A Thousand Year Voyage- Chapter 51

The journey north proved uneventful for the most part. As the journey went, the hills of the Stormlands gradually yielded to the woodlands that apparently separated Storm's End from King's Landing, a sprawling forest the Wetsterosi called the Kingswood.

Towering oaks and broad elms stretched high overhead, their sprawling branches intertwining to form a vaulted ceiling of green. Sunlight filtered through countless layers of leaves, breaking into narrow golden shafts that danced lazily across the road as the procession advanced. The air grew noticeably cooler beneath the shade, carrying the scent of damp moss, old bark and fallen leaves.

It was, Hadwyn decided, quite a pleasant forest.

Not especially dangerous by the standards of the Lands Between, admittedly, as they had yet to encounter anything more threatening than a boar, but the Kingswood still reminded him of the forests surrounding Limgrave.

Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was comfortably subdued.  Steffon sat opposite Hadwyn, occasionally pulling back the curtain to glance outside, while beside Hadwyn sat Ranni, the Carian Princess sitting comfortably into her seat with one of books resting upon her lap. Her pale blue eyes moved steadily across the pages with complete concentration, so utterly absorbed that she scarcely seemed aware of anything else.

As for Hadwyn himself, he had elected to enjoy the journey in the simplest way possible, resting comfortably against the cushioned seat and listening to the outside world with is eyes closed.

Then the carriage lurched slightly, just enough for everyone inside to notice, and the wheels ground to a halt, the rhythm of travel abruptly broken.

A heartbeat later, someone knocked firmly upon the carriage door.

Steffon frowned and reached to open it, revealing one of his household soldiers standing outside. The man was breathing heavily, as though he had hurried the length of the column to reach them. His helmet rested beneath one arm while the other remained upon the pommel of his sword.

"My lord." The soldier bowed respectfully. "There has been...a complication."

Steffon released a long sigh.

"There always is these days."

The Lord of Storm's End stepped down from the carriage first, Hadwyn following close behind. Ranni did not move from her spot, simply turning another page. At this point, no one even bothered asking whether she intended to accompany them, as the answer was rather predictable.

"What happened?" Steffon asked as they began making their way toward the head of the halted procession.

"Our scouts discovered an obstruction across the Kingsroad, my lord." The soldier quickly fell into step beside him. His expression then became noticeably uncertain. "They approached to investigate the issue and, well…”

They had reached the front of the column and only then did Hadwyn finally see the cause of the delay.

A massive oak had fallen squarely across the road. The tree stretched from one side of the road to the other, its trunk wider than two men, its branches spreading outward in a tangled mass of fresh leaves.

At first glance, it looked as if the tree simply fell down, but a closer inspection quickly disproved that notion.

The trunk had not splintered, but had been severed cleanly. Around the severed wood, the bark had blackened and cracked from intense heat, faint scorch marks spreading outward in uneven rings. Wisps of smoke still curled lazily from the exposed timber, carrying with them the unmistakable scent of burned sap.

Removing the obstacle itself would hardly prove difficult, as several Inbetweeners present could simply lift the entire trunk aside without much effort, but the tree itself was not why the procession had stopped.

Perched comfortably upon the fallen trunk sat a solitary knight.

He wore a complete suit of chainmail armor, the equipment well-crafted and meticulously maintained. Curiously, it bore no sigil, with not even the smallest engraving to identify the man beneath the steel. He was an anonymous warrior waiting in the middle of the road, as was only proper.

His posture remained perfectly relaxed, almost meditative. Both gauntleted hands rested one atop the other upon the pommel of a longsword planted point-first into the earth before him.

At first glance, the weapon appeared entirely unremarkable, a longsword of respectable quality, neither ostentatious nor crude. What set it apart, however, was that the ground surrounding the blade had blackened into char, while the grass for several feet in every direction had withered into brittle ash.

Whether the flames had come from the knight himself or from some enchantment woven into the blade, Hadwyn could not tell.

To him, it was hardly remarkable, as enchantments that set weapons ablaze were common enough among the warriors of the Lands Between, but here it was decidedly unusual, as magic in Westeros remained frustratingly scarce.

"What happened?" Steffon asked, studying the lone knight for several moments.

