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The Grind (Book 2) Ch.26
🕑 Added 2025-06-06 23:15:54 +0000 UTC— Atlas —
Highgarden was a grand show, a genuine exhibition of feudal politics.
The capital of the Reach. The ‘Heart of Chivalry’ (though not Knighthood, for the Vale still held that claim close to heart). The axis on which 12 million people revolved — living, dying, thriving.
It was the most populous and productive Kingdom in the realm. Its lands were fertile and vast compared to everywhere else, bar the North. They were ruled by 60-some major houses, the bannermen who swore directly to Highgarden and House Tyrell, and who knows how many more minor ones that swore to one of those bannermen or another. To say nothing of the landed knights, market town mayors, and roaming petty hedge knights.
For all of those Highborn nobles, those people of substance, Highgarden was the tourney ground. The place to show their stuff, barter deals, reach for ever more, and make themselves altogether known.
Gold, good food, and profitable favors flowed freely through the capital castle of the Reach. There seemed to be a feast every night, all revelry and polite company. All spoken silk and double deals. All ambition and deceptively civil struggles between named powers that claimed proud lineages to put any Earthen noble to shame.
It was easy to see why Margaery loved her home. I couldn’t deny the appeal, the beauty, the eventful nature of Highgarden. There was always something happening here, from minor gossip between the castle’s Smallfolk to major deals struck between its Lord Mace and his sworn nobles.
Our stay — me, Heather, Hermione, Luna, Dora, and Dumbledore — was intended to be a short one. We wanted to keep moving after returning Olenna and Margaery home. Oldtown — that second axis of the Reach, so different in nature from Highgarden but still just as intertwined in the Kingdom — was where the true goal of our trip south lay. But almost immediately, we were lured into staying in Highgarden a little longer than we planned.
“MEEEE~RRRRRYYYY~! While Summer, it lasts~,” Mace Tyrell positively belted out. Full lungs, straight back, open throat, his singing even overshadowed the instruments of the song.
“With bird’s son and song~…
“But now here, the near winds blast~…
“And the weather grows strong~…
His song grew heavy and dramatic, milking the notes he hit for every ounce of feeling within as a baritone vibrato freed itself from his chest.
“EEEE~IIIII~ eeee~iiii~… Oh, but this Night, how Long~?
“LII~IVE~ to see, so very much, go wrong~…
“So with sorrow, I grieve~… I mourn~… I fast~…”
The Warden of the South, Lord of Highgarden, had an absolutely amazing voice. Rich and deep and operatic. His was an old song. It had to be. About making merry while one could and mourning the turn of the seasons, so unerringly felt in Westeros, even in the prosperous Reach. If I wasn’t wrong, it spoke of the Long Night, too, and living through it. An old, old song, indeed…
I wouldn’t have imagined it to be a popular choice for a reveling feast. But Mace found a way to make it heard and appreciated. A reminder that, as the Starks said, Winter was coming. Yet instead of lingering on the song’s somberness, Mace made it a testament of acceptance, of preparation, of endurance.
Below the high table of Highgarden’s Great Hall, some of the guests clapped, but didn’t cheer. It wasn’t that kind of song, beautiful though it was. Some smiled with softly emotional and fortifying expressions. Some even bowed their heads in prayer and thanks, inspired by their Lord’s song, nearly a prayer of its own.
At the end, Mace gave a shallow and short bow, but he didn’t milk the moment and ruin the feast’s mood. The energy in the Great Hall bounced back quickly, stronger and more genuine for Mace’s reminder and reassurance. One day, they would grieve and mourn and fast. Now, they made merry while they could, while the Summer lasts.
The world’s warm ’season’, after all, was still with us. The longest in living Westerosi memory. And set to extend another year longer than it would’ve, thanks to the Dragonfire Dumbledore and I fed to R’hllor. It was still wild to think that, coming on three years here, Hogwarts still hadn’t experienced a true Westerosi Winter.
The seasons of our new world were odd, without a doubt, but they could’ve been odder. The extended warm and cold periods, while named for them, weren’t really summer and winter. This world still had a familiar tilt to it, and as each year progressed, it went through seasons within those extended ‘seasons’. But on Planetos, the physical effects of orbital tilt were lessened in places and greatly influenced all around by tides of ‘thermal’ magic from R’hllor and the Great Other. That ‘divine’ game of tug of war determined the ‘big’ season — Summer or Winter — but the ‘little’ seasons within were still subject to actual physics. Magic might consistently trump physics, but physics rarely, if ever, completely ceased to exist.
“Marvelous! Wonderful! A glorious showing, Lord Mace!” Dumbledore praised as Mace sat back in his Lordly seat at the high table with the rest of us. “Why, I would pay good gold for an opera composed and sung by such a moving voice.”
“An opera?” Lady Allerie asked.
“A dramatic showing of theatre and song, a place for ballads and epics to shine!” Dumbledore explained. “Lord Mace certainly has the range for it.”
“And as the first of its kind on Westerosi shores, he’d be immortalized as the fat man — no offense, milordy~… — who sang~!” Luna chimed.
