Yi Ti, Essos
Yi Ti, the land of a thousand gods and a hundred princes, ruled by one god-emperor, was huge. The power of the God-Emperor had since fallen and extended no further than the walls of his own city, but the hundred princes ruled their own realms as they saw fit, as did the brigands, priest-kings, sorcerers, warlords, imperial generals, and tax collectors outside their domains. The land of Yi Ti had thick, green patchwork farmland and a verdant rainforest.
But for all the things he saw about Yi Ti, Aryan can describe it in five words: Ancient China without Kung Fu. The slanted eyes and lithe bodies, the pagoda-like architecture, and the dressing style all reminded him of that. It was times like these that he realized the importance of Marwyn accompanying him. The man not only had great knowledge of the city and its history, but he was also fluent in the language. Without him, Aryan would have been lost.
He remembered Marwyn saying, "Over the centuries, the capital of the Golden Empire has moved here and there and back again a score of times, as rival warlords contended and dynasties rose and fell. The grey emperors, indigo emperors, and pearl-white emperors ruled from Yin on the shores of the Jade Sea, first and most glorious of the Yi Tish cities, but the scarlet emperors raised up a new city in the heart of the jungle and named it Si Qo the Glorious, whilst the purple emperors preferred Tiqui, the many-towered city in the western hills, and the maroon emperors kept their martial court in Jinqi, the better to guard the frontiers of the empire against reavers from the Shadow Lands.
Today Yin is once more the capital of Yi Ti. There, the seventeenth azure emperor, Bu Gai, sits in splendor in a palace larger than all of King's Landing. Yet far to the east, well beyond the borders of the Golden Empire proper, past the legendary Mountains of the Morn, in the city of Carcosa on the Hidden Sea, dwells in exile a sorcerer-lord who claims to be the sixty-ninth yellow emperor, from a dynasty fallen for a thousand years. And more recently, a general named Pol Qo, Hammer of the Jogos Nhai, has given himself imperial honors, naming himself the first of the orange emperors, with the rude, sprawling garrison city called Trader Town as his capital. Which of these three emperors will prevail is a question best left for the historians of the years to come."
The city of Yin was humongous. It could easily engulf all the cities in Westeros and still have space left over. Even though different factions ruled Yi Ti, it was currently a peaceful time. Though Yi Ti was a vast land, much of it covered by dense forests and sweltering jungles, travel from one end of the empire to the other was swift and safe, for the great web of stone roads built by the Eunuch Emperors of old had no equal in all the world—save for the dragonroads of the Valyrians, for now. In the coming years, Aryan planned to build an even better network for the North.
They had been in Yi Ti for almost two weeks, the enormous city taking up most of their time. Marwyn and Kinvara were off, on their own, roaming around, doing their thing. Aryan had not been idle. He had taken the guise of Harry Potter, a rich merchant from Westeros, and was able to meet some of the princes of Yi Ti, striking deals with them. He also procured vast amounts of silk and saffron.
Another important thing was the zorses. He had visited the dry grasslands of the Jogos Nhai at the eastern outskirts of Yi Ti. There, he saw the black-and-white striped, sturdy creatures—larger than the zebras of his old world. If these zorses could be bred properly, we could have a new breed of horses, useful in winter when vegetation is scarce. Fortunately, a Northern trading ship was docked in Yi Ti. He had 'procured' some zorses and 'convinced' the crew to transport them back to Wolfbay.
Right now, Aryan and Marwyn were standing in Yin, outside the God-Emperor's palace, waiting for Kinvara. They were planning to go to Asshai. A large statue stood before him, depicting a warrior with a sword.
"Do you know who the statue represents?" Marwyn asked.
"Perhaps one of the God-Emperors of Yi Ti," Aryan guessed.
Marwyn shook his head. "No. This is the statue of Hyrkoon the Hero."
"I am not familiar with this figure," Aryan remarked.
Marwyn smiled and said, "I have just visited a few scholars here, and they told me the story. You are going to like it.
You know, a hundred princes rule their own realms as they please, as do the brigands, priest-kings, sorcerers, warlords, and imperial generals outside their domains. But this was not always so. In ancient days, the god-emperors of Yi Ti were as powerful as any ruler on earth, with wealth exceeding even that of Valyria at its height, and armies of almost unimaginable size.
