Esteban stood at the castle gates as riders approached along the winding coastal road below.
The banners of House Gargalen fluttered in the sea wind.
Anxiety tightened in his chest as the riders drew closer. The memories of what had happened earlier still lingered vividly in his mind—the impossible displays of magic, the destruction carved into the cliffs, the creation of the catsle and the overwhelming power of his lord.
Surely Lord Gregory Gargalen would ask questions.
Yet as the riders dismounted within the outer courtyard, Esteban immediately sensed something strange.
There was no fear in their expressions. No suspicion. Even the Maester no cautious glances toward the towering fortress looming above the sea.
Nothing.
Lord Gargalen approached calmly, his face marked only by mild confusion rather than alarm. The older Dornish lord looked around the courtyard for several moments as though struggling to remember something important.
"This place is even larger than I remembered," one of his household guards muttered.
"I thought the tower was shorter," another replied.
Lord Gargalen frowned briefly before turning toward Esteban.
"Is Lord Peverell available?" he asked slowly.
Esteban blinked.
No mention of the collapsing cliffs. No mention of the impossible spectacle that should have terrified every man present. It was as though those events had never happened at all.
Remembering his lord's instructions, Esteban forced himself to remain calm.
"My lord is occupied at the moment," he answered respectfully.
Lord Gargalen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Confusion lingered across his features for several seconds before sudden realization brightened his face.
"Ah."
He laughed softly.
"The gold bars."
Esteban remained silent.
"I came to thank Lord Peverell personally," Lord Gargalen continued. "A generous gift deserves proper gratitude."
Before Esteban could answer, a familiar voice echoed in his ear.
"I will be busy."
Esteban stiffened only slightly.
Though he had grown somewhat accustomed to such things, the sensation still unsettled him deeply.
Recovering quickly, Esteban bowed his head toward Lord Gargalen.
"My lord regrets that he cannot receive guests today," he relayed carefully. "He says he will be busy."
To Esteban's surprise, Lord Gargalen merely laughed again.
"Oh, I expected that from him." The Dornish lord waved dismissively before turning toward his men. "Tell him I visited."
"There will be wine before we leave, yes?" one of the advisers of the House Gargalen asked hopefully.
"If you stop complaining for five minutes," Lord Gargalen replied.
A few of the men laughed.
There was no irritation in them. No suspicion. No disappointment. Only acceptance, as though such behavior from Lord Peverell was entirely normal.
They departed soon afterward, their banners disappearing down the coastal road beneath the evening sun.
Only when they had vanished entirely did Esteban finally release a long breath.
Relief flooded through him.
It worked.
Whatever his lord had done, it had truly worked.
Esteban lingered for a few moments before turning back toward the inner halls of Castle Peverell.
The corridors still amazed him.
Massive marble pillars supported impossibly high ceilings while narrow windows overlooked the crashing sea far below. Torches burned steadily within silver sconces despite the fierce coastal winds outside. Every hallway carried an ancient grandeur that made lesser castles seem crude by comparison.
Eventually, Esteban found his lord standing upon an elevated balcony near the upper levels of the fortress. Sea winds pulled violently at dark robes while Thaddues gazed upward toward the towering structure he had created.
The setting sun painted the pale fortress gold.
For a moment, Esteban simply stared.
No matter how many impossible things he witnessed, the young man before him still felt unreal.
Thaddues spoke before he could ask anything.
"I erased their memories of the spectacle they witnessed here," he said calmly. "Even our meeting within their manor was forgotten."
Esteban frowned slightly.
The ease with which he spoke of such things remained deeply unsettling.
"It is necessary if we are to live peacefully here at Salt Shore," Thaddues continued, his gaze drifting toward the sea below.
"So they truly forgot everything, my lord?" Esteban asked carefully. "Even the townspeople in the distance? Would they not question how you suddenly became lord of this place?"
"They forgot," Thaddues answered simply. "And no one will question it. That is how magic works, Esteban."
The explanation only deepened the man's unease.
When he had first signed his contract as steward, Esteban had convinced himself he could understand the magic wielded by his lord. Yet after everything he had witnessed, he realized he had seen only the smallest fraction of it.
He hesitated before speaking again.
"I know how powerful you are, my lord… but your rise to a high lordship—surely that cannot simply be ignored."
At that, Thaddues finally turned toward him.
Sea wind moved softly through strands of silver hair while his expression remained unreadable.
"I will personally send a letter to Sunspear," he replied. "That will settle the matter."
