The wind was cold - biting - and cut through flesh to seek deep into her bones and it roared so loud her bones shook and her own heartbeat was drowned out of her ears. Raising one hand, the warlord felt the earth itself spin under her. A great flurry of white, raging snowflakes filled the world as her breath came out in sharp, painful puffs of frost.
Well it looks like we have a vision scene! Rather inevitable with the magic and history Winterfell has I guess.
Gone, even, was the egg she kept with her at all times.
NO! WHERE IS BENEDICT! PROTECT THE EGG BABY!
Reaching out, her hands disappeared into the blizzard but, knowing she was soon to die, she forged ahead. Shivering, shuddering, teeth chattering, the nude witch cursed the fact her visions seemed to delight in returning her to her natural state. Even worse was that it seemed to have removed her resistance to the cold and the heat alike, leaving her little better than a normal girl and for all her power she had no means to command the weather.
Not like this, at least.
So she kept moving.
Her will was hardly being tested, the full body sensation of pins and needles was steadily intensifying to a combination of numbness and ache but that was nothing compared to losing an arm.
Even as her fingers turned a blue-grey, she pushed ahead.
Even as the ice under her feet tore her soles to bloody shreds, she pushed ahead.
Eventually her hair froze too, strands locked into clumps, turning frigid and brittle.
Once she snapped a clump off by stumbling, stepping on it, and pushing forwards. And still she kept moving. By the time her fingers and ears and nose and lips were totally numb she had started to feel warm, flushed with heat and oh so drowsy.
Hypothermia, eventually, became a pleasant way to die. So for hours, perhaps days, perhaps years she marched forward, freezing just a little more.
Well ship congratulations on making me feel like I am in a blizzard while in a heaterd room with a blanket. Oh and the body horror too! So nice to hear all about a person's body being totally destroyed.
Standing on a cobblestone path, there were two rows of statues, one on each side of the path all of whom bore swords of iron and knives of obsidian, and behind them was a freely growing winter garden. Hardy blue spruces formed walls of nettles and pine, with red twig trees growing around them, intertwining in a riot of color. Below them were holly trees, below them were firethorns, winterberries, and snowberries. All of this formed a vast wall of boughs and bark, unbroken, and seemed to hold back the storm.
Looking behind her, Ophelia saw nothing, the white expanse ending just behind her as the freezing, cutting cold almost seemed to rage and reach for her - hungry and desperate.
Shivering, though the temperature had become merely freezing, she forced her battered body to look away from the wall of death.
Instead, as she walked along the path, she took in the vast, sprawling garden that filled up the space between the tree line and the statues. There were camelia flowers and hyssop and coneflowers and iris and lily-of-the-vallies. There were cat mints and acer shrubs and onions, scallions, leeks, parsnips, and more. Beets, broccoli, radishes, and turnips seemed to grow wild too - along with a dozen or more other winter crops - and a hundred other types of flowers had woven together between the few shoots of grass that could find purchase.
Snow had fallen on the field, but only lightly, a dusting to sweeten the vegetables, and not enough to strangle the flowers.
Without a doubt, it was a truly beautiful sight.
Ah now this is a Godswood! The primal beauty of nature in the frozen lands of the North and its bounty! I know it is a vision but it is still cool.
The Martell witch knew that, had this not been a vision, she would have been dead. Tendrils of dead flesh crept up the sides of her calves, everything below them already frostbitten. Her arms were almost nearly as bad and she dared not look at her breasts for more than a second. Somehow, after the time she'd just spent with Cersei and Tyene it seemed all the more macabre and terrifying.
I am not sure if you trying to make me feel disturbed but if you did then you succeeded, hard to read this passage and worse to picture it in my mind.
All of them were both alike and different, most shared many features, some only shared a few, but it was clear that it was a statue - man and woman alike - of every Stark that had ever lived. Not the babes, those she did not see, though she thought she heard giggles from time to time. Soft words in a language older than man and the sounds of children at play in the trees - made all the more eerie by the fact that it was the only noise she could hear at all.
So this is the Godswoods of the Starks. All of them going back six thousand years! Damn.
Once again something appeared in the distance. This time it was a wall of stone, with an iron barred wooden gate sat in the middle. Idly, Ophelia noted that it looked like the wall around the Stark's Godswood. If it was a thousand years younger and was covered in frescoes of scenes long since past. From hordes of wildlings, to giants and mammoths, even an ice dragon that seemed to rise up from a frozen lake. All of that and more was worked in colored pieces of stone, set in an unbroken tale of war and heroism and glory and death and horror - ending with Bran the Builder raising the Wall.
With how many of the seemingly legendary figures dying in agony, she wondered exactly how true these scenes were.
Given what they were fighting I am guessing the scene of agonizing death are proof of greater acuracy not lesser.
Sitting up on a high branch was a raven with three eyes. It was large, though not impossibly so, and seemed to carry an aura of age around it. Not so heavy as that of the trees, but older than she who had lived twice by far.
"Follow, follow!" It croaked out.
And so Ophelia did.
YES FOLLOW! I have been waiting for a talk with the three eyes raven since the start.
On the left was a gaunt, but still regal man. He wore a tunic of woven oak leaves, had skin that was a rich, deep brown, and had eyes that shined a dull yellow with mirth. His crown was woven from branches of iron and weir woods and studded with amber and flint and obsidian and pearl, at his waist was a great knife of carved bone and a belt of deer skin and brass. It was clear though that he was fading. Thin, like a starved peasant, and with a deep sense of exhaustion to him. Still, he smiled when he saw her, opening his mouth and greeting her with birdsong.
