprise and let the splinters dig deeper. When I got over the pain, I looked down and saw what was next to me.
It was a laptop?
Sweet.
I ignored it for the moment, continuing to pull out the splinters as best as I could.
When I had all but two splinters left, I finally gave the laptop my attention and flipped it open and turned it on.
It blinked awake and showed me a very beginner friendly manual for what appeared to be…
I blinked and read it again.
"'Standard Data Relay Intelligence'," I read.
It was an AI, although the manual was explicit about stating how not very smart this was. It was, in essence, a computer software that could best be described as one capable of following orders and relaying data, as its name suggested.
Understand said orders? Not so much.
It was a good tool… if I was in any world other than a medieval or primitive world!
I eyed some kind of transceiver attached to the back of the laptop. "Umm, so you can relay orders to the servitors outside, right?" I asked it.
For a moment, there was silence.
I felt stupid.
"Yes."
I jolted up in my seat when the computer answered me.
"Jesus Christ…"
"Invalid order."
"… Collect data on the servitors, manage their refinery activities," I ordered with a grumble before setting the laptop aside. "Oh, and silence on. Respond only to me."
"Affirmative."
And that was that.
I went right back to enchanting spear shafts.
This, I could break as much as I wanted.
it was just far more painful if I failed spectacularly.
-VB-
"These, milord?" one of my more trusted men-at-arms held one of the successfully enchanted spear shaft in his hands. He and three others stood in front of me.
"Yup!"
"… So it's true that you practice magic?"
I nodded. "But I don't shit like blood sacrifices or whatnot. This happens if I fail," I said as I brought up from my side my own unenchanted spear shaft.
I intentionally broke the enchant mid-way through, and the spear shaft shattered into a million pieces spectacularly.
This time, I wore gloves.
(FUCK YOU, SPLINTERS! I WIN!)
"No weird bullshit involved," I replied. "But what those successful items in your hands will do is make you supernaturally good at spearmanship. Go ahead, try it out."
Two of them stepped aside, letting the other pair face off against each other.
And then they blitzed against each other. Only a bit faster than my eyes could follow, the two traded all sorts of blows with their untipped spear shafts. Jon, the shorter of the two, began thrusting in and out, and it wasn't the kind of spear thrusts you saw on the battlefield but one straight out of mangas: before one second was up, Jon completed seven strikes.
His opponent, a leaner but taller Charles, grunted as he took two hits but evaded and parried the other five before he made a vertical strike. Jon blocked with his spear shaft, but the thwack of the two shafts meeting sounded more like a gunfire than wooden sticks crashing.
"Enough," I ordered, and the two immediately pulled themselves apart. They bowed, something I instructed them to do, and then turned to me. "How is it?"
Jon was the first to respond after a moment. "It's powerful."
I grinned.
So it was.
I gripped the only successful enchanted shortsword in its sheath and hanging from my waist.
So it was.
-VB-
Assistants (1) - 9
Digital Ally, 50 CP, MCU Vol.1
Ready and waiting! This A.I. is not truly sapient, but it is still capable of performing extremely complex tasks like controlling a small army of robots or managing the infrastructure of a technologically advanced base… at the same time as overseeing a battlefield and relaying tactical data to you. You can design its personality and appearance to suit your needs, and even give it a classy accent! If you wish, you may import an A.I. or companion into this role.
Chapter 13
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 13
-VB-
Unlike what most people dreamed about medieval warfare and envisioned in the Game of Thrones, most lords and their smallfolk (or commoners on Earth) wanted nothing more than to avoid such things for one simple fact: large scale conflicts costed too much.
Everything involved in such a conflict costed too much. It took forever to train valuable men who were going to die, it took forever to plan out and set up for war, it took forever to call up the lords and their levies to organize, and it took forever to get to a battlefield.
Feeding tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of soldiers cost a fortune every meal. Arming them cost even more. Keeping them in line costed their commanders their endurances and patience.
For the peasants, slaves, and smallfolk, war meant death. Death in the battlefield gave no compensation, and their families would lose a productive member, which can lead to all sorts of damages - mental and financial to name two.
The point was that war was a costly affair most wanted to avoid, but I was preparing for it the best way that I could. This meant training myself and my men, and there was only so much sparring could take us. For us, I supplemented real life experience with magic-induced monstrous martial arts.
I watched from my wooden tower as twenty of my men-at-arms armed with enchanted leather gloves fought against all of the currently levied peasants. The peasants were armed with wooden weapons and shields as were my men-at-arms.
And it was a slaughter.
I winced as I saw one of the smallfolk men took a vicious strike to his chest followed up by a stunning backhand to his chin that knocked him out of the fight. Similar scenes repeated themselves across the field as my suddenly martially inclined men-at-arms devastated the smallfolk levies.
It was a good example of exactly how a real life battle would turn out, too, as I removed all those deemed "defeated by lethal measures."
This in and of itself was a preparation for what I felt was going to happen.
My neighboring lords started to probe harder. There have been rumors of "bandits" circulating more and more. I knew of no reason why such a rumor would be popping up when I knew for a fact that there weren't any increase in bandits (or any bandits in my territory, period) unless it was a set up to give my neighbors a "probable cause" to my death when I suddenly disappeared or something.
Because they, I don't know, plotted my death and succeeded.
No, I would take the fight to them.
I watched as the smallfolk levies began to rout, and then they lost when more than half of them closed a line I've dug in the dirt for them.
"And stop! Victory to the men-at-arms!" my master-at-arms shouted using the parchment megaphone I made. I watched as the men fighting on the slopes below paused before helping each other get back up. There were a few laughs, but the smallfolk levies grumbled mostly about having to fight after working for days at the aqueduct.
Must I remind them why they worked as levies instead of being paid labors?
"Have the rest of the men-at-arms come and train out here."
"Yes, milord," the master-at-arms acknowledged.
"And make sure none of them are using my stuff. I don't want them to get too used to it."
The master-at-arms nodded even as he unconsciously rubbed the copper ring I've given him, which he wore on his left index finger. The ring he wore was a special one just like my shortsword. Instead of giving him superior swordsmanship, the ring acted as a "pool of reserve" for strength, endurance, and speed. The ring would siphon a little bit of everything about him each day as he worked out, and only when he was resting, and give him all of that back when he broke it. Because the ring was copper, it wouldn't too hard to break or cut, especially since the man carried a steel sword around.
"Yes, milord."
Earning myself the loyalty of my men-at-arms had been easier than I expected. Gifting them with minor jewelry enchanted to grant health and which guaranteed not only their position as my vassal but also their children? They swore heartfelt fealty.
For what reason would they betray me? Money? I had lots of it. Prestige? I had even more than most lords. Power?
I gave them power that they could wield physically; I turned all those who accepted my offer into another Barristan Selmy.
I stopped for a moment as the Forge woke up once more… and nothing. Tis was the usual.
I paused in my rumination as I saw someone running over one of the hills.
"BANDITS!"
… holup, what?
-VB-
"THERE WERE ACTUAL BANDITS!" I yelled angrily as twenty of my men-at-arms rode to fight.
Forty-four hooves thundered down the packed dirt road, and the bandits, who had struck one of my northern villages, tried to run away.
We swung in, swinging our swords at the running backs of the bandits. Half of us dismounted to put out the fires while the rest of us chased after the bandits. They ran, but against mounted soldiers, they may as well have stood their ground.
It took us no more than half an hour to kill and capture all of the bandits and put out the few fires that had been started.
I grimaced as I looked around the burnt village. I only managed to get here as quickly as I had because we were already armed and ready with horses to spare.
Well, spare was the wrong word; I had all of the available warhorses brought to use for the training, and we just happened to be able to use them on the spot. Even then, a dozen men-at-arms couldn't ride yet, and thus had to be left behind.
What I wanted to know was where these bandits came from.
I turned towards my soldiers bringing the surviving bandits in ropes.
"Have them kneel."
The bandits protested, but my soldiers kicked their knees and forced them to kneel.
I glared at them all. A few of them glared right back in defiance.
"Take the black with a missing hand, tell me what I want and take the black with both of your hands, or die. I give you ten seconds before I start executing," I snarled at them before pulling out one of the bandits' own swords. "I don't promise a clean cut."
After the first death and three left hand-less black-takers, I got what I wanted.
Chapter 14
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 14
-VB-
"You know, torture is not good tool for interrogation," I mumbled to myself as my soldiers prepared to fight once more, but I found myself remembering the bandits who clamored to give the best information they could so that they may escape true justice. "But it is a good supplement to good, old psychology."
I promised them an escape, but also separated each of them as I received information.
The moment I got a conflicting information from the rest, I made an example.
I gave my two most ruthless and bloodthirsty men-at-arms instructions.
The rest of the prisoners watched as a man was butchered alive. Strips of skin flayed from the still living man, bodies cut and bones cleaned, castrated and fed to the wolves that came out at the smell of blood, and then when there was only a hoarse whimper left in the bandit, a single spear impaled him from his anus to his mouth.
Upon that impaled corpse, I had turned my attention to the now quivering and pale masses of prisoners.
And I asked nicely and quietly for the information I wanted.
Lies would be met with similar results.
Those who knew nothing kept their lips shut after the second liar met a worse fate as each of his nails and teeth were pulled in front of the spectators before all that which had been done upon the first visited him, too.
Those who knew spoke. Eager to sell each other and the persons who hired them if it meant leaving my accursed land with merely one hand removed.
Oh, I got what I wanted after the first death and three black-takers, but I needed to be sure.
I needed to be quite right and nothing could be left out.
So I was thorough.
So thorough, in fact, that even my men-at-arms, who were equally angry with the bandits, felt pity for them.
By the time my little show ended, I only sent two-thirds of the original number of prisoners to be kept in the brig until the black cloaks would arrive to take them to the north.
If they left my brigs as skeletons with barely any meat left on them, then that was all the better. If they survived and reached the wall, then they would be a valuable resource for the fight to come. If they didn't survive the grueling travel, then they received the justice in a prolonged and much more painful way than I could have given them: of starvation, of exhaustion, and of hopelessness.
My men-at-arms stood ready before me. Outside my small castle, my levies stood ready in their own arms and armors.
"You all heard the bandits," I said firmly and all of the men-at-arms nodded. The bandits had been a plot of the two neighboring lords, the two lords of the House of Penroses. "And you saw how many died to their blades."
Three villages had been burnt, looted, raped, and destroyed by the time we stopped the bandits with our lightning speed response and brutal shock-and-awe assault. A hundred of my subjects had died.
Some of them had been friends and relatives of my men-at-arms and the levies and their families in the city.
"This is not about me. This is about you," I emphasized as I looked over my men. "These lords think that just because I am an unknown compared to their long history that I - and thus you - are a free target. Tell me, men. Are we free target?"
"No!"
"Are we going to let them trample over us?!"
I winced internally as the Forge acted up right now and almost killed my momentum. Hmm? Oh. Okay, nothing again from Metallurgy.
"NO!"
"Then we go and fight them. We draw a clear line in the sand. This much further and no more!"
We pumped our fists into the air and shouted together.
" NO MORE!"
Because one was too many, three hundred moved.
-VB-
To be fair, I had sent a raven to Prince Renly with copies of the confessions.
Yes, they were confessions obtained under duress, but when all of the surviving leaders of the bandits gave the same confession after being interrogated separately, then those confessions suddenly had more weight to them and not easily dismissed.
Of course, they could have made up a story beforehand, but I made sure that anyone who tattled on such an event would… get rewarded. Perhaps even freed. No one took up on the offer, though.
And Renly gave me until he arrived there personally to solve the problem. If he arrived and the problem persisted, then he would solve it himself and strictly told me that no one would like his response.
It wasn't like Renly's usual letters, though. It made me a little suspicious, but I kept the letter safely and then gave that speech to my men-at-arms.
Okay, so the Penroses. They were of a single house, but had three different lords, one to my south and another two to my north. Of the three, the two Penrose lords to my north were involved in the bandit scheme.
And yes, it was a scheme. The confessions the bandits gave me told me as such.
Officially, they had one thousand soldiers each as their retinue, aka their men-at-arms and knights, but this didn't take into account any levies they might be able to pull up.
Fortunately for me, amassing the levies to do anything took time. Weeks. Months.
I already had all of my levies activated, trained, and geared.
That's how I arrived at the town of Hadlow and then at the Hadlow Keep.
"Who goes there with an army and break the King's Peace?!" someone demanded from the top of the keep's battlement even after seeing my banner.
The people of the Hadlow Town looked from not too far, and they were well within shouting distance.
"I am Alan Marris, Lord of Brownspear!" I shouted back up. "I have come to speak with Lord Penrose of Hadlow Keep! I came with my men here because I could not trust House Penrose to guarantee a lord's safety, not after bandits have come down in massive numbers from the lands of the Penrose! I must also very much protest how poorly the northern Penroses are managing their lands! Why, compared to their southern cousin, it's a mess!"
I heard the people murmur and whisper behind mel
As much as I wanted to be impulsive, I knew fighting would not get me what I wanted. In fact, there was a high chance that I might come under heavy scrutiny and enemies I don't even know about will use it as a chance to put me down.
I had magic! I had technology! I had power!
… But I lacked manpower.
Maybe once I grew to the point of terraform entire castles with ease, then I might be able to cut loose. But I wasn't there yet.
No, I needed to be careful.
That meant making some threatening moves but not following through with it.
… See? I could be less violent. (Okay, maybe my impulsive murder, however deserved of that bribe accepting and blackmailing bastard priest, may have gotten to me a little, but lay it off, my 21st century memories and moralities! I'm trying here!)
I blinked as the gates opened.
To my surprise, Lord Penrose of Hadlock Keep walked out in full plate armor and a hundred or so of his own men-at-arms.
… Was it me or were his men-at-arms shoddier in gear than my men's?
"You come to my home with an army and dare accuse me such?!" the portly man yelled at me.
I snorted. "I only speak the truth. I have received confessions out of the bandits before sending them to the Wall."
"Those are lies you probably created to find casus belli against me!"
"If I wanted war, then I would have war. I would have struck from afar. Don't you worry about the details and worry about your failed scheme, because Prince Renly is on his way."
The noble lord paused at that declaration.
"Would you like to deal with me or deal with Prince Renly? He sounded very angry in the letter he sent me," I said before pulling out and waving a copy of that letter.
From the way his fists clenched, he very much did not want the Lord Paramount to come and butt in our situation here.
"Someone get me my salt and bread!"
And so the negotiation begins…
Chapter 15
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 15
-VB-
4 months after…
"You came!" Myrcella laughed as she ran up to her betrothed.
The tall man who never dismissed her out of her gender or age smiled. "It's good to see you again, princess," he greeted her genuinely. "How have things been in the Red Keep?"
"It's dull and boring!" she pouted as they passed by some of the courtiers.
It was only a few steps after they passed by them, but the whispers began immediately.
"Is that him? The Bloody Lord?"
"It must be. The princess is acting close to him. Who else but the princess's betrothed?"
Myrcella wanted to bring them over to Alan and make them apologize, but Alan placed a hand over hers and smiled understandingly. She pouted and let them go.
The Bloody Lord was the title used by the people who didn't like Alan. Just because he carried out his duties as a lord, a protector of the people, they slandered him when they would praise their friends. She knew that he defeated bandits in his land before confronting his neighboring lord who made it so that such bandit clans would arise from their lands.
Lord Marris was a good lord who resolved a conflict before it could break out into a bigger one, and she knew how important that kind of ability was.
Mother and father could never defuse a situation like so handily.
"It's not right," she mumbled.
"It is their nature," he replied. "Sharing even a tidbit of information makes them happy like a dog looking at a treat. Aren't they… pitifully cute? How about adorably pitiful?"
Pitifully cute? She never thought of something as pitifully cute or adorably pitiful.
She giggled. "You carry with you the weirdest combination of words, Lord Marris."
"One tries," he smiled again. "Now, today is your birthday and the whole castle is having a party, are we not?"
She nodded.
"Then I will show you my gift at the feast. It's only appropriate, right?"
She pouted again.
She knew that it was a very un-princess-like behavior, but knowing Lord Marris, it wouldn't harm her to show more of herself that no one else but her twin brother saw.
"Tell me what you got for Tommen, then I'll let you surprise me at the party," she graciously allowed it from her betrothed.
He laughed. "A cunning one, aren't you?"
It was unfortunate - or was it was fortunate? - that Tommen didn't get much attention from most of the kingdom. Because she was betrothed to a smallfolk-turned-lord, she got some attention. Because Jofferey was the heir apparent to the Iron Throne, he got a lot of attention.
But Tommen? Despite being the Heir Secondary, he got no attention except from the tutors. Mother paid more attention to her than Tommen.
Only she gave Tommen any time of her day. This was, of course, outside of any formal education and respect lesser lords and ladies gave Tommen as they passed by him.
She prodded with words as they walked deeper into the keep. As they grew closer towards the royal quarters, the encounter with courtesans and servants grew infrequent and then to none.
'Finally, when we're away from the prying eyes and ears.' At least, she hoped. She didn't want some random servant to hear what Tommen was getting, have them spread rumors, and then Tommen's surprise would be ruined.
She turned to him and smiled.
"Please?" she asked softly.
A princess could not be heard or seen begging except to those close to her.
"Very well. I shall tell you what I have prepared for His Highness." With a flourish, he -.
She blinked when she saw an aura of blue light surrounded Lord Marris. And then abruptly, that light emanated like a gust of wind in all direction from him and pushed out until…
Myrcella looked around the room with wide eyes as the light faded away.
"There. Now, no one can listen."
She turned back to him.
"You… you used magic."
He bowed before he straightened back up and grinned at her.
"It'll be our secret, yes?"
She nodded frantically.
"What I had done was a simple anti-eavesdropping barrier. Images and sounds we create inside the barrier is distorted to be hard to make out and altered to make no sense. For example, if someone stood outside the barrier right now," he said as he gestured towards the far ends of the corridor. She looked, and did see a servant. In first place, it would be hard for the servant there to listen to them.
She only glanced at the servant, who busied herself with whatever her tasks were, and gave her betrothed her full attention. She wanted to ask about his magic but Tommen's gift came first for her. She had to determine if it was a right gift for her twin brother, after all. She wouldn't - couldn't - have her betrothed and brother become enemies over something silly as a birthday gift.
Once she did, she would definitely determine how he was using magic, because whatever he did just then looked nothing like what she ever heard about magic.
"As for your brother's gift…" he hummed before -.
She blinked.
And then she nearly lurched back when she saw a staff studded at the top with brilliant gemstones at the top. Where had it come from?!
He thumped the floor with the butt of his staff, and a man appeared by his side.
She jolted in surprise this time. "Who-?!"
"He is a trusted retainer," he smiled.
Myrcella tried to ignore the dead look in the plainly if neatly and appropriately crest-bearing and clean-shaven man's eyes.
And the man held two items: a vibrant blue cloak and a red box atop.
"Your gift is inside the box, but it would be a spoiler to show it to you right now~."
She pouted.
He grabbed the pulled the box off of the cloak, and then allowed his formerly invisible servant to hold the cape up.
It was…
It was beautiful.
On the shoulders of the cape were beautifully maned golden stags. The top of the cape was adorned with some kind of fur that seemed to glitter in the light. As for the cape itself…
Blue.
A magnificent and shining blue. It was… more blue? How was she supposed to describe it? This blue was truer than other blues she's ever encountered. It was deeper than the deepest blues of the ocean. Despite the fact that it was lighter tone, it possessed more depth than the blue she was familiar with that appeared in court or even the late afternoon skies.
She blinked.
And then everything was gone. The shimmering light barrier that had been in the background, her mystery gift, Tommen's gift, the servant, and the staff.
He smiled.
"Just a sneak peek," he said with a mirthful smile.
She pouted.
"I want to look at it more!"
It was so blue…
"You will at the feast!"
"Lord Marris!" she whined petulantly, and she knew it.
He laughed.
Sufficed to say, she forgot to ask about his magic until well after the feast.
-VB-
A/N: no new power. Would have gotten 30.015, Clarketech, if we had 50 more points, but we didn't have that.
Chapter 16
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 16
-VB-
Normally, he would not come to visit his daughter or grandchildren over something trivial as a birthday feast, but this would be the first feast that Lord Marris would be attending.
After having heard how the commoner-turned-lord had expertly dealt with the bandits in his land and his rivals around him, he wanted to meet the man. What peaked his interest even more was that beyond being the betrothed to his only granddaughter and a skilled individual in his own right, the man also put down his own little mob and had yet to punish them severely.
"Lord Lannister."
Tywin paused in his musings and turned around. Standing in the same corridor as him was none other than the other "old" lord among the Lord Paramounts: Jon Arryn. The current Hand of the King smiled genially, but underneath that mask hid an opportunistic hawk ready to swoop down at the slightest of mistakes. Wrapped in the alliance of three kingdoms, the right call - or the wrong call - could spell disaster for this Hand's victim.
Even he might become a prey to this beast if he didn't tread carefully, but careful as he might try, if his children caused problems, then he would have to intervene regardless.
"Lord Hand," he responded with a nod.
"It is unlike you to join us for a mere birthday feast-" 'What are you after?' "-but I hope the accommodations are up to your standard?"
"It is," Tywin replied with a hum. "I did not expect much, however. It is only the birthdays of Princess Myrcella and Princess Tommen."
His rival only raised an eyebrow at his comment and said nothing.
"They are family," he continued. "As long as due respect is paid, even begrudgingly, I am willing to ignore the little byplays that the Red Keep's courts often play out to be." He smirked. "Little people playing little games, aren't I right?"
Arryn nodded uncertainly, unsure as to what Tywin was referring to.
He glanced away and across the little courtyard this part of the Red Keep seemed to be centered around. "It's funny how someone else refuses to play by those games."
"… You must be referring to the princess's betrothed."
"Yes."
The boy had gotten himself a fancy title. They called him the "Bloody Lord" because he personally put down some bandits with brutal efficiency, and discovered where they had originated from.
'I am sure that the title had more to do with the heads he put up along all roads leading in and out of his lordship.'
"The boy is too impulsive and quick with his actions," Arryn huffed. "He could have solved the issue in a much more palatable way, but he chose to revel in violence and death instead."
'You talk as if I do not know how you have urged your ward's vassals to put pressure on him,' Tywin thought. "In my opinion, he solved it nearly flawlessly."
"Nearly?"
"Nearly. Had I been in his position, I would have thoroughly investigated and put down any of my neighbors who sought to ruin my land and people."
Lord Arryn grunted. "That is very like you."
Tywin felt it odd that the two of them expressed honesty with each other in roundabout ways when there was no one else about to see or hear them.
"And it is very like you to use underhanded methods to test someone."
He chuckled.
"It was not a good method," Tywin grunted at the other lord's mirth.
"It showed everyone his true character."
"His true character was already shown when he handled his little rebellion."
"That is hardly a full show of his character."
"How is it not?" Tywin asked with a raised eyebrow. "When faced with extreme circumstances outside his control that threatened his life, his right as a lord, and the very land itself, he acted swiftly in eliminating the instigator of the mob and punished the participants, though not as much as he should have."
"Ah yes, your infamous 'Rains of Castamere.'"
Tywin frowned at the levity Lord Arryn spoke with. For him, the Rains of Castamere was a crucial moment in his life and will be part of his eternal legacy. It cemented House Lannister's power and hierarchy in the Westerlands.
It was everything to him.
… Perhaps not everything.
"What have you prepared for the prince and the princess?" he asked instead.
"A pony to each of them," Arryn replied. "One that is to become a warhorse for the prince, and a more slender if sturdy one for the princess."
"Hmm." They were adequate gifts.
"And yourself?"
"A rose gold circlet for the princess and a shortsword for the soon to be training prince."
-VB-
Tywin stared with wide eyes at Lord Marris as he stood at the front of the grand hall with the gift he intended for the prince before said prince.
"For you, Prince Tommen Baratheon, I gift you my finest cloak. Created with my hands and with dyes that exist only within its fine fabrics, I hope that this gift will please you," he said as he laid the cloak upon the awaiting hands of the prince.
Though the young prince could not understand the value of that simple cloak, Tywin did.
No, almost everyone, including Robert, if the man's nearly bulging eyes showed anything of his intelligence.
Because how blue could a blue be?
"And for Princess Myrcella," he continued.
He reached into a trunk held by his servant, and pulled out a necklace.
If it was just a normal jewelry, then the ladies of the court wouldn't be whispering like they did beside and behind him.
No, because the necklace Lord Marris pulled out was both a statement and a show of power.
Because the centerpiece of the necklace was a cascading fall of tear-drop shaped diamonds.
"The most beautiful jewelry in all of Westeros for the most beautiful princess."
'And just like that,' Tywin thought begrudgingly. 'He showed up everyone.'
Now, others lords couldn't treat him lightly, because money like that could and would be used to bludgeon Marris's enemies.
Well done, Marris.
-VB-
Skills: Clothing
22.23: Profession: Leatherworking (Azeroth)
Enchanting, Inscription, Alchemy, Blacksmithing, Engineering, Leatherworking, Tailoring, and Jewelcrafting. Your first purchase is half off and starts you off at an apprentice level. For an additional 50 CP you start off at a Journeyman level with all blueprints of that level and lower. For another 50 CP you will jump up to Expert with all blueprints of that level and lower. For a final purchase of 50 CP you will be an Artisan(the highest level in the game before this system was removed)with all blueprints for your profession (s)that exist within the game.
Chapter 17
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 17
-VB-
The plan worked perfectly.
Whereas I had been accused of cruelty and sadism by my peers just this morning, those same peers now talked of my riches, sense of fashion, and overseas connections.
Because, of course, shiny gifts changed their thoughts faster than executing lower class criminals.
"… I want one."
I looked up from where I sat to the king's right, where the favored guest of the king usually sat during feasts.
"Your Majesty?" I asked with a "confused" smile.
"I want a cloak of my own just like that," King Baratheon, my future father-in-law, huffed out. "I'll pay whatever price you want."
I leaned towards him, and he did the same in anticipation. "That is a very dangerous phrase to say, Your Majesty," I whispered quietly so that only he could hear me in the ruckus of the feasting men and women. "The production cost for the prince's gift alone cost me nearly a thousand dragons."
He nearly did a double take. A copper counter, the king may not be, but he understood the basics of cost and price. A good cloak made anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms would be five dragons at most.
"You have to be joking," he glared.
"It required me to acquire quite the quantity of gemstone from across the Narrow Sea for the pigment." It wasn't true, but that was what I stuck to. I had no desire to allow anyone else to profit off from my painstakingly recreated Ultramarine Blue. "The base cost for the gemstone alone cost me nearly five hundred dragons, and the transportation with secure guards another two hundred."
"And the rest?"
"The production cost itself. I had to spend my own time to painstakingly grind down the gemstone for the pigment. It is time I could have used for other projects."
The king cleared his throat as he looked away.
"… It is a princely gift. I still want something good like that."
"Oh? If you truly want something, then you can always participate in the coming tournament, Your Majesty. You will certainly like what I prepared for the prize."
He looked intrigued. "What have you prepared?"
Now, I could be all mysterious like I had done with Princess Myrcella, but this was Robert Baratheon I was talking with; that kind of shit might earn me his ire.
"Would you mind if I made an announcement?" I asked instead. "About the tournament prize."
His eyes gleamed. "Go for it."
I stood up with my cup and a spoon, and then delicately began pinging for attention.
The sound quickly caught attention of most of the guests and residents, and those who didn't quickly learned from their neighbors.
"Thank you all for your attention," I said with a genial smile. "His Majesty, King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, has granted me leave to speak, and I thank His Majesty for the opportunity."
There were toasts to that.
"I wish to announce what the Tournament of Royalty -" that was the name for this occasion's tournament, because it was for the celebration of the twin royalties' birthdays. "- will offer the winners of the melee and archery, as those two winnings are my responsibilities."
The hall lost all noise and fell into a pregnant silence as everyone waited.
I gestured, and my servants - awaiting once more - stepped up from the side of the hall.
"For the winner of the archery contest, I present to you the Black Bow." It was an imitation of Emiya Shirou and Archer's black bow, but enchanted so that only its owner can draw back the one hundred plus pound longbow. Its sleek and glistening body drew the attention of those who professed themselves master archer.
But this bow, though none would see its uniqueness and worth until later, was not what would get their attention.
"For the winner of the melee!" I shouted with pomp. "I present to you the success of my forges, a Valyrian steel greatsword, Aggamemnon!"
The servant holding the prize swiftly pulled the silk cover away (which got a few lingering gazes on its own) to reveal a rippling patterned greatsword.
Half of the hall rose up with wide eyes.
Even the king rose up from his seat in shock.
This greatsword was, however, not a real Valyrian steel but my variation of Damascus Steel, essentially crucible steel, which had been enchanted by yours truly to achieve not only a technologically superior steel but also a magically reinforced blade.
"My king, if you please…" I asked him as I brought out a warhammer of good quality steel that most blacksmiths would make.
With a flourish I did not expect him to be able to have, Robert got out of his throne with grace and grabbed the warhammer. His eyes sharpened, and I saw the warrior that he once was gleam through.
My servants brought out stone bricks and placed the sword on top of two.
If I was lying, then the blade would bend or even break once Robert struck it.
If I wasn't…
With a roar, Robert struck down.
And to everyone's surprise but mine, his own warhammer flung away along with his arms as the warhammer bounced off of the blade and sent him nearly reeling. The king caught himself before he showed himself a fool, and returned the warhammer, which he looked like he liked as well.
I saw all knights and lords eye the blade hungrily. Tywin was no exception.
"It took me a long time to recreate the blade," I hummed, and I felt the attention of the hall snap back towards me. "It will take me just as long to make another for that is the only successful Valyrian steel recreation I have."
I ignored the Celestial Forge as it arose from its slumber, grasped at nothing, and subsided once more.
I turned to the audience. My audience.
"Who believes they can beat everyone to lay claim to this sword?" I asked rhetorically with a smirk.
-VB-
As I expected, I found myself with an unasked audience with one Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister. You know, someone who would be grandfather-in-law if my betrothal becomes a marriage.
"Lord Lannister," I bowed after walking into the room where our meeting took place.
"Lord Marris."
Though both of us were lords, I was a lower ranking noble and lord, so I bowed.
"… Please have a seat."
I walked into the opulent room decked out with wealth and prestige, and embedded in every corner with gold lion of Lannister.
"I wish to commission a Valyrian steel sword. I will pay whatever it takes to have it made before anyone else and for you to not make one for the next ten years."
Ah, he understood where the value of the sword came from.
"I apologize, Lord Lannister. While I will certainly take that commission, I cannot stop myself from producing more Valyrian steel blade."
He glared at me. Or maybe not? I couldn't tell.
The Lord Lannister in the flesh was not the TV show actor. The man before me was much more refined and bigger than life. He had wrinkles, but not enough to make him feel old (despite being old). He wore fine clothes, but they did not hang from his body (because as rich as he was, he was a lord and that meant he was a warrior as well). He spoke quietly, but it only added to his authority (because everyone had to fucking quiet down what he was saying, otherwise you could lose your head).
Little things like that all made for a very different Lord Lannister that differed in look and more.
And I just told that very powerful and very proud man no.
I had my reasons, but the foremost was my own pride as an artisan.
A lord he may be, but I too was a lord. Who the fuck was he to tell me what to do? He wasn't even my liege lord. That might change a huge factor in my decision making but still not enough to make me stop.
"A Valyrian steel, boy," he spoke as if I was a dumb child. "Derives its value from its rarity. If you make even one a year for the rest of your life, then you would add sixty, maybe eighty, Valyrian steel sword into Westeros and beyond. The value of those steel would fall."
"But not enough," I argued. "Sir, would you rather be guarded by personal guards armed with Valyrian swords or regular steel?"
"… are you offering to make me a set of Valyrian steel swords?" he asked me with thinly veiled incredulity.
"If you are willing to pay, yes," I replied. "However, I like to give all of my customers and clients fair chance at obtaining my art."
"An art," he scoffed. "You call that giant monstrosity art?"
"Art is subjective, lord paramount," I smiled genially. "No Valyrian sword is truly worth a thousand, ten thousand, or even a hundred thousand dragon. At the end of the day, it is rare metal
"… So you do understand the art of economy, supply, and demand," he hummed.
