Chapter 9:
I bought a slave.
In the late morning, I pushed my way gently on a path through the bustling streets of Volantis again. I was searching for a specific kind of trader.
There was even a piece of parchment that had an officious wax stamp of a tiger and elephant on it, that I had added my mark to despite not being able to read it, and it not being in their language no doubt, at Sorzo's indication.
I hadn't really intended to, but in hindsight, I could see where a lot of the confusion came from. Once I ran the interaction backwards through my head, the idea that she had essentially agreed to it, or encouraged me, made me wonder what was going through her mind.
She knew there was something magical going on with me. The moment when everything happened was locked in the back of my mind. Repeating.
There was real fear there in her brief expression, worry about what I was going to do to her when she'd seen the… outcome of my heated moment. Her eyes slivered slightly, a breath drawn. Then my offer. Her hesitating. Something strange there in her eyes. Thought. Enough time to generate discussion. Then agreement, despite the fact that she'd almost been burned. Then it all fell into place, and I was confronted with a change I was unprepared for.
I scowled, reminded all over again.
Sorzo saw my scowl, and from where he was walking next to me and carrying a considerably lighter chest, he turned enough to give Orwynne a scowl of his own. The swordsman was still sore over the price we'd paid and he likely thought she was the source of my irritation. That we'd been tricked and she wasn't worth the coin we'd handed over.
She is, though. I'd have given that whole wagon for someone I could learn to read and write from long term.
I made my way left and right through the crowd of people moving in the streets in the early morning, with the pair of them on my heels. I couldn't convey to Sorzo what it was I was searching for, but I knew it shouldn't be too hard to find it.
I would have left them behind.
We all slept in the one room overnight. I claimed the bed immediately, and Sorzo took the chair at the little table nearby. It took her a bit to settle in, waiting near the end of the bed in the small room as she had, but eventually Orwynne lowered down and went to sleep on the rug-covered wooden floor. When I woke shortly after dawn, I tried to get out of bed carefully so as not to disturb either of them, but all the same my pack was loud, and I was not some sneakthief khajiit.
In my mind, if I left them at the inn and they'd run away, I would have simply continued my own path unperturbed, but Sorzo was determined to be on my heels. I appreciated the consideration and the efforts he'd made so far to accommodate and assist me, even if some were… misplaced. So I didn't actually mind.
On the other hand, Sorzo didn't trust Orwynne enough to leave her behind.
They talked back and forth behind me, as we walked. Sorzo was in the same clothes he'd worn since we met. We would have to get them washed at some point, alongside the pants I was wearing again.
Orwynne was dressed in the clothes she'd departed the den of tear-drop servile women with. I half-expected the silk robe-dress thing, but in hindsight, most of the women walking the public wore flowing garb that covered up some parts and spared others. It was obviously a night-time garb of some variety. Instead, as we made our way through the streets again, she was dressed in a pair of worn-in pants, leather boots, and a short tunic that was much more like what most of the men wore.
Which wasn't to say that she was alone in her style of dress. It was just that the women of Volantis mostly seemed to prefer bright colors, and long flowing robes or dresses, with loosely draped cloth and some permitted exposed skin along their necks, sternum, shoulders, and potentially sides. In many cases, it was more like they'd taken up a number of curtains and wrapped themselves loosely. They didn't seem to favor having much of their legs exposed in public, which I found interesting. Upper chest was everywhere, and some of the sides, too, but not the legs.
Maybe the legs are off limits.
Orwynne was dressed more like the working women. She looked like she belonged among the dockworkers almost, ignoring the leather bound book of dirty stories she was carrying, and hadn't let out of her sight since we paid for her.
The air was strong with a smell I knew from my time visiting different places along Skyrim's coasts.
Fresh fish.
I was fairly sure, as I pushed another brawny man with a tattoo of part of a ship on his cheek aside, that it was because the fisherman were bringing in sea food to the main line. I knew from having observed it before in Skyrim that many successful fisherman brought in a haul in the morning, and sometimes a second in the later parts of the day.
Orwynne didn't have the same degree of leathery tan as the rest of the dockworkers we passed. Given how… close I'd been able to look at it, she was tanned, but not the tan of a decade or whatever on the open ocean. She had distinct sun-lines from clothing, but it was not the same.
The mark on her cheek could have meant she wound up a slave to a boat temporarily.
It seemed the most likely given I'd noticed the fish-carrying men often had them.
The loose bag over her shoulder was little more than fabric with a knot through it, and while I'd not asked or gotten a look inside, I'd at least seen her fold up and put that robe-dress I apparently paid for back inside it carefully.
As she said something in a biting reply to Sorzo aside, drawing a sharp inhale through his nose and flared nostrils, I finally slowed enough to turn. I met his offended eyes, and then gave her a look instead, forcing traffic to part around us where I'd brought our little walk to a halt. She crossed her arms slowly. I kept my expression neutral, but looked between them. Sorzo shifted uneasily on his feet and looked away, so I reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder.
I gave her a downward tilt of my chin and lift of an eyebrow as the closest I could to admonishment for whatever back and forth they were having. The line of her jaw tightened a little more, and her eyes narrowing gave way to a deferential dip of her head and a few murmured words I didn't know, followed by my name.
I turned to continue my search through the markets and buildings, satisfied. Sorzo was mistaken. Our inability to communicate well and his attempts, despite that, to look out for me were appreciated, but…
No.
She wasn't the source of my irritation.
What made me want to go on a path of destruction was the obvious deeper realization after what happened with Orwynne. Sorzo came back, relaxed and at ease, looking a man newly made after what was clearly a roll in the hay with that curvy brunette in some dark corner of the den, and meanwhile, for whatever malignance had afflicted my nature in this Not-Nirn, if I were to try as much…
Well.
Tables burned easier than people, but I had a feeling no lass's poor gash was ready for that kind of treatment.
I have become the atronach.
I fought back the urge to start shouting and knocking down buildings.
I'd been more concentrated on ignoring the immediate impulse that came with thoughts of absolute control, with the potential she represented as an accessible purchase of services. I'd been concentrating on an opportunity to expand my knowledge, because the dragon in me knew more than anything, that to know was to wield. The Nord within me knew that to wield was to become great.
And that mattered nearly more than anything else.
If I'd been any less concentrated on that, any less disinterested in the idea of enjoying a slave, I would have killed her.
I glanced at Orwynne, who met my eyes briefly and then looked away from me, lips tightening.