To his right was a boy, or rather a youth. Young, hale, but not yet fully grown. His clothes were made of layered nettles, blues and greens and yellows and blacks, and his skin was a bright, pure white - like sun shining off of snow. So too did his eyes shine, a deep, rich blue, that had an inner light despite their darkness. Unlike his companion, he wore no crown, though she noted one made of ice spun like glass and set with sapphires and drops of gold and covered with the branches of a still living red twig tree. At his waist he wore no knife nor belt, but bore a shield of ironwood and carried a spear tipped with obsidian. His voice, when he greeted her, was like snowfall.
Somehow, she understood that he too was greeting her.
So these are the Old Gods or at least two of them. I mean they are apparently the nameless Gods of almost everything in nature so they should e pretty numerous but you usually onyl see the Weirwood since they are quite literally the face of the Old Gods.
Snow spun and the trees reached and before her she was shown many things. First was that of a war, between First Men and Children, then of a peace born from mutual need as a great evil marched south. It was a man no longer, but something terribly beautiful. Woven from ice and flesh, bound together with the Children's magic, but gifted with Man's cunning and cruelty. All life died as he marched south
Laying there in that snow, she watched as time and time again the elven snow beasts rose and fell, coming and going like the tide, and how each time they rose they came a little closer to victory. How just a few more fell to stop them. How they were just a little more clever.
Well shit. I am curious exactly what 'Woven from ice and flesh, bound together with the Children's magic, but gifted with Man's cunning and cruelty.' truly means. Is it just a comparison of power or any they literally connected to both somehow.
No matter what it looks to me like the White Walker might be even more dangerous then Scion for Ophelia. Sure they probably aren't equal raw in power but they are apparent
smart which is often far worse.
She understood that they were telling her this for a reason.
Taylor understood why she had been given a second life.
"So what must I do? Where must I go? And how long do I have?"
Turning to the crow, the two men waited for it to speak. Fluttering to the ground, it took the shape of a man, though an old and weak one, and spoke with a human tongue.
"Fight. My grove in the True North. And not long. Maybe a year. Maybe a decade. Maybe a century. To the Night's King, to his… makers, it is all the blink of an eye."
As he spoke that title, the winds held at bay by the Godswood roared, suddenly pushing inwards and cutting at the beings within. Only at the roar of the two spirits did it retreat, a hundred inhuman faces staring out of the raging winds and clawing cold, but Ophelia knew that much of the life within had died.
Got to give props to Ophelia or perhaps is it better to say Taylor here! No hesitation in answering the challenge to saving the world once more. She probably has no shortage of desire to not face the pain she did like last time she had to do something like this but she is not flinching.
Bonus point for being genre savvy too. She is just skipping the whole trying to reject destiny part of the typical fantasy apocalypse tale to get to the facing the inevitable part. Probably for the best I mean it never works out well for anyone does it?
"Brynden Rivers."
"Aye." He nodded. "You are Taylor Hebert, now Ophelia Sand. My replacement."
Her eyes softened.
"I was born to take up your task when you die."
Hard as stone, he too nodded.
"You or the boy Bran. You would be better, stronger in ways the child could not be." Looking up at the stars, he shook his head.
Their you are Bloodraven!
Very logical that the Old Gods set up Ophelia's birth, would probably be too much for it to be a coincidence so someone had to be behind it. That said I could see him lying here too. I would not put it past Bloodraven to sweep up some other magical powers' chosen one in order to get a better successor when he dies. For all we know Mother Rhonyne brought her to be her chosen one but Bloodraven has no problems being a thief.
"I had to lead your companion away from this place before she found you, if I had not it would have led him to you. Beware, young child, beware the Old Things that yet dwell in this world."
No shit. Bryden I know you are used to dealing with a society with much in the way of genre awareness but Ophelia's first life mom was a literature teacher. She doesn't need to here about the fact she should beware any old thing in the fantasy world. just how to avoid them or fight them if she must.
"No, girl, these are born of the Starks. Their bloodlines for five thousands years and all the blood spilt by them and bred into them. They are protectors of this place, as much as they can be. Think of them as nameless gods of the trees."
So these are very specifically the old gods of the Stark bloodline, is this perhaps analogous to some degree of ancestral god? And if so then what is the relation to the Targ ghosts? Is this what they could of would have grow into in thousands of years given time? And how much magic power or time does a dynasty need to form one of these? Do the Lannister or Baratheons have their old version even though they no longer worship them or are the Targs and Stark spcaily since they are more magical in their connection to fire and ice?
"One to rule the summer, the other to rule winter." He looked up at the sky. "Had Man been less foolish, we might not have needed to fight the wars we do now." Looking back down at her, he smiled. "Be glad the gods of your own blood did not appear, for the Flayer God is not a pleasant or gentle thing. He would have taken you by force, body and soul, but in these walls he is not permitted."
Shivering, the image of a monster in the shape of a man appeared. Something of ice and blood and cutting steel. She bowed her head in thanks to the two Old Gods before her, however young they might actually be.
So we have in text confirmation that Ophelia has Bolton heritage, presumably via her mom. Good to have but sadly I don't think this will ever be solid enough proof of her heritage to go up to Roose and call him Uncle while you ask for a hug.
Also we get a glimpse of the Flayer God of the Boltons. Presumably this in a way the same as the Kings of Oak and Holly, Ancestral Gods but since the bolton are monstrous psychos their ancestral spirit is a horrifying reflection of that. A reminder that the Old Gods are not good or evil but simply are. It does raise question about if the beast of harrenhal is similar though, if given time will it become like the flayer god. And if so then is not just any one line of people what makes an Old God but just a legacy or story and the magic to form it?
"I must go. My grove is being attacked." Turning to look at her, he seemed to think for a long moment before speaking. "If you wish to save the lives of a hundred thousand men, women, and children, earn your allies here, then march North as swiftly as fast as you can. However, without the king's blessing upon you, those under my protection will still die waiting to cross the wall. So don't come until you are absolutely ready. For now I yet hold back the dead."
He was gone, disappearing into nothing, and a black shape vaguely like a crow flew high, high into the evening sky and disappeared.