"How could I not?" I grinned. "I am an artisan, and an artisan who does not know the desires of his clients and customers… They are artists but not quite artisan."
"You make a distinction between the two."
"Of course. An artist is someone focused on their expression. An artisan gets paid."
He snorted.
"And you were paid with a fiefdom in the rocky Stormlands when I offered you something much more here in the Westerlands." He paused. "How do you intend to forge my Valyrian steel blade?"
"If you will allow me?" I asked while pointing to a blank paper on a desk in the other end of the room.
He nodded. I stood up, walked over, and came back to the seating area with a paper. From within my own cloak, I pulled out a prototype ball point pen and quickly drew out a symbol. I turned the paper towards him, and he took it.
"… This is adequate."
Adequate?
Adequate?
I'm going to make him eat his words.
Chapter 18
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 18
-VB-
My travel back home from the Red Keep did not take me directly to my lands. The route I took curved around the coast of the Crownlands and the Stormlands, and I regularly met with the lords of the lands I passed through.
These same lords who once looked down upon me changed their tunes when they saw me and my closest bodyguards decked out in shining armors and Valyrian steel daggers. They were quick to greet me like a long-lost brother and gave me feasts. Even those who were already in possession of a Valyrian steel blade greeted me more genially than they ever had.
Now, these men weren't greeting me so warmly just because of Valyrian steel weapons. No, as much prestige as those weapons provided me, rumors traveled faster than a man could ride, and the whole of Westeros was now aware of not just the wealth but the luxuries I could provide to those I tied myself with.
The Westerosi lords may look down on "copper counters" and merchants, but when there were luxuries that they could enjoy? Some of the older and more conservative views found themselves quickly pushed aside.
The one lord whose attitude towards me hadn't changed was none other than Prince Renly Baratheon, and I came to meet him today.
"Lord Alan!" the young prince greeted me with a big grin and open arms.
I greeted Renly at first with a bow, and then straightened myself quickly and gave him a playful grin as well. "Prince Renly," I greeted him with open arms as well. We embraced before parting.
"Well, welcome to Storm's end," he welcomed me and led me in.
"It is an honor to be received by you personally," I hummed as I followed him in. My guards met those of the Baratheons and followed them to their temporary barracks.
"I'm surprised actually that you came to visit me instead of heading straight to your castle and land. You've earned yourself a nickname for that, you know."
"I have?" I asked him.
"Of course! As the land that started a new dynasty of Westeros, we have lords from within and without traveling here and there to get alliances or just politick to get themselves higher up on the station. If they weren't trying to kiss my boots, that is."
I nodded. "Makes sense, Your Grace."
"Don't give me that 'Your Grace' honorifics. You and I are friends, aren't we? Keep that to the formal events and all."
"As you wish…. Renly."
"Much better! You do also realize that I also benefited from your actions, right?"
I blinked as we came around a corner in the stone hallways. "You have?"
"Of course. When you put down that traitorous and corrupt septon, I used it as an excuse to investigate all of the septons in my own lands. You would be surprised by what I found."
"Corrupt septons everywhere?"
"Well, I only found two out of the three hundred septons and septas who serve the people."
Well, shit. Are you telling me that I was just unlucky as fuck?
"Most of the septs were in disrepair and needed to be fixed. It was a lot of gold, but then again, you get me more than enough. I have to thank you for helping me raise my reputation with the faith."
State religion and the smallfolk always had a close connection.
I smiled. "It is my duty to serve you." Honestly, being a vassal of Renly was not a bad deal. His hands-off policies worked well with how I operated, although it did allow his lords to do shitty things like what the Errols had tried with me.
"… Then perhaps you can serve me with a favor."
Ah.
Renly, despite our closeness, was still a Westerosi lord. On top of that, he was a Stormlander lord. Though combat was never his forte, he understood the legitimacy and prestige a good pair of weapons can do for him.
"You wish to commission your own Valyrian blade."
He paused before chuckling. "Not for myself, actually." I blinked in surprise. "But for someone I hold dear." I blinked again before I remembered.
Right, Renly's gay, and he should have met his "love to be" around this point in time.
"A gift for someone~?" I asked with a lecherous grin, playing innocent as to which team he played for.
He blushed and showed me involuntarily that he was still a teenager.
"Yes."
"A longsword?"
"I would very much appreciate it."
"… Now, you aren't the only one who's commissioning a Valyrian blade. I have ten others who are capable of paying. However, you are my liege lord, so I shall definitely give your work the priority."
He smiled fondly. "Am I glad that I personally visited you in the Vale," he hummed.
I was about to reply when the Celestial Forge acted up and then missed again.
I cleared my throat as we finally stood before his solar. "So. Is there anything that you would like to hear about?"
"Oh yes," he grinned. "I missed my niece and nephew's birthday. I'd very much like to know what you've got for them."
I obliged gladly.
-VB-
I opened my eyes.
And it was not the guest room I slept in within the safety of Storm's End.
Slowly, I sat up and looked around.
This new place I found myself in stood out to me in three ways.
One, my senses were not muddled. My eyesight, in particular, worked as they should in perfect conditions.
Two, a thin layer of fog covered everything.
Three, seven giant figures stood across from me. I had an idea who they were.
Slowly, I stood up and then bowed, and while bowed, I spoke. "I am honored that the Seven Who Are One brought me here for an audience."
[Then be welcomed to our personal realm, the Father spoke. [We have much to discuss].
Now, that sounded pretty ominous…
Chapter 19
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 19
-VB-
I waited for the Seven to speak, but honestly, I felt very nervous.
The Maiden giggled. [There's no need to be nervous. We want to just talk. Father is being dramatic.]
The Father looked grumpy at the Maiden's words. [I am being serious. We must talk, and there are serious discussions to be had.]
[Then stop dawdling and get to it!] the Crone snapped.
I blinked as I looked over them, and realized that the Seven are like a family. Though they were gods (I felt their powers from where I stood), they were also human enough that I understood all of their bodily tells and languages.
The odd one out was the Stranger.
[You noticed.]
It was the Stranger talking.
"Ah. Yes."
No point denying it. It wasn't as if I noticed something super critical.
[Indeed. I am the latest to join the Seven.] I blinked again, this time in shock. Join the Seven? [That is not what we are offering to you, but we nonetheless wish to reward you] the Stranger added.
[Because you, even as you are now, are worthy enough] the Warrior spoke up.
[You bring new ideas wherever you go] the Smith added.
[But most importantly, you have not squandered your gifts on vain pleasures of life] the Crone grinned. It made her look scary. [You could have used your wealth and power to buy yourselves young girls to bring to bed, but instead, you have spent your time and effort on a much more meaningful path of life.]
[More than that, your actions have begun to bring magic back into Westeros and to our people whether you knew it or not] the Father harrumphed in approval. [Now, we can finally act more directly than we have before. For this alone, we wish to grant you a reward.]
I wasn't sure, though.
This made little sense to me.
Sure, they are claiming that I have already helped them and have acted like they expect their followers to act, but why would I get a reward and not them?
Could I afford to act suspicious of them?
I clasped my hands together and held it in front of me like a Chinese bureaucrat bowing before his emperor. My action silenced the Seven for a moment.
"I humbly thank you for your consideration, but I do not believe that I am worthy of your reward," I said while bowing so that they could not see my narrowed eyes and grimace. "I personally do not believe that I have done anything worthy of note. So must refuse this reward until at such a time that I have indeed accomplished a greater deed other than enriching myself!"
My words stunned and silenced the Seven for a while longer.
And then the Stranger laughed. Its hoarse and raspy voice layered with more than one voice rang in this hallowed hall with gleeful laughter.
[I am right] the Stranger grinned. [I told you that you can't lure him over with gifts and the like.]
… What were they talking about?
[Stranger… !] the Father warned with a growl.
[Never forget, Father] the Stranger spoke up. [That I am one of the Seven, and hold equal authority. You may be the Leader, the Head, and the King, but I am the Diplomat, the End, and the Outsider. Alan Marris, an Outsider, raise your head.]
They were saying some things that were making my head hurt from all of their implications, but I raised my head as the Stranger bid me.
[I shall tell you what exactly what the Seven Who Are One wishes from you, and why you have been offered a boon.]
I stood stiffly and waited patiently.
The Stranger, dressed in his iconic hood like a grim reaper, leaned forward.
[We wish for a new and agreeable comrade.]
I blinked.
That… was not heinous or convoluted reason at all.
There was a swirl, and the giant Stranger was gone, replaced by a Stranger as tall as I was standing no more than two yards from me.
"Greetings, Alan Marris the Foreigner," the god greeted me, and though most of his features were shrouded by his shroud, I could feel the mirth in his voice. "I am the Stranger, and I greet you personally to the Realm of the Seven."
I gave him a light bow, an acknowledgement of his personal greeting.
"What do you know about us?" he asked me, and I pondered on it for a moment before I answered.
"You are the gods of the Andals, who come from Essos."
"You are proved yourself far more knowledgeable than most mortals with just that. Good, good. Tell me more."
"You… do not act through your worshippers like the rest of the gods of this world do."
"That is also true. What else?"
"I do not know more."
He nodded. "What you have told us are all correct. We do not act through our worshippers… but that is because our people have forgotten the correct way to invoke us."
I blinked. I'm doing that a lot.
"You see, the Andals worship us, the Seven Who Are One, and did so for a long time. Far longer than the Wall in the North has stood. Our people, however, were never civilized as they have been now, and lived in small tribes and nomadic hordes much like the dothraki have. They lived, however, only in what is now known as the Axe in Essos. Their oral tradition kept by the first shamans sufficed for these small tribes, but when these shamans died when our people were driven from our lands… That is when we lost true contact with our people."
"What happened…?"
For the first time, I saw a human feature underneath the hood, and it was a wide toothy grin full of wrath.
"It was the sacrifice of our last shaman that allowed us to appear before our people. We used that last vestige of our connection with our people to guide them to a place where they could settle down and leave behind a long legacy."
"Westeros."
"Yes. A place filled with tiny kingdoms and weak people."
I tried to figure out what they wanted from me.
"What do you want from me, then?"
"The Father, the Maiden, the Crone, and the Smith wants to make you our shaman. Our voice in the mortal realm."
"But you don't…"
"No. I am the Stranger. I am the record of all things that have passed, and the time of our people depending on us wholly for guidance have passed. The Warrior, the Mother, and I wish for a the continuation of the current circumstances. However, what forced our hand is the rise of magic."
"Why?"
"Because, boy, magic's existence rouses back the White Walkers," the Stranger huffed. "And we cannot allow our people to suffer unduely."
"… What do you wish of me, then?"
The Stranger hummed. "Much, but I doubt that you will allow yourself to be a voice of ours. Though the others are adamant that it may be done, I am the Stranger. I am the Outsider just as you are." He poked me in the chest. "I sense within you Other who is wholly above us."
I gulped. I was surprised that the Stranger could sense my connection with the Celestial Forge. I also did not like being on the backfoot like this, but I kept a tight control over myself. Acting rashly here would only earn me enemies among the gods of the people that I ruled.
"So I wish for a compromise. What they have spoken before is not wrong. You do bring good change. Your imitation Valyrian steel, in particular, serves us, because though it is not the real dragonblood steel, it will still cut down the revenants of the True North like one. You have instituted improvements for the smallfolk, and the Mother appreciates that. You have exercised your power to remove the corrupt, and the Father approves of it."
Then it grinned.
"You have killed. I approve of that."
Holy shit, mate. You don't have to sound so psychotic.
"You cannot - because you refuse to - be our voice, you still deserve to be rewarded, and we must protect our people," the Stranger continued. "Yet we cannot act because no one else can connect to us like you. In fact, pulling your mind to speak with us in our realm itself has been exhausting on our part."
"… You want me to spread the old ways of the Faith of the Seven."
"Yes," the Stranger nodded. "In return, I shall personally bless you with Protection from Death. Just once, what should kill you will not and return you to full health. Is this agreeable?"
-VB-
A/N: another miss. Lacked 100 P
Chapter 20
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 20
-VB-
"… While I understand that being pious is not only expected but respected, why are you suddenly working on a statue of the Seven, milord? Especially with what happened with that septon and us smallfolks."
I paused in my marble carving and looked over my shoulder.
Rosia stood behind me, looking over my shoulders, and in between my servitor, who were waiting with tools on hand. The other two servitors were operating the forges, making chunks of Valyrian Steel.
"People misjudge all of the time," I responded to her as I went back to carving the statue. This statue carried not the image of the Seven Who are One but rather their combined symbol: the Seven Pointed Star. The statue was also eight foot tall. "And while they weren't wrong to have issue with me, they were wrong to have taken up arms against me. I punished them for the latter, not the former."
Rosia was a maidservant of my castle, yes, but she was a smallfolk girl who went home once her "hours" were over. I explicitly told her that she could talk about what she saw in the castle and the surrounding areas as long as I did not forbid her to talk about specific things.
Was it a horrible way to keep security? Yes, very much so. However, I was reaching a point in fame and connection that I could start to ignore the ignorable demands of the smallfolk and the faith soon enough.
I was very close to being untouchable, but not quite yet, which was why I had accepted the Seven's "commission." It would provide me with a "proof" for oppositions to the rabble to point to and say that "there's no way a man who created the Connection between us and the Seven are evil!"
Yes, I had an ulterior motive to accept this request, but it was one in line with the Seven's commission.
"Besides, just because some people I am suppose to rule over decided to pull some shit, it doesn't mean that everyone is a dick."
She snorted.
"So why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be in the castle doing your job?"
Indeed, I was working on the statue within my workshop, which was outside the castle and next to the forge.
"Ah. The maester wanted me to tell you that you have a visitor."
I paused in my work again. A visitor who warranted my attention but not quickly? So it wasn't a lord or -.
A merchant?
I shot up and dropped all of my tools and ran out of my workshop.
"You're very much welcome in my castle, Merchant Rastal," I greeted a familiar man in the courtyard of my castle at noon.
The thin man with dark bags underneath his eyes smiled at my greeting and bowed. "I thank you for meeting with me so soon, Lord Marris!" the sickly but jovial man grinned. "And I am happy to tell you that I have successfully acquired the materials you needed."
I raised him up by the shoulders and shook his hand. "You have my thanks," I said as a servant walked up to us with a plate of bread and salt. Again, it was a customary thing, but it carried a big meaning, especially since I was offering it to a lesser class than my peers.
I looked behind him as he took his first bite of the milk bread (it was a recipe I recently recreated, and those who've had a bite loved it). In multiple wagons covered in sheets, I saw what I wanted.
Iron.
My man here was the reason why I was able to experiment as much as I wanted despite not having an iron mine of my own. I met him in the King's Landing during my journey down from the Vale of Eyrie to the Stormlands. I convinced him to find me iron, and he has delivered.
Of course, he did this for a very hefty profit, but he never complained.
"And this includes what I asked for last time?" I asked him as another servant walked up with a board. On top of the board were small stacks of gold dragons, and the merchant's eyes gleamed unhealthily with greed.
"An extra gold dragon, milord?" he asked with a nearly lecherous smile.
I grinned back at him. "Only for my best supplier."
He gave me a deep bow. "You know how to show appreciation for a copper counter like me, milord."
"If you're a copper counter, then I am nothing more than a sculptor."
He laughed as he straightened himself. "That is true." And it was. How many people could supply me with five tons of iron so easily or on time? Not many, I'll tell you that.
I went to the last wagon, and lifted the corner of the sheet. I saw all sorts of leather, stacked neatly on top of each other.
I grinned.
This was perfec-.
Oh shit, the Forge just connected to something.
… Shit, I needed to check out my warehouse.
I cleared my throat. "Alright. Have all of these brought to my warehouse!" I shouted to my men-at-arms and laborers before turning to Rastal. "I hope the payment was more than enough?"
"Of course, of course!" he laughed heartily.
"Good. I need you to clear the courtyard. My men must train."
"Ah, of course." It was a bit rude of a dismissal, but I needed to get to my warehouse now!"
And then I ran for it.
I felt whatever the Forge had connected to slowly coming down, almost teasingly, in fact. Like it was threatening me with revealing more of my abilities to the public.
I raced, pumping my legs as hard as I could, and then -!
I jumped and smashed the doors open and rolled into the shop just as the new thing came down.
There was a whomp of light and sound, and I found myself staring up at a…
A Starbound Crafting Station.
My jaws dropped.
Slowly standing up, I looked down at the crafting station. Even before the Forge was explaining its function to me, I already knew what this was. With this, I could make anything in a zippy if I had the recipe. In fact, it had the components of all crafting stations found in Starbound… So could it making anything of any technology level…?
I turned and pulled out the Ar Tonelico datasphere. Then I dropped it onto a suspiciously compatible looking slot at the upper right edge of the crafting bench.
I cackled everything in the database suddenly became easily craftable now. I just needed to put the materials on top and it would be made.
I laughed. Everything I've done up to this point, making the furnace and all, had been useless, but I had this now! It didn't matter!
Giddily, I ran around the shop and pulled out stacks of iron bars and leather and whatever else I needed and just unceremoniously dropped them onto the crafting bench. Reaching towards the computer screen and keyboard at the front, I hurriedly pulled up Ar Tonelico's database and pulled up the recipe for something very simple (relatively speaking).
I hesitated once.
And then pressed Start.
The Crafting Station came to life, and I watched in awe as the item in question came to life.
I nearly burst out laughing at how easy this Crafting Station made my life.
This! This was it!
The thing that would bind everything together!
I watched as an Ionic Chainsaw finished being crafted offhand.
With trembling hands, I pulled it off of the crafting station's manufacturing table and clicked it.
… Nothing happened.
Huh?
I looked over the chainsaw before facepalming.
Right, of course.
It had no battery.
I laughed at myself.
Chapter 21
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 21
-VB-
I looked upon the finished sculpture, surrounded by septons and septas as well as the workers they had brought to move it.
"It… is beautiful," the highest-ranked septon muttered next to me.
I wanted to argue that it wasn't; the sculpture in question rated no more than average among my sculptures, but I also knew that my words would fall on deaf ears. I knew as I made this thing that it would have an abnormal effect on the believers of the Seven. It was, after all, made to act as a conduit and connection from the Seven to their followers. Of course, it would have abnormal effects on the people.
"This is my donation to the Faith of the Seven," I turned to look at the man.
The man, the current High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, turned to me as well with tears in his eyes.
"Y-You… You have spoken with them."
It was a statement, not a question. It was in how awed he looked and not curious or questioning in any matter. He believed his words to be true.
Perhaps the Seven have already started talking to him.
I wondered if the Seven cared about the true piety of their followers because I didn't think that the current High Septon was a particularly pious man.
His second, however, was. That man, a younger man who I have seen helping incognito in soup kitchens during my visit to King's Landing, remained kneeling in front of the statue, almost openly weeping.
But then again, I was not one of the Seven. I didn't particularly care to personal measure the piety of a person. Who knows, maybe my standards weren't the same or even logically similar to that of the Seven?
Regardless, I have fulfilled my part of the contract.
"Take back to the Starry Sept," I urged. "Somewhere it can be cared for properly and not subject to as much politicking as the King's Landing."
There was no argument about that.
I oversaw the loading of the statue and even personally helped them move out of my workshop.
It was only once I did that I found myself not alone but with another person. This person was not human.
No, there was too much magic I could feel about them for them to be a person.
"So. Why are you here, Stranger?" I asked the man. "I never knew that the Seven manifested themselves."
"It's a one-time event," the black-haired and hooded man replied with a smile without looking at me. He looked out towards the caravan now taking the statue away from here. "As well as deliver you your reward."
I hummed as I turned away from him and the gate to return to my real work. War was coming, after all.
"In the future-"
I paused.
"-Someone will hire the Faceless Men to remove you from the board. You're too powerful for them, you see."
"Is it Cersei Lannister?"
He shrugged. "I care not for who or what. When that request comes, the Faceless Men will refuse, because I would have told them that you are to be spared the mercy of death at their hands."
"… How reassuring. Thanks," I replied with an actual smile. I really was happy about that. Faceless Men, a threat I had not been focusing too much on, really scared me. I wasn't at the level that I could tell if someone was a Faceless Man or something like that as of the moment. "Is that supposed to be the 'protection' you meant when we first talked?"
"It is."
"Thanks. Now, if you could leave me alone…?"
I heard no response, so I looked over my shoulder and saw no one else there.
Figures. Gods, they were dramatic ones.
I, of course, heard the news about a new connection that the High Septon found with the Seven. Oldtown soon became an even greater site of pilgrimage for the Faith of the Seven, and there have been even smallfolk living on my lands petitioning for my help to go on their own pilgrimage.
I, of course, refused them.
The hell were they thinking? They were still being fucking punished! The irrigation system wasn't even done, never mind the aqueduct! Did they think that just because some big new thing happened that I would be distracted from what they did before?
HA!
… Maybe in a few years' time, but until then, they wouldn't get help from me.
However, I did not prohibit them from making the pilgrimage.
At the same time, I emphasized how much more their fellows would be forced to work on their behalf if they chose to leave now.
The last threat was enough for most to shut up and keep their own in line.
-VB-
A month after the Voice of the Seven (that's what they called my statue in the Stary Septs), my Forge made an attempt and then subsided without anything to show for its attempt.
Despite nothing new to show for it with the Forge, my month between two attempts had been extremely productive.
First, I had done some work making plans for the leatherwork skill's products. Some of this investigation turned out great. Others, not so much. One of the bad interactions was the material requirement. Silk, for example, was expensive, even for me, and the quantity of silk required by some of the leatherworking recipes… Yeah, too expensive for an armor a normal soldier was going to wear. In the end, I decided that the armor set provided to my soldiers would be a combination of Green Leather Armor, Green Leather Belt, Hillman's Cloak, Hillman's Leather Gloves, Comfortable Leather Hat, and Hillman's Leather Shoulders. Everything else, they would have to get on their own. These armor pieces would also be worn on top of their normal clothes, so I was protecting their back, torso, arms, and head.
Second, using that template, I had gone and made… a lot of armor sets. Specifically speaking, I went and made a thousand kits, enough to armor all of my men twice over.
Third, I went out recruiting for more men-at-arms. Currently, I only had three hundred men-at-arms, but for the War of the Five Kings, that wasn't anywhere enough to hold my own ground. I still had time - years, in fact - but there was no such thing as over-preparation, and so I sent out heralds and messengers. I expected to at least double my numbers by the end of the year.
Fourth and lastly, I did some crafting for my sake as well.
The Ionic Chainsaw from before became a part of my outfit, but instead of leaving it as it was, I took a gamble and enchanted it.
The result?
Instead of a static tool, the Ionic Chainsaw became a cognitohazardous memetic weapon of war. To look upon me wielding it as my enemy was to feel a magnified fear, which only would grow worse the closer one got to me. I also etched blood-red runes onto the surface of the once smooth surface of the chainsaw, which added another layer to the fear.
As for appearance and armor, I doubled down on the cloak and staff of the magicians. However, I added a crown, if humble and more of a circlet than an actual crown, that would float instead of sitting on the crown of my skull.
Oh, and then I painted and dyed everything in purple and red.
It was also at the end of this that I got a new message.
Jon Arryn died in his sleep.
And the canon… was starting.
Chapter 22
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 22
-VB-
I expected the king to go North to get his hands on Lord Stark for his Hand of the King and released a sigh of relief when he did exactly that.
The king might like me, but I was nothing compared to his old pal who he grew up with and fought alongside.
So, where did that leave me?
It left me exactly where I wanted to be: somewhere out of sight and free to work as I saw fit.
"HA!"
I stood at the ground along with my men-at-arms, and we all trained together without the enchanted and Azerothian leatherworking enhanced armor. Each of us swung weight-equivalent training weapons, from staves to spears to swords and shields, and trained.
The current training was "outnumbered three to one" and I was part of the one.
"Fucking cheaters!" I roared as three of my men ganged up on me.
"Sorry, milord, it's just part of the training, yeah?" one of the cheekier soldiers asked me as he pushed me away while his two partners thrust their blunted wooden spears at me. Without any of my enchanted equipment, I was only slightly better than they were. I hissed as I took a hit to my stomach but dodged the other one, and slammed down on the shoulder of the one to my right before backpedaling quickly.
That's when the cheeky soldier came at me.
I struck at him with my own spear shaft, but missed. He took that chance to strike at me with his training sword, and I took a jab straight to my chest and rolled away.
"Defeat!" my master-at-arms declared and the troops whistled and cheered at three of their comrades' victory.
I gasped, panting for breath, while on my back on the ground.
"Lord Marris has maintained his defense for three minutes, which is a fat lot better than what I can say for the rest of you degenerates!" he shouted when the cheering got a little bit too loud. I taught him to use that word, by the way. Degenerate. I remembered going on a rant about the smallfolks after some of them requested time to go on a pilgrimage while they had yet to finish their sentence.
Yeah, I should stop thinking about that before I go on a rant again. I may still be more than a little pissed.
I groaned as I pushed myself up and looked around.
"Here, milord."
I looked up and saw Rosia standing behind me, holding a plate with a cold cup of watered-down ale. I took the chilled ale and downed it in one go, and couldn't help the groan that came after. Alcohol was best served cold, and I managed that by not just a cooling water tower but a metamaterial insulated pipe. The metamaterial in question, cotton fibers woven with iron particles and fibers measured in nanometers to match the visible light spectrum, prevented heat from entering while allowing infrared light, which still had heat, to leave unimpeded. The result was a fabric that cooled whatever it covered.
Sure, the evaporative cooling worked just fine but why stop there when I had a workbench that could make anything I had the recipe for, right?
Normally, I would, at this point, say thanks to Rosia, but I have been "instructed" by my advisors to do away with acknowledging the lower class in public. For a lord to thank someone meant they have done him a service. Thanking someone for doing their paying job was not worthy of a lord's thanks unless they went above and beyond, who also deserved additional reward.
This was something that Lord Renly, when I asked him about it through letters, also agreed with.
To that end, I was doing my somewhat best in public to not constantly thank someone, despite my transmigrated habit's insistence that I should.
Instead, I just nodded to her and moved on. Soon after that, I got up and left the arena to let the next match unfold.
Most of what I did involve this and tinkering. I had others oversee the constant improvements to the land, and the aqueduct neared completion.
"Up next, Team C and Team G!"
'Oh, it's a two-versus-four fight this time,' I thought as I sat down on an empty bench by the wall of the training yard. Six men-at-arms walked up to the field with their preferred weapons and took their stances. Two spears versus three swords and a spear. I wondered how they would do against each other. While swords certainly beat spears at close quarters, one must reach close quarters to have that advantage, and a spear, even better with multiple spears, kept people at long range.
I blinked as the Celestial Forge, after a month of silence, roused from its slumber.
I blinked as I gained… something powerful. It applied only to me, which wasn't as great as a few of the others I've received so far, but its purpose was to halve the time on any infrastructure construction speed.
Well, shit. I had half a mind to go and finish the aqueduct myself.
… but then again, why should I do extra work for the smallfolk?
No, I'm just going to work on my own projects.
I wanted to build my own castle bunker!
… Was that a stupid idea? Maybe. It probably wouldn't be much more useful than the workshop I already had set up. Hell, its only function, to protect me, was useless since I could do so much more than run and hide.
You know what? Nevermind.
I had better things to build than a bunker. Actually…
… Could I build a mage's tower? Like a wizard's tower? I had crystal magic, which I used to make my staff (and didn't have much use for after the king's surprise visit), that the Draenei used (and I am only just now realizing that I had two magics from World of Warcraft).
I could build a fucking spaceship if I wanted to, couldn't I? My only bottleneck was pure crystals capable of channeling magic that was the size of mountains.
… Okay, maybe not giant spaceships but I could do something… magnificent.
Yeah, I could build a wizard's tower, and if I used it to… let's say make a factory?
I stifled the grin growing on my face.
A little harmless "undead-be-gone" sticks to hand out to everyone and their parents wouldn't be a bad thing. It just sucked that I had to make the whole tower myself.
Chapter 23
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 23
-VB-
Being a construction worker seemed like a decent job… since I had clothes, gear, and skills to make this job so much easier than it could have been. The textile I made using the workbench, the metamaterial that dropped temperature with ease really helped with the merciless sun. Tools like my second ionic chainsaw helped, too. And then the construction time reducing gift. God, the construction halving skill.
Despite the fact that not even a week had passed, I had completed three floors of the tower. Sure, I had help from my smallfolk, but their jobs were mostly hauling the stones, timber, and other materials. The three servitors I had were the ones moving them - they were faster and stronger than mortal men - and I laid the mortar and everything else.
I've yet to move my workshop into the wizard's tower yet, though it wasn't because the two completed floors were smaller. Each of the tower's floors was actually the same size as my fifty-by-thirty yard workshop. They shrunk in size as the floors rose higher into the sky, but even at the end of the planned tenth floor, it would be no less than six thousand square feet.
Was it another castle at this rate? Yes, actually. It was a third of the size of my keep. Unlike my keep, which had been designed solely with defensibility and practicality in mind, my tower would be something to marvel at. I wanted it to be something grand in this dreary landscape.
Speaking of dreary, my aqueduct was complete!
Water from the nearby mountainside now flowed directly to my village, and made my next projects not only feasible but viable.
However, the labor used to make the aqueduct had been put to work as punishment for the smallfolk transgression and ended when that project ended.
"Welcome to my incomplete tower," I said without looking as twelve representatives of my Brownspear village's representative. "Now, before we get to the main reason why you have been called, I want to ask you all if I am evil."
No response.
"Your lord asked you a question."
Though the people have become more familiar with me over the years, they found themselves still a little skittish.
"No, I do not believe so," a young man with crow's nest brown hair and beard stubble replied after a moment.
"Do I use magic?"
"Yes," the same young man replied.
"Tell me, have I done anything to warrant mistrust?"
"… Yes."
I turned around and looked at the man in the eyes. "Please, do tell."
"You use magic," the brave fool gulped as he replied in earnest even as the man I assumed was the young man's father tried to nudge him to change his answer. "Magic… the tales of magic are never good. It speaks of evil. You are not evil but the magic you use can be. We do not know more than that, but using magic that the maesters and septons have always spoken of as evil made you untrustworthy… at first."
I gestured for him to go on.
"But you never killed when you did not. You killed a foul septon. You defended us from the neighboring lords who wanted our lands and newfound prosperity." He gulped again. "And you began to openly use magic."
"And what did my magic change?"
"Nothing significant," he replied. "We were - still are - wrong about you, milord. You could have demanded that our wives and sisters and daughters and mothers serve as your toys. Lecherous lords have done more for less. Instead you have used our punishment to better ourselves when you could have used it solely for your benefit." He bowed after saying so. "Thank you, milord."
I nodded. "Raise your head."
He did.
I pulled out my crystal-topped staff out of its invisibility and tapped it against his forehead. He trembled in obvious fear as the purple crystal lit up. "Do you swear to have spoken the truth?"
"… Yes, milord."
The light didn't change in intensity.
I smiled.
"Wonderful!" I grinned while continuing to put the crystal there. "If I were to tell you to spy on your family so that something like this doesn't happen, then would you?"
"… Yes."
No change.
"Why?"
"Because…. Because you are the voice of the Seven."
Ah, so it was that, wasn't it?
"Am I?"
"Are you not?" he asked. "You have sculpted the Voice of the Seven. All of us, the smallfolk, the septons, knights, lords, and even criminals can now speak to the Seven."
"And that warrants trust? What if the Seven told you to kill me?"
He froze.
"Speak honestly."
"… I will first ask why."
"Good man!" That was way more than I expected from a smallfolk. I pulled the staff back and tossed him the sword I had been holding. He caught it and looked down at it. It was a prototype of the anti-Other sword I intended to mass-produce. It had traces of dragonglass in its steel. It wasn't any stronger than regular steel, though. It just had a darker sheen to it. "Then I ask if you wish to be my voice to your neighbors and family."
He looked at me with wide eyes before he fumbled out some words. "B-But I am no knight, milord!"
"You will get better at swinging the sword," I shrugged. "Because as my voice, you will earn your pay by training, learning, and working. I will not ask you to do what the Seven forbid but this job will not be easy."
He looked at me with those wide eyes of his before he slowly knelt down and bowed.
"I-I obey."
Good. I intentionally had him picked out when I called for these representatives. He's been talking good things about me on the construction site. Most of it was how the food was good and how they got paid, however little it was. He was a logical man, and if I was right, then he was someone I could bring to my side as a trustworthy aid. His answers today only cemented my decision.
