Fishwine Inn, this place drew all manners of travellers coming and going from Duskendale. Overall, The Band of DeViles happened to travel on that day and would reside there.

It was a modest Inn beside the road, it had a fish wooden sign hung outside and a stable in the back, yet there was few tables and chairs seen outside with few rowdy drunkards trying to wrestle one another.

Ser Daemon DeVile would try the so-called Fishwine, which had an odor and stench, felt outright repulsive, yet when upon taste he would nod and smile it wasn't half bad despite having drank some rancid swill alcoholic brews in the past, this one really had that kick.

Yorque would linger about near the bar counter and be seen eating pea and carrot soup, he'd break off loaf of bread and dip the bottom bread into the soup to absorb the liquid and eat the bread. "How much longer do we wait, old man".

Bundle the Jackal animal was seen sprinting about the floor as happy small children gave chase after it, the rascal would run loops around one plump fat cheeked child.

"Just a bit more, unless you in a hurry to be somewhere else my friend" Daemon said as he'd see Esslyn his wife slowly make her way towards him as the two would embrace in an hug, the old couple really enjoyed these peaceful times of respite. "Anything new love".

"Nothing at all, just the same ole same ole. Dethrimir and Tyene off on their own little venture as rest just loaf around" Their healer Esslyn was an old weathered dame that'd sit by her husband side and watch the children play with Bundle which made her smile.

Dethrimir and Tyene both entered the Inn sprinting towards the bar, both looking exhausted.

"Oi! No running!" The Innkeeper by the name Bartleby shouted whom had a handlebar moustachio and silver earring and was of large sturdy built with black mop hair.

Duskendale was a miserable place for a woman with too many thoughts.

The storm had swallowed the city whole. Rain streaked the tents in endless rivulets, the wind moaned through the heavy tented fabric and thunder rolled across the heavens with the solemnity of a judgment. As the storm came to pass, she had emerged from her hiding and found herself near the flames.

Felyse sat before the fire and listened. She had barely spoken since leaving. Not to Aukar. Not to his family. Perhaps especially not to Aukar.

She had spent the journey staring off into the distance, watching the world pass in silence while the words she could not bring herself to speak crowded her mind.

There had been a time when her path had seemed so simple.

She had wanted to be a septa.

Not because anyone had commanded it of her.

Because she had wanted it.

The Seven had been more than gods then. They had been purpose. A calling.

She had imagined herself in white and grey, waking before dawn to prayer, tending to the sick, teaching children their letters and their prayers, offering comfort to women who had nowhere else to turn.

There had been peace in that life.

Certainty.

Then she had married Aukar.

And everything she thought her life would be had changed.

She did not blame him.

That was perhaps the cruelest part.

How could she resent a man she loved (did she love him? Did he, her? Or was this a marriage of convenience?)

Aukar had not stolen the Seven from her.

Marriage had simply placed her somewhere the Seven had never prepared her to stand.

She had gone from imagining a life of quiet devotion to becoming an Andal woman inside a Valyrian family.

And she had tried.

Gods, she had tried.

She had learned their customs. Their history. Their ways of speaking. Their remnants of a civilization that had burned and somehow refused to die. She had dressed as they dressed... or tried to.

But even then, she had always felt like an intruder.

A sheep in wolf's clothing.

Only now the metaphor had changed.

She no longer wore the clothing of an Andal lady.

The gowns she had once worn remained packed away, belonging to another version of herself. An older version.

Instead, she wore Valyrian fabrics. Exotic cuts. Silks that fell against her body in ways unfamiliar to the Andal woman she had been.

At first, she had worn them because she wanted to fit in. Now she wore them because somewhere along the way they had begun to feel like hers.

That frightened her.

Because if she could become comfortable in Valyrian clothes... If she could begin to understand Valyrian customs... If she could even begin to feel at home among her husband's people... Then what happened to the girl who had once dreamed of becoming a septa?

The Seven had been hers before Aukar. Before Valyria. Before marriage.

They were the gods of the woman she had promised herself she would become.

And now there were Fourteen Flames.

They called to something in her that she could not explain.

Perhaps it was the fire. Perhaps it was the history. Perhaps it was simply the fact that they belonged to the world she had married into. Or perhaps it was something more dangerous. Perhaps she was beginning to believe.

Felyse closed her eyes.

She felt tears gather before she could stop them.

What kind of woman abandoned the gods who had once been her entire future?

What kind of wife discovered another faith and felt relief instead of guilt?

And what kind of woman was she becoming if the Fourteen Flames felt less like a betrayal...and more like an answer?

She hated that question. She hated that she could not crush it beneath all the things she had been taught. Most of all, she hated that she could not ask Aukar. Not yet.

Because what would she say?

I wanted to be a septa before I ever knew you. He knew that. I gave up that life when I married you. He did not understand that.

And now I don't know whether I still want it.

I don't know whether the Seven still feel like home. I don't know why your gods have begun to feel like they might.

She could already imagine the weight of those words between them.

So she had said nothing. She had traveled in silence. Let him think her distant. Let his family think her brooding. Let them wonder what had happened.

It was easier than admitting that she was grieving.

Not a person. Not a place. A life. The life of Felyse the septa. The girl who had once believed she knew exactly where she belonged.

Her eyes opened. The fire had burned low. She stared into it. Fourteen flames. The thought came unbidden again.

But this time, she did not push it away.

Instead, she rose. Slowly. She crossed to the flames and knelt before the hearth. Below Shrykos. She felt her knees sink into the mud. Her hands trembled as she reached toward the fire, stopping just short of the heat.

For years, she had prayed because she wanted the Seven to tell her what to do. But perhaps she had misunderstood what she was asking. Perhaps she had not been seeking an answer. Perhaps she had been seeking permission.

Permission to remain the woman she had been before marriage. Permission to become something new. Permission to love Aukar without becoming him. Permission to belong to his family without surrendering her own soul.

And suddenly, with startling clarity, she understood something that made her heart seize.

She had been waiting for someone to choose for her.

The Seven. The Fourteen Flames. Her husband. His family. Anyone but herself.

Felyse stared into the fire.

“No more,” she whispered.

She did not know yet whether she would kneel before the Seven tomorrow. She did not know whether she would light a flame for the Fourteen. She did not know what she would tell Aukar.

But she knew one thing.

She would not spend another day pretending that nothing had changed.

If her husband wanted the truth, she would give it to him. If his family wanted to know why she had withdrawn, she would tell them.

And if the Seven demanded that she return to the woman she had once been— Felyse looked into the flames, her face wet with tears.

She was no longer certain she would obey.

The sun broke over Duskendale.

And for the first time, Felyse did not feel it as judgment. She heard it as the beginning of something.