"Our scouts saw him first, my lord." The soldier answered immediately, gesturing toward the waiting stranger. "This man informed them that he wished to speak with Lord Caria personally and instructed them to fetch him. Of course, they attempted to remove him from the road, but…”

“But?” Steffon pressed.

But then…his sword caught fire." The soldier revealed. "The earth beneath it began to scorch almost immediately and none of the men cared to discover what might happen should he decide to swing it."

His gaze shifted toward Hadwyn.

"Given the...magical nature..." He said slowly. "...we concluded he might perhaps belong to your company, Lord Caria."

Hadwyn looked at the knight once more and searched his memory, but nothing came to him.

"I don't recognize him." He shrugged lightly. "But then again, I don’t actually know half the people aboard the Wisdom of the Moon, so that doesn't necessarily mean very much."

Steffon rubbed the bridge of his nose before releasing a resigned sigh.

"So..." He said, giving the knight another glance. "...I take it you intend to speak with him?"

“I don't see any reason not to.” Hadwyn shrugged again, his smile widening slightly. “And at worst, I'll be entertained for a little while.”

The small group began walking toward the fallen tree.

Steffon naturally took the lead beside Hadwyn, while Ansbach followed a few paces behind. Florissax came as well, the dragoness wearing an expression that suggested mild boredom. None of the Inbetweeners appeared particularly concerned, as from their perspective, a lone knight armed with a magical sword scarcely qualified as a threat. Even Steffon didn’t seem overly worried, as Hadwyn had already demonstrated enough impossible feats that facing a lone knight, even magical one, seemed like a trifling matter.

The distance between them steadily dwindled and as they drew within a dozen paces, the armored knight moved.

Unhurried, he rose from the fallen oak in a single motion. His gauntleted hand closed around the hilt of the longsword and, with a soft hiss, the blade slid free from the scorched earth. The stranger rested the sword comfortably across one shoulder before inclining his head, the gesture respectful, his gaze never leaving Hadwyn.

"Greetings, Hadwyn Caria, the Elden Lord." The armored knight's voice was calm and surprisingly refined. There was confidence in his tone, his posture relaxed yet disciplined. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you after hearing so many tales of your daring and valor."

Hadwyn blinked once before offering the stranger an easy smile.

"Greetings to you as well, mysterious knight whom I have never met." He tilted his head ever so slightly, studying the man once more. "Judging by your greeting, I take it you aren't actually one of ours?"

The knight smiled faintly.

"Regrettably, no." The man replied. "I am Simon Toyne…once a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

Steffon seemed to recognize the name, as he blinked a few times upon hearing it.

"...Toyne." The nobleman repeated, recognition flashing across his face only to be followed almost immediately by unease. “So you are a Crownlander.”

"I was." The smile remained upon Simon's lips, though bitterness quietly seeped into his voice. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the hilt of his sword. "My house once counted itself among the respected families of these kingdoms, at least until the incestuous lizards you call kings decided that we were no longer worthy of such distinction."

Steffon's own expression hardened, the easy-going smile that so often accompanied him disappeared completely.

"...Mind your tongue, Toyne." His voice was low carried authority. "You stand before the representative of the Iron Throne and the son of one of those 'lizards,' as you so eloquently put it. I would be well within my rights to strike you down where you stand for such treasonous words."

A dry laugh escaped Simon.

"Treasonous?" The knight repeated, shaking his head. “I suppose it would appear as such to a loyal lapdog like yourself.”

His eyes met Steffon's without the slightest hint of fear.

"The Targaryens have ruled for nearly three centuries, and still they expect gratitude merely for existing despite giving us only grief and suffering.” His voice grew colder. "Though, if I am being fair, I suppose that accusation extends to all noble houses."

Steffon visibly bristled, but Simon seemed utterly unconcerned by the hostility.

"As entertaining as it would be to spill your supposedly divine blood and give the rest to the crows..." Simon continued, glancing briefly toward Steffon once more before dismissing him once more, his attention returning fully to Hadwyn. "...I did not come here for House Baratheon. I came to speak with Lord Caria."

Hadwyn scratched thoughtfully at the side of his face, mulling over what had just happened.