Sure, he was more a man of the faith than of this lordship and village, but all people changed over time. With proper prodding, education, and training, I could make this man my servant in time for the rise of the Others.
It also helped that he was one of the most liked and charismatic young men in the village. He would convert others in my stead. I did not joke to him when I asked him to be my voice. I would reward him for his honesty (little things counted) and he would go to tell others how mere honesty got him coins, swords, and a job.
He would be a catalyst for a change from within the people.
"No," I told him with a pearl white grin as I raised him up. "You follow me, my dear acolyte."
Chapter 24
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 24
-VB-
"Peter."
"Y-Yes, master?"
He was now a magician, according to Lord-Master Marris. To be truthful, though, he wasn't sure if he was. Oh, he's studied the "primers" his master provided, and they were… wonderful things. To know that there was so much more to the world than just what met the eyes? How small the world could be and how vast it truly was beyond his understanding…
The sun alone confounded his mind with its true size and the distance between it and the world, but he understood that it had to be far away lest it burned the world and him within it much like a bonfire burned those who got too close to it. This was merely the physical knowledge, the facts, of their world.
The magical parts?
He… wasn't sure.
One of the sections about the world that the primer stressed was the re-emergence of blatant magic and the White Walkers.
He didn't like that. He really didn't like even the possibility that the Long Winter could have been real and that it will return. It actually made him appreciate the fact that his lord was doing something to prepare, even if he wasn't doing more. Could Peter ask his lord to do more, though?
Considering how the villagers in his town reacted, he didn't think so. Hell, this wasn't the Reach, either, and their smallfolk was sure to be more fanatical than that of his village. So was this a blessing in disguise? Even if his lord was the Voice of the Seven, would it matter if he openly displayed magic that was definitely not of the Seven's - or more likely, the septons and septa's - orthodox teachings, then would it matter in the long run?
It didn't matter to Peter, because his lord showed that it wouldn't, so he accepted his lord's offer because his family's prosperity was on the line. He would gladly keep his parents, siblings, and future children in line if it meant that they would never starve nor live in poverty.
Except it wasn't prosperity on the line but survival.
Again, Peter made a great decision, but he wished that he hadn't known about the White Walkers coming back to life.
"Lord Marris…?"
"Yes, Acolyte Peter?" his lord asked while hunched in front of an enchanted shortsword. It glowed dimly, and Peter knew from personal experience that the sword was capable of slicing through castle steel plate armor.
"Did I do this correctly?"
It's been a month since he's been inducted into his lord's personal service, and it's been a wild month. He spent the first three days doing everything from running to writing because his lord wanted to know the breadth of Peter's capabilities. Lord Marris determined that he was a "fine specimen with the institutional education of a primary schooler," whatever the latter meant. Since then, he's been charged with two duties: to learn with both the mind and the hands. The former came in the form of being educated by the lord himself alongside a few others who had been selected like he had been, and most of this was spent learning to read and write better as well as "higher" levels of arithmetics. The more he learned, the stupider he felt for not knowing before. Was this why all of the lords and their kin looked down on him and the other smallfolks? It… hurt him to admit that it made sense. It felt unfair but reality didn't care.
Learning with his hands was what he was doing right now.
Lord Marris stopped and turned around.
Peter was told by his lord that he lacked the intuitive ability to grasp magic to wield it on a personal level, and that if he were to continue his education, magical education included, then he would need tools to do it for him.
And now, he held his first fully constructed hanging lamp. It wasn't just any old lamp, however. Instead of a wick with oil held by a saucer suspended by three chains, it held a saucer embedded with tiny gemstones - each worth his family's annual income - in such a way that they would channel, store, and expel magic and topped off with a glass "focus" that would absorb "ambient mana" for him.
He didn't need to understand the how right now, just the bare minimum know-how to use magic.
The glass focus wasn't there yet; his master would have to enchant a clear glass of his own making so that it would take in command words from Peter.
"You decided to use the whirlpool pattern," master said as he looked down at the bronze saucer.
"Yes, master," he replied. "You provided me with five patterns, but what I read about the whirlpool pattern's ability to store more strength than the others got me to choose it. Just like men and women with food, magic cannot work without strength, as you said."
"That is true," master chuckled as he reached to his work table's drawer and pulled out a single round glass piece from one of the neat columns of the stuff stacked front to back. He held it up to his face and frowned. Peter watched the glass piece glow orange dimly and briefly… and didn't shatter or turn to ash. "In one-go. Must be a sign that you're lucky," master hummed as he set the piece on top of the bronze saucer. There was a click, and the glass piece was stuck.
"Well, I was chosen by you, so I guess I am lucky…" Peter laughed.
"Cheeky," his lord scoffed before handing him the lamp back. "It should have just enough mana stored to pull off a spell."
Peter's heart thundered within his ribcage.
"Try ember shot."
He remembered the instruction for a focus lamp of this kind's use. He took a deep breath and began to spin it like a sling. Then he aimed forward and imagined fire as he shouted "Ember Shot!"
He watched in complete disbelief as an ember shot out from the lamp!
… Just not in the direction he wanted.
He watched in horror as the ember flung backward and landed on a pile of enchanted wooden training swords. The swords promptly caught on fire.
"Well, there goes my day's worth of work."
"Yes, milord." He was glad he wasn't beaten to a pulp.
"Work on your accuracy."
"Yes, milord."
There was a pause from his master; he usually liked to leave three advice at a time.
"Huh."
"… Master?"
"Nothing. I just… missed something. Let's get back to work. You'll make five more of those lamps before you go to train with the master-at-arms."
Peter felt blood drain from his face.
"B-But that's only three hours away, master!" he panicked as he stared up at the "clock" that master had installed in all of the important rooms of the tower and castle. And what about his lunch hour?!
"And it took you exactly forty minutes to make that. This sounds like you'll be improving your speed as you make those lamps, which is wonderful, right?"
"… I'll be a happy man once you have more of us to torture, milord."
His master laughed.
"Oh, don't worry. I'll be sure to pick on you more often."
This was revenge for the burning enchanted swords currently being put out by the "servitors." He just knew it.
Chapter 25
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 25
-VB-
Ignoring another failure of my Forge to connect to the greater constellations, I looked down at the two messages before me. The first had been expected while the second left me in surprise.
The first came from King's Landing itself with the seal of the King himself. Robert, who still thought of me as a good friend despite months and years of lack of contact with the magic spell that made him feel that way, wrote a very candid letter.
Candid because " hurry the fuck up and get your ass in King's Landing, so me, you, and Ed can get slammed!" couldn't be described as anything else. Sure, it was a rough invitation, but it had been one sent by a man eager to meet his "friend."
I also suspected that he was very happy to show off his friend who was the only blacksmith in the whole world who could make Valyrian steel. Certainly, there would be envoys from all of the Free Cities to join in on the celebrations of -. Hmm, no, King Robert doesn't think along those lines. He probably really wanted to just get drunk with friends instead of just by himself, because getting drunk with friends was fun but getting drunk by oneself was lonely.
What concerned me was the second letter.
See, it came from Stannis.
To Lord Alan Marris of Brownspear
Greetings, I am Prince Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships. I have heard of your artistic prowess as well as your connection with the Seven, for who but a saint acknowledged by the Seven themselves create a connection between them and the people?
I have a simple request. As you should know, my brother has gone north to convince his childhood friend, Eddard Stark the Lord Paramount of the North, to become the Hand of the King. While I personally do not believe that Lord Stark is fit for this position, the king chooses the Hand, not his brother. What I know, however, is that my brother will host another tourney as he ought.
My request is this: when we meet in King's Landing, I ask of you to use your power to heal my daughter, Shireen Baratheon, of Greyscale.
Should you accomplish this, House Baratheon of Dragonstone will owe you a debt.
Signed…
"'Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone.'"
I set the letter down and thought about it.
Helping Stannis?
If I healed Shireen here, then… what could I ask of the man? Ideas just kept popping into my head, and I wanted to try them! Could I use this as a chance to prevent the War of Five Kings from breaking out? Sure, it'll still happen, but if I get Stannis to support the more amicable Renly instead of trying to claim the throne for himself…
But would Stannis even consider it? The man was stiffer than a petrified tree. Would he accept trading Shireen's recovery for supporting Renly with what he suspected?
It would have to be something fantastical. There was even a chance that Mellisandre was already at Dragonstone, whispering into the -.
I remembered. Stannis was pushed to pursue the throne in part by Mellisandre.
What if, just what if, I, as a Saint of the Seven, asked for the detention and transference of one Mellisandre of Asshai to me? She would certainly make for a wonderful, and guilt-less, test subject…
"Okay, I guess I have a plan," I hummed as I tossed both of the letters into the fire.
Again, I needed to do something. It was the nature of politics. Sure, it wasn't the Twitter, Youtube, or regular TV news media outlet for the masses, but my audience was not uneducated and uninformed people - this was factual because just how many people knew the nitty, gritty details of politics beyond "campaign, vote, win" or how many people knew about pathophysiological chain reactions immune response system? - but the seasoned veterans of local politics.
Of course, I would do my razzle-dazzle "show off the goodies" again, but it needed to be different if I wanted to keep the incentive edge of the knock-off Valyrian steel.
Knock knock.
I paused in my rumination. "Come in."
The door to my solar opened, and Maester Wilhelm walked in.
As far as maesters went, he was a chill guy. Hell, he didn't bat an eye when I started making technological progress, brought the servitors out, and started practicing magic in public. To him, being a maester was no different than a normal office drone working in their cubicle.
Oh, am I suddenly the saint that made the Voice of the Seven? It didn't matter to him whatsoever. He just viewed the entire world with an air of an outsider, never mind the fact that septons and septa weren't maesters.
Actually, now that I think about Wilhelm, he had more light in his eyes after I straight up told him that I didn't care if a maester fucked around or not, literally. He seemed mildly more cheerful in the following days.
Wilhelm set his report on the upper left corner of my desk and then, after a glance and meeting my eyes, raised an eyebrow. "What devious plan do you have in mind, milord? You have that look."
"I have a look for planning?"
"You had the same look as you do now when you ordered me to secretly package your, in your words, knock-off 'Damascus steel' swords. The one you named Agamemnon, I believe…" he nodded to himself. "And then you went and hooked the entirety of the Westeros, even though it was nothing compared to your greater works."
I would have done something about him, but the matter of the fact was that my maester was an irreverent man who didn't even care about the Citadel.
The only time he looked alive were the nights he went off to, I assume, to the brothels (except there were no brothels in my lands, so maybe he was seeing someone…?!).
I blinked as I got a warning sign from my power as it connected to Large Scale Magical constellation and -.
I yelped not-so-manly as the castle shook as if something landed on top.
I hurried out, followed lazily by my sleepy-eyed maester. I ran into a servant, who was looking up towards one of the towers, and I followed his gaze.
I gawked as I saw that one of my towers - one that I had built but not used yet - now looked like a garden, inside and out. There were even wooden planks and attachments I never designed that were jutting out of the tower with doors that I never installed!
I ran around the castle and up the stairs.
When I barged into the tower…
My shoulders drooped. "Oh. It's a herb garden."
Nothing fanciful.
Just herbs… that weren't native to Westeros stared at my face.
Lots of herbs that weren't from Earth, too.
… Was that a Peacebloom?
It took me a minute to realize it, but I now had the most impressive herb garden in all of Planetos and that was saying something. Better than that, my Herb Garden - and I was upper-casing the title there on purpose in my mind - grew non-Earth and non-Westeros herbs; magical herbs from the world of Azeroth grew there, too.
Unfortunately, I didn't have access to any potioneering skills and knowledge, so if I wanted to make potions with those herbs - because they were magical herbs, what else did I use them for? - then I would need to manually experiment. I was more than okay with that.
I was just sad that now that I had something great to do, I had to go to King's Landing. Ugh.
… But speaking of magic, I think I knew what to do for my latest visit to King's Landing.
"Wilhelm?"
"Yes, milord?" my attentive maester drawled. "Your tone says you have a plan."
"Oh, I do. I do. Can you call up Peter to my solar for after-lunch meeting?"
"Of course, sir. If I may, what do you intend to do?"
I turned around and grinned at him.
"Since I am already known for my, let's just say, saintly reputation-"
Wilhelm stared at me with a deadpan, unimpressed, and disappointed stare that an Asian father would be proud of before he called me a "disappointment."
"-I'm just gonna bring all of my acolytes and show them off."
"You are showing your hands to potential enemies, milord."
"I know, but it'll also keep them occupied with my acolytes and not much more."
"… Ah, you wish to use your acolytes as decoy."
"More or less."
"Peter will be sad."
"The boy burned the enchanted wooden swords."
"Milord, that's over a month ago."
Chapter 26
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 26
-VB-
Rosia felt thrills of excitement travel up her spine as she traveled with her lord's retinue.
She was going to King's Landing for the first time! The thought filled her with jubilation, and she wondered what kind of lords and ladies she would see from her lord's side.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the Stormland breeze slammed against her. She weathered it, even moving at her normal pace through it, until it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Its departure, however, had been not natural.
She saw one of the "mages," apprentices of her lord, holding a cyan flamed bronze lamp in front of themselves no more than ten paces from where she was in the retinue caravan.
As she stared into the mesmerizing flame, she couldn't help but envy them.
Sure, she had known that her lord was a little weird - and possessed odder things - before he announced it all, first by becoming the Voice of the Seven (a title she knew he disliked) and then by taking on apprentices for his magic.
She had also tried to become an apprentice. Magic looked and sounded wondrous. She's seen the things he did, and wanted to do the same.
Lord Marris looked at her sadly as he set a purple gem down after asking her to hold it.
Nothing had happened, and her stomach sank.
"Normally, I can feel even a little bit of magic if it is within a person, and this includes the potential to wield magic even if they don't have a mana reserve, which is true for currently all of my apprentices," he told her. "I'm afraid that you lack even that ability."
She sat down, downtrodden.
"I'm sorry. This is something that is related to birth, so I can't…"
"No, it's alright, milord," she mumbled.
At least she had tried, right?
"There is something else I can do, however. Consider it a reward for your service to me so far."
She pulled her hand up and sprayed it out. On her index finger was a small bronze ring. Bronze was something of an obsession with her lord, she thought as she held her magical ring, her lord's reward to her.
He described it as "Ring of Protection." It used the sun's light to recharge itself and would protect her against both magical and mundane attacks. He's shown it himself, firing an arrow into the sky and then letting the ring protect him when the arrow fell to strike him.
She had marveled at the translucent blue orb that protected him.
She felt its protective warmth in her finger, waiting like a man-at-arms to protect her should the need come. More than that, she did not need to be aware of the danger for the "shield" to protect her.
She just needed to be careful and not put herself into harm to reveal her and her ring's worth. Thieves were all around, after all.
Still, she felt envious of the apprentices, because they could do more, even if they relied on tools made with her lord's touch.
She sped up a little and caught up to the apprentice closest to her. "Hello," she greeted.
The apprentice, a young girl, looked at her and gave her a stiff nod. Rosia saw that it was more out of nervousness than any arrogance of the nobility or those with power.
"Hello. How may I help you?" the polite young girl asked her from under her unnaturally immaculate purple-rimmed white robe. Rosia have seen on more than a few occasion dirt landing on those robes and sliding right off. "You are Housekeeper Rosia, right? A favored servant of Lord Marris."
Did it feel good to be recognized like that? Yes, yes it did.
"I am indeed Rosia. It's a pleasure to meet you…?"
"Charra," she replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well."
"I just want to know what using magic is like."
"… It's a wonder," she whispered as she looked down at the cyan flamed lamp, which was what blocked out the Stormland winds for this part of the caravan. Interspaced throughout the caravan, apprentices like Charr kept the wind off of the people, making their travel smoother for it. "I can do a lot of things, though Lord Marris doesn't let me do all of them. He lets the more experienced apprentices do things like throwing boulders."
"Throwing boulders, huh?"
"Yes. I want to do that, too, but he warned me that I was too weak for it. That I can't do it until I was older," Charra pouted.
Rosia thought that it was cute on the round-faced and raven-haired girl.
"What kind of magic do you want to do?"
"… Water."
"Water?"
"Lord-Master showed us water magic and made a rainbow in the air."
Rosia blinked. "Truly?"
Rainbow was a symbol of the Seven. Just as the Seven-pointed star had seven points, rainbows have seven colors, and each colors represented an aspect of the Seven. For him to effortless create a rainbow when only natural phenomena like rain could before showed the apprentices that he truly was the Voice of the Seven.
It was another thing to be envious about.
'Why not just say it?' she asked herself. It wasn't like she was going to make enemies. "I'm envious," she sighed forlornly and honestly.
Charra puffed up with pride. "It is something to be jealous about, right?" she asked not hurtfully but more centered on herself.
Rosia scoffed and pinched the little girl's cheek. "Ow ow ow ow-!"
"Yes, and telling me to my face that I should be jealous will make me happy?"
"You said it yoursel-! OW OW OW-!"
"Cheeky bugger."
"OW-! Okay, can you stop for a second? I need to turn off the spell."
She did, and the cyan flame disappeared.
The wind… did not come back.
She looked forward and saw a land beyond Stormland. Her first time outside the Stormlands.
It was a land of trees and soft breezes. Of a sky filled with fluffy clouds.
This was the Crownlands.
Chapter 27
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 27
-VB-
The world shat on everything and everyone.
'Well, that's not true,' Robert Baratheon, the King of the Anda-. Fuck it. Just Robert. Not the fucking king, not the first of his name, not the first of anything. Just Robert. 'The world is shit because the people who make it are shit.'
He wasn't completely a brute that his foster father and sworn brother as well as everyone else thought him to be. It's just that when he got down to it, he preferred to do rather than think. Oh, he could think. He thought a lot, actually.
He thought a lot about his lot in life was both the best and the worst someone could have it, because if he wasn't the king, then he might not have had to marry the Bitch Lannister. He might not have to deal with the Bitch-Lord Lannister. He didn't have to deal with the Small Council.
He could just wallow in his own fucking sorrow of losing Lyanna on his own, let Renly take over because Stannis was going to fuck everything up if he ever became the Stormlands, and just go to an early grave.
Aside from Ned, who he had just convinced to come down south, there really wasn't anyone he trusted or cared for. Was he fucking asshole father for not loving all three of his trueborns? Yeah, but Tommen was a coward, Myrcella looked too much like her mother if a little softer, and Joffrey was…
How the fuck did he get a spawn like Joffrey? What kind of a child except a mad one splits the guts of a pregnant cat and thinks it proud?
Fuck, he's met enough of his bastards to know that every single one of them was better than all of his trueborn! What was it? Was it the lack of hardship? Oh, he could try something about that, but his bitch wife would never let him. No, it would devolve into a shrieking and shouting fest, he would lash out and then feel guilty afterward.
Was it any wonder his life sucked?
Well, there was one recently great thing.
Lord Alan Marris, or just Al when they were drinking in private, was a new friend. Yes, he was calling a lesser lord his friend, because the guy was just likable like that. He was also very free with his outright magical gifts. The cloak he got from him wasn't magical, just new and awesome, but the point was that Alan was a trustworthy guy. Never asked him for anything. Never did stupid shit like the Lannisters or his brothers. Never acted out beyond what he had to do.
Robert opened his eyes when someone knocked on his door.
"What?" he growled out grouchily.
"It's Barristan, Your Majesty. You asked me to alert you to Lord Marris's approach. He is now nearly at the gate. And I think you should be out for his procession."
"Are you-?"
"He is using magic, Your Majesty."
Robert felt the few drops of ale in his stomach evaporate.
"… What?!"
Robert gawked in awe at what he saw.
As his friend marched into the city from the south gate at the head of a procession… And they were using magic.
Even though it was mid-day, they carried with them light brighter than the sun above the heads of each robe and hood-dressed acolyte-wannabes. The unusually uniformly well armored and armed men-at-arms were nothing but a hindrance to the light show. The acolytes of magic (what else would they be?) each carried a hanging lamp that swung gently from side to side with colored fires, sometimes even multiple colors at once.
The smallfolk and the Gold Cloak all scrambled out of their way. Cowards.
"ALAN!" he boomed with a laugh as he saw Lord Alan Marris no more than a hundred steps away.
The man wore the weird purple robe Robert first saw him in with an "ultramarine blue" cloak of his own. He carried the same gem-embedded staff of his. The interesting part was the… floating crystals. Giant floating crystals that were each the size of Robert's belly, and there were two of them floating, one on each side of Alan, as he stepped up.
And then Alan knelt.
"It is wonderful to see you hale and healthy, Your Majesty."
Okay, now this felt wrong.
"Okay, okay, no kneeling!" he growled out as he grabbed the man by his shoulders and pulled him. "The 'Voice of the Seven' should not be kneeling to me!" It was just an excuse to not have both of his friends kneeling to him.
Alan smiled. "If you say so, Your Majesty." He then turned sideways. "As you can see, Your Majesty, I have decided to stop hiding. I present to you the Crystalline Guard, my personal company of magicians and enchanted weapon-wielding warriors of the Stormlands! Call upon us whenever and wherever you want, Your Majesty. We shall answer your call to arms with glee!"
Robert stared at him for a moment before laughter bubbled out of his belly.
Alan never ceased to amaze and amuse him.
Chapter 28
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 28
-VB-
I blinked in surprise when, as soon as I arrived in my personal chamber in a manor I outright bought out outside the Red Keep, an omni-tool appeared over my left forearm after a violent connection between the Mundane Technology constellation and my Forge. A huge flurry of exchange happened prior to the omni-tool's appearance.
I stood there in silence and dumbfounded awe as I stared at the tool that could do everything.
So what did I do?
I fumbled for a full hour as I learned the settings, keys, and all the other works learning an unfamiliar electronic system takes.
"Nooooo….!!!" I realized in horror as I could literally plug in any other database into my newfangled omni-tool to make whatever I wanted, but all of my other database was in the Stormlands and far away from me.
Except for the database that came with the omni-tool.
I pulled up a screen to peruse through all of the tech now available to me, ready to be manufactured and put to use. My eyes glossed over everything from simple watering can to blueprints for entire dreadnoughts.
Dreadnoughts.
Not waterborne British battleships but spacefaring, kilometer-long continent blasters people called a spaceship.
…
Why was I subservient to a king? It would literally take me less than a year, thanks to the omni-tool and the Starbound workbench, to make myself a mass effect frigate.
…
Right. Just because I can make things on par with Tier 2 civilizations does not mean that I can rule over people. "No man rules alone" and all that. Besides, where was I going to get the fuel for Mass Effect frigates, never mind Element Zero? Even if I could conjure up enough fuel to get a frigate-class ship rolling, what would I do with it? Probably lay waste to the Deep North, that's what.
After that?
Everyone would come after me. It was one thing to have a magic corp at my beck and call but it was another to have a warship. I may have the loyalty of my magic corp but the rest of the world? Every would-be conquerors, power brokers, warmongers, and assassins would come down on my ass, and I would have to enact all sorts of measures and…
It was too much of a hassle. I'll just fortify my castle, thwart off what little attention I had so far, and then deal with the White Walkers as they came.
"Milord." I heard a thud.
My bubbles of rumination popped as someone knocked on my door.
"Who is it?" I was unfamiliar with the voice, but he sounded like one of my acolytes.
"I have a message from the Master of Coins."
Baelish?
I stood up and walked up to the door, feeling uneasy about meeting anyone Baelish might send.
I opened the door and -.
An unfamiliar person shot forward. His right arm lashed out towards my neck and -.
Bounced off.
He screamed as he backpedaled, his hand and arm mangled by my own improvised [Refraction] magic ward woven into my cape. I stood there, shocked as he ran off.
Did… someone just try to assassinate me so soon?
Picking up my staff, I stepped out onto the corridor and lashed out with my staff. The tip glowed blue and an arcane bolt shot out and slammed into the back of the fleeing assassin. The dark garbed man fell face forward with a cut off scream.
Soon, there was a stampede of feet as other guards quickly rushed to the sound of the scream.
I briskly jogged to the fallen assassin, ignoring the two guards supplied by the king who laid dead on the floor in pools of their blood, and quickly flipped him over.
I reared back in shock when the man's face was not the one I saw only moments prior.
"A Faceless Man…" I muttered in shock, because that was the only explanation for the sudden change of the assassin's face. I took a deep breath in and looked around. I didn't touch the knife the assassin dropped. The blade was tinged slightly in purple, and I didn't want to personally test if the blade was poisoned.
"Milord, are you alright?" one of the guards asked me.
"I am," I replied absentmindedly.
Why did the Faceless Man specifically say that he had a message from Baelish? Was it a distraction or did the egomaniac wanted me to know who killed him?
I knew that the Faceless Man "gifted" death but nothing in my memories told me of Faceless Man being dramatic about delivering their "gift" (Arya excluded).
Hell, was this person even a real Faceless Man or was it someone imitating them in Baelish's employ?
Was it Varys? He had reasons to want me dead.
I grimaced.
This was getting complicated and I didn't have enough clues for my questions.
"I think," I said out loud to the stunned guards around me. "I need to talk to the Master of Laws and the king. For now, all of you are dismissed and take the bodies with you. I will let my own acolytes guard me."
This was a lie. I was just going to put up temporary wards around the manor for my brief stay in the capital.
But I did need to see Robert and Renly about this.
I ignored the Forge acted up right then and grasped nothing again.
Okay, but seriously, time to see, at the very least, Renly. After all, as both my liege lord and the Master of Laws charged with the King's Peace and law in the city and beyond, an assassination attempt on me so soon after I entered the city would mar his reputation.
I was already fairly independent, but just how far can I push for more using this? I might even be able to guilt trip and bribe him at the same time, and once I had more of what I needed, I might be able to… do something.
I'm not sure yet. Already having a magic corps was already pushing things, even if I mitigated the possible fallout by pledging my and my corps' service to Robert.
I guessed that I will have to find out.
Chapter 29
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 29
-VB-
It was a disaster.
What else could it be?
The day a powerful army had been pledged to the king, the commander of that army nearly becomes assassinated?
There was a goddamn limit to the intrigues of the court, and this was taking it a step too far.
Never mind the fact that Lord Marris was his personal pick, the man raised to the station of a lord, but he was also the betrothed of his niece! He was one of the closest lords to the royal family. His family! An attack on him was an attack on the royal family - and thus, by extension, Renly himself.
If word of the attack got out, then it would signal to all of Westeros and beyond that the king and his allies couldn't even keep valuable assets and allies safe. He needed to find the culprit fast, if only to sate Robert's wrath when someone broke the news that Alan had nearly been assassinated.
"I do not believe that it was any of my demesne's neighbors."
Renly met Alan's firm stare.
"What makes you say that?" he asked. "They have been the most belligerent towards you. Outside of your own smallfolk."
Alan smiled condescendingly. "Aggressive as they might be, they have wasted their time fighting me instead of being my friend. They are also not wealthy enough to hire a Faceless Man."
Renly almost cringed outwardly, but he had enough training and experience under his belt to not show such weakness so overtly.
It was a miracle - or was it merely a contest of magical arms? - that Alan survived the Faceless Man and turned the table on the member of the famed assassin order. It was going to be a sensation. No, it was going to be a rallying point for the Baratheons. How many could claim to have survived a Faceless Man's assassination attempt and also call that survivor their family?
No one but the Baratheons, that's what.
"… Can you use your magic to find the culprit?" he asked his loyal subordinate and soon-to-be extended family.
"I can," he spoke slowly. "But I am not sure if that is a good idea, Renly."
"Why not?" he asked curtly.
"Because if the Master of the Law gave me, and by extension, my Crystalline Guard - a legal precedent to use untrusted and untested magic - as far as the rest of the world is concerned - to find a direct political opponent. "I believe it will give our political opponents a case for an alliance against us."
"And who would you consider our enemies?" he asked.
"Reach, Dorne, and Iron Islands."
"Dismiss the Iron Islands. They are negligible," Renly scoffed. "So then, Dorne and Reach, huh?"
"Assuming that no one else is involved, yes," Alan sighed. "If, let's say, a Stormlander lord is implicated using our magic…?"
Renly frowned. "No one from the Stormlands would accept it."
Alan nodded. "We would need more evidence than finger-pointing because that's what my magic will essentially be considered until such a time comes where its presence and usage is not only common but widely accepted."
Renly sighed. "Okay, so magic will hinder us. Do you have any suspect?"
"I… do."
"… Who?" Renly asked. He didn't like how Alan was hesitating. The man never hesitated. Oh, he patiently bided for time and deliberated, but he didn't hesitate in Renly's presence and letters.
"The Master of Whispers."
"Varys?"
Alan nodded gravely. "I know that he is a man who suffered at the hands of a self-proclaimed magician in Essos."
Renly blinked. He hadn't known about that.
"Wait, is that why he is a eunuch?"
"Yes."
"By the Seven, that's… that's a good reason for him to want you dead."
Alan nodded gravely.
"How did you come to find out about this information?"
"By magic, of course," his troublesome vassal replied with a grin. "I… also know more than I should about many others."
And suddenly, Renly realized that magic had other uses than the overt.
No, he should have expected it!
"Exactly what kind of magic do you have in your possession, Alan?" he asked as he leaned forward.
There was a pause, and Alan's eyes looked dazed and far away, but it disappeared quickly. Did something happen?
"Only I can use the magic," he replied with a sigh. "None of my acolytes are advanced enough."
"… Then why not use that magic to find the culprit?"
"It was how I discovered the Master of Whispers' past."
"I see. Nothing else?"
"It… isn't completely up to me for what information I receive."
So it was a little bit of unreliable magic.
… what was the cost?
Then he had an idea.
The thing that Lord Arryn was looking into before his death. It would be hitting two birds with one stone: understand the cost of Alan's magic and get an answer
"Then can you use your magic to answer some questions for me?" he leaned in. "and what would be the cost?"
Alan looked hesitant.
That was twice in one meeting. How curious.
Perhaps he was pushing too hard and too much at once.
"Perhaps next time," he said as he waved. "But if you do find a solid evidence on who called that assassin on you, be sure to let me know."
"Of course, Lord Paramount."
Renly smiled. "Good, good."
"… I do have a request, though."
"Tell me. If it is reasonable, then I don't see why i can't help move your request."
Alan smiled devilishly. It was the same smile he had when he gifted Robert and his children with their individualized gifts, the capes and swords.
"Considering that I almost lost my life, I would like to have my residence within the Red Keep."
Renly blinked.
He'd been expecting something ridiculous.
But then again, Alan had always been a reasonable man if with somewhat extreme reactions.
"I don't see why not."
"With my own Crystalline Guards along the corridors that I will be residing in and allowing them to do nightly patrols. Magic can find magic, you understand?"
Ah, there was that extreme reaction he was just thinking about.
"You realize that you are asking for things outside of my purview? I make and enforce laws, advise my royal brother, and carry out the King's Justice, not micromanage the Red Keep."
"But you can?"
Renly grumbled. "… I'll look into it."
Alan beamed at him.
Renly wondered if Alan was like him. He wasn't bad looking and the man did have a charming honesty about him.
Perhaps he'll have someone else ask discreetly.
"Speaking of which, I haven't gifted you something significant for you like I did for Robert," Alan hummed as he reached into his cape and pulled out a long box that fit into two palms.
Renly took it cautiously and undid the latch keep the two wooden lids together. His eyes widened as he saw what was within it.
He gingerly lifted a narrow dagger with the ripple pattern characteristic of Marrisian blade.
"A gift from a vassal to his liege."
Renly chuckled. "I will cherish this, my friend."
"Oh, and another one," Alan added as he pulled out another box. Then he whispered. "Though I do not do so, this is for your lover."
It took Renly a moment to realize what Alan was getting but he did.
Oh, well, that's too bad then.
It was another dagger.
"Put them side by side," Alan told him with an excited gleam in his eyes and corners of his lips jerking up.
Renly's eyes widened as he put the two daggers together to seamlessly form a shortsword.
His jaws dropped at the magic he just beheld.
He looked back up and saw Alan's grinning smile.
"Only best for the family, you know?"
"Only best for the family indeed," he muttered in agreement.
-VB-
Okay, there was another miss by the Celestial Forge but I'm okay with that. I already had a lot on my plate right now.
