They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. That very night he chose the most wretched of the slaves, the one who had prayed most earnestly for release, and freed him from his bondage. The slaves were not crying out to a hundred different gods, as it seemed, but to one god with a hundred different faces.
All gods have their instruments, men and women who serve them and help to work their will on earth. until a realization came upon him, one night in the red darkness. Yet their gods made no answer, and their suffering went on. It was release they asked for, an end to pain. Men of a hundred different nations labored in the mines, and each prayed to his own god in his own tongue, yet all were praying for the same thing. Whoever he was, he moved amongst the slaves and would hear them at their prayers. Some will even tell you he was an overseer who took pity on his charges. Others insist he was a freeholder's son, born of noble stock. The dragonlords of the old Freehold were strong in sorcery, and lesser men defied them at their peril. Revolts were common in the mines, but few accomplished much. In times of peace they bred them, though only the worst were sent down to die in the red darkness.Īrya: Didn't the slaves rise up and fight?
During war, the Valyrians took them by the thousands. Red gold and yellow gold and silver were reckoned to be more precious than the lives of slaves, for slaves were cheap in the old Freehold. Slaves perished by the score, but their masters did not care. The Priest: Burnt and blackened corpses were oft found in shafts where the rocks were cracked or full of holes. The young ones are no larger than that skinny arm of yours, but they can grow to monstrous size and have no love for men. If the old tales can be believed, there were wyrms amongst the Fourteen Flames even before the dragons came. Instead of soaring through the sky, they bore through stone and soil. Some say they are akin to dragons, for wyrms breathe fire too. And there were wyrms in that red darkness too. Certain shafts were cut so low that the slaves could not stand upright, but had to crawl or bend. Sometimes, when they broke through a wall in search of gold, they would find steam instead, or boiling water, or molten rock. The soles of their feet would burn and blister, even through the thickest sandals. The air stank of brimstone and would sear their lungs as they breathed it. The rocks around them were too hot to touch. So the mines of old Valyria were always hot, and they grew hotter as the shafts were driven deeper, ever deeper. Most mines are dank and chilly places, cut from cold dead stone, but the Fourteen Flames were living mountains with veins of molten rock and hearts of fire. We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freeholds nights of old. Before the Titan rose, before the Unmasking of Uthero, before the Founding, we were. The Priest in Black and White: Men may whisper of the Faceless Men of Braavos, but we are older than the Secret City. It was only by chance that Stark's own men found the girl before me. but you know that story, don't you? As I was fucking her, Cersei cried, "I want." I thought that she meant me, but it was the Stark girl that she wanted, maimed or dead. He would not have been the first king to die upon my sword. If His Grace had woken I would have killed him there and then. I took her on Raymun Darry's bed after stepping over Robert. She told me I should carry her to bed, and shrugged out of her robe. I asked my sister if she wanted me to carry him to bed. The king was passed out snoring on the Myrish carpet. Past midnight, the queen summoned me inside. The old penalty, for striking one of the blood royal. My sister wanted the girl to lose a hand.
Ned Stark's daughter had run off after her wolf savaged Joff, you'll recall. Where King Robert slept, on our return from Winterfell. Jaime: That was Raymun Darry's bedchamber.
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