《Ravenswood [A Transmigration Medieval High-Fantasy]》


 Prologue

    The icy wind whistled, breezing through the moonlit land which as far as the eyes could see was painted white. Everard and Ayla journeyed forth through the vast snow, both covered in thick black robes, providing them with just enough warmth to forbid the howls of winds from becoming the last thing they¡¯d ever hear. In Everard¡¯s hand there was a black iron lantern covered in transparent cloth, and in it, oil burning to keep the dimly lit flame which guided their path from going out.


    The two younglings, both twelve of age, seemed to be searching for something. Obviously, something so fascinating it had piqued their interests and hoisted them into the Snowlands. A forbidden place only members of the Winterguards were allowed to venture.


    ¡°Everard, I fear we have made a mistake,¡± Ayla said. ¡°We should have never left the fortress.¡±


    ¡°Walk, Ayla. We¡¯ll be there soon,¡± Everard demanded, forcibly dragging his legs through the snow.


    ¡°You have been saying that for winter seasons now. When shall be soon?¡± Ayla argued, her voice echoing through the snowy plains.


    ¡°Oh, shut up, Ayla. No girl of Winterstone shall be a whiner under my watchful eyes.¡±


    ¡°I am not a whiner.¡±


    ¡°Then why has your mouth made more progress than your legs?¡± Everard said, just before halting his trek for the first time since their journey had begun. He turned to Ayla sharply. ¡°Listen to me, Ayla. We¡¯re not respected inside those walls. Those bearded brutes mock us and call us children whenever we try to do something they do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because we are children,¡± Ayla pointed out the obvious.


    ¡°I am no child!¡± The howls of the winds intensified, as if his scream had agitated them.


    ¡°Mother will not be happy with us.¡±


    ¡°I do not care. I am Ser Everard Whitehome of Winterstone, member of the Winterguards¡­¡±


    ¡°No, you are not.¡±


    ¡°I shall be, once I return with the scales of those beasts.¡± Everard rubbed his nose with his finger, a smile forming on his face as he indulged in the thought of being praised by the bearded brutes he hated so much, imagining himself the receiver of great acclaim.


    ¡°Those aren¡¯t beasts, Everard! They are the gods of the sky,¡± Ayla thundered. ¡°You know what the grown-ups say. Do not bring great calamity upon us.¡±


    ¡°I do not care what they say, I shall call them whatever I please.¡± Everard shrugged. ¡°And even if they are gods, that does not change anything. I will tame the gods if need be.¡±


    ¡°Everard!¡±


    ¡°No more idle chatting. The only ride to Winterstone from Winterkeep leaves at sunrise. We do not have the time to waste. Move your feet.¡±


    ¡°I think we should not go any further,¡± Ayla told her brother.


    ¡°What do you want us to do? Head back home after making it so far? I never forced you to come, you were interested in seeing them yourself.¡±


    ¡°A mistake on my part. One I realised too late, but now that I have, it is my duty to stop you from going any further.¡±


    ¡°If so, then this is where I bid you farewell.¡±


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    Ayla watched with heavy breaths as her brother turned his back to her, trudging his feet in between the snow as he walked further and further away. Left with no choice, she grit her teeth and hurried after him.


    The journey continued with the two younglings mute as they dragged their feet through the snow, that was until a glitter in the distance, twinkling brightly in the dark, shattered the quiet and forced Everard¡¯s tightly shut lips to curl at an angle as he said, ¡°Ayla, do you see that?¡±


    ¡°Is that¡­?¡±


    ¡°On winter¡¯s cold it is. Hurry, we have arrived.¡±


    Ayla¡¯s interest piqued once again, pushing her to cast off her fear as she hastened to keep pace with Everard.


    As they got closer and closer to the twinkle, they noticed how much of a giant it was. Halting their steps in front of the rock-like monstrosity which was no less than a twinkle a few moments ago, a prickling sensation spread over their arms and necks.


    As tall as a Scots pine and as wide as the average mountain, it towered over them. But despite the chilling sensation galloping through their spines, they were entranced by its beauty. It was whiter than the whitest of snows and more beautiful than the most prized of gemstones.


    ¡°How¡­how are we to take this back?¡± Ayla¡¯s voice quivered as she asked.


    ¡°Heh. So this is a scale? I had heard it made the tallest man in Winterstone look a babe¡¯s height. But this¡­ this is madness.¡± Everard placed his hand on the scale, and caressed it. Every glance his dark brown eyes took at its beauty, touched the depth of his being, stirred his soul, and quickened his heart, until he was no longer satisfied. ¡°We go further, Ayla. I am sure there is more beauty to be seen.¡±


    ¡°What nonsense you spew, Everard. The further we walk, the more dangerous it gets. Have you been smacked by winter¡¯s hand?!¡±


    ¡°You know nothing. This is our chance to be a part of the Winterguards, and you dare falter. How much of a coward are you?!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to let you hurt Mother just because of your senseless pride.¡± Ayla grabbed his hand, intending to drag him home if need be.


    ¡°Hands off!¡± Everard pulled his hand free from her grasp. ¡°Where¡¯s your shame? Mother has been working in that shitty alehouse ever since father died, letting savage dicks caress her breasts and buttocks for some measly change, so we can eat what? Rye bread and intestine soup barely enough to last all three of us a day. Yes, call out my pride, I do not care. This is the only way we can have enough for our family and I shall see to it no matter what!¡±


    The earth roared, shaking intensely as if it was about to turn over. The words of Ayla stuck in her throat, unable to escape, and the lantern in Everard¡¯s hand fell into the snow, forcing the flame within it to quench, making the dim light of the full moon their only source of light.


    ¡°Ah! What happened?¡± Everard hissed in a fretful manner as he picked up the lantern from the snow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± Ayla¡¯s words, once again, stuck in her throat as she shifted her gaze from her brother and watched a silhouette slowly rise behind him. ¡°Everard¡­ turn around,¡± she whispered.


    Everard turned around, and at once he knew what exactly towered in front of him. He had never seen one, and right now, he could only make out its silhouette, but he knew what it was. The beast, as he had called it, had wings wider than the mountains, and itself hundreds of times taller, no, thousands of times taller than the scale which stood before them.


    ¡°Run, Ayla,¡± Everard muttered.


    ¡°What¨CWhat are you plotting?¡± Tears immediately gushed out of Ayla¡¯s eyes, understanding that in this situation, there was little to no chance of their survival.


    ¡°Run, Ayla, and¡­ do not look back. Today, I become Ser Everard Whitehome of Winterstone, and it is my duty as a member of the Winterguards to protect you.¡± Everard gave off a faint smile as he glanced at his sister.


    The beast roared, so loud that it shook the heavens, and beyond doubt startling Ayla, sending her scurrying off in the snow.


    Everard turned to face the beast, letting out a cry of declaration, ¡°I, Ser Everard Whitehome of Winterstone, son of Brant Whitehome, first of his name, and member of the Winterguards¡­ challenge you to a duel!¡±


    The towering monstrosity gave out another heaven splitting roar, but this time, powerful enough to shake even the earth.


    Ayla kept running, abandoning her brother to the mercy of the enormous beast without taking one look back. Her palms clenched tight together, her teeth biting into her lips, she ran farther and farther away, until the roar of the beast, and the courageous screams of her brother became no more than a whisper in the wind, leaving behind a stillness that was almost palpable. And for the first time since she had hurried away, she muttered, ¡°Everard.¡±

 A New World

    <h2><u>JON</u></h2>


    Hot! It¡¯s so hot!


    He was at the end of the world. He was at the end of his world. The darkness which engulfed him, the vast sea of black that took his vision, his eyesight away, and the sense of everything the world used to be to him, told him all he needed to know. He was dying. He was lying somewhere dying and no one, not a single person was coming to save him.


    How? Why? He knew how and he surely knew why. It was all his fault, all his doing. No one had forced him into the burning building, no one. He had jumped in himself, of his own accord, to save people, to save those that were trapped in the fire. How well it worked out for him. He had managed to save no one and now nobody was coming to save him as he lay beneath the wooden frame that had come crashing down on him. He lacked the sight to see what was happening, his eyes would not open, but his nose did nothing to betray him. The fire had grown too much, he could smell it, along with the burnt smell of sizzling flesh mingled with smoke, and he had no doubt that his own was one of the many things being burnt, the torrid pain he felt would not let him have such a doubt. If only¡­ if only¡­


    His tears dried as quickly as they rolled down his cheeks, the scorching heat doing him nothing that could be called a favour. Until now, he never thought to think of how much he would miss the feel of tears rolling down his cheeks if he was never able to cry again, maybe the heat truly did do him a favour, now he could see how much he missed it, how much he missed the comfy warmth of tears as it streamed down his cheeks, he wished he could feel it again, but even that had been lost to the fire, the only thing he had left was his sense of smell and breath, and even those had begun to flicker. He was like a dying ember, and his body had begun to feel so light, almost as though he was a feather falling from the sky, swaying and dancing in the wind, only he felt lighter, and he was not a feather, he was not swaying and dancing in the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze of the wind, he was falling in a choking darkness, deeper and deeper, he was losing himself more and more, his life, and he could neither call for help nor hope for one.


    All he could do was wait until he dropped to the end of this darkness like the falling feather he was. He could not crawl his way up nor could he force his way down, he just had to wait and then¡­ and then¡­ his life would end¡­


    His eyes flung open with a sharp inhale. It was air, he knew, one devoid of the smell of smoke and burnt flesh. His lungs opened up to take in more, he was not done, he needed more and he breathed in more. It felt as though he had not had a fresh breath of air in centuries, as though he had¡­ Wait.


    His vision was blurred at first, but now it was clearing up, and at the same time, so did his mind. He had died, that he was sure of, so what was happening? Was this death? Was this how death felt? His eyes cleared completely now and it was greeted by a thick foam surrounding his mouth. There was no thick foam anywhere near his lips before, he was burnt, burnt to death, and he sure as hell did not remember his tongue having any metallic taste tinge it, this was not¡­ Jon gasped, his chest tightening abruptly as he saw a reflection on the small metallic bowl that was flipped over before him, and he wasted no time before he pounced to his feet. He turned to look over his shoulders but he saw no one, then he turned back at the sturdy wood table he had jumped up from and leaned closer to take a better look at the face he saw on the bowl. It was still there, he waited for a while, then turned sharply again to catch a sight of whoever might be behind him by surprise, but he saw no one still.


    It can¡¯t be¡­ he thought to himself as he stood up straight with a sharp inhale, then suddenly he lunged his face closer to the bowl once again. He turned his head right, the reflection followed, he turned it left and it followed again. ¡°No,¡± Jon muttered with a nervous exhale. ¡°Damn death¡¯s playing tricks on me. There¡¯s no way. There¡¯s no way that¡¯s my face.¡± He pointed at the bowl as though he was accusing it of some crime. ¡°My hair¡¯s black.¡± True, the person in the bowl had hair as blue as the clear sky on a summer¡¯s day. ¡°What? Silver eyes? Me? Is it even possible to have such?¡± That too, the person in the bowl had silver eyes, pale ones. ¡°And,¡± Jon scoffed, ¡°what¡¯s up with his face, why is it so¡­ handsome or beautiful? Which one? Of course I was handsome too, but what is this?¡± He would not say he wasn¡¯t after all, but even he knew how much his own features closed to this person¡¯s own. This one had a sharp jawline narrowing down to his chin, and accompanied by his pale silver eyes and blue hair¡­ so much for his own handsomeness to this person¡¯s.


    Jon¡¯s mind wobbled, his heart raced and he began to pace about the room, his eyes still not thinking to look about it and see where exactly he was, he wanted to know what was happening first, he wanted to¡­ He stopped his pacing and began to stare down the table he had jumped up from. Ink from a fallen inkwell was spilled all over it, and along with the water that he suspected had poured out from the bowl he had used as his mirror, they made a mess of the table.


    Maybe the afterlife gave people new faces, Jon thought. He knew he surely died, there was no doubt about that, but his mind was bringing some other option that was not death, an option he deemed too queer to consider, but maybe if he¡­


    He buried his boot into the leg of the table, and it no doubt went the other way from what he had expected. ¡°Shit. Goddammit.¡± His toes were hurting so badly. He was not dreaming, that was for sure, and he felt pain, the pain he had lost when he died, it was all gone then, so how could he feel it now again. Could it possibly be¡­?


    Just then, Jon noticed something tightly shut in his left hand, and at the same time he took notice of the attire that fell over his body. He was wearing something queer, something that he had only seen worn in movies. It was a golden velvet coat that fell all the way down to his knees, with a black leather belt that was fastened to his waist. His legs were covered by black leather boots with high heels and pointed toes, and it was embellished with golden threads.


    Maybe he was in a movie. Impossible¡­


    Jon removed his eyes from his attire and swept it across the room, taking it from one end to the other, his eyes devoid of any glint of the understanding he sought and wanted to have. The room was ancient, medieval-esque ancient. The walls of the room were made of mortared stones polished beautifully with granites and marbles that glittered. The table and chair he had jumped up from, stood to the right beside a hearth made of the same stones as the walls, and a golden banner designed with the sigil of a raven standing atop a diagonal sword, hung just above it.


    He took his eyes further to the left of the room from where he stood, and there was a large bed lavishly draped with curtains with a bedding made of fine silver silk there. Beside the bed, the only window in the room, set in the wall, its shutters adorned with white and blue stained glasses, which less doubt did their job of casting colourful patterns of light across the room. While the floor was covered with a large grey woven rug designed with the same crest as the banner that hung just above the hearth.


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    Is this really the afterlife¡­? Jon gasped sharply as he was taken aback. He had only seen such things in movies and read about such designs in books, so what was this? What was all this? Was he dead? Was he not? He did not know anymore. Amidst all the confusion that stormed his mind, he suddenly recalled that his hand was curled into a fist and something was in it. He immediately clocked back to his tightly shut hand and as he unlocked it he found a piece of crumpled paper buried within.


    Poisoned¡­ the paper bore this singular word as he unfolded it. Shit. Jon understood. He actually was¡­ he actually¡­ The pain, the air, the sense of touch, everything he lost had returned, just like in those books, the ones he had read. He actually had transmigrated, and it was into a body that had been murdered; the paper in his hand, that he looked at in disbelief, bearing proof that the body he had come into was indeed murdered, and it as well had the cause of this person¡¯s death. He clenched his teeth grimly.


    ¡°My lord,¡± a voice called out suddenly from behind the large wooden door of the room, startling Jon and almost sending him down to his buttocks as he reeled backwards as though he was ready to run. To where though?


    My lord?


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?!¡± Jon voiced in return.


    ¡°Apologies, my lord. It is I, Flynn Claymore,¡± the voice said, and after a short while of awaiting a reply from the startled Jon and receiving none, the man spoke again, ¡°may I come in?¡±


    Jon¡¯s eyes, without delay, stumbled back to the paper in his hand and its substance.


    ¡°Poisoned¡­¡± he muttered.


    Would it do me good to let him in? Jon¡¯s eyes glanced at the door as he sunk deep in his thoughts. He had done a lot of sinking and falling in the last few hours, and he suspected there was even many more to come. He did not even know where he was at this moment and how the hell he was to react.


    ¡°Is everything alright, my lord?¡± Flynn questioned, regathering Jon¡¯s seemingly lost attention to him.


    ¡°W-What do you want?¡± Jon¡¯s voice quivered slightly, almost unnoticeable, as he asked.


    ¡°I have come to gather you for the enthronement, my lord. The members of the court are gathered in the royal hall and await you,¡± Flynn replied.


    Enthronement? Royal hall? Don¡¯t tell me¡­ No one would of course, he did not need to mention it. And whereas, an enthronement and a royal hall only meant one thing, if his memory served him right, and it was a crown. Was he to be¡­? Jon inhaled sharply and straightened himself on his feet, he had to first find out where he was and the person that might have the answer to that was standing just beyond that door. And besides, he could not keep the man waiting outside any longer. It might seem suspicious.


    ¡°Come in,¡± Jon said as he crumpled the paper he held tightly in his hands, concealing its existence.


    The large door of the room flew open, allowing Flynn passage into it. The young man walked in gracefully. He was wearing a flame coloured brocade coat with a raven wing pin on his heart. His auburn hair, which was tied into a ponytail, gleamed like marigold petals in the light of the sun that made its way through the opened shutters of the room¡¯s window.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Flynn greeted, clenching his right fist and placing it over his heart as he bowed, the door closing behind him. After he was done bowing and greeting, he took sight of the mess the table had found itself in. ¡°Ravens! What happened here?¡± Flynn exclaimed as his eyes fell upon it.


    Jon knew better than to start spouting nonsense of how he had died and awoken here, and how he was not sure of where he was to this man he had just met, that was only for himself to know, not for any other, especially not when the body he was in had been supposedly murdered. He had to blend in, somehow, and figure out things himself. If only it was as easy as he thought.


    ¡°Nothing that is of your concern,¡± Jon said as he elegantly sat on the bed, trying his best not to draw suspicions to himself. He scratched his hair. ¡°I seemed  to have slept off and woken up with a bit of a headache. Enlighten me on yourself once again, and what you mean by enthronement,¡± he added, almost biting his lips due to how cringey he sounded. His question was a stupid one, but there was little choice he had. Asking was the best way to get answers, and he no doubt will.


    Flynn¡¯s eyes shifted from the table and fell upon Jon, his gaze seemingly sceptical, forcing Jon¡¯s heart to race rapidly. Maybe the question had actually been a bad move. How could he have asked such a question? He wished he could just blink and awaken in his house, but even he knew how stupid that thought was. There was no doubt of what had happened to him. None at all. He was dead to his world and he might as well be stuck here.


    Flynn¡¯s eyes closed and a soft smile slowly spread across his cheeks. ¡°Surely you jest, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°I am Flynn Claymore, son of Reginald Claymore, the former royal advisor to the king and Lord of Mistwood. My father laid down his raven pin, stepping down as royal advisor, and resigning himself to his castle after the death of your father, the previous king. I have taken my father¡¯s position and have become the new royal advisor to the king, which you shall become in a matter of moments,¡± Flynn told him, and it was quite a lot, so much that it surprised him. But at least he got answers.


    That confirms it, I have transmigrated into the body of a prince about to become a king¡­ Jon almost shook his head, his palms had become sweaty. He was completely shaken.


    ¡°Have you erased me from your mind so quickly, my lord. We used to play all the time in the royal courtyard as kids while our fathers were at court. We would bask our skin beneath the golden sun, listening to the maidens sing beautifully. Not that it matters any longer, I am now but a mere royal advisor in service to you, my lord.¡± Flynn bowed courteously, his lips curling up eloquently.


    Jon¡¯s heart was thumping a rapid beat in his chest now, but he knew nothing good would come out of being tensed at this moment. He sighed inwardly in an attempt to calm himself as he collected what he had heard, trying to put together the current situation he was in, still he could not seem to understand what was happening. He had been transmigrated, offered a new life in the body of a prince, but given the circumstances, it was nothing he was thankful for. There was a royal feud going on in this castle and he had been dumped in its midst. Why had he been given a new life if it was only going to be threatened again?


    He took his gaze to the auburn-haired man who had begun to quietly inspect the messy table for some reason known to he alone. It was all stupid, everything, he thought as he watched the man. What was he to do now? He was not sure, and he might never be. Jon shook his head free from the thoughts his mind was clouded with. Nothing was going to come out of such thinking, he needed to see the positivity in this. He had been given another shot at life in a vastly different world, one that might even be more dangerous, and even he knew that his wallowing in thoughts would not be of any help, he had to find a way to protect himself or he might just end up dead again.

 A New Family

    <h2><u>JON</u></h2>


    The auburn-haired man who had named himself as Flynn Claymore, and had come to bring to the royal hall whoever this person Jon had found himself in his body, gestured out the door as he pulled it open. ¡°After you, my lord,¡± he had said, and Jon allowed himself leave of the room, one foot carefully placed before the other, each at a time. If the fire had never existed, this would have been the greatest pain he¡¯d have ever felt. His toes were still hurting and the boot was so tight, then there were the heels, the damn heels, how could anyone walk in these. Well, he was walking in them now, but only just, it was so hard to move in them, but he tried his best to make it seem as natural as possible, and in return his strides were slow, so slow that it felt as though he took ages to leave his room, but when he finally did, the pain subsided, something else took his mind from it as he halted his steps, his eyes squinting to a narrow in thought.


    There were two of them, guards clad in full body armour with black long capes fastened to their shoulders, one a tad taller and broader than the other, like a mountain to a hill. They both had the visors of their armet down and he could not see their faces as they straightened back up after their bow, the only thing he was allowed to see at the place their face was, was the same crest he had seen on the banner hanging above his hearth on their armets, but at this moment what they looked like beyond all those metal fastenings were not of the utmost concern to him. It was something else.


    Were the guards here all the time¡­? He wondered as he remembered the paper he had seen in his hand. That¡¯s not possible, right¡­? Someone that was about to be king could not have such incompetent guards that he would die right underneath their noses¡­ I doubt that¡­


    Jon turned to Flynn, his mind iffy at its own thoughts and his eyes narrow with scrutiny as he fixed them on the auburn-haired man. ¡°The guards, did they ever leave this door?¡± he asked, his chest tightening as he did. He could have dumped his question on the guards straight up, but this Flynn had given him a great reply to his earlier question despite how unruly it might have sounded, so it was he first before the guards, and he so hoped they might have gone somewhere because it would be utterly uncanny if such a high figure died while they were here manning his door. Incompetence at its peak it would be.


    Flynn¡¯s eyebrows twitched in astonishment at the question, and then he bowed his head slightly while he quickly replied, ¡°Not that I know of, my lord. They would not dare.¡±


    Jon¡¯s heart gave one fierce thump against his rib cage. It was not the answer he had hoped for. Wherever this place that he had wound up in was, he had no doubt that his life was in danger as long as he remained in this body. This was not it. He could not imagine himself dying all over again, that darkness, all over again. No. A sudden shiver crept up his spine and he turned over sharply to the guards, but as he was about to question them, Flynn cut in.


    ¡°My lord, we are past the time for your enthronement, we have to be at the royal hall soon. Tardiness would not be the best of impressions on your first day as king.¡±


    There was a slight hesitation, but when Flynn called again with a tone of urgency, Jon swallowed his words at last and chose to advance to the royal hall instead. They were not going anywhere, he thought, how long could an enthronement possibly take? He would question them once he got back, that he would do.


    They made their way through the corridor, wide it was but it still felt a bit narrow. The torches set in the sconces on the walls were unlit, so their path was guided by the golden rays of light making its way in from the high windows. Jon wished a light would just appear and guide his path back to his world. Hmph¡­ he scoffed. Wishful thinking indeed.


    ¡°Brother!¡± There was a voice, a young one but overtly loud and cheerful, and it called out, to him maybe or to Flynn, but what he knew was that it came for one of them, seeing as it echoed as soon as he and Flynn had wandered out of the corridor and onto the veranda of the concourse, a space so wide that a garden could have been grown there along with a fountain in its midst, but instead its floor of hardwood was designed with the same crest he had seen in the dead prince¡¯s room. ¡°Why are you so late? Did sucking on a maiden¡¯s tit make you dull?¡± The boy that had called said. Jon saw him now. He was folding his arms with a mocking grin, and his black hair which was curled backwards smoothly, shined beautifully, but his brown eyes glowed with nothing short of mischief, and then there was his mouth¡­ quite vulgar. He needed a whooping. The boy was wearing a brown high-quality leather doublet, and from his neck, hung a small chain made of gold. His dressing was befitting of no one less than a noble. No wonder the obvious lack of any sort of whooping.


    ¡°Thaddeus! Where in King¡¯s city did you learn to speak such words? Have you been sneaking out again?¡± A woman placed her hands on the boy¡¯s shoulders reprimanding him with a voice, soft and calm, her social status glowing perfectly from her dressing. Her body was swept beneath a golden gown made of silk, and a full skirt that flowed down from her waist, creating a bell-shaped silhouette, while the overlay bodice of the gown was fitted with a high-collar adorned with jewelries, and on her beautiful dark hair sat a small golden crown to complement her fit. There was no mistaking who or what she was. She was a queen.


    ¡°Leave me be mother. I am no longer a child,¡± Thaddeus said as he forced his shoulders free from her gentle grasp. ¡°It is quite normal for me to know what I know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no it¡¯s not. You are but a boy of ten. You¡¯re still too young to speak of such things.¡± She placed her hands once again on his shoulder.


    Thaddeus gnashed his teeth in frustration, and then turned over to Jon who approached them along with Flynn. ¡°Brother, command mother to unhand me, you¡¯re the king, are you not?¡±


    You would have gotten a whooping if it was left to me¡­ Jon thought as he studied both mother and son. Luckily for you, it¡¯s not left to me¡­ I wonder what his personality was¡­ Jon¡¯s mind suddenly flashed towards the body¡¯s original soul for a moment. If his brother¡¯s a brat and his mother¡¯s a somewhat too gentle a soul, then how had he been¡­?


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    ¡°Zephyr is my son too, Thaddeus. Have you forgotten?¡± The queen chuckled as she leaned closely to Thaddeus¡¯ ear.


    Zephyr? This body¡¯s name. Well, I guess that has become my name now as well¡­ Jon resigned himself to the reality that his identity was no longer what it used to be before he had transmigrated. A new name, a brother, and¡­ a new mother. He spat within, whichever supreme being had been behind this had lost all respect from Jon. Couldn¡¯t they have made him lose all his memories and return as a baby or something? Instead they let him keep his memories and then dumped him into the body of someone that had been murdered. He was sure they were having a big hearty laugh somewhere up in those skies as they watched him try to blend in.


    ¡°Brother!¡± Thaddeus wailed, calling his brother¡¯s attention back as he insisted he adhered to his needs.


    Jon sighed, for the last time as the person Jon. ¡°Just let him be, Mother,¡± Zephyr said, waving his hand dismissively. ¡°He would have learnt about these things sooner or later.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too soft on him, Zephyr. You have to learn to be hard on him sometimes,¡± the queen said, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.


    Well that explains this body¡¯s previous owner¡¯s character¡­ Zephyr¡¯s lips twitched softly before he replied in return, ¡°I could say the same for you, Mother.¡± Geez¡­ that sounds weird¡­ Calling someone else''s mother: mother was not an easy feat, but he had already accomplished one already today and this one just doubled his achievements of uneasy feats accomplished. The first one was walking in heels. His legs were still hurting, but at least he was trying.


    ¡°My Queens, My Lady, My Lords,¡± Flynn greeted as he bowed, placing his fist on his chest. Zephyr had almost forgotten that this man was here. He turned to look at who Flynn was bowing in greetings to, and then he noticed the four other people that were standing at a distance from them.


    There was a woman adorned in a crown and a dress similar to Thaddeus¡¯ mother, the dress only different in that it had a colour of flame, golden flame. There were also two young men and a lady, all three who looked no older than he was. The man who looked the eldest of the three, had brown hair and a stern face, and he wore a thick black coat with a golden chain hanging from his neck.


    The second man, who had a more approachable expression, wore a brown leather tunic adorned with golden embroideries across its collar which complemented his brown hair. Then there was the lady, a youngling, he could see, and she kept combing her long brown silky hair, slightly avoiding his gaze as she stared into the ground instead. Her body was draped in a blue gown which looked to have been designed to perfectly fit her body shape and bring out her beauty.


    ¡°We should head in now, my lord,¡± Flynn bowed slightly as he gestured for Zephyr to make his way into the royal hall. Unsure of the relationship his predecessor had with the other four, Zephyr chose to walk past them without speaking a word. It was better not to talk than to say nonsense, or so he thought, even without talking he roused a rather delicate matter which he had not expected. No one would have expected it, in truth.


    The stern looking of the two young men was the first to have a crack at him. ¡°Oh look, Mother. The bastard speaks no word to us now that he¡¯s about to become king,¡± he mocked spitefully, halting Zephyr¡¯s advance to the royal hall.


    Bastard? Zephyr wallowed in confusion as he turned over to look at them. It kept coming, he had not even spent an hour in this world and he was already being fed with more incomprehensible questions than everything he had ever seen from maths. He would give anything to solve maths now than listen to more of these rubbish questions come to raid his mind. Questions that most likely determined how long he would stay alive in this world if they were left unanswered. Gah¡­ his dress was making his body itch.


    ¡°Leave him be, Damon. The king might have your head if provoked. You do not want to die at the hands of a bastard now, do we?¡± The golden-flame dressed woman said, provoking the gentle queen¡¯s rage as she swung off her cloak of timidity and donned a fiery one.


    ¡°You dare not speak of my son in such a way, Ophelia. I will not stand for such dishonour,¡± the woman Zephyr had termed meek flared. She surprised him. Maybe she was as fickle as the weather, changing based on her mood? He wondered.


    ¡°Oh pardon me, Thalia. I just find it uncanny that a bastard ascends the throne rather than a trueborn. My sons are trueborns, can you say the same for yours?¡±


    ¡°My son is not a bastard. I will have you kindly take that back.¡±


    ¡°Oh please, you still say that after all this time.¡±


    ¡°Ophelia.¡± Thalia¡¯s visible anger grew with every word that poured out of Ophelia¡¯s mouth and Zephyr just watched. He was almost enjoying it.


    ¡°Mother¡­¡± the mirthful, more approachable looking son, tried to rein in his mother, ¡°...trouble them no further. It is no time to fight. Father spat at such bickering as well.¡±


    Zephyr understood them, if he was to be honest. He looked nothing like any of them. Unless there were hair dyes and eye lenses in this age then maybe, but in truth, this body looked to share nothing in common with either of them, even his own brother. The three of Ophelia¡¯s children, who Zephyr took to be from the second branch or something like that, all shared the same colour of brown for their hair, and even though Thaddeus¡¯ hair went towards the black of his mother, he no doubt shared their brown eyes. Then there was he, completely different from all¡­ but it didn¡¯t matter. If he had heard correctly, it was he that was made crown prince, and it was he that would be king, and honestly, it was the one thing in this world he would not object to. In worlds such as this, it was power that kept people alive longer, and the throne held the greatest of powers. He was going to be king, they could bicker all they wanted but that will not change. Or maybe they were the ones that killed the former Zephyr? Maybe?


    Zephyr sighed, all the thinking wore him out. If they were, they would have acted more surprised when they saw him alive. He was not sure they were, there was no shock in them, just overflowing rage. He let out another exhale, a slight one. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what you think of me,¡± he began by silencing them. ¡°If you deem me a bastard, then so be it. But I¡¯ll have you know, this bastard shall become king, and this bastard shall rule. In truth, it is not up for discussion.¡±


    That should settle things down, at least for now¡­


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you being rather presumptuous, bastard?¡± Damon glared, his eyes glinting with intensity and ferocity like a wolf¡¯s unwavering stare locked on to its prey.


    A stubborn one¡­ ¡°You¡¯re free to leave, Damon. Do not attend the enthronement if you so wish¡ªbut sooner than later, you¡¯ll have no choice but to answer to me as king, or I will have your head...¡± Zephyr provoked Damon, ¡°...and you will have no bastards of your own to father.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± Damon growled.


    ¡°Nothing of such,¡± Zephyr answered him. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare. Make haste Flynn, we are late for the enthronement, aren¡¯t we? Let¡¯s go, Mother, Thaddeus.¡±


    Thalia let out a proud chuckle as she placed her hand on Thaddeus¡¯ head.


    ¡°Mother, hands off my hair. You¡¯re ruining it,¡± Thaddeus let out a cry as he brushed his mother¡¯s hand from his head.


    ¡°Sorry, Thaddeus. It¡¯s just that your brother has grown so much, has he not?¡± Thalia laughed lightly as they advanced behind Zephyr and Flynn to the royal hall, whose large door stood no more than a few steps ahead of them, leaving behind Ophelia and her children to follow behind whenever they pleased.

 A New King

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°Did you know, Brother¡­?¡± His newfound sibling called to him as they walked towards the Royal Hall, the place he was to be crowned king. What a crazy turn of events. It was still queer to him, but he knew better than to dabble in questions that may not be answered anytime soon.


    His body and feet itched with every step he took, so much that if he was still in his former world he might have called it a feeling of excitement, but here, right now, he knew that was hardly the case. The itch both his body and his feets were feeling had come about from the courtesy of the heels of his boots and whatever unhygienic procedure they had made his dress from. He hoped whatever this little boy planned to enlighten him about was on the manual on how to work these boots, if not, he might just have to rip them off and throw them away. His limits were upon him.


    A grunt softly escaped him as he took another step. ¡°Know what?¡± He glanced over at Thaddeus who strolled beside him, and on the little boy¡¯s face was a mischievous smirk playing at the edges of his lips. There was no manual for working his boots, Zephyr knew then, and he was scared of what might come forth from the little boy¡¯s mouth. He had heard enough, he wanted to tell Thaddeus, he didn¡¯t want to know anything anymore.


    ¡°How the witches look?¡± Thaddeus let his mouth give way with a soft whisper before Zephyr could even make known his thoughts.


    Witches? What Thaddeus said had the opposite effect from what Zephyr had expected. It heightened his curiosity instead of overwhelming him with more unanswered questions. His transmigration had made it pretty obvious that things concerning this world proved to not be as simple as his own world, but witches? Witches? He almost smiled. He was curious beyond reasoning and his face did no work to hide it.


    ¡°Heh. I knew you didn''t know,¡± Thaddeus chuckled as he noticed the look Zephyr wore.


    ¡°Those witches,¡± Zephyr began, his head leaning over his shoulder closer to his brother¡¯s as much as their height differences could allow, ¡°what do you¡­¡±


    Stop!


    A faint voice bellowed through Zephyr¡¯s head, instinctively forcing his hand to his temples as a sense of unease suddenly fell upon him, one that crept over his entire being and halted him from speaking further. His chest began to tighten at a quick pace, and a strange sensation made do to fill his throat, it was as though a thick choking fog closed in on him and grasped around his throat with a strong burly hand, while his tongue and lips grew numb and uncooperative as if a tight suffocating gag had been shoved down his throat, rendering him unable to speak or even make a sound. He was gasping for air on his own words.


    ¡°Brother?¡± Thaddeus called for his brother as they both pulled to a halt, his lips devoid of the grin of mischief he always wore.


    Zephyr gasped, this time there was air. ¡°Huh?¡± He noticed how heavy his breathing had become, and as soon as he thought no more of asking any question about the witch, his chest felt as though a giant rock had been lifted from it. Whatever it was it left him more uneasy than he had been when he found out he had transmigrated. This place was crazy.


    ¡°What is the problem?¡± Thaddeus asked with a sullen look, one that would make anyone think that he was almost concerned, that was until his smile returned, as roguish as when it had left. ¡°Wait, do not tell me you are scared of the witches?¡± He was mocking Zephyr. He was mocking the soon to be king.


    But Zephyr had little worry for that. He gave a light exhale as he finally stabilised his breathing, then he turned to Thaddeus and made his fear known in words. ¡°We should speak no more of this.¡± We should think no more of this, more like. They were bad news, whoever those witches were. Thank goodness the choking was so little.


    What he had said fell on the deaf ears of a stubborn boy though. ¡°Say, the witches attack during the enthronement, maybe spew their poisonous venoms on us,¡± Thaddeus giggled as he continued. ¡°In honesty, I wish to see them. Feast my eyes on their rat-like tails bulging out from beneath their black cloaks.¡±


    Zephyr grimaced then, and he wasted no moment to glance fiercely at Thaddeus, a tad uncanny to him he would say, but even he could not control the visible anger and frustration that suddenly took a spread all over his face. He didn¡¯t know how and why, but he lost control for a second there, and snapped. ¡°I said we should speak no more of this!¡± He spat, startling Thaddeus, and in return, shut his mouth as well, letting not a single word take leave from his lips.


    Thalia and Flynn took notice and hurried closer. Anyone would hardly not notice. Zephyr¡¯s voice had been a boom, and even the serving maids littering about had shocked a look towards them, but it dared not last any longer than it did before they scurried away.


    ¡°Is there a problem, my lord?¡± Flynn asked warily, bowing as soon as he met Zephyr¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Does your brother anger you, Zephyr?¡± Thalia questioned as she gently pulled the shaken Thaddeus into her grasp.


    Zephyr tsked at himself. ¡°No, no. Forgive me. I just have a headache,¡± he apologised, the tension built up in his body relaxing bit by bit. ¡°Let¡¯s get this enthronement over with, I need to rest,¡± he said


    ¡°Yes, my lord.¡± Flynn said.


    Zephyr turned around and resumed his approach to the royal hall¡¯s door, his mind now accommodating another question he wished he had sooner avoided. Something was wrong with this place, this world and whatever it was, and in just an hour or maybe more here, it had begun to get to him.


    Thaddeus looked up at his mother solemnly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry mother. I did not mean to anger my brother.¡±


    She gently rubbed his hair. ¡°It¡¯s okay. You heard him, he¡¯s just tired. Once he gets his rest he¡¯ll be fine.¡± Even though she had said that, she was just as shaken as her son. This was something neither of them had seen from Zephyr before.


    ¡°Crown Prince Zephyr Ravenswood has arrived!¡± As the two royal guards positioned before the large oaken doors of the Royal Hall pushed them open with a chant, all Zephyr could think about was what had just happened. Anger, wrath and hostility, these were emotions that in his past life as Jon were never associated with him, but for some reason, all three of them suddenly came to consume him at just a thought, crashing in like a tidal wave just then. Why? What had happened? The shiver could not stop crawling up his spine, all itchy and creepy. The itch might have been his dress though.


    A blinding light spilled out from within the now opened doors, and they no doubt called Zephyr out of his reverie. They were a warm glow and their hands reached out to beckon him forward, inviting him to step into the hall, to discard all the thoughts that plagued his mind and instead embrace their magnificence. Yes, it was as though he was in a movie. He saw the doors now, they were large, far larger than anything he¡¯d ever seen. They always looked smaller in the movies, this was different. A tiny spark of excitement kindled as he took himself through, now remembering that he was about to become a king.


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    The Royal Hall, grand and imposing, was adorned with tapestries designed with the same crest as he had seen hung in his room and carved onto the floor of the concourse. They were the sigil of the kingdom, he deduced now. The hall was long and spacious, so long, it felt as though it had no end, but the raised dais beyond the aisle where the throne sat, broke that sense of feeling. It was a feeling that he liked being broken, the same as the choking feeling that he had encountered, he could not imagine himself walking with these heels through an aisle that had no end. Heck he just wanted this over with so he could get these boots off his legs.


    Zephyr looked around at both the western and the eastern sides of the hall, and there, on both sides, stood long rows of guards, all caped in distinguished black like the ones that manned his door. In the gallery above them were a few people, both men and women, adorned with beautiful clothings and jewellery, every single one of them draped to showcase that they were no less than nobility, but despite their status, they stood with their heads lowered as he walked down the long hall and towards the throne; his mother, Thalia, and his brother, Thaddeus, along with Ophelia, and her children, Damon, Dante and Aria, and his royal advisor, Flynn, all following closely behind.


    He shrugged his shoulders slightly, releasing a bit of tension from them as he raised his head high as lordly as he thought he could make it. There were a lot of people here and he had to make himself act the king he was about to become, only if he actually knew what it entailed to become one. Damn the ones that had dumped him into such a warped situation. How had they expected him to cope with no knowledge whatsoever of this world. His legs itched again and he began to hope he would not fall before he arrived at the dais. If there was anything he would not be able to shoulder, it was that.


    Thankfully, after what felt like a long time, he arrived at the end of his journey down the hall, the end of the dais of the throne he was to sit upon. It was made of a dark bronze stone, and was neither cushioned nor upholstered nor designed with gems of any sort. It was dark and grim, and it should have been anything but beautiful, but that was exactly what it was, beautiful, to his eyes and no doubt to the eyes of everyone who might lay them upon it. The fingers of the sun¡¯s golden light that came in from the high-windows of the hall layered themselves all over the throne, and they made it so magnificent and tempting that he wanted to stroll up and sit upon it like the king he was about to become. But he need not rush. He would sit upon it sooner than later.


    Zephyr glanced behind him and watched his family branch into the opposite sides of the hall. Flynn climbed the steps of the eastern gallery, branching to the side of Thalia and Thaddeus, the second branch as Zephyr thought them to be, went up the western gallery.


    ¡°The enthronement shall now begin,¡± a hoarse voice said, pulling Zephyr¡¯s gaze to it. The voice was the one of a wrinkled old man with a monocle seated atop his eye, and was dressed in a long white robe made of silk, with a large gold chain hanging loosely from around his neck like an untightened noose. He approached the dais from the throne¡¯s left with another man, that one younger, but halfway bald nonetheless, and dressed in the same white robe as he, just slightly lesser in largeness. In the younger one''s hand was a silver tray, and atop it stood a goblet, lay a parchment, and sat the grandest of all, the golden crown, hemmed atop all sides with garnets and rubies and pearls, all different colours than each other.


    The wrinkled old man slowly climbed two steps of the three step dais one at a time, the younger one matching his snailish steps from behind, then he turned over to Zephyr, cleared his throat and began speaking to the ladies and lords in the hall, silent and still as it was, ¡°I, Aelred, pious crow of Ravenswatch and grand savant to the throne of Ravenwing, bid you all to bear witness to this day. The day Crown Prince Zephyr takes to the throne of the kingdom of Ravenwing, as his father, the late king, Sargon Ravenswood did for his father, and as it has been done for centuries past. Those who might bear any ill will or disapproval of his claim should hereby step forward and make known their cause, or acknowledge by the grace of the ravens that Zephyr Ravenswood is the one true heir to the throne, lord of the realm, and protector of the lands and seas.¡±


    The Royal Hall retained its silence still, Zephyr heard no one bring forth any cause, and of course it was not as he had expected. They had been such a lively pair a moment ago, Ophelia and her son Damon, so why were they so silent now that they could bring forth their issues? He wanted to glance back to see the hall in its still wideness, but the grand savant had waited enough for the claims to be brought.


    ¡°As no ill claims have been brought forward,¡± the old man intoned with a loud but cracking voice smeared with old age, ¡°the ravens have deemed Zephyr Ravenswood¡¯s reign to be set adrift.¡± He cleared his throat again. ¡°I, Grand Savant Aelred, filled with the wisdom and the eyesight of the ravens, crown you, Zephyr Ravenswood, son of the late king, Sargon Ravenswood, King of Ravenwing. May you reign for many years with the wisdom and the justice of the ravens, upholding the laws of the land and protecting the people from harm, and may your rule bring further prosperity and peace to the kingdom.¡± He picked up the crown from the tray, adjusted his step, and then placed the crown on Zephyr¡¯s head. ¡°Kneel, if you will, my lord,¡± the old man told Zephyr after he had picked up the parchment from the tray. He unrolled it as Zephyr knelt. ¡°Repeat after me.¡± He cleared his throat again. ¡°I, King Zephyr of House Ravenswood, first of his name and watcher of the realms of men.¡± He glanced at Zephyr.


    Zephyr understood and recited after him, ¡°I, King Zephyr of House Ravenswood, first of his name and watcher of the realms of men.¡±


    Grand Savant Aelred looked back at the parchment. ¡°Pledge my life to the people of the kingdom of Ravenwing.¡±


    ¡°Pledge my life to the people of the kingdom of Ravenwing,¡± Zephyr repeated.


    ¡°To live in their service and to fill their hearts with peace and ease.¡±


    ¡°To live in their service and to fill their hearts with peace and ease.¡±


    The old man rolled up the parchment while he said, ¡°For all my days to come.¡±


    ¡°For all my days to come.¡± Zephyr nodded slightly at the old man. He had listened carefully to the words, but he wondered if all that had been said had been done the same way by the kings of old. He could not judge without seeing the kingdom at large, he knew, but he had seen enough movies to know that only the nobles in any of the medieval eras lived in peace and ease, and even theirs were not far fetched from a little sorrow and grief.


    The old man picked up the goblet from the tray after he had dropped the parchment, and handed it over to Zephyr who took it in hand deftly and peered into it to see the swirls of a drink darkened in red. It was wine and he knew what he was to do. He put the cup to his lips and gulped the wine down, the sourness making his eyes pinch, but only just. As soon as he was done he handed it back to the grand savant who returned it back to the tray before chanting a last, ¡°May the ravens watch over you!¡±


    Zephyr thought he was to repeat that too, but the unison chant of the people who filled the hall saved him from that embarrassment.


    Grand Savant Aelred came down from the dais and gestured for Zephyr to take his place on the throne as the new king of the kingdom of Ravenwing.


    Zephyr gave a slight nod and began to advance up the dais as soon as he rose from his knee.


    It did not take long before he stood facing the throne, it had only been three steps up, but now that he was there, he watched it for a while, allowing his eyes to embrace it before he turned around to face the hall spread out wider than it seemed to have been when he walked in. Up here on the dais it was as though he was standing over the whole world, and the people still chanting made that feel even more powerful.


    Zephyr slowly sat down, settling himself against the throne, the feel of the weight of the crown on his head and the coolness of the polished stone against his back almost making him think it a dream, but the pain he had gone through at death when he was still Jon reminded him that it wasn¡¯t. He gently let his fingers run through the armrest of the throne, caressing it with a deep embrace as a soft smile crept upon his face unwillingly. He had transmigrated and became a king.

 Power And Madness

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°Curses!¡± Damon swore as he stormed into his bedchamber, anger seething from all over his body as the door slammed shut behind him and his brother Dante with a resounding thud, echoing off the stone walls.


    ¡°Was Father mad? How could he have done such a thing!¡± He further wailed as he kicked his boot into the wooden table which stood near his chamber¡¯s window, throwing himself onto its chair, the sound of creaking wood, protesting beneath his weight in return.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead, brother. Let him lie in peace,¡± Dante, calm and relaxed, said as he strode quietly to where Damon sat, beside the window. ¡°You should not question Father¡¯s decision,¡± he added as he stared outside the window, watching the knights of the royal guards stand guard in the yard below, then further looking beyond the gate of Aeron¡¯s holdfast¡ªwhere the royal hall and their chambers were located¡ªand further beyond the castle gate, into the crowded and bustling King¡¯s city, taking in the fresh air. ¡°You are lucky,¡± he said. ¡°You get a good view of the city from here.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, I wonder whose side you are on, dear brother.¡± Damon remarked wistfully, taking his glance away from his brother and towards his chamber¡¯s door as he shouted, ¡°guards! Should I have to ask for a drink?!¡±


    ¡°Pardon, my lord. It shall be brought with haste,¡± a voice replied quickly from beyond the door.


    ¡°Have Melisandre bring it to me.¡±


    ¡°Understood, my lord.¡±


    Dante shook his head fretfully, saying, ¡°do not fill her with child, brother. I worry you might just father your own bastard.¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up, Dante. What do you know about the urges of a man¡¯s cock?¡± Damon mocked as he jokingly grabbed his prized jewel, afterwards, crossing his legs and elevating them onto the table as he extended them outwards.


    ¡°I, too, am a man. I have them as well.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter when you have not had the touch of a woman.¡±


    ¡°You underestimate me, brother.¡±


    ¡°I know you,¡± Damon laughed. ¡°Might as well become a eunuch, lose those dangling loads between your thighs.¡±


    Dante winced unpleasantly. ¡°Fascinating, but I shall pass on that offer.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Damon started, his laughter reducing to a whisper, ¡°what shall we do about the bastard on the throne?¡±


    Dante sighed worrily. ¡°You should be careful what you say, brother. He is the king, the ravens listen for him.¡±


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    ¡°The ravens listen only for the ravens. He is no raven!¡± Damon corrected; his laughter now completely gone, and only spite remained. ¡°He is a bastard. Not one of us.¡±


    ¡°You bear no proof of that, brother.¡±


    Damon hissed. ¡°Mother had always told me about Father¡¯s journey to the south, and how he returned, bringing Thalia filled with child. She said it was too short a time for Father¡¯s seed to have become fruitful, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªshe did not believe the child was his,¡± Dante cut in, completing Damon¡¯s sentence. ¡°You have told me that story a thousand times already, but not once have you been able to answer the question I always ask in return. Why would Father name he who is not his child the crown prince?¡±


    Damon descended his legs from the table to the ground languidly. ¡°That I do not know,¡± he said, ¡°but¡ª¡±


    ¡°There are no buts, brother.¡± Dante perched on the window, folding his arms together as he looked at his brother with a rather fretful glint in his eyes, he then breathed out a deep sigh before adding, ¡°Father named him his child, but Mother thinks not. You choose to believe Mother because you know that if he is actually a bastard, then the throne should be rightfully yours, and I, honestly cannot stop you from wanting it, but you should remember, Zephyr is the king, raven or not, and it never bodes well to anger the king.¡±


    ¡°And what about you?¡± Damon inquired, his gaze filled with curiosity as he stared deeply at his brother. ¡°You want not the throne nor its power?¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°My lord!¡± A guard called out suddenly from beyond the door, putting a stop to the conversation of the brothers. ¡°Melisandre has arrived.¡±


    Damon gave a resigned sigh as he leaned back in his chair. ¡°Let her in,¡± he voiced in return.


    The door of the chamber flew open, and in she came. Melisandre, a young lady, covered in nothing but a transparent silk gown, exposing her dark skin, which glittered like the finest of marbles under the light of the sun, for all to see. Her long dark hair swaying majestically behind her as she walked quietly towards Damon and Dante, bearing in her hand a golden ewer, filled with the finest and most expensive wine in all of Ravenwing, The Red Mist, and two golden goblets, all sitting atop a silver tray.


    ¡°I shall take my leave.¡± Dante exhaled deeply, descending from the window as Melisandre set the tray of wine on the table.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you join us,¡± Damon offered, smiling as he assertively placed his hand on Melisandre¡¯s nates.


    ¡°Once again, a rather fascinating offer, quite tempting, I must say, but I shall pass.¡±


    ¡°Your rod must be pissed at you, brother. You keep denying it a little fun.¡± Damon laughed boisterously.


    ¡°Do not worry, brother. It speaks no word of complaint to me.¡±


    ¡°Yet,¡± Damon added. ¡°Pour me a drink and take off that damned silk. Must I have to tell you, Mel,¡± he demanded, his eyes forlorn, like a baby deprived of his toy.


    ¡°Forgive me, my prince.¡± She gently took off her plain silk clothing, and began pouring the wine into a cup, pushing Dante to make haste towards the chamber¡¯s door.


    ¡°Oh, lest I forget. You asked me a question, brother, about power,¡± Dante said, halting his advance towards the door. ¡°I intend to answer that question.¡±


    Damon¡¯s lost curiosity returned as fast as the hunting dogs of Ravenwing. ¡°Alright,¡± he said.


    ¡°You see, brother. Power begets fear, and fear begets madness,¡± Dante began, ¡°when power is wielded, its wielder fears losing it, and in return is intoxicated up to the point of madness. It¡¯s a constant cycle, one which always ends up destroying the wielder¡­¡± he gently turned his head to its side as he glanced at Damon who sat behind him¡­


    ¡°...And I want no part in madness.¡±

 The Council

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr sat in the midst of what he thought to be the king¡¯s council, if the contents of the medieval movies and books he had watched and read were of any truth, but his mind was not with this council. It had wandered off somewhere, someplace far, and only the echoes of the supposed members of this council, muffled by the wandering of his mind, kept him glued to the grim walls of this chamber that would have been clouded in complete darkness if not for the sun¡¯s ambience that poured in from the opened shutters of the window behind him, the only one in the room.


    What could possibly take hold of his mind so much that he put not his ears to his first council meeting as king of a new world? The surge of joy he felt when he took the throne? No. Long forgotten that one. It was nothing else but the fact that right now he was to be questioning the guards that had manned his bedchamber, only the grand savant had not let that come to fruition.


    The enthronement ended, the lords had sworn their fealties one after the other, a lot of lords they were, he could not remember most of their names, to be truthful he most likely remembered none, and as he was about to head for his chambers as soon as all was done, the monocled old man approached him with word of a council meeting, his first as king. He wanted to cater to the more important needs, but the look the old man gave him told him that it was best he put other things aside first and attended the meeting. He could have still done what he had wanted, yes, but the old man was the one that had crowned him, recited the chants he repeated, and gave him whatever wine he drank, and Zephyr knew better than to take the words of someone that could ask a king to kneel lightly.


    He was here now, and all they did was bicker.


    ¡­Poisoned! Zephyr¡¯s eyes twitched as the contents of the mysterious paper he had found clutched in his palm suddenly flashed through his mind, forcing his skin to crawl with an even greater frustration than he was already experiencing. He had to leave here now, and they had been speaking of things he did not understand. What exactly were they talking about?


    Suddenly, he sent his palms down with a thundering crash onto the round wooden table he sat before, the loud thud that came forth as a result, swallowing the clamour whole and leaving nothing but stares and silence behind. He had seemingly been lost in their babel, but their eyes found him now.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Zephyr trailed off, giving out a deep exhale in hopes of calming himself before he continued, ¡°Could this not have been done some other time?¡± He wished it could, at this point he was not even sure those guards remained at his door any longer. The king¡¯s guards were changed every time in a medieval world, maybe those ones had taken their leave now. This whole council meeting was a waste of time.


    The grand savant was the first to talk to him, his voice all crooked with the callings of old age. ¡°That would have been most impossible, Your Grace.¡± And It was the first he had spoken since the council meeting had begun. The grand savant of the name Aelred, and Zephyr¡¯s royal advisor, the auburn-haired man who had made himself known as Flynn of House Claymore, had both chosen to keep silent and lay back on their chairs despite the intense ruckus filling the chambers from the other council members.


    There were six of them in all, both Flynn Claymore and Grand Savant Aelred included. They sat in rows of three facing one another. Grand Savant Aelred, his hands cuddled within his bell sleeves, was seated to the west of Zephyr, and along on his row were the men who had introduced themselves to the king at the start of the meeting as: Lord Darian Crakehall, lord of Ravenhold and commander of the kingdom¡¯s guards, and Lord Alaric Ironsides, seneschal of the royal artillery. And to Zephyr¡¯s east sat Flynn Claymore, on his own row another two who had made themselves known as: Lord Theon Silverfist, the keeper of coins, and Lord Varyn Bolton. Just Lord Varyn Bolton. A mere lord. He kept nothing, he watched nothing and he was not a lord of anything. Zephyr had wondered why he was deemed of any worth to be in this court if he was nowhere near in status to the other five in the room, but he dared not ask, it might have been something his body¡¯s preceding soul may have known. It was too much of a risk. For now.


    ¡°Yes, my king.¡± It was that Lord Varyn Bolton, the mere one, that spoke loudly from the end of the eastern end of the table where he was seated. He no doubt possessed a lot of vigour, but none that Zephyr asked for. The loudness of his talk had not been necessary. ¡°The tourney comes like a raven at eventide. We have not a second to spare.¡±


    Zephyr placed his eyes on the blocky face of the mere Lord Varyn for less than a second, and he then chose to ignore him as he turned over to Flynn. No one gave him better replies than this one. ¡°What do you make of this, Flynn?¡± Lord Varyn, seemingly distraught at being ignored, swallowed any other word he had planned on spewing out from between his lips. A good thing, Zephyr thought it was, he knew it was, he wanted no more loud shouts, they made his head ache.


    ¡°He is right, my king,¡± Flynn replied. ¡°The tourney comes on your name-day, roughly a fortnight away. We might not have much a time to work with, especially since we also have to consider the queen¡¯s choosing seven days from now.¡±


    Queen¡¯s choosing¡­? For me¡­? Zephyr flung himself in ponder, and his narrow brows did not seem to miss the weary eyes of the old man seated close to him.


    ¡°It is custom that you have your queen selected before the tourney. It is how all the previous kings have done it,¡± Grand Savant Aelred put in.


    ¡°Little doubt of that,¡± Zephyr muttered as if he had known of that, removing himself from his ponder as he turned from the grand savant to face the council members in whole. ¡°But I believe the choosing is not of the greatest concern in this meeting, so then, what exactly is our challenge?¡± He questioned, gently tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table.


    ¡°Funding, Your Grace,¡± Gaunt-faced Lord Darian Crakehall answered, his voice thick and hard as that of the commander he was. He had not enough flesh to spare, and for a lord Zephyr thought he should at least have that much, well, unless he was a grand savant by the name of Aelred all wrinkled and old, but he was not, and the spindly look he had was queer to Zephyr. They were talking of the tourney¡¯s funding now and he had better focus on that than the malnourishment of the commander of the kingdom¡¯s guards. His kingdom¡¯s guards.


    ¡°And what is the problem with this funding for the tourney?¡± Zephyr asked. He was genuinely curious. He wondered how a kingdom could have problems with funding a tourney.


    ¡°As I mentioned at the start of the meeting to my good lords, we need coins, Your Grace. People will come from all over the kingdom to crowd this city. Traders, freeriders, singers, and craftsmen all shall make their way into the city. Lords shall come, and with each, at least a dozen horses, their families, knights, bannermen, and guardsmen; and with the knights comes squires and whores. There will undoubtedly be fights, deaths, robberies, and other deeds that I no doubt deem distasteful. We do not have the coins to hire guards enough to prevent all the monstrosity that will occur. Not might, will. And then, even though it is in truth no concern of mine, a great feast would also need to be prepared at the end of the tourney to celebrate with the lords and noblemen of the court. Oh, and lest I forget, the main highlight of the tourney, the battle for the Kingsknight.¡±


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    ¡°The battle for the Kingsknight?¡± Zephyr¡¯s interest piqued, and before he knew it, he had let a question slip without even thinking of the sort he had asked.


    ¡°The king¡¯s personal knights¡­¡± Lord Darian replied with a heavy drop of his eyebrow in query.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Zephyr quickly told the commander of the guards before any thoughts of his festered any more.


    Lord Darian continued then, ¡°We have to pay the one who wins, as well his forerunner.¡± The man sighed. ¡°Coins we need to cover all these, Your Grace.¡±


    Lord Darian had said knights previously, and now he said ¡°the one who wins.¡± Zephyr wondered if he would have only one of this Kingsknight or if there were others, but he had seen none of such, and if only one was to emerge from the tourney then where were the rest? The funding problem had flung to the back of Zephyr¡¯s mind with the introduction of this Kingsknight of a thing. If it was what he thought it was, then having a Kingsknight around would prove to be a good thing. He could not have incompetent guards following him about. But how many was he to have? He itched to know, but he wondered how well to word it to get an answer without it proving dodgy. Maybe¡­?


    Zephyr turned to Flynn. ¡°And where are the rest of the knights?¡± He whispered. A gamble no doubt, but if he was to feed his curiosity then it was one he had to take.


    Flynn Claymore answered, reciprocating the king¡¯s whisper. ¡°Ser Calix Westerling and his son, Ser Aaron, were both sent to drive back the pesters of the mountain folks at Free Pass by your father before his death, my king. They are yet to return.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s chest tightened. The late king and his son had both died as soon as these Kingsknights had been sent off somewhere. It was beyond queer. Maybe the king¡¯s death had been a murder too? He did not want to think about it. He needed those Kingsknights back now. They were needed by his side.


    ¡°Whoever wins the tourney shall replace Ser Gale,¡± Flynn put in of his own accord, and it sent a grimace to Zephyr¡¯s face as he began to wonder who the heck Ser Gale was. Maybe a Kingsknight that had died? Flynn noticed his king¡¯s frown. ¡°Everyone wonders why he had retired, my king, but since he left of his own choice we choose to not dwell so much on it.¡± He misunderstood what was going on in Zephyr¡¯s mind. Good.


    But what was not good was the fact that this Ser Gale had not gone to the Free Pass along with the other two, if he had done so he would have been there with them and unretired, which meant that he had been here when the king had died. A Kingsknight being here when the king died sent a shiver galloping across Zephyr¡¯s spine. If maybe, as he had begun to think, the late king had been murdered the same as his son, then what sort of person could bypass a Kingsknight and have a go at the king. The king.


    Zephyr immediately peeled his mind from the shuddering thoughts that were slowly storming his head, and switched back to the major issue of the council meeting. ¡°The funding for the tourney, are you in charge of it?¡± He directed his question at Lord Darian.


    ¡°That shall be me, Your Grace,¡± Lord Theon Silverfist, a man of a face unsmiling and as hard as stone, answered.


    Zephyr turned his gaze to this hard-faced man who was seated beside Flynn. The keeper of coins, of course it was him, not the commander of guards¡­ ¡°What delays you? Get on with it then.¡±


    ¡°I would have if I could, Your Grace. But there is not enough in the royal treasury for the tourney. We have not the coins.¡±


    Zephyr sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sure there are ways you can squeeze out the amount we need. Maybe appoint taxes or something of the sort. You are the one in charge of this funding,¡± Zephyr clutched his palms together, ¡°do something about it or I¡¯ll have to find someone who will. Is that what you want?¡± This meeting had gone on for far too long, it was high time it ended.


    Silence roamed the chamber for nothing more than a few seconds before Lord Theon replied, his hard face still as hard as ever, and unsmiling still. ¡°No, Your Grace. I shall see to it.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Zephyr said, placing his palms on the table and pushing himself up to his feet. ¡°I sincerely hope I will not be bothered on such trivial matters any longer.¡± He then abandoned his seat and began to stride gracefully towards the chamber¡¯s door, graceful only to those who saw, but to him it was one painful step after another. He came to an abrupt halt before the door though, his pain easing up as he suddenly recalled an important memory he wished not to forget. Glancing back at Flynn, he called to him, ¡°Come, Flynn. I am in need of your service.¡±


    Flynn pushed back his seat and rose to his feet without delay, then hurried his steps after Zephyr, both of them making their way out of the council chambers as the fully armoured men who manned the door bowed in response to their exit.


    ¡°May I ask what you seek of me, my king?¡± Flynn questioned as they advanced through the veranda of the small courtyard.


    ¡°The guards who manned my bedchamber¡¯s door, do they man it still?¡± Zephyr asked.


    ¡°I think not, my king,¡± Flynn answered. ¡°Guards man it still, but I do not believe they would be the ones we met before.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s heart thumped in his chest. He had donned the face of a king, if he even knew what that was, trying his best to act calm and collected, but that calmness almost vanished because of what Flynn had said. He caught it though, he refused his calmness from vanishing, he should not act tensed. ¡°And where would they be now?¡± He asked again.


    ¡°The tower of steel, if I am to guess.¡±


    What the hell is a tower of steel? Zephyr¡¯s eyebrows twitched unnoticeably.


    Flynn continued,¡°And if not, they would be in no other place than a tavern or a whore house.¡±


    Zephyr gave a sigh, stopping his steps as they arrived at the entranceway to the corridor they had exited from when the day had begun in this world for him, and now he was returning to where it had all started, the king¡¯s quarters. ¡°Summon them,¡± he said.


    ¡°May I ask why, my king?¡±


    ¡°I need to speak to them. Have them brought to me.¡±


    ¡°Then I shall have them found with haste,¡± Flynn lowered his head as he replied.


    ¡°Oh, and one more thing,¡± Zephyr said, timely halting Flynn¡¯s withdrawal as to proceed with the task he was given.


    ¡°What more, my king,¡± Flynn inquired.


    ¡°You need not be so formal with me. We are friends, after all.¡± Zephyr gave a light smile to his advisor.


    ¡°Definitely, my king.¡± Flynn chuckled. ¡°But, formality is naturally given to those who sit on a high pedestal, someone such as yourself. You are the king and my formality is required. I have not the power to discard that¡­ but I¡¯ll try my best to be more lenient.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good enough.¡±


    ¡°Then I shall take my leave.¡± Flynn gave a quick bow and hurried away.


    Zephyr turned and walked into the corridor, immediately diving back into his never ending barrage of thoughts as he did¡­


    I should not trust him¡­ I should not trust anyone.

 Heartache

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr slumped on the chair in his chamber, sitting beside the unlit hearth as he heaved out a huge sigh of exasperation; the once disarrayed table now neatly arranged thanks to the royal attendants.


    ¡°My head aches badly,¡± he muttered, placing a palm on his forehead. ¡°I¡¯ve never been this stressed before. Everything happened so quickly; I¡¯m lucky I was able to get through it.¡±


    He let his eyes dart around the chamber, touching every trace of it as he, once again, heaved another deep sigh. ¡°Royalty, huh? Glad I consumed such a vast amount of medieval media. I wonder how I¡¯d have gotten through today without them. I probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to keep up, especially with their way of speaking.¡±


    He tenderly tilted his head towards the window, his gaze softening as he watched the golden orb of the sun slowly sink below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of red and gold. ¡°It¡¯s already evening. They should have called her by now,¡± he said. ¡°I wonder how she¡¯s feeling? Will she cry? Will she miss me? Will she finally care about me now that I was dead?¡±


    A single tear rolled down his left cheek as he wallowed in his questions, but it didn¡¯t get far before he gently brushed it off with his palm, sniffling softly as he straightened himself on the chair, then suddenly exclaiming quietly as he came to a sort of painful realisation, ¡°Shit! I completely forgot.¡± He gripped his head as his eyes widened anxiously. ¡°My computer, games, novels, smart phone. How the hell am I going to survive here without them? I¡¯m in a mess. There¡¯s no form of entertainment for me in this world.¡±


    ¡°My king!¡± One of the guards who manned his bedchamber called from beyond the door, pulling Zephyr out of his thought of misery.


    Zephyr glared at the door ferociously as he screamed in reply, ¡°I said I did not want to be bothered!¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, my king. But there is someone here to see you,¡± the guard said, his voice as apologetic as it could be. ¡°It is¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me, brother,¡± another voice replied, a younger, less mature and child-like voice, cutting the guards¡¯ away.


    ¡°Thaddeus?¡± Zephyr inquired, his glare giving way to a gentler countenance, as his eyes softened, and the hardness on his face began to ease.


    ¡°Yes, brother.¡±


    ¡°Come on in.¡±


    The door of the bedchamber slowly creaked open, allowing Thaddeus through. Zephyr noticed hints of fear in Thaddeus as his footsteps had bits of hesitance, and his body oozed none of the confidence he had initially shown to him earlier. He poured out a light sigh, understanding that his earlier fuming was what brought about this situation.


    Thaddeus stopped a few steps into the bedchamber, putting a worthwhile distance between him and his brother. He fixed his eyes to the floor, clutching his palms tightly as he muttered softly, ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m¡­¡±


    ¡°Come,¡± Zephyr said, pushing Thaddeus to lift his solemn gaze from the floor, and allowing him the pleasure of noticing the light, beautiful smile Zephyr wore on his face. ¡°Come sit,¡± he added, tapping his thighs gently.


    Thaddeus¡¯ lips curved into a slight, satisfied smile, the corners turning up, spreading across his face as he quickened his steps towards Zephyr.


    Huff!


    Zephyr heaved out a deep exhale as he hoisted his giggling brother onto his lap. ¡°Did you come to apologise?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Yes, brother.¡± Thaddeus turned his head upwards at him, his sheepish gaze filled with a clear indication of penitence.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± Zephyr begged forgiveness as he calmingly stroked Thaddeus¡¯ hair with a light touch, moving in a slow, steady rhythm that imparted a sense of calm and comfort to both him and his brother. ¡°Stay still,¡± he added, gently grasping Thaddeus¡¯ chin and straightening his head, separating their gazes from one another.


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    ¡°But, I was¡ª¡±


    ¡°No. It was me,¡± Zephyr cut in. ¡°It was my fault for getting enraged over something so little.¡±


    Thaddeus¡¯ head drooped forward slightly with a sense of melancholy, his gaze fixed on his hands set on his thighs as he muttered, ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Just accept the king¡¯s apology, will you?¡± Zephyr blurted, chuckling softly as he merrily ruffled Thaddeus¡¯ hair, inciting a giddy giggle from him.


    ¡°Brother, you know I do not like my hair tousled.¡± The laughter kept on as Zephyr continued ruffling his brother¡¯s hair, and a few times, tickling him beneath his armpits.


    After a while of their play, the laughter came to a close. Thaddeus calmly placed his head on his brother¡¯s chest, closing his eyes when he felt the warmth and support of his body behind him, as he heaved out a huge breath of joy and relief.


    It¡¯s been a while¡­ Zephyr sighed as he dropped his gaze on Thaddeus.


    My first impression of him was a spoilt brat, but¡­ hmph!...


    Zephyr placed his palm gently on his brother¡¯s, now-completely, disheveled hair, calling forth a light chuckle from him. I don¡¯t know why, but our little interaction made me happy¡­


    Maybe because in his past life he had no siblings, he felt some sort of profound warmth from having a brother in this one. The heartwarming laughter was something he had not experienced in ages, and for the first time since a long time, his face lit up with a radiant smile¡ªbut it was short lived as his mind snapped forth something important.


    ¡°Thaddeus,¡± Zephyr whispered.


    ¡°Yes, brother,¡± Thaddeus replied, his eyes remaining closed as his head pranced about rhythmically on his brother¡¯s chest.


    ¡°I have a question.¡±


    ¡°Mm-hmm. What is it?¡±


    ¡°Mosqui¡ªI mean, those things that fly at night, those tiny bloodsuckers¡­ you know what I¡¯m talking about, right?¡± Zephyr¡¯s eyebrows twitched nervously as he asked his question. He knew not what mosquitoes were called in this world, and therefore, he wondered if his descriptions sounded stupid.


    ¡°Bloodsuckers?¡± Thaddeus unclosed his eyes as he brushed his fingers through his chin with a sense of uncertainty at what his brother meant. ¡°Oh, you mean gnats. The gnat flies,¡± after a short time of critical thinking, he poured out the answer Zephyr so anticipated.


    ¡°Yes, yes. That.¡± Zephyr did not know if what his brother said was correct or not, but with his level of ignorance of this world, it was best to believe whatever he said.


    ¡°Heh-heh. I¡¯m smart, am I not, brother. I listened well to the savant¡¯s teachings.¡± Thaddeus grinned proudly.


    ¡°And how are they dealt with?¡± Zephyr inquired. He seemed to have a somewhat profound hatred for these things, and seeked to eradicate them from his bedside while he was asleep.


    ¡°The attendants bring a moon fragrance to my room every night. Mother tells me it chases the gnats away.¡±


    Moon fragrance? Is that what they call an insecticide¡­?


    ¡°But why do you ask, brother. Do you not get one brought to you every night?¡±


    Zephyr gave a sigh of relief as he replied, ¡°I do. Forget I asked.¡±


    As long as there¡¯s a way to deal with those little bloodsuckers, then I¡¯m glad¡­


    ¡­


    A voice bellowed from beyond the door of the chamber illuminated by the flickering light of the bronze iron lantern sitting atop the table beside the hearth, jarring Zephyr awake from the darkness of his slumber, and hoisting him up abruptly into a sitting position, his hazy mind struggling to process what was happening as his eyes darted around frantically for the sound of the voice.


    After a few seconds, he fully realised his senses as the voice, now seemingly familiar to him, called out once again, ¡°My king!¡±


    Flynn¡­?


    ¡°Are you awake, my king?¡± Flynn added, his voice bearing none of its usual relaxed composure.


    That¡¯s right, the guards. Shit! How relaxed was I to stumble asleep¡­ Zephyr gripped his head tightly, before suddenly jumping down from the bed, his body covered with a black drooping robe, as he said, ¡°Come in.¡±


    The guards who manned his bedchamber pushed the door open, and with passage through, Flynn wandered in, the dim light of the chamber raining on his face and showing Zephyr the tenseness it bore, and with him came his ragged breathing like that of a hunting dog, which in return had Zephyr fretting with nervousness like a maiden on her first night with a man.


    ¡°What¡­ is it? The guards, where are they?¡± Zephyr asked, his composure clearly shaken up by the situation.


    Flynn hesitated a bit as he watched Zephyr¡¯s eyes fume up, before he said, ¡°There is a problem¡ª¡±


    ¡°Where are they!!¡±


    ¡°Dead¡­ my king. They are dead.¡±

 Royal Feud

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Amidst the clamorous sounds of metal swords clashing, dogs barking, horses neighing, stableboys shouting, and the constant chatters of castle attendants echoing relentlessly throughout the castle, the sweet chirp of a small, brown nightingale perched on the windowsill of the king¡¯s bathing chamber offered solace to Zephyr while he soaked in the large wooden tub, recollecting the events of yesternight as the sweet, relaxing and floral scent of the lavender oil mixed in with the hot water incessantly wafted through the air, blessing his nose pleasantly.


    ¡­


    What do you mean dead? What happened?


    That I do not know, my king. Their bodies were found, not at the tower of steel, but at the alleyway of a whorehouse. I have sent their bodies to the court physicians for examination, we should have a result by the morning of the ¡®morrow.


    ¡­


    This is bad¡­ Zephyr¡¯s head slumped backwards, his eyes closing shut as he heaved out a sigh.


    Flynn¡­ Was he the one that killed them? I can¡¯t seem to get a read on that guy. How do I find out if he¡¯s the killer or not, and it doesn¡¯t help that he¡¯s the only one I can turn to¡­


    I need someone else, someone I can actually trust¡­


    ¡°M¡¯king,¡± one of the guards manning the door called from beyond it, bringing Zephyr out of his muse.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°M¡¯lord Flynn¡¯s at your chamber, he requests an audience.¡±


    ¡°I see. Tell him I shall be there soon.¡± With a groan, Zephyr heaved himself up and stepped out of the wooden tub, the scent of the lavender oil sticking to him as water trickled down his glistening skin.


    ¡°Aye, m¡¯king,¡± the clanging sound of the guard¡¯s armour fading into the distance followed as soon as he replied.


    Zephyr reached for the coarse hemp cloth neatly folded on the large wooden table standing beside him. He took hold and wrapped it around his wet hair, gently patting the damp strands dry, then he brought it down to his chest, repeating the gentle pats as he rubbed his body free of dampness. After a few moments, he set the cloth down and began to dress, putting on the black leather pants, brown boots and drooping black silk robe which, beforehand, laid on the table.


    ¡°Open,¡± he said, signaling the guard standing outside, who in reply, pushed the door open, then bowed immediately as Zephyr strode out of the bathing chamber.


    ¡­


    The man clad in silver armour whom stood guard at the door of the king¡¯s bedchmaber lowered his head as Zephyr arrived. ¡°M¡¯king.¡±


    ¡°Is he in?¡± Zephyr questioned.


    ¡°Yes, m¡¯king.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    The guard instantly flung the door open and closed it shut as Zephyr walked into the chamber. Flynn, who had been standing, waiting patiently beside the wooden table, bowed courteously, placing his fist on his chest as he caught sight of Zephyr. ¡°Greetings, my king,¡± he said.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Zephyr inquired as his pale silver eyes fell on the parchment laying on the table while he sat down on the chair.


    ¡°Yes, my king. The results of the examination,¡± Flynn said. ¡°It details the effects of the poison that killed them.¡±


    ¡°Poison?¡± Zephyr glanced at Flynn as he picked up the parchment.


    ¡°Yes. They were killed by poisoning.¡±


    Is this what I think it is¡­ Zephyr threw his eyes back onto the parchment, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he began to read its contents¡­ slowly.


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    ¡°Upon examining the bodies of the two dead royal guards: Jorah Crow and Elenor Lockwood¡­¡± Crow was the surname given to bastards in the kingdom of Ravenwing. ¡°I noted thick white foams filling their bellies, and burns in their throats, indicating the use of Moon¡¯s bane. There were no signs of struggle, and traces of The Red Mist were found on their tongues. Possible deduction: the poison was mixed in with their drinks, resulting in the deaths of both.¡±


    White foam¡­ It¡¯s the same as what filled my mouth when I transmigrated¡­


    ¡°I believe they weren¡¯t killed by a mere person,¡± Flynn said, startling Zephyr out of his deep thoughts.


    ¡°What?¡± Zephyr gasped.


    ¡°The red mist, it is the most expensive wine in all of Ravenwing, it¡¯s not something mere guards could afford; and the poison, Moon¡¯s bane¡ªa poison without colour or smell, the rarest of all poisons¡ªis not something just anyone could get their hands on.¡±


    Is he saying¡­ Zephyr¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at Flynn.


