A Shadow and a Wolf

Kinvara I

The ebony bench was empty. She knew it would be, but to know and to see were two different things. There were unpleasant truths, truths we didn't want to face, truths we refused to accept as the truth because we didn't want them to be the truth. There were also truths we couldn't be sure of. When we couldn't be sure of something, then we had to believe in them. Here, she had to believe. Belief was her life. Faith was her life, and now she needed to believe in her god more than ever. She needed to have faith in the Lord of Light, that he would bring Daenerys Stormborn, Of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men and the Rhoynar, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, back to her people. The world would need her very soon. Kinvara saw it in the flames.

The Lord of Light had talked to her for years, and her last visions showed her the time was coming. The young woman with blond hair, flying on the back of a dragon. The vision came back again, and again. Daenerys Stormborn was the only one who could save them. She was the prince that was promised, and her dragons would breathe the fire that would keep the living away from the dead, but for that she would need Kinvara's help. Meereen couldn't fall. Astapor and Yunkai had gone back to the Masters. If Meereen went back to slavery, then all would be lost, for Essos and for Westeros. She knew what she had to do. It was what the Lord willed. And she felt this was what she had to do.

The journey from Volantis had been long, but they had no problem on the way. The Lord of Light had assured her their journey would only be tiresome, and everything went as the Lord of Light showed. They met no ships of slave merchants, which was a good thing for the slavers they would have possibly met. Kinvara had arrived three days ago, accompanied with forty priests of her order, the best ones. She had met the other priests who were already in Meereen. Some came from Volantis, others came from other cities, but they acknowledged her high rank. They didn't need a lot to see that she was serving the Lord of Light.

The situation in Meereen was very poor. People were being assassinated each night by the men hiding behind masks. These men served the Evil, the Great Other whose name must never be said. They hid in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike the innocents. They waited, just like their master. Just like the Masters. There were so many things alike between the Masters in Essos and the Great Other. There had been a time when she thought there were no differences between the two. Now she knew better, but still, the resemblance was striking. All the more reasons to fight the Sons of the Harpy.

Two men came from the passage behind the bench at the top of the stairs. One was very young, barely a man. He had black curly hair and wore clothes that were obviously not from Essos. He was certainly the foreign prince. The other man at his side was older, with brown short hair and a beard, and foreign clothes as well, though not in the same style. They both carried a sword at their belt.

Zanrush stepped before to introduce her. He had come to Meereen on Kinvara's orders not long after the city was taken by Daenerys and the people listened to him with attention. To the opposite of many people speaking against the former masters, he hadn't been killed. The servants of the Great Other who hid behind masks and hit in the night couldn't kill him.

"You stand in the presence of Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light." Zanrush stepped aside and let her move forward.

"Welcome to Meereen," said the young man in a poor High Valyrian. "I am..."

"Prince Trystane Martell," completed Kinvara in the common tongue before he could finish. "Prince of Dorne and heir to Sunspear, son of Doran Martell and Mellario of Norvos." She turned towards the other man. "And you must be Malcolm Branfield, son of Ethan Branfield and Talia Branfield, last surviving member of House Branfield. We may talk in the common tongue. I know it very well and your Valyrian seems limited."