[155] Blood and Miracles
Chapter 155: Blood and Miracles
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The morning sun was gentle across the construction site as Queen Candidate Sansa Stark inspected the foundation of what would become King's Landing's first public bathhouse. Not for nobles or wealthy merchants, but for the smallfolk who'd never known luxury beyond a bucket of cold water.
"The pipes will run beneath here, Your Grace," Master Builder Harmon explained, his weathered hands tracing invisible lines across the stone. "Hot water from the boilers, just like in the Red Keep."
Sansa nodded, picturing children who'd only known filth finally clean and laughing. "And the separate sections for men and women?"
"As you commanded. With attendants to ensure order."
Small steps, she thought, watching workers haul stones with newfound purpose. Even these workers wanted to be done fast, but also making sure the work wasn’t hasty, so that they could enjoy what they were building. But even small steps can change a kingdom.
The orphans from the nearby shelter had gathered to watch, their eyes wide with wonder. Little Willem stood at the front, the same boy who'd tugged at her skirts months ago. He'd filled out since then, no longer the walking skeleton she'd first met.
"Lady Stark!" he called out, waving enthusiastically. "Will we really get to use it too?"
"Especially you," Sansa promised, crouching to his level. "Every child in King's Landing will—"
The world exploded into motion.
Brienne's massive form crashed into Sansa, sending them both sprawling across dusty stone. Where Sansa had been standing, a crossbow bolt quivered in the ground, its tip gleaming with something dark and oily.
"Assassin!" Brienne roared, already on her feet, her hand finding her sword’s hilt.
The workers scattered like startled birds. Children screamed. And from the scaffolding above, a figure in brown leathers dropped with inhuman grace.
No, Sansa thought, scrambling backward. This isn’t good. There are children watching.
The assassin moved like water given form, their face shifting between a young man and an old woman with each heartbeat. In their hand, a blade curved like a scorpion's tail caught the morning light.
Brienne stepped between them and Sansa, seven feet of steel and determination. "You'll not touch her."
The Faceless Man tilted their head, considering. When they spoke, their voice was neither male nor female, but something between. "The Many-Faced God cares not for oaths or armor, woman. Stand aside."
"No."
The dance began.
Brienne struck first, her sword singing through the air in a arc that should have split the assassin in two. But they weren't there anymore, flowing around the blade like smoke. Their poisoned dagger scraped across Brienne's breastplate, seeking gaps in the armor.
He’s too fast, Sansa realized, her heart hammering. Brienne's strong, but this thing moves like wind.
The assassin's foot lashed out, catching Brienne's knee. The knight grunted but didn't fall, bringing her pommel down in a crushing blow. It caught only air. The blade found a gap near Brienne's elbow, drawing blood.
"First blood to the Many-Faced God," the assassin murmured.
Brienne's response was a headbutt that would have felled an ox.
This time, the assassin couldn't dodge entirely. They rolled with the impact, but Sansa heard the crunch of cartilage. When they rose, blood streamed from a nose that kept changing shape.
"You fight like a bull," the assassin observed, wiping blood with the back of their hand. "All strength, no grace."
"I fight like a knight." Brienne's voice was steady despite the wound. "With honor."
"Honor is heavy. Let me show you."
They came together again like a whirlwind of steel and fury. The assassin's blade was everywhere at once. It was slashing, stabbing, and seeking flesh. But every time it found only steel. Brienne's thick and well-made armor turned aside strikes that would have killed an unprotected fighter.
The armor, Sansa thought. That's why they hate knights. Can't dance around good steel.
Still, the assassin was winning. Death by a thousand cuts. Blood seeped from a dozen gaps in Brienne's armor. Her movements grew slower, every parry coming a heartbeat later.
Then Brienne did something unexpected.
She dropped her sword.
The assassin's eyes widened, a moment of surprise. They lunged for the killing blow, blade aimed at Brienne's exposed throat.
Brienne's gauntleted fist met the creature halfway.