In the beginning, the priestly scribes of Yin declare, all the land between the Bones and the freezing desert called the Grey Waste, from the Shivering Sea to the Jade Sea, formed a single realm ruled by the God-on-Earth, the only begotten son of the Lion of Night and the Maiden-Made-of-Light, who traveled about his domains in a palanquin carved from a single pearl and carried by a hundred queens, his wives. For ten thousand years, the Great Empire of the Dawn flourished in peace and plenty under the God-on-Earth, until at last he ascended to the stars to join his ancestor.
Dominion over mankind then passed to his eldest son, the Pearl Emperor, who ruled for a thousand years. The Jade Emperor, the Tourmaline Emperor, the Onyx Emperor, the Topaz Emperor, and the Opal Emperor followed in turn, each reigning for centuries. Yet every reign was shorter and more troubled than the one preceding it, for wild men and baleful beasts pressed at the borders of the Great Empire, lesser kings grew prideful and rebellious, and the common people gave themselves over to avarice, envy, lust, murder, incest, gluttony, and sloth.
When the daughter of the Opal Emperor succeeded him as the Amethyst Empress, her envious younger brother cast her down and slew her, proclaiming himself the Bloodstone Emperor and beginning a reign of terror. He practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky.
It was the Blood Betrayal, as his usurpation is named, that ushered in the age of darkness called the Long Night. Despairing of the evil that had been unleashed upon the earth, the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back upon the world, and the Lion of Night came forth in his wrath to punish the wickedness of men. How long the darkness endured, no man can say. But all agree that it was only when a great warrior—known variously as Hyrkoon the Hero, Azor Ahai, Yin Tar, Neferion, and Eldric Shadowchaser—arose to give courage to the race of men, and led the virtuous into battle with his blazing sword, Lightbringer, that the darkness was put to rout and light and love returned once more to the world."
"Very nice story. Perhaps you should write a book about the legends of the world. I know the maesters of the Citadel are devoted to knowledge, but stories like these—combining history with fiction could be used to teach children," Aryan suggested.
Marwyn looked at him, thinking. "I think you are right. I will see to it once we are back."
Aryan nodded, musing, Sirius would be proud of these legends. He had pranked the whole Planetos, the true Marauder. Even after thousands of years, people still remember him.
As the sun began to set, Aryan said, "There comes Kinvara. It's time to go to Asshai."
Asshai, Essos
"The city truly lives up to its name, Asshai-by-the-Shadow," Aryan said, looking around.
They had come following the Jade Sea till it met the Saffron Straits. There stood the ancient city of Asshai. They had landed and explored the city. Asshai sprawled for leagues across both sides of the river Ash, and its great walls could easily contain Volantis, Qarth, King's Landing, and Oldtown combined. The population of Asshai, however, was no more than that of a good-sized market town. Even at the height of day, there were no crowds to be seen, no tradesmen shouting their wares in noisy markets, no women gossiping. Those who walked the streets of Asshai were masked and veiled, and had a furtive air about them. Often they walked alone, or rode in palanquins of ebony and iron, hidden behind dark curtains and borne through the dark streets upon the backs of slaves. By night, only one building in ten showed a light. The river Ash itself was black in color and foul.
"I just noticed one thing. Since we arrived, I haven't seen a single child here," Aryan told Marwyn.
"That is because there are no children here. If you had looked carefully, you will also see that no man rides in Asshai, be he warrior, merchant, or prince. There are no horses in Asshai, no elephants, no mules, no donkeys, no zorses, no camels, no dogs," Marwyn told him.
Aryan looked around and confirmed what Marwyn said. Marwyn explained, "I spent a few years here. The animals brought here by ship soon die. It is due to the malign influence of the Ash and its polluted waters. The animals are more sensitive to the foulness exuded by such waters, even without drinking them. On its way from the Mountains of the Morn to the sea, the Ash runs howling through a narrow cleft in the mountains, between towering cliffs so steep and close that the river is perpetually in shadow, save for a few moments at midday when the sun is at its zenith. No river is naturally so foul. Something must have happened or is happening to turn a whole river into such foulness."
"Other than the North, this is the only place I have come across that is brimming with magic. I will definitely revisit this place at a more convenient time. There cannot be anything more than this," Aryan said, looking at Marwyn.
"Actually, there is. Stygai, the city of corpses." He raised his hands as Aryan opened his mouth. "Don't ask me anything more than that because I don't know. It is only spoken in whispers," Marwyn said, leading on.
"There is one more rumor about Stygai. That twisted creatures like demons and dragons live there. My Lord, when it comes to Stygai, no one knows what is the truth, what is a lie. Even the shadowbinders of Asshai who dare to travel up the Ash, even they fear to tread before the doors of Stygai," Kinvara said.