As I left Renly's office, one of my Crystalline Guards walked up beside me.
"Your orders?"
"I will be living in the Red Keep now, but the manor that I bought will still be in our care. I want the Third Arm stationed there at all times while First and Second Arms will ready themselves for a possible stationing in the Red Keep."
"Yes, milord."
"Good. The manor will be my new probably temporary workshop, so it needs to be secure, you understand? Secrets can get people killed. Or in our case, weapons we don't want released to the public will be devastating."
"I understand, milord. Any unauthorized personnel will be kept out at all cost."
"If they are not great nobles, then execute them on the spot."
The guard paused while I continued to walk forward, and he hurriedly caught up to me after only a moment.
"Yes, milord." He sounded troubled.
"Albert."
The guard perked up when I called him by his name.
"Remember that tens, if not a hundred, of your comrades may die if someone ever gets into the workshop and steals a valuable material. Worse, it may give our enemy a chance to understand my magic, which protects us all."
"That will not happen."
"Good. I trust you."
I kept the smirk to myself as I saw from the corner of my eyes him straightening his back.
"Dismissed."
He bowed and quickly disappeared.
I allowed myself to smile as I hummed.
It was intoxicating, this authority. To have others following me and begging for scraps.
Oh, I wasn't like this before, but ever since I put down the riot, I have become used to others bowing to my authority. It felt right and safe.
Or maybe I was always a manipulative bastard and it wasn't until recently that I got the chance to really flex it.
It was time to get back to the manor. I could probably make some wonderful things before the tourney started in the coming days. Who knows what I'll make? Even with just the Azerothian skills, magic, and database available to me, I could make some mish mash of hybrids that even I would not be predict.
Ah, the joys of creations.
Half of it came from surprising my friends and - more importantly - my enemies.
Chapter 30
Yay, 30th chapter of CH!
-VB-
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 30
-VB-
Varys sighed.
'Oh dear me,' he thought to himself as he poured himself a small cup of wine.
The latest scandal to hit the halls of the Red Keep was the near assassination of the up and rising Lord Alan Marris of Brownspear.
Or as people were starting to call the openly magic practicing lord: the Mage Lord.
It irked him a lot to have magic practitioner so closer to him, one so invested in keeping the Baratheons and Lannisters in power, and be unable to do anything.
He's already tried to insert a spy, but the damnable magicians had a way to determine a person's intent.
Sure, the details were not captured by their detection magic. Worse, the fact that the servant he tried to get into their camp wasn't even aware of what the work he was supposed to be doing made it harder for Varys to find the right person to slip into their camp.
Because if even a little greed was enough to set off alarms, then exactly what kind of person could join them?
-VB-
"As you have ordered, milord," my secretary/acolyte began as she read off of a paper. "We have had nineteen infiltration attempts, and have turned away all of them."
I hummed from where I lounged sideways on a long bed in my new Red Keep room. "What about the ones who didn't get picked out by the intent detector?" I asked.
"Two. A desperate girl trying to find work and feed her family and an old man who's more curious than greedy."
"Describe them in detail for me," I replied, bored.
See, I knew that people would try to get their claws into my Crystalline Guards and acolytes the moment they were announced in the city, so I made a faux job post, stating my will to hire servants to help my acolytes.
This was, of course, a ruse. Why did I need servants to draw water or clean plates when, I don't know, I could do that with a flick of my hand or a senior acolyte could do that for spell practice?
Most of my acolytes were incapable of using directly like I could, true, but they could use the tools I gave them, which, for some, included wands with preset spells.
Like cleaning.
Because like hell I was going to clean when I had servants, magical and mundane!
Where was I going with this?
Right, I was waiting for the two's description.
"The girl, who called herself Anna, is a fifteen year old from the slums. Brown hair, unhealthy yellow sickly pallor, five feet tall, and thin as a stick. The intent detection tool showed her as desperate, but it barely beat a few other intent and emotions like curiosity and fear."
"Fear?"
"Yes. When asked and told to speak honestly lest it hurt her chance at being hired, she responded that she feared she would be forced to offer her body once she is hired, either by sacrificing bits and pieces for magic rituals-"
"Which we don't do for several reasons," I grunted in irritation. Westrosi's idea of magic didn't apply to me, but it didn't stop people from comparing my magic to the native magic, which were the magic that required sacrifice to work.
My acolyte continued on as if I hadn't interrupted her. "-or by having to allow senior acolytes or yourself to bed her."
"… Not an unreasonable fear," I replied with a sigh.
While I had gone and made my Crystalline Guards successfully, the people within it still lived as they had before; their mindset and paradigm hadn't changed. One such mindset, one that never quite disappeared even in my past life, was that a woman might and could be forced to sell her body for one reason or another. Whether this was intentional on the woman's part or initiated against her will was irrelevant; the fact that this paradigm existed irked me because…
Well, if I was being honest, then I had to state clearly, at least to myself, that I didn't care because it wasn't something I had to deal with. I was not going to force an employee for sexual favor. I also wasn't going to be able to stop it from happening. I could punish it, but stop it?
I may as well try to stop human nature from working as intended, which was impossible.
What irked me was that such woman could rise to the top of organizations and become the new mistress of the very system that abused and used them when they were down low. After all, brothels were headed by former prostitutes more often than not, and they were just more open about using their bodies for services.
Ah, I digressed.
Perhaps I needed to be very strict about sexual relationships, especially unwanted ones, in workplace.
How should I go about doing this, though?
… I could wait for a stupid acolyte to make a mistake, but I didn't want fear to be the cause, because fear had a tendency to numb someone to itself over time. See enough people die and it becomes hard to care about dying, only how one lived before death came.
I could preempt this by holding a guild(?) wide meeting, laying down additional rules, but if I held such a meeting often enough, then my acolytes would feel too restricted.
I could make only men acolytes, but that didn't stop sexual relationships from happening after men rationalized homosexual activities.
Looking at you, Japanese Samurai and monks.
"… Make it clear that any sexual favors exchanged between employees will be met with heavy punishment," I decreed. "If any rape occurs, expect the rapist to be castrated and reduced to one of my Servitors."
I could make one. It might be hard, and I was certain to fail a certain number of times, but I had enough magic available on my side to turn a human into a magic-based automaton.
My acolyte froze and then shivered.
"Y-Yes, milord."
"Good. Make it also known that someone accuses someone else of rape not out of mistake but with the intentional intent to cause harm to the innocent party, then they will also suffer."
"I shall, milord."
Good, good.
"And if someone outside the guild rapes one of us, then report to me. If they are small enough, then I will burn them down to the ground. Everything but the royalty and the lord paramounts are small, and even then, I could make them pay dividends."
That got her to feel better.
Chapter 31
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 31
-VB-
Time passed.
I used the expected court and street intrigues. A "gift" here and a gift there. My men and women, my acolytes, walking out on the streets with guards but there to hand out soup and bread to the poor. The Gold Cloaks tried but failed to muscle in when faced with magic capable of intimately telling one's intent.
And then it happened.
Stannis Baratheon came to King's Landing with his retinue, and the first person he sought out was me.
It was…
The city already knew that I was powerful. I was the betrothed to the only princess of the kingdom. I was the head of the only known magical army in all of the world. I was wealthy, though not as wealthy as the Lions.
But when a royalty like Stannis comes to see me first and not his extended family? Not the crown prince. Not the queen. Not the court. But me?
It signaled to everyone playing the Game of Thrones that I was now a significant player. I was no longer a pawn for others like Renly had tried to make me become but hadn't expected to see me rise so quickly up the social ladders of the nobility.
So I greeted the man who unwittingly heralded my entrance to the Game of Thrones, and greeted him as warmly as one should for their in-laws.
Because this in-law was about to owe me a huge favor.
"Prince Baratheon!" I greeted the stoic and stiff man with a hug. The man had just walked in with his retinue into my workshop manor/institute, which was where I told him that I had everything ready to help Shireen.
The awkward and standoffish lord stiffened under my sudden friendly assault but let it pass. We were to become family, after all, and was in a private setting as well.
"Lord Marris," he greeted me with a simple pat before I let him part from me.
I then knelt and looked at the girl who'd come in with him, dressed from head to toe in concealing garment.
"And you must be Shireen," I spoke softly, gently taking one of her gloved hands in mine and placing a kiss on her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I claimed with a big grin.
"I-It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Marris," she shyly greeted me with a hurried curtsy.
I stood back up.
"Yeah, it's bad."
Stannis stiffened and looked around; my acolytes walked about, doing whatever it was that they did for their own studies and experiments (study material provided by yours truly).
"Do not worry," I chuckled before intentionally flexing the barrier around me. The soundproof barrier I'd erected the moment I met them shimmered before visually dissolving back into the background. "It allows sounds in but not out."
Shireen looked awed, if her body language was to go by. Stannis, on the other hand, looked alarmed. I supposed he had the right to be. Magic was performed within his vicinity without him even noticing.
"But I'm sure you want me to to look at her before I cure her. Come, come!"
I knew that I was being rude and out of order. Prince Stannis was still a prince and deserved the respect his station was owed, but at the same time, he was the one coming to me metaphorically groveling for his daughter's health and safety. Formalities had been dismissed by both of us independently or was done so when I approached them so physically.
I dropped the barrier and watched as Stannis carefully told his guard retinue to stay before following me with Shireen in tow.
I led them a door that looked like any other door in this manor: a well-maintained but plain wooden door with a handle. When I opened that door and led them in, I saw their wonder.
A simple diagnostics lab will look like wonder to someone from the medieval world. Or look alien. Either or.
I closed the door, locked it, pulled up another soundproof barrier, and then led them to a desk at the corner of the room.
"Please, have a seat," I gestured and they sat down with me. "First off, I'm going to have to scrap a sample of her scarred skin for me to know exactly what I am dealing with."
"Scarred?" Stannis frowned.
"Yes, scarred."
"She is still infected."
I shook my head. "No. Greyscale is not alive. What we will be doing is 'fixing' her appearance."
He stared at me for a second. "What does that entail?"
"Diagnostics and removal of scar tissue in a manner that won't disfigure her."
He nodded hesitantly.
"Good. First off, greyscale is considered infectious and 'alive' only when it continues to spread. Otherwise, you can safely say that it is cured, even if the person may be scarred. However, I need a sample of the disease to know whether or not it is a completely mundane disease or one made by magic."
He froze stiffly.
"Prince Garin's Curse." That was the greyscale's other name.
I nodded. "In this world, magic can come about in many ways. If you take into account that ritual sacrifices are a thing, then allowing even slightly magical person with some authority over his people curse you after having them watch the death of his entire people… sounds kind of dangerous, yes? What if there is a trigger that causes some other illness? We do not know, so I need to check for it."
Stannis grimaced.
"Is that truly how the greyscale came to be?"
"It is a speculation, but there are no other alternative narrative for its origin."
"I see. So if it is a magical illness…"
"If it is a magical illness, then I must treat it with magic. If it is mundane, then I can treat it with magic and mundane means. I'll probably go with magical means anyway because it makes healing and recovery easier. However, I won't know what I encounter until I have a sample to test it," I said and then gestured to the glass flasks filled with various clear liquids.
And then I reached out and brought out… three cotton swaps.
"One for the mouth lining, one for the unaffected skin and cut, and the last one for the affected skin and cut."
Two quick cuts and three swaps later, I dunked them into the liquids.
The first two remained clear; not magic and not bacterial.
The last one turned pink.
Viral.
"Good news!" I said as I turned around. "It's not magical."
Stannis let out a sigh of relief.
Shireen fidgetted.
"Okay then, let me see exactly how we will approach this," I mumbled as I brought out a different staff from my usual and lightly tapped it on her forehead. The staff glowed green, telling me that the disease was no longer in progress. The staff then dimmed to a dim orange.
I frowned.
"It seems that there are some greyscale still within her. Probably inside isolated pockets among the scar tissues as cysts…" I hummed as I pulled back.
Stannis and Shireen both froze.
"Which means very little, actually," I added with a grin.
I thumped the staff against the ground, and a dimly glowing green ring spread out from me.
Stannis looked ready to attack in surprise but held back. "What is this?"
"Cleansing field: viral mode. It eliminates specific diseases." Having a lot of time as a noble coupled with magical and mundane knowledge led to a lot of advancements!
For me and my allies, of course.
I tapped Shireen again, and this time, it came back negative.
"Wonderful! We can now get to healing her scar! Please lay down on the table there."
She did.
"D-Do I have to ake my clothes off?" she asked me.
"No, not really," I replied. "Since I will be using magic and not mundane means to excise your scar tissues."
She laid down as ordered.
I stood up and brought the staff down onto the ground before extending my hands.
I grimaced as I let the magic of the staff's crystal flow through me. The foreign mana felt spiky within me. It didn't hurt but did make me feel uncomfortable. Compared to what Shireen went through, it's probably nothing.
I took a deep breath in and forced the mana forward.
Find the soul.
Mana chimed.
Find the body.
Mana chimed.
Find the differences.
Mana… chimed.
Interpose the soul onto the body.
Mana screeched.
Interpose the soul onto the body.
Mana screeched again but after a while chimed.
Execute.
I took deep breaths and sweated as I forced myself to stay still while draining the crystal of its mana. I saw even underneath her clothes how she was changing.
The light died down and I staggered backward. To my surprise, one of my acolytes caught me.
Oh, when did he - she - come in?
Stannis quickly reached Shireen's side as the girl sat up.
She pulled her hood and scraf down.
Stannis's eyes grew wet with tears.
"It worked… !"
I looked tiredly at Shireen and saw that the greyscale scars were indeed gone.
"Wooo~… !" I cheered despite my exhaustion. "Sorry, but please come back later. I do not believe I am strong enough to continue for now. We'll see how she is next… time…" I mumbled as the acolyte bowed in my stead and dragged me out.
As my consciousness drifted away and the door closed, I briefly saw Stannis hugging Shireen.
I didn't cure her of anything, not really aside from small pockets of surviving greyscale virus, but appearance broke or made someone, and I made Shireen's future happiness and quality of life, things her father, a prince of the realm, could not give her.
For this and this alone, Stannis was now in my pocket.
I was sure of it.
Chapter 32
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 32
-VB-
"… Seven be Blessed."
Robert did not like to call upon the Sevens. He thought that the Faith was "bullshit useless" and merely a decorative tool used by the lords and Faith's own leadership for-profit and vainglory.
Never let it be said that Robert was stupid or uneducated. His brother simply did not care enough to use his brain because his brawn was bigger, but even that brawn was useless when the heart of that brawn could not have its desire.
For Robert to call upon the Seven in a positive light showed just how shocked the man was.
Stannis stood off to the side as Robert nearly manhandled Shireen to see that she truly was cured of her scars.
"So it's not just flashy magic he does," Robert muttered as he stood up and turned to look at him in the eyes. "Well, I guess I really did well in betrothing him to Myrcella. I just have to worry about him assassinating Joffrey and taking over."
Stannis froze. "Robert, he has -."
"Done us all, every single Baratheon, a favor. I know. He made the Stormlands prosperous, gave us a bunch of trinkets and capes, and healed your daughter of the scars of Greyscales. This doesn't change the fact that he's also consulted Tywin nor the way he has earned favors in the past week or so with half a dozen Crownlands lords."
He frowned. Would Lord Marris go for such ambition?
Stannis gestured for Davos, who'd been waiting stoically to the side, and the Onion Knight took Shireen to her room in the Red Keep.
"Even if he doesn't want the crown, he sure as hell isn't obedient like a Labnister dog," Robert continued after the door closed. "And Joffrey is not smart enough to not antagonize Alan, and you heard what he did when he got pissed!"
"Murdered a member of the Faith in summary execution."
It wasn't just but it was within Lord Marris's rights to execute someone for trying to blackmail him. In fact, Stannis would have kept the septon around for a little longer to make an example out of him.
"Exactly! If you think the gold shit that I have to call my firstborn and heir is going to be calm and calculating beyond his latest shit show, then I'm overestimating your intelligence, be abuse Joffrey sure as hell will fuck himself over!"
"… why not just change who the heir is?"
"What?"
"Why not make Tommen your heir if you think Joffrey will cause so much issue?" he suggested. "You did give Renly Storm's End and not me. That's a precedent you can use."
Robert grimaced. "I get it. I fucked you over. I was just trying to show you that you were my heir by giving you Dragonstone!"
Stannis snorted. "If you say so."
Robert grumbled. "If you hate Dragonstone that much, why not exchange it for some other land my Crown holds?"
"It's not Storm's End, which is my right as the second born."
"Well, I can't just remove Renly from being the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, now can I?!"
Then he grumbled and then sighed. "Tywin probably doesn't care who gets to be on the throne. Ned won't care. The Vale won't care. The Reach won't care. The Dorne fucking hates us so they don't care."
"But the Stormlands and the Crownlands will."
"They sure as fuck will! Maybe if Tommen was only a year younger, I could set up a sparring match. Joffrey is horrible at swordsmanship, so even half as dedicated Tommen, with all of his gentleness, could still win. I could use that as an excuse to make Tommen, a strong heir, as the heir, but their ages are too fucking far apart and Tommen too young for that."
"Is Joffrey truly that bad?"
"If I didn't fuck Cersei, then I would be sure that ship's not mine, but I fucked the bitch. So no, that shit is mine! I don't even know what's wrong with him, just that he's not right as a person! What kid splits open a pregnant cat's stomach to 'show dad the baby kittens'?"
Stannis silently agreed with his older brother for the first time in a long time. Even the few times he's seen Joffrey was enough to tell him that there was something wrong with the crown prince. Spoiled didn't cut it.l, and none of the Baratheon brothers ever acted like Joffrey. It was an issue deeper than that which surrounded the crown prince.
Lord Marris also avoided the crown prince. Why?
Lord Arryn also died in his sleep, yet he had actually called up on him, which was why he managed to come to King's Landing within days of Lord Marris's arrival instead of weeks. Why did the deceased Lord Arryn call him?
Something was amiss in King's Landing.
He intended to find out what that was. He would have to enlist the help of Lord Marris and his magic on occasion.
"I will try my best to dissuade him," Stannis grunted as he turned to leave. "He is not a Baratheon anyway; he does not have the right to sit upon the Iron Throne."
Chapter 33
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 33
-VB-
I winced as the Celestial Forge reached out and pulled down two separate motes of power onto my soul.
The first of the two was Pale Ore. It was a physical ore of… not quite mythical properties but certainly magical ones. Any weapon or armor I made from it would possess edge and strength would only be matched by other magical tools.
Clunk.
I also got a shipment of it every week that would just magically appear, but it was a small box of only a few handfuls of the stuff.
'Actually, Forge, can you hear me?'
I heard nothing back.
'Is it possible for me to designate a location where all of the new things you pull will appear at? I don't want to sound ungrateful, but it would be awful to wake up if I get married and a box slams into my wife's face in the morning.'
I got no response back.
I'll know the answer when next week came around.
The second gift, Antimatter Manipulation Principle, came in two parts: one part direct gravitonic manipulation and one part knowledge on how to make technology that emulates the ability. The first was the ability to manipulate gravity in such a way that I would never ever take fall damage as long as I was awake and lucid enough to handle the power. The second part was the knowledge necessary to make hovering platforms or giant planetoids within Earth's atmosphere if I really wanted to.
I got up on my bed and then jumped forward.
It took me three seconds to gently glide down, and by the end of it, I was giggling like a little kid.
Ideas formed within my head. Building a floating city would be hard, but using AMP would actually help me with making a Mass Effect warship and vice versa.
… I needed to start building. I have all of this political and financial capital now. I didn't need to dilly dally any longer. I was ready. I have been ready for some time: a base of operation, a will, and required manpower and resources.
Why was I delaying?
I stood up from where I landed after my brief gliding and sat back down on the bed.
Why did I hesitate?
I hesitated because… I was unsure about the process. I had the bare basics of an organization, but my trust in that organization was not as complete as I liked. Building what I wanted would also require such a large quantity of resources that bottleneck becomes a real possibility for iron and and and -.
I'm just delaying. I just don't want to commit because I'm scared that… I'll fail.
Because building a warship of that scale will be the first true challenge I would have.
My arms, which had risen up to grasp my hair in frustration in my inner tirade, fell away and slumped by my side.
I hesitated because the prospect of failure scared me. That's why, even after months of being in Kings Landing, I busied myself with politics, intrigue, and charity work because… because they were easy.
I WAS STILL HESITATING! STILL NARRATING INSIDE MY HEAD ABOUT MYSELF!
I shot up. My heart pounded, I felt sick, and I wanted to stop.
Instead of following my body, I surged forward, grabbing whatever clothes I could throw on without looking shameful, and burst out of my room in the Red Keep.
"Steward!"
-VB-
"Milord?" Wilhelm spoke up after entering his lord's office in Kings Landing.
Thanks to the portal Lord Marris made between his Kings Landing manor and Brownspear, Wilhelm could travel back and forth Stormlands and Crownlands with ease. It was a wonderful method of transportation, only marred by its uniqueness and the milord's unwillingness to open it to maesters and other nobles, not even the king.
"Come take a seat, Wilhelm," the young lord greeted him with a smile.
He closed the door behind him and sat as his lord instructed.
"Here is your new order," Lord Marris said as he handed him a parchment. Wilhelm took the order and skimmed it.
His eyes nearly popped out, and looked up in shock. "Milord-!"
"It's just a statue," he shrugged as if he hadn't just ordered one thousand tons worth of iron to be imported and for his own foundry to mass produce another thousand tons. "We have the money and resources for it."
"It is frivolous!"
"It'll serve as a defensive measure."
Wilhelm paused when his lord said that. "… Will it be another one of your tower, milord?"
He nodded. "It will be a stationary tower on the other side of the town," he replied. "Iron is necessary for the magic I am considering."
"Very well, milord," Wilhelm sighed. He trusted the young man. If he said it was needed, then it really was (to an extent). "Do you have preference as to where the iron is imported from?"
"I do," he replied. "The Vale is known for its mountains, and I am sure that the number of knights and soldiers the Vale's knightly houses and lords employe surely mean that they must have some source they get their iron from. If it is possible, I want you to buy iron ore from them. If it is not possible, then put us in contact with Braavos. I'm sure many of their rich and powerful will appreciate fine art. I want this project within the year if possible."
Oh, that's gonna be hard.
Chapter 34
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 34
-VB-
Construction began within the week with the spare iron I had squirreled away in between all of the experimentations, resourcing, and arming myself, my acolytes, and then the people.
I would have surely focused on improving the lives of the people when I first took power, and I did, but the people have shown me that to be a mistake. I wouldn't make that kind of mistake again.
As for what the construction was about, it was not about building another iron tower, unlike what I told Wilhelm, my steward. Yes, it would be used to construct something but that something was much more sublime than a mere iron tower meant to extend the barrier around my tower.
When I made the plan, I thought about making a floating fortress. It would have been a pretty good gig, too. In this world where dragons provided the best air superiority because they were the only air troop possible, a flying fortress would dominate everything and anything. The problem, I quickly realized, was the cost involved.
I was rich.
But I wasn't rich enough to build a flying fortress. From what my powers told me, building a flying fortress will require at minimum one million gold dragon's worth of materials. It would be like building an actual fortress on top of all of the magical and advanced technologies!
Unfortunately, I did not have that much money. Even if I saved up, I wouldn't have the time to build it before the next big crisis struck Westeros (Ironborn Rebellions never count).
On the other hand, building myself a pseudo-Mass Effect frigate would cost me only 100,000 gold dragons!
Yeah, that was still a lot, but it was a tenth of the cost of the flying fortress. On top of that, a flying frigate would be much more maneuverable, and its mass effect-powered spinal cannon would obliterate nearly everything up to and including the flying fortress I would have built.
Mass Effect was bullshit like that. 40 kilotons of TNT per shot!
I could almost see the meme in my head.
'Everyone in Westeros: No, you can't just make a weapon that can obliterate everything! It goes the rules of chivalry!
'Me: Ha ha. Mass Effect go Brrrrrr.'
… Yeah, overwhelming firepower was always nice. Just imagine how quickly and irrelevant I could make all "evil" magical things with each shot from the frigate!
Iron Islands? Boom!
True North? Boom!
Asshai? Boom!
And if all else failed, then I could just nab a thousand or so people, grab all of the materials that could fit into my frigate, fly out to space, and make a colony on a nearby planet or something. Once I got the power to make a portal to some other dimension, because it was going to happen at this rate, then I would just do just that and leave.
Of course, all of this was far away. I just started on the construction.
The construction itself required a lot of input from me. Sure, the Mass Effect Andromeda database had made designing the ship easy. However, all of those designs were made with the proliferation of Mass Effect universe's technology in mind. I did not have a zero-G shipyard nor the tools and equipment of that verse.
But I did have something close to it.
The One-Stop Workbench. It could make anything I wanted, though the size was limited. I needed to put everything together, so that's what I had the servitors do while I unloaded the materials onto the workbench.
It was an all-hands-on kind of work for me because only I could use the Workbench, and only my servitors had the necessary tools inside their grotesque bodies.
I also needed to alter how the ship was shaped because there was no way in hell I could make SS Normandy or something like that with how it was shaped. I didn't want to have to make the infrastructure to keep the pieces in place.
… I was actually very tempted to just make a rectangular box and call it over, but I wasn't that lazy.
And that was exactly what I was doing, working in my workshop at Brownspear Barony, when the Celestial Forge made for another reach. And… got nothing.
I shrugged and went back to work.
This time, I was making the element zero drive that would enable the ship to reduce its mass. Of course, the drive itself was too big for me to make it on the workbench in one-go and as such I needed to manufacture its components one by one.
I paused and looked at the ME R database before sighing.
I needed to make at least eighty parts, ten of which were the casing.
"Okay. Bring in the iron and the exotic rocks, boys!"
One of the funny things I found out about the Workbench was that, yes, it used the materials it needed (it didn't have to be processed, I learned before) but it didn't even touch the materials that it didn't need.
So if I needed uranium or the like…?
Well, I just told the Workbench's computer to substitute it with Thorium and poured a bunch of sand on top of it until the material requirement was met. I would have clean the unused sand afterward, but the entire process was entertaining enough at times.
Besides, I had acolytes. They did the cleaning.
Element Zero was something I couldn't make.
I did my best to substitute it with magic.
Boom!
I winced.
"I guess something in the matrix was off," I mumbled as I stopped the current manufacturing process and went outside to see what had blown up this time.
Chapter 35
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 35
-VB-
Despite the occasional accidents, the construction of my frigate came along well at a steady pace, and I expected to have it done well before the War of the Five Kings erupts… which shouldn't be too far away now.
My mage-apprentices - really, they were closer to enchanters than fully fledged mages - also improved and learned. My best student proved himself by making a staff topped with an obsidian seven-pointed star that shot fireball!
I showed him off, and now, I was getting a politely lettered "cease and desist" from the Citadel.
I, of course, promptly ignored it, because the people still considered me a "Saint of the Seven" and that had far more political power than that of the maesters.
"Rosia, can you bring me the reports on the holding?" I asked my servant without looking up from the financial report of my business. My enchanted Damascus steel business was not in full swing, but there was enough business and trade in operation that I still needed to keep track of where and what said business used and sold.
The second business I had in operation was a young one, and it was the sale of potions.
Yes, I was brewing potions using the herbs found in my tower garden. Unfortunately, I didn't know much about potions using the herbs I found in that garden outside of vague memories of my youth, so more often than not, the potions I brew were not good. As in they were failures that tasted like shit and gave everyone a stomachache.
I, of course, only sold the ones that were successes.
Tywin Lannister was my biggest customer on that front. So far, he's bought a lot of Minor Healing Potion, buying four packs of half a dozen of them for one hundred Gold Dragons per pack. It was the same price as a young nobleman's ransom, and he's paid it four times over for potions that do not work on poison.
I told him as much.
He also scoffed and told me that he acknowledged what I said - even as he bought himself two pairs of enchanted Damascus sabers as well - but also informed me that I was too focused on direct profit to see the bigger picture.
Fool, he didn't know that I was the one who saw even more than he did.
Westeros was simply one continent. With a single frigate equipped with even 21st-century weapons, I would have the entire world.
Whatever.
"Here you go, milord."
"Thank you, Rosia," I hummed as I took the papers.
"… Milord?"
I paused and then looked up. "Yes, Rosia?"
She looked upset? No, anxious. She looked anxious. Why did she look anxious? Was som-?
"I… I would like to be wed."
I blinked before facepalming.
I completely forgot that lords had a say over which courtier could marry who! I mean, I didn't like it, mostly because it was more work for me to do. It was, however, the custom of the lord of a lordship to be in charge of arranging advantageous marriages for his courtiers, courtesans, and whoever else came to work for them. This was limited to servants who were directly tied to the castle, not servants who came into the castle from surrounding villages or castle towns to work there.
So, let's say a cook would not be part of this.
This was also an old tradition that wasn't used everywhere in Westeros but prevalent enough that it was normal for a servant of a keep to ask.
"Rosia, you're not a servant bound to the castle," I told her slowly.
She blinked and then looked at me in surprise. "I'm not?"
"No?"
"But you pay us all so much…?"
"Ah," I said as I leaned back into my chair. "No, that's just me being me."
Of course, having the lord have control over their lives also came with compensation.
Which… wasn't necessary here?
I mean, I knew about all of this before I became a lord and hadn't implemented any of it, but the fact that Rosia, of all of my servants, seemed to think she was a servant of the castle?
"Oh," she muttered and now looked thoroughly embarrassed. "May I…?"
"Yes, yes. Go and get hitched to whichever knight, man-at-arms, or farmboy you had your eyes on. I always knew you were the aggressive one."
She shot me a half-hearted glare before bowing nad leaving.
This… left me a little upset. I mean, I wasn't upset about Rosia. I was rather happy that one of the first servants I've hired was moving along her life.
No, I was upset about the fact that I was betrothed to Myrcella and thus unable to get married until she came of age.
I could go visit some whores or even seduce someone like Rosia.
… But sex was time spent, temptation I'll risk, that drained effort from other ways I could become better.
Besides, I wasn't even in my thirties yet!
I'll… I'll worry about woman and marriage later.
Right on time, the Forge activated and drew my thoughts away from my insecurities.
I narrowed my eyes as I felt my mind expand in a way that was… fitting. Logical. Seamless. I now knew more than just the four Ph.D's I've gotten as a result of one of the Forge's previous pulls. I just knew more and saw more connections in fields I hadn't considered before (hello, theology and demonology).
… But most of what I now learned remained irrelevant for the majority of my work because most of the new knowledge was fundamental rather than specialized. I knew how to operate a profitable business. I knew how to seduce and sway political peers (mostly through hefty quantities of gifts and money). I knew how to manage my land.
I just needed to wait more.
… Ugh, I hated waiting.
-VB-
I woke up one day and found a letter waiting for me.
It was from Renly.
Still in my nightclothes and in my room at the crack of dawn, I sat on my bed and opened the letter that was labeled "urgent" and "confidential."
As I read through the lines, my eyes slowly lost their sleep and opened wide.
"Ah," I muttered. "So it's starting soon."
Renly was suspicious of the current heir's heritage.
I quickly left my chamber.
I wanted my frigate completed within the year.
Chapter 36
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 36
-VB-
Just like in canon, Jon had sent both Stannis and Renly the information about his suspicions about the royal siblings.
Renly, obviously, was incensed by this - according to him in the letter I received two days ago - because one of his vassals was getting married to an incestous bastard without knowing about it.
Of course, he bade me to be calm and patient so that he may fix this issue before it bears fruit.
Whatever he meant by that.
Of course, Renly had no idea that I intended to become my own man once the War of the Five Kings breaks out. Though he had been good to me, Renly was also someone who would plunge Westeros into an unnecessary civil war for his own ambition. His ambition was not, in and of itself, the reason why I wasn't going to help him.
No, the reason for my future rebellion would be his inability to be his own person. He would be Reach's puppet.
And, well, a bit of the Stormlander pride might have infected me.
I wouldn't leave the Stormlands. When Renly died and Stannis showed that he was puppet to someone else, I would rise up and claim Stormlands for my own.
But to do that, I first needed to make everyone think that I was on their side.
So, after two days of deliberation, I began to write a letter to Renly.
In it, I wrote about my anger, the betrayal, and so on and so forth, all of which were written to sway Renly that I was indeed very upset at this accustaiton and potential truth of the matter. However, I asked that he keep this information close to his bosom and not let it out too early, lest the "treacherous" Lannisters act before they were ready.
