Ser Ciaphas of House Cain Ch.7

CIAPHAS IV: DAWNSGRACE

“Here, a new beginning dawns. Here, and nowhere else, we lay a brilliant, glimmering foundation. Here, something unmatched in greatness will rise. We stand against the passing of time, against ashes to ashes, and against dust to dust. Callous forces beyond our control will attempt to ruin all we build. But so long as the dawn rises with each new day, the chance to be better than we were remains.”

— The once-lord of Dawnsgrace, his name lost to the ages, but his words inscribed on a plaque by the main gate.

— Ser Ciaphas Cain —

Our arrival, it seemed, was doomed to be the prelude for a great tragedy in these lands. The Queen was dead. Lost in childbirth, with her newborn son following not long after. I spared them both a brief prayer to the God-Emperor. Even on this lost world, His Light must shine for those who knew how to look.

But there was no changing what had happened. The Queen was dead, and the royal family was shattered. For a time, everything took a backseat to grief and mourning. Amberley and I were left adrift at court.

The tourney passed. A royal funeral was held. The Prince made a ruckus in the mourning aftermath. He was exiled, and the Princess was raised as heir to the throne. The lords of the realm, lingering after the tourney, swore their fealty to the new heir. And unfortunately for those grieving, life went on.

A not-so-small part of me hoped my new (but still painfully familiar…) fame would be forgotten by the wayside in the tragedy. This… This was not the case. Once more, I was stuck with a reputation I clearly didn’t deserve. A single duel? A noble sob story? And we were the talk of the city? It was just my luck that even in grief, plenty of attention was still directed my way.

Worse still, I would find no easy escape from it all. No follow-up campaign that would demand my presence, as was always the case in the Imperium. No regimental reshuffling to get me into a slightly-less-hot pan. And certainly (thankfully) no grand, existential threat on the horizon to distract from my previous ‘victories’.

No, I had to bear the full weight of this unwarranted attention, this unearned fame. I could hardly remember a time when I wasn’t constantly moving on to the next battle in the Emperor’s name. One would think it was a nice change of pace. But truthfully, it just left me anxious for the other boot to drop (as it always did, in my experience).

We were even invited to stay in the Red Keep. They weren’t the greatest of rooms, but it was the statement that came with them that mattered most. At least someone in the royal family or royal court valued us and wanted to keep us close. This also had the consequence of keeping us in the center of all the conversations spreading around us.

I was asked for pointers by young squires, slapped on the back by their knights and the older lords, tittered at by the younger ladies, and fondly sighed over by the older ladies. The idleness somehow made fame weigh heavier upon my person. For everyone but those most closely affected, a time of mourning was rather boring. And that left people free to talk, to retell stories, and to exaggerate them quicker than I was used to…

‘The Singing Duel!’ They exclaimed in awe. ‘The cry of singing Valyrian Steel vs. the roaring sword of a dragon knight!’

‘Hear Me Roar, the Lion declared! But he fell well-silent when the Mystery Knight roared right back!’ The lords laughed.

‘A champion for the exiled, for the lost, fighting in his lady’s name,’ Some ladies cooed.

‘Singing Knight! Spare a coin/a blessing/a flourish, milord?’ The smallfolk would request when I ventured into the city.

… It was the beginning of an Emperor-damned legend if I ever saw one. God-Emperor, why was it always me…?

Answers to that question were not forthcoming. They never were. And, of course, Jurgen and Amberley saw nothing wrong with the developing situation. To Jurgen, my ‘greatness’ was guaranteed. Just a matter of time and the natural course of things. And to Amberley, it was too useful to just deny and leave unexploited.

As the crown mourned, I found myself as, essentially, a circus attraction for the rest of the court. Many of the local nobles wished to speak to the champion of the melee, the novelty that emerged from nowhere at all. Amberley quickly had me doing a pseudo-press tour, tagging along behind her and piquing interest as we spread and shared our story with anyone willing to listen.

To get anywhere in this new world, we would have to be known. Not just by tale and reputation, but personally, as well. There was support to garner, friends to make, and the mood among the nobility to feel out.

Would anyone join themselves to the plea we’d inevitably present to the crown? Would anyone offer something similar or better than what Lord Strong offered us? And if everything went well, would anyone look to ally themselves with a newly ‘restored’ house?

