There are cowering whispers of a war that is soon to be waged on the realm, destroying castles, starving people, decimating armies. A war for the Iron Throne, and a war against it. A war to hide secrets and a war to betray them. For death is power...
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A hundred slaves lay sprawled in the courtyard in front of Remi, some of them overlapping each other's bodies as they stole a few hours of oblivion from their pathetic lives. There wasn't even enough space for them to turn in their sleep, nor was there a roof over their heads.
A hundred slaves lay cramped up in an area built to withstand half their number. Remi could faintly see long scars on some of their backs, a line that traced their backbones, threatening to carve it out if whiplashed any further.
A few slaves had stirred in their sleep upon Remi's arrival, waking up to see an unknown free man stumble upon their quarters. They stood up, pointing it at him and whispering to each other in alarm. Some more agitated slaves had surrounded him, panic clear in their features. There was no telling what wounded men like them could do then.
"Qilōni issi ao?" (Who are you?)
"Skoros gaomagon jaelā hen īlva, intruder?" (What do you want, intruder?)
Remi rounded his eyes, raising his hands in the air to show he meant no harm.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone. Don't kill me, please." He replied back in High Valyrian.
"Why are you here?" A towering man stepped forward, his oily black hair billowing on his shoulders and a red tattoo, or rather a scar, resembling a hammer on both his cheeks. A blacksmith.
Oh shit. Remi hadn't thought this through. He hadn't anticipated such a reaction from the slaves. He hadn't thought of their reactions at all, in fact. Marching in in the middle of the night without an explanation, he could see why that would appear suspicious to them.
"I....," Remi began, his mouth dry and his life flashing in front of his eyes, he was just a common bard and they were a hundred grouchy slaves who he had woken from their well-deserved sleep, "I am here to sing for you. To help you sleep."
Remi tried his best to stop his face from contorting into a horrified expression at his response. Even to his own ears, he could see how implausible it sounded.
What am I saying?!
"The masters sent me to sing for you." Remi blurted out as he lifted his mandolin in front of him as proof.
"At midnight?!" The blacksmith shot back, his bleary eyes getting angrier by the minute.
This is how I die.
Remi was speechless for a brief moment, thoughts spiralling into a haphazard mess.
"Yes," he paused, his heart pounding as he desperately searched for something right to say, "because, you see, because, you all gather in one place at midnight. It's much easier to sing for a large crowd, than smaller groups." He finished uncertainly.
There was a mind-numbing pause.
And then slowly, the slaves around him seemed to swallow that reason, backing away. The blacksmith, though, stood his ground, staring at Remi warily. Remi looked up at him with what he hoped was a reassuring expression, "I'm just here to sing for you."
