Chapter Text
Part I — Steel
The bass pulsed through the house like a second heartbeat. Marion felt it the moment she stepped inside, through the soles of her sneakers, up her legs, settling somewhere in her chest. The air was thick and warm, alive with movement and noise. Voices overlapped, laughter burst from all corners, someone shouted along to the lyrics just a little too loud.
The place was already packed. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the narrow hallway clogged with people trying to get in, out, or nowhere in particular. Colored lights had been strung haphazardly across the ceiling, blinking blue and purple, turning everything into flashes and fragments. The floor stuck slightly under her sneakers from spilled drinks, but Mar didn’t care. After all, it was the last party before summer break.
“Come on!” her friend Kristie yelled over the music, already pulling her toward the kitchen. “We’re starting with tequila.”
Mar laughed, stumbling after her, pushing through people who barely noticed them. Someone bumped into her shoulder, knocking her slightly off balance. Marion flicked her pale blond locks over her shoulder as she let herself be ushered into the heart of the party. With one hand, she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her black jeans, the camera already on. The screen filled with chaos: people dancing, arms in the air, faces flushed and smiling. Someone spotted the camera and whooped, throwing a peace sign. Another girl leaned in, laughing directly into the lens. Mar spun slightly, capturing it all.
“Say hi!” she shouted.
The response was immediate: cheers, hands waving, someone yelling something completely unintelligible. A celebration of youth and freedom with no care in the world. She ended the clip, fingers already moving: Free at last! #NoThoughtsJustVibes #studentlife.Post.
She pushed through the crowd towards the kitchen counter where someone had lined up plastic cups. Picking up one, Mar sniffed carefully.
Ew, no.
It smelled like diesel. Looked like it too. Seconds later, Kristie reappeared with two cups and a couple of shots, smiling triumphantly as she raised her drink in a mock salute.
“For us, being forever young, beautiful and totally shameless!”
Marion snorted. “Amen to that!”
They clinked, downed the shots, chasing them down with what appeared to be a very loose variation of a Tequila Sunrise. More tequila than sunrise. Immediately she felt the familiar warmth spreading from her chest to the tips of her fingers. She gave the room a big, carefree smile, before grabbing Kristie’s arm, tugging her to join the other dancing people.
The center of the dance floor was a different world. The music was louder here, the lights harsher, the energy electric. People around them were having fun – some jumping, some swaying, some just raising their hands to the beat. Others stood with drinks in hand, nodding along, watching. Marion and Kristie, they moved differently. It wasn’t a routine or a plan, but a shared instinct, born of years of dancing together. It began with a look and a subtle shift of weight, and then they just fell into sync. Their hips swayed in unison, their turns mirrored each other perfectly, their hair flying as they spun. Mar threw her head back and laughed when Kristie tried an exaggerated dramatic move.
“Oh wow, seriously?” She raised a brow, amused.
“Jealous much?” Kristie shot back, doing another ridiculous spin that made both of them burst out laughing again.
The music built, the bass dropping heavier, and they followed it instinctively, moving faster, sharper, looser. Lights flashed across their faces – blue, then purple, then gold – catching in Marion’s hair, making it glow for a second before disappearing again.
Around them people shouted lyrics, snapped pictures, took shots, whenever someone passed the drinks. That was exactly the type of party Marion enjoyed: loud, chaotic, sticky, crowded. Alive. For a moment nothing else existed: no pressure, no future, no expectations. Just music, movement and people. The simple, reckless joy of being young and exactly where you wanted to be.
The music still pulsed around her, but Marion’s attention shifted the moment she spotted him. Don stood near the couch, easy to pick out even in the shifting lights. Baseball cap turned backwards, drink in hand, shoulders relaxed like he owned the space without trying. Around him clustered a group of guys, half of them talking over each other, the other half pretending to listen. One of them – she was sure she had seen him before in one of her classes – was speaking animatedly, like his life depended on it. Hands moving, voice raised, clearly losing the argument. The others were already interrupting, not waiting for him to finish.
Marion smirked. Don noticed her at the same moment, lifting his cup in greeting. She rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile followed a second later. Their situationship was exactly what she wanted it to be – uncomplicated. Don was a terrible student, but a good baseball player for the college team – at least decent enough that professors closed their eyes on numerous absences and scraping-by grades. But he was funny, kind and very easy on the eyes. So, that was them. No expectations, no drama, no late-night “what are we” conversations.
