Flamma had retreated to the gardens once again. But instead of the herb garden, she had gone to the terrace furthest away from the main building. From there she had an excellent view over the city and the harbor. Ever since she had been a small child, she had loved to watch the ships come and go. But now she could also see the ship Lord Baratheon had arrived upon. The heavy Westerosi ship stuck out like a sore thumb between the light merchant ships around.
Fawkes had returned to her side once more and sang a soothing song for her. A small smile tucked at her lips, as she closed her eyes and allowed the music to calm her. In this moment, she did not realize that she was still very much visible to the people below on the streets and that the man who visited her was among those who watched her with great interest.
"Here you are," Magister Varghan had come and stood next to her now. "Quite the exit. You should have seen the dumbfound look on the face of that audacious man. Seriously, to come here to win you as a trophy for that prince of his."
Flamma smiled sardonically at him, before she answered, "He is a man with very strict orders from his king. And apparently I am the only girl fitting the king's high standards."
"You are fit to be a queen, my dear. But he will never get his hands on you. The conclave won't allow it," Varghan assured her.
"And what if I want to be their queen, uncle?"
"Do you? I only know so very little about your family's history, but weren't your ancestors quite clear in their dislike of the Targaryens?"
It was true. After Valyria had been lost, her family had been among the last of the Freehold's nobility. When Aegon Targaryen set out to conquer the kingdoms of Westeros, he had all but ordered them to follow him, for the sake of their shared Valyrian culture and ancestry. But of course her ancestors had refused and settled in Myr instead. There had been no further direct contact ever since, except for a handful of fights between Peverells and Targaryens in the many conflicts between Westeros and its eastern neighbors. And now this foolish but noble stag had come to claim her, the last of her family, to be the wife of a Targaryen. Death truly loved his ironic stories.
"The time has come for me to accept that House Peverell and its proud history will end with me. Clinging to the past is not healthy and will only destroy my future. But I'm not sure where that future will take me in the first place," she sighed deeply, her eyes wandering towards the Westerosi ship once more. Was there even a choice in this? Most likely not…
"Whatever you choose, my dear, I will do whatever I can to protect you," Varghan stated.
And again, the man reminded her so much of Sirius. The same kind of devotion to a child that is not even of his own blood. It only made her wonder, what her father had done, to inspire such friendship and loyalty in this magister. When she had been orphaned, he had taken her as his ward, to fend of the attempts of other magisters to gain control over her family's fortune. He had raised her, protected her and even now he continues his vigil over her as if she was his own precious child.
"I will leave you to your thoughts, for now at least. I have to return to the conclave. They will want to hear about this meeting," the magister muttered. He went over to hug her once more, which she gladly allowed him to do, before he turned and left.
"I really have little choice in this matter," Flamma said once more.
"Do we ever?" Death whispered once more. "Not unless you wish to see this world suffer. It may not happen in your lifetime here, but it will happen, unless you do your utmost to prevent it. You should have learned that there is always truth in the prophecies."
"So this Baratheon is the noble stag? And that Targaryen prince is the dragon..."
"That would be correct. Ironic, once more a stag appears to influence your life, just like James Potter," Death chuckled darkly, "Quite surprising that you still oppose this."
Flamma grimaced, as she clearly heard the mocking note in that statement. She couldn't escape that darned prophecy when she had been Harry Potter. Neither could she avoid the second one in her life among the gods… and now she was supposed to be a queen? She never wanted any of this. All she had ever hoped for was a chance to have a family of her own. Someone to love and someone who loves her back equally. But apparently her life wasn't meant to be that easy.
"So it is settled. I surrender myself to my fate once again," there was a grim determination on her elfin features now. She would do what it takes, but she would not allow others to dictate her life as they please. They want a queen? She would give them one to remember forever.
The conclave of the magisters was in uproar, as Magister Varghan recounted the meeting between the presumptuous lord and their precious jewel. They loathed the very idea that anyone might come to take her away from Myr, from their sphere of influence. More than half of the men in attendance had their own plans to push the lady towards one of their sons. Her power, her influence and most importantly, her wealth would crush the balance of power for the noble families in Myr and whoever managed to snatch her away, would without a doubt be able to claim the crown of the city of Myr and its lands. It was too good an opportunity to waste. Unless, of course, the lady decided herself that she wished to leave. They knew that they would never manage to keep her against her will, not with those strange powers of hers.
"We should chase this interloper out of our city! Burn his ship and send him into the sea to drown for this audacity," one of the older magisters raged, as he stood before the other members of the conclave.
The rest sat in a half circle in front of him, some supporting his words quite ardently, whereas others showed no open interest at all. But those few who agreed were enough to fill the dome like hall with tumultuous clamor.