“No offense taken, Lady Luna,” Mace chuckled. “I am rather big-boned.”
“You didn’t get it from me,” Olenna snarked. “And none of my grandchildren seemed to have inherited such a trait. As you tuck into the third feast this week, one wonders…”
“What Luna’s referring to,” Hermione elaborated. “Is a saying from our homeland: ‘It’s not over until the fat lady sings’. The final aria of an opera was traditionally given to ladies with exceptional lungs and lively voices, who could sing loud, high, and clear enough to even shatter glass. I believe she’s trying to say that you might take that place of honor in the first Westerosi Opera, Lord Mace.”
“What a painting of the mind!” Mace exclaimed, marveling aloud. “Yes, I can see why something like that might be immortalized! Such a scene would go beyond mere mummery!”
“A celebration of art and culture,” Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “Highgarden seems just the place for such a renaissance in my mind. Perhaps even an Academy of the Arts here to facilitate it?”
“Bah! Dress it up however you like, it’s still mummery,” Olenna said. “No need to waste so much good coin on something so common.”
“Oh~?” Luna tilted her head curiously. “But Queen of Thorns, imagine all of the little flowers you could cultivate that way. Imagine what they might hear as they spread to perform far and wide, bringing prestige and songs of a different kind back to the place they learned. Answering to you… Answering to Margaery, after…”
Olenna paused, stared, and really listened to what Luna was saying as she’d learned to do during her time at Hogwarts, “Crone’s achy knees, girl… That… is honestly brilliant.”
“Isn’t it just~?” Luna beamed. “Plus, more culture, more songs, and so on, are always welcome~!”
I chuckled, “It’s good to see others not dismissing our Luna. I can’t speak for Hogwarts as a whole, but the coven will always be interested in investing in one of her ideas.”
“As would I,” Dumbledore said. “A voice like Lord Mace’s deserves to live on forevermore. And it would warm my old ego to be a patron of the arts.”
“Don’t encourage him, you old goat,” Olenna scowled a faux-scowl. “My son’s head is big enough as it is.”
Mace laughed, smiled, and took his mother’s words in stride, “You flatter me, Headmaster! ’Tis but a blessing from the Seven, my second favorite They Above have bestowed upon me. After only the gift of my beautiful and perfect family. But dare I say, I would put the consistent good company in my life as a close third!”
Mace Tyrell was a nigh-impossible man to hate, I’d say. He was generous and good-spirited and genuinely charismatic in such a way that I wouldn’t put it past him to make friends with a rock or even a bear trying to maul him. And for the time being, with our visit, Hogwarts held the majority of his attention, on the same level as Prince Renly, the youngest brother of the King.
Having us sit up with his family and the Prince was a pretty big statement. Hopefully not an alarming one for his ever-observant bannermen. It shouldn’t be. The Weasley brood had been here for a year, and since they were being fostered by House Tyrell, likely up at the high table more often than not.
They were probably the best and worst introduction to the Reach that Hogwarts could’ve asked for. On one hand, it was the Weasleys. An eligible bachelor in a much-improved-and-even-newly-Knighted ‘Ser’ Ron, a beautiful, eligible bachelorette in Ginny, ‘reasonable’ introductions to Hogwarts’ relationship culture with the Twins and their wives, and even examples that Wizards were still very much human with the Twins’ children: two two-year-old boys named Bill and Charlie who might as well have been twins themselves despite having separate mothers.
On the other hand… it was the Weasleys… And didn’t that just say it all? I was sure they’d contributed more than their fair share towards making Highgarden even more interesting and eventful than it already was.
“And do we count in that good company?” I asked.
“I should hope so!” Mace replied boisterously. “You Witches and Wizards have grown on me. I’ll admit, the magic issue had me worried. Fretting and scornful, even! But by my reckoning, by everything I’ve seen hosting House Weasley, they’re quintessentially… just men.”
“Quintessentially,” Olenna scoffed. “Now, where did you go and learn that word, Mace?”
“I believe Willas used it,” Mace considered aloud, tapping his chin. “I quite liked the weight of it on the tongue. Regardless! The Weasleys are young Lords — and a young Lady, of course, — of good and lively character! But for all of their magical power, they remain as mortal as any other! And my Margaery says she found only more of the same at Hogwarts! Splendid!
“I am proud that my heir has declared your people to be friends, and ever-thankful for all you’ve done for him. In fact-! I would extend invitations of the same! To friendship in a new era!”
Lord Mace raised a toast to friendship between House Tyrell and Hogwarts, and the whole high table was swept along in his pace. From a fondly smiling Lady Allerie to an Olenna rolling her eyes. From a grinning Ginny to a chuckling Dumbledore. From an interested Prince Renly to a constantly vigilant Dora. From the Twins slipping something mischievous into Heather’s cup and Heather switching it back on them before she raised it with the toast. The switched cup sparked spontaneously, puffed smoke, and only added to the moment’s good cheer.
