ARC II: THE AGE OF EXPANSION AND THE ANNIHILATION OF THE GREYJOYS
Chapter 27: The Runes of Ice and Stellar Whispers
POV: Mysterious Woman (297 AC)
The thundering, rhythmic gallop of horses echoes across the snowy landscape, shattering the sepulchral silence of the lands bordering the far North. I accompany the young king, Arawyn, alongside his elite men of the Black Guard, on our journey toward the Wall, where reports indicate that the activity of the wildlings—and of those who lurk beyond the ice—is reaching an alarming level.
Even amidst the constant swaying of the horse and the breakneck speed of our march, my eyes remain fixed on the pages of a heavy treatise on human anatomy. As the leader of the runeforgers, I cannot afford to let my skills stagnate; knowing exactly where to place a runic matrix on the body is the fine line between perfection and the user's collapse. Furthermore, a surgical mastery of anatomy is the foundational bedrock for the efficacy of blood magic.
The arts left to me by my mother in her personal journal took me far down the dark paths of sorcery, but even that ancestral knowledge had a ceiling. For a long time, I stagnated. I never imagined that the answer to breaking through my limitations would come via a nightly calling.
A dragon dream showed me the way with unquestionable clarity. I followed the prophecy: I left behind the mysterious and shadow-veiled city of Asshai, where I once walked beneath a pyroclast mask, and journeyed to the frozen lands of the North.
When I arrived, I confess I harbored a deep curiosity as to how the young king would react to my presence—whether he would be able to decipher who truly hid beneath my disguises. Arawyn merely looked me up and down with those eyes that seem to pierce right through the soul, and uttered a sharp sentence:
— I thought you had died a long time ago. Well, by the looks of it, the Old Crow isn't the only one who still refuses to leave this world.
From what the king's words indicated, my dear Bloodraven was still breathing. But, in Arawyn's literal words, Brynden wasn't