Then, without pause, he added, "Where are the belongings we brought? It is time we unpack and settle ourselves within the castle."
The sudden normalcy of the statement nearly caught Esteban off guard.
After memory alteration. After impossible magic. After the creation of a colossal fortress.
Now they were discussing luggage.
Still, he bowed immediately.
"As you command, my lord."
The lower courtyards had become crowded with carriages and supplies gathered during their journey south. Sellswords moved back and forth carrying crates, fabrics, weapons, books, and household goods into the immense halls of Castle Peverell.
Esteban noticed how ordinary the men seemed. None remembered the terror at the Broken Arm. Only the memory of their two dead companions remained—men they believed had died protecting them from bandits, a loss eased somewhat by the generous compensation their lord had provided.
Though some occasionally glanced toward the towering fortress with uncertainty, whatever memories once existed had clearly vanished.
Men laughed while unloading barrels. Horses were led toward newly built stables. Life continued as though the impossible had never happened at all.
A pair of sellswords struggled to drag an enormous crate across the courtyard stones.
"What in the Seven Hells is inside this thing?" one groaned.
"Books, I guess," the other answered.
The first man stared at him in disbelief. "No man needs this many books."
"You haven't met our lord."
They did not know they were pushing an artifact from the Bronze Age.
Nearby, Isolde quietly took over the kitchen assignments. Though clearly awed by the castle and the impossible manner of its creation, she knew better than to question it aloud. Lily, on the other hand, wandered through the vast halls with open fascination, occasionally spinning beneath the towering ceilings as she admired the fortress around her.
Esteban spent the next several hours overseeing the unloading efforts. The sheer scale of Castle Peverell made the work exhausting. Entire wings still remained empty, their halls silent except for the distant roar of the sea.
Late into the evening, Esteban climbed one of the western towers carrying inventory records beneath his arm. Halfway up the stairs, he encountered Thaddues once more standing beside a narrow window overlooking the ocean.
"You should rest, my lord," Esteban said carefully.
"I do not tire easily."
"That is becoming increasingly obvious," Esteban muttered, concern etched plainly across his face. He still remembered watching the young lord nearly collapse after raising an entire castle from stone and sea. "Even the princes of Dorne would sleep for a week after attempting such madness."
For the first time that day, faint amusement touched Thaddues' expression.
Below them, moonlight shimmered across the waters of the Summer Sea.
Then Thaddues spoke again.
"I should have activated the household charms. It would have lessened the burden of carrying everything inside."
"It is fine, my lord," Esteban replied with a small shrug. "Give Dornishmen enough hands and enough wine, and we'll carry half a mountain if we must."
Thaddues nodded absently as he looked out across the sea.
"Do you ever regret it?" Esteban asked suddenly.
"Regret what?"
"Coming here."
Thaddues fell silent for several moments.
"When I first arrived in this world," he said quietly, "I believed power alone would matter." Especially when I thought I was still within the wizarding world.
"And now?"
"Now I understand something else."
His gaze remained fixed upon the endless sea.
"Power is meaningless without permanence."
Esteban frowned slightly.
"I do not understand."
"You will."
The answer explained nothing, yet Esteban sensed more truth behind it than he could fully grasp.
A short while later, clad in dark navy robes, Thaddues apparated to the Broken Arm. Moments afterward, he appeared once more within Sunspear, directly before the entrance to the Tower of the Sun.
The household guards immediately lowered their spears in alarm at his sudden appearance until one of them recognized him.
"Lord Peverell? Weren't you in—"
Thaddues cut him off. Reaching into his robes, he took out a letter and a necklace.
"Give these to Princess Deria," he said calmly.
The guard accepted them at once. A sudden headache struck him moments later, sharp enough to make him flinch.
Thaddues only smiled faintly before vanishing once more.
Moonlight bathed Castle Peverell while waves crashed endlessly against the cliffs below. Torches illuminated balconies and towers high above the sea, transforming the fortress into something almost ethereal against the darkness.
From the highest floor of the tower, Thaddues appeared silently and gazed across the ocean below. Moonlight washed over the cliffs and the pale fortress rising above them.
After using Legilimency, he had learned another piece of news. Far away in Kings Landing, the old dragon died and a new dragon had ascended the Iron Throne.
Westeros celebrated the beginning of another reign.
Yet here, at the edge of Dorne, another power had quietly risen beyond the notice of the realm.
And unlike kings, magic did not require permission to rule.
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