    ¡°But of course,¡± Flynn began as he noticed the sting of Zephyr¡¯s gaze, ¡°I see no probable reason as to why anyone would waste such resources on murdering guards. It sends sense adrift.¡±


    Well I know the reason, and this situation puts you at the top of my list, my supposed friend and advisor¡­ The guards somehow died after I sent you to summon them, coincidence? I think not¡­ Zephyr peeled his gaze from Flynn and fixed it on the parchment for a moment before he rolled it up.


    ¡°Prepare a carriage,¡± Zephyr said.


    ¡°What for, my king?¡±


    Zephyr gave a light chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m paying a visit to the whore house.¡±


    Flynn¡¯s eyes widened as he bent forward hastily but slightly. ¡°Pardon me, but it would not be advisable for you to be seen at a whore house. You are the king.¡±


    ¡°Then I shall go as a nobleman.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I shall go, not as the king, but as a mere nobleman. Now, prepare the carriage.¡±


    Flynn gave out a defeated sigh. ¡°If you so wish, my king,¡± he replied as he turned around and advanced towards the chamber¡¯s door.


    ¡°But first,¡± Zephyr began, halting Flynn¡¯s steps, ¡°where¡¯s my breakfast, I¡¯m famished.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°My prince, Lord Varyn has arrived.¡±


    ¡°Send him in.¡±


    The door of the solar flashed open in response to Damon¡¯s orders, sending Lord Varyn sauntering into it. Damon sat on the high seat behind the round table, watching Lord Varyn as he took sips of wine from the golden goblet he held in his hand.


    ¡°Should you be sitting there? That¡¯s the king¡¯s seat,¡± Lord Varyn said as he slumped down on a chair.


    ¡°Then I should be sitting here, right?¡± Damon slammed the goblet gently onto the table as he gave Lord Varyn a rather frightening glare. ¡°Or are you beginning to think otherwise?¡±


    Silence filled the chamber, stretching out for a short while, which had begun to feel like ages, until Damon broke out into a laughter. ¡°You shouldn''t believe me all the time, Lord Varyn,¡± he said, picking up his goblet of wine as he stood up and walked towards the window of the solar, behind the high seat.


    ¡°So, what do you have for me?¡± He halted at the window, taking leisurely sips of wine as he watched the clouds.


    ¡°Nothing for now, my prince.¡± Lord Varyn sighed, relaxing his back on the chair. ¡°The tourney is taking a great deal of time, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lord Varyn,¡± Damon cut in, his voice steady, but the tension it sent through the air was unmistakable. ¡°Lest I remind you that my mother did not put you in the council to laze around. Fill your belly with drinks, fill your bed with whores, I do not care, but once the information stops reaching my ears then you become useless, do you understand?¡±


    Damon glanced over his shoulder at Lord Varyn, sending a spike of fear through him, bolting him up to his feet bowing as he pleaded, his voice quivering, ¡°Forgive me, my prince. I promise this is the last of this.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± A wry smile spread across Damon¡¯s face. ¡°Oh, and what about the Grand Savant? If there¡¯s anyone that knows anything about my presumed half-brother being a bastard, it should be him.¡±


    Lord Varyn raised his head as he looked over at Damon¡¯s back. ¡°The Grand Savant will be a tough nut to crack.¡±


    ¡°Not tougher than my nut.¡± Damon let out a boisterous laughter.


    ¡°You speak of cocks so much, my prince.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what makes us men, or would you rather I speak of tits?¡±


    ¡°Any which pleases you.¡±


    Damon drank the last of the wine from the goblet then turned over to face Lord Varyn. ¡°Get the Grand Savant on our side at any cost. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a way to make that possible.¡±


    ¡°No easy way I believe, but if I can get to Savant Arryn, then maybe getting to the Grand Savant won¡¯t prove much difficult any longer.¡±


    Damon smiled as he sat back down on the high seat. ¡°You sometimes use that head of yours when it comes to it. Now, away with you.¡± He gestured, waving the back of his hand back and forth as if to chase away a wandering chicken that stumbled upon his yard.


    ¡°Then, if you will excuse me, my prince.¡± Lord Varyn bowed before allowing himself to be rid of the stiffness of the solar.

 Welcome To King’s City

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    ¡°Halt!¡± The deep voice of one of the two armoured guards caped in black, boomed from the gate of King''s city, stopping the clattering wheels of the carriage drawn by a pair of sturdy bay shire horses.


    ¡°House Flamesworth,¡± one of the two mounted men, attired in gleaming scalemail and bascinet helmets, proclaimed, pointing to the sigil of a phoenix on the sternum of his mail. ¡°We ride with the young lady,¡± the other mounted added.


    ¡°State your purpose.¡±


    ¡°We have come to deliver steel to the artillery. Swords made for the kingdom,¡± a mounted replied, directing with his thumb, the gaze of the city guards towards the cart fastened to the carriage.


    The black cape doing the questioning, gestured slightly with his head for his partner to validate the authenticity of the wares. His partner nodded in reply, and the clanging sound of his armour sang as he walked towards the cart. After validating the wares, he raised a thumb of approval in reply.


    ¡°Castle pass?¡± The black cape inquired, returning his unvisored gaze back to the mounted men.


    One of the mounted dipped his hand into his belt pouch and pulled out a rolled paper, handing it to the black cape who collected and inspected its contents; after confirming the seal of House Flamesworth, he handed the paper back to the mounted man, making way for them through the city gate.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± one of the mounted said as they spurred the bay shires¡¯ gallops into the city, the clattering sounds of the carriage wheels resuming in harmony.


    ¡­


    ¡°Not up to your liking?¡± A steward of the Flamesworths¡¯, Renly Bailiff questioned, watching with concern at the rather displeased grimace planted on the young lady, Audrey Flamesworth¡¯s face while she peered through the carriage window at the chaotic scene before her. The city was teeming with people: children ran about noisily on the filthy narrow streets, while the common folks yelled and cursed at each other from the windows of their cramped houses. There were even bloody fights and robberies happening at every turn. She wondered how the city could be so disorganised.


    As if reading her thoughts, Renly immediately replied to it, ¡°You should know: the bigger the city, the harder it is to control, and this is the biggest city in the kingdom, Ironhold bears not a candle to it. It is also¡ª¡±


    ¡°Renly¡­ you talk too much,¡± Audrey interrupted, turning her eyes to him as she brushed strands of her bejewelled silver hair behind her ear. She wore a simple azure gown with a gray scarf wrapped around her arms; and her small nose along with her round shaped face, which complemented the beauty of her clear skin, was something that could captivate even the most unamorous of men.


    Renly lowered his head in reply as he said, ¡°Pardon me, my lady.¡±


    Audrey flashed a bright smile before returning her gaze to the bustling streets. She observed the chaos for a few moments until she spoke up, ¡°Let''s stop here.¡±


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    ¡°Why, my lady?¡± Renly inquired curiously, knowing they had not yet arrived at their destination¡ªAeron¡¯s castle¡ªwhere the royal artillery was located.


    She turned back to him, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m hungry. Are you not hungry?¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°This¡­¡± Renly muttered as his gaze fixed onto the red-haired siren carved on the stone fa?ade at the entrance of the building they looked upon. ¡°This is a brothel, my lady,¡± he squealed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not blind, Renly.¡± Audrey chuckled, turning her eyes to the dismounted men as she said, ¡°wait a moment.¡± She then made her steps gracefully towards the entrance, pushing the wooden door open as she stepped inside, Renly following behind, compelled to do so.


    The air inside the brothel was thick with the mingling scents of burning candles, incense, and perfume. Natural light filtered through small windows in the walls, casting the space in a reddish glow, and the dim illumination revealed an assortment of low tables and cushions arranged for lounging. Soft music and hushed conversations from the workers filled the room, creating a gentle hum of activity.


    ¡°My lady, there are better places to seek¡ªcurses!¡± Renly interrupted himself, placing his palm over his eyes as soon as he caught sight of the colourful tapestries designed with exotic and sensual decorations adorning the walls.


    ¡°Even the brothel in King''s city is sparsely filled during the day.¡± Audrey¡¯s eyes perused the room, watching it like it was a pile of gemstones placed before her eyes.


    ¡°As is typical of such establishments. All brothels bustle at night rather than day, my lady,¡± Renly said, his palm still tightly placed across his eyes. ¡°Lord Winston will not be happy that you¡¯ve made it into yet another brothel,¡± he added.


    ¡°Well he won¡¯t know now, will he?¡± Audrey said, smiling as she pulled his palm free from his eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s rest a bit before we leave.¡±


    Just then, a worker caught sight of them and hurried over, inquiring whose service they¡¯d be most pleased with. She had a slender shape covered by a plain gown the same colour as her brown curled hair.


    Audrey gave a light smile. ¡°We want to dine.¡±


    The worker¡¯s eyebrows twitched as she resigned her steps a bit, replying, ¡°Pardon me, my lady, but we do not offer meals; a tavern would best befit that purpose.¡±


    Audrey stretched her palm outward towards Renly, spurring a resigned sigh from him as he loosened a brown pouch filled with coins stuck to his belt and placed it on her palm.


    Audrey grabbed the pouch, showing it to the worker as she let out a crafty smile. ¡°How about a drink then?¡±


    The worker¡¯s eyes, glued to the pouch, sparkled slightly that it was almost unnoticeable. ¡°Give me a moment to speak to my madame.¡± She sighed, then gave a bow before retreating into one of the rooms covered by a large rose-coloured curtain.


    Renly let out a deep defeated exhale as he shook his head. ¡°Was this why you gathered such a sum? I should have known.¡±


    After a while, the worker came out of the room and gestured for them to follow her as she said, ¡°This way, my lady.¡±


    She led them to the best spot they had for lounging; a low table made of cherry wood with cushions made of vermilion silk, designed with intricate floral patterns and silver tassels.


    ¡°What would you like to have, my lady?¡± She asked as Audrey and Renly took their seats on the comfort of the cushion.


    ¡°What¡¯s the best wine you have?¡±


    ¡°The red mist, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Then we shall have that.¡±

 Cloaked Men

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    ¡°Your wine, my lady,¡± the brown-haired worker spoke as she poured the requested wine from a bronze ewer into two silver cups placed before the lady, Audrey, and her steward, Renly. ¡°If you need my¡ª¡±


    ¡°I shall request you if need be,¡± Audrey cut in, placing the pouch of coins onto the silver tray held by the worker as she gulped from the now-filled cup of wine.


    ¡°Then, if you will excuse me; my lady, my lord.¡± She bowed then walked away, relieving herself of her services.


    Audrey poured a light chuckle as she looked into the redness of the wine filling her cup. ¡°I should have brought Lucian,¡± she said, causing Renly to choke on the sweetness of the wine in his throat as little streams of red poured out from the corners of his mouth. He then slammed the cup in his hand onto the table while he wiped off, with his other hand, the traces of the spilled wine caressing his lips.


    ¡°What!¡± He gave way to a soft shriek. ¡°Do not tell me you have been taking the young lord on your sneak out to brothels, my lady?!¡±


    ¡°Maybe, maybe not,¡± Audrey replied, her eyes flirting with the cup fiddling in her hand.


    ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t, my lady. He is only a boy of six.¡±


    ¡°You nag a lot, Renly. It makes you seem like an old man, even though you¡¯re just a year older than I.¡±


    Renly placed his hands on the table while he pushed himself up to his feet, leaning slightly forward at Audrey as he said, ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t take him.¡±


    Audrey heaved a disgruntled sigh, replying as she put a stop to her fiddling with the cup of wine, ¡°I did not. Now sit and shut up.¡±


    Renly fell back to the cushion, breathing out a deep soothing exhale. ¡°Thank the heavens you didn¡¯t. Your sneak offs bring enough trouble as is, if the lord gets even a whiff of your brother being involved in your acts, he will have my head.¡± Renly shivered at the thought.


    ¡°He will have no one¡¯s head!¡± Audrey roared lightly, pouring down the last bits of wine filling her cup down her throat, and slamming the empty silver on the table, her face brightened by the fiery redness of her cheeks.


    ¡°He will,¡± Renly insisted. ¡°Already tipsy, my lady? Just a cup and you¡¯ve gone a tad bit drunk.¡±


    ¡°He will not.¡± She said unwaveringly, letting out a boom of an hiccup as she pointed at Renly. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of that man.¡±


    ¡°Your father, you mean,¡± Renly corrected.


    ¡°Yes, my father¡­ apparently. The one who never listens to his daughter¡¯s wishes.¡±


    ¡°He let you come to the city, did he not?¡±


    ¡°He let me come see my soon-to-be prison, perchance it all works out the way he wants it to.¡±


    Renly sighed as he weakly shook his head. ¡°He only wishes the best for you, my lady.¡±


    Audrey¡¯s eyebrows twitched in annoyance, her eyes, if were to be swords, would have pierced through Renly¡¯s chest and made out behind him. ¡°He only wishes the best for House Flamesworth. I have no interest in wedding the king, he¡¯s forcing me to attend the queen¡¯s choosing because it benefits him.¡±


    ¡°What benefits the house benefits you, my lady.¡±


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    ¡°What benefits the house benefits its lord,¡± Audrey countered. ¡°I care not for stuffy walls nor fake loyalties. Freedom is all I ask. Freedom to go where I want, eat what I want, and wed who I love, and who knows, the king might have the face of a pig. I do not want to wed such.¡± Her demeanour plunged into a scrunch of disgust as she tried to form an image in her mind.


    Renly took a heavy gulp from his cup, and after he swallowed the wine, he bursted out into a laughter¡ªthe hardest he might have had in a while. ¡°His pale silver eyes glow like gemstones, his hair brightly coloured like the sky, his face chiselled like a bard, behold he who wields the most beautiful face any man might have,¡± he hummed. ¡°I have yet to see the new king, but in the time he was still a prince, a few singers have, and if his face is worthy of being sung, then he bears not the one of a pig I believe.¡±


    Audrey tutted, seemingly not convinced by Renly¡¯s deduction. ¡°You choose to believe the songs of a singer, Bailiff? You can have the height of an imp, but give a singer a few copper coins and he¡¯ll sing songs of you being the tallest man in the whole of Ravenwing.¡± She picked up her empty cup and tossed it at him. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear anymore. Fill my cup.¡±


    ¡°Should you still be drinking?¡± Renly inquired. His gaze placed upon the redness of Audrey¡¯s cheeks, filled with concern and caution.


    ¡°Fill my cup,¡± Audrey commanded.


    Renly sighed exasperatedly as he picked up the ewer and began pouring wine into the empty cup. ¡°As you wish, my lady,¡± he said. After he was done pouring, he picked up the cup, and gently placed it before Audrey, then quietly watched as she took little sips from it. He let out another exhale as he picked up his, but before he was able to drink from it, he felt the warm touch of a wave of fingers gently brush over his shoulders, caressing the texture of the oxblood leather coat he donned as it made its way softly and sensually to his tender neck, and up to his coiled brown hair.


    ¡°Care for some company, m¡¯lord,¡± a soft whisper breathed on his ear, sending a wave of prickling sensations galloping through his skin faster than a courser.


    Audrey lifted her eyes from her wine, leading it gently until it found the thin face of the working wench embracing Renly from behind, her long dark hair swaying gently on his shoulders with every slight move of her head around his ear. Audrey scoffed as she turned her eyes over to the rigid body of Renly, his cup-held hand shaking fervently in response to the advances of the worker.


    ¡°Leave. He has my company.¡± Audrey shot a glare at the worker, rousing an apology from her as she bowed her head and scurried away.


    ¡°Again?¡± She questioned, turning her eyes back to her steward, the corners of her lips slightly turned up into a smile as she watched him reply with a slow nod, his body remaining stiff, and his hand, the one free from grasping his cup, clutched his pants tightly. ¡°Such a weak man,¡± she sniggered. ¡°Go on, ask for a place to wash up.¡±


    ¡°Will you be fine, my lady?¡± Renly asked as he gently freed his hand from the burden of his cup.


    ¡°I¡¯m a little drunk, not a newborn. Now hurry up, I shall wait.¡±


    Renly stumbled up to his feet, bowed and walked up to one of the workers who led him into a corner, vanishing from Audrey¡¯s sight.


    With Renly no longer in view, she gulped down the last of the wine in her cup and rose up to her feet, then walked gracefully and slowly towards the brothel¡¯s door.


    The wooden door, as if expecting her, flung open upon her arrival, and before her stood two men cloaked in fine silk of black, the light of the sun from beyond bathing their bodies, and their faces hidden strongly beneath their hoods.


    Audrey¡¯s heartbeat quickened as she watched the men intensely, unable to take a step backward or forward¡ªfor some reason, she couldn¡¯t. She questioned if it was the effects of the wine she had gulped in large amounts, or if these men were just that high in status, so much that their mere presence passed such a sense of caution to whoever came before them. She shook her head in disapproval of the latter, and chose to believe it was the wine.


    The first man before her turned to the side slightly, allowing the second to follow suit, in return, presenting her enough room to escape the walls of the brothel. The man gestured with his hand, implying that the way was all hers. She breathed a deep exhale, then strode out of the brothel, turning her head slightly as she glanced beneath the hood of the first man.


    ¡°Silver eyes,¡± she muttered as the presence of the men waned while she watched the door shut behind her. She turned her eyes away from the door and waltzed to the carriage, the guardsmen watching the horses, bowing in greeting as quickly as they saw her. Replying to their greetings, she hopped into the carriage and took her seat quietly in wait for Renly.


    ¡­


    ¡°My lady!¡± Renly shouted as he pushed open the door of the carriage and jumped in, his hasty breathing relaxing immediately he caught sight of Audrey sitting daintily, her palms clutched softly together, and her eyes beautifully clasped shut. In contrast to her awake self, she was a gracious and beautiful wallflower when revelled in the serenity of her slumber.


    ¡°Depart,¡± Renly told the guardsmen as he took his seat in the carriage, breathing out a deep calming exhale while he stared delicately at Audrey.

 An Old Friend

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr pulled off his hood, exposing and bathing his blue hair in the colour of the dim red brightening the brothel. The mingling scents of thick perfume and incense, causing a momentary spike of discomfort to his nose while his eyes gently wandered about the space.


    ¡°Rather fascinating designs for tapestries,¡± Zephyr told his advisor.


    Flynn pulled down his hood. ¡°A brothel should have the designs of one, my ki¡ª¡± he stopped the word quickly from completely escaping his lips. ¡°Forgive me. I near misspoke.¡±


    ¡°Forgiven, my friend.¡± Zephyr patted Flynn¡¯s shoulder and smiled. ¡°This is good, isn¡¯t it? Now you can drop the stiffening gestures and call me by my name,¡± he whispered.


    Flynn turned his eyes to the soft, blossomed smile plastered over his king¡¯s face and said, ¡°Will try¡­ Zephyr,¡± with a tiny bit of a struggle, he managed to speak the name, which in return, struck Zephyr as weird. For someone who had acclaimed to being his friend all his life, speaking his name seemed to be too much of a burden.


    Why¡­? Zephyr¡¯s eyes squinted as he mused, but it lasted no less than a second before his face brightened once again.


    ¡°There.¡± Zephyr chuckled, giving a light pat to Flynn¡¯s back. ¡°Not so hard. We¡¯ve been friends a long time, calling me by my name shouldn¡¯t be such a gloomy task, should it?¡± he added half-jokingly, while the other half was filled with inquisition.


    Flynn sighed. ¡°You know I have never had the luxury of calling you by your name. It¡¯s always been ¡®my lord,¡¯ and as of the day before, it¡¯s become ¡®my king.¡¯ This is a first and an honour for me, one I shall cherish.¡±


    After listening to Flynn speak, Zephyr¡¯s mirthful visage shifted into something perturbed.


    Shit¡­ I was so focused on proving he was not to be trusted that I never gave chance to the idea that he might be telling the truth. Not being able to call his friend by his name. How stiffening must it be to be friends with someone so far up in status¡­ He breathed out a deep exhale and turned his eyes away from Flynn as his hand dropped slowly from his back. Not like I can say much about friendships though¡­


    Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt¡­


    As their chat came to a jarring close, a brown-haired worker espied them and sprung up as fast as she could. ¡°Welcome. Whose service do you request, my lords?¡± She asked as her eyes danced about their silk and face. They look rich, she thought¡­ and handsome. The best of the workers would love to bed them, which would mean more money. But her fantasies came to a crunching close as Flynn spoke up.


    ¡°The lady in charge. We seek to meet her.¡±


    Her face scrunched slightly, despite, she tried her best to maintain a welcoming smile as she replied, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my lords, but the madame doesn¡¯t seek to bed.¡±


    ¡°Neither do we,¡± Flynn said. ¡°We have come to talk to her.¡±


    Her smile was completely gone now. Deep in her mind she cursed the day, as she remembered the lord and lady who had arrived earlier and seeked not to bed anyone, and now there were two lords of the same sort standing before her. But she clung to the bright side. The last two paid a fine amount, these two might do the same, she thought, embracing hope tightly.


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    ¡°Now, if you will. Take us to her.¡± Flynn called the worker back from her fancy dwam.


    ¡°Once again, I ask for your forgiveness, my lords. But the madame takes no visitors without proper cause. Might you tell me what you seek and I shall pass it on. That or something else might do the trick¡­¡± She finally stumbled upon what caressed her mind the most.


    Flynn¡¯s lips curled up into an amused smirk. ¡°Coins, you mean.¡±


    She returned a polite smile. ¡°Might you offer some, I shall humbly receive, my lord.¡±


    Zephyr who had stood quiet, couldn¡¯t further suppress his quiet giggle from erupting into a low laughter. ¡°What¡¯s your name, pretty lady,¡± he added as soon as his laugh ended, taking a leaned step forward closer to the worker, his face almost touching hers.


    ¡°Ivy, my lord,¡± she replied.


    He then jerked a thumb towards Flynn. ¡°He¡¯s Flynn¡­ Flynn Claymore. Do you know what that means, Ivy?¡± Flynn eyed Zephyr curiously, wondering what exactly his mind carried. ¡°It means he¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°He is from House Claymore?!¡± Ivy exclaimed, cutting through Zephyr¡¯s words like hot knife through butter. ¡°Forgive me, my lord. I did not know who you were. I have made a grave mistake, please pardon me,¡± she begged as she fell to her knees, her head slumped as low as it could get.


    Zephyr straightened and turned a sceptical gaze towards Flynn. I planned to use his position as royal advisor¡ªbut what is this? He¡¯s such a big shot even without his position? Is he really far away from the royal family in status or is the royal family just that much higher up in the hierarchy¡­?


    ¡°Stand. For something so trivial, there is nothing to forgive,¡± Flynn said, giving Ivy the leisure of rising to her feet, but her head remained slightly bowed until Flynn added in a low commanding tone, ¡°Now, take us to her.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, my lord.¡± Flynn turned his head slightly and gave Zephyr a soft fulfilled nod as Ivy breezed around, leading them towards a rose-coloured curtained room and into it.


    ¡°Pardon me,¡± Ivy began, her palms pressed together beneath her belly, while Zephyr and Flynn both brushed the two opposite sides of the curtain as they made their way in.


    The room smelled no different from the brothel¡¯s lounge, if anything, the perfume was stronger, and Zephyr¡¯s nose twitched continuously from the discomfort¡ªbut he managed, afterall, it wasn¡¯t much as strong as the modern perfumes his mother used to pour on herself in his past life.


    ¡°My lords here seek some time with you,¡± Ivy told the seamed, dimple-faced woman covered in a beautiful velvet gown, who lay seated graciously on a cushion the same colour as the curtains, with her legs elevated on the low table before her. Wearing a seemingly old but young face, it was obvious how much of the years she had seen¡ªa few more than the queens maybe¡ªbut the beauty of her earlier days faded not. It was vividly etched onto her.


    Since their entrance, the woman¡¯s gaze had not left them. She had pinned her eyes on the auburn and blue haired men who had wandered into her garden of peace. ¡°Leave us,¡± she told the worker.


    Ivy bowed her head in response and immediately left the room.


    The woman dropped her legs from the table and stood up, then bowed her head slightly, saying, ¡°My lord of House Claymore. Welcome to a woman¡¯s cave.¡± Her lips curled into a soft smile as she raised her eyes.


    Flynn replied with a wider smile filled with traces of glistening joy, before pouring out a soft chuckle. ¡°Madame Rose. Ravens. How many years has it been?¡± He then strode forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, her bow resigning as she stood up straight. ¡°I thought not of you remaining here. How old are you now?¡±


    ¡°Never ask a lady her age, young lord. And besides, where else would a woman like me go?¡± Madame Rose smiled then turned her gaze over to Zephyr. ¡°And who is our young lord¡¯s companion?¡±


    Zephyr, who had stood dumbfounded at the scene playing before him, snapped back quickly and turned a waiting stare towards Flynn, who gently patted Madame Rose¡¯s shoulders once more before turning his eyes to him.


    ¡°My companion¡­ is the King.¡±

 The Red Mist

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr and Flynn now sat on the rose-coloured cushion, which had once been home to the dropping weight of the slender Madame Rose, and placed on the low table before them were two silver cups of freshly plucked grape wine, finely made in the brewery at Mistridge, retained to the Lady of House Redwyne.


    It had been served by a squat girl with the colour black tinting her short hair. From the youngness her face bore, it was obvious she had breathed nothing more than eighteen years of air.


    As the grape wine swirled from the ewer in her hands into the silver cups, she giggled beneath her breath while she took short glances at the chiselled face of the man she knew not was the king.


    She had been at the brothel half her life and had seen a lot of men stride past the red-haired siren fa?ade¡ªmost ugly, but some wore handsome faces. Still, neither of the handsomes¡¯ came close to the man seated before her, bading her watch as she filled his cup. His beauty had captivated her, and she knew not when she began thinking of the dreams that might befall her as soon as the sky turned dark, and a crescent of white rose above it.


    After the serving worker had reluctantly removed herself from the room, Zephyr smiled thinly and inquired from the madame on how she and Flynn had come to know each other. A great deal of curiosity on his part, but one justified by his current sitch.


    He had chosen to give his advisor the benefit of the doubt, but surely he didn¡¯t trust him yet. He believed it good to find out everything he could about the auburn-haired Flynn of the House Claymore, since he had taken the name Zephyr in this world, but held none of his memories.


    ¡°A rainy night,¡± Madame Rose began, taking up the tale, ¡°the night I stumbled upon the young lord. I was still a young maiden brought from the farmlands to serve as a whore. Disgusting it was; the smell of perfume and incense was much thicker that time, and it displeased me.¡± Discomfort soared her body, courtesy of the thick wooden chair across the low table she sat upon. When last had she placed her body on such hardness.


    She then gave a thought of crossing her legs, but a single dart of her eyes towards the king dispersed that thought.


    If he was anything like the kings of old, it would be stupid to try such. She hoped he wasn¡¯t, but her hopes were nothing more than a flickering flame fighting to survive. They all share the same blood, her father had told her long ago, along with the stories of kings when she was still a babe, and in her years in King¡¯s city she had seen men drunken with power¡ªif he wasn¡¯t already, sooner or later he would fall captive to its scorching heat as well, she believed.


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    ¡°I had come out to breathe the soft air that accompanied the drops of rain, then I heard a cry. The wind seemed fated to carry it from the alleyway beside the brothel towards me, so I followed it, and that¡¯s how I met the young lord. A boy of seven in tears, sitting in a dark alleyway.¡±


    Zephyr turned a momentary brooding stare towards the side of his advisors¡¯ stagnant face and closed eyes before returning it forward¡ªhe had remained that way through the tale, it was as though he cared not for the story.


    ¡°He never told me what bothered him that night, but he did keep coming back, and the alleyway became where we told each other stories under the light of stars.¡± She turned her gaze towards Flynn. ¡°Until he never came again¡­ before now.


    ¡°But I have little doubt you have come down from the castle for tales. So if it pleases His Grace, may I know why a woman such as I have been honoured with a visit?¡± Questions sailed her mind, but she had no doubt this was the one to begin with.


    Flynn finally threw his eyes open. ¡°We have come seeking answers,¡± he took up the reins, answering in the stead of the king of Ravenwing.


    Madame Rose¡¯s face screwed worriedly. ¡°If I may ask, to what questions, young lord? Surely my girls haven¡¯t done anything wrong.¡±


    Flynn shifted slightly on the cushion. ¡°Two royal guards were found dead in that alleyway after a night of pleasure at your brothel. Poisoned, they were.¡±


    ¡°We sell no poisons,¡± she said airily.


    ¡°But wine you do,¡± Zephyr chipped in. A boy of eighteen he was in his past life, with little to no investigative skills, and so, for a brief moment he thought to leave it all up to Flynn, but little chance he did that as well; it was his life at stake, and it was his duty to keep himself safe.


    ¡°Traces of wine were spotted on their tongues after the examination of their bodies, and as he said, they were found in the alleyway of your brothel. The wine they drank had been poisoned.¡± Rose¡¯s body surged with uneasiness that seeped deep into her skin. If word of two royal guards dying in the alleyway of her brothel got out, it could spell trouble for her business¡ªif it hadn¡¯t already.


    Flynn noticed the sullen eyes of his old friend. ¡°It¡¯s a brothel,¡± he told her. ¡°Tons of common folks and lords flood it at night, anyone could have done the deed. What we want to know about is the wine they drank; it¡¯s not something guards should have been able to request. How did they manage such?¡±


    Her voice trembled slightly as she quickly sought ears to her words. ¡°We serve a lot of wine, young lord, of which most are expensive. You might as well tell me what sort they ordered, that even guards of the royal household could not afford.¡±


    Silence sailed for a moment, before Zephyr and Flynn replied in unison, their voices overlapping each others¡¯, ¡°The red mist!¡±

 Wine And Death

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°You serve such, don¡¯t you?¡± Zephyr asked, his tone laced with unfiltered curiosity. He was close, he felt it. Close to solving the mystery of the prince¡¯s death. All he needed were answers; answers to what happened before he transmigrated, answers to what the guards might have seen, and most of all, answers to who had done it. This was only the second he had sought answers so much; he viciously loathed the thought of experiencing death again. Painful and scary and dark; he hated all it brought¡ªthe darkness most especially.


    He silently placed his hand on the tiny, leather belt-pouch hidden under his cloak, where he had kept the mysterious paper he found in his tightly shut palm, upon his transmigration. His heart raced in dire anticipation; once, twice, thrice, if Rose had not spoken up, the bellowing drums of his heart might have made it free from the cage of his chest.


    ¡°We do, Your Grace,¡± she gave voice. It was a little quivered; the situation had now clutched her tightly at the throat, and she had begun to think the same as her king and his advisor: ¡°how could guards have been served such a wine?¡±


    The thought of losing her business left a bitter taste in her mouth. She once hated it, but now she had grown too close to it, so much it had become her life.


    The pounding of Zephyr¡¯s heart quieted to a slow stop as a soft unnoticeable smile crept upon his face. An inch closer, he sighed as the darkness of death that he felt looming over him faded instantly.


    Flynn then rose to his feet. ¡°A word with your girls if you might,¡± he said, his eyes layered with a glint of fierce determination.


    Rose watched him for a short moment. She had noticed, right from the moment his hands felt her shoulders; he had changed. He was no longer the young lord she had met that night. Deep beneath those silent eyes layered with determination she felt was for the benefit of his king, was something hidden¡ªsomething kept deep in the dark, like the moon concealed beneath thick, grey blankets of clouds. What had happened to him? What had changed him ever so greatly?


    She sauntered up from the sturdy wooden chair she sat on, softly shaking her mind free from its questions. ¡°Have your seat, young lord. I shall return with the one who was in their service.¡± With nothing short of flowery grace, she bowed and turned to leave the room.


    ¡°Close, aren¡¯t we?¡± Zephyr directed his voice to the only person left with him.


    ¡°Yes, my king.¡± Flynn sat back on the cushion. ¡°But if I may be allowed a question. Why not leave it all to me? Why come down from the castle to trouble yourself with the death of two guards?¡±


    Silence appeared momentarily, and for a short moment, Zephyr thought to undo the lock on his lips, he thought to tell Flynn everything; how he was not of this world, the paper he had found, and why he bothered with the guards so much, but a voice, one enlivened with fiery rage, spat quickly: Don¡¯t! Do not tell him! Do not tell him!! It bellowed, stinging him with a sharp, brief headache, and as well, wrenching the king from embracing seemingly, profound stupidity.


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    ¡°Yes, they are guards,¡± Zephyr replied, taking heed of the voice, ¡°but my guards. I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t expect me to sit peacefully in the castle when their death means a threat to my life exists, or is there some other way you see it?¡±


    Before Flynn could utter a word of reply, Madame Rose returned with a copper-skinned girl and plunged herself calmly back onto the wooden chair of discomfort, while the girl who stood beside her, wearing a rough, tousled hair of brown on her head, which fell over her shoulders, and washed in a sleeveless gown of the same colour, searched the floor with her eyes, all the while daring not to raise it, nor feed it with a glance of the men sitting before her. Her palms placed upon each other beneath her belly shivered slightly; whatever her madame had told her stained her with fear.


    ¡°She served them, my lords. Both at table and bed,¡± Madame Rose affirmed. ¡°If anyone, she would know it all.¡±


    ¡°What have you told her?¡± Zephyr asked, taking notice of the quiet shivers of the girl¡¯s palms.


    ¡°Nothing more than the two guards she served were dead, and that two lords had arrived to question her for it.¡±


    Lords¡­? She didn¡¯t tell the girl who I was then¡­


    Zephyr turned his stare back to the girl and studied her keenly for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. Fear, he could smell it. The displeasing stench it had. He knew what it felt like¡ªhis past life had made sure of that. After all, only one who had experienced it could have so much familiarity with it, and he wanted such displeasing countenance for no one, even a serving whore.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± He asked.


    The girl painted with a skin of copper replied as her eyes remained searching the floor, and her fingers bit into each other aggressively, ¡°Cicily, my lord.¡± Her mouth quavered.


    ¡°Do not be afraid, Cicily. You¡¯re in no trouble,¡± he said with a smile. ¡°Raise your head.¡±


    ¡°...As you wish my lord.¡± Slowly, her eyes left its watch of the floor and rose to the warm, gleaming smile of Zephyr. As she saw, it almost felt as though she could relieve herself of the fear that gripped her, but a single glance at the intense and watchful gaze of the other seated lord, assured the fear remained. Soft, his face was, but it lacked the warmth the other had. His was soft and cold¡ªicy cold.


    ¡°I-I only served what she ordered, my lords!¡± Cicily panicked, her eyes darting about their faces. Zephyr¡¯s intent to calm her had ended in failure. Her fear was great now, too great to be contained.


    ¡°She?¡± Flynn¡¯s eyebrows twitched bemusedly, as he sharply took notice of a slight detail in Cicily¡¯s words.


    Someone else was there¡­? Zephyr¡¯s gaze furrowed, his mind reining in to notice as well.


    ¡°What do you mean she?¡± He asked, taking a quick glance at the curious face of Madame Rose before returning it to the girl.


    ¡°Speak,¡± Flynn blurted. For him, the silence had gone on for far too long already, and it filled him with nothing short of impatience.


    Cicily shrieked mildly and took the reply out of her mouth as fast as she could, ¡°The guards didn¡¯t order the wine, my lords. Someone else did¡­


    ¡°A lady.¡±

 Crow And Lockwood

    <h2><u>FLASHBACK</u></h2>


    ¡°Ale! More ale, girl!¡± Elenor roared.


    Whenever the sun had taken its rest beneath the mountains to the west, the Red Siren bustled. Moans, shouts, fights; it had it all, and on the night of the new king¡¯s enthronement, in the midst of the dim red illumination of the brothel, there they were on chairs of oak, sitting across from each other before a round low-table: Jorah Crow and Elenor Lockwood, both still clad in the silver of their armour and fastened black capes of the guards of the kingdom of Ravenwing, their faces flushed redly and their eyes filled with drunkenness.


    ¡°Damn you, girl. Where¡¯s my ale?!¡± Elenor spat, his eyes ablaze like a torch, and his thick voice, which had grown louder than before, standing out amongst the clamour enlivening the brothel.


    Cicily came scurrying with the ale, her legs sore from her constant back and forth service. Elenor looked at her, his hooded shaped eyes roofed by ginger bushy brows still aglow with ire, but it was no longer like that of a torch, it had calmed down¡ªthe ewer of ale he saw in her hands had calmed him down. The helmet which had covered his craggy face during his day¡¯s work, sat on his right thigh, it was an armet designed with the raven crest of the royal family on its forehead.


    He sat a man nearing his forties with a scraggly beard to groom, and the grey strands mixed with the ginger of his shaggy hair, chased back at the edges by a widow¡¯s peak, made sure to remind him of that. He was growing old, he knew. Very soon he would have to retire from being a royal guard and live the rest of his life farming or tending to pigs¡ªoh, how much he hated both. So he chose to drown himself every night in the touch of women and the drowsiness of alcohol, until the very day he hated came.


    While on the other side of the table sat someone who shared not his fate: Jorah Crow. A bastard young man in his early twenties. He sat with his hand placed on his helmet positioned at the edge of the table, his hair a tousled one with a colour of ash-brown, and his freckled face, graced with the stubble on its edges, brightly red with a sustained grin as he watched Elenor. If at all he shared anything with the man he was in the company of, it was falling drunk, even though he had drunk fewer ale.


    ¡°Sit, girl. Do your job properly.¡± Elenor pulled Cicily down to his left thigh, wrapping his arm around her waist and placing his hand on her lap. He could feel the smoothness of her skin through the gown which covered her, and the little goose pimples that arose from the sensations his palm delivered to her body. She was still a green girl, her maidenhead not yet broken¡ªit was as plain as white silk bathed in the light of day.


    ¡°A boy on the throne brings worries, beyond a doubt,¡± Elenor complained to Jorah as his penetrating gaze probed at Cicily while she filled two flagons. His eyes watched her, from her brown hair, to her throat, to her quivering hands burdened with the task of filling the flagons from the ewer of ale, and down to her waist. She felt uncomfortable and bare-skinned, it was as though his eyes had ripped her dress completely from her body. ¡°What about you, lad? What do you think?¡±


    Jorah Crow stretched his hand slightly and took hold of a filled flagon, dragging it towards himself. ¡°He¡¯s kind. I believe he¡¯ll do well.¡±


    Cicily had now filled Elenor¡¯s flagon as well, allowing him to take hold and chug half of the pale straw pool of liquid down his throat. ¡°What do you take the throne for, kid? A farm where you plant seeds with care and kindness and you get a healthy yield?¡± He burped loudly before giving a reply, the yellow ale staring up at him from below. ¡°That seat of bronze isn¡¯t a playground. Kindness won¡¯t cut it for the prince.¡±


    ¡°The king,¡± Jorah corrected, his grin of drunkenness carrying on, unabated.


    Elenor¡¯s nose wrung up, his lips following in return as an irritated visage stormed his face. He shook the flagon in his hand viciously, tears of ale spilling out at every turn as he uttered a reply, ¡°Aye, the king, but still a boy at heart, kindness won¡¯t cut it either¡­¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± a voice lighter than a feather, supported Elenor from the back of Jorah, drawing the gazes of all three sitting at the low table to it. The voice was a lady¡¯s¡ªless doubt of it being otherwise, since it was devoid of harshness nor strength, only calmness and a spice of warmth¡ªand the grin which had managed to remain on Jorah¡¯s lips for a while finally ran away, with a dog¡¯s pace nonetheless.


    The lady hid her face beneath the hood of a linen cloak dyed with the black of night. She stood as mysterious as the guardians of the blood tower¡ªmen whose faces were covered with masks of the unseen, and saw not the light of day outside the tower, eating and sleeping with the prisoners deemed unworthy to live as normal men¡ªbut not for long did she stand. She ambled, leading their watchful gazes as she pulled over a free chair and took a seat at their table.


    Elenor Lockwood was the first to speak up. ¡°And who might you be?¡± He asked, incredulously, his eyes wearing a suss gaze which he anchored on her, for any good it might do him.


    ¡°Someone,¡± the mysterious lady replied. ¡°I shall not bother with your names, so I ask you not to bother with mine.¡±


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    ¡°I would not have bothered with who you were if you had not sat at our table,¡± Elenor sneered, staring fixedly at her, as well the others who were at the table remaining silent, they had left the talking to the ginger haired man¡ªCicily would not have talked even if she wanted to, the only words that were allowed to come out of her mouth were not one of queries, but either ones of reply or one to ask of their orders.


    ¡°Leave, and I¡¯ll have no need of whatever is hidden under that cloak. Stay, and you either speak your name or live to regret not.¡± Elenor threatened.


    The mysterious lady remained seated, neither moving to leave nor uttering a word of reply of who she was. The youngling guard, Jorah, began to feel a stiff air surrounding the table. He had known Elenor for a year now, and if there was anything he was, it was a man to live by his words. He would make her regret it if she spoke not, unless¡­ she could make him discard his swears, and there were only two things that could ever make him do that: alcohol and coins, lots of coins. If she gave him either, she could undoubtedly stay without a word of her name or reveal of her face, the alcohol or coin would have paid for it.


    ¡°Leave?¡± Said the mysterious lady, after a while. ¡°That I cannot do.¡±


    ¡°Then regret it you shall.¡± Elenor was about to push Cicily off his thigh and rise to his feet in a storm, when he heard her speak once more, a word that ensured he was firmly held to his seat.


    ¡°Wine,¡± she said.


    ¡°Wine?¡± Elenor had a face mixed with annoyance and confusion, but he leaned towards the word: wine, rather than what made him annoyed. ¡°Wine, you say?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re tired of filling your belly with this yellow drink for savages. I shall pay for wine, the finest in the kingdom, if you let me stay.¡±


    Jorah shivered immediately as soft pimples of fear spread all over his skin. She read my mind?! He thought. He was shaken to the core, and as he blinked a few times, the drunken feeling he had worn like a hunter, wearing the fur of a bear he had slain, vanished ever so hurriedly. But he reprimanded himself quickly. Stupid, he called himself, there¡¯s no way that¡¯s ever possible, he sighed, relieving himself of fear¡ªunsolicited fear.


    Elenor¡¯s stone face softened into a somewhat ugly smile, the yellow of ale stuck to his teeth while a few white struggled to be visible¡ªthey failed no doubt. ¡°Order the wine and you¡¯re welcome to stay,¡± he chuckled as he took a glance at Jorah who gave a weak smile in return, then fixed his gaze back on the budding norks of the worker on his thigh.


    ¡°You. Yes, you. What¡¯s your price?¡± The mysterious lady asked, her question directed at Cicily.


    Cicily replied, trying to stop her voice from quivering any further than it had already, ¡°Wh-what wine would you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not wine,¡± the lady cut in, and as well tore off the smile on Elenor¡¯s face, and replaced it with a glance of query, before she added, almost immediately, ¡°the wine shall come after. The price I ask of is you. What¡¯s your price to bed these two men?¡± Elenor¡¯s smile returned, as creepy as ever, but it was not the same for Cicily, and surprisingly, Jorah. They both quivered at the question. Jorah was shaken at the thought of crossing into the world of men, and Cicily at the thought that after tonight her world would shift farther away from what she had dreamt it to be as a child.


    ¡°My-my price? I-I don¡¯t have one yet, my lady.¡± She had completely forgotten to say what some of the older workers had told her now that she was faced with a situation. You¡¯re green. You¡¯ll fetch more coins. Charge five silvers a man, they¡¯ll have no choice but to pay. She was now worth five silvers, she thought, and it would become less after tonight. She wanted to cry, but she dared not¡ªnot before her customers, the madame would not have such. She had been sold, this was her world now and she had better embrace it or it would hurt more every time.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay ten silvers for each man. Bring the wine here so they¡¯ll have something to drink once they return, then take them to a room, one with a feather bed for their comfort. I want the most expensive wine you have,¡± the lady explained clearly enough for Cicily¡¯s ears. The mention of the wine made Elenor¡¯s body tingle excitedly, so much he forgot he was old¡ªor getting old.


    ¡°Why? The wine is already enough payment for your secrecy, so why are you spending more for our pleasure?¡± Jorah questioned, letting his curiosity spill forth. Elenor had his suspicions as well, but he would rather drink wine and bed a woman than ask at this point, and so he frowned upon Jorah¡¯s question, but before he could make his feelings known, she replied.


    ¡°Stories. I make my money by telling stories I¡¯ve heard across different towns, and you two seemed to know a bit about the new king. And I believe enjoying yourselves would only make you more willing to talk, don¡¯t you think? Just see of it as an investment, I, without a doubt, will surely get a return. Nothing is free, everything comes at a price.¡± She smiled, or maybe that was what Jorah thought happened beneath her hood as he slowly nodded, seemingly convinced at what she had said, his eyes moving gradually until it caught Cicily¡¯s, which made him shiver slightly as he remembered what would happen in a few.


    The mysterious lady loosened a pouch of coins from underneath her cloak, and gestured at Cicily with it, inciting her to whip up from Elenor¡¯s thigh and take hold of the pouch. For the wine and your service, she had said, after which Cicily bowed and led the two men stiffly to a room around a corner, before returning with a silver ewer containing the pre-ordered wine and three cups, placing it on the table before the mysterious lady who now sat alone.


    As she returned to the room where Elenor and Jorah were waiting, few of the older workers that were free, espied her and giggled mockingly as they gisted between themselves, watching her as she walked slowly and rigidly to the room. When she first arrived, she had cried and spat at the thought of becoming one of them, but now, there she was, about to become what she had hated and despised, and there was no way to stop it.

 A Dead End

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°That was all that happened, my lords,¡± Cicily told them. ¡°I truly know nothing more. Truly!¡± All she said was the truth of it. The feather bed had been her last interaction with the men that night, one that left her sore and aching, and she wished nothing more than to forget it all, but it fraught impossible, as the pain constantly came back whenever it wished, reminding her of what she had gone through, and that there were more nights of such ahead.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Zephyr¡¯s soothing voice echoed through her ears, bringing her tensed body to a slow relax. His voice calmed her down. Somehow, he was able to do that, and before she knew it, she found herself wishing that he was the one who had come the night before, that he was her first and not that ginger of a savage. He would have treated her with care, and she would not be aching all over now, she believed. He was kind, just like the other freckled one¡ªthey were both kind.


    Flynn¡¯s brows fell downwards in thought as he eyed her. Cicily then caught his gaze, the slicing gaze of his cold round eyes. It made her shiver slightly, as if a warning wind calling forth the arrival of winter after summer¡¯s departure, swept through her skin. ¡°All I¡¯ve said is the truth of it, my lord! I swear!¡± She cried out. Seventeen of age, and she had seen so much already, that fear kept so close to her like a litter of wolf pups to their mother. She had grown with no knowledge of her father or mother, and she was sold by the man she once called her uncle as soon as she had come of age. Her life, which was filled with days of pain and tears, moved so fast and yet so slow.


    ¡°You scare her,¡± Zephyr whispered to his advisor as he as well, caught sight of the probing gaze he had planted on the shivering girl. ¡°Lighten your gaze, we¡¯re not here to frighten the girl.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me. I did not mean to. I was lost in thought,¡± Flynn closed his eyes and answered silently, as well in a whisper. He then opened it again, but this time it was less frightening¡ªstill cold, but less frightening. ¡°Where were you after? From your story, the guards did not drink the wine before going to bed with you. So where were you when they returned to table? As the one serving them, you should have also been there at the table, is it not?¡± He asked Cicily.


    Zephyr saw sense in Flynn¡¯s question. It was a showing of how much he knew nothing about such things. ¡°Tell us,¡± he beckoned¡ªbut calmly, his narrow eyes softly curious.


    Madame Rose sat quietly, watching the ongoings like a play held in the streets. It was far more tedious than counting coins earned from a day¡¯s work, which annoyed her enough, but little choice she had now, her business stood at risk, and for that, there she was, curiously awaiting her worker¡¯s reply.


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    Cicily answered faintly and sullenly, ¡°It was my first, my lords. I was sore and tired, and it took me a bit to pick myself up and wash clean, by the time I was done, they were gone. I swear that was all that happened.¡± Her voice trembled, she wanted to cry, it was near. Her legs ached, her body ached. She wanted to rest, she needed it, but it was her¡ªagain. It has always been her. All her life, she was always somehow there in the midst of crestfallen and miserable situations. She wanted to curse herself for her ill fate, but it would just make living more daunting for her.


    Madame Rose was the first to notice, but she was too slow to respond. It silently fell down Cicily¡¯s cheeks¡ªthe clear white which had gathered up in her eyes. She had tried to keep it there, but it sought freedom, it sought to show itself to the people in the room, it sought to let them know what she had kept pent up inside. ¡°I swear, my lords, I know nothing more. I swear. I had no hand in their deaths. Please, I know nothing!¡± She sniffled and trembled, her hands shook and her voice as well.


    It was heart wrenching for Rose, a bit too much. She had never thought of Cicily being so scared. It was not the questioning of the men before her that made tears fall, she knew. She was also this way when she had first arrived¡ªscared, but Cicily¡¯s fear was far greater than what hers¡¯ used to be. She had found herself involved in the death of two guards of the royal household¡ªa scared, youngling girl in King¡¯s city involved in the death of two guards; it did nothing more but fester her fears.


    Zephyr¡¯s chest tightened as he watched her break down. He saw himself in her. He saw what he was in his past life¡ªwhat he is. A frightened and lonely child who was always trying to hide his pain. He wondered how his life would have turned out if he had never followed his father¡¯s ways, if he had never jumped into the street that day. If he had listened to his mother, he wondered if his life and hers¡¯ would have been any different than it became.


    The barrage of thoughts flooded his mind, and he nearly joined Cicily in tears¡ªbut he would not have that; people were here, his advisor was here, and he was a king now; in this world, he was the king. He had grown reading stories and watching movies of them, and he knew what it entailed to be one, so he would not let himself look weak before anyone.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± he echoed, his voice strong. He then swung a swift gaze to Madame Rose. ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough. Let her rest, if possible she should not work tonight, or however long it would take for her body to relax. Do you understand?¡±


    Madame Rose nodded in reply, and a momentary, soothing realisation caressed her mind: He¡¯s not like the kings of old.


    ¡°We shall take our leave,¡± he added as he rose from the cushion he sat on, Flynn as well and Rose too; they both stood as their king stood. Madame Rose and the in-tears Cicily, bowed as Zephyr and Flynn walked past them and out of the rose-curtained room.


    She was silent now, sniffling but silent.

 Old Scars

    <h2><u>FLYNN CLAYMORE</u></h2>


    He dreamt a dream of the past, of when he was a boy of seven.


    In the dream, on a rainy night he wished to forget but lingered still in his mind, he stood in a pitch-black hallway at the hour of the moon, peeking through the narrow slit of the door of a room, echoing with the voices of two shadows¡ªmists of black which seemed like they were fading with every passing moment, but remained evident. On a bed-like silhouette smothered with darkness, lay one of the mistified shadows, while the other sat beside the bed, grasping the hand of the lying mist of black.


    ¡°Please, do not let him know,¡± the one that lay said, its voice mingled with both harrowing and daunting pain. It was the soft crying voice of a woman¡ªthe soft crying voice of his mother, Fiora. ¡°He will bear hate towards them. I do not want him to live like that¡­ I do not want him to live like me. Please, do not let him know, I beg of you. Promise me you¡¯ll keep it a secret,¡± she pleaded with the other shadow, her voice slowly succumbing to the pain she felt.


    He watched, not moving a step from the door. This was the last he would see her, she was dying¡ªhis mother was dying, but he could not bring himself to go into the room and be in her arms one last time. If he did that, he would never find out what they wanted to keep a secret from him. So he stood, making a decision to wait and watch and listen.


    ¡°I promise,¡± the seated shadow replied. The voice filled with misery was that of his father, Reginald Claymore. ¡°I should send for him, he needs to be with you.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Fiora coughed out. ¡°Not now, Reg, not now. I do not wish to see him now. You know, he reminds me of¡­¡± Their grips tightened on each other, and at the same time, Flynn¡¯s young chest as well. Her words had driven a pike through his heart, and sent warm tears running down his cheeks slowly and silently, but he did not move a step from the door¡ªnot yet, he still wanted to listen. She had treated him with love and care all his life, so why did she not want to see him when she was so close to death? He wanted to know her reason. He did not mind if it would hurt or break him, he was already hurt enough as is. He wanted to know what he reminded her of, and why she would reject his presence because of it¡­


    Tears of thick red streamed down the cheeks of the shadow that was Fiora, as both faces of black in the room, gave a sharp turn towards the door. ¡°...He reminds me of¡­¡±


    Flynn jerked up from his slumber, his breathing in a race as sweat plundered the fields of his face. ¡°Again,¡± he muttered bitterly, his fingers firmly gripping the thick linen blanket half his body was swept underneath. He raised his eyes from the blanket, and gave the candle of flickering light, which illuminated the room with a sense of melancholy from the table across his bed, a long, hard look, as though the flame called out to him. He watched it and it watched him, while he took a moment to consider before he chose to accept its supposed call.


    He flipped the blanket away from his body, dropping his feet to the cold hardness of the floor, and walked to take a seat at the table where the flickering flame beseeched him. He wore nothing but a loose pant of black, leaving his upper half uncovered, while his auburn hair fell freely over his shoulders.


    He pondered his dream as he continued his watch of the flame. It burned brightly and intensely now that he was close, and with every moment his mind crossed paths with the imagery of the sharp gaze the shadows in his dream had given him, the fire grew and grew and grew relentlessly, and as it was about to inundate Flynn and his room in a rage of flame, a voice sounded, reversing it to the flicker it was before.


    ¡°My Lord,¡± the voice had called. It was the calm but rich voice of his steward: Ewart Haystack, a person he had grown accustomed to, ever since he was brought as a serving boy two years younger than him, on his tenth name day. ¡°The ghost to see you.¡±


    Flynn frowned slightly at that, his eyes narrowing to an angry slit as he stared at the door. ¡°Send her in,¡± he answered, returning his gaze to the flame.


    She sauntered in to the shutting sound of the door behind her, Ewart had left them to be. The lady was covered from head to foot-ankle in a linen cloak of black, the only thing that could be made out, until she drew back the hood of her cloak, were her flat sandals, its base daubed with scant dirt.


    ¡°Were you the one?¡± Flynn asked the dark haired and skinned lady, his voice fallen in a pit of growing rage, while the candle flame resonated with him. ¡°Was it you, Melisandre?¡±


    Melisandre answered with a smile¡ªa short, furtive and wry smile, ignorant of his seething countenance. She slowly approached him where he was seated at the table, almost beginning to boast a reply, but Flynn¡¯s rage burst forth before she could manage the feat. He stood up in a fit of pique, sending the chair he sat on crashing to the floor¡ªit would have cursed him if it could¡ªhe then grabbed Melisandre by the chin, his fingers biting into her cheeks, with a swirl of fury as he pushed her onto a lifted sit on the table, his body almost merging with hers, if not for the wooden frame of the table restricting his lower half from feeling her own.


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    ¡°You brought him back and killed his guards. What are you, mad?!¡± Flynn spat like a flame roasting a big boar on a stake.


    ¡°I could ask you the same, my lord. What were you thinking?¡± Melisandre managed a mutter, as her speech was heavily curbed by Flynn¡¯s tightened fingers around her cheeks.


    Flynn, angered further, strengthened his grip, his heart racing in accordance with his enlivened temper. The pain began to get to Melisandre, forcing her to grab his arm with both her hands¡ªher mouth had worsened her situation, she noticed. His hold on her cheeks grew firm and strong by the moment, and she knew her tender hands had not the strength to wrench his grip from her face, so she did the only thing she could¡ªshe pleaded.


    A sharp grimace of pain soured her face. ¡°You¡¯re¡­hurting¡­me. Stop it. I killed¡­the guards for you¡­my lord,¡± she begged, but he did not listen, his grip was hurting more now. ¡°Please¡­I-I have¡­a plan. Let me¡­speak¡­¡±


    He watched and watched and watched, his hand stiffening with every hard breath he poured out, until he unwillingly released his fingers, chasing away his stubbornness with an heavy gasp, as he turned away from Melisandre who was now stuck in a coughing loop, and walked to take a seat on his bed.


    ¡°I¡¯d love to hear this plan of yours,¡± he said, while he probed her intensely with the brown of his eyes, making sure she knew his anger still lingered, and what she planned to say was what would decide if it would erupt once more or slump into stillness. ¡°But before that, how did you know of his death?¡±


    She coughed a last, then turned her narrow eyes reddened with pain to him, her fingers softly massaging her cheeks. ¡°He had requested the Almond Milk for his nerves, my lord; it was only coincidence that I was the one sent to deliver it, and found him poisoned,¡± she answered. ¡°Before I speak of my plan, may I be allowed a question? Why did you kill him? It was not yet time. Leaving him dead would have ruined everything. Did you forget of the other Ravenswoods?¡±


    Flynn answered softly, after he had driven his gaze to the space of black, escaping to the edges of his chamber¡¯s door, from the candle light¡¯s illuminance, ¡°He knew,¡± he said.


    ¡°He knew?¡±


    ¡°Somehow, he had figured out something was wrong, and as well getting close to finding out what it was¡­ and you brought him back.¡± He eyed her again, as hard as nails. ¡°Foolish is all that comes to mind when I look at you, we¡¯re only so lucky he doesn¡¯t seem to recall anything.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, my lord? Why doesn¡¯t he recall anything?¡± Melisandre asked, confused.


    ¡°You¡¯re the witch, you should be the one to answer that question. I know nothing of your sickening powers.¡±


    Melisandre jumped down from the table and paced towards Flynn, her cloak flailing after her. ¡°Souls retain their memories, there¡¯s no way he should be missing them. Have I done the spell wrong?¡± Her eyes, her body, her whole being darted about the room chaotically, before she finally took a sudden stop facing Flynn. ¡°Tell me, my lord. How am I to feel about this? Happy that he does not have his memories or sad that I might have done the spell wrong?¡±


    Flynn grit his teeth and rose to his feet in a flash, then grabbed her by the collar of her cloak, her heart riding faster than ever as her face turned up to see his. ¡°I do not care how you feel about your spells. What¡¯s done is done. He does not have his memories any longer, and I have chosen to see it as nothing but an advantage to us, so you had best speak your plan already, before I get a lot more angry than I already am.¡± He let free of her cloak by pushing her a few steps backward, while he fell back to sit on the bed.


    Melisandre breathed a deep exhale, calming herself as much as she could. ¡°I plan to use him,¡± she began after a short moment.


    Flynn¡¯s brows arched as he listened.


    ¡°I stole Prince Damon¡¯s coins to pay for the red wine, that boy prince trusts me a bit too much, and I used some of the moon¡¯s bane we kept to kill the guards, making sure the suspects would stay limited to only people of nobility. I had also left a note in the king¡¯s palm, with the word poisoned, after I casted the spell of life on him. I plan to use it as a medium to build trust between us, as I try to convince him that the ones who poisoned him were his brothers. That way, we can destroy the House of Ravenswood at once.¡± Her wry smile returned, this time with a glint of confidence in her plans.


    ¡°And how would you get to talk to the king? Remember you have not the position for that. You are only so close to Damon because he wanted what¡¯s beneath your legs, and such a method will not work on the king.¡± Flynn was sceptical of the plan. He wore cautiousness like an armour, a little too much, and right now, he was not so confident she could exercise such a plan without strife.


    Melisandre answered, ¡°The witch who casts the spell of life is bound to the one she casts it on. So my mother once told me.¡± Her heart skipped a beat with that one, and spite slightly took over. ¡°I have proven it right; I am bound with the king, I can speak to his mind if I am close enough, and if there¡¯s anything I am sure of, my lord, is that he will answer me when I call.¡±

 Steeled Resolve

    <h2><u>HARRY BOLTMORE</u></h2>


    ¡°What¡¯d ya see, Pyp?¡±


    ¡°A poacher¡¯s son¡¯s what I see, Walder.¡±


    ¡°What kinda, Pyp?¡±


    ¡°A stupid one!¡±


    They glowered before him, laughing and mocking, three of them. One was Pyp, a copper-skinned boy, fat like a seasoned ham with an oily face like that of a pig, and a nose revelling in a battle with the snot dancing above his big lips, which was curved into a stupid grin. One glance and no one would believe he was of age to wield the sword. Harry wondered if he was even able to wield anything besides a running nose.


    Another, who stood at an arm¡¯s length from Pyp, was Walder. He was worse to be honest. He looked pale and underfed, and bore the risk of snapping in half if he ever tried to lift a real sword; Pyp might be more of a man than he was. His face was an ugly one, housing a crooked nose and messy hair of muddy colour; he as well, was wearing the same stupid grin as Pyp. Ravens be good, Harry did not know whose face he hated to behold the most.


    The last one of the three moseyed from behind Pyp and Walder, pushing them aside as he did. He, who was bestowed the name Drustan Gararic, looked their leader, and wore the same stupid grin as the other two, but stood more likely of a man than them both. He had long, shaggy hair of honey-blonde, and above his upper lip the shadow of a moustache manifested.


    Harry bade watch the mocking glare the boy showered him with from the doorstep he sat on. He hated him no more than he hated Pyp and Walder, but he would rather stare at his face, than let his eyes repeatedly bleed from the ugly appeal the other two bore.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Harry asked faintly, already growing tired of exchanging sight with Drustan and his minions.


    Drustan Gararic cackled, and so did Pyp and Walder. They were like flies, buzzing about Drustan with no mind of their own; Harry had never seen people more annoying throughout the realm in his seventeen years of life, and he was not sure if he would.


    ¡°Did you hear that, boys,¡± Drustan jested, taking short glances at Pyp and Walder before returning it to Harry, his insulting grin unrelenting. ¡°He speaks. The poacher¡¯s son speaks.¡±


    Fat Pyp laughed a short laugh, and so did Pale Walder. ¡°He speaks to Lord Drustan, Walder.¡± The sound of Pyp relentlessly dragging back his falling snot into his nose, frustrated Harry beyond reasoning. What sort of man had a snot fall from his nose?


    ¡°He a stupid one alright. No one dares speak to Lord Drustan the great,¡± Pale Walder said, his voice as crooked as his nose.


    Harry lowered his eyes and sighed wearily. It was the same each time he came to town on the fifth day of every week; these boys playing men were always there, coming to make his wait ever more daunting than it already was. They were like an infection that would not cease to leave him be.


    ¡°You dare not lower your eyes when I stand before you!¡± Drustan¡¯s brows knitted in a strong frown of disdain as he roared, making sure Harry¡¯s flailing attention did not fully leave him.


    ¡°Your eyes up, maggot!¡± Pale Walder tsked.


    ¡°Yes, raise your eyes!¡± Fat Pyp chipped in as well.


    The pair of mindless fools both took a step forward, but just enough that they retained their positions behind their ever so lordly, Drustan, all the while allowing their brows to join his in a knitted frown¡ªtheirs might have been even stronger.


    Harry sighed again. ¡°I dare not speak and I dare not lower my eyes. What would you have me do then, m¡¯lord?¡± His plain, little mockery of Drustan flew over their heads, as he adhered to their commands by giving their eyes his, or to be factual, giving Drustan¡¯s eyes his, he would not have himself suffer any more than he was already, by looking upon the other two.


    Drustan scoffed, then took quick, short glances at Pyp and Walder before saying to Harry, ¡°I hear you plan to fight at the tourney, maggot. Partake in the battle of the Kingsknight?¡±


    ¡°The word is as true as you heard,¡± Harry answered sharply, his plain face raised into a watch on Drustan¡¯s, which had slowly begun to grimace into a frown.


    ¡°You? A Kingsknight? Bloody hell. Hear that, Pyp? The bloody wanker wants to stand beside the king.¡± Walder guffawed, eyeing Harry disgustingly as he did.


    ¡°I hear, Walder. Told you he¡¯s stupid,¡± Pyp answered, his snot receding as his lips danced chaotically.


    ¡°Shut up, both of you! Do not talk when I¡¯m talking!¡± Drustan turned over to them and barked, then swung a ferocious gaze back to Harry, as his cheeks tinted a soft red. ¡°A poacher¡¯s son on the lists would stain the kingdom, and my name. You shall not ride where I shall ride. I am the only one in Old Town worthy of becoming a Kingsknight. Do you hear that, maggot? You shall not fight!¡±


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    ¡°Why not? Why should I give ears to your nonsense.¡± Harry had touched his limit. He hated quarrels, but now, where he sat, he had grown tired of letting these boys trample all over whatever manly pride he had left. ¡°Aye, my father¡¯s a poacher, but what does that have to do with me? The poacher¡¯s my father, not I. And you, you self-proclaimed yourself a lord, but in reality, you¡¯re just the child of an ironsmith, walking around with a man-pig and a withered stick for men; we are all down in the food chain, all three of us, so why should I have to take orders from you? And truth be told, I reckon I could take three of you in a fight¡­ all at once.¡±


    That was it, that was the driving force, the red was all over Drustan¡¯s screwed face now, visible in the raining light of the sun. Harry had successfully angered him, and as well, Pyp and Walder, but he did not falter, he did not care, he was confident in himself, and very well believed that he could beat all three of them. They stood no chance, he was sure.


    ¡°You maggot!¡± Drustan lunged forward red with anger, and grabbed Harry by the collar of his overly and lazily patched green and brown tunic. Harry watched him without saying a word, his plain and veiled face unabated. It angered the honey-blonde haired boy more so, the sickening fact that Harry just sat there and watched him with a straight face. He hated it, he hated him, he wanted to beat a painful reaction out of that face.


    His palm tightened into a fist, and in return, Harry¡¯s eyes finally left the watch of his face, to sneak a glance at his tightened knuckles. But as Drustan threw his hand backward in an attempt to swing a blow towards Harry¡¯s left cheek, the wooden door of the doorstep Harry had taken for his seat, gave way with a creak, and a husky voice swept forth from it, putting an end to the swing before it even began.


    ¡°Not at my door, brats.¡±


    Pyp and Walder, and Drustan, who still held Harry¡¯s tunic collar tightly, raised their eyes to the man who emerged from the door. They knew who he was, everyone knew who he was. He was a man who stood beside King Sargon Ravenswood the first, and fought for him, the man whose position Drustan wanted to acquire; the retired Kingsknight: Ser Gale Mormont. His face was a craggy one layered with a heavy, unshaven stubble of black. The tunic of white which sheltered his body, made little effort to hide the muscly arms he had honed from years of wielding the sword for his king, if not for his face, no one would believe he was well into his fifties.


    ¡°What¡¯re you glaring at? Be off with you; take your squabbles somewhere else.¡±


    Drustan breathed a vicious exhale, unwillingly letting go of Harry¡¯s collar as he did. ¡°See you at the lists, maggot,¡± he threatened, but Harry ignored him, choosing to focus his attention on straightening his collar, which had become somewhat rumpled from the earlier exchange, rather than feed Drustan¡¯s ego with a word of reply. But he did feed something else of Drustan¡¯s, knowingly or not, he fed it, he fed his rage. Drustan shivered with anger, so much that he had to tense his fists to help calm himself.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Drustan said to Pyp and Walder as they turned around and walked away.


    ¡°And you, boy.¡± Gale Mormont lowered his gaze at Harry, who still sat at his doorstep straightening his collar. ¡°Here.¡± He threw a stringed, small packet of parchment onto Harry¡¯s laps. ¡°That makes it ten silvers.¡±


    Harry let his collar free, picking up the parchment as he gently jumped to his feet, and turned around to meet Gale Mormont¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ll pay it all, I swear it.¡± He bowed.


    ¡°And how would you do that?¡± The retired Kingsknight tugged his arms into a fold, as he watched the boy¡¯s lowered head. ¡°Do you have a job?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Harry replied. ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ll win the tourney and become the Kingsknight that I once was, is that it?¡± Gale Mormont completed Harry¡¯s words. ¡°Your delusion will be the end of you, little man.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a delusion!¡± Harry¡¯s face had emotions strike it for a second as he looked up, startling Gale Mormont¡¯s brows to a twitch, before it faded as quick as it came. ¡°I will win and become the Kingsknight that you were, Ser Gale. I know it.¡± He lowered his head again.


    ¡°Cease the Ser, boy. I no longer wield the sword.¡± Gale Mormont sighed and turned around to make his way into his abode, but then he halted, and posed a question which had struck his mind. ¡°Do you even have one? A sword?¡±


    Harry raised his eyes to the broad back of the retired Kingsknight. ¡°No¡­ not yet. But I will find one before the tourney.¡±


    ¡°The tourney is less than a fortnight away, boy. It takes two fortnights for a smith to forge a good sword.¡±


    Harry¡¯s face scrunched at the realisation, and his mind began to wander restlessly. He needed this tourney, there was no other way for him, no other way he could think of.


    ¡°Come before you depart for the tourney. I shall let you have my blade.¡±


    Harry¡¯s eyes swole brightly, at least as bright as he could get it. ¡°Thank you. Thank you,¡± he kept pouring words of thanks, as his head fell into a bow again, until the sound of the door shutting tingled his ears.


    When Harry arrived at his home, a one-room, tiny cruck house a tad away from the crux of town, he was greeted by an unrelenting barrage of dry coughs. He sauntered beside the coughing man with a pallid skin, who lay tiredly on a bed of straw at the edge of the room, his neck reddened because of his almost never-ending coughs.


    The man, Larry Boltmore, was Harry¡¯s father, and shared the same hair colour of dark-blonde as his son, but his had become daubed with grey here and there over his head. Harry placed his palm on his father¡¯s forehead; it was burning, almost as hot as a cooking pot of pottage. ¡°It¡¯s become hotter than before I left,¡± Harry whispered.


    ¡°Harry, is that you?¡± Larry Boltmore spoke in between ragged, wheezing breaths. ¡°Where did you go off to?¡±


    Harry removed his hand from his father¡¯s forehead, and walked to the open stone hearth at the centre of the room, squatting down as he began to arrange a few chopped logs of firewood in it. ¡°I went to get your medicine. Wait a little bit, I¡¯ll make soup with whatever we have left,¡± he said.


    ¡°Medicine¡­ We don¡¯t even have the money to pay for that. There comes another debt.¡± Larry coughed weakly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Harry. I¡¯m such a useless Father. I should be the one taking care of you, but I¡¯m making you take care of me instead. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    Harry kissed flint with the steel of a knife to spark the start of fire in the hearth, then pushed himself up, and walked to the corner of the room to pick the large pot seated languidly. ¡°I¡¯m doing it for Mother either way,¡± Harry murmured sullenly. ¡°You should stop talking and rest, it¡¯ll take a while for the soup to be ready.¡±

 Gold And Silver

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    The candelabra of flames hanging from the centre of the solar, strewed the room in a dark golden glow, and washed its warmth on the permed, brown-haired prince of nineteen, fiddling with a bronze goblet while slumped on the high seat of dark oak. His jaded eyes, which were a pair of brown, watched the swaying wine, while his mind danced about his thoughts chaotically. If Dante saw, he would believe his brother had fallen drowsy from too much wine drunk; but that was hardly the case for the prince; he was drunk, but not on wine, he was drunk on something else, something far more intoxicating than wine.


    The door of the solar opened wide, and Prince Damon smiled wanly, as he watched Lord Varyn stride in with his currently, most expected guest: Savant Arryn. A man who looked to be in his early forties, dressed in a silk robe of white, and around his neck, a small silver chain with the sigil of a raven, hanging vividly.


    ¡°Savant,¡± Damon hooted listlessly, his voice an arched bridge between two vivid castles of praise and jest. ¡°You finally waltzed out of your hole. Took you long enough.¡± He drank a full gulp from the goblet of sweet wine in his right hand, while he used the finger of his other to gesture the savant and Lord Varyn to take their seats.


    After he was done drinking, he picked up the ewer on the round table, and began to refill his cup. ¡°I might have to get a cupbearer; pouring this myself makes my hand ache. Don¡¯t you think so too, Savant?¡±


    Lord Varyn jumped to his feet, hoping to rush to the side of his prince, and bear the responsibility of pouring the wine for him, but Damon gestured to him to return to his seat, leaving him with no choice but to comply.


    ¡°A cupbearer would serve you well,¡± Savant Arryn answered. He was a sallow, dimple-faced man, with little to no hair on his head for his age; he seemed to have traded it for the neat beard plastered over his cheeks and chin. ¡°You look tired, my lord,¡± he added.


    ¡°Right¡­?¡± Damon chuckled. ¡°Well, what would you like to have? A drink of sweet wine perhaps?¡±


    ¡°Your kind gesture I appreciate, my lord, but sweet wine I shall not have.¡±


    ¡°Then what would you like, I¡¯ll have them bring it.¡± Damon laid back on the high seat, and resumed his fiddles with the cup he had filled, as he raised his legs, which were covered in brown boots of leather, onto the round table, inciting a concerned gaze anchored on his crossed legs from both the savant and Lord Varyn. ¡°Well speak. You lost your cock not your tongue. What shall you have?¡± Damon added, impatiently awaiting his reply while he took a drink from his goblet.


    The savant cleared his throat and took his gaze away from Damon¡¯s legs. ¡°If I must, water would be most preferred, my lord,¡± he replied.


    Damon¡¯s brows furrowed as he glanced quickly at Lord Varyn, with a glint of surprise in his eyes. Lord Varyn answered with a slight, meek smile, then Damon let free a rough and weak laughter. ¡°Water? Drink that when you get to your chambers. Who in the realm offers fucking water for a drink? Not me.¡± He let fly a scoff and shook his head, before putting his lips to his goblet once again.


    Savant Arryn shared not the prince¡¯s humour, and his demeanour did little to hide that. ¡°May His Lord grace me with the reason why I have been summoned to the king¡¯s solar, by the hour of the moon?¡± He was no fool, he already knew the answer to that question, even before Lord Varyn had told him, when he came to deliver the prince¡¯s summon in his chambers, while he was reading himself to sleep. Words that sailed by that hour were grim; they were either words laced with the sounds of death, or something worse, and he had now found himself in the midst of one assuming the latter.


    ¡°The king¡¯s solar¡­¡± Damon¡¯s wine tasted bitter with his last gulp, his jesting mien vanishing like an early morning mist escaping from the sun, and it was no doubt because of Savant Arryn¡¯s words. I am the king¡­ Damon spat deep within, pushing the base of his goblet to let forth a cry, as it came in contact with the table. ¡°You savants are said to be the wisest in the realm,¡± he said, then turned a tired, seething glare to Savant Arryn, as his grip tightened around the goblet. ¡°You¡¯re not proving those claims right.¡±


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    Damon glared for a second, before breathing out a calming exhale, as he loosened his grip on the cup of bronze, and let his legs drop from the table, while he picked up the ewer to refill his cup once again. ¡°That was quite a question you asked, Savant. If you are here, then you should be fully aware of why I have summoned you. Lord Varyn should have told you that much, if anything.¡±


    ¡°All Lord Varyn told me were talks of nonsense, my lord,¡± the savant answered.


    ¡°Nonsense?¡± Damon paused his refill, his hand which held the ewer, hanging just above the goblet, as he let a cold gaze fly towards Savant Arryn, who sat seemingly unfazed, before cocking his head as he shifted his eyes towards Lord Varyn, and preyed on him with the same gaze. ¡°What nonsense did my good Lord Varyn say?¡±


    Lord Varyn felt a swift shiver prick his skin, forcing a quick, frightened, and confused glance from him to the nearly-bald man sitting beside him, who paid him no attention. ¡°M-My Prince,¡± he stuttered as his eyes slowly wandered away from the savant¡¯s blank face, and back to Damon¡¯s cocked probing gaze. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Damon interjected, ¡°the question was for the savant.¡± Damon dropped the ewer, and picked up his half-filled goblet as he took to his feet, the floor screeching faintly in protest to the high seat¡¯s scraping. ¡°If all Lord Varyn told you were talks of nonsense¡­¡± He sauntered to where Savant Arryn was, and sat halfway before him on the table. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean my words are nonsense? You tell me, Savant.¡± He glowered at the seated man robed in white.