"And then what? War with the Iron Throne? We've seen enough trouble with those Targaryens and their accursed spawns. Just send him back, without our precious lady and forget about him," another magister stated, much more calmly and reasonably.
"Varghan, you've spoken with Lady Flamma, what is her word on this man's proposal?"
Varghan scratched his bald head, as he weighed his words. He did not want to trouble Flamma with ill chosen words that might not even begin to describe her own state of mind. And he wasn't sure whether he had read her correctly.
"Lady Flamma is… torn on this matter. She is well aware that the time of the Peverell family has come to an end, but it seemed that she has yet to come to a conclusion where the legacy of the Peverells will end," Varghan stated cautiously.
But his words alone were enough to cause another uproar in the chamber. Of course the Magisters wouldn't be happy about this. To them there was not even the question where she should stay. Myr is her home and her obligation. But the possibility was quite real, that she might just as well leave and never return here.
A ripple of voices went through the crowd, when suddenly the very person they were arguing about had entered their chamber. Lady Flamma had arrived, much earlier than Varghan had expected. But her appearance was very much welcome, as it ended the quarrel among the magisters.
"Lady Flamma, we are delighted to have you among us," one of the magisters said silkily, as he watched the young woman with greedy eyes. Varghan would have demanded a duel from the offending man for this blatant disrespect, but he was far past his prime and no longer able bodied to do such a thing. So he had to settle for glaring at the man and putting an end to each of his schemes that involved Flamma. It would be his pleasure to crush his dreams.
"Honored Magisters, I come here to discus the very topic that you have been arguing about just now. The ominous offer of Lord Steffon Baratheon," Flamma said loud and clear.
"So you've come to ask us to get rid of this presumptuous fool, Lady Flamma. Fear not, he will be gone before the sun sets this evening," one of the more eager magisters assured her.
But Flamma only rewarded him with a benign smile, before she shook her head. "No. This is not my wish."
A shocked silence settled in the chamber. Even Varghan looked at her with wide eyes. Had she decided to leave? Was this it, was this her last appearance in this chamber, where her ancestors have caused havoc and spread hatred and fear?
"I have the wish to further pursue the proposal of Lord Steffon. Make no mistake, I have yet to decide whether I really wish to marry that Targaryen prince, but at the very least I wish to travel to Westeros and see this man myself. I cannot and will not marry a man I've never met before. Therefore I request your blessing to leave for King's Landing," Flamma said.
She had not decided to marry. That was something good, at least partly. But the magisters were still quite displeased, that she had decided to leave, even though it might be nothing more than a visit to another great city. Unless, of course, the Targaryens decide to keep her by force, which they might very well try to do. They would learn how futile that is, though.
"Are you sure that is wise, Lady Flamma," Cossomo, the oldest man in the council asked her. "For all we, know those Westerosi know little of honor. We cannot in good conscience allow you to go to their city on your own." Many of the other magisters voice their agreement, but Flamma would not be deterred.
"Then I request that my visit to King's Landing to be treated as a political envoy, to discuss new trade agreements with the Iron Throne," Flamma declared.
Varghan smirked as he saw through her plan. Myr was a trade city. It was their main source of income and they were quite proud of that. Getting new treaties with the kingdom in the west could prove very profitable. Not to mention that the envoy would include a magister to lead these talks and no less than a hundred men as an honor guard and several ships to protect the envoy.
"This does not change the fact that we cannot trust the Targaryens with your safety," Cossomo insisted.
"I am very well able to assure my own safety, but if it eases your worry, I will put my life in the hands of a guard of your choosing. But my point stands, I will travel to King's Landing and meet this prince they want me to marry." And she left no room for arguing. Lady Flamma Peverell had spoken and they knew that she would go, no matter what they would say. She was actually quite amiable and considerate when she proposed the envoy and the guard.
Varghan looked around and he could see that most of his contemporaries were far from happy. But at the very least one of them would be with her, to keep an eye on Myr's precious jewel. In the end a shaky majority agreed to her proposal, much to her obvious delight.
"Honored magisters, I thank you," she inclined her head in respect, before she turned around and left as quickly as she had appeared.
"This child plays with us as if we are nothing but puppets in her hands," Cossomo stated, quite amused. "You better go and see to it that she actually does wait for the conclave to decide on who to send as the envoy," he told Varghan, who nodded in return.
Flamma seemed quite eager to leave all of a sudden. And he had learned long ago that an eager Flamma was often a careless Flamma. A lady like her should never be unattended when she is careless. So he did not argue. He left and followed her back to her estate.