“Your boyfriend’s here,” Kristie teased.
“I prefer the term ‘favorite distraction’.” Marion laughed, already moving.
The two girls pushed through the crowd, weaving between people who barely registered them, until the noise of the dance floor softened just enough for voices to come through.
“…I’m telling you, there’s no actual proof,” the animated guy was saying, clearly mid-rant. He was tall and lanky, slightly slouching, as if perpetually trying to make himself smaller in the crowd. His hair, a messy mop of brown that never seemed to cooperate, was sticking up at odd angles. He wore a light blue button-up shirt peeking out of a worn black hoodie with some faded band name plastered at the center and sneakers that had seen better days. “He just says he’s a knight. That doesn’t mean –”
“Oh my god, Max,” a ginger boy groaned. “It’s a show, not a thesis defense.”
Don snorted into his drink. “You’re overthinking it, man.”
The tall guy, Max, threw his hands up. “I’m not overthinking it, I’m applying basic logic –”
“That’s your first mistake,” a brown-haired boy with a round face cut in.
Marion stepped closer, slipping her arm easily around Don’s waist.
“What are we arguing about?” she asked, her voice light. Don’s reaction was immediate, his arm came up around her shoulders, pulling her in just slightly.
“Just medieval stuff,” he said with a grin, giving her a quick kiss.
“Hey,” Max protested, glancing up from the beer he was frowning into. “It’s not medieval stuff, it’s a new show. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and it’s –” He trailed off once he saw her.
“Wait…” Marion tilted her head slightly, trying to remember where she could have heard about that. “That’s the Game of Thrones thing with the tall guy and …an egg?”
“Yeah.” Max looked genuinely surprised. “You’ve heard of it?”
Marion smiled playfully. “Please, I’m basically an expert.”
A few of the guys offered strained laughs, uncertain if it was a joke. Marion bit back a snort. She recognized this type instantly. She had caught the way they sized her up the second she approached, the swift assumptions and quiet labeling. Blond, blue-eyed, pretty, party girl. Marion flashed them a sweet, effortless smile. She absolutely thrived on the exact second people discovered how badly they had miscalculated.
Max just stared at her a bit longer, then looked down at his beer.
“Well,” he said, recovering slightly, “then you’d know that technically there’s no recorded –”
“Oh my God,” Don groaned again. “Here we go again.”
Max had just opened his mouth ready to defend his point and launch back into whatever theory he had been building, when someone slammed into him from behind. His elbow jerked and the plastic cup in his hand tipped, splashing beer all over the front of Marion’s blouse. It soaked instantly into the sheer burgundy fabric, darkening it, clinging to the expensive material in an ugly, spreading stain. For a moment everyone went quiet in disbelief.
Max’s face drained of color. “Oh–shit–I’m so sorry–I didn’t–someone pushed me–”
“It’s fine,” Mar replied automatically, not even looking at him, already turning slightly. “I’ll just need to clean it.”
Don squeezed her shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Be back in a minute.” She was already moving through the crowd again, weaving with purpose toward the stairs.
“Seriously, I didn’t mean –” Max followed, taking two steps at a time to catch up.
Mar closed her eyes briefly, ignoring him. Tonight was too good to be angry about some stupid stain.
Thirteen hours.
Thirteen hours and she would be on a plane to Aruba with her girl friends. The trip they had been carefully planning for the last year, saving every penny for two weeks spent in paradise. Sunny beaches, bottomless cocktails and best parties the island could offer were already calling her name.
Upstairs, the party dulled, the music dropped to a distant, muffled thump through the floorboards. The air felt cooler here. Couples lingered in corners, shadows pressed close together, whispers replacing shouts. Marion barely noticed them. She moved straight to the bathroom, pushed the door open and flicked on the light. The harsh brightness cut through everything.
Max hovered awkwardly in the doorway, not quite stepping in, not quite leaving either.
“I swear someone shoved me,” he tried again, his voice smaller now, heat creeping into his face and up his ears. “It wasn’t–like…I wasn’t just–throwing beer at you–”
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” Marion muttered distractedly, running the water in the sink. She grabbed paper towels, dabbing at the stain, watching it smear and lighten slightly, but not disappear.
“Still,” Max continued nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning or buy you a new one, or–”
The lights suddenly flickered above them, once, twice, then went out completely. Darkness swallowed the room. Marion huffed in annoyance, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the blackness. The music still pulsed faintly below, but up here, it felt different, warped into a hollow, distorted echo.