    ¡°Every word that came from Lord Varyn¡¯s mouth spoke of treason, my lord,¡± Savant Arryn said, his unabating gaze anchored forward. ¡°Zephyr is the king.¡±


    ¡°I am the king!¡± Damon roared, coercing a sharp inhale from Lord Varyn, who sat in place with his mouth shut tightly. ¡°I am the raven. I.¡±


    ¡°The truth stings, my lord, but it is true that you were not the one chosen by the late king. If words of your plans of treason reaches King Zephyr, little doubt you will not lose your head.¡± Savant Arryn dragged his gaze sheepishly towards Lord Varyn. ¡°You, and everyone involved. I want no part in that, as I do not yet see myself of age to lose mine.¡±


    Damon¡¯s body scorched with heat, his head, hands, feets, every part of him. It felt like he had been inundated in a burning flame; as though he had been tied to a gibbet, surrounded by a moat of flames, eating him up from below. He was angry, he was filled with rage, but at the same time, he was too tired. His lack of sleep had gotten to him finally, and it did him the good of keeping his rage at bay.


    ¡°If you will then pardon my leave, my lord,¡± Savant Arryn spoke in an attempt to return to his chambers, but Damon would not have that, not yet.


    Damon exhaled, a calming one followed by a quick taste of his wine. ¡°I heard,¡± he began after his sip, ensuring the eunuch of a savant remained seated, ¡°your brother did not take the white like you did. Lord Varyn told me he has¡­ what, two, three children?¡±


    Savant Arryn¡¯s eyes widened significantly, as his chest rode the wind. His heartbeat becoming a ferocious gallop, thumping faster than the hoofbeats of a destrier riding into battle. Savants were men of knowledge and wisdom, and he was one, he understood what the prince was getting at¡ªit was painfully glaring.


    ¡°My lord,¡± he began to speak, but he was kept shut by the stream of wine pouring down his head of little hair, and staining his white robe with drops of red. Lord Varyn blinked and brinked at the edge of letting a gasp escape his lips, but he fought it in, keeping it imprisoned as his eyes drifted shut.


    After the wine had been fully splurged on Savant Arryn¡¯s head, the goblet was let free from Damon¡¯s hand, and it fell to the floor with a clanging cry in return. ¡°You¡¯re a man who sacrificed his cock for wisdom,¡± Damon whispered to the savant, ¡°use that wisdom, or the wine shall trade places with the blood of your brother, his wife, and his children.¡± He took hold of the savant¡¯s silver chain and toyed with it. ¡°I trust you won¡¯t have to make me prove myself.¡±


    Savant Arryn sat silent and shamed, his mind a chaotic city of thoughts, and gathering anger with nowhere to be directed to. He had been left with no choice, nothing at all, nothing.


    He opened his eyes, which had gone shut during his spill of shame, and anchored it forward again as he said, ¡°What would you have me do, my prince?¡±

 Little Flower

    <h2><u>ARIA RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°My lady! Why are you here? You should be with sleep by this hour,¡± the serving maid, tasked with the duty of night, gaped at Aria as she walked into the castle¡¯s kitchen. The room was faintly brightened by the liaison of the moonlight, swooping in through high windows, and the flames of two torches hanging from the sconces set in either sides of the walls. Littered about were an assortment of pots, skillets and cauldrons, and at the edge of the kitchen, hung skinned and lifeless bodies of goats and pigs, smeared with salt for preservation.


    ¡°My mother¡¯s night milk please. I¡¯m about to make my way to her room, so I¡¯ll take it,¡± Aria said, her face plain, and her brown hair a bonny tousle, as she watched with brown eyes devoid of sleep, the tawny-haired maid, who was covered in a coarse woollen gown of brown, standing with a silver round tray in hand before a trestle table, with a small ewer and a cup sitting atop it.


    ¡°I shall take it to her, my lady. Please return to your room, you should not be away from the holdfast by this hour,¡± the maid begged.


    ¡°I came with my guard, there¡¯s nothing to worry about,¡± Aria assured her, while taking a step forward closer to the table and the maid. Her guard had also been against her leaving the holdfast, but she had pestered him as she did the maid now, and even threatened to go alone if he did not adhere, she had left him with no choice, and he had no sooner found himself waiting outside the kitchen¡¯s door, than let her wander the castle alone. ¡°Is the milk in there?¡± She pointed to the ewer.


    ¡°My lady, please. If you take it to the queen yourself she will know you left the holdfast, and I¡¯ll be scolded for letting you do such,¡± the maid begged again, but Aria ignored her pleas, and gently dragged the silver tray from her hand.


    ¡°She¡¯s my mother, she will not scold you if I tell her not to.¡± Aria placed the ewer and cup on the tray, then picked it up and turned her back to the jittery maid, as she walked out of the kitchen¡¯s door.


    ¡°Let me have it, my lady.¡± A soft clang followed the quick whirl of Aria¡¯s guard, as he let his hand free from the leather scabbard fastened to his armoured waist, and gestured to the tray in the hands of the princess, as she wandered out of the kitchen, following its door shut.


    ¡°Ah, thank you, Ser¡­ Brandon¡­?¡± Aria was not sure of his name, she had never been good with names, and her guards changing every day and night, did little to help with that. She always kept mixing up their names, but she had a feeling she might have gotten his right this time, it would be a start for her if she did, well at least she hoped it would.


    She could feel his lighthearted smile underneath the metal of his armet; his beady eyes falling to a soft close helped with that though, after all, his visor was up and she could see them.


    ¡°Brynden, my lady.¡± His reply helped her notice that she had failed again, and he corrected her, again. ¡°And I am not a Ser. I am just a guard, not knighted.¡± He took hold of the tray, relieving the princess of its burden, as they began their stroll back to the holdfast, Aria in front and him behind.


    Her face did not show it, but she was least pleased with herself for fumbling the name of her guard again, one of the many she had. They were the men who deprived themselves of their night¡¯s sleep, and kept her watch whenever she had the comfort of hers, or whenever she went about her day, the least she thought she could do was to remember their names, and that she still couldn¡¯t accomplish.


    ¡°How many times now?¡± She asked. They were walking through the open space of the great yard now. The glow of the crescent moon rained upon them, blessing them with light¡ªnot like they needed it though, the great yard was plenty lit already. Iron braziers, of at least the number twenty, burned with fire and stood beside guards standing at their posts. All the guards were clad in the same full body armour and black cloak as her own guard, Brynden, only difference in that his legs were moving and his visor was up, while theirs were down and their legs stiff, they reminded her of the statues she used to read in books, if they weren¡¯t already.


    The wind sang softly as it ran past her, and her hair danced to its tune shamelessly, while her blue, linen nightgown, rippled the ripples of a river. She loved the feel of it, it reminded her of the other she loved as much, if not more, the rain. She always wanted to dance beneath it whenever it came, but her mother would not have that. ¡°I do not want you to fall sick, my little flower,¡± she would say, and Aria would fall back to gazing at the pours from the window of her room, or better still, her little garden.


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    ¡°This makes it five times now, my lady,¡± Brynden answered. Five times she had fumbled his name, and five times he had corrected.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± she apologised,


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to forgive, my lady, I¡¯m a mere guard. It¡¯s already warming enough that you put so much thought into my name,¡± he replied.


    Her hands stopped the ripples of her gown as she and Brynden escaped the moonlight, and made their way past the two men guarding the holdfast¡¯s entrance.


    After walking silently the rest of the way through the small yard and into the royal quarters, they finally arrived at the queen¡¯s chambers. ¡°Tell my mother I¡¯m here to see her,¡± Aria told the guard that manned the chamber¡¯s door, and he nodded in reply. His visor was down, and she couldn¡¯t see what person was beneath all those metal fastenings, but his voice gave her an idea.


    ¡°My queen! The princess is here to see you,¡± he announced. His voice was a deep one, layered with strength and maturity. His exact age Aria could not guess, but the range she could. He was neither too young nor too old, she thought, he was most likely to be in his late thirties, and so she left it at that¡ªto her, whoever was beneath that armour was in his late thirties.


    ¡°Let her in,¡± her mother replied from the other end, and with that, the guard opened the door for the princess¡¯ passage. She took the tray from Brynden, and waltzed into the room and before her mother, like the graceful little flower she was.


    Yes, it was the scent Aria loved the most. The flowery scent of her mother¡¯s perfume, a pleasant mixture of rose and lavender which encapsulated the room. Her mother had told her that she also had been entranced by it the first time it blessed her nose; it had been a gift from her father, Aria¡¯s grandfather, to her on her seventeenth birthday when she had come of age, and was being prepared for her betrothal to the late king, her husband and Aria¡¯s father, Sargon. She believed the perfume was why she had captured his heart, and she had loved it ever since.


    ¡°My little flower. What¡¯s that in your hand?¡± Ophelia beamed at the sight of her daughter. She was laid sideways on the grand bed she called her own, while her elbow supported the weight of her head which bristled with hair of pale yellow, and was propped up on the back of her palm. The wind drifting in from the open window left the room crispy, and the unlit hearth made sure not to spoil that. It was summer, but her room had never known the sweltering of heat, it was good anyway, she hated sweating as much as she hated the other queen and her children; in her mind she saw them as nothing less than usurpers.


    Aria answered as she dropped the tray on the table standing at the centre of the room, ¡°Your night milk, Mother.¡± She picked the ewer and poured the milk from it into the cup.


    ¡°And why are you the one that brought it? Where¡¯s the serving girl?¡± Ophelia¡¯s brows knitted into a displeased frown, the upper arch which blessed her lips now gone, and what was left in its wake was an irritated demeanour.


    Aria turned to face her mother with the cup of milk in hand. ¡°I went to the kitchen to get it.¡±


    ¡°You left the holdfast?¡± Ophelia¡¯s visage was worsening by the second, and Aria instantly knew she was to act fast, or what the maid had told her would no doubt come to fruition.


    ¡°I was coming to your room, so I thought it would be best to relieve her burden. She even looked tired, like she had not closed her eyes to sleep for a while. And I went with my guard, Ser¡­ Ser¡­ Brynden, yes, Ser Brynden. Do not scold her, Mother, I was only trying to be of help.¡± Of course she was only trying to be of help, she was a delicate little flower of fifteen afterall.


    Her mother sighed and called to her as she sat up on the bed, ¡°Come, my little flower. Come sit.¡±


    ¡°Your milk?¡± Aria asked.


    ¡°You first, milk later. Leave the milk on the table, and come sit.¡± She tapped the bed where the hem of her blue nightgown sprawled. She was wearing a bigger version of the nightgown her daughter wore, they both shared the same love for blue afterall.


    Aria left the milk on the table, and let herself onto the bed of her mother.


    Ophelia placed her hand on Aria¡¯s head, and began stroking her silky hair; she did that whenever it was time for a lesson, and Aria began to ready herself for another one of the many she had received.


    ¡°Good you did, my little flower,¡± she told her, ¡°if you were a mere noble. You are the princess of a kingdom, you should not concern yourself with the workings of common folks. You, my little flower, are a raven, and we ravens revel in our pride and power; power you shall one day have. I know you mean well, and I will not rebuke you for that, instead, I¡¯ll help you learn, I¡¯ll teach you the way of we the ravens, I¡¯ll teach you the workings of our pride and power before you come of age.¡± She pulled Aria close and kissed her on the forehead. Aria felt she had done well, her mother did not rebuke her, so she would not scold the serving girl¡­


    ¡­but that notion came to a crunching close the next day, when she heard the gossips of serving workers in the small yard, as she made her way to the small hall with her guard of the day. The queen had dismissed both her guard and the serving maid of last night, and then and there, she remembered and understood the words her mother had told her: ¡°I¡¯ll teach you the way of we the ravens, I¡¯ll teach you the workings of our pride and power.¡±

 Friend Or Foe?

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    He sat before the high table at the head of the small hall, wearing a white top beneath a padded jerkin of black, as well as pants of the same colour as the jerkin, and brown tall boots, already done from eating his morning meal. The food course which had been served was a roasted full goat, seasoned with spices that would make any man¡¯s mouth water, hungry or not, and of course it had made his, he had been hungry beyond doubt when he woke.


    Along with the seasoned goat were fruits of different kinds, such as apples and pears and grapes. Apple tarts had also been served, and so was wheat bread to go with the stew flavoured with spices and herbs.


    Before Zephyr were four trenchers, three flat and one round. A flat trencher, which had previously dripped with the juices of a sliced piece of goat meat, was now empty, and so was the round one which had been harbouring the stew; the bread on another trencher had been devoured to a half, while the trencher of fruit had been left untouched. Zephyr had already eaten his fill, and he knew trying to give his belly anymore would only be suicide.


    He had now spent a little over three days in this world, and had come to the conclusion that the meal of his former world was nothing compared to the ones he was eating here. They were devoid of modern chemicals, and retained their natural charms and sweetness, and his tongue always craved more after every meal than his stomach would allow.


    As well, that was the only conclusion he had been able to quickly arrive at in those three days; his exploits at finding the murderer roaming the castle was nothing of a success. He had spat at himself after his return from the brothel two days before, believing he should have pushed the working girl more, and maybe he would have gotten a more tangible result. He was of two minds, two voices. One of which told him it was good he did, while the other was bitter and filled with a seething rage, and he started to wonder since when he had begun to have two contradicting voices stuck in his head. The stress must have begun to get to him in the short time he had spent in this world.


    His day was planned already, he had planned it. Having a taster taste his food before every meal wasn¡¯t enough to prevent his death, poison was just one of the many ways he could be killed, he needed to get to the murderer and put them out of order once and for all, and he knew that.


    He took hold of the half-filled cup before him, sent the grape wine in it down his throat, and rose to his feet. Now devoid of hunger and foggy thoughts, his eyes were allowed to glimpse upon the two feasting tables in the small hall, and the people that sat before them.


    The table to the right of the hall was occupied by the ones he could call his own. His newfound sibling and brother, Thaddeus, sat nibbling on the apple tarts filling his trencher. He didn¡¯t lay his hands on his stew nor sliced goat meat, all he ate were the tarts, ignoring every other thing that wasn¡¯t them. He always claimed himself a man, but it seemed he still had the taste buds of a child.


    Seated beside Thaddeus was the woman he was now obliged to call his mother. Her fit for the day was a scarlet dress, and atop her embroidered dark hair, sat the small golden crown of the queen. He still didn¡¯t know how to feel about her; it had been easier for him to come to terms with his new life and this world, than live as her son.


    I have a mother¡ªI had a mother. His chest tightened as his mind corrected his claims, while he watched the queen trying her best to convince Thaddeus to cut back on the sweetness of tarts, and instead eat his stew spiced with the healthiness of herbs. She failed though, she was a woman far too lenient, and he was a boy that scarcely listened.


    She reminded him of nothing of his mother, well, at least the one he left behind. The one in this hall was loving and kind, while his had lost all her kindness and love after the death of his father. He thought to himself that maybe with this farce he could finally find the love he had lost in his past life; it seemed plausible, all he had to do was accept her as his mother, that was all.


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    A sudden flash crept through his mind, and with it came the shadow of a face he knew all too well. He saw her, he saw his real mother, and his mind reminded him that no matter what he did, the dark haired woman seated in the hall would never be his mother. He was an unwanted inhabitant living in the shell of a body of her son, and even if she gave him the love he wanted, it was only because she thought he was her son, and the love would fade as quickly as the shadows of night at dawn if she ever found out he wasn¡¯t.


    After a while, Thalia gave up on convincing Thaddeus to eat his stew with an exhausted sigh, then turned her gaze towards the high table, where her blue haired son stood a beautiful and magnificent man; it filled her with warmth, and that warmth spread onto her lips and became a smile, a warm hearted smile that Zephyr saw but could not return. She was not his mother, he thought, her warmth wasn¡¯t meant for him.


    He removed his gaze from her awkwardly, and turned a quick glance towards the other table at the left of the hall, catching a glimpse of another two works of royalty from the other branch. One a girl, she looked a tad bit older than Thaddeus, and her maturity was evident in the way she ate her stew. She also looked gloomy for some reason, but none that concerned Zephyr. He remembered her, she was the one that avoided his gaze while her mother and brother berated him. He had nothing against them though, the movies and books he had consumed enlightened him on how common it was in this era; everyone wanted the throne, he understood that.


    The other who sat beside her with a curled hair of brown, was the one whom he remembered to rein in his mother during the severe beration he had encountered. He still had his approachable demeanour, one that put him ways apart from his brother.


    He was done eating as well, but still sat, either watching his little sister eat or gazing into his empty trencher of stew; whichever he was doing, Zephyr seemed not to care as he walked away from the high table, and made his way to the feasting table of Thaddeus and Thalia.


    ¡°Eat your stew,¡± he laid his hand on Thaddeus¡¯ shoulder as he muttered to him. ¡°I¡¯m done eating, Mother,¡± he added, his gaze on Thalia¡¯s, which looked up at him from below. He told himself he had no choice as he watched the softness of her eyes; he could not tell her he wasn¡¯t her son, he would lose the warmth she fed him with no doubt, but that wasn¡¯t what soared his mind the most at the moment, he wondered if she would break as his mother did, he knew she might, there was little doubt about that, and he would rather play her fake son than watch another mother crumble before him.


    ¡°No,¡± Thaddeus answered. ¡°I don¡¯t like it.¡± He looked up at Zephyr. He was almost done with the tarts filling his trencher at this point, and his stew wandered cold with every passing moment.


    ¡°You won¡¯t?¡± Zephyr leaned close to him, and Thalia watched with a grin briding her face. ¡°I thought you called yourself a man. A man never lets his stew waste. To me you look more like a child craving sugar. Isn¡¯t that right, Mother?¡± He mocked, turned to Thalia and then gave her a smile and a wink, one unnoticeable to Thaddeus.


    She understood. ¡°He¡¯s a boy of ten afterall, a child, it¡¯s quite normal for him to crave sugar.¡± She returned his smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child! The stew is nothing, I¡¯ll show you, I¡¯ll eat it, without the bread even.¡± Thaddeus was red with embarrassment. He hated being called a child, it ruined his self esteem or whatever he thought a boy his age had of it. He picked up his spoon and began digging into the stew. The taste of the herbs completely drowning out the sugary ones he had consumed, made him grimace sourly, but he carried on. He was a man, he would not lose to a stew. ¡°See,¡± he added, his mouth full.


    ¡°I can see. You¡¯re a man after all.¡± Zephyr tittered as he straightened himself. ¡°I have somewhere to be, Mother. Might I take my leave?¡±


    ¡°Why ask? Do what you want. See you later, my sweet boy.¡±


    Goose-pimples spread all over his skin. It was then he knew how much he missed it, how much he missed such motherly love. His mind was clouded by it, so much that he didn¡¯t notice something important, something that might have been far more important to him at the moment, than the motherly love he craved ever so much.


    As he escaped the small hall, a voice came from behind, along with the shutting sound of the somewhat large wooden doors of the hall. ¡°Zephyr,¡± it called, and Zephyr¡¯s steps halted.


    He then turned around to behold the approachable face of the person which had been seated a few moments ago.


    What¡¯s this¡­? He wondered.


    ¡°Might I request a word with my brother?¡± A little smile followed after the talk.

 Library And Secrets

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Words of greetings accompanied by bows from serving maids, guards, and others of alike lesser status, echoed from around them as they passed through the great yard. Zephyr was making his way to the royal library, and his half-brother had chosen to go with him for reasons he had no knowledge of. He wanted to tell him ¡°No¡± when he had requested, but he felt it would be strange to dismiss his accompanying to somewhere as public as a library¡ªif the one in this world was anything like the one in his previous life.


    His half-brother, of whose name he was still yet to know, had requested a word and had not yet spoken the word, and it troubled Zephyr as much as the fact that he lacked the knowledge of the whereabouts of the library he intended to go to. He was previously of mind to cajole a guard, in a way that would not raise suspicions, into leading him, that is if guards even had the luxury to have any, but the person accompanying him now did have such a luxury, that was why he had begun slowing his pace so his half-brother would take the lead. It was working okay for now, the young prince of curled brown hair was slightly in front and him behind.


    ¡°Strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± the young prince said, ¡°You¡¯ve never been one for books. I wondered what could have fascinated you to visit the library, that¡¯s why I requested to accompany His Grace.¡± He turned to his right now, and Zephyr followed.


    They were somewhere, Zephyr didn¡¯t know where exactly, but they were somewhere ways away from the holdfast, that he was sure of. The castle was big; the first time he noticed it was when he rode out with Flynn into the city, the sheer vastness of it made his head spin, and he wondered how anyone would not get lost. He was sure people did, he would, there was no doubt about that.


    ¡°Still not,¡± he answered, with a lie of course. He loved books the most of any media he had laid his hands and eyes on. They were the ones that stayed with him the most, especially during his downtimes. The knowledge they gave him filled him with comfort, so of course he loved them, but here and now, from his half-brother¡¯s word, it was obvious the other he had taken over from did not, and in return, to the people in this word his love for books were now non-existent, and he had to keep that up somehow.


    ¡°But do you know what I find strange,¡± Zephyr began, halting as a sceptical air smeared his voice, ¡°...you asking for a word, but speaking none of it¡­¡±


    His mind was of something different from what his mouth said. Less doubt he was curious of what the word his half-brother had requested for was, but he wished to know of another more. He wished to know why this person had a demeanour greatly different from his brother¡¯s and mother¡¯s. The books he had read could not tell him exactly why, the movies too, and even the games. It stressed him greatly, this world did, there was no one he could confide in. The burden was becoming too much for him to bear alone by the passing day, he needed someone to talk to at least, to keep his sanity he needed someone, a person he could trust and in no way would his truth hurt them, it would be a great deal for him if such a person existed.


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    Zephyr didn¡¯t notice before, but now he did. They were already standing before a fa?ade of sturdy stone, which was carved intricately with an open book and a raven peeking into it from its other end. It was obvious where they were, it was the library he sought. The walls of the building were made from the same sturdy stone as the fa?ade. Its door was of oak, and the thickness was vivid just by looking at it.


    He was here now, and he hoped his visit would not amount to nothing. If he could learn a thing or two about this world that might in some way help his survival, it would be a blessing. Afterall, it was a library, secrets lurk beneath their walls, he just needed to search for them. He thought to pray for his search to be successful, but he was not sure if any supreme being existed in this world, at least he had not yet heard of any in his days here.


    His half-brother turned to face him, and muttered words that made Zephyr the most confused he had ever been yet, ¡°It¡¯s been a while all three of us came together like we used to. Doesn¡¯t it bother you as much as it does me?¡±


    All three of us¡­? Zephyr thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing into a checkmark, as a gleam of confusion caressed his eyes. He was unable to hide it, and his half-brother made no mistake of missing it. What sort of relationship did Zephyr have with someone from the second branch? And who is this third person?


    ¡°¡ªSour,¡± his half-brother said, some words from his mouth noticeably escaping Zephyr¡¯s ears, but it still no doubt did the trick of calling him out of his reverie, a smoke of thought so thick that if he remained in, it might have begun to seep out from his mind and into the world for all to hear.


    ¡°Sour?¡± Zephyr questioned after a gasp. He had successfully broken free, but his confusion still lingered. The questions kept piling up on each other and he wanted answers, but there was no quick way to get some. His farce would be at risk if he dared blunt his words; that he could not afford. He would find one way or another, or so he hoped.


    ¡°Your face was sour,¡± his half-brother answered, a faint, exasperated sigh escaping his lips before it. ¡°I see that the thought of us three together still worries you, I wonder why despite you being with him every now and then. Seems I¡¯ll never understand your reasoning unless you tell me. I just hope you¡¯ll begin to tell me things.¡± He turned around and pushed open the library¡¯s door, and while its creak sang an ugly song, he added, ¡°Flynn and I worry about you, Zeph. Maybe confide in us a bit.¡±


    Up went Zephyr¡¯s brows, and there it stayed, hanging above his eyelids as his mind swayed a great sway, another of many. Flynn¡­ the third is Flynn¡­?

 Library And Secrets (2)

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    The door of oak shut behind Zephyr, and the smell of books and ink made less haste before they were upon his pert nose, swirling and dancing about it. The library was a bijou haven of modest width and height. The ceiling, where a wagon wheel candelabra hung from, was supported by an arched pillar in the centre of the room, which was elegantly designed with the images of books and ravens filled with scholarly ambience; one of the ravens even had a monocle; Zephyr wondered why when his eyes met it. The image almost left him with a scoff, as he thought of the sort of alcohol the designers drank to give a raven a monocle.


    At the wall at the end of the library, stood a wooden bookshelf blessed with leather-bound tomes and books and rolled up parchments. Some parchments that were too large and thick to fit within the bookshelf stood beside it instead, they were at least the height of a youngling; Zephyr looked at them in awe, he was sure they were maps, only such could stand as tall and glorious.


    Around the bookshelf were wooden chairs of a single even number littered about, they were for the comfort of readers, but as Zephyr looked around the room, it was plain to him that not so many came. He would fill the library¡¯s void, he told himself, he had now found a favourite spot for his needs, one he would definitely frequent.


    ¡°Your Grace, my prince!¡± A hoarse and shaky voice greeted from the corner on Zephyr¡¯s right. It came suddenly and almost became a jumpscare for him, but it ended with him allowing his gaze to fly towards the wrinkled and grey-haired old man, who had crowned him on his first day in this world. He was the same as before, dressed in a large robe of white, and on his neck a large golden chain designed with the crest of a raven, only difference between then and now, was that he was presently seated behind a mildly wide ornate table as round as his chain, and he had a monocle on his left eye, just like the raven.


    He was about to leave the comfort of his seat and stand to further his greetings, but the prince would not have it and gestured him to a stop with his palm out. ¡°Greetings my lord Aelred. Please remain seated, your back is already weak enough as is. I¡¯m sure my brother would not mind you honouring his presence from your chair.¡±


    The grand savant turned his weak looking eyes which seemed to sag out towards the king, one of them hidden silently under his monocle, as if awaiting his approval, and that he got with a smile and a slight nod from Zephyr. He bowed his head with an exhale and remained seated, then raised his eyes to them one more time. ¡°Your Grace and my prince Dante together in the room of books, a rare sight I must say. You seldom crossed paths with books before, Your Grace, yes, it is truly a rare sight,¡± Grand Savant Aelred began saying, and Dante had a smile on his face while he heard him speak, Zephyr as well, but his looked forced. ¡°Oh. Pardon my manners, this old man must be slowly losing it. Have your seats, my lords.¡± He gestured at the empty chairs on the opposite of his side of the table.


    ¡°We were going to have our seats either way.¡± Dante smiled as he and Zephyr walked towards the grand savant, and each grabbed and sat on the chairs before the round ornate table. Zephyr saw what the old man was reading then, that was before they pried his attention away from it with their arrival. It was a large tome, one that looked to have at least a thousand pages, opened on the table. He looked at the wrinkles on the old man¡¯s face and looked back at the tome, all the while his mind wondering why someone so elderly hadn¡¯t finished the book yet. He was eighteen in his past life and he had read more than a thousand pages of books, and this man was not even halfway done with this one. Now that he thought about it, he knew not his age in this world. Was he still eighteen?


    ¡°Have you come for books?¡± Grand Savant Aelred asked them. ¡°If so, I can promise you my recommendation never fails, your father was one to love them.¡± He wanted to chuckle after he spoke, but a smile came forth instead, a smile that was barely visible under all those wrinkles ploughing his face. Ravens, was he weak, he was so weak he couldn''t even afford a laugh.


    Dante chortled. ¡°I know of your recommendations, my lord, I¡¯ve read them all, remember?¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes, I remember now. Pardon me, my prince, I must be getting old.¡±


    You are old¡­ Zephyr wanted to remind him, but the words made no escape off his lips.


    ¡°I accompanied my brother, he¡¯s the one best fit to answer your question,¡± Dante said while gesturing towards Zephyr.


    The grand savant turned his gaze to his king. ¡°His grace came of his own accord? It is truly a rare sight.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the only rare sight in the room, the old man himself was a rare sight to Zephyr. With every move of his limbs came a slight tremulous shake, it even came just by turning his head a bit, and Zephyr pondered how the man kept himself continually breathing, he looked like he would feed the crows anytime soon, but at the same time, the soon still looked so far ahead. How many years has he seen? Zephyr asked himself.


    Grand Savant Aelred wheezed a short inside cough before saying once more to Zephyr, ¡°Books, Your Grace? Recommendations aplenty, and none you shall be bored of. Or is it of something else you have visited?¡±


    Dante left his eyes stuck on Zephyr¡¯s face while he awaited his answer. This was why he was here with him. He wanted to know what could have brought a man lacking the love for books into a place teeming with the smell of such. He waited, all ears.


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    It was not true though, this Zephyr loved books, but he was not here for them at the moment. He was here to feed his curiosity, and at the same time, his knowledge of this world. Afterall, he could only enjoy this world and all the good it had once he believed himself free from the shadow of death, and for that he needed light to be shed on all things unknown to him. ¡°Your recommendations I might accept one day, but I¡¯m not here for them now.¡± Dante¡¯s brows twitched. Zephyr pointed to the tome before the grand savant. ¡°But first, what is that?¡± His eyes had been on the tome at any chance he got, he wanted to know what the old man was reading. He had learnt that savants were men of wisdom, maybe if he understood them a bit, he would become wiser, even if just a little.


    ¡°Oh, this.¡± Grand Savant Aelred looked at the tome then back at Zephyr, his shaking unabating. ¡°It is called: A Tale Of Red Steels. It was written by Grand Savant Morcant a long time ago during the bloody era, the era of your forefathers, King Aeron the first, and his son Daegal. It is quite a vast book, one I can never grow weary of. Taken a liking to it as I have, Your Grace?¡±


    Sounds like quite a book¡­ Zephyr thought to himself before answering the grand savant¡¯s question, ¡°Maybe.¡± He then turned to Dante. ¡°Have you read it?¡±


    Dante shook his head, his arms were over each other now. ¡°No, brother. Too long for me, I prefer shorter.¡±


    Zephyr dragged his eyes back to the old man. ¡°Books aside, it is you I have come seeking, my lord. I have a question to ask.¡± Dante was overtly curious now, and he had found himself staring fixedly at his brother, as if the questions he intended to ask were written all over his face and he could see them. ¡°It¡¯s about a poison, the one called Moon¡¯s bane. What do you know about it?¡± Dante¡¯s eyebrows twitched again, it might as well have become his trademark at this point. Grand Savant Aelred¡¯s brows must have twitched as well, but it no doubt went unnoticed, seeing as he seemingly lacked the energy to put enough force to make it noticeable.


    The grand savant moved a slight movement of uneasiness on the chair he sat on, well as much as his weak muscles could allow. ¡°Why would you want to know about that, Your Grace?¡±


    Zephyr didn¡¯t have a lie prepared for this question, so he chose to rely on something else, something that was as effective as lies if not more¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s just a curious question, my lord, and I would prefer an answer for it, not another question.¡±


    ¡­His position and power.


    Grand Savant Aelred sighed, a long but short sigh that seemed to go on and on for Zephyr, as his pale stormy grey eyes dropped to his hand of wrinkled flesh, flipping the tome to a close. Zephyr saw the cover of it then; it was of red leather with two long swords crossed over each other, which were dyed with crimson red thicker than the red of the book¡¯s leather, that spilled from their points down to their fullers.


    ¡°Moon¡¯s bane,¡± the grand savant began, pulling Zephyr¡¯s wandering attention and eyes back to his ploughed face, ¡°is a rare poison¡ª¡±


    ¡°That much I know,¡± Zephyr cut in.


    ¡°That much everyone knows, Your Grace. But not everyone knows how it came about and why it is such a rare poison. It was first made by Grand Savant Morcant, he was a man of immense knowledge never seen before, he knew things no one knew, and made things that have never been seen, and the sole reason he brought this poison into existence was for the great king, Daegal Ravenswood, to take the throne by killing his father¡­ Aeron.¡±


    Dante¡¯s face fell into a slight grimace, it was obvious he knew not the tale either, but now he was listening and now he would become a part of the few that knew it.


    Grand Savant Aelred continued, ¡°The recipe for the poison is only made known to us grand savants, passed down from grand savant to grand savant in every age serving the throne. We are the only ones that can make it, and we are strictly the guardians of such a dangerous thing.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s heart was thumping in his chest now. ¡°And why is it tagged as such a dangerous thing?¡± He asked. All poisons were dangerous, he knew that, so why was this one singled out so much that it sent shivers down anyone¡¯s spine at its mention. He wanted to know that and how anyone could get a hold of it; he felt a clue lingered in the latter for sure.


    ¡°What makes it so dangerous is that there is no antidote. Once taken, there is no way to prevent the taker¡¯s death,¡± the old man answered. ¡°Whoever is poisoned by it loses their voice and all control of their nerves, all they are left with is their sight and hearing as they slowly await their death, which wastes no time to come. Do you understand why it is so dangerous now, Your Grace?¡±


    Now I understand why he couldn¡¯t call for help¡­ Zephyr thought back to when he had transmigrated into this world.


    ¡°And I take it not anyone can get it?¡± Zephyr questioned.


    ¡°Yes, Your Grace. I am the only living person with the recipe, little wonder of that.¡±


    Zephyr assessed the old man, blinked, and then asked, ¡°Have you ever made any? Maybe not too long ago?¡±


    Dante shifted his eyes quickly to the grand savant who moved slightly in his chair, his brow slanted in something akin to confusion. ¡°None that I know of, Your Grace,¡± he answered. ¡°Who could I possibly have made it for?¡± The old man pondered his own question as he asked, maybe he had forgotten, even he didn¡¯t trust his own memories, but as of now, he remembered making nothing of such for anyone.


    ¡°And if I asked you to make it?¡±


    The grand savant fell silent for a moment, but he knew the answer as much as Zephyr did, and he told him, ¡°Then I would. I serve the throne, Your Grace, and anyone who sits upon it.¡± Dante watched, his voice not heard.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Zephyr said. It wasn¡¯t though, deep down it wasn¡¯t, it has never been alright. Nothing that would prevent his death came of this discussion, and this was not the first. It was always a brick wall, a dead end everytime he searched for answers, it was getting frustrating, so much he began to need something to cool down a bit, even if just for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ll take that.¡± He pointed to the red leather-bound tome. ¡°If you please?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Your Grace.¡± Grand Savant Aelred pushed the tome towards him, and the next thing that touched it was Zephyr¡¯s palms.


    ¡°The real danger is the user of the poison, Your Grace,¡± the man of plenty wrinkles began to tell the king, ¡°it would not come to be if not requested. The poison is dangerous, but the user is even more of a danger.¡±

 Old Tales

    <h2><u>THADDEUS RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°Open the door, I want to meet my mother,¡± Thaddeus, dressed in his nightclothes of linen white shirt and free flailing pants of the same colour, roared at the towering guard who manned his mother¡¯s chambers. He was huge, the guard was, he was akin to a giant if he wasn¡¯t one, and that was why Thaddeus let his voice rise.


    When he had arrived, he took a glance at his own guard and the one of his mother, and saw the difference in armour width and height. He himself was shoulder length to hip length when compared to the guard; he truly felt like a child again and he hated it, his body language did little to hide that.


    It was not the first he had seen the guard though, and it was not the first he would roar at him. His roaring was him being on the defensive anytime he saw he retained his miniature position at the hip of the guard. I will knock you down soon, you giant, he would always tell himself, but deep down he felt that the soon he spoke of was no time close.


    ¡°The door, giant. The door!¡± He added again, another roar, one that sounded ferocious but to him alone, to his mother¡¯s guard and his own guard it would have been nothing more than the roar of a lion cub. But he was a prince, a cub or not, he was royalty and the guard had little choice but to heed, and so he turned to announce the prince¡¯s existence to the queen, only from all the loudness, she knew already.


    ¡°Let my son in,¡± Thalia echoed from the other end, before the giant of a guard could let his lips the honour of announcing the little man¡¯s presence.


    And with that, he was in. In his mother¡¯s chamber and up on her bed with haste. ¡°I hate him,¡± he spat. ¡°I hate giants.¡± He was talking to the dark haired woman, who wore a rose coloured thin nightdress and sat before the table beneath the chamber¡¯s window, while watching him with a smile, her right elbow resting on dark wood and her cheek on her palm. The moonlight that spilled forth, accompanied by little gusts of wind from the opened shutters of the window, was of use, but the lamplight on the table did more of the illuminating job.


    ¡°I want him away, Mother.¡± Thaddeus turned around on the bed and faced where his mother sat. ¡°I want him gone.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± She finally spoke. ¡°Olly¡¯s my guard.¡± She was still smiling, it was as though she enjoyed watching him rant. It wasn¡¯t his first so maybe she had grown used to it already. He was cute when his elfin face wore anger. A cute child.


    ¡°I hate him and want him gone.¡± He rolled around, his arms and legs pattering about and ridding the once neatly laid silver sheets of the bed of its tidiness.


    ¡°And if he¡¯s gone, when shall you knock him down like you always say?¡± The moonlight shone on her mocking grin from above and it mixed in with the lamplight of the room, but somehow Thaddeus seemed to miss it.


    He stopped his pattering and sat up on the bed, slumping himself in a few seconds of thought after he heard what his mother said. It was the truth she spoke, he still needed to knock the man-giant down and make him plead on his knees for making him feel so inferior. Yes, if he left he would not be able to do that. ¡°No, let him stay. I will knock him down you''ll see. One day,¡± he told his mother, his words carrying so much certainty that she almost believed him.


    But she knew what he didn¡¯t. Thalia giggled beneath her breath, she was the one doing the mocking he always did now, and he sat on the bed clueless. She wanted to tell him that he could never knock him down, it was unlikely, afterall, the guard, her guard Olly, was one of the best fighters in the realm, given to her by her late husband himself, he was only second and third to the Westerling knights, those who were of the Kingsknight¡­ and fourth to another, the one who had left. Her son would have to go through the most immense of training to even stand a little chance, and she knew him all too well, better than anyone, he was too proud a child to let himself be battered viciously all because he wants to wield the sword.


    ¡°What were you doing, Mother?¡± He sat cross-legged now, and his anger seemed to have receided completely.


    ¡°I was watching the stars. They are beautiful tonight,¡± she told him, and turned her eyes through the window and up at the whacking black littered with a million dots, if not more, that burned brightly with white. She gazed at them whenever sleep rejected her, and that was more times than it had accepted. She would always remember the story of the stars her father used to tell her whenever she did. ¡°He told me they are the souls of the men who died in battle, the chosen ones who were called up to Valhalla to feast with the gods,¡± she said to no one.


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    Thaddeus cocked his head at an angle. He was confused, he had always been whenever she talked about these¡­ gods and Valhalla, but she never told him what they meant, whenever he asked she would answer ¡°gods are not real, and Valhalla is merely a myth.¡± That was all she would say, but he wanted to try again, maybe she would condone him this time. ¡°What are gods and Valhalla?¡±


    Thalia plucked her gaze from the stars and blessed him with both it and a smile, but what came off her mouth wasn¡¯t the reply he wanted but the one he expected, ¡°gods are not real, and Valhalla is merely a myth. Forget I said that, what story do you want to listen to tonight? You could not sleep again, right?¡±


    He was not shocked, he already pryed a lot, but she would never heed him, it was the one thing she would never talk to him about, so what better than to listen to a story she would undoubtedly tell him, and one he enjoyed as well. ¡°I want to listen to the story of the dragon,¡± he said, neither sulky nor overly joyous¡­ he was just¡­ there.


    She stood from the table and crossed the room, in the glitter of the moonlight, to grace the bed with her presence. She sat beside him, her back placed on the bed¡¯s headboard, as Thaddeus took one in hand, one of the two head cushions which were stuffed with feathers, wrapping them between his arms and his breast, while his chin sank into the flat edge of it. He had heard the dragon story so many atimes, but he had never heard its end, he would always sleep before it was completed, and any time he pleaded the ending from his mother, she would tell him, ¡°you shall hear the ending when I finish the story.¡± But would that day ever come?


    Even in the dark of night, he still hated his hair being tousled, so she placed her hands on his shoulders instead as she began to tell the tale, another of the many times he had heard it. ¡°It was for a feast,¡± she started, ¡°a feast to renew the treaty of peace between kings and kingdoms. Jorunn, son of Harald and king of the southern lands, had travelled north to where the ceremony was to be held. In the grand hall of the north¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear all these,¡± Thaddeus sliced the story in half, a grimace of annoyance blatant over his face as he glanced at his mother. ¡°I want the dragon, not the feast.¡±


    ¡°The dragon it is then.¡± Thalia rubbed her son¡¯s shoulders gently as she chose to comply with his request. ¡°You remember the young king Jorunn made a common northerner friend, do you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Brant was his name, I remember.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now I don¡¯t have to tell you all about how their friendship came to be again.¡± She cleared her throat then resumed the tale, her gentle hands making sure her son¡¯s shoulders did not ache from all the hugging he gave the head-cushion, which was mashed between his tender arms. ¡°On the third day of the young king¡¯s visit to the north, he and his northern friend snuck from the castle for a hunt. Jorunn had heard of the great beasts that lived in the outskirts of a place north of north, one known to the northern folks as the snowlands, a deadly plain only the greatest fighters of the northerners, the Winterguards, were allowed to rove, but they went nonetheless. Jorunn and Brant.


    ¡°They had gone alone, rummaging the vast snowy lands with their feets. No horse could go that far without giving in to the frost, and their journey was something unknown, neither guards nor men did they allow with them, for if it was known, their journey would have become just a mere thought their mind had conjured.


    ¡°The cold wind had no mercy on their bodies, and bit them wherever it could find flesh beneath the thick fur they wore for protection. There were no beasts in sight for at least a thousand steps they took, and it was almost evenfall, when Jorunn was beginning to flood with rage, before they found something. A beast, Jorunn and Brant thought that was what they saw, a curled up beast. But it was not, when they got close all they saw was a rock, a brown rock layered with glistening scales. The wind was icy and cold, very cold, no place in the north was as cold as the snowlands, but they did not feel it, at least not anymore. The rock was the height of a youngling, almost the height of Jorunn and Brant, and it oozed heat, one so much it warmed them in the midst of the vast cold. They were¡ª¡±


    Thaddeus¡¯ head fell at an angle to his left on her breast, and a continuous exhaling sound came forth from the holes of his nose, while the tight hug he wrapped the head-cushion with loosened. The queen knew her story had come to an end then, her listener was asleep.


    She scoffed heartly, then gently removed his head from her breast, in sweet hopes of not waking him up from his slumber, then she laid him flat on the bed, and pulled the cushion free from his grasp. She lay beside him and watched him with a smile, that she did for a while before it suddenly came, a yawn. Sleep finally accepted her call, and the reason was laid before her, watching her with closed eyes and soft breaths. She yawned again, and before she knew it, she was joined with her son in sleep¡¯s embrace.

 Grandeur

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Four had already come and gone, all cases resolved by someone who was not him. It was his royal advisor, Flynn, that did the settling, he just watched. A king that can¡¯t settle a court case, I¡¯m pathetic, he told himself when the fourth had ended. He should not blame himself, he knew. In reality, he had not been born royalty, he was not nurtured to be a king, but now that he had found himself as one, he was slowly becoming filled with a sense of obligation to act his title. He would try his hand at the fifth one, and deliver the king¡¯s justice as he deemed fit, he made up his mind.


    He had watched and listened from the throne, as they all came bearing their cases to him inside the grand bannered walls of the royal hall, which was striped with rays of sunlight gold falling in from its high windows. Dressed in a white tunic and black pants tucked into brown high-leather boots, which were beneath a grey leather buckled coat, patterned with stripes of gold, and fastened at the collar with a golden raven clasp and at waist with a leather brown belt, he gazed down at the table of his council members before the foot of the dais, where he sat upon the throne of bronze as benevolent and kingly as the golden gemmed crown atop his blue hair made him.


    The members of the king¡¯s council had not all been present, but the few that were, sat beneath him. Lord Varyn Bolton was seated at the far end of the table¡¯s left, wearing an oxblood leather doublet and a lost-minded face that was occasionally being found and lost again. At the other end from where Lord Varyn sat was his councillor compeer, the keeper of coins, Lord Theon Silverfist, his face the same as it was the first time Zephyr had seen him, hard and unkind, and grey just like his hair of salt-and-pepper. Zephyr convinced himself when he had watched him stride into court before, that he was such way because of the amount of money he would have seen dissipate before his eyes; if it was anything like what he thought it was, then it was enough to make anyone a Theon.


    The last of the council members present was his own advisor and supposed friend, who was dressed in a flame brocade coat with a raven pin on his chest, just like when he had first seen him. The young lord of Claymore had his auburn hair tied into a lustrous bun, and had watched and settled the proceedings with a face as calm as a sea without waves.


    The first the black cloaks brought through the large doors of oak were a man and a woman, both haggard looking and dressed in the clothes of common folk. The man was balding and in a shaggy tunic and mud stained soleless boots, while the scatter-haired woman in a brown gown covered with grey and blue and black patches everywhere.


    The woman had come bearing accusations towards the man, one of assault. She told the king of how it happened. She claimed he had forced himself into her when she came to buy a suckling pig from his pen, and just managed to escape by her hair after she fought him off with a blow to his lower twins, but the deed had been done already, he had gone in three to four or five times already, she wasn¡¯t sure how much thrusts, but she was sure he was in, and when Zephyr remained silent, Flynn asked in his stead what she would like to have them do. And she no doubt answered, with haste in fact. She asked that he lost the use of his lower man, and requested for his pig pen as well.


    When he was finally given the chance to lay his words before the king, the balding man answered with a wail he had kept pent up inside while his accuser spoke, denying her accusations. I never touched her, Sire. She lies! He had cried, then explained his own, saying that she truthfully came for a suckling pig, but then requested to finalise the deal inside, and when she got into his cabin she pushed him, tore her lower gown and ran out screaming, then after a while she returned with guards to take him in. It was all a plan, he told the king and his councillors.


    The back and forth had all given Zephyr a headache; what was the best way to settle things, he did not know. No one had told him court proceedings were so stressful, there was no one to tell him. Flynn looked towards the dais, and up at the throne and the man sitting upon it, when the man gazed back at him he saw his tensed eyes, one that told him that he lacked the knowledge of what best to do.


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    The auburn haired man returned his face to the two haggard people standing before the council table, and took lead of the settles for his king. He asked them both questions Zephyr could not have thought of, and from their answers, he declared the man free from the accusations, and the woman to pay him a compensation fee of a hundred silver coins, which was the equivalent of two gold coins, and told her that if she ever pulled such a trick again, the next place her head would be found was on a spike in the blood square.


    After the first; the second, third and fourth came, and Flynn did not need to look at his king anymore to know that he was still unable to settle the cases brought forth. He took charge himself.


    The other two at the table were as silent as Zephyr and even more useless. At least the king¡¯s presence brought fear and reverence to whoever came through the door, but what did the silent lords have to offer aside their¡­ silence. They were better off not attending the court.


    The large doors of the royal hall opened for the fifth now, and in they came. An echoing gasp from high ladies and lords above in the gallery, and watchful gazes from beneath the armet of black cloaked guards standing below the Ravenswood banners, at both the eastern and western wings of the hall, welcomed them in all their splendor. Zephyr understood the reactions as he himself shifted forward in his throne. There were two of them, both resplendent in the dazzling glamour of their gilded full-plate armours. From their hind fell a great cloak sewn from rich silver damasks and decorated with crossed longswords all over it, if they were to be counted, there might have been at least twenty of such patterned about the cloak.


    Cloaks made from rich damasks no doubt wore a heavy weight, and they would have fallen from their shoulders if not for the pair of longswords that clasped them firmly. Halfway through their breastplate flew a silver raven in a field of gold, its sharp black eyes piercing through anyone that dared to gaze at it. Their greaves, gauntlets, rondels and tassels stood out from the rest of the armour by separating themselves with silver enamels. At their waist were longswords hidden within thick leather scabbards, and beside the swords, their hands held a ritzy greathelm coated beautifully in gold. At the moment, as they arrived at the foot of the dais before the council table, they stood even grander than the king himself.


    Who are these? I¡¯m going to deliver my judgement to them¡­? The lump Zephyr swallowed struggled to fall down his throat as he thought to himself.


    To one knee they went, both of them. The first had wrinkles that showed he was far from being called young. With grey-black hair that fell down to his shoulders, and arctic-blue eyes fraught with the cold stare of a white wolf, his squared-face was as imposing as his armour.


    The second lacked wrinkles and looked younger, much younger, but shared a striking resemblance to the first, a far too great one that Zephyr was sure he was his son, or at least they were related. His hair was of jet-black, devoid of any strand of grey, and fell further to his biceps. He had the eyes of the first man as well, an arctic-blue one, but his had not the cold stare of a white wolf, his had the stare of a young lion well within hunting age.


    ¡°Hail His Grace, Zephyr,¡± the first man sang with a voice thicker than steel. ¡°Word of King Sargon¡¯s passing reached us, but we could not leave Free pass unprotected to be by our new king¡¯s side at the moment of his enthronement. We are here now because we have successfully driven back the raid of the mountain folks, and I ask of you to pardon our tardiness, Your Grace.¡±


    The man¡¯s worldliness echoed from the way he spoke, and in less time Zephyr came up with an idea of who they were. No, he was sure of who they were now. He sat back on his throne and raised his head high, while he let his chin rest on the curled fist of his right hand. I almost forgot about them¡­ My Kingsknights the council members spoke to me about¡­ He told himself as he watched the gilded men before him, the surge of power he felt the first time he took the throne resurfacing and reminding his body of what he was, of what he had become in this world, and that men as grand as these, if any other even existed, were under his command. If he was not sure before, he was no doubt sure now. As the king, he sat on the throne of bronze the greatest man in this realm.

 Battle At Free Pass

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    He remembered their names from the council meeting of days before. The grey-black haired one was undoubtedly Ser Calix Westerling, the lord commander of his Kingsknights, and the other who was a tad bit shorter, and a little less graceful and imposing, was very likely his son, Ser Aaron Westerling.


    They oozed power, and Zephyr felt it as cold as the harsh winds of winter, it was almost enough to make him smile and drip him in a stream of safety, one that whispered to him that with them by his side his life would not be in any danger. But the sharp intone of another whisper made him question if that was true, if they were truly enough to keep him from death. Yes, he would have one more in a few days and then they would be three, but would they actually be enough to rip him from the shadow of death looming about him. He was not sure. No, he was. They were not enough, and they would never be. To survive, he needed to rely on himself, only he could pull himself from the shadow of death, only he.


    No doubt the men of his Kingsknights were bound by loyalty to him¡ªloyalty and honour¡ªif all the whispers he had heard about them were true, but loyalty and honour was not what kept a king alive, what truly kept a king alive was his own strength and power, not the strength and power of his men; he had read that in books and seen such in shows. Kings that hoped solely on the strength, loyalty and honour of their men lost their lives, he would not be such a king, he did not want to. He would seek strength from himself and not from men that could betray him on a whim. I won¡¯t lose my life, his voice spoke to him. Not now, not again.


    He watched with a dark grimace, courtesy of the voices which echoed his mind, as Ser Calix reported their exploits of battle. The man had been speaking since, but Zephyr, stricken by his own thoughts, missed a ton of what left the Ser¡¯s lips. Well, at least now he silenced those thoughts and chose to listen. Hopefully they remain the way they have become and will not resurface for the length of this court, afterall, it was his kingdom they spoke about, he should not be absentminded.


    Ser Calix gingerly scratched the left path of his clean-shaven sideburns which led to the beard draping from his chin, his other hand firmly holding his great helm. ¡°It was not much of a battle, the mountain folks have always lacked the head for one. They attacked every wagon in their sight, believing them to be merchants coming from Whispers Reach to trade at Old town. They were right to say the truth, for the most of it, but were wrong for the first when my son led his swords, dressed as merchants, to engage them.¡± He had a sharp way of speech, and his lips that gave way to such looked like they had never smiled before, they were firm and fierce.


    That was not the same for the younger one though; a grin had stormed his face as soon as Ser Calix made mention of him to the king and his council, it stayed there now, not wanting to disappear, even as he started speaking. ¡°They were not men of sense, M¡¯grace. The pass had been deserted for fortnights ever since they had begun raiding, and when they saw wagons they did not even think it a trap. We had their heads no doubt, littered the pass with them all, and¡ª¡±


    The grin was gone now with his father¡¯s glance, it went so quickly that Zephyr noticed it at once.


    ¡°Then why remain there for so long if they had been crushed within hours?¡± He spoke, finally. Zephyr had wondered if his mouth was glued shut, because the Lord Varyn below him was not the same one he had seen at the council meeting, that one was fiery, this one seemed meek of some sort. ¡°Why did you two not hurry back to the side of your king?¡± He added another query.


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    Ser Calix shifted a cocked brow at Lord Varyn, and Zephyr saw it then. His eyebrows furrowed and his hand swept slightly on the throne¡¯s armrest as he watched the man¡¯s eyes of arctic-blue. It was fierce and¡­ kingly. It was the one he wanted, the one he lacked, the one that would show he himself had strength.


    ¡°They are savages bred only for hunting and raids. What do you think would happen if we left the town maybe a day or two after we defeated them?¡± The lord commander of the Kingsknights held Lord Varyn hostage with his unrelenting stare, and kept him as silent as the foggy white overhead sea of ghosthill.


    Lord Varyn was without reply, as his eyes took to quivering blinks, accompanied by inspecting glances that watched the people of the royal hall. He knew the answer to the lord commander¡¯s question, but he felt so foolish to utter a word of it. He should have remained silent, he let himself speak and now his thought process was being questioned.


    ¡°I shall answer that question for you, my lord. The savages would return to their raidings as soon as we were gone. We had to make sure they knew we were watching, that we were there and not some passerby, so they would not return. I ask that you do not question my ways of battle again, my lord. It is a stain to my silver.¡± Ser Calix pried his eyes away from the dumbfounded and speechless man, and put it back to his king watching him from the throne. ¡°We want nothing more than to return by your side, but we have just returned from a long journey. If you would be so kind as to give us this day to rest, we shall return to your side by sunrise on the morrow.¡±


    Zephyr wasted no time to reply, his smile struggling to be let free. ¡°Granted,¡± he echoed from the throne. ¡°I would want you no sooner by my side by sunrise.¡± Less doubt he wanted them now, but they should rest, that much he should grant them. A good king must be rational.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡± The two men of the Kingsknights bowed, and with that, Flynn signalled to the herald to announce the court¡¯s close.


    After the herald sang the close, they all began to leave: the high ladies and lords, the Kingsknights, Lord Varyn Bolton, and the all-silent and grey-faced Lord Theon Silverfist. The column of black cloaks did not leave though, they remained, and while Flynn was setting himself up to leave, Zephyr approached him from the dais with haste.


    ¡°My friend,¡± Zephyr cooed, his hands together behind his back as he got to the council table.


    ¡°My king¡­¡± Flynn began, but did not finish as per his king¡¯s interruption.


    ¡°Zephyr,¡± the king corrected. ¡°The court is ended, I¡¯m not the king to you now, I¡¯m your friend.¡± A smile followed the end of his talk.


    Flynn walked behind his seat, and as he pushed it beneath the table, he asked, ¡°Is there anything my help is needed for, Zephyr?¡±


    ¡°I was thinking, why don¡¯t we three come together like old times?¡±


    ¡°We three?¡± Flynn¡¯s eyebrows knitted into confusion, a slim one.


    ¡°Me, you, and my brother, Dante.¡±


    Flynn¡¯s gaze flung upon the silver eyes of his king sharply, his face making it known to Zephyr that he was seemingly troubled in the mind, a lot more than Zephyr had ever seen from him, but he made no mention of it and just watched him with the smile his face wore.


    ¡°But, my king, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Zephyr cut in, ¡°but I want us to return together like old times¡­ that is unless you oppose of it. Do you?¡± He placed his hands on his advisor¡¯s shoulders and walked to his other side, leading his gaze as he did. ¡°Do you?¡± He asked again, whispering this time.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. There¡¯s no way I can oppose you, you know that.¡±


    ¡°Good, my friend,¡± Zephyr chuckled. ¡°Then I say let us meet on the night of the morrow, in the royal solar.¡±

 The Raven And The Ghost

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    The drizzles of rain pattered down heavily while singing a sombre song, and in its midst he saw the light of an high-up vertical box, sitting upon a long metallic pole, go from green to red; looking below the changed light, he saw himself come to a stop at the edge of the road, not his new self that watched from a corner, a place where shadows and darkness caved to dine, but his old self, the boy of sixteen he used to be. It was a sight that made him shiver slightly.


    A full moon hung from the starless weeping sky, shining its light on the empty roads of asphalt which travelled as endless as the dark stares from above, but that light could not touch him where he watched. It ran from him, it ran from where he stood within the shadows, as though he was a leper, and it, a healthy noble.


    He was Zephyr now, but from where he stood he could see himself, he could see his old being, Jon, but he could not see his old features, as he could not see anyone else around the road-crossing his old self stood upon waiting. The hair, eyes, lips, and the drawings of the face of his old self had all been gone, faded, but he knew it was him, he remembered the fleece brown hoodie he wore which shielded his head from the rain, he remembered this place, it was here it all started, he could not dare to forget.


    The lights came then, the headlights of a car from the road on the left, it was close but felt and as well looked to be far away. Along with the shadows surrounding him, he watched the car draw near fast, swerving and screeching as though the person behind the wheels was stuck in a trance and had forgotten the workings of a steering. And as suddenly as the lights appeared, so did a girl in a white gown. From behind him she came¡ªnot the new him, the old him¡ªrunning and dancing beneath the sky¡¯s tears into the road with a mind to cross to the other side. She was little, as little as a girl in her early teenage years could be, and she no doubt had the wisdom of such age.


    It was all reflex now, he had since known he was in a dream. What was happening before him had all passed, so for him to see it all again, it was no doubt the work of the night¡¯s sleep, but his body still dared to move to her aid. He wanted to run away from the shadows and into the light as the car drew closer, far closer than it had been, but it was impossible, he could not move, not now, not ever. He was a watcher, a bystander, it was not his job to intervene, he noticed that much as he struggled to move, and he noticed as well that it was his old self that would be the help the girl needed and not him.


    He turned to shout his mind at his old self, but his voice was lost, it had been long gone, but only now did he notice, and it was all because of the slender black mist that swirled around his throat. It did not hurt, but he could not speak, that was only felicitous to him though, it was not the same for the shadow behind him; that one spoke, in a voice he knew, in a voice he could not forget. It wept at him, his mother¡¯s voice. ¡°You want to do it all again, again?!!¡± His eyes widened, and his chest tightened, squeezing his heart like a grape in a tightly folded fist. He could not breathe, he could not speak, he could only watch, as the car drew closer, his old self standing still at the edge of the road unmoving, the little girl halting her run to a stop as she saw the lights close in on her, and the dark sky singing a symphony of sorrow while it cried.


    He could not bear it, he could not watch her die. She had not died in reality, so why was she about to die in his dream? No! No! It was there now, inches from the girl. His eyes went shut, he forced it shut, and as the wail of the car filled his ears with a crash, he felt his scenery change. The shadow about his neck was gone, and he was no longer standing, he was¡­


    He opened his eyes slowly, and when it fully came about, he shuddered shakily with an inaudible gasp of shock. He was upon her, he had saved her, he had saved¡­ What did he save? He was not sure. He looked at her face, and she looked back at him. What was he looking at? It was true she was looking back at him, but¡­ there was no face. It was pitch black, a small round guise of continuously sinking darkness which looked to have no end. He moved to run, he was frightened, scared, and hyperventilating, but he did not move, it was all in the mind of his mind, he was still on her, stuck to watch the darkness sink until he¡¯s dragged along with it.


    The moonlight followed by the sky¡¯s tears finally touched him, but he did not want either of them now. He wanted to run from where he crouched. To the shadows maybe; his mother was there, but he preferred there, he would sink if he remained here, he would sink¡­


    ¡°Seek me.¡± A voice erupted from the sinking face. Another voice he knew, he had heard it before. It was the same one that bellowed his head when he had asked about the witches. It was the same one. ¡°Seek me!¡± It said again, louder and fiercely, scaring his ears painfully into tears of red, and this time, into the darkness, he sank, screaming without voice.


    And then he awoke to find himself stumbling to the cold floor of his bedchamber, leaving his blanket halfway dropping with him. The pores of his face were weeping just like the starless night sky in his dream, while his hands trembled in fright. He sat up with his unclothed back to the wall, and then folded his fists to curb the terrors they underwent, but they were not easily calmed, they still shivered, frightened by the dark in the dream and the dark of the room. The lamplight had long since extinguished while he slept, leaving his chamber without light and lost in the darkness of night. The moon might have helped if only it wasn¡¯t sleeping and dreaming its own beneath the thick dark blanket of clouds up in its sky-chamber.


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    ¡°It¡¯s just a dream,¡± Zephyr whispered to the faces he saw roaming the dark of his room. None he knew of, none he wanted to know of. ¡°It¡¯s just a dream,¡± he told himself again, while he watched the faces weep and wail, either in terror or anger, he did not know and he did not want to. They breezed and swirled past him continuously, and he watched them as though he did not see them. He could close his eyes and force himself back to sleep, a plausible option, but this was neither the first nor second time the darkness had come to him after he dreamt; they would swallow him up if he dared sleep now, and he would dream again. The thought of another of that dream left his skin prickly. His hands were still shaking.


    And as if to worsen his mood, the voice came again. ¡°Seek me.¡± He heard it clearly and he shook. He was beyond frightened now, and his hands told him that they were too. It came again. ¡°Seek me.¡± And he knew then, it was not just a dream. He was not hallucinating now, he was awake, that he was sure of. It came again. ¡°Seek me.¡± He jumped to his feet in the darkness, pushing the swirling faces into a frantic disorder, as he watched the black for the one that spoke, the one that called to him. Yes, he was being called. It was a call, one he might not be able to reject, one that might plague him continually if he rejected. It came again, this time with a clear indication of where it echoed from. ¡°Seek me.¡±


    Zephyr turned his eyes, which had adjusted to the dark of his chambers, towards the door. The voice was outside, just there. He had to follow it, he told himself. He had to.


    He blindly searched for his night robe, and covered his body with it as soon as his hand felt its woollen texture.


    He successfully arrived at his chamber¡¯s door, after experiencing a painful mishap of hitting his toe on the chair standing somewhere in the room. It hurt when he did, and the faces had just watched him grunt in pain.


    The door creaked as he pulled it open, and outside stood a guard enamelled in silver armour and black cloak. Silver, not gold; his Kingsknights were not yet by his side, a crunching blow to his ribs anytime he thought of it. Half a day was so short, but yet it felt so far.


    ¡°My king,¡± the guard bowed and greeted with a voice softer than butter, anyone would have thought he was a lady if his armet was not off and seated at the side of his feet, showing his broad face beneath black hair dripping at its edges with sweat. He was surprised, anyone would have been if their king was awake past midnight, when even the moon was asleep.


    Zephyr looked about the corridor from where he stood at his door, and saw no one but his guard. The voice¡­ he thought, and it came again, this time from the far end which led out of the king¡¯s quarters and into the small yard. It was moving and he was to follow it. He turned to the guard. ¡°Get me a torch or a lamp, any will do,¡± he told him, commanding. The guard was about to speak, but he did not let him as he added, ¡°Ask no questions and just do what I tell you to.¡± The guard bowed and hurried away then, his armet remaining where it sat sleeping.


    Zephyr sat at the door, resting his back on the frame while he buried his face beneath his arms on his knees. The voice kept calling and he kept hearing. He was tired and exhausted, ever since he arrived, he had been thinking more than he had ever done before. The voice called again, and he folded himself tightly where he sat. It called again, and his body was slowly beginning to fume in annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± he said softly, replying to the voice¡¯s calls. It called and he replied, and everytime it called, he replied angrier than the last.


    It called again, and this time Zephyr screamed in reply, startling the sound of armour to sing terrifyingly, as his guard stumbled backwards with a blazing torch in hand. ¡°Forgive me, my king. I¡­¡±


    Zephyr jumped to his feet. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said, then took the torch from the guard¡¯s grip. ¡°Stay by my door.¡±


    ¡°I have to be with you at all times, my king. I shall hold the torch and lead your way.¡±


    ¡°You shall stay where I say you shall stay, and you shall not argue with me.¡±


    The guard inhaled sharply and bowed. That was all. Zephyr turned and followed the voice through the king¡¯s quarters and into the small yard, what called him was not there, he followed it further past the guards at the holdfast¡¯s door, who tried to accompany him as well, but were commanded to remain, and into the great yard. He stood aimlessly in the midst of the braziers burning brightly in the great yard while he waited for the voice to call again, and it did, this time to his right, he turned and walked, following the voice¡¯s calls until he arrived at where the voice was the loudest.


    The wind brought the smell to his nose, the smell of flowers. Roses, violets, lilies, and many others. He could not see them well in the dark, and having a slim idea of where he was, he dared not bring the torch in his hand closer to the ground to see them clearly, they could all catch the blazing fire and cause a disaster. But there was something else he could not see clearly in the dark, this one he took his torch to, uncaring of a disaster if it caught fire. It was a person, he saw now clearly when he was close, standing cloaked in black from head to foot ankle. His chest tightened and his heart raced. ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked, knowing the person was probably anything but his ally.


    The person answered, and it was the voice. The one he heard when he asked about the witches, the one he heard from the depth of darkness in his dream, and the one that called out to him. ¡°The one that brought you back from the dead.¡±

 The Truth Of It

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°The one who brought me back from the dead?¡± The whispers of wind were about his ears, but he paid them no mind, his focus was given to the cloaked person and what they had said. At first glance, the mysterious person in cloak looked to not be on his side, but on further thought, he was not sure they weren¡¯t and he was not sure they were. If they were truly the one that brought him back to life, then maybe they were, and any word they speak might be of some truth, and they would have some of the answers he sought.


    In just a few days in this world, he had grown more wary and untrustworthy than he¡¯d ever been before, granted his life was what was at stake, but he had begun to fear his wariness would never leave him, it might never leave him, and he wondered if the person he would be able to confide in would ever come, he wondered if he would continue to lead a life of untrustworthiness forever. He wanted the cloaked person standing amidst the flowers unseen to his eyes in the dark, to be his ally, that would be one less person to be wary of. They were no doubt a sorcerer, someone with magic of some sort, he was sure and not surprised, proof of it all had been laid before him on his first day in this world. He knew a sorcerer as his ally would be of great aid, any man with half a brain would know that, and he was a man with more than half, if he dared say so.


    Zephyr thought of what next to do. He knew he was to first confirm if the person before him was truly someone he should lend his ears to, and what better way for him to find out if this person was his ally, than to ask.


    ¡°Who are you? What are you?¡± The burning yellow-and-red of the torch in his hand, fought against the wind, a long but short hard battle that it came forth victorious from, standing above the wooden slender hill in all its golden splendour.


    ¡°I see no guard with you, Your Grace. Was that a good idea? Coming alone to receive a call from the unknown?¡± The cloaked person spoke again, asking the king a question that sounded nothing short of terrifying with a voice that was not one known for a man¡¯s.


    The question heightened Zephyr¡¯s doubts. His ally would not say such, would they? It scared him, along with the little flashes in his mind of the faces in the dark of his room and the moments he had encountered in his dream, they had not yet left his eyes and they all scared him. He had no idea why he told the guards to stay back, all he met on his way to this garden of flowers and darkness and fear. He had acted on impulse, doing what he thought best, but was what he did the best now?


    He had to make the questions floating in his mind matter less, whoever was behind that hood should not see him frightened, he needed to act strong, he told himself in hopes to feel less frightened than he already was. He was to be strong. He¡¯s the king. ¡°What would be a good idea is you giving me answers to the questions I asked. You are to answer mine, and not me to yours.¡± His voice came forth strong, as strong as he wanted it to be, and less doubt was it strong enough.


    The golden flame spat a crackle atop its wooden hill, a call to the silence that came swiftly after, tensing Zephyr to a hidden gulp. He watched the person in cloak a few feets away from him, his hind-foot strengthening in preparation to run if any hostility came forth. If it came to that, he was sure he would fail, but he would rather try running than watch himself die without a fight, damn his fake kingship then.


    But what came after was not what his hind-foot had prepared for, it was not what his mind prepared for. The hood came down, the cloak¡¯s hood, and it was his toes that strengthened now as he impulsively stepped closer bit by bit to get a better view of what face had called him, than the one the shadow of darkness had covered from where he stood.


    He was close now, at a length akin to that of a longsword from the person, unsure of why his body moved closer to danger of its own accord without thought, but he got something out of it. The golden flame in his hand gave some of its gold to the mysterious person¡¯s face, and it was in his view now. A face that was compatible with the dark of night, one he would have no chance of seeing without the moon¡¯s help, if not for the gold that blazed calmly than it had before, in his hand.


    It was a lady that was cloaked before him. Her voice that came before had given him an idea, but what better way to be sure than seeing the dark long hair swirling into the hood that fell at her back. The smile on her face was coated in gold, ebony-and-gold was her face now, and she stood there beautiful and mysterious, but Zephyr had seen beauty before, even better ones, he was not captivated, if anything captivated his mind at the moment, it was the faces in his room and the answers he sought. Give him answers and maybe he might see her beauty then. ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked again, his face hard as stone, but if opened up, it would be a frightened one softer than a cushion of feathers beneath.


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    ¡°My name is Melisandre, Your Grace.¡± There it was, it came finally, it was coming now, the answers he wanted, even though this one was a bit lower on his list, it was a start. ¡°And as I said before, I was the one that brought you back to life. Might I take the burden of that torch for you? Your hand is tired.¡±


    ¡°If I need help, I shall ask,¡± he shot his answer fiercely like an arrow, hinting to Melisandre that she was not yet trusted until he proclaimed so. ¡°And what do you mean you brought me back to life?¡± He squinted his eyes, acting oblivious to what she meant. He felt deep down that was the better move, and he had begun to employ it.


    She brought her hair out of her hood and draped it all over her left shoulder. ¡°You remember nothing of what happened?¡±


    Zephyr was not here to answer questions, and a grimace came with this one she asked now. He was impatient. ¡°As I said before, I ask the questions and you answer, not the other way. I do not want to repeat myself.¡±


    She pulled her eyes from her hair and glanced at him, the king in robes. His crown was not sitting on his blue hair now, and he looked more like a boy than a king, a mere boy she was no doubt ahead of in age, even if a bit. ¡°You were poisoned, Your Grace,¡± she answered gloomily. ¡°Gone with the shadows of ghosts, no more of this world.¡±


    He knew this already, this was not what he was looking for, but he had to pretend, she undoubtedly knew something, he just had to pry it from her, one way or another. ¡°Dead?¡± He said, continuing his oblivious pretence, his hand had begun to ache from the torch he held, but he told himself he just had to bear a little longer. Soon he¡¯ll have better answers. ¡°I fell asleep at my table and I woke up after a while. I was not dead.¡± He was not the best actor, but he tried to make his face as confused as he could make it, he was doing a good enough job for now.


    ¡°Oh, you were dead, Your Grace. Dead and gone. I brought you back myself, and that¡¯s how I got linked to you. How would you explain me speaking into your mind?¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s brows were still arched in a made-up slope. Another question¡­ he thought, but he chose to indulge her this time. ¡°A sorcerer is the only explanation, there¡¯s nothing your kind can¡¯t do. Am I right?¡±


    Her face was brightened by gold, and Zephyr could see the slight anger that stormed her face with his words, but the care he had for that amounted to nothing. It was only him he cared about now, not the anger of another.


    ¡°You are correct, Your Grace. I am a sorcerer, but there are things our kind can¡¯t do. If you were dead for even a day, you would have been impossible to bring back. You were lucky I came when I came.¡±


    ¡°Lucky?¡± Zephyr spat. You call this luck? I¡¯m stressed more than I ever have, the only thing good about this is that I am alive¡­ he was angered but he kept it to himself. ¡°Let¡¯s say I believe you and I did die, what do you know about my death then?¡±


    Her smile that had been far lost in the dark of night and light of gold returned. ¡°I know the one who killed you, Your Grace. Or should I say, those.¡±


    Finally. His chest tightened. He was there now, the answers he sought. She was going to give it to him now. ¡°And who are they?¡± His curiosity this time was genuine, his brows arched in nothing of pretence.


    She walked closer to him, reducing the length of the longsword between them to a little bit above half, and whispered, each word she uttered seeming to take an eternity to escape her lips to Zephyr. ¡°You have seen them, Your Grace. You have broken your fasts with them. They are your family, the ones you have taken the throne from. The second branch of the Ravenswoods, every single one of them.¡±


    His chest tightened further and his heart raced, he was not fully believing her, but if she brought him back, then maybe, just maybe, she was right. He inhaled sharply as a relief came shortly after, and one thought was what crossed his mind for that soothing sensation. Someone to confide in¡­ he gave himself hope. He might not have been the killer¡­ Flynn¡­

 Lilies Serenity

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    They had called her, screaming her name while she ran from them. Audrey. My child. Young lady. The things she was known by sought her ears annoyingly, but they were all faded now, it was as though they had grown tired of the calling, the same as she was tired of hearing their calls, except that was hardly the case, they had merely just lost track of where she had wandered off to, and the hollers would resurface if they found out she had chosen the quiet rustles of the flower garden to conceal her presence.


    It was with the dress they woke her to the crows of roosters and the warmth of the sun when the day began for her, the dress that might bind her to the king, the man she had never seen and the man she had no longing for, but it came nevertheless, per Lord Winston¡¯s orders.


    Her servants had brought it to her, a silver satin-silk dress to match her hair, one embossed in rose-gold with the sigil of her house: a phoenix grasping a sword with its talons. A golden corset came with the dress, one that would extend from below her breasts to her hips if the gown graced her body. There also came a scarf for her arms, a blue one, and a silver choker which had the grip of a tender hand. It all looked lovely, so much that she would have loved to wear it any other time, but not this time, it came with the memories of what her father was forcing her to do: marry the king, for yourself and for our family. It was never for herself, it was for him and him alone, nothing about getting holed up in a castle with neither freedom nor genuine friends was for her benefit. Nothing. And she hated it.


    The only thing she was hearing now was the rush of water from the small fountain at the centre of the garden. She knelt an elegant giant to the bed of lilies she gazed upon. The scent of various other flowers filled her nose, but she focused on the one of the lilies, she always focused on their scents whenever she graced their bed, they were her favourites, she loved them up to the point that she took their smell and made it hers, she smelled like them even now.


    The warmth of the sun felt her skin, through the soft linen gown she had made her servants prepare for her, when she wanted to confront her father: the silver haired lord of Flamesworth. The confrontation had ended the way it always did, but the gown was still on her body, smeared with little trickles of sweat that ran down from between her breasts. It matched the colour of her hazel earrings, but even though it was what was on her body, the lilies were more beautiful. She would wear the flowers if they were possible, having their scent was not enough, they calmed her whenever, they were meant for her and her alone.


    ¡°I knew I would find you here.¡± A voice came forth and withdrew her from the serenity her lilies gave her, but with it came its own peace, a different type of peace. It was a calm voice, one that talked a lot and she had heard a lot, but still loved listening to, and it was blessing her ears now, the voice of her steward, Renly Bailiff. He came, she knew he would be the one to find her, and she was glad she now had someone that would listen to her complaints, but she would not show him how glad she was, not now and maybe not ever.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± She asked, her eyes still on the lilies. The sound of boots went from a muffled thump to a silent and gentle crunch as it drew closer, going from floor to grass. Renly came from the direction of the fountain, walking past the bed of flowers and herbs at both his left and right, and towards the bed she knelt before, the last one at the edge of the garden, the bed of lilies. When the sound of boot on grass grew closer and she noticed he was almost upon her, she stood to her unsheltered feets, and retreated beneath the wide canopies of the common beech distinguishing itself at the end of the garden.