Now, I could have gone and created this network of letters, both signed and anonymous, that would so easily trigger the War of the Five Kings right off the bat.
However, I did not because I needed more time to get my spaceship ready.
No, I had to do the opposite. My ship could be completed within the year, but a year was far longer than what I possibly had with Eddard Stark's brash accusation after Robert's death.
So I needed to do two things.
One, ensure Robert, my "friend," did not die to a boar, which meant that some kind of healer had to be ready to help him in King's Landing, or even directly within the Red Keep.
Two, Cersei may need to die. It was her insistence on Robert's death that sparked the war.
Three, Eddard needed to be kept in the dark.
Now, did I do that? He was the Hand of the King while I was a "lowly" lord.
… Yeah, that's bullshit. I was one of the richest lord of the realm. If I wanted to meet the Hand of the King with the excuse of wanting to help my "soon to be related" royal family with their finances, then I'm sure he was going to meet me.
- VB-
Lord Paramount Eddard Stark did not expect to meet the mysterious and rather unorthodox Stormlander Lord Alan Marris.
The talks about magic had reached far up north as Winterhold, yes, and Robert showed off more than a few trinkets he'd received from Lord Marris.
"I heard that you were in your lands in the Stormlands."
Lord Marris, a dark haired young man dressed in fineries that no one in the North, save the Manderlys, could afford, blinked.
"Did you not hear from your friend? I have a magic road that connects my land to my institution here in King's Landing. It allows for near instantaneous travel."
Eddard blinked in surprise and then shock as the young lord's words set in.
"… Truly?"
Soon, they descended into talks of magic, and he was very interested if this new kind of magic could be used to better the lives of his people up north.
Alas, he learned quickly that very few people possessed what Lord Marris called "mana fount." Whether this fount came in the form of a "core" or other means did not matter; as long as one had such a fount, then they would make mana in their body to fuel magic with.
He explained that this lack of mana fount was one of the reasons why fountless magicians of the past and present often used live sacrifices to achieve the same result through sacrificial rituals; "life force" could substitute mana.
To hear that dragons were such mana founts also made the tales of Valyria and its greatness make sense; the dragon lords had literal magic on their side.
Eventually, Lord Marris began to speak of the reason why he was here to talk.
"… Lord Stark," he began after a pregnant and anxious pause. "I am unsure as to how to treat you."
Eddard looked at the man for a bit before he replied. "What do you mean? I am the Hand of the King."
"You are, you are," he replied. "You are also an honorable man."
"I have been called such, yes," he replied with a small bit of pride at the recognition.
"But honor has no place in Southern Westeros."
Irritation gripped him. This was not the first time he's heard this. "Yet honor and law are what keeps men from killing each other."
"That is objectively false, Lord Hand."
"… How so?"
"Honor nor law are not what keeps people from killing each other. It is opportunity. Robbers and murderers live inside King's Landing. Roaming bandits exist outside the city's walls and within Crownlands itself. I'm sure that you have your problems with outlaws in the North as well. The only reason why they persist when the lawful authorities arrest and kill them for their crimes and yet are constantly replaced is that there is an opportunity for them."
"What are you suggesting?"
"The same applies to lords, milord. And when you, as the Hand of the King, come across information that may be damaging to the entire kingdoms, sometimes doing the honorable thing would give people opportunities to cause chaos to our kingdoms. So I must ask you, Lord Hand. When you come across such information as you do in a position like yours, will you stand for the kingdoms… or for honor?"
They didn't talk much after that. Lord Marris left after leaving that cryptic warning.
Four months later, when he knelt before the new illegitimate king and the executioner's swinging axe, he understood.
Chapter 37
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 37
-VB-
They couldn't keep their inner demons still for a full year.
Not even half a year.
I went out of my way to warn Stark, but the man was stubborn in a way wolves were not.
Wolves knew when to back the fuck off.
Starks, apparently despite having direwolves as part of their house flag, did not know when to back the fuck off.
Did you know that wolves do not attack a sizable prey like moose and cows that held their ground? A good rear kick from a donkey would shatter a wolf's skull, and they knew such dangers. They knew when to back the fuck off.
The Starks didn't, and its pack leader got killed biting something he very much should not have.
I wanted to throw a fit, but it would be below my station. It didn't stop many others from doing so as they lost power, wealth, and influence in this sudden shift in power.
Technically, I was not one of those who lost power. In fact, I was technically more powerful than I was before because I was now a lord engaged to the princess who was the second in line to inherit the throne. However, the king in question was an insane, inbred, and irritable boy while the queen mother (because there was no regency here) was a paranoid, arrogant, and extremely petty bitch.
Both of them had to go.
I had been too focused on managing my fiefdom and the construction of my spaceship. Too fucking focused, in fact, that I hadn't even prepared for this possibility.
Robert shouldn't have died from a mere boar; I had given him quite the number of armors. The cloak that I gave him had already been enchanted to reduce any kind of damage. Reasonably speaking, I couldn't find anything wrong with his body outside of the damage he suffered, but that damage alone should not have been enough to kill him. Yeah, it had looked bad on the surface, but the damage to his organs and critical blood vessels had been minimal.
Hell, I spent time and effort closing everything up but he still died!
I even went through the fucking effort to cleanse him of any poison. I poured health potions down his gullet!
If Robert should have lived but didn't, then what was going on?
Well, I had a few ideas.
The first was that it was his time to die and the nature of this world prevented me from saving him. I called bullshit on that, and if that truly was what happened, then the world better expect me to blow it up, because I refused to be bound by such ridiculous rules.
The second possible cause was that… someone went and killed him while I wasn't there. He was indeed still weak, and if someone poisoned him while I wasn't there, then asphyxiated him…
Well, it wasn't like it would show up on a corpse.
The third possible cause was someone like Melisandre cursing him or something. With so many gods, pantheons, and their respective rituals, figuring that out would take me more time than it was worth.
… In the end, figuring that mystery out would have to wait.
What mattered was that I needed to salvage this goddamn kingdom so that I would have the time to finish my project.
Joffrey would never let that happen.
He needed to go.
Unprepared as I was, I have been preparing other projects as well. My magicians, for one, still flourished. If I ordered them to kill, then they would ask how quickly or how slowly. If I told them to die, then most would do so with a smile on their face because part of the contract for being my magician was to sign a contract that ensured their families' futures and prosperity should they fall in the line of duty.
… Okay, so maybe not death on order but the point was that I could get to do what I wanted.
Like direct air current in a certain way at this place and at this appointed time.
Now, have fifty of them do that.
I looked at the archer in front of me.
"Well, go ahead," I said while gesturing to the target.
The archer, a boy from the countryside here to become a magician, gritted his teeth and loosed.
And missed.
While I patted the boy on his back for failing part of the exam I was here to oversee and telling him that he had other parts of the exam to see through still, the arrow flew around the edge of the practice yard and out to the skies. From there, it flew up and curved.
And flew.
And flew.
And flew.
It flew out of the city.
And just as it reached its peak possible speed, a portal opened up, the magician working for me completely unaware of the fact that he did correctly activate the artifact I'd given him.
(I suspect he was very unhappy with his inability to complete his given task).
The arrow flew through, barely clipping the edge of the portal as it closed almost instantaneously.
And somewhere in the Red Keep, an arrow flew through the opening doors of the Throne Room and zipped across the room with a zip.
And firmly planted itself with a wet thunk into Joffrey's forehead.
All hail the One Week King.
Long Live King Tommen Baratheon.
Days from now, the grieving queen would also meet her end, tumbling down a set of stairs that was unfortunately very long and leave her head cracked open on the pavement.
Letters sent by me to Lord Renly and Lord Stannis would also arrive, and I - as the only "ally" of the royal children left in the capital - would call for a great council with the might of my magic cadre looming behind me.
The entire process would take at least half a year.
My ship would be finished by then.
Chapter 38
A/N: for those of you who are unfamiliar with this story, this is ASIOAF x Celestial Forge v2 SI with the usual randomization.
-VB-
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 38
-VB-
Previously on Celestial Hymn…
Robert died… he shouldn't have died…
That idiot Stark -!
Joffrey cannot be allowed to remain on the throne…
Long Live King Tommen… !
-VB-
King Joffrey's sudden death sent shocking ripples throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
The North, which heard how King Joffrey executed Lord Stark, became abruptly rudderless as they lost the target of their ire. The Westerlands, which had been ready to answer the call to arms, suddenly found their lord paramount's grandson dead and the succession in dire straits. The Stormlands also saw two of their dynastic members dead but with their own lord paramount higher on the line of succession.
The other lord paramounts and their kingdoms went into chaos as well.
The Reach didn't know how to react (or more likely waiting for ideal circumstances to react to). The Arryns of the Vale were quiet. Dorne was gearing up but they also lost some of that steam after the news of King Joffrey's death. The Riverlands felt lost.
How did I know all of this?
While it was true that King's Landing was where my cadre of magicians resided, I did have an acolyte or two at all times in the capital of each kingdom and used them to get into touch with all of the ruling lord paramounts and their advisors.
Yes, I communicated with them in realtime to let them know the shit that happened in King's Landing.
Now, why did I do this?
Part of it had to do with my plan to get all of the lord paramounts together for a Great Council. It would no doubt stretch on and on and on, which would provide me with even more time to get my ship construction finished.
As of right now, I was talking with Lord Stannis.
"The line of succession is clear," Stannis narrowed his eyes. "Why are you insisting that there must be a Great Council?"
"Because of the late Hand of the King Eddard Stark and the late King Joffrey Baratheon."
Stannis grunted.
The two of us sat in his solar; I arrived here earlier today via magical teleportation using a temporary portal network that I had my acolyte set up with a bit of my help.
"… You would be closer to the throne if you allow Prince Tommen to have his coronation and become king. Why would you stop that? What are you planning?"
I snorted. I knew he would come out like this: blunt and direct. "Lord Stannis, a war would break out. My magician cadre and I would be called up to serve in my capacity as a vassal of Stormlands if not as the betrothed of Princess Myrcella. This would serve me no good."
"… You dare say that a war on behalf of my family serves you no good?"
"Of course," I replied equally bluntly. "It takes time away from my research, magic, and leisure. War is not fun, and I am sure you are keenly aware of that. Why would I not try to prevent that from happening to me?"
"Because you can end any war easily."
"You overestimate me, Your Highness."
He grunted again. "And what would the Great Council achieve?"
"Ensure that the North's pride is soothed with reparations so that there are no wars. You heard what I saw at the execution. How the late king just went back on his words."
"… It was not a wise decision."
I nodded. "If King Tommen does not make restitution for his late brother's action, then his reign will start auspiciously. This will not sit well with any of the minor and higher lords, especially with the Targaryen pretenders still alive and well on Essos…"
He gritted his teeth.
"If you don't want to, then consider this a favor for what I've done for you so far, Your Highness," I said. "You needn't support me in the Council itself, only that you support that the council gather."
He stared at me for a while, trying to search for my goal through my eyes which were the windows to my soul. He didn't find what he wanted but found enough.
"Very well," he sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned back. "I will support your call for a council. Of course, if the other lord paramounts don't agree to it…"
"Discounting Iron Islands, I will do my utmost to see to their agreement," I replied. "It is, after all, in my best interest."
-VB-
If my talk with Lord Stannis was shaky but ultimately a foregone conclusion with how much he owed me, then my meeting with Lord Tywin was anything but.
"A council? If the North wishes to raise its banner in rebellion, then we will put them down like the rebels that they are," he snapped at me with irritation clear in his eyes but not in his voice. "What is this weak talk about appeasement?"
I knew I had to approach Tywin with a different method than one I took with Stannis. Where I argued for my selfish interest to assuage Stannis's suspicions, I had to argue for my selfish interest to assuage Tywin's disdain for me. I knew what he thought of me. An interesting but ultimately not an important player.
"Is it a weakness if I am doing it because I find the entire ordeal uninteresting?"
"… Because you find it uninteresting?" he repeated with actual anger leaking through his normally calm if stern facade.
"Of course. The North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Crownlands, Dorne, Stormlands, the Three Sisters… even Westerland."
"You speak boldly for a mere lord just because you have some ma-"
And right then and there, I unleashed my magic in its raw form.
This was my latest acquisition from the Celestial Forge: Sorcery. It allowed me to shape my mana into anything I wanted. It was… absurd, even compared to my other powers because for the abilities it gave me, it was one of the smaller gifts I had.
Tywin flinched when a blue aura flared up from around me.
"Magic is the ultimate expression of power, Your Grace," I began slowly. "It is undiluted, unfiltered, and raw in a way not even personal strength can convey. It is the very essence of your existence and will demand the world around you to submit and obey." I pulled my mana back, leaving me looking like a normal, if rich, person. I smiled innocently. "When compared to the pursuit of such intimate power, what are rebellions and lords?"
This was my response to anything that Tywin could say.
'I am ultimately above you. Don't expect me to come crawling to your command.'
Tywin controlled himself well. He didn't even fucking sweat.
"I see. You would even ignore your family, then."
"Your Grace, we're not family. Yet."
Another warning.
'Don't try anything too absurd.'
"… I will agree to this council. You are dismissed."
Without any retort, I got up, bowed, and left.
There was no need to further antagonize Tywin. I got what I wanted.
-VB-
The Reach was easy.
I presented them with my enchanted Damascus swords, and they happily agreed to it.
The Queen of Thorns Olenna did not like me at all if the glare she sent my way was any indication.
-VB-
Renly was equally easy.
I told him that the Reach already agreed, and then gave him a lot of gifts, both magical and mundane.
My greedy liege readily agreed when I told him that there were more such gifts for those who were agreeable to my attempt to resolve the situation peacefully.
-VB-
I didn't even bother with Dorne, Riverlands, Vale, and Iron Islands.
No, the last one I had to convince was the North.
It was going to be hard.
Chapter 39
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 39
-VB-
Robb Stark
He was not a strong man. He was a good swordsman but knew that he wasn't good enough to be compared to the likes of Jaime Lannister or the former Kingsguard Barristan Selmy. He wasn't ignorant of how others tried to butter him up.
But there was difference being buttered up and finding himself as the strongest swordman as well as the leader of the North.
Its king, one might say.
Its king, as others began to listen to that voice.
They would have declared him king if it wasn't for an acolyte of the Mage.
"Your Grace."
Everyone in the hall turned to the only silent participant who had been standing to the side until now.
The man was Aren the Mage, an "acolyte" of the Mage Lord, who was betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon and thus an enemy of House Stark. The man had arrived at Winterfell no less than a week before his father's execution.
"Why is he here?!" Greatjon roared before anyone else or the acolyte himself could say anything. "A Lannister dog should've left the moment it heard the news!"
The acolyte remained calm. "I am here as an advisor to the Stark in Winterfell. I give advice and facilitate communication. I do nothing more, Lord Umber," he replied. "So take this advice for free: my Lord Marris is not a friend of Queen Regent Cersei Lannister or Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister." He paused. "In fact, I personally think that he considers the royal family to be a pain in the butt."
The acolyte's words brought up Umber short.
"Huh? But he's going to be married to them!"
He glanced at Robb and he nodded to get the man to continue.
"If you must know, we magicians would prefer to hole up in our towers and workshops," the acolyte continued. "In fact, you may ask the servants in Winterfell. I also do the same. We are more concerned with how we can improve our craft than we are with power, politics, and posing. For us magicians, our magic is our power. Why would we seek to help the royal family when it is clear they wronged you? In fact, they might just do that to us and our liege lord. Why would we help them?"
"Because you're a Lannister dog!"
"Lannisters can't buy shit from us," the acolyte replied with a glare. "In fact, my liege forced the Tywin "I shit gold" Lannister to wait for his Damascus blades."
Robb didn't know that.
Sure, the Starks had not been in court at the time nor did they request any such blade for themselves; they needed to spend their money elsewhere that was much more important than fancy sub-par blades without history nor the strength for the cost of such.
That said, it took guts - and power - to tell Tywin to stop and wait.
"And your liege seeks an audience. With me," Robb repeated for clarification.
"Yes, Your Grace," the acolyte bowed again, which irked some of the more lords with what they saw as a simpering gesture. Robb also thought that the acolyte was overdoing it with the bowing but he didn't stop him; there was no reason to that wouldn't veer away from the subject of the talk. "He believes that there is a non-violent way to solve the problem at hand."
"YOU WANT TO BRIBE US!" someone roared. Probably Greatjon.
The acolyte ignored the shout. "My liege is calling for a Great Council."
That brought up everyone short, though Robb wasn't quite sure of the impact as the older and experienced lords.
He glanced at Lord Bolton. His father was told by his father to never show the Boltons his weakness but, at the same time, the current Lord Bolton was… not hostile. Robb just didn't know what was going on through his head. What he did know was that Lord Bolton didn't look happy at the prospect of a Great Council.
So it must mean something good for him and the Starks, right?
"Very well. I shall grant your liege an audience to try and convince me to partake in the 'Great Council.'"
The acolyte bowed again. "That is all he asks."
-VB-
And now, that lord would soon be here.
A shimmering portal opened up in the courtyard, which was surrounded on all sides by soldiers warily looking at the lone acolyte holding some kind of magical instrument. It looked like a trumpet.
Robb stood at the center of a procession of Northern lords, all of whom tried to not look like they were intrigued by this magical method of travel. Robb wouldn't lie to himself; he too thought of how useful this traveling method would be if it allowed a man to travel from the Stormlands to the North.
But he also knew that such methods of travel could be used to invade, and all it required was a single "acolyte" with a single magical device.
It was both a show of force and a reminder.
If the North didn't back off and join the Great Council which would drag the Mage Lord into the mess, then they would use it to end the conflict as quickly as possible.
"We are more concerned with how we can improve our craft than we are with power, politics, and posing. For us magicians, our magic is our power."
Indeed, magic was a power of its own separate from politics and the traditional aspects of war.
Speaking of magic, he glanced to his left.
Next to him, his mother stood with a glare in her eyes. She was a traditional and more conservative member of the Faith of the Seven. Even though the Old Town down south had declared the Mage Lord a saint or something, she did not see it that way. Magic was to be avoided and feared, not kept close and used.
And then a man stepped through.
With a deep blue cloak with white fur around the top of the shoulder and dressed like a knight with unfamiliar runes like that of House Royce yet glowing dimly even in daylight, Lord Marris walked into Winterfell's courtyard.
He looked around, spotted him, and bowed down to his waist. A show of respect.
"I greet the Lord Paramount of the North."
"And I greet Lord Marris," he replied. "Someone get me the bread and salt. And please, rise up, Lord Marris."
Thankfully, all of the Northern lords kept their silence for now, though how long that would remain the case was not yet certain.
Robb took this time to look at the Stormland lord born in the Vale. He looked… almost like a fairy tale. His black hair was glossy not with grease but cleanliness. He did not look weak nor did his armor look ill fit for him. He stood a head taller than Robb, only a little bit shorter than Greatjon. He looked average yet handsome. Confident yet humble. His shoulders looked broader than they were. He exuded a presence that made Robb want to avoid angering him.
'What would it be like to fight against this man and his magic?'
At this moment, a servant came out from the crowd and presented a plate of bread and salt. Both he and Lord Marris partook in the ritual.
Only once did they complete it did everyone relax.
Robb hadn't even noticed that everyone had been so tense.
"Wonderful. Let us talk inside now," he said and gestured for Lord Marris to follow him.
His decision today, tomorrow, and even a week from now would decide the fate of the North.
Chapter 40
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 40
-VB-
Robb Stark
Lord Alan Marris. A former carpenter and sculptor turned lord and magician. One of the richest man in all of Westeros and perhaps soon to become one of the most influential as well once this Great Council came to be.
Robb envied Lord Renly. If Robb had a vassal even half as capable as Lord Marris, then the North would not be in the current situation as it was. His father would not be dead, the North would be prosperous, and the only thing he would need to worry about was to find a good wife.
At the same time…
"What is it like to be a magician?" he asked. His curiosity just could not hold him back on asking that question. He's heard about the magicians, and already saw how magic could upend the doctrines and paradigm everyone had up to that point. That gateway of magic alone shreds what everyone thought about military strategem. What was the point of marching when the enemy could wait for you to get into a perfect position for their attack and then ambush you with soldiers fully rested back at home while theirs are tired after weeks if not months of marching?
Robb could see it already. If he went to war, then he would lose. Worse, he would die having known that the war was a useless endeavor.
"Not much different than any other trade, really," Lord Marris replied with a shrug and then took a sip of ale.
"Not that different, huh?"
"Well," he grumbled. "You have to get the materials, refine it, add your own special little something, and then once you are done, you have to grade it if you are the master or have a heart-thumping session of waiting as the master grades it. If you fail, then it's back to the drawing board, getting funds to get more materials, getting the materials, and so on. You study and pray that you get better. Again, not that different from any other trade."
When he put it that way, Robb agreed it didn't sound any different from carpentry.
"Do you not gain more from fighting?" Robb asked.
"I believe my acolyte already answered that question," he replied. "But ultimately, I just get more time to do what I want instead of what other people want." He paused, his eyes glazing over for a moment before he shrugged. "Westeros is not somewhere me and my mages can truly thrive. Not really. Too many players wanting too many things without the means to acquire and keep it."
"Does that apply to the North as well?" he asked, seeing a chance that he might, just might, gain some advantage out of this.
Lord Marris looked at him, unimpressed. He closed his eyes and hummed. "I have no idea about who you are like as a person. Of course, this means that I cannot say much about you and House Stark." He paused. "However, I have noticed that at the very least that the North is stable and without any major changes, both good and bad. It says a lot about the North."
"… I see."
"Perhaps, depending on how this war and the Great Council plays out, I might set up a second Tower here. There's a lot of room, after all."
Robb would like that very much. If there was another school of magicians here, then he might be able to get North men in, many of whom would be loyal to the North and not this mage lord.
-VB-
Alan
My musing words meant nothing because I intended to leave as soon as I could. Why the fuck would I care for the North?
The North's lord, Robb Stark, would take the longest to arrive. Even if he took to the sea for the fastest method of transportation, it would take him weeks if not a full month to reach King's Landing. If he chose to not brave the waters, then it would take him months to reach King's Landing.
I needed only six for my ship to be complete.
And I had the most perfect excuse to not help any of the Lord Paramounts from reaching King's Landing faster.
"Would you help me get to King's Landing, then?" Robb asked me and I shook my head. He seemed surprised by that. "Why not? Is your goal not peace?"
"Lord Stark, the time it takes for you and other Lord Paramounts to travel is an extension of the current peace," I drawled. "Why would I give you all an easy ride to King's Landing just so that you can make a decision that may not work in my favor?"
He grimaced and then glared at me.
"In your favor, huh."
"I already told you what I wanted, Lord Stark," I replied. "And I'll be honest. The North cannot win."
"… Explain."
"Let us assume that you are the greatest military tactician and strategist of all time," I began. "Let us assume that you are capable of defeating armies thrice your size." I set my hand down. "You will lose still because of three factors: you are surrounded, your allies are nowhere to be seen if you have them, and your straightforward manner of warfare will lose out to the skulldaggery of the South."
"You underestimate us."
I shrugged. "I might be, but let me ask you this then. If you drag me into this war, then how long do you think you will last against me?"
"You speak as if you are an army onto yourself, Lord Marris," Robb spat. "Do not overestimate yourself, milord."
I laughed. "Lord Stark," I said as I looked at him in the eyes and lost my smile. "I am an army onto myself. I could burn all of King's Landing today. I could burn all of the capitals of the Seven Kingdoms today, but I do not because I have no reason to. Drag me into this war, and I will have reason to burn at least three."
Chapter 41
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 41
-VB-
Robb Stark
"I refuse to believe it." Lord Marris looked surprised and then pleased. "You seem pleased."
"I am," Lord Marris replied as he crossed his legs and clasped his hands together. "You are the second lord paramount to question my capabilities."
He stared at the mage lord, hinting at him to continue with his silence.
"So of course I will be more than happy to show some of my power," he grinned.
He was confident in his magic, and Robb knew that he was more than a little curious about it as well. He's heard and known about the more subtle magics that the man and his acolytes have performed, but the magic gate connecting Winterfell in the North to Brownspear in the Stormlands was…
Technically speaking, Robb already knew that the mage lord would be devastating as an enemy simply because he can send any armies back and forth at will, striking his enemies' weak points at will. Hell, if he was a particularly dishonorable character, then assassins could reach everywhere, strike at the same time… and leave him the sole victor.
"How would you show me?" he asked.
"Why, I would show you a few things I can do."
"And your magic gate isn't one of those?"
"That?" Lord Marris smiled. "I consider that basic."
Basic, huh. Is that why the acolyte needed help? He didn't voice this, of course. He did, however, ask something else. "And what would you consider advance-?"
"-d?"
"Yes, advanced, not master or grandmaster," Lord Marris replied.
Robb turned back to look at the forest that Lord Marris had "shown" his expertise in "war magic."
Or rather, Robb now looked at what remained of the forest in that area.
A crater had replaced a thick forest, sitting at some quarter league in width. If this "spell" landed at the heart of a battle formation, then that was both the battle and the enemy army done.
"And all of your acolytes can do this?"
Lord Marris snorted from where he stood next to Robb on top of this hill overlooking the forest. "They wish they could do a tenth of what I can."
But a tenth of that was still good enough to completely wipe out an army's command structure.
"… No, if I am being honest-"
"Why would you be honest?"
"… Sorry?"
"Why do you say that you are being honest? Isn't it possible that we will be enemies?"
Lord Marris looked at him with pity. "Lord Stark, I have no worthy enemy. All I have are distractions, my students, my studies, and a betrothed."
-VB-
Alan Marris
Robb agreed to participate in the Great Council, and after having seen what I can do, his vassals didn't speak up against it.
What Robb didn't know was that I had used more or less all of the mana I had gathered in the past week for that little stunt and had just enough to reopen a gate back to home. Hell, most of my gears had their manas drained, too, for that stunt.
But I knew I could depend on the famous hospitality of the North because despite the grumbling of a few lords, Robb let me return home unharmed.
I knew that the North would show up. Even if I didn't know the specifics of my magic, I would show up to, if only to find ways to fight around my magic rather than dive head first into a conflict with that magic on the other side.
No, Robb - the young man, not a boy, who would have trounced the Lannisters over and over again - was smart and wise. It took a lot for a young man who was raised to have pride to lay down that same pride instead of drawing sword or stabbing someone in the back.
But I'd counted on that.
Unless Robb does a pony express, it'll take him weeks.
Weeks that I was spending modifying the hull of my soon to be spaceship.
See, I have spent a lot of time around people, and realized that, hey, there's a group of people who weren't absolute assholes and could use a ride out of here. Those people were my students, of course, and also my betrothed, Myrcella. To fit their crew compartments, I just needed to reduce the cargo hold.
Once that modification was done, then the normal building schedule should be followed through, which meant that I was still six months off at least from my ship's completion.
I paused as my Celesital Forge reached out again, and then missed. I shrugged. Just another miss.
"Master."
I looked to my left as I walked out of the portal, and saw the acolyte who'd been sent to the North.
I grinned. "You were brave."
"Yes, master," he bowed.
"And you know the reward."
"I am thankful."
I reached into my robes and pulled out a bottle filled with a shining liquid.
This was… Well, it was a variation of the intellect raising potion from Warcraft. Since I had the ingredients, it hadn't been too hard to recreate it. Unlike that potion, this potion permanently raised "intellect," which was less about actual intellect and more about increasing one's mana capacity.
It also took all of my Azeroth garden's lesser herb.
For the manaless mages, this potion was perhaps one of the few ways they will be able to naturally grow mana.
The other acolytes watched enviously as the trembling student took the potion and drank it there on the spot.
"Alright, chop chop! We still have work to do and research to perform!"
The crowd at the portal site dispersed, and I too went to my "shipyard" to help with the construction.
Chapter 42
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 42
-VB-
Alan Marris
I was finally back in my bas- I mean towe- home. I was back home in the Brownspear Barony. I would have to leave again soon if only to show myself for the former king's funeral and ascertain whether or not I was going to have to do something drastic.
"Master!"
I stopped and turned to my left.
Ah. Right. I forgot.
See, a lot of my acolytes weren't just smallfolk but there were some nobles as well.
This boy who just ran up to me had been one of the spare noble sons who joined before the war broke out.
"D-Did you succeed?" he asked quietly.
All of my acolytes knew about my mission to stop the war. They helped me with a lot of the teleportation and portal preparations.
"Yes," I replied. With four of the Lord Paramounts coming to the great council, the others will join as well, if only to not get left out. I will have to meet with the Lord of Dorne and the Iron Islands. Perhaps ask for a representative of the Arryns. "The North has agreed to come and join the Great Council."
He let out a great sigh of relief.
See, he was from one of the poorer houses in the North. His father had enough sons that he would be expected in battle. However, being poor, their house would not be able to provide much, meaning he would have to fight on the frontlines.
And when a lord fought on the frontlines, death was much more likely than not, especially for a people and land whose culture and military did not consistently make heavily armored knights.
The North was basically Russia if it had not been subject to Mongol rule for two centuries, then Moscow's tyrannical seven-century-long rule, and actually developed medieval feudalism. Hell, even their situation was the same. Catholics dominated much of Europe and the Orthodox only one large nation and a few rump states prior to Russia's ascension and expansion. The Faith of the Seven dominated multiple kingdoms, including large swaths of western Essos (though not as densely), and the Old Faith had only the North, the True North, and not much else. Knighthood and feudalism were very much entrenched in the South but weren't so in the North. Hell, there was even a good chance that the Faith of the Seven in the South was heretical to the Faith of the Seven in Western Essos where it originates from!
See? Lots and lots of similarities. One of the differences was that it was more likely that the South had a stricter lord-smallfolk relationship while the North focused much more heavily on survival. I say more likely because I didn't know the detail in full and I wasn't one to study the socioeconomics of two different religious cultures that I was going to leave behind in a year if not six months.
I came from the Vale, after all, and that place could not be the average representation of all of Southern Westeros, right?
Right?
Right.
-VB-
Myrcella Baratheon
Her betrothed came back after meeting with the new Lord of the North.
He was… different. He was a lord but he was not like her mother, father, grandfather, her brothers, or any of the nobles at the court.
Though he was almost ten years older than her, he didn't treat her like a child.
… But that was because he wasn't a noble at heart, was he? He was a smallfolk raised to nobility for his artistic talent. He brought magic and wonder. He was now trying to save the Seven Kingdoms from war.
He was dreamy. Or so the court ladies said.
But the same court ladies also talked behind her back, calling her a sow. A bitch who got lucky. A useless spare.
She was just waiting for the day when he would take her away from this snake pit. That's what her father called the Red Keep before he died.
'It's never too early to leave this place.' That was one of his last words before he died.
'Yes, it's never too early to leave this place,' she thought to herself as she rounded a corner, ignoring the arising murmurs behind her. "OOF!"
She fell backward, only for her movement to become halted when an arm swept around her waist.
"Oh, sorry, Myrcella! I didn't see you there."
She blinked and looked up at…
'Oh, he's very tall.'
It was Lord Marris.
He let her up, and she looked away from him. When she realized she was avoiding his eyes, she hastily patted down and faked dusting herself to give herself an excuse as to why she was looking away.
When even that excuse ran out, she looked up.
"Lord Marris," she curtised.
"Crown Princess Myrcella."
She blinked and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Whatever she felt previously held nothing to the shock and confusion.
"Crown princess…?"
"Of course," he smiled. "With King Tommen on the throne, you are the crown princess."
"B-But… woman can't become a king."
"No," his smile did not grow any smaller. "But you can become a queen if you wish." He held up a finger. "But only if you wish."
She cleared her throat. "I don't care for it."
His smile grew wider but also warmer. "If that is what you wish."
She smiled. He understood her, didn't he? If he was after the throne like so many, then he would be trying to coax her into taking the throne like a few had already tried.
Besides, she wasn't interested in the throne. She hated it. Joffrey may have… been an asshole, but he was still her brother. Father died because of it, and she was sure of that. Mother went crazy after Joff's death.Grandfather… he just wanted his grandchildren on the throne.
'I'm not even a consideration outside of that,' she thought dejectedly.
"Hey."
