It was as though problems had something of an attraction to him. Who would even believe that? Merrin settled his thoughts and said, "Ma'rim."
Stannis raised a brow.
He continued nonetheless. "I appreciate you bringing me here."
Stannis smiled. "True…" he said. "I think after your performance in the waters and now this? Without doubt, a host of people would likely be looking for the new light in Nightfell. In fact," he stepped forward, sauntering, "I can remember yet another event similar to this."
Merrin sensed a foreboding.
Stannis cared little for his expression. "Six or eight days ago." He glanced at Shae—she nodded. "Yes, that was it. That was the day all lamps in Nightfell burned with such intensity that it felt like the coming of the new sun." A brief chuckle escaped his lips. "Believe me, the radiance of that day could have dwarfed the brightest shines from the Oldbulb in Whitehorn."
Merrin sought ignorance. "I don't know what any of that means."
Stannis waved it away. "It's nothing—it's a place in the stonelands. The principal seat of the Great Clan of Fray."
"I'm an Ashman."
"That you are." He smiled. "And that would mean you haven't really seen much of anything. Nonetheless, I cannot help but remark on the similarities."
There was something about the tones spoken with…Almost as though he knew of the things he said.
Merrin steeled himself. Not now—now was not the moment to show any reaction to those words. And truthfully, he saw them for what they were: a probe. This Stannis man was dangerous—knowledgeable, smart too in that way provided to all casters. And with that very knowledge, he was searching for who Merrin was.
A bad desire to have.
Stannis strolled towards the bed, a beam of light from the wall base streaking across his face. No reaction was elicited from it, just the constant smile painted across his face. Gregor, by his side, remained as stiff as a statue. What a small man he seemed—almost as though he wasn't there.
Akin to Jeseries—and the Ashman. Strange, Merrin thought, realizing that quite a number of the people in Nightfell shared the silent traits of the highlanders—with his people.
Stannis cupped his hands behind his back. "So, what do you think?"
Mentation churned. "I can see the similarities," Merrin said, "but that's just about it."
"Ah, yes."
Shae interjected. "Ah, this is getting us nowhere!"
Stannis glanced at her; she refused whatever command was given in that gaze, continuing. "Let's cut to the chase… We are down one member, we need—"
"Can I leave?" Merrin suddenly said, impatiently, realizing he stood somewhat in the center of those three: Gregor and Stannis to the side, and Shae to his left. That seemed problematic if he chose violence as a means of escape. Who knew what these people could do?
Shae cocked her head. "What?"
"I mean, can I leave here?" he repeated. "You saved me, that much is true—but I did the same for you with that shadow creature. That, I suppose, makes us equal. I want no reward… or am I held a prisoner here?" Deliberately, he applied a deeper tone to the final words. He saw, accurately, the effect it had on these people.
Without fail, every one of them paused for a moment.
Then Shae giggled. "I still don't know which one is you."
"What?"
Shae dismissed it, her arm resting proudly on the waist—undoubtedly a thing that was a part of her trait. "I still don't understand which person you are, Ashman. The tortured thing high above the waters of the Black Sea? Or the confident radiance back then? Or perhaps you're the martyr, or just a timid little thing."
"That's not a response to my question."
She frowned. Stannis stepped close. Abrupt—Merrin hadn't even seen the motions. He was beside him now, an arm resting on Merrin's shoulder. What a heavy thing that was: his hand.
"There is little need for all this tension, you see… You are no prisoner."
Good.
"However, you are currently being searched for."
Merrin froze. "What?" he muttered. "I believed that no one saw me."
"We did."
A threat?
Stannis leaned in closer, his head now beside Merrin's. An odd closeness that irked internally. "You see, we are a bit infamous around these parts—all false, of course, but it remains as it is. The truth is rarely revealed in human actions. And after today, you are too."
"But I have done nothing wrong."
"It doesn't matter," Shae said, standing before him. "Pycelle or Tyrion will likely be looking for you now. They would have to—after all, such an amount of force isn't a thing found commonly in all of Eastos. Normally, casters like that would have suffered some discord during wild casting."