    She sat with her back to the silver-grey bark of the common beech which had grown to have a more rugged texture than smooth, but it mattered little to her, the sun could not see her completely here beneath the beech¡¯s leaves, which had been given the beauty of golden-brown by the arrival of autumn, that was what mattered. If only the tree was a pathway to an entirely different place, she would no doubt go through that path and escape entirely from here. She would miss her lilies, and Renly, she could take Renly if she so pleased, he was her steward afterall. But there was someone she could not take, her brother¡­ she would miss him. The pathway was not of existence, so what she thought about was null and void, the reality was what she suspected Renly Bailiff was about to say to her, and she knew there was no escape, tantrums were just a momentary backtrack from reality, it lasted not for long.


    ¡°My lady. How did your night¡¯s sleep go?¡± Renly greeted, for it was the first they had seen today. He was before her now, but she still chose not to look at him, she left him with her braided silver hair to gaze upon, her eyes lowered to her outstretched feets and constantly curling toes. She could not even see his boots, all she knew was that he stood somewhere close to her.


    ¡°How do you think my night¡¯s sleep went, Bailiff?¡± She asked sarcastically, rustling the green with her curled toes.


    And he answered, ¡°I would say it went well. May I sit? My legs are aching more than ever from finding you.¡±


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    ¡°I did not request for you, all you did you did on your own, so you shall only sit when I tell you to,¡± Audrey shot a reply sharply. She was fierce when she felt like it, second to only Lady Theodora, her mother, if not more. Truly a queen material. She added, ¡°You tell me why you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°That I shall when you offer me a place by your side.¡± She did not look up at him, but she could picture his stern resolve plastered all over the long jaw he had. Horse-faced is what he had always been called, when he was little and even now, she was the only one who thought of him not ugly with it, and to him, her opinion outweighed the one of many others.


    Her opinion now was not of his face, and she didn¡¯t care for his back and forth. ¡°I command you to speak or leave,¡± she fumed, chagrined at his stubbornness, as though she was not the same as him.


    ¡°When you offer me comfort, my lady.¡± His stubbornness kept up with hers, unrelenting.


    ¡°Fine. Then I command you to leave! Do not speak and just leave. Leave me be!¡±


    ¡°That I cannot do as well, my lady,¡± Renly answered, unseen even though he stood somewhere before her in the grand space of flowers and beauty.


    The silence came, and the rush of the fountain was the only sound again, just like before, but not for long. ¡°Why are you so stubborn?¡± It was a question that came forth from her lips, this time it came gently and softly, her fire had reduced to a flicker now, the back and forth was what won, but the comfort she still did not offer Renly.


    ¡°The same question Lord Winston asks himself whenever you query his decisions for you,¡± Renly answered, his lips were dry and the reply that came from it was a dry one that stung her sharp below her breasts. ¡°I know how you feel, my lady, but as I have said before, your father thinks of you, highly if I¡¯m to say, and before you make mention of it, of course he thinks of himself as well, himself and the House of Flamesworth, which is your house as well. Wedding the king is an honour in all truth, an honour befitting someone of your beauty. No mere lord or common man is enough to make you bear silver-haired children for them. You were meant for royalty and royalty alone.¡±


    Curse you, Bailiff! She spat. This is not what I wanted to hear, this is not what I wanted you to say. You should not be siding with my father, it should be me, side with me. Her toes had stopped curling, they were now pinching each other in a fierce battle, and slowly they became blurry before her eyes. It was no longer anger, it had become frustration. It almost rained droplets from the sky-blue orb beneath her long eyelashes, before it was stopped by the voice of the hidden man.


    ¡°But, that is if you were chosen to be his bride. There¡¯s still a chance, you may not be the one chosen by the king, that is in all ways possible. We pray to the ravens and seek their help, and maybe find a way to keep your beauty from the king¡¯s gaze. How about that, my lady? I shall try my best to help you get rejected by the king if you will work with this horse-faced steward.¡± This was not what she wanted to hear, but it could make do. Why did he take so long to say it? Why? She thought to herself as she made sure her tears didn''t fall, he must not see her crying, she would not have that, anything but that.


    She let her eyes slowly rise. The boots came into her view first, the thick leather black high boots he wore, where a brown pant was tucked into it, then up her eyes went further, and the next she saw was his white woollen tunic, which was held at the waist for no reason by a brown belt fastened and dropping, and lastly was his face, the face that was ugly not to only her, where a moustache was faintly appearing above his upper lip, and his coiled hair vividly brown under the ray of sun. She saw his face now, she saw him.


    But there was another, hidden just like him but silent for the all of it. He was shorter than her and shorter than her steward, he was far shorter. He stood beside Renly with the height of a sword plunged into the ground, his thumb lost inside his mouth, as he watched with sky-blue eyes caked with the confusion of a child, who neither understood the affairs nor discussions of the adults, little doubt of that, he was a child after all, almost upon his seventh name day.


    She squealed softly as she saw him, his silver hair trimmed at the edges perfectly and beautifully, he was a cute sight with that glossed mouth of his sucking on his thumb with slight remorse. She went to her knees on the grass and let her arms go wide as she called for his embrace. ¡°Lucian! Why are you here?¡±


    He hurried into it with haste, his thumb soaked but finally free from that stiffening damp cave. ¡°You are angry?¡± Lucian asked, his head cocked while she put him down on her lap as she went from knees to buttocks on the grass once again.


    ¡°No. No, I¡¯m not angry. I¡¯m not.¡± If there was anyone she was the softest too, then that person was on her thigh now. She loved him the most, and he undoubtedly as well, but he did not know that yet, toys and plays were still what he loved the most.


    ¡°A red leaf. It¡¯s red, it¡¯s red, sister.¡± He pat Audrey¡¯s hand slightly insisting she let go of him, and as soon as she did, he jumped to the fallen leaves of the common beech that lay beside where she sat, plucking them one after the other while giggling.


    She turned her eyes back to her steward, her brows arched in a benign dip. ¡°Why did you not mention him?¡±


    Renly placed his hands upon each other beneath his belt and smiled. ¡°You did not offer me comfort.¡± She squinted disapprovingly, and he added, ¡°But you see, if you had tried to look up, you would have noticed that I had come with the young lord, this is the same with your father. Now I am still of mind to help prevent the royal send-off you do not want, I want nothing more than to see you happy, but maybe if you tried to look up at Lord Winston and see where his ideologies emerge from, then maybe you would notice something, something you might be missing.¡±

 Three In The Solar

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    He was the last to come after the day¡¯s fast had been broken, but he was not alone, he came with Ser Aaron, the young Kingsknight clad in gold in tow.


    One Kingsknight was enough to make Zephyr feel safe, he would not bother both of them with the task of guarding his back, unless a situation deemed it of necessity. It was Ser Calix he let take the day to himself, and maybe he would keep doing so for more days to come. He did not see the elderly lord commander as one for such a labour. His son was a man of gold as well, gold and silver just like his father, he was more than enough.


    Dante beamed a smile as he saw Zephyr waltz into the solar dressed in a black rich padded jerkin, and a gold cloak fastened to his left shoulder with a silver raven brooch. It was as though he had never seen a person before, even though one sat across from him. That one did not smile though, he just stared, seemingly in something alike to confusion or unsurety of why he was seated in the solar at this time. The auburn-haired man loved coats, he was dressed in one again, a grey one this time, but the auburn that matched his bunned hair was still on it, this time bedecked as stripes.


    Flynn rose to his feet, receding his unrelenting confusion to the end of his mind, while allowing the requisite courtesy he was to offer the king, take the stage¡ªthis he did as the door of the solar went shut. ¡°My king,¡± he greeted, his right hand placed on his left chest favoured with the raven pin of the king''s advisor, in a fist.


    ¡°Zephyr,¡± Dante corrected. He did no standing though, he was still seated, watching his half-brother and his Kingsknight stride to the high-seat, with a face that did little to hide his excitement. He was the one that brought up they gather afterall, he was sure to be happy that his wish was granted. ¡°Oh, sit Flynn. Your King is seated already.¡± Jesting, he told him, but he was of truth. Zephyr had already taken his seat, and Ser Aaron was behind at his left, the gold of the sun coming in from the small window at their rear, mixing indistinguishably with his gilded plates, while his oiled jet-black hair shone in the light. His great-helm was nowhere to be found, but his longsword was; it was strapped at his waist, his hand on its pommel: a golden stag with a pair of small horns that would do nothing to disrupt his grip.


    Flynn was seated now, and Dante took his voice to his brother. ¡°Jerkins¡­ we wear the same, only different in colour. You look tired, brother.¡± He was tired no doubt. His lower eyelids were black and swollen with small bags. ¡°Did you not sleep?¡± Dante asked, he with a look of concern and Flynn with a look of consideration. Ser Aaron looked down at his seated king as well, wondering what could have kept him awake. They all wondered, but aside from the guard he had told to make no mention of his night exploit, only he knew. Only he met her after all, and only he heard what she had said.


    The second branch¡­ all of them¡­ He glanced to his left at Dante, then to his right at Flynn, both watching him in the same silence he gave them, and he with tired eyes begging for a chance at sleep. His head throbbed and he was weary, he lacked the energy to neither question nor judge the loyalty of anyone at the moment, he was only here because he had grown to be a man of his word, his father had made sure of that. He called the meeting, and he would attend it, tired or not.


    ¡°It did not come,¡± Zephyr answered, all in. Even his voice requested for rest. He cleared his throat and spoke again, ¡°Do not mind me. I shall rest after our meeting.¡± A forced smile pushed the edges of his lips up the best it could, which was not enough, not nearly to show he had strength.


    ¡°You should rest, my king,¡± Flynn said, his voice tinted with the concern of his royal advisor, or maybe even: a friend. Was it? Zephyr was not sure. His head throbbed again, and he discarded his growing new habit of distrust.


    ¡°Zephyr,¡± he emended Flynn after his throbbing had stopped, which did not happen for long. He was the one that did the correcting now. ¡°How many more times do I have to tell you?¡± A weak grin came on his face.


    Dante had grown silent, assessing his brother for all the good it might do him, and him only, it was not doing Zephyr any good, it did not bring sleep to him, just another pair of eyes watching him like the faces he had seen last night.


    Zephyr turned to meet his gaze. ¡°I will be fine, brother. It¡¯s just sleep, it will come.¡±


    Dante was not convinced, at least that was what his demeanour said. ¡°Your milk, did you stop taking it?¡±


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    Flynn¡¯s lashes swept up at Dante and he blinked at that question.


    What milk¡­? Zephyr thought to himself. He did not have an answer, and he was too tired to even think up one. Bad is what he would call his situation, bad beyond doubt. Knowing nothing about yourself was more stressful than he thought it would be. Zephyr was who he was now, and he knew nothing about such person. ¡°Yes,¡± he answered Dante with what crossed his mind first.


    Flynn had a look of solicitude storm his eyes. ¡°Why would you do that, my king?¡± Zephyr and his half-brother paid his formality no mind. He was constantly fleeing from being matey with the words he offered Zephyr; understandable that he was the king, but the king tended not to mind him being chummy, only himself did the minding.


    ¡°You took the Almond for your nerves, my dear brother,¡± Dante began, and no doubt kept on going without relent, ¡°you know it¡¯s always been hard for you to sleep, stopping is not something that should have crossed your mind. I do not want you maltreating your body in such a manner. You¡¯re the king now, and a king must always be sound-minded to rule. How do you expect to do that with a blackened eye and a weary mind?¡± Dante was doubtless a brother in words, but was he in heart? Zephyr thought to put reasoning to it, but he would not be caught dead helping himself to another painful throb.


    He stopped there, and thought about something else. He thought about how Zephyr¡¯s sleeping disorder sounded a lot like the one that took him over after his father¡¯s death. He too could not take to sleep without milk as well, the faces he saw tensed him up, but milk did the sleep trick. We are alike in some way¡­ is it possible that he saw the faces as well¡­? He reasoned to himself, and surprisingly, his head did not drum a throb.


    ¡°Might I make sure the milk reached your chambers after, M¡¯Grace?¡± Ser Aaron asked, as curtsy as expected of a Kingsknight.


    Zephyr sighed. It seemed Milk of the Almond was what the other drank, and that was what he would begin to drink too. He had never tried almond before, but if it proved fruitful to calm his nerves and grant him sleep, then he would take it. Afterall, just like Prince Dante had said, he was the king and he was to rule, like it or not. ¡°Make sure of that, ser,¡± he accepted the Kingsknight¡¯s offer. ¡°Is that fine with you both?¡± He gave a questioning glance each at the two seated men before him, advisor on his right and half-brother on his left.


    ¡°I shall make do with that,¡± Dante answered, while Flynn nodded only once and slightly, his lips unopened.


    When Zephyr had called the meeting, he had been of mind to find out one or two things hidden to him, one or two things about this world he was dumped into, but his weary mind was not helping him with that at the moment. He wondered if he should just call it off and call for it again later, but did he have such time? He recalled he had a bride selection coming up, and after that was the tourney. He used to watch tourneys in movies, and he knew how tiring they could be. They would span from dawn till dusk, and sometimes over a few days. There were also the night faces, and¡­ Melisandre¡­ if they both came again, there goes his night¡¯s sleep. It fraught impossible.


    ¡°Why did you call us together again, my king? You mentioned that we should not come together for a while less than a fortnight ago, so why the sudden change?¡± Flynn, taken over by his unwavering curiosity, broke Zephyr out of his reverie like wheat bread ready to be dipped in mutton stew.


    Why¡­? Zephyr thought. That¡¯s my question¡­ Why are we three seemingly best buddies¡­? You¡­ he side-eyed Flynn¡­ someone I suspect, and you¡­ he did the same for Dante¡­ someone from the second branch, the one that witch said¡ª


    His head throbbed harder now. One, two, three, and everywhere went silent. Dante had begun speaking, taking glances at him while he talked to Flynn, but he was not hearing anything, all he heard were his slow breaths. In and out. In and out.


    Ah¡­ I¡¯m so tired¡­ it feels like my exhaustion is doubled¡­ I¡¯ve never been so tired before, what the heck is wrong with me¡­?


    It went dark and it brightened again. In and out. It went dark and it brightened again. In and out. It went dark and it brightened again¡­ but this time, his vision had grown blurry. It went dark, and it did not brighten again. He felt his body thud to the floor feebly.


    What is this? Am I dying again¡­? He asked himself. No! He heard it, faintly but loudly. It was there, the voice, it came again, answering his question. It had not stormed his head in a while, but there it was, bellowing something again like it always did, although this time he could not hear it, it was faint and unhearable. At least it had told him he was not dying, he was relieved to hear that. Now he knew the darkness was for sleep, not death. He would wake up soon. He would.

 On-The-Fence

    <h2><u>FLYNN CLAYMORE</u></h2>


    He sat on the four-legged wooden chair beside the grand bed in the king¡¯s chambers, watching Zephyr abed naked beneath the comfort of his blanket.


    It had come as a shock when it had happened. Zephyr was without his crown there in the solar, but he was still the king, and¡­ he fell to the ground, not like a king, but like he was a tree hacked down in one swift swing by a burly woodcutter. The prince, Dante, had fallen his seat to the same ground the king lay upon, and was about to be upon him, but he held not a candle to the gilded knight in speed. Ser Aaron was there before him, already having the king¡¯s arms flailing over his golden shoulders, while his silver hands held the king¡¯s thighs in place. They hurried out of the solar then, all three of them, the fourth resting on armoured back and gone somewhere they could not follow.


    ¡°The Grand Savant, now!¡± Dante had screamed at the black cloaks manning the door before he had even pulled it completely open, and the two of them scurried off hastily, their stunned faces, seeking questions they might never get answers to, visible beneath their unvisored armet.


    They were already at the king¡¯s quarters and in his bedchamber when Grand Savant Aelred arrived, with a small brown bag of leather in hand and a wailing voice behind him. The queen was here. The guards had supposedly split their roles, one had gone to the grand savant and the other to the queen. Whatever the one that went to the queen had told her, brought her to her son¡¯s chamber muddled, her face showing clearly how shaken and troubled she was. It took a step further, as clear streams each flowed out when she saw him looking lifeless and lying flat while watching the ceiling with closed eyes.


    They parted for her, Flynn and Dante, as she rushed to her son¡¯s side, her red gown covering her knees upon her falling to the floor. ¡°Aelred!¡± She screamed. ¡°What is wrong with my son?! Tell me what is wrong with my son!¡± Her hands gripped Zephyr¡¯s tightly. It was warm. Still warm.


    The grand savant could not hurry as much as he used to for the previous kings, and they knew better than to rush him, that is unless they wanted him to lie the same as the king. But he knew he was taking too long, a little bit too long, his body had lost flesh with age and somehow grew heavier, but he had to put Queen Thalia¡¯s mind at rest or she would no doubt rush him soon enough.


    He put his bag on the table, then dragged himself like a snail, along with his large robe of white that swept the floor, towards the king¡¯s bed. He was a little bit faster as he got to the king¡¯s bed, at least quicker than any snail would have. He put forward two middle-fingers, both wrinkled like the other three on his hand and the five of the other hand, and placed them beneath Zephyr¡¯s nose. They were shaking, but he got what he wanted. ¡°The king lives, my queen, rest assured.¡± He held his robe and turned back to the table, resuming his walk. This time a snail would have been faster.


    Her tears stopped with the old savant¡¯s assurance now, but she was still afraid. ¡°How long till he wakes?¡± She asked, her voice shaking like the grand savant¡¯s hand that was carefully unlocking his bag on the table. ¡°How long do I have to wait till my son wakes?¡±


    ¡°Only the ravens know, my queen. I shall do my part and hope he wakes sooner than later. Pull off his clothes. Help the gilded ser with that, my lord. If you would too, my prince.¡± The queen moved away for them to do as the man of white had told them.


    After his clothes were off, the grand savant touched him here and there. At his neck, his chest, his belly, and beneath his blue hair at the soft edges of his head. ¡°The king has been without sleep for two nights I see. That was too long for him to not sleep,¡± the old man said as he walked away from the bed and back to the table, where he brought out a small conical steel tube and a paper of crushed mint leaves.


    ¡°Two days?¡± Thalia whimpered from where she stood, her eyes red from tears. ¡°Why would Zephyr not have slept for two days? He takes his milk, always.¡±


    ¡°That question I cannot answer, my queen.¡± The grand savant took a pinch of the crushed mint and dipped it into the tube, then filled it with the water from a jar sitting on the table, before shaking it vigorously, that is as much as his weak muscles could allow¡­ ¡°My good knight, please shake this tube for me, don¡¯t stop until I say so.¡± ¡­Which was not much, apparently. He handed over the tube to square-faced Ser Aaron.


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    ¡°He has not taken his milk for a while now, queen mother,¡± Dante answered the question for the grand savant, and it left the queen stunned, she was even devoid of words. ¡°But are you sure it was two days?¡± Dante asked the grand savant.


    Flynn spoke too, ¡°He was fine at the council meeting, and that was a day before.¡±


    ¡°His exhaustion was doubled, my dear lord. And a doubled exhaustion is either a culmination of days without sleep or the exhaustion of two in one body. The latter seems too queer to be possible, doesn¡¯t it? Oh, that¡¯s enough. Yes, yes. Stop shaking.¡± Grand Savant Aelred took the tube from Ser Aaron and put on his monocles. ¡°If that is all the question, could you hold his head up for this fragile old man?¡±


    Flynn was about to, that was until Dante hurried past him and put his palm behind Zephyr¡¯s head to raise it a bit. ¡°Thank you, my prince,¡± the old man said as he began pouring the contents of the tube into the king¡¯s mouth, while straining his eyes through the monocle. ¡°There, all done. If he does not wake by the time the moon is out, then he should on the ¡®morrow. Fear not, my queen.¡± Dante laid Zephyr¡¯s head back, and as the grand savant began packing his bags, then did Thaddeus enter.


    ¡°Mother! What happened to brother?¡± He was panting, hard. Thalia opened her arms, but he ignored her and ran towards the bed.


    ¡°Do not climb, my prince. Now that he has the chance to sleep, you should let him sleep.¡± Grand Savant Aelred was done now, he removed his monocle, dipped it into his bag, and readied himself to leave. ¡°If anything else is needed, I should be summoned. Then, if you will, my queen, my princes¡¯, my lord, and my good knight.¡± He bowed his head slightly, his neck holding it with whatever strength it had left, before he made his way through the door that Thaddeus¡¯ guard had not yet closed shut. Dante hurried after the old man, muttering something to him.


    Thaddeus wanted to stay, but Thalia insisted he left his brother to rest, he was stubborn and she had no choice but to take him herself, leaving Zephyr to his Kingsknight and his royal advisor.


    But now it was only Flynn left, he had sent Ser Aaron to help with the readying of the milk of the almond, in case the king awoke anytime.


    The sun gazed through the chamber¡¯s window from up in the sky mildly, as if it too was sad that the king was in such a state.


    Flynn glanced at the shut door, then turned his eyes back to the still face of the blanketed king, and sighed sharply. ¡°Why?¡± He said, asking the sleeping blue-haired naked man, even though he knew he could not hear him in his dark slumber. ¡°Why?¡± He asked again, with a look that was part grief and¡­ ¡°why do you still live?¡± ¡­part disgust.


    ¡°Why did she have to come then? Why did you have to come back? Why did you return? You should be gone. Dead and gone.¡± He dipped his hands into his auburn hair as he lowered his face in spite. ¡°Why are you making things so hard for me? Why do you decide to haunt me?¡± His voice had begun to crack now, soften and crack. The disgust was seemingly gone and only grief remained.


    After a while of burying his face silently in his palms, he began to speak again, ¡°You know I lied. To Melisandre. I lied to her. I told her I did what I did because you had begun to suspect something, but the truth is the more I waited the harder it became, it would have gotten to a point where I would not have been able to harm you. I could not tell her that, right Zephyr? I would look weak. When I noticed that you had lost your memories, I was shocked but I was happy, happy you did not remember that I was the one who poisoned you.¡± He took his eyes from his palms and back to the bed. ¡°Do you know how hard it was to do that? You were my best friend, it was as though I was being pierced with a hundred knives, fucking hundred knives, Zephyr, a hundred. It was hurting to watch you choke until you died, and here you are again, trying to make me go through all that once more. I don¡¯t know if I can kill you again¡­ and Dante, I don¡¯t know if I could kill both of you.


    ¡°What would you have me do? Discard my revenge for our friendship? How could I do that after what she went through? What would you and the wise ravens have me do? Who should advise me, who? Wake up and answer me.¡±


    ¡°M¡¯lord,¡± the Kingsknight¡¯s voice came from beyond the door, startling Flynn to a calm and a sharp exhale. ¡°I have returned with the almond.¡±


    With Flynn¡¯s reply, the door came open, but as the Kingsknight entered so did Flynn leave. He was done watching Zephyr. He was done watching his friend.

 Forever Left In The Dark

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr breathed a deep exhale as his eyes wandered open slowly. It was heavy, the same as his body, his eyes felt like it had been shut for a decade, and even though the yellow glow dimming the room was faint and blurry, it still made them pinch and his head throb.


    It took something of an eternity, but the blur before his eyes finally went its way, allowing him to glimpse a lucid view of the ceiling that hung above him as flat as his body. He turned his head left to the opened shutters of the small window of his bedchamber and looked at the moon hanging from the sky with the same silvery silver as his eyes. It was as though he had never seen the moon before, such a beautiful sight it was from where he lay.


    It was little surprise, seeing as darkness was where he had been before, it might have been a dream, but it felt less dreamy than the ones he used to have, it felt real, as real as anything could be, and for a first, the faces were nowhere to be found, all of them gone without a trace.


    In the midst of black¡ªstarless and lightless black¡ªhe was floating, for how long he did not know; days, months, maybe years, he was not sure, it was long, he could tell even though time seemed not to exist in that black space. He had read in a few books, none of which names he could have cared to remember at that moment, that the loneliness which came from succumbing to the darkness of a void, could make a man spiral into insanity, and it seemed to almost prove true for him¡­ almost¡­ if not for the voice, the one that kept him from falling deep into the dark.


    He heard it the same as he had heard people speak, only its was a crack, like the voice came forth from a radio with a breaking transmission, but it was not in his head this time, it was before him, like a person, a real person.


    There was no way he could see in the pitch darkness he was home to, there was no light and there was no way, but his eyes told him someone was before him, floating as he floated, and hazy in the dark. His ears helped him validate what his eyes told him, the voice was close, cracking and close. ¡°M¡­ b¡­d¡­y¡­ b¡­k,¡± it had said, not once, not twice, but with every passing moment he had remained with its company, cracking shrilly in something akin to anger.


    Sometimes it would wail before it cracked, the wail was strident and clear and sorrowful to his ears¡­ and painful. He would try to lift his hands whenever the voice began to wail, but it would not move, it was as though they had been bound to a tight chain anchored to a large boulder, and dropped to the ends of the darkness. When his hands did not move, his legs became his other option, he would kick whoever was before him and make them stop, he thought, but they were the same as his hands, they felt bound and unmovable as well.


    His own voice did not work, he could undo his lips and scream all he wanted, but his throat would not give a sound. The other had taken his, that was the thought he had when he grew tired of trying. The shrill wails and cracking speeches did not stop like he did though, they kept filling his ears with a voice he later found recognizable. It was the one he heard sometimes, not the witch¡¯s own that called, but his, the one in his mind. Why was it wailing now though? He did not know. It never wailed before, it never cried, but it did now, making his ears ache, spouting some nonsense he could not understand. He was tired of it, he was tired.


    He blinked and went from dark to dark, however, the dark he arrived at was not the one he left, this one had light, white and yellow faint lights.


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    A sleepy mumble followed by little tuts, which came from where his legs were spread out beneath his blanket of thick wool, called his eyes from the light of the moon he watched. They were still as heavy as they had been, bound and unmovable, only they were not bound by what he thought it was, they were bound by a wilful boy of ten, with dark hair that he would say he did not want tousled, sprawled above them in a sleep.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake?¡± This one came from his right, and there his eyes went, his head turning slightly on the feather-pillow, going from his sleeping brother to the gaze of the woman he now called his mother. She sat in red with unkempt dark hair and eyes glistening with joy and a spicy bit of sadness mingled within. ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± She assured herself that he was, not questioning this time.


    ¡°That I am, Mother,¡± he said, managing a soft smile at the end of his hoarse talk. The warmth of her hands were on his own hand, the one she was close to, chasing off the cold of night from it, while his other hand twitched in envy. He was a sad view. A king lying flat on his back, looking weak and unfitting. What a king he was. He knew he looked pathetic, maybe not to his mother and brother in this world, but what about the others, the ones that are his subordinates, what did they think? It has not yet even been close to two fortnights since he sat the throne, and he was already lying weakly. He did not know losing a night¡¯s sleep would prove so costly, but was it really just a night? His body felt weaker than that, like he had lost far more sleep than just one night.


    Her warm grip on his hand tightened as her dove-like eyes of obsidian lingered over his weak face. When last did he feel the warm touch and see the caring eyes of a mother, of his mother. He had slowly forgotten its feel, but now he remembered. It was good, it had always been. Maybe this was not only a second chance at life, but also one at motherly love. Maybe it was pastime he accepted¡­ accepted the love this woman offered him. He had nothing to lose, all he had lost when he died, even long before that when his father had died. He was already in possession of the real Zephyr¡¯s name, body, and throne; he was living his life now, and it would prove no harm to take the love of his mother as well, the love of his family. It had become his rightfully, the moment he awoke in this body, everything had become his.


    Zephyr turned his head back to gaze up at the ceiling, before slamming his eyes shut and giving way to a soft and deep exhale. ¡°Why do you keep loving me?¡± He was scarred, the events of his past still lingered in his mind somewhere, and even though the question he asked proved to be nothing short of odd, to him it was the first step he needed to take for him to accept them. ¡°My father is dead, so why do you keep loving me?¡± He opened his eyes and turned them back to his right, where he saw the confusion that ploughed her brows, and the tumult that gleamed in her eyes.


    ¡°Why ask such, my son?¡± Thalia wondered what had overtaken him.


    ¡°An answer¡­ I would very much prefer.¡± As soft as his voice was the smile that came afterwards, and it made it impossible for her to pry further as to why he was reasoning the way he did now.


    ¡°I did not choose to love you because of your father, I chose to love you because you are my son. The seasons may come and go but that will never change. You and your brother are all I have, and no amount of grief will make me love either of you any less.¡± She let one of her hands loose from his palm and gave it to his blue hair, stroking it calmly. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    That I do¡­ he intoned. Forgive me Zephyr, I¡¯ll be taking your family as well¡­


    He answered her question and hair-stroking with a smile, one that brought the same to Thalia¡¯s face and filled her with warmth, and one that also placed an approval on their acceptance. He was Zephyr and they were his family. Yes, from now on he will formally take them as his family, and Thalia was now his mother.

 Actions Not Words

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Damon held in his hand a goblet of wine, like he always did. He never seemed to grow tired of drinking them¡ªof filling his lips with their taste¡ªup until now. It was sweet wine he held, but the tang his tongue relished was nothing of sweet to him, it was bitter, and he had grown tired of drinking something that did not suit his taste.


    ¡°Sad he did not die in his sleep,¡± he grimaced after he took one last drink from the cup, before placing it on the table of four edges he stood in front of.


    He had shown himself to his mother¡¯s bedchamber as soon as silver took the place of gold in the sky, showering the castle in a mix of dark and grey. It was the latter he wanted atop his head, but it was the light of the former that splattered upon the brown mop of his hair which was as stern as the face he called his own. Not silver, gold! He spat when his eyes glimpsed the moon.


    ¡°Maybe we should just kill him ourselves. Don¡¯t you think so too, Mother?¡± Damon notioned. ¡°Rid ourselves of that barmy bastard.¡± He snapped thumb with middle finger before saying, ¡°Just like that.¡±


    She sat below the only narrow window of her bedchamber, gazing at Damon with a face that was filled with nothing short of annoyance. With slanted eyebrows and narrow eyes she had watched her son speak, even though she had things to say. She had left her lips shut, choosing to let him speak his fill, but it seemed his fill was not yet to come, and now she had to cut back on the freedom she had given him. ¡°Do you know what day it is, Damon?¡± He took no notice of her piercing eyes, he had always been so shortsighted, and even though she wanted him to sit the throne, he no doubt angered her a few times, and now was one of such times.


    ¡°What day it is? Why would I give a hound¡¯s ass to that?¡± His hands folded behind his back as he paced about the room in unfastened linen grey robes meant for the night¡¯s sleep.


    She continued, ignoring her son¡¯s vulgarity. ¡°In two days it¡¯ll be the betrothal of the son of that wench, Thalia.¡± Damon stopped his prancing and turned his gaze to meet his mother¡¯s stare, but somehow he still took no notice of the glint of annoyance perusing her eyes, it flew over his head like the poorly made kite of a child lost to the drifting wind. ¡°In two days it¡¯ll become the seventh that the bastard has sat the throne, your throne, and you dare stand before me sad that he did not die in his sleep? Sad that the ravens did not pick him up in his bed? Sad? Sad?¡±


    ¡°Take it easy, Mother,¡± he immediately put in before she said any more. Maybe he missed it because his eyes could not see well in the dark of night, despite the moon¡¯s light and the dim yellow from the chamber¡¯s candlelight, or maybe he missed it because her voice was still as calm as the gentle waters of Fishersbay, home to serene stillness, but if only he could strain his eyes to look further, he would see the little bubbles finding their way from the depths of that calm river, showing signs that a tsunami was about to bring itself to the surface. ¡°I will take care of him,¡± he added, witlessly.


    ¡°And how would you do that?¡± Ophelia rose from her chair, the hem of her blue night-cloth dancing to the beat of her slow steps, as she approached her son where he stood in the middle of the bedchamber a few distance from the unlit hearth. ¡°Will you kill him?¡± With one step of her foot at a time, she uttered something. ¡°Surely you must have a way to do that.¡± Another foot in front of the other. If only Damon could see, he would have glimpsed how menacing his mother was at this moment, and how much he should mind his words. ¡°You haven¡¯t even been able to get the grand savant on your side. How are you going to take care of him?¡± She was at his face now. He stood a tad taller than her, with bold eyes and faint brushes of hair growing on his chin, but in her own eyes he was still the small, gullible son she held below her breasts once.


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    He watched his mother demurely, his hands still behind his back in a tightened embrace. ¡°Worry not, Mother. Lord Varyn¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lord Varyn?¡± She broke his talk. ¡°Do you think I put Lord Varyn in the council to deal with such matters?¡± She blinked scornfully. ¡°He is a craven damfool only in that seat to relay the words spoken in the council to us. You expect something from such a man?¡± Her head cocked in wonder, seemingly in shock at her dear son¡¯s reasoning.


    ¡°Do not speak to me like I¡¯m a fool, Mother. I know what I am doing,¡± Damon raged, his forehead and cheeks tinting a titchy red in the dark. He was not a kid, but she was treating him as one. Infuriated was what his hastened breathing beckoned to his mother, but she had less care.


    ¡°Oh, small wonder of that. And you are here,¡± she looked him from up to down and back up, eyeing him with a frown, ¡°standing the same man as the day before and the day before that, a man without the crown. Tell me, what is it you know you are doing? What is your mighty plan to take the crown without the grand savant on our side?¡±


    He no doubt had the same temper as his mother, both hotheaded they were, but the itchiness to tell her about his new pawn, overtook the infuriation his body welled in. ¡°I¡¯m going to get the grand savant on our side, that I will do, and I have already taken steps to ensure that. The lesser savant, Arryn, I have talked to him and brought him over, he will¡ª¡±


    He was about to raise his head in pride while further barking out his great plan, when a gasp sharp like a freshly made dagger from the forge, left his lips as his face turned to his right unwillingly, and it was not until after a few seconds did he notice the itch on his left cheek. Ophelia¡¯s palm had allied itself forcefully for a brief moment with the face-flesh on his left, leaving it quivering in hot red, maybe even as hot as molten steel. His embracing hands behind his back loosened then, dropping languidly to his side while he licked the suffering cheek with his tongue inly.


    ¡°Do you grow stupid by the day, Damon? Arryn? And you did not think to consult with me before meeting with him?¡± Her voice was calm but harsh. Harsh like the icy cold of winter that would be upon them as soon as autumn drew its curtain to a close. She cupped his chin and turned his face back to hers, it was devoid of anger, he kept it caged inside, he dared not let it free, she would slap him as many times as needed to draw him back to his senses. ¡°What did you do to make you believe he¡¯s on your side? Threaten him maybe? I won¡¯t tell you to not be stupid seeing as you are lunging yourself in kind towards it, but I¡¯ll let you in on a secret. You may have forgotten but you are the only one fighting to be king, Zephyr is already on the throne, he is the king. What do you think would happen if the savant takes your word of treason to him? Or did he not make mention of that to you, your loyal savant?¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t happen, Mother,¡± his voice was broken and not as assuring as how he wanted it to sound, and it did less to assure Ophelia. His words had the weight of a pickle seed to her at this moment, a small budding pickle.


    ¡°Pray it will not, pray my dear son.¡± She let go of his chin then took up the goblet of wine he did not finish and gulped it down, her nose curling in response. It was bitter to her too. ¡°Seeing as our heads aren¡¯t up on the spikes of blood square, then your savant has not gone to the bastard yet.¡± She fell on the bed covered in sheets with the same silver colour as the moon, and lay sideways, turning her back to Damon. ¡°I don¡¯t care how you do it, but keep him from going to the king. Threaten him further or have his tongue, you must rein him, if not, then I¡¯ll have Dante become the king if not you. To me it does not matter who sits the throne, as long as the crown is where I can grasp it myself, so do not think yourself the only one I can make king, your brother is just a year younger and more than capable enough to ascend in your place. Come to my bedchamber with your nonsense one more time and you shall become my second son.¡±


    Dante¡­? Damon¡¯s hands tensed up to a fist, and his teeth gnashed on each other frustratingly in silence. His mother mentioning his brother as an heir was nothing short of a painful and swift stab to his sides. He was not going to give his throne up for no one, not even his brother.

 Silver Hair, Silver Eyes

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    Renly Bailiff had the truth of it. The king was a man gracious in his features. With hair blue with the beauty of the sky at dusk, he was breathtaking to all who gazed upon him, and she no doubt had hers taken as well when she had seen him walk through the large doors of the royal hall, following the herald¡¯s announcement.


    He was dressed in a grey-black doublet with a golden cape reaching all the way to his hind-knee, caressing his back in glory. His sleeves were a dagged one that fell to the same length as his cape, patterned with the wings of ravens in gold. He had not the pig face she thought he would have, he was fair and the most beguiling man she had ever seen, a man all would want to wed and bed, and even whore.


    ¡°Seems I had the truth of it, my lady,¡± Renly had muttered to her while they watched him from the gallery take his seat on the throne. Yes, she knew, she saw now, he was beautiful, but she still did not want herself caged all for the beauty of a man. Beddable and bewitching as he was, she still did not want to sacrifice her freedom for beauty she herself had¡­ If only that was true.


    ¡°Yes, Bailiff. Seems you did,¡± Audrey had whispered back in a low defeated tone. She did not know which troubled her the most now, the tinge of glee she felt knowing that the king was not the ugly man she had believed he was, and that ending up as his bride would not be as bad as she used to have thought it out to be, or the slight possibility that she ends up wedding the king and becoming a piece in whatever plans her father had, while she sits caged in this castle of shivering rocks.


    And it seemed more of a possibility with every gentle wave of the king¡¯s hand, dismissing the high ladies that came before him. Tall and short, bony and beefy faced, enameled and curtsied, none seemed to grasp his interest, none at all. Maybe he would dismiss her like that, she thought, but was that what she really wanted?


    Her eyes had not left him ever since the proceedings began, and her consuming gaze which devoured him whole, seemed to block out her hearings to the world around her. She glimpsed the high ladies come and go; one, two, three, all beautiful and seemingly with a lot of assets from their houses to offer the throne, but none of their names she could hear nor care to recall, her focus was on the king and on him alone, that was until Renly Bailiff made a remark she did not want to admit.


    ¡°Your eyes seem to be on the king. Do I have the truth of it as well that you might be considering being his bride now?¡± She did not notice the crooked josh of a smile that came after he spoke, but she no doubt understood what he was trying to do. She had gotten her senses returned to her now that he had called her gaze back from the charm of the man on the throne, and she would not fall for his tricks as long as she had it.


    She slapped, with the back of her palm, his belly hidden beneath the woollen long-robe of scarlet he wore. ¡°What nonsense you speak, Bailiff. I¡¯m just wondering how well your inexistent plan will go. You seem to forget that you were unable to hide my beauty like you said you would,¡± she whispered, while watching the eighth return back to the gallery north of her and west of the royal hall. Would I return in such way too¡­? She wondered.


    ¡°All I had said I owe to the direty of the moment, my lady. Your beauty is impossible to hide, and you know that.¡± He groaned slightly as he turned his head backwards slightly to his left to watch the ninth high lady walk down from their own gallery, his body tingling from the thick perfume she wore. ¡°None of these high ladies hold a candle to your elegance, my lady of Flamesworth.¡±


    ¡°None of the lords in the realm hold a candle to your wisecrack mouth, my Lord Bailiff.¡± It was a jest, he knew, but he made the most of it.


    ¡°Oh, my lady called me a lord,¡± he said as he turned his head sharply back to Audrey. ¡°The ravens must have chosen to bestow me with the cover of their wings,¡± he chuckled silently. It would not do to make it loud, they were before the king, just at the gallery where they sat closer to the high windows of the royal hall, showering them with the sunless light of day.


    ¡°The ravens should stop wasting their wings on you, and bestow me with them instead to shield me from the eyes of the king. It would be a much better use for their wings.¡± She had a bright face home to a lot of smiles, but the smile was not there now, her face was of confusion and thought, and not once during their discussion did she take her eyes to her steward, they were anchored below, at the bronze throne occupying the warmth of the king.


    Renly took notice, but he had no cue as to what went on in her mind. What better than to ask, he thought. ¡°My lady? Anything of trouble on your mind.¡±


    Audrey smacked her lips softly. ¡°You ask me that when the trouble is already before me? I sit trying to think of a way to not end up caged as a pawn for my father, so it would dawn good if you let me be for a moment Bailiff, I would love to escape his hold before I wander into it.¡± But what is wrong with me¡­? Am I attracted to the king¡­? She shook her head deep within where no one could see. No¡­ it¡¯s just a fleeting desire for his beauty, I¡¯ll make sure not to end up as his bride, it will all fade away after that¡­


    It was all to no avail, her thinking did not bloom flowers before the king waved his hand again, and with the sounds of the footsteps of the ninth and the echoing murmurs filling the royal hall, the herald¡¯s cry came, and with it the sound of her name. ¡°Lady Audrey of House Flamesworth!¡±


    Eyes¡¯ perused her irritatingly, for some reasons, as she stood and began to wander down the steps of the gallery, past the column of guards standing beneath the banner of a raven standing atop a diagonal sword on a field of gold, and towards the centre of the royal hall, where she stopped her graceful stride just below the dais, but before a long four edged table with two men sitting before it, across from each other. She had been taught grace since childhood, and despite the tenseness her body wallowed in at the moment, it was as evident as a needle in a haystack.


    She looked at the men seated at the table. The one on the left wore a long padded velvet coat and had pretty hair tied into a ponytail¡ªa bun would have been better, she thought. His hair was auburn almost as bright as her mother¡¯s, but its lack in fiery tone made it fall short of that grace. No one came closer to the red of the phoenix than her mother, no one.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The other on the right wore linen clothes, top in grey and pants in the colour of coal, his black hair twirled and looked to be damp at its edges, but nothing dripped from it. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she was sure she did not imagine the little boil growing at the edge of his nose which he kept trying to hide. It¡¯s just a boil¡­ she thought.


    ¡°The king listens,¡± the auburn-haired man said, calling her gaze from the man of boil and to him, with a quill in hand, preparing to be put to work on the parchment laid before him.


    Her eyes went slowly from him to the king as she prepared to greet, but it quickly went to the floor without taking as much as a satisfying look at the man on the throne. Her arm joints held her blue scarf with elegance, as the thumb and forefinger on each of her hands picked up the edge of her satin-silk dress of silver while she bowed curtsily, her hair jewelled with tears of rubies aglow like fire, and embroidered into one long whip, falling over her left shoulder to mix in with the colour of her dress. ¡°Hail His Grace! King and lord of Ravenwing, watcher of the skies and the lands and the hills and the rivers. I am Audrey Flamesworth, daughter of Winston Flamesworth, lord of Ironhold, and I present myself before you in the grace of the ravens.¡± Her chest tightened and the corset made it ever so daunting, while the silver choker gripping her throat made her neck ache with her bow.


    ¡°Raise your head,¡± the king said and she heard; his tender voice faint with a little deepness. Goosepimples spread all over her arms, she was glad her sleeves covered them, they would no doubt be the size of large watermelon seeds, she would have no one see how much the king¡¯s voice made her quiver in something that she found akin to excitement, especially not her steward above in the gallery.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡± She let her gown drop, and she slowly raised her head. She would see him now, up close, she would see¡­ Ravens! What she glimpsed from the gallery was not what she saw now, there was no justice done to this man¡¯s beauty from up there. Down here, she saw his narrow eyes clearly, his fair skin shined, even better than hers, and his hair¡­ oh, his blue hair that the golden crown gemmed on all sides sat atop, oiled and glossed¡­ he was too pretty to be called a man, any longer his hair grew and he might as well have been called a lady. But what really took her away was his eyes, it was silver, like what Renly had told her that day at the brothel, like¡­ Her brows narrowed at the thought. She had seen such eyes before, but where? She could not recall.


    ¡°Speak,¡± the auburn-haired man interrupted her thoughts with a tone of urgency. The king had not the time to dawdle here, she knew, and neither did she. The more she gazed at him, the more she would want to be with him, she needed to make sure he waved her off like the others. It would be simple. It should.


    Audrey breathed a calming exhale. ¡°Do you mind if I speak truthfully, Your Grace?¡± She wondered what the look on her steward¡¯s face would be, but she could not glance up at him, however she did hear the little murmurs coming from both the galleries at the eastern and western wings of the royal hall. She paid them no mind though. She was beginning to get the idea why her father wanted her to marry the king with ever so much urge, the name Flamesworth was not one that had a place in court, they did not seem to be welcome here. This was not a place for her.


    The king leaned forward in his throne and placed his chin atop his hand. ¡°Do just that, if you wish.¡± He was not smiling, and it made it harder for her, but little want she had for his smile, it would only make his beauty greater.


    ¡°Wedlock to the throne is all about what is best for the kingdom, that is if what I have been taught from childbirth was of any truth, and I say with all honesty, Your Grace, that House Flamesworth has nothing of any importance to offer the throne if I become betrothed to you.¡± Gasps echoed off the walls, shocking ones and even ones of relief, and the murmurs increased by a great fold, until the herald called for silence. She continued, ¡°We are the lowest of the noble families in the realm, and we lack neither enough gold to form a trickle of what the throne already has. Our levies count to at most a hundred, and if we dip our heads into the gutters, then maybe we could enlist a hundred more. With an army of two hundred, we have not enough to offer the throne.


    ¡°The only thing we have is our sword making skills, and that we¡¯ve signed off already to the throne. You already own everything we have, therefore I find it believable that entering into wedlock with someone like me would be a waste to the kingdom and all the prosperity it should have and deserve. That is the truth I wished to say to you, Your Grace.¡± With that I should be waved off¡­ She had just plunged her house lower than it already was, but what hurt her the most was not how her father would feel¡ªthe man cared little for hers, so why should she care for his¡ªbut what hurt her the most, was that she would no doubt lose the chance to further gaze at the king¡¯s beauty so close ever again, but if it was for her freedom, she would gladly do it all once more. Nothing was greater than that.


    The murmurs grew louder than before, talks she did not want to listen to. Some echoed words of surprise and wonder of why she did what she did, while some were happy that she did such, those were undoubtedly the ones that could not stand her beauty, and some further kept up with their dirty talks of insults of her house, none she mattered about though, all she wanted now was to turn and bewitch herself with the scrunched expression that would be all over her steward¡¯s face. She would smile then, maybe laugh.


    The herald cried silence again, and the murmurs faded.


    ¡°Do you mean to say you do not desire sitting as queen of this kingdom? Leave your mind off your house and what you have to offer, you do not desire sitting beside me as queen?¡± The king asked, his narrow eyes still narrow, his expression unchanged, like though he was not surprised the same as the others in the royal hall. ¡°You do not want the power that comes with it?¡±


    ¡°Everyone bears a desire for such, Your Grace. To sit as queen of a kingdom is something that sweetens the mind of all, but my desire for that is not the greater one, it is the one that is little, and even if it was the greater one, my value to the throne has made it insignificant. Please forgive my insolence, Your Grace, but that is how I feel.¡± Audrey bowed slightly again, and by the time she raised her head back to the gaze of the king, she met a winsome smile cuddling his face, it had changed, his expression had changed, and she wondered why as her eyebrows squeezed in perplexity.


    ¡°Flynn,¡± the king voiced, ¡°call the bridal selection to a close, I have chosen my bride. Audrey, is it? Take as long as you want, and bring back whoever you want, but I shall have you return to be my bride on the day of the tourney. Is that when the ceremony is again, Flynn? Yes, then you should be here before the tourney. You will be queen.¡±


    Flynn gestured to the herald and he called the proceedings to a close. The king stood and swaggered out of the royal hall gently, ignoring her face of confusion, the auburn-haired man leaving with him, along with the boil-nosed one, others in the gallery took to leave too, but that they did not do without the unending murmurs and spiteful words towards her, whereas she could not move a step from where she stood. She was dumbfounded, wondering what had just happened, and how it did. Her eyes turned to gaze up at the chaotic movements of the western gallery where she had stayed, and there she saw Renly at the edge, watching her with a pitiful smile, which confirmed what she knew happened. It was true. She was to be queen.

 Motives

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Whispering was the calm wind in the dark of the crescent moonlit night, chanting a soft chilly tune to him as he took his step to a halt in the midst of flower beds, with a blazing torch in hand.


    At an arm¡¯s stretch away from where he stood she sat on the edge of a brick flower bed, Melisandre in her cloak darkened with the colour of burnt wood, unhooded and watching him from below with a gaze he could not see with perfection. She had a smile taping her lips though, that he saw, a furtive smile. If only he could hear the thoughts of people, he would not be stuck in this constant loop of wariness and profound helplessness.


    ¡°Greetings, Your Grace,¡± she said while rising from where she sat, with a bow of deft etiquette following shortly after. ¡°And congratulations. I heard she has the white skin of a dove, and no doubt the beauty befitting a queen. A nice catch if I am allowed the pleasure to say. With your beauty and hers, your unborn children would no doubt be the bane of their opposite sex.¡± She lifted her head and let her eyes wander to him, his own face which was bathed in the light of the torch he held close to himself, stared plain and unsmiling. ¡°Might I take that burden this time? The last we met, you did not trust me, I hope that is changed.¡± Her hand went outstretched in hopes of taking the blazing torch from the king.


    Zephyr¡¯s night robe swirled with another whisper of the wind, and the golden yellow danced atop his hand bemusedly. ¡°For a being that pries into the minds of others, you have no clue as to what goes on in there. Our relationship remains the same as last time,¡± he took a step closer and stretched the torch towards her, ¡°giving you the torch has no change to that.¡±


    She took it into her grasp with another smile, another furtive smile but curved at a different edge that told Zephyr it was forced. His mind had been hazy and stressed the last they saw, but now that he saw a jot bit clearer, he was not entirely sure she was the ally he hoped she would be. Oh, how much he wanted her to be one, but now that he watched her face embrace the warmth of the blazing torch¡¯s yellow, she glimmered nothing short of suspicion.


    ¡°Granted,¡± Melisandre began saying, ¡°trust has to be built. Pardon my impudence, Your Grace, I shall work to build such trust.¡±


    Zephyr sauntered past her and took a seat on the brick bed of fennels she stood before, which had been previously home to her weight, while saying, ¡°Build what you want, none of it I have any care for. I have come with a new set of questions, but before I put you to answer them, I shall hand you a warning. I am the king, that everyone should know by now, and that you as well should know, do not wander into my mind whenever you so please and bid my night¡¯s sleep farewell with your calls, as I am sure you have heard, I fell after our last meeting, I do not hope to go through such again; I shall be the one to send for you if I need your presence, not the other way around. I speak in words you understand, yes?¡± She had turned to face him seated with his boot-covered legs cross-ankled, and his face resting on his palm while he spoke, his narrow gaze anchored forward into the dark-grey of night.


    ¡°You speak in such words, Your Grace. I understand,¡± she answered with no sign of a nod.


    ¡°Good,¡± Zephyr said, then sighed. ¡°Tell me¡­ what are your motives?¡± It was a question he had forgotten to ask the last time they met, a question that was of large essence, one he should not have let escape his mind, but at least he had remembered now, a little bit late he was but he had arrived, it was better to come later than never come at all.


    ¡°My motives?¡± Melisandre¡¯s smile ran from the yellow emblazoning her heart-shaped face, and with its departure came the arrival of a baffled glint sharpening her copper feline eyes. ¡°Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?¡± Another question left her lips.


    ¡°It is as you heard.¡± Zephyr¡¯s gaze withdrew from its forward anchor into the darkness, his face going from cheek on palm to chin on palm, as he turned to look up at Melisandre¡¯s dark skin crafted beautifully like a vitrified porcelain distinguishing itself into two halves of grey and yellow, as if it was made by a renowned crafts artist from Firsttown, the town of clay, and they felt the need to tell a tale through their work of the borders between darkness and light, moon and sun, good and bad. ¡°Your motives, what are they? Or do you claim to say all you speak to me you say for the benefit of the kingdom, to serve your king?¡± He held her hostage with his eyes, straining them as much as he could in the dim light brightening the night, so he could catch even a little sight of every slight twitch of her sharpened eyebrows and feline eyes. There was nothing though, not a twitch, all that was on her face were the rivers of grey and yellow, both run through with sheer composure.


    She let a silent suspire free from her lips, after the wind came suddenly and forcibly tried to drag her cloak and the burning fire of the torch in her hand to ride with it, waking the sleeping flowers from their still slumber as it did. The flowers did go back to sleep as soon as the wind¡¯s echoes faded away though, and that was when she answered, breaking her silence as the flowers took theirs. ¡°You have the truth of it, Your Grace. All I do, I do for the kingdom in good faith.¡±


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    Clich¨¦¡­ Zephyr spat as he dragged his eyes away from her. ¡°Was killing my guards in your good faith for the kingdom as well?¡± He questioned with an alien tone of calmness tinged with a sort of threatening spice. Like a pig onioned and then peppered to create a different taste, his tone¡¯s taste was different from the former now, the one he used to have; his voice¡¯s calmness: the onion, and the threatening spice mingled within: the pepper, all coming together to make him sound more intimidating than he used to be. He was beginning to feel more like a king with each passing day in this world, but he knew that growth was only in voice and speech. With each day passed his manner of speaking flourished, but his mind was still wallowing behind, trodding slowly at a mortifying pace. He was not yet like the kings he had read in books, and the fact that he was having such troubles with a task such as this, was more evidence than enough.


    Melisandre had heard from Flynn. She already knew what the blue-haired king knew about the guards¡¯ deaths, he had no idea of who it was, and this was just a mere ruse he intended to use to figure out if she was the one there at the time. A smile crept upon her lips unbeknownst to Zephyr; it was a chance for her to build the trust the king had little of for her, a perfect chance. ¡°Killing your guards? Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?¡± She began by being oblivious, her voice playing along with her oblivion by agitating itself in a fit of query. The muscles of her left hand began to cramp up then, impelling her to pass the burden of the wooden stave onto her other hand, the bordered creeks of grey and yellow on her face shifting in conformity with the torch¡¯s switch.


    Zephyr tutted, his face altering in disapproval of the oblivious demeanour he thought she had. His eyes were not gazing at Melisandre, but he had the truth of it. ¡°You act like you have no idea of what I mean, but I am of mind that you do.¡± He turned to face her, loosening his ankles from their tangle and rising to his feet. ¡°Why did you kill the guards? I want nothing but the truth to leave your lips.¡± They probed at each other with a visual caress, both seeking something beneath the eyes of the other.


    ¡°And the truth I shall give you, Your Grace.¡± With a soft yielding huff, Melisandre smiled thinly. ¡°As I said, all I do, I do for the kingdom, killing the guards was of no difference.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s eyes whetted with an assessing grimace, while his chest tightened and his body tensed. ¡°In what way was killing the guards of any benefit to the kingdom?¡±


    The flame of the torch in Melisandre¡¯s hand flickered. ¡°Because they were not of service to you, Your Grace. They had never been.¡± The dim yellow flame seemed to brighten as she spoke, flinging about chaotically with a mind to escape from the stave¡¯s grip. ¡°They guarded your door only in words, but their actions were not of the same accord. You were murdered right under their nose; those were not your guards, Your Grace. I believe they were men that had been bought by the queen. Queen Ophelia.¡±


    With the sudden race of his heart came the slight crunch of a headache, it was as though a drummer struck a bellowing beat from his drum, only once and no more. It came and went, but the effects remained. ¡°Then why did you not instead come to me with¡­¡± he eyed her¡­ ¡°...this unproven claim, instead of taking matters into your own hands?¡±


    ¡°You do not trust me even now, Your Grace, would you have taken my words for any truth then?¡± She did not bat an eye, and it gave Zephyr the sullen impression that even if a little, she might be telling him the truth, that maybe all she did were in truth for the benefit of the kingdom, and if so, then maybe it would be okay to¡­


    He glanced up at the moon, and it dawned on him that he could not stay here any longer than he already had; he might fall again when day comes, tired and weary like he had been the last time. He stretched his hand and took the torch back from Melisandre, who handed it over forthwith while a wondrous check smeared her eyebrows. ¡°You have your trust,¡± Zephyr muttered as he walked past her and began to set for his bedchamber.


    Melisandre bowed as soon as the light of the torch left her vicinage, whatever mien she had now was hiding behind the chill air of the dark of night. ¡°May I ask a question, Your Grace?¡± She started, her head still bowed only just slightly, as she stopped the brisk walk of the king. ¡°Why have you not gotten rid of the second branch? I made mention of them being the ones that took your life, and you no doubt have felt their hostility towards your sit on the throne, so why do you still let them roam the castle free and do whatever they want?¡±


    He did not turn back, but he allowed her the answer of her question before he walked away, ¡°You have no proof of the claim that they were the ones that took my life, and I have a firm belief that nothing good comes of wrongly judging people for sins they have not committed. Suspecting is one, and judging another. So far, the only sins they have committed, are like you said, the ones of hostile words, I will not persecute them for sins anyone in their position would commit. But if they do take their hostility further than just words and glares, then I would have to judge them based on their actions. That I will do as king.¡±

 Redflower

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    The to and fro journey between King¡¯s City and Ironhold was always so daunting to Audrey, the latest of little to no difference to the first. She had only done such a journey twice, spending two days and two nights on the road for each forth and back trip, but it felt as though her body embraced the despicable aftermath of the endless travels of an adventurer, scouring the vast sandy seas of the desert for the length of his lifetime. Not that she ever knew the actual feel for that though. In truth, what she felt would compare little to that.


    She had never been to the desert before, but she had heard it to be the opposite of the northern lands which had singly secluded themselves from the rest of the world. Renly had told her once, when they were kids, of the stories his father used to tell him of the four kingdoms, ¡°My father thought of them as iron and steel, alike but at the same, so greatly different,¡± he had said with a bit of a sullen look, hidden beneath the brightened mien he always had when he began to do what he did the best: talk. ¡°One, he said, was of the north, a vast of white wrought in cold icy bites, while the other of the east, a vast of red-and-yellow, harsh and burning to anyone who ventured into its mouth.¡± He would roar when he talked about the latter, outstretching his hands into a claw to make his horse-face even more unappealing than it already was, in an attempt to scare her; it didn''t work though, it never did.


    His father was long dead now, taken when he was taken, but not by the biting white or harsh red, but by black wings; his father had been taken by the ravens through some sort of illness that had rid him of all his flesh and sense, and he by her mother from a boy-trader who was about to cart him off to the merchants at Whispers Reach. Until he grew the old he was now and a sense tired, he always mentioned to Audrey how much he blessed her mother for that. Whispers Reach, with all its whips and stenches and crosses, was not for him. Slavery was not for him. Ravens be good, it was not for anyone from what he had heard.


    Her tiredness grew hellishly worse when she had seen the Redflower castle, its red bricks knitted in the shape of a blooming rose flower, and at its soaring head, the phoenix that symbolised her house swirling on a metallic pole coated in red. The castle would have looked beautiful to any other, but not to her, she had seen it alot, but that was not what took the beauty from her eyes, it was another, it was who was within the castle.


    Her body slumped into more tiredness as soon as she had seen it, and now it was even worse than then as she listened to the words of her silver-haired father, Lord Winston Flamesworth.


    ¡°Is that all, Father?¡± Audrey interrupted her father¡¯s speech, her eyes hinting at him that she did not care for his little talks, only he did not gaze upon her to see that, he was focused on the parchment laid before him, while he scribbled something on it with the quill cuddled between his rough palm. ¡°If it is, then I will very much like to take my leave to my bedchamber. The ravens have blessed you with what you wanted, I would like to rest now. I have little doubt that any of your further commands can wait until later, can they not?¡±


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    ¡°This will be the last you interrupt me while I speak,¡± he continued scribbling, ¡°and the last you will speak to me in such manner.¡± He no doubt looked a man to fancy his respects, even from someone like his daughter. He sat behind a square table, donning a deep-red velvet coat, the red-coated shutters of the window at his rear, opened up to allow the light of the sun to brighten the solar in all its grace and warmth, and to give the parchments which were opened and piled on each other to his right, and rolled and sealed to his left on the table, the light they needed to be visible to his eyes.


    The only thing that took his sight now was the parchment laid flat before him, the one he constantly dipped his quill into its inkwell for, his oiled and perfumed silver hair tied pleasantly into a ponytail, while his hawkish face plastered with cleanly shaven beards the same colour as his hair, fell to nothing else but that parchment. This angered Audrey the most, he never paid any attention if it was not to the parchments that never seemed to go entirely, never.


    ¡°If you would take the time to notice, then you might glimpse that I already did, Lord Winston,¡± Audrey spat with a smirk. She wanted to irritate him as much as he irritated her, and no doubt did she get what she wanted.


    Winston Flamesworth stopped his scribbling as his hand slammed the table with a sharp bang, shivering Audrey to an excited startle, a slight one. She always got most of what she wanted, ever since she was a kid, unless it came to her father, the man never really bothered with her and gave her very few, and since she could never seem to get his attention, she took it upon herself to get his anger instead, and that she got now, but she did not get his eyes to leave the parchment though, that one remained there.


    ¡°Calm down, Winston.¡± Embroidered wavy hair deepened with the red of the phoenix, as she had always seen in the picture-books of her house, strolled past her and towards the table where her father still sat with his scribbles paused, and his eyes planted on the parchment. There was no one else with that colour in the realm as a whole, at least no one she had seen, and no one smelled nearly as good too. It was her mother, Theodora, the high lady of House Flamesworth, dressed in a blue gown of flowers befitting the aurora of her beautiful freckled face. She stood beside the man she called her own, turning to gaze at Audrey with a smile as she gently touched his shoulder. ¡°She did not mean it,¡± she added.


    Yes, I did¡­ Audrey insisted, but only to herself.


    ¡°You may leave, my child. You¡¯re tired, I can see that. Go have your rest,¡± Theodora dismissed Audrey with no heed from Winston, not that Audrey thought him to object, he was always like that, stern-faced and stern-hearted to all, but not to his wife. She would speak before he would speak. Maybe she should have been the lord not him, Audrey thought as she turned around to leave, taking a glimpse of her mother¡¯s smile once more after she had taken one at her father¡¯s unseen gaze. She liked her mother better, and she was the one with the red hair of the phoenix of their house, she should have been the lord not him, she thought again, angrily. The door opened when she called, and out she went, past the two guards in pot helm stationed just outside, and down the hallway to her room.

 Consequences Of Deeds

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    They entered the same way they had done the last time they had been summoned. Lord Varyn along with the man of white, Arryn, his silver chain of the raven, which had been given to him on the day he knelt on the pulpit of Ravenswatch and was smeared with the oil of savant¡¯s, ordaining him as one, dancing from his neck in rhythm with each step he took further into the solar.


    Damon¡¯s face scrunched with no intent to hide the disrelish he had for the white-robed, balding stick of a eunuch, whose hands were dipped into the endless depths of the bell sleeves his robe had, as he wandered closer towards the table he sat before. He was the one that summoned him, he knew, but as he lay his eyes on the little-fleshed face the savant had, his left cheek itched ever more than it did on that night when his mother¡¯s palm kissed it fiercely. He blamed the savant for the little beration he had been given, and he seemed to hate him for that.


    Man of wisdom¡­? Damon spat. If all that wisdom gave them at the expense of their manhood were less flesh and bodies of sticks, then they were rather stupid to have sought it. Power was greater than wisdom, it¡¯ll give you men to speak the words you lack the knowledge of and more, Damon relished bitterly in his thoughts. That was what he sought, power, and he would chase it until he clutched it, no one would stop him, no one can, not especially a savant who had become less of a man than he was. He would have his mother take back her words, that he would make sure of.


    Rather than a wine cup and a ewer, it was his legs sprawled out, one above the other, on the king¡¯s table he sat before. It spelled nothing short of uncanny to Lord Varyn who had been the one to take hold of the task of summoning the savant, and no doubt top it up by accompanying him into the solar and before the presence of the prince. As he had never thought he would ever grow a boil, the same way he had not thought of seeing the prince without his beloved cup of wine, the two seemed to strike him at the same time; and another strike came no shorter later.


    As they arrived nigh the table, and the door of the solar went to its silent shut, then did the unfiltered prince begin to speak. ¡°A pimple, Lord Varyn? Your face has grown even uglier and more annoying now with that third nose you¡¯ve begun to sprout. I should send you out of my sight, but I have something to speak of to you. If the next time I summon you it has grown any bigger, I¡¯ll have one of the guards dig it out.¡± Prince Damon tsked in a fit of annoyance, at who though, they had not yet done or said anything to plunge him into such depths yet, so why the stiffening air he filled their lungs with?


    ¡°No sitting, both of you. You stand and I speak. I ask, you answer. Nod that you understand.¡± He folded his hands and glared at them from where he sat. He jested a lot when he was in the mood, that he always tended to be in, but it was nowhere to be seen, lost to somewhere far away; he had no smiles, no jest, his face lacked one, his tongue the other. ¡°I take it your ears work better than anything else you have?¡± He put in, and Lord Varyn snapped back to answer with a quick sheepish nod as the prince had instructed; the savant, stubborn as he was, just watched in silence, until¡­


    ¡°My prin¡ª¡± the savant wanted to start, but never had the grace to go further, on account of the hard and unkind eyes glaring pointed steel swords of loathing at him; they were unkind to him and him alone, he noticed. It made him shudder slightly at the thought of what the prince he had dubbed an usurping traitor, would do to him once he spoke his mind, but he chose to retain his calm by raising his head a tad higher with a silent sigh. He would do him nothing, he had done nothing wrong, he told himself. He had crumbled once before, he would not on this night; the half-moon visible from the solar¡¯s narrow window, hanging from the starlit sky, would bear witness to his strength. The strength of the man who had taken the white, and the ravens will shelter him with their wings.


    ¡°I wonder what you have traded your ears for this time? You tell me, Savant Arryn. What have you traded your listening for?¡± The savant remained silent. ¡°Speak! I speak to you, you answer!¡± Damon dropped his legs from the table and jumped to his feet, all the while barking, the walls of the solar made from limestone clustered tightly together¡ªthe same way the council room had been made by the great builders of old at the request of King Aeron the first¡ªthe only thing muffling the strength and rage of his voice from going beyond this room and waking the present king from his slumber at his quarters.


    Lord Varyn always shivered when the prince threw a fit, and no doubt he was shivering now as well. The boy scared him, even more than the king, and he would scare this savant as well, if he truly had the wisdom of the ravens.


    ¡°I have not lost it, my prince,¡± the old-but-young savant gave way to voice at last, calm and smooth sailing as it should normally be, only it shouldn¡¯t be at this moment. He should act frightened even though he wasn¡¯t.


    Lord Varyn watched the savant with concern and fear, fear for the man of white did not seem to know what he was doing. He could only see to one cause as to why the man had begun to act this way, and if it was because he planned to tell of the prince¡¯s treason to the king, then he was more foolish than wise, maybe the ravens had taken the wisdom as quickly as they had given him, because he should see if he had eyes.


    The king and the prince were not of the sameness, he had seen them up close, put to serve both of them; the king wears the crown and is bestowed more power, yes, but half-brother as the prince claimed or not, he would listen to further reasoning than put his own brother to the sword without heed. The Prince however, stands as an anomaly of his own, if words could come from a rolling head, then he would listen, after the head had begun to roll.


    ¡°Do you still choose to anger me greatly, Savant Arryn? I take it you have not forgotten of our last meeting and that I hold the life of someone of importance to you in my hands?¡± Damon was hissing now, violently like a snake irritated into a defensive position at the sign of a predator who had trampled on its tail. He was the prey now, and his mother the predator. She would hurt him again if he could not rein this stupid man in. He brought this on himself, and that angered him the most; his mother was right, she always was¡­ maybe she was right about Dante as well. That thought allowed veins to erupt beneath the tousled mop of brown that fell over his head. Not Dante, not him, he rebuked.


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    ¡°Anger you, I choose not to do, my prince. And I have not forgotten that you hold the power to harm someone dare to me, how can I? That is why I have not yet gone to the king with your plans of treason. Cease it, my prince, I beg of you, now that you still can. I have thought of it long and hard, for days and nights, but regardless, I still do not see any good coming from it, nor do I see myself taking the side of someone with plans to usurp the throne. We savants are men of honour, and that honour is what has brought me to you, bearing a fitting notion and to give you one last chance to cease this madness.


    ¡°When the sun rises, I intend to meet the king and speak to him of all your talks, so I plead you once again to think things through, but if you still choose to not heed my words and carry on, then by all means do with me as you wish, stop me with my life, but in return, I ask that you leave my brother free of this, he knows nothing. Even though I do not wish to die in truth, I shall gladly offer up my life, but what I will never offer up is my honour.¡±


    Lord Varyn flayed the savant with eyes that said he was nothing short of stupid. What part of that notion is fitting, savant? The ravens have taken your wisdom in truth¡­ Lord Varyn rang in his thoughts, but the savant neither saw his look nor heard his mind. If only he knew, Lord Varyn thought, if only. Stupidity and honour were intertwined, like the children of sand, twins born with one body, and he was a living proof of such, of the madness that was twisted into something sweet called honour.


    ¡°You seem ready to die in stupidity for this honour of yours,¡± Damon voiced hazily after a strike of silence. ¡°Leave, I shall think about your words. Leave now!¡± Damon shoved the savant¡¯s face with his palm, pushing the man a few steps backward. Savant Arryn did not mind though, if the prince said he would think of it, then maybe he would think of it, but he would take no risks with a nigh-usurper, he would go to see the king when the sun rises, that he would do. He gave a weak bow, turned and found his way out of the solar. Lord Varyn shook his head unnoticeably while he watched him leave. Only if he knew.


    ¡°Varyn,¡± Damon fell back to his chair as the door went closed the second time to the boil-faced man, and the third to him. ¡°Did my letter reach Lord Bertram Greenfield?¡± He questioned as soon as Lord Varyn returned his face from the door back to his prince.


    ¡°That it did, my prince. He replied with a pledge of his loyalty to your cause as a repayment of the favour he owes your mother and House Lockeheart, and that they are all already in his castle as guests at the moment, until your further instructions.¡± Lord Varyn answered with a deft bow.


    I am not a Lockeheart though¡­ I am a Raven¡­ ¡°Good. How many children are there?¡±


    ¡°Three as I said before. One a boy already of age to tend to the farms with his father, the other two, a girl and a last born boy, both still of playful age.¡± Lord Varyn groaned slightly after his talk, his legs were slowly beginning to ache, he would fancy a seat now, after all the savant had gone, but the prince gave little care.


    Damon placed his chin on his knuckle as he rested his elbow atop the table. ¡°Have them all killed.¡± Damon¡¯s eyes glowed red with blood. He had grown mad and deranged where he sat, madder than ever. ¡°But first, have Lord Greenfield cut the farming fingers of the first and have it sent to the savant. This should be done before his father, making sure that he understands it was his brother¡¯s fault that these things have begun to happen to him. You should at least know how to do this well, I reckon?¡± Damon¡¯s eyes turned from its watch of the table to look up at Lord Varyn.


    Lord Varyn tensed up. Only if he knew that his life would not be the only one taken. ¡°Do not worry, my prince. I will take your message and put it into utmost perfection.¡± It was his fault, the savant¡¯s fault, Lord Varyn plunged into sullen thoughts. It was all his. He should have left his honour at the edge of his cloak, or in those big sleeves of his, and went straight to the king, even though that would have done little to nothing to save his brother and his family from death, as Lord Greenfield had already been ordered to have them killed at even the whiff of the word of treason, but at least his own life would¡¯ve been spared. Now, he was not so sure anymore. ¡°And the savant?¡± He asked to confirm if his thoughts were what he feared.


    ¡°What do you think, Varyn? Make sure it seems as natural as possible.¡± Damon¡¯s eyes squinted. ¡°If you¡¯ll fly in place of the messenger ravens then do, but by all means make sure the fingers reaches him by the ¡®morrow before he dies, then burn them, I do not want the¡­¡± he grit his teeth, it always ticked him off to call someone other than himself the king, it ticked him off beyond sense¡­ he shook his head and skipped that line¡­ ¡°Make sure of that. You understand, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Lord Varyn shuddered at Damon¡¯s tone and the thought of sending the savant to the ravens, but little choice he had that it came down to that. If reported for treason, the king might pardon his brother but not him, his own head would roll, and he was too young for that, he was too young to die now, and if possible, he did not want to die ever. ¡°I understand, and I will do such that, my prince. I will make sure it gets here before dawn, and I will make sure to erase every evidence of your involvement. If you will excuse me to get on with it.¡± He bowed and turned around, and as he was about to leave Damon called again.


    ¡°One more thing,¡± Damon announced.


    ¡°What more, my prince.¡±


    ¡°Put the eyes of your hawk over someone for me, have them watch what he does night and day, and make sure to report all back to me at all costs. I want no mishaps.¡±


    ¡°Understood. And who are they to watch, my prince?¡±


    ¡°My brother, Dante.¡±

 White-To-Black

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°What?¡± Zephyr uttered with a quick turn of silver eyes to his side, putting a pause to his read of the book he had received from the grand savant, Aelred, the last he had blown in on him unannounced at the library.


    The day was meant to be one of the free ones he had been blessed with in this realm as the king, and what better way to make fill of it in a world that was without any sort of modern entertainment than reading. His bathe, his meal, and he found himself back at his bedchamber, seated before his table and staring down at the leather-tome¡¯s cover whose title was embossed in a cascading blood-like red, written as: ¡°A Tale Of Red Steels.¡±


    The hearth beside him burnt with fire, charring the little wooden logs gradually to provide heat, as it filled his room with the warmth of the golden yellow the sky seemed to lack on account of the shyness of the sun, which was hidden somewhere no eyes could find it. He had requested the fire as soon as he woke, shivering to the call of cold when ¡®morn came, the foggy sky whispering to all who might gaze upon it that winter was near. He saw it and he had acknowledged it.


    He had had his servants heat up his bathing water after that, and his body was now enclosed from the paltry cold in a coat of bright white ermine fur speckled with black, while the silver buckle of the large belt of brown fastened about his waist, was a soaring raven, and his hands, covered in knuckle-length gloves that exposed the raven-rings on his fingers, kept his palms hidden in white from the cold.


    Further into the present, even though the chill still lingered a bit, the foggy grey sky of earlier had given way to the light blue that was now overhead. ¡°The savant was found dead on the floor of his bedchamber, my king, naked from bath by one of his careservants.¡± Flynn stood resplendent in a black coat of sorts, padded at the shoulders and fastened to his right side by leather buckles. It was an outfit smeared with a colour that differed greatly from the red he always wore, but it made the auburn of his hair ever more dazzling and beautiful, it was as though he mourned the death of the savant with all the alluring grace he could summon of himself.


    Zephyr had no knowledge of this savant, he had never seen him, or maybe he had and did not pay attention, he had seen a lot of people in his short time in this world, not all remained on his mind, as a matter of fact, only a select few remained in truth. But if Flynn was here telling him about this savant, then maybe he was of some sort of importance, and it would be the right call to sound a bit as caring as he could. ¡°Cause of death?¡± He asked, returning his eyes to the page of the book he was currently on, which was the first page. His reading had not gone two lines in when his advisor had come bearing the ill news, which was no doubt ill to all but him.


    ¡°None that I came with.¡± Flynn shook his head. ¡°The grand savant is with the body at the moment, maybe he would have picked something up.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s brows narrowed at the recollection of the grand savant¡¯s fragileness. ¡°Should the grand savant be putting himself through such stress. I recall he was growing weaker with the days, is it not?¡±


    ¡°That bears the truth, my king, but the one who would have taken his place is the one that has died. A new savant would have to be summoned from Ravenswatch, and would have to go through the grand savant¡¯s teachings of the royal household.¡± Flynn was adept with his knowledge, and it baffled Zephyr how someone could know so much and have an answer to most of the questions he asked. Was it his position as the royal advisor or was it the man?