The Lord of Highgarden reaffirmed his son’s declaration of friendship for the whole hall to see. Mace certainly had a way of bringing people together. The tables closest to us joined in the toast just due to the momentum and enthusiasm he brought to the table. I’m sure just as many were making careful note of the declaration…
“With good ideas and good charm like this, it’s an honest shame I haven’t gotten the chance to interact with Castle Hogwarts sooner,” Renly chuckled. “Tell me, Lady Luna, Headmaster Dumbledore, you would offer a Citadel of the Arts to Highgarden, but what would your people and your unorthodox ideas have to offer to Storm’s End?”
“Firewhiskey and more?” Heather suggested with a shrug. “I hear Stormlanders are hardy folk, and after seeing King Robert in action, I know that’s true. When in doubt, offer ‘em a new way to get drunk as a skunk.”
“Actually…” Hermoine considered aloud, nibbling slightly at her lower lip. “I’d say… history, more than anything else.”
“History?” Renly raised an eyebrow.
“History,” Loras scoffed. “What good is the past told by people not even native to our realm?”
“Only a daft wanker turns away history,” Heather scowled in Hermione’s defense.
Loras began to puff himself up in return, but Margaery and I cut in between the two before they could do anything drastic.
“History, brother dearest,” Margaery soothed. “You know its importance. Be it lessons learned or legitimacy leveraged, much can be gained from the past.”
“And I’d challenge you to find people better suited to rediscovering lost history than Hogwarts,” I continued. “We might be foreign, but sometimes, all you need is new eyes and a new way of looking. Say, through a lens of Magic?”
It was Renly who really got Loras to calm down, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Their offer has some merit, my friend. Mine are storied lands, none can deny that. What all has been lost? Both by my Baratheon and Durradon ancestors and the ancient houses sworn to our line.”
He grew somewhat quieter, but in that quiet, I saw the ambition and pride of a young man with so much to prove, “We were Storm Kings once… Ruling from the Dornish Marches to the Neck… What, oh, what could be brought back to the fore if we could only peek into that barely remembered past…?”
“If anyone could rediscover that lost greatness, my Prince, I am confident it would be you,” Loras flattered.
“Sure, why not?” Dora shrugged nonchalantly. “Just need you a bit of good ol’ Hogwarts research magic to help things along.”
Loras bristled at some perceived slight in Dora’s words, but she hadn’t said anything outright insulting. Unfortunately, the Highborn of Westeros could just… be kinda like that…? Margaery, once again, found herself translating and playing mediator.
“We have the utmost faith in your goals, of course, my Prince,” She said. “Thus, I would suggest deepening ties with Hogwarts so you might work well together going forward. To that end, I would gladly extend an invitation for you to accompany us on our coming journey to Oldtown.”
“Hmm, now isn’t that an interesting invitation~,” Renly hummed.
“I mean, I guess you can come…” Heather grumbled.
“It couldn’t-…” I paused mid-sentence and corrected myself. “Well, it could hurt things, but I doubt it will. I would second that invitation, Prince Renly.”
“If anything, having a Prince with us could open a few doors that might otherwise remain shut,” Dumbledore added. “A refuge in diplomacy so we don’t have to resort to, how do you say…? Lockpicking?”
“We still might need a bit of lockpicking, Headmaster,” Dora chuckled.
“Actually, I think it’s still my overall preferred course of action,” Heather smirked.
“Then, it’s a good thing we’re so good at it~!” Luna chimed. “Right good lockpick-ists, us Witches and Wizards~!”
“It’s one of the first things we learn for a reason, innit?” Ginny joked.
Ron snorted with humor, “Even I couldn’t fuck up a few good Alohomoras.”
“Margaery? Dear?” Allerie asked, her voice slightly strained. “I was unaware you were included in Hogwarts’ visit to Oldtown… Is this wise? Is it proper?”
“But, of course, Mother,” Margaery smiled beautifully. “Father has reaffirmed Willas’ declaration of friendship, has he not? Would we not trust our friends with a short journey through our own Kingdom? I’d say our ‘friendship’ doesn’t say much if that was the case.”
“I think it’s a SPLENDID idea!” Mace declared. “Our Little Rose is a woman grown, my dear Lady. She deserves to spread her roots and beauty wide and far for all the realm to know! There will be little danger to be found in our peaceful Reach or your Lord Father’s city. Especially not with noble Witches and Wizards as her shield!”
“It’s not the danger to self I’m concerned with, but the danger to propriety,” Allerie worried.
“Oh, let the children have this, my girl,” Olenna waved dismissively. “Settle your concerns by assigning Willas to chaperone her, if you must. It would do good to have the Tyrell Heir make a progress throughout our sworn lands.”
Bran, little Bran Stark, gasped excitedly, “Oh, can we?!”
“It’s looking like we must, o’ Squire of mine,” Willas chuckled.
Bran grinned wide as only a boy can, declaring his grand ambition to the world (and the high table there first), “I’m going to climb the Hightower!”
Heather’s lips quirked like a fox, “Hey, I like your confidence, little man!”
“He’s been a wonderful pupil to mold so far-…” One of the Twins — George — leaned in to faux-whisper.
