[D8, Dream] I'm Potent

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

She was imprisoned. Her cell was blank grey stone, the window set too high to see out of...its only function to let light in between its bars. It was a sept...she could hear the hymns and chants dimly, echoing through the halls.

The heavy door opened, and Ser Baelon waved her out. "
Come on,"
he said. "
It's time."


"
Please,"
Gwyneth begged as she emerged, clad in rough cloth and barefoot on the cold, slightly greasy flagstones. "
Help me get away."


He didn't even look at her, instead watching a pair of maids flounce past. "
It's not for me to question the Lady,"
he said. Then he smirked. "
She's putting the gold in my pocket after all."


They wound through stone halls and arches with flame-eyed gargoyles looming over them, and the visages of the Seven leering from alcoves set into the walls until finally through huge wooden doors they burst into a great hall. Lords and ladies sat on either side of the path down the center, talking and gossiping and gawping. Occasionally one would sit up straight and emit a choked gargle, and fall over dead...with a hole in their back, or bloody foam coming from their mouths, or similar. Servants roamed the rows, collecting the bodies and moving on without comment.

At the far end of the hall was a giant dais, made to look like the sides of a mountain. It rose up, far overhead, ending in a throne that was carved out of the stone of the tip. In the throne was the Lady Isobel. The rock of the throne encapsulated her legs and some of her back...she WAS the Mountain;
as grey and unyielding as its granite slopes.

Standing on the floor in the shadow of the montain was Corrine, dressed similarly to how Gwyn was, in the garb of a slave. Off far to one side was Dyana, in her armor, watching impassively.

"
Next!"
Isobel called in a booming voice. She gestured down with a sweep of her arm. "
My daughter! Precious and virginal and carrying the weight of the Marsten name! A bargain at the asking price of everything you own, and your OWN name! Do I have any takers!"


Corrine fluttered her lashes at the various gathered nobility, and gave her mother an obsequious curtsy. "
This is very exciting! I hope I can be as good a leader as y..."


"
QUIET!"
Isobel hurled a fist sized rock from on high, and Corrine squeaked when it thumped between her shoulderblades and immediately fell silent. "
No one? VERY WELL! Ser Baelon, you have served me well. You can have her."


The white haired knight glanced at Corrine, who beamed vapidly at him and waved with her fingertips. He shrugged. "
All right."


"
Now, niece...step forward."


As Corrine was led away, Gwyneth stepped into the place she'd been at the foot of the Mountain.

Isobel banged her hand on the arm of the throne...it made a noise like rock hitting rock.

"
By special arrangement, bidding on my niece has been resolved already. Release Lord Dunstan!"


There was a clatter of chains as Yves and Lady Tullison let them go, and Dunstan came bounding away from the other nobles, all caked in grime and worse. Gwyn realized he was like that because of the smallfolk he lay with, and wondered how his minders didn't know. Ser Benedict came up with him, escorting him...clearly more alert to keep him from sticking a finger into his own eye than to protect him from outside threats.

With a giant grin he stopped at the foot of the Mountain, his eyes slightly crossed and missing a tooth.

"
BUH!"
he shouted, waving an arm wildly.

Isobel didn't smile. She never smiled. But Gwyn saw the smile behind her malicious little eyes. "
Lord Dunstan, my niece is yours. To do with as you will. In exchange for taking her off my hands, you may have the honey sweets, as previously discussed."
She nodded at Theomore, who returned the nod gravely, as if this was an important matter of state.

"
HUH BUH!"
exclaimed Dunstan excitedly. His eyes shone as the package of sweets was put into his hands, and he immediately tore it open and started gorging himself, walking distractedly away...forgetting about Gwyn entirely in the process.

She looked to Benedict imploringly. "
Please,"
Gwyn whispered. "
Help me."


Benedict gazed at her longingly, started to reach out...and then winced. "
Actually..."
And then he went off after Corrine, who was lewdly hunching herself against a one-eyed giant over in the corner while Baelon looked boredly on.

"
Ser Baelon, if you would take her back to her cell until Dunstan is ready for her?"


Baelon glanced over from where Corrine was now sandwiched between the giant and Benedict and shrugged. "
All right."


The moment they were out of the great hall, Gwyn turned and stopped him.

"
I know you don't care about anything,"
she said, "
And I know she's paying you, but I beg you...help me escape! Once I'm free I'll find my father! He's wealthy, and can pay you everything and more!"


The royal bastard frowned and rubbed his chin...then shrugged. "
All right. Come this way."


