MORAL CODES Motivation
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GOTP Chapter 33
🕑 Added 2025-10-22 09:46:00 +0000 UTCRobb pushed through the flap of his tent, already tired before the next word left his mouth. The camp was half-asleep, men snoring, guards yawning by the fires. He just wanted a quiet moment to think for the next day.
Then he stopped.
Velmir was there.
Sitting right in the middle of his tent, wings folded, eyes half-glowing in the dark. Calm. Patient. Like he had been waiting.
Robb froze where he stood. “Gods be good...” he muttered under his breath. “How did you even get in here?”
The bird tilted his head.
The guards outside hadn’t made a sound. No flapping, no crashing. Just there. A creature of fire inside the Lord’s tent without anyone knowing. That alone was enough to make Robb’s skin crawl, though not from fear, more from awe he didn’t want to admit.
He stepped in slowly. The smell of singed air hit him. The tent felt warmer, like standing too close to a forge.
Velmir’s gaze followed him, sharp and steady.
Robb swallowed once, forced himself to speak softer. “Velmir, is it?” He’d seen the bird before on the field, above the carnage, when the tide of battle turned in his favor as if the gods had taken his side for once. He’d never stood this close, never heard it breathe.
He hesitated, then reached out a hand. “Easy now…”
Velmir’s head tilted slightly as if studying the gesture. Then, before Robb’s fingers could touch, the bird stood, one smooth motion and stepped away.
Robb let his hand drop. A quiet, embarrassed sigh escaped him. “Aye. Didn’t think you’d suffer a hand on you.”
Velmir hopped once, then leapt lightly onto the table. His claws clicked against the wood.
“Stop that,” Robb started, frowning as the bird began to scrape along the surface.
The noise was sharp, quick, deliberate. Not random.
Robb took a step closer.
He stopped talking when he saw what the claws left behind.
Rough letters. Uneven but readable.
I HAVE SHIPS.
Robb blinked. He leaned in. “You can’t be serious.”
Velmir turned his head slightly, then went back to scratching. More words formed, slower this time.
ATTACK KINGS LANDING.
Robb stared at the table, then at the bird. His mind stumbled to make sense of it. How in the seven hells does a beast write? And why that, of all things?
“…King’s Landing?” he said quietly. “That’s what you’d have me do?”
Velmir’s eyes met his again. There was no humor there. Just staring at Robb.
Robb fell quiet. His thoughts stumbled over themselves.
He’d seen strange things since the war began, but nothing like this. A creature that could write, that understood words? And worse, one that seemed to mean them.
“What are you?” he whispered, almost to himself.
Velmir didn’t move. He just started scratching again, slower now.
ASK RHAENYS.
Then he jumped down from the table. No sound. No flare. Just gone through the tent flap like a gust of heat that vanished as fast as it came.
The guards outside startled, spears half-raised as the firebird stepped past them. They watched him fly into the dark and hesitated before rushing inside.
They found Robb still standing by the table, staring down at the words carved into the wood.
He didn’t say a thing. Just looked, jaw set tight, trying to make sense of the message left by something that shouldn’t have been able to leave one.
Outside, the night went quiet again, too quiet for comfort.
And in the center of the Lord’s tent, burned faintly into the table, the words still smoked:
I HAVE SHIPS. ATTACK KINGS LANDING. ASK RHAENYS.