We spoke to nobles from almost every corner of the realm. And, in doing so, got a much better lay of the land. Seven Kingdoms (or close enough, with the southernmost Dorne resisting the Iron Throne’s rule and the Iron Islands and Riverlands joined only in the most passing, technical sense). More noble houses than one would eagerly count. Quite a bit of united land for a feudal state. And important, independent city-states to the east that the Westerosi seemed to disdain, and vice versa.

Amberley spun our yarn to Stormlanders and Reachmen and Westermen and Valemen, and most importantly, to our ‘fellow’ Riverlanders. Each noble name we came across was noted for the future.

Baratheon — the Stag lord who came to my aid in the melee against the Lannister Lion, a jolly, arrogant, and martial-leaning older man named Boremund. Coincidentally, a close cousin to Princess Rhaenys, as well.

Corbray — the knight and lord I’d dueled, who already seemed rather well-inclined to me and our plight. The nickname I’d given him in the heat of combat, simply for my ease of thinking and reference, had stuck. Serwyn ‘Ravenheart’ Corbray could likely be counted as a supporter on the same level as Amberley’s lady friends, led by Jonquil Tyrell.

Velayron — the realm’s second dragonriding house and a major naval power on its own. Its scions, Laenor and Laena, were rather interested in us alongside the Princess. And I’d admit some interest as well, especially in their mother, Princess Rhaenys, and father, Corlys Velaryon. It was a spectacular and rather humorous thing to see a lost feudal worlder to pull off the sheer aura of a Rogue Trader so well.

Then, there were others I hadn’t already met. Buckwell and Rosby from the Crownlands, Manderly and Woolfield from the North, Royce and Redfort from the Vale, Reyne and Lefford from the Westerlands, Ashford and Oakheart from the Reach, Selmy and Tarth from the Stormlands, Tully and Mooton from the Riverlands, and many more in between. Those specific houses, however, seemed to be the most inclined to hear our claimed plight.

Already, there was quite a bit of politicking swirling in the air. Many houses waited to see how we’d land. If it were on our feet, they’d pounce without a doubt. But it was those who might help us do so who held Amberley’s attention.

The Reynes from the Westerlands were amused and intrigued by my humbling of their liege lord (Red Lions bucking under Golden Lion claws, Amberley noted…). The Manderlys knew exile as a cornerstone of their house’s history, and so, were somewhat invested in securing a bit more legitimacy for themselves through us. The Valemen and Stormlanders respected martial valor, and my (greatly overblown) skills had earned me a touch of favor in both kingdoms. The Tullys might very well end up as our liege lords, and thus, they were looking to get a feel for us early.

Much of our time in the wake of tragedy was spent planning our plea to the crown. Amberley had already taken advantage of the chaos to sneak into the Red Keep’s royal library to plant evidence of our claim. I very much doubted anyone would find a reason to doubt her work.

Amberley was very, very good at just about everything she set her mind to. Truly, an Inquisitor’s skills were extensive and varied, and terrifying.

The idea of her turning those skills my way made me shudder whenever I was unlucky enough to think about it. Those thoughts didn’t come often. I trusted her with my life. But when they did…?

She was the only one to know my deepest secrets, the truth behind my constantly ill-earned fame. She could utterly destroy me. But by the God-Emperor’s Grace, she would look good doing it. I might even thank her afterwards. If I lived long enough to do so, at least. With how close I kept her, it’d be oh-so-easy for a knife to inevitably find its way between my ribs…

‘Oh, but what a way to go…’ I thought. ‘Better than being devoured by a Hive Tyrant, better than being squashed by an Ork Warboss, better than being roasted alive by draconic warpfire… Perhaps a lover’s dagger beneath a passionate kiss is the best end a fraud like me can hope for.’

… I was glad to have her on my side, by my side. Perhaps not the most healthy mindset. But that was love, wasn’t it? Giving someone everything they needed to destroy you and trusting that they wouldn’t? A one-sided love, perhaps, for I could hardly destroy an Inquisitor in the same way, but I was still content with what little she deigned to share with me.

[Editorial Note:

Ciaphas Cain is the greatest fool to ever live.

Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos]

Nevertheless, the two weeks in the wake of tragedy were busy ones for us. Amberley and I maneuvered our way through this new court, novel in its specifics but far from completely unfamiliar.

Jurgen kept himself equally busy but mostly unseen. He’d taken to immersing himself in the local servant class, something that quickly proved just as valuable as mingling with the nobles did. Many, many bits of gossip and priceless context passed between those the realm’s nobles ignored.