Aryan shook his head, "An even better reason to come back."
They started to roam through the market. This was the first time he was seeing a market with very few customers. Even less than those in Knockturn Alley of the wizarding world. Disgusting goods for a normal human, but very essential for the necromancers and sorcerers of Asshai. They saw a small temple of R'hllor at some distance. Aryan and Kinvara started to walk towards it, when Marwyn was busy taking his time interacting with the vendors.
The woman was seated before the temple, a red shroud concealing most of her figure. As Aryan and Kinvara walked past, her voice called out, "R'hllor has shown me of your arrival, Azor Ahai."
Aryan sighed in frustration, turning his head toward her. "Is he going to show me to every Red Priest and Priestess?"
"Only to those whom he believes can aid you." The woman's voice softened, and she raised her veil, revealing a stunningly beautiful face framed by fiery red hair. She was beautiful, and may have stirred desire in any other man. But Aryan felt an illusion hiding her true form.
"Reveal yourself," Aryan said.
"As you command, Azor Ahai." With those words, the woman slowly removed her choker. Almost immediately, her youthful beauty began to deteriorate. Her once-glamorous face aged rapidly, and the once-curvaceous form shriveled into the frail and bent shape of an old crone.
"I am Melisandre," she said, her voice still carrying an air of reverence. "I am to serve you—body, mind, and soul."
Aryan said "Wear your choker."
"As you command, Azor Ahai," she said, placing the choker back around her neck. The illusion returned as she regained her youthful appearance.
"Is there a place where we won't be disturbed?" Aryan asked, his gaze flicking around the surroundings.
"We can go in the temple," Melisandre replied.
Aryan and Kinvara followed her into the temple. Inside, Aryan immediately created a ward, ensuring they wouldn't be interrupted by any unwanted presence.
Aryan sat down on a stone bench and gestured for Melisandre and Kinvara to do the same.
"Tell me of your visions, Melisandre" Aryan said.
Melisandre took a breath and began "At first, I saw a man on a ship in the dead of night. He led men into battle—a warrior, but not one I believed to be Azor Ahai. He seemed... ordinary. Yet I was puzzled, for R'hllor had shown him to me. I could not understand why. He was ordinary. But then, I saw you. In the vision, you stood on a barren, icy wasteland, fighting the Great Others with a flaming sword in one hand and fire from your other. It was unmistakable—you are the Azor Ahai of prophecy. I felt your power even through the vision. I would have sought you but in my visions I saw that you would be coming here, so I stayed. And when I am sitting in front of you, I can feel your power. You were the one, whose birth I felt all those years ago."
Aryan leaned back slightly. After a moment, he spoke. "When Kinvara approached me in Volantis... I was hesitated to let her follow me. A foreign faith... there would be few people who will grumble about her presence in the North. But in the end, I said I will deal with them. If she can help me in my war, and wants to be there, then I would have her by my side. The same applies to you. You wish to aid me, and I will have you, Melisandre. If you seek to follow me, then follow."
Melisandre's eyes gleamed with fervor "I will follow you, Azor Ahai. No matter the cost."
Aryan's gaze turned to Kinvara then. "Kinvara has already told me of her talents—fire magic, blood magic, sacrificial rituals, illusions, healing, and of course, her visions. What about you?"
Melisandre said. "I, too, am proficient in fire magic, blood magic, sacrificial rituals, illusions, healing, I receive visions of future—and I am also a shadowbinder."
A flicker of interest crossed Aryan's face at the mention of shadowbinding. "Shadowbinding, you say? That will prove useful. And Melisandre, from now on, call me Lord Stark or My Lord."
"As you command, Lord Stark," she responded without hesitation.
Aryan remained silent for a long while, lost in thought. After a few moments, he spoke again. "You mentioned that man you saw in your vision. Do you still remember his face?"
"Yes, my Lord, I remember it clearly," Melisandre answered.
Aryan said. "I'm curious about this man. I'm going to use Legilimency on you to see that man. Relax. This won't take long. Legilimency" Aryan extended his wand toward her.
He took a deep breath after he stopped legilimency "You saw Stannis Baratheon."
Aryan was already lost in thought. "Kinvara, bring Marwyn here."
Kinvara disappeared and soon returned with the old Grandmaester. They found Aryan staring at the opposite wall, his eyes cold and calculating. They didn't know whether they should disturb him or not, but after a while Aryan finally spoke again.