I forced my expression to relax and kept walking. She wasn't the problem, and since I couldn't tell her that, I had to work actively not to give her the idea in body language alone.
Now what?
I hadn't been intending to buy or have a slave. I didn't really think it was a good idea, even ignoring my instinctive struggles. I didn't like the thought.
So I'll free her.
There was clearly some path to it, given Sorzo had burned away his tattoo. I couldn't imagine it was as simple as one turning a corner and burning off their tattoo and running. Or maybe it was in some cases, but Sorzo had clearly gotten a piece of paper from Malsero. I'd made my mark on one over Orwynne. I didn't really know the process, but I also wasn't sure what prevented any freed slave from just being picked back up potentially and pushed into the chains again.
Maybe I should do something about it.
I ignored the thought almost as soon as it formed. While I hadn't seen many displays of magic, there were a number of mage-priests like Denorro gathered in a single large temple. Presumably there would be other groups that similarly practiced magic or had their own method. Not to mention the physical forces of the governing groups that held the city. I would meet resistance in some form and if enough of them got together, who was to say how devastating the battle would be.
I ignored my heart beginning to beat a little faster.
It would be glorious.
I shook my head to rid myself of the thought, and taking a right onto a street I'd never been down, continued my search.
No.
I'd end up killing thousands upon thousands of the slaves in the process. The very people I was stepping forward for, if it wasn't just an effort to soothe my ego for my history with Hermaeus Mora. That was ignoring the immediate following period where what I'd done would likely lead to any other nobility of surrounding areas stepping in to fill in the gaps if I didn't go deal with them too. Not to mention the famines if it was successful and everything had to be torn down and put back together. The looting. The ambitious making their own attempts at power. I didn't even know the shape of the land I was on and whether there were worse places nearby that would just expand into the gap I made and make me have to go right on to shouting down their walls after.
Put it aside.
Whatever rush it would have brought me to smash their resistance to nothing and stomp on the smoldering ruin of the old Volantis, it was a fact that I would do more immediate harm than good and the only way real good would come of it long term was if I was willing to seize it in a firm grip.
And I wasn't interested in that.
For now.
Tamriel's own history showed that born slavery had to be fought back in an organized fashion, and with broad-scale, repeated rebellion. While I could see the potential given the sheer number of slaves in Volantis that once I began to smash things, they would rise up, it would require me to be invested in staying around the city and assuring that things went right.
I don't want to.
I didn't want to stay in Volantis. I'd already decided that the moment I turned my back on the slave block. It was just a matter of trying to enjoy what good of the city there was before I moved on.
I made my way down a number of sandstone steps bordering the edge of a canal, and found no sign of what I sought. So I turned to head to the next lane over.
It wasn't just that there were things about it I didn't like, and things that appealed to a dangerous side of me. I had an entire new… world to explore. I'd never planned to stop in the first set of walls I walked inside.
Further, a culture based primarily around coins above everything had little appeal to me.
It was an affront to my Nordic upbringing in a hard to stomach way, and I'd seen little evidence of great respect for warriors beyond their utility. In Skyrim, might could be purchased. It was different though, here. I could just tell in the businesses I passed by that they relegated might to a commodity on the same shelf as clothing, goods, or any other person purchased. The guards belonged to someone like a cup did.
It was that might stopped meaning will. There was no honor I'd laid my eyes upon in a day in Volantis, and that was a day too long.
Maybe the slavery is the underlying reason, after all.
As I turned another corner among the various people making their lives in Volantis, I finally came upon what I sought. A risen section of grey stone blocks formed the flat underfoot into an open area where the ringing of metal reached me. Walls enclosed the space attached to a building nearby, but open in various spots.
A young man with an anvil mark at the corner of his cheek stood on the open lip closer to the path, and was gently rubbing a whetstone along the edge of a curved blade that sat atop a cloth on a wooden table. A few racks nearby had various metal constructions, and I recognized familiar shapes in the mix.
Swords, spearheads, the top part of a breastplate, a curved wrap of metal for some unknown purpose. Chains. Nails. Arrowheads.
At our approach, and the lift of my hand, the young man's eyes went between me, Sorzo, and Orwynne, and widened slightly. He dipped his head toward me in greeting and took a step back, turning his head a little. He called something out toward where I could see another couple of men working further back at the actual forge.
One was fanning heat into the tall brick structure, and another sliding a billet into place to benefit from the effort. At the call, the larger of the two men turned and stepped from the blazing yellow-orange toward us.
He looked like many of the people of Volantis, a softened curve of his cheeks but a slightly long jaw. He lacked any sign of hair on his head at all, and in the light of the forge behind him, it shined with sweat from them already beginning to work. They'd likely been at work for many hours already while I slept in.
I couldn't help but notice he didn't have any face tattoos.
"... …" He offered me a greeting with a gap-toothed smile and inclined his head slightly, coming to stand next to the anvil that sat in the middle of the work area effectively.
I wasn't sure the exact meaning of the greeting, but I repeated it to him and returned his smile.
I took the opportunity to step up a little more, to the edge of where the path displayed traffic coming into his little smithing corner. Given Sorzo was still holding our chest of coins, I motioned him over.
He stepped closer and opened it at my instruction. I motioned to the coins, and then the things they were still working on.
"I pay… " I told him, first. I pointed aside, toward the things hung up, unfinished nearby.
He asked me something, but I didn't understand the question. I looked at Sorzo, who was at my side.
Sorzo shook his head to the man and then said something else, that sounded like a question. He shook the box of coins lightly.
The blacksmith's gap-toothed smile returned, and he reached up, pulling his apron off. He shouted something to the man deeper in the forge, and then motioned to the youngest of the three who'd greeted us. The younger man walked toward the back to assist the one at the forge.
The blacksmith stepped toward us and fanned his left hand wide, indicating aside in a gesture I recognized as inviting, and stepping out in front of us in a kind of repeated side step I wasn't sure what to make of, guided us right alongside to the attached building I'd taken to be much the same as many shops within Skyrim were.
Housing attached to where the work got done.
He pushed open the door, and a woman's voice lifted to ask something, as he stepped in ahead of us. Whatever it was that was said, I saw Sorzo smirk.
The blacksmith replied quickly, and the voice hushed. His back cleared the doorway in front of me.
I stepped through the door.