Eventually, Lord Strong approached us to follow through on his previous offer. We accepted, of course. Nothing better had presented itself, even for all of our attempts. Feudal lords didn’t particularly like giving up land and power to unknowns, who knew?

Lyonel Strong was an exception in this case, a just man trying to right what he saw as a terrible wrong. Poor, poor fool… It almost made me feel bad for lying to such a just man-… Oh, who was I kidding? No, it didn’t. I slept just as easily in this new deception as I did when deceiving a Guard Regiment in the same way.

… That is to say: fitfully. Paranoidly. But still just glad I could sleep at all. I’d abandoned any scrap of shame in my cowardly soul long, long ago, and when my long-overdue end finally caught up to me, I knew I’d be begging forgiveness for my sins before the God-Emperor’s Light.

Between me, Lyonel, and Amberley, we hashed out the details of this little arrangement in private. Likely thanks to Amberley’s efforts, he seemed rather convinced by our claimed story. And thus, rather insistent on putting wrongs to right.

The Strongs were a… ‘strong’ house, holding quite a bit of land in the center of Westeros, almost all the way around the continent’s largest lake. They also claimed Westeros’s largest castle — a true monstrosity of architecture and engineering, by the sound of things — and stood as guardians of an important holy site to the original religion of Westeros and their First Men ancestors: the Old Gods and their Isle of Faces.

Thus, Lyonel was willing and able to part with much, and still have his house come out stronger than most of the realm. He offered us a whole castle, a strip of fertile and well-populated land, and the support of House Strong, to boot. In return, he asked House Vail to become his vassal and to improve a portion of his lands that he didn’t have the manpower to effectively administer anyway.

“What can we do but accept, my lord?” I had chuckled sheepishly, suitably awed by the generous offer.

Amberley had rolled her eyes, “Said more solidly, Lord Lyonel, we accept the aid of your house. It won’t be forgotten. House Strong will always have a sword, shield, and companion in House Vail.”

Notably, Lyonel had just given a very small smile at that, the first I’d seen on his usually stoic face, “My lady, my lord, I am doing as justice and honor demand. No less. House Vail shall stand amongst the realm once more. I vowed that to myself, and now, I make it so.”

After that, there was the dog and pony show of formally presenting our plight before the Iron Throne to deal with. The deal was already set, but it was best for everyone involved if the King was the one to give the final seal of approval.

It was all… going through the expected political motions, really. I stood beside Amberley. I bowed at the right times. I said… something. It must’ve been taken as heroic and righteous and ‘fitting for Ser Ciaphas Cain!’, because it readily received an undeserved round of applause… But mostly, I turned my brain off, just relieved the result was already decided and we’d safely established ourselves on this lost world.

Still, a few things about that scene stood out in my mind. The Iron Throne, for one. Awesome. Grotesque. Very impractical. It was a damned mess of swords in the vague shape of a chair, dwarfing the King and just about begging to cut him to ribbons if he shifted wrong. I could hardly focus on much else when confronted by it.

A large part of me couldn’t help but think there had to be… more… to it. Something dark, something twisted, something cursed. I was no expert in warp sorcery, but the potent symbolism was all there. The blades of conquered enemies, melted together by draconic warpfire, the same dragons that burned and bled them enough to unite a whole continent, and sitting atop it, a new line of kings reigned with fire and blood.

The Big, Red, and Angry One would be eating ITS heart out. Glancing at Amberley, I could see her coming to similar conclusions. That damned throne desperately needed to be sanctified and blessed by the God-Emperor’s Light. Purely for the sake of my peace of mind, of course. I didn’t particularly want to deal with a daemonic incursion from a throne of steel. Maybe Jurgen and his unique gifts could help there somehow…

The second aspect of the scene that stood out to my relieved mind was the heir to the throne sitting at its side. She’d been through quite a bit in the last two weeks. But despite grief and tragedy, there was a fire lit in the eyes of Rhaenyra and her father. A fire of unity, of resolve to have the heir most dismissed take up her rightful duties.

And, of course, there was the way Rhaenyra’s eyes lit up further at the sight of me and Amberley. Understandably, we’d only seen her in passing since the tourney. Now, some (but not nearly all) of her wretched grief had passed, and she seemed to remember her promise of aid to our plight. She sat straighter in her seat, visibly preparing to speak up on our behalf. It wouldn’t be necessary, fortunately, but the sentiment was still appreciated.