The impact was thunderous. The assassin's face caved inward, features flowing like melted wax. They flew backward, slamming into a stone pillar with a wet crack.
"Grace is unimportant," Brienne said, picking up her sword again.
The assassin tried to rise, limbs moving at wrong angles. Their face couldn't seem to settle on a shape, flickering between a dozen identities. They spat blood and teeth.
"The Many-Faced God... is patient," they wheezed. "If not today... then tomorrow. If not me... then another."
Brienne's blade took their head before they could finish.
"My lady!" The knight was at Sansa's side instantly, checking for wounds. "Are you hurt?"
Sansa looked down at her arm, where the assassin's first bolt had grazed her. The cut was deep, edges black with poison. She should have been screaming. Should have been dying.
Instead, she watched in fascination as the wound began to close.
The flesh knitted together before her eyes, pushing out the poison in dark droplets. Within moments, only a faint pink line remained. Then nothing at all.
"This… How?" Brienne breathed.
I don't know, Sansa thought, flexing her fingers. But I have suspicions. "Regardless, I have a feeling who sent this assassin." she said aloud. "The marriage anniversary is nearby, meaning the Queen will be chosen soon. So it must be…"
Understanding dawned in Brienne's eyes. "Lady Margaery."
Their expressions steeled and they headed toward the Red Keep to confront the woman.
****
The Tower of the Hand had never felt so far away. Sansa's legs burned as they raced through corridors, servants jumping aside. Her mind churned with each step.
How could Margaery do this? Even if we’re rivals, I always treated her with respect. Sansa felt a sense of betrayal and rage as she walked down the hallway fast.
"Margaery!" Sansa burst through the door without knocking.
The scene that greeted them was a painting of horror.
Margaery Tyrell lay sprawled on Myrish carpet, her hands clutched around her throat. Blood seeped between her fingers, staining the rose-gold silk of her gown. Her eyes, those clever eyes that had danced with ambition, now wide with terror.
"No!" Sansa dropped beside her, hands hovering uselessly. "Margaery, hold on!"
The Rose of Highgarden tried to speak. Only gurgling emerged. More blood, so much blood. She's dying, Sansa realized with crystal clarity. Actually dying.
It wasn’t Margaery who sent the assassin, no. The assassin had come after her too. And unlike Sansa, Margaery wasn’t so lucky. The scene was horrifying.
"Where's the assassin?" Brienne demanded, sword drawn.
Sansa barely heard her. All she could see was Margaery's face going pale, lips turning blue. Their rivalry, their competition for queenship. It all seemed so petty now.
"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered. "I'm so sorry. I thought... I thought you sent them after me."
Margaery's eyes widened. She shook her head frantically, sending fresh spurts of blood across the carpet.
Not her. Of course not her. We were both targets.
A roar split the sky like thunder.
The balcony doors exploded inward as their savior came. Viserion landed on the rooftop with enough force to crack stone, while Viserys was off her back before the dragon settled, his face a mask of barely controlled panic.
"Shit,” he grumbled as he slipped through the window, “did I come too late?"
****
The smell hit me first. Blood and perfume and death mixing into something that made my stomach clench. Margaery lay there like a broken doll, her beauty marred by the crimson spreading across expensive carpet.
Fuck. Fuck!
I dropped beside her, hands already reaching for the wound. The cut was precise, professional. Carotid artery nicked just enough to ensure a slow bleed. The Faceless Men's signature. To make them suffer, make them know death was coming.
"How long?" I demanded.
"Minutes," Sansa said, tears streaming. "We just found her."
Minutes. She had minutes, maybe less.
She's not a virgin. The thought crashed through my panic like ice water. She doesn't have my Regeneration. She can't heal from this.
I'd been planning to give her the Maidenhood Ritual on our anniversary. Two months. Just two more fucking days. I'd wanted to keep her humble a bit longer, didn't want immortality going to her head too quickly.