    ¡°How do you know so much?¡± Zephyr let his thoughts spill out unwittingly with a sigh, as he left his watch of the book and began to toy with the ring of gold on his middle-finger.


    Flynn smiled with a sharp exhale. ¡°I was taught all that I know by the grand savant, my king. Have you forgotten of the lessons I took?¡±


    Shit¡­ Zephyr¡¯s eyes twitched, his fiddles of the ring on his hand reciprocating the twitch with a stop. ¡°It was a backhanded compliment.¡± He forced a smile.


    ¡°A backhanded¡­? What¡¯s that?¡± The auburn-haired man was lost. The word seemed to be alien to him, and he was no doubt right. Zephyr¡¯s modern tongue had managed to slip out there once again, and he took notice with a twitch of his other eye.


    ¡°I meant I was being sarcastic, my dear friend, in a good way. Now let us go meet with the grand savant and see if he has gotten something of this cause of death. Shall we?¡± He gestured, and Flynn answered with a bow before turning to pace towards the door. Zephyr stood then after taking a gulp of the warm almond milk from the small cup before him, in hopes to calm the little trembles of his heart that had arisen from his slight slip up.


    He had grown accustomed to the former Zephyr¡¯s habits with the milk; he took it every morning now, and it no doubt did the job of relaxing his nerves like it did for the former. It was far better than the dairy milk he took when he was still Jon; this worked better, by a long mile.


    When he came out through the door of his bedchamber, gold and silver tamed his eyes with a bow. ¡°Your Grace,¡± Ser Aaron greeted. ¡°Where to?¡± His head tampered by jet black returned from its lowered bow, unshielded by his missing greathelm.


    Zephyr turned to Flynn. ¡°Where to?¡± He cocked his brows.


    ¡°The cold room,¡± Flynn called it. And with Zephyr¡¯s nod to his Kingsknight, they went. Through the hallway of the king¡¯s quarters, they made their way out into the open space of the holdfast¡¯s small yard, then further through its gate where two black cloaks stood guard, and out into the great yard. The small yard had been silent, with only a trickle of serving maids going about their work duty, the great yard was a different cause; it was a storm of maids, guards, and a lot of noise. Clangs of armours and swords, clacks of wooden swords for those that wished to train with little casualties, neighs of horses that erupted from the stables so far away to the west of the castle, and the bark of dogs. All seemed to seize when the king came forth though, it was words of greetings and bows that came now as he, Flynn and his Kingsknight turned left from the holdfast, straying further away from it towards the direction of the library which he had once visited.


    The Kingsknight led the way, and before Zephyr knew it, he was past the corner that led to the library and standing before a dwarf house of unmortared stone and timber roof.


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    ¡°This is it, my king,¡± Flynn announced as Zephyr watched it thoroughly, noticing the small gaps between the piled up stones used to make the house. There were no windows as well that he saw. The design technicality reminded him of the morgues from his previous life, and from the name ¡°cold room¡± that it was called in this world¡ªor that Flynn had called it¡ªhe had no doubt that the interior would be as cold as well.


    ¡°I shall wait out, Your Grace,¡± Ser Aaron made mention to Zephyr, gripping the hilt of his scabbarded sword as he did.


    ¡°That you do,¡± Zephyr agreed. ¡°Show me the way.¡± And Flynn did. The door was unmanned before Ser Aaron arrived with the king, and through it they went in.


    Zephyr had never entered a morgue in his past, even though his scorched body would no doubt be in one currently, but the cold that spammed his body as soon as he stepped into this cold room, made him happy he never made it into one while he still breathed the modern air. He was happy another, for the ermine fur he wore, he might have frozen in his step if not for it. Maybe it was the winter that was near, or maybe he just had little resistance for cold, seeing as Flynn wandered into the same room wearing clothes of less thickness than his with nothing as much as a grimace of shiver storming his face. Thick Skinned¡­ Zephyr named him then while rubbing his arms together, as he took a quick glance at the little flicker of lamplight on a lesser table at the edge of the room.


    The grand savant was more impressive, his fleshless body should have been shattered by now, it was nothing short of shocking to Zephyr how he managed to stand in the cold of this room and concentrate on the body laid on the table before him. Thick boned, he would call this one. Thick boned grand savant.


    ¡°Oh my, Your Grace,¡± the old man came to notice them at the sound of the door¡¯s shut. ¡°What brings you here? And our lord of claymore as well?¡± He added with a bow.


    ¡°The same as what has kept you here,¡± Zephyr answered in between little shivering gnashes of his teeth. ¡°What is this cold,¡± he wanted to shout but it would not come that way, it came softly instead.


    The old man answered, ¡°Winter is close, Your Grace. The cold is doubled.¡±


    ¡°And how come you stand without shivers?¡±


    ¡°Why, my robe is thick, and I have little flesh to feel the cold.¡± The old man chuckled, and Zephyr took that question to Flynn instead; he wanted someone to join him in feeling the cold he felt.


    ¡°And you, Flynn? How come you stand without shivers?¡±


    ¡°I shiver.¡± Flynn showed his hands to Zephyr, and he saw it shivering no doubt, shivering as though it was a frightened prey cornered by its predator ready to feast. The cold was already feasting though, on their bodies.


    Zephyr tsked and took slow steps closer to the table, all the while rubbing his hands with prudent strides. ¡°Cause of¡­ death?¡± He asked as soon as he got to the table, the stench of the dead body temporarily seizing his air.


    The grand savant grimaced while rubbing his palms gloved in tanned leather hides together before he pinched the dead man¡¯s hands and feets, showing the king things he would not have noticed. Flynn was close too, listening as well. ¡°Look closely, Your Grace, you¡¯ll see that his hands and feets are a lot paler than the rest of his body.¡± Zephyr strained his eyes while moving his head closer bit by bit. ¡°They had already grown pale a short while before his death.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Zephyr finally let his questions free, he could not see the difference still, but he kept that to himself.


    ¡°He was poisoned, Your Grace, by an oleander if I suspect.¡± Grand Savant Aelred let free his hands from the dead savant¡¯s own.


    Another murder¡­? Is this somehow linked to me¡­? Zephyr wallowed shortly in thoughts before asking. ¡°How? Through his drink?¡± That was his speculation; after all, poisoning were mostly done such way.


    ¡°Through his bath,¡± Flynn answered while staring at the body, and the old man nodded.


    ¡°Through his bath?¡± Zephyr was aghast, his rubbing intensifying significantly.


    ¡°It is as he said, Your Grace. He was poisoned through his bath.¡± The old man paced to the head of the body.


    ¡°How?¡± Zephyr kept up his arm rubbing.


    ¡°Oleander is a flower that is toxic to touch or inhalation, only one is enough to take down a full grown mount. I believe it was crushed and mixed into his bathing water, hot water I would say the savant had used, and it would have made his death ever more quicker as he both touched and inhaled the poison.¡± The grand savant shook his head in misery. ¡°Poor Arryn, and he was promising. Always valued his honour, this one. Would have served the throne well.¡± He pinched down between the dead body¡¯s nose.


    Is there some connection here¡­? Zephyr wondered, but his thinking was only for naught without any clue. ¡°Clue to his death of any sort?¡± Zephyr asked the grand savant.


    ¡°His careservants maybe, one of them warmed his bath, that one might do good to be questioned. Besides that, I know of nothing else, unless I awake to be blessed with the eyes of a seer on the ¡®morrow.¡± The old man chuckled as he peeled off his leather gloves. He was done touching the dead body. ¡°That would be good,¡± he laughed while dropping the gloves into his small bag which lay beside the lamplight on the lesser table at the edge of the room.


    ¡°Seers are real?¡± Zephyr sounded like a little baby happy to hear of the stories old people told.


    ¡°Only as real as tales allow, Your Grace.¡± The old man spoilt Zephyr¡¯s fun.


    A thought suddenly sauntered into Zephyr¡¯s mind, and he had little restraint before he let it come forth as a question. ¡°What about the witches? Are they real?¡±


    Flynn glanced at Zephyr from the side of his eye. No one noticed, maybe.


    ¡°They are as real as tales allow as well, Your Grace. Long gone those ones are,¡± Grand Savant Aelred answered with the shake of his head.


    ¡°So they existed?¡± Zephyr asked again, unrelenting.


    ¡°Once they did, now they don¡¯t. All disappeared during your grandfather, King Aeron the second¡¯s rule. They had been banished to the Garden of Crows and were never to be heard of again.¡± The grand savant finished packing and picked up his bag.


    ¡°Why were they banished?¡± Zephyr asked further, curiously enhanced.


    ¡°As to that tale, I would rather not say in this cold, and besides I have the death report to write, so If you¡¯ll pardon me, Your Grace.¡± The man was walking towards them snailishly like he always did most of the time.


    And with that Zephyr stopped his questions, allowing the three of them to abandon the savant in the cold of the room. Once a man of white, now taken by the black wings of the raven.

 Crescent Moon

    <h2><u>HARRY BOLTMORE</u></h2>


    A day, a night, and a half of the next was how long he had spent on the Oakroad, a wide path lined with the endless stares of the branches of trees of oak, that travelled from the borders of the King¡¯s City down to the keep of Ravensgate north of the realm.


    He was seated in a crowded jitney-wagon, clutching the longsword he had been handed to wield for the tourney by Gale Mormont, the man retired from the service of gold, but the steel had not been handed over to him without warning though. ¡°Lose it and do not return, boy, Kingsknight or not,¡± the man had said, with a face that looked to be screwed angry. It was always that way, Harry scarcely saw anything take over his face, it was as though the man had spite for all, that was what his face said, even though his actions told him otherwise.


    Harry had heard the warning, but spared little listening to it, his eyes were awed at the glimmer of the longsword as he drew it out of its leather scabbard which was made of dark-brown sable skin, while watching its edges ripple in the light of early morning, like a swaying silent river of more silver than blue. ¡°Crescent moon is its name,¡± Gale Mormont put in while he watched the boy let the scabbard fall to the floor as he gripped the hilt of the sword, putting his right below the crossguard and his left just above the pommel which was forged in the likeness of a crescent moon, hence its name.


    ¡°It¡¯s heavy,¡± Harry muttered with a strained voice. ¡°I can barely keep it lifted. Will I be able to win the tourney with it?¡± He turned a stare to the burly man, his dark-golden eyes seeking something of assurance from the former Kingsknight.


    ¡°If it¡¯s assurance you seek, you will find none from me, boy. You look more likely to lose than win¡­ but if you choose to fight, then you must have the will to fight. Your faltering and assurance seeking will get you nowhere.¡± The man turned away then and began to make his way into the small thatched-roof shelter he called his home. He stopped when his door went halfway open though, and muttered something to Harry who still gripped the sword with all the strength he could summon, ¡°Your muscles are weak to wield such a sword, that¡¯s why it feels heavy. Your fight will no doubt be hard, a stick sword might even be of more service to you, only it will shatter at its slightest contact with real steel, and no doubt steel as real as this shall fill the tourney grounds, but if it¡¯s a  consolation of any sort, that sword, I have never lost a battle with it ever since His Grace, Aeron had given it to me. Now, enough talking. Be off with you, boy, only one damned wagon leaves here by day.¡±


    And only one wagon did leave, taking him and the four others that had boarded all the way from Oldtown up to where the Oak trees stopped following them with their eyes. ¡°The stop¡¯s ¡®ere,¡± the carter sassed after reining his mule to a stop. ¡°You get off ¡®ere, all of ya,¡± he added peevishly, his chew of the mint stick in his mouth intensifying now that there was no gallop to drown out the sound.


    ¡°Here?¡± Harry asked after dropping his feets covered by soleless long boots to the floor, his longsword now fastened to his waist along with a small pouch made from the same worn out leather as the knapsack that hung from his back.


    He was wearing the best tunic he had, a brown one with detachable sleeves, patched at the right breast by a cloth of grey. It had been ripped there one morning when he went fruit hunting, a branch had caught his best tunic and made a large hole that would leave Harry sulking for a little over a week. Once he patched it, he had less anger, but he still wished the tree to be living so he could beat it over and over for what it had done, that wish never came true. The only other tunics that came close to the one he wore were packed in his knapsack, awaiting the time he would put them over his body.


    ¡°But the city¡¯s still like a trek away,¡± Harry added to the carter while pointing to the speck of a view he could see down the road. The man turned to gaze down at him with vexed eyes, the right side of his face burnt and scarred irritatingly, so much that the eye buried on that part of his face hid itself in fear amidst it. He must have been burnt for his foul mouth, Harry thought to himself still pointing.


    ¡°A trek away like ya said. ¡®Ere¡¯s all ya coin could take ya. So shut up and trek the rest like the others are doing,¡± the carter spat green from his mouth to the ground beside Harry¡¯s boot, missing it just by a finger¡¯s length then continued chewing. ¡°Now, fuck off, boy.¡± The carter grinned uglily, showing the hideous gap between his middle teeth smeared with the green of mint, before flapping his rein and taking his wagon back down the Oakroad.


    It was a damned wagon alright¡­ Harry hissed and then kicked dust over the man¡¯s spit in a fit before turning around to look at the other passengers who were already on their way with their treks; he wondered why no one said a thing and just wandered off. Was there a reason? Maybe there was, it was his first time so far away from Oldtown after all.


    What does it matter¡­? A small smile crept upon his face as his mind reminded him of the stories he had heard of the King¡¯s City while eavesdropping on the old geezers at the market square. He sighed and gripped the straps of his knapsack tightly, and joined the others in their trek, his smile receding as quick as it came.


    After he had walked a ways, the speck he had pointed at came to become a better view before his eyes, but the long line of people awaiting clearance for passage through the city gates, pushed him to the back of the line and impaired his eyes from gazing upon the structure of the city with utmost care.


    Harry stood there for a long time, so long he was not sure the line even moved at all, it was as though it was a lengthy slithering snake that crawled forward with the speed of a snail. Moving it was, but at the same time it was not, and he had no choice but to stand, one hand on his longsword¡¯s hilt and the other on the strap of his knapsack, stamping his feet to prevent it from cramping up as he listened to the rowdy hisses, spits, and bellows of the people that lined up before him, and the ones that had joined later at his back, making the line ever longer.


    It was autumn, closing in on winter, so the sun was nowhere to be found, and that made his queuing a lot more easier.


    He had queued up at Oldtown once, when a merchant from Whisper¡¯s Reach came with his crafts to sell. He had heard of the good luck penchants they always brought and how it would cast away all the user¡¯s bad luck; there was a lot he needed casted away, if there was any that needed the penchant the most, it was him, and of that mind he went to the stall of the merchant in the market square, standing in a long line in the sweltering heat of summer, hoping to use all the coin he had saved up to purchase one of those magic penchants; he never managed to do so as the merchant was all sold out before it could reach his turn, and now he wondered how that penchant, if he had purchased it, might have helped him on the ¡®morrow during the tourney.


    ¡°Move, fool!¡± A shove came from behind him, pushing him forward and out of his reverie. That was when he noticed the space that had festered before him while he was drowned in his thoughts of penchants.


    After covering up the space, he turned to the person who had done the shoving, a woman lean and long and pale, her eyes as ugly and haggard as her wrinkled face. She was not old, and she was not young either, she was just a peasant like he was, under-cared and underfed, and no doubt should not be given the care of a child. She held the palm of one in her hand, a boy dressed in a roughspun gown the same as her, with hair dirtied and muddied, and a bony face that told Harry he might have not eaten in days past.


    ¡°Have a problem with me, boy?¡± The woman hissed.


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    ¡°Your child,¡± Harry said, ¡°he looks hungry. Might you give him something to eat?¡±


    ¡°Want to be his father, eh? I see you have a leather pouch there. Got some coins, I¡¯ll sell him to you. Take him off my hands if you will.¡± She yanked the boy forward a bit, shuddering a frown from Harry. ¡°Or would you rather wed me? If you got coins, yes is all I¡¯ll say. If not, then you keep your damn mouth shut.¡±


    Harry¡¯s nose wrung up in disgust. He didn¡¯t expect people this far out to be such brutes, aside from his bane of three, the people at Oldtown were much more welcoming¡­ here, not so much as it seems. Is the King¡¯s City filled with people such as this¡­? He bowed slightly in apology and turned forward, keeping his mouth to himself.


    It was already past midday when he found himself front of the line, and closer to the walls of the city to feed himself with the view he had been craving. His eyes watched the majestic walls, spanning to the east and to the west with nothing of an end in sight. The width was one thing, the height another. They were tall, and to Harry they looked double the height of the Goldenstone castle at Oldtown which he had seen and heard stood nothing less than twenty feets. That one was magnificent when he saw, this one took his breath away to the point he began to wonder what would happen when he saw the king¡¯s castle. That one would be far more magnificent, if he was allowed to imagine.


    Atop the walls stood sentry guards traversing the length of the walls, all, for as much as he could see from where he stood, dressed in full body armour of silver and capes of black, just like the two that stood before the risen black portcullis gate made from iron bars the size of pine trunks, clearing some people for passage and sending some away for reasons unknown to him. He hoped they would not send him back though, he needed this tourney, he needed it.


    When he was the third to the gate, a clatter of wheels and the neighs of horses came forth from his side, drawing the gazes of the lined-up peasants to it for the second time today. Lords and knights had ridden into the city while they queued, their squires following suit while flying their banners above their head as they did; freeriders did the same, those one had no banners to present over their heads, but they were of a higher class than peasants and were therefore granted a more quicker access into the city. But even though a lot of glimmering knights and lords had ridden past, only one carriage had come to pass through the gate, a one made of ebony wood, curtained on all sides with no view of the inside, on the body of the carriage was carved the sigil of an eagle on a grey and black background divided diagonally, and the guards that rode the destriers that pulled the carriage were dressed in a half-helm, leather and banded mail crested with the same sigil as the one on the carriage.


    ¡°House of Blackwood,¡± they had announced, and with haste they had been let through. Harry had thought them some high-held people with how swiftly the portcullis guards let them through. He wondered who sat inside.


    But he wondered not the same for this second carriage. This one was made of redwood, and on it was carved the sigil of a phoenix grasping a sword with its talons. The windows of the carriage were not curtained, and from it he saw the sky-blue eyes of a silver haired young woman peeking out through it, her hand on her chin as she watched the queue with a lost-minded gaze. To others, it might have looked like she gazed upon them as though they did not seem to exist, but he knew such eyes, she was merely just lost in thought, a thought that no one could understand. Now, he wondered something else for this one: what troubles could slump a rich and beautiful lady in thought? That was what he wondered now.


    ¡°House Flamesworth,¡± these ones had said and passed, and passage had been granted the same for the other two before him on the line. Now it was his turn.


    ¡°What you here for?¡± One of the guards said with a tired voice, his plain eyes watching him through unvisored gaze. The other guard watched as well, with a spear in hand.


    ¡°Here for the tourney¡­ Ser.¡± Harry did not know which honorific to appoint the guard, so he appointed him what he thought was best.


    The guard looked and studied him from up to down. ¡°Not a Ser. That¡¯ll be five silver coins.¡± The guard pointed to the wooden box standing beside him after he was done studying him. ¡°Pay and pass.¡±


    Harry was confused, he had never heard of paying for the tourney before. ¡°Am I to pay for the tourney? I never heard of that before.¡±


    ¡°Not the tourney, the gate fee. You pay to pass.¡±


    Gate fee? That he had never heard of as well. Would they send him back? His heart started to pound. He did not have enough silver to pay for the gate fee and also for a place to sleep and eat. ¡°But, I¡¯ve never heard of a gate fee before as well.¡±


    ¡°New king, new rules, boy,¡± the other guard with the spear spat. ¡°Pay and pass, or don¡¯t pay and leave.¡±


    Harry¡¯s chest tightened further. He only had the five silvers left. All he had been able to gather were ten silvers. Five had been spent for the journey here, and five he was saving for his rest, he was going to win the tourney, he told himself, so he had not troubled himself further for more coins, once he won he would have enough, but how would he win now if he could not enter.


    ¡°Leave, boy, we do not have the time to dawdle all day here.¡± The guard hit the base of his spear on the ground. ¡°Leave.¡±


    Harry was distraught, his hands tightened on the straps of his knapsack while his legs had begun to shiver and he could not move a step from where he stood, he saw the guards becoming angry through their armets, and he heard the agitated shouts from behind him booming at him to get out of their way. They did not understand though, he could not move, this was all he had left, he could not return home to his father this way¡­ his father¡­ he could not.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± Harry had not heard the gallops come, but he turned his head to look upon the bay-silked destrier and the man saddled atop its broad back. He was a dark-skinned man with hair of pale yellow permed at one side, his green eyes watching Harry from where he sat atop his horse, the same colour as the asymmetrical leather coat he wore uncovering his hairy chest, where a golden chain hung from with the head of a tiger carved onto it.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The guard with the spear turned his anger towards the mounted man.


    ¡°Maurin of House Lockeheart.¡± He pulled his chain out from between his coat and showed the carving to the guards, they took a quick glance at each other and bowed.


    ¡°Pardon us, Ser Maurin, we did not know who you were.¡±


    ¡°No worries. Tell me what¡¯s happening here, if you please.¡± He dipped the chain back in between his coat as though he wanted no one to ever see it.


    But Harry had seen it and he was baffled. He was a Ser but so plain looking, he and his horse. He had seen knights already, but this one mounted before him was not the same as them. Why was he only in a green coat and tan pants with nothing of a sword to his hip? His horse was no different, only a saddle, it was not enamelled like the horses of the other men that already rode past today flying their banners¡­ he didn¡¯t even bear a banner or a squire. A knight riding plain and alone, it was hard for Harry to swallow. What sort of knight was he?


    The guards began to explain to the Ser, ¡°He¡¯s here for the tourney, this one, and he has no coin to make it into the city.¡±


    Ser Maurin turned his green eyes to Harry again, watched him gripping the strap of his knapsack for a while, then his eyes squinted for a second as he caught sight of the crescent moon pommel fastened to Harry¡¯s waist, before he returned his eyes back to the guards. ¡°Kingsknight, eh?¡± He chuckled. ¡°Let him through, I¡¯ll pay his coins.¡±


    Gasps and murmurs came from the line behind Harry, all of them astounded the same as Harry who stumbled on his feet as his heart skipped a beat. His lips could not part way because of the confusion of what had just transpired. He wondered if he had maybe gotten hold of that merchant¡¯s good luck penchant somehow, what was happening was not something he could believe.


    As he shook his mind free from his wandering thoughts and carried his eyes back to the man on the horse, he saw a brown pouch drop from the horse¡¯s height and he instinctively let go of his knapsack¡¯s strap to grab a hold of it, which he did. It was filled with coins. So heavy, he had never held such a weighty pouch before.


    ¡°Do well at the tourney,¡± the man said and smiled before putting his boots to his horse and riding into the city. Harry¡¯s face brightened slightly and he quickly dropped the five coins he had in his pouch before hurrying into the city walls through the risen portcullis, with a slight mind to catch up to the horse to kneel and bow in thanks to the kind Ser.

 Lady Of The Old House

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°Lady Eira Blackwood has arrived through the castle gates, my king. I¡¯ve had her shown to the small hall where she is being fed, and your presence would be most needed there.¡± Zephyr was no longer new to the name as Flynn had made mention of it the day past, when a messenger raven had arrived at the first light of dawn with the word of her coming.


    ¡°She¡¯s the lady of House Blackwood, my king, one of the three first houses of the realm,¡± Flynn had tried to enlighten the king of her importance, he did that when his eyes ate the nonchalant glance Zephyr fed him with after he read out the message. It made not much of a difference to Zephyr¡¯s demeanour, as he set back to breaking his fast not long after. It was as though he cared little for this Lady Eira¡¯s arrival, and more for the duck stew he was gobbling up; that took a larger chunk of his attention than a message of the coming of a high figure for sure.


    First three houses¡­ That one held his attention a great deal too¡­ Ravenswood would be one then, but which is the last¡­ Zephyr had a small recollection storm his mind, one of the events that had occurred between Flynn and the serving whore that came to them when they had both visited the brothel¡­ Is the third one Claymore¡­?


    Zephyr was not one to keep his curiosity hidden. ¡°Which is the third?¡± His words were muffled in his mouth by the nuggets of the juicy duck meat he chewed neatly, as he took his eyes from the round trencher of duck stew and gazed down at Flynn who stood before the high table where he sat eating.


    Flynn sighed then, a frustrated sigh, and for a moment he thought of him as Zephyr and not the king. ¡°The other house you know is mine. House Claymore.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Zephyr swallowed, then took a full drink from the goblet of apple juice before him to drown the meat he had stuffed his belly with. He knew he had grown to become careless with the sort of questions he was asking these days, well aware that some of these things the past Zephyr might and should have known, but with his growing carelessness concerning his past life, grew his unbotheredness.


    He had asked himself what could possibly go wrong. If he told no one of his past, they could never find out, thinking too much about things only wore him out, and that was a feeling he had grown to despise after he fell once. He would ask when he was curious for answers, that he would do, there was no need to wear himself out with careful thoughts.


    Growing accustomed to this world was another growth he wanted of himself, he wanted to take things easy and try his hand at living as an actual king, but for a night or two, while he peered at the ceiling, he doubted that likelihood, wondering how it would ever become a possibility with his inability to get a hold of the murderer roaming the castle.


    He had failed at every turn to find out who that was¡ªwho Prince Zephyr¡¯s killer was¡ªthe only findings he was blessed with was the one Melisandre had given him, which was in truth, nothing of a blessing, as he could do naught without any proof of her claim. Yes, the other branch showed hostility towards him and would maybe have been the ones he searched for, but should he judge them based on mere speculations and the suspicions of someone he had just met? Would his father¡¯s spirit be happy with him if he made such a decision? He thought not and he thought against it. Dad would never praise me for such¡­ he had shook his head at the thought.


    Rather than judge without proof, he would take precautions to prevent his death instead. It seemed whoever the killer was took a liking to poisoning, maybe that was the only way they could pass their love across, so he had been having whoever brought his meal and drinks taste it before he took from it, and after he learnt of the bath-reaper that was the oleander, he had had his bathing water tested as well. Unless the killer ran straight at him with a sword in hand, he would never see death from them¡­ he hoped that would prove to be true, and he hoped the killer would never run straight at him with a sword. The thought of dying in such a painful way made him shiver.


    Zephyr pushed himself up from where he sat. He was done with his morning meal. ¡°Have a small feast prepared for when the lady of Blackwood arrives on the ¡®morrow. She would most likely need to be fed, I¡¯ll grace her with my presence then. Also, prepare one of the best rooms we have for her in the guest quarters. These should be enough for our high lady, should it not?¡± He smiled at Flynn.


    ¡°Yes, my king, it no doubt will. I shall do as you say.¡±


    And so he did. She was being fed in the small hall now, and her room, one which had been selected to have a feather bed and good lighting, cleaned and perfumed to suit her taste.


    ¡°Her daughter is here as well. I have told some serving girls to prepare a room for her while she dines with her mother.¡± Flynn watched Zephyr fold the lower edge of the page of the book he was reading before shutting the tome to a close.


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    ¡°What of Audrey? She is yet to arrive?¡± Zephyr asked as he took to his feet.


    ¡°Not yet. But her room is well ready for her arrival.¡±


    Zephyr turned around and began to take his steps towards the door, the length of his velvet robe, brooched at the chest by a raven, swirling in concurrence. ¡°And the grand savant, how has he fared with the questioning for the savant¡¯s death?¡±


    Flynn shook his head. ¡°He¡¯s taking it as fast as he can, which is slow. There¡¯s no progress.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Zephyr sighed, ¡°let¡¯s meet with Lady Eira.¡±


    Flynn went with him the length of the small hall, before bowing and taking his leave elsewhere, to his tower maybe, Zephyr thought, he was beginning to lessen his mind from tagging everyone and every movement they make suspicious. It would do nothing but wear him out, he told himself.


    When he arrived inside the small hall, he found her dining before a trestle table filled with meals of different sorts, nibbling on the thighs of a full chicken, whose juices poured enticingly all over her trencher. Even with the sound of the door shutting, she did not pry her gaze from the chicken she was eating, it was as though she had somehow heard of his disposition when the news of her coming reached his ears, and she was reciprocating the demeanour he had offered then.


    He would not have that though, he had to act a king. ¡°Lady Eira,¡± Zephyr sang. ¡°How do you like the feast I have prepared for you?¡± He wandered closer until he stood opposite from where she sat. She did not look at him, but he looked at her. The lady was seated as plump as the chicken she nibbled on with no regard for his presence as the king standing before her, her cheeks puffed, not because she was eating, but because that was how it was. She was a chubby woman adorned in a dagged-sleeve hazel gown made for her body and hers alone.


    Her daughter was different though, even though she had the same long and streaked blonde-strawberry hair as her mother, she had far better courtesy and a better body. She was on her feet as soon as her lavender eyes had met the silver of Zephyr¡¯s, bowing in greetings. ¡°Pleased to meet you, Your Grace. You¡¯re as beautiful as they say.¡± She raised her eyes.


    ¡°And you¡¯re as beautiful as eyes can see.¡± Zephyr smiled curtly. ¡°Please sit, and tell me your name.¡± He gestured as he took his seat on the opposite of the lady of Blackwood and her daughter.


    ¡°Valora, Your Grace.¡± She sat after he did.


    ¡°Valora,¡± he preened. ¡°A beautiful name, I must say. It is my pleasure to meet you, Valora.¡± He turned his head to look back at her mother still eating, almost done with the chicken thigh now. ¡°And your mother as well.¡±


    ¡°The pleasure is mine.¡± The red that naturally tinted the bridge of Valora¡¯s nose, brightened even more. She was a girl whose face was filled with flushes.


    Lady Eira finished up her eating then. ¡°This is the first you have seen my daughter, is it not, Your Grace?¡±


    ¡°And this is the first we have spoken¡­¡± he was not sure, so he added, ¡°since I became king, is it not, Lady Eira?¡±


    She chuckled as she picked up a linen napkin to wipe her lips clean from the chicken juices that had smeared it. ¡°I heard you have chosen a bride¡­ from House Flamesworth if my ears still hear the truth.¡± She took her eyes to him now, as the napkin dropped onto the remainder of the chicken. ¡°House Flamesworth, is it?¡±


    Zephyr took a glance at her daughter, and he understood where this was headed. He smiled as he returned it back to the puffy face of the lady of Blackwood. ¡°House Flamesworth it is.¡± If she wanted her daughter married to the king, why had she not sent her to present herself before him? Surely that was the custom, was it not? All the other ladies of houses that were interested were here. Or what was the custom?


    ¡°Like father like son,¡± she spat silently, but Zephyr heard. Seems he was not the first. ¡°The Claymore boy is your royal advisor, is he not?¡± She asked another question, to serve what purpose Zephyr wondered.


    ¡°He is.¡±


    ¡°House Ravenswood sits on the throne, House Claymore sits as the right hand man, and where is House Blackwood in all these? You tell me, King.¡± Spite was in her eyes now, and he was worried. If the Blackwood house was really as high as his, then it would not do good to make them enemies, plenty obvious it was. He wished he had stopped Flynn from leaving and brought him in. That one would know what to say, he did not.


    There were no words that came to escape his mouth. He glanced at Valora and as she avoided his gaze, he bit his lips. Had he messed up without knowing, he wondered. Why didn¡¯t his council counsel him on this when he had met them, and Flynn, why did he say nothing?


    Lady Eira broke the silence. ¡°Your father did the same with me, and now you do the same with my daughter, such a despicable family. Let me tell you something, Your Grace: Alliances are harder formed but easily broken. I will stay for the tourney and your name-day, but do not expect my presence while you name a lady of Flamesworth your queen,¡± she hissed. ¡°Get up, Valora, I want to head to the bedchamber I have been offered.¡±


    Valora stood as her mother stood, she faster than Lady Eira, but they were both standing at last. And while they left the small hall, Zephyr retained his position in silence, his palms folded together as he gazed at the column of trenchers lined up before him, watching them but at the same time he was not. He was lost in thoughts once again, maybe he could never have peace in this world, just maybe.

 Usurp The Usurper

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    He was dressed warmly, as he was meant to be, garbed in a thick woollen doublet of grey, in which he took shelter from the cold that pricked his skin the same way it did everyone else¡¯s¡­ unless they were his mother¡­ and Aria.


    The hearth of the bedchamber was unlit, the windows open, and they were there on the bed, mother and daughter, both dressed in soft linen sleeveless gowns of emerald and serpia, one colour for each. They really were the same, taking after each other in more ways than few, one of such ways was their mutual preference of the cool chilly air to the one of warmth, it was as though the cold seldom got to them, or maybe the ravens had just blessed them with the warmth of bear fur for skins. Damon wished he had such. The doublet warmed him, make no mistake, but it came with the dampening of his armpits, nevertheless that was better than the cold, that one made him shiver uncontrollably even at its slightest bite.


    ¡°I heard,¡± the queen told her son at the shut of the door without giving him her eyes. She had taken her time to stroking the brown hair of silk her daughter carried on her head while the young lady lay on her laps with eyes wide open, a smile rushing across her face as soon as she saw her brother.


    ¡°Brother!¡± Aria cried gleefully at Damon before her smile turned into a pout. ¡°Mother was telling me a story. None of it I understood though, but she said I must listen¡­¡±


    ¡°How about you tell me all about it later,¡± Damon cut in, smiling. ¡°I have something to speak to Mother about, do you mind going to your bedchamber for a while?¡± He paced away from the door and further into the room, his hands itching to hold something in it, which was less doubt a goblet of wine, but in the absence of such, they held themselves in tender embrace instead.


    ¡°She stays,¡± Ophelia thundered, more in tone than in voice. It was not harsh, but it no doubt took Damon¡¯s smile away. Did she always enjoy taking away whatever smile he had on his face? He wondered.


    ¡°It¡¯s about the savant, Mother.¡± Damon turned his eyes to her, widening it a slight queer so she understood that he did not want his sweet sister to be in their presence while they talked of such matters. But it was not what he wanted that his mother would do, it was what she wanted that she would do. She said her daughter would stay and she would stubbornly adhere to it no doubt.


    ¡°I said she stays,¡± the queen insisted, her stroking unrelenting, but her green eyes had gone to look at her son¡¯s brown now, her eyebrows stopped from pinching against each other by the lump of flesh that folded between them.


    Damon tsked. ¡°She¡¯s fifteen¡­¡±


    ¡°And old enough to listen.¡±


    Aria blinked puzzledly while they spoke, her thoughts jumbled about in her tiny head as she wondered what her mother and brother were arguing about. She herself had no problem with either leaving or staying, it was not something worth the hassle of an argument, and even if it was, she hated arguments, she did not like to see people quarrelling. She was fine with anyone, anyone at all. ¡°I¡¯m fine with leaving, Mother,¡± Aria spoke up, her voice tender and untainted, the same with the eyes she took to her mother¡¯s face from where she lay her head. She did not have the green eyes of her mother, hers were a soft brown, tender and kind, like her father¡¯s, and that tenderness was what her mother wanted to rip out of her. She was too old to still be tender. Far too old.


    ¡°You will stay and listen, my little flower. Mother insists,¡± Ophelia said and smiled at Aria then took her eyes back to her uncrowned son with nothing of the smile remaining, ¡°and your brother would do good to keep his mouth shut of this matter.¡± She was scary, she had always been¡­ to anyone who was not her little flower. They were not graced with whatever speck of tenderness she had left, all that remained was for her beloved daughter, but Damon sensed that was nearing its end as well, the same way it had done for he and Dante.


    Damon sighed in defeat, then stole a glance at Aria, whose head had returned to gaze at him from the comfort of his mother¡¯s aged thighs, before returning his eyes back to the queen. ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Damon told her, unwillingly.


    ¡°Like I did say when you entered. I heard.¡± Ophelia had already returned to stroking her daughter¡¯s hair once again, but that came to a short stop as Aria posed her a question.


    ¡°Who¡¯s dead, Mother?¡±


    ¡°The savant.¡± Ophelia beamed a smile at her daughter, a wan smile in truth, the warmth that a smile should normally bear was nowhere to be found on her face.


    ¡°The savant?¡± Aria jumped up from her mother¡¯s lap. ¡°When?¡± There was no stroking of silk hair now. It had all ceased.


    ¡°A few days past, my dear.¡±


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    ¡°He was not as old as the grand savant and he¡¯s dead,¡± Aria intoned, quite sullenly. ¡°Am I to cry? He had taught me a few things of sort.¡± Her eyes dropped, she was wondering how to feel. The savant was not someone she had a large familiarity with, she had only just a little bit of engagement with him, but wasn¡¯t she meant to cry for someone who had died? Was it not the right thing to do, especially if it was someone she knew? This was all that wandered her mind, but all that ceased when her mother¡¯s slender fingers took hold of her chin gently and raised her eyes from its down gaze.


    ¡°It was his duty, you do not cry for someone just because he had taught you a few things. If you speak to a guard in the next hour that does not mean you should cry for him if he ends up dead on the ¡®morrow. Your tears should be saved, they are better off not wasted on people of little regard to you, do you understand, my little flower?¡± She smiled, one of indecency, considering she spoke about a life, but little matter it had to Damon that watched, now perched on the edge of the chamber¡¯s table.


    She had grown he and Dante that way as well. Tears were better kept than wasted on people who serve us no purpose, she had told them both once, rather than waste time crying, such time should be spent seeking power. Power ruled all, power is everything, power is strength. She had made sure they heard. If only power was so easy to gain. Damn you father! Damon spat.


    Aria answered her mother¡¯s question with an unsatisfied nod, but Ophelia would not ask for more this time, it would take a while but she would come to understand soon enough, she was her daughter after all. Her eyes returned to Damon. ¡°And? Is that all you have come to speak of to me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Damon lowered his head then continued. ¡°Mother¡­¡± he faltered a bit. ¡°I might be unable to get the grand savant on our side.¡± It was a struggle to let those words free from his lips. He hated failure, everyone did, but none did as much as he, and what he did now was admit that he had failed, and to his mother of all people, his mother.


    ¡°Little wonder of that,¡± Ophelia said, sounding unsurprised like she had been waiting for him to fail. It angered him more.


    Damon bit his lips. ¡°It is impossible, Mother,¡± he raised his eyes sharply back to her, its exhaustion seeping out as it went deeper into hallows of weak anger.


    He was growing to hate his father even more for what he had done. Why had he not just crowned him, he was the one that was meant to be king, his mother was his first wife, he should never have taken a second, and he had his brown hair and his brown eyes, he was his son, more than Zephyr would ever be, more than that bastard would ever be, so why was he crowned instead? Why? All these would not be happening now if he had just been crowned. He had killed someone, he had taken a life, and all for what? A crown that was by right his? It made him bitter. It made him want to ride all the way to Ravenswatch and dig his father out of his grave and scream his questions out to him. But that was impossible, his questions served no purpose, his father would never answer, he had no voice to speak now. There was no turning back, a life has been taken, and more shall if that would give him the crown. He would do whatever to have that gold on his head.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we just take the throne the old way, Mother? Waiting to get the grand savant on our side is going to take too long, and near impossible.¡± Damon¡¯s voice went strong now, a quick transition from the weakness it had a few seconds ago. And his eyes went narrow as he stared at his mother¡¯s plain and watching face, awaiting her reply which he hoped would be in his favour.


    ¡°Usurp the throne from the usurper¡­¡± Ophelia muttered. ¡°What do you think, Aria? Do you support your brother¡¯s notion?¡± She turned to her daughter.


    Aria had little understanding for what was going on, but even a fool would know what they were talking about, and she was not one. She would be sixteen on her next name day in the winter, so she was already of age to piece the hints of their conversation together. Mother and brother are talking about taking the throne from our blue haired brother¡­ if only she knew why. But still she had to answer, and answer well to her might she would. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t usurping require an army and killings and blood? Would that not mean our half-brother would die? He¡¯s the king, is that in any way possible?¡± She answered a question with questions. The sought answer was nowhere.


    Ophelia pulled her daughter closer, placing her hand on her head as she turned her eyes to gaze at her son who watched her with a determined gaze. ¡°Yes we would need an army in the event that a war breaks out, and yes, the bastard would have to die for your brother to take the throne. Does your brother have an army that can rival the king¡¯s own, or does he have some way to kill the king, I wonder?¡±


    She was asking him, Damon knew, and he answered, ¡°Talk to grandfather, Mother, he¡¯d be willing to give you his men-at-arms, and the other houses will join us if we convince them that he¡¯s a bastard, take for example House Blackwood, they would not want to serve under a bastard, they are one of the first three houses of the realm. They have their pride.¡± He was sure it would work, he was sure.


    But not his mother. ¡°And how do you convince them that he¡¯s a bastard? Oh, I have my father¡¯s brown hair and he has blue hair, he¡¯s a bastard¡­ is that how?¡± She licked her lips. ¡°How you convince them he¡¯s a bastard is by getting the damned grand savant on our side, that¡¯s how. What don¡¯t you get Damon, that man knows it all, everything my stupid husband did before his death, everything, bring him here and we have the throne.¡±


    Aria had never seen her mother so flared before, it was queer to her eyes, so much that she shuddered as she watched the exchange. If only she understood better, maybe she would have been able to help her out. She wanted to, she did not like her mother agitated. There had to be some way she could help, there had to. ¡°If you give me some time I will speak with the grand savant, Mother.¡±


    Ophelia turned an unusual stare to her daughter, and so did Damon. Aria noticed and added, ¡°He likes to tell stories, he will tell me some if I ask.¡±

 The King’s Wish

    <h2><u>FLYNN CLAYMORE</u></h2>


    He never managed to make it to his tower through the great yard and all its ruckus and stirs of men and serving girls alike. He had found his steward waiting for him beneath the awning of the royal stable, which was on the way to his tower, the horses in the stable seemingly enjoying the presence of the man that served him, and they made sure he knew with their mirthful whiskers.


    Ewart Haystack had been a stable boy once, long before he had been brought to serve as Flynn¡¯s steward, and even though he reeked of horses when he had been brought to the Vale Of Rocks, he had always been a lot smarter than his peers, the little he had met, he was almost even as good as Flynn, but if there was a choice given to him between the stable and the book, he would pick the stable, and he sitting before one now was no coincidence, he loved the smell of horses still, and the horses no doubt loved him as well, Flynn could see that, but he had not been given such a choice, he had been dumped in stewardship, and with that came the end of his direct relations with mares and studs and geldings.


    ¡°They love you still,¡± Flynn called Ewart Haystack¡¯s attention with an approach to the stable. He could not get too close though, the stench of manure that mingled with the smell of the horses he would not have tinge his leather, he could not be foul-smelling when he returned to Zephyr. ¡°Ever thought of returning to become a stable boy?¡± He japed with a one sided grin, stopping his steps just outside the awning.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Ewart greeted with a bow as soon as he rose from the chopping block he was seated upon, his shoulder-length, dark and tousled hair, falling over his ears. ¡°It¡¯s better to serve you than to serve horses,¡± he said courteously, the richness of his calm voice seeping out.


    ¡°If only you meant that,¡± Flynn chuckled while he put one hand to rest on his hip.


    ¡°The horses do nothing but calm me now, my lord, but I was not here for them, I was here waiting for you.¡± Ewart Haystack let his face rise up to see the one of his lord. ¡°Lady Audrey arrived not too long ago. Ser Aaron has taken her to her chambers, he had me tell you.¡±


    ¡°When was this?¡± Flynn questioned with a calm wave of his hand as a reply to the serving girl that greeted him as she passed, not sparing her his eyes. ¡°How long has it been?¡± He added.


    ¡°Not long,¡± his steward said. ¡°Just some minutes past. We both did as you said and waited for her at the castle¡¯s drawbridge, as soon as her carriage came past the gates, Ser Aaron took her in, her along with one other, a man, her steward maybe, there¡¯s no room prepared for that one, so he went along to her bedchamber.¡±


    ¡°You did good, Ewart. Meet up with Baldwin and have him put some serving girls to prepare hot water for the bath of them both, it¡¯s midday so it should not be too hot, warm maybe, and then a room should be cleared up for the rest of the man that came with her thereafter. I¡¯ll meet with the king to tell him of his bride¡¯s arrival.¡±


    He spared the reply and bow of his steward no time as he turned around and plunged himself a ways through the never ending rumpus of the great yard, not that it ever left him, but it had seemed to grow quiet when he was talking with his steward, now though, it had taken fit to storm his ears ever so much like it did before when he had left Aeron¡¯s holdfast.


    When he arrived beneath the grey mortared walls of the holdfast, he made his way to where he had last left the king. He was not sure if he retained his position, and for that matter as he arrived at the oak-door of the small hall, he asked the black cloak stationed before it of the matter he was not sure of. ¡°Did the king leave?¡±


    ¡°My lord.¡± The guard bowed in greeting first, his armet firm over his face. ¡°The king is still in,¡± he answered, his metal face returning to its previous position.


    ¡°And Lady Eira?¡± Flynn wondered if the king and the lady of Blackwood were still engaged in some sort of long queer conversation, one that would not be of politics, that he was sure. Zephyr had never been one for political blethers, he had never seemed to like it and he avoided it at every turn, and to make it worse, he had lost his memories, to Flynn that was what had happened upon his resurrection. Maybe he should have never left him alone with the Blackwood¡¯s lady, but she had requested he did. So if it was not the bane of Zephyr, which was politics, they talked about, what could¡­


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    Could it be¡­ Flynn stumbled upon a late realisation, and gestured with immediacy to the guard to fly the door open; that one did almost as quickly as he saw the gesture, and Flynn was in, though not more than three steps in with the shut of the door before the king spoke.


    ¡°Returned, have you? Maybe you should never have left.¡± Zephyr continually stabbed the column of trenchers before him with the twin swords of silver that were his eyes, most especially the one with the slightly gobbled up chicken covered up by a linen napkin.


    Flynn was sure of what they talked about now, he really should never have left them to be.


    ¡°What would happen if we lose the support of House Blackwood?¡± Zephyr said again, his hands clenched under his chin. ¡°How bad would it be?¡±


    ¡°Very, my king.¡± Flynn sighed. ¡°They are the richest and have the largest levies in the realm. Losing their support would not be a good option.¡± Flynn came before the trestle table Zephyr sat before now, but the king¡¯s swords chose not to pierce him.


    ¡°And sadly it has now become an option.¡± Zephyr tsked. ¡°I heard my father did the same as I. He married another with no regard for the Blackwoods. If we were meant to wed them, then why was I not told of such? You¡¯re my advisor, you¡¯re meant to tell me these things. And the council, none said a word. None.¡± Zephyr did not look angry of sort, at least from where Flynn stood before him. He was unable to see the king¡¯s eyes, but he saw that his face was not twitching in annoyance, it was just filled with thoughts he had never been used to, thoughts he as the king¡¯s advisor was meant to help him with.


    ¡°It was your father¡¯s wish, my king,¡± he told Zephyr and that did enough to blunt his gaze and pull it from the trenchers lined before him and up at Flynn. ¡°Your father wished nothing of such political hold on you. He told us all to not tell you a thing, and have you pick your bride yourself, not because of some obligation as the king. And we could not go against the dead king¡¯s wishes, the grand savant would not even allow it.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s clenched hands loosened. ¡°If he did not want me to be tied up with kingly obligations he should never have crowned me. What would he have me do now that we are at risk of losing their support? I have chosen without obligations and I have chosen the lowest high house in the realm. What am I to do now, huh? You tell me. You counsel me.¡± He poured all his worries on Flynn and awaited a counsel of any sort from him, any would do.


    ¡°Call off the wedding with the lady of House Flamesworth, and betrothe yourself to Lady Eira¡¯s daughter in good faith with House Blackwood. That is my counsel to you¡­¡± Flynn answered sharply and Zephyr¡¯s eyes responded with a slumped narrowness of frustration at the exploit, ¡°as your advisor,¡± Flynn put in at the end. ¡°As your friend, Zephyr, I am in full support of your father¡¯s decision.¡± And up went Zephyr¡¯s brows.


    ¡°As my friend,¡± Zephyr muttered in some kind of way that made Flynn¡¯s eyes wrench slightly, just for a moment. ¡°And what would become of our relationship with House Blackwood? I should just throw it all away? That would be foolish of me as king will it not? You said they are the richest house in the realm, and they have the largest levies. We need them¡­¡±


    ¡°And they need us¡­¡± Flynn added. ¡°You have the throne, do not forget that, my king. They are one house, but you can rally more together if you so wish. You have the most power in the realm.¡±


    And how did that come to be¡­? Zephyr wondered why the Ravenswood house was chosen to sit the throne and not the richest and the most powerful house in the realm.


    ¡°But I still believe we should not let go of them so easily,¡± Flynn began to tell him. ¡°If we can still have their riches and their levies, then we should have it.¡±


    Zephyr was taken aback. ¡°And for you to say this you must have some sort of plan in mind. What is that plan?¡±


    ¡°Wed her daughter to your brother.¡±


    Zephyr¡¯s eyebrows pinched. ¡°My brother? Thaddeus? He¡¯s a child.¡±


    ¡°No, not Thaddeus, my king¡­ your brother, Dante.¡±

 Redflower’s Queen

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    The least he could have done was see me off¡­ Her anger still lingered even though she was now far away from Ironhold and the Redflower castle. He had not come, her father was nowhere to be found while she had prepared to set off. His stern hawkish face of no sight to her when she climbed the steps of her carriage one at a time until she was in after three. He was probably scribbling on another parchment, she had thought to herself. If asked she would have said she did not seek his presence, but deep down, it was otherwise, she had sought his presence, even if he would have spouted something that would have no doubt angered her, at least he would have been before her and she would have gotten to see him one last time, only the ravens know when she would see his glossed ponytailed silver hair again after she had left¡­ but he did not come.


    Her mother did though. Lady Theodora had been present, dressed in the same velvet gown of red as her daughter, only in dissimilarity where Audrey¡¯s gown was lined at the collar and its bell sleeves by vair. Audrey was as beautiful as her mother, if only she had her red hair as she did her eyes, maybe she would have been far more beautiful, but that was only a fleeting dream as her head wore a different colour, the silver of her father which had been twin braided to drop over her forehead, and embroidered into a long tail that fell gracefully behind her.


    ¡°Send ravens to me. Write all you can, I want to know how you¡¯re faring over there,¡± Lady Theodora had said with a smile while grabbing her daughter¡¯s hand through the window of the carriage, as the mailed pair of riders, wearing a half-helm with the crest of a phoenix engraved upon its forehead, set about to ready their geldings. ¡°Do all the king says, and¡­ do not hate your father, he¡¯s doing what he thinks best for you.¡± Her mother¡¯s hands tightened warmly on hers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll write all I can, Mother. To you and father, do not worry yourself.¡±


    That she said to soothe her mother, but now that she thought of letters in this castle, where her freedom would be stripped off from her, she did not want to write to her father. But a promise to her mother was a promise she would keep. She would write to the lord of Ironhold if it would please her mother. Anything for her.


    Audrey was standing bent over with palm on cheek on the window sill of her new bedchamber now¡ªher cage she would have rather called it¡ªwatching the movements and rapport which ensued in the yard below. ¡°It is only for a night, two at most,¡± the gilded man that came to lead her from her carriage had said, ¡°until you wed His Grace. You will move to his bedchamber after that.¡± This place had a nice view though, she might miss it.


    ¡°A good bed as well,¡± Renly drew her from her thinking with his words as if he had been listening to her thoughts, but she knew she had just missed some of the other things he had said, things that were most likely of little to no importance. She was grateful he was here though, her father had waved him to join her, only surprising in how fast, because she knew he only did so owing to the fact that the king had allowed her to come with whoever she pleased. How would she have fared without him and his over talkative mouth if he had not come? She did not even want to think too much of it. Only her in this castle with no one to call her own would only make her shudder.


    ¡°Maybe you should learn sword fighting with them,¡± Audrey said to Renly as she glimpsed two men in hauberk and leather chest pads smiling and sweating, and swinging and parrying the attacks of each other¡¯s blunt swords. How lucky they were, they were doing something they enjoyed.


    ¡°Dogshit!¡± The smile of one of the men faded as he cursed with a painful growl at the moment that the other man he sparred with bent a knee to the outswing of his sword and hit him at his left side where his chest pad gave no protection.


    ¡°Dogshit,¡± Audrey whispered in learning while she watched them carry on.


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    ¡°Steward I am, my lady, not a fighter,¡± Renly answered from behind her. She had almost forgotten she had said something to him.


    Audrey did not give him her eyes. The blows and hits the two men fed themselves with she seemed to enjoy. She occasionally glimpsed other men fighting as well, but these two she watched no doubt took her attention more. They had a precision she could not quite understand, beautiful swordsmanship she would have called it. Is that gilded knight any better¡­? That wonder plagued her mind slightly. He no doubt looked more of a fighter than the two men she was watching. Ser Aaron the Kingsknight, he had called himself. Yes, he would be a superb fighter no doubt, no man would be a Kingsknight and be below par. She almost smacked herself on the head for wondering something that was so obvious.


    ¡°Maybe being a steward and a fighter would be good, who would protect me if I needed help?¡± Audrey said, her mind slowly wishing no trouble of such would ever arise, but she was a ways away from home, and the farther from home she was, the closer trouble was to her, that she believed. And she was at the end of the realm, the only thing that remained after the castle was the great sea, and that meant she had just arrived at trouble¡¯s siege tower, awaiting its besieging.


    ¡°My lady,¡± she heard the voice of the knight that had come to take her from her carriage, calling to her. ¡°His Grace is here,¡± he added, and she saw the mailed man that was hit at his side before, fall to one knee after the other man he sparred with struck a blow with the pommel of his sword to his groyne, and with another blow to the head of the former, she saw his his lips read a yield with his hands raised up in surrender as he lay on the floor before she took herself away from the window. ¡°It¡¯s His Grace¡¯s castle, he can come in whenever he wants,¡± she answered, quite courteously.


    The door swung open, and she saw his fair face, his blue hair, and his narrow silver eyes again. It was not a dream, he really was so beautiful. He was dressed in a grey doublet strapped at the chest by leather buckles, a rather plain outfit for the king, but she didn¡¯t mind, his smile was not plain, it was warm and heartfelt as though he had missed her. Did he? She wondered. If not, why would he grace her with such an alluring smile. But this was the first they had met since the day he had chosen her, was such a short discussion between them that day enough to make him miss her?


    The shut of the door snapped her back from her intrusive thoughts, but his voice almost dipped her back in it. ¡°How was your journey?¡± He asked. ¡°I heard it takes two days and two nights to travel from¡­¡± he took a glance at the man that had come in with him, the one of auburn hair dim to her mother¡¯s, it seemed like he whispered a question to him before turning back to her, ¡°¡­Ironhold. How was it?¡±


    ¡°It was fine, Your Grace,¡± Audrey dropped a curtsy. ¡°I had my steward to keep me company.¡± She stretched her hand as a gesture to show Renly to him.


    ¡°Your Grace.¡± Renly bowed. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to be before your presence.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for keeping her company,¡± the king said as he walked further into the room. Quite spacious it was, she would say her own bedchamber at Ironhold was bigger but only in stubbornness. This one was far bigger, the bed far bigger, and the hearth far bigger as well, she could only wonder how big the king¡¯s bedchamber was.


    ¡°It is my job, Your Grace, as her steward,¡± Renly answered with another bow.


    The king nodded at him and then turned back to Audrey. ¡°How do you like the room?¡± He looked around, at the grey walls and its ceiling, smiling. ¡°Is it to your satisfaction?¡±


    ¡°It is, Your Grace. I quite like it, and I can see the yard from here as well.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good, it will only be for a while. I can guarantee my own bedchamber is better, and please call me Zephyr. You will be my queen after all.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡± Audrey lowered her head. ¡°Zephyr it is.¡± It came back up to watch his silver eyes captivate her as it had done a thousand times now.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to your rest now, but I¡¯d love to talk to you better later on, maybe at evenfall¡¯s meal.¡±


    ¡°I would love such too, Your Grace.¡± Audrey put her hands together before her skirt.


    Zephyr nodded at her and at her steward, both answering with a bow before he turned to the auburn haired man that stood behind him in silence. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Flynn,¡± he said, and out the door they went, his back the last she saw.

 Evenfall’s Supper

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    The sun had taken its leave to rest, fading from gold to black, and now he was to do the same as well, fade into sleep as the sun had done, but his evening¡¯s meal had to come first before his rest. He dared not sleep on an empty stomach, his mother would not have it if she heard. To her he was still nothing but a child, one she feared for its health, and he knew that those worries she had were no one¡¯s fault but his, he had made himself fall in exhaustion and no doubt made her worries grow in return.


    Supper, they had called it, and for all it was, but only a few graced the hall at the moment. Before the trestle table at the east of the Small Hall sat the only person on that end, Dante, his mouth set on munching the bowl of mortrew stew he had been served, along with the verjuice to help wash it down his throat. They had all been served the same thing, but Dante was a man that did everything with a tad grace of etiquette, and even his eating was of no difference. With each spoon of the stew thickened by honey into his mouth came a deft chew before a swallow, and after that, he would take up another stew into his spoon, repeating it a whole; he did not rush his meal, not at all.


    That was not the same for Thaddeus who sat alone at the western table. Before he was done chewing, he would dip another spoon of the stew into his mouth, and dip and dip, until he could dip no more when his cheeks had swollen like a gourd, then he would wait and chew completely and swallow, then drown a cup of water down his throat before continuing his frantic dippings. No one rushed him but he himself, and Thalia was not here to reprimand him; Zephyr knew he was to do that in her stead, but he was quite occupied at the moment. Thaddeus was not a child, at least that was what he always said, he should be able to handle himself.


    ¡°Not to your liking?¡± Zephyr asked, his question and eyes turned and directed towards the woman who was seated to his left on the high table, his to-be-queen, Audrey. He noticed that she had not touched the spoon which had sunk into the mushy depths of the stew she had been served¡ªeven though her eyes seemed to embrace it¡ªbut instead she kept taking occasional sips from her goblet of verjuice, clearing her throat warmly with each, and it made Zephyr uncomfortable.


    They had both not said a word to each other since they had arrived in the hall. Audrey had been present before him, he was the last to come, and after their words of greetings he had grown silent, she had grown silent, and the hall had grown silent, the only sounds coming to his ears from time to time were the ones of wooden spoons on wooden bowls and the ones of swallows, his own one of them. He was the one to talk, he knew, and now he awaited her reply as soon as he had finally done just that after he finished his meal and drowned it with a drink of verjuice, his eyes squinting from the drink¡¯s strength every time his tongue tasted it.


    And she replied, ¡°I hope it will when I taste it, but right now I can barely do that. I scarcely eat when my mind is troubled, Your Grace.¡± Soft and dulcet was her voice, just like the linen gown that graced her body with a colour the same as her artfully tousled hair.


    ¡°Zephyr,¡± Zephyr corrected coolly, that had to come first before any other, but now that he had done so, he continued, ¡°and what is it that troubles your mind?¡± He unclutched the goblet he had been holding. ¡°Is it anything of much concern?¡±


    She turned her eyes to him. It was the first he had seen them up close, a bewitching sky-blue they were, warm and alluring as it gazed at him, and it would little doubt be the same for any other who saw it. His eyes blinked a slight fervour as he inhaled softly but sharply when she opened her mouth to speak. ¡°If I may speak truthfully, Zephyr¡­?¡±


    ¡°You always want to speak truthfully,¡± Zephyr rode over her with a smile, ¡°and I will always be all in for it. You can do as you want at all times, you are my queen, never forget that.¡± His words were honeyed, even so in his past life. Where he had learned to be such a way he could never put his thumb on it, but he did not mind it still. A way with tongue was a vital trait for a king, his father had told him once, only it was not king the man had said, in his father¡¯s own, the place of king was overtaken by the word gentleman. Now that Zephyr thought about it well enough, maybe he had gotten such a trait from his father. The man sure had a way with his tongue that he could remember well.


    Audrey shut her eyes for a brief moment, and as soon as she opened it up with an exhale, she let the words she held dear slip. ¡°Why was I chosen to be your queen? I made mention of the nothingness I had to offer the throne. What could you have possibly seen or heard that I had to offer you, to offer the throne and the kingdom? This is what I want to know, Your Grace¡­ What do you want from me?¡±


    Zephyr drowned in silence for a while before leaning over the armrest of his high seat and whispering to her, ¡°I want nothing from you but the comforts you have to offer.¡± And after he said that, the hall seemed to grow even more quiet than it already was, so much that he could almost hear the hard thumps of Audrey¡¯s heart bellowing from between her breasts. She was flushed, he could see, her face reddened too brightly for anyone with a pair of eyes to miss it.


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    He could not stay here any longer. Zephyr took to his feet and turned his back to her after saying, ¡°If your stew stays any longer untouched, it will grow soggy. Might as well eat it while it¡¯s warm.¡± After his talk, he strolled down from the dais, his body shrouded in his sleeping garments of grey linen tunic and breeches, the cold seldom getting to him by dint of the burning sconces hanging from the walls and the ever blazing hearth grounded at the apex of the Small Hall.


    It was his brother of ten he first approached as he came down from the dais. ¡°Thaddeus,¡± he muttered with a smile, but the young lordling that thought himself an adult did not look up from his food. He was almost done now, a few more spoons and that was it. ¡°Go slow, you eat like a child.¡± And Thaddeus¡¯ hands stopped with a shock. There was a pout on his little brother¡¯s face, or maybe it was just his mouth full, Zephyr was not sure which, but at least he made him slow down his gobbles. Calling Thaddeus a child was a foolproof way to rein him in, the words made his body itch. Zephyr let a grin on his face as he put his hand on his brother¡¯s hair and ruffled it. He turned and made his way to Dante¡¯s table next, that one already done eating and was now wiping his lips with a napkin.


    ¡°Your stew remains,¡± Zephyr mentioned.


    Dante looked up at him. ¡°Might be I am no longer hungry,¡± he said with the welcoming smile he always had.


    ¡°Might be so,¡± Zephyr answered with his own smile while he took a seat beside Dante. Since putting ease to his never ending thoughts of the suspicion he gave others, he had begun to experience less weariness and more sight had been given to him to see the good in those close to him, and if he was asked who he felt was the most good, aside his mother, Thalia, and his brother, Thaddeus, his half-brother he seated beside now would come in next. He was as good as they come and sometimes Zephyr had no choice but to wonder why, seeing as he was from the other branch that regarded his claim to the throne null and void. But he had chosen not to dwell on such thoughts so much, those were the beginning of his weariness, and like his father used to tell him: If someone was good to you, repay them with kindness¡­ but was what he was about to say to his good half-brother an act of kindness of any sort?


    ¡°Should you have left her all alone at the high table?¡± Dante questioned as he gestured Zephyr with his head to gaze up at his queen. She was eating slowly, one spoon at a time, quite gracefully but surely uncomfortably. ¡°She knows no one here yet, you should be keeping her company until she does, you chose her to be your queen after all. And I heard she has a steward, can¡¯t see him around. What do you know about that?¡±


    ¡°Might be he slept off or decided to eat in his bedchamber.¡± Zephyr shrugged.


    ¡°You did not ask of him?¡± Dante¡¯s eyebrows pinched in wonder.


    ¡°That I did not do.¡± Zephyr clicked his tongue. ¡°A mistake?¡±


    ¡°A sure one, brother.¡± Dante shook his head and let drop his napkin. ¡°Caring for her steward is the same as caring for her. Might you show whoever that is more care, then her affection for you might grow as well. Or you do not want her affection?¡± Dante turned to Zephyr, his deep brown eyes waiting eagerly for an answer.


    ¡°Why would I not want her affection? She¡¯s to be my queen, her affection is something that I would most definitely want and cherish, and besides if she does not grow to love me then I shall hate myself for taking both her freedom and love away,¡± Zephyr told him, then took a drink of his verjuice after, his eyes squinting sourly in response.


    ¡°I thought so too.¡± Dante peeled his eyes away from Zephyr and anchored it forward onto one of the sconces that hung on the wall straight before him. ¡°I remember you telling father something similar when we were boys, he smiled then, it was one of the only times he blessed us with one of his warm smiles,¡± Dante smiled as well too at the thought, ¡°I¡¯m glad you have not changed. Father never liked the prospect of marrying people against their will, he tagged it a stupid thing, forcing people to discard their chance at exploring genuine love all for the sake of the political stands of their household did not leave a good taste in his mouth, but he said the kings had no choice, they had to live by that rule, he had to live by that rule, and since he had no choice but to adhere, the least they could let him do was choose his bride himself, that¡¯s the way he chose my mother, the same way he set it up for you to choose your queen as well.¡± Dante turned once again to Zephyr. ¡°But the love taken from the chosen bride had to be returned, he said, so make sure you give her enough, brother, do not make father sad.¡±


    But what about you? How will you take what I am about to ask of you¡­? Zephyr thought sullenly as he watched Dante rise to his feet. He was bitter after listening to all his brother had told him, but there was no choice, was there? This was the only way. He had to be and act the king.


    ¡°I want you to wed Lady Eira¡¯s daughter¡­ for the sake of the throne.¡± The words tore through his mouth scornfully as though he had pulled a branch of coral tree filled with spikes from between his lips.


    As Dante halted with a sharp inhale, Zephyr took his eyes away ashamedly, avoiding whatever demeanour his half-brother wore. He could not look at his face. What has he done? What has he said? The same prospect was what he offered to him, the same prospect the late king did not have a gooding for. It was a sharp pain to his own side, so much he wondered what it would be to his half-brother.


    ¡°Not a problem, Your Grace,¡± Dante said, his voice low and sharp.


    Zephyr snapped his gaze back to him and he saw his half-brother¡¯s face then, a light smile was spread across his cheeks as though he did not mind, but Zephyr could see through it. He could see the sourness that lingered layers between Dante¡¯s dark-brown eyes, he could see it all, and he loathed himself for it. He had chosen to be a king rather than a brother, something both the late king, his father in this world, and his father in his past life would have no applaud for.

 Lists, Jousts, And Lust

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Late he was, for the tourney, but the care he had for that was the size of a pickle seed lost in the rage of a flowing brook, a rage he had as well. He would not have bothered to come if it was not the ¡°king¡¯s tourney¡±. The king¡¯s tourney¡­? He was to be king, he! It was meant to be his tourney, not that bastard¡¯s own. His loath was never-ending, but even with such a vast overflowing bitterness, he was to be there, as a member of the royal family it was mandatory.


    If only there was something to soothe his rage, to calm him down; the crown would be the first thing he wanted to do that, but even he knew how much plausibility that had right now. Very little it was. He needed something else, something that would clear his mind of rage even for a moment. He thought of Melisandre, but she was not an option now, she could not fill him with her warmth at this moment, maybe he would have her come to his bedchamber after, it had been days since he last felt her body, the warmth of her thighs on his palms.


    Damon had chosen his fit himself. A black jerkin with gold details and buckles, and a matching leather doublet underneath. A rather plain and unbecoming outfit for him he would say, but his mood would not allow anything else to grace his body. He was dispirited and his look was chosen to fit just that.


    The inaudible roars echoing off the walls surrounding him, jumped into cheers, shivering and thunderous as he made his way out of the dim stairwell and the yellow the wall-torches gave it, and into the bright shimmering sunlight of gold that almost blinded him. Splinters, he thought as he stepped onto the terrace, someone is fallen¡­ Maybe he would sight a bit of fun from this tourney after all.


    He had even heard from his mother that her nephew was participating. The man had sent word to her of his arrival, but he chose to remain out of the castle walls and stay in the city until today. Today he would be on this tourney grounds beneath the walls of the castle. And Damon saw it as the perfect opportunity to see how strong a man knighted by his grandfather really was, it would help him gauge the strength of the levies the old man had and if they would be of much use to him once he waged war on the one that took his crown.


    He espied that person first, the one who took his crown. The blue-haired bastard, garbed in a snow-white brocade coat and a flowing golden cloak, was seated cosily on a low-raised platform with a smile on his face, a stupid smile Damon would call it. The crown on that bastard¡¯s head was his, and so was the seat too. It was he that should be seated there, and to the left where that whore, Thalia sat was to be his mother, while to the right where¡­ Silver hair? He had never seen that silver hair before, who was it? He wondered slightly, before he recalled that Dante had made mention of Zephyr choosing a queen, while angry that he did not attend the court ceremony.


    Was she the one? He had heard the serving girls whisper of how beautiful she was; he could now see how much of a truth that bore himself. It is said a smile makes a person¡¯s beauty radiate, but even though she was not smiling, her clear skin painted in gold by the sun made her beauty still most alluring. The bastard chose well¡­ he scoffed.


    Closer he walked towards the royal box, and more of those seated he saw. To the left of the whore queen sat the bastard¡¯s brother, the little brat, Thaddeus. Sometimes he wondered what he hated about that bratling more, his childish grin or his annoying and unending avowal of being an adult. What did he know about being an adult? Little child, little sense, Damon clacked his tongue in irritation as he saw the grin he hated on Thaddeus¡¯ face. The boy was enjoying the jousts with a mind he did no harm to anyone, but little did he know that he was doing a lot of harm to Damon.


    Behind the low-raised platform to the left of the king¡¯s seat, sat his mother, fair and beautiful and dressed in a lovely velvet gown of green matching her eyes, and from her shoulders down to her arm hung a pine marten shawl, dark-brown and elegant. On his mother¡¯s left sat his sister, her face devoid of anything akin to excitement. He knew her to sooner roam the kitchens and gist with the serving girls than watch men in armour hit themselves with wooden lances for the sake of coins and a place in the Kingsknights, but as he had no choice to be here, so did she. When he becomes king he would let her do whatever she pleased, she just had to bear with it for now, just for a little while. If she manages to get the grand savant to speak, then maybe, just maybe that a while will become sooner than ever.


    Damon looked further to the right of his mother which was graced by his brother, Dante, his face ridden with¡­ a lour¡­? That was not right, he always had a smile on his face, Damon noticed, but there was something far more worrying than the demeanour his brother wore and what had plunged him into such a state, that thing being the dearth of a seat for him where his family sat. There were none. It did not take right to him, and when he looked closer he saw why. It was not hard to miss.


    Beside Dante sat a plump and suety woman, her body as heavy as her face. She was the one that took his seat, he descried, but there was nothing to be done, even he knew that. He savvied who she was, his bedchamber guard had made mention of her arrival to him after he had returned from his mother¡¯s chambers, Lady Eira of Blackwood, that much was a sight plain and obvious the same as her unmissable framework. If only he could somehow get her on his side, he began to think, then he would be able to wage war for the throne that was by right his.


    To the right of the plump lady of Blackwood sat another, a lady svelte in figure, she was the utter opposite of the high-lady. That must be her daughter¡­ Damon observed based on what his guard had told him. Her daughter came with her, slim and different from her mother, the guard had said, trying to sound as courteously subtle as possible. Damon saw the daughter now, and he praised the guard¡¯s courteous acquaintance. It was a hard feat to achieve when trying to tell them both apart to someone, at least to him, he could not do it.


    On the svelte lady¡¯s right was a free seat, the only one, and no one had to tell Damon that that was where he would sit. His nose was still wrung up in spite as he passed the two gilded Kingsknights who stood outside the royal box with a silver long-cape hanging from their shoulders. They bowed as they caught sight of him. ¡°My prince,¡± they had both echoed in greeting, one with a sharp and fairly older face and a different voice than the other, the two of them unhelmeted and hand on the pommel of their sheathed longswords. He knew them, Ser Calix and Ser Aaron, the Kingsknights of his late father, and he had spite for them as well. How dare they call him ¡°prince¡± when they knew he was the rightful heir to the throne? Such insolence. He gimlet-eyed them then waved their greetings away curtly.


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    His anger was a tidal wave on its way to crash the things in its path, but he made do to hold it in. Their greetings had made eyes¡¯ turn to look back at him, his mother not one of them, but his sister, his brother, and even that bastard and his brat of a brother turned for a short while to watch him. He hated the glint of that silver eyes, it would never look upon him again once he had the throne, soon enough, he would make sure to pick them out himself.


    Damon shook his thoughts free from anger as he arrived at the only seat that awaited him. ¡°Pardon me, my lady,¡± he called the young lady of Blackwood to him with a smile. She was enjoying the jousting he could see, the bridge of her nose was flushed and her mouth curled into a smile. Quite pretty he would say she was, but Melisandre was far prettier and so was Zephyr¡¯s lady; he wondered what her name was. ¡°Mind if I sit?¡± He was still angry but it was not something a lady of Blackwood should see if he hoped to have their levies. A king should not look weak before his subjects, he told himself.


    Another roar came and filled the air from the throng crammed on the erected crescent gallery on the opposite side of the terrace. Damon was taking his sit when they shouted, after the young lady had given him a deft nod in reply, and as soon as he was done sitting, he turned his head to look at the tourney field below, then he saw a rider caught by his leg to the girth of his saddle, struggling to free himself as his jet-black destrier galloped to the end of the lists, dragging his body through the dirt. When the horse slowed to a trot, a bony boy ran to help the rider free from the saddle-girth. The man¡¯s helmet had been lost somewhere on the field, his brown muddy hair muddied further by the blood that ran down his forehead.


    ¡°A freerider.¡± Damon tsked. Someone like this could never become a Kingsknight, why bother¡­?


    ¡°The one that unhorsed him is even lesser,¡± the young lady of Blackwood told Damon of her own accord as if she had heard his thoughts, and he turned to look at her clapping jollily with a fine smile on her face. ¡°He has unhorsed a few already, even knights. Look,¡± she pointed, ¡°he¡¯s a peasant.¡±


    Damon looked then and saw. A peasant he was undoubtedly, and¡­ a boy. A boy with dark-blonde hair he would say was no more than the range of one-and-four to one-and-six. The boy flung down from his horse, throwing his plain targe shield to the floor and began to wave to the crowd, while his other hand held his helmet which had old dents and scratches, close to his breastplate that suffered the same fate as his helmet. That was all he wore, a brown tunic and a mismatched helmet and breastplate, both which looked to have been rented from a cheap armourers shop, the same as the shield. His lance was on the ground all broken into splinters, the same as the pride of the freerider who was bloodied and out cold even as they had begun to drag his body out of the grounds.


    Damon turned back to the young lady who was still clapping giddily with a flushed smile on her face. ¡°Might I ask your name, my lady?¡±


    ¡°Valora,¡± she answered, a little bit too quickly.


    ¡°I¡¯m Damon. Do you find the peasant attractive, my lady Valora?¡± He asked, and as soon as he did, he had an idea storm his mind, a one good enough to pinch his eyebrows.


    She did not turn to face him but answered nonetheless, ¡°I find myself to be more attractive.¡± She had pride. Good, he thought.


    ¡°That I agree to be the truth,¡± he smiled, a soft smile tainted with a lustful look at her side face. ¡°I find myself to be very attractive as well¡­¡± A tongue honeyed and spiced for the ladies, Damon knew that was something home to only he, and it was something he knew how to make use of. ¡°But I have had the grace to see someone who glows brighter than I.¡±


    She stopped clapping then and her eyes finally turned to him. Lavender, he saw, and pretty, he thought, in all truth, they were. ¡°And would my lord tell me who that person might be? I seem to have found myself curious.¡±


    Damon side-eyed a glimpse of the lady, Eira of Blackwood, watching them for a while, but that did not stop him, if his idea was to work, then this had to pan out well. ¡°Why, you, my lady,¡± he said with a beguiling smirk. ¡°Enchanting is the only word that my mouth feels to befit you.¡±


    The tip of her nose reddened, but she acted oblivious to it that anyone might think she did not even know it was a deep red at the moment. She turned her face away from Damon¡¯s and to the grounds as another rider rode in, this one well clad in an enamelled brass armour from head to feet, his red cape which had a black panther running across it, well behind the hind of his spotted mare. Waynwood! This one had shouted, lifting his spear and his blood-red shield, which had the same panther as his cloak, into the air, and knight everyone knew he was.