She looked back up. When had she looked down?
He smiled. "It's gonna be okay."
… She really hoped it would be.
Chapter 43
A/N: a little change of pace away from the politics of the world…
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 43
-VB-
I felt the Forge reach out, and dragged down something new. It was one of the more powerful ones… but the moment I had it within my reach, I didn't understand why it was powerful for something so simple.
Modularity, after all, was a design principle and not a special thing.
It wasn't like it was going to retroactively change my stuff, right?
… I was going to go and check that.
-VB-
Nope, nothing got changed.
What did change, I realized, was my perspective and ability.
See, when I was looking over my under-construction spaceship, I realized very quickly that a lot of the parts that went into it… were kind of unnecessary. If I changed those out for parts that could make interchangeability work. Like a slip ring, which was a component allowing for multiple wires, pipes, and the like to go through without messing up the actual wiring because it could rotate 360 degrees without a problem. If I used a modular version of that, then I could have reduced the size of the components room underneath the bridge/cockpit by at least 10%, which meant 10% more armor, bulkhead, or whatever else that would be more beneficial to use for that 10% reduction in space afforded by modularity.
It made me look into the blueprints of the ship.
Then I looked into the equipment that I made.
Finally, I began to look into the manufacturing equipment themselves, namely the Workbench.
… The Workbench was a work of art, and I hadn't realized how wonderful it was. It was modularity disguised as jack-of-all-trades.
By the end of my investigation, I felt like a big frog like a small well. Even the first few items that I summoned were like this, then what was the actual powerful stuff like?
I looked out my window on the second topmost floor of the Tower. I looked toward the construction site of my spaceship.
Was my spaceship enough if I ever landed in a place like Warhammer 40k?
… Of course, it wasn't. The foundation of my ship was essentially an FTL-capable corvette from Mass Effect universe. Not only were corvettes on the weaker end simply because of their smaller size, thinner armor, and weaker shields compared to frigates, but the majority of the systems inside it that were based on more esoteric Mass Effect principles had to be replaced with inferior parts because Mass Effect tech relied on Element Zero, which I lacked.
Modularity was great not just because it let me make shit better to fit the situation but also because it changed my perspective.
I can see why it's so big.
And why it was dangerous. Why the Forge was dangerous.
It changed my perspective. Something that took enlightenment - small or big - in most people was forced upon me, made to occur from start to finish in an instant, and didn't take mental, spiritual, or physical trauma. This was more than just knowledge. This was a change in ego.
Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.
… So what can I do with it?
-VB-
1 week later…
I stared down at the thing that I had made. It took me a week, even with the Workbench, because it was kind of complicated.
The thing about modularity was that if I wanted to create a contained system, it got really complicated. It was one thing to make a base form and gadgets I could add to and remove modules to.
But I did it, and the entire system was a modular.
In design, it was a gun.
In function, it was anything I wanted it to be.
It had a revolver system, which cycled through the module physically. If I wanted a gun, then I would spin to and lock down on the plasma gun module. Did I need a fusion torch? I had a module for that, too. Grappling gun? Well, I better be satisfied with a hardlight version of it with only ten yard range. Each module, however, was too big for there to be more than three module in the revolver system at a time, so I created a "module backpack" that let me store the modules, recharge them, and modify them. The base form, the gun, also had modules for it as well. Additional barrel for longer length (great for plasma fire accuracy), larger batteries for longer operational time, grips, stock, forearm stabilizer, and so on.
It… was a great tool.
It wasn't that I couldn't make it before. I certainly could have, especially after I gained the Mass Effect R database. However, this was not just a capability but also a mindset. Thinking about designs specifically with modularity in mind came easily. Things that I realized would have taken me hours to work out unraveled themselves in minutes.
And, well, I enjoyed myself.
I think it's been a long time since I just enjoyed making stuff without regard for the needs of my circumstance.
Chapter 44
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 44
-VB-
I found a way to bypass the time limit.
Thanks to Sorcery, one of the newer additions to my Forge's tools, I could control mana directly and will my imagination to reality, though there were still some limitations. It wasn't as grand of a thing as I bragged to Tywin as I put him in his place.
Why not use that to help speed up the build-up?
When the thought first struck me, I felt so fucking stupid! Why didn't I think of this before? Why bother waiting for the great council? Why didn't I think to use it as a tool?!
So I did.
I grunted in exertion as I used my mind and mana to mold molten alloy to the shape of my desire down to the millimeter and then accelerated cooling while holding the shape. Once it finished cooling, I welded it directly to the frame of the ship with just my mind, checked the structural integrity with my mana, and then moved on to the next plating.
Honestly, this was supposed to be the hardest and longest part of my ship's construction because, one, sourcing the metals - not just iron but the other kinds of metals like aluminum, nickel, and copper - was hard in a medieval society, and two, refining and manufacturing those into proper parts were less hard but also time-consuming.
But with Sorcery, I was bypassing both of these problems. Aluminum? A lot of rocks had it, just not in quantities that made it feasible for refinement, but with my Sorcery, I literally destabilized any rock into their base components, separated them based on the elements, and wala, I had the aluminum and a bunch of other stuff that I could also use.
Like uranium. And with a bit of finely detailed touch, those uraniums became even more useful. Doing all of this, however, required me to rest often more so than recharging from other activities like smelting and refining with mana, so I didn't do it often.
So the six-month timeline I had for the ship construction became drastically reduced to less than two months as long as I continued to actively work on it.
As far as I was concerned, this was amazing! Hell, I might not even have to entertain the thought of attending and making sure the great council ended with a peaceful resolution at this rate!
Yes, the thought of not having to babysit four self-righteous, self-aggrandizing, scheming, and aggressive lord paramounts did wonders for my motivation to see my ship done as quickly as possible.
In fact, by the end of that second month, I had already finished the hull of the ship, installed most of the parts, and even tested out its flight.
I took a deep breath in as I rested my hands on the steering wheel of the ship.
The ship, christened To Beyond , was a one hundred meters long by thirty meters wide hexagonal prism (fatter on the top than the bottom) tapered to a point toward the front and with a stubby pair of VTOL wings for limited aerial maneuverability. Not yet painted in any colors, it was a grey monstrosity the likes of which no one on this planet has yet seen.
And I was about to take her out for a ride.
The bridge/cockpit of the ship was very similar to the regular airplane cockpit from back home. In fact, it reminded me of large commercial airplane cockpits if airplanes had magic circuitries.
"Turning on power," I said as I pushed a button. Everything flared up with light and I felt myself grinning like a lunatic. "Closing rear ramp and all doors."
There was a clunk and then I heard the whirling and clicking of hydraulics as they moved literal tons of metals all across the ship.
I almost giggled in my authentic and cushioned leather seat.
"Engines on," I grinned as I flicked on a simple switch, and the entire spaceship rumbled. I made sure the wings were on VTOL mode and lifted off !
I watched through the cockpit windows as my ship slowly but surely climbed altitude before almost shooting up faster than I thought it could. The sudden burst of G's bracing down on me quickly became a suggestion as I used sorcery to will its effect away.
And in seconds, I was a thousand yards in the air.
I almost cried at the sheer exaltation of my achievement. I made it!
I could get off of this hell hole!
I was almost ready to leave this world, and I would once I got the FTL drive installed and a more permanent fusion plant built.
… And then I received the news.
A dreadful news and made my heart sink and burn at the same time.
Myrcella was poisoned.
Chapter 45
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 45
-VB-
Myrcella got poisoned?
At first, the thought didn't make sense.
First off, I was not someone who would leave an obvious soft target like Myrcella without any protections. The gifts I got her year after year? Each and every single one of them possessed some kind of defense. Poison defense was one such thing since I knew for a fact that the Martells were going to pull something. It happened in canon so why not here? So of course, I made sure to protect her against poison!
Second, she was supposed to be safe within the walls. I had acolytes residing within Kings Landing and the Red Keep itself. What the fuck were they doing?!
Third, Myrcella was poisoned, yes…
I found myself standing over her bed. She wasn't dead, thankfully, but her skin was dreadfully pale.
The sweet girl who didn't scream at me for being older than her, who smiled in thanks at my gifts, and was, in general, a good fucking person laid dying.
"And who is responsible?" I asked quietly.
The acolytes behind me didn't respond for a second before one stepped up.
"We suspect that it is the Martells but they have neither claimed responsibility for this nor were there any Martells in and around the city."
"Why didn't her poison protection work?"
"She normally does not wear the gifts you got her at breakfast. She's been sick lately so her meals have all been on her bed…"
"And since none of my gifts are even close to being sleepwear, she didn't have them on when she ate something poisoned."
"Yes, milord."
I let out a stream of air before kneeling down and summoning Sorcery from within me. My mana reached out and began to probe at her body. I could tell from even a preliminary look over her body that she was in a fragile state, and Sorcery could not affect something I did not know about.
That was it's one real weakness. It went as far as my imagination and pool of mana reserve could support it, but if I couldn't imagine because I didn't know, then I could not do anything. I had a PhD in medicine thanks to the Fantastic Four boon, but any number of poison could cause the symptoms I was seeing.
At the very least…
"Did you pump her stomach?"
I also had protocols in place.
"Yes, milord. We followed the instructions you left with us. The results were… fouler than any vomit I've ever seen," the anonymous acolyte (because I wasn't looking and I didn't bother to memorize the voices and names of four hundred plus acolytes) responded.
"Good. It probably means you got some of the poison out of her system and kept her alive as a result. Good job." Instead of acting on my knowledge of medicine by directly interfering with her biological processes, I continued to "scan" her with my mana.
… I found the issue. Whatever the poison was, it was being absorbed through the intestine and causing damages all along the blood vessels as they travel but most critically in the liver and the lymph nodes where they start to impact initially. It's some sort of bioabsorbable caustic agent that doesn't activate until it's been metabolized hepatically.
Now that I knew what I was fighting, I let my mana seep into her and begin eradicating the substance.
"The rest of you can go," I ordered. "But make sure this room is guarded."
It took me nine hours of nonstop work just to remove all of the poison from her system.
Sure, it was nothing compared to what some of the more lengthy surgeries were like, according to the PhD shoved into my brain, but it was still nine hours of sitting still while concentrating simply on the task of using my mana to neutralize the poison one clump at a time.
God, this was why I preferred to table flip the landscape. It's so much more satisfying.
At the end of it all, I still felt better once Myrcella, my blonde sweetheart, was finally safe and no longer in danger of bleeding from the inside out.
Now that she was safe…
Someone needed to pay.
Even as I fell asleep next to her bed, I began to suspect that the Martells might be behind this one.
And wouldn't it be jolly fun to test my new spaceship's untested kinetic weapons on Dorne? From orbit?
Something to think about.
-VB-
Myrcella let out a sigh.
She'd fallen ill.
It happened once in a while, but it was a little tougher this time. The fever got a little too high for the Grand Maester's liking, and even her betrothed's acolytes had been called up to help her with her pain.
She was surprised that there was magic to reduce pain.
It was probably one of the best things about magic she knows so far.
She set her spoon down after finishing up the wheat porridge. She knew that she was sick because the porridge today didn't quite taste right, but hopefully, she'll -.
Drip .
She froze because she didn't think she was a messy eater but something had just dribbled down her lips. Blushing a little, she reached up with her handkerchief and -.
Drip .
She pulled the handkerchief back… and saw red.
"… Ah." She continued to stare at it with wide eyes. "Kathy, I think something is wrong with me."
And then the pain hit.
But there was no pain anymore.
Her eyes slowly slid open. Myrcella looked up at her room's familiar ceiling and pivoted her head around the pillow.
To her surprise, she found her betrothed slumped next to the bed to her left.
He came to see her. He must have heard she was sick.
… It made her happy. Mother never visited her when she got sick. Joffrey never did, either. Father did. Twice. Tommen was the only other person who ever came by to see her aside from the maids and servants.
She hesitantly reached out with her filthy hand and laid it over her betrothed's hand that had been right next to her hand. He didn't wake up.
He must have been tired, doing his lordly duties and still finding time to come see her.
…
Why did that make her want to cry so much?
-VB-
A/N: revenge comes next.
Chapter 46
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 46
-VB-
I tried to take the time to find the trace of the poison and its supplier, but it didn't take me more than two hours to determine that whoever had been responsible for the poison was long gone and their trail was cold even before I had touched it.
Poison was… usually the work of the Martells.
But!
BUT!
Just because it could be them doesn't mean that it was them. This could be a plot by one of their enemies - and they had many - to pit the rest of the kingdoms against them. To pit me against them.
As much as I did not like the Martells because they were Myrcella's life because of who her parents were (canon showed as much), I also hated the idea that I would do someone else's work.
So… I'll just have to make a few trinkets and take a visit to Dorne.
"What are you making, master?" one of the Red Keep acolytes asked me.
Mere hours after I woke up and confirmed Myrcella's improved condition, I returned to my tower, collected the necessary reagents and items, and came back to the Red Keep to work while keeping on eye out on the situation.
"An intent detector," I replied. I fiddled with the clockwork internals of the device in front of me as my Sorcery reached out and altered some of the "nature" of the gears. They would become sensitive to "intent," and depending on which gear rotated, I would see the intensity, general direction, and target of the intent. It wasn't going to be 100% accurate, but that wasn't the point.
This was an excuse for me. Whether it would become an excuse to not kill someone or blast a city would be decided later.
"Here, come touch this for a second," I said as I closed the pocket watch-like device. The three topmost gears froze the moment the top clear lid closed. The acolyte looked at the device curiously before touching it.
He shivered.
"W-What was that?" he asked me.
"That's the magic of the Identifier connecting to your soul," I hummed. "Let's start with easy questions since I'm trying to just determine whether or not it works. Do you distrust me?"
"Um, no?"
The black gear ticked left, the red gear ticked right, and the blue gear didn't move.
True. Internal. Certain.
"Are you learning magic from me for magic's sake or because you want to use magic?"
He frowned. "I… want to use magic. Do things other people can't."
The black gear ticked left, the red gear ticked left, and the blue gear didn't move.
True. External. Certain.
"Hmm, thank you. You may let go now."
But the acolyte didn't.
"… master?"
"Hmm?"
"Does this mean that this device can tell me things that even I am not certain about myself?"
I paused and glanced at him. Which acolyte was this…? Oh right, this was one of the Brownspear Barony's people. The ones that I don't quite trust after they listened to that bastard septon.
"Yes," I replied slowly. "Are there things you wish to learn about yourself?"
"… If it truly connects to my soul, then isn't this perhaps the first chance for me to understand who I am with some certainty?"
"Yes," I agreed. "But who you are may not be who you want to be. Are you sure you want to explore that?" I did. I wanted to see the extent of my new device's function.
The man looked hesitant before he took a deep breath in and nodded.
… I could respect a man like this. "You are Acolyte Hosus, right?"
"Yes, master. I am honored you remember my name."
The device agreed that he did feel honored.
"It's because I have a hard time remembering all of the acolytes' names, isn't it?"
He stuttered.
The device showed his stuttering was an answer enough.
I chuckled. "Alright, let's test it out."
Briefly, the Forge reached out and missed by a hair's margin.
Shucks, but I had more than I needed so far.
-VB-
A day after my test with Acolyte Hosus, a dozen acolytes and I boarded To Beyond for its first-ever long-distance trip.
Many of the acolytes jittered with excitement, and I could totally understand that.
However, this trip was serious and I needed them to be ready.
"All hands to their assigned stations, please," I spoke through the comms, and they skittered about.
With more familiarity than before, I turned on the power, the engines, the thrusters, and the inertia dampener. I lifted us up and watched the world grow smaller. I heard many of the acolytes gasping as they looked out of the windows.
Then I turned my ship directly south and put the ship to a cruise speed of 1,000 kilometers per hour. It meant that we should be arriving at Sunspear in a little over an hour.
"Alright, we're on our way to Sunspear. You can walk around now but please don't touch anything that isn't meant to be touched. Usually, those are hidden or look like buttons."
I sat in the captain's seat and waited for us to arrive at Dorne, but my hour of peace was interrupted when the bell to the cockpit rang.
"Who is it?"
"It's me, master. Acolyte Hosus."
"Ah, Hosus. Come on in." I pressed one of the switches on the panel in front of me, and the cockpit door opened. Hosus walked in, and gestured at him to take a seat in one of the chairs available. None of the assistant seat chairs were currently active, so I didn't fear him touching anything he shouldn't. He chose a seat that was specifically lower than my seat and sat down. "What is it, Hosus?"
He fidgeted.
"Do you… intend to join the war, master?"
"No, not if they don't give me a reason to," I replied. "You know what I have been doing so far."
"I do, master. Believe me, I do. I helped with some of the enchantments and rituals."
I nodded. "I did think you were familiar."
He smiled. "But master… do you intend to… attack Dorne?"
"Hmm? Attack them? No…" I leaned in. "Not if they don't give me a reason to."
He froze for a second before he gulped. "Master, I'd… I'd like to ask for a favor."
"You can ask, but there is no guarantee that I will do it for you. And even if I do, I hope you understand that this will put you in debt to me."
"I do, master, I do!" he gulped. "It's… I… you know that I am from a merchant family in your lands."
"I do." That was information I heard in our literal soul-searching session yesterday. "What of it?"
"My family has friends in Sunspear, master, and I am betrothed to one of their daughters."
"… You're not asking me to kill her, are you?""
He looked horrified. "No, master! I just… If… If you truly intend to do nothing that's not warranted, then I have nothing to fear. But if y-you are… then could you give me time to bring them out of the city before… whatever it is you intend to do if the Martells did intend you and yours harm?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Sure," I smiled. "But I will not wait more than an hour after I drop you off. If you cannot bring them to join us on To Beyond, then either you come back alone or you don't come back at all."
He shivered.
"Of course, master."
"As long as we understand each other, then that's good. Oh, and congratulations on your betrothal. I don't think I knew about that. You know what, I'll do this as a belated betrothal gift. I'll extend that time up to twelve hours or until the Martells try to flee the city. Whichever comes first."
Because if the Martells tried to run from the city in fear of my power, then I was going to just bomb the city.
… But then again, if they had nothing to do with Myrcella's poisoning, then I would just use this chance to load up on some shock and awe the Martells into joining the Great Council.
Chapter 47
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 47
-VB-
Doran saw a thing of fantasy. No, a thing beyond imagination.
He gazed upon the flying ship and felt himself grow terrified.
The Magic Lord was here.
Why was he here?
D-.
That rumor.
Princess Myrcella's poisoning.
'Of course,' he thought despondently. 'We're the primary suspect.'
He knew that the Magic Lord had been busy. He visited his liege lord. He visited Lord Lannister. He visited Lord Stark. He visited Stannis Baratheon. Four more important kingdoms of the seven.
They didn't have a reason to poison the princess. More than that, poisoning wasn't their tool of choice. Not even Tywin Lannister would poison people. Starks probably didn't even understand poison.
He watched as the flying ship - longer than any ship he'd seen in his life - slowly hovered down from high in the sky toward the northern gate. It was a declaration of intent for it was normally the northern gate that any land-based armies would have to siege.
But why land there when he could have landed or hovered over the city? Perhaps he couldn't?
And then, as the ship finally lowered itself down enough that he could see its top from where he stood on his castle balcony, he saw the flag.
The white flag of truce.
He felt like collapsing. Oh, no. He did collapse to his knees.
Anger quickly rose up after the relief came and went.
He pulled himself up on his shaky limbs. Pain from his gout shot through him but his anger was greater.
How dare that magician threaten him and Dorne…? How dare he march upon his doors with what was clearly a warship?
How DARE that -?!
He stopped.
He took a deep breath.
And Prince Doran Martell let his breath out slowly.
'The first thing I must do as I always have, as I have been taught by my father, is to act in Dorne's best interest,' he thought blankly to himself as he turned away from the balcony. 'My pride, my joy, my love… All of it will serve Dorne's interest. An anger that cannot be contained will be contained. It will be directed. It will be unleashed. But not now. Not when it does not serve Dorne's interest.
'For the Prince of Dorne is the Kingdom of Dorne.'
-VB-
Was it auspicious for my entrance into Sunspear to be heralded not by the guards but my Celestial Forge? And cranial implants that just popped into my head underneath the skin and bone?
I strode into Sunspear's castle and then to the throne room with no resistance. Soldiers kept everyone out of the way.
And now, I stood before Prince Doran Martell of Dorne, surrounded by his family and court. The Court of Old Palace reminded me of a mix between Arab, Persian, and Indian courts with a heavier focus on Arab and Persian than Indian features.
I noted that the Red Viper was here. He looked pissed but passed it off successfully as cool indifference. You can't fool my magic, bud.
"Greetings, Prince Martell," I said and bowed slightly.
"… I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Marris, but you have landed your flying warship at the northern gate."
"It seems I have, Your Grace. It is, however, with a very good reason."
"The poisoning of Princess Myrcella Stone."
"… I care not what you call her," he smiled. "But she is still my betrothed."
Doran observed me with curious eyes that had softened just a tad bit. I wouldn't have recognized it had I not been buffed to hell and back by my magic and other perks of the Celestial Forge.
"We are suspect."
"Yes."
"And you think just showing up will make your imagination a reality?"
"Of course not," I snorted. "But I have the means to force people to speak the complete and utter truth. Acolyte Hosus!"
The same Red Keep acolyte who dedicated every waking second of his time to studying magic stepped up with a box held up by both of his hands. He opened it and showed a necklace. It was of silver with a crystal clear quartz pendent. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't expensive.
It was, however, magical.
"Anyone who holds this necklace must speak the truth or the quartz will turn blood red. Acolyte Hosus, use the necklace. State one falsehood and state one truth."
"Yes, milord." He grabbed the necklace without a single moment of hesitance, let another acolyte take the box away. "I hate Lord Marris." The necklace bled red. "I love magic." The red light disappeared, leaving the quartz clear again.
The crowd around us oh'ed and ah'ed.
"Of course, I could be doing a trick. I could have made it so that certain phrases will just light up red. So Hosus, will you speak what I want to hear in three different forms?"
"Yes, milord. I poisoned Princess Myrcella." Red. "I ordered someone to poison Princess Myrcella." Red. "To my knowledge, I am involved in some way to the poisoning of Princess Myrcella." Red.
"… It seems like a fancy tool," Doran admitted. "But tell me, why should I bother with it?'
I smiled.
This was the part that was the riskiest of it all.
"Because I did find a trail, however, cold," I replied smoothly. "To a merchant who visits Dorne frequently… but a merchant who we found dead. By poison."
There was a stir in the nobles.
Even the Martells looked shocked.
"Had this been an era of peace, such a cold trail without definitive proof would not have been enough for anyone to raise a question. It could be a coincidence, after all!" I laughed. Then I lost that laugh and adopted a blank, half-lidded stare. "But this is a time when nothing is certain. And a princess related to your hated enemy, alone and terribly sad, is a very soft target, isn't she? Remove her and it's one step closer to avenging the late consort princess, isn't it?"
"You dare accuse us…?" Oberyn growled.
"If you don't want to be accused, then don't form a habit of using poison," I snarked back.
He drew his sword. "Such-!"
"STOP!"
Everyone stopped and looked to Prince Doran.
"I will also add an incentive," I spoke up once a moment of silence passed. "Should all of your present family members prove that you have not been involved in Princess Myrcella's poisoning, I will cure your gout and teach you how to avoid further episodes."
The court broke out into a frenzy, and Doran stared at me blankly.
We stared at each other in a contest of wills.
But it was neither of us who acted first.
Arianne Martell, who had been watching quietly, stomped up to us, very unlady-like, and snatched the necklace out of Hosus' hands.
"I, Arianne Martell, had nothing to do with the poisoning of Princess Myrcella!" she declared with a glare thrown my way.
The necklace remained clear.
I smiled. "Wonderful!" I smiled. She threw the necklace at me, turned, and returned to her father's side.
A young man who had to be Quentyn Martell was next.
"I, Quentyn Martell, am uninvolved in Princess Martell's poisoning in any shape or form."
Clear.
One by one, the little ones came and went.
And only Oberyn and Doran were left.
Oberyn sauntered up to me, grabbed the necklace with his gloved hand. "… I do not like you."
Clear.
"I don't expect you to," I replied nonchalantly.
He snorted. "At least you have balls of steel, little lordling."
"I suppose being a lordling is better than being without a title."
"… I, Oberyn Martell, had nothing to do with Princess Myrcella's poisoning."
Clear.
"… Honestly, I expected it to be you," I hummed. "Your brother loves Dorne too much to needlessly risk it."
"Well, I am happy I am proven innocent. Doran, hurry it up so this bastard can heal you!"
He brought the necklace to his brother.
Doran met my gaze.
He held it up for everyone to see.
"I, Doran Martell," he dramatically began. "And my household had nothing to do with the poisoning of Princess Myrcella."
Clear.
Well, shit.
Who the fuck was I going to blast then?
I smiled. "Wonderful! I didn't need to wipe out Dorne from the map! That would have been so bad on the coastlines everywhere, you know." I laughed. And with a wave of my hand, the gout I saw on Doran's big toe disappeared.
He blinked and looked down.
Yes, the gout was gone.
"Gout," I began equally dramatically. "Is caused by an accumulation of uric acid, which is normally filtered by our kidneys and pissed out. This means either your body is not healthy or you are eating too much food that causes gout." Despite the shock, people listened intensely. "Such foods include red meat, alcohol, and sweets. Avoid those foods or eat them very sparingly, like once a week and not in a large quantity, and you will keep gout from returning. Any questions before I leave?"
"Yes," Doran said. "Did you think I would simply let you go after what you pulled?"
"… Prince Martell," I laughed. "I had the Stark's entire army behind me when I did the same thing. Do you think that you can stop me when the baby Lord Stark couldn't?" I paused and smiled as I tilted my head to the side, making myself look slightly unhinged for the theatrics of it. I wanted to sell the idea that I was too dangerous to mess with. Someone who would burn an entire kingdom on a whim. Which I definitely could. "Or that should anything happen to me, my warship will remain still?"
Right on cue, my little frigate let out a blaring alarm that rang throughout the city.
A storm siren.
It was an utterly inhuman sound to those who hadn't heard it before.
"Because, Your Grace, magic can be used to make unliving things… alive," I grinned.
Ah, I could read what you're thinking about me right now from your faces.
Psychopath.
Sociopath.
Degenerate.
It just meant that my plan was working.
It's one thing for a sane person to make demands. It's another for an insane person.
Doran, though, saw right through me yet he did not call me out on it.
It was, after all, a cheap trick for both of us to leave this stage without much harm. In fact, the Martells might even come out ahead because of the truth telling necklace that I happened to not ask to have it returned. It still hung from the prince's hands, and from the way he tracked my eyes staring at it, he knew it too.
A give and a take behind a play for the audience to see, because I realized something.
What if Myrcella didn't want to come?
What if she wanted to stay?
My actions then had to not harm her after I left.
Pissing off the Martells?
Yeah, that's a very quick ticket to death.
Settling a dispute like this? Getting the confirmation I wanted and them gaining something in return?
Hopefully, Doran will talk to his brother and snakes about the underplay we did there.
"Then take your lapdogs and leave, madman," Doran hissed.
"By your leave then, Your Grace," I bowed.
And thus the curtains closed.
Politics.
Gah, it's so fucking complicated now that I have to worry about Myrcella. If she chooses to stay.
… Shit, I could have avoided all of this if I just stayed long enough to ask her what she thought about leaving.
-VB-
Perks Obtained this chapter:
5.008: Cranial Implants (Warhammer 40k Adeptus Mechanicus)
The brain of every magos undergoes extensive modification over time, but you have put great care into preparing your mind for the Machine God's mysteries. Beyond the gene-alterations and bionic sub-systems that have boosted your intelligence, regulated neuro-chemistry reduces the influence that hunger, pain, fear and other flesh-distractions can have upon your thoughts. Your ability to enjoy these things are not impeded. Further neurological modifications will be faster and easier to adapt to with less worry of rejection.
Chapter 48
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 48
-VB-
Celestial Forge came and went again, leaving me with another bundle of shining essence stored up and unused.
Dorne remained pacified, for now, and they also weren't involved in the poisoning. This, of course, left me with the obvious problem of who might have poisoned Myrcella. That was another problem I had to deal with on top of a new problem I found myself dealing with.
Yeah, see, it's impossible to synthesize Element Zero with my current technology level.
Element Zero and the subsequent Eezo-derived faster-than-light drive had been my only way off of this planet and system in my plan. I thought I could. Why not, right? I had been convinced by my own superiority on this tiny world that I didn't even bother to check.
Just like the final boss villains not checking if the person he trusted that super secret kryptonite to was actually trustworthy and not connected to the heroes coming to kill him. Now, I was paying for my hubris. I had created perhaps the biggest goddamn weapon on this planet that not even the dragons could compare to, showed it off for all to see, and had no way to leave the planet and leave its problems behind.
Oh sure, I could fly somewhere else that wasn't Westeros. Perhaps even explore what might be on the other side of the Sunset Sea.
But, yeah, I doubted that it would be a better place than Westeros. Like seriously, Westeros only had to deal with ice demons sleeping for eons while Essos had to deal with Dothraki, slavers, whatever the fuck was happening the Shivering Sea, Sothoryos and its haunted jungles, whatever bullshit was happening on the other side of Yi-Ti, Asshai, and the wastelands that were the islands of Valyria.
Okay, so maybe Yi-Ti might be about as good as Westeros but that didn't say much. After all, if Yi-Ti was as good and/or bad as Westeros, what was their version of the ice demons?
Leaving was the best option. After all, I might get cursed by some woodwitch while I'm out and about exploring.
As I continued to mentally rant to myself as I and my acolytes made our way back to Brownspear Barony, I abruptly stopped as the Celestial Forge spun up again. Twice in one sitting? That never happened before.
I waited with bated breath as this new phenomenon carried on with a familiar process. The Forge… fumbled?
And then I realized what was being fumbled: each shining essence was worth at least a star's worth of energy. Horrified by the accident happening somewhere AND CONNECTED TO ME, I braced. Some of my acolytes noticed but didn't say anything. Sorry to you guys if the Forge fucked up and I exploded apocalyptically.
But then it settled itself and dropped me another power.
And I burst out laughing. It was almost as if the Forge understood my problem and tried to help! I didn't know what an Omni-Metal was but the fact that I instinctively knew it could be used for warp drives? That I suddenly knew it could be used to cross dimensions? And having metric shit-tons of it?
My problem just got solved. I just needed to research and substitute Eezo FTL drive with…
Ah, shit. That's going to take longer than the Great Council, wasn't it?
I did a quick mental math.
Yeah. The experimentation alone was going to take a few weeks. Construction of prototypes would take twice that long with my powers.
… Shit, I was actually going to have to see through the Great Council, wasn't I?
… Didn't I promise - more implied but the point stood - Little Stark that I was going to put a mage tower up there for the North to learn magic? Or at least be ensured that I wouldn't nuke the shit out of them?
-VB-
The Great Crisis as it is known today came close to becoming an all-out war for the Iron Throne itself. The death of King Robert Baratheon the First of his name, the assassination of his son, Joffrey Baratheon, the second king of the Baratheon Dynasty, and then the attempted assassination via poisoning on Princess Myrcella Baratheon could have plunged the realms into chaos; the realms have been plunged into chaos for lesser causes before in Westeros' history.
When everyone else looked to see how much they can gain from the chaos, the First Mage Lord declared himself regent for King Tommen Baratheon and began to negotiate with Lord Paramounts for a Great Council. However, it was during this period of peace that Princess Myrcella Baratheon was poisoned, and had it not been for the Mage Lord's magic, which remains unknown to this day, she would have died.
Since poisoning was involved and because she was the granddaughter of one Lord Tywin Lannister, the enemy of Martells of Dorne due to the events that occurred during the Sack of King's Landing during Robert's Rebellion, the Martells became the primary suspect for the attempted assassination.
The First Mage Lord took to this attempt unkindly as he was the betrothed to the princess. He took one of his greatest project, a flying warship (a feat that remains unmatched to this day), to Dorne to inquire. According to eyewitness accounts and documents recovered from that time period, the Mage Lord provided a truth discerning magical artifact.