It was an open area, with the soft stone floor squares common to much of Volantis. The structure was supported by wooden beams. The room we were in was open. Not particularly large, or small, it was dominated mainly by a number of shelves on all sides, and a large table without chairs at its rear. A doorway closed and I caught just the barest flutter of pale cloth, a woman's colors and fabrics if I were to guess, slipping out of sight.
The blacksmith placed himself behind the little table, subtly between me and the back area in a way that was familiar from my experiences in such places before. I felt like his smile was a little more subdued, but I was more distracted by what the area was filled with.
Different shelves had different cut outs, all for a different degree of organization that was messy, but functional. There were rows with swords placed within one of the smaller ones along the right wall. A ground stand stretched most of it, with a number of long weapons, mostly spears with various styles of heads.
Maces and flails sat side by side on a couple of tiered tables and I trailed fingertips along the haft of a dark, iron-headed axe as I looked things over.
Yes.
This was what I wanted.
The left side of the shop had most of the armor. I walked its edge, eyes passing over the blacksmith's stock. While it was probably foolish, and I should have searched around doubtlessly for the many others which would exist for such a large city, I knew already that I would be buying something before I left. Likely a few things.
It's decent quality.
There was no son of Skyrim without a bit of time spent at a forge, whether helping in their youth, or just in times of necessity, and I was no different. While I hadn't devoted much time to it, on account of my time being mostly spent using what came from the forge, I could appreciate the effort. More than that, my experience using the products of that hard work gave me an understanding of the signs.
The smith was skilled enough. No Eorlund Gray-Mane of course, but there weren't many who were.
I slowed and picked up one of a pair of armor pieces on a middle shelf. The two-body steel vambrace bound over thin leather and cloth in front of me had well rounded edges, attention to detail seeing the metal uniform at its overlapping points, and thickening smoothly along the curve where blows were most likely to make contact.
It might have seemed simple, a vague cylinder of metal made in half at a glance, but the actual process wasn't, and there were surprisingly small things that made a big difference in the function of armor.
I picked up its twin, and moved to place them on the table in front of the smith. His smile returned in full, and he nodded encouragingly to me, reaching out to draw them nearer. He said something, tapping a fingertip along one of the two polished metal vambraces, but I just assumed it was talking up the quality of his goods.
I moved further up the wall to where there were entire sections of plated pieces on display. Looking them over, I reached out and picked up a curved length of metal twinned and mirrored, broader and longer than the vambraces. I turned them around in my hands and then lowered them down, letting it fall the length of my thigh.
I adjusted the buckles a little and pulled it flush.
A little too small, but it will fit.
That was the problem with plate armor. The more plate there was involved, the more specific the measurements needed to be. The very best quality plate armor was built piece by piece, and fitted bit by bit for the wearer it was commissioned for. That was what made it mobile and comfortable despite its protective qualities. At least until there was a mace, axe, or dragonclaw taken to it.
One could purchase plate armor very generally sized, and it would work. But anyone who made their lives in armor took the time to make the best of it, if they had any sense at all.
Looking over the others like it on the display, I narrowed my eyes. There weren't any larger.
It'll have to do.
In an ideal world, I'd have everything matching and upper thigh protection would come partly from additional adornment, but this was just what was necessary. Given what happened last time I was wounded, I didn't want to have more patchy sections of scales coming in. Any protection was better than none, and the armor seemed designed to be bound over cloth like my pants as needed, which worked out well for me and was typical for some kinds of cuisses.
I picked them both up and brought them to make a growing pile with the vambraces. The blacksmith, getting the idea that I wasn't going to be very good for conversation, inclined his shiny head again to me, as I returned to the displays.
I heard him murmur quietly to Sorzo, and then them speaking back and forth as I looked over two man-like dummies he had set up as a display. They were just wooden boards approximating shoulders and height, and they each had a different kind of breastplate, pauldrons, gorget, and two different kinds of helms I recognized. Both of the helmets were unsuitable for me.
I was mainly interested in the breastplates, unpainted and unadorned as they were. There were two different styles to them, one thicker and more rounded, like adorning a large bowl that pinched inward more around the waist but gave a protective barrel chest. The other was thinner, fashioned into two parts connected tightly over the shoulder.
Each were going to be fairly effective pieces of plate armor. I knew from experience, because there were very similar designs I came across in my travels. The thicker one reminded me more, ironically, of the shape of elven breastplates, where they reinforced them quite heavily at the center, though it lacked consistent use of quality filigree that marked their works.
The thinner one would be easier to get into and out of, and as I pulled it up a little from the display and looked at the leather beneath it, I noticed it was reinforced with metal rings. Not quite mail by any means, but better than nothing for a backing. It would be more comfortable for daily wearing for sure and concentrated its material a great deal more in the center of the chest and down over the organs. The accompanying back plate that was part of the piece was much the same.
While I was inclined to get a set of good plate soon, I knew I had yet to pay Sorzo and our coin pile had already changed a lot. Without knowing the prices of the armor I was purchasing, and suspecting it to be a fairly large amount, it was better that I was a little more conservative.
I reached up and pulled the helm from the stand, placing it aside briefly, and then after doing the same for the gorget, considered the pauldrons.
Mmm. Maybe last.
They were supplemental, and I'd sooner protect my neck than the tops of my shoulders but most gorgets that weren't made specifically for me would cause more problems than they were worth.
I hefted the breastplate and vest from the wooden contraption, and walked over to lay it across the table in front of the blacksmith, who gave me a firm nod of his head. He indicated the gorget and helm I'd placed aside and lifted an eyebrow.
Sorzo must have confirmed I don't speak their tongue well.
I walked back over and lifted the helm, shaking it slightly and shaking my head in denial. It was a full helm that for the appropriate protection, required the accompanying gorget design. Together, the two pieces didn't work for me.
I placed the helm and gorget back on the wooden dummy as I'd found them. The pauldrons, I was forced to just strap to the wood itself for lack of a connecting point otherwise.
The blacksmith made his way over and indicated the second helm of the two, in a wordless question to me.
"No." I told him, gently.
Lifting my fingertips up, I drew them together in a line down from the center of my nose, and then curled them in the line of my mouth in the best approximation of my desires. The helm that looked like it had a severe underbite and curved visor slit did not suit me either.
I had little doubt it was very protective, all the same. It was quite similar to some of the styles that showed up in heavy steel armor back in the empire. The Bretons had a fondness for it.