    ¡°Is that what you say to all the ladies you¡¯ve come across, my lord?¡± The young lady had begun to clap for this rider now, this Waynwood knight, but a softer clap it was, nothing like the one she had had for the peasant.


    ¡°Maybe¡­ and it might be that you¡¯re the only one who has ever heard me say such words, my lady.¡± He saw her smile before he turned again to look down at the field and the second rider who now made his way into the grounds. This rider was without a shield; cocky, Damon would have called him, until he saw the garnet-engraved golden tiger head on the chest of his dark-grey banded mail, his golden cloak emblazoned with the same tiger head, shimmering with the breath of air as he grabbed a lance from a boy-squire. House Lockeheart¡¯s sigil¡­ Damon hooted deep within. Is that he¡­? Mother¡¯s nephew¡­?


    The riders readied their lancies at once as their horses both trotted to a stop on the opposite ends of the lists. There was a shout to begin, and next came the cries of the crowds and a slightly excited shift of Damon on his seat as the riders both spurred their horses into a ferocious gallop. It was all fast paced and ended too quickly, but it no doubt filled the throng with excitement. Splinters had scattered into the air, and the crowd roared WAYNWOOD!¡­ in nothing else but mockery.


    A mare had come to a stop at the end of the lists, but its rider was not seated atop it. Damon smiled. One swift thrust¡­ he announced to himself. He watched the rider arrive atop his destrier to the foot of the terrace where they were all seated, no lance in hand. The man pulled off his helmet for all to see. Dark-copper skin with pale yellow hair ruffled by the helmet he had worn, Damon saw him to look vastly different from his mother, but something matched them for him, their eyes. The rider¡¯s was the same green as his mother¡¯s, the same lovely green.


    The rider smiled. ¡°Long live the king!¡± He bellowed. ¡°The name¡¯s Maurin of House Lockeheart, Your Grace, and I ask you pardon me to ask my niece to grace me with her crown of flowers.¡±


    ¡°You may ask,¡± Zephyr answered him. ¡°And who might this your niece be?¡±


    ¡°The queen. Ophelia Ravenswood, Your Grace.¡±

 In Service To The Throne

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°You should be with sleep, Zeph,¡± Dante made mention as he walked into the solar, glancing at both the king and his advisor seated already while the light of the candelabra limned a dim gold on their faces. ¡°Was the tourney not tiring enough for you?¡±


    ¡°Tiring¡­¡± Zephyr smiled, ¡°but fun.¡±


    Dante pulled out an empty seat on Zephyr¡¯s left before the table and fell languidly on it, his demeanour every bit as sour as it had been during the day. ¡°Fun or not, you should be sleeping. The tourney¡¯s finale and your name day is on the morrow, it will not do good to have you bedridden like the last time.¡± If only his concern felt even a little bit more authentic like it used to be. He could not even look at his brother with a smile, the one he used to always have.


    Zephyr was not oblivious to what had caused Dante to become such a way, and he was every bit as sour as he had made his brother, but what would he have had him do? He had to make a choice, he had to. ¡°They unhorsed a lot today¡­ those peasants,¡± Zephyr began, trying his best for an uplifting talk with Dante. Flynn just sat watching, lips shut and hands clutched. ¡°What do you think of them brother? Do you think any one of them would make a good Kingsknight?¡±


    Dante handed Flynn his eyes, gimlet and narrow. Zephyr noticed the stiffening glares they fed each other, but his mouth would not let loose to touch on the matter. ¡°They unhorsed men knighted, they would no doubt make good Kingsknights, but we will have to find out on the ¡®morrow if they are as good with a sword as a lance.¡± Dante was speaking to Zephyr, but he was still looking at another¡­ Flynn.


    There was a short sigh followed immediately by a deep sigh, both from Zephyr, the former for the solar¡¯s ambience and the latter for the Lockeheart man he now remembered. ¡°And what of your mother¡¯s nephew? What do you think of him?¡±


    ¡°My mother hates you, not her nephew, if he wins the finale and becomes your Kingsknight, he will not betray you for my mother, if that is what you fear.¡±


    ¡°And how are you so sure? What gives you such confidence in him?¡± Zephyr was not convinced, his eyes of silver shaded from the candelabra¡¯s light by his long blue eyelashes, pinching Dante for a better explanation. If only he could have convinced him in a better way when he had asked him to wed the Blackwood lady, then maybe he would not be so embittered. Quite kingly he was¡­ quite kingly.


    Dante leaned back on his chair with an exhale, his head tilting to the left tiredly as his watch of the ever-so-silent Flynn continued. ¡°He would never betray the throne,¡± Dante told Zephyr.


    Your surety worries me¡­ Zephyr¡¯s mind was not still cajoled to be at rest, that was not an answer to his question, and it sure as hell was not doing him any good. He was not able to find the prince¡¯s murderer, that one still roamed the castle somewhere, but his precautions had proved fruitful in keeping him safe, he was not about to ruin that by bringing someone he could not trust so close to him, he could not, but what would he do if the Lockeheart knight won the tourney, he had to make him the Kingsknight no matter what. That was the custom.


    A voice hijacked his mind then¡­ Custom be damned¡­ the custom was to wed the Blackwood girl and you did not¡­ you are the king, even if he wins the tourney you can choose not to make him your Kingsknight, you hold the power, you sit the throne, you can do whatever you please¡­ yes, the voice was right, he was the king, that was true, he could do whatever he pleased.


    ¡°If he wins the tourney, he must be made your Kingsknight, you have the power to say no and choose another, but I tell you: for every action there is a repercussion, and for a king it is tenfold the one of us lessers.¡± Dante gave his head a slow turn to look at him, and for the first time Zephyr felt a dark icy chill cloud those brown eyes of his brother.


    Do you speak of your mother¡¯s nephew or do you speak of yourself¡­? Zephyr wondered which.


    Dante turned away then. ¡°Father told me House Lockeheart wears their loyalty like a sleeve, one undetachable. They have been in service to the throne for centuries, they would never betray it as long as a Ravenswood sits on it.¡±


    That there. That is the problem¡­ am I in truth a Ravenswood¡­? Was the past Zephyr actually a Ravenswood¡­? What would happen if he was not one¡­? What would happen if your brother and mother are right about the dead Zephyr being a bastard, would all the houses in the realm turn against me then, would they¡­?


    ¡°And what if I am a bastard? What would happen then?¡± Zephyr let his thoughts spill out, and it left behind in its wake a choking silence.


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    Dante¡¯s eyes drifted to a shut, slowly but quickly, with a sharp inhale as his nose turned up revoltingly, and as soon as it came open again, he shot it at Zephyr, his eyes wide and irated, while his fists slammed hard on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare consider yourself a bastard.¡± His voice was hard and strong, and tensed and frazzled, and Zephyr¡¯s mouth wasted no time to turn grim as his eyebrows furrowed in shock. He had seen the first of Dante¡¯s anger and he no doubt knew it was something he did not want to see any longer¡­ but why was he so angry, why? It was queer to him.


    ¡°You are Father¡¯s child. I do not care if any other calls you a bastard, but when you call yourself that what do you leave me with to think of father? Don¡¯t you dare do that. Don¡¯t.¡±


    Another, Zephyr thought, another he had done. He was tugging with his brother¡¯s emotions, tugging hard at it, and even though it was not something he wanted to do, he had to, he had to ask, he had to know, he¡­ ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Will you wed Lady Valora?¡± Flynn cut in. He had not spoken since, watching silently as though he had not been present in the solar with Zephyr and Dante, he had transferred his silence to them now as they both glanced at him with the sudden switch in colloquy he presented. ¡°Will you?¡±


    Dante¡¯s eyes snapped a twitch. ¡°What?¡± He said, sounding aghast as though he did not understand what Flynn had put forward in words to him.


    ¡°Will you wed Lady Valora of House Blackwood as the king asked of you?¡± Flynn repeated, this time with more words than before so Dante would not still lack the understanding of what he spoke of.


    Dante knitted his brows in a frown, the sourness that had never left his face given wings to soar into greater heights. ¡°It was you, was it not? The one who put such an idea into Zephyr¡¯s head?¡± He never lacked the understanding of what Flynn had said, he was just embittered that he would have such a thought.


    Flynn looked at Dante with less worry, if he even had any at all, his face guileless while his brown eyes peered at the prince. ¡°Yes. I am his advisor after all. I am the one that put such an idea into his head as I am meant to do. What else would you have had I done? It was either this or we lose the Blackwoods. Would you have preferred we lose the power of the Blackwoods?¡±


    ¡°Father would not¡ª¡± Dante was about to speak, but Flynn had little patience to let him go through with whatever words he had to say.


    ¡°The late king is dead, hence the late. Whatever he would have done we will never know, he never faced such a hitch.¡± He pointed at Zephyr. ¡°He is the king now, and he¡¯s the one facing that which the late king did not. What would you have had me tell him? That he should act like the late king even if that would cost us?¡±


    A loud bang came with Dante¡¯s palm crashing down on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare¡ª¡±


    ¡°I dare say I already did, my prince,¡± Flynn sliced through his words for the second time in the dim of the solar and the dark of the night, it was as though he had taken it upon himself to make sure the prince never said anything again in this solar.


    Zephyr sat, grown dumbstruck at what was ensuing. They bickered like kids, something he never thought he would see from both of them. Something he had never imagined. ¡°Stop it, both of you,¡± he said, his voice low and mellow, and it seemed like they did not hear him.


    ¡°All I do is in service to the throne,¡± Flynn continued. ¡°What of you? Will you act a child and put the throne at risk all because of what you believe the late king would have and would have not done?¡±


    Dante could not take it any longer and he rose to his feet in a crackling spit of rage, the chair which had been graced with his weight screeching as he did. His eyes were a darker brown than it normally was, his anger had taken him ahold, and it tightly gripped him. ¡°Speak of my father one more time and I¡¯ll have your tongue fed to the dogs,¡± his voice was hard and cruel, and Flynn knew it was not a jape. At this moment they were not the friends Dante and Flynn, at this moment one was the prince and the king¡¯s brother, and the other the king¡¯s advisor.


    Zephyr had enough as well, he could hear no more. ¡°You stop it now, both of you!¡± He flared up, as much as he could, he had never been one for anger and shouts, but he would try his best to have such a demeanour now, maybe it would keep them silent. He tried to recall the way he had felt the first time he had snapped¡ªwhich was no doubt unwillingly¡ªthe uncanny crash of emotions he had felt at his brother Thaddeus on his first day in this world. ¡°You will have no one¡¯s tongue,¡± he said to Dante, then turned to Flynn. ¡°I sit before you and you dare cause a scene? What in hell is wrong with both of you.¡± He glanced at both of them each, and all he could see was Dante¡¯s rage, Flynn was weirdly composed. Why would Dante be so angry? He was not sure it was the marriage he had proposed to him any longer, he was not flared up when he had brought it up, he was not. At least he had been able to keep them both silent.


    The wind knocked softly on the shut windows of the solar, and then the silence was broken, by Dante. ¡°As I told His Grace, I will wed the lady Valora. I as well do all I do in service to the throne¡­¡± he turned from Flynn to Zephyr, his voice had grown to become calm now, but his face still sour¡­ ¡°and to my brother. I will take leave to my bedchamber now.¡± He sighed and let himself out of the solar.


    Zephyr wasted no time turning to Flynn as soon as Dante was gone. ¡°What is wrong with you? Why would you choose to anger him?¡±


    Flynn rose from his seat. ¡°He knows that this is the only way to keep a hold of the Blackwoods, that much was obvious to him, I could see it in his eyes. He¡¯s one of the smartest persons I¡¯ve ever met, but he loses it whenever it comes to your father.¡± Flynn turned his eyes to his king. ¡°He¡¯s a man in brains, but a child at heart. I have to help him realise that much, as his friend.¡±


    But as his friend did you though, or did you just make him unnecessarily angry¡­?

 A Lovely Night

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    ¡°Where were you?¡± Audrey asked Renly as soon as he stepped through the door of her bedchamber. She was seated cross-legged on the window-seat of her chambers, watching the moon play hide-and-seek with her eyes, only she did not seek it like it wanted. Whenever it hid behind the clouds that drifted in the night sky which were thick with the sign of rain, she would count the stars instead, fifty they always were, before the moon would peek at her again, grey and gloomy like her nightgown, and take her attention away from the stars she counted, forcing her to watch it once more until it hid behind another cloud.


    Night was her favourite time. She loved counting the stars and watching the moon play its games, but with her watch came the longing for what they had, they were all she wanted to be. Free. But that seemed like a fleeting dream beneath these stone walls now, and her steward was not helping in any way.


    The door shut, courtesy of the guard that had been appointed to man her bedchamber, and Renly chuckled as soon as it did. ¡°I found a¡ª¡±


    She stopped him from speaking any further. ¡°Where were you during the tourney?¡± That was the question she asked and she would only hear an answer to it not whatever talk he planned to bring up. The moon peeked for a moment, then drifted and hid behind another cloud, but during its drift she did not count the stars like she had done the previous times.


    ¡°I was seated at the gallery.¡± He paused shortly before he added, ¡°with my kind.¡± There was a sigh after he was done, one of exasperation. He knew what he said, and he no doubt knew how she would react.


    ¡°Your kind?¡± Audrey flew from her seat and turned away from the window to finally gaze upon her steward, the moon escaping from the cloud it had hid itself behind and casting its light benignly on her mussed up hair which fell over her slender shoulders. ¡°What kind? You should have been with me in the royal box.¡± She wrapped her arms over each other, her gaze angry and whipping hard at him.


    ¡°I was where I was meant to be, my lady,¡± he insisted.


    ¡°You were not,¡± she brooked no denial from him. ¡°You are my steward. You were meant to be with me.¡±


    Renly shook his head while pulling off the tan leather gloves his hands were covered with. ¡°You know I would always choose to be by your side if I could, but in the royal box there¡¯s no seat for me there.¡± He walked to the hearth which burned a bright fire, charring the wood it had been fed to give the room warmth in exchange. It was that warmth that brought Renly to it now, and he placed his hand over it, seething an exhale as the fire took the chill off of them. The world had begun to grow colder, winter was nigh.


    ¡°I would have made you a seat.¡± Audrey was not making him a seat now, she was making the fire lose its warmth with her stubborn words, both to her steward and to herself, but she had been colder during the tourney when she had had no one to talk to, cold at heart, and the chill she was feeling now did little to compare. The king she was to marry had paid her no mind. He laughed with his mother and his brother, but he seldom glanced over at her, less thought of he giving her little talks and laughing with her. To him it had been as though she was not there. That feeling Renly did not understand. She was alone up there, she had needed him there with her. She feared the thought of being alone every time she sat up with the king. It feared her.


    ¡°You would have given me a seat,¡± he corrected her, the fire crackling at him gently. ¡°You are the soon-to-be queen and I am just your steward. We are different, and I cannot sit at the same table as you in court, so you could have never made me a seat.¡± He turned over to her. She still had a mulish expression. All he said had fallen on deaf ears, that much was obvious. ¡°Where you sit now is of no place for someone of my status.¡± He turned back to the fire.


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    Audrey sauntered to the edge of her grand bed and sat on it, its curtains tied to its bedposts, having a glimmering shade of pink that would have taken her mind away from the bitterness she had emblazoned herself in, only if she was at Redflower, here, it only served as a reminder of where she was, it only festered that bitterness.


    She missed the garden at home, the smell of the flowers, most especially the lilies¡ªher beloved lilies. She missed the gentle sound of the fountain rushing, and the canopy of the beech that shielded her from the sun. They would have all fallen now, the beech¡¯s leaves, she thought, all of them golden-brown on the floor, and Lucian would be picking them apart. Oh, Lucian¡­ She missed her brother ever so much too. He had been asleep when she had been up and about to depart, but she had left him a kiss on his forehead. She wondered how he had taken it when her mother had told him of her departure. He would have cried, that alone was sure, and she did not like to see him cry, it always hurt her as much as it hurt him. When would she ever be able to see him again, carry him on her lap and play with his hair? When?


    ¡°On the morrow you¡¯ll have a seat by my side at the tourney,¡± Audrey told Renly in a tone hinting that she would not hear otherwise. Well, she had no choice but to hear it. Renly was as stubborn as her.


    ¡°A kind gesture, my lady, but one I will not take.¡± He cupped his hands over his mouth as he yawned after he had finished replying to her talk. There was tiredness lingering in his eyes, after all it was already past the wolf¡¯s hour, he should be well asleep now and so should she, but sleep was the least of Audrey¡¯s concern now, Renly was proving impossible to her and for a stupid reason as ¡°we are different¡±? She would not have it.


    Audrey slammed her hand on the bed as her face tightened wildly. If she kept at it, it would give her wrinkles earlier than she should get them and her beauty would fade faster. That was a concern for later though, not now, at the moment her mind did not think to that. ¡°I said you will,¡± she kept at it, with a beagle¡¯s penchant for stubbornness nonetheless.


    ¡°I won¡¯t, my lady.¡± Renly was equally as stubborn, more like a mule this one, but howbeit still stubborn.


    Audrey smacked her lips frustratedly. ¡°What don¡¯t you get, you dimwit. I need you up there with me, you need to be with me not with your¡­ common folks and whatever kind you think you are. Do you know how lonely I was during the tourney? The king did not say a single word to me, not a single word. Do you still not get it?¡± It was not enough to make her cry, but it was no doubt enough to make her voice crack.


    Renly made sure not to look back at her. The fire took all his gaze. ¡°Did you try speaking to him?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Audrey sniffled.


    ¡°Did you try talking to His Grace? You know, say something to him?¡±


    ¡°No, I did not.¡±


    Renly tacked his palms together. ¡°Try just that. Speak to him if he does not speak to you. I cannot always be with you, my lady, will you choose to be lonely every time I am not there? I hope you don¡¯t. I hate it when you feel such a way. Talk to the king if he does not speak to you. Ask him why he doesn¡¯t. Say anything, anything at all, and you¡¯ll not be lonely anymore.¡± He yawned again. ¡°I found a flower garden. The castle¡¯s own. It¡¯s ten folds bigger than the one at Redflower, and no doubt prettier. I¡¯m sure you¡¯d love it there. That was what I had come to tell you.¡± He turned to meet her eyes now, her face, it had tended to a softer field than what he had seen when he first made his way into her chambers, a lot more. He smiled and bowed. ¡°I would love to have my sleep now, my lady, pardon my leave. A lovely night to you.¡± Renly turned and left, the room falling into a pit of silence with his absence.


    Audrey turned her eyes away from the door to look back at the moon, only it was nowhere to be found any longer, along with the stars she counted. The clouds were the only thing that filled the sky now, dark and grey, and they had begun to cry softly. Maybe their tears were for her, maybe. She dipped her feets beneath her coverlet and dragged it up to her chest as she lay down to look up at the ceiling. ¡°A lovely night?¡± She sighed. ¡°I wonder how mother¡¯s doing? I should write her a letter. When day breaks for sure¡­¡± she yawned. ¡°¡­for sure.¡± And her eyes went shut.

 Drunk On Wine And Lust

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    He sat shirtless in a brown roughspun breeches beside his bedchamber¡¯s hearth, enjoying the snug comfort of heat his body embraced, while he watched the rain patter down through the closed shutters of his window, the glasses stained with their free-falling droplets which trickled like the tears of a heartbroken maiden streaming down her flushed cheeks. Held freely in his hand was a goblet of mulled wine, clanging rhythmically to the beat that came with every tap of his forefinger. Suddenly, he stopped, gulped down the wine in his goblet, and sighed a little less satisfiedly with an ahhhh as he picked up the bronze pitcher on the table to refill his cup with more of the wine he had downed.


    She was nowhere to be found, Melisandre. His guard had gone looking for her at his command, but came back with no sign of her. The kitchens, the wells, the stables, the pigsties, the kennels, none of which she had been in, but if she had been found in the pigsty, Damon would have wanted her nowhere near his bedchamber; well she had not been found there and she was equally nowhere near his chambers.


    A cold day and now a cold night, and this rain was making it ever more chilly. There was no Melisandre¡¯s warmth for him on this night, that much he established when the fourth guard he had deployed returned lone. The first three had just been incompetent, or so he had thought, but it seemed all the guards in the castle were incompetent if neither of four guards could find him Melisandre. A lot of revamping to do when he becomes king, he thought, there was a lot.


    None the worse was the day¡¯s tourney. It had been a great deal enjoyable than he had thought, if he was to speak the truth, and his mother¡¯s nephew, Maurin Lockeheart he had called himself, had impressed him more than he could have imagined, and at the same time cultivated his credence in the strength of his grandfather¡¯s levies. They would do well when he warred for his crown and throne no doubt, this Maurin Lockeheart especially, he wanted him at the head of his armies when the time was ripe, he would make him a commander, the man¡¯s skill was not for anything lesser.


    Ten times he had jousted, and only ten times he had readied his lance, one time for each opponent. He rode at them unwaveringly, hisself saddled strongly on the back of his horse, a destrier with bay for its skin coat which swirled like a robe of silk, dancing with the wind as it charged down the lists. A shield was nowhere to be found in the hands of its rider, lost to all who knows where, but still it spurred forward confidently with every boot heel the knight put to it, and none of the men they faced, knight and freerider and peasant, were left mounted when it trotted to a stop with a bored snort.


    ¡°I can see it,¡± Damon muttered. ¡°I can see my crown.¡± And then there was a smile, finally, one that came from his thought of the crown. It had felt like such a long time since he smiled when he thought of that gold on his head, but now he did. He put his lips to the goblet he held and was about to savour the taste of the wine that filled it, when whatever sort of man was drowned underneath the silver armour of guards, resounded in a call to him from the other side of his door. The rain had grown silent before, but now he could hear it all again, along with the popping sound of the woods burning in the hearth.


    ¡°My prince,¡± the guard had called, and bitter Damon¡¯s mulled wine tasted at once. He hated that word, it was not meant for him, not at all. My king was the correct thing the guard should be calling to him with¡­ My king! ¡°A visitor¡¯s ¡®ere,¡± the guard added.


    Damon forced the wine on his tongue down his throat at once. ¡°Who is it?¡± He answered, a bit too sharply, dare say, on account of the change in mood he had encountered. These days his mood had grown to change like the weather. Very hot, cold, damp, warm, it alternated enigmatically, the words of others having all the control. What they said determined what mood he would have.


    ¡°They¡¯d rather not say,¡± the guard¡¯s voice echoed past the door of his bedchamber.


    Damon tsked. ¡°Who comes to my door at this time and dares to act in secrecy?¡± He was about to continue his drinking when the guard¡¯s voice came again.


    ¡°The one who glows brighter than you, they say they are.¡±


    The wine stopped on Damon¡¯s lips, it never made its way to his tongue before Damon removed the cup from his face. ¡°Let them in,¡± he said and after, smiled. Another change in mood.


    The door flashed open then went shut, too quickly, far too quickly. ¡°Care for a drink, Lady Valora?¡± He asked courteously, as courteously as a calmed Damon could be to a lady, which was the highest feat for any other man. ¡°Mulled wine, I have.¡± He did not turn to face her, and he did not intend to. His watch was still on the window¡¯s countless tears.


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    ¡°Thank you, my lord, but I am not thirsty.¡± She strode to his front, almost blinding him completely from gazing at the window, a blindness he did not care to dispel. He took it in, fed his eyes with her from where he sat and from the distance she stood away from him, a distance he would not call great. A gown she wore over her slender body, one of lavender just like her eyes. Plain it was, and transparent he might have called it, only he could see nothing from it. Her hair was rough but neatly bundled backwards behind her shoulders, like soft wet hay wrapped together as pretty as any farmer could make them.


    Damon smiled. ¡°I am sorry, my lady, but the moment you took a step into my room you asked for this wine.¡± He took a free goblet and filled it halfway. ¡°Here you go.¡± He stretched it at her, gesturing for her to take it with his chin as he did.


    There it was, her own smile had come. ¡°If you insist,¡± she told him, surrendering to his sweetened way of chinwagging.


    ¡°I most certainly do,¡± he added while she took the cup from his hand. ¡°Cheers.¡± He clanged his cup with hers before she could withdraw her hands completely, and that initiated their mutual drink of the wine, almost nearly gulping at the same time. His eyes made no move to leave her even after he drank. ¡°A light one, I see,¡± he said, noticing the redness that stormed Valora¡¯s cheeks and nose as soon as she drank a quarter of the wine. ¡°Is that why you were not thirsty at first?¡±


    She retreated to the windowsill and perched there, making sure not to lose her step. ¡°Wine isn¡¯t my forte.¡± She looked into the cup, around and around in her hand it went as she did.


    ¡°That I have undoubtedly learnt.¡± Damon exhaled amusedly with a half subtle smile. ¡°So, what have you come for, my lady, that you did not want your name said from beyond my door?¡± He inquired, gesturing his cup at her soon after, before taking another sip from it.


    Valora turned her head at an angle to peep outside at the sky, a dark weeping one devoid of neither stars nor moon. Clouds and clouds and clouds were all that filled it now, even Damon could see that from where he sat. Gloomy clouds. ¡°My mother always said that walls have ears,¡± she turned back to Damon, ¡°especially the ones in King¡¯s City. I wonder how many ears this castle has? It¡¯s the king¡¯s castle after all.¡±


    ¡°Rest assured,¡± Damon bowed slightly while raising his cup at her, ¡°my bedchamber was built deaf, as deaf as anything could be. You might even say it¡¯s the deafest of them all.¡±


    ¡°Oh really?¡± She smiled, then turned her gaze back out the window, putting her lips to her cup as she did.


    Damon watched her, a thought rummaging his mind as he did, that thought he let spill out not long after. ¡°Do you want to have sex?¡±


    Valora turned to face him, slowly she did, a tiring slow to Damon. When she finally met his eyes, he cued his eyebrows to a raise, telling her he awaited her reply, in dire anticipation nonetheless.


    She released a gasp at that, a short one which felt as though she had held it in for years past, but it did not come alone, a chuckle followed just after, a quiet and gentle chuckle. ¡°Quite a question you asked.¡± She did not say no, he thought.


    ¡°A simple one at that.¡± Damon drank the rest of his wine and put down the cup on the table, then he started to trace its rim as he returned his eyes to watch her, not another word escaping further from his lips. He knew what he was doing, both with his silence and the lustful gaze that he planted on her, and he trusted them to work. There was no denying their efficiency.


    Her eyes wandered slightly and bashfully, and once the bridge of her nose reddened, she smiled calmly and took the beautiful freckles that graced her face away from the shirtless prince that was seated a few steps from her. It felt closer now, not too far any longer after the words that had come from his mouth. ¡°And what if I say yes?¡±


    It was a question but Damon had his answer already. He stopped his play with the rim of his cup with a soft smile, after which he rose to his feet. They had been on the cold floor all this while, but now they felt colder, small notice he had for that though as he walked closer to his window, shortening whatever distance barrier had been between him and the young lady of Blackwood. In four steps he now stood before her, the barrier all broken to shattered pieces. His fingers cupped her chin and dragged her face away from the dark expanse she gazed upon through the window, turning it back to meet his brown eyes which made no effort to hide the longing that adorned them. ¡°Then I would have my answer,¡± he whispered, gently tugging the hair that fell over her face behind her ear with his other hand.


    Damon stood over her, watching her eyes waver while his stood its ground. A pair of knights they were, strong knights his eyes, a pair of brown knights. He did nothing but look her in the eyes, waiting for a word from her but nothing came, and when the only sound that now filled the room were the knock and whispers of wind and rain on his window, he leaned forward and cushioned his lips on hers, tenderly and softly, her chin still cupped in his fingers. She made no attempt to resist, fully succumbed she was, only a slight waver remained. He pulled away shortly after and whispered again, ¡°I promise you, my walls have no ears to listen, none at all.¡± He leaned forward again and kissed her, this time her wavering completely gone.

 In Good Faith

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    He had woken before the sun, earlier than he had ever done in this world prior to this day. Granted, he had had himself tucked in bed earlier the night past as well, and so it was only innate that he awoke as quickly as he had slept, but he wondered if it was that or if it was the annoying crows of the roosters, that somehow found a way to announce the dawn of morning to him, all the way from their coops which were ways away from his quarters? For sure it was those roosters. It was their tasteless and repetitive songs that filled his ears when his eyes opened to the sunless light of day. They were almost as effective as the alarm clocks in his past life though, he could not fault that fact.


    A warm bath perfumed with his favourite lavender oil had washed him well, chasing the chill of morning away from his body and filling it instead with its snugness, and now he was standing before his window fastening the buckles of the chequered gold surcoat he wore over leather, while staring out at the thick foggy carpet of dew which spread over the deep blue sea that kept crashing and banging on the castle walls, begging the mortared stone castle to allow them past and free to spread their salty sea-air through the realm. It wavered not though, this castle at the edge of the world, there was no passage for the sea here.


    Sometimes gentle the sea crashed, and sometimes harsh, none of those times did Zephyr care, his mind had wandered equally as his eyes had done, both of them seeking what was at the far end of the sea. It was spread out afar, the blue, great and vast. Is that the end of this world or is there a world beyond this sea? It¡¯s been almost two weeks and I¡¯ve still seen no ships sail here, or are there no ships¡­?


    A knock came on his door and took him out of his thoughts as he fastened his last buckle. ¡°Come in,¡± he answered.


    ¡°Morning, M¡¯grace,¡± Ser Aaron entered and greeted with a bow. Zephyr closed the shutters of his window and turned to the gilded knight, peeling his gaze away from the glistening blue of the sea and feeding it to the arctic-blue of the eyes of the square-faced man instead, who held close to his side his helmet. One of the things Zephyr never grew tired of seeing in this world was the raven that soared over the gold fields of the breastplate of the Kingsknights, it always was a beautiful sight for him to behold, and a soothing sight that told him he was protected and well guarded. And another one was to join them today, he thought, another Kingsknight, only depending on who wins the tourney and becomes knighted, he might feel less safe than he felt now. Maurin Lockeheart¡­ The name resounded in his head.


    ¡°A good one is it?¡± Zephyr asked with a phoney smile, his hands now gone to fold behind his back.


    ¡°If M¡¯grace says it is, then it is.¡± Ser Aaron¡¯s hair was dampened. Wet, black and shiny as though he had just popped out from a bath. The gilded armour he donned now tinted a little brighter in warm yellowish gold; the sun had begun to rise, Zephyr could tell without looking back at the window to confirm. ¡°Lady Eira sits in the Small Hall already, M¡¯grace.¡±


    ¡°Alone?¡±


    ¡°Alone,¡± the knight affirmed. Zephyr had sent the young man to the lady of Blackwood to make his intentions of having a word known to her, and the fact that she was already seated in the Small Hall was undeniably an underrated feat. For someone with her features, having herself ready and dressed for the day in such a short time span was something no one should overlook, but he was sure people did, a lot maybe.


    ¡°And?¡± Zephyr raised his eyebrows in awaitance of the word of something from his Kingsknight, something the knight might have forgotten to say.


    And it was something he did forget to say. Ser Aaron snapped back immediately. ¡°Oh. Pardon me, M¡¯grace. He says it shall be ready a ways before dusk.¡±


    Zephyr nodded contentedly. ¡°See to it. Remain with the man in his smithy until he is done.¡±


    ¡°Understood, M¡¯grace.¡± Ser Aaron bowed.


    Zephyr strode past his Kingsknight who stood with a lowered head, his leather high-heeled boots that reached up all the way to his knees, doing a great deal of light clacking as he walked a kingly walk. He had grown accustomed to them now, the high-heels, he walked better in them than he had done when he first transmigrated into one. Such hard things to steer, those heels, but he steered them well enough at present. Experience is the best teacher, they say, and indeed it was. ¡°Before you go to the smithy, head to Audrey¡¯s chambers and make sure she has nothing to want.¡±


    ¡°Understood, M¡¯grace.¡± Ser Aaron turned around sharply, his silver cloak of damask swirling as he hurried to the door and pulled it open for his king, allowing them both to make their way out¡ªZephyr first, his knight following shortly after.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± the black cloak manning the door of the Small Hall greeted as soon as he saw the king, and with a slight gesture from Zephyr the guard flung open the pair of small brown oak doors to allow the king passage. He had come alone, his Kingsknight off to accomplish the task he had given him.


    Zephyr was in, in the Small Hall, and he was disappointed, so much that he sighed while he shook his head. The lady of Blackwood sat before a trestle table to the left of the hall, alone as Ser Aaron had said, and dressed, but not ready as he had thought. She was still in her nightgown, a white one with a pink overrobe. He expected too much, he saw now, how could he have ever thought she would be ready in such a short amount of time. It was impossible. Completely.


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    Zephyr chased the disappointment from his face away and echoed his greetings to her the same way he had done the first time they had met, ¡°Lady Eira,¡± he hooted. ¡°A lovely morning it is,¡± he said as he arrived at the table she sat before. She was peeling the shell off a brown egg now, and this was not the first one, that enough he noticed from the broken egg shells that lay all over the platter it had been served with, it was not the last one she would peel either as two more still remained on there. She had eaten her morning fill already as well, he could see that. There were two empty trenchers before her, both with signs of thickened spices of honey and nutmegs and traces of cheese. She loved food, a lot, he deduced that much.


    Lady Eira had finished peeling the shells off her egg now. ¡°Is it?¡± She asked before dipping it whole into her narrow mouth-cave.


    Zephyr took his seat across from her. ¡°I do not see your daughter?¡± He asked, as if he had not known she was alone, while looking around as though he searched for something in the small but great space of the Small Hall.


    The lady munched and swallowed before talking. Proper etiquette she had. ¡°My daughter needs not dine when I dine, but you knew that already as you were the one who called me out, so speak, king, what have you called me for so early at dawn?¡± She picked up another egg and cracked its shell by hitting it atop the edge of the table, before she set to peeling it off again. Her eyes found Zephyr looking at her peel. ¡°You are the king and this is your castle, you can request for your own eggs if you crave them.¡±


    Zephyr chuckled. ¡°Might I would, but I am not hungry for eggs now.¡± He picked up the ewer before her and took a silver cup in hand, filling it with wine. Sweet wine, it was, the smell of grape and strawberry filled his nose as he dropped the ewer. Each wine had a distinct scent in this world, and he was slowly getting familiar with each, the ones he had come across, and maybe sooner than later, he might find himself an expert in wine with the way things were going. He took a sip. ¡°I want our houses to remain aligned,¡± he told the lady.


    She remained silent until she picked off the last shell that remained on the egg, then she spoke, ¡°Up to you, Your Grace.¡± It went in her mouth now, and her nimble chew followed.


    ¡°Then I have an idea in mind, something I believe will keep our houses aligned in good faith, that is if you will.¡±


    A swallow came first before she now allowed herself to talk. ¡°No,¡± she said as she picked up another cup and filled it with wine.


    ¡°No?¡± Zephyr was taken aback, so much that he dropped the cup of wine he held on the table. ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡±


    Lady Eira drank her own wine now, a great gulp. Maybe the egg had stuck somewhere in her throat that she needed a fountain to push it down, or maybe she was just that thirsty. ¡°My daughter will not wed as your second wife. Such typicality between you and your father. You Ravenswoods really take after each other in more ways than one.¡± She refilled her cup. ¡°We Blackwoods are against double weds, and the realm as a whole once was, until Sargon that is. We shall take no part in your family folly.¡±


    Zephyr blinked relaxedly. ¡°I do not intend such. I do not intend to take a second wife, not now, not ever.¡± He extruded a calming exhale after. His chest had tightened hard when he had heard her say no, but it was for something else, not what he had in mind.


    She looked up at him from her wine. ¡°Then what do you intend?¡± Her gaze was narrow and sharp, and her strawberry-blonde hair rough from the night¡¯s sleep made her more intimidating than she had been on her first day before his eyes.


    Zephyr drank the rest of the wine in his cup as a measure to calm his thundering hearts, hoping she would give the nod to what he was about to put forward to her. He was done drinking now, and it was time to speak. ¡°I plan to announce at the feast tonight¡ª¡±


    ¡°I will not be present at that feast,¡± Lady Eira Blackwood tore through his words with spite, putting her eyes back to her cup while she spoke, but he gnashed his teeth and continued.


    ¡°I want your daughter to wed my brother, Dante, in good faith.¡±


    The hall went silent as she glanced up at him. Zephyr could hear his heart pounding, in fear, anticipation or frustration, he could not say which exactly, but it was pounding nonetheless, and the lady¡¯s silence was not helping.


    It was not long after before she poured out a laughter, one he might have termed gentle if not for the scenario he had found himself present in. ¡°In good faith, you say? You want us to settle for less? What sort of counsel do you keep getting from your council, Your Grace? Have you thought of changing them all?¡± She laughed again. ¡°And I thought the Claymore boy had brains. If he was the one that told you this, then he did not take after Reginald in any way. Ravens, I don¡¯t even know what to say. Sargon was the foolish one, he never listened to Reginald, but I see it¡¯s the other way around here. What a pity that you listen to such words, such pity¡ª¡±


    ¡°He will be crowned prince.¡± And her laughter ended now, quite abruptly that it was almost as though she was never laughing at all once. ¡°I¡¯m going to make Dante the crown prince. Is that still less enough for House Blackwood?¡±


    The silence was brief. ¡°And when you have a son? What will you do then?¡± Her voice had grown sharp but docile. He could convince her, Zephyr noticed, he could.


    He clutched his palms together over the table. ¡°I was made crown prince, and now I am king even though I was born from my father¡¯s second wife. As you said, I take after my father in more ways than one. Even when I have a son, that does not mean I shall take away that position from my brother, as my son will be my blood, so is my brother, and if he is the one I make the crown prince, then so be it.¡±


    Lady Eira drank the rest of her wine and harrumphed. ¡°The sun¡¯s well up now, Your Grace. I have to prepare for the tourney¡­ and the feast.¡±

 The Maggot’s Will

    <h2><u>HARRY BOLTMORE</u></h2>


    The breastplate, silver and all, fell with a clang, and little Wymar growled at Harry before the clanging even made an attempt to cease. ¡°Hey, careful with ¡®em plates! Yer dent ¡®em, yer make a new one.¡± They were already dented enough, alright, just like he was.


    Wymar was a scrawny boy of one-and-four, with a gaunt blemished face topped by an always wet mossy hair that made him look like a water leaf, but his mouth had the sharpness and the rudeness of a man grown, and his body was half-filled with scars wherever the eyes had the leeway to see. This was how King¡¯s City worked, and Harry knew he¡¯d better sooner apologise to this boy two years younger than he was, or he¡¯d never get to fastening his breastplate and he¡¯d have to head into the tourney¡¯s finale with his grey tunic for protection against swords and shields¡­ and Drustan Gararic.


    That¡¯s right. He was to fight Drustan. The two peasants from Oldtown had somehow made it to the finale of the Kingsknights tourney, one glad that he did, the other irritated that he was not the only one from Oldtown who had made it to the finale. The latter no doubt being Drustan. And what made it even worse was that of all the people to be the former, it was Harry. That much Harry saw when he had managed a glance at the face of his bane of Oldtown after the jousting had ended¡­ and they were to fight. Fight for a spot beside the king. He had to win, Harry knew, he could take Drustan on, Pyp and Walder had not come with him, he was alone, and even if they were here, he could take them all on¡­ but why was he keyed up now? Now of all times. He was at least glad they did not cross paths, he wanted nothing to rile him up more than he already was.


    ¡°Pardon,¡± Harry begged, ¡°I¡¯m just a bit tensed.¡±


    ¡°Yer¡¯ll be more than tensed if a¡¯other dent finds a way on ¡®em plates.¡± The boy scoffed. There was no end to little Wymar¡¯s tongue-spitting and Harry had no choice but to deal with whatever the scrawny plain-as-a-pikestaff boy threw his way.


    Everyone that had come to the tourney had come with a squire. It was a necessity as no one could hope to put on their armour themselves, unless they had been born with more hands than which were befitting for a human, which they were not, and Harry was no exception, but he had not known where he would have gotten one, he had not even thought of a squire until big Wymar, the burly moss-head armourer he rented his armours from and little Wymar¡¯s father, had mentioned it to him. ¡°Twenty silvers and yer can have my son as yer squire for them tourney,¡± he had proposed with his palms outstretched. Coins, coins, coins, that was all they knew in this huge city. ¡°He¡¯s scrawny but he¡¯s good, a¡¯right, I promise yer, and he buckles well.¡±


    He buckled well, no doubt, but he was not good with his tongue, any other person might have sent him flying across the sand a few times, but Harry had dealt with worse, little Wymar could not hold a candle to Drustan, that boy was the embodiment of a spittle. Still he was glad he had been able to get a squire, and despite little Wymar¡¯s ferocious yappers, his hands were good with armour, and it was all thanks to the comely knight that had tossed him a pouch of coins. The comely knight that he had thought too plain for a knight at the gates which ended up being the queen¡¯s nephew. That comely knight was the one he might end up fighting soon enough after he¡¯s defeated Drustan. He owed him a great debt, after all, he would not have been here if not for that knight, but he had to win it all, even against someone that had helped him. Even against the queen¡¯s nephew. He had to defeat him as well. He had to no matter what.


    ¡°Hear ¡®em clamour? Crowd¡¯s gathered a¡¯ready, fight¡¯s gonna start anytime now,¡± little Wymar said to Harry. The boy was seated on a low whetstone, raising Harry¡¯s rented backplate to the sun to see how much good of a polishing job he had done to the fading silver. Perfect, the crooked smile little Wymar had storm his face as the sun¡¯s fingers spread over the backplate and made it glisten, told Harry, but he would sooner tell little Wymar to stop smiling than adore the bosting job the boy had done on his backplate. Smiles were not for little Wymar, Harry thought, it made him look more ugly than he already was.


    ¡°Get up.¡± The moss-head boy¡¯s smile faded as quick as it came. ¡°Time to put yer armour on, time¡¯s on our side no longer.¡± The boy jumped to his feet.


    Harry took to his feet from the ground as well, and little Wymar got to fastening his armour over his grey tunic. Harry held the breastplate in place to prevent it from falling off his chest, his hands feeling the dents that were layered all over it from the blows its past bearers had allowed on it. He, somehow, had managed to keep any blow from falling on it during his jousting, no lance had touched his breastplate, they all went to his shield instead, luck he might have called it if only he did not recall the makeshift jousting trainings he had done within the forest trees, a branch his lance and a wooden lid his shield, as he rode forward with his legs he termed his horse against a straw quintain he had somehow managed to put together through days of hard work.


    They had proven fruitful and now he was in the finale, but he could not seem to get over the sudden chill that had come to cloud his body since the past night. Goosepimples arose all over his arms and neck and he had begun to wonder if he could actually win the tourney and become a Kingsknight. It was no Drustan he feared, he had never feared that wannabe lord, it was the knights he feared.


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    Ser Wayne of House Sarsfield. The knight of dragonfly he called himself when he had paraded the grounds with his lance held high up, and just like a dragonfly he was swift, striking down his jousting opponents with a steady toy of his lance. He almost fell once when he faced one Ser Phineas of House Greenwood, his helmet and shield had fallen off with a strike of the Greenwood knight¡¯s lance, but with a smile he had grabbed his stallion¡¯s rein and swung back firmly onto his saddle, brushing the bangs of his dark-glossy hair off his eyes as he took another lance from his squire at the end of the lists.


    The next time they rode at each other, the Greenfield knight fell with a whirlwind thrust from the dragonfly knight, and the smile that never left his face widened when his horse trotted spankingly. Harry had thought the knight not to be much older than he was, with his fair skin and youthful eyes, he was at most three years from his age, but that did not stop him from fearing the smiling dragonfly, if anything it even fostered his fear. A man good enough to be knighted at or before one-and-nine was a man to be feared undoubtedly.


    Then there was the other, the one that had tossed him a pouch of coins, Ser Maurin, the queen¡¯s nephew. One thrust each he had given all he faced, and not once did he shift to fall from his saddle nor turn around at the end of the lists to face the same person twice. He wished not to fight this one the most, not because of the fear he had for his skills, but because he could not bring himself to fight and maybe crush the dreams of someone who had helped him, that was if he could even crush those dreams. It was his own dreams he saw being crushed, not the dragonfly knight¡¯s nor Ser Maurin¡¯s, it was his. His own dream he had carried for years¡­ the one he carried for his mother¡­ and father.


    ¡°Time¡¯s up, you rustics. Get your ass onto the grounds, boy. You¡¯re up.¡± A voice bellowed from behind them, angry and scornful as it had been on the yester. It was the voice of the stick-framed man that had been given the job to call them out onto the tourney grounds whenever it was deemed necessary. From his tone, Harry knew he did not like this job, but he did it nevertheless. Anything for a few coins. Harry had learnt that was what ruled men here, and he would sooner let it rule him too than continue to live the way he lived.


    But that was a thought for later. His chest had tightened harder now that it was time. ¡°Done yet?¡± He asked little Wymar.


    That one buckled the buckles quickly and joined breastplate and backplate. ¡°Too tight for yer?¡± Little Wymar asked back.


    ¡°Good enough,¡± Harry huffed.


    ¡°Good. Now get yerself outta here¡­ and win the damn thing.¡± Little Wymar shoved Harry gently from behind, pushing him forward with a slight tumble.


    If that was some sort of encouragement, you failed miserably at it, Harry thought as he scooped up his shield, but he hesitated to do the same for Ser Gale¡¯s longsword, the crescent moon, he stood and watched it for a second before he smiled and finally shovelled it up by the hanger of its sable skin scabbard. He turned to little Wymar and smiled. ¡°Might you help me fasten it? My hand holds the shield.¡± He outstretched it at the scrawny boy who took it from his hand with a tch and helped him fasten it tightly and deftly and quickly.


    Harry heard the crowd scream boos and cheers, and it dawned on him that Drustan must have made his way from the eastern corner onto the grounds and before the king and his court. He was next now. It was time. His chest tightened more.


    He gave a light pat to little Wymar¡¯s shoulder as soon as that one was done fastening the belt, and then there was a deep exhale, one that might have calmed him any other time, but did little to help his cause now. His hand slowly dropped from his squire¡¯s shoulder, and before he knew it, his quivering legs had begun to take steps further and further away from the corner of the western gallery he had taken as his own armoury booth. One, two, three, he counted as he walked¡­ and then he lost count.


    Harry looked up at the gallery, and his eyes pinched, the sun had grown brighter and the cheers and boos had grown louder. They were for him, he knew, he had made it onto the grounds. His leg quivers intensified and he almost fell to the ground but he managed to stand on his feets. The cheers and boos turned into laughs as they saw, and when he glanced at Drustan who stood ways away from him, he could see a stupid grin on his face, the one he always had. Drustan¡¯s armour was far superior in quality to his own. He wore mail atop boiled leather, and his shield had no dents, it was polished cleanly. Where could he have gotten the money? Did his father really give him so much? Harry wondered, but a soft smile crept on his face as he took a look at Drustan¡¯s sword. He held a round shield in one hand and an arming sword in the other, an arming sword, while his was a longsword, the crescent moon, a knight¡¯s sword. For a moment then, his quivering completely stopped and the laughter of the throng mattered not to him.


    He walked briskly to the centre of the grounds and turned to look up at the terrace where the king and his court sat. He had not the time to grace his eyes with their magnificent attires before he bowed, as low as his rented armour could let his head go, the crescent pommel of the sword at his waist hiding behind his shield.


    ¡°Ready your swords!¡± A voice cried, and he sharply rose from his bow, turning around quickly to face Drustan. He sighed a deep breath and tightly gripped the hilt of his longsword, and with a heavy grunt, he pulled the blade out of its scabbard, pointing it forward aslant while he took a middle stance, his shield on his left and his longsword on his right, the sun sending a dazzling shimmer through the unstained steel and leaving the crowd in silence as they all stared astoundedly at his blade.


    He almost smiled at himself, at his brilliance. With just a draw he had taken the throng from taunts to awe.


    ¡°Begin!¡±

 The Maggot’s Will (2)

    <h2><u>HARRY BOLTMORE</u></h2>


    Sparks flew, dancing in the dazzling brightness of the sun. Steel was on steel at every turn, and Harry found himself wheeling backwards as Drustan¡¯s sword, the arming sword he had scoffed at, came crashing down on his longsword. Crescent moon, Ser Gale Mormont had called the one he held, the sword of a knight that has never lost a battle while wielding it, he had said. Harry bit his lower lips as another outswing came crashing down on his shield. He did not feel like a knight now, and this sword might sooner see its first defeat. It was so heavy.


    There were cheers all around, but neither was for him. No one had to tell him, he was the one scrambling about on his feet, shielding and blocking blows all in hopes that none would fall on him. How pathetic he must look at this moment, to the king he wanted to stand beside as a knight, to the crowd that watched from above¡­ and to his mother.


    A sweat fell from a strand of his rough and tangled hair and into his right eye, causing him to close it for a split moment, but that was all Drustan needed to land the first strike of the fight. It came from his left, a low swing of Drustan¡¯s sword, and Harry quickly dropped his elbow to shield the blade that came snarling towards his midsection, but that was all a decoy, and it made it impossible for him to neither block nor dodge nor do anything else about the shield that came to thump him viciously across the side of his face, sending him with a soar through the air and rolling onto the dust like a pig diving into a mud house it had prior been pried away from.


    Harry did not plan to stay on the sand too long, he quickly jumped into a crouch, coughing as he did. The sand had gotten into his mouth and so did its dust with his nose, and a slight brook of blood had begun to trickle down from his forehead. He had never felt so humiliated before. How would the king see him? Could he ever hope to stand by the king with such a sorry state he was in? Never mind that, could he even hope to defeat one of the knights if he could not even fight Drustan, mere Drustan, without a single scratch? Pathetic¡­ he spat at himself the same time he spat a bloody saliva to the ground.


    ¡°Wish Pyp and Walder were here, don¡¯t you?¡± Drustan walked closer briskly, taunting him. The stupid faced boy had all the time in the world, no doubt, after all, it was he standing. Harry turned his face up at Drustan only to behold the annoying grin he always wore whenever he and his minions came to bully him. The faint moustache spiralling into existence above his lips made it even worse. ¡°Said you could take all three of us, didn¡¯t you? You can¡¯t even take only me.¡± Drustan pointed his sword at Harry and made a gesture with it for him to rise, and a cheer erupted from the crowd, he had won their favour with it, they saw it as some sort of honour Drustan bestowed upon the weak crouching boy, but Harry heard what he said, and he did it out of anything but honour. ¡°Get up, maggot, so I can fuck you in the ass like the little poaching bitch you are.¡±


    Harry¡¯s nose wrung up in irritation, more of it at himself than what Drustan had said. He sprang up to his feet and took a step backwards, away from the point of Drustan¡¯s sword, the crowd roaring in a deafening response as he did. He had to win, he could never fathom himself losing to Drustan, not to Drustan. Not ever. The roars silenced quickly, as though they had never been there once, and replaced itself with gasps as he flung his shield away to the ground, taking a two-handed grip to his longsword, his right below the crossguard and his left just above the crescent moon pommel. This sword cannot lose, not today¡­ he reassured himself.


    Drustan looked at the shield Harry had thrown away then turned back to look at him, the smile that had been coming to his face before, retreating with haste like a lapping deer hunted by a hungry lion. He sucked air through his teeth angrily. ¡°Again. You¡¯re doing it again. You!¡± He plunged at Harry, the way he had been doing from the start, with a one-handed grip on his sword focused solely on attack, and his shield for his defence. There was a roar from the throng as they saw Drustan advance, and then there was an overhead swing from Drustan himself, his shield firmly placed across his chest while his sword tore through air as it fought its way athwart towards Harry¡¯s neck.


    Harry watched with dark-golden eyes brightened by the sun¡¯s touch, taking his time since he could move better now than when he had been with the shield; he could feel it, he was lighter now. He turned the shimmering fine steel downwards aslant over his left shoulder to stop Drustan¡¯s sword from feeling his neck, then he let his pommel hand lose, crescent moon to the eyes of all, and trapped Drustan¡¯s sword-arm from underneath in his grip, before driving a kick through the boy-bully¡¯s shield and sending him reeling backwards on the sand. The cheers came for him now, he knew, they were loud.


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    Drustan was not pleased, he never was with Harry. The only thing that could please him was to humiliate Harry at this very moment, but somehow the boy had tossed his shield aside and now he was a better fighter. Drustan spat and dropped his own shield too. ¡°Sword to sword, no shields,¡± he yelled, confidently. Harry said not a word in reply.


    But someone from the gallery did. ¡°A night with me boy, if you win,¡± the person had shouted, a woman, her voice making its way through the cheers to find their ears, they did not know who she was speaking to, but both of them knew better than to glance up to check.


    Maybe when he won he would know, Harry thought.


    They ran at themselves and began to clash steel with steel, one shorter than the other but none a less deadly foe.


    A little over five times Harry had been able to avoid one of Drustan¡¯s dangerous blows, but the ones he could not dodge fell on his breastplate instead. He would get himself an earful from little Wymar after the bout ended that was for sure.


    He jumped back away from Drustan trying to give himself some space and a breather, and that was when he noticed he had been cut. There was a narrow gash about his triceps, and the blood which poured down from it had ruined his grey tunic and was still ruining it further. It was now hard for him to grip his sword as tight as he had been doing before without pain. The time was short, he had to end this fight now. He needed to switch from his defensive swordplay and go on the offensive, but he wondered how he could do that without chopping off an arm or a leg of Drustan¡¯s. It was a tourney, not a fight to the death, and even though the boy was his bully, he could not see himself ending his life here.


    Harry took his stance again, but this time, gripping the hilt of his blade more softly, he did not need the blood rushing out anymore faster than it already was. It also seemed as though Drustan had needed that breather as well, and as he took his time taking it, not wanting to charge first, Harry noticed his way to win. He had been watching for a while, and he had noticed it, but he never put it to mind until now. Drustan¡¯s sword grip was faulty. His palms were clutched on each other just beneath the crossguard of his sword, he had only managed to use it well so far because he had fought with a shield and it was a short sword.


    But not any longer. Harry had seen it now and he was going to take advantage. He would pry the sword off of Drustan¡¯s hands, with such a lacklustre grip it should be easy to do, and make him yield, that way he would not have to chop anything off. He took the first lunge now, Harry, with hopes of putting this fight to bed, he rushed straight at Drustan, who steadied himself ready.


    He thrust his sword forward at Drustan, sword point aiming at his chest, but it was duly parried by the boy-bully, only it was what Harry sought after. Harry let his grip free from the hilt of his sword, leaving it to crash, and at the same time left a grimace of dumbfoundedness on Drustan¡¯s face as he left-handedly cupped the back of the lopsided boy¡¯s head in an inverse, and fiercely shoved a thigh up against his stomach where his breastplate had no leeway to help. Drustan gasped painfully, devoid of air, but he did not let go of his sword, and that sent Harry scurrying quickly behind him with a low slide, and silently scooping up a handful of sand in his palms, concealing it as he hurried over to the other side where his longsword had fallen and picking it up again.


    Drustan had fallen on one knee, but now he jumped back to his feet, anger mingled with a soft pain evident all over his face as he hurried at Harry, sword in hand and one foot carefully placed before the other in a fit of rage and dash.


    He took a left swing of his sword as soon as he found Harry, but Harry was deft on his feets, jumping a foot backwards and side stepping out of its way with a narrow backbend as the slash came to pass near his neck, and then, the sand he had scooped up, he emptied all over Drustan¡¯s face, leaving the boy utterly blind.


    Harry kicked Drustan on the back of his knee, sending the blind boy down, and after he turned the pommel of his sword out, making use of it¡¯s crescent moon to hit Drustan¡¯s wrist and falling the arming sword the boy-bully had once held, in a queer manner, to the ground, before he kicked it away, pointing his longsword at him just below his chin as he did.


    Drustan¡¯s eyes opened now after it was all done, but he could not move. It was a win for Harry, but it seemed the crowd did not know it yet as much as he did with all the silence they left in the wake of the battle. Harry Boltmore smirked with a scoff, and it might have been the first time Drustan had succeeded to get a reaction out of him. ¡°You¡¯re lucky it¡¯s a tourney, or I¡¯d be fucking you in the ass right now.¡± Then the roar came. Now they knew he had won.

 Crown, Is All

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°Splendid,¡± Valora chanted with a breathtaking smile, her hands seeking the touch of one another in the form of astounding claps. ¡°He fought beautifully,¡± she said again, her voice as soft as her face. She seemed cheerful, she always was, for as long as Damon had known her¡ªwhich had just been two days¡ªbut he was bored. He wanted to see his mother¡¯s nephew fight with a sword, not the squabbles of two measly peasants that no matter who won they would end up losing when they clashed swords with a real knight. Their bout was a waste of time. If he was king he would never allow such maniacy.


    Well, on the good side, they had at least ended their nonsense, now he could see Ser Maurin, his soon-to-be commander, with a steel in his hands. But even though he had been bored witless from the peasant bout, the fair lady seated next to him made it less daunting than it may have been meant to be. She had that charm, she might just grow on him soon enough.


    ¡°Quite a sword he holds,¡± Valora said as she turned to him, her claps ceasing. He was watching her, his cheek rested languidly atop his fist which stood like a slim hill on the armrest of his seat. Whatever she said he paid no heed to, his mind had wandered off to something else, something smutty.


    Damon smiled softly. ¡°Should we do it again tonight?¡± He asked her bawdily, in return, filling her mind with the scenes of their exploits last night. ¡°You know I hold a greater sword than he.¡± Quite a profane jape he put forth to her, it did not make her smile though, if that was what he intended.


    ¡°Stop it,¡± Valora whispered as she pinched his hand, the one close to her and free from his cheek. ¡°Stop saying such. I was speaking of real swords. Real steel, not whatever you have in your mind.¡± Her face reddened. Ravens, she was so easily flustered, and Damon liked it.


    ¡°Why should I?¡± He queried, his smile unabating.


    Her nose twitched. ¡°My mother is here.¡± She gestured slightly, and unnoticeably to any other but Damon, at the woman seated beside her.


    Damon glanced at the Lady Eira of Blackwood, the plump woman dressed in a different attire from the one of the yester¡¯s tourney. She wore a flowing rose-coloured samite gown and a shawl patterned in gold by the eagle of her house, but she did not wear a look of concern for them. She did not even have any look for them, the lady was not listening. Damon took his eyes back to Valora. ¡°And what if she¡¯s here?¡± He whispered¡­ with a smile, one of the few hundreds he had given her already in such short time. ¡°What does it matter if she hears?¡±


    ¡°It matters.¡± Valora grabbed his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. ¡°It matters because I heard something at dawn.¡± Her face grew soft, it was always soft, but this time it was moreso than the others of before. She wanted to say something, but her mouth was not in agreement with her mind, Damon noticed, but little concern he had if her mouth did not want to give way to the words, she had to say it, now that it had piqued his curiosity.


    ¡°And?¡± He said matter-of-factly and a bit too sharply, his smile gone along with his prurient japes.


    Valora¡¯s eyebrows narrowed at him as her eyes began to search his face for the smile that had been there just a few moments ago. It was lost, but she still gawked at him for it nonetheless. ¡°What is it?¡± She finally put forth words, the ones she could muster up.


    Damon let her question of worry fly over his head. He was not interested. ¡°And?¡± He put forth again, the question he had asked already once, he put it to her once more incessantly.


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    She tightened her hands on his further, gentle it was, and soft and warm as though they were a feather cushion, but Damon was hardly feeling the warmth at this point. ¡°My lord seems¡ª¡±


    My lord¡­? Damon intoned a spit as he was reminded of his position in this world, in this kingdom, in this realm. ¡°I am fine, my lady, but I would greatly prefer if you just talked. You have something to tell me, something you had heard of at dawn, do you not?¡± His voice was still calm, as it should be. If it was another, a person such as Lord Varyn or any one of his slow witted guards, that kept ringing him along this way, he would have smacked them across the head, but this one was a lady, and the young lady of House Blackwood nonetheless, someone whose help he greatly needed, there was no way he could let himself lose his patience with her. He held his vexation deep within, nailed in a cask of strong oak.


    She was not convinced, that much he could see as her thin eyebrows were still down in a narrow drop. ¡°I do not think so.¡± She turned her face away from him and almost took her hand from his as well, only Damon did not let her succeed, he stopped the languid rest of his cheek on his other hand and let it fly sharply to grab her hand from completely slipping off his.


    ¡°I am fine, my lady. Truly,¡± he whispered, trying to sound as convincing as he could be. ¡°Is it something you do not want to say to me?¡± He had to tender cautiously with her now, it would not do good to make her sullen, every single moment she might bear such an emotion would put his crown at risk, he could not have that. A war for the crown was coming, a war wave filled with the tears of his enemy he intended to bring with him, and he needed her on his side. At all costs.


    Valora did not turn to him, but she at least replied, ¡°It is something I want to say to you, only it is hard.¡±


    A start¡­ Damon thought. ¡°Might I hear it from another?¡±


    ¡°You might.¡± She turned back to him now, her freckles devoid of the bashing red he always loved to see.


    ¡°Then would you hurt me so much as to make me hear it from the lips of any other but you? If it is something truly hard, if it is something that would bring me pain, then would it not be of a better cause for me to hear it from you? Your lips only soothe me, your words would no doubt make it less painful.¡± He tightened his hands on her palm. All sweaty they were now, warm sweats on her palm, even though the autumn cold had grown more than ever as it slowly shifted towards winter. His palms might be warm, but his heart was colder than ever before. His own season had gone over to winter before any other. Only the crown could warm it now, only the crown could bring him summer. The throne would be his hearth, and the crown its blazing fire.


    Valora sighed, a one filled with dismal. ¡°His Grace makes plans to announce it tonight at the feast. I am to wed your brother, Prince Dante.¡±


    Damon grimaced at once, and his hands tightened, not softly, not gently, but a great deal hurtfully on the young lady¡¯s. It was not the pain he had told Valora about that he was dealt with, it was anger and spite, and her words did not make it any less nor soothe him like he had said it would, it worsened it. The king, the bastard king was about to ruin it all tonight, he was about to ruin it all. The world had all grown silent to Damon now, the cheers of the throng he did not hear, nothing, nothing at all¡­ until a whisper came, faint as the whistle of a swift wind.


    ¡°You¡¯re hurting me,¡± it said. It came again. ¡°You¡¯re hurting me.¡± And that was when he heard it clearly, and it was no wind, it was the voice of his brother¡¯s betrothed.


    He snapped back quickly and loosened his grip. ¡°I am dreadfully sorry, my lady.¡±


    ¡°No need for apologies, I understand,¡± Valora said, not taking her hand away from his. She did not care that she was hurt from his tight grip, she instead cared that he was angry. ¡°I am sorry, Damon. I did not know before the sun rose, I swear.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Damon smiled, one a great deal fake enough for anyone to notice, unless they were the young lady, Valora of House Blackwood. ¡°But I am not giving up on you.¡± He groped her palm and tightened his hands on them again, this time a great gentle. ¡°I want you, my lady, and I will make sure I have you.¡±


    The young lady, Valora of Blackwood smiled, but he was not speaking of her. The lady he spoke of, the lady he wanted, was the crown.

 Lockeheart Knight

    <h2><u>THADDEUS RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    The sun was up and about with the clouds, not as bright as it used to be, but bright nevertheless, and it was spreading its warmth to wherever its gold touched, and like its brightness, that was not as much as it used to be. The sun¡¯s warmth was slowly losing its valour to the cold of autumn¡¯s end, and as there were no hearths blazing with fires that would make the inferiority the sky¡¯s warmth was currently feeling any lesser, he had to dress himself in something that would keep the hooves of cold from racing in a gallop through the fields of his skin, and what better than a tan leather jerkin and gloves all beneath a dark-brown bear fur of tender feel to prevent the cold¡¯s seige, and to clinch it all, his mother had chosen it for him¡­ a honour to anyone who was not Thaddeus. He did not like that she still chose his clothes, he was of age to do such himself, or so he always told himself every morning.


    At the very least, he chose his seat himself today, not without the grumbles of the child he thought he was not and the intervention of his ever so benevolent brother, the king, his mother would not have allowed him regardless. He would show her one day, he had told himself, that he was a man. He knew she took pride in the strength of her guard, Olly, that man beast of a giant, and he would knock the man down with a longsword and prove that he was not a child. Soon. Soon enough.


    A longsword took his eyes now, the one the victorious peasant brandished around in the air to the throng in the gallery in celebration of his advancement to the tourney¡¯s clincher. It was a sword he had seen before. He pinched his head with a grimace as he tried forcing his mind to recollect. He hated having things left forgotten, that was not for him.


    ¡°Brother,¡± he called to Zephyr who was seated next to him. He had taken the place of his mother, it was her seat he had wanted. She had been the one beside his brother on the yester, but he wanted to be the one to sit close to him today. Now he did, not without effort though. ¡°Do you recall that sword?¡± He pointed down at the boy who had begun to make his way off the grounds with a slow gait that made it seem like he would fall any moment. ¡°I feel like I have seen that somewhere.¡± Thaddeus focused his fingers on the crescent moon pommel hoping his brother would know what he did not.


    Zephyr watched the boy for a while until he faded wholly from the grounds, then he furled his mouth at an angle with a tsking sound shortly after before he made a reply, ¡°Hmmm, why should I tell you?¡± Thaddeus watched his brother turn back at him with a roguish smile on his face, the gemmed crown seated a lure on his blue hair making it a tad more comical.


    ¡°Because I have forgotten.¡± Thaddeus was not having it. He really wanted to remember.


    ¡°Then find it out¡­ and tell me when you do.¡± Zephyr turned back to watch the other knights waltz in from their ends, Thaddeus had little concern for them now as they had not started fighting, he wanted answers first.


    His mother answered in his brother¡¯s stead, ¡°It¡¯s Ser Gale¡¯s sword.¡± Thaddeus turned sharply at her, shifting in his seat to listen better. ¡°Good of you to remember, Thaddeus.¡±


    ¡°I did not, that was why I asked.¡± He had a pout.


    Thalia pinched his cheek. ¡°You did, you just didn¡¯t remember completely¡­ and shame on you Zephyr¡­¡± She glanced at her other son, the first she had had, the king, and he looked back at her, his eyebrows turned up with a face full of wonder. Thaddeus was watching them both, one at a time¡­ ¡°how dare you play with my little boy¡¯s mind?¡± She scoffed her eyebrows to a narrow with a gape.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a little boy!¡± There was Thaddeus¡¯ rebellious roar again, and with it came a light slap of his mother¡¯s hand off his face. ¡°I¡¯m a man grown,¡± he added.


    She pinched again unrelenting, this time on the two cheeks, playing with it as she did. ¡°Yes, of course you¡¯re a man grown, how could anyone not see that? Pardon me¡­ man-grown.¡±


    She was mocking him, he knew, and his brother was chuckling, along with the silver-haired woman that was to be his wife. It almost made him beet red, but no man grown should be seen red. He hmphed instead.


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    ¡°But how come he wields it?¡± Thalia continued. ¡°If I recall, Ser Gale stays far away at Oldtown, did he willingly give someone his own sword, the crescent moon even? Quite queer.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we ask him after the tourney ends? I want to know as well,¡± Zephyr chipped in from across Thaddeus.


    ¡°Oh, I intend to. It just slipped my mind before. Good thing he made it to the last bout. If he wields it without the accord of the Mormont knight, then I will have it off his hands. We do not want someone waving around the sword your late father made for a man he held dearly to heart.¡± Her face was different, still had the same beauty, but different, Thaddeus noticed.


    ¡°After his bout, we shall ask how he got it,¡± Zephyr put in, his voice quite strong as he waved begin the commencement of the fight below. Thaddeus turned fully at him, the throng¡¯s shrieking almost too much of a greater loud than the one they had had for the previous fight.


    Thalia turned to meet the king¡¯s eyes. ¡°After his bout,¡± she confirmed with a nod. Thaddeus turned fully at her too as she spoke, all the while silent. He was a man grown, but sometimes he wondered what the manner of speech adults gave themselves meant. His brother and mother had spoken just a few words, but it felt as though they had said something more.


    He heard a sound of steel on armour and a loud gasp from the crowd, and he turned sharply to look down at the fight below. He always preferred fights to thinking and there was one going on down beneath the terrace he was on. It called for him and he took its call to watch.


    Ser Wayne, he had called himself, the knight that was down on one knee, strapped in a banded mail coated in a shimmering red that symbolised the enamelled dragonfly soaring through the sternum of his breastplate. Swift, he had said after his name and after he had lanced people down from their horses on the yester, a jape maybe, because he always had a smile, but Thaddeus had taken him serious and now he wondered why someone so swift was on his knee without his smile, and in its place a glint of shock and timidity in his eyes, one filled with a fearful restraint to wield his sword that was plunged into the sands. Thaddeus had a look of queerness on his face for what he was seeing.


    ¡°Fight!¡± They shouted, the crowd, a man first and then another man and then a woman, and even a child. They were all shouting and booing. ¡°Craven!¡± One proclaimed. ¡°Pick up your sword! You are no knight!¡± They were enraged, Thaddeus saw, he glanced at his brother to see what he would do, but he did nothing, he just watched.


    Thaddeus turned back to the grounds, the knight still knelt not moving and the boos were growing ever louder, and as if he had missed it before, he saw the reason why the man could not stand. The reason glowered before the kneeling knight, clad in a grey banded mail as dark as the first call of night, with the head of a golden tiger roaring on its chest, his gold cloak swaying as his sword nestled uneasily on the shoulder of the Ser Wayne, the helm he wore, forged to be in the likelihood of a roaring tiger, fierce and mighty it was made to look, and it was no doubt mighty to the knight who knelt fearful to pick up his sword and fight. It was already a defeat, Thaddeus knew, and it pained him that he missed what had led it there.


    ¡°Craven,¡± he whispered in anger. In anger that he had missed the fight, and in anger that this knight could not stand to fight anymore. He jumped from his seat in a fit of rage and spat a shout, joining the crowd but at the same time dying their own out, ¡°Craven!¡± And the grounds went silent. He wondered why as even the two knights on the ground below looked up at him, the one kneeling with a sullen look beneath the unlocked visor of his dragonfly-head forged helm, while the other¡¯s eyes he could not see as his visor was closed. All the people seated in the gallery gazed at him too and it left him uneasy, then a tight grip stormed his wrist, forcing him to turn sharply at the one who was holding him, and it was his brother, the king, with a look of disapproval on his face. Zephyr shook his head at him and he sat back down, slowly and sourly, it was not until he was done seating did he feel his brother¡¯s hand loosen up and let his wrist free. His mother did not even look at him.


    Zephyr waved the battle over, and that was all. The Lockeheart knight, the other queen¡¯s nephew moved on to the last bout, but Thaddeus did not even gaze down to see whatever celebrations were going on there. His fists tightened on his fur. He just wanted to see real knights fight, he was going to be one one day, he just wanted to see them fight, and it was utterly disappointing. ¡°No craven is a true knight, no craven knight is a knight¡­¡±


    His fists tightened further, and then he felt a hand, warm and soft despite all the cold nearly on its way, cup his hands, allowing them to a loose. It was his mother¡¯s, and as he glanced up at her she whispered to him with a smile, ¡°A true knight is no craven, true, but a true knight also knows to yield when the battle does not seem to be in his favour.¡±


    ¡°Is that not running away?¡± Thaddeus queried.


    ¡°It is not running away when he did not turn his back to his opponent''s sword. He knelt and yielded, on his honour as a knight.¡±

 Grovel, At Least

    <h2><u>HARRY BOLTMORE</u></h2>


    There had been no sort of encouragement from little Wymar this time. He had polished the breastplate and backplate in silence, he had strapped them in silence, and he had fastened Harry¡¯s scabbard to his waist in silence. It was not the dent, Harry knew, the dent would have made the boy talk, it was something else, and he wondered what it could possibly be so much, but he could not ask, the boy¡¯s murky look made it impossible.


    He got his answer when he was about to head in for the final bout though, that he did.


    ¡°Wish me luck,¡± Harry had said.


    And little Wymar had scoffed. ¡°Yer not even a knight,¡± he told Harry, ¡°luck won¡¯t be with yer out there,¡± he added, a little bit too harshly. ¡°Did yer see wha¡¯ happened with the other knight, a real knight? There¡¯s no way yer can win against that M¡¯Ser. None I see. None.¡±


    Harry thought the same, but¡­


    ¡°Just yield,¡± little Wymar advised. ¡°Just yield as soon as yer draw yer steel, just like the other knight, it¡¯d save yer from damn broken and bloody noses. Yer said he helped yer at the city¡¯s gate, right? Well he won¡¯t help yer now, I trust. He¡¯ll give yer pain. A¡¯ot.¡±


    Harry knew that better than anyone. He had watched what little fight had happened between his helper and the dragonfly knight, and it was no doubt so little. Ser Maurin had rid the smiling knight of his sword and sent him down to his knee with such a speed that he blinked and he almost missed it all. It was the same thing he had done to Drustan, only his had taken far much longer than this one had. It had not even been a fight, if he was allowed to say, he¡¯d rather proclaim it dominance. The queen¡¯s nephew, the man that had tossed him a pouch of riches, was too good a fighter to be clashing swords with the likes of him, but¡­ but¡­ ¡°I will not yield,¡± Harry made sure little Wymar heard. ¡°I will fight.¡± His mouth babbled confidently, but his hands said otherwise. They were sweaty and shivering, and the moss-haired boy saw it.


    Little Wymar took himself out of Harry¡¯s way. ¡°Yer nose, yer choice.¡±


    Harry had left without any other word then, and now he stood facing the knight, both with their swords and shields in hand, with little Wymar¡¯s words continually ringing in his head. He would lose.


    Ser Maurin¡¯s visor was still up, and even though Harry had taken his stance, the knight held the hilt of his sword languidly point-faced to the ground. ¡°I take it you will not yield,¡± the knight spoke, his voice as cool as the one he had that day when Harry had met him at the gate. ¡°At the gate I saw only a knapsack with you, must have been my coins that got you all these armours then. And the sword? I¡¯ve seen it before. That¡¯s a Kingsknight¡¯s sword, I suppose. How did you get it?¡± Ser Maurin Lockeheart¡¯s green eyes peered at Harry as though they were before a table having a casual conversation. Harry felt the man was not seeing him as a worthy opponent, but he did not feel anger at that. The knight was right to feel that way. He¡¯s not a worthy opponent.


    Harry remained mute, almost to the point that you¡¯ll think he actually was. His eyes kept darting about the knight¡¯s armour in a wobbly shiver, watching it from the garnet engraved roaring tiger head on his dark-grey breastplate all the way to the same tiger head carved on his great shield. Harry knew as much as the knight that the shield was not needed, he had not used it against a real knight, it would not be needed against him.


    ¡°You talked more at the gate with the guards, why the silence now?¡± Ser Maurin spoke to him again.


    Harry bit his lower lip softly then declared after a while, ¡°Thank you for your help at the gate, I would never have made it here if not for you¡­ but I will neither yield to you nor lose this fight.¡±


    The call to begin flung through the grounds and with it came the bellows of the shouts of the throng. Ser Maurin picked up his sword then, changing his grip on its hilt and taking its point from the ground to the sky, all still languidly done. ¡°Good,¡± he began talking to Harry, ¡°it would have been a shame if all that investment went to waste.¡± He tossed his shield aside to the ground, the throng echoing their voices filled with jollity, it was so loud that Harry even had to look up at the gallery, he wondered if the whole realm could hear their screams. ¡°Toss yours aside too,¡± the knight called Harry¡¯s gaze back to him, ¡°you fight better without one.¡±


    This was stupid, Harry deemed, it was beginning to feel more like a training fight that he had heard knights had in the yards of their liege lord¡¯s castle than an actual battle to become a Kingsknight. Toss yours aside too¡­? What was that, was he doing him a favour? Harry¡¯s helmet had no visor, it was a barbute dented without remorse, and it made it ever so easy for the knight to see his frustration.