Despite the heavy-handed usage of his magical powers and the mysterious flying construct, Dorne remained mostly ambivalent toward the Mage Lord. Part of this had to do with Lord Doran Martell's gout, or rather how the Mage Lord healed the lord's gout and taught him how to keep it from returning. The second reason was due to what they got in exchange: the truth-discerning necklace that we now call the Martell Teller. The ability to discern not just the intent but the loyalty of their own vassals greatly improved the Martell's political and judicial power to unprecedented heights. It was not enough for the Martells, who did not participate in the initial rush to call and arm their banners, to join the Great Council, but it also kept them compliant enough to accept the Great Council's ruling once it was shown that they would not lose out much by accepting and a lot to lose by rejecting.
While this visit by the First Mage Lord became the final stop before the Great Council some six months later, he visited a number of other Lord Paramounts and significant figures prior to visiting Dorne; he met Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord Mace Tyrell and Lady Olenna "Queen of Thorns" Redwyne, and Lord Rob Stark. In recorded autobiographies of his acolytes and future Mage Lords, it has been recorded that the First Mage Lord deliberately chose not to visit the Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands, Vale, and the Iron Islands because they had little choice in the matter, too weak to matter, or was plunging head first toward civil war. The Martells of Dorne initally also fell into this category but the attempted assassination brought them to the First Mage Lord's attention anyway.
Historians today note that this had been a deliberate move on the First Mage Lord's part because he recognized that if the lords he met chose not to fight and attend the Great Council, then the others would have to follow as not only did they lack the political influence to gainsay the Great Council, they also lacked the manpower and/or economy to wage any kind of protracted war in the first place…
An excerpt from the History of Post-Targaryen Westeros, published in 1299 AC, Lannisport Mage Tower Publications.
-VB-
Perks gained this chapter.
11.012 Store of Omni-Metal (300): A cargo ship carrying 40 million cubic feet of omnimetal, enough to build several buildings' worth. They predate the current multiverse by a large margin, and are especially attuned to the nature of spatial dimensions. Because of this they're extremely useful in technology involving warping space and bridging between dimensions, making building such creations far easier than they would be otherwise. Your supply is restocked at the beginning of each jump or 10 years.
A/N: forgot to do a roll last chapter, so I did it at the start here and the accumulated words triggered another roll.
A/N 2: as most of you know, I really do roll these things in this fic instead of picking and choosing like I do in Kick the Sphere.
A/N 3: please note that history seen from the future definitely distorts what actually happened. IE Alan didn't declare himself to be a regent now, did he?
Chapter 49
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 49
-VB-
Instead of staying at Brownspear, I moved a lot of my facilities to King's Landing to be next to Myrcella. In part, I wanted to make sure nothing else happened to her. For another, I wanted to control what was actually going on in King's Landing.
However, any and all material and research that was to be used for FTL drive remained in Brownspear, where any attempt to sabotage will be… let's just say discouraged via esoteric means.
One of my first Forge-bestowed powers, the crystal magic from Warcraft, had been used to create constructs. I imagined that not a lot of soldiers and knights would be willing to fight my golems. But creating those crystal golems had taken me a week, even with the help of my acolytes, which had left Myrcella and Tommen exposed outside of my protection. It was during this week that another assassination attempt had been made!
Like, fucking hell.
It was why I was now experimenting, crafting, and manufacturing less important everything right here in King's Landing and not in Brownspear.
"Uh, master?"
I looked up from where I had been working on inscribing multiple runes into a quartz block, a future core for a more refined guard golem.
It was… uh… who was it again? Damn it, I have too many acolytes now! I should make a magic that shows me their names or something. Or nicknames.
"What is it?" I asked.
"We -"
"We can use magic!" the livelier of the two, a shorter of the two girls (women?), blurted out.
It took me a moment to get what they were saying. See, there was a difference between using magic tools and using magic. This was something I made clear to all of the acolytes once before and many times after they joined. They knew it and I knew it, and so their words had significant meaning when they declared that, especially since they each had multiple magic tools.
Magic tools were kind of like a status symbol among the acolytes, I found out. Since there was a significant emphasis on making your own tools beyond the bare basics, the more tools they had, the more experience and time the acolyte invested into my magic cabal.
"Show me," I said.
The taller of the two girls placed her magic tools off to the side and then held up her hands. I watched not just with my eyes but also with my sorcery, detecting the flow of mana in and around us.
And I watched in amazement as mana, originating not from the environment or the tools but from within her, surged through her body, through her arms, and then out into the world as a ball of light.
Unimaginative but a show of magic nonetheless.
The shortie did the same, setting her tools aside, and then making a ball of water. It was a much smaller ball compared to the ball of light made by the taller girl, but it was still magic.
I grinned.
"Well then," I said. "Names?"
"Nasha," the shortie said with a huff and a grin. "Master."
"This one is called Reara, master," the tall one replied.
I hadn't expected this to happen. Or rather didn't think about the implications of letting people work with magic tools leading to real magicians.
'This was… a wonderful advancement. Oh, sure. I'll probably abandon most of the acolytes here when I leave, but while I was still here? It provided me with fascinating data to work with. At what concentration of atmospheric mana did this occur? Can it be readily replicated? Can I -?
And then I noticed something else.
…
I frowned.
The source of the mana.
It was… it was them yet not.
Hmm?
Hmm?
Hmm?
"… did you guys have sex in my workshop?"
Both of them did a spit-take.
"I mean, I'm asking because… that's not your magic," I grinned. "Congratulations, by the way. Both of you seem like you are pregnant. Who's the father?" Then I frowned. "Great. Now, I gotta make rules about sex in work place. I'm probably gonna have to give sex education lectures, too…"
The two girls became beat red in seconds and stuttered out gibberish.
Yes, it was not the girls who were magical but the growing fetuses within them. Again, how did that happen?
… Did the act of sexual penetration help to literally push ambient mana into the womb? Mana was not exactly a phantasmal material that phases through matter; skin was more than enough to block out low concentration of mana like the ambient mana in the air. It was why blood widely in this verse must have been used because it was one of the few materials that could hold mana and magic.
… Wait, didn't that mean that, technically, magic was everywhere?
Holy shit, Planetos was a high-magic world masquerading a low-magic world!
"Well, we'll do some experiments later," I said to the girls. "Make sure to eat and drink a lot before you come in tomorrow, okay? Oh, and bring whomever was your sex partner, too. If you need someone to officiate a wedding, I can do it as a lord."
The Forge activated again, and I found myself looking forward to what it might give me.
And then it dropped a mace with a hovering sphere into my hands. I knew its name. Ginnungagap. A world item.
… Huh?
Then I felt giddy. This was… this item, by itself, was a powerful weapon that didn't need me to build or modify in some way. It was a weapon from a game turned reality. I could feel the mana wafting off of it like a tidal wave.
So enamored by the weapon, I did not notice the suddenly terrified looks the girls had before they scurried out of the room nor did I notice the rumor that began to circulate until I left my Red Keep workshop two days after.
Chapter 50
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 50
-VB-
Ginnungagap.
I finally remembered where this was from. It was from the light novel Overlord, and was, as the Nasuverse would classify it, an Anti-Army Noble Phantasm. Or, in this universe's terms, a unique out-of-context existence that invalidated all local magic because nothing could harm it. Hell, I tried chipping it using my Sorcery and it did nothing.
As far as I can determine, Ginnungagap as a whole existed as a fundamental aspect of existence and thus anything within existence could not harm it because things inside existence could not harm the foundation of that existence.
And this was a game item that had been materialized by the Celestial Forge. It was a reminder once again that I, for all of my internal monologue and thoughts about my own power, was small and insignificant with the truly powerful beings out there.
Unfortunately, I had duties to see to and thus left my new godly weapon to greet the first Lord Paramount to reach King's Landing.
Lord Stannis Baratheon.
I met him at the docks where he had a small squadron of warships dock. While it might sound intimidating, everyone knew that it was nothing in comparison to my own ship that he must have heard of.
Stannis looked at me with that regular resting bitch face of his and then grunted. "I'm still not sure what your plans are," he began. "But I suppose throwing your weight around… on behalf of Myrcella… makes your position clear."
"Whatever do you mean, Lord Stannis?" I asked with a faux smile. "I'm just irritated by it all."
Stannis snorted. "Yes, and that is the point of all this, isn't it? You, who grew up as a commoner, find the Game of Thrones to be nothing more than an annoyance in your life and threatened and manhandled all of the important Lord Paramounts to come and take part in the Great Council when all but one of us had a vested interested in the status quo." Then he glared at me. "If this wasn't me repaying the favor for my daughter's treatment, then I would have never agreed to it."
I wondered if that was how he truly felt or if it was what he was saying to save face.
This being Stannis, he probably meant that as factually as it came across.
"Then it is good that I had a favor to call upon," I smiled genuinely. "It would be a tragedy for me to fight the one lord that I truly respect." Especially since he was the only one to actually consider me as an acquaintance and not a lesser lord to ignore.
Stannis grunted again.
"Then let me show you and your men to your-" I began as I spun around.
"Lord Marris~!"
I paused and turned back, and found myself looking at Shireen of all people. I glanced at Stannis and saw the man sighing like he had the weight of the world on him.
Well, wasn't this a surprise?
-VB-
Shireen met with Myrcella, and despite the political tension in the background, the two of them hit it off rather quickly and didn't cause any problem (for me). Stannis, on the other hand, now had to add a few more considerations to his own calculations.
And, that very evening, we dined at the same table. Shireen, Stannis, Myrcella, Tommen, and I ate from our own plates with a few side dishes, which I had brought in myself. The dinner, however, was a trap that I'd set up.
While the "kids" of the "family" talked at their end of the table, Stannis and I talked more in-depth about what our future plans.
"So you would oppose it on those grounds?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied. "The throne belongs to the Baratheons, and as the oldest Baratheon alive, the throne belongs to me." He paused and then hesitated. "What… is your opinion on your current betrothal?"
The news about Tommen and Myrcella being bastards and not the king's children had gone out already (spread by both Renly and Stannis), which meant that they were the least likely to get the throne with the Great Council coming to session.
Which worked fine for me. It would give them - especially Myrcella - less of a reason to stay and more reasons to come with me when I eventually left Westeros.
"I was never after a royal marriage," I replied with a smile. "She is a sweet and kind girl. I would be happy to marry her when she is of age."
"And Tommen?"
"… Myrcella might be sad but I am not going to force him to join me. As he is of Tywin's blood, he does have somewhere to go, even if it might not be for the best. But I will ultimately respect Tommen's decision on the matter."
"He is but a child."
"And you would be surprised what a child can do if you sit them down, get the mood right, and explain everything calmly."
He grunted and then took a -.
My hand snapped out and stopped him from eating the broccoli that hadn't been touched so far.
Stannis froze when my hand stopped his wrist and his fork from pushing that broccoli into his mouth.
And the trap that I had set up had been sprung, not for Stannis and Shireen but for someone else.
"Lord Marris?" he asked calmly.
"Poison," I whispered.
He slowly set the fork down. "… You are sure?"
"You can smell it."
He did.
And growled.
It took him no more than ten seconds to come to the same conclusion as I had.
I did not want him dead. Myrcella did not have the power and influence to order something like this. Moreover, she had been a victim of assassination via poisoning.
Stannis heard the news, too, and connected the dots.
"You never found the poisoner or the person who ordered it."
"No," I smiled. "But now that I found the poison again, in our food-"
"In yours-?!" His eyes froze and then he snapped towards the teenagers.
Who had, as one, not eaten their vegetables.
"Don't worry about their food. I made theirs personally with ingredients I gathered over in Brownspear." He relaxed. "Our dinner, on the other hand, was prepared by three different groups," I began quietly. "And if you didn't forget, then I brought the food in myself."
Stannis looked at me. "You did this deliberately."
"Yes. I now know who poisoned Myrcella the first time and who might have ordered it."
-VB-
A/N: BUH! You thought I was going to completely ignore the poisoning, didn't you?!
Chapter 51
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 51
-VB-
Alan Marris
The Mage Lord
After I saw the children and Stannis leave to their rooms to rest, I turned right back around and began to walk back to the kitchen where I had picked up the cooked vegetables.
The Westward Kitchen was a traditionally "low end" kitchen that specialized in less expensive ingredients. Because of this "common-ness," most of the staff and servants working there were also smallfolk.
It was, in essence, one of the easier ways to get someone into the Red Keep without raising suspicions.
However, I also knew that this was too convenient. A second poisoning happening within the Red Keep when everyone knew we were hyper-vigilant?
Yeah, no.
I just needed one person alive who might be connected to the original poisoner.
This was why only fifteen minutes after I stopped Stannis from getting poisoned the staff of the Westward Kitchen found themselves sitting on their knees on the kitchen floor.
I stood before them with a drawn, regular sword - or as regular as they come when it was made by one of my acolytes - and waited.
When I finally saw more than a few of the staff start to get fidgety, I spoke up.
"Yesterday, Lord Stannis was nearly poisoned."
They looked up in shock.
Except for two.
"And the poison was on the vegetable made by this kitchen."
Horror showed up on all of the rest.
The other two…
The first bit her own tongue, only to be met by my Sorcery keeping her from biting her tongue clean through and making her choke on it. The second jumped and lunged at me with a purple fluid-dripping kitchen knife.
He froze mid-air as my Sorcery took hold of him and kept him frozen in his current motion.
I turned to the rest of the staff.
"It is a good thing that I am a sorcerer and not a regular lord, hmm? Otherwise, all of you would be dead 'just in case.' Go. I need to have a talk with these two."
Chefs and servants alike ran out of the room, leaving me with the two would-be attackers.
I smiled at them.
"Who would like to speak and die and who would like to not speak and die a very slow, very agonizing… let's call it life?" I said toward the end. "I'm going to keep the one who doesn't speak in my dungeon, keep them alive at all cost. Hell, I'll keep you healthy in mind and body so that you can experience everything I'll do to you. Maybe I'll take my time with sawing your dick or boobs off. I'll let parasites dig around you. What is it like for animals to gnaw on your heart while you can't be killed?" I hummed inquisitvely. "What is it like to be aware but not move for years? To see and hear only one sound for months? Can you drown forever?"
The longer I went on, the paler each of the attackers became and they both began to blurt out anything they could the moment I stopped talking.
I listened to them talk.
Varys.
Fucking Varys.
Oh, Varys didn't contact them directly. He had his proxies use proxies, but who else used enough influence and money to proxies to assassinate people in King's Landing? I had removed everyone else, after all. Varys made a mistake, though. He had his birdies check on the two assassins, and the assassins noticed the mute kids checking up on them discreetly.
When their stutters came to a silence as they said everything they could, I just nodded.
"Thank you."
And then snapped their necks, delivering death just as I promised.
I dropped their bodies and left the room, only letting the guards outside, who stood trembling in their armored boots, to "please clean up the mess, thank you."
I had a eunuch to find.
-VB-
Varys
The Schemer
Months of silence to keep himself out of the view of the readily distracted mage lord had… been in vain.
His attempt to end the line of the Baratheons, trueborn or not, only managed to bring the mage lord's attention instead of the opposite. Varys had been so sure that the mage lord had not a single interest in the princess and the prince…
So the plan failed and if Lord Stannis's continued presence among the living and the mage lord's visit to the Westward Kitchen was of any indication, then his attempt to end the Great Council before it even began was also in vain.
However, let it not be said that he wasn't without his own means and even more contingencies.
His birdies carried the small mugs of wildfyre into the mage lord's office while Varys himself was overseeing the operation. There was no other way to see this through.
"So what's the plan here?"
Varys came to a freeze while his birds looked horrified by someone behind him. He hadn't even heard him enter. Was there anything magic could not do?
He turned around and came face to face with the smiling mage lord.
"Ah -."
And then his world was spinning.
What?
Was he falling?
Then he felt pain as he hit the floor.
And saw his own body.
Oh. So that's what happened. He'd been beheaded.
How… silly.
"I thought I was forgetting something," the mage lord sneered, losing his smile. "And I forgot the most dangerous player of them all, didn't I? You just stayed quite and didn't do anything… and then fell right into my trap."
As Varys felt the world slowly turn dark and cold, he looked up at the mage lord one final time as the mugs of wildfyre that were meant to be stored in hidden compartments simply vanished, flying out of the cups and dissipating like the mist themselves.
"Thank you for revealing yourself, you dickless cunt."
Fuck you, too, mage lord.
And then the darkness claimed him for good.
-VB-
Perks earned this chapter: 20.40 Genetic Improvements (400 CP)
Why settle for what Mother Nature gave you? You have the knowledge to tweak and refine genetic code, including your own, bringing out hidden qualities and introducing new ones from other samples. You know how to build the technology needed for these sorts of feats, and have a basic grounding in the appropriate scientific areas.
Chapter 52
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 52
-VB-
Alan Marris
With Varys dead and one of my own men temporarily filling in the spymaster's position, the Red Keep and King's Landing were, by no means through my intention, completely in my hands and control. Hell, most of the Small Council seats had been left open with either death or abandonment, and I had to do a lot of filling in!
The only position that I didn't have to fill?
"Man, it's like you like to ignore me."
I looked down at the Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister.
Yes, just like in canon and how a lot of details of canon had played out, Tyrion had become the Hand of the King.
I just never thought to even interact with him because he held neither the power nor the influence necessary to carry out his own position. There was always (well, almost always) a reason why the position was given to someone of power and influence.
Unfortunately, Tyrion was a Lannister with the least amount of power and influence, and he had arrived only after Myrcella was initially poisoned, and most of his job involved taking care of the business that I didn't care to take control of.
I sighed. "I apologize if that's what it appeared like. Between my experiments and the few really important incidents, it just played that way."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, I'm not complaining. You apparently left an instruction to allow me to observe your apprentices and any books you had on the subject. Sufficed to say, I liked how much free time I have," he grinned.
But I could tell that he was still upset at the "disrespect" I've shown him.
Tyrion was neither my favorite nor hated charact- person. He was a person, not a character.
"… If you pass any test I give out to my apprentices, then I might see if I could grant you magic of your own. Good day."
After saying that, I turned around and left, leaving a stunned and stuttering Tyrion standing in the middle of the hallway.
As time passed, other Lord Paramounts and their retinues arrived one by one. Some came as if they were the conqueror army. Others came with a much more humble fare.
And one I had to browbeat.
"You think your itty bitty magic can win against the might of the Iron Islands?!"
Swarming the coast next to King's Landing was none other than Balon Greyjoy. I stood on the top of the wall, sighing at the stupidity of humans everywhere. Did this man really not have any intelligence network of his own? Was he blind to the turning wheels of the world?
Maybe I should have paid attention to him, too, and not just ignore him completely.
It… just happened.
Kind of like how I ignored Tyrion because I had other things to do. Unlike Tyrion, I intentionally ignored him and that was what got me this.
In essence, the squawking and sword rattling of the ironborn.
"Are you sure you want to fight me?" I asked him loudly so that he can hear me. "The aftermath is not going to be pretty."
"Hah! I'm not afraid of you!"
Should I have expected Greyjoy to pull something like this? I thought he would, at best, harass the Westerlands and the Reach. Maybe the North, too, but North's kind of poor, you know?
Stannis stood next to me, and I could tell that he was raring to go out and stab Balon's face. Rob Stark looked about the same. The only one not taking this seriously was Tywin Lannister.
"Well," I said as I turned to them. "There you go. He is declaring war. Want me to take care of it?"
And myself, of course. I wasn't taking this seriously at all.
The three Lord Paramounts, the first three to arrive, looked at me with varying degrees of suspicion and wariness. Rob knew the best what could happen; I had already shown him what I could do. Stannis was wary but he was also curious. Tywin was simply curious.
I knew what was going on in the old lion's head. As far as he was concerned, his granddaughter was going to marry me. It didn't matter how much power or influence I had; I was "his" through marriage and thus something not to fear but to "guide."
If only he knew what I could do if I had a little bit more time…
Speaking of which, the Celestial Forge metaphorically knocked on my doors again when it began to spin up. The galactic arm of Magical Knowledge passed by but dropped nothing. Hmm. A shame.
"Go ahead," Tywin said as he turned to look back at the ironborn preparing to besiege the city. "I assume it has to do with that weird mace you have in your hand."
I held up the "mace" and smiled. "It is." I took a deep breath and began to inject some gravitas into this. "When the universe was born, a single tree of truly unimaginable size grew out from it," I began and saw many of the people around us listen to me. "This tree was named Yggdrasil by the first people who came to live upon its leaves because, you see, each of the leaves of Yggdrasil was a world upon itself."
I held the mace up and a small iron ball sitting at the top of its ornate "head" slowly floated up.
"But a parasite came to dwell under Yggdrasil's roots. It ate away at the tree and began killing it. As the tree began to die, the world leaves began to fall and die. The surviving worlds tried to find ways to slay the parasite so that they can live. In their desperation, they cannibalized their dead siblings," I said with a smile at all of the bullshit I was spewing.
And the World Item in my hand, Ginnungagap, began to dimly glow as I poured my magic into it.
"Ginnungagap was the name given to this mace for the name of the world that this mace was forged from was lost in the void of creation that was Ginnungagap!" I declared, and my voice reverberated through the city and the coast. Huh, didn't know that was a thing. I took a stance as if I were using a war mace. "Now, feel the weight of a world as it crushes you!"
And swung down toward the ironborn fleet and army.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then almost comically, each individual and ship all caved in like they had all been struck with iron balls as big as they were.
One swing.
Almost three thousand man-sized craters and over a hundred ships sunk.
It was pretty strong, especially since, even if it didn't look like much, it more or less bypassed any defense.
I straightened myself back up and looked around.
All three Lord Paramounts looked in shock at the dead army outside the city walls. I instead turned to the rest, many of whom were also staring in shock.
"Someone go clean that up!"
It took a moment but a lot of the soldiers and civilians quickly scampered away, not wanting to test my patience. I snorted at the sight of their running forms.
Yeah, I was the big boss now, and only the stupid would -.
Chapter 53
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 53
-VB-
Alan Marris
My eyes opened slowly and found myself staring up at a familiar ceiling, that of my Red Keep bedroom. I got up as I normally would, washed my face, hands, neck, and arms, and then dressed myself.
"OH MY GODS!"
I jolted and whirled around, quickly suppressing my innate fight-or-flight instinct to lash out, and looked at the screamer with wide eyes.
It was one of the Red Keep maids that served me.
"Wha-?"
"You're awake, milord!"
"I am…" I replied with a slow nod of my head. "Please don't scream like that again."
She realized what she did, going from normal to pale and then pale to flushing. She bowed profusely before slinking away, telling me through mumbles that she would be letting the keep know that I was awake.
Less than five minutes later, I was in my office and ready to get back to work when the doors to my office, which I closed on my way in after greeting the guards outside, slammed open, and I found myself looking up at Myrcella and Tommen.
Myrcella looked upset and Tommen looked like he'd spent however long I had been out for consoling his sister and thus upset with me.
I froze in place when the two kids ran straight into me. Well, teenagers, but still kids in my eyes.
"Sorry, sorry," I said with a sigh. "I didn't expect to pass out like that."
Because that was obviously what happened. Why did I pass out like that when I've done more with less? It was something I needed to investigate if I wanted to keep using the World Item.
"Do you know what happened?" I asked them as I sat back down on my bed with the two kids.
Stannis stared with wide eyes as the Mage Lord collapsed abruptly.
Suddenly, he and the other Lord Paramounts found themselves stuck between three forces. The first was that of the Mage Lord himself. His sudden collapse among them just after he took care of the enemies outside would take but a few wrong thoughts and wrongs to see them turn violent. Two, the garrison of King's Landing had been slowly replaced with Baratheon loyalists and Mage Lord loyalists - or at the very least, those neutral to the conflict at hand. They would be very upset if something happened to him. Three, their own people, numbering the least, might take this to mean that they broke the Guest Rights.
He looked up and saw the Lannister and Stark lords come to similar conclusions.
But before someone could say anything, there was a sudden burst of movement, and one of the acolytes of the Mage Lord was kneeling by his lord's side. His hand gently pressed against the lord's neck and another on his head.
"Mana depletion!" the acolyte shouted, and half a dozen more acolytes rushed up the stairs of the battlement. They quickly hauled their lord up and rushed out as quickly as they had appeared. The first acolyte turned to them. He was a middle aged man with more wrinkles than even Tywin. "Apologies, milords. We did not expect our lord to collapse like this. Please excuse us."
And then he was off.
Stannis, Robb, and Tywin stared after the eccentric bunch of magicians.
"At least they are competent in serving their lord," Tywin grunted after a moment.
Stannis glanced at the Lannister patriarch. As far as he was concerned, that was a high praise coming from Tywin "All of you are imbeciles" Lannister.
"So my acolytes helped," I hummed.
I never thought that they would come to be this useful. They helped me not just with my ship but also at my most vulnerable.
… Perhaps the idea of abandoning them might have been shortsighted of me. Had I been that cold?
But then I remembered what my own people did to me, of the septon that tried to beat me down, and the people that went along with a single man's ambition.
I hummed. Trust but verify. My acolytes proved to be more trustworthy than the smallfolk and the Faith of the Seven. Perhaps I'll offer some of them chance to become something bigger. Perhaps even a successor to the Cabal?
Something to think very hard about.
For now, I needed to reassure the Baratheon siblings, and then reassure the Lord Paramounts. This entire Great Council would be unlikely to continue on the path I want if I, the major support behind this, suddenly showed a weakness that they did not expect.
Ginnungagap. That World Item caused this. I needed to know why it put me out like that.
I paused as the Celestial Forge opened another connection, and briefly froze as I waited to see what would be dropped on my lap this time.
… Snappy and snazzy official uniform designing and making skill for whatever organization I am part of.
Okay.
Um, kind of weird, especially when I can hear the word Reich screaming in my head when I got it, but it was one I'll roll with.
Hey, didn't this mean that I could also make my acolyte look badass?
… This felt kind of like the perfect way to show my appreciation for them. Everyone liked looking good.
-VB-
Robb Stark
"You look fine for a man that just collapsed," Robb noted after he exchanged the initial greetings just outside the Small Council office.
"Mana exhaustion, as a condition, is a little different from physical exhaustion," I replied with a smile. "Recovery depends on the fortitude and flexibility of the mind and soul, and as soon as you have a small reservoir recovered, you are good to walk around again, though I would not practice intensive magic right now."
"Like the Crushing?" Robb asked as the Mage Lord walked around to sit in one of the chairs for the first meeting of the participating Lord Paramounts. Soon, Tywin joined them, followed by Stannis.
"'Crushing'?" Lord Marris asked casually.
"That is what the smallfolk and lords are calling it," he replied. "Because there are now remains of thousands of crushed ironborn littering the coast like trash and shit covers this city's streets."
"Hmm. A fitting name, I guess."
Stannis cleared his throat. "So what exactly are we here to discuss? The succession?"
"What else?" the Mage Lord asked.
"And you can with a body that weak?" Tywin asked, sneering slightly. "You should be in bed, not the Small Council chamber."
"I've already fully recovered," Lord Marris waved off the… was that concern from the Lannister Lord? "Besides, I used that World Item for the first time. Turns out, it's not compatible with me. What we saw was it wasting nearly two-thirds of the power I gave it."
Robb had to stop and let those words run through his head at least a few more times.
"I don't understand," Stannis spoke up.
'Thank you,' Robb thought in his head.
Lord Marris paused before he seemed to realize that none of them were magicians except him. "Right, so. Magic has compatibility. Like if you and your wives are compatible but magic has many different forms. You might be good at shadowbinding. You might be good at elementalism. You might be horrible at everything but flying. It goes on and on and on like that. The World Item, Ginnungagap, was essentially incompatible with me because I lack compatibility with Divinity and that World Item is of Divine nature."
This was quickly going into a territory Robb felt uncomfortable with.
Stannis grunted. "We're not here to talk about magic."
And so they began to talk about the state of the kingdom, the succession, and the outcomes they wanted.
Chapter 54
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 54
-VB-
The removal of the Iron Islands, the participation of the Starks, Baratheons, and Lannisters, and the eventual arrival of the Tullys set the stage for realpolitik that would decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.
Personally, I thought that all of this was a waste of time but not in the way that a casual observer might think it. Yes, my primary focus in life was magic - as well as Myrcella lately but primarily magic. Politics was just a form of people screaming at me in numerous annoying ways and distracting me from what I wanted to do.
… Still, politics and human nature were part of life, so I supposed that I was the dumb one for trying to avoid it. Rather than ignore the problem, I had to master the problem so that it didn't remain a problem but became a tool for me.
Unfortunately, my inexperienced ass only really had two tools to use in politics: overwhelming power and influence. My influence was both limited and deep. I had connections to the royal family, the Baratheons, the Lannisters, and even the Faith of the Seven who still regarded me as a saint. However, those connections didn't guarantee me anything beyond getting people to hear me out.
Which left me with only one tool to use in politics.
"You want the throne for yourself?" I asked Stannis incredulously.
"I am the eldest Baratheon with my lineage uncontested," he replied back to me. "By the laws and rights of the Seven Kingdoms, I am the one solely fit to be on the throne."
This was a private meeting after the first ever great council meeting of the three Lord Paramounts and myself. I stared at him across my desk while he stared back evenly.
"… And why would I support you, Lord Baratheon?"
He stiffened. "It is my right," he said like an American would say that they had the freedom of speech, who always forgot that the First Amendment applied to government intervention, not to private citizens, while being on private property. He had the right, yes, but this was politics where caveat and exceptions were applied liberally and frequently. "If not me, then who?"
" Prince Tommen has the higher right."
"And his lineage is in question," he snapped back.
"Yes. It is in question, not disproven."
Stannis stared at me. "What are you suggesting?" he asked me. "Being in question is enough."
"Enough for you, maybe Lord Renly, and maybe even the Tyrells," I replied with a shrug. "But not to me. Lord Baratheon, what would happen if you take power?"
"I would rule justly."
"Justly? That is a fine idea, milord. Except you forget where I come from."
He frowned. He didn't get it.
"I was a smallfolk, Lord Baratheon. Your justice is not my justice."
Now, he was snarling. Though we had been acquaintances and allies so far, this was where I was drawing the line. The favor I had with him was already used up to bring him to the table. There was nothing else that I had to work cooperatively with him.
So this… this was where I was pulling out my true one and only tool in the game of politics.
"Besides, milord, have you considered?" I asked with a smile. "That the most powerful man in all of the Seven Kingdoms must have things he wants as well?"
He gritted his teeth. "Then what do you want? Speak instead of playing this coy game."
"Like I always said. I do not care for the throne for myself or even for Myrcella. Have I not told you before, Lord Baratheon? What I want is peace, and your ascension to the throne will bring anything but peace to this realm."
He stared at me in surprise before anger began to bubble up inside of him. "You think that I will destabilize the realm?" he demanded.
"Personally, I think that in a vacuum without other players, you will be a decent enough ruler in a time of peace," I replied. "However, we are not in a time of peace and will not be in a time of peace for at least a decade. If we do not find a resolution here, then all of us will meet on the battlefield. This will cause problems for the stability of the realm even after the end of the succession crisis. Even if we vote to make you the king, you will be fighting the entire realm to keep it from tearing itself apart. On top of that, you are currently not the man capable of balancing the interests of the lords, the stability of the kingdoms, and the future crisis."
Stannis glared at me. "And you are capable?"
"Even if I am capable, I don't care enough about the Seven Kingdoms," I replied with a polite smile.
"… How did Renly raise someone like you to lordship?"
"Magic may be my focus but I am a very, very good sculptor."
He grumbled wordlessly as he leaned back into his chair. "Then what? If I am unworthy, then the rest of the goddamn Seven Kingdoms is unworthy."
I nodded. "You're right." He stared at me, waiting for me to continue while giving me a deadpan stare. "So we'll push it back."
"What?"
"We'll just push the selection of the king back and have the Lord Paramounts rule as -"
-VB-
"A regency council?" Lannister sneered. "That is a show of weakness. It tells everyone that House Lannister cannot keep its proper place among the sheep."
"You can take it or leave it, milord," I replied. "Because you know as well as I do that the Starks don't care, Baratheons want this, Dorne would see everyone burn, and the Tyrells are scheming thorns that will sit on the fence forever if that's what it takes for even an iota of advantage."
Tywin Lannister huffed. "And that is justification enough to bring about a regency council? With members who had proclaimed the royal children as inbred bastards? No, I will never accept it."
This time, I huffed. "Lord Lannister," I smiled. "You can't refuse, Lord Lannister… because of the implications."