"Kinvara, Melisandre," he said "If you are to aid me in my war, know this: Yes, I will fight the Night King. I will end him. But I have other scores to settle too. What I want to know from you both is—will you aid me against those enemies too?"
Without hesitation, Melisandre replied, "My Lord, I will serve you with mind, body, and soul. It doesn't matter if it's the Great Others or any other enemies. I will stand with you."
Kinvara, echoed her words, "My Lord, I will serve you in your journey, with mind, body, and soul. It doesn't matter who the enemy is. I will fight for you."
Aryan's gaze shifted again to the wall, "Good," he said after a long pause. "There is something you both need to understand. A war will break out in Westeros after King Robert Baratheon dies. That is when I will settle my big scores. And I will need you both by my side in that war."
He turned to Melisandre again. "Can you manipulate a man and his actions for a long period of time?"
Melisandre nodded confidently. "Yes, my Lord. It may take time and effort, but I can manipulate even the strongest-willed men."
"Excellent," Aryan smiled and said,"I will give you a communication mirror, one that will allow us to speak without delay. I will have you dropped in Braavos. There is a Red Temple there where you can stay. If you require gold for anything then you will get that. I'll contact you from the North. You will follow my instructions. When you need to speak with me, you can reach out. Your target will be Stannis Baratheon. I will give you all the information I have on him. Dig deeper on your own. I will tell you when to begin. And then, when the task is complete, you will join me in the North."
Kingslanding, The Crownlands
"What you said is right. The Faith is above all. I will think on what you have said," the High Septon bumbled.
"That's all I ask, your holiness," Petyr Baelish replied smoothly, bowing low with a smile on his face.
The High Septon nodded absently, his fleshy form rippling beneath his robes, before shuffling toward the door and out of the room. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, the sour odor of the High Septon still lingering in the room. Baelish wrinkled his nose. A whore slipped through the door just as the High Septon left.
"Open all the windows, my dear," Baelish ordered "It's suffocating in here."
The High Septon had been nudged in the right direction. The rest was a matter of patience. The Faith would come to his side, as soon as the time was ripe.
As the window flew open and a cool breeze swept through the room, Baelish turned his thoughts inward. The Queen and the Hand have gone back to their little games, he mused. Let them forget me for a while. Let them focus on their own petty affairs.
A slight smirk curled on his lips. For now, I'll wait. But soon enough, my moment will come.
His thoughts turned to the north. Eddard Cailstark was coming to King's Landing. The Stark family had been left alone, growing in power and wealth. But that was about to change. Now Aryan Stark was not here to guide his family, the rest of them would be vulnerable. The "Quiet Wolf" would fall.
No more waiting, Baelish thought, his hand tightening around the edge of the chair. The lone wolf dies.
The pieces were falling into place. Contacts were being made, deals were being brokered. Lysa was the most important—his most valuable pawn. At first, it was only sweet words and empty flattery. And soon, Lysa became a puppet, a means of gaining a foothold in the Vale. Petyr had never wanted the Iron Throne, but he understood something most others didn't: it wasn't the throne that held power—it was the one who controls the throne's occupant. And Petyr would be that Kingmaker.
For now, though, King Robert was busy with his tournament, siphoning funds for his own amusement. But Petyr had other things to deal with. One of his contacts—a sailor involved in the dealings of the overseas trade had arrived with news.
Petyr looked up from his ledgers "What of the task I gave you?"
The sailor shrugged nonchalantly, "Nothing worthwhile yet, my lord."
Petyr's eyes narrowed. "Explain that."
The man paused and began to speak. "The Sorrowful Men have made several attempts to kill him, but they haven't succeeded. They say the Bloody Wolf is still alive."
Petyr stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Are you telling me that the Sorrowful Men have failed? After everything I've paid them? The Bloody Wolf is still alive?"
"They say he's still breathing, my lord," the man answered.
Petyr felt his temper flare, but he reined it in with practiced ease. "And you're telling me that the contract is still intact?"
The sailor hesitated, "There's been a complication."
Petyr asked "Complication?" he repeated. "Explain it."
"The Sorrowful Men are no more," the man said flatly, and for a moment, Petyr's blood ran cold. "They've been destroyed. The whole guild's gone. The contract is void."
He could feel his anger rising, but he stayed calm "What do you mean... 'destroyed'?"
"From what I've heard," the man continued, "there was a fire. The whole place burned down. The Warlocks and their House of Undying, they're all gone now. It's all gone."
Who could have done that?
He leaned forward and asked. "Who did this?"
