The Bloody Song

Chapter 26 –

The midday sun streamed through the grimy windows of the Learned Anchor, casting long shadows on the worn wooden table where Fern, Pylos, and Caelum sat, plates of steaming stew before them.

"Three links in a year!" Pylos declared, puffing out his chest. "Not bad for a nobody from Horn Hill of all places, eh?"

Fern rolled her eyes, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Don't get too cocky, Pylos. You know they were easier for you, you had your friend Yandel helping you half the way, getting access to the citadel even after hours."

Pylos grinned, unfazed. "True enough," he admitted, spearing a chunk of carrot. "But I still put in the work, didn't I?"

"You certainly did," Fern agreed, her gaze shifting to Caelum. He sat quietly, his fingers delicately tracing the intricate carvings on a pair of strange double lenses.

"What are those, Caelum?" Fern asked, curiosity piqued.

Caelum looked up, his blue eyes shimmering with a hint of mischief. "Archmaester Ebrose gave them to me," he said, holding up the spectacles. "He called them 'near-eyes'."

Fern reached out, taking the delicate contraption from him. "They're beautiful," she murmured, turning them over in her hands. "What do they do?"

"Ebrose was trying to find a way to see those tiny creatures I hypothesized about," Caelum explained. "He thought these might magnify them enough to see them, but they didn't work as intended. But," he added with a hopeful smile, "I think they might help people with poor eyesight."

"That's incredible!" Fern exclaimed. "What did he say when you told him about that?"

"He was thrilled," Caelum said. "He's going to test them out on some of the folk in Oldtown."

Pylos snorted. "I swear to the gods, it is unfair how this bastard earned himself four links," he grumbled, "and he missed half the dissection lessons and all the birthing ones. Typical. Ebrose favors you too much, you know."

Fern shot Pylos a warning glance. "Don't be bitter, Pylos. You did well too."

Pylos grumbled under his breath, "Yeah, well, Ebrose has been fussing over Caelum's stupid ideas ever since he heard about them. Tiny creatures in the air? Please."

Fern chuckled, wiping a bit of stew from her chin with the back of her hand. "I don't know, Pylos," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Maybe Caelum's onto something. Who's to say there aren't tiny creatures all around us that we can't see?"

Pylos scoffed, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "Oh, of course! And I suppose grumpkins were the real cause of the Dance of the Dragons, too? You've been spending too much time listening to tavern tales, Fern."

A secret smile played on Fern's lips. If only he knew, she thought to herself, remembering the three silver links she'd tucked away in her room upstairs. But she kept her silence, enjoying the irony of Pylos's ignorance.

"Besides," Pylos continued, "even if Caelum's right, it doesn't matter. He's too busy chasing after stupid things like magic. Can you believe he actually became Maester Marwyn's apprentice? All that time he said he'd been sick, and the rat bastard was taking private lessons with an archmeaster himself! Even if it was Marwyn, but still the man knows healing and the like almost as good as Ebrose! I thought he'd given up on that nonsense after Maester Qyburn's lesson."

Fern shook her head. "You know as well as I do what happened at the manse on the Honeywine, Pylos. Magic is real, whether you want to believe it or not."

Pylos waved a dismissive hand. "Bah! You've let the whispers of the common folk get to your head, Fern. The citadel and the sept both agree that it was just Qyburn messing with things he shouldn't have. There was no demon, just a big, messy alchemical explosion."

Fern sighed, realizing it was pointless to argue with Pylos when he was in this mood. "Well, anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I'm heading out to the farms on the morrow to pick up some supplies for the inn, from a farm of a friend of my father's. You two are welcome to join me, now that you have some time before taking your vows as acolytes."

Caelum shifted in his seat, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "Actually, Fern..." he began hesitantly, "I won't be taking the vows."

Fern stared at him, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. "What?" She sputtered. "But... you could be a maester now! What else would you do?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Pylos's face. "Oh, wait," he said, snapping his fingers. "You wanted to be a knight, didn't you? I had forgotten that. I want to be one too!"

Fern's eyes widened. She had completely forgotten about Caelum's childhood dream.

Caelum shook his head, a troubled look in his eyes. "I don't know, Pylos. I'm not sure what I want anymore. I don't think I could do well when I become a Knight."

Pylos frowned, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice. "What do you mean? You sound like being a knight is a chore, not a dream." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "My father's a knight, you know. He's fighting for Lord Randyll Tarly right now. It's an honor to serve your house and protect the realm."

Caelum sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, Pylos. My father, and elder brother are serving in the war too. And I respect that. But knighthood... it seems so... restrictive. I don't know if it's really for me. When I become a Knight, I think I want something more than just that!"

Pylos burst out laughing. "'When I become a Knight' he says!" Pylos scoffed, shaking his head "You talk as if being a knight were a foregone conclusion for you! You need strength and conviction for that, Caelum. And as I recall, you were always the one scared of your own shadow, even when it came to just hugging a girl."