Stannis whispered, "Wild casting is a casting done without a specific familiarity with said symbols…A hard thing, yes. Something akin to a veilCounsel pushing Light… Such things cause the retaliation of the symbol… Sometimes discord… Sometimes they become a Talemir."
Merrin absorbed this data.
Shae chimed in, "Now you, for some reason, don't seem to be experiencing either of it. Which would simply mean you have some talent and already possess an innate awareness of the castable symbols. Either that, or you simply have such overwhelming force that the symbols, regardless, will simply have to obey."
"But nobody has that amount of force," Gregor added from the side.
Merrin felt pinned in this conversation.
"That leaves only talent." Stannis leaned out, tapping his shoulder.
Shae exhaled mist. "And you have seen our faces…"
Mist!
"That means you could just as easily bring the force of Tyrion Driftpoint upon us… just like how we can—"
"Bring his upon me," Merrin gritted, hateful at the moment.
It was a noose, that's what it was—tightening around his neck with each passing second. Annoying. Somehow, these people had trapped him with them. How in damnation did that even happen?
Shae clapped. "But it's okay because we have no reason to reveal EVERYTHING about you—because you won't speak about us."
MIST THIS ALL!
"But first," Stannis exclaimed, "you will have to stay a while. For caution you see."
"Why?"
"Because, my friend, anything can happen within the camps," he remarked. "That and because Shae thinks you are to become useful to us."
Ah…
And like that, Merrin found himself seated on the sleek, sheathed bed, Gregor by his side, existing with that same stillness as though he had simply blurred away from perception. Was he also a Blademaster like Jeseries was?
Merrin had no idea.
Stannis, on the other hand, stood with Shae as they both took turns explaining the reason for the notoriety awarded to their names.
"Don't worry," Stannis smiled. "Our true faces aren't truly known to anyone else."
"And we can't have that…" Shae added. "I doubt the eunuch Pycelle would allow us to live after such an occurrence."
That much is obvious…
Supposedly, they had stolen from him. From things like barrels of liquor to food. They had taken it. These were a gang of thieves. By the heavens! Merrin lowered his head, his hand cupped around his face.
What mistsense is this?
Praise to the Shadowman—Recorded from the Diaries of Saint Alderbert
Merrin stood dazed in a hall, eyes staring at the dark corridor with walls of glossy black stone, like dark mirrors that twisted his features across their surfaces—stretching into some mass unrecognizable from the original. Much like he was. After all, in the end, he had taken a choice from the Black Eyes; from Shae.
They had given him one—Shae had. For one, the Black Eyes, according to them, were no thieves at all, and were instead something of a patronizing force to the nightsailers. Supposedly, food and whatnot were a thing provided by the High Family of Nightfell—one that was given to Tyrion to be shared freely among the sailers. He did not.
Instead, with the aid of Pycelle, he sold to the so-called Lords of the camps. Starving then, the rest of the camps…And this was the mission of the Black Eyes: to steal back the food and provide occasional protection for the people. Which was what had brought Shae and Sibel out the night before.
All of that had concluded in one choice given to him by Shae: he was to spend a night with her… A night in one of their runs. Their journey in stealing from the Lords of the camps. That, and only after the conclusion and success of it, could he in any way be allowed to leave.
And if he were to try escaping, then his face would be revealed to every Lord and brightCrown in all of Nightfell.
Merrin chuckled, leaning on the cold, black walls. There was very little that could be done now. He had failed; that, and only that, was the sum total of the occurrences. What was this? Despite all his wishes, his desires not to meddle with anything. A need to protect his witnesses by staying away. A want to keep them all alive…
All of that… Every single one of them had been battered. Gone away like the steam off the earth.
Merrin sighed, walking down the long, silent corridor.
In the end, this had become the reality of the moment. Somehow, this had happened, and much worse was the fact that Stannis was one of the so-called lords of the camps. And according to Shae, in order not to seem suspicious, they would often loot Stannis of his food.
But is that truly anything, if they in the end owned it all? Yet, as Shae had refused: All and everything stolen was given back to the sailers.
"Ah… things just got very complicated."