I lean against a wall of some poor merchant's house-cum-shop at the very edge of Griaz. I browsed through his store, bought an apple and requested permission to loiter outside his shop just an hour ago. He's a nice enough man, his prices are a bit high and the apple is a bit wizened but he's just trying to eat tomorrow and judging from the fact that he kept the apple on his desk and it was the only fruit in the shop I'm rather certain it was intended for the owner's consumption not a customer's. However I must admit he picked a rather odd place for a shop, the vein is a treacherous road older than my grandfather, allegedly it's been around before my bloodline ruled here, it's only consistently traveled by mercenaries, soldiers and lumbermen heading to the black hallows to die or traveling merchant's, none of the former are renowned for their surplus of coin and it's very unlikely any of the later will be in desperate need of supplies.

"Why are we waiting here?" cousin Terrence asks.

"A raven was sent," I say. "The red bishop and his priests should arrive in a few hours, when he does-"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of all that but I'm wondering why we're waiting here specifically, why not wait at Castle Black's gate or better yet in Castle Black?" Terrence inquires.

"I'm waiting here so I can greet them and greet them personally and establish a good relationship with the bishop before he forms an opinion of me based around the state of our city," I answer. "Why you cling to me like a leech is a mystery I have yet to solve."

"I choose to spend my time with you, my cousin because I hold you dear to my heart," Terrence says, mocking a sincere tone. "And your goodwill and general cheer puts a smile on my face."

I snort at that.

"You don't hold a single thing you can't drink or fuck close to your heart," I state.

"Do you truly think me so shallow?" Terrence says, both his tone and the question make it hard for me to tell if he's genuinely offended or merely jesting.

"If Martin asked such a question I might conclude there are some layers to the man, if Bartholomew asked it I would conclude that the horses kick rendered him incapable of shallowness or depth, if cousin Serah asked I'd genuinely struggle to find an answer for her," I sigh, "but since it is you asking me such a question, the answer should be more than obvious."

"Just because I-"

"Terrence," I cut across him before he can bore me with some mundane excuse for his actions, "you've probably populated half the kingdom with your bastards, you've definitely caught all the diseases it has to offer, if it weren't for Lady Abigail you'd have been bankrupted and disowned three times over. You are a slave to whichever vice catches your attention first and for the most part you don't give a fuck about anything else and i respect that."

Terrence snorts this time.

"Granted it's the only thing I find respectable about you," I add.

He smirks at that.

Just as I'm about to go back into the store in search of another apple, Terrence whistles. I look out at the vein and see something that makes me question my sight for a moment. The red bishop appears to have brought a small fucking army. There's at least a hundred men on horseback, riding in a neat little lIne, all of whom are in plate armour from the look of it, a thin cloud of dust rises behind them. They're too far away for me to make out symbols, weapons or faces but several large red flags and the copper colour of their armour heavily points towards them being the church of fire's knights.

"Was this mentioned in the letter?" Terrence asks

"No," I say quietly, "no it was fucking not."

I straighten up and begin to march down the road, Terrence begins to follow after a moment of hesitation.

"Don't insult any of them," I say to Terrence, "don't try to go whoring and drinking with any of them, don't try to- hell just don't fucking talk unless it's absolutely necessary and whenever opening your mouth is unavoidable lie every opportunity you can."

Terrence quietly obeys and we continue to walk.

The closer I get, the more that can be noticed. The red bishop's knights are organized into neat little blocks composed of men armed with longswords, each distanced a few feet from each other so that if they were required to fight they wouldn't decapitate one another. One block takes up the entire road, another block behind them, and several others behind them. The armour has been plated with copper and the leather dyed red but other than that there's very few stylized aspects to the armour. One man rides ahead of the others, his armour is black, marking him as the leader of this force.

The leader stops as soon as he reaches shouting distance as does the entire army shortly after.

"Make way for the red church!" The leader bellows.

"I would gladly do so if there wasn't urgent business I must discuss with your superior!" I yell back continuing my advance.

"You may make an appointment after he has been received by the respectable prince Harold the second!"

"What about the few hundred men the bishop seems to have brought with him?" I inquire. "Will they too be received by the great prince?"

"That is none of your concern lordling, now step aside!"

"I have very good reason to disagree with that statement," I declare as I continue to walk. "Now do you possess the wit to allow those greater than yourself to proceed with tasks that grow more and more irksome the longer they're delayed?"