In the end, everything was already decided. Viserys just needed to give his approval, and he did so in short order. The nobles of the court clapped for us, some politely and some more earnestly. House Vail officially ‘rejoined’ the realm. Then, I was just happy for the chance to leave the capital and get moving again.

Before we could, however, the Princess caught up to us for a few words…

“I will be coming to visit you and your holdings, good ser, good lady,” She declared, leaving no room for argument.

Still, I tried to politely (and somewhat frantically in my own mind) refuse, “I’m not sure we’ll be in any condition to host a guest of your caliber anytime soon, Princess.”

The look in her eyes was set, “I will be coming to visit.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” Amberley mediated. “We don’t mean to deny you, but we’ll undoubtedly be quite busy in the coming days.”

Sniffing, Rhaenyra explained her decision and determination, “A royal visit will give you much legitimacy. I would do no less for new friends. There are only two of you, Lady Amberley, Ser Ciaphas. A dragon will be a great boon if you find yourselves needing to keep your new holdings in line.”

We could only accept the inevitable ‘boon’ and prepare. It made me that much more set on leaving the capital as soon as possible. King’s Landing was a web of political interests and personal relationships. A profitable one, but already, I found myself wanting a break from it all. We’d attracted enough attention for now. It’d be best to take our winnings and go before I ended up with a knife in the back or worse, a scheming lady in my bed…

More of our new peers were interested in the newest of their number, now that our elevation was official. Many introduced themselves more formally and promised to write. I could hardly refuse, even if I wanted to lay low for a time. But thankfully, other than attracting even more attention, my cowardly flight from the realm’s center of intrigue went off without any more hitches.

We set out from the city with one of Lord Lyonel’s men to give proof of House Vail’s ‘restored’ status, and two of the friends we’d made before the tourney: Elaena Mooton and Mateo Darklyn. The lands of Elaena’s house would now border ours, and she decided to travel home beside us. It was an important connection to cultivate, as was the Darklyn connection to her betrothed. While it didn’t match King’s Landing in scale, Mateo claimed that his family’s city of Duskendale was still an important and profitable port nearby.

Our overall circumstances forced me, Jurgen, and Amberley to travel light, without much at all to our names. We made good time as a result. Traveling by horseback wasn’t all that different from the marches I was used to with the Imperial Guard. Within the week, we crossed into the Riverlands and came across the God’s Eye.

It easily stretched beyond the horizon. A vast expanse of clear freshwater and life, glimmering blue and green. There were fish within, birds overhead, all manner of game in the land surrounding it, and people who made their entire lives beside this great lake. It was a lifespring like I’d rarely ever seen.

The God’s Eye and everything else we’d seen in our short travels proved to me just how unspoiled this lost world was. It was a truly beautiful land, and its people lived relatively simple lives. I envied them, even the smallest of folk. I could only hope, for my sake and theirs, that this world would stay untouched by the Imperium’s battles for a little while longer.

“Is this a lake or an inland sea?” I asked Amberley as we stared across it from the south.

“It’s home, for now,” She replied. “A beginning that’s a bit less than temporary in our current situation. We’ll make the best of this place, this opportunity. And I’ll be counting on you for that, Ciaphas.”

I chuckled, “Here’s hoping I don’t disappoint.”

She rolled her eyes at me. I knew she did, even if I couldn’t see her face, “Yes. Here’s hoping. You’ve done well so far. Just continue to do so, continue to… be yourself.”

“Amberley…” I whispered, half to myself. “You know I have next to no clue what I’m doing…”

“And somehow,” She whispered back, leaning in close as we rode side-by-side. “It still manages to work out for you.”

Amberley raised her voice a moment later, putting on a show for our traveling companions, “Come now, Ser Ciaphas! Take in our new home, lost and restored! You’re free to show your wonder, don’t you know?”

I sighed aloud, “It’s a wonderful scene, a wonderful land, indeed. Good man, are you from the God’s Eye originally?”

I asked the last to the Strong man escorting us. He — a man named Pyere — nodded, smiling earnestly, “I am, milord. Born and raised on this ‘ere shore. My parents still stay in God’s Eye Town to the south, but I sought my fortunes with House Strong and Harrenhal.”

I smiled back at him, charming as I could reasonably make the expression, “Would you be willing to tell us about our new home? House Vail might be native to the Riverlands, but Amberley and I have never personally been here.”

“Aye, gladly,” Pyere nodded. “These are rich and holy lands. The God’s Eye provides, and it provides well, in both flesh and spirit. Around the lake are perhaps the most First Men in Westeros outside of the North. There are just as many who hold to the Old Gods around the God’s Eye as there are who hold to the Seven.