The interesting thing I realized looking over the armor, is that two places so far apart developed many things in the same way, for the same function. Even without contact. I could only assume it was because the necessary functions just eventually led themselves to many similar converging and diverging designs.
To think anything else would have had me thinking too long about the nature of this land.
The blacksmith held up a hand and took a step back, pressing it twice at the air in a gesture I took to resume looking around as he backtracked toward the door that led further in. I watched him go through it and turned to resume my study of things he had on display.
In the corner of my vision, I noticed Orwynne looking over things on display. She didn't seem to really have any interest in it, but boredom was setting in. I'd have expected an expensive or well adjusted slave to have a little more discipline, given how Sorzo was acting. He hadn't moved from where he stood at the edge of the table, stiff and still with the chest.
I picked up a pair of mitten-style gauntlets, the most ideal protection realistically for the hands in my opinion. Given how little actual fitting was required for them, I was unsurprised to fit my hand up inside and curl the plates forward into a grip briefly, then let them relax.
They'd be serviceable.
They would be a burden in most situations though. One more thing to carry that had limited use, and more limited in my case since I wasn't intending to let people take attacks to my hands.
Not that anyone likely ever did.
Something more middling, I think. That won't be in the way in general and will plate to my first knuckles at least.
I wanted perfect mobility of my hands. I could do a lot of things a normal man could not, and having already thrown a weapon as a distraction once, who knew when I would have to get creative again.
By the time I found something that suited my desires there, leather gloves with plating that extended just above the knuckles, the blacksmith came back.
He had the edges of two helmets pinched between the fingers of each hand, totalling four, and then two more under his arms as he shuffled through the door. I watched him struggle briefly with getting the edge of one of the helms around the knob to pull it behind him, before someone on the other side gently pushed it closed.
He turned and gave me a hesitant smile, before moving to meet me at the table. He started to place the helmets down in a line, for my viewing. None of them were decorated in any way. They were implements of war, and nothing more. They lacked spirit.
All the same, my attention immediately caught on one of them.
I reached out and picked it up from the table, turning it around in my hands. Considering the bands that supported the top of it, and then where it came down at the ears and extended forward to give some additional cheek protection, I smiled to myself. The side extension that went slightly down the jaw was different than what I was accustomed to, but it wouldn't get in the way.
I nodded and motioned with the helm to indicate my choice to the blacksmith. He grinned, and picked up the other helmets and took them aside out of the way. He left them piled in some shelves, seemingly just to get them out of the way for the moment.
Feeling the inside of the helmet I'd selected, I found it had leather and cloth stitched in already.
It's missing something, though.
Turning it around in my hands, I knew what.
I smiled a little to myself and placed the helm down on the table. Turning, I stepped back over to the shelves. Quickly digging around a little among different pieces of armor, I found a leather piece connecting part of a gauntlet's pointlessly segmented wrist protection and detached the thick band of steel.
I brought it over to the blacksmith and lifted it, and lowered it down over the crown of the helm.
He tilted his head at me unsurely. I held up a hand to him, and then reached around to pull my pack forward. I dug around inside for something I hadn't gotten out in a while.
The black-brown, curved dragonbone spikes I'd ripped from my kin in the red land came out of the pack together, the dark stain of blood still present but dried to almost nothing from when I used them to kill the bandits.
The blacksmith's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at them. Sorzo looked a bit between me and the blacksmith without more than a passing curiosity regarding the horns. I hadn't seen any other signs of dragonbone since my arrival, so I wasn't sure how rare it was.
I'd also not seen a dragon since my first encounter. I could only assume they weren't common, and given how dangerous the one I'd already butted heads with was, that made sense. The two men didn't even seem to know what they were looking at. The blacksmith reached out to pick up one of the horns and turn it around in his brick-thick hands.
However, I noticed Orwynne's attention land on them, and then shoot between the dragonbone and me, back and forth momentarily. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
Interesting.
Sorzo shifted restlessly on his feet, clueless. As was the normal response, I was fairly sure.
Early in the morning skies, Jaehaerys climbed higher again.
They hadn't found the Vulture King in the initial confrontation. For all there were men among the bandits that claimed it, no one verified it secondhand, and questioning the people they'd caught before their execution had only revealed that they had a little warning of their potential attack before he'd even arrived.
It seemed that Rogar's brother had indeed fled among the bandits he was accused of providing information to.
Jaehaerys doubted very much they expected him to personally show himself.
Whatever the warning had been, it hadn't been enough obviously.
As Jaehaerys guided Vermithor to seek the peaks and resume his task of reducing most of the mountainsides into walls of flame and smoke that men could barely breathe in, he knew it wouldn't be much longer.
Between the hundred odd the lords rounded up and dealt with, it seemed a pittance by the standard of any real rebellion, but he couldn't argue that without a dragon, they might have grown in time to be more and more of a pain. That hundred caught fleeing wasn't the other hundred or more he'd burned in their makeshift wooden stoops in the high hills.
It was just part of the process of working his way forward. Cutting off routes.
Today, I'll finish it.
The eastern ridges were his destination. As Rogar and Harmon's riders moved in, he was going to burn everything out of the far reaches. The Vulture King would die in fire, starve to death in a hole, be captured fleeing, or the most likely, a combination of them all before trying to make himself a martyr.
The kind of person who reclaimed the title, related or not, was trying to prey upon the losses and history involved in the first Dornish War. They were trying to stir up or take advantage of past conflict, and they'd want it to continue even when they lost everything, because that was the kind of fool who tried in their position in the first place.
He was sure of it. If the man was not a coward, and believed anything in what he spoke, he would die with the hope of inspiring a third Vulture King. The best way to limit such a thing coming to pass was to make it a victory so sound that none would want to dare again during his reign.
"Embrot!" He commanded sharply, eyes on a virgin crag that hadn't experienced their wrath. Vermithor's wings drew inward.
The wind began to roar as they gained speed in descent and fell in the line of its natural path. He could just see the tiny figure of a man start to turn and lift a shout to the others in warning.
"Dracarys!"
His roar became dragon fire spreading down a mountain, consuming what plants and life could naturally make their way there. For the size of Vermithor, the harsh winds, and the intensity of his breath, it spilled like water down into the flat sections between cliff rises.
"Elēnās!" He directed, and Vermithor's wings opened wider, spinning them around for another sweep.
Once I managed to explain everything I wanted, I let Sorzo work out the details of cost and exchange. I made triply sure that the smith and everyone there understood when I would be returning-
"Dusk." I said, pointing to the helmet.