"The talk across Qarth is that it was a fight between the assassins and the Warlocks. They say they killed each other. "
Petyr closed his eyes, breathing deeply, then exhaled slowly. Focus, he told himself. There are always other options. Always another way.
"Please," Petyr said, "Leave me."
The man frowned, "But the payment…"
"You failed the task," Petyr said
"But—" The man stepped forward, threateningly.
Petyr raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry, Sorrowful Men failed. Not you. So you will receive your payment." He rang a bell near his desk, and within moments, Lother Brune entered.
"Yes, my lord?" Lother asked.
"This man is asking for his payment," Petyr said, his eyes narrowing. "Give him what he's owed."
Petyr said "Go with him. He is my treasurer"
The doors closed behind them.
"Damn you, Stark!" he screamed
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Varys walked through the streets of King's Landing, blending in once again as a city guard. His mind was preoccupied with the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms—especially those concerning Dorne, the Reach, and, of course of King's Landing.
Dorne remained as silent as ever. Except the unannounced betrothal between Princess Arianne Martell and Lord Aryan Stark. Varys found this quiet development favorable for the realm.
The Reach, on the other hand, was in turmoil. Their deal with the North had been struck, but Varys doubted it would bring benefits for the Reach in the long run. The North would buy at cheaper rates, and though it would help alleviate some issues in the short term, it would do little to resolve the discontent among the Reach's lords. Mace Tyrell's leadership had proven ineffective, and Olenna Tyrell's attempts to shore up Tyrell supremacy with strategic marriages would, in Varys's estimation, be nothing more than a temporary fix. More than Lords, it was the smallfolk suffering.
The Stormlands, the Riverlands, and the Vale were quiet. Renly Baratheon, predictably, had been absent from King's Landing, spending his time with his lover, Loras Tyrell. The Iron Islands, though silent for the moment, were ever a threat. Rodrick Harlaw might try his best to hold them in check, but Varys knew the ironborn would strike when least expected.
The Westerlands, though stood as strong as ever, felt hollow to Varys. There was something underneath their power that didn't sit right with him. He would keep an eye on that.
But it was the North, as ever, that spoke through action. Even though Aryan Stark had been away, reports came from the North of road construction and continued development. And now with Roose Bolton's death, the Starks rule supreme.
Varys's thoughts turned to King's Landing, the center of the web he had spun over the years. Robert Baratheon remained useless as ever. Jon Arryn, poor fool, struggled to maintain control over the Seven Kingdoms, but even his best efforts couldn't prevent the cracks. The queen has been screwing her brother for who knows for how long. And of course the royal children—bastards of Queen's brother, all of them. And Varys knew he would soon need to figure out how, and when to use this information.
As Varys passed the Great Sept, he noticed an unusual number of devout followers gathering outside. For weeks, the faithful had been flocking there in greater numbers, though none seemed willing to speak openly. Varys had tried, and failed, to gather any solid information. There was something afoot, and though he didn't yet know what, his instincts told him it was something important. He would find out.
He made his way to the docks. A ship from Pentos had docked, and he approached the sailors. "Prepare to be boarded. I am here to inspect the ship."
A ladder was lowered, and Varys ascended. He was led to a small room, and inside, Illyrio Mopatis. The two men share a history—though they had their differences, Varys knew Illyrio's value.
"I thought we agreed to no more meetings like this?" Varys said, raising an eyebrow.
Illyrio greeted him with a smile. "Relax, my friend. We are safe here."
Varys took a seat opposite Illyrio. "Why the visit? What's so pressing?"
Illyrio smiled, though it was more tired than usual. He poured a glass of wine for himself and offered it to Varys. "Things across the Narrow Sea have gotten completely out of hand. So many developments, and I grew tired of it all. I needed a break. So I just came to meet my friend."
Varys' expression became soft.
Qohor, Essos
Qohor, also known as the City of Sorcerers, the easternmost of the nine Free Cities located in western Essos standing on the banks of the river Qhoyne, a tributary of the Rhoyne, on the western edge of the Forest of Qohor, the city was seen as a gateway to the east.
"I have heard about a Maester Pol who was whipped on three occasions when looking into the matter of reworking the steel. He eventually had a hand removed and was exiled. Qohorik believe in a dark god, the Black Goat of Qohor, who demands a daily blood sacrifice, such as calves, bullocks and horses on regular days or condemned criminals on holy days. In times of crisis, the nobles of the city are willing to sacrifice their own children in the hopes that their god will defend the city. The dark arts, such as divination, blood magic, and necromancy, are believed to be practiced in the City of Sorcerers. But unfortunately I have never found any truth in that," Marwyn said.