And he led her into the castle? Sept? Prison? Whatever it was.

(MOAR TO COME SOONISH)

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

They traveled, the two of them, for a while. Through dank passages and dark corridors. Sometimes the walls gave way to unhewn stone walls like a cave. Sometimes armed men dressed in rough hides sprang from alcoves and roared before he cut them down. But always there were walls, of one sort or another.

They came to a door, guarded by a three headed dog the size of a horse. It could speak, and each head posed a different riddle to let them pass. Realizing that it was a ruse, Gwyn gave answers that turned the three heads against one another, and as the dog fought itself she and Baelon slipped through the door. They came across an impassable chasm, with a sleeping serpent stretched across. As they tried to cross on its back though, it stirred and nearly awoke. Taking more steps...forward or back...would have been doom, but Gwyn took Baelon's waterskin and had him hurl it across to the far end. The serpent heard the noise, and smelled the water, and moved to investigate...carrying the couple across.

Finally, after still more trials, Baelon announced they were reaching their destination. There were a pair of stout, tall doors before them, which the knight kicked open and caught hold of Gwyn to usher her forth, all giggling and excited, into...

...the throne room, where Isobel towered atop the Mountain, and the lords and ladies tittered and pointed. The doors slammed shut behind her.

Isobel permitted herself a smirk.

"
No,"
protested Gwyn. "
I was...we were escaping! Baelon..."


She looked, and saw that behind the Mountain was a black-scaled dragon...or perhaps a man in a very convincing suit of armor? It reached out as Baelon went to kneel before it, and stroked his head as a man might a dog. It's glowing purple eyes slitted as it hissed, "
Well done. She was never worthy of your heart."


The voice of the Lady came down from on high, "
Enough. The deal is made. Take her to the pit and let us move on to more important matters."


Gwyn whirled to glare up the Mountainside. "
You can't DO this!"
she shouted defiantly. "
I'll stop you! I'll find a way!"


Arms took hold of her, started to drag her. Isobel's words floated after her.

"
You will do nothing. You can do nothing. You are a weak, fearful, and spoiled child...and the only one you will ever outsmart is yourself."


The pit lay ahead at the far end of the hall. Inside, was a thick sludge of what she hoped was mud, but was probably much worse. Dunstan was in there too, cavorting with several nude women...or...were they women? In the muck they could have been pigs. It was hard to see.

That was going to be her soon.

Mikael, her father, stood near the pit's edge, staring at her sadly.

"
I always told you,"
he said sternly, "
If all you do is beg for scraps at the table, you'll never be more than a scrap yourself."


Around his neck was a dagger made of dark glass, hanging from a thong.

The guards wrestled Gwyn to the very edge of the pit, and she felt her heart sink as she stared into it. But she had nothing left to lose now, did she?

With a sudden flurry of movement, she stomped on the foot of a guard, and as he reacted she twisted free and grabbed the hilt of the dagger her father wore and snatched it from him, breaking the thong. A cry of alarm went out, and Gwyn dashed away from the pit, back up the hall. Towards the Mountain itself. With leaps, she climbed, the guards milling like ants below her, until she reached Isobel at the top.

Staring stonily at Gwyneth, Isobel opened her mantle, exposing her breastbone. And Gwyneth lunged forward.

The knife slid in so easily.

"
Gwyneth,"
Isobel said sadly. "
I'd hoped to save you from this."


Gwyn yanked her hand free...or tried to...but realized with dawning horror that she couldn't. Grey was seeping up from where the dagger had been stabbed into Isobel. The dagger, her hand...they were turning to stone!

"
But the wrath of the Mountain cannot be denied,"
Isobel went on, the sadness ebbing from her voice. "
It cannot be escaped."


"
No!"
Gwyn shouted. She looked around. "
Someone! Help me!"


But Baelon was being walked out by the dragon, who'd put a leash on him. Corrine was dancing with Benedict over the body of the cyclops. Her father just shook his head at her, and murmured about how he'd hoped for so much more.

Her wrist was stone now. Her arm. And more, she was being pulled forward...inexorably into Isobel, into the throne itself.

"
It didn't have to be this way,"
reproved Isobel. "
Why could you not simply do as you were told?"


Gwyn was drawn in...she was made cold where she'd been warm. Hard where she'd been soft. Bound where she'd been free. She stared out from the throne, just a pair of eyes in stone, watching the world go by.

Like her.

And with a cry, she awoke!