The other Twin — Fred, of course — copied his closest brother, “-We’re making a right little Marauder out of him!”
“I’m sure Lord and Lady Stark will be just thrilled to hear that,” I deadpanned.
“It’s decided, then,” Renly said, smiling as he visibly enjoyed the easy air about the high table. “On your journey to Oldtown, I will accompany you all. My brother in all but blood will join me, I’m sure.”
“Always, Renly,” Loras immediately agreed despite Renly’s slightly assuming arrogance.
“As will Margaery, Bran, and I,” Willas added. “Why, it’s a proper adventure for our younger generation, I’d say.”
“And one out-of-place old goat,” Olenna snarked.
“Why, Olenna,” Dumbledore placed a dramatic hand on his chest, eyes twinkling. “Don’t you know I’m young at heart~? I’d go so far as to say I make your lovely Little Rose into a crone in comparison to my positively spritely inner image.”
“In your senile daydreams, I’m sure,” Olenna shot back.
Chuckling at how things were developing, I turned to the Weasleys, “Any of you want in?”
“We’ll have to beg off, I’m afraid,” George said.
“The boys, you understand?” Fred nodded alongside him.
Angelina snorted, “Yeah, if we can’t go running on adventures with babes in arms, you can’t either, ya wankers.”
Alicia nodded demurely, “Bill and Charlie need their fathers. And this is, perhaps… a chance for more…?”
Grinning at each other, the Twins pretended to sigh and swoon simultaneously.
“Oh, such a shame-…”
“-Such a shame, indeed, brother.”
“Alas, our Lady Wives have need of us…”
“Such a need, indeed, brother!”
“Oh, shut up, you prats,” Angelina laughed.
“We all know you wouldn’t leave the boys for even a second, if you didn’t have to,” Alicia added, audibly amused.
“I’ll tag along,” Ginny said. “I’m sure our Weasley Knight will, too.”
Ron hesitated for a moment, but it was plain to see on his face that he was practically desperate to be included again, “If… If you’ll have me…”
Heather smiled a complicated sort of expression, but still said, “We’ll have you, Ron. We can’t be so close… But we’re cool, yeah?”
Ron cracked a small smile at that, “Y-Yeah…”
“Wonderful,” Olenna drawled, undoubtedly taking note of that little bit of unspoken history along with Renly and perhaps Allerie. “Go have your youthful adventure, children. I’m sure it will get you actually moving and out of my castle soon enough.”
“Your castle, Goodmother?” Allerie raised an imperious eyebrow.
Dumbledore sighed dramatically, “Shooed out of good company in such a hurry, isn’t that always the way?”
“You are something of a taxing guest, Albus,” I teased.
Olenna, of course, ignored her, ignored him, ignored us all, “But until then, something spoken earlier piqued my interest. Might that offer of history to Prince Renly be open to House Tyrell as well?”
“Oh, a beautiful idea, Mother!” Mace exclaimed. “The Gardener Kings were just as storied as the Storm Kings of Old! Any aid in rediscovering that history would be well compensated, I say! Gold, resources, manpower, the Reach would be at your disposal!”
I glanced at Hermione, and she glanced back at me, slowly nodding and saying, “… New Hogsmeade will always need more raw material and manpower with how it’s growing.”
I nodded as well, “I think we could come to a similar arrangement to what we might develop with Prince Renly, Olenna.”
“Good,” Olenna chopped out. “I’d request a focus on discoveries that lend legitimacy first and foremost. It’s no secret that… some Houses… have long challenged our rightful hold over Highgarden and the Reach. But we maintain just as strong a claim as any of them, and we were actually here in the Highest Garden the whole time, too. With Hogwarts’ magical aid… let’s remind them of that fact, shall we?”
Judging by the growing grins on House Tyrell, that was something of a popular statement… Mace’s expression was bright and proud. Loras and Garlan mirrored their father, though Garlan’s was a bit deeper when it came to considering the ripples that might come from all of this. Allerie was quick to nod her full agreement. And Margaery and Willas bore almost the same expressions on their faces — Olenna in miniature, both of them — calculating and more than a little vicious…
The other claimant Houses of the Reach wouldn’t see the Tyrell Rose for its many hidden thorns until it was much, much too late.
IIIII
Less than a week after that feast, our not-so-little party set off from Highgarden. Me, Heather, Hermione, Luna, Dora, and Margaery (though most wouldn’t associate her with us first, the coven had all but claimed her now) from the coven. Dumbledore, Ron, and Ginny from Hogwarts in general. Willas, Bran, Loras, and Renly. And a suitable escort of guards and servants rounded out the party. 30 Tyrell men-at-arms for Willas, 30 more for Loras (but really, Renly), and 10-or-so servants for the Westerosi Highborn so used to them.
Still, the pickings were relatively restrained enough that we should still be making good time. That pace was helped by us following the Rose Road: the portion of Westeros’ King’s Road running from Oldtown to King’s Landing through Highgarden, well-maintained and actually paved with packed gravel at the least. Our pace was helped even more by the weather: sunny and warm, picturesque and idyllic. As if the Reach itself was welcoming our progress.