“Do you –” she started, but the room tilted. She tried to grab the sink, barely finding it in the dark. “What the–”
Beside her, Max exhaled loudly as he clutched the door frame to stay upright.
“Okay – is it just me,” he said, voice uncertain, “or is the floor… moving?”
“What was in those shots…” Marion muttered faintly, but even as she said it, she knew this wasn’t the shots.
There was another lurch, stronger this time, making the two stumble into each other. She felt Max’s hand catching her elbow, trying to steady them both. The tilt rolled through her body straight to her stomach, as if her insides had been stuck on the worst sort of the roller coaster ride, with deadly loops and upside-down turns, while the rest of her was left behind.
The darkness deepened until it felt absolute. The music was gone now, or maybe just drowned out by something louder: her heartbeat, pounding, ready to jump out of her ribs. She tried to take a deep, calming breath, but her chest felt constricted. There was another wild jerk, and she lost her footing. The world dropped, or she did, she couldn’t tell anymore. The floor felt impossibly far away. Then, there was nothing.
~ ~ ~ ❖ ~ ~ ~
Marion came back to herself in fragments. First, she felt something soft brushing against her cheek. Uneven, warm, tickling – grass. Then there was sound. Not the muffled, artificial thump of music through walls, not the hum of electricity or voices bleeding through thin doors. This was wide, breathing. Wind moved through tall grass, insects hummed somewhere unseen, the distant caw of a crow echoed. Silence, but not empty.
Her eyes fluttered open – and snapped shut immediately.
“Jesus–”
The sun was brutal and blinding, like someone had turned the world’s brightness all the way up. She lay still, breathing slowly, waiting for the vertigo and sickness to pass. The world wasn’t spinning madly anymore, but it still felt wrong, like her body hadn’t fully caught up to wherever she was.
Eventually, she tried again. This time, she squinted, forcing her eyes open just enough to see shapes. It was too blue. The sky stretched endlessly above her, not a cloud in sight. The grass around her was sharp, vivid green, tipped with gold where the sun hit. Everything looked too real.
Marion groaned. “Okay… seriously, what the hell…”
She pushed herself upright slowly, every movement careful, measured. Her head throbbed, her stomach rolled in protest. It felt like a hangover, the worst one she’d ever had. Which was saying something, considering her part-time job was organizing events, including student mixers. Partying two days in a row on the weekend and going to a lecture on Monday morning had become a routine by now. She pressed her fingers briefly to her temple as she tried to focus on her surroundings.
A painful groan sounded right beside her. She turned carefully – Max lay on his back, staring straight up at the skyline. His face was a sickly, pale green, gaze unfocused; he looked every bit as wrecked as she felt.
“…I think I’m dying,” he intoned weakly.
Mar ignored him. Instead, she forced herself to look around, making sure not to turn her head too fast. They were lying in a ditch, shallow, but enough to keep them slightly below the road that ran beside it. A dirt road. Not asphalt, not even gravel, just packed earth with fields on either side of it, rolling and endless, green and gold stretching over gentle hills. There were no houses nearby, no fences, no power lines. Nothing, just nature.
“Did we…get kidnapped?” Mar asked flatly, fighting hard to figure out how they might have gotten here. The last thing she remembered was being at the party, the beer spilled on her blouse, them going upstairs, and then darkness, so absolute it felt almost empty. Wherever they were now, it was far away from the campus. And a lot of time had passed, it was already mid-morning by the look of it. Her heart was beating wildly to the drum of what-the-hells.
Max frowned and pushed himself upright, wincing like every muscle in his body objected.
“That’s currently my best guess.” He reached into his jeans pocket, fishing out his phone, frowning. “Mine is dead. Great.”
Marion’s hand moved instinctively to her side. Relief hit immediately when she felt the familiar weight of her crossbody bag. She dug through it quickly and found her phone. No signal. No GPS, no internet, just nothing. She stared at the screen for a second longer, then lowered it slowly.
“…That’s not good.”
Max let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”
Mar looked around again, more carefully this time, scanning the bushes, the grass, the road, expecting to see cameras or her fellow students hiding, waiting for the right time to spring out with a Gotcha. But there was no one. Just wind and distance, silence pressed in, something one never hears in the city.