    ¡°We¡¯ve not clashed swords yet, do not start to feel bittered before that.¡± The knight dropped his visor, then whipped his sword softly downwards, putting his right foot before his left as he took a low stance. His grip was perfect and his stance left no opening to be exploited, it was the stance of a knight honed in the act of swordsmanship. ¡°Come, let¡¯s give this crowd something to cheer about.¡±


    Harry inhaled sharply in forbearance, and finally tossed his own shield aside as well and took his own stance, a middle stance that he knew was as amateurish as his swordsplay was, but even though he knew he had little chance of defeating this man before him¡ªif there was even any at all¡ªhe would still do anything to win, he would.


    He dashed forward at Ser Maurin, his mind taking leave from all the fear he had, while his hands gripped the hilt of crescent moon tightly as he took it over his head and began to send it down towards the neck of the knight with a swing askew from the left. Ser Maurin was not moving, Harry could see. With every second, the glimmering steel in his hand slashed through the air and moved closer and closer towards the gorget of the knight, but he did not move an inch, not a step backward, not to his left to run away from the blow, and his sword, he did not even lift it to parry. Harry was not sure what was happening but he kept bringing his sword down nevertheless, whatever the knight was thinking mattered not to him, what mattered to him was to make this slash hit¡­ but not enough to be deadly.


    Harry¡¯s sword had almost made its bite on Ser Maurin¡¯s neck when his hands began to vibrate and his ears began to ring from the clash of steel on steel. Just seconds ago, his blade was almost upon this knight¡¯s gorget, but now that same blade had been sent back the way it had come, pulling him groggily beneath its weight in a stumble. ¡°Too slow¡­¡± Harry had heard the knight say, but that was not it. He clenched his teeth, No, you¡¯re just too fast¡­


    Harry planted his feets strongly to stop himself from stumbling any further, and then the cheers came as usual. Shut up¡­ he wanted to say, he wanted to scream at them, but it mattered not. He saw Ser Maurin return back to his stance, and he knew that if it had been a fight to the death, he would have been done already. That parry Ser Maurin had done to him had left him without protection of his neck down to his feets, the knight could have slashed him and easily be done with it, but it was not a fight to the death, for that he was glad.


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    ¡°You plant your feets lightly,¡± the knight echoed across from him. ¡°Plant them better and firmly to the ground and you will lose no balance. Not likely to help you on this day, but a tip for later if you care.¡± What was this? Harry wondered, was he seriously tipping him right now, at this moment?


    Harry spared no words of reply to the queen¡¯s nephew, the only reply he spared was another lunge towards him, his body instinctively taking note of what he had just heard. He planted his feets better this time as he feinted to his left, feinted to his right, went with another feint to his left, then returned to his right with a low swing aiming for Ser Maurin¡¯s knee. The knight deftly handled his sword to be put in the way of the swing and it undoubtedly stopped it, Harry left his sword there, his mind replaying the scenes of his fight with Drustan, as he scurried towards Ser Maurin¡¯s left with a grapple in thought, one that he planned would send the knight back-first to the ground and rid him of his sword and balance, the balance he was so proud of that he could think to lecture his opponent, but it did not go the way Harry thought, he was met with a deafening backhand blow from the knight¡¯s gauntlet to his helmed-head, which sent him pig-diving into the sand for the second time today.


    He sprang up to a one knee crouch. Tears slowly came upon his eyes in little amounts, and his tongue filled up with the taste of his blood while his ears rang with a song ugly to anyone who might have been in his position, muffling out all the sounds around him, that was until his sword came before his eyes again where he was crouching.


    ¡°Pick it up,¡± Ser Maurin told him, and it was the first sound he had heard since the blow that busted his lips. It was as though it had been ages since he had heard any sound. ¡°Pick it up, or do you plan to yield?¡± the knight said again, unkindly Harry would have said it was, but in truth it wasn¡¯t.


    Harry logily took hold of crescent moon¡¯s hilt as he gnashed his teeth together in a fit of pique. He spat blood out of his mouth and then he jumped to his feet. His hand stung and his head had begun to hurt again, thick red was flowing down his forehead. The cuts he had sustained from his fight with Drustan had come to be reopened, but still¡­ he would never yield. He carefully took his stance again and began to sidle about, studying the Lockeheart knight like a predator waiting for the right time to pounce on its prey, only he was the prey and the predator was the one that stood still watching him with eyes hidden beneath a roaring tiger helm.


    Harry dashed forward again, he had skulked enough, that one would take him nowhere, he needed a hit, he needed one. He neither went left or right this time, he struck straight towards Ser Maurin, thrusting a pierce through the air and charging head on towards the small space between the knight¡¯s left rondel, with a thought to incapacitate one of his arms from functioning. The knight skewed his grip to his left and swung his steel up with a mind to deflect Harry¡¯s sword from making a successful thrust, but Harry was no fool, the thrust was never something that would have proved fruitful, he knew, it was all a decoy.


    Harry smiled and altered his grip as well, taking his sword with a deft abruptness from the thrust he had charged with, and into a steep wind away from the force of the parrying blow Ser Maurin was bringing up, forcing the knight¡¯s sword to cut through air instead rather than clash with steel, and leaving his lower half exposed as Harry had wanted. Harry took heed of the knight¡¯s earlier instruction and planted his feet firmly onto the ground, setting it so firm that it dug beneath the sand. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the crescent moon, ducked slightly, and sent a slash, swift and forebodingly, towards the roaring tiger on Ser Maurin¡¯s breast plate.


    The knight calmly dug his heel into the sand and kicked back away from the slash, Harry retreating a notable distance as well as the gasp that had come from the crowd during the slash faded away and left behind total silence.


    Harry grinned, his teeth smeared all bloody. ¡°Told you.¡± His left eye kept twitching at the blood that rolled down his forehead, while his sword-hand ached badly. The gash was worsening, it was opening more and more, but still¡­ He raised the point of his sword at Ser Maurin, and that was when the knight noticed. Ser Maurin glanced down at his breastplate and the mouth of his roaring tiger had been slashed in half. ¡°I will neither yield nor lose.¡± The crowd roared again and again, each time louder than the last, but rather than bullying his ringing ear to a further ache, it filled him with a surge of elation. He had not won, but it sure felt like he had.


    Mother¡­ He began to think to himself. I think I can win¡­ I might be able to do it, I might¡­


    The sparks and quiver resulting from the clash of steel on his, woke him back from his reverie. It had not worked. Ser Maurin had dropped down his sword swiftly with a stupendous speed that Harry could not begin to make sense of to block his slash. He was not able to cut the roaring tiger, he looked at it now, it was still there unscathed. All he had seen had just been his mind. He gnashed his teeth together in a crunching rage, no doubt a bad choice as it came again, from his left this time, another blow that deafened him again, forcing an outpour of red from his mouth as he rolled through the sand. His face was all bloodied now. There was no way he could win.


    Crescent moon came surfing through the sand before him again. ¡°Pick it up,¡± he heard the knight say. ¡°You do not plan to yield, do you?¡±


    Harry spat blood, grit his teeth and picked his sword up again, anger, the one he never thought he would have, and frustration evident all over his face, but it did not matter. He lunged again and he found himself rolling back onto the sand, tinting the pale yellow with his blood over and over again. But he kept standing at the knight¡¯s question of ¡°You do not plan to yield, do you?¡± and he would dash forward, but like the first and the second all up to the fifth time, he would also find himself falling back onto the ground again, each time more bloodied and bruised than the last.


    Out of frustration he removed his helm and flung it to the ground, maybe he was getting more bloodied because of it, but that was the worst decision he had ever made since the bout began. For removing the helm, he was now given a broken nose, a reward for such a foolish decision. No matter what he did, he could not seem to land a hit on this knight. He went low, high, to the left, to the right, to his back, he had tried it all, but it was as though the knight had eyes everywhere, but still¡­ still¡­ he could not yield. Not today, not ever.


    Another blow sent him crashing to the ground. At this point he might have embraced this sand more than he had embraced his pallet at home. The throng could have it no more. It was boring. This was no fight, and they began to leave him with boos and shouts for him to yield. Some still motioned him to keep fighting, but they said it with laughs¡­ they were jesting. It did not matter what they thought of him though, he could not yield, he could not go back to his father like this. What of the promise he had made to his mother, he could not fail her, he could not¡­


    If you choose to fight, then you must have the will to fight¡­ Ser Gale¡¯s words echoed through his ears, but it was not Ser Gale¡¯s voice he heard, it was another, a more tender voice. He looked up slightly from where he lay on the ground, and he saw her in the dazzling brightness of the sun. He saw her ginger frizzy hair, her pale eyes and her thin lips. It was all hazy, but it was her, he knew it was her, he could never forget her. She knelt before him and took his bruised cheeks in her palms and told him, ¡°I know you can do it Harry, I know you can, my little wild boy¡­¡±


    Yes, he could. He blinked and she was no more, but her voice still echoed in his head, so strongly that he felt the strength to take a hold of his sword return. The crescent moon will not see defeat today¡­ he told himself. Not today. Not¡­


    ¡°Enough!¡± A voice echoed through the tourney grounds, sending silence to everywhere that clamour once existed. Harry turned to look up at where the voice had come from, and it had come from where he did not want it to, it came from the terrace, and¡­ it was the voice of the king.


    No¡­ Harry shivered.


    ¡°Call the tourney to a close. I have my Kingsknight¡­¡±


    Harry¡¯s chest tightened, and even though he wanted to shout in disagreement, his voice had grown as weak as his body. His shout came forth as a whisper instead, ¡°No¡­¡±

 The Poacher’s Boy

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    ¡°Enough!¡± Zephyr had seen enough. What was this? Some sort of movie about how far the boy¡¯s test of will went? He had been battered endlessly and he still wanted to fight? Was he expecting them to just keep watching this savagery? ¡°Call the tourney to a close, I have my Kingsknight,¡± Zephyr echoed, waving it done from where he stood at the edge of the terrace in his crown and leather and chequered gold surcoat. There was enough blood trickling already, if it went on any longer this boy might end up dead, he would not have that.


    Ser Maurin took off his helm with deft quickness and fell to one knee, his sword placed flat and gentle over it as his green eyes went to a shut. Zephyr turned to him. ¡°Ser Maurin of House Lockeheart,¡± Zephyr began, as he had been taught by Flynn on the night of the yester, ¡°I have seen you take up both a lance and a sword, and I have seen you take victor in fighting with both. On this day I acknowledge your skill and deem you worthy enough to stand beside me as my knight.¡± The words felt heavy on Zephyr¡¯s lips. He could not believe he was making a nephew of Ophelia, the queen that took his claim of the throne to be some sort of thievery, his knight. He could not believe he was putting danger so close to himself, he could not. What if it was all a ploy to end his life? What if this man had been sent by her and Damon to be planted by his side so he could strike him dead when the time was ripe? What if that was what it was?


    You are the king, you can do whatever, choose whoever, and judge whoever¡­ you are the king¡­ He heard the voice come to him again, angry but sullen as it always was, as clear as a whisper in his ear, filling him with thoughts, filling him with ideas, but¡­ judge? He could not judge as he wished, he could not judge anyone without proof of the sins they have been said to commit. His father would never applaud him for that. The man did not raise him in such a way, and he could not trample all over the man¡¯s spirit in such manner. No, he could not.


    Then what could he do? In truth, the knight¡¯s skill was no profound jape, and Dante had told him not to try anything stupid. And even if he wanted to try such, take no heed of Dante¡¯s words and do his mind instead, listening to the voice in his head, the one who made it to the clincher with this Ser Maurin had been beaten to a pulp. Was that who he would have by his side then? ¡°Do you take honour in that?¡± He asked the knight.


    ¡°Yes, Sire,¡± the knight¡¯s voice was soft but no doubt loud, it was so that even if he whispered, everyone might still catch a hear of what he said. ¡°To stand beside you and serve you is no doubt a great honour, one anyone would love to have. I take pride that you have given me such an honour.¡±


    Zephyr was not excited like the way he had been during his first council meeting when the Kingsknight of a thing had been mentioned. If he had known that it was Damon¡¯s cousin that would end up becoming one of his Kingsknight at this tourney, he might have never had that excitement at all. Even though he had promised himself that he was done with being weary, he could not fault himself for having doubts about this man. He had to be cautious around this one. ¡°Be in attendance tonight at the feast, there you shall swear your fealty to me in the eyes of all the ladies and lords of the court that will be present.¡±


    ¡°Aye, Sire,¡± Ser Maurin echoed.


    ¡°Stand,¡± Zephyr said, then turned to the other, the one well beaten as though he was a heated metal hammered never-endingly to bring about reshape after being brought forth from the heat of the forge. He was reshaped now, well beyond doubt. His eyes swollen and bruised purple, his lips and forehead cut, and a gash about his arms. Zephyr had pity for this one and he began to wonder why he had fought so much. Was it for the money? Judging from his armour and tunic, he was no doubt a peasant, so even as a forerunner he would have had enough coins to take home, or was there something else? ¡°What is your name?¡± Zephyr asked the boy. He was on his knees, his dark-blonde hair dirtied by blood and sand, and his face nothing to talk about, unless it was of the crestfallen look he had about it. There was nothing to be done for this one, Zephyr thought, he was weak and he had lost.


    The boy coughed up a few spits of blood, proving Zephyr right. ¡°Harry, Your Grace,¡± his voice was cracked and smeared morosely, ¡°Harry Boltmore.¡±


    A loud gasp echoed from the gallery, and the murmurs that had been there for a while intensified beyond doubt. Zephyr was left confused. Was there something about this boy? He wondered, and he was doubtless curious. How could he find out what it was without it being queer? If it was something the crowd knew, then no doubt this body¡¯s real soul knew as well. How could he find that out now?


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Mother?¡± He heard Thaddeus say, ¡°Why is everyone murmuring.¡± This was one of the few times he wanted to pick up that stubborn little boy to the sky and kiss him on his forehead. Such a sweet brother. He owed him a favour now. ¡°Is there something wrong with the boy?¡±


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    Thalia answered, quelling the curiosity of two even though she might have thought her answer was for only one, ¡°His father¡¯s now a ruined lord, Thaddeus. He was once the lord of Oldtown, then he stooped so low to becoming a poacher, and your father stripped him of all his titles and lands in return for his crime.¡±


    ¡°A thief?¡± Thaddeus deduced from all his mother had said, ¡°What did he steal?¡±


    ¡°Not a thief,¡± Thalia shook her head, ¡°a poacher. He was caught hunting in the Kingswood, killing your father¡¯s games, the king¡¯s games.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t father a bit too harsh? He took away all his lands just because he was hunting?¡±


    Thalia shook her head a second time. ¡°Your father liked it not either, but he was king, if he had not punished the lord as it was deemed fit, then his judgments would have been trampled upon by lords and peasants alike for all the time he had lived. It was not his choice as a man, it was his choice as the king.¡±


    Zephyr sighed deeply. He too was king, and the weight was heavy for he, someone that had not been nurtured as one. Might it have been easier to come to decisions if he had grown up as a prince trained to be a king? Would it? ¡°Harry Boltmore,¡± he boomed from the terrace, shutting the whispers of the throng and their loud fidgetings, ¡°you have fought valiantly, both with a lance and with a sword,¡± the boy was gaping at him with swollen eyes and mouth mildly open, he felt sorry, ¡°but you have unfortunately fallen short in skill to Ser Maurin.¡± He gestured at the knight of Lockeheart. ¡°That does not mean you are without victory though. For your valiant and hard fought battles I shall see you share my meat and wine at the feast tonight, and as the forerunner you shall not leave this city without a pocket full of coins.¡± He nodded with a smile hoping the boy would be satisfied at that, but as he was about to wave the dismissal of all, he found out the boy was not pleased.


    ¡°No!¡± Harry Boltmore screamed from below, taking Zephyr¡¯s smile away and replacing it with a look of query.


    ¡°What do you mean ¡°No¡±?¡± Zephyr asked.


    Harry swallowed a lump, one which no doubt would be filled with the taste of the metal of blood. ¡°Forgive me, but I do not care for meat and wine, Your Grace. I will not lie that I do not care for the coins as well, but I¡¯d sooner stand by your side than take that. What I¡¯ve wanted, what I¡¯ve always wanted is to wield my sword and fight for you, that is all I¡¯ve ever dreamt of.¡± Zephyr could hear the pain in the boy¡¯s voice, but the crowd did not. They were not pleased with the words that came out of his mouth and they no doubt let their feelings shown.


    Boos came, and then the berates. ¡°Take what His Grace offers you, you thief!¡± One shouted. ¡°A poacher¡¯s son does not get to choose what he wants!¡± Another voiced, and then more and more followed. ¡°He¡¯s a stupid one a¡¯right! A thief¡¯s son and a damn well greedy one!¡± They kept coming, until Zephyr could not take the savage loudness any longer the same way he had not been able to stand watching the beating this boy, Harry, had suffered during the fight. This throng was beating him as well, not just physically. He knew how that felt.


    ¡°Anyone who speaks further, their tongue I shall have,¡± Zephyr echoed to the throng filling the crescent gallery, and they all fell into a gaping silence of surprise. No one spoke any further, and that was good. He turned back to the boy. ¡°And how do you hope to wield your sword for me? You have lost.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I do not know, Your Grace.¡± The boy¡¯s face was plain, safe for the bruises, it was as though he cared little for the insults that had been echoed at him and just had his mind focused on one thing and one thing alone. To stand by Zephyr¡¯s side. To be his sword. To be his knight.


    ¡°If you do not know then why bother me?¡± Zephyr told Harry sharply.


    The boy¡¯s eyes widened at Zephyr¡¯s words as much as a purpled one could go, and a few seconds after, he fell into a grovel, his forehead turned downwards to the sand, resting just atop the back of his palms. ¡°I know I am not good enough to be your knight now, but I¡¯ll never be good if I return the way I am. If Your Grace allows, take me into one of the lower ranking guards, I believe I am good enough for that, or¡­ or as a steward, I too believe I have the skills for that, I do not care which, I just wish to be where I shall be able to hone my skills so that one day I¡¯ll be worthy enough to serve by your side. It is a request stupid in all thoughts, but it is the only I know to ask.¡±


    Zephyr exhaled, and the thought of a job graced his head as soon as he did, one different from the two the boy had listed, one better, and one that would bring this boy, a person he had a feeling he could trust, closer to him. ¡°Then,¡± he smiled, ¡°I shall better take you as my squire.¡± The crowd gasped, but they still dared not speak, the word to remove the tongue of any who spoke still lingered. He found Harry¡¯s face quivering at him, it was as though the boy wanted to cry but didn¡¯t know how to. ¡°Not good enough for you?¡± Zephyr joked.


    ¡°It is, Your Grace! It is.¡± The boy fell his head back to the ground. ¡°Thank you for the honour, Your Grace. Thank you!¡± His voice was louder than ever.


    ¡°The meat and wine you shall still have after all.¡± Zephyr waved the tourney to a close and turned away from the terrace to find Audrey gawking at him with a light smile that she had kept for his eyes and his alone.


    ¡°The sword,¡± his mother reminded him as Thaddeus jumped down from his seat.


    ¡°At the feast, Mother,¡± Zephyr told her. ¡°At the feast.¡±

 The King’s Name-Day

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    She had seen many before, but she had never seen this sort of many. The royal household held their feasts in a way greatly different from the way the Flamesworths held theirs, she could see that now. High ladies and lords, all which no doubt would have sworn fealty to the king, her soon-to-be husband, graced the hall. None of them she had ever seen before, and none she might have never seen if not for her newfound place on the high table in this grand outspread expanse of a room; it too was one of the things the Flamesworths never deemed to have. Their own Great Hall was a lot smaller and not as befitting of the word great as this one was, and no doubt had less the people come into it as this one had come to have as well.


    Candelabras hung from the arched beams spanning the full length of the ceiling, all lit in golden-yellow flames which came together to brighten and warm the hall with a grandeur she had never been pleased to see before this feast. Domed pillars stood to the west and the east of the hall, and in the midst of their flickering shadows stood the royal guards visored and silver armoured with black cloaks, their hands placed firmly on the hilts of their swords. There was no meat and wine for them during the length of this feast, she surmised, their job was to guard and guard they would do until the feast ended.


    But they were not the only ones who weren¡¯t drinking and feasting now. She too was not, and so were the high lords and ladies that filled the hall. They all had to listen first to this knight swear his fealty to the crown, that everyone had to do before the feasting began.


    Zephyr stood before the high table on the raised platform where it was situated, gazing at Ser Maurin, the man who had won the tourney, genuflecting on one knee. The knight had discarded his earlier fit of dark-grey armour and donned a new one, this one more dazzling and elegant than his last. His body was now beneath a gilded full plate armour with silver enamelled rondels, greaves, gauntlets and tassels, and a silver raven soared across his breastplate just like the two Kingsknights that each stood at the edge of the long high table she sat before. But he was not wearing the cloak they wore, his back had no silver damask falling from it yet, the cloak still lay before him, folded beside his golden greathelm and his longsword sheathed in its scabbard. Until he had sworn his fealty, he was not yet a Kingsknight.


    ¡°You have knelt before His Grace, King Zephyr of House Ravenswood, first of his name and ruler of the lands and seas of Ravenwing, swearing to take up your sword for his cause, to be his shield in the face of the darkness of harm, and to give your life for him. Do I have that to be the truth you claim?¡± The hall as a whole was in silent serenity as the man spoke, the one she supposed from Renly¡¯s words to be the grand savant. He was grand in age no doubt, with more bones than flesh.


    Tonight was the first she had seen him though, she did not take joy in roaming the castle the way her steward did, he preferred to walk about than be by her side to keep her company, and he never heeded whenever she told him to stay. She was seated at the high table now and no matter how many times she had told him she would get him a seat up here too, he still wandered off to a corner in this vast hall, somewhere her eyes could not reach probably, as she could not see him. Ravens be good, what would it take him to just do as she says?


    ¡°Aye, I vow to give my life for the king, to be his sword and shield, to bear the honour to face and fight his darkness. I vow to live for him and to die for him. On my honour as a knight, I pledge to serve King Zephyr Ravenswood, the one true raven, until the day I die!¡± The knight was swearing an oath to the king she was to wed, but Audrey was not impressed. Swearing was one thing, actions another. Renly had sworn the same when they were kids, to never leave her side, well, where was he now?


    ¡°If you would do the honour, Your Grace.¡± The grand savant gestured at Zephyr, and the king cupped his hand forward at the old man, allowing him to pour a tiny bit of oil from the cup he was holding into it.


    Zephyr turned to the knight. ¡°On this day I hold you true to your vows. Become one of the golden shields and swords of your king. Become a golden knight of the raven.¡± He took a step down from the raised platform and smeared the knight¡¯s pale yellow hair with the oil. ¡°Rise, Ser Maurin Lockeheart of the Kingsknight.¡±


    Claps stormed the hall, chasing the choking silence that had once had this place as its home away. As the knight rose from his knee to fasten his sword to his waist and his cloak to his shoulders, Zephyr used the small cloth the grand savant gave him to wipe his hand clean of the slippery feel of the oil.


    After he was done wiping, he made his way back to his seat to the right of Audrey on the high table, making his brother grumble in spite through a ruffle of the little boy¡¯s hair as he sat down, while the brand new Kingsknight lent his hand to the grand savant and helped him through the back door out of the hall.


    As soon as all was done, Audrey watched the great doors befitting of such a grand hall open up stiffly to allow the foray that seemed to have been waiting for this moment to march into it in a rowdy harmony. Serving maids all dressed in roughspun wools of grey and bleached brown led the charge, in their hands jars and pitchers and goblets and flagons upon trays of silver. They filled the hall completely, going from one table to the other bunging them up with whatever was necessary for quaffing down wine.


    There were a lot of lords and ladies, and they were not here alone. Their knights and their knight¡¯s squires also sat the hall, and no doubt their stewards and cup-bearers did as well, along with whatever bastard boy-servants they had. Those ones sat at the end corners of the hall, the edge of the room¡¯s world, the place darkened by shadows with only a glimmer of light, and out of sight from the king. They could not complain in all honesty, their lords and ladies had not even wanted their filth in the Great Hall of the king, but the king himself had requested for them to be let in. Everyone they had brought to this city for the tourney was for the feast, stable boys and knights alike, bastards and betterborns, they all should sit in the hall. That was what he had said, and when she heard she had smiled at that. This man fascinated her, safe for his beauty to boot.


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    One fat pot-bellied lord had even come with his children, quite much they were, maybe one-and-five at least. Audrey had tried counting when she saw, and when she could not keep counting anymore, she began to wonder if she would bear such number of children for Zephyr as well after they wed beneath the light of day on the ¡®morrow. He would take her after, she was sure of that, but what she was not sure of was if she was ready or if she could handle it. She shivered.


    After the serving ladies came the fools smiling as men of their racket always did. Three of them she saw, dressed in motley coats of blue, red and purple, their cap''n bells jingling a jingle as they hopped on one foot to the other with a click clack in perfect rhythm. She had never once laughed at the japes of fools and she doubted she would tonight. Tumblers and jugglers had better chances of appeasing her, and that they did when she saw them come in after. The tumblers came in tumbling, and the jugglers came in juggling. And she had not even noticed, until the songs began to fill the hall, that on a small rostrum at the edge of the hall beside the hearth sat a singer stringing his wooden bard in a hum. He had taken it upon himself to begin singing, but no one stopped him nevertheless. Rymar the Rhymer he called himself in between the songs, hoping this would be the chance to finally make himself known to the high lords and ladies of the court, and perhaps even to the king, and maybe earn himself some favours for a good song sung.


    Audrey had no leaning for the singer¡¯s name, and she no doubt knew the lords and ladies of the court felt the same as well. He would find no favours here. After all, he had probably snuck in after some lord or lady and he was lucky that he was not being thrown out yet. The thing she did have a leaning for though, was the song. She had heard it before, and she remembered where. It was at the brothel on the day she had come to King¡¯s City for the first time, and the one she had heard it from was none other than her steward, Renly Bailiff, the stubborn man gone missing in the Great Hall. It was a song of the king, one that praised his beauty, and it sounded ever more beautiful now that it came from a true singer¡¯s lips.


    The singing and clamour died down to a swelling stop when the cups and flagons of the court had been filled and the carts of spiced food for the feast began to roll in, all done according to the queen¡¯s clang of her goblet with her finger ring. Theirs on the high table had not been filled yet, but she saw the one who had been given the grace to do such, a serving girl with a clear dark skin glistening beneath the flickers of the candelabras¡¯ bright light, come up on the platform now with gentle strides, a golden pitcher firm in her hands.


    Queen Thalia rose to her feet as the serving girl began to fill her cup. ¡°Good lords and ladies of the court, it is my utmost pleasure to welcome you to the Great Hall of Aeron¡¯s Castle. Surely you are as pleased as I am?¡± They all raised their cups at her, their wines untouched and untasted.


    The serving maid moved away from the queen with a bow to fill the cup of Thaddeus. ¡°Then I am glad. We have watched the tourney come and go, and we have seen a victor emerge, the new knight of the king, Queen Ophelia¡¯s nephew.¡± Queen Thalia turned left to look at the other queen who sat close to the end of the table away from her, but that one spared her no look. Audrey could sense what was between these two queens and it was nothing of love and trust.


    Queen Thalia continued, ¡°But why exactly are we holding this feast? I¡¯m sure you all know that as well, but I¡¯ll still do the honour of mentioning it. This day is the day the king, my son, turns twenty. A good day for I as a mother and a good day for the kingdom.¡± Claps were up and about in the hall once more. The serving girl moved to Zephyr now to fill his cup, and Audrey watched him grace her with a brief glance. ¡°I have gifts that I have prepared for my son, but none I shall give him tonight.¡± The hall laughed, and Zephyr chuckled to his mother¡¯s words as the serving girl moved to fill Audrey¡¯s cup then. ¡°The gifts shall be his after he has tied the knot,¡± Audrey eyed the queen turning to her with a gesture, ¡°with this lovely lady he has chosen as his bride. A lady I trust my son has chosen out of his heart, and a lady I doubtless approve of.¡± She smiled at Audrey and turned back to pick up her goblet. ¡°Now, let us have a toast to the king¡¯s twentieth name-day. To my son¡¯s twentieth name-day.¡± Everyone with a cup or flagon filled in the hall raised theirs up to join the queen¡¯s goblet in the air, and Audrey heard Zephyr whisper to his brother not to take the drink after the toast, insisting he was too young for alcohol. Thaddeus shrugged that he wasn¡¯t though. He could take it, he said, and Audrey could not help but chuckle softly at his delusion. Even she, a grown lady and all, could not handle her wine.


    The serving girl finished pouring her drink. ¡°What wine is this?¡± Audrey asked before the girl could move to the next beside her, the prince and Zephyr¡¯s brother, Dante, as she had heard him to be.


    ¡°The red mist, my lady.¡± The serving girl told her with a smile.


    Audrey too smiled then, but at the wine dancing a swirl in her goblet. ¡°I love this wine.¡± She was about to join the hall in the toast when she heard Zephyr gasp frightenedly.


    ¡°No,¡± he said softly but sharply, then smacked the goblet out of her hand to the floor, the wine pouring all over her grey velvet garment and staining it red. The toasts ceased as all the eyes in the hall fell on him with a draw of their breaths, and she was no less shocked than his mother and his brother, and everyone else in the hall was too. What had gotten over him?


    ¡°Zephyr, what¡¯s wrong?¡± His mother asked, sounding aghast from where she stood with her goblet still in hand.


    Audrey attended the king with her sky-blue eyes as he looked around the hall frantically as if he was searching for something or someone within the eyes of all those who stared, then she watched him turn to the serving girl, who gaped at him sharp in silence just like the others, and heaved out an exhaling sigh. ¡°A taster for the wine first, if you will.¡±

 A Frightened King

    <h2><u>FLYNN CLAYMORE</u></h2>


    Startled silent as all the rest crowded in the large room of the Great Hall, noble and lowborns alike, Flynn watched with shocked eyes as Zephyr slapped Lady Audrey¡¯s goblet from her hand, sending it to the floor with an echoing clatter as the wine that made its contents spilled all over her velvet garment, dyeing its grey with a stream of red that flowed a small brook from her breasts to her belly. No one in the hall knew what had brought the king to such a moment, and he was as dumbfounded as they all were, but an idea made its way into his head as he looked closely upon the high table. He had not noticed her before, he had not been paying attention, but as soon as he saw her now his chest seized for a moment as he wondered what she was doing there.


    What was she planning? Had she later met with Zephyr? What had she done? What had she told Zephyr? And why had she not come to let him know of anything? The questions never ceased coming, but the answers did not come with them. She was clearly doing something foolhardy of her own accord, something he had no knowledge about, and he hated such. He hated being left in the dark, not knowing what he should know, the same way it had been on the night his mother died. They had left that from him all his life, something so important, something so¡­ Flynn tsked angrily. He hated it.


    He heard Zephyr speak, ¡°A taster for the wine first, if you will.¡± A taster? Flynn wondered. Did she poison the wine? Surely she could not have been that stupid, right? She could not have poisoned the wine, not here? Melisandre could not give up everything she had worked for with this act, surely not. This had to be a jape, a nasty one at that. Flynn tightened his hand on his goblet. He was uneasy, but somehow he was still at ease all the same. If Melisandre had truly poisoned the wine, he feared for what her stupidness might cost them both now that it had gone to be noticed, but despite that, he felt a gladness linger deep down for what was happening. If she had truly poisoned the wine, he could not bear to watch Zephyr die¡­ not again. He could not relive that struggle.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Flynn whirled about on his bench to behold the lady of Mistridge, Gyda Redwyne, up on her feets to the east of the hall with a call to the king. ¡°Pardon my impudence, but surely the wine could not have any faults. I oversaw the brewing myself and I never let its cask out of my sight during the travel. It was brought as a gift to you, there¡¯s no way I could let it be of meagre quality, or even worse, poisoned, if that is what you think.¡± Her tender voice was an attestation to her age and her way of speech confirmation that she truly had the mind of such age. Beneath a bodice of bright wine colour was the young lady of Redwyne who stood no older than one-and-six, and she believed that her overseeing of the wine¡¯s brewing and its transportation meant it could have never been poisoned. Flynn marvelled at that. Maybe she was too young to lead a house after all, but a choice had not been given to the dead lord of Redwyne.


    During his training to become the king¡¯s royal advisor, the grand savant had drilled him with everything history had of the twenty-one houses of the realm, his own house: the house of Claymore included. To advise the king he had to know more of the realm than the king himself, and that he had grown to live up to. Safe for the men sprawling out from Ravenswatch and his father, the lord of Claymore, no one had more knowledge than he, or so he hoped to be true.


    The House of Redwyne was no exception. Lord Jon Redwyne had fathered only a twin of daughters before his beloved had given way to death, and when he was about to meet with her beneath the wings of the ravens years after she had gone first, he had had to choose an heir between his daughters no older than ten then. Lady Gyda, the first of the twin who had taken her mother¡¯s name, was the one that had emerged victorious over her twin sister Lady Lyda, her expertise at such a young age in the workings of wine, the turning point, but alas even after all the years passed, might be she was still too young to lead a house if she thought her wine could not be poisoned. Might her sister be any different? Flynn had a slight wonder, but Lady Lyda was not here to prove if his thoughts would bear fruits of truth.


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    ¡°I do not fault your methods of brewing nor transporting,¡± Zephyr began to tell Lady Gyda Redwyne as the door of the Great Hall pulled open and a taster waddled within, ¡°but I¡¯ll have it tasted nonetheless. You may sit.¡±


    Flynn watched the taster take his steps up onto the platform and before the high table, the silence of the hall permeating the air into a thick murk, and it made him as anxious as any other person seated in the Great Hall. The lanky man spoke no word as he drank from the cup Melisandre had poured him, and he said no word after as well. He cleared his throat then swallowed deeply as if the wine was stuck in his gullet and he was trying to push it further down. His act plunged every person in the Great Hall into a feeling of disquiet, but it died down just as quickly when he finally spoke a word. ¡°Fine wine, Sire,¡± the man said, his voice so deep that Flynn imagined it reached the depths of the hall. He felt the murky air befriending each person in the hall relieved, but he knew there would be no one with a greater relief than the lady Gyda, unless Melisandre had gone up before the king with nothing of evil intentions.


    But Zephyr was not satisfied. ¡°Have from the food brought as well.¡± The king pointed down at the carts of food pushed into the hall. There was a lot. Boiled pork belly, goat meat stew, fried partridges, honeyed cakes, sandalwood jellies and fritters. The man could never eat from all, he was a taster not a glutton. ¡°Have a few, as many as you can manage. I do not mean for you to eat from all,¡± Zephyr told the food taster.


    The man bowed then came away from the high table to take a taste from each of the dishes that had been rolled in. He took from the pork belly and chewed, nothing happened. He moved to the sandalwood jellies and fritters and took them into his mouth as well, it left him with no oddness than he had come into the Great Hall with. The next was the goat meat stew, but even it was the same as the rest. His steps began to slug along as he walked to the next cart, the one with the fried partridges, and even it gave no odd feelings to him after he took it into his mouth¡¯s embrace. The only odd feelings he had now were the ones of his stomach¡¯s fill. He could take no more. ¡°Fine foods, Sire,¡± the man spoke to the king on the high table. Nothing was happening and he could eat no more.


    ¡°Leave,¡± Zephyr waved the man off. The taster bowed and went on his way. ¡°Pardon,¡± the king said to the audience in the Great Hall, ¡°I must have lost it out of weariness. You may feast.¡± As the clamour resumed in the hall with his declaration, the high lords and ladies murmured perturbedly as a result of Zephyr¡¯s quirky act, leaving the toast of the queen wholly forgotten to the hilt as the serving maids began to roll the food carts once more and filled each table with what they had brought, the honeyed cakes and the goat meat stew going up to the high table.


    Flynn espied Melisandre fill the rest of the cups before hastening out of the hall. He was of mind to go after her, but he made a chance to see Zephyr whisper something to his mother and then to the lady of Flamesworth before he rose to his feet and left through the back door of the hall, Ser Aaron Westerling taking to follow him. Flynn made a choice then. He took to his feet as well and hurried after the king, his wine left untouched and Melisandre left unfollowed. He would see to her later, Flynn told himself.


    Zephyr was halfway through the veranda of the concourse when Flynn caught up. ¡°My king,¡± he called, and the Kingsknight birled around to grace him with a bow. Zephyr turned to him as well. ¡°You left the feast.¡±


    ¡°That I did,¡± Zephyr said with a soft smile.


    ¡°Why, if I may ask?¡± Flynn questioned. Serving maids passed them by in short intervals, none without greetings.


    Zephyr tutted faintly. ¡°I need to rest?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I think I need to. The tourney stressed me out more than you could imagine. Ah, you were there as well, it must have done the same to you.¡± The king chuckled.


    Flynn had a face plain with thoroughness. ¡°The wine¡ª¡±


    ¡°Go back in,¡± Zephyr placed his hand on Flynn¡¯s shoulder as he cut him from speaking, ¡°my mother will give the word of Dante and Lady Valora¡¯s betrothal on my behalf to the court. You should be there as I will not be.¡± He gestured with his head and patted Flynn across the arm. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Zephyr told Ser Aaron after he turned away from Flynn, and they both continued to make their way towards the king¡¯s quarters.


    Flynn stood unmoving, watching the king trudge away from him with thoughts unresolved.

 Stiffening Betrothals

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Damon scoffed a smile as he watched Zephyr take his leave of the Great Hall, a smile furtive about the edges of his lips in truth. He enjoyed what he had seen happen, how could he not. It seemed as though the bastard king had begun to lose his senses, he wondered in relish. It was already bitter enough that he had to bear sitting down here in this hall as a mere member of the royal household and not as the king, but at least something somewhat sweet came forth from this feeling of bitterness.


    As his mind embraced the little fun he had been blessed with, a serving girl placed before him a trencher of goat meat that dripped overtly with nut and black pepper juices, alongside a curtsied bow of her head the same way Melisandre had done when she had filled his cup. It had been days since he had last had her frequent his chambers, a longer while than he was used to without her. His lack of a juncture for pleasure proved it impossible to seek her like he used to, and even when he had a little chance to solicit her body she was always nowhere to be found, lost somewhere in the walls of the castle, ravens know where. She scurried about more than before these days, and in truth, he thanked her for that now. He reached for the young lady of Blackwood seated next to him and grabbed her hand. Melisandre¡¯s scurries had brought him someone that would give him both pleasure and the crown, the latter he had more love for.


    The painful screech that came from the trail of a chair on the ground pulled his mind to his mother who had once been seated to his right. She was up on her feet now at the same time waving dismissal of the trencher that had been brought to her presence. The appetite he lacked she lacked as well. Every lord and lady in the hall were munching and drinking gracefully with glamour on their faces, but her''s¡ªthe queen¡¯s¡ªwas plain and disgruntled. He knew why, but he did not like this situation anymore than she did. Should he say something? What could he possibly say? His feeling of bitterness returned.


    With a sigh Queen Ophelia turned around on her feet and pottered away through the back door of the Great Hall, seeing it fit not to spare Damon any glance as she left the seats to his right bereft of anyone he was accustomed to aside from his brother, Dante. He grit his teeth in response to his mother¡¯s actions, and out of its own free will his hand loosened from his beloved Lady Valora¡¯s. What would she have me do¡­? Damon intoned a question at himself. It was not his fault, it had never been. His father had chosen his successor of his own volition, he did not have a say in the matter. Where was she then? Did she even do anything, say anything, convince him to change his mind? Damon bristled as he began to grow more vexed. He was trying his best, but she was not seeing. He was trying all he could¡­ he even¡­ he even had a whole family killed, ordered their deaths. Maybe if he had told her about that she would have shown him some more appreciation for his efforts. Maybe¡­


    ¡°My lord,¡± a soft whisper breathed into his side. ¡°Is there a problem?¡± He turned to her, Valora in all her feasting splendour. Flushed at the cheeks and freckled beautifully. He loved that the most of her face features, the freckles.


    Damon sighed. ¡°Hardly, my lady.¡± He smiled.


    ¡°You choose not to feast?¡± She took hold of his hand beneath the cover of the table.


    He reached for his cup of wine. ¡°This I prefer,¡± he chuckled softly. ¡°Wine¡¯s a better meal.¡± He drank from it and she smiled. Damon turned to peek at Lady Eira seated on the end of the high table beside her daughter and halfway through her guzzles of the feast she had been served. ¡°Did you speak to her?¡± He directed his question at Valora.


    ¡°Yes, I did.¡± Her gaze remained anchored on his stern features. She knew what he was asking of, and she need not remove her eyes from his face to answer.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°She has chosen to ally with you.¡±


    Damon put his brown eyes back on Valora, the pair having nothing of complete belief in her words within them. ¡°The truth, I hope?¡±


    Valora puffed her lean cheeks. ¡°The truth it is. I would never lie to you.¡±


    ¡°Pardon, my lady,¡± Damon was not apologetic, he just had to sound like he was, ¡°I do not want to lose you, but I just find it hard to believe that she would so quickly choose to take part in such.¡±


    Valora rubbed his hands lecherously. ¡°I am her daughter. She listens to me before any other.¡±


    Damon smiled. ¡°Then I should put my belief in you.¡±


    ¡°You should,¡± Valora said.


    The clamour of the feast went on for a little over a while longer, but it broke to a halt now, all done according to the will of the clanging cry of Thalia¡¯s goblet. The high lords and ladies crowding the hall murmured into silence, and if they could then the ones of lesser status dared not do what their liege lords could not. The hall breathed stillness.


    Queen Thalia rose to her feet. The second time she had done such during this feast. It was time, Damon knew. If Zephyr was not here then it was she that would do the honours. ¡°Forgive me, my lords and ladies, for putting a halt to your feasting.¡± They raised their cups at her and she nodded. ¡°My son will not return to the hall for whatever time is left of this feast. He has taken leave to his chambers to rest. The tourney was quite a daunting pomp.¡± They all chuckled after her and Damon scoffed at them, a barely noticeable one.


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    Lords and ladies, all lickspittles they were, they had no honour. But he fancied that, as long as it would be in his favour he had no problem with their weak-kneed morality. Half of them or more would sprawl over to his side soon enough. They all went where they would gain the more. Bend their knees to who they believed would tend greater to their needs, and once he takes control of the Blackwoods, that he would have. There was no greater strength in the realm than the Blackwoods, and there was no house with a greater stash. With strength comes more strength, and with enough money knights and their liege lords can be bought. Soon enough I will have the Blackwoods on my side, Damon relished in his thoughts, and mother would finally get to see what I am capable of, then she would think to get grandfather to give me his men-at-arms. Surely the crown will become mine then¡­


    ¡°He has left me with a word,¡± Thalia continued at the expense of Damon¡¯s delightful thoughts. ¡°Good lords and ladies of the kingdom of Ravenwing, on behalf of the king, Zephyr Ravenswood, first of his name and watcher of the lands and seas of the realm, you all are to give ears to the announcement of a binding that will bring further prosperity and peace to this kingdom. A binding between Lady Eira Blackwood¡¯s daughter, Lady Valora, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°I, Damon,¡± Damon cut in as he rose to his feet, calling forth gasps and bewildered stares from the crowd. He turned to look at Thalia in a daze of confusion. ¡°I am to wed the lady Valora.¡±


    Thalia scoffed. ¡°Surely this has to be one of your japes. The king made no mention of your name.¡±


    Damon tsked. ¡°Valora and I are to be betrothed. The king has no say in that matter.¡±


    ¡°My prince.¡± Damon turned away from Thalia¡¯s scrutinising gaze to look down from the high table at who had called for him, and it was not someone that he thought far fetched. The auburn haired Flynn of House Claymore was standing close to the raised platform with even more shock taunting his face than the queen. ¡°Your brother is the one to be betrothed to Lady Valora. That is what was decided between the king and the lady of Blackwood.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me, my lord, but I had no say in that.¡± Valora rose to her feet, and Damon smiled.


    ¡°I ask for your pardon as well, my lady, but this conversation was between your mother and the king,¡± Flynn carried on unrelentingly. ¡°It has been concluded with the king all in an attempt to foster peace and strive for growth between the Blackwoods and the royal household. Please do not take to taint the king¡¯s words before the lords and ladies of the court.¡± Those lords and ladies he spoke about all gaped in silence, and Damon loved every bit of it. It was going just the way he wanted.


    ¡°Brother,¡± Dante finally spoke. Damon had wondered how long it would have taken him. ¡°What are you doing?¡± He rose to his feet.


    ¡°Making my claim.¡± Damon told him. ¡°Can I not any longer?¡±


    ¡°She is to be my betrothed,¡± Dante insisted. ¡°You have no claim over her. Cease this nonsense. Can¡¯t you see what you are doing before the members of the court? If you had any claim you should have brought it prior to the king himself not make a scorn of his words at the feast of his name-day.¡±


    Damon gave a half suppressed laughter. ¡°You speak as though anyone else knew of this. Tell me, brother, did anyone else know?¡±


    Dante sighed, his frustration evident, but Damon had little care. This was his way to the throne, and he would have it. He would not be stopped by someone that was so scared to have a feel of power. ¡°This is unnecessary. Do not make a fuss out of this, brother, those that were to know knew,¡± Dante held out.


    ¡°Then,¡± Damon turned to the lords and ladies of the hall and gestured at Lady Eira of House Blackwood, ¡°should we ask one of those that were to know?¡±


    ¡°You should stop this nonsense, Damon,¡± Thalia glared. ¡°Do not soil my son¡¯s words anymore than you¡¯ve done already.¡±


    Damon turned a face at her, he could see her little brat looking at him from where he sat. ¡°You should let the mother of the one that is to be betrothed speak.¡± Damon turned to his brother. ¡°We are both sons of ravens, does it really matter which of us she takes to wed?¡± Damon raised a brow in query.


    ¡°The king¡ª¡± Dante began, but never finished.


    ¡°Since we were both born ravens,¡± Damon put in, ¡°and the purpose of this betrothal is to foster peace between our houses, then in truth it does not matter who the king has chosen. Let us let the lady of Blackwood make the choice and have the final say for her daughter. Between me and you, brother.¡±


    The royal advisor found no words, his brother found none as well, Thalia fell silent, and her brat just looked. No one found any words for this situation. He had won. The hall fraught still until Lady Eira finally rose to her feet, her trencher completely depleted of whatever had been served on it. ¡°It is true that His Grace and I had come to think of this a good way to foster peace between our houses,¡± she began to say to the good lords and ladies of the court sat in the Great Hall, ¡°and I intend to honour our agreement.¡±


    Damon¡¯s face tightened. What was this? What was she doing? He glanced at Valora, but the young lady was looking at her mother with nothing of question in her eyes. Damon was anxious. There was no way he was about to fail, right?


    Lady Eira took a look at Dante and took one at Damon, before turning back to face the members of the Great Hall. ¡°In honour of our agreement to foster peace, I have decided to have my daughter, Valora, be betrothed¡­¡± Damon¡¯s chest tightened. There was no way¡­ ¡°to the prince, Damon, in the good faith of the ravens, and to foster peace between House Blackwood and House Ravenswood. Bear witness to this day, my good lords and ladies, and may their union be blessed.¡±


    Damon dragged in a deep breath victoriously and exhaled calmly. Finally, it started now.

 Weary Is His Crown

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr sat shirtless in a tan loose pant beside the flaming hearth, listening to the sound of its crackling spits which ran through the gloomy ambience of his chambers, while he stared down the small piece of paper that lay just atop the red cover page of the tome he had received from the grand savant, the yellow flame of the lamplight seated before him on the table, flickering about in his pale silver eyes.


    Poisoned, the paper bore, and poisoned his mind recalled. The sound of the fire¡¯s solemn wails reminded him of how he had died, while the words written on the paper reminded him of how he had somehow come back to being alive after his death, and how unsafe he still was in this new world he had wandered into.


    The tourney was fun, feasting was fun, and he was going to have a wife when the sun rose¡ªnot once did he ever think he would wed someone so early in his life¡ªbut none of it made him feel any safer than he had been when he had come into this world. Taking his mind away from searching for the murderer and instead focusing on shielding himself from harm in the form of food tasters and bath checkers had helped him with his weariness, but how long could that shield hold. How long could it keep shading him from harm if the unknown murderer kept swinging their sword at him from the shadows? Could he last for longer than he had already done? Melisandre¡¯s little trick at the feast had helped him with the realisation that he was slipshod. Maybe that was her intention. Maybe she was trying to tell him that he was getting too carefree with his situation. If it was such, then she had no doubt succeeded, and she was undoubtedly right as well. He really was.


    ¡°M¡¯Grace,¡± Ser Aaron Westerling called from beyond the door of the king¡¯s chambers, snapping Zephyr absent from his labyrinthine thoughts. ¡°I have the torch,¡± the knight added.


    Zephyr gave a deep exhale and swiped the small piece of paper that gave him those tangling thoughts into the tome. He could not seem to have himself get rid of it, even though he had now found out that it had been written by Melisandre and not the former Zephyr, and somewhere deep within he was glad he could not. It served as a reminder to him of his actual status in this world, and it had not failed to do just that now. ¡°Very well,¡± he returned a word to the Kingsknight outside his door as he pushed himself back from his table and covered his body in a thick black robe flowing all the way down to his boots.


    He met with Ser Aaron outside his chambers. The knight was without his greathelm, showing in the light of the torch he held, the double sweat trickles that ran down his forehead from beneath his jet black hair. ¡°Where to, M¡¯Grace?¡± The knight had a crude way of speaking for someone so young and born of nobility. Zephyr had expected something more flowery from him, like the way his father: Ser Calix, spoke, but the stripling knight had no similarity to his father who was the lord commander of the Kingsknights and the lord of Westerling, well, apart from his features. That they both shared.


    Zephyr had let the wonder of his knight¡¯s upbringing hit him briefly, but that fraught to be the lesser of his concerns just yet. The knight posed a question to him: Where to? He had said, and Zephyr now pondered a decision. He had always gone to meet with Melisandre alone, no knights, no guards, but his mind diced with him now. Should he go without, or should he go with? Damn, he had never been held up in making so many daunting decisions before in his past life, at this rate he would grow older faster. ¡°The Kingsgarth,¡± Zephyr let his lips loose to his Kingsknight. He had decided that the knight came with him to meet Melisandre, dare say he was feeling a tad unsafe, he did not even know what to think or how to feel about the witch he was to meet anymore.


    Ser Aaron bowed in concession and they went on their way, the knight not too close that he walked the same path as his king, and not too far that he risked not giving light to the route they were taking to the Kingsgarth.


    After a while of silent twists and turns through the castle grounds, past guards and serving maids and the like, they arrived at the Kingsgarth in all its grace of flowery beds, filling the air with their flowery scents. The wind poured over his body coolly, while a crow cawed so far up in the dark grey clouds of the starless night¡¯s sky. ¡°Wait here,¡± Zephyr told the knight, ¡°I¡¯ll be just up ahead. Open your ears for my call, it may come.¡± Zephyr decided that whatever way he and Melisandre¡¯s talk went would decide if he would summon the knight closer or not. He took the torch from Ser Aaron¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Aye, M¡¯Grace.¡± The knight nodded. ¡°Who might you be planning to meet with if I may ask?¡± Ser Aaron Westerling was curious, anyone in his position would, that much was normal.


    Zephyr wheeled around, turning away from the Kingsknight¡¯s gaze. ¡°If I call then you shall see, if not then that¡¯s that.¡± The king carried on with his steps, moving further away from his knight and deeper into the Kingsgarth where the flower beds closed in on him with a greater tranquillity. He wished he could be as tranquil as they were. No weary thoughts, no fear of death, just swaying a carefree and lovely dance in the wind¡ªthe way he used to once. And as if to bestow him with what he so wished for, the wind came again stronger so that he could turn and dance the lovely flowery dance he so wanted. His robes danced, in his hand the torch¡¯s flame danced, but he did not. The wind left the tranquillity that would allow him dance far away somewhere, and as his peace was lost so was his joy.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Melisandre purred softly as soon as they both caught a glimpse of one another. Her cowl was down and a small smile painted her face. She seemed to have been waiting patiently on her feets for Zephyr, every inch the dark glimmering beauty she was in her overflowing cloak. ¡°You came with your Kingsknight this time, may I ask why?¡±


    ¡°You know why.¡± Zephyr stopped at an arm¡¯s length from Melisandre, the torch firmly gripped by his hand in between both of them.


    ¡°I fear not.¡± Her smile widened further. ¡°Did you come to see me, Your Grace? You gave no call for me.¡±


    Zephyr wore a stern look, grim and unappealing for someone with such a beautiful face, one that was meant to be home to lovely smiles and flowery gazes. There was nothing lovely and flowery about his face at this moment, and the only kind of gaze he had now was one of mistrust and gall. ¡°I had a mind I would find you here. Well, after that trick you pulled, how could I not?¡±


    ¡°What trick, Your Grace?¡± She let her head askew slightly to give an impression that she was oblivious of whatever trick Zephyr was talking about. She had done the same when he had asked about the death of his guards, maybe it was some sort of taunting jape that she was beginning to grow accustomed to. He had no time for that, king or not.


    ¡°You made me seem a fool,¡± Zephyr spat, his voice hushed but so strong that even the wind ran from him in response.


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    ¡°I only poured you wine, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°You poured the red mist.¡± Zephyr was not having it. ¡°And you poured it in such a manner that would have raised anyone else¡¯s doubts the same way it did mine.¡±


    ¡°I poured it as I would have poured any other wine,¡± Melisandre told him, ¡°and it only raised your doubts. The fact you¡¯re here shows how much you understand the situation. You are still in danger, Your Grace, did I have to pour wine forebodingly for you to see that?¡± Melisandre sighed. ¡°Is that why you brought your knight? You fear I might want to kill you?¡±


    Zephyr bit his lips softly. ¡°Can you?¡± Do you? More like he wanted to say, but his mouth let the other one free instead. Why? He was not certain. It was as though it was the word of another he spoke and not his, but even he could not believe that as much as anyone else would.


    Melisandre huffed. ¡°I am a witch, Your Grace, and great powers exist, one which I used to bring you back to life. I am sure you know that as you have experienced it.¡± She was not bluffing. ¡°If I was in truth your enemy and I wanted to take your life, then coming with your knight would have changed none of it.¡±


    Zephyr watched her civet eyes watch him, the flame in his hand dancing fiercely in their midst.


    She continued then, after their feral glares. ¡°But I am not. Your true enemies are your stepfamily. Do they still fear you not? Does death not fear you, even after going through it once already?¡±


    Zephyr sighed in exasperation. ¡°It does.¡±


    ¡°Then kill them and be done with it,¡± Melisandre rendered in a tone dark and grim. ¡°The more you let them roam free, the greater chances they get to plot your death. Take them onto the pulpit of the Blood Square and declare them traitors before the eyes of all, and then have them beheaded and their heads put on spikes, and you will no longer slap away goblets of wine when they are poured for you or your betrothed.¡±


    Zephyr thought of it for a second, but shook his head quickly. ¡°You will have me behead them all, even Aria? How could that little girl possibly have any plans for my death?¡± And Dante too¡­ there was no way he could kill them all. He could not¡­


    Melisandre lowered her head and let out an exhale. ¡°Do you feel the same way for the taster and the maids?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zephyr asked, unable to understand what she insinuated. What did she mean by that?


    She looked up at him again, her eyes searching his own. ¡°You have your food tasted for poison by tasters and serving maids, have you come to think of their life if your drinks and meals were actually poisoned?¡± Zephyr¡¯s chest tightened. ¡°You subject them to potential death, innocent they are, but you fear to kill the ones that you should in all truth kill. Your ideology differs, Your Grace, I ask you to pick a side. Do you subconsciously choose the life you take based on their significance to you? They are mere servants and tasters so their lives matter less, but your stepfamily is made up of a queen and princes¡¯ and a princess, they have more to offer the throne one day. Is that how you think? Is that how you see it all? If it is so then I ask you take a different look at it all again, because you will benefit nothing from them than you will benefit from the lowborns.¡±


    She was right. What was he doing, what had he been doing? He had never thought of it that way, he had never. What if his food had been poisoned? Then those maids and tasters would have all been dead now, and it would have been all his fault. Should he really be hesitant to kill the ones he suspected the most? Should he¡­?


    What would you have done dad¡­? Zephyr intoned thoughts of his long gone father as he strolled past Melisandre and took a seat on the bricks of one of the flower beds. He sat silent for a long while until Melisandre could take it no more.


    She said to him, ¡°You are the king, you can do whatever you want.¡±


    Zephyr turned sharply at her as the words kept ringing in his head. He had heard those words so many a time now that he might not be able to get it off his mind any longer, but the more he heard it, the more he found out that they were not true. He was the king, but he could not do whatever he wanted. He could never. ¡°Ser!¡± He voiced through the blowing winds, and as quick as a horse, the knight arrived, his eyes going straight to look at Melisandre after his bow. Melisandre spared the young knight no glance though. She and the king were still exchanging looks. ¡°The king cannot do whatever he wants.¡± Zephyr rose to his feets, handing the torch to Ser Aaron. ¡°I will have no one killed with only a guess as proof. Thank you for teaching me something on this night, but as it is unfair to push those servants and tasters to their death, so it is unfair to put the heads of people on spikes without proof of their sins. The ethics of a king should be just that, should it not? Fairness for all, if I put it in words.¡±


    Melisandre¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Then, will you starve yourself? Deprive yourself of both water and meals all because of your worthless ethics that would give you nothing but death?¡± A deafening backhand slap embraced her face and fell her to the floor. Ser Aaron had little patience for impudence.


    ¡°Mind your tongue,¡± the knight seethed.


    ¡°You need not have done such, ser,¡± Zephyr reprimanded him, then offered a hand to help Melisandre back to her feets, the knight bowing in pardon. ¡°Forgive him,¡± Zephyr begged on his knight¡¯s behalf.


    Melisandre groaned as she took his hand and wobbled back up onto her feets. ¡°I hold no grudge, Your Grace.¡± She had no anger on her face, only blood on her lips, or maybe she had hidden it.


    Zephyr heaved as he let go of her palm, sweaty it was despite the cool air waffling about. ¡°I will not starve myself,¡± he said, ¡°I have another way.¡±


    ¡°And what way is that, Your Grace?¡± Her voice cracked, it was as though she wanted to cry. The knight¡¯s slap must have given her such a great pain.


    Zephyr smiled. ¡°You. You are the way. You shall become my cup bearer and my personal serving maid. You shall make my bath, bring my meals, bring my milk and water, bring my wine, and every other thing I am in need of. You, Melisandre, shall become my handmaiden. If you truly are not my enemy then I shall not die by your hands, but if I do¡­ Well, this young knight here bears proof and my mother will waste no time to have your head on those same spikes we spoke about. In the meantime, maybe find proof of your claims. If you give me something greater than just words, then I promise you I shall do as you ask and have their heads. A threat to my life is a threat to the kingdom, if you love it as much as you claim to do then I hope you work just as hard to stop the threats to it.¡± His heart drummed beats for the risk he was taking upon, but a gamble it was. It could either turn so bad that he would wish he had never brought up such an atrocious plan, or it could turn out so good that he would see himself unrivalled in wit. He preferred the latter, he wished for the latter, and in truth he had grown out of options.


    Melisandre gasped and gaped at the king with a swollen cheek.


    ¡°You asked that I give you my trust. Well, you have it now. That should be all then. I do not enjoy staying outside for too long these days, my body grows weak a bit too quickly. The grand savant says my stress doubles.¡± He turned to Ser Aaron Westerling. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ser, my bed calls.¡± He chuckled, but deep down he was still a bit scared. At least, maybe he would be able to get a good sleep tonight. After all, the larger of the gloomy murk he had walked into this garden with had somehow found themselves lost, so maybe, just maybe.

 A Story For The Princess

    <h2><u>ARIA RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Aria Ravenswood had never been one for crowds and feasts. It was not like she hated them, but as she could not always seem to remember names no matter how hard she tried, so she could not just get herself to enjoy the presence of a large gathering filled with echoing murmurs of words and noisy munching of foods, it did nothing but displease her and distort her tongue with a pungent taste.


    As soon as she had espied the grand savant taking his leave of the Great Hall, she blessed the ravens for giving her a good enough excuse to escape the presence of this overwhelming crowd, and a good chance to do what she had promised her mother. She asked leave from her mother and pushed back herself from the table gracefully, her body gowned in a ruby velvet, waddling after the grand savant and her cousin, the new Kingsknight, as they left the hall, her guard bestowed to man her for the night not too far behind her steps.


    The man had never come once, her mother¡¯s nephew, and she wondered why. The tourney was the first she had ever seen him, and her mother never spoke of him, not once, not ever. She had been in her mother¡¯s chambers with her when a letter had brought word of her nephew¡¯s arrival to the city. A grimace stormed her face then, Aria had seen it, a sour one her mother wore when she read the letter. ¡°A Kingsknight? Father sent you?¡± Aria had heard her mother mutter bitterly as she ruined the paper with a squeeze and flung it into the burning hearth warming her room. Aria thought to ask what was wrong from where she lay sprawled on the bed, but when she did ask, her mother chuckled the question to pass with the wind, leaving it utterly forgotten¡­ until now.


    She found the library after a while thanks to the light her guard gave her path with the torch he held. A thanks almost escaped her lips, but with that had to come his name and she could not seem to recall, the only guard¡¯s name that dared not leave her head was the one of Brynden. It still soured her every night, what she had caused. Her exploits had led to the suffering of others, he and the serving maid of that night, she had caused them both pain. Aria wished they could find it in their hearts to forgive her, she had never known the great cost of her actions, but now she did. The workings of power, Aria recalled her mother¡¯s words. Was what she was about to do now part of such workings? She had not understood Damon¡¯s and her mother¡¯s discussions of why they were speaking on such topics of war and death, but it seemed like what she was about to do would help her mother¡¯s cause, it might please her if she did it right, so maybe this was one of the workings of power. She had to do it a great deal well then.


    They found each other at the oaken doorway, her mother¡¯s nephew making his way out and away from the golden-yellow flames brightening the library. ¡°Cousin,¡± Aria greeted, she did not know what else to do or say, and she had forgotten his name as well.


    The door shut and the man smiled. ¡°You must be¡­ uhm, Aria. Lia always made mention of how much you both looked alike. Now that I¡¯ve seen you up close, I can attest to the truth of that claim.¡±


    Aria was confused. ¡°Lia? And how did you know who I am?¡±


    The man laughed, his teeth so white it shone in the dark. ¡°You called me cousin, only Lia¡¯s children would do that in this castle.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Aria nodded, taking her head up in beats to look up at the dark sky. She brought it back down sharply. ¡°Lia? Is it my mother you call Lia?¡±


    ¡°O¡­phe¡­lia,¡± her cousin dragged it out in a rhyme. ¡°I took out the first two, Lia makes it easier¡­ and it rolls off the tongue better, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Aria rubbed her cheeks gently. ¡°It certainly does. You did not come to see mother, why?¡± Aria asked him, hoping to quell the curiosity that had followed her since the letter had arrived at her mother¡¯s chambers.


    ¡°Well, it won¡¯t be long till I see her now, will it?¡± The man smiled. He had a pleasing smile, Aria saw, it looked just like her mother¡¯s. A dark skin he had and her mother a fair one, but she had slowly begun to see the similarities between the two, the smile the first.


    ¡°Still, why did you not come into the castle before?¡± Aria carried on with her questions, but her cousin did not seem bothered.


    ¡°I preferred the city, and in truth I still do.¡± His smile was at rest on his face.


    Aria smacked her lips. ¡°Mother threw your letter into the fire, I don¡¯t think she was happy you did not come.¡± She was afraid the first part of her words would hurt him, but it seemed to not, her fears disappeared with his chuckle, a lively one.


    ¡°Oh, little one, I¡¯m sure she was happy I stayed in the city.¡±


    Aria drew her breath. ¡°Little flower,¡± she corrected.


    ¡°What?¡± Her cousin did not understand.


    ¡°It¡¯s little flower mother calls me. Call me that too.¡± He had a charm she noticed, she had begun to grow comfortable with him, only if she could remember his name then it would have been far better.


    Her cousin laughed and leaned over. He teased her cheeks with his forefinger. ¡°Then, little flower it is. And, I¡¯m Maurin, not cousin.¡± A smile came after his talk.


    Aria¡¯s shoulders dropped. ¡°I¡¯m bad with names, I¡¯ll forget it. Will you pardon me if I do?¡±


    ¡°Why, we are alike. I forget names too.¡± He leaned closer to Aria and whispered, ¡°I forgot your mother¡¯s a lot when I was a boy.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie.¡± Aria gasped with furrowed eyebrows.


    ¡°It¡¯s the truth I tell you.¡±


    She laughed then, heartily. ¡°But you remember it now,¡± she said.


    Her cousin raised a finger. ¡°And I¡¯ll teach you a method.¡± Aria¡¯s eyes widened in concentration. ¡°Give each person their own calling name.¡±


    ¡°Calling name?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You take the name and pick a shorter version from within it, the same as I did for your mother. Ophelia and then Lia. You see?¡±


    Aria sucked in air through her teeth happily, but she still had just a little bit of scepticism left. ¡°Will it work?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Well it worked for me, did it not?¡± Her cousin straightened. ¡°Try mine. Give me a calling name, if you remember it on the morrow then I¡¯ll keep calling you little flower, if not then it¡¯s little one you shall be to me.¡±


    Aria had a pout. What a shrivelling scheme. ¡°Alright.¡± She was up for the challenge. ¡°Uhm¡­ the name?¡± She reddened as she asked, she felt a tad sheepish.


    ¡°Maurin,¡± her cousin told her again, his arms folded across his gilded breastplate as he awaited the name she would give him. ¡°Be snappy now,¡± he added with a smile.


    Aria cleared her throat. Mau¡­Rin¡­ she dragged the name out in her mind and chose a calling one for her cousin. ¡°Uhm¡­ Rin?¡± It sounded okay to her, but she wondered if he would be fine with it. Would he be okay with being called: Rin?


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    ¡°Rin it is.¡± He brushed her silky hair with his hand, and at the same time brushed away the doubts she had of the calling name she had chosen. ¡°See you on the morrow, little flower, I have somewhere to be.¡± He strolled past her and went on his way, the sound of armour singing a clang.


    Aria turned her face up to look at her guard all covered in metal from head to feet. She had taken a lot of his time, she knew. She was about to apologise but then she recalled her mother¡¯s words. The workings of power. No apology would come from her. ¡°Wait outside.¡± She commanded the guard as she turned forward and entered the library.


    The smell of books fell upon her nose as quickly as she saw them, and they did not come to her alone, they were deftly accompanied by the one of melting wax from the candle beams that hung with a solemn ambience on the walls. It seemed to have no change from the last time she had been here, the library. The arched pillar that hovered atop her head remained the same as it had always been with its drawings of books, scrolls, inkwells, and¡­ the monocled raven she fancied. She smiled at that.


    The book shelves stood facing one another at the edge of the room, brightened fairly by whatever bits of light made it to them, and shadowed with the black of night where those lights seemed not to reach. She remembered the arched one-windowed alcove that made its home to the far end of the library beyond the chairs littered about, it had a small candle hanging from the centre of its wall beneath the small high window within it, brightening it dimly and causing a flicker of dance between light and dark at the edges of the alcove. It had always been her favourite place for her reading, silent and placid it was, and she loved it for that.


    But she was not here for reading now, she was here for something else. Her eyes found the grand savant before his found her. He was sitting where she knew he would be, behind the wide ornate table he took for his workspace, a lamplight placed before him along with some parchments he scribbled upon.


    She cleared her throat delicately as a call to him, and the old man answered. He looked up from his table, his eyes saggy and tired, and weak. One of them monocled while the other wasn¡¯t. He squinted his eyes as if to see her clearly, and after a while it seemed he noticed her at last.


    ¡°Oh, my. My lady,¡± he harrumphed. ¡°What brings you here at this hour?¡±


    Aria wondered if she should go straight to the point. But was that a way to start a conversation? Would it prove fruitful? Those questions made her think against it. If she was to get some answers from the grand savant, one her mother would praise her for, then she knew she had ought to put a foot before the other one at a time. ¡°I hate feasts,¡± she blurted. The truth it was, she indeed hated feasts, but at the same time it was a lie, that was not what had brought her here. ¡°I prefer books and rain. Do you have any picture books? I¡¯d love to read some.¡± As it happens, she really did want to read some. Being herded in her chambers always bored her, that was why she always sooner found herself with her mother.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, my lady, but I have none for a child, and more or less a lady such as yourself,¡± the grand savant told her. ¡°Oh my dear, pardon me once more. Please sit,¡± he stretched his hand in a gesture at the seat on the opposite of him, ¡°and I should have risen to welcome you, if only my leg hadn¡¯t grown weaker, and it seems my brain has joined the fray. If not I would have done that sooner.¡± He really was weak, she could see it clearly. He had ragged wrinkles ploughed all over his face, tiny eyes tired with age, a body with little flesh, and his hand underwent slight quivers at intervals. Aria wanted to wish him well, but she knew he might have little to no pleasure for that.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She took her seat, accepting his offer. ¡°But I do not think I should still be called a child. I¡¯ve seen my fifteenth year, and soon I shall see my sixteenth.¡± It was not like she was sure herself, but still. ¡°I think I¡¯m old enough to read some things and know some things.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes you are, my lady.¡± The grand savant looked up at her with a withered smile. ¡°But the picture books I have are for those that have blossomed into adulthood. I¡¯ll help you with such books when you have seen your seventeenth year, then you would no longer be a fledgling nor a little maiden.¡± The old man looked back at the parchment and began to roll it up, and Aria realised that the man might be harder than she had thought. She had not even asked him of what she wanted to know yet and he was already so defensive. His hands trembled as he picked up his stamp and dug it into a small bowl of melted red wax, opting next to seal the parchment with it.


    ¡°It¡¯s past the moon¡¯s hour, should you not be resting?¡± She was concerned for his health. ¡°Parchments can wait, can they not?¡±


    The grand savant gaped at her as he dug his stamp into the rolled up parchment to make a seal on it, the seal bearing a picture of a raven monocled like the one carved on the library¡¯s arched pillar. He smiled next. ¡°Oh, I have to get this done, my lady. I¡¯ve put it on hold long enough, and it is for His Grace.¡±


    Aria frowned. ¡°Was he the one that put you to it? Will he mind if you do it later?¡± She had never interacted with her stepfamily, her mother would not have it, so she had little idea of how they were or what they would do, but if this was a guide to what their ideal behaviour was then maybe they were just as bad as her mother had made them out to be. The king should be able to see that this man was old and tired and in need of rest, not more slog.


    ¡°No one put me to it, my lady, not even the king. It is my job.¡± The old man rendered her thoughts false with a quick glance at her before he put his pinky to the seal on the parchment to check if it had hardened. When he felt it did, he pushed it to the side of the table and took off his monocle.


    Aria shifted on her seat. ¡°Tell me about them, tell me about him, my stepbrother, the king.¡± Yes, this was how she could learn of something for her mother, but in truth she had now grown genuinely curious about this her stepfamily, and her voice betrayed her if she ever thought to hide it.


    The grand savant looked at her. ¡°Why, they are your family. You should know more about them than I do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± Aria scoffed. ¡°You were here when I was born, and I heard you were here to see us all born, there was no way I could know more than you.¡± Her shoulders dropped. ¡°And besides, I¡¯ve never once had a talk with any of them.¡±


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you?¡± The grand savant asked.


    ¡°Because¡­¡± Aria trailed off. Now that she thought about it, she had no reason. She had only been doing as her mother had told her to do. ¡°They are bad people and they are not your family,¡± her mother had said, ¡°keep away from them.¡± And so she had always done. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she answered truthfully, not daring to bring up the words of her mother. It had no need here.


    ¡°If you have no reason, then you should. They are your family after all.¡±


    Mother says they are not my family¡­ Aria had a faint thought as she watched the grand savant. ¡°Is he a bastard?¡± She asked sharply after her thoughts faded away, and the grand savant turned his eyes away from her off the back of the question, taking a peek just below the table.


    ¡°Who?¡± The old man questioned as his eyes tottled back up at her.


    ¡°The king. Is he? Brother says he is. He always says he is.¡± Aria was killing two birds with a stone, or so she thought. She would quell her curiosity and get something for her mother. She could learn about them later, now she just needed something to take back. Aria did not want to fail her.


    ¡°Why do you ask such?¡± The grand savant gave her nothing from his reply, only another question, but she would not let his overshadow hers.


    ¡°Is he?¡± Aria insisted on her own question.


    The grand savant sighed as he interlocked his fingers, fixing his palms together atop the table. ¡°Why ask me such a question, my lady?¡±


    ¡°Because you know¡­ I think. You were here before us all, you would know.¡± True, he was here before them all, but did he really know? She was not sure, his weak eyes gave nothing to her as much as his lips. ¡°Tell me the truth. I want to know.¡±


    ¡°I too do not know,¡± the grand savant said, but Aria would not have it.


    ¡°Liar,¡± she voiced. ¡°You lie.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, maybe not, but even if I said anything, should you believe my words over your father¡¯s?¡± The old man bumped her unfairly in her heart. ¡°Your father said he¡¯s his son, and if making him his crowned prince had not been enough for you to believe that what he said was true, then I fear you hold little value for the words of someone you hold dear to your heart. My words should never preside over your father¡¯s, my lady, his words were the truth and should always be your truth.¡±


    Aria¡¯s head slumped. But mother said¡­


    ¡°Would you like to stay here longer? I plan to rest now.¡± The grand savant pointed at a small door behind him. ¡°Just back this door is my own little bedchamber. If you will excuse me.¡± He sluggishly rose from his seat.


    ¡°No,¡± Aria brought forth a word after her sombre silence. ¡°I will leave. Thank you.¡± She took to her feet too, and the grand savant bid her farewell with a bow as she made her way out of the library, thoughts echoing relentlessly up in her head. Her stone had wheezed past the two birds she had intended to kill, there was nothing for her mother.

 He Would Not Have A Good Sleep After-all

    <h2><u>ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    Zephyr found him waiting at his door, Ser Calix Westerling in the aged glory of the Kingsknights, one, by its very nature, befitting of a lord commander such as himself. But that glory seemed tainted as his lips bore some ill news for the king.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± the lord commander had greeted first with a casual bow of his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have come bearing ill news from the feast. All went sideways as soon as you¡¯d left.¡± The words hit Zephyr harder with the grim look the man had upon his square face, which was trimmed along its edges with a clean shaven beard that was as grey as grey could be.


    Zephyr felt his chest come together in a perfervid embrace, leaving his heart squeaking between them and his breath without leave from his nose. ¡°What happened?¡± He managed to mutter at last after a deep exhale that helped calm him a sort. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Lady Eira gave her daughter¡¯s hand to Prince Damon.¡± And with Ser Calix¡¯s words, Zephyr felt the calmness he had tried to gain, with nothing short of hard work, vanish quicker than he had gotten it, his weariness arriving just in time to take its place, to seat the abandoned throne. His chest tightening before at the feast he might as well call a teaser, this tightening he had now was the real thing, authentic and true, and not a jape. He felt a noose tense about his neck, none he could see, but he sure as hell felt it. It was tight and it almost seemed to choke whatever air he had left within him out of his lungs. His stomach turned and gurgled, and a bitter taste filled his mouth at once. Bile, he noticed. He was about to vomit. If Damon succeeded in joining hands with the Blackwoods he might die. No. He would die. That one seemed to bear the most enmity towards him. He¡¯s going to stir up war for the throne or something of the sort.