"Pylos!" Fern snapped, her cheeks flushing with anger. "That's not very kind."

Pylos ducked his head, a sheepish grin on his face. "Sorry, Fern," he mumbled. "But it's true, isn't it? He got sick, Maester Marwyn whisked him away, and he came back all…. weak. It's a good thing his brain didn't melt, or he wouldn't have earned those links either."

Fern glared at him. "You're just jealous," she retorted.

Pylos shrugged, unapologetic. "Of course I'm jealous! He got four links without even being here half the time, after missing more than half the lessons! If you ask me, he should just become a maester. He's clearly good at it."

Caelum shook his head again, his expression resolute. "That's not for me either."

Pylos threw his hands up in exasperation, letting out a long sigh. "Gods, Caelum, just pick something!" he exclaimed. "All that brain, and absolutely no ambition is really very stupid."

But before Caelum could respond, the inn's door creaked open, and a familiar figure strode in. Maester Marwyn, his robes billowing around him, scanned the room briefly before his eyes settled on their table. He walked over with a briskness that brooked no delay.

"Caelum," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind, "gather your things. We're leaving."

Caelum blinked, surprised by the suddenness of the order, as he placed his almost empty dish on the table. "Where are we going, Maester?"

"The Starry Sept," Marwyn replied. He turned to Liernen, who was busy washing dishes in the kitchen. "I'll be taking your daughter as well, Liernen."

Fern's eyes widened. "Me?" she squeaked, pointing to herself.

Liernen glanced over, his brow furrowed in concern. "Bring her back before dinner, Marwyn," he said. "She has a long day ahead of her early on the morrow."

Marwyn nodded. "Of course, Liernen. It won't take long."

Pylos, ever the curious one, couldn't contain himself. "But why Fern, Maester?" he asked. "I understand taking Caelum – he's your apprentice. But why her?"

Marwyn's lips twitched in a hint of a smile. "You may come as well, Pylos," he said. "I'll explain on the way."

Pylos's confusion only deepened. "But... I haven't finished my meal," he protested weakly.

Marwyn raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you can manage without it for a few hours."

With that, he turned and headed out the door, leaving the three friends scrambling to collect their belongings and follow in his wake.

The wheels of Maester Marwyn's cart rattled over the cobblestones, the rhythmic clatter the only sound breaking the tense silence that had settled over the three young passengers. Finally, Caelum broke the quiet.

"Maester Marwyn," he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "why are we going to the Starry Sept?"

Marwyn's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, his expression grim. "There's been a murder," he said simply.

"A murder?" Fern echoed, her voice laced with surprise.

Marwyn nodded. "The second one, in fact. And I need your help, Caelum."

Pylos snorted. "What could he possibly help with?" he scoffed. "He barely attended any of Maester Lorcas's lessons on corpses and cadavers."

"We'll see," Marwyn said cryptically. "A few extra pairs of eyes never hurt. Besides," he added, casting a pointed look at Pylos, "I continued Caelum's education while he was ill. He's seen and learned everything the Citadel teaches about the human body."

Caelum's cheeks flushed slightly, but he said nothing.

"Who was the victim?" Caelum asked, his voice barely audible.

"Septon Illifer," Marwyn replied. "One of the most devout septons at the Starry Sept. The way he was murdered... it's quite unusual."

Pylos leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. "Tell us more," he urged. "And why bring Fern? A murder scene is hardly a place for a girl."

Fern shot him a withering glare.

Marwyn chuckled dryly. "You'll see soon enough. And as for Fern," he said, turning to her with a twinkle in his eye, "she may have seen more dead bodies than both of you combined."

Pylos's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Fern ducked her head, at the sudden attention. She glared at Marwyn for putting her under her friend's attention, but the man seemed to either not notice or care.

The cart rattled to a halt before the imposing gates of the Starry Sept. Hightower guards, their faces stern and unyielding, stood at attention, their eyes scanning the arriving visitors with suspicion.

Inside the main hall, a tense atmosphere hung heavy in the air. A crowd of maesters, septons, and septas clustered in small groups, their hushed conversations punctuated by gasps and whispers.

"Dreadful business," a grey-haired septon murmured, his voice trembling. "Never seen anything like it."

"They say his eyes..." a young acolyte began, his voice trailing off as he shuddered.

A plump septa clutched a prayer book to her chest, her eyes wide with fear. "The Seven save us," she whispered fervently. "Septon Illifer was one of the most devout."

A ripple of agreement passed through the crowd. Illifer had been a respected member of the Most Devout, a sect known for their piety and strict adherence to the Faith of the Seven. His murder had sent shockwaves through the Starry Sept, leaving many to question the safety of their sacred sanctuary.

"Do they know who did it?" a young novice asked, his voice barely a whisper.