The kidnapping theory looked more plausible with every passing moment. Someone must have brought them here into the wilderness. But for what? She looked down at herself: same jeans, same sneakers, stained blouse. She turned slightly, eyeing Max, ignoring his confused look. No obvious injuries, no signs of a struggle, no defense wounds. They were fine and yet they were not. Her stomach twisted again.
Roofied.
The thought made her panic spike. She swallowed, pushed it down, hard.
Not now.
“Do you feel… weird?” she asked, carefully neutral.
Max blinked at her. “…define weird.”
“Like your brain is still buffering.”
“…Yeah.”
She exhaled slowly. Fear scratched at the edges, sharp and insistent, she shoved it back again. Now was not the time, first, they needed to figure out where they were and how to get to the nearest working phone or stop a passing car. Then they could panic.
“Alright.” She stood up slowly, still dizzy, brushing grass from her black jeans. The ground felt stable now. Mostly. “We need to figure out where we are.”
Max looked around again, squinting at the endless fields. “…middle of nowhere?”
“Yeah, great, thanks. Very observant,” she said dryly.
“Ok, if this is some kind of prank or kidnapping scenario, eventually someone has to come check on us, right?”
Mar gave him an unimpressed look. “Do you really want them to?”
Max opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, shaking his head.
“We find a road sign. A house. A car – anything,” she continued. “Then figure out the rest.”
Max huffed a weak laugh. “…Love the plan.”
Marion lifted her hand to shield her eyes, squinting into the distance. The road stretched in both directions, endless and empty. Just low hills, scattered trees, tall grass bending in the wind. No signs, no wires, no buildings.
“…Freaking awesome,” she muttered.
Max stepped up beside her, equally unimpressed. “This is… concerningly rural.”
She was about to reply, when a sudden movement caught her eye in the distance. She frowned.
“…Wait...”
Max followed her gaze. At first, it was just a shape, a blur against the road. Then it became clearer. Too slow to be a car, yet fast enough not to be a person.
Mar blinked. “…Is that–”
Max leaned forward. “…A horse?”
It was a horse. With a rider. For a moment, they just stared, stunned, then Marion moved quickly.
“HEY!” she shouted, already stepping into the road, waving both arms high over her head.
Max snapped out of it and hustled to join her. “HEY! OVER HERE!”
They ran forward, straight into the middle of the dirt road. The horse reacted before the rider fully understood what was happening. It jerked sideways, hooves skidding against the packed earth, snorting sharply in alarm.
“Easy– easy–” the rider pulled hard at the reins. The horse tossed its head, shifting nervously from one hoof to the other, muscles tense beneath its coat. The rider leaned forward slightly, one hand steady on the reins, the other hovering near his side.
“Oi there,” he called cautiously, looking them up and down. “Whatcha after, then?”
His voice carried easily, rough and wary. Up close, he looked… not wrong, exactly, just…out of place. Dressed in leather, worn and practical. No logos, no brands, no modern anything. He was a weathered man with a short beard and sun-kissed skin, his expression guarded, eyes flicking between them with open suspicion. His horse snorted impatiently, stamping a hoof against the road next to Mar – too close for comfort.
Max didn’t speak, just stared, completely frozen. When it was clear that he was not going to say anything, Mar stepped forward, putting on her friendliest smile – bright and easy.
“Hi, hello! Sorry to bother you, sir, but we are…sort of lost – do you maybe have a phone we could borrow?”
The rider just blinked. “A what?”
“A phone, man,” Max finally found his voice. That, however, only earned him another confused look.
“A…what?”
Max blanched. “You know – a phone? Cell? Mobile?”
The man’s frown deepened as he shifted uneasily in the saddle. Marion felt something cold slide into her stomach.
“Okaaay,” she said quickly, getting uncomfortable under the rider’s gaze. “Do you know where the nearest gas station is?”
“The nearest…what?”
Max and Mar exchanged a nervous look. Something was very wrong. She rubbed her temples, warding off the lingering headache, taking a deep breath.
“A shop, then. Somewhere with a phone so we can call home or the police?”
The man just looked between them as if they had just started speaking another language. His gaze swept over Marion first, making her deeply uncomfortable, then landed on Max’s gangly form. After a moment, he pointed down the road behind him.
“Ashford’s yonder way.”
Max froze. “Ashford?”
“Aye.” The man nodded, clearly relieved that they were not completely insane. “No more’n a few miles.” He paused, then cautiously added, “From the tourney, are ya?”
Mar and Max exchanged another puzzled glance.