“Here, blood and memories run deep. The Raising of Harrenhal will long loom like the great and terrible castle itself. And for as long as I can remember, and my father, and his father, there have been stories of old magicks here. Woodswitches, greenseers, skinchangers, and the antlered Green Men on the Isle of Faces. For good and ill, the Old Gods are still strong where the First Men and Children of the Forest first signed their pact.”

… Wonderful. Just my luck that we would settle in one of the most ‘magically’ (read: psychically and perhaps worse) active areas on the continent. I wasn’t looking forward to my unfortunately inevitable run-in with local psykers. It would happen. I knew it would. And when it did, no one would be having any fun, especially not me.

“That is… fascinating information,” I said, my smile growing strained, though no one seemed to notice. “Thank you for sharing, Pyere.”

“Wasn’t any trouble, milord,” Pyere waved. “Always glad to talk about the lands of my childhood. Been Lord Strong’s man for years, following him to King’s Landing and the like, but there’s nowhere like the God’s Eye.”

“And I’m sure we’ll see the same for ourselves shortly,” I chuckled.

“Aye, not too far now to your new home, milord,” Pyere said. “We’ll take the lake road up the east shore and should be seeing it by mid-morning tomorrow.”

“So exciting~!” Elaena exclaimed, practically vibrating in her saddle. “I’ve never traveled ahorse for this long~! It’s always by wheelhouse or by ship — more appropriate for a lady, mother says — but now, I’m sore and dirty and ALIVE~!”

“Your lady mother is going to have my head, Elaena,” Mateo bemoaned good-naturedly.

Elaena giggled, “Worry not, my lord, I won’t let you stand alone against such a terrible foe!”

“You jape,” Mateo sighed, “But I truly shall need any aid I can get when the time comes to report to my future goodmother.”

Their little interactions — experienced throughout the trip — made me smile, I’d freely admit. They were young and carefree, as unspoiled by the horrors of a dark, dark galaxy as their world was. Good kids, really, and they helped a hopeful part of myself (that I’d never managed to fully kill) think that perhaps everything would be simple and easy and relaxing for my time on this lost world.

Of course, as soon as I even considered that thought, the rest of my mind outright snorted. Un-frakking-likely. My luck didn’t know the words ‘simple’ or ‘easy’, and certainly not ‘relaxing’. The other boot had just yet to drop. But it would. It always did…

And when shit turned tits up, I’d only have brilliant Amberley, steadfast Jurgen, and my cowardly self to rely on. We’d seen a small sliver of this world so far. Even then, the dragons and politics were dangers to keep an eye on — obvious reasons for the former, and something to never underestimate for the latter.

Now, as we approached our new home, sitting on the shore of a holy, magical lake with an isle of Tree Gods at the center… More hidden dangers emerged. The Harlequins’ riddles lingered on my mind.

‘Do be sure, to mind the trees~…’

These trees? I’d heard of nothing else in this world that the riddle could be referring to. But then, how did the damned clowns know of them? Were they Eldar remnants? Other native Xenos, an Eldar-allied species of intelligent, alien trees? Some forgotten bio-experiment from the Dark Age of Technology?

The possibilities were dreadfully endless, and I simply didn’t know enough to speculate. Still, I shared my concerns with Amberley in private that night. She had similar thoughts. Great minds think alike, and while that idiom normally didn’t apply to me, when it came to my personal safety, I could be rather brilliant.

Between ourselves, Amberley and I decided that there was nothing more to be done just yet. We needed to get more firmly established and settled first. Then, the investigation into trees and riddles could begin. While it was worrying that the only place we could settle was neighboring the damned problem, there was still a rather big body of water in between, right?

… That consideration didn’t help me sleep any easier. Already, I imagined I could feel more magic and warp-stuff in the air as we camped by the God’s Eye. Thankfully, my dreams remained undisturbed by twisting, ethereal currents for now. Then, as Pyere had promised, we found ourselves approaching our new home by mid-morning the next day.

A fog rolling off the God’s Eye lingered about the land that morning. But through it, as we came around a hill, a grand castle rose even higher than the high hill it was already standing upon. We caught the last rays of dawn light shining off its tiled roofs.

Gold. It glimmered and glinted a glorious, glorious gold that cut through the morning fog like a knife. As if the Emperor had blessed its construction from afar and through time. A beacon of His Light shone in the dwindling dawn upon this lost world, and I just about exploded with a sigh of relief. Dawnsgrace, indeed.