With many a crocodile tear on her grandmother’s end, Margaery successfully convinced Olenna to part with the Wizarding wheelhouse she’d commissioned from Hogwarts. Everyone could’ve fit into that moving magical apartment, though it would’ve been a tight fit with the men-at-arms.
Despite expectations, Dumbledore was the one to take it over for the journey, not Margaery. He cited ease for his ‘old, worn, and brittle bones’. Tricky old goat… Luna was the only one to constantly join him in there, citing ‘Lalalalala~! I can’t hear you hating and harshing my vibey-wibeys~! You’ll have to speak up, Atlas~!’ Tricky young gremlin, too, it seemed…
They took pity on the servants, at the very least. The rest of us occasionally rotated into the enhanced wheelhouse for breaks on the road and back out to ride alongside it on horse-or-illusioned-broom-back. Renly, Loras, Willas, and Bran marveled at the magic at play, and I suspect all of them (even little Bran) were thinking of approaching Hogwarts to commission something similar, be it another wheelhouse or one of the more practical Wizarding tents we broke out come nightfall.
A nice and tidy bit of profit to be had for Hogwarts if that came to pass.
Still, even with the magical wheelhouse and Wizarding brooms, our overall pace was limited to the horses our Westerosi counterparts rode. Not the slowest it could’ve been… but it still left quite a bit of time for introspection and conversation.
Riding along the Rose Road, I turned my gaze to the System. It felt like it’d been much too long. But I’d seen progress, as always. The Grind continued, inching increase by inching increase.
Raw Stats hadn’t been my focus for a while. But just by living, the System and Grind saw them rise. Especially in this rapidly changing world. There was always something to be done, something to ponder over, or some new challenge to rise to meet. Body rose with naturally continued physical training and sparring. Mind rose with every curiosity and discovery to be found about this world’s Magic. And Soul rose almost without effort as the Magic of this world came into a second Age of Heroes.
< Stats >
< +3 to Body, +6 to Mind, +5 to Soul >
< Body: 98+3=101/200+, Mind: 95+6=101/200+, Soul 92+5=97/200+ >
Surprisingly, breaching the 100-threshold in two Stats… didn’t do all that much. There was no grand milestone, no reward other than the usual increases in capability. But then, I suppose ‘100’ was no longer the ‘prestige line’ to be crossed for Stats. Not after the whole Stat-line increased upon arrival in this world. Though these days, I contributed that increased Stat baseline and cap to both a Systemic restructuring and the dramatic return of Magic to the world that Hogwarts heralded. The System had just been — perhaps expectedly — the first to know how Westeros and the rest of this world would be returning to a more powerful age shortly after Hogwarts lit the spark.
< Magic >
< +2 to Magic Theory, +3 to Wandless Magic, +5 to Dark Arts, +6 to Black Blood Magic, +10 to Runes, +12 to Wanded Magic >
< Magic Theory 103+2=105/+++, Wandless Magic 66+3=69/100, 77+5=82/100, Black Blood Magic 62+6=68/100, Runes 77+10=87/100, Wanded Magic 78+12=90/100 >
With Magic, all of my progress came as a sort of package. Because I’d finally found my area of focus. Not the world’s ‘divines’, not the subtle differences of Magic between this world and our home, not even the awakening magical bloodlines of Highborn and Smallfolk alike. No, my area of focus consisted of the two languages this world offered that could be used in runic magic.
The creation of my Weirwood-Obsidian < High-Tongue Glaive-Staff > left me inspired and intently interested. It showed me that I had something special on my hands with not one, but two complete languages to work with. While neither the Old Tongue nor High Valyrian was inherently magical, they both retained enough Mystery and could be bestowed with enough metaphysical weight for a skilled practitioner to mold them like runic clay.
The kicker was that they were still complete and living languages, much more so than Elder Futhark and the other languages used for rune work on Earth. With Elder Futhark, for example, a Wizard wrote out the effect and interactions they desired, essentially dictating it straight to Magic itself. But with much more material to work with for the Old Tongue or High Valyrian runes, stories could be told. And Magic did so love its stories…
‘Runes’ wasn’t mere Runesmithing or Runecrafting anymore… It was Rune-scripting. And that brought so much potential if I could truly master it (with the Grind, I knew I could…).
Subtlety and nuance in the magical results and workings, the potential for the scripts to take on a life of their own, giving freedom of choice to Magic itself and its mysterious ways, there were so many possibilities to be had when one worked runes into stories instead of blunt descriptions. Having experienced it even once, I couldn’t help but suspect that Lady Hogwarts herself was a storied Runescripting. And she was, quite undeniably, sentient. Merlin, I wanted to make something like her eventually…
Unfortunately, other than my staff, I was still very much in the theory and research stage of my new area of focus. I was learning the languages and their extensive histories, theorizing what was possible, and testing the success that sparked all of my interest.