He stared at me. "That sounds like a threat, Lord Marris," he rumbled out.
"No, no, no. This is not a threat. After all, I am merely recommending that the regency council is the way forward not only due to the damages all of the participating parties - except I - have received. Allowing this issue to divide us right now would cause such an issue that… you will accept due to the implications," I replied. "Let's say that Lord Stannis says no. What's he going to do?"
"That sounds like a threat, Lord Marris."
"No, no," I replied, shaking my head. "After all, if the regency council is rejected by all those participating today, then I will have to step in. Because of the implications of what will happen if I step in, everyone will say yes because those who say no will have to deal with the implications where I will actively work on battle magic to use in potential future battles."
Lannister was not a man who agreed to those whom he saw as lesser. When dealing with such men, there was only one option: bring out the big stick and make vague gestures at it as bluntly as possible.
The Forge briefly connected with me… and gave me nothing.
I turned my attention back to a… definitely upset Tywin Lannister.
"How will you vote, Lord Lannister?"
-VB-
"Can you please vote yes when I ask for a regency council?" I spoke up bluntly.
Robb Stark looked at me a little critically for me before nodding. "Just don't forget about what you implied up in the North. About a tower of magicians for the North."
"I won't forget about it. If it's not me, then I will have my better acolytes set up a branch."
"That's good enough."
"… If you don't mind me being honest…"
"Yes?"
"I thought you would be more upset at not hearing that I would do it personally with assurances."
He grimaced. "After what I've seen, I'd rather have magicians we can control and not a monster."
"Fair enough."
Dealing with the North was the easiest.
Chapter 55
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 55
-VB-
The vote came in and passed without a fuss. All of the participants looked at each other and me before they all agreed that, yes, there would be a regency council.
It was nice having the power to sway political decisions like this. Still, everything that I have done was done in a ham-fisted manner that was nothing like the subtle cloak-and-dagger bullshit that even 21st-century America engaged in despite the literal millions of eyes looking on.
Yes, I did not like politics and I was starting to realize that some of it may have to do with the fact that I wasn't even good at it if I didn't have a massive amount of power to use as leverage.
Oh well. I can't be good at everything.
Still, I got the regency council to pass, there was now peace in Westeros, and…
I wanted to groan.
"So… that is the end of the report."
"And my wife?" Stannis demanded from the side.
"She managed to escape, milord."
The man refused to sag in relief but he almost did it.
"So they return… with dragons," Tywin muttered. "This changes-"
"Nothing."
Everyone's eyes in the Small Council turned to me.
"Once this meeting is over, I will go and subjugate the Targaryens once and for all." I paused. "But until then, we still need to finish our discussion from before the sudden arrival of the report."
The rest of the regency council looked at me as if I was nuts.
However…
"If you are so sure of it, then I will not hesitate to return to the North," Robb spoke up first. "Our part in the war has officially come to an end with the implementation of this regency council. I will, however, send someone to take my place on the council once I reach my home."
Stannis didn't say anything. It was his home that the Targaryens had invaded, after all. Tywin, too, didn't say anything.
When it was clear that there wasn't anything else to talk about, Robb and Tywin left, leaving me with Stannis.
"At least your family is safe," I sighed.
"Yes." I glanced at him and he was gritting his teeth. "… How do you intend to deal with the Targaryens?"
I sighed again. "I don't know. If she surrenders, then hooray, do some political drama to keep her tied down and with limited access to dragons. If she doesn't, then I kill -"
"She?" Stannis asked.
My mouth clicked shut. Ah. Right. I knew that this was Daenerys coming for her so-called "birthright" but it could also be her brother in everyone else's eyes. News about stuff like that didn't travel fast.
"I heard that her brother died, given a crown of molten gold by Daenerys's late husband."
He grunted. "So there's only one Targaryen left in this world."
"One that's silver-haired, yes," I nodded.
"Then I suggest you end it, Lord Marris," he bit out. "Don't let them start become another Blackfyre Rebellions." Seemingly with his bit said, he stood up and left.
I looked at him as he left until he walked out of the room, leaving me alone. Grumbling, I opened a portal and stepped into the Cabal's headquarters.
Once I closed the portal, I clapped my hands, making everyone in the headquarters lobby pay attention to me. "I need my crew ready to leave in under an hour. Go and find them, and tell them to head on over to Brownspear."
Everyone knew who the crew was, and so the acolytes who weren't doing anything critically important quickly left the lobby to find the crew.
As for me…
"I suppose that this is the penultimate crisis," I hummed as I opened a portal again, this time directly to Brownspear. My crew of acolytes will have to use the portal rooms with the dedicated portal-making acolytes to reach Brownspear.
As I waited for them to arrive, I thought about how I would put an end to the Targaryen threat. Would I have to kill Daenerys? Will I have to kill the dragons? There was also a high possibility that Daenerys might, in desperation when she sees how powerful my ship was, try to use the people of Dragonstone as hostages. What then? Do I burn Dragonstone with her?
Stannis wanted me to end her as a threat, and logically, his decision was right. If I wasn't here, then those dragons would have been enough to reconquer Westeros even without other dragonriders. Daenerys had also declared war by attacking Dragonstone. It was fair and just to put an end to her in my duty as one of the lords of Westeros and a sitting member of the regency council.
Then if it was fair and just to put an end to an invader, why did I have other thoughts? Hell, even going further than the most basic justifications needed to kill her and her dragons, there was also that bit in canon where she went crazy.
But.
… But nothing. I was delaying because I felt ambiguous about this. This invasion felt like another chore I had to complete, not a grand battle that will be written down in history. Because it was. I have been putting down fires left and right, solving mysteries, and delaying my own projects.
This was the "penultimate" crisis, ie there was one more crisis to end and that was the Others.
…
Why don't I just end it all in one-go? Kill Daenerys and her dragons and go over to the Deep North and burn everything that gets caught on my ship's sensor?
You know what? I'll do exactly that.
I'll end it all, so that I can get back to what I want to do!
Chapter 56
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 56
-VB-
Daenerys Targaryen
The invasion of Dragonstone had gone off without a hitch, and she and her Dothrakis now rested before the final journey to mainland Westeros.
Though she had wanted to burn all of the ships leaving the island, the islanders had sighted them long before she would have liked them to. As the surrendering soldiers had told her, the lady and heir of Dragonstone, the Dragonstone Baratheons, had escaped in the time it took for her to ride her dragon, cross the distance between the fleet and the island, and then set fire to the shipyard.
It might have been a mistake for her to do so considering that some of her ships needed repairs, but she planned to take over a port on Westeros itself and make repairs there as ships would no longer be the main method of transportation once the Dothrakis landed there. Also, Dragonstone didn't have enough food to sustain the massive army and thus couldn't be used as anything more than a rest stop, and making extensive ship repairs was anything but a rest stop.
Her Dothrakis, also, kept their hands to themselves after she promised riches and wealth. She was their khaleesi and the mother of dragons; they obeyed without too much grumbling because she, at the very least, delivered her promise. She couldn't have them dying against some of the smallfolks or by accidents if they decided to raze Dragonstone.
"Khaleesi!"
Daenerys looked up from the book about the most up-to-date book on the Grat Houses and Lesser Houses of Westeros that she had found in the lord's solar. The Dothraki that had barged into her room was one of her lieutenants.
"What is it?" she asked as she set the book down.
"In the sky! There is a ship in the sky!"
Frowning, she looked over her shoulder and out of the window, seeing nothing.
"It is on the other side of the island!"
On the other side…
That meant Westeros.
She quickly rushed out of the solar with the dothraki lieutenant.
"What about my advisors?"
"They have been alerted," he replied as they ran. And finally, they emerged out from one of the upper floor towers and onto a balcony. He pointed into the sky, and she looked.
Her eyes widened and her jaws dropped.
There, hanging in the sky, was a ship without sails but far bigger than any other sailing ships she had ever laid on eyes upon. Its gleaming white hull cast a dark shadow upon the land, and though not all of the land was covered, fear ran rampant among the dothraki as they screamed at and of the ship that rode the sky.
What happened next came without warning.
Light.
Columns of light struck down at the earth from the sky ship.
Where they struck, everything burned.
"NO!" she screamed as she saw her dothraki die. The lieutenant next to her collapsed to his knees in fear, but she gritted her teeth and ran down from the tower toward where her children were at.
She found Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegel, raring to go. They roared and hissed, breathing their own fire. She released them quickly but jumped on the back of her Drogon.
They took off immediately into the sky.
Her children screeched and roared as she steered them toward the sky ship and -.
Zip.
One of the columns of light just passed by her. She wildly looked around and then froze when she saw Rhaegal falling from the sky in two halves.
"NO!" she screamed as tears sprung from her eyes.
What happened?! How did that happen!?
And then she saw another colum of light heading for her and Drogon. "Drogon!" she shouted and pulled at his scale. He immediately responded, veering sharply to the left. Then he screamed as the light passed by. It didn't hit him! But it scalded him.
Light scalded her child like how fire would.
It was fire…?
How does fire cut?!
She looked and saw those same beams leisurely burning away -
-at the fleet.
"No."
She urged Drogon to fly higher toward the sky ship.
"No!"
And then she saw it.
It was small nozzle of some kind protruding out from a port. It was pointed at her.
And then -.
-VB-
Alan Marris
I watched the "cleansing" of Dragonstone dispassionately as I focused on what was happening inside of me.
Like always, the Celestial Forge chose an inopportune moment to barge in.
But when I realized that I could now hold my own inertia of self and impose it upon the world to prevent others from messing with me… I realized that it wasn't exactly a useful power for Westeros. There simply wasn't anyone or anything that could change otherworldly influence me.
Perhaps it'll be useful in the future.
"Are the ships all burning?"
"Yes, milord," my acolyte replied.
"Good. Aim at the largest concentration of these… dothraki."
And while powering the ship with my own mana, I watched the would-be invaders and looters burn.
It was the most poetic way I could send them off in. They and their "khal" would have gone around killing, burning, and looting across Westeros in their conquest. They already called plenty of people on Dragonstone if the houses that had been burned already before I came was any indication.
I continued to power the ship, which couldn't power this level of firepower on its own, and surveyed my work.
Daenerys had come with her three dragons, and I killed them without fanfare. I burned the dothraki horde's fleet and a whole swath of their army, men and horse alike.
My job was done. If the rest of the "Regency Council" wanted to retake Dragonstone, then they'll have to fight on their own. There couldn't be anymore than a few thousand dothraki, anyway.
"Set our heading to the North beyond the Wall," I commanded.
I had one last enemy to end.
… I really should have done this much earlier. It was fucking cathartic throwing my weight around.
Chapter 57
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 57
-VB-
Alan Marris
As my ship leisurely flew north to my next target, I thought about what my life would be like after this. Oddly enough, I just realized that this was the easy part.
Yeah, laser-slicing dragons and inferior Mongols and planning to bomb the White Walkers was the easy part.
The rough part was going to come once everyone realized just how powerful I was. It was one thing to have a flying warship that let out a rumbling boom, but that's just a noise. It was one thing to be a man capable of rendering reality asunder with my thought because that's just one man who was shown to have weaknesses.
It was another for that reality bender to have a weapon of war that could be given to someone else.
It meant a change in power through means that no one else could fight back.
It meant another Targaryen Dynasty.
Which I didn't want.
And I think I know what to do.
Once I dropped all of the bombs, then I'll lay low for a while, only participating in the Regency Council and not doing much else. I'll teach a few of my acolytes into becoming proper mages and then send one off to the North to fulfill my promise of a Mage's Tower there. I'll have the rest form their own little council of mages in King's Landing and then give someone else my Mage's Tower in Brownspear.
As soon as setting up the two towers and the council was done, I'll leave Westeros for good.
With all of the advancements in both technology and magic that I've made, I was sure that I could leave Planetos entirely.
As for the destination, that I wasn't quite sure about.
Less than two hours after I bombed Dragonstone, I was flying above the Wall.
The True North, as those north of the Wall called it, was an ever-snowy wonderland, and as I flew over it, I couldn't help but wonder if this was a scene I might have seen if I had flown over Siberia in my past life.
More impressive than the True North was the Wall.
It was as I remembered seeing it in the TV show.
A thick and tall wall of ice.
I looked at the wall from the edge of my bridge and saw how many Night's Watch brothers were looking up at us. I could guess how nervous they were simply from how they were moving about frantically. It was interesting how they prepared bows and arrows…
I wondered if I should even alert them.
But then I remembered that I would be moving to the Deep North, which was so far north beyond the Wall that while there might be some effects, it would be pointless to tell them about it.
With that thought, I told my acolytes to keep flying.
To the Deep North.
The White Walkers came out to greet me, but just like the humans that they raised their minions from, they were powerless to do anything about me.
After all, I was flying a good mile above them. What were they going to do? Fly up here? Their main ride were spiders, not dragons or birds.
"T-Those are Others…" one of the acolytes muttered as she and the other acolytes stared at the zoomed and refined live video of the White Walkers currently gathered around on the ground. "Milord, did you come here to destroy them?"
"Yes," I replied simply. "And I'll do it in a fashion that leaves no ambiguity as to whether they survive us or not."
I did not power up the lasers again. Sure, the lasers would do a good job of searing the land and cutting up anything below, but there were simply too many of them for me to get before they fled.
No, for the White Walkers, I needed a large-scale permanent solution. The Hammer that I left back home couldn't be that solution because squashing zombies didn't do much except inconvenience them.
Instead, I willed all of my power, spirit and magic, and focused.
My will triumphed over reality. I stood above reality. I could do with it as I wished and it could not stop me.
Sweat dripped down my eyebrows as I forced a large vacuum to form right above the White Walkers, and though they noticed my magic at work, they didn't know what I was doing. Hell, they didn't even see what was happening because vacuum, by its very nature, couldn't be seen even in this snowy weather.
I gritted my teeth as even more of my magic flowed out of me to turn my thoughts into reality.
And within that vacuum, subatomic particles sprung into existence not from nothing but an existing fact of reality. I condensed the fabric of space into that vacuum and removed any matter that sprung to life…
But all of the antimatter remained.
This wouldn't have done anything unless done at a large scale but that was the reason why I was folding space and layering it to hasten the harvest process.
I let out a shuddering breath as I felt my reserve hit half, roughly, and kept going.
Now, both the White Walkers and my acolytes could see the darkening sphere where space had been folded so heavily. It wasn't anything like a black hole, no, but light looked dimmer and distorted.
As my magic reserve hit a quarter of full tank… I let it go.
The vacuum imploded as air rushed in to fill a volume of space closer to a skyscraper than the size of a watermelon that it appeared to be. That air and snow then met the very thing that I had been harvesting.
Two grams of antimatter.
It took just a single touch between them and matter for the reaction to occur.
For a brief second, there was only light. My acolytes turned away from the screen.
"Get us out of here," I gritted out from the captain's seat, and my acolytes did just that.
And then turbulence struck my ship. People screamed and I held on, pushing out the meager reservoir of mana I still had to shield the ship from the antimatter bomb that I'd just spawned on top of the White Walkers.
Antimatter bombs were no different from fission bombs. The radiation they leave behind will leave this land harmful to inhabit, even with magic to protect them.
And if magic was too busy protecting the surviving White Walkers, then that was magic they couldn't use for other purposes.
It was a win-win, but I doubted that any White Walker survived the antimatter bomb.
With that, we flew back down to King's Landing.
It was time to prepare for when I would leave the grand stage that was Westeros.
Chapter 58
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 58
-VB-
Stannis Baratheon
As words filtered in, Stannis began to realize just how big Lord Marris truly was. He had an idea when he saw the skyship and how Lord Marris exchanged a few days in bed to crush an army in the thousands. He saw the portals that connected Brownspear and King's Landing. He saw the acolytes and how quickly they were beginning to become a force of their own.
Then the news hit.
Of the conquering skyship high over Dragonstone, raining down red and yellow lights of death as thick as tree trunks upon the invading dothraki. How those lights scythed through the three dragons with ease and the would-be conqueror of Westeros. Hundreds of ships burned and tens of thousands scorched to death in a manner of half an hour.
He understood right there and then that Lord Marris… he was another Targaryen yet not. He could have conquered Westeros and made it his own kingdom. His own empire, even, if he thought to conquer the rest of the world. If dragons didn't stand a chance against his skyship - his warship - than what could.
Lord Marris had this capability this entire time yet chose not to use it for violence and conquest.
That… confused him.
It was the right of the strong to take, but this was an unfair system that the rule of law sought to prevent. So why did a man who so easily stood up to Lord Paramounts and conquerors alike stay still?
"Well?" he asked.
Lord Marris looked up from where he sat behind his desk, fiddling with crystals and metal discs for another one of his magic projects.
"… this is something I've read, and I want you to answer me honestly, okay?" Lord Marris replied as he set his tools and the crystal down.
"I will if you do not feed me nonsense."
"It isn't," he assured before looking at him in the eyes with a dead stare. "Everyone wants the emperor's crown but how many would-be emperors want his desk?"
It took Stannis but a moment to understand and another moment to think the quote, because it had to be a quote, to be stupid.
"You are strong enough that the desk in question is not a problem." Robert wasn't as powerful as Marris and he certainly didn't care for the desk. No, the "desk" in question only mattered to those who cared about the desk and its
"Is it?" he asked with a smile.
"No," Stannis affirmed. "But you don't care about the 'desk' in the first place, don't you?"
"… No, I don't. Even getting the rest of the Lord Paramounts to make the Regency Council instead of descending into war irritated me."
Stannis raised an eyebrow. "You consider bringing peace to Westeros as 'irritating'?"
"Of course," Marris huffed. "I could've stayed at Brownspear with Myrcella and Tommen and be completely safe. I would have just worked with my acolytes and made new and flashy magic and fun things. But no, I found myself herding cats."
After hearing and reading the events of Dragonstone, Stannis accepted the surety of his statement, even if he didn't like it one bit.
"I do not appreciate being compared to a cat."
Marris stared at him before he nodded. "I apologize. You are definitely not a cat."
Stannis stared at Marris as if he was going to add something to that. He didn't, but he probably wanted to. Stannis knew that he wasn't the most affable individual either. Better than all of the other Lord Paramounts, but certainly not liked. If he were to describe himself… then he guessed that a bull was the best way to describe himself.
Seeing that he was still waiting for a more detailed answer, Marris continued. "Ruling helped me achieve what I wanted, Lord Stannis, and having achieved what I wanted, which was a financial base to support my experiments in magic, I didn't need to keep climbing," he finished. "At least until I got the betrothal."
"With Myrcella."
"Yes. In a way, that was the point where my plans got overturned. She started off as a responsibility and duty… and then someone I defended because I wanted to," he replied. "She's such a sweetheart, you know?"
"And that was enough of a reason to create that skyship of yours."
"Yes," he replied. "But its purpose is multi-fold. Security is merely one of the lesser reasons."
Stannis didn't want to believe that… but Marris always remained honest with him.
"And are any of those other reasons ones you would tell me?" he asked.
He grinned and didn't reply.
Rolling his eyes, Stannis excused himself and left the man to tinker away with his gadgets.
At the very least, he knew that there wouldn't be another era of chaos while Marris remained here.
-VB-
Myrcella Baratheon
"You… wish to leave."
"Yes," her betrothed, the Mage Lord, replied casually while he continued to eat.
She didn't know how to feel about that. He did mention that he would leave before, but it remained ambiguous until now.
"Where would you leave to?"
He paused. "Well, there are other worlds, you know."
No, she didn't know.
"I could make a big enough portal to cross dimensions to reach other worlds with people or just explore the more barren worlds filled with oddities in this universe," he continued. "Because I'll be honest, Myrcella. Westeros and the rest of Planetos is a horrible place in general. Better than some that I know, but still not great."
"Why do you say that?" she asked. She'd already finished her dinner, so she could give this her full attention.
He paused again from eating, chewing and swallowing before he answered her. "Well, the gods, for one."
"The gods?"
"Yes. The Seven Who Are One are the… arguably the best group of gods, but they aren't the strongest, you see."
No, she did not see.
"I never met them, so I wouldn't know, Alan."
"Okay, then let's put it this way. If they were strong, then they wouldn't have needed me to do some things for them. I am still the Voice of the Seven, you know."
No, she actually forgot about that. Then she had an epiphany. It was why magic was suddenly so readily accepted by the septons! Why they never spoke up against it once he proved himself as the Voice of the Seven!
"… Do they talk to you often?" she asked. It felt odd to talk to Alan now that she realized he was semi-divine or at least divinely ordained.
"Not really. I've already done as they have asked, and I suspect that once it is time for me to leave, I will no longer be the Voice."
"Oh," she muttered. "But why leave, then? If you have the Seven behind you, ready to support you…"
"Because this world runs on a cycle. Or so I believe," he replied. "The Seven are ascendant now but for how long? The Old Gods slumber but they were never alive so they cannot die and thus will one day wake up. They are individually stronger than the Seven, who are much more dependent on their worshipers than the Old Gods. That's not counting whatever is over in the demon lands in the far east, further east than the Empire of Yi Ti. There are black stones that originate even before the Targaryens and the Valyrian Empire. And… all of this is really an excuse."
"Then what isn't an excuse?"
"I just don't like Westeros. It's more trouble than it's worth."
… She didn't know what to say to that.
Chapter 59
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 59
-VB-
Myrcella Baratheon
Time marched on, and her time to choose came toward her with warning but still too quickly.
Today was one such warning.
She watched with tears in her eyes as her brother, Tommen, ascended the Iron Throne with the Crown of the Seven Kingdoms upon his head. They were adults now, and he was no longer the boy king but a true king of Westeros.
And standing next to the Iron Throne was her betrothed with his god hammer in one hand and a gnarly staff with gold veins (but which did nothing and was for looks, according to him) in his other hand.
"And thus King Tommen Baratheon, the First of His Name, the King of the Andals and Rhoynar and the First Men, and the Lord Protector of the Realm sits before you! Long live the king!"
The court, packed to the brim, roared back.
"Long live the king!" they roared.
As the festivities of a new prosperous - and more importantly peaceful - era began before her eyes, she watched everyone break up into smaller groups as the festivities began. Servants brought in food, and there were magical wonders and trinkets on display for people to marvel.
But her eyes were on her betrothed. He was standing next to Tommen, talking with him with a smile on his face and advising her brother on how to talk to lords and ladies because… because… because no one else ever gave her brother the time of their day.
It was why Tommen was also one of the people most hurt by Alan's admission of leave in the future. Permanent leave.
So she was here, having to decide between her betrothed and her brother. Her brother would have Uncle Stannis and Shireen while Alan would… he would have no one.
Oh sure, one of his acolytes who gave him her best fluttering eyes might climb into his bed one day but having that kind of relationship didn't mean anything, not really. Just look at her mother and father. Their lives were horrible. Love… love was necessary. A deeper meaning in a relationship needed to exist. Whether it was the love of friends, love of their partner, familial love, or even just a hobby shared, there needed to be.
Or life would be an endless swim in the muck and gutter. A constant struggle to survive with no light at the end of the tunnel.
It was what led to infidelity. Gambling. Alcohol. Or even war.
She didn't want the one man who stood by her side for so long to suffer that but could she… abandon her last blood family?
This coronation was a warning for her. That her time to choose was fast approaching.
-VB-
Tommen Baratheon
Why was his life always about someone leaving him?
Father died. Mother died. Even if he hated Joffrey, it still hurt to have him die like that. An arrow out of nowhere?
And now, the one man who kept him safe and helped him as much as he did was going to leave, too?
"Is there anything I can do to have you stay for longer?" he asked tiredly after the latest Small Council meeting. It was no longer a Regency Council.
Alan looked over his shoulder and snorted. "You know my answer to that, Tommy boy," he drawled. "I think the meeting just now also reaffirms my point, too."
Tommen understood Alan. He really did.
The meeting had been nothing but half of the councilors butting heads with each other over minor bits and bobs of authority and power they possessed. They didn't dare to challenge him directly because that meant challenging the Army Killing Mage who was still his protector, but there would be a day in the future when they would bring a challenge to him.
That day would be as soon as Alan left.
And that day was creeping up on everyone.
"Won't it be the same anywhere you go?" he tried instead. "Why leave when you'll only find more problems? At least here, you know the problem."
Alan sighed. "Tommen, what do you think will happen if I remain?"
"… Nothing?"
"No. Not nothing. I am the closest thing to a mortal god. If I am not venerated, then I will be vilified. Essos will forever seek to fight me because they will be under the assumption that I will come to conquer them. It doesn't matter that it's false; they will think so because that's what they would do with the power that I have."
"Then you don't have to do anything! You can repel them!"
"Aye, I can, but for how long before someone I love dies? Before someone goes to far and pisses me off?"
The Small Council chamber remained silent.
"Tommen, if something like that happened, then I will scorch Essos. I will burn innocents and guilty alike because I don't care about them, only that someone among them hurt my people. The same would apply to Westeros. Or do you not remember how skittish the Dornish nobles were when they saw me. I threatened to glass their kingdom over an assumption that they were the ones who poisoned Myrcella."
"I know."
"If you know, then you know I can't stay. Not if you want the world remain green and alive because sooner or later… I will burn this place."
"… Then where will you go?"
"Someplace where life isn't static."
"… I still don't know how to feel about that."
He shrugged.
-VB-
Oberyn Martell
He disliked Lord Marris but he also respected the man.
It was hard to not respect a man who decided to blow up the dragons and the Far North because he could. There was respect to be found in that power, and if you didn't respect that kind of power, then you weren't long for this world.
It also made him question why a man with that much power was going to leave.
Oh, the rumors of his hate for everything on this world had to be exaggerated… but it had to include an inkling of truth. He certainly seemed like he wanted to kill everyone at the Small Council meeting.
What did that have to do with him?
Well, the king would still rule. As much as the new king was much weaker than Lord Marris, Lord Marris also intended to leave behind a significant portion of his magicians behind to support the king.
That was the rumor, anyway.
If that was true, then there would be problems about their attempt at revenge on the Lannisters.
Especially since Lord Marris seemed to be aware of their ambition and now sat across from him.
"Prince Oberyn," he began. "Is your brother enjoying the trinket I left behind intentionally?"
"Yes, yes he is," he replied with ease. "It has been extremely useful in getting the, ah, attention and loyalty of our vassals."
"Hmm. Then he is wise. To use what he has right now rather than grinding the sword for revenge in the future."
Oberyn's smile tightened and he had to grip his fist underneath the table.
The blank faced lord didn't give a hint whether or not he saw the change but he probably did.
"I will not get in the way of your revenge."
He blinked.
"But I will be upset if the younger generations are involved in your plots. If you decide to ignore the youngsters, however, then there will be no activation of… contingencies."
Oberyn didn't understand a tenth of the words spoken but it sounded like there was a trap that will be sprung if the Martells were to attack Shireen Baratheon or Tommen Baratheon.
Myrcella was a given, considering the lengths he went to already for her sake.
"… You will not interfere if we go after the Old Lion."
"I will not."
He leaned back.
"… The House of Martells understand your stance on this matter."
Nothing else needed to be said.
… But he and his family would certainly probe or proxy the Lannister-Baratheon king's defense after Lord Marris leaves.
Chapter 60
Celestial Hymn
Chapter 60
-VB-
Myrcella Baratheon
This was it.
She watched as her betrothed's most loyal servants and acolytes carried their belongings up the ramp and into the skyship. She wasn't the only one watching, merely one of hundreds watching. Unlike most, she stood not too far from the bottom of the ramp where Alan himself was instructing and guiding people to where they would need to go inside the skyship.
This was it.
She no longer had an excuse to not answer him. This was as far as she could go. She had to choose between him and her brother, and the thought still tore at her heart.
"Myr."
She blinked and turned around.
Standing some distance behind her was Tommen with his King's Guards.
"Tommen," she said as she walked up to him, lifting up her skirt so that they would not drag along the grass of the hill that Alan chose to have his people gather.
Her twin brother looked at her for a moment, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking.
In the years since the war, he had grown more and more to look like their mother and Uncle Jaime, but there was a hint of iron inside him that told her that their father was inside him, too. A stubbornness that no one could bend.
And yet, she couldn't see that stubbornness in his eyes right now.
No, she saw a resignation.
"Myr, I think you should go with him," he told her.
Her eyes widened at his words. "Tom-."
"You won't be happy here, I think."
She didn't say anything. She didn't know whether it was true or not, but also didn't have the heart to deny it.
Alan had been the man in her life that no one else had been. The one to woo her with gifts, to tell her the cold truths that others tried to hide, to teach her if she wanted, and to carry her to safety when no one else could.
Betrothed, yes, but the only man in her life she loved.
It hurt to admit that because it also meant that her life - as well as Tommen's - had been shit.
Tommen smiled. It was sad. Not broken but still sad.
"I have… duties," he whispered to her. He reached down and grabbed her hands in his, running his thumbs across her knuckles gently. "And personally, there's no way I could live with Alan. He can be suffocating sometimes, you know?"
Myr bit her lips. That wasn't true, and they both knew it.
"But you know what life is like. We can't have everything that we want," he sighed. "So go with him. He'll make you happier than all of Westeros ever could. Happier than your family ever could."
He let go of her hands and hugged her. "Just don't forget about me, okay?"
She hugged him back as she felt tears in her eyes. "I won't," she croaked.
After what felt like too short of a time, he pulled back from her and gave her a teary smile. He quickly wiped those before turning to Alan, who had been waiting silently. She turned too and realized that everyone who wanted to go with Alan had already entered the skyship.
It was just her.
Alan, like always, waited patiently.
She turned to look at Tommen. She could see their grandfather standing in the distance but he looked nonplussed about it all. Myrcella knew that she was never someone worth considering in her grandfather's eyes. Yes, she was a Lannister through blood, but she was, at the end of the day, not someone he will have control over.
But if she stayed, that would be all she would be: a puppet for someone else.
She took in a deep breath in and let it out slowly. She turned back to Tommen and smiled. She column't help the tears that built up and then spilled over.
"I love you, Tom."
"I love you, too, Myr," he croaked.
They hugged one last time before they let each other go, and she turned around.
Alan waited patiently.
He always did.
She did love him, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel a little resentful. She wouldn't need to leave Tommen behind if he wasn't so stubborn about leaving, after all.
Myrcella walked up to him and raised a hand up for her.
"I choose to go with you."
He smiled. It was grateful. A little sad on her behalf but relieved.
"I'm happy to have you, Myrcella," he said quietly as he took her hand and guided her up the ramp.
She huffed as she followed him. "Happy enough to stay?"
This time, he snorted. "And deal with all of the shenanigans this world will inevitably throw at me? No."
Their shoes tapped against the solid metal of the ramp, and finally, they stood at the top where they turned around to look at the rest of the people who had come to say their goodbyes. A large chunk of them were the believers of the Seven.
"You know, there is a saying about starting a new life elsewhere."
"Yes?"
"It'll be a clean slate. You don't have to be a princess anymore if you don't want."
As the ramp rose up to close…
Myrcella did think that not having to be a princess was a boon she hadn't ever considered. It was simply who she was.
"Then would I not be your queen?" she asked coyly.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. You will always be my queen, regardless of where we are and where we go."
She sniffled a little as she looked at Tommen.
She waved.
He waved.
And then the ramp closed.
Myrcella stood there where she last saw her brother. Her lips quivered in the brightly lit hold of the skyship… but then she swallowed her desire to cry and turned to… her husband.
"… Where to?" she asked after a while.
"I think we should hold our wedding somewhere where the water shines bright blue and the weather is perfect for beach parties," Alan smiled as he led her deeper into the skyship as she felt it take off smoothly from the ground.
"What is a beach party?"
The End.
-VB-
A/N:
WOOT! It ain't the first story I've ever finished but it is one that I've finished with all of my s and readers in QuestionableQuesting!
Thank you to my top 25 s!
Randall Randall, Nisiris, Actress, PbookR, DemoN, FallenMetalGod, Nick, Marquinn Benjamin, Max Horrichs, Rashomon, Ricanto elito, InsanexSilence, Southmonk, Dinero1121, Richard Whereat, Douglas Karr, Ramon Diaz, bel lastor, Cromaxx, Thordur hrafn, Fungame2, john stockley, erry I draper, Lann, Legion_13
And thank you to the rest of my s as well as well as the rest of you readers out there!