Right so she is going to need to convince Robert to help her on a recue mission. Also the Hundred thousand people is an interesting figure, If he was talking about what the others might do if left unopposed it should be higher then that. But it would work as how many people are North of the wall so perhaps part of the journey is convincing the Wildlings to go south of the wall so they don't end up more wights.
As they took her to a pool the moon had fully risen and the King of Oak placed his finger in the water, a trickle of immense, ancient power slipping from him as it began to gently bubble. Once life giving heat spilled from it the King of Holly lowered her into it with all the care taken with a babe, being both respectful of her dignity and mindful of the rot in her limbs. Pushed fully beneath it, she struggled for a moment and then went still. Realizing that the cold and the pain and death inside of her was being washed out, she rose, finally, warm and flushed with life once more.
Looking around, she found herself awake and fully refreshed.
Hurray! You aren't a walking corpse! Though it is very concerning that if you were purged of that since it means it was not a representative but a corruption. That if it had overwhelmed you it would have ended with you as a Wight or night queen of some kind. Which only didn't happen even in Winterfell because Old Gods spent power weakening themselves to undo it.
Looking around, she found herself awake and fully refreshed.
Nude, of course, and in the heated pools in the Godswood of Castle Stark. It was early morning and, looking at her body, she found even the bruises inflicted upon her at Harrenhal gone. Her body was not free of scars, a few here and there lingered, and the skin around her fingers had the barest hint of green, but other than that she was fully restored.
"Well. Fuck. There goes my vacation."
I don't believe it we have seen a true miracle of the Old Gods! They did the impossible and made her realize this is no vacation any more! Didn't believe it possible.
"You know, the only thing that would make this better is… damn. They really are gods."
One of the foxes she had under her sway had found a bottle of berry wine. Bringing it over to her, she found it both sweet and chilled to perfection.
Taking a deep breath, the young woman tried to do something she hadn't managed since she was Taylor.
Relax.
The world wasn't ending today after all.
Make that two miracle because booze are always a miracle!
I am also not sure if the attitude of 'well world is not ending right this moment guess I will drink while I can' is a sign Ophelia is dealing with this very well or very badly.
However, he had much to think on and little sleep the previous eve. In fact, one could say that many were the nights which he spent awake - wondering if there was something he had failed to do. Something that could have been done to prevent so many deaths. Chief amongst them were his father's and sister's, though many other names and faces would feature in these moments of melancholy too.
'The old gods take Brandon though.' Snorting, the grim fate of his brother turned almost light. 'That idiot didn't even wait for me to raise a few of the men of the Vale in our support before he ran off. If the Wolf's Blood hadn't charged ahead without his pack, then the Mad King would have had swords from four kingdoms confronting him. Not a lone wolf pup who thought his teeth bigger than they were.'
Often were the times Ned wished his brother was alive. That's not to say he thought of his brother every day, or even those he lost. He was not a man ruled by melancholy. But he did pray for them. He did write to those who were survived by kin from time to time.
However… every so often… he would find himself in the Crypts of Winterfell and there he would gaze upon faded, dead statues. And feeling one of them himself, he would stand there in silence for an hour or three, only leaving when his prayers and vigil were complete. Sometimes he left his innermost thoughts with them, always he left news of Jon with Lyanna.
I don't think you can defined anyone by a single thing that happened to the but if I had to pick one thing that really matters the most in making Ned the man we know it is the loss of his family. He sometimes curses them for their foolishness sometimes yet always end up wishing they could be back more then anything. He even puts everything in jeopardy to protect the last member of that family he has in Jon.
Ned desperately wished his brother had been alive.
'Maybe he would have an easier time keeping Robert from acting out.'
Ha! Good one Ned! I know you feel inferior to you big bro at times but no way. The two of them shared too many vices to ever have him really restrain Robert. Frankly if you or Jon couldn't do it I don't know who could.
Foster brother or not, Robert had grown even more rambunctious than Ned recalled.
Of course, he had never been the picture of temperance, yet the years had worn down what little self control the man had in matters of vice and indulgence. To the point that he wondered if the man was trying to hasten his own demise with recklessness.
Then he saw the man pop one of the mixtures prepared by Oberyn's daughter and wake up the next day hale and hearty.
Truly, the gods had seen fit to play a new cruel trick upon him.
It was little wonder that Robert had been indulging. With medicine as good as that, what little restraint his sworn brother had snapped in half like a twig. With no consequences to punish him for his excess, Robert was now very much testing the limits of Ned's patience. Loyalty or no loyalty.
'That fat excuse of venison cheated.' Rubbing his eyes, the Warden of the North should have known something was amiss when his friend had goaded him into a simple wager during the banquet. Something from their old days in the Vale, when the two were still hopeless youths daring each other to sneak past Jon Arryn to visit the inn or, in Robert's case, the brothel when the man could easily see through them.
And of course Ned had fallen for it.
The consequences of which he was now suffering.
God it is good to see Ned begin shown as something other then a dour mope concerned with duty. People sometimes forget under that skin their is still a Northern Lord in their ready to chug a brew and throw down.
But this morn there was also something… more.
Something almost invigorating which set his blood aflame and sharpened his sight, the by now familiar silence fading as a faint buzzing grew the deeper he walked into the woods. Most curious was a sense of familiarity that brushed against him.
Acknowledgement, perhaps, but Ned wasn't one who made declarations regarding his beliefs often.
The Old Gods were just that. Old. Unknowable forces of the trees and stones and rivers which the grandparents of his grandparents had treated with as much respect as he himself did. But it was a careful respect, politely maintained from a distance.
Like a bear which stirred within its cave. One could feel the breathing of the great slumbering beast if they walked closer to the den, but so much as a single step could rouse it and see you turned into a snack before it went back to it's rest. And as all great beasts of the North, something old and terrible stirred behind the faces carved in wood.