"Dusk." The blacksmith agreed, with a smile.
"Dusk." I said, slowly, looking at Sorzo. Sorzo nodded to me.
"Dusk." The blacksmith repeated, tightening his fist like it would reassure me of his confidence.
I shook hands with him and joined Sorzo in creating stacks of coins, matching little towers. Once we'd satisfied the cost of my purchase, a further portion not completely unremarkable cut from the small chest of coins we'd made from the wagon, I took us back to the streets.
Before I could potentially get distracted and convince myself of any further expenditures, I cut a path as directly as I could back toward the inn. As we climbed the stairs, I caught Sorzo's unsure look, but I waved him and Orwynne through into the room with a gesture.
I closed the door and stepping in, finally reached out myself to take the little chest from him.
As I stepped back with it, he watched me curiously. I took it to the little desk-table they'd provided us in our room and began to cup handfuls of the golden coins. I drew them out and piled them up on the surface of it. While the design and size was mostly the same as the initial skull-marked coins I'd found among the bandits, there were minor differences between the gold and bronzy colored ones.
The gold ones are obviously worth more.
Whatever the overall division and worth, I wasn't intent on sitting and counting through them all, even with the quantity having it having been cut with Orwynne's purchase. I just fairly evenly split the pile in front of me in half, making sure that the colors weren't too lopsided on either side of the first split.
Then I took one of the splits and split that in half as well, under Sorzo's curious eyes. Even Orwynne had found her way over to the wall nearby, resting a hand against it as she leaned to watch what I was doing.
I scooped the first divided pile, and then half of the second division into the chest again off of the edge of the table. Then, I closed the chest with a soft click of its latch. Lifting it, I pushed it purposefully into Sorzo's arms.
He leaned back a little and looked down at the chest.
"Dawn." I said, for lack of a better explanation. "Sorzo, no slave. Payment. Thank you."
He'd been holding the chest ever since we pretty much got it, but as his fingers tightened around its edge and he looked at me, I found myself smiling more. He was surprised, all the same. It was almost like some part of him didn't really believe I'd follow through.
That made me feel better.
I had a feeling I'd been particularly giving, but I also didn't want to drag myself down with all of the necessary counting or considerations of debt or whatever.
Wealth found its way to me. There would be conflict in a land like what surrounded Volantis, and where there was conflict, there was opportunity.
"Thank you … … Ysmir. Thank you. I … … " Sorzo said, speaking a number of words I understood and some I didn't. I just offered him a smile and nod.
Orwynne's eyes went between the chest and Sorzo, and then she glanced at me, and frowned. After a moment, she said something to the swordsman.
Most of her sentence was unintelligible, but a word I'd newly learned, paying attention to the interaction between slaves and their owners in the market, came up. It was an expected form of address, and indicated me given our positions.
That, or she was referring to Sorzo as her owner or master or whatever.
I was pretty doubtful that was the case though.
She was talking about me, and based on the tone, whatever she said to Sorzo wasn't exactly kind. His expression, shifting from glee and gratitude to something immediately offended and annoyed all but confirmed it to me.
He spit a few harsh words at her, glancing at me, and then turning more to face her. Whatever he said, he emphasized it with a lift of his chin, challenging as much as the up and down consideration of her that followed.
Among the words he laid into her with, I heard one I didn't like.
Slave.
"Sorzo." I said, lifting a hand to him.
He fell quiet and looked aside and down to meet my eyes.
I indicated Orwynne with a brisk motion of my fingertips. "Orwynne, no slave."
I didn't have a word for soon.
"Payment. Dawn." I said, after a moment. "Orwynne… I walk. Dawn. No Volantis."
Orwynne seemed more confused by my choice of words and what I was trying to convey than he did. Sorzo was obviously surprised, but latched onto the latter part more than the rest.
"You walk?" Sorzo asked, looking at me.
I nodded to him, and made a motion with my hand, brushing it away.
"Dawn." I repeated. Then I pointed at Orwynne. "Orwynne walk. Dawn."
I made a motion with my hand, sweeping it wide. It was the best I could do for far. I hadn't found a word that stood out to me for it, and I didn't know the names of other places.
Orwynne was coming with me. I'd paid a lot for her. I wasn't going to keep her as a slave, but she could prove worth the coin she'd cost for a little while before she went her own path. Sorzo was his own man, who'd only ever been helpful to me.
I looked at Sorzo aside, lifting my chin. "Sorzo…?"
He lifted his eyebrows at me.
"You walk, dawn?" I asked him.
My question seemed to make him hesitate, eyebrows furrowing. Orwynne wet her lips, looking between him and me, and offered a number of words to me that I didn't understand, indicating Sorzo, and the chest.
The only one I got was pay.
Sorzo scoffed at her, but after a second, looked at me and nodded.
"I walk … Ysmir. Dawn." He confirmed. There was a word in the mix I hadn't recognized before, but the rare input from the whisper at the back of my mind gave me togetherness.
"I walk with Sorzo. I walk with Orwynne. No Volantis." I repeated to him, in their tongue. "Dawn."
Digging around until I found the old pouch of much diminished bronzy-yellow coins from the bandits, I scooped the ones I'd taken from the table into it, leaving it heavy and unwieldy. I stuffed it back into my pack and pretended not to see Sorzo's big grin, and even Orwynne's slight smile. I pushed my pack aside until it sat at the edge of the bed and lifted myself out of the chair to flop over onto back on its surface, splaying comfortably.
Much better than sleeping in a wagon.
The urge was there to just close my eyes and rest the day away but I knew I didn't really need it and it would make me regret it come nightfall.
"Ysmir." Sorzo said suddenly. I looked over at him. He moved with the chest over and placed it on the table where the chair sat. "You, watch coins?"
He made a motion to his eyes, and the chest.
I nodded to him.
Sure.
"Yes." I told him nodding a little.
"I… " He hesitated. "...pay…"
His hand reached up and he pinched the material of his top, and he said a word I vaguely recognized. I reached down beside the bed and shoved my hand into my pack to dig out and open my book. Holding up a hand to him to wait, I flipped through the pages quickly.
It was a word for tunic, or shirt, or top, but I didn't know which one it could be.
He's paying for a tunic?
Buying a tunic. He was saying he was going out to buy things. I should probably do that too, before we left. While the makeshift shoes worked fine enough, there were better ones in the market, and while the wagon had a lot of clothes, it didn't come with boots.