“We haven’t been forgotten about just yet, Ciaphas,” Amberley shared a whisper with me.

Jurgen nodded simply and solidly, as if he always knew it to be true, “As the Emperor wills.”

As we grew closer, more and more of the castle we’d now call home was revealed. It was quite a bit larger than I was expecting, even after seeing the impressive constructions of this world in the Red Keep and Dragonpit. But those were royal seats of power. This was just a forgotten bastion granted to a newly restored house. Still, it looked like it could’ve easily housed a half-strength Guard regiment.

It began with a raised, robust foundation, approximately 30-40 feet of stone bastion and buttress, that served as a unique form of walled protection. The rest of the main keep was built atop and within it, looking like a unique mix of manor and proper holdfast, arranged in a partial half-crescent shape. It boasted three towers, one of which was significantly larger than the other two and looked out toward the God’s Eye. The smallest tower, facing east, stood guard over a burst of blood-red leaves under golden roofs. Dawnsgrace as a whole easily rose 7 or 8 stories tall, all built upon itself. 

And while it stood at the peak of its high hill, a bustling village of rather noteworthy size (considering the local population standards) trailed down one side of the hill toward the nearby shoreline. There were small docks on the God’s Eye, an isolated grove of blood-red-leafed and bone-white-barked trees on the shore, more houses of wood and stone than I could be bothered to count in the town, a church, a few windmills pointed out toward the lake, a cobbled main thoroughfare, impressive terraces to build upon down the slope of the hill, and harvest-ready fields and farming homesteads in all directions.

“It’s… brilliant,” I expressed honestly. “A sight for sore eyes. And this village? It seems rather large to have gone unmentioned so far, Pyere.”

“Aye,” Pyere nodded. “Dawnsgrace and her castle town. Some 2-to-3 thousand people call this place, this bastion on the shore of the God’s Eye, home. It’s a peaceful and pleasant town, though I’m afraid I’ve only been once before. The smallfolk here are both First Men and Andal, like many settlements around the God’s Eye. They pay their taxes to their liege lord and don’t cause trouble for anyone, milord. You’ll find a boon with them, and a responsibility.”

“One we certainly don’t plan to dismiss,” I agreed. “It all seems to be in good repair. From this distance, at least. I thought it was all but forgotten.”

“Indeed. Who’s been ruling this land and town in Lord Lyonel’s stead, Pyere?” Amberley asked.

Pyere grew slightly uncomfortable as he answered that question, “One… Ser Marten Vance of Atranta, milord, milady. A second cousin to the main Vance of Atranta branch and its current lord, he was placed as Castellan of Dawnsgrace by Lord Strong. But…”

He hesitated, but I could smell more to the story. Gently and personably, I encouraged him to share it, “Go on, Pyere. Should we not know everything there is to know about our new home?”

“You should, milord…” Pyere conceded. “But this is just talk, ya know? Just rumor, and certainly not from my lowly lips. The state of the town and castle is more due to the smallfolk, the locals. Their memories run deep, and they care for their homes.

“Ser Marten is… tolerated. But he’s also a man who stands to inherit nothing on his own. As word has it, that and the position he’s been granted have made him ambitious. Grasping. Clinging, really. I doubt he’ll be happy to be displaced.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, turning the situation over in my mind while nodding in performative gratitude. “Thank you for your candor, Pyere.”

News of our elevation had been sent ahead to Dawnsgrace by Lord Lyonel. This Ser Marten would know already, and we might very well be walking into a trap. He could easily have a whole garrison waiting for us, and if they were loyal to him before Lord Lyonel, Dawnsgrace’s new lady likely wouldn’t last long. But by Pyere’s report, Ser Marten was tolerated, not loved. Even if he had the ambition, I doubted he had the loyalty, manpower, and capability to so blatantly go against his liege lord.

“The sooner we assert our new right to rule, then, the better,” Amberley said, likely coming to similar conclusions as I had.

“Ser Marten is sworn to Lord Strong,” Mateo reassured. “He should stand aside for you easily, Lady Amberley.”

“Should…” I pointed out. “Doesn’t always mean ‘will’.”

Elaena perked up in her saddle with interest and excitement, “You expect strife, Ser Ciaphas~?”

“Always. It’s how I survive,” I honestly chuckled. “But likewise, I always hope it won’t come to pass.”

“And that hope frequently works out so well for us,” Amberley fondly rolled her eyes.