Yes, Eddard would respect them, respect the North as he had been taught to.
This is a great depiction of the mind of a worshiper of the Old Gods. I will show some bias by saying that Gods like the Seven are the kind of Gods humans invent to give themselves comfort, their is a guarantee of safety from a benevolent power above you. The Old Gods are the Gods of the world as it simply is, the stream or trees can provide aid to you but so too do they exist and act on their own without import of humans sometimes to their determent without care. The proper response for a man in such a world is to be respectful of that power and give respect but also to slightly fear it for it could harm you if you are not careful.
"Winter is Coming." He repeated softly, wondering for a moment if it seemed like the snowflakes shimmered in agreement. After all, the words weren't a warning, but an inevitability. An absolute that could only be accepted.
One could prepare for the cold and the lack of food. They could gather lumber and remain watchful of plague and the beasts of the North. Yet Ned felt that this would not be the only challenge he would have to contend with, come the long winter he knew would follow a long summer. Even that the maester's agreed with that much and Luwin, who normally disdained magic, had confessed to seeing unnatural signs in the movement of the birds and also in the reports of disappearing fish. He had claimed that either it was a sign of a truly horrific storm, of which there were neither clouds nor winds nor unusual lights and weather formations out to see, or something entirely less normal.
Something the maester had convinced his lord that should not be permitted south of the Wall.
It was a concern that could not be dismissed, not when Benjen's letters spoke of mysterious horrors lurking beyond the wall. Of vanishing corpses and empty forests and a cold beyond anything he had ever felt before. Because the man was stone cold and sober, firm and with his wits about him. Most of all his little brother wasn't a liar.
Even for the sake of a good story.
Well this is a big change. We already knew about it but I should say again this level of general awareness at the highest levels of the North something is going on up North is very different. A lot is going to depend on what exactly happens when Ophelia goes North and how much Ophelia can bring back to show but the defense against the others are already much better then they ever were in canon.
But Eddard couldn't afford to jump to the worst possible conclusions, not when he needed to still appear to be in command of his senses. Perhaps the vanishing bodies and the scarcity in animals were signs of another wildling raid. Perhaps someone had managed to organize and unite them, hence the fewer sightings by the Night's Watch. And perhaps the horrors his brother described were a byproduct of forbidden arts long forgotten by their people.
If Dorne could have a Witch, then so too could the ancient savages and cannibals north of the North. And the wonders of the girl child from Dorne aside, the Stark patriarch had most certainly seen her spells the night before, his concerns were in grain, gold, and good men.
I like the logic here in regards to magic from Ned.
In canon because of the raw scarcity of magic it was logical for people to believe that if it did exist it didn't in their lives enough to ignore it save superstition. But here? Ophelia is obvious enough abut her magic it is rather impossible to deny it at least exist in some form. So it is logical to assume of one exists their could be others who might be causing the problem you facing but at the same time you don't take a leap of faith on that big an issue you on investigate and prepare. The same can be said of his focus on logistic over any spells, he is a Lord his tools are those things and no matter what they are needed. So leave the exact detail of magic to the side for now, if it turn out to be so he will find men who truly know it to advise him on how to deal with it.
Offering up a small prayer, he gave thanks to the Old Gods that the Umbers were simply as blunt as Robert's warhammer and that he only had to grapple with one Bolton and a misbegotten bastard.
Frowning, he considered what to do with Ramsay Snow for a moment.
Murder, of course, was the easy option - probably the smart one too. If half of what he'd heard then it would be justice for a great many people as well. But the thought sat poorly in the lord's mind. Killing a child based on rumors smacked of the Old Lion and that alone was to force him to forge ahead.
And it also appears he is aware of Ramsay's nature as well or at least some rumor of it he has not yet investigated fully since he has more pressing concerns.
In terms of what he should actually do sadly the whole situation is way more complicated then it seems since Ramsey is sadly the last living son of the current lord since his heir's death. If he goes then the lands of one of the most important house in the North is up for grabs so who gets it? It would be a mess of claims of every northern lord like the Hornwood in canon but worse without even an old women to marry for legitimacy. Their is even an extra kink in that Ophelia is apparently a Bolton too. Logically it must come from her mother so the best assumption is she would be Roose's illegitimate niece which is not nothing but still tenuous and their is no way to prove this connection unless Bloodraven at some point openly says 'oh yeah every lord of the North? This girl's more was a Bolton BTW swear on the Old Gods'. Even then Ophelia wouldn't want the Dreadfort so back to square one.
Best option I could think of is 'politely' talking to Roose to inform him that one way or another Ramsay is not being the next Lord Bolton so he better get a new heir lined up pronto if he doesn't want a dead house on his hands. Given who this is Roose might even respect that instead of killing him.
"Good morning, Lord Stark."
Or… perhaps they would tell him why there was a Dornish girl in the middle of the godswood.
"You are naked." He noted dully.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
The witch nodded solemnly.
"Unfortunately the gods did not seem fit to apparate my clothes alongside me for this jaunt."
Apparate?
Damn it Ophelia! I thought I told you to stop ruining the language of Westeros!
"You're welcome to join me and test it yourself, if you'd like, but I strongly suspect your lady wife might object." The humor in her tone was obvious, but, curiously, it almost seemed serious. "Look at me, Ser."
Shaking his head, he refused.
"Not when you are unclothed, my lady."
Snorting, the Dornish Woman stood up.
"I am aware. And no, Lord Stark, I am not trying to seduce you."
"Of course not." He protested softly. "I would never imply such a thing."
"No. But you've had more than one naked woman throw herself at you. Now, if you don't want to offend my Dornish sensibilities, you'll look me in the eye when we speak. I refuse to speak to a man who can't meet my eyes for fear of seeing a bit of fat and skin"
God this has to be the strangest attempt to establish dominance in GOT history, 'Look at me and my wet naked body when I am talking to you Lord Stark, unless you are a chicken?'.
