Chapter 6: Secrets
As Legio made his request for a vial of Arya's blood, Lord Stark's expression darkened, his brows furrowing in anger. Before he could voice his outrage, Legio held up a hand and spoke quickly.
"My lord, I understand this request may seem unusual, but it is genuine and purely for scholarly purposes," Legio explained, his tone calm and measured. "I am studying bloodlines and heredity, and your daughter Arya's blood could provide valuable insights for my research."
Despite Legio's explanation, Lord Stark remained visibly angry. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Legio with a mix of different kinds of hostility.
Legio sighed softly, his expression unchanged. "I understand your concerns, my lord. But I assure you, my intentions are purely scholarly."
With that, Legio rose from his seat and bowed slightly to Lord Stark. "I'll be around the crossroads until this tourney is over should you change your mind about my offer to serve as Hand's guard. Until then, farewell, Lord Stark."
Without waiting for a response, Legio turned and strode away, leaving a clean plate of custard and Lord Stark to stew in his anger. Despite his reservations, Lord Stark couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Legio's request than met the eye.
As the evening wore on, whispers began to circulate among the attendees of the tourney feast regarding the outcome of the duel between Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy. Some speculated that Barristan had intentionally thrown the match, while others questioned whether Jaime's victory was truly deserved.
It wasn't until later, when the practice swords used in the duel were inspected, that a startling discovery was made. Barristan Selmy's sword was found to be unbalanced, its weight unevenly distributed along the blade. This imbalance could have potentially affected the speed and accuracy of Barristan's strikes, putting him at a disadvantage during the duel.
Despite this revelation, Barristan remained silent on the matter, refusing to make any excuses or lodge any complaints. He accepted Jaime's victory gracefully, choosing not to contest the outcome of the duel.
Lord Stark, upon learning of the imbalance in Barristan's sword, couldn't help but wonder if Legio had been aware of this detail. His mind raced with questions, contemplating the hunter's seemingly prophetic words and whether Legio's insight had extended to the flaws in Barristan's equipment.
Away from all this, away from the feast with music, shouting, and thinking, Legio broke into a fit of laughter, his mind still reeling from the evening's events. He walked alone under the moonlight, finding solace in its serene glow. Chuckling to himself, he looked up at the moon, feeling a sense of familiarity wash over him.
Legio blinked and another him stood in front of him, like his reflection but this one wasn't dressed in the rough garb of a hunter but the uniform of a refined Byrgenwerth Student. In truth, it was just a figment of his imagination and a part of his persona that shattered during his ascension. One of many this was called the Rationalist.
"What's the point of all this dilly-dallying? Just take the girl's blood. After all, what can they do to stop me?" Rationalist said.
Legio was going to open his mouth to explain but another part of his psyche broke out and took position between them.
Dressed in red, black and white with streaks of gold lining and a ponytail of silver hair, this was the Dramatist.
"Because we aren't doing it for the blood we are doing it for the fun of it. To relish in the journey and not the destination is what gives meaning to it," the Dramatist said.
"Sounds like an excuse for the foolishness. Let's accelerate to the destination shall we?" Rationalist retorted.
"AND THE FINAL DESTINATION OF ALL LIFE IS DEATH! YOU MISERABLE PASSIONLESS MACHINE OF A MAN!"
"You are bark like a blood-starved dog!"
Legio, for the rest of the night, watched those two argue, and accompanying him standing beside was another split part. A figure cloaked and wearing the Crown of Illusions on his head, this was the Artist.
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The cataclysmic event known as the Doom of Valryia took the greatest civilisation known in minutes. But the rest of Essos wasn't so lucky, out of these chaotic times swarmed the nomadic horse-riding tribes known as the Dothraki, and with no dragons or dragonlords to push them back, their tide slammed first into the Sarnori who called themselves the Tallmen, and who's ancient kingdom dominated the grasslands of Essos.