"You will not find true magic anywhere else other than in Asshai, select few followers of R'hllor, few scattered shadowbinders and My Lord," Melisandre said.
Aryan had found that both Kinvara and Melisandre were fanatic but loyal to him. So he had made them both take a binding vow to not use any of their sorcery or religious rituals without his express permission, to which they had agreed.
"Melisandre is right, Marwyn. I cannot sense any magic here. And Melisandre, add Children of the Forest to that list," Aryan said.
They continued to walk around. "I had another important reason to come here. Qohor's blacksmiths are said to have knowledge to rework Valyrian steel. And I have some work for them. Now how to find them? They are said to be hidden," Aryan said, looking around.
"Leave that to us, My Lord. There are followers of R'hllor here. We will ask them," Kinvara said and walked towards the temple, swaying her hips more than usual.
She has been teasing me ever since we met in Volantis. I am going to take her tonight Aryan thought.
As they waited, Aryan said, "After seeing the city guards here, I was reminded of the story you told me. You must add the story of 'The Three Thousand of Qohor' in the storybook you are going to write."
Melisandre then returned with the required information. She started to lead the way. Soon they reached a desolated neighborhood. The street looked rather empty with dilapidated buildings.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Aryan asked. "The blacksmiths of Qohor are supposed to be rich, especially if he knows the art of working Valyrian steel."
"This man has been recommended to me by the loyal followers of R'hllor here, My Lord," Melisandre said. Soon they reached a door, and she knocked.
After some time, the door was opened, and a gaunt man poked out his head. Melisandre talked to him. The man scrutinized all three of them and then reluctantly allowed them inside.
Inside, he saw a woman whom he perceived as the blacksmith's wife and their children. Aryan looked around. The house had minimal decorations, but there were signs that showed that the inhabitants followed R'hllor. So he asked him the question that he just wondered.
The man looked at his wife and sighed. Melisandre gave him an encouraging look. "My Lord will take care of all your problems."
He introduced himself, "My name is Boris Mott."
"Does the name Tobos Mott mean anything to you?" Aryan asked.
Boris's mouth twisted in distaste, and he spat. "He is my half-brother."
"Bad history. Please continue. I apologize for the interruption," Aryan said.
"My father was the leader of the guild. Like him, I too was the leader of the Blacksmiths guild of Qohor. My mother was just a common woman. But Tobos' mother was related to a noble family. The working of Valyrian Steel is a strictly guarded secret among us. But Tobos had a rich Pentosi friend. He was caught teaching his friend a few of the forbidden secrets. A trial was conducted. But unfortunately for me, since he was well connected due to his mother's family, the whole trial was rigged and by bribing a few of my rivals, they turned the trial onto me. So I became the traitor and was stripped of my status, my money, and everything," Boris lamented.
"And Tobos somehow left for Westeros and became a famous blacksmith there," Aryan finished for him.
Boris nodded. "Since then I have been thrown out of the guild, my home, and now have to settle in this hellhole and struggle to feed my family."
A man betrayed by society. Perhaps I can have my own Qohorik blacksmith at Winterfell he thought. Aryan then took a Valyrian Steel ingot from his pocket and gave it to him. "I want you to make a sword with this." He then gave him the specifications for a rapier. "Impress me. I will give you a new life. You will not have to struggle anymore."
The man looked at him doubtfully. Again, Melisandre encouraged him, "R'hllor will protect you. Complete My Lord's task."
He then took the ingot and went inside, his eldest two sons following him.
"I will come by evening," Aryan said and went out with Marwyn.
____________________________________________________________________
The sun had come down just as Aryan knocked on the blacksmith's door. His wife opened the door and welcomed them.
Boris was there talking to Kinvara. On seeing the guests, he immediately got up and showed him his work. The rapier was very well balanced with a greenish sheen to it. 'The famous color infusion of Qohor,' Aryan mused.
"This is a beautiful work," Aryan congratulated him.
"Thank you, My Lord. If I don't mind asking, what kind of sword is this? I have never seen or made such one. This is a very light sword."
"Oh, this is a gift for my cousin. Her name is Arya. This kind of sword is called a rapier for those who have a light build and is useful for speed," he explained. Then he gave Boris a small diamond. The man's eyes widened.
Aryan said, "I am impressed. Now I want you to do one more thing."
He then took Frostbite from its sheath and laid it down in front of them. He then placed a pouch in front of him, as well as dragonbone.