"I think I can imagine what they are." Already, he began to undo the clasp of his cloak.
"Joining me after all Lord Stark?"
The Northman gave the witch the same look he used to cow his children when they were doing something foolish. She laughed and slipped back into the water.
"Only my cloak is being removed, fair lady."
Ned Stark is a proper gentlemen! Though this is usually not how one gives his cloak to a lady to deal with a puddle.
"Blame my father's blood for that joke. In all seriousness though, my vision was rather clear. I need to go north of the wall. To the North-North, if you will, and I would like to request both an escort and a guide."
Eddard paused, moderately dumbfounded.
"Without a doubt, the Wall is no place for a woman, the wild lands even less so. What they would do to you would be unspeakable, should you be caught."
In this case, the "they" in question went unspecified for very regrettable but equally obvious reasons.
"Yet I must go. Your own dead kin have told me I must go and so I shall. And while I may rely on tricks more than once, this is no Mummer's dragon."
Yeah I don't blame Ned here at all since he is not wrong. Dany Flint is more then enough to worry anyone and The Night's watch has plenty of rapist who are have been sent somewhere cold and officially without women. If she wasn't a witch who will have armed people with her to guard her it would be a tragedy in the making.
"Perhaps." He closed his eyes, walking closer and laying his cloak down at the edge of the pool. Still in every other layer, from his high collared tunic to his tucked in trousers, to his gloves and scarf and boots, he turned away from the frustrating young woman. "But I would ask for something in return."
"Ooh. A deal with a witch. How dangerous." The teasing was back in the girl's voice and he appreciated the levity, though wished it wasn't directed at him. "Tell me and I will consider it."
"Something is terribly wrong up there, more now than others. I suspect… trouble." He turned away from the lounging girl, walking over to one of the weirwood trees and sitting down with his back against it. "You are a witch and have the king's confidence. Meaning he will likely send some of the best in the realm to watch over you."
"Ah." There was a long moment of silence where the girl soaked and the man would swear her eyes had gone milky white. Eventually, though, her voice resounded. "So whether it be a wildling horde or something less natural, I would be well equipped to investigate it."
When she put it like that his guilt returned full force and, had it not been his desperation for information, he would have withdrawn the offer then and there.
"Then it shall be done." There was a little splashing and Ophelia swam to the edge closest to Eddard. "I suspect it is the gods will, one way or another, and will do my best."
"Thank you."
He hated how his stomach roiled at the thought of sending a child into such a dangerous situation.
Well this is a bit of good luck on Ned's part as much as he partly doesn't want it for good reason. He gets an experienced magic user to investigate the problem and a reason to get the king behind you on it too. Almost like it was exactly a certain Greenseers plan huh? This is not even a deal so much as too people working together.
I do wonder to the reaction will be if rumors of this get out though. Probably a mix of worry and reassurance for the Northern lords overall. On one hand if a witch is being contacted by the Old Gods to go North with a royal contingent something is probably very wrong. On the other it also means you know the best people are actively on it and the Gods are with you in stopping it. Though whatever actually gets out with be some mix of rumor as Ophelia is not exactly doing a public service announcement.
"It's not done yet, my lord." She was so soft spoken in reply, nothing but kindness in her tone. "But remember, you do not have the luxury of softness. A million souls may depend on your judgement and you must make the hard choices. Never forget that your privilege is to fortify you for this burden." The witch snorted. "As a horny mummer once said, heavy is the head that wears the crown."
Nodding, the Quiet Wolf agreed.
"Wise, for someone from Dorne."
That earned him a high, clear laugh.
"Perhaps. Though they were only Dornish in spirit. Now, my second request."
Yes the mummer who said this is definitely horny and Dornish in spirit.
"Would you go find my sisters? Let them know I need some clothes and where I am? You're more than welcome to attend to your prayers first, I quite enjoy the warm water."
Sighing in relief, Eddard Stark was all too happy to agree.
You shouldn't be even if you avoid the crazy blondes you still need to deal with the arguments over who messed up by not watching their sister after last time. It certainly won't lessen your hangover.
"Hmm? Who's that?"
Elia stepped out of the shadows of the small forge, enjoying the way she'd made the blacksmith jump. And definitely enjoying the warmth of the room as it melted the snow from her green and brown cloak.
"Heya Gendry."
Immediately, the young man relaxed.
"Oh, it's you. Close the door though, don't need anymore of that snow getting in here"
That got a tilt of the head before, at a gesture, she moved off to comply. The room itself was a bit stuffier now, but it wasn't too bad, and was shaped a bit like an old stable, made out of mudbrick and a bit of stone, and housed a large number of old barrels, odds and ends, and the currently burning blacksmith's forge her older, taller friend was working at.
So Elia has chosen to bother Gendry in her free time? Could be doing worse I guess. Lets see how he is doing with the whole 'finding out you have a king for a dad' thing.
"Alright. Stay. At least you don't touch things. I had to stop Joff, er, the prince-" That earned him a giggle. He chose to do the responsible thing and stick his tongue out at the girl poking fun at him. "Yeah. My half brother. I had to stop him from setting the hem of his tunic on fire and the youngest Lady Stark-"
"Call her Arya." Nodding, the young bastard found a mostly clean chair and plopped down in it. "Otherwise she'll just needle you until you do.
That got her a snort of laughter.
First name basis with Joffrey? I guess that is a good sign. I suppose he isn't threatened by him at all and is in a good mood from recent fatherly approval. Oh and Arya is insisting on a first name basis too. GendryxArya confirmed everyone. Though I do imagine it is awkward going from blacksmith apprentice who has spent his whole life only knowing nobles for talking about their orders to getting to first names with princes and lords.
"Of course. What do I look like? A Northman?"
This particular statement got her an exasperated sigh.