Both languages were bloody, leading to my increase in Black Blood Magic and Dark Arts. Both languages could be used as the spoken component of a spell in this world, leading to my increase in Wanded, Wandless, and Dark Arts. Both languages and the novel concept of Runescripting offered seemingly endless possibilities, leading to my increase in Magic Theory. Both languages could be seen together in action through my staff, leading to my increase in even more Wanded Magic since the staff seemed to count for it and was easily the most effective magical focus for this world that Dumbledore and I had found (we were intently considering making everyone spare wands if we could find enough Weirwood…). And my increase in Runes… well, that one spoke for itself.
< Social >
< +4 to Seduction, +5 to Perception, +10 to Negotiation, +10 to Influence, +14 to Rulership, +30 to Notoriety >
< Seduction 74+4=78/100, Perception 60+5=65/100, Negotiation 40+10=50/100, Influence 26+10=36/100, Rulership 26+14=40/100, Notoriety 29+30=59/100 >
Other than my new area of magical focus, my increases were entirely Social. No surprise given how much time I’d been spending with Olenna, Margaery, and the other noteworthy natives of the realm. Seducing Margaery (read: getting seduced by her) gave the little boost to Seduction, and Olenna was personally responsible for both Perception and Negotiation. Then, Rulership, Influence, and Notoriety came naturally from being essentially the primary face of Hogwarts to Westeros.
In all, good progress, even if I hadn’t seen anything worth writing home about for Combat and Creation. Just enough to prove I was still improving, that the Grind hadn’t failed me. For Combat, mostly Tactics, Melee, and Swordsmanship, from Cygnus’ continued teaching and hanging out with so many renowned warriors of Westeros recently. For Creation, mostly Crafting with a touch of Enchanting from the sort of… feelers I was putting out in preparation for true Runescripting. I envisioned a significant improvement in the latter category once my new area of focus transitioned from theory to practice, though.
< Combat >
< +3 to Tactics, +5 to Melee, +8 to Swordsmanship >
< Tactics 80+3=83/100, Melee 60+5=65/100, Swordsmanship 58+8=66/100 >
< Creation >
< +2 to Enchanting, +4 to Crafting >
< Enchanting 54+2=56/100, Crafting 46+4=50/100 >
But as almost always, I was most excited about Magic and what the future held there with my new area of focus. There were stories — Runescripts — to be told, and Magic itself was always willing to listen. Maybe I should get Lady Hogwarts on as a beta reader…
“Say, Atlas, my good lord? Do you know anything of the gifts Lady Margaery had sent off to the ladies of Honeyholt and Brightwater Keep and Horn’s Hill? Books of some kind?”
Prince Renly’s question brought me out of my Grind introspection on the morning when we were nearing Oldtown. No more than a good day’s travel out. We’d get there by evening, I was sure. Immediately, however, I nearly choked as my mind caught up to what he was asking after.
“My dear sister was rather secretive about all of that,” Loras nodded along.
From the window of the wheelhouse, Margaery gasped, “I was not ‘secretive’, Brother! I was discreet! The perfect amount of discretion for business by ladies, for ladies, and altogether between ladies. Certainly nothing for you or the Prince to concern yourselves with.”
“Yes, nothing to concern yourselves with at all. That’s probably for the best,” I nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly…
A bit of Renly’s princely arrogance reared its head, “No business for a Prince? Truly?”
“Leave my sister to her secrets, my Prince,” Loras waved dismissively. “If she says it’s womanly business, I shall believe her. Nothing for us young lords to think upon for too long.”
“… Rude,” Heather frowned and muttered under her breath.
She and Loras hadn’t been getting on very well. Nothing outright hostile, but there was too much personality in both of them. Of course, it didn’t help that Loras was rather… steadfastly… devoted to Renly. Perhaps even more so than he was to Margaery. But really, I think it was Loras’ general arrogance, his assuming himself untouchable, and his surprisingly close-minded ways for a gay man in medieval times that got on Heather’s nerves.
Then again… I suppose it would be somewhat silly to consider the queer culture of Westeros somehow more socially progressive than the rest of Westeros, just on the merit of sexuality. And there certainly was one, even if it wasn’t spoken about openly. History tended to be much gayer than most people expected. ‘The famously eternal bachelors were just close friends,’ anyone? Or… Alexander the Great, ‘nough said.
Just as Loras looked about to snap back at Heather, Hermione hurried to change the subject, “Prince Renly-! Shall we resume our introduction to Storm King history from yesterday’s conversation?”
“Yeah! The Godsgrief was WICKED!” Bran chimed, riding with Willas.
“Your ancestors were just as ‘wicked’, Bran,” Willas chuckled at his squire’s enthusiasm.
Bran stuck his tongue out, “Yeah, but I’ve heard the Stark stories half a hundred times each from Old Nan. I want to hear old tales from other lands!”
“We should tell him about Merlin, Morgana, Maeve, and Arthur at some point,” Ron noted.
Margaery perked up with interest, “Another ‘A History’ to write~?”
Dumbledore’s lips quirked in amusement, “Some would tell you differently, but the Founders had to get ‘all that’ from somewhere.”