"There will be consequences if you do not cease with this insolence and step aside!"

"I shall take that as a no," I say ignoring his orders. "You should consider obtaining some. intelligence is a wonderful thing to have, a lot of men would save themselves some pain and occasionally their life if they just had the capacity to think their actions through before carrying them out."

"Take one more step and regardless of your status and youth you will be seen as an attacker of the church and punished accordingly!"

"You might have even read a book or two describing who I am and what I do!" I lie blatantly, it's not as if he'll notice the difference. "Seen a picture of me, read an account of me removing Stephan's ear with a knife I buttered my bread with not more than a minute beforehand."

"The church of flame has no tolerance for imposters, boy!" The knight spits. "Turn around and run like the pissant little coward you are and maybe we'll be merciful if we catch you."

The army resumes their marching.

I stand defiantly and bellow, "Who dares risk it? Who dares to strike a prince who wishes only to talk to the bishop?"

Terrence -despite being largely unnoticed- seems to have taken the other man's advice and fled in the opposite direction, it's probably a blessing of a sort, I doubt his skill in seduction or deception will become useful to me at any point in my life, especially not here.

When I'm mere inches away from the face of the commander's horse the entire army halts once more. The leader swiftly dismounts and quickly unsheathes his sword before speaking once more.

"Last chance boy, move or be broken."

I observe the horse briefly, I was never very good with the beasts, I can ride them from point A to point B easily enough but breeding them, caring for them and loving them were never things that I saw much reason to bother with. I tap the creature twice on the head soliciting a flinch and a quiet grumbling. Then just as he's about to speak again I step towards the leader so my face is uncomfortably close to the faceless visor of his helmet as I stare through the eye slits.

"I'll grant you I wear no crown, I'm clothed no better than a merchant and I wasted precious seconds spitting words you don't seem to understand but my face is recognized by most men in this little sliver of my world. Now let me through or-"

The knight rams a mailed fist into my stomach, knocking most of the wind from my lungs. I fall to one knee grunting in pain and annoyance.

"You wear no crown, you're clothed like a common pickpocket and you use elegantly composed lies to hide the fact that your a craven bastard and on top of all that you possess a face that wouldn't look out of place within a pimps collection of whores!"

While the knight mocks, I reach down to my ankle, moaning in mock agony as I take a knife from its sheath. It's a small blade, has to be in order to be both comfortably and discreetly stored there but with my skill set I could quite easily cause an impressive amount of damage with it. Suddenly I surge up and press the sharp blade in between the gap in the plating on his inner thigh and cock, making sure he felt the pressure, making sure he knew what power I held.

"Perhaps you're not like most men," I grunt. "I can guarantee you won't be like most men if I don't get to talk to the red bishop."

I hear the rustling of hands going to swords.

"One movement I don't like and the man who speaks on your behalf will curse you for it until his pitiful death which will probably occur a few minutes after said movement unless one of you happens to have a hot iron lying around somewhere."

Some continue to move so I ram the knife upwards slightly, not enough to rupture or sever anything important, just to cut through his undergarments and scratch the skin at worst yet it still yields the desired result.

"Hold!" The leader yells, almost screams. "Hold or I swear you'll all be dead by sunset!"

"That's assuming you last long enough to arrange the deaths," I point out slowly rising to my feet, keeping my knife pressed only centimeters away from his most prized part, "and that you'd be able to make such order despite all the pain and mental anguish."

"You'll burn for this," the knight says. "Doesn't matter who's cunt you fell from, whore, lady or duchess. You'll be strapped to a pole and burned."

The reference to my mother blunts my control briefly and I jerk the knife up again scratching him yet again and soliciting a yell but I stop myself before causing any significant damage.

"I believe differently," I say forcing a grin onto my face. "I believe very, very differently."

I hear rustling further ahead prompting me to look past the knight. One small bald man dressed in red robes and riding a large warhorse is passing through the army. He has no obvious weapons and the branding on his forehead appears to be that of a high priest.

"Why have we stopped captain Holder?" The man asks, his voice softer than my mother used when reading to me as a boy, yet somehow it still manages to cause the leader to flinch.

"My apologies Father Ricard but this... boy claims to be prince Harold!" The knight replies in a timid voice. "Refuses to move aside and demands-"

"And why aren't you on your knees Captain Holder?" The man inquires.