"Since we're in the North and you still made that comment, I think the cold might have gotten to your brain." Already preparing her puppy dog eyes, her pouting offensive was blocked by the blacksmith's raised hammer. "But I know you. So the secret's pretty funny. Jon, the Stark bastard, came to Master Mott and commissioned a sword to be made, Needle it's to be called, after Winterfell's blacksmith mentioned something about having to work on the queen's wheelhouse."
Oh Mott is making Needle? That is nice, it will probably be better then the original with a master like Mott doing it even if it is just so he doesn't have to bother with an annoying project he doesn't want to do.
"I take it there was something you wanted to actually talk about? All the times you came to see me on the trip you asked about the swords my master made or the armor of the knights I was helping to repair."
Frowning, the preteen couldn't keep the sulk out of her voice.
"I can't just come see a friend?"
He glanced up for just a moment, gave her a look like she was insane, and then returned to his task.
"You forget I know your sisters."
Ouch! Elia and the Snakes getting the burn from the blacksmith! To be fair he has been a bit of a victim of their schemes by getting thrust into the spotlight forging a Valyrian steel sword for the king. It will probably work out better off then otherwise as being a royal bastard if not a currently acknowledged one yet will result in far better opportunities for him then his old life eventually.
"Well it's not like they ever let me do anything fun. It's always 'Elia, you're not old enough to distract the maester' or 'Elia, you're too young to go see the giant castle'. But I'm old enough to babysit the royals when they're not at their lessons."
Elia you do realize most of these are deadly acts of intrigue right? No wait I forgot you are Dornish so you do you are just too crazy to care.
. "As to your sisters, well, I don't want to say anything bad about them. But you do know they take… a few risks, yes?"
"Like how Ophelia plays with dangerous animals that could kill her with a scratch, Tyene likes to toy with the affections of other people, Nymeria messes with the minds of married nobles and especially their pretty wives, Sarella likes collecting both old books and people's private journals despite being told not too, Obara spends more time wrestling and fighting than she does thinking, and Father finds it funny to poke and prod the tempers of dangerous and powerful people." Taking a breath, she finished up. "Yeah. I know."
Well at least you are self aware of your family and how crazy they are. That is something at least even if it doesn't counteract their addiction to gambling with their lives.
'I mean, it's not like Ophelia doesn't do pretty much whatever I ask her to, but only when she already knew everything would be alright.' Her thoughts weren't settled yet and she didn't expect the blacksmith to have all the answers. 'Sarella always loves to bring me along when she can, but I tend to get bored, leave, and then miss all the crazy fun stuff when things get set on fire.'
Ophelia and Sarella remain the best of the snakes after Elia. Sarella letting her sister go with her on her adventuring binges that is it not her fault that she doesn't stay around long enough for the 'fun' parts and Ophelia being her second mom.
"I think everyone is glad that you didn't decide to take after Lady Tyene."
Making a face, the girl tried to communicate how crazy that particular idea was.
"No, just… no." She wasn't supposed to be old enough to know exactly what it was Tyene did and even Elia knew the blonde got into more trouble than any amount of excitement was worth. "And it's not even because she likes to kiss pretty boys and girls. But she's scary. Though I do know she loves me." Pausing, a bit of hesitation welled up inside of her. Yet, trying to act just like her idol, she took the Bold course of action. "Once she told me that Ophelia loved me best of all and that she was jealous. But that she would never allow me to be hurt, so long as she lived, because I was precious to her and Ophelia both." Not sure how to totally express what she was trying to say, she ended up shrugging. "She's not quite right, Tyene, but she tries to care in her own way. I think I even trust her, but maybe that's because I didn't know her before 'Phelia."
"Your sister Nymeria warned me that, if Tyene ever offered me a kiss, to refuse politely."
Tone neutral, words just loud enough to be heard over the steady ding, ding, ding of his hammer, face marked with sweat and smoke, the blacksmith spoke truly.
"Yeah. That's probably for the best."
I do wonder how so many people still get tricked by Tyene at all when the family is so open about warning people she is crazy. I mean if any of the Sand Snakes say they are nuts then you should listen to that red flag.
Of the older Snakes, Obara was the one she found the most in common with.
Sure, the eldest sister was something of a grouch. Not doing much outside of training herself or training others. But she at least had the same affinity for combat that Elia was enamoured with since she could walk. Out of all of her siblings, it had been Obara that most agreed with her desire to become a knight, the rest seeing it as a bit silly for one reason or another, and even had helped their father train her.
She was Lady Lance after all - a nickname she hoped to one day deserve.
Maybe then she would stop being just 'Elia'.
Elia, who wore the name of a dead woman, the one her parents couldn't speak about without tasting bitter loss. Elia, who wasn't ever allowed to do something dangerous because another Elia died before her. Elia, who was small and weak and fragile and not trustworthy because she was still too young.
She hated it.
Hated that above everyone, Elia Martel's spectre hung over her the most.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't right.
And more than anything she wanted her sisters to realize she was ready to well and truly be one of them. Not just the tagalong kid from one of Ophelia's tales.
This trip was her chance to prove it. To show everyone what Elia Sand could truly do when she was relied upon. And if she had to watch a bunch of younger kids mingling and playing around to get that chance? Well, she would just have to tough it out and put on her phoniest smile.
Poor Elia, I think every child her age wants to stand out and be more independent around her age but it is even worse for her because of her overshadowing of Elia tragic fate. Still I respect her approach to it nonetheless, as much as she complain she is not being stupid about it and acting out in spite but toughing it out till she does get the chance.
What was it that Sarella said again?
'No pain, no gain.'
Sarella! Don't help Ophelia commit and spread her word crimes!
The Stark children, however, were complete unknowns and she had to make sure to know them well. Her sisters would surely reward her if she came back bearing juicy secrets and knowledge about the future lords and ladies of Winterfell. Though something told her that, that wouldn't be the thing she needed to really get them to count on her.