An older Septon shook his head grimly. "No one knows. Gods are we not safe in our own homes now? In the very sept? This is supposed to be a holy place!"

Maester Marwyn swiftly ushered Fern, Pylos, and Caelum past the guards and into the sept's hallowed halls.

A tall, thin man with a severe expression and a silver star brooch pinned to his robes approached them, his eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"Maester Marwyn," Septon Pryce said, his voice sharp with irritation, "why have you brought children to such a grisly scene?"

Marwyn met the septon's gaze with unwavering calm. "These are no ordinary children, Septon Pryce," he replied. "Both Caelum and Pylos have earned their links in healing. Archmaester Ebrose himself would vouch for their knowledge and discretion."

Pylos puffed up, pride evident in his posture.

Septon Pryce's gaze shifted to Fern, his disapproval evident. "And the girl?" he asked, his voice sharp. "What possible reason could you have for bringing her here?"

Fern instinctively shrunk back, feeling a surge of anxiety. But before she could respond, Caelum stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of her.

Maester Marwyn placed a reassuring hand on Fern's shoulder. "The girl is with me, Septon Pryce," he said firmly. "I value her insight in matters such as this."

Septon Pryce threw his hands up in exasperation. "Very well, Maester Marwyn," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Do as you wish. First Ebrose, Theron, Lorcas... now half the Citadel is crowding my Sept. It's like the damned manse all over again."

With a curt nod, Marwyn led the group deeper into the sept. They passed through the main courtyard, where sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of incense, a futile attempt to mask the underlying stench of death.

They reached a smaller, more secluded manse within the inner sanctum. Here, the crowd was even thicker, a mix of maesters in grey robes and septons in white, their faces etched with worry and curiosity. Marwyn navigated them through the throng, his hand firmly on Fern's shoulder.

Inside the manse, a hushed discussion was taking place. Archmaester Ebrose, a kindly old man with a shock of white hair, stood at the center of a circle of maesters and septons.

"It's clearly the work of an assassin," a maester with a sharp nose and a pointed beard was saying. "The precision of the blow, the lack of forced entry... all the signs point to a professional killer. I suspect a faceless man."

Archmaester Theron, the citadel's seneschal, shook his head in disagreement. "It makes no sense," he countered. "Who would Septon Illifer have angered enough to warrant such a skilled assassin? He was a man of peace, a devout servant of the Seven. And why defile the man in such a way. The faceless men don't do such things."

Marwyn stepped forward, his voice cutting through the debate. "I agree, I don't believe this was the work of a Faceless Man," he said, his gaze sweeping across the room.

Archmaester Theron grimaced, when he noticed who had joined the conversation. Fern remembered the Seneschal when he had sentenced Qyburn into exile. The Archmaester had glared fiercely at Marwyn for a few moments that day, as though he blamed Marwyn for the events personally.

The gathered maesters exchanged uneasy glances.

Ebrose turned to Marwyn, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. He spotted Caelum standing behind Marwyn, and he gave a brief smile to the boy.

Theron scowled at Marwyn. "Oh, not this again," he groaned. "This is as straightforward as can be. Some idiot with a psychotic streak murdered the Septon and defiled his corpse. If you want to indulge in your fantasies, looking for signs of magic, be my guest, but don't waste our time." With a huff, Theron turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

The other maesters, sensing the tension, quickly followed suit, leaving only Marwyn, Ebrose, and the three young people in the room.

Ebrose, now alone with Marwyn and the young people, let out a weary sigh. "I've done what I can here, Marwyn," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "The septon's body will be taken to the Citadel for further examination. Please try not to disturb it, or... the stones, any more than necessary."

Marwyn inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I understand, Archmaester. I'll be careful."

Fern, who had been silent until now, spoke up, her curiosity piqued. "What stones?" she asked.

Marwyn gestured towards the back of the room. "You'll see soon enough," he said.

Ebrose glanced at Fern, then at Marwyn. He shook his head, and rolled his eyes at the Archmaester. "Good luck, Marwyn," he said. "Please don't horrify the poor girl more than necessary." With that, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence as Fern scowled at the retreating old maester.

The only other occupants of the manse were a few septons and septas, their faces etched with sorrow, who were lighting incense near the entrance. The sweet, cloying scent filled the air, doing little to mask the underlying metallic tang of blood.

Marwyn led the group through the dim room, upstairs towards a closed door. He paused at the heavy door, sighed and pushed open the heavy door to reveal a scene that caused Fern, Pylos, and Caelum to gasp in unison.

Septon Illifer lay sprawled on his bed, his body still and laid in a way as though he had just fallen asleep.

A deep gash marred his chest, a dagger protruding from the wound.

His eyes had been gouged out, replaced with two luminescent stones that gleamed an eerie silver in the dim light. The Septon's mouth was frozen in a rictus grin, his teeth bared in a chilling smile.