"Your pardon father?"

"Why aren't you kneeling before the soon to be king?" The man raised his voice, as if trying to speak to someone who's hard of hearing.

"Father this cannot be the prince, it's just a common road scum trying to waste our-"

"Have you never paid attention to anything that occurs outside of your monastery walls Captain Holder?"

"Of course not father it's just-"

"Do you suffer from poor vision?"

"No father but-"

"Are you simple minded?"

"No-"

"Then I see no excuse for the disrespect you've shown the prince!" The man speaks like a mother scolding a child yet somehow each word frightens the leader more than my knife.

He doesn't reply to that, instead he just stares at me, possibly wondering if I'm a merciful man, possibly trying to avoid wondering if I'm not. I discreetly withdraw the knife and store it in my sleeve.

"I'd kneel now if placed in your position, Captain Holder," I prompt.

The leader continues gazing at me for a few more seconds before clumsily dropping to one knee and clasping his hands together.

"Please forgive, my prince," the words tumble out of his throat faster than what most would assume possible. "A worm as lowly as I seldom sets eyes upon royalty hence my inability to recognize-"

"As I have business to attend to the kneeling and 'please forgive me' shall be all the penance I require from you. You may stand, captain."

"You're kindness and mercy is -"

I ignore the hollow words inspired by fear and turn my attention to the small man on the big horse who had already begun to dismount.

"Father Ricard was it," I say, offering my hand to the man once he's on the ground.

"My prince," he says as he grips it tightly.

"I wish to speak to the bishop," I state plainly.

"The bishop was ordered to remain within the Grey Church, my prince,"

"So the only person I actually requested to come hasn't moved an inch outside of the church and a small army has been brought in his place?"

"The archbishop's orders my prince," Father Ricard says calmly. "He wished to be the one who crowned you and did not explain the need for the holy knights."

"While I appreciate his presence I fail to understand why Archbishop Mussio would grace me with such a blessing."

"Archbishop Mussio passed nearly six months ago now, may his soul rest within the eternal flames."

"I never thought such a thing was possible," I say. "Mussio was stronger than Martin and lacked practically every vice."

"Death finds us all my prince," Thomas sighs. "The red bishop ascended to the position of archbishop shortly after the news reached us and knowing his opinion of you it's no great surprise that he wishes to be the one to crown you."

"May I speak with him?" I request.

"He has taken a vow of sorts, my prince," Thomas explains. "He only speaks when reciting scripture. His ward speaks on his behalf for every other matter."

"Well may I speak to his ward then?"

Thomas hesitates.

"May I?"

"It's just that the boy is a bit strange, my prince."

"Will he speak a full sentence?" I query

"Yes-"

"Will it be coherent?"

"Yes but-"

"Then may I converse with him?"

"Of course my prince," Thomas resigns, "they're both in the carriage at the rear."

The line consists of twenty blocks of twenty five men on horses. At the very back of this line there is a carriage as Thomas said there would be, two knights stand either side of it both wearing plague masks and wielding shortswords. A small sack is slung over their backs and sturdy tinderboxes are strapped to their chests. These are the holy poisoners, in those sacks will be a collection of dried herbs that when ignited will produce a smoke that in the best case scenario kills you shortly after it is inhaled, usually there'll be a period of agony and insanity before your demise however. I'm sure these men also have more intricate tools for dispersal and cleverer poisons lying in their saddlebags just waiting to be used. They look at me, their thoughts hard to discern with their faces hidden behind those masks. They don't try to stop me when I approach the carriage and I in turn ignore them.

The carriage's exterior was rather splendorous. Patterns of flame had been painted onto its sides and red rubies have been stuck into it at the base of these flames to look like hot coals. Gold and silver were engraved into it to form pretty patterns. A waste of wealth, in a few centuries some urchin will dig it up from the ash and rip those rubies out, scratch the precious metals off and burn whatever remains.

The church of fire earned five times the crown's wealth with a combination of blackmail and extortion three hundred years ago, then Sollin fell and the black hallows rose and that pretty much halved their wealth, then several assassinations, half a hundred scandals and three profligate popes reduced them to a glorified dukedom who perform a handful of services in a small corner of the world, my small corner of the world specifically.

