Solomon. Braavos.
As I sat in the same chair I had occupied at the beginning of my visit, reading a slim book on the history of Braavos, I watched the Artist, who was currently painting what seemed to be her third painting with a fierce and furious brushstroke. Her face expressed nothing but extreme displeasure and anger, while her eyes remained fixed on the canvas and the maids swarmed around her anxiously.
And there was something amusing about the whole scene, which made me see a slight cheerful smile on my face. Painter's jaws were chewing bread furiously. The same one I preferred to buy, baked in the bakery she owned.
As soon as she was done with the next piece, the maids instantly brought out a not so whole bread, which in shape and size resembled its ancient Roman counterpart. The artist, not shy, or rather, completely ignoring me, practically tore off the next portion and began to chew, without interrupting her work for a second.
As it turned out, there was a kind of hiding place, located in one of the walls, from where, in fact, one of the Artist's maids got the bread. However, nothing unexpected, since this tavern is her domain, and there may be more such hiding places.
When the girls woke up, the first thing they did was look around and assume that everything was a dream. However, when my figure caught their eyes, I could naturally see the expression on their faces instantly change from relieved and relaxed to angry and disgruntled.
The painter even started to look for her brush to attack again. However, she changed her mind rather quickly and started doing what she was doing now. And the Handmaids had nothing to do but meekly help their Mistress blow off some steam.
- How long are you going to sulk, Mistress Painter? - I asked cheerfully, to which I heard gnashing of teeth - Just so you know, I have plenty of time, even if you plan to rape the canvas and brush all night.
- Why don't you get the hell out of here, Mr. Solomon?
- But I haven't gotten my painting yet. - I laughed.
- Take any of them, all of them, and then get the hell out of my tavern. Or better yet, out of Essos, too.
Hmmm... If that's the way she feels....
- Unfortunately, I don't feel like doing that just yet. Now, if you would be so kind as to take the couch across from me," I said, infusing the last words with magic. The tattoos on the Artist's body flashed with golden light for a moment, and even if her mind didn't give the command, it moved and did as I asked.
Their operating principle is similar to Command Spells. It allows their wielder to give an unquestioned order, which the Servant will follow even if it doesn't want to. Of course, they can be resisted, depending on the target's willpower or resistance to magic, but in this case, the target, namely the Artist, does not have such characteristics.
In addition to giving the order, I added a tracking function to always know where she is, but no more. Being a full-fledged stalker disgusts me, so I limited myself to just that.
Of course, the Artist herself got something too. And that goes for Command Spells as well. There is a bond between the Master who has them and the Servant they affect. Through it, the former transfers his mana to the latter, supporting or enhancing him. In this case it is analogous.
The artist has amazing control over the mana in her body and is already an outstanding magician who could match even John if she had magical training. However, thanks to her tattoos, her reserves have grown. She doesn't notice it now, but when time passes, when her body adapts to the new amount of mana... She won't be a servant, of course, but she will definitely be able to put up some fight.
There was no limit to her rage, but she could do nothing but obey. And in a couple of seconds we were sitting opposite each other, when my cheerful smile met with a vicious grin. And the maids obediently stood behind her and did not try to do anything when they saw the short gesture of their mistress.
- Thank you," I nodded, to which I received the Artist's head turned aside, "Now let's talk a little. I'll tell it like it is, I'm interested in you. Not in your body, not in your magic, but in yourself. And your mother, who is Kirana Satrion, will be after you on my priority list.
- I'm touched to the core," the Artist said in a sarcastic tone, "I don't know what I want more, to throw myself into your arms or to die happy.
- I can't let you do the latter yet, because I'm still interested in what you'll become. - I waved him away, and the room was silent for a while.
- And now what? I'm your slave, aren't I? What am I supposed to do? Clean up your shit? Warm your bed? Cook your meals? How about all of them? - After a while she asked - And what did you mean by "become"? I've got a pretty good life as it is.
- As I said before, you live solely to spite your mother," I said calmly, to which I heard Painter's loud clucking, "You are incomplete, at least for now, but when this conflict is over... What do you plan to do? Continue your work in Braavos, living year after year in an endless routine until the beauty leaves you and your hand can't hold a brush? It sounds empty and meaningless.
- Why do you care? I'll decide that when this woman dies.
- How long will it take for that to happen? A year? Two? Or ten? Thinking back on it, will you be satisfied with the life you've lived? Or in-
- Yes.
- Or still no, and you'll regret it when you realize that you've been living for her instead of yourself all this time?
- Huh?
- There's no doubt that revenge is a strong motivation to keep living. And I realize that it's an immutable part of human nature. However, why make it the main goal of your existence, if you can take revenge in other ways, while being successful in both?" I began, shifting my gaze to the paintings, or rather, to one particular painting, "This painting, where the girl is reaching for the sun... What is the idea behind it? What were your thoughts when you painted it? It wasn't intended for a client, that's obvious. You painted it at the call of your own heart, transferring your dream onto the canvas... Why?
The artist was silent in response, but I could see a small, barely perceptible flame in her eyes. A tiny spark of her own desire buried deep in her heart that she tried to forget.
Contradiction.
The girl in the painting is the image of the Artist, dreamy and distant. The clear sky is freedom. Freedom to do what she wants. And the sun is a dream unfulfilled in her consciousness, which no matter how much she reaches out, she will not be able to touch.
The Painter's goal is simple and clear - revenge, but why hasn't she thrown the painting away? Why is it here, in her own stronghold of self? Why is this painting hanging in plain sight rather than covered in cloth, hidden or burned?
