ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

Waste of time… 

This is a complete waste of time…

Zephyr spun around in his thoughts, his palms clutched tightly together with his chin resting on them as he watched the members of the king’s council bicker amongst themselves. Each one giving an opinion to counter the opinions of others.

…Poisoned!

The contents of the mysterious paper Zephyr had found clutched in his palm suddenly flashed through his mind, resurfacing the uncanny crash of emotions he had earlier displayed towards his brother, making his skin crawl with anger and frustration as he sent his palms crashing with a loud thud, like a clap of thunder, onto the round wooden table, swallowing the clamour whole and leaving nothing but silence and stillness behind. 

“Could…” Zephyr trailed off, giving out a deep exhale in hopes of calming himself before he continued, “...could this not have been done some other time?”

“That would have been most impossible, my lord king,” Grand Savant Aelred replied. It was the first he had spoken since the council meeting had begun. He had chosen to keep silent and lay back on his chair despite the intense clamour in the council chamber; this also proved the same for Flynn who sat at the opposite side of the table, facing Grand Savant Aelred. 

There were six council members in all, including Flynn Claymore and Grand Savant Aelred, sitting in rows of three, facing one another. At Grand Savant Aelred’s row was: Lord Darian Crakehall, lord of Ravenhold and commander of the kingdom’s guards, and Lord Alaric Ironsides, seneschal of the royal artillery. And at Flynn Claymore’s row was: Lord Theon Silverfist, keeper of coins, and Lord Varyn Bolton. 

“Yes, my king,” Lord Varyn Bolton screamed from the end of the right row of the table, where he was seated. He possessed a lot of vigour as he was still a fiery young man. “The tourney comes like a raven at eventide. We have not a second to spare.” 

Zephyr glanced at Lord Varyn for less than a second, then chose to ignore him as he turned over to Flynn, asking, “What do you make of this, my advisor, Flynn Claymore?” Lord Varyn, seemingly distraught at being ignored, swallowed any other word he had planned on spewing out from between his lips.

“He is right, my king,” Flynn replied. “The tourney comes on your name-day, a fortnight away. We have not much time to work with, and we also have your betrothal seven nights away to consider.” 

“Betrothal?” Zephyr questioned. 

“Yes, my lord king. It is custom that you have your queen selected before the tourney. It is how all the previous kings have done it,” Grand Savant Aelred replied in the stead of Flynn. 

“I see…” Zephyr muttered as he turned, facing the council members. “But I believe the betrothal is not of the greatest concern in this meeting, so then, what exactly is our challenge with the tourney?” he questioned, gently tapping his fingers on the table.

“Funding, my king,” Lord Darian answered. 

“Funding?” 

“Yes, my king. The tourney is a grand festival, and with it comes people from all over the kingdom crowding this city. Traders, freeriders, singers, and craftsmen shall make their way into the city. Lords shall come, and with each, at least a dozen horses, their families, knights, bannermen, and guardsmen; and with the knights comes squires and whores. There shall be fights, deaths, robberies, and other notorious deeds. A great feast would also need to be prepared, to celebrate with the lords and noblemen of the court, and lest I forget, the main highlight of the tourney, the battle for the Kingsknight.”

“The battle for the Kingsknight?” Zephyr inquired, his interest piqued. 

“Yes, my king. Your personal knights,” Lord Darian replied. “And the one who wins shall be paid, as well the forerunner.”

The one who wins? Does that mean there’s only one kingsknight, or only one emerges from this tourney?

“And how many of these kingsknights’ am I to have?” Zephyr asked.

“Same as your father and the kings before—three,” Lord Darian answered. “Ser Gale Mormont has retired, which leaves only two that served your father. Ser Calix Westerling, lord commander of the kingsknight and lord of Moonfall, and Ser Aaron Westerling, his son. Ser Gale shall be replaced by the winner at the tourney, and those three shall become your knights.” 

“Alright.” Zephyr sighed, then switched back to the major issue of the council meeting. “The funding for the tourney, are you in charge of it?”

“That shall be me, my king,” Lord Theon Silverfist answered. “I am the keeper of coins.”

Zephyr turned his gaze to the man sitting beside Flynn, saying, “So, what delays you? Get on with it then.”

“I would have if I could, my king. But there is not enough in the royal treasury for the tourney.”

“And?” Zephyr said. 

“And…? Whatever do you mean, my king?” 

“I believe the task should fall upon you to find a way of squeezing out the funds for the tourney, am I right?”

“My king—”

“Taxes, loans… I’m sure there are ways you can squeeze out the amount we need, unless,” Zephyr cut in, shooting him a stare akin to that of a hunting wolf as he said, “you want me to appoint someone more capable of fulfilling such a task.” 

Silence roamed the chamber for nothing more than a few seconds before Lord Theon replied, his head slumped low as he gave out a light exhale, soothing the intensity of Zephyrs’ gaze, “No, my king. I shall see to it.” 

“Good,” Zephyr said, placing his palms on the table and pushing himself up to his feet. “I sincerely hope I won’t be bothered on such trivial matters any longer.”

He then abandoned his seat as he strode gracefully towards the chamber’s door, only to come to an abrupt halt as he suddenly recalled an important memory he wished not to forget, calling to Flynn as he did, without taking a look back, “Come, Flynn. I am in need of your service.”

Flynn pushed back his seat as he rose to his feet and hurried his steps after Zephyr, both of them making their way out of the chamber as the fully armoured men who manned the door bowed in response to their exit. 

“May I ask what you seek of me, my king?” Flynn asked as they advanced through the small courtyard towards the king’s quarters. 

“The guards who manned my bedchamber’s door, do they man it still?” Zephyr asked, discarding all traces of the nervousness he possessed deep within as he tried to maintain the face of a king. 

“I think not, my king,” Flynn answered. “Guards man it still, but not the ones we met before.”

Zephyr’s heart thumped in his chest, but he refused his calmness from vanishing. And even though his mind told him he was the king now, and no one would dare question him or raise suspicions from his querying, he still chose to tread down this route, the one he thought was safest, gathering just enough information bit by bit.

“And where would they be now?” Zephyr asked. 

“The tower of steel, if I’m to guess…”

What the hell is a tower of steel? Zephyr’s eyebrows twitched unnoticeably. 

“...And if not, they would be in no other place than an inn or a whore house,” Flynn stated based on the observations he had made on how the guardsmen went on with their days.

Zephyr sighed, stopping his steps as they arrived at the entranceway to the corridor of the king’s quarters. “Summon them,” he said. 

“May I ask why, my king?” 

“Nothing of great importance. You need not bother yourself, just have them brought to me.”

“Then I shall send the fastest rider, my king,” Flynn lowered his head as he replied. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Zephyr said, halting Flynn’s withdrawal as to proceed with the task he was given. 

“What more, my king,” Flynn inquired. 

“You need not be so formal with me. We are friends, right?” Zephyr gave a light smile as he looked at Flynn. 

“Definitely, my king.” Flynn chuckled. “But, formality is naturally given to he who sits on a high pedestal, someone such as yourself, the king. I have not the power to discard that, but I’ll try my best to be more lenient with our future relations.” 

“Alright, that’s good enough.”

“Then I shall take my leave.” Flynn gave a quick bow and hurried towards the holdfast’s exit, which was as well, its entrance. 

Zephyr turned and progressed into the corridor, immediately diving back into his never ending barrage of thoughts as he did… 

I have to get close to him, as close as I can get, so I can find out if he’s the murderer or not…