“The… what?” Marion frowned.
“The tourney,” the rider repeated slowly, “at the castle.”
Max forced a smile. “Yeah, right. The tourney.”
The rider nodded once, apparently satisfied, and nudged his horse forward. “Aye, then. Best get walkin’ if ya want a spot to sleep tonight.”
He lingered for a moment, throwing them one last distrustful glance before riding off, the hoofbeats fading into the distance. They stood still, watching him disappear around the next bend of the road.
Marion crossed her arms. “…Okay, that guy was a creep.”
Max didn’t answer. He was staring blankly into space, deep in thought.
Marion shrugged, then sighed deeply. “Anyways… Ashford? Where even is this?”
~ ~ ~ ❖ ~ ~ ~
They walked…and walked. For what seemed to be hours on end. The road curved gently through the hills, the grass brushed against their legs as they followed its winding path. The air was warm and dry, carrying the scent of earth and something faintly sweet from the fields.
Time stretched; minutes turned into something longer and heavier. The sun climbed higher. Marion’s steps slowed just slightly, her energy draining. Her feet began to ache – dull at first, then sharper with every step. She silently thanked all that was holy for her decision to wear sneakers instead of high heels to the party. The heat pressed down harder now, Mar could feel it at the back of her neck, in her temples, behind her eyes. The nausea lingered, never quite leaving.
Max glanced at her. “You still feel… off?”
She let out a dry breath. “Like we got roofied and dropped into a National Geographic documentary? Yeah.”
Her mouth felt too dry, her tongue sticking slightly to the roof of her mouth.
“We need water,” she added. “And a phone. And, like– civilization.”
She pulled her long pale hair back into a tight ponytail, tying it off with the elastic band, exposing the sides of her neck to whatever breeze there was. Then she unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse, letting a bit more air in.
Max kept scanning the horizon as they walked. Something about it all was wrong. No power lines in sight, no distant hum of cars, no airplanes overhead. Just wind, grass, and birds.
“That’s not normal,” he said quietly.
Marion didn’t answer, because she knew it wasn’t. They walked in silence for a while longer.
Finally, Max spoke. “That guy said Ashford.”
“So?”
Max hesitated. “So…that’s a place...”
“Wow,” Mar drawled, “groundbreaking.”
“…In a fantasy.”
She stopped walking. “What?”
Max kicked a loose stone off the road. “In the Game of Thrones universe.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m not saying that’s where we are,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying the name exists.”
“So does Paris.” She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean we’re suddenly in a French novel.”
“Right…” Max nodded slowly, but Marion saw that he kept glancing around as they walked.
After about an hour of trudging through the same scenery, they finally heard it. A sound, faint at first, then clearer. Running water. They both turned toward it: just off the road, tucked into a shallow dip in the land, a small stream cut through the earth, sunlight glinting off its surface.
“Oh, thank God,” Max breathed, already jogging toward it. He dropped to a crouch beside the stream, relief washing over his face. He reached down, but before he could scoop some water, Marion grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“Don’t even think about drinking it.”
Max frowned, glancing between her and the water. “It’s just water, Marion.”
“It’s not just water,” she shot back. “You have no idea what’s in it.”
He stared at her, confused.
“Cholera. Dysentery. Parasites,” she listed, ticking them off like a grocery list. “Pick your favorite.”
He hesitated, but his throat felt like sandpaper, his lips felt cracked. He looked at the water again, then back at her.
“…I’m really thirsty.”
“And I really don’t want to watch you die of diarrhea,” Mar snapped.
He considered that, briefly, then shrugged.
“If I die,” he proclaimed solemnly, “tell my roommate to flush the DNS and search caches…and tell my mom I perished as a hero…not from…you know, diarrhea.”
“Max–” It was too late; he had already scooped the water up and drank greedily.
Marion watched in horrified fascination. “That is so disgusting.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “…Worth it.”
She shook her head, then crouched beside him, only to splash water on her face. It was shockingly cold, cutting through the haze instantly, easing her throbbing headache. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on her breathing and the sun on her cheeks. Max dropped back onto the grass with a groan, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Okay,” he said, patting his pockets like he might magically discover something useful. “Inventory time. Please tell me one of us has, like… survival gear.”
Marion snorted, lowering herself onto a flat rock nearby. “Yeah, sure. I packed for the wilderness before going to a house party.”
Max ignored that, pulling things out of his pockets one by one.