Most disturbing of all, a single eye had been painted in blood on his forehead, its crimson gaze seeming to follow the newcomers as they entered.

Maester Marwyn, his face a mask of grim determination, strode towards the bed, ushering the three young people closer.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low and urgent, "what do you see?"

Fern was the first to speak, her voice trembling slightly. "The eye," she whispered. "I've seen it before."

Marwyn's head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

Fern swallowed, her gaze fixed on the crimson symbol. "In my dreams," she said. "I've been having these nightmares... there was always an eye, watching me."

Marwyn straightened, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Tell me everything," he commanded.

Haltingly, Fern recounted her recent dreams – the drowning bells, the green fire, the sense of impending doom.

As she spoke, Marwyn listened intently, his expression growing graver with each detail.

"This is... troubling," he said when she had finished. "Dreams, such as these, recurring ones often have meaning behind them."

Pylos scoffed. "What? Are you suggesting she is prophesizing something? Dreams are just dreams," he said dismissively. "Nothing more."

Fern shot him a venomous look, but Marwyn held up a hand, silencing them both. "Caelum," he said, turning to the young man, "what do you see?"

Caelum, who had been staring intently at the stones in the Septon's eye sockets, finally spoke. "The victim is male, approximately forty years old," he said, his voice clinical. "The wound to the chest is deep, but the blood loss is minimal, suggesting a swift and precise kill. His eyes seem to have been gouged and replaced with stone."

Marwyn nodded, his gaze lingering on the grotesque sight before them. "Septa Lillian found him this morning," he explained. "She came to wake him for prayers, along with a servant. The windows and the door were both bolted from the inside."

"But... how is that possible?" Pylos asked, his voice laced with bewilderment. "Someone had to get in to do... this."

Fern's eyes were fixed on the Septon's hollowed sockets. "The stones," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "What kind of stones are they?"

Marwyn turned to Caelum, a silent question in his eyes.

Caelum's gaze remained fixed on the shimmering orbs. "Star metal," he said quietly.

"Star metal?" Fern echoed, her voice rising in surprise. "You mean, from the meteor that fell a few years ago?"

Caelum nodded, his expression grave.

Marwyn's brows furrowed. "Anything else, Caelum?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency. "Anything at all?"

Caelum's gaze flickered between Marwyn and the corpse, his eyes narrowing in concentration. For a moment, an unnerving silence filled the room. Then, Caelum shook his head. "Nothing, Maester," he said softly. "Nothing that isn't already visible."

Fern, driven by a morbid curiosity, stepped closer to the bed, her eyes scanning the gruesome details of the septon's body.

Pylos and Caelum followed suit.

"Whoever did this knew what they were doing," Fern observed, her voice surprisingly steady. "There's barely any blood around the eyes, which means they were removed quickly and skillfully. And the dagger..." She pointed to the weapon protruding from Illifer's chest. "It's been placed with precision, avoiding the sternum and piercing the heart directly. A quick, clean kill."

Pylos stared at her, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. "How... how did you know that?" he stammered.

"That's what we concluded as well," Marwyn confirmed, his voice grave. "A swift, precise kill by someone with anatomical knowledge."

Pylos, still bewildered, turned to Fern. "But how did you know all that?" he asked, his voice a mix of awe and suspicion. "You've never..." He trailed off, unable to articulate his thoughts.

Fern met his gaze, her expression unreadable. A tense silence hung in the air as she glanced at Caelum, then back at Pylos.

Finally, she spoke. "I know because I took the same lessons you did."

Pylos stared at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Fern looked to Maester Marwyn, who gave a slight shrug. She turned back to her friends, a defiant glint in her eyes. "I took the same lessons as you," she repeated, "because I was Nerf."

Pylos's jaw dropped. "Nerf?" he sputtered, his voice rising in disbelief. "But... but you're a girl!"

Caelum, however, simply smiled, a knowing look in his eyes.

Pylos was dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You were Nerf?" he sputtered. "But... how? Why? Did anyone know?"

Fern couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment momentarily broken by Pylos's flustered reaction. "Yes, Pylos," she said, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. "I was Nerf. I snuck into the Citadel with Yandel's help. I did it because..." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Because I wanted to learn."

"But is that even allowed?" Pylos pressed, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Aren't girls forbidden from studying at the Citadel?"

Fern rolled her eyes. "Of course it's not allowed, you dolt! That's why I had to be Nerf."

A slow grin spread across Pylos's face. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, shaking his head in wonder. "You're a sneaky one, Fern. I never would have guessed."

Fern's amusement faded as a thought occurred to her. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Pylos considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said, his voice sincere. "Your secret's safe with me."

Fern breathed a sigh of relief, turning to Caelum with a grateful smile. He returned the smile, but as he did, she noticed a flicker of guilt and shame in his eyes that he quickly masked.