The rest of our approach to Dawnsgrace took another hour or two. Soon enough, we turned off the lake road and rode up the castle town’s main thoroughfare. Amberley and I made sure to wave at all of the locals we passed, even if they likely wouldn’t know of us just yet. It was like being on parade again, and I was used to acting my way through such occasions.

The reactions we got were curious, but not wary. No cheers, but no scorn, either. The people here must’ve been used to being forgotten by the wider realm. They had their simple lives and their old and venerable, but mostly empty, castle. No other lords really bothered with them, not even Lord Lyonel, with his attentions so often elsewhere.

We rode up to the castle’s main gate, set into its raised foundation. Pyere requested the gate open in ‘Lord Strong’s name!’. As we were let through, I kept my eyes and ears open. None of the guarding men-at-arms seemed shifty or suspicious to my carefully honed senses for treason (a necessity for commissars who wished to live longer than a single battle with a new regiment). If anything, they were much like the townsfolk: curious, but not wary.

Our horses were stabled in the spacious main entrance chamber within the castle’s foundation, more an enclosed courtyard than a simple tunnel. Then, a guard captain who Pyere seemed friendly and familiar with came up to welcome and guide us. He led us up through a staircase at the end of the enclosed courtyard and up onto the walled foundation before the rest of the castle.

There, we found Dawnsgrace’s inhabitants waiting for us, arranged in a welcome. There were the expected servants and workers, off-duty men-at-arms, someone who could only be a holy man, and a squat, sour-faced man at the head.

“Ser Marten, I presume,” I greeted him with my patented Charming But Strong Smile No.2. “I am Ser Ciaphas Cain. This is my Lady Amberley Vail. Dawnsgrace has been granted to her and her house. This land is rightfully hers, by decree of Lord Lyonel Strong and King Viserys Targaryen.”

“Ser. Lady,” Marten gave a much-too-shallow bow, putting on a polite mask that was rather awful at truly concealing his disgruntlement. “Dawnsgrace is yours. I hope to continue faithfully serving House Strong and House Vail as a loyal and capable castellan.”

… Yeah. That wasn’t happening. There was no way we were letting this already entrenched man stick around so that he could keep a portion of his power. We didn’t need that kind of splinter in our foot when we were already walking a rocky path. He’d be dismissed with honors, but he would be dismissed.

Thankfully, Amberley took it upon herself to do so, “That won’t be necessary, Ser Marten. Ciaphas and I will have things well in hand, I assure you. We thank you for your service, but now, you may return to Lord Strong.”

A flash of furious indignation destroyed his polite mask. The man was fuming, but he must’ve expected the order because he didn’t say anything. Just gave a clipped nod, turned on his heel, and all but stormed off. I watched him cautiously and suspiciously until he disappeared.

Meanwhile, Amberley was already taking charge, addressing the whole castle, “Dawnsgrace. I am Amberley Vail, of House Vail. We shall all be seeing rather a lot of each other from now on.”

She paused for the polite laughter her wry statement received before continuing, “But worry not. I have no intention to take away your jobs and livelihoods. If anything, I’ll undoubtedly find myself needing more help, for this castle will be properly inhabited by a noble house for the first time in ages. So please, tell your friends and families the news. If they are capable, House Vail will take them.

“Right now, however, I would like to talk to representatives from every corner of the castle to get a feel for things. Staff and guards, and yes, you too, septon. There will be much work to do in the coming days, and even after traveling here, I’d like to start it sooner rather than later.”

That got a few respectful murmurs throughout the gathered crowd. Their new lady wasn’t putting off essential work for a mid-morning nap. The septon in particular nodded and smiled in approval.

I kept myself smiling and standing vigilant on the outside, but inwardly, my mind wandered. ‘Here… Now… it all begins-…’

That thought was cut off by a commotion rushing up the way we’d come. One of the men-at-arms from the front gate burst onto the scene, frantic and visibly appalled.

“M’lord, m’lady, fire! Fire! Fire in the town! Ser Marten rode out at a gallop with torch in hand and set it as he fled!”

Immediately, there were gasps of horror and disbelief, cries that it ‘Couldn’t be!’, and shouts of concern for friends and family below. I just sighed. I knew how terribly, awfully petty a single slighted and displaced man could be when he was robbed of something he thought he deserved. Amberley clicked her tongue with scornful annoyance.