“Let’s see…dead phone… great. Keys – useless. Gum–” He held it up like a prize. “– This might save us. Wallet… couple of bills… student ID.” He sighed. “Cool. We can pay our kidnappers and show them we’re enrolled.”
Marion rolled her eyes and opened her bag.
“Move,” she said, nudging his knee slightly as she started laying things out on the rock.
“Phone– working, but there’s no signal, so useless. Ok…AirPods…lipstick, mascara, foundation–”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Very survival oriented.”
“Shut up.” She pulled out her cardholder. “IDs, cards…” she continued, “…some pills and…” she checked a side pocket. “…a couple of tampons.”
Max looked away hastily, his ears getting red. “Oh– uh– right– yeah– okay– cool–”
Marion didn’t even look up. “Relax,” she said dryly.
He cleared his throat hastily. “…You don’t happen to have a Swiss Army knife in there too, do you?”
She finally glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “Never underestimate the depth of a girl’s purse, Maxie.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. For a moment, they just sat there, then he shifted slightly, suddenly more serious.
“…We…were never actually introduced,” he said, “before becoming, you know– kidnapping buddies.”
He stuck his hand out. “So…I’m Max Darvill. Computer Science major. Fantasy enthusiast. And apparently your classmate– we have stats together.”
Mar looked at his hand, then took it, shaking firmly with an easy smile.
“Marion Archer. Marketing. Sagittarius. Former flyer on my high school cheer team.” Max raised his eyebrows. “And,” she added slyly, “my idea of self-care is retail therapy and binging true crime marathons.”
He chuckled. “Okay, the true crime is unexpected.” Then immediately, he panicked. “I mean– not that shopping– I didn’t mean– you look like you shop– I just–”
Mar giggled. “Breathe.”
Max groaned, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay, shutting up now.”
He pushed himself to his feet, still red-faced, then offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up. They started walking again, the road stretching ahead, unchanging. For a while, neither of them spoke, then Marion glanced at him.
“So…explain this whole…Game of Thrones theory.”
Max sighed. “There is no theory – just a coincidence, I guess. Ashford is the name of the place in the Dunk and Egg stories.”
Mar frowned. “…That’s what you were arguing about at the party?”
“Yeah. It’s like a prequel. Set about ninety years before the main story.”
She groaned. “Please tell me this is some kind of Comic-Con-level prank.”
Max shook his head quickly. “No– no– it’s just the name. That’s it. We’re probably just… somewhere else. Another state or something.”
Because to believe it was anything, but a coincidence was crazy. People in real life don’t just end up in another universe. Kidnapping it must be.
“Well, I know basically nothing about Game of Thrones, so the laughs are wasted on me.” Marion rolled her eyes.
Max stopped walking for half a second, staring at her in disbelief. “What, nothing?”
“I know there are dragons. People betray each other. They fuck and die, and not always in that order.”
Max considered it before shrugging. “That’s…actually not wrong.” Then, he shook his head. “I still can’t believe you haven’t watched it. Everyone has.”
“I…tried. I just couldn’t get past one and a half seasons, it was…not my thing, I guess.” Mar sighed, trying to ignore Max’s scandalized face. “I just cannot watch a TV show where I don’t like any characters, and in this one, they were dying too fast for me to get attached.”
“You are impossible!”
They walked for about another mile in silence before the road turned sharply and finally opened up a view of the meadow. They both stopped dead still: below them spread a large valley, green and bright, packed with tents. Hundreds of them, as colorful as a patchwork quilt. They sprawled across the fields in chaotic rows – silk pavilions of gold, deep blue, crimson; rougher tents of brown and grey; banners of all colors and shapes snapping in the wind. Horses stamped and tossed their heads; men moved between tents dressed in leather, carrying shields, lances resting against their shoulders. Knights in polished armor strolled through the camp, sunlight flashing off their breastplates like shards of mirror.
Smoke curled upwards from dozens of campfires, thin grey ribbons rising until they blurred against the blue sky. The smell of roasted meat, leather, and woodsmoke hung over the meadow. The tournament field lay just beyond the camp, marked by bright tilting barriers, long rows of stands being assembled for spectators. On the hill a castle rose silent and watchful, its pale stone walls catching the afternoon light.
The sight was beautiful, majestic, and utterly insane. Like a postcard from a travel guide – if such guides advertised violence. Marion didn’t breathe, Max couldn’t move. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“What the fuck is this?!”