“Another time,” Renly dismissed. “Now, the Storm Kings shall have the sunlight. Where did I leave off…?”
“You detailed how the Storm Kings began their reign,” Hermione recounted. “Durran Godsgrief with his impenetrable castle, where Storms End, and his goddess wife Elenei. You claim he ruled for a thousand years on from then — and I’m not denying that! It’s something for us to look into, to be sure! But… I think I’d like to hear legends from the Stormlands as a whole.”
“As you request, my Lady,” Renly sketched a bow from his horse. “There are many legends from the Stormlands, and many more that have been lost to time, without a doubt. If there is a bastion of the First Men outside of the North, I would surely declare it to be the Stormlands. We integrated the Andals, of course, but much of our First Men history remains, proud and strong.
“In that storied whole… I imagine some legends were the product of some ancient magic. The founding of House Dondarrion is one such tale, I suspect. Their line began with a humble courier for the Storm King of the time.
“In fulfilling his messenger’s duty, the Dondarrion was waylaid by Dornish bandits. His horse was felled. His sword was broken. His hopes were dashed. Then, from the stormy sky, purple lightning fell. Not once, but twice. Both Dornish bandits were thoroughly eviscerated, and the Dondarrion lived to deliver his crucial message. Telling the tale to his liege, he was elevated to lordship. That fateful scene was immortalized in the Dondarrion coat of arms. I can’t help but suspect — nay, hope — that there was some blessed magic at play there.”
“Could be, could be~,” Luna nodded, humming. “Lighting never strikes twice. Except when it does! And isn’t that fun~?”
Renly chuckled, “‘Fun,’ Tis a strange word to describe the legend, but as you say, Lady Luna. Another tale of old magicks, but for this, I only have my suspicions… The Tarths of the Sapphire Isle are more Andal than most of the Stormlands, but the ancient and petty kings of their line were once known as ‘Evenstar’. An auspicious name, no? Magical, even?”
I shrugged, “There’s no reason it couldn’t be, but any confirmation will have to wait until we can address your suspicions, Prince Renly.”
Renly nodded as we rode into a town on the smaller side, likely the last one before Oldtown. It looked to be a wealthy little place, relatively speaking. There was certainly plenty of traffic going through it, and even a crowd gathered in the town’s square that we were coming up on.
The Prince continued, “Understandable. I may have somewhere for Hogwarts’ investigation to start, Lord Atlas. The Stormlander fiefs bordering the Sea of Dorne lie on a peninsula known as Cape Wrath. And Cape Wrath bears the Rainwood, mighty and mysterious forest that it is.
“Now, the First Men of the Stormlands were known to carve their histories into wood. As a child in Storm’s End, I grew up hearing tales that some of those First Men writings still persist, deep in the Rainwood. Wooden tapestries carved into ancient redwoods as wide around as a tower keep and as tall as the Hightower. If you could find them, it would be a boon to your search, would it not?”
“Well now, imagine that…” Dumbledore mused with a delighted sense of wonder to his voice.
And I could. It was an awesome thought. Ten-thousand-year-old redwoods — certainly magical in their own right — hidden away in the sacred groves of a temperate rainforest with persistent carvings that should’ve long-since been grown over, offering a peek into an age past. That… That was magical, and I was practically itching to go looking for them.
Unfortunately, the real world had a way of disrupting magical whimsy. As our party approached the town square and the crowd within, we heard… a mirrored pair of competing sermons.
“-They are blessings. Gifts and boons and miracles from the ever-generous Seven Above,” A charismatic old septon preached.
“-The results of sin! The heralding of damnation! Turn your back on those terrible curses as one, my flock!” A fierce young septon spat against him.
The former was gentle, letting his message of peace speak for him. The latter was vitriolic, doing his best to stir up the crowd. Both saw some success, but most of the crowd was just standing back and watching warily.
“Miracles of magic to be used for good or ill, to be welcomed or scorned. In the end, the choice is ours. It’s always been ours. The Seven give us this ability, and without it, without choice, we are nothing. Do not fear the witch, the warlock, the sorcerer out of hand. They are our grandmothers, our brothers, our neighbors, are they not? Can they not give even more with the blessings bestowed upon them?” The old septon reasoned.
“They are different!” The young septon… Damn, he really came right out and said it. “Wicked magicks will quickly become wicked ways! Even our noble lieges are being led astray! Corrupted! Falling! The Stag King? The Demon of the Trident?! I would name him one in truth!”
I winced at that last line. Nothing good could come of it. Sure enough, as if a switch had been flipped, the personable, if arrogant, Renly we’d been getting to know… changed. I watched magical fury spark to life in his veins. He spurred his horse to push through the crowd. Loras didn’t hesitate to ride in behind the Prince. People parted quickly until they were looming over both septons with a positively thunderous expression on Renly’s face and a scowl on Loras’.
“I should have your head for that drivel!” Renly boomed furiously. I couldn’t help but note that it still fell short of King Robert’s voice…
The young septon glared back, “And who are you to question a voice of the Seven?!”
“Your. Prince,” Renly ground out. “Awakened as a Storm King of Old! I bear the same magic you damn, and I shall tell you, it is no curse!”