"My lips are sealed," Caelum said, his voice steady despite the conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes. He gave Fern a reassuring nod.

Maester Marwyn, who had been watching the exchange with a bemused expression, cleared his throat. "Caelum," he said, his tone turning serious once more, "are you certain you see nothing else? Nothing unusual, nothing out of place?"

Caelum looked back at the corpse, his eyes scanning every inch of the grisly scene. He shook his head. "Nothing, Maester," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

Marwyn sighed, his shoulders slumping. "A mystery, then," he muttered. "It seems we have no further business here."

He turned to the others, his voice regaining its usual briskness. "Come along," he said. "We're wasting time."

As they left the septon's chambers, Fern couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Caelum's words than he was letting on.

Why would the Archmaester ask such a pointed question to Caelum? What else was he supposed to see?

Fern's mind raced as they made their way out of the Starry Sept. The image of the murdered septon, with those unsettling silver eyes, was burned into her memory. But it was Marwyn's question to Caelum that truly haunted her. What had the maester expected to find? What was Caelum not telling them?

As they climbed back into the cart, however, she pushed the questions aside. There would be time to ponder later. For now, she needed to focus on the more mundane matters at hand.

"So," she said, turning to Pylos and Caelum with a forced cheerfulness, "you two never did answer my question. Would you like to come with me to Gorman's farm? We could stay a few days, help out him and his family, gather the supplies for the inn. It might be a nice change of pace from the Citadel."

Caelum's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "I'd love to," he said. "I haven't been to a proper farm since... more than a year at least. It would be nice to see one again." A wistful look crossed his face, as if the thought of the farm had stirred up old memories.

Pylos nodded eagerly. "Count me in," he said. "A few days away from books and lectures sounds like just what I need."

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

Pain tore through her as consciousness clawed its way back. A low, insistent wail pierced the fog in her mind, the sound she knew well in her very bones. A baby's cry.

Aegon!

Terror, cold and sharp, jolted her upright.

Memories flashed in disjointed shards; the fishing village ablaze, Princess Elia's scream, the mad scramble by the King's Guard, screams echoing in the night, rough hands tearing at her clothes, the violation of the women...

Had they...?

Her breath hitched, bile rising in her throat.

She couldn't remember. She did not want to.

Her vision cleared, revealing a hellscape.

A harsh, grey sky hung low, the wind a mournful howl. She was sprawled on a beach, sand clinging to her torn robes.

Bodies lay scattered around her like offerings to a cruel god. Bloated, broken things, some in the livery of the Targaryen guard, others in the rags of slaves.

Men and women alike, their flesh violated and disfigured. Charred corpses, victims of the fire that had consumed the ship.

And the baby's cries, growing louder, more desperate.

Aegon!

She scrambled to her feet, each movement a fresh agony.

Her legs sank into the wet sand with a sickening squish, squish, squish.

The wreckage of the ship loomed ahead, a skeletal husk against the churning sea.

Driven by a primal instinct, she stumbled towards the cries.

There, nestled against a jagged rock, was a tiny form. Aegon. His silver hair, a Targaryen crown, was matted with blood. A deep gash marred his forehead.

He wailed, his tiny fists flailing in the air.

Pia lunged forward, her heart a frantic drum in her chest. She scooped him up, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread that gripped her. "Hush, little prince," she crooned, her voice a rasp. "I have you. I have you."

But as she cradled him close, the horror of their predicament crashed over her.

They were alone, shipwrecked on some desolate shore.

Aegon's wails tore at her heart, each cry a jagged shard in her soul. The blood flowed freely from his wound, staining his silver hair a gruesome red.

"Hush, little one," Pia pleaded, her voice barely a whisper against the roar of the sea. "Hush, hush." But the words were futile against the raw agony etched on his tiny face.

She had to stop the bleeding.

Cradling Aegon tightly, she staggered towards the wreckage of the ship that she had escape with her life, only by the Seven's miracle. The ship's hull, a splintered maw, gaped open to the sky, revealing a dark and tangled interior.

More bodies lined the hull, some more bodies crushed under the weight of the wrecked ship, others burnt to ash by the smoldering flames.

The sail was a tattered shroud, clung to the wreckage, licks of flame dancing at its edges.

Pia navigated her way toward the wreck, walking through the piles of disfigured corpses that lined the shore, her feet slipping on the slick, wet sand.

She stumbled, falling heavily, Aegon's cries turning to a panicked shriek as his head struck the unyielding ground.

A foul taste of blood, salt, and sand filled her mouth. She gagged, bile stinging her throat. With a groan, she pushed herself up, Aegon's cries echoing in her ears.

Her eyes fell on the corpse she had tripped over.

A slaver, his face bloated and unrecognizable. The belt that had once cinched his waist now lay broken, the pressure of his swollen belly too much for the leather.

A dirk, its blade glinting in the dim light, was still secured in its sheath.