"...Well..." The Elden Lord spoke slowly, looking at the man before him. "I should probably mention that insulting the man who's my travelling companion isn't making the strongest first impression. So I'm trying to determine what sort of conversation this is: are you here to challenge me or beg for power? Because with how the things are going, both choices will probably end with your head being punched off your shoulders.”

Surprisingly, Simon shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"None of those, Lord Caria." His answer came without the slightest hesitation. "I possess enough sense to understand that I would stand little chance against you in battle and I require no strength beyond that which has already been graciously bestowed upon me."

His gaze shifted toward Steffon.

"As for my earlier words..." Simon spoke with quiet certainty. "I shall not apologize for my beliefs, for to deny them would dishonor both my convictions and the one to whom I have sworn myself. That said, I concede that there was little purpose in revealing my resentment so easily when I am here to speak with you in peace.”

A faint sigh escaped him.

"I fear my blood has grown quick to boil whenever I behold those whom I hold responsible for so much needless suffering." The knight revealed. “An unfortunate consequence of my blessing, as I suspect.”

Steffon offered no reply. His expression remained hard as stone, his jaw visibly tightening as he met Simon's gaze without yielding an inch. Neither man looked away, the silence between them like two swords quietly testing one another's edge.

Hadwyn looked from one to the other before deciding he had remarkably little interest in becoming entangled in whatever interclass grievances Westerosi apparently cultivated.

"Then why are you here?" He asked.

The simple question broke the stalemate and instantly, Simon's expression changed. The bitterness faded from his features as though it had never existed and in its place came reverence and excitement.

"I come bearing an invitation." Simon declared and reached beneath his cloak, withdrawing…a letter.

It was a remarkably elegant piece of correspondence. The parchment was thick and of good quality, its edges decorated with intricate crimson embellishments worked into the paper. Keeping it closed was a heavy seal of deep red wax placed in the letter’s center.

Hadwyn's eyes narrowed, as he knew that seal and recognized that style.

Simon raised the letter in both hands, holding it almost ceremonially. His posture changed drastically, as the simmering resentment that had colored every previous move disappeared entirely, replaced by unmistakable devotion.

When he spoke again, his voice carried the solemn cadence of ritual.

"Hadwyn Caria." He lowered his head. "In the name of the Lady, I, Recusant Knight Simon Toyne, do hereby extend unto you an invitation to Volcano Manor."

Hadwyn stared at the letter, then at Simon, then back at the letter, his brow slowly raising.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

***

Though Steffon devoted the better part of the next quarter hour to convincing Hadwyn to reject the invitation, the effort ultimately proved entirely fruitless. The Lord of Storm's End employed every argument that came to mind, but Hadwyn remained unconvinced, his only response being:

"...But he invited me."

And so the expedition temporarily divided. Steffon remained behind with the main column, together with the rest of Hadwyn's companions, while Hadwyn departed alongside Simon, following the knight deeper into the woods.

The walk proved considerably longer than one would expect, as for hours they navigated the forest with no trail to guide them. The deeper they ventured, the quieter the Kingswood became, only rustling leaves and birdsong accompanying them.

Simon spoke little during the journey and Hadwyn did not particularly mind, as it was pleasant enough simply walking through the forest, something he couldn’t really do since coming to Westeros.

Eventually, however, the trees began to thin. The dense woodland opened into a broad clearing, sunlight spilling freely across grass. And standing at its center was a large stone house that possessed none of the grandeur suggested by the name ‘Volcano Manor’.

It was constructed from weathered grey stone whose walls bore unmistakable signs of age. Ivy still clung stubbornly to portions of the outer walls despite recent attempts to remove it, while moss covered sections of the roof where years of neglect had been allowed to accumulate. Here and there, broken masonry had been hastily repaired with newer stone, the differences in color making the patches easy to spot.

"...Not particularly volcanic." Hadwyn said to his travelling companion. "I confess I was expecting considerably more lava, something much more similar to the original."

"...I was informed it is intended as a homage." Simon answered after a thoughtful pause. "And as a means of associating our gathering with the blessings bestowed upon us."

"...I see." Hadwyn said slowly.

It confirmed what he had already begun suspecting. Simon, and presumably the rest of these Recusants, had received instruction in magma sorceries. Clearly in limited fashion, but enough to wield genuine magic.