The answer is obvious - she can't do it. Her dream and her goals have nothing in common, and she had to choose between them, between illusion and reality. Or rather, between something achievable and something not so achievable. And she had no choice but to throw her dream away, with no hope of realizing it. Until I arrived, of course.
- Valyria. An ancient state where dragons were part of the everyday, where the flapping of their leathery wings and streams of hot flame filled the sky... and where the Satrion family name came from. You long to see this land, don't you? Destroyed by cataclysm and time, but preserved by history and greatness.
My words, like the previous ones, went unanswered - only the flames in the Artist's eyes grew larger and brighter.
- This conflict between you and your mother... if I end it much sooner than you would like....
- How? Kill her? I don't want that. I want her to live until she's old enough to think she's powerless to do anything to me. The last thing she sees is a satisfied smile on my face.
- I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you don't get to choose. - I smiled, to which she rounded her eyes in surprise.
- I thought you said I was higher than her on your list, right? So you lied?
- Not at all, but I don't see the point in taking sides without hearing all the parties to the conflict. And as stated before, your life belongs to me. And since that's the case, I'll decide your mother's fate, not you.
- Tch.
- Glad that we could come to a normal conversation, Mrs. Artist. - I said and stood up.
- And I'm not so much.
- I'll see you later. I'll visit you when I talk to your mother. After all, she invited me for a glass of wine, and there is a good reason to respond to her invitation. - I smiled, at which the Artist made a displeased face, and a moment later disappeared from the tavern, returning to the Red Temple.
A pleasant and eventful evening. It could be said that I had found another companion to visit Valyria, all that remained was to settle the matter between the Artist and her mother. However, there will still be a visit to King's Harbor, as well as picking up Kinvara from Winterfell. Plenty to do, but that only makes it more interesting, doesn't it?
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Kinvara. Winterfell.
- Thank you, Lina. - I said, being in my king's room and staring at the flames in the fireplace.
It was my routine, my desire to know how he had spent the day, and what events had touched him. With his passing, the fire that fueled my passion was gone. And even though I'm not a stranger here, but practically a full-fledged part of the Stark family, a longing gnaws at my heart.
I realize my desires are selfish and irrational, and my king has affairs and interests I have no place in. My soul yearns to leave Winterfell this very second and go to Braavos, to my king, but he has given me orders. Orders and a promise that he would take me.
I want to believe that he will keep his word, and that I will be able to be in his presence again, but... I also realize that I am too insignificant.
I don't know when it started, but I became more... alive. It was like I was younger and back to a time when my youth was just kicking in. Under the pressure of this feeling, the "High Priestess of Kinvara" is slowly giving way to another "Kinvara". Younger, more romantic, more... selfish.
Before I met my king, I was sure I would have thrown myself into the fire at the mere word of the Lord of Light, but now I have my doubts. Now I want to live, I want to be near my king, I want to feel the warmth of his skin, I want to hear his heartbeat.
I can't say it's love, I don't have the confidence to call the feeling I'm experiencing love, but love? Definitely.
I know it's bad, that at some point, if he gives me the order to die, my heart will freeze and my body will falter and quite possibly he'll be disappointed in me, but....
Being close to him fills my world with color, the way an artist adds color to a blank canvas, turning it into a work of art. It creates in me a desire to not waste my life on anything but being near him. My old body, supported by the magic of the Lord of Light, that should have turned to dust long ago, fills with life like a new birth.
And it makes me feel fear. Fear that my selfishness might lead to something I would never want. To see the disappointment in my king's eyes. To see the world burn from my actions, my desires... And that's scary. Very frightening.
- I shouldn't, but you could ask Lord Solomon yourself. If you like, I could call him and give him the earring. He's in the temple right now.
- I don't want to distract him for nothing, and neither should you. His time is far more valuable than ours combined. And given your temper...
- It's all right," Lina chuckled, "Lord Solomon himself said he was fine with it.
- Then forget what I said and do as he wants," I sighed and shook my head, "Is that it?
- Hmm... Let me think about it..." Lina mumbled thoughtfully, "I wouldn't say it's important, but Lord Solomon has recently taken an interest in a girl. According to him, she is an outstanding mage and he plans to take her with him when he leaves Braavos.
The moment I heard her, my body moved faster than my thoughts and a hard and loud bang resounded through the room. A nearby table fell on its side, scattering the books and lamp lying on it, making the sound of shattering glass.
I felt a pain in my hand, and when I looked down at it, I saw a reddened patch of skin, which must have been what I had hit the table with. But the pain in my heart was stronger, as if my chest had been pierced with a spear and moved from side to side.
Girl? Interested?
I managed to calm down. It took a few deep breaths and pleasant memories, but the pain in my heart didn't want to subside.
- Is that it? - I asked in a tone of cold anger and resentment.
- It is now. That's it," Lina said worriedly, and paused, "Are you all right? Should I call Lord Solomon after all?
- No. Just get on with your work. See you tomorrow. - I said quickly and pressed the earring, cutting the connection.
With a quick glance around the room, which was now a bit of a mess, I found nothing better to do than settle into the bed where my king slept. It was cold, but I was relieved at the thought that it belonged to him. And the pain slowly faded, giving way to longing, sadness, and... jealousy.
I need to sleep. It was the only way I could regain my composure, and... maybe I should have asked Lina to call for him after all. Just for a few moments, no more. It would have been enough to chase away the longing and replenish my strength, but....
I wrapped myself in the blanket and closed my eyes.
I'd ask her some other time... Maybe tomorrow or the day after... But I'd ask her... Definitely.....
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