Arya Stark reminded Elia a lot of herself, enough that she had felt the younger girl was a bit of a kindred spirit. Not as a schemer and warlock, but great in the ways that were good, noble and strong both in body and spirit, kind and just and wise, and, above all else, free.
It was such a shame that her family wouldn't let her pursue that passion. Elia had been able to take up the lance because nobody really cared about what the Sand Snakes did. As far as the Seven Kingdoms were concerned, they were just lucky bastards who got to do what they wanted because their father had a soft heart, not that anyone would dare say it to his face.
Their father was known for three things after all: Having a lot of lovers, siring a lot of daughters, and killing a whole lot of men.
It was that reputation alone which prevented most from so much as looking at her sisters the wrong way. Because Oberyn Martell's ability to hold onto grudges and visit painful retribution onto those who slighted him was legendary.
"I have to say, it's nice being a bastard. At least one of Father's. I know pretty much no one is as lucky as we are, but I do have to say it's rather annoying being famous. Perhaps it would have been nicer if the rest of my family knew how to keep their heads down."
Yeah it has been said before but the Sand Snake sort of hit the lottery in term of freedom. A prominent enough dad they can do almost everything but none of the responsibilities coming with being a lord while at the same time having a reputation from that father that protect you for most trouble.
Elia did enjoy the added freedoms and wealth and the ability to do what she wanted. What she didn't enjoy, however, were the constant questions.
"What is it like living in Dorne? Do you guys have witches there? I heard there was a witch there. Have you met her?" Huffing, the preteen did as all young children do and expressed a rather amusingly intense burst of frustration with a single sound. "Seriously, you would think all everyone knew about the Martells was that we had magic users in our House."
Gendry snorted at that, not offering more of a comment, and satisfied himself with attending to a particularly stubborn bit of iron.
"There was no way I was that bad when I got to King's Landing or I wanted to speak with you. And now it seems like no one ever stops asking so. Many. Questions. You'd think Northerners didn't need to breathe!"
It would have been impressive if it wasn't driving Elia up the wall.
"It's hot. There's sand. It's coarse and gets everywhere. Yes, there is a witch back home. Yes, I've met her."
Come on now Elia Arya is just curious! If you really want her to stop bugging you about it that bad just exaggerate so much she realize you are screwing with her. It turns out all the Sand Snakes are witches you included part of your powers are getting little annoying Northern girl to go away!
So had Arya, for that fact, her mother just wouldn't let her know yet. It had been funny how Nymeria of all people had assuaged the fears of Lady Stark by having Sarella perform her tricks.
"It must be so exciting. I couldn't imagine living like that. Going wherever I wanted. Sounds like a dream."
Elia squeaked when she spun around, finding an annoyed looking Arya stark looking at her from the door of the forge. Gendry, for his part, tried and failed to hold back a laugh.
"Did I not warn you against talking about Northmen in the North?"
Busted! Also the solution that Catelyn came up with was to let her meet Ophelia but not ell her she is witch of dorne? Does she really think that will work? Like eventually someone will tell her and she will connect the dots then be pissed off at her mom then be even more motivated to spend time with a witch to spite her more. Then again I don't think Catelyn even really figure about a way to deal with Arya's rebelliousness other then 'scold for not being lady like, fail to change things and repeat'.
"If you say so. But it's not like your other sisters have much in the way of trouble. Nymeria even got to eat with the king." Huffing a bit, the Stark child crossed her arms. "My Nymeria has to stay in a cage until everyone leaves."
Elia: We have to do that sometime with our Nymeria too sometimes but only when it involved the Fowler twins.
"I guess we just think different."
"Don't think so. I wanna go out on adventures and have sword fights. You want to have sword fights and become a knight like your sister, right?"
"Arya, Obara isn't a knight. And I'd rather joust than have duels every day."
"Sounds boring. Duels sound much more interesting than trying to push someone off a horse."
The nerve of this brat!
"You're mad. Jousting is way harder than that."
"Sure it is. You hold a stick, run at someone, and if you're lucky you don't fall off."
"Well, you won't be pushing over anyone with those sticks of yours." The dornish girl huffed, pointing at the Stark's rather… unimpressive lack of muscle.
Which of course, got the appropriate reaction.
"I totally can!"
"Cannot!"
"Can too!"
"Cannot!"
"Can too!"
"Uh huh. What will you do, recite House Words at me until I fall over?"
That earned Elia a shove. Which sent her stumbling backwards. Right into the back of the resident blacksmith.
Gendry: "And that kids is how I met your mother!" If you are wondering if is is Arya or Elia I am referring to the answer is simple... Yes.
Seriously though this is the start of a beautiful friendship, beautiful like a wildfire or tornado but beautiful in its own way.
For starters, Bran didn't have any aptitude for the fine arts. Something he had never really considered important. Why would he when there was a whole world outside to explore? Unfortunately that mindset had cost him when he found himself needing to draw a picture for the first time in his life.
"I think it looks nice."
The older girl, Meera, smiled lightly, just like she had on the night of the feast.
Her brother snorted, just a hint of bittery mockery in the sound.
"What did he draw, Meera?"
She tilted her head.
"That's the castle isn't it? Seen from above? You can kinda see the walls around the smaller circles, and I guess that wedge over there could be a moat, you can even see the little waves."
"Winterfell doesn't have a wet moat, Meera."
Her mature response was to stick out her tongue at her brother.
"Well, it totally could!"
"It's a face." Bran's own face fell, fingers flexing around the quill, defeat once more creeping up on him. Hardly a new feeling, but one he'd hoped his new… friends would have been able to vanquish entirely.
Ha! Sorry Bran you aren't meant to be an artist I suppose. No shame really, I certainly can't draw more then a stick figure.
Good to see the Reed here too! Bran could use some friends and they are good ones.