"I watch second." Sorzo said, pointing to the chest. "Dusk. Rest."
I nodded my understanding to him, and made a dismissive motion with my hand, slouching back and drawing my palm behind my head comfortably.
He gathered up some coins from within the chest, stuffing them into a pouch. He began to turn and then slowed, long enough to give Orwynne a brief stare, but then resumed his walk to the door. Pulling it open, he stepped out and closed it behind him quietly.
Orwynne shifted restlessly on her feet, watching me from across the room nearby.
It's as good a time as any.
I exhaled and forced myself back up, rolling my shoulders slightly.
"Orwynne," I said, extending my hand out to her and curling my fingers slightly, encouraging.
Orwynne straightened, and lifted one hand up. Her palm faced toward me and she shook her head rapidly. She pointed down at my crotch and started saying things rapidly. I could tell where the misunderstanding went wrong when she then pointed at her crotch, and made a horrified face at me, that practically flattened her chin out against her neck, doubling it up.
She pushed out that one hand, again, emphatically at me.
"No, no, no, no." She said, shaking her head rapidly. "Ysmir … Orwynne, no slave."
I fought a headache forming.
"Ysmir," She repeated, making a motion with her free hand, away from her mouth, "... Orwynne no slave."
Said.
The word she spoke in the middle, that I didn't know, was said, or exclaimed, or ordered or whatever approximated it. To speak. That was what she was imitating.
When she made a motion to her stomach, spreading fingers and pulling a hand away from it like something was going to pop out of her, I couldn't help that snort that escaped me.
What kind of slave is this? I asked myself for what felt like the tenth time.
I lifted my hand a little higher, flat and made the same stalling, stopping gesture toward her. She pointed at her mouth, and stuck out her tongue, and then said motioned with a wide splay of her fingers, and flicked them aside, aggressively.
I get it, I get it.
I lifted my other hand for extra emphasis, both palms out toward her in an attempt to calm her.
"No." I said, shaking my head at her. "Not…"
I motioned between my crotch and her.
She turned her cheek just barely to me, looking at me skeptically. It was a serious situation, but I wanted to laugh at her a little in spite of it.
"Orwynne," I said, motioning with a curl of my fingers again, but this time, I pointed aside to the table. "Sit. Write. I… read. Orwynne… pay."
I didn't have a word for learn. Or an easy way to explain that I was going to free her, but I wanted her to do something for me, in exchange.
"Write?" She asked, sounding like she didn't believe me. She shook her head doubtfully, a disagreement. "Ysmir … read. Ysmir … … speak."
"Sit." I encouraged her again. "Speak. Write."
She hesitated a little even still, but after a long moment stepped rapidly closer and lowered herself into the chair, like she wasn't concerned about me at all. I caught her blue eyes giving me a brief sideways look, but then she pushed the chest a bit further back along the table until it was pressed against the wall for space.
Then she lowered her book on its surface. The leather binding was worn from sun exposure, and some of the marks on it were salt stains, I realized. It looked like it had traveled far, and not exactly gently.
I scooted a little along the side of the bed, making sure to keep my motions slow. She turned a brief, narrowing up of her eyes at me, glancing down briefly again toward my pants with evident wariness.
I wasn't the one being insistent in the pillows.
She was the one who'd been all too eager.
Before nearly being lit on fire.
Fair enough reasoning for the change of opinion.
I settled again with a creak of the bed, and motioned with my fingers in what I hoped was an encouraging way. Then I brought up my own book and opened it gently, leaning forward until I could rest it at the edge beyond her book.
When I straightened up with my quill, I caught her eyes again on me, low and beside, but ignored it. Placing the inkwell out next to the corner of where our books nearly met, hers twice mine by the size of the pages easily, I deliberately took the quill up.
When I met her eyes again, she bit her lip slowly and then cleared her throat.
She started to speak, looking at the page in front of her.
"Orwynne." I interrupted her.
She quieted, looking at me unsurely.
"Write Orwynne." I said, indicating her. I motioned aside with my hand. "I write Orwynne."
She tilted her head and I let her try to make sense of what I was saying. I watched comprehension form in her face. She nodded at me, and motioned to my quill, holding out a hand. I passed it off to her after a moment.
She doesn't have one?
It didn't seem like she came with much more than one outfit, which she was wearing, the night-robe, and the book itself, but that was fine. I'd have to remember to get her an alternative outfit, as well, when we went out when Sorzo got back.
She looked at her own book with the quill, and hesitated. Then she looked at mine, and pointed to it. Obligingly, I slid it over to her, on a page already marked with many words and suggestions of translation.
Her eyes swept the symbols, and then she went to the directly below where I'd already been writing, and gently began to add symbols I didn't know.
"Orwynne." She said after a second, motioning to the symbols.
I smiled.
A red sunset did justice to the fire that ate the mountains. The smoke was so plentiful, that he had little doubt it would carry for many days on the winds. Even beyond it, the smell of a campfire was on every breath.
As Vermithor glided along mostly with slow presses of his wings, Jaehaerys laid his eyes on the banners of House Baratheon, Dondarrion, Swan, and Peake as they routed the fleeing and corralled the bandits. There was sporadic fighting, the fringes of different last stands some attempted, but between the number difference, the training, and the disarray, it was more the lords cleaning up than fighting any manner of real battle.
For the marcher lords, with such a strong martial tradition given their place between most of Dorne and the Stormlands, it was almost pitiable.
While Jaehaerys felt slick in his armor for the amount he'd sweat over the course of the day, he knew with certainty that his work was almost done.
With a command Vermithor banked the direction he pulled, and they glided down toward the amassed forces of marcher lords. A cheer rose up among them as Vermithor's wings beat, and he felt his dragon's prickling awareness of the sound, the urge to breathe again welling up.
"Daor! Lykirī!" He demanded, and the urge dissipated as Vermithor recognized his intent and calmed.
His eagerness could be forgiven. They were both in a good mood, and after a longer ride than he'd taken in what was probably years, it didn't surprise him that his dragon's blood was eager. They'd never been so destructive together before either, and neither had they ever had to play the curious part of hunters picking off different passes and rounding out the edges of the bandits' numbers.
He took another loop, eyes scanning the one large valley at the center of the entire plan he'd put together, unburned. Already, the men had set up the command tent, and others lined up the bandits they'd taken to the knee. They were trying to set everything up quickly for his arrival.