"Are you going to have him reforge your sword?" Marwyn asked.
"Yes. I thought Frostbite can get a new look," Aryan told Marwyn. Then he turned to Boris. "I want you to reforge this longsword. This pouch contains Blue Sapphire dust. Infuse the sword with it. And change the hilt into a dragonbone one. Can you do it?"
The Sapphire dust was infused with magic. Once completed, the sword would repel everything. Also, it would be set permanently and could not be reforged. He was very much interested in getting Frostbite colored since he saw the red blade of Red Rain. So he was going to reforge Frostbite into a blue-colored sword.
Boris started to examine the things laid out before him. "It can be done. But it will take a few days."
"Of course. I will be back by then," Aryan told him and went out with Marwyn, telling Kinvara to stay with the blacksmith family.
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Boris kept his word. The new version of Frostbite was lying before them. The blade had an overall blue sheen, and the Sapphire crystals infused on its surface glowed when it reflected the sunlight. Aryan then took Frostbite and gave it a few good swings.
"Perfect," he said. "I am pleased with your work. I am Aryan Stark from Westeros. I can offer you everything that was taken from you."
Boris had a doubtful look, which was shared by his family. They started to speak to each other.
"My Lord is a powerful man from Westeros. Accept his help. R'hllor is giving you his blessings," Kinvara added.
'The red god has his use outside Westeros,' Aryan mused. "I can offer you a good house and enough work at Winterfell. You can work for me. And there is always enough work. You and your family will never go hungry. In time you can get back your status."
"I will accept your offer, My Lord," Boris said.
"Excellent," Aryan announced. Then he gave Boris a large pouch and a scroll. "Here is the payment for your work. And take this scroll. Find a ship bound to the North and show the captain the scroll. He will then take care of you."
Boris gratefully took the two items. Aryan then did not bother to waste any more time. So saying quick goodbyes to Boris and his family, they began their journey to Norvos.
Norvos, Essos
The Free City of Norvos stood upon the eastern banks of the river Noyne, one of the largest of the tributaries of the Rhoyne, surrounded by rugged limestone hills and dense, dark forests of oak and pine and beech.
It was night-time with moonlight and stars. The three travelers were observing the city from above.
"The ancient nobility of Norvos lives in the upper city, the high city, ringed about by mighty stone walls, looms above high, stony bluffs, dominated by the great fortress-temple of the bearded priests; the poor huddle below amongst the wharves, brothels, and beer halls that line the riverfront. The two parts of the city are joined only by a massive stone stair, called the Sinner's Steps. Close by the city walls, the Norvosi work the land on the terraced farms. Farther out, men gather behind stout timber palisades in holdfasts and walled villages. The streams here are swift-running and stony, and caverns honeycomb the endless hills." Marwyn gave him a short explanation.
"This is the only city in the known world which is ruled by Theocracy in the name of religion. The Free City of Norvos was originally founded by religious dissidents from Valyria. From the founding to the present, Norvos has been a theocracy, ruled by its bearded priests, who are themselves ruled by their god, who speaks his commands to them from the depths of their fortress-temple, which only true believers may enter and live. Though the city has a council of magisters, its members are selected by the god, speaking through his priests. To enforce obedience and keep the peace, the bearded priests keep a holy guard of slave soldiers, fierce fighters who bear the brand of a double-bladed axe upon their breasts and ritually marry the longaxes they fight with." Kinvara told them in distaste, which she and Melisandre extend to any other religion.
I have to deal with this He mused.
"How are you going to find Mellario? On second thought, how are you going to convince her to go back without revealing yourself? And what will you say to Princess Arianne?" Marwyn asked.
"Arianne had told me that Mellario comes from a noble family. So she must be in the Upper City. And leave Arianne to me. I will think of something to tell her." Aryan said as he lowered the carpet towards the city.
"Now what, My Lord?" Kinvara asked when they stopped.
"Point me Mellario," Aryan whispered. Immediately his wand pointed towards their right. "Guess we found my future goodmother."
He sped the flying carpet towards a large mansion. He positioned the carpet in shadows with a Notice-Me-Not charm. "Stay here. I will return quickly."
Casting a Disillusionment charm on himself and using the Point Me charm, he started searching for Mellario. He didn't have to search far. He reached a room where a lady was sleeping. One look at her face, and Aryan knew this was Mellario due to her resemblance to Arianne. He started to look around the room. There were many candles and incense here and there.
A religious lady. Perhaps I can use this to my advantage he concluded.