Pia snatched the weapon, her fingers closing around the hilt with a desperate grip, as she thanked the Seven that the slaver was dead.

She rose, Aegon clutched to her chest, and resumed her trek towards the wreckage.

Aegon's cries grew louder.

"Shhh!" She tried to soothe the babe in vain. "It will be alright, my Prince, I am here!"

She quickly made her way toward the wreck, and its half-burnt sail.

The dirk sliced through the singed fabric with a sickening rip.

Pia gathered the stained cloth, her hands trembling. "Shhh," she murmured to Aegon, her voice thick with tears. "It will be alright. I promise."

With clumsy fingers, she pressed the makeshift bandage to his wound, her heart clenching with each whimper of pain.

The bleeding slowed, and the white cloth quickly turned red. It would do for now.

Aegon whimpered, his tiny body trembling against her. The makeshift bandage had stemmed the flow of blood, but the pain remained.

Pia's heart ached with his suffering.

What could she do? Where could they go?

She had no idea where they were.

Surrounded by the grotesque tableau of death, she felt a wave of hysteria rising within her.

"Gods help me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "What are we to do?" She tightened her grip on Aegon, seeking solace in his warmth. "We can't stay here. We need... we need..."

Aegon's cries softened to whimpers as he drifted into a fitful sleep, the makeshift bandage a stark crimson against his pale skin.

Pia's breath rasped in her chest, her heart thrumming with a frantic rhythm. They needed food, and perhaps water. And they needed to know where they were.

With trembling hands, she ripped more strips from the charred sail, securing Aegon to her back. The weight of him, a precious burden, steadied her as she turned towards the wreckage once more.

The ship's hold lay half burnt and open to the sky. Among the tangled debris, she recognized some of the dead bloated faces that stared back at her.

The slaver with the pockmarked face, she closed her eyes, as she tried desperately to forget his laughter echoing in her memory as he had raped one of the captive women.

The one with the cruel, thin lips, had relished raping girls and boys with fervor alike. She thought she had known the depths of depravity after being rescued from Harrenhall. These men had proven her wrong.

Their victims lay scattered among them.

The old fisherman from the village, his eyes wide with terror.

The young girl, her innocence stolen in a night of unspeakable horror. The boy who had tried to help them when the fire had spread on the sinking ship, his body broken on the rocks below.

The men who had come to their rescue in vain were equally dead, as sword, arrows, and fire ravaged them into unfathomable grotesque states.

Despair gnawed at her as she stumbled over another body, smaller than the rest.

A boy, barely a man grown.

Recognition flooded her. The boy who had shared his meager rations with her, she had thought him a fool, as he spoke in only singular words, always calling her 'pretty' and nothing else.

He had tried to protect the women from the slavers' lust, acting the fool as he entertained slavers distracting them away from their lusts.

He had leapt from the burning ship, when the fires had spread too far.

"No," she gasped, kneeling beside him. His skin was cold, his eyes staring blankly at the unforgiving sky. "Please, no."

She shook him, her voice a choked sob.

Aegon whimpered, his tiny body trembling against her back.

"Hush, my prince," Pia whispered, tears blurring her vision. "Hush."

With renewed determination, she pushed deeper into the wreckage, her fingers scrabbling over splintered wood and twisted metal. A glimmer of hope sparked within her as she discovered a chest, its heavy lid wedged open.

She pried it open, her breath catching in her throat.

Gold. Piles of it, gleaming in the dim light. And nestled in its center, a sight that stole her breath away.

A dragon egg.

Its scales shimmered with an otherworldly iridescence, a deep, rich purple that pulsed with an inner fire.

"Gods be good," Pia breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Awe and bewilderment warred within her. A dragon egg? In the hands of slavers? It made no sense. Yet, there it was.

She lifted the egg from its nest of gold, the chill of it seeping into her skin. It was unnaturally cold, like ice, a stark contrast to the damp warmth of the coins surrounding it. A shiver ran down her spine, a primal instinct warning her of the power held within the smooth, scaled shell.

But practicality soon eclipsed wonder. What use was a dragon egg to her? A starving woman, shipwrecked with a wounded infant? She had no way to protect it. It was a burden, a liability. Merely a pretty purple rock.

With a sigh of resignation, she returned the egg to its golden bed, gently closing the chest's lid. The Gold was of no use to her either, she could not carry the heavy chest with her and keep Aegon safe, she knew.

A harsh voice shattered the silence, cutting through the roar of the waves. "Over here, Kraznys! I found a live one!"

Pia whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. Two figures emerged from the shadows of the wreckage, their eyes gleaming with greed. They jumped at her suddenly, as she screamed and tried in vain to shield Aegon.

"Well, well," the first man sneered, she recognized him as one of the slavers aboard the ship who had taken her captive. "Looks like the gods aren't as cruel as I had thought…. Nay, they're smilin' on us, if I do say so myself.."