His thundering brought lightning out to dance across his skin. Gasps ran through the crowd, and the Smallfolk shied away even more. To his credit, the young septon stuck to his guns… It was just a shame those ‘guns’ were so misguided and hateful.
“Sinner! Demon! Your blood is thinner, more impure, than even mine! No Highborn, but Hellborn, I declare you!” The septon spat.
The lightning on Renly’s skin snapped and cracked, nearly deafening in his fury. That was an insult that couldn’t be borne. It was an ugly and troublesome scene, but none of us Wizards could find it in us to help the septon when he was more likely to lead an old-school witchhunt than thank us…
Renly looked just about ready to strike down the septon where he stood. Young though he was, the septon had to know that. Probably wanted it to happen, wanted the Prince to make him a martyr. Loras cut in before it could escalate to that, however.
“A trial by combat, then,” He declared. “Let the Seven decide who speaks true, who holds their favor.”
The young septon gaped like a fish, caught off-guard, “W-Wha-?! A farce!”
Loras glared down at him, “Trials by combat are the way of the gods, and they always have been. None can deny that. Good septon, would you agree? Would you preside?”
The last questions were addressed to the young septon’s opposite. The older (seemingly pro-magic) septon nodded mournfully, “It is true. The Seven bless their chosen champions with victory. This is known. My younger brother in faith, you have only brought this upon yourself. Still, I would preside over your trial.”
Renly’s dangerously low chuckle sounded like thunder in the distance, “Fine. By. Me.”
Any plan for martyrdom the young septon might’ve had was dashed instantly. Trials by combat didn’t make much sense to me, but they were a cornerstone of Westerosi culture. Few would openly speak against them, certainly none that wouldn’t have argued against Renly’s ‘honorable’ execution in the first place. The situation had gone from potential oppression to tradition.
Renly bared his steel with lightning flashing furiously along its length. To be expected, it was a ‘trial’… but there wasn’t much ‘combat’ to speak of. The result was already decided. The Seven didn’t come to the hateful preacher’s aid. Renly proved his worthiness by striking down the young septon with a single slash of sharp, snapping steel and lightning.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore and I exchanged grim glances, silently agreeing that it’d be best to keep a close eye on the ‘Prince With so Much to Prove’ going forward.
The rest of the trek to Oldtown, barely a few hours more, was a much quieter affair after Renly’s execution-in-all-but-name. In his position, I can’t say any of us would’ve done any differently (except Hermione and Luna, perhaps, who both would’ve debated that young septon into insanity, just in very different ways…). But Renly’s mood afterward wasn’t very conducive to continuing our historical conversation.
Soon enough, we came upon Oldtown. It was a lively and gorgeous city that looked perfectly normal for Westeros from afar, apart from the impressive medieval skyscraper that was the Hightower. But as we crossed some line that could be considered the city limits, that perception changed. Renly, Bran, and Margaery sat up straighter in confusion. But everyone from Hogwarts easily recognized the magical sensation that came with crossing that invisible line.
“Oho~?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he peered out of the wheelhouse. “Those are some very interesting wards, aren’t they?”
“Yep, they’re not just protection~!” Luna chimed. “They’re a magical domain~! Saying all ’This is mine, grumble, brumble, yumble, everything the light touches!’”
The voice Luna put on when she quoted the wards was adorable, all pretend lordly and dramatic. But there was still quite a bit of tension amongst us despite the adorable Luna-ness.
At the same time that we’d noticed the wards, the light of the early evening… shifted, tinted by powerful and ancient magicks. Every ray of light was seemingly caught high, high above the city and fed through a claiming magical lens.
I instinctively knew, day or night, the green flame atop the Hightower would cast all of Oldtown in its eerie green hue. Inside and out. From the lowest docks to the highest rooms in the Starry Sept and Citadel. Everything was seen under that green light so long as the flame still burned.
“This… This isn’t possible…” Loras muttered in shock. “We would have known!”
“It’s real, Brother,” Willas replied gravely. “We can see it with our own eyes. The beacon on the Hightower burns green…”
“Sounds like that means something,” Dora noted. “What does it mean?”
“What a terrible introduction to Mother’s home… Green is the Hightower color of war,” Margaery explained solemnly. “Somehow, war has come to Oldtown, with none outside of it the wiser…”
< New Quest Unlocked: There is, in Fact, War in Oldtown >
< Survive the crucible that Westeros’s oldest city has become, a tinderbox lit by returning Magic. Install beneficial proxies and secure generally favorable results in Oldtown and its institutions for the Witches and Wizards of Hogwarts. >
< Rewards: +3 to Magic Theory, +5 to Runes, +15 to Influence, New Title: Hidden Maester, Future aid for yourself and Hogwarts from incredibly influential Westerosi institutions. >
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Bonus Pics (sauce below)
Comments
DerkKill
Well, it's time for some modernist introspection, and what better way than for Hermione to make those closed-minded, archaic, misogynistic old men look ridiculous.
Dan W
It’s back, YES!