He proceeded to fill the room with magically conjured smoke. He cast a silence ward around the room. Then he went and sat down on the dais, which was full of candles, such that his face was shrouded in darkness but made sure that his eyes were glowing. Then he cast a sobering charm on the sleeping Mellario.
Mellario slowly opened her eyes due to the sudden lack of sleep. She groggily wiped her eyes and started to look around the room. Then, seeing a figure sitting on the dais, she became alert and asked, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My dear, is that how you address your god?" Aryan asked in a magically amplified voice. To Mellario, the voice seemed to be coming from every side.
That surprised her. 'God is here.' While she was a very religious person who followed the Norvosi gods, she was still very suspicious. "I did not know gods revealed themselves to the devout like me. I thought only the priests saw gods."
"My dear child, God looks out for everyone. I am known across Planetos by many names, but you are seeing me in my Norvosi aspect," Aryan told her.
Somewhat convinced, Mellario suddenly kneeled before him and prayed, "Bless me with your grace, My Lord. What can I do for you?"
"My child, I am here for you. A grieving mother who is unable to meet her children. Don't you wish to see your children?" Aryan told her in a soothing tone.
Mellario bowed her head, remembering her past.
Accompanied by her guardsman, Areo Hotah, she met Prince Doran Martell when he was visiting Norvos. Doran caught her eye during a festival, where the three bells of Norvos were ringing and the bears were dancing. When Doran returned to Dorne, Mellario went with him, escorted by Areo Hotah. Soon, they got married, and their first child, Princess Arianne, was born. Two more children would follow: Prince Quentyn and Prince Trystane.
Despite the fact that Mellario and Doran had married for love, it was not a good marriage. Mellario and Doran spent their time arguing with each other. The customs in Dorne were much different from those in Norvos, including the fostering away of children. When Doran sent their eldest son, Quentyn, to be fostered by Lord Anders Yronwood, Mellario heavily protested. Norvosi didn't foster out their children, and Mellario believed her son to be too young. Doran sent Quentyn away regardless, and Mellario never forgave him. When Doran planned to send their daughter, Arianne, to Tyrosh, to serve as the Archon's cupbearer, Mellario threatened to harm herself should Doran steal another one of her children. This time, Doran relented, and Arianne remained in Dorne.
Despite this, however, the issues in their marriage were still unresolved. Since divorce in Westeros is uncommon, Mellario eventually returned to Norvos.
There was some bitterness in Mellario about this, as Doran was the Prince of Dorne, which enabled his children to stay with him, while she had to leave them behind.
"Every day, My Lord. No day passes that I do not wish my children were near me. To hold them and to love them. But I am helpless," she begged.
"I know why you left your children with your husband. You believed it was the only choice left to you, that your presence would do more harm than good. But tell me, my child—what has it truly achieved?" Aryan's low voice echoed through the chamber "Did your children grow up happier without you? Did your absence protect them from sorrow, from the burdens placed upon them?"
Mellario clenched her hands in her lap.
"You tell yourself you had no choice. But deep in your heart, you know the truth. You abandoned them to a fate you could not bear to watch. And now, the time has come again. Your daughter is going to start a new journey. Arianne is betrothed. She is to marry Aryan Stark, soon to leave Dorne for the North. A foreign land, unfamiliar customs. Just as you once left Norvos for Dorne."
Mellario gasped.
"Will you fail her as well?" Aryan pressed "Will you watch from afar, helpless, as she faces the trials of marriage, of ruling, of leaving behind the only home she has ever known?"
Tears came in Mellario's eyes. "Doran holds all the power in Dorne," she whispered, "I was nothing but his wife. If I return—"
Aryan's eyes glowed. His voice was closer to a command.
"Your daughter does not needs wife of Doran Martell. She needs her mother. A mother who will stand by her side, guide her, shield her from the mistakes you made. A mother who will fight for her children rather than leaving them." His words were shaking Mellario to her core. "The time for doubt is over. Choose now. Your children? Or your problems with your husband?"
Aryan lowered his voice to a whisper. "Make your choice, Mellario of Norvos."
Then, without another word, he lifted his wand. Finite Incantatem
The swirling smoke vanished, the eerie glow in the room faded, and Aryan was gone.
Mellario blinked, disoriented. The chamber was empty once more, but the words stayed. She sat motionless for a long time, staring at the flickering candlelight. Thinking about her actions. Then, slowly, her trembling fingers curled into fists, and her eyes hardened.
She had made her choice.