The Tallmen had first scorned the Horselords as uncivilised barbarians which they seem to be, but Khal Mengo had united them into one Khalasar with one aim. To trample the world beneath their hooves and take other people as their herds. One by one the cities of the Tallmen were overwhelmed, still, they wouldn't unite against the Dothraki, many didn't believe the tales of the rare survivors, they said no army could move so fast and strike so quickly. They didn't know that the Dothraki lived in the saddle and had such command over their horses that they seemed to be mistaken for half-man and half-horse monsters when looked from the distance.
Where most archers shoot on foot, the Dothraki shoot from horseback, charging or retreating it makes no matter, they are just as deadly. But the Dothraki prefer to fight up close, howling for blood as they ride down their enemies with their Arakhs, half sword-half sickle-shaped weapons and there are so many of them.
When Khal Mengo's son, Khal Moro laid waste to the waterfall city of Sathar, renaming it as the place of wailing children, the Tallmen finally realised their peril. Led by a High King, they assembled an army to break the Khalasar once and for all and met the Dothraki for what will be known as the Field of Crows. The Four Khals commanded almost eighty thousand horsemen between them, and Tallmen had a hundred thousand foot soldiers, ten thousand armoured riders ten thousand light horsemen and six thousand scythe chariots.
As the battle was joined, the earth-shattering advance of the chariots smashed through the central of the Dothraki horde, the spinning blades on their wheel slicing through the legs of the Dothraki horses, when one Khal went down before them cut to pieces and trampled, his Khalasar broke and fled. The chariots thundered after the fleeing horsemen and the High King leading the charge of armoured riders plunged in after them. All followed by their foot soldiers waving their spears and screaming in victory.
This turned out to be a grave mistake however as they fell right into a trap. The Dothraki were not fleeing as the Tallmen soon realised as the Horselords turned around and unleashed a storm of arrows. Two more Khalasars swept down on the Tallmen flanks and another attacked them from the rear cutting off their retreat. Completely encircled the High King and his mighty army were destroyed. The Tallmen had stood for thousands of years and now the crows feasted on their corpses as the Dothraki squabbled over their valuables.
The common wisdom is that this mighty unified Khalsar finally broke apart upon the spears of the Unsullied at Qohor saving Essos from the Horselords. In truth, the days when the Dothraki could threaten the entire world had already passed. The great khalsar forged by Khal Mengo had splintered into a dozen hordes after the death of the one last Khal, and riders resumed their petty feuds. The grasslands of Essos are now as the Dothraki Sea but no more nations drown in it.
Still, the Dothraki priestesses - the Dosh Khalen prophecised that one day the Dothraki will gather advice at their holy capital and unite the greatest Khal of them all, the Stallion who mounts the world. He will lead their people to the ends of the earth and grind all nations to dust beneath them.
This was the story Danareys had heard from Ser Jorah Mormont, the exiled knight from a Northern House who turned into a Targaryen loyalist and her personal guard. This was the story Danareys then told the Doll. The girl was at first afraid of the strange Doll but slowly grew used to her as the Doll comforted her with words. Then suddenly Danareys disappeared from the Dream into thin air, leaving no traces and the Doll figured that she might have woken up.
The Doll did not know if Danareys would come back here or how she ended up here in the first place. The Doll only knew that Daenerys wasn't a hunter and yet the Doll tried to comfort her, why? The Doll was built only to comfort hunters so why care about a non-hunter? Why?
For the first time since her creation, the Doll had started to question her own nature.
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In the dimly lit dungeons of the Red Keep, Jalbhar Xho sat shackled to a cold stone cell, his expression defiant despite the circumstances. Across from him stood a mysterious figure, cloaked in shadow, their features obscured.
"Why did you attack Legio?" the interrogator's voice echoed in the damp chamber, sending shivers down Jalbhar's spine.
"I have no reason to answer to you," Jalbhar spat back, his voice laced with defiance.
The interrogator stepped closer, their presence imposing even in the darkness. "You will answer if you value your life," they replied, their tone icy.