His companion, a wiry man with a cruel smirk, had crept up behind her. Before she could react, he snatched Aegon from her back. "And look at this, Kraznys! The Prince is alive! I had thought he'd have died in the wreck like the rest. We'll be rich men, you and I."

"The gold, the egg, and a prince," Kraznys cackled, his eyes glinting with malice. "And a pretty little whore in celebration of our fortunes. The gods are smiling on us today."

Fear clawed at her, her hand going to the dirk she had salvaged, as she brandished it. "Please," she begged, her voice raw with desperation. "Take the gold, take the egg. Just leave us be."

Kraznys laughed, a cold, mirthless sound, as he moved faster than she could think, and shoved her dirk aside, pushing her to the ground. Her head smashed on the sandy ground. "Leave you be? A pretty little dove like you? Nay why would we refuse the Gods' gifts so? We're not heretics."

He ripped her already torn and shredded blouse open, exposing her skin to the biting wind.

Pia cried out, scrambling for the dirk that had been thrown away from her. But Kraznys was too quick. He kicked it away, and it flew far away from her, near the cold body of her dead friend. The man's grip tightened on her throat.

"No need to fight, sweetheart," he whispered, "We can make this fun. For both you and me."

Fear clawed at Pia's throat, choking off her words.

She thrashed against him, but his grip was like iron. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the futility of her struggle.

Pia turned her head, a silent scream trapped in her throat as Kraznys ripped the rest of her dress away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

She turned her head, her eyes locked onto Aegon, his tiny body squirming in the other slaver's grip. A sob escaped her lips as she heard the sickening rustle of fabric behind her. Kraznys's pants hit the ground with a soft thud.

"Oh, you'll like this," he rasped, his hand groping her thigh, as she struggled under his grasp, desperately clawing at him, at whatever she could grasp. He was too strong for her to resist. "You'll be the prettiest little dove I've ever had."

"Please," Pia choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't hurt him. Please, just take the gold. Leave us be. I beg you!"

Kraznys straddled her, his weight pinning her to the sand. He reached down and spread her legs, as she thrashed against him. He touched her between her legs, his touch sending a wave of revulsion through her, as he rubbed himself on her. "Oh, you'll beg for more than just mercy, dove."

She screamed desperately, as her mind raced, searching for a way out, for a savior. But the gods seemed deaf to her pleas. Despair washed over her like the tide, threatening to drown her in its icy depths, as the man held her tight and readied himself between her legs.

Then, a blur of motion. A cry. A sickening squelch.

Kraznys jerked back, his eyes widening in shock. Her bloodied dirk protruded from his skull, its hilt clutched in the hand of the boy from the ship. The same boy who had offered her kindness in their shared captivity.

The boy who had been cold, unblinking, dead.

The other slaver, startled, let out a roar of rage. "You little shit!" he bellowed, his face contorted with fury. With a savage grunt, he hurled Aegon towards the boy, the infant's tiny body arcing through the air like a discarded doll.

"No!" Pia screamed, lunging forward, her fingers grasping at empty air.

Aegon landed with a sickening thud, the impact reopening the hastily bandaged wound on his forehead. His cries intensified, a shrill keening that tore at Pia's heart. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage, staining his silver hair crimson once more.

The slaver lunged at the boy who had saved her, his hands closing around his throat. "You little bastard!" he snarled. "You'll pay for that!"

Pia scrambled for Aegon, her heart pounding in her chest. She gathered him close, shielding his tiny body with her own, as she turned to try and help her savior.

The boy struggled in the slaver's grasp, but his face had a feral toothy grin that chilled Pia to the bone.

Yet, his attacks were feeble, ineffective. He was no match for the slaver's strength.

"Stop!" Pia cried, lurching towards them. "Leave him alone!"

The slaver barely spared her a glance. He shoved her aside, sending her sprawling in the sand. Aegon still clutched against her naked body, wailed louder in pain as blood seeped from beneath the bandages.

Then, a chilling sound pierced the air. The scratchy, hoarse, shrill voice, so different than that of the boy who only spoke 'pretty' in the shy, scared, sweet voice while he had stayed prisoner with her on the ship.

"Below the sea, the dead arise," the boy croaked, his eyes fixed on the slaver's face. "From depths, from depths, from depths they rise."

The slaver recoiled, a mixture of confusion and rage twisting his features. "What in the Seven Hells?" he spat, tightening his grip on the boy's throat. "You creepy little fool!"

The boy's smile widened, revealing bloodied teeth.

Pia scrambled to help him, Aegon still clutched against her shivering body, she searched for a weapon to help the boy. Grasping the heavy chest with the gold, and dragon egg, she hurled it with all her might at the man holding her savior down.

With a mighty thud, the slaver was sent sprawling on the floor, as the Gold spilled everywhere from the broken chest, the egg rolling out on to the sandy shore.