"Embrot, Vermithor! Embrot." He said, in High Valyrian.
Horses rose up and panicked and footmen of their own troops fled out of their way as they neared, and Jaehaerys laughed to himself behind his full helm. Vermithor landed with one last flap of his wings, and folded them in, catching himself.
The jarring stop was never gentle, but accustomed to the forces involved in Vermithor's size, Jaehaerys barely needed a moment to adjust before he was straightening and releasing his connection to the saddle. He turned, and sliding on one foot, started a walk down Vermithor's shoulder and then wing. Sliding slightly onto his side, he dropped onto his feet with a bone-jarring thump and rustling of his armor.
Over his shoulder, he commanded Vermithor to wait there.
Four Kingsguard were already rushing to take their places, white cloaks standing out against the sunset red skies darkened by smoke and dull brown stone underfoot.
As he straightened up, he waved off the formalities and made for the tent erected for him at the center of the camp. He avoided getting too close to any of the gathered soldiers, to avoid having his progress slowed. Exhausted men in the fringe straightened their backs beyond the range of customary bow or taking a knee, and others lifted arms in cheers.
He basked in it, weary, but pleased.
Pushing back the tent flap of the space set up for him, he crossed a rug already laid out to invite his presence. A table sat in the center between poles, and a number of barrels and chairs sat waiting, but no one sat in them. They were waiting for him, helms already at their hips.
Jaehaerys reached up and pulled off his own, tucking it beneath his right arm.
Rogar stood nearby the table, visibly bloodied and with dirt in the joints of his armor. His axe laid aside, as Jaehaerys's eyes swept its surface, he noted new marks to show the signs of the Lord Baratheon's hard work. Next to Rogar, Harmon stood tall and tired, but in far better condition. The Lord Swan was much the same shoulder to shoulder with the Dondarrion. Lord Uther Peake stood to the other side of the table, looking the most ragged of the bunch, and clearly favoring his left side.
Jaehaerys moved fast to cross to his side, even as two Kingsguard took up places outside the entrance of the tent. The other two followed him in, taking their own positions at that side.
"My king," Uther said, inclining his head. As he started to move, as the others did to react to his presence, Jaehaerys stopped him with a hand on his good side's arm.
"Be still." He told the Lord of Starpike, Dunstonbury, and Whitegrove all. "Have your wounds been tended?"
If you die, Alysanne will be disappointed with all of the work she's gone through.
Jaehaerys saw the gratitude in the lord's eyes even through the wince he gave in partial response.
"We have only just finished bringing them to heel, your grace." Uther said in reply. "I would not miss the opportunity to report our great success with your strategy."
In the corner of his eye Jaehaerys noticed the others present nodding their agreement.
"Well done, everyone." He said, turning to look around. "Tell me of our losses."
It was better to ask of them first. It gave a better impression of his care for the men that might have been lost. While he'd done everything that was possible to potentially spare them fighting, it didn't change that something as simple as speaking in the wrong order could give them vastly different impressions of events after the fact.
I can wait a few moments.
"Minimal, your grace." Rogar grunted, answering him first quite plainly. "I met the greatest resistance, but that was just the way I wanted. Those who rode with me pushed the center, and we went first. Only lost thirty odd, half of them to horses on the hillside beset by arrows from high. The blasted rocksfalls they'd prepared for did more damage than the bandits."
The dangers of fighting uphill against a sloped and waiting enemy.
"Still had the strength of men to start camp." Uther pointed out, grinning at the Lord Baratheon, who chuckled without humor.
Jaehaerys exhaled. He needed a moment to breathe and have something to drink anyways. To sit on something that wasn't in violent motion where he had to hold on with all of his body at once to not risk flying off and only be kept in tow by a single point of contact.
Fighting the long day's aches and the dryness of his throat, Jaehaerys took the opportunity as the Uther stepped forward next and began to provide his own perspective of the one day war, to get his cup filled. The Lord Swan followed him, and found a way to drag out his explanation of his part in things, despite having actively committed the least men to the dangerous progress compared to Rogar, but otherwise, nothing stood out to him in either his, or the following Lord Peake's explanation of their sides of the conflict, bringing up the left and right flank respectively.
Everything had gone according to plan.
"And the Vulture King?" He asked, finally.
"In chains." Rogar said, with a slight frown. "Not without a fight. Surprised me himself."
The Lord of Storm's End motioned to the blood on his armor, and the dirt still stuck in some parts of it, before explaining, "Most of this is his, your grace. I did the best I could to keep him alive for your judgment… but I confess, after he unseated me, I only just managed not to kill him. His condition is worsening."
Not ideal.
"He lives, though?" Jaehaerys clarified.
If the Vulture King was extremely wounded when he passed judgment, it wouldn't do for him to deliver the final blow. While common people wouldn't make too much noise of it given the circumstance, it was possible that it would come back around to him having claimed the Lord Baratheon's honor, to take the Vulture in single combat. It just wouldn't carry the same weight.
A lost opportunity.
"He does." Rogar confirmed. "I would advise that we do whatever we must while we may, for fear you may miss the opportunity, my king. My axe's bite is fierce."
Hopefully he can hold on at least a little longer.
"There is one other matter." Harmon said, interrupting carefully.
Jaehaerys looked at him.
"My men managed to capture Ser Borys, among those we encountered." Harmon continued, glancing around the faces of the other lords. None of them appeared surprised by the revelation, so he knew words had already been shared, or it'd gotten around in the short time.
"What happened, when you encountered him?" Jaehaerys asked, interested.
"He fought hard." Harmon said, with a glance at Rogar whose expression was drawn in fury. "Didn't kill any of my men, but didn't seem to be as much as trying to break the line and get beyond."
Rogar's head shook slightly.
Jaehaerys wondered what was going through his mind.
"He's requested Trial by Combat." Rogar said, spitting aside. "Your grace, give me the opportunity, and I will end what I should have in King's Landing. Right now. The men already grow restless, and they will begin to talk more of his shame."
"And make yourself a kinslayer?" Jaehaerys replied, shaking his head immediately and straightening. "No. I would not have you named a kinslayer, my lord. He will be mine."
It would be received poorly.
He placed aside his cup and rose. He had to before one of the other lords risked making the offer themselves. Without the Vulture King to make an example of himself, Borys would make well enough an alternative.
"See him brought before me." Jaehaerys said, looking among the lords' faces and lifting his helm. Sliding it down into place, he stepped forward, already resting his hand on the pommel of Blackfyre.
