The night is dark and full of terrors... - Conversion of Heart's home
The night is dark and full of terrors...
If anyone had been watching the bay in Heart's Home that night they would've seen a strange sight; as it was however, not a single light illuminated the shoreline. A rolling fog covered the bay and an eerie quiet had descended over the water. A splash cut through the silence like a knife. Another splash followed and another, the sounds coming in a distinct rhythm, one after the other, on and on. Then, though the fog still hung thick, a solitary light shone through the murk, dispelling the darkness as it made it's way closer to the shoreline. The light and the splashes which accompanied it were moving fast through the water and, without warning, came the sound of wood scraping against rock. The rhythmic splashing stopped and was replaced by the sounds of muffled voices, an argument? orders? The thick cloud pulled all meaning out of the noise. Another crunch now, steps up the beach and, again, the scraping of wood on gravel, the splash of oars puncturing the water and the solitary light disappearing into the night. Whatever the reasoning behind this clandestine operation, the terms had now been met and all traces of it's passing had been lost, all traces save one; a solitary figure now standing small on the beach.
Volantis
"...the night is dark and full of terrors." Lazhar intoned finally as the ceremony drew to its close. Smoke billowed throughout the fiery temple as the Red Priests called on the Lord of Light to bring back the dawn. Each night the Priests of R'hllor prayed and each morning the sun broke over the horizon, shattering the dark and ushering in a new day. Lazhar joined his fellows in the ceremony every night as he had done since first entering the temple and his face was a mask of profound reverence, yet a mask is just what it was and, inside, his mind was in the same turmoil it had been in every night he'd attended this ritual for the last few months. Lazhar's growing disenchantment with his religion had not long begun, in fact before the event which marked his turn away from his god he went about each day in an ecclesiastical daze, thankful to the Lord of Light for saving him from a slaves life.
He could pinpoint the exact moment he lost his faith. Three months prior, while preaching on the streets of Volantis a father had pushed the limp body of a child into his arms; "save her" the man pleaded, tears coursing down his face and so Lazhar had tried. He was a Red Priest, a representative of R'hllor! It was his right to bring back those who had been lost from the jaws of death and, in his naivety, Lazhar failed.
Why have you deserted me? He asked his God that night, the image of the fathers face, etched with grief, and the stinging vituperation's of the crowd in response to his failure playing heavily on his mind , yet R'hllor gave him no answer. It was then that it dawned on him, a true revelation, there was no God. Lazhar had been played for a fool, all his life he'd been lied to and now they were laughing at him. From that moment on each rite he performed seemed empty, no longer did he take any joy from evening prayers and sermons in the city. Instead he isolated himself further and further from temple life, showing his face only on the occasions where the lack of his presence would've raised concerns. For three months now his rage had grown, perhaps it was time to renounce his God... yes, that was it! It seemed to clear to him as he stood in the temple... he'd renounce R'hllor immediately.
"There is no God."
The words rang out into the silent temple and the sound echoed back at him. Yet no angry cries rang out, no calls for his burning... so deep in his contemplation had he been that Lazhar had not noticed the temple empty of priests. He stood alone, the fire pit burnt down to embers that cast shadows over the massive hall. He sighed, perhaps it's best he kept it to himself he concluded before he turned to leave. As he did he caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. "Who's there?" he asked, now worried his words had been heard by another who even now would rush of to inform the High Priest. Yet no reply came, the room was truly empty. Again Lazhar turned to leave but this time a searing heat caught his attention. The man turned in amazement to face the fire pit which, only moments before, had merely contained embers. Now, instead, tongues of flame danced high into the air, hues of orange, red, yellow and black billowing through the room. It was then the images began to form. A Mountain, an Eagle, a Dragon and a flaming sword. Images that etched themselves onto his memory forever. He found himself sinking to his knees in awe; his God had returned to him and his God had entrusted him with a task.
----
The figure on the beach smiled to himself, pulled his cloak tight against the nights chill and set out into the dark.
Heart's Home
Lazhar woke to the sounds of the forest. He'd been in Westeros almost a week now and, despite constant travel, he'd yet to come across any Valemen. Perhaps today would be the day he thought to himself optimistically as he rolled out of the sleeping mat. Dressing in a hurry, he wolfed down a cold breakfast in front of the embers of last nights fire before breaking camp and setting out in a Westerly direction.
He had walked the best part of the morning through the seemingly endless forest ,struggling to keep boredom at bay as the scenery became the same monotonous background, tree after tree after tree. Instead Lazhar focused on the images that had come to him; he knew little of what they meant, only that the beginning of his task lay here in what Westerosi men called the 'vale of Arryn.'
It was quite by chance that Lazhar found the forest path, so lost was he in his reverie that he had not noticed the beaten track and, were it not for the root that tripped him and planted him facedown. slap-bang in the middle of it, he'd have missed it altogether. Jumping to his feet he brushed himself off vigorously and readjusted the sword strapped against his back. Taking stock of the situation and with new purpose he strode off down the path to, what he hoped was, civilisation.
'Civilisation' came in the form of a small cluster of roughshod huts, a mining community perhaps. Yet Lazhar cared little about the calibre of the men he'd find here, the Lord of Light would accept all who came to him and besides, it was always better to start off small. So, with a heart lightened by the prospect of beginning his Gods work, he sauntered into the village and made his way to what appeared to be the local tavern, judging by the stench of stale ale that permeated the air surrounding the building.
Stepping inside the dim and grimy room he took note of the men gathered here, grim-faced and down beaten. Features that were mirrored on the face of every peasant and serf he'd seen throughout his life. The people of this village would be his first acquisition, they would come to the Lord of Light willingly when they saw what he could offer. Taking a seat at the bar he ordered a drink before attempting to strike up a conversation with the innkeeper,
"Ho there friend, I am new in these parts, any news for a weary traveler?"
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