    What could he do if war broke out? Zephyr had all sorts of thoughts storming his head, raging and crashing on his walls like the vast blue beneath the windows of his chambers did to the castle walls. There was no way he could let that be. No. He retched. And the Kingsknight duo of father and son gasped in unison, reaching for him as he leaned over clutching his stomach to prevent the chunder that had gathered up in there from escaping. He succeeded.


    ¡°And the feast?¡± Zephyr managed to put in after a battle well fought with his belly and well won, the only one he had managed to win since he¡¯d fallen into this world.


    ¡°Are you alright, Your Grace?¡± Ser Calix had more concern for the king than what had happened at the feast. If his leaning closer to the king in worry was to please him, he failed.


    ¡°And the feast?¡± Zephyr repeated, strongly.


    Ser Calix heaved a sigh then followed it up with a soft and gentle clear of his throat as he straightened up. ¡°It has been brought to an end. I had come with the young lord of Claymore, but as you were not in your chambers he hurried away shortly after, bidding me to relay the events to you.¡±


    ¡°And my mother and brother? And Dante?¡± Zephyr pulled himself up from his bend. ¡°And Audrey?¡±


    ¡°Gone to their chambers most likely. They were advised to do so by Lord Flynn, but we vacated the hall before we could see the queen mother do the same,¡± Ser Calix answered, but Zephyr was not yet done.


    ¡°And the rest?¡±


    ¡°The lords and ladies of the high court have all allowed themselves leave of the castle. Prince Damon wandered off as well, I suspect to his chambers,¡± that name left a taste bitter than bile on Zephyr¡¯s lips, ¡°the lady Eira of Blackwood and her daughter I saw go to their quarters while Lord Flynn tried to make change of the matter, but it had been all to no avail.¡±


    Zephyr bit his lower lip. He had to do something. There was no way he could win or survive if his tug with this Damon came to what he was thinking. War. What did he know about war? He could not let it come to that. There had to be a way, surely. The military might and the golds of the Blackwoods should not be allowed to fall gracefully into the laps of Damon. His nose did nothing to betray him like it had not done as well on the day he had died in that fire. He smelled trouble, a stench thick and dark.


    ¡°You have your leave to your chambers, Ser,¡± he told the lord commander and whirled about sharply on his feets to face the way he had just come from a few moments ago. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ser Aaron. To the lady of Blackwood¡¯s chambers.¡±


    It took nothing of a long walk before he arrived at the quarters that had been allocated to the Blackwoods. Before Lady Eira¡¯s chambers stood a guard tall and lanky, with his head covered in a helm well above the top frame of the door bleakly buried in shadows. To any man that would stand before him, he would look no less than a Hyperion. A grey cloaked Hyperion in the body of a man, and they were standing before him now. Zephyr had never felt so little before, but he had a short wonder if the guard¡¯s height would prove a blessing or a curse in a sword fight. Against one of his Kingsknights, and as it burned him to think, even the Lockeheart man, he would place a bet on the latter.


    ¡°M¡¯Grace is here to see your lady,¡± Ser Aaron spoke on the behalf of his king, and Zephyr felt the Hyperion guard peer at them from high above, his eyes unseen.


    He took a while before he spoke. ¡°She sleeps,¡± the guard said, his voice drawn out like his height, and rough and hardened.


    ¡°She wakes,¡± Ser Aaron said. ¡°When the king visits anyone that sleeps, they wake.¡±


    The long guard drew out his silence the same way he drew out his words, but Zephyr had no doubt the man would speak again sooner than later, and so he did. ¡°She sleeps,¡± he repeated the same words once more, this time a bit more cranky, as his hand went to the hilt of the sword fastened about his waist. He seemed to lack a vast source of vocabulary as he lacked sense. Did the fool intend to fight here? Steer trouble against the king? Zephyr was taken aback by such foolhardiness.


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    Ser Aaron put his hand to the stag-headed hilt of his longsword as well, preparing to draw the steel in the black of night if the long man dared to draw his. ¡°She wakes,¡± he insisted, boldly and hardly.


    ¡°Duckett,¡± a voice called from within the chambers. Lady Eira¡¯s voice. ¡°Cease your foolishness and let the king in. We are in his castle.¡±


    And if we were in yours¡­? Zephyr thought.


    ¡°You in,¡± the guard said as he pulled the door open, leaning uncomfortably due to his sky-high height. Zephyr did not want to know how that felt, to bend over with such height, but it seemed this Duckett of a man truly had very few words to speak.


    ¡°Wait out here,¡± Zephyr told Ser Aaron, ¡°but do not draw steel against the guard,¡± he warned as well. ¡°Unless I say so.¡± Even he did not understand what he meant by what he said. Was he expecting something to happen? He sure hoped not, now that he had spoken those words. A fight between the two houses would only fasten the war he was hoping to prevent, and his death would most likely seem a closer possibility. He shook his head at that and strode into the temporary chambers of Lady Eira of House Blackwood.


    ¡°She sleeps,¡± the long guard had said, but the person he saw now inside this candle-lit chamber had been doing anything but sleeping. Lady Eira was seated before her hearth dressed in her bedrobe, and she was not alone. Seated before her was her daughter, Lady Valora, both seeming to have been in a discussion before his arrival.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Grey-robed, freckle-faced, with tousled strawberry-blonde hair, Valora Blackwood greeted.


    ¡°Have a seat, Your Grace.¡± The Lady Eira offered with a gesture at her window cushion, but Zephyr was not here to sit. He had little comfort left in him for that.


    ¡°I do not plan to stay long,¡± he mentioned to her, his voice completely devoid of the hoot he always brought with him whenever he had her presence.


    ¡°A shame,¡± Lady Eira sighed. ¡°What have you come for then, Your Grace?¡±


    Zephyr peered at her as if he was searching for what she kept deep within those plump layers of skin she had all over. ¡°What happened at the feast?¡± He asked, his tone as placid as he could make it.


    The lady of Blackwood warmed her hand over the hearth. ¡°Why ask when you know already?¡±


    Zephyr clenched his chin. ¡°We had come to an agreement, you should not have broken it.¡± Was he upset or was he scared? Even he couldn¡¯t tell apart what it was that filled him now, and he might never be able to.


    ¡°Quite the irony.¡± Lady Eira blew air into her palms, rubbed them, and put them above the fire again. ¡°You seem to forget you and your father broke a century long agreement between our houses first.¡± She chuckled ecstatically, but not without spleen.


    Zephyr was lost. ¡°I seem to recall we had that amended,¡± he cleared his throat softly, ¡°on the morn?¡±


    ¡°You had that amended in your favour,¡± she turned to him with eyes aglow with fire just like the hearth, or maybe they¡¯d become their own hearth, ¡°not mine.¡±


    ¡°And is this in your favour?¡± Zephyr grimaced sourly. ¡°I promised to betroth your daughter to the man I plan to make the crowned prince. If that is not good enough for you, then what is?¡±


    ¡°I will be the one to choose what is good for me and my household.¡± Her eyes were strong but small, and they gazed at him relentlessly. ¡°You sadden me, Your Grace, would you not have done the same?¡±


    The tension kept rising and Zephyr was growing tired, but he had to try. He could not lose this Blackwood house to Damon. No, he couldn¡¯t. He tried to speak but before he could make words, Valora spoke up.


    ¡°I chose to be betrothed to Damon, Your Grace. It was my choice.¡± Her choice¡­? Zephyr thought as he flung his gaze towards Lady Valora. What had Damon done to her mind that she had chosen him on her own. What had he done to both her and her mother? He inhaled deeply.


    ¡°And I listen to my daughter,¡± Lady Eira put in. ¡°What my daughter wants she will get. And I don¡¯t see why it bothers you so much. Damon is as much a Ravenswood as Dante, any of them with my daughter still binds our houses together in good faith, isn¡¯t that what you willed to happen?¡±


    No¡­ Zephyr wanted to voice out. It binds your house and them¡­ ¡°What did he say to you?¡± Zephyr gently stretched tightness away from his legs. He should sit, he knew, but he chose not to. ¡°What did he promise you?¡±


    Valora was about to speak, that was until Lady Eira cupped her daughter¡¯s hand and kept her silent. ¡°What do you mean, Your Grace?¡±


    Zephyr sighed, one useless if he hoped it would calm him. ¡°He must have told you something, or did he not?¡±


    ¡°I love him,¡± Valora spoke, seemingly against the wishes of her mother as Lady Eira peered at her daughter with eyes of disapproval smeared with a soft glint of shock. But in the castle as a whole, Zephyr doubted anyone would be as shocked as he was at the moment.


    Bloody hell¡­ He intoned. She¡¯s in love¡­? They have both been in this castle only three days, what sort of love was she talking about¡­?


    Lady Eira exhaled. ¡°And as you have heard. He told us nothing. My daughter is just simply in love¡­ like you were when you chose someone that was not her.¡± She pinched him with her eyes, skin and heart.


    His was not love though, he only sought comfort. At that time he had no one to trust in this castle, and then at the moment of his weariness¡¯ peak, some lady came from a lesser house in the realm with no greed for the throne he sat upon, and he was just to let her go? He didn¡¯t even know he was to wed from the Blackwoods, and even if he did, he might have still made the same decision. If there was anyone that could rid him of all these weariness, then it had to be her, she was a person who had no wish for power, he had seen it then.


    Zephyr allowed his eyes to wander through mother and daughter, and daughter and mother, shaking his head with a sigh soon after. There was nothing he could do here. It was not them he should be confronting. He knew who. He had avoided them for so long, but it seemed it had grown to be long enough already. Melisandre words were of nothing but the truth. He had given them enough free reins to steer however they wanted, but if he let that keep up, they would steer him well into the ruins and chaos they were bringing with themselves. Damon was planning war, no doubt, and Zephyr knew all he had to do was stop it.


    He turned about on his feets and paced towards the door. ¡°Have a safe trip on the morrow.¡±


    ¡°Why, thank you, Your Grace. We no doubt will.¡±


    He did not bother to turn back to see what expression the lady of Blackwood had on her face, and he did not care. Out the door he went, and the next place he found himself was on the bed in his chambers staring at his room¡¯s plafond while thoughts of what steps he would take rummaged his mind. It was time to act like the king he was.

 The King’s Squire And The Kingsknight

    <h2><u>HARRY BOLTMORE</u></h2>


    The hall had grown deserted, the loud mutters faded along with the clattering of spoons on trenchers and platters. There was nothing now, only silence echoing restlessly. Silence he greatly appreciated over the clamours and bickering that had dwelled in this hall just a few moments ago.


    He had been seated with his kind, the lowborns, stableboys, squires, and stewards. That was his place, where the shadows of the hall resigned, and there he stayed, but even from there he had a good idea of what had been happening up front. The spot in the Kingsknight he had fought as valiant as he could for had been given to Ser Maurin Lockeheart, the winner of the tourney, and shortly after it seemed the king had spilled some wine or something, then there was a tussle of words that followed in the wake of the wine spilled, that one he could not hear much of from where he had been seating, but he had been able to catch glimpses of the royal family and no doubt feel the tension.


    He was glad it had all ceased now, the tension he felt, but not long after, it returned when the queen summoned him before he had been able to leave the hall. At the moment, he stood at the foot of the high table with a tightened chest and tightened lips. What was he doing here? Why had he been summoned? Her guard looked scary too. Broad and wide even in metals, and his face hidden beneath the visors of his armet. If this was the way the guards in this castle were, then he must have been stupid to think he could make it into a higher rank than them. He, a Kingsknight? A cackling folly.


    The queen sat there staring at him in all her regal and¡­ sourness. It was not he she was sour at, he could feel it, or so he hoped, but it left a taste of fright nevertheless on his lips. They were all that were left in the hall. The queen, her guard, and he, a mere squire. The silence was messing with his mind.


    The queen suddenly exhaled, and Harry tightened jarringly. He braced up for words and they doubtless came. ¡°You have given your face no treatment?¡± She asked him, her voice gentle and filled with age, and the sourness that had been on her face a moment ago nowhere to be found. The youngness she bore was undeniable and for a split moment he thought of his mother. If she had still been alive then they might have not been much apart in age, her and the queen.


    He saw wrinkles slowly showing their way to the queen¡¯s snow pale face at the edge of her eyes, and maybe for a moment he thought it was his mother sitting up there, for his mouth opened to say something that should not have been meant for someone with the title of a queen. He had shifted his head forward slightly. ¡°Wrinkles on your face,¡± he had whispered softly in something akin to awe, his hands tightly folded together beneath his tunic then, but one of them had loosened sharply after he had spoken and flown to cover his mouth. It had been too late though, the queen had heard.


    ¡°Yes, more and more have been coming lately,¡± she smiled and the wrinkles folded further. ¡°They are rude little things. But your face has more worries. I can request the grand savant to patch you up.¡± She nudged her head slightly to the side with a graceful and queenly shrug of her shoulders.


    Harry felt a momentary dismay. Had his impression of the way King¡¯s City worked been wrong? A mere peasant like him at the gate had scolded him for being concerned for her child, but here, the queen was¡­ she was different. She was gentle and her smile bore no irk for what he had said. It was¡­ it was¡ª


    ¡°Do you care for what I have offered?¡± The queen cut Harry¡¯s thoughts away, splitting it into two halves that scurried off in haste.


    Harry found out he had been gaping. ¡°Pardon me, Your Grace. I¡­ I seemed to have been carried away.¡± His fingers were biting into each other where he folded them.


    ¡°Well, you have returned, have you not? So?¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your offer, but maybe I should see to it myself?¡± He said, a reply or a question, he the speaker did not even know.


    ¡°You¡¯re not sure?¡± The queen asked him. He was never sure. Ever since he had stepped his foot through the gates of this city his surety had been left somewhere to be forgotten. It seemed he had dropped it along with the coins he had used to pay his gate fee. The sense of being sure was now lost to him.


    His head was lowered. It had been since he had stopped his gaping. ¡°I think the grand savant might be asleep by this time. It¡¯s just a swollen eye and some cuts, I should be able to see to it myself. Thank you for the kind offer, Your Grace.¡± He lowered his head further than it was already, imitating a bow.


    ¡°How old are you?¡± The queen questioned from high up, unseen to his eyes. He wanted no more mishap from himself.


    ¡°My sixteenth name day just passed a while back.¡± Harry cleared his throat stiffly and silently.


    ¡°You¡¯re young,¡± she said. ¡°How¡¯s your father, the former lord of Boltmore? What does he do now?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s fine, Your Grace,¡± Harry told a lie. ¡°We own a little cottage outside of Oldtown and try to sell whatever crop we can grow.¡±


    ¡°And your mother?¡±


    That one stung him, so hard that his breathing went shallow. He found a voice to answer though, a cracked one. ¡°She¡¯s¡­ dead, Your Grace.¡±


    He heard the queen sigh. ¡°You have my condolences. It¡¯s quite a shame what happened, I hope you do not hate the throne for that?¡±


    ¡°My dream is to become a Kingsknight. I would never think to serve the throne if I hated it. What is happened is happened. My father paid for his sins, it was his fault.¡± Harry almost let his anger slip. His bitterness. If the man had never poached, they would still be nobles and he would not be living the way he was now. It hurt him more that this was the life he had been born into. He had not even gotten to have a feel of how growing up in the gardens of a castle felt. How the sun was warmer beneath the walls of a dome. He never felt all that and more. The only thing he grew up doing was sit in a brush of grasses, imagining himself warm beneath the canopies of the kind of trees that grew in a noble¡¯s garden, while he gazed upon the tall, wide and great walls of Goldenstone, a castle his mother had told him used to be theirs. Used to. He was a lord, what could have made him resort to poaching in the Kingswood?


    ¡°Do not hate your father,¡± he heard the queen say, and it drew him from his boiling thoughts. ¡°He must have had his reasons, only they did him no good.¡± He took his eyes up at her. Wrinkled and all, she was a fair grace nevertheless, and her smile still had its gentility. ¡°You must be wondering why I summoned you,¡± she continued. ¡°That sword,¡± she pointed at Crescent moon which was strapped around his waist, ¡°where did you get it?¡±


    Harry instinctively put his hand atop the sword¡¯s hilt prior to shuddering a reply, ¡°From Ser Gale, Your Grace.¡± He had spoken before he had had a chance to think of his words. The queen¡¯s question had shaken him slightly. Did she even know who Ser Gale was? He began to wonder fervently, questioning the way he had phrased his answer. ¡°Ser Gale is¡ª¡± Harry was upon his bridge of explanation when the queen broke it down with her trebuchet.


    ¡°Ser Gale Mormont?¡± She interrupted him. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    Harry almost smacked his forehead for his foolishness. Of course she did know. Ser Gale was once a Kingsknight and she was the queen, there was no way she did not know who he was. Is that why she¡¯s asking of the sword¡­? Harry had a small wonder. ¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Now that I think about it¡­¡± she sighed. ¡°And he gave the sword to you? Of his own will?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes, Your Grace,¡± Harry stuttered.


    ¡°What is your relationship with Ser Gale?¡± He saw the queen¡¯s face narrow further in curiosity.


    ¡°He sells me medicine,¡± Harry told her.


    ¡°Medicine?¡± The queen began to laugh softly. ¡°What does he know about medicine?¡± Harry watched the queen in reverence as she laughed herself away heartily. It came to a halt soon enough. ¡°And you? Who do you buy these medicines for? You look pretty much healthy, despite your face.¡± Harry noticed then that he now had to deal with the lie he had told her of his father. His father¡¯s illness was none of her concern, he could not bother her with it.


    ¡°My¡­¡± he stumbled, ¡°Myself, Your Grace. I used to be so sick just until recently.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good you feel better,¡± she said. ¡°That was all I wanted to know. You may have your leave.¡±


    Harry understood now. If he had not mentioned that it was the former Kingsknight that had given him the crescent moon of his own accord, the queen would have had it off his hands. He was lucky. What would he have told Ser Gale if he had returned without the sword? The man would snap him in half if that happened. But¡­ ¡°You do not think I lie?¡± He wondered about that too.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The queen shrugged then smiled. ¡°No, I do not think you did,¡± she told him. ¡°And now that I think about it¡­ again, there¡¯s no way you could have gotten ahold of the sword without Gale¡¯s will. You see he loves that sword, it was given to him by his king, it¡¯s not something he¡¯d mislay in a place where you¡¯d be able to find it randomly and pick it up, and there are very few people in the realm that bear the confidence to fight him for it, you¡¯re not one¡­¡± she smiled again, ¡°I hope.¡±


    Harry just stared, neither a word nor a thought came to him nor left him.


    ¡°You may leave,¡± the queen said again. And this time, with a bow, he took to leave the hall.


    By the time he escaped the holdfast, the moon had gone to hide, leaving the sky devoid of its grey light. The chilly air of night swept through his body, almost freezing him cold as he shivered, bones and teeth rattling. His tunic was not strong enough to keep him from the nippy bite of the air, and he began to rub his hands upon his arms to solve that problem, only it did not work so much.


    ¡°Harry, if I remember correctly?¡± A voice said from his left. Harry turned to it and found a familiar face, one he did not know if he was happy to see or not. But he did know he was confused, and his face did not hide that. ¡°Cut me some slack, will you? Don¡¯t stare at me in such a way.¡± The man waddled closer to him, Ser Maurin clad in the gilded armour of the Kingsknight Harry wanted to be so much.


    ¡°What¡­¡± Harry stammered, ¡°what do you want, Ser?¡± It seemed ever since he stepped his foot in this city he had grown prone to letting words come forth from his lips before he had had a chance to think of them. He should have at least greeted him first. No matter their history, this man was a lordling, and a Kingsknight.


    ¡°You could have at least given me some sort of greeting first,¡± Ser Maurin Lockeheart smiled, confirming Harry¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Let¡¯s have a drink. It¡¯s cold, nothing better than warm wine to replace broth.¡±


    Harry lessened whatever ignorant emotions he had let well up within him. ¡°But I do not drink, my lord. I¡¯ve never tasted alcohol,¡± he answered with a tone of courtesy, one his earlier voice had lacked. His arms were still wrapped about each other, the cold was not relenting.


    ¡°Even at the feast?¡± Ser Maurin was baffled.


    ¡°Yes. I only took water.¡±


    ¡°Then what better time to start than now?¡± The man would not have rejection. He threw his arm, gauntlet and all, over Harry¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s ride into the city. You were headed there before already, were you not?¡±


    ¡°Ride?¡± Harry went feeble for a moment. ¡°I do not own a horse.¡±


    Ser Maurin went baffled again. ¡°Then how were you hoping to return to the city?¡±


    ¡°By foot?¡± Harry shrugged.


    Ser Maurin laughed. ¡°Let¡¯s go to the stables, there are horses there.¡±


    Harry shivered, but not from the cold. ¡°It¡¯s the royal stable, my lord, I can¡¯t ride one of the royal horses.¡±


    Maurin Lockeheart scoffed. ¡°They don¡¯t shit gold, you know? And besides, you are the king¡¯s squire, you can surely ride a horse from the stables. It¡¯s just a horse after all.¡±


    Harry was about to say something, but the Kingsknight gave him no time to do so. He dragged Harry through the Great Yard, his arms across the boy¡¯s neck as they made their way to the stables, pushing against the cold. The stables were warm, devoid of all the cold they had felt come against their bodies, but the only thing that would make them not take shelter here was the erratic smell of the horses¡¯ dung. Well, Harry would in truth not mind, he had slept in worse, but Ser Maurin was a different case. Harry could not imagine someone so noble to prefer to take shelter in a place filled with this sort of smell.


    Harry saw Ser Maurin ruffle some of the stable straw. ¡°If only I did not want a drink, I would have loved to sleep here,¡± the knight said while smiling, and Harry¡¯s previous presumption shattered into countless pieces. He was more than bemused, if there existed any emotion greater, that would explain his stiff gaping. This man was too plain to be a lordling. ¡°Know how to saddle?¡± The knight called Harry back.


    ¡°No, my lord. Not yet,¡± Harry answered.


    The knight scoffed. ¡°You can wield a lance but you can¡¯t saddle a horse?¡± The man laughed next. ¡°I¡¯ll saddle one for you.¡± And so he did. They mounted next, Harry on a deep brown mare and Ser Maurin on his destrier. They rode out of the stables, and made their way through a postern gate and into the city.


    The sky had gone dark, but not the city. It bustled ardently. Dim yellow-orange lights from the windows of the houses lined closely together, filled the streets teeming with people ruffling about. Some were fighting, some were begging for scraps and coins, and some were whoring in the corners and even on the streets. Harry was still a year younger to see such, but his manly desires stopped him from looking away whenever he saw such an unusual scenario before him. He only managed to peel his gaze away when the mare he mounted had trotted him so far a distance that all he could hear were the whispers of the moans drowning in the ruckus of the street crowds, and even then his mind would still replay the events for him. His body tingled.


    It took not so much of a long time before they arrived. Ser Maurin stopped his horse before a facade inscribed with the sensual image of a siren, and as Harry reined his horse to a stop too he at once knew where they were. He glanced up and saw a wooden board bearing the name of where they had stopped. The Red Siren, it had engraved on it.


    ¡°A brothel?¡± Harry commented as he swung off his horse.


    ¡°A brothel,¡± Ser Maurin confirmed with a grin as he handed the reins of his horse to one of the groomboys that had run up to him. ¡°Keep the horses safe and I might toss you a tip,¡± he told the boy then turned back to Harry. ¡°No better place to have a good drink than a brothel. Hand him the reins, let¡¯s go in.¡±


    Harry did as he was bid and handed the reins to the boy, gapped teeth and lanky, and he had done so without reluctance. He would have called it weird, but right now his sense of such a reasoning was a thing of the past. His desires had taken over. He knew what was in a brothel, and he wanted to see.


    Harry had felt disappointment a lot of times in his life, but this night was not one of them. It was all he had expected a brothel to be and more. The noise filled his ears, the moans especially. Wines splattered from their tankards, tables shook, chairs fell, and hips moved. His breathing increased rapidly and his body began to feel colder than when he was riding through the city. It was as though he was bare the same as the men and women doing the deed. He began to feel his legs weaken and his jewel stiffen. ¡°This is¡­¡± he started to say.


    ¡°A brothel,¡± the knight completed for him, then tapped Harry across his back. ¡°Do well to hold it in, the ladies here are lecherous.¡±


    It was not long he called the leeches what they were before five sprung upon them, all without a dress of any sort. Harry shut his eyes.


    ¡°Care for a drink, m¡¯lord,¡± one said, Harry could not see who. The world was dark to him.


    ¡°We¡¯d like a table,¡± he heard Ser Maurin say.


    And then¡­ Harry inhaled sharply. Something he would call a hand was wolfing his breeches. ¡°M¡¯lord¡¯s agile I see,¡± a whisper came upon his ear, and now he knew. They were leeching on him. Another hand wrapped him across the shoulders. ¡°Is it a drink, m¡¯lord wants, or something else.¡±


    ¡°Who hurt m¡¯lord so?¡± He heard another one say.


    ¡°A bad person I¡¯ll say,¡± another voiced. ¡°Gilly will take care of m¡¯lord and soothe his pain.¡±


    Harry made sure to keep his eyes closed despite the advances. He was trying, but he doubted he could last any longer, and when he was about to give up all hope, then came Ser Maurin¡¯s knightley but gentle voice, ¡°He¡¯ll have a drink, only a drink. Take us to the table.¡± And then the leeches let go of him and his eyes came open with a sigh.


    Ser Maurin had requested for a table at the end of the room, and there they sat, a safe distance from all the moans and pleasuring embrace. Harry had calmed down now.


    It was not long after they sat that their wine came. A lady clothed in a brown roughspun gown of cheap wool had brought it. Harry was glad the lady had something on. She had his height, Harry saw, and a brown hair rough and tousled. The tray in her hands held a ewer she had now placed before them, following up with her setting their goblets and beginning to fill them shortly after.


    Harry was still looking at the tender hand the serving lady poured his wine with until he heard Ser Maurin¡¯s voice. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± He had heard the knight question, and he looked up to see him with a smile for the young serving lady.


    ¡°Cicily,¡± she added. Harry saw her eyes then. It had swollen bags that looked like she had either been crying or she had not just gotten any sleep.


    ¡°Cicily¡­ Uhm¡­ Cily. Yeah, Cily.¡± Ser Maurin had seemed to have been lost in his thoughts for a while. ¡°I¡¯ll call you Cily, you don¡¯t mind do you?¡±


    ¡°Call me whatever you please, my lord.¡± The girl faked a smile, and Maurin Lockeheart¡¯s own hearty smile faded.


    ¡°Get one more ewer and a goblet,¡± he began to tell her, ¡°and tell your lady that I want you to sit and serve me all through the night. I have the coins.¡±


    The lady bowed weakly and went on her way. With sullen tired eyes and exhausted moving legs, she took one step at a time.


    ¡°You want her to rest?¡± Harry asked the knight seated opposite from him.


    ¡°She¡¯s tired.¡±


    Harry looked around. ¡°Are they all the same too?¡± He wondered about the rest of the serving girls. ¡°They look happy.¡±


    ¡°Some are,¡± Maurin Lockeheart answered, ¡°most aren¡¯t.¡± Harry turned back to him. ¡°I am sorry about what I did to your face. I should have¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a problem,¡± Harry cut in, ¡°I should have yielded and I didn¡¯t. You did what you had to.¡± His face bruises suddenly began to hurt and itch once again.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to make it up to you,¡± Ser Maurin said.


    ¡°I have enough coins as the forerunner, you don¡¯t need to give me anymore¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to teach you,¡± the knight infringed upon Harry¡¯s speaking moment, inciting the boy to look up from his wine sharply.


    ¡°Teach me¡­ what?¡± It couldn¡¯t be¡­ Harry was aghast deep within. There was no way¡­


    The knight smiled and pointed at the sword strapped around Harry¡¯s waist, the Crescent Moon. ¡°How to use a sword such as that.¡±


    And Harry¡¯s itches disappeared.

 Words Of Torment

    <h2><u>FLYNN CLAYMORE</u></h2>


    Flynn could not put himself to sleep. The fear that he would dream of that night once again lingered not too far from him. It always came when the sky had grown dark and when his eyes had gone shut in the flickering candlelight of his room; the same hallway, the same door, and the same shadowy figures of his father and¡­ mother. The words too, those ones he could hear even as he was awake. ¡­Don¡¯t tell him¡­ those words. ¡­I do not want to see him¡­ he did not need sleep for these ones to come to him, the silence in the bleak of night was more than enough.


    Then with the words there would always come the eldritch finger-like tendrils coiling around his heart, thin, pale and cold, filling him equally with dread and¡­ anger. Anger at who? Those he was to hate were gone. Gone! They had escaped his loathing, avoided it, but someone had to be an outlet for his feelings of spite, someone had to. If the words would not leave him be, then the same would prove true for his anger. He had to give it to someone, his loathing and his spite. And he had given it to them, the only ones that he could. The children of the ones he loathed. The princes and the princess of House Ravenswood. Only, even that had grown lacklustre now. He could not even hate all of them any longer. Growing too close with those two must have been his greatest mistake, one he might never recover from. His chest tightened. He needed an outlet for all this pent up rage. But where could he put it all?


    The fire before him grew, chasing away the whorls of tendrils around his heart with screeches and scurries, but in return for that moment of calmness it gave Flynn it chose to suck him in instead. Flynn did not mind most of the times, he always knew he was being sucked in but he had little care, and now was one of those times. It grew and he gazed. Dim yellow becoming brighter and brighter by the second, and Flynn slumping closer and closer in accordance.


    He had been sucked in by the fire once as a child, and he had been burnt then. A small burn on his chest, one that had now completely faded through the efforts of his father¡¯s medics and attendants. The scolding he got was not what had stopped him from being burnt again, it was the books he began to read in preparation to become a royal advisor. He had found his way to exert his revenge then, and at that moment the fire had ceased to suck him in. But just when he had achieved his goal and was about to confront one of those he loathed, the king: Sargon Ravenswood, the man died. He died and left Flynn all alone bearing the loath, bearing the hate, bearing it all.


    The fire that brightened his room hissed for a second as the candle it reigned upon melted fiercely. It was almost as though it shared Flynn¡¯s rage as well, almost as though he and the fire were connected. Maybe they were to connect physically as they were already doing emotionally. Maybe they were meant to be one in both body and soul. Maybe¡­ He eased himself closer, and closer, and closer, and when he was almost upon the connection he sought, a voice came to pull him out of his fearless reverie.


    ¡°My lord.¡± He knew the voice at once, after all it was the only voice that could call upon him at this time of the night, and there was only one reason that it no doubt would bring with itself.


    ¡°Send her in,¡± Flynn told his steward before he had the chance to say anymore. The young lord of Claymore, tousle-haired, rose from his seat and donned a thick woollen night robe over his exposed body, then went to his window and pushed it open as his door did the same. ¡°Must we always meet this way?¡± He told the person who had sauntered in. The person who was none other than Melisandre.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault that we do,¡± she replied.


    Flynn turned away from the window to behold her seated beside his hearth. ¡°If you make a choice then it is your fault. What happened at the feast?¡± He wasted no time. Luckily for her, he was not angry, at least not anymore.


    Melisandre let an oblivious demeanour shroud her face. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Flynn was not in the mood for her play. ¡°Don¡¯t do that. Do not act ignorant. I lack the patience.¡± He dropped on his bed, thick robe tucked beneath him. ¡°I¡¯ll ask again: what happened at the feast?¡±


    Melisandre sighed with a shrug and put her arm to rest on the table. ¡°I met with him like I told you I would.¡±


    ¡°And? You did not think to come to me after you did?¡± Flynn was not impressed. He was rarely impressed in truth.


    She had been gazing at the flame in the hearth for a while, but now she took it up to Flynn. ¡°The Ravenswoods still roam the castle unharmed, isn¡¯t that enough proof that I have not succeeded in getting the king to do what I want? What we want?¡± She sighed again. ¡°He¡¯s stubborn, and has some of these little ideologies that he chooses not to go against.¡±


    Of course¡­ he lost his memories, not his personality¡­ Flynn was not a stranger to what and who Zephyr was as a person. The man valued his ideologies so highly, he would never choose to harm anyone based on the words of another. Melisandre would not understand that. She never understood anything that was not fitting for her ploys. ¡°What did you say to him?¡± Flynn asked the black-cloaked Melisandre.


    Melisandre flung her palm outwards. ¡°That his half-family were the ones that killed him, and he should have their heads.¡± Her mood was as weak and tired as her eyes.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°And?¡± Flynn already knew what he had told her. He could guess it. Zephyr was as plain as a book to him. They have been friends for a long time, and now he was his royal advisor, ever closer than they were before. He knew both King Zephyr and just Zephyr, both shared no difference but the crown.


    Melisandre¡¯s face screwed in irate. ¡°He told me to bring proof of my claims.¡± She scoffed.


    Flynn smiled. Of course that was what he expected Zephyr to say. Losing his memories did no change to him. ¡°What did you do at the feast to make him spill the wine?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Melisandre told Flynn. ¡°I did nothing but say the red mist, and he lost it.¡±


    A plausible reaction, Flynn deduced. The wine had become something that would fill Zephyr with dread no matter where he¡¯d see it or who might serve it to him. It was something that he had no choice but to grow to fear.


    ¡°He¡¯s afraid of dying but he hesitates to kill them,¡± Melisandre continued. ¡°There has to be some way. A faster way to get rid of them all. I¡¯m losing my patience here. I¡¯ve waited long enough. It¡¯s been¡ª¡±


    ¡°You may leave,¡± Flynn rode her off. He wanted to hear no more, if he had even still been listening in the first place. ¡°I want to have my rest now, and so should you.¡± He was about to tuck himself, robe and all, beneath his blanket when Melisandre suddenly voiced in spiteful curiosity.


    ¡°You do not care?¡± She said, ¡°you do not care that they still live?¡±


    Flynn spared her no glance, but his tucking slowed. ¡°I do. I just need my rest.¡±


    ¡°You lying lord,¡± she spat. ¡°What has gotten over you? Have you forgotten what they did to you?¡±


    ¡°They did nothing to me,¡± Flynn barked. ¡°The ones that did it all are dead! Dead and gone! Do not make me angry and just leave. My sleep is all I crave now.¡±


    ¡°Their children live,¡± Melisandre was not stopping, she never did. ¡°All you ever let yourself do when we were still at the Vale of Rocks was weep and speak of revenge, and now that you see it you say they did nothing? I can¡¯t believe my ears. Wax must have found its way into them.¡± She stuck her forefingers into her ears, twirling them in hope to remove the wax she spoke about.


    ¡°Leave me be,¡± Flynn hissed. It must have been a jape though, because even he knew she would never leave him be, at least not now, until she¡¯d said all she wanted to say.


    ¡°No,¡± she told him, then rose to her feet and trudged before him where he sat on his bed halfway beneath his blanket. ¡°We must do something.¡±


    Flynn was exhausted. As the royal advisor his workload was already cut out for him, and Melisandre was making it ever more daunting with any chance she could get. ¡°What would you have me do?¡± He said tiredly. ¡°I killed him and you brought him back. Now what else would you have me do?¡±


    She crouched before his bed and looked up at him. ¡°I brought him back because he¡¯s the only one that has the power to kill them.¡±


    ¡°And now he does not seem to want to do it. You made a choice and this is the consequence of that choice, so why do you bother me so? Maybe find a way to conjure a proof of your claims. You are a witch after all.¡±


    Melisandre inhaled sharply. ¡°Do not call me a witch.¡±


    ¡°Then what are you?¡± Flynn asked incredulously. ¡°Tell me. You¡¯ve never been able to tell me what you are, so why correct me if you yourself don¡¯t know what you are?¡± He sighed then, he had said too much. ¡°Just leave me to sleep.¡±


    ¡°I have a plan,¡± Melisandre said, completely forgetting she had just been called a witch. Her thirst for revenge burned so strongly.


    ¡°What plan?¡± Flynn was tired of plans, especially ones that came from a certain witch who went by the name: Melisandre. ¡°What plan could you possibly have that would not fail the way your last one did?¡± He tucked himself completely beneath his blanket now. ¡°I am tired of hearing you speak, and I am tired from the day¡¯s stress, so just let me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Become king,¡± Melisandre cut in, and silence followed. A long, dragged out whistle of unheard voices, one only home to the grand whooshes of the wind, smeared with the smell of sea salt, that made its way into his room through the opened shutters of his window.


    Then he laughed. A long laugh at her joke, and it almost brought a tear from his eye and down his right cheek. ¡°Thank you for doing the job of a fool. That was such a good one. Let me sleep now.¡±


    Melisandre knitted her eyebrows, thin and cleanly shaped they were, but now they made her demeanour into a frown, a beautiful one. ¡°I joke not,¡± she said, words devoid of any beauty like the one her face bore.


    Flynn quickly lost all the humour that his face had had a second ago. ¡°You should stop it.¡± His voice was hard.


    ¡°You can take it if you want, you know it. You also have a¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop it,¡± Flynn roared. ¡°And leave now, before I lose my patience. I will have no word on this matter leave further from your lips.¡± Flynn¡¯s chest tightened and his heart raced. On his skin rose a thousand goosepimples, each one standing with a different fiery rage than the other, but at the same time¡­ ¡°Please, no more,¡± he begged softly with a sullen shake of his head as a single tear rolled down his left cheek, warm and tender, but at the same time cold. ¡°I beg of you.¡±


    Melisandre retained her crouch for a while, silent as she never was, and soon after she took to her feet and waddled out of the room, her lips held shut and her eyes tenderly broken.

 Phoenix To Raven

    <h2><u>AUDREY FLAMESWORTH</u></h2>


    Dawn had come, and she had already been scrubbed and garbed by the serving maids that had been sent to her chambers at the cry of the rooster to help set her up for what was to come.


    Even if she was to forget what the day was as she watched the men below, shirtless and thick, while they polished their steels and plates, the fit she wore would not let her memory fail her. She was dressed in a silk gown of snow, pure and unstained, with a flowing ermine white overall robe that was embroidered with the feathers of doves and sparrows. Her hair, silvery in grace, adorned with jewels and rubies and garnets, each in the form of a tear that came together to turn her hair into a pale and faceless maiden of tears, crying beautifully in different shades of colours.


    Around her neck was a silver choker, and a golden neck chain large but light went round her shoulder bones. In the middle of the choker rested a single ruby pale with crimson red, while the neck chain was ornamented with pearls all around. Audrey had not placed her eyes on this outfit until the sky had turned thick with fog, but she had no problems about it. Whoever the seamstress had been, they were skilled and well learned. One of the serving maidens had told her that it was the queen¡¯s own seamstress, old in age but tender in hands. The texture of the clothing about Audrey¡¯s body made her feel the most graceful she had ever been, and she did not need to look at herself before she knew that her beauty must have grown furthermore.


    Her legs were covered with vintage leather flat-heel-boots, white as her gown, and they made her little pacing with light breaths a little easier. She was going to become queen soon, it was only wonted that she was anxious even a bit. Through her pacing and watch of the bare-chested men below, Renly waddled into her chambers.


    ¡°My lady,¡± the steward said, and Audrey wasted no time swirling on her feet to put her gaze on him.


    ¡°You stupid man,¡± she spat. ¡°Might you tell me what your problem is, Bailiff? Do you not reckon you should let me know if you have been possessed?¡±


    Renly was taken aback, so much that he quaked slightly on his feets. ¡°What prompted this sort of ferocity so early, my beautiful lady of Flamesworth? Did I do anything wrong? I cannot seem to think of any.¡± For once he was not dressed too plainly. He garbed himself in a slightly golden quilted doublet of samite, so slight that you might think the gold was fading, while his legs were covered in high boots the same colour of brown as his neatly gelled hair which was groomed backwards majestically. If not for his horse-face, he might have looked one of the most handsome men in the realm.


    Audrey almost reddened a fury at his words, but as usual, she would not have that. ¡°You stupid, stupid man. You left me all alone again at the feast, and you did not even come to see me before I slept. You¡¯re my steward.¡±


    Renly Bailiff sighed. ¡°Is this why I¡¯m being called stupid so much?¡± He nudged one eyebrow downwards.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Audrey said to him.


    ¡°My apologies then. Next time I will¡­¡± he paused, ¡°still not sit with you on the high table.¡± He chortled after as Audrey¡¯s nose wrung up. Audrey was about to hiss violently at him next, but her steward acted so fast. ¡°What is that?¡± He pointed to the ring on her finger, the one she had been fumbling with unrelentingly.


    ¡°A ring,¡± Audrey told her steward, a bit too calmly that it was almost as though the boiling rage that had been welling up inside her had never existed.


    ¡°From the king?¡± Renly asked her.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Audrey smiled. ¡°He gave it to me at the feast before he left.¡± She picked up her gown from its skirt and rushed closer to Renly, plonking her face just a finger length from his. ¡°Look,¡± she showed him, ¡°custom made. One wing is the one of a raven and the other the one of a phoenix.¡± She seemed so excited, she could not even put her own feelings into words.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± she heard Renly say in something almost like a whisper, while her eyes remained fixated on the ring. Then he cleared his throat next as if to pry his mind from something. She was still fumbling with the ring though.


    ¡°It truly is,¡± Audrey finally said after a while. She walked away from Renly slowly and made her way back to the window, leaning elbows down on it as she heaved a huge sigh. ¡°He told me he wanted the comforts I have to offer. What do you think that means?¡± She was gazing up at the foggy clouds which had begun to clear bit by bit.


    ¡°I can hardly say, my lady,¡± Renly answered. ¡°I could not dare to think the way the king thinks.¡±


    Audrey tsked. ¡°Stop with your nonsense, Bailiff. Anyone can think the way the king thinks, we¡¯re all flesh and blood.¡±


    A knock came on the door soon after, and a voice called out along with it. ¡°My lady,¡± the voice rang. ¡°It is time.¡± She remembered the voice. The deep and tender voice was for the man who had been knighted as a Kingsknight during the feast on the night of the yester. He had been sent to bring her, she discerned. She had already grown used to Ser Aaron¡¯s voice calling from beyond the door of her chambers whenever it was time for any occasion that needed her presence, so much that she wondered why he had not been the one to come. Maybe he was busy with some other tasks, most like. She should not be dwelling on something of small importance like this. It mattered little.


    Audrey took her gown up by her fingers. ¡°I wrote some letters,¡± she gestured her chin at the table for Renly. ¡°One¡¯s for mother and the other¡¯s for Lucian. Do you mind sending it to them?¡±


    Renly nodded. ¡°Will do just that, my lady.¡± He strode there and picked both up.


    ¡°Do that after the ceremony though,¡± Audrey put in. ¡°I will not have you miss it.¡± She walked to the door, nimbly and elegantly, white of hair and white of dress. ¡°You may open,¡± she notified the Kingsknight who stood beyond her door, and the man pulled it open, showing himself gilded and dignified in his steel. He was without his helm, and that allowed his pale hair of yellow, which was permed on one side, to be visible to her and her steward that was made to follow closely behind her.


    The knight bowed with a courteous smile. ¡°You look beautiful, my lady.¡±


    Audrey returned a smile as well. ¡°I know,¡± she said, and she heard a quiet giggle from the knight before he took his head back up to her, his green eyes opening softly from its close.


    ¡°I¡¯ll lead the way,¡± the knight added before he noticed Renly standing behind her. ¡°Pardon me. A wonderful morning to you too, my lord.¡± He nudged his head slightly. It was not a bow like the one he had given Audrey, but it was a sign of respect nonetheless.


    ¡°A good morning to you too, Ser,¡± Renly reciprocated politely with a slight bow.


    ¡°Then, shall we go?¡± The knight waited for Audrey¡¯s approval.


    ¡°We shall.¡± And she gave him what he wanted.


    By the time they got out of the holdfast, the mist had begun to clear up considerably, not enough that she would be able to see the yellow of the sun showing itself, but just enough that she could now make out the clouds blanketing the sky. Blue they were, and with the look of cold. Cold her body would have shivered for if not for the ermine fur that had taken her skin into its cover. A soft whinny brought her out of her sky-gaze, prompting her to see the silky-black palfrey that sniffed the cold air with gracefulness. She was saddled already, and beside her stood a black cloak that bowed as soon as he saw Audrey.


    ¡°A horse?¡± Audrey found it surprising. ¡°What for?¡± She added, her fingers still holding onto the skirt of her gown.


    ¡°For your ride, my lady,¡± the knight told her. ¡°If you will?¡± He outstretched his hand in a gesture towards the horse, giving rise to Audrey¡¯s movement of her legs towards it.


    ¡°Why a horse?¡± She asked again in wonder as she took a step at a time to the beautiful horse that kept stomping her hooves gently into the sand, the knight and her steward maintaining the same slow strides as she did but just behind her. ¡°Is the place so far that I¡¯ll need one?¡±


    ¡°It is, my lady,¡± the knight told her. ¡°It was from there I came to your chambers, and the king would not have you walk the same way I had done. He had me bring the palfrey for you.¡±


    They were before the horse now. Audrey let one of her hands free from lifting her skirt and she sent it to the neck of the horse. She stroked it gently, back and forth, and then she heaved a sigh. ¡°And where¡¯s yours? And my steward¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°I shall walk, leading you by the reins, but I had no idea your steward would be at your chambers. Pardon me.¡± The knight slumped his head in apology, his permed hair shuffling about as he did. It was getting all rough, Audrey saw.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Audrey turned back to the horse and peeled her hand away from its neck, the horse snorted in response. ¡°Renly will ride with me. Help me up.¡±


    As the knight hurried to help Audrey up, Renly Bailiff decided to make her mood as sour as it had been when he had found his way into her chambers. One leg over the back of the horse and into the stirrup, and Renly Bailiff¡¯s voice came. ¡°I shall walk too, my lady,¡± he said, but his words fell on deaf ears and a tightened face.


    ¡°You will ride,¡± Audrey demanded. ¡°It¡¯s not up for discussion. Do not speak any further and climb.¡± She stared straight ahead into the never-ending length of the castle, watching the maid and guard folks that dwelled within the inner bailey move around to perform the tasks they had been handed. Those in roughspun woollen gowns bearing trays or buckets in their hands, while those shirtless and in pants, bearing steels and plates and metals of any sort.


    As the knight took hold of the reins from the guard that had been watching the horse, Renly spoke again, denying Audrey any victory over him, ¡°How do you expect me to ride on the same horse as the king¡¯s bride? This is even a harder request than coming to sit with you on the high table, and that one I did not have any part with, do not expect me to have any part in something harder.¡± He was stubborn. So stubborn that he never failed to tick her off.


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    Audrey turned to look at him sharply from high up on her horse. ¡°What is your problem, Bailiff?¡± She voiced, angrily. ¡°Ever since we got into this castle you¡¯ve been stubborn beyond reasoning. Might there be ghosts here messing with your brain?¡± She heard a soft chuckle from the knight handling her reins, but she had no thoughts for any other but her hard headed steward.


    ¡°I can follow you into¡­¡± the words he wanted to say remained stuck in his mouth for a while and Audrey raised a brow in awaitance, one he cleared as soon as she raised it. ¡°I can follow you wherever you want to go, but there are some things I cannot do, my lady,¡± Renly had sighed and began to say softly. ¡°I cannot put myself wherever the king is meant to be. The high seats are for the king and his family, I cannot be there. Behind you now on this saddle is a place only meant for the king, you do not expect me to just casually take my place up there too as well. Please, just let me walk.¡±


    ¡°But we have ridden before, what is so different now?¡± Audrey took to remembering when they had still been little children. She had never been a fast learner with horses, that was until Renly had come. He would take up her pony¡¯s reins then by astriding himself behind her, his hands softly placed beneath her elbows while he gripped the reins tightly, and they would gallop gently about Redflower¡¯s backwoods with smiles on their faces. That used to be the only time she would never stumble and fall from the pony¡¯s back, and it also used to be the only time she would feel the joy of riding a horse as the wind embraced her face either coldly or warmly depending on what season had rode over the realm at that moment. And she would smile. Now he doesn¡¯t want to ride behind her?


    ¡°That time you used to be just the lady of Flamesworth,¡± Renly told her, ¡°but now you are to be queen. The queen of Ravenwing. The one who will bear the children of His Grace. If you think about it, things have changed quite a lot.¡±


    What a joke¡­ ¡°You¡¯re a fool,¡± she scoffed at him.


    ¡°Maybe I am.¡± Renly shrugged. ¡°But a wise one.¡±


    Audrey took her eyes away from him and faced straight ahead again. She was steaming and her cheeks almost reddened. ¡°Lead,¡± she vented at the knight.


    ¡°As you wish.¡± The man bowed and began to lead them through the Great Yard, Renly following behind the horse¡¯s hind after a soothing sigh, one that Audrey was annoyed at, but she would not have her face screwed. She had to look beautiful for her king, for her soon-to-be husband.


    After walking and trotting the length of the great yard, not without taking some corners here and there, they arrived at the end of the castle, a place Audrey had never seen before¡ªnot like she had ever gone anywhere beyond the holdfast¡¯s walls, unless that place was the tourney ground, but from the look on her steward¡¯s face, the one that did a lot of walking and scurrying about, it was obvious that this place was as foreign to him as it was to her.


    From less than a mile out Audrey could see a small gate, a postern one, and before it were two guards, the only ones that were about this vicinity aside from her and her steward and the Kingsknight, and of course the palfrey she rode as well. Audrey glanced to her rear and began to feel a bit uneasy. She liked neither the look nor the feel of this area. ¡°Where are we?¡± She turned to the knight still leading the horse by its reins.


    ¡°Somewhere in the castle, my lady, for sure. I only came into this castle for the first time on the yester, I do not know where this place is exactly, but from my walks today I do know this is the way.¡± The knight looked around as his lips moved slightly into a smile, none she had any pleasing for. She looked about again as the thick mist shrouding the air in cold began to fade, while the bright, soft yellow slowly creeping out from between the blankets of the clouds drifting high above in the sky, made visible the ramshackle structures and baby edifices ladening the area. She began to feel cold for the first time today since she¡¯d donned this ermine.


    ¡°You do not know?¡± She asked again, her tone slowly slipping from docility into sharpness. ¡°You lead me to where you do not know?¡± The horse neighed a reply as though it was her Audrey was speaking to. Audrey¡¯s eyes did not cease from darting about, and with each silent whoosh of the wind her exhale would deepen, and she began to feel as though she was trodding closer and closer to the end of the world. It dawned on her that for some reason¡ªreasons she had no knowing of¡ªshe did not feel too safe within this castle¡¯s walls. It was as though something or someone was watching, lurking somewhere and waiting for the right time to pounce out and gobble her whole. This place had darkness, not the one she loved that came at night, but a more sinister one that showed itself even in the light of day.


    ¡°My lady,¡± she heard Renly Bailiff¡¯s call, and for a moment she felt calmed. This was why she always wanted him close, if only he understood. ¡°I believe everything is fine,¡± he told her. ¡°I¡¯m sure this place is just one of the endless unseen parts of the castle.¡±


    No¡­ Audrey wanted to tell him. This place is different. It has something¡­ she knew how crazy it would sound saying things like that, so she chose to keep it to herself. After a sigh she cleared her throat and adjusted herself on the palfrey¡¯s back. ¡°Pardon my harshness, Ser,¡± she begged the knight.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to pardon, my lady.¡± The knight bowed his head slightly before he continued to lead the horse once again.


    Half a mile reduced to nothing before long, and Audrey now found herself well past the ramshackles filled with a darkness unseen to her, and before the two guards that stood on the opposite sides of the postern gate with the heads of their spears pointed to gaze up at the sky, while their black cloaks remained stiff same as the armet which covered their face. They both bowed as soon as they saw the pure white of her gown which shrouded her from where she sat gracefully atop the silken palfrey flanked by her steward and the Kingsknight.


    ¡°The gate,¡± the knight mentioned to the guards, and without wasting a second they flung the yett, a grille of latticed iron bars wrought together, open.


    Within the gate swayed a murky stench, sometimes thick as they passed and sometimes thin, but nevertheless the stench was there all the same, the stench of dead rats. Some were still of life though, such she came about from the never ending squeals and scratch of paws that she heard on the uneven mossy walls of the cave they had meandered into. Those walls were lined by sconces plugged with lit torches that did no other job but guide their path through the dim darkness. They never seemed to end, the torches, they were everywhere, and so were the dripping sounds of the droplets of water that fell from the stalactites hanging in sparse amount from the high up stone ceilings, and into the puddles of water that were diversified into splotches all over the jagged detritus that surrounded their steps.


    The farness to wherever they were headed was one reason the horse had been brought to her, but now that she was beneath these cave walls she understood that this place had also been a reason. Her white would have been riddled with stain if not for the palfrey that was taking her through, but she could not say the same for her steward. He kept hopping on one foot to the other trying to avoid as much of the splotches and dirt as he could. Serves him right¡­ she thought. The Kingsknight on the other hand did not seem to matter. He had crossed here twice already today, and this was his third, so maybe he felt it no need to waste his time hopping about seeing as he would still cross here another again.


    It was not long after she had begun to admire the jet black mane of the horse she was riding that the stench of rats upon her nose exchanged itself for the stale, cold air of salty sea. She inhaled deeply, it was the first time the salty smell of the sea had come to her nose but she liked this smell better. It did not do the choking that the stench of the dead rats did to her, this one was pleasant and calm, and the salt even found its way to her tongue. She could taste the air.


    Her eyes went up from the mane she had been admiring, and before her filtered in light from an open door, light that was neither yellow nor from sconces, a bright white light that spelled nature and not caves.


    As they found their way out, so did the tender sound of the waves shuffling against the sandy shore of wherever they were, make their way to her ears and filled them with the refreshing music of water and wind, while her nose took in a stronger scent of the salty smell of sea. It seemed in whatever time they had spent within the cave walls, the mist had finally given way for the arrival of the yellow orb that had begun to peek slowly from behind the clouds that wafted about softly.


    Below this shy yellow orb that was the sun, stood in clusters the high lords and ladies that had been at the feast on the night of the yester. They were fewer than they had been then, but still a large crowd nonetheless, and that large number of nobility bowed as the horse she sat upon swayed past them. The gazes that had been given to her on the day she had been chosen to become queen were absent here, none she felt behind her back and none she could see from where she sat. Renly had spoken the truth, things had changed. She was no longer the young lady of House Flamesworth, the lowest noble house in the realm. No, no. She was about to be queen, the peak of any dream a court lady would and should have.


    Audrey inhaled the salty air and let it do her the honours of calming her, and it was not until she took her eyes away from the bowed lords and ladies did she notice it. At the edge of the shore raised a large pulpit made of cement and granite, and on it stood a colossal twin statue of ravens poking their beaks at each other in what her mind told her was nothing short of a romantic and emotional kiss, while their wings spread out into a casing canopy of embrace over the pulpit. They were carved beautifully of limestone, and the small splashes of seawater that found its way onto the giant ravens glittered majestically in the break of the sun. She had seen nothing of the sort before, it was beautiful, so beautiful that she almost found her mouth wide open, but she would not have that here. Not now when people see. Maybe when she returned to her chambers she would relish more on the thought.


    Then it struck her. Her chambers were going to be changed after this was all done. She saw him then, another beauty that was neither her nor the statue of ravens, but one that was the king himself. He was dressed almost the same as her, in a white gown with an ermine robe overall that was feathered, but he had a golden belt about his waist, large and wide and covered about with gems of all sorts. That took his dressing apart from hers. He smiled at her as she watched him, oily blue hair glistening in the finger of rays the sun gave it at the moment. It was so pretty she almost reddened, and it was then she added another moment to the times she had thanked the ravens with all her heart. The horse she was riding had been reined to a stop, allowing her face the leeway of pulling itself from the king¡¯s beguiling gaze.


    The knight offered her his hand to help her down, but so did her steward. Without a moment of hesitation she reached for Renly Bailiff¡¯s outstretched hand, and with his help she swung down from the horse, her bare feets covered within the flat heels she wore, unable to bask beneath the sandy feel of the shore. Her mind was readied then as Renly loosened his hands from her waist, she was going to come here again without boots or heels. The sand, the sea, she wanted to feel it all, just like she used to feel the flowers at Redflower. But her exploring nature had to be put on hold for now, something else was to be done.


    Renly took his lady by her hand and led her towards the stairs of the raised pulpit, but that was as far as he could go. He let her free at the base and went his way to join with the crowd. Audrey eyed around for a moment. She noticed the absence of the king¡¯s half-family, only one of them was present, the one known as Dante. He was dressed in a doublet and he stood where Zephyr¡¯s mother and younger brother stood, and with them was a horse, a mare pale and as white as her gown, and it would have been unstained as well if not for the little blemishes that found its way upon the foots of the horse, spotting them all the way to the hooves. But that did little to harm the mare¡¯s beauty. It was graceful and looked nothing short of benign. With every snort she made, the wind blew over her mane, swaying it majestically and Audrey found herself entranced.


    ¡°My lady,¡± the entrancement broke and Audrey turned back to the pulpit. She saw Ser Aaron gesturing up the stairs. ¡°If you will.¡± He was flanking her right while the other Ser of the Kingsknight, the lord commander if she remembered correctly, was flanking her left. She sighed and took to climb, one step at a time, her fingers holding up her gown¡¯s skirt, and it did not take long before she found herself beneath the twin wings of the ravens and before Zephyr Ravenswood, the man she was about to wed, with a smile on his face.


    A serving maid brought a large bowl filled with water close to them, and with her came the grand savant. He washed his face, his hands, and his hair with the water from the bowl, then gestured for Zephyr to do the same with a: ¡°If you will, Your Grace.¡± And so the king did as well, then he gestured at her, prompting her to repeat the same thing they had done. After she was all through, the serving maid retreated with the bowl and returned with two golden goblets which she gave to the grand savant. The old man offered one to Zephyr and the other to Audrey, then looked up at the crowd below the pulpit and announced, ¡°The wedding rites shall now begin.¡±

 Winds Of War

    <h2><u>DAMON RAVENSWOOD</u></h2>


    The door opened up, allowing Damon to take his entrance just in time to see the swirling pair of maids about his mother cover up her nakedness with a deftly tuck of her breasts beneath the neckline of her gown¡¯s bodice. It was a purple silken gown she was wearing¡ªor that the maids were fitting to her body¡ªone that had a trumpet-like skirt that fell hemline down to the floor, while her pale-yellow hair, which had been braided into a ponytail, was prettified at the edge by a ribbon of the same colour as her gown.


    She did not smile when she saw him, he had not been expecting her to, he wasn¡¯t Aria. She hardly gave a smile to anyone who wasn¡¯t her little flower; well, at this moment she might not even have given a smile to her lovely daughter if she heard of her failure, a failure he was about to let her know of, one that he would let do nothing to hinder the progress of his plans at this moment.


    ¡°A lovely morning, Mother. I¡¯m just returning from Aria¡¯s room,¡± Damon began to say to his mother as she spread out her arms sideways, allowing the serving maids to iron out the bodice of her gown with their palms. ¡°More like her door, she did not let me in.¡± He smiled as he took hold of a chair and dragged it to the console table near the large bed on the opposite side of the room. Dropping himself on the seat there, he leaned to the side with an elbow on the table and resumed his talk. ¡°Aria says the grand savant told her nothing. It was too hard a task after all. The grand savant would say nothing to a child of course, that much should have been expected. And now I think Aria¡¯s having her usual ¡®I am not good enough¡¯ breakdown. Maybe we should have never¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve grown to talk a lot, Damon,¡± his mother cut him off, her voice butter-like harsh, threatening in a way that would make him not want to speak any more, but at the same time still bearing the tone of the woman that had nursed him up till now, a woman he had no fear speaking to. The maids seemed to be done now. ¡°You may leave,¡± she told them as soon as she had finished verifying that everything on her body was how she wanted it to be. The maids bowed and were out the door in an instant, of course not without bowing to him too first. They had pretty faces and good enough bodies, but before his mother he had to keep his jewel in check. Stiffens were not allowed here.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Damon peeled his eyes from the door as soon as it shut after the maids¡¯ departure. ¡°Or maybe I¡¯m just filled with so much joy that I cannot seem to contain myself.¡± Apart from the smile that went about his lips without restraint, he did not behave like someone that was filled with so much of the joy he talked about. He just sat there with his cheeks on his palm, gazing at his mother as she fell down on her window cushion graciously.


    ¡°You¡¯re filled with joy?¡± His mother scoffed at that with a soft shake of her head, all done with the ambience of a queen. ¡°Joy for what, Damon? Not having the crown? You feel joy for having been the second fiddle of your father?¡± It was almost upon him, upon the chambers and the realm, his mother¡¯s anger. He would not have that, not now.


    ¡°Joy that I shall have the crown soon, Mother.¡± He removed himself from the leaning position he had on the console table. ¡°Aria¡¯s failure did nothing to hinder my plans. I can see the crown.¡±


    ¡°I can see your stupidity hasn¡¯t been cured,¡± she tsked, a little bit furiously, but not yet completely dipped in anger. ¡°If you can see anything, then you should see that you have no way of becoming king without the grand savant¡­¡±


    ¡°A lie,¡± Damon put in immediately. ¡°That is a lie.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± His mother downed a brow. She was not pleased with that. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    Damon harrumphed. ¡°I will become king without the old man. The only thing I need him for is to crown me on that day, I do not see myself needing him for anything else.¡± Damon wore a look of complete seriousness at his own words that his mother just watched him in silence, the brow she had downed still remaining where she had left it. There were still queries written all over her face with pale, unseen ink. He needed to clean away those queries. Damon rose to his feet. ¡°I meant to tell you but I¡¯ve had no time. And you were also not there during the last moments of the feast.¡± He strode gently towards where she sat beneath the stool of the chamber¡¯s window. ¡°Did you know Dante was to wed Lady Eira¡¯s daughter?¡± And with that he deepened his mother¡¯s eyebrow, this time the two of them. ¡°You did not, right?¡± Damon gathered from his mother¡¯s expression. He fell to a seat beside her with a smack of his lips. ¡°The bastard king meant to have Dante wed Lady Valora, Mother, and my sly brother said no word of it to us.¡± Her face remained unchanged, if anything it eased up. ¡°It does not bother you that Dante kept such a thing a secret?¡± Damon fell into wonder, the same one his mother had just eased from.


    ¡°No,¡± she told him blatantly, her eyes unattending his presence. Damon¡¯s face tightened at that. He knew, he always knew she loved Dante more than he, but still¡­ why? When will he ever find out the reason? If it was he that had kept something of such importance a secret it would have no doubt ended badly for him. Just keeping his meeting with the late savant Arryn a while longer away from his mother had resulted in her feeding him with a slap and threats. Why was she always such way to him and not to Dante or Aria? Why? He would not have it.


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    ¡°No?¡± Damon began. ¡°You do not care? And what if it was I that had kept such a secret, would you have said¡ª¡±


    ¡°And?¡± She gave him her eyes now, and it told him that she would hear none of his bickering. Green was the colour of peace and tranquillity, and he might even say sometimes love, but his mother¡¯s had nothing of either for him. Her green eyes were glaring at him but within them not a single thing he wanted from her resided there. ¡°Is that all you have come to speak to me of?¡± She resumed.


    There was no point, Damon noticed. To her he was nothing but the son that failed to get the crown. Every time she reminded him of that. She never failed to jog his memory of his loss of the crown with her actions. Rarely would she put it in words, and rarely would he not understand that she saw him as nothing but a failure. So maybe, just maybe if he finally took the crown she would give him the same love she used to bless him with when he used to be a child. He would do anything to just lie on her laps one more time and be a boy all over again. He would bring war and he would kill just for that. ¡°I am to wed her instead. That is what I have come to say to you.¡± Damon told her.


    His mother inhaled sharply but softly, words not coming out until a few moments later. ¡°What is it you said?¡±


    ¡°I have made Lady Valora my betrothed. I will wed her and have the Blackwoods on my side.¡± Damon was sullen, a different mood than the one he had waddled into his mother¡¯s chambers with, and it had been her nonchalant attitude towards Dante¡¯s secret that had triggered this tidal change of his, but he had to manage a smile now, at least. ¡°Don¡¯t you know what that means, Mother? Can¡¯t you feel it? With them on my side I will bring the winds of war and take back my crown. It¡¯s what you¡¯ve always wanted. I will have the crown.¡± He was no longer managing to keep the smile he had on his face now, he had begun to grow genuinely happy at the prospect he was relishing in. The crown! He would really have it. But, his mother did not still seem to share his happiness. On her face there was only curiosity. It soured his mood all over again.


    ¡°And Lady Eira just somehow agreed to this?¡± She asked incredulously, then Damon took away from where he sat beside her and fell back to the chair had taken himself from previously. He was angry, he could not look at her eyes any longer, it would only make him more angry and spiteful. He shut it and let himself sway in the serenity of darkness.


    ¡°I told her my plans,¡± Damon said. ¡°I told her I plan to become king, and that her daughter would be queen if she let me take her hand.¡± He would have opened his eyes to see what expression his mother had on her face now, but it might only make his anger grow further. He let them remain shut, his eyes.


    ¡°Keep going,¡± she voiced from where she sat on the cushion, and Damon clenched his chin, but he continued nonetheless.


    ¡°There was no reason to join my fool¡¯s dream, she had told me. Zephyr had promised to make Dante the crown prince,¡± Damon heard a scoff from his mother, one as soft as a gasp, ¡°and she then said she could just take my words of treason to the king and have me dealt with for bringing such a proposition to her. She could have, but I knew she wouldn¡¯t. The Blackwood house is a prestigious house, Lady Eira could never be satisfied with her daughter being the betrothed of a crown prince, I knew that, so I made her an offer. She could either live out her days waiting for her daughter to become the queen she would never be, or she could take a gamble with me. That as well failed to convince her, a laugh was all I got. I knew I had to hit her harder then, and that¡¯s when I said it.¡±


    ¡°Said what?¡± His mother asked.


    ¡°That Lady Valora was most likely carrying my child.¡±


    He heard his mother jump to her feet, and his heart began to thump, but no, his eyes would not come open. There was no way he could bear to see her face now, he could not.


    ¡°What sort of a fool are you?¡± she raged, her voice taking on a fiery tone. ¡°You slept with Lady Eira¡¯s daughter? You should have kept your cock to yourself, Damon. You¡ª¡±


    ¡°If I didn¡¯t,¡± he shouted, cutting her off abruptly. There was no way he would let her say it, not her, he would not hear his own mother despise him. Not now, not ever. His eyes still remained shut. ¡°If I didn¡¯t,¡± he began all over again, more relaxedly this time, ¡°then I would have never found myself becoming betrothed to her. Lady Eira also acted the way you are acting now. Granted, I laid with her daughter, but as you can see it all worked out. I have no surety if she actually carries my child, it¡¯s only been a day after all, but Valora seemed to be glad at the likelihood, and it was she who convinced her mother to join ties with me. So this is not about my cock, Mother, what I did, I did for the crown, and all I do¡­¡± he finally pried his eyes open, muttering the rest of the words softly and distinctively, ¡°is for you.¡±


    Queen Ophelia was not even looking at him anymore, she had begun to gaze out her window. ¡°Leave me,¡± she said to him, and with a sigh he began to adhere, but just as he was about to leave the room he heard her speak once more, ¡°I need my quiet to write to your grandfather.¡± The words had Damon¡¯s mood swirl sharply as though it was a squirrel that had found the scent of a nut behind it and turned around to make it its meal. He had no words to say, he just stood facing the door in a daze, a long one that tired his mother out. ¡°Well leave, will you?¡± And then he snapped back, turning around to give her a bow she did not see before he took his leave.


    When he got to his quarters, he found company at his door, a guest unexpected, and he came with words that filled Damon with bafflement and¡­ revitalised spite. ¡°M¡¯Grace summons you, M¡¯lord,¡± the Kingsknight, Ser Aaron, had said to him, and with the arrival of those words came the departure of Damon¡¯s previous joyful demeanour. What did Zephyr want with him? Damon began to wonder. What could that hateful bastard want with him?

 Announcement

    Crest of Souls is my newest story, and you can find it below or above in both author¡¯s notes! Thank you


    <hr>


    Hi¡­


    First of all I¡¯d like to thank the small reader base that have stuck with my little world till now, I¡¯m really grateful that you kept coming back to read a new chapter of Ravenswood whenever it updates. I¡¯ve never had a greater feeling than when I see those red notifications and my follower numbers increase, but I¡¯ve come to say that I¡¯ll be dropping this story.


    The thing is I initially planned for a rewrite to make it of better quality, but after a lot of thinking I just don¡¯t believe it will do well even after the rewrite. It¡¯s a world I love, one I already planned out for at least 3 books, but sadly I won¡¯t be seeing it all the way.


    There¡¯s a saying that authors should write what they love, and I really did write this story because I loved it and the world, but reception also gives me joy, and sadly this story lacks on that reception part. I tried my best to pump out chapters hoping I would reach to the ones who¡¯ll love this world as much as I do, and yes I did reach out to a reader base, but still I just don¡¯t have fun writing this story any longer. I¡¯ve burnt myself out and I struggle to keep both my readers and I entertained.


    Now future plans might have another change, so I might one day come back to complete it and maybe publish it as the actual traditional fantasy it¡¯s meant to be, but that¡¯ll have to wait,


    I¡¯m really glad you read this story and followed me on this journey, it was not a waste. It helped nurture my writing and improve me better and now I can use that experience to make my next story better.


    I hope you forgive me for this, and I hope you join me on the next journey I¡¯m about to embark on. I¡¯ll try my very best not to mess up again.


    Regards, Five.


    Also; down below is everything I¡¯d planned for the story if you¡¯re interested. It¡¯s kind of rough, but it gets the plot point across.


    Plot and ending


    Flynn claymore is a Ravenswood. His mother was Sargon¡¯s sister, she was impregnated by her father one night when he was drunk. Flynn was given to the Claymore family at birth and told them to never let it be known of Flynn¡¯s true heritage. Flynn found out his heritage the night his mother died and he¡¯s trying to destroy the Ravenswood family by taking the throne for himself. Melisandre is working with Flynn. She hated the Ravenswood because she saw Sargon kill her mother the night the hidden witches were trying to escape. His father had ordered the massacre.


    Jon¡¯s father reading a story about kings and transmigration to him and telling him how life is all about adapting to whatever scenario he ends up in.


    Flynn lied to Melisandre about the reason he killed Zephyr. He killed him because he was hurting and wanted to get him out of the way quickly, but when he saw Zephyr back and without his memories, he was happy and at the same time sad that he¡¯ll have to kill him all over again.


    Melisandre¡¯s mother (she could see premonitions once she touches the person) told Sargon about Zephyr before she died. Melisandre was hiding but she was later caught. The premonition she told the king was seen by Melisandre in a dream and it was more vivid than any she¡¯d ever seen. She touched Melisandre while she was sleeping and saw the premonition with her daughter.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Flynn killed Zephyr by poisoning his drinking water stylishly when he came to his room on the day of the coronation. Melisandre resurrected him when she came to deliver milk for his nerves.


    The old Zephyr was the one that killed their father, and on a night he was drunk he told him why he crowned him the prince and he was considering changing his decision and declaring Dante. Zephyr is two-faced


    Zephyr and Jon are linked. Transmigrators can only transmigrate into bodies they have connections with.


    Harry¡¯s father was a lord, but when he is branded as a poacher, he loses all his titles. Lord Varyn Bolton was the one that reported him and that was how he became a lord. It was all a plan set by Ophelia to put Lord Varyn in the council.


    Jon fighting not to lose himself to Zephyr¡¯s rage and madness. And one day in the library the grand savant will tell him to accept the other Zephyr while handing him the diary of the first transmigrator: Morcant. The grand savant found out from the council meetings questions he was asking, the leather tome, and his doubled exhaustion.


    Thalia is Jon¡¯s mother reincarnation. She was devastated when her son died. She trusted him but she was too scared and weak to fight for her son, so she apologized. When she died and reincarnated into Thalia¡¯s body, she chose to be strong this time.


    Audrey was pregnant when the final war was about to begin. Zephyr left for war


    Zephyr is the descendant of a dragon. When his father was a child, during a trip to the north, he had found a dragon and nurtured it in secret. He and Everard¡¯s father were friends and they bonded with the dragon, and named them in norse; they made a pact with the dragon because they couldn¡¯t take them back: ¡°if we don¡¯t come back for you, our children will, I believe they shall be conquerors, so when they come, fly and for them sing your songs of fire.¡± Zephyr and Everard.


    Witches were banished by Aeron the II. The black death happened after Melisandre¡¯s death.


    In the south, the king (from the rebellion side) killed his uncle (Zephyr¡¯s real dad) and took over the throne. They prepared for dragons on the notion that his uncle used to tell them about it.


    Jon¡¯s past: Jon¡¯s father died during his job when he tried to rescue his co-worker from a collapsing building, the owner of the building covered the incident up and didn¡¯t compensate the families for the loss of their loved ones. He always told Jon to help people in need. Jon tried to follow his father¡¯s ways and it caused troubles for his family. His mother had become devastated after his father¡¯s death and their average life turned into one of poverty. But Jon tried to keep smiling during the day and at night he usually bawled his eyes out, until there was no more tears left. He died when trying to rescue people from a burning building he was in.


    Jon (16) rescued a girl from a car hitting her, but he was framed for causing the accident because the person in the car was the son of a high ranking person and his friends, and saying his son caused an accident would tarnish his image.


    Jon had sought answers so much only twice in his life; the second being the death of Zephyr and the first being...


    Damon does during the war of the four kingdoms when he¡¯s captured, and taken to the red snake river to be beheaded.


    Dante, Aria and Ophelia remain while Damon leaves and stirs up war, but in truth Ophelia was plotting. Damon would drag Zephyr out of the castle during war and she would win them the war by upstaging the castle from within. A kingsknight was placed around her to watch her every moves so she had her daughter frequent the garden instead where Damon¡¯s letters came. (More frequent interactions between Aria and Thaddeus) Dante is the one that saved Thaddeus and Thalia¡¯s lives when Aria later summons up the courage to tell him what her mother¡¯s letters bore.


    Lord Bertram helped Damon to kill the savant and his family. The first son escaped, but lost the fingers on his right hand. He joins Damon during war as his meatboy (butcher) while he tries to kill him. The boy had become a silent man.


    Dante finds out about Melisandre¡¯s capture because of the spy he put on Dante.


    The real Zephyr and the grand savant, they both killed Sargon. The grand savant made the poison for Zephyr.


    Olly is the one that rides against Thalia. Olly and Thaddeus¡¯ enmity.


    A girl and Thaddeus will get accustomed and he¡¯ll have to kill her to join the guild. (It was their process)


    Harry¡¯s mother calls him ¡°my little wild boy¡±


    Ser Gale¡¯s words: ¡°If you choose to fight then you must have the will to fight.¡±


    Ser Aaron began saying ¡°M¡¯Grace¡± because of his interaction with a commoner best friend.


    Aria and Brynden. The guard holds a grudge against Aria because he lost his job and his mother died because of it. He was in it for money and he blamed Aria and Ophelia so much he wanted to kill them. He¡¯ll come back to try to assassinate her, Thaddeus is the one that saves her then.


    Aria and Maurin. She did not plead for him when he was about to die in vol 3


    Zephyr killing Dante along with his family before the letter Dante had written for him and kept in his cloak arrived. Dante had written a letter telling him of why he had stabbed him and told Harry not to touch or dispose the cloak hoping Zephyr would see the letter when he woke. But he missed it and went to the north and from the north he went to take back the castle at once. A maid saw the letter later, but before it reached him he had beheaded Dante. It broke Zephyr.


    Sargon was the one that made Crescent moon for Ser Gale.


    Ending: After Zephyr wins the war, Flynn usurps the throne by stabbing him behind his back, then proceeding to raid the kingdom and prove his claim to the throne (50-100 survived the war, Roland and Thaddeus, and the rest were claymores). Audrey was giving birth to their 4th child during this period; Zephyr dying as his child was born.


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    Crest of Souls is my newest story, and you can find it below or above in both author¡¯s notes! Thank you