Jalbhar hesitated, weighing his options. He knew the consequences of withholding information from man could be dire.
"I did it because Legio is meddling in the dark arts," Jalbhar declared, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and conviction. "The peace of Summer Isles is made by the death of such evil and as the heir, it's my duty to do it."
The interrogator's brow furrowed in curiosity. "What makes you believe that Legio is involved in such practices?"
Jalbhar glanced around nervously before speaking.
Jalbhar Xho hesitated for a moment before reaching into the folds of his cape. With a dramatic flourish, he produced a small, purple feather, its vibrant hue standing out against the dim surroundings.
"This feather," Jalbhar began, his voice low and urgent, "was blessed by a Shaman from the Summer Isles. It possesses the power to sense the presence of dark magic."
As he spoke, Jalbhar held the feather aloft, and to the amazement of the interrogator, it began to ruffle and tremble in his grasp, as if reacting to an unseen force.
"It ruffled near Legio," Jalbhar continued, his voice trembling with conviction. "I sensed the malevolent aura surrounding him, and I knew that he was dabbling in forbidden arts."
The interrogator regarded the feather with a mixture of scepticism and intrigue. "You believe this feather to be a reliable indicator of dark magic?"
"And you believe this feather is proof of Legio's involvement in dark arts?" the interrogator asked, his tone neutral.
Jalbhar nodded adamantly. "Yes, I do. It reacted to his presence, ruffling as if sensing the evil surrounding him."
The interrogator's expression betrayed no emotion as he continued to scrutinize the feather. After a prolonged silence, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Even if this feather is as you say, it is hardly conclusive evidence of Legio's guilt. Have you considered the possibility of misinterpretation?"
Jalbhar's grip tightened.
"There can be no mistake," he insisted. "I have seen firsthand the darkness that surrounds him. He is a threat that must be dealt with."
The interrogator's gaze shifted back to Jalbhar, his eyes piercing. "And what do you hope to achieve by accusing him? What is your goal?"
"I seek to protect the realm from those who would bring it harm," Jalbhar replied, his voice unwavering. "If red eyes is indeed dabbling in dark arts, then he poses a danger to us all. It is my duty to ensure that he is stopped."
The interrogator reached out and took the feather from Jalbhar's outstretched hand, studying it closely before slipping it into the folds of his own cloak.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Jalbhar Xho," the interrogator said cryptically before turning to leave.
As the figure departed, the dim light revealed the unmistakable features of Varys, the enigmatic eunuch spymaster of the realm. With a knowing smile, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jalbhar Xho alone with his thoughts.
As he left the dimly lit dungeons of the Red Keep, his mind churned with thoughts and calculations. Though outwardly composed, inwardly he seethed with frustration at the turn of events. The encounter with Jalbhar Xho had been unexpected, and it had raised troubling questions about the extent of his influence in King's Landing.
Magic, that elusive and unpredictable force, had always been a thorn in Varys' side. In his years of serving the realm, he had witnessed firsthand the havoc and chaos it could unleash upon the world. From shadowbinders in Asshai to warlocks in Qarth, practitioners of the arcane arts had always posed a threat to the stability of the realm.
And now, with rumours of a sorcerer meddling in the affairs of Westeros, Varys couldn't afford to ignore the danger. Yet, for all his efforts to root out the source of this dark magic, it remained frustratingly elusive, like a shadow slipping through his fingers.
As he ascended the stairs of the Red Keep, Varys reflected on the nature of power and influence. In a world where kings and queens ruled with iron fists and armies clashed on bloody battlefields, magic was a wildcard, capable of tipping the scales in unforeseen ways.
But Varys was no stranger to uncertainty. In his game of spies and secrets, he had learned to navigate the treacherous currents of power with skill and cunning. And if magic was the newest threat to emerge, then he would meet it head-on, armed with knowledge and foresight.
For as long as he could remember, Varys had been driven by a single purpose: the stability and prosperity of the realm. And if that meant delving into the murky depths of sorcery and battling mysticism, then so be it.
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