The carriage's interior was rather similar except comfort was prioritized over beauty. Red pillows and blankets with yellow flames and phoenixes stitched into them lay strewn around for the only two occupants. The archbishop sits on the left side of the carriage staring at the wall opposite him as if it was the tombstone of a loved one. His huge frame makes the carriage look like the interior of a shipping crate, his thick muscles look like they belong to a horse and one wonders how the carriage manages to move with him in it. I wouldn't have noticed the ward if his existence wasn't made known to me earlier. A rather small boy who cannot be more than twelve years of age, his head is shaved, he wears robes that are far too big for him and his eyes are covered by a blindfold tightly wrapped around his head. When the archbishop was the red bishop he was fond of picking up strays but he didn't bother one's this weak and he gave them to the church to become knights or priests or something equally important, he didn't keep them as wards.

"Dear friend," I greet, sketching a bow.

"My prince," the ward says plainly, still keeping his eyes closed while the archbishop just bows his head.

"How is the church?"

"All is well, my prince," the ward answers. "The timber and abominations from the black hallows have supplied us with adequate funding to keep us fed and housed."

"Might I ask why you cover your eyes?"

It takes a second for the boy to realize this question is for him.

"Bandits cut my eyes out three summers ago, my prince. People don't like seeing the sockets."

"And what provoked them into doing such a thing?"

"They were bored my prince, laughed while they did it… made me eat them."

"I'm sure they met a fitting end seeing as you're here before us. Now could you explain to me why it was thought necessary to bring a small army to my crowning?"

"They will pledge allegiance to you," the ward states.

"Explain further," I request.

"We have brought the holy knights of the church of fire to pledge allegiance to you," the ward reiterates. "Our cathedral's strength will be yours. We will be your sword of flame and decemate all whom you command us to."

"You mean to tell me you brought most of your cathedral's knights to swear an oath to me? You endangered your church to assure me of something I need no assurance of?"

"All of our knights, my prince," the ward corrects as if that makes it any better. "The acolytes will be enough-"

"The acolytes are more accustomed to wielding a bread knife than they are a sword!"

"They are trained in hand to-"

"Can the archbishop please speak for himself?" I request. "As I find it extremely hard to trust the words of a boy whose voice has yet to break."

"No, my prince," the ward says simply while the archbishop doesn't even look like he heard me. The man looks like an empty shell, an unmoving statue, now that I look at him closer I don't think he's even blinking. "The archbishop has sworn to use his voice only to recite scripture."

I resist the urge to mock and instead smile politely.

"And why has he sworn such a thing?" I query. "Surely his righteous deeds have already guaranteed him a place within the eternal flames? Why would one need to swear off of a vice as petty as conversation?"

"I cannot-"

The archbishop taps the ward twice on the knee not looking away from the wall. His fingers are thick calloused lumps of flesh attached to bones that might as well be granite. The archbishop was born to be a soldier, to redden rivers and to reduce men to meat, his talents are wasted preaching the words of a dying religion.

"The archbishop is attempting to achieve sainthood," the ward admits hesitantly..

"Sainthood," I echo dully.

"As absurd as it may sound my prince the archbishop has been having… visions recently," the ward claims. "Visions sent to him from the flame. These visions have told him to speak only scripture along with many other things."

"Sainthood," I repeat.

"My prince we understand you may find it-"

"No no," I say suddenly, trying my hardest to take them seriously. "It's understandable. It's great that my dear friend shall ascend so close to the fire! I wish him a good journey!"

"It pleases us that you are so open minded my prince."

"I'll allow your army to proceed then," I conclude. "I'll ensure suitable accommodation will be found for your men and I'll have the guest chambers prepared."

I turn around and leave the carriage.

I struggled to keep a smile off of my face when moving through the army but now that I'm a good distance in front of them I chuckle. Ten years ago the archbishop was content with crushing skulls with his bare hands and tossing the shards into a bonfire, now the bastard intends on becoming a saint! The only two living saints achieved the fire's respect by laying in a large basin of boiling water for ten minutes, their skin was peeling off like bandages when they crawled out, flesh came off of the bone like they were a well cooked chicken. Now one can predict the future, the other animates dead things with embers and both are quite insane. If the archbishop thinks the fire will bless him just for being exceptionally quiet then the past decade must have scrambled his brain quite a bit. To think a man I once respected could become such a fool.