Liquid poured over his face, into his mouth. It was disgusting. Merrin spat it onto her face, and she jerked back, cursing. He nearly laughed, but knew the presence he was to maintain. So he sat on his haunches, and indeed, they surrounded him. Countless, but smaller.
Tears simmered in his eyes. "I see you."
And they wailed like children. Some slapped their heads into the earth, against the heat, and cried. Many were unclothed, their garments burnt off by the heat. Some were scarred over the face and skin. Dark scalds. Like him. They knew this; he saw it in their eyes. They thought this injury brought them closer to him.
What creatures they have become.
A woman with a scorched head began to shout, "We praise the sunBringer!"
They joined in, and soon the cave shook with their tones. It was a vast cave, no doubt. Merrin took a moment to observe. The ceiling, like everything else, was high above—dark stone lined with dull gold. He was sure it was gold; it was far away, but some value still existed in it.
What to do?
The expanse was enormous, divided into three massive steps. He imagined that from above, the castle looked like a giant stairwell. It took several strides to reach the other side and two men to climb over it. All was in dull, gold-lined metal. Torches burned at irregular intervals, casting unfocused illumination. Some spots were darker, shadowed; others were brightened.
He wondered about surging his strength for light. Pain laughed as he tried. Catelyn still sat beside him; she was quiet, unburned. There were soot smudges here and there, but she was still a beauty. She gripped the rag, and strangely, it shimmered with a blue glow.
"What's that?" he asked.
"One of your… people went back to find the sweat-water source. He took one of the froststones from the stone buried. Soaked the cloth and fitted the stone into it."
"Keeping the moisture."
"Keeping the moisture." She looked to the side, and there was nothing important there.
"You were rough with the rag," he whispered.
"And you faked your sleep."
"I didn't," Merrin said. "I couldn't wake up immediately."
"Thank me for changing that."
Merrin regarded her. "That wasn't yo—"
And she was up, walking away from the circle of witnesses. They watched her leave—oddly, it was like monsters watching a flower depart. Yes, they had become monsters, deformed by the flames. But they were his people. Beautiful as the first day he saw them. And surely, someday, that beauty was to return.
He vowed then to heal them.
A breath escaped his lungs as he scanned the cave. Shadows bent in a corner, and red orbs glared through. Merrin startled, and then it was gone. A figure, however, lingered in that shadow. It grew slowly, menacingly. There was a need to fall into battle.
What is that?
A foot passed through the darkness, and a giant of a man, smiling, walked out. Ron! He was shirtless, with scarred lines and bumps across his flesh. But he smiled. Gods, his smile was beautiful.
Memory superimposed into the world, and Merrin saw him on the ground—dead, then red. The memory blurred as Ron stood before him. "Ma'rim," he said.
"Ma'rim," Merrin responded.
There was a moment of silence between them. Ron smiled, but there was another part of him. Confusion. How am I alive? His thoughts echoed in Merrin. It was a question Merrin could not answer. How was Ron alive?
Merrin shook his head. Damnation on all of it. "I'm happy you live."
Ron nodded and beheld the witnesses. They smiled at him. They were happy for him. Merrin believed they saw him as a savior of their savior. The guardian of their god. Belief in belief. The mythology deepened.
Davos was below, seated on the third step of the seven-step chamber. He was alone, as always, with his head buried in his legs. But a sound came from him: a whimper. Merrin recalled the woman killed before him. As always, he had played the coward.
But he was not. Merrin saw it clearly. His hands, stone or not, were worn, old. Likely from axe use, but there was a difference. They were intentional. Made to look that way. Trained to become like that.
Who is he?
Merrin thought about Catelyn and Ron. Strong humans. He needed more like them. So he called for Davos. He received a response through a tap from a witness. He nearly jerked at the scarred face that looked at him. Nonetheless, Davos climbed the steps, reaching the top. He stood before Merrin, sheepishly looking about. Ron, of course, was gone by then.
Like a beast caught within a trap, Davos sought danger. They shared a look—Merrin at least did; Davos, on the other hand, tried as much as humanly possible not to lock eyes. Merrin dismissed the witnesses; they refused at first, but settled for staying three meters apart, still on the same step.