Stupid. Stupid!
"W-what can we do? Viserys, you can save her, right?!" Sansa's voice cracked.
What could we do? The ritual needed preparation. Virgins—at least one since Margaery had only been with that stable boy years ago, curious about sex before marriage. She’s told me about that, and she apologized for it. But apologies didn’t complete rituals. We needed sacred oils, proper circles, chants I barely remembered.
We had none of that. We had minutes. And we didn’t have Kinvara.
"Virgins!" I spun to Brienne regardless. "I need a virgin, now!"
The Lady Commander's scarred face went red, but she understood immediately. "I– I’m a–”
“Not you, you saved Sansa. You’re too valuable for an experiment, Lady Commander!” I shouted at her face, and her eyes went wide. I knew she saved Sansa because the System had sent me notifications that Sansa was in danger.
But here was Sansa, just fine, while Brienne had a trail of blood.
“W-well, then… Ser Garrett!" She pointed at a young guard hovering in the doorway. "He took vows of chastity when he joined the Kingsguard last month."
"Bring him! Now!"
She moved faster than I'd ever seen her, practically throwing the confused boy into the room. "Your Grace?" Ser Garrett was maybe eighteen, all gangly limbs and honor.
"Sorry about this. I truly am. Your family will be compensated in gold,” I said and my blade opened his throat before he could scream.
Sansa gasped. Brienne stepped back. But I was already moving, catching the boy's blood in Margaery's empty wine bowl. My other hand found my dagger, slicing deep across my palm.
Dragon's blood and virgin's blood. Life given and life taken. Would it even work?
I mixed them in the bowl, the crimson swirling into patterns that hurt to look at. Margaery's breathing had gone shallow, eyes starting to glaze.
'Intention matters in magic,' Kinvara had said once. 'The will shapes the way.'
I had no circles. No chants. No sacred flames.
But I had will. And I had need.
I poured the mixed blood over Margaery's face, letting it run into her wounds. "Live," I commanded, pushing every ounce of desire into the word. "You're mine. You don't get to die. Live!"
Nothing.
Her breathing stopped.
Of course. What did I expect? I'm no wizard. My head went blank, and I clicked my tongue. I felt helpless. I'm just a guy who knew some lore and got lucky with a System and—
Light exploded from Margaery's body.
[You've performed Magic! You've purified and healed a target.]
[Stat 'Mana' has been unlocked!]
She gasped like a drowning woman finding air, eyes flying wide. The wound on her throat sealed itself, flesh knitting together until only smooth skin remained. The blood vanished, burned away by whatever power had just worked through me.
"Y-your Grace? Viserys?!" Her voice was raw but whole. Then she was in my arms, sobbing against my chest, fingers digging into my shirt like she was afraid I'd disappear. “That was so scary! M-my strengh…. My life just flashed and…”
"I've got you," I murmured, holding her tight. "You're safe, I’m here. No one takes what's mine."
Over her shoulder, I met Sansa's eyes. She looked shaken but relieved, her own miraculous healing making more sense now.
This had been close. Too close.
I'd learned from my mistake last time, and so prepared for my own death by training against poisons and flames. But I was an exception, an anomaly. My women weren’t superhumans. Not unless I lent them my power.
The Faceless Men hurt my woman.
Never again.
The Faceless Men had made their choice. They'd accepted Tywin's gold and Littlefinger's whispers. They'd tried to take what was mine.
Time to remind them why dragons had ruled the world.
"Your Grace," Brienne said quietly, gesturing to Ser Garrett's cooling corpse. It was shrivelling in real time, growing into a dry corpse. "What should we..."
"He died protecting his queen," I said. "See that his family is compensated. Gold, lands, whatever they need."
It was inadequate. But then, most payments for life were.
"They'll try again," Margaery whispered against my chest.
"No." I pulled back to look at both my queens. "They won't."
Because the House of Black and White was about to learn what happened when you woke the dragon.
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