More importantly, he'd been trying to draw the face of the woman from his nightmare. The one who had attacked him at the tower. Dangled him over the lip of that old, shattered tower without even a hint of effort, wondering whether it was worth the effort of bringing him inside or not.
Even now, he could see her standing there.
The sickly skin.
The green eyes.
The long, raven black tresses cascading over her face.
He just couldn't tell anyone about it. He couldn't write about it. He couldn't even draw it!
'Well, it's not like I was a great artist anyway.' The scrawl he'd presented to the siblings wasn't that much worse than his usual attempts at drawing or painting. In fact, both he and Rickon were still banned from so much as touching paint after they, and their direwolves, had made a rather… impressive mess. Across the entire east wall, top to bottom. Bran still didn't know how he'd done that if he was being honest.
Honestly the more you hear about Taylor from this perspective the worse it sounds. He doesn't even know about the fact she mind controlled a crap ton of people to kill what is basically a god.
"Can't you just ask someone to draw it for you?"
"He said he can't describe it. Like one of those curses from dad's stories."
Bran nodded, though he didn't criticize the suggestion. As it stood, he was a bit worried that the odd siblings would leave him if he allowed his confusion to manifest too directly. The less said about his night terrors, the better. It had already taken Jon chewing out some of the other boys his age to stop the title "Ser Bran the Chicken" from making its rounds.
He couldn't say anything, even hint at what he had seen. His tongue would end up glued to the top of his mouth when he tried and his fingers cramped when he tried to write out the words. And, of course, everyone assumed he was making stuff up about the nightmare.
So this is what it means to have hidden QA in practice. I know it had to be done lets it draw in worse things but I don't blame Bran for want to 'break his curse' either.
"If he can't draw it and can't even tell us how that girl looks, how are we supposed to find out what she looks like?"
Jojen stared at her.
"How do you even know if it's a she?"
"Like this." she turned to look at him. "Bran, was the one who attacked you a man?"
Bran shook his head.
"See?" Meera smiled triumphantly, showing the same spirit she'd used to bull him over, pepper him with questions until he submitted, and convince him to let her and her brother help..
Jojen, for his part, only stared.
"Didn't you just say that he couldn't tell us anything about it?"
At once the older girl and younger boy blinked in realization. They had completely overlooked that. Rather, he had been so focused on finding a way to tell them what he knew that he didn't think about telling them what he didn't know.
I have to say this is a great way to get around the restriction. Not only is it a clever subversion with breaking it it works from a story perspective since it lets some info get out but not enough to have him find Ophelia is connected just yet.
He'd ask Sansa for help with that, but she was ignoring him. She always ignored him when he tried to tell her about the dream. Just like how mother would just smile and say that he was scared over nothing. Even when he could feel… whatever that was digging its claws into the back of his head, feel that unclean breath on his cheek, see the bloodshot pupils, smell the stench of an unwashed body and old blood.
Bran couldn't forget.
He couldn't stop seeing it.
Hearing its words every night.
Wow QA really is pretty Eldritch to the perceptions of someone on Westeros. I can't wait for Ophelia to have to describe what it is an make it worse!
I want you to imagine an ... Entity of incredible size and power enough to destroy worlds. This Entity is not of our world it is alien by nature a thing which travels the space between the stars for endless eons. But its power and size is so great it cannot control in all, it must divide itself, form Shards. It gives these Shards a Hierarchy, a Kingdom within itself with some becoming noble or even queens. What you saw in your dreams was Queen administrator one of this highest of those nobles who as the name say administrated other Shards. But what does any King or Lord fears more then its most powerful vassal? So that Enitity cast her down, crippled her till she could administrate nothing but bugs and insects. That is what you deal with and how she was when I meet her. Betrayed and alone as I was.
"So, how does this look?" Jojen passed him a sheet of parchment. The older boy turned out to be a godsend, actually knowing how to draw a straight light and a circle. Much to his sister's embarrassment, who looked to the side with cheeks set aflame.
As it turned out… her drawings were worse than Bran's.
Make of that what you will.
"It's not very similar."
Sure, Jojen had gotten the length of the hair and how wavy it was. But the shape of the girl's face was all wrong. She didn't look at all like a Northerner, and Jojen had only ever lived around people from the North so it wasn't like he knew what different faces could look like. If anything, it made things more difficult.
I suppose that makes sense hard to draw something from yes or no questions at the best of time especially something that you are missing a lot of context for.
He'd have to ask Old Nan or Maester Luwin about it later. But for the moment he was just glad their father had brought them along. It was a once in a king's lifetime event after all and meeting the other noble children of the North would be good for them, so they alleged their father said.
I mean he is not wrong at least from a reasonable man's perspective. I suspect that if the Others move in force with the Kingdoms aware this time you might see a why Winterfell was built to host 100,000 people if needed. War tend to require the occasional mass rallying of nobility in this period.
"It's just a rough start. We'll eventually get it done." Meera whooped in joy.
"And then what?"
Before promptly deflating.
"What do you mean?"
"Assume we get this done right, what are we going to do with it? Ride from town to town, village to village looking for this mystery girl? Even if she is messing around with Bran's dreams, do we even know where she is?"
The young Stark felt a defeated sigh escape him.
That's right.
Good point and even if that does look enough like Taylor to be recognized by Ophelia they have no idea she is the one that needs to see it. The best reason I could think of for them to seek her out is deciding to talk to the Witch Of Dorne about his curse which would hopefully be recognized by her.
But even so. He couldn't let it go.
Because every night, when he heard that thing speak inside his head he could make out how… desperate it was. Asking him for something he couldn't understand. So he had to assume that what it was asking for, what it was looking for, was the girl it was showing to him.
So he would find her.
Maybe then he would have some answers.
Maybe then he could sleep without being haunted.
Careful Bran curiosity is natural in a child but when dealing with magic and things from beyond the star it often leads to tragedy.