Which raised a rather important question. Why, of all people, was she teaching random Westerosi outlaws the arts of Gelmir?

Hadwyn frowned. The last time he had seen her, she had been consuming the remains of her husband, but perhaps she had simply grown bored of that after a few centuries.  

Simon pushed open the heavy oak doors and they stepped inside.

The interior proved far livelier than the weathered exterior had suggested, as dozens of people occupied the ‘manor’.

Some looked like sellswords, their battered armor repaired so many times that scarcely two pieces matched one another. Others wore the remnants of knightly equipment, expensive plate stripped of heraldry and repainted dull colors to conceal former loyalties. A handful looked little better than common brigands, though even they carried themselves with more discipline than ordinary bandits.

"...These are the Recusants." He spoke the words with unmistakable pride. "My brothers and sisters."

"So..." Hadwyn glanced around the manor as Simon led him deeper into its halls. "...this Lady of yours."

Simon's expression softened, warmth appearing on his face.

"Yes?" He allowed, reverence in his tone.

"What can you tell me about her?" Hadwyn asked. Though he already suspected her identity, he was curious what Simon himself knew.

"She is the one who saved us." Emotion quietly entered Simon's voice, his gaze fixed ahead. "When she found us...we were little more than angry men. Broken knights stripped of honor, disgraced nobles, mercenaries and bandits. We bit blindly at the world, mistaking vengeance for purpose. But she gave us something greater."

"And what was that?" Hadwyn inquired.

"A future." Simon’s eyes shone with conviction. "A world without kings and tyrants."

Hadwyn nodded slowly. That sounded...very familiar.

Of course, back in the Lands Between those speeches had mostly served as bait for ambitious Tarnished before they eventually found themselves sacrificed to Rykard, so he suspected there would be some duplicity to be found here too.

"She brought with her knowledge unknown within Westeros." Simon continued, pride in his voice. "Secrets of stone and fire. Through her guidance we have learned to wield powers that no maester nor sorcerer of these kingdoms could have imagined."

Hadwyn hummed noncommittally.

"I was merely the second soul to swear myself to her cause." Simon continued, apparently eager to speak about his savior. "The Lady already possessed one loyal companion before she found me, a knight of few words, a bloodthirsty beast that was the first to swear himself to her. The most steadfast and ferocious among us, none has received greater blessings than he."

Hadwyn sighed inwardly.

Well, that settled it. Volcano Manor, Magma Sorceries, Recusants, a mysterious Lady with a powerful knight at her side? That Lady of his was definitely Tanith. He hadn't cared enough about the woman to kill her back in the Lands Between, as she had remained within the manor eating what remained of her husband, but looking back, perhaps he should have been a little more proactive.

Simon slowed before a pair of oak doors reinforced with black iron bands. Without needing instruction, two waiting Recusants stepped forward and pulled them open, warm crimson light pouring into the corridor.

The chamber beyond resembled a throne room.

Braziers burned around the perimeter, their flames bathing the walls in shifting shades of red. Banners bearing the emblem of the Recusants hung from beams overhead, while stone reflected the dancing firelight.

At the far end of the chamber stood an ornate wooden chair and upon it sat a woman clothed in flowing white garments.

Beside her stood an enormous knight, one who towered over everyone present. Heavy armor completely concealed his body, every plate darkened. Even standing perfectly motionless, he radiated restrained violence, the air around him shimmering from the heat.

...Not a Crucible Knight.

His attention returned to the woman, who looked at him with mouth already opening to say something. She never managed to do so, as one moment Hadwyn stood near the entrance and the next he was simply gone, a gust of wind sweeping across the chamber.

Before anyone could react, Hadwyn had already crossed the length of the hall, one arm wrapped around the blonde woman's shoulders, and his free hand descended upon her head…beginning to enthusiastically ruffle her hair.

"Would you look at that!" Hadwyn laughed, sounding genuinely delighted. "You were actually serious about rebuilding the Recusants!"

The composed leader of the murderous organization immediately lost every shred of dignity she possessed.

"Eep—!" Rya squirmed helplessly in his grip, both hands flying upward in a hopeless attempt to rescue her thoroughly disheveled hair. "H-Hadwyn! I-it is wonderful to see you as well, but p-please, please stop ruffling my hair!"