For some reason, it was that little sound from her that set me moving. I found my feet running toward the fire and my voice calling for volunteers and aid over my shoulder. I couldn’t say why, not truthfully. Sure, a fire was nothing compared to almost all of the foes I’d faced in my life, but it was still fire, and an out-of-control one, at that.

Still, I could hardly stop after I’d started sprinting. Jurgen, Mateo, and Pyere were right behind me. If there was one thing that could kill a man and his unearned reputation, it was a hesitation to fully commit.

“Pyere! Organize a bucket chain! Mateo! Gather men and axes to help me create a firebreak!” I barked orders with the long familiarity of command in crisis. “Jurgen, just get ready to pull my ass from the flames if needed!”

I got a shared ‘Aye, Ser!’ from Pyere and Mateo, and a much calmer ‘Yes, Sir.’ from Jurgen. We emerged from Dawnsgrace’s main gate with all due haste. The fire was spreading quickly. Unfortunately, it was close to the castle and far from the lake. I could only hope there was a well closer.

Flames licked at stone and leaped at every bit of wood. The houses with thatched roofs were especially vulnerable. When that thatch went up, whole houses had to be written off.

The people of the town were panicking and ineffectively trying to organize aid and resistance. The four of us took charge there, Jurgen staying by my side while Mateo and Pyere saw to the tasks I’d assigned them. The visible authority did wonders, and soon enough, we had buckets (and pots and every other available container) of water coming from a thankfully nearby well. The men with axes and the like were slower to organize. With the fire still spreading, I couldn’t wait for them to begin.

“My babe! My bairn! She’s still in there!” A mother frantically shouted and cried in front of her burning home.

I didn’t realize I was moving until I felt scalding heat upon my skin. I bashed straight through a burning wall with my chainsword and ran straight for the coughing cries of a baby. Scooping the pitiful thing into my arms, I ignored smoke and flame as I bashed my way right back out.

When I deposited the rescued babe into her mother’s arms, the woman outright fell to her knees and exclaimed with tearful relief, “Old gods and the new, bless you, Ser! Bless you!”

I felt my face flash her a comforting and charming smile automatically, but I was already moving on to (quite literally) put out the next fire. At the burning edge, I revved my chainsword and put it to work. The smallfolk jumped at the abrupt roar, and then they stopped and stared in obvious awe as I carved and smashed my way through wood and stone to make a firebreak.

All the way around the blaze, I didn’t stop until the fire had nothing more to burn. I was sweaty and singed. I used my Commissariat-issued handkerchief — dipped in a passing bucket of water — to cover my mouth against the smoke. I must’ve looked like a right mess. But the fire didn’t rest, so neither did I.

Valuable seconds turned to tense minutes. Steadily, with the aid of my firebreak, we fought the blaze back into ash. Half a dozen buildings — ‘No, homes,’ I gravely reminded myself… — burned to the ground. But the vast majority of the town was intact. Safe. Saved from the callous revenge of a petty man.

From what I could hear in my exhausted state, no one had lost their lives. I think I’d pulled an old woman from the fires at one point, too… Most importantly, though, it was done. I forced myself to remain standing — panting but still alive. Amberley later told me I looked very heroic like that…

She came up to me as I stood there and caught my breath, dabbing sweat from my forehead, smiling up at me, and whispering, “Well. This is certainly a memorable introduction to Dawnsgrace for House Vail. Good job, Ciaphas. Truly, well done.”

My frantic actions caught up to me then. I paled as Amberley did her best to make me presentable (“But not too presentable~”). I’d taken charge. I’d saved a baby and an old lady from burning buildings. I’d quite literally fought a fire with what must seem like a magic sword, and won.

As I saw the looks now being directed our way, I could only bemoan the exaggerated, unearned, and inevitably misunderstood reputation I’d brought upon myself once more.

It seemed, fate was doomed to be as cruel to Ciaphas Cain the Ser as it was to Ciaphas Cain the Commissar.

IIIII

[AN: I think I’m going to do one more chapter of Ser Ciaphas (an Amberley POV to show the initial stages of settling in their new lands and uplift) before the next Dead End chapter. That Dead End chapter, I think, is going to be an Elden Ring Mythos story, which should be… fun, to say the least. Complicated, but fun. It won’t be Sean as a Tarnished going through the gameplay, it’ll be Sean during the height of the Golden Order, and I’m pretty sure I’ve already mentioned that he mindbroke Marika at some point… Anyway, look forward to that after this next Amberley POV chapter :]

IIIII

Bonus Pics (sauce below)