It was just him and Davos.
He would be an aid, wouldn't he? Merrin observed the man. Indeed, there was something hidden. He tried well to mask it, slouching, trembling, and fidgeting. But Merrin saw it regardless. Well-toned muscles, a slender stature formed not from slavery, but training.
He was something. Not a slave. Something.
I can make him useful, Merrin thought. But Davos was still a coward. He acted like it, anyway. A moment later, Merrin's mind composed a possibility—one that required knowledge from this man. Information that broke the never-pry vow.
For the witnesses, he said, "Tell me your story, Davos!"
There was a glint in the man's eyes—a moment, and it was gone, replaced by hysteria. Merrin saw it as he searched for an escape—his mind rattling for something, anything to say. He now regretted the early exclamation. That had revealed information; now his lie would have to be finer.
It took a minute, and Merrin knew Davos had concocted his fib. "I am a woodsman."
Merrin surprised him. "You wield the blade."
Davos trembled. "That's a lie," he said. "I don't even look like a blademaster."
"So that is what you are called?"
Davos frowned. "I am not a blademaster!" He watched for confirmation. Merrin sighed.
"You are what I know you are. But you choose to lie about it. You forget I am always aware."
He backed away. "I… I… I don't know what you are talking about."
"Says the blademaster that lost his sisters." Merrin hated the words he spoke.
Davos bore the full brunt of them. "You know nothing!"
Merrin offered his hand. "Let me absolve you of that guilt. Speak those words."
Davos stepped back. "No!"
"You are truly then a coward."
"And what are you?" Davos accused. "Say, what are you?"
Merrin stood shorter than him. "I am the one before you. But how long will I wait? Davos, speak your words now and be free of it, or you will be left alone with it."
The man turned away, furthering the distance.
So I can't turn him, Merrin thought, breathing the foul air. He remained unsure of the source of the musk; whether it was from him or the air. Yet, he watched the back of the man. Who knew he was a blademaster? Mentation only provided the possibility of sword training—but a blademaster? Now that was precious.
What a loss it was.
Merrin swathed away the emotion and advanced. Together, the witnesses fell behind him, silent, heads partially hidden in dark, ragged hoods. Most were made from trousers. Odd. Merrin imagined a world of naked men, draped in nothing but hoods.
He shivered at the thought, watching the distant, sauntering slaves. There was fear in their motions. They needed reassurance. He flexed his pained wrist—the ache remained everywhere. In battle, he would be useless. This was the believed use of Davos. A blademaster.
How can I get him?
Get him? the inner voice asked. What a change you have undergone.
Merrin stopped, his eyes sealing for a moment. Then he called out to the wandering Ron. His voice was loud through the vast cave—many shook at the informality of his tones. It mattered not. Sometimes, he thought, they needed to see the human in their god.
They had to see it to call to him.
Ron neared without aid, stronger. Mightier in form, somehow. There was no distinction in his state. Sameness. But Merrin knew the wrongness. A difference existed in the pure man. A starkness that came from his own hands.
What have I done to you?
Ron had changed; Merrin knew this. The man who once took a blow for him was gone. This was something else. A creature of strange tropism. Who was he? Where was Ron? Merrin wept within, feeding the internal emptiness. Everyone was changing. There was terror in that.
"Ai," Ron bowed, hands folded. He looked strange without the bulky garment.
"How is everyone doing?"
Ron nodded. "They live. That is good. But they… weary."
"As expected." Merrin said, "They fear what this place suggests. It is too big for a mine. They must have held the suspicions well, but this… this is a world."
"World below."
"Damnation." Merrin sighed. "They think they have died in the fire. Now in the bosom of the Rav'zul."
"Assure them," Ron said, leaning back. "Savior to them."
Merrin understood, roaming his gaze through the chamber. Men dotted the space—seized by great fear. Even the witnesses shared in this terror, which was why they followed him. He was their salvation, they believed—a repeating mantra to calm the senses.
He had to impart that strength into all of them.