The man was quick to recover, as he got up with a rage filled scream, lunging toward her "You bitch!"

But with a sudden, shocking move, the boy tackled the man again, as he sank his teeth into the slaver's hand. A scream of pain erupted as the man yanked his hand back as he was pushed by the boy on to the ground.

The boy was clutching the dragon egg that had fallen out.

"The Red Eye watches the bleeding star," the boy continued, his voice now a chilling rasp, as blood poured from his lips, his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid. He smiled toothily, as he straddled the man, raised the egg high and started slamming it hard into the man's skull. "It sees, it burns, it dies afar."

The slaver, roaring in pain, and showing his superior strength pushed the bloody egg out of the boys hand. The bleeding man punched the boy in the gut, as he rolled and tumbled them over, the man now on top of the boy. "I'll kill you, you little bastard! I'll kill you both" he roared, tackling the boy to the ground.

But the boy didn't fight. Instead, he turned his gaze to Pia, his eyes gleaming with a strange light.

"The star will die, the prince shall rise," he sang, his voice echoing across the desolate beach. "He comes, he comes, he comes with eyes."

His gaze fixed on Aegon, a chilling smile spreading across his face.

The slaver, his fury renewed, tightened his grip on the boy's throat again. "Sing all you want," he snarled. "You'll be singing from the depths of hells soon enough."

But the boy only laughed, a hollow sound that sent shivers down Pia's spine.

"No!" Pia cried, her voice hoarse with terror. As she clutched Aegon closer to her naked body, turning his wailing face away from the death that was soon to occur.

She searched for another weapon. Aegon clutched in her arms, she crawled quickly toward Kraznys' corpse, and she tried desperately to pull the dirk that was wedged deep into the man's skull.

It didn't budge. She tried with all her strength to pull the damn thing out, but it was stuck inside the rapist's skull.

She cried again, praying to the gods to help.

Then another miracle, as a large weathered old man, clad in blackened plate armor, a crimson cloak billowing behind him entered the hold. His eyes, burning with a fierce light, locked onto Pia and the infant in her arms.

She recognized the man almost instantly.

Ser Willem Darry.

Seeing the prince in her arms, the man sighed, and then hardened as he turned to face the slaver who was still choking the smiling boy tight in his grip.

With a roar, he charged, his sword a silver arc in the dim light. The slaver, startled, released the boy and turned to meet the new threat.

But he was too slow.

The knight's blade flashed, a swift and decisive strike. The slaver's head flew from his shoulders, blood spouting from the severed neck like a macabre fountain.

The headless body crumpled to the ground.

Silence descended upon the beach, broken only by the crash of the waves and the soft whimpers of Aegon.

Ser Willem Darry stood for a moment, his chest heaving with the exertion of battle. He wiped his sword on the back of his crimson cloak, the steel gleaming dully in the dim light.

Finally, he turned to Pia, his weathered face etched with concern. "Little Septa," he said, his voice gruff but gentle. "Are you alright?"

Pia nodded, her voice caught in her throat. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched Aegon close, his tiny body shivering against her bare skin. She laughed hysterically at the Seven.

They had to be playing a cruel jape at her. She had been saved just as she had been all those years ago by the sweet boy, Luke who had come to her rescue, and her father.

Just as Ser Barristan Selmy had done then, Ser Willem removed his cloak, the heavy wool still damp from the storm. He wrapped it around Pia, enveloping her and the whimpering prince in its warmth. She cried openly then. Maddeningly hysterical.

"It's alright. Pia" The Knight spoke soothingly "You are safe, with me. It's over. Nothing will hurt you now."

She didn't know whether she should laugh or cry.

"There may be others," he said, his gaze scanning the wreckage. "We're on the coast of Pentos, I believe. I'll search for survivors. Stay close, and keep the prince safe."

Pia nodded again, her teeth chattering, gaining some control on her sobs.

The fear and shock of the past hours were finally catching up to her. She clung to Ser Willem's cloak as if it were her only lifeline in this desolate world, as it kept her and little Aegon warm and safe.

Then squish, squish, squish.

The boy who had saved her life emerged from the wreckage, his bare feet leaving bloody prints in the sand. In his outstretched hands, he held the dragon egg, its purple scales now slick with crimson.

His face was a mask of innocence, a toothy grin splitting his blood-smeared lips. He approached Pia, his eyes fixed on Aegon, and silently offered her the egg.

Slowly she took the glistening thing into her arms, her eyes fixed on the impossibly wide grin on the boy's face.

It was warm.

"The prince will fly, when the heart he burns, He cries, he cries, he cries and he soars."

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

(A/N) The first section was supposed to be covered in the previous chapter.

I wonder if people have guessed which way this is heading for the ending?

Anyway, I hope that was fun!

PS: I do not believe I have nerfed Superman at all. I have no plans to do so. This is merely a slow burn into him coming into his own.