He stepped out of the tent, even as word was sent and the men began to move. The Kingsguard stepped out in his wake, and the marcher lords followed him.
Looking around the shape of the camp, Jaehaerys took his steps wide and to a place that was open and even footing. His heart began to beat faster as he waited and the men gathered. Lords, knights, and common men, weary and tired from their own parts gathered on the fringe.
Rogar and the others stood by him, stiff and still.
It didn't take them long to haul the traitor before the gathering by his demand.
Borys Baratheon had seen better days no doubt. He wasn't Rogar's better on his best day, and not the most skilled warrior besides. Capable by the standards of his training, and if things were in his favor, he could have put up a decent fight to most of the knights that might have shown at the tournament, had things not gone different.
Jaehaerys knew he was not a man that favored the joust, so he would likely be at his most dangerous on his feet anyways.
Rogar kicked the back of Borys's knee as soon as his brother stood before them. He dropped onto his knees before them, and Jaehaerys saw Borys shoot a venomous look at his brother. The manacles kept his wrists bound, and for a long moment, dirt-stained and with bloodied teeth, Borys looked around. He tilted his head forward a little, the suggestion of a bow despite his kneeling position.
"You have requested Trial by Combat." Jaehaerys said. "Before hearing my judgment."
Borys's head lifted a little.
"Only the gods would believe me over my brother." Borys replied, aggravatedly. "I'll not ask the wall, because I'm no bandit. The gods would prove me right. I'm here because my brother confronted me with a mind made up already. As we've both experienced. The Storm's End should always have been mine."
Jaehaerys glanced at Rogar and nodded slowly, not in agreement, but to acknowledge he was listening. It didn't matter what Borys said. He would do for Rogar what he almost wished someone would do for him, some days.
Clean up this constant push and pull over heirs.
"Return him his weapons." Jaehaerys said, with a lift of his chin. "As he asks. Let the gods decide."
He drew Blackfyre, with a rasp of Valyrian steel.
Borys's expression tightened as the men worked his manacles and freed him. Rogar took a few wide steps back, grip tightening on his axe at the edge of the broad circle that had formed of men.
Jaehaery's heart began to beat faster.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
He tightened his grip on Blackfyre, the symbol of his office. He had not forgotten the lessons he had learned in the yard at Dragonstone. Reaching up, he pulled the visor of his helm down.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Borys took his sword from the bannerman and drew it from the sheath in the same motion that he cast the latter aside, expression vicious.
"Rather name me a kingslayer than him a kinslayer!" He shouted, surging forward.
Jaehaerys slid into the first stance he'd ever learned and crossed Blackfyre out to the side in an almost gentle nudge that saw Borys's first thrust out the way. When he brought the blade down in a cut for the traitor's exposed face in the same motion, Borys lifted the crossguard of his blade up.
The Valyrian steel would always retain its edge, and remain sharp. Borys's castle-forged steel sword just wasn't a match, and even at the first point of hard connection, Blackfyre cut teeth in his crossguard, because it would not dull and the steel it faced would bend.
Borys side-stepped, and backtracked even as Jaehaerys chased him a step forward.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Steel sang, as their blades flashed as he pushed the cast aside heir back. His breathing was loud in his helmet, staggered.
Borys defended another cut poorly, forced still on the retreat as Blackfyre took another nick of his edge. He barely leaned out of the way as Jaehaerys corrected the cut into a lunge, extending the blade toward the Baratheon's throat.
Borys dodged out of the way, and as Jaehaerys took another dominant foot step forward, he shifted his grip on his sword. His breathing was growing ragged.
Something…
Their blades met again, and Jaehaerys forced Blackfyre through Borys's hold. Borys let it pass and tried to turn it into him overextending and leaving himself exposed but Jaehaerys saw it for what it was.
He diverted his cut, and snapped it down, cutting along Borys's arm. Blood spilled for the contact and Borys staggered back.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Jaehaerys drew in a hard breath.
Something's wrong.
He tried to suck in breath through his nose but it was hot. It was stuffy. He fought to get his lungs full.
Borys brought his sword down in a desperate, crude cut meant to connect with his helmet, but Jaehaerys stepped back and knocked it aside.
His throat was tight. Too tight. He fought in a breath behind the full covering helm.
I can't breathe.
He wanted to call out that something was wrong, but his voice couldn't work.
Borys's sword glimmered in his periphery and Jaehaerys desperately lifted Blackfyre to the side to receive it at the last moment, as he stumbled. Stepping in and on the Baratheon's foot, Jaehaerys shoved his pommel up, trying to strike the other man's brow through his helm.
He connected with something, but the corners of his vision were growing blurry.
Something hard hit him in the shoulder and Jaehaerys stumbled aside, bringing up Blackfyre and concentrating through his narrowing sight.
Breathe!
Borys shouted something, but he could barely hear it. Jaehaerys could only concentrate on the next parry. Could only get his leaden arms to just move enough as he tipped under something hard hitting his helmet.
He heard distant shouts and coughed harshly, gasping around something in his throat.
No.
Around his throat, closed up.
Something hit him in the side, and as he blinked back darkness, he pushed his sword out, fighting to get his elbow aside, as Borys tumbled atop him.
Breathe!
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
His heart was all he could hear.
His throat was sandpaper and then, pain. A crack.
Jaehaerys's eyes looked up. Borys's eyes looked down at him as he pushed his sword down, beneath his chin, point first. The pain made him want to cry out but he couldn't.
"Took a long time." Borys grunted, teeth grit and voice low.
The fuzzy darkness at the edge of his vision closed in, focus narrowing. His next gasp was wet.
Treachery.
As the sword in his neck turned in a twist under Borys's hands as he tried to push it down at a new angle as he'd missed the bone for an instant kill, Jaehaerys grit his teeth against the darkness and turned Blackfyre's edge.
Betrayal.
It was feathery soft by comparison to the ragged crunch Borys driving his blade down into his throat a moment ago. Its unshakeable edge parted the side of the Baratheon's neck as smooth as a ship's prow pressed the waves.
Vengeance.
Borys's eyes widened.
I will not go alone.
Jaehaerys took that vicious satisfaction, darkening vision on a red sky, before the blood spilling from his neck beneath him left him too warm, and then cold, to feel anything. The last thing he ever knew was the distant bellow of Vermithor and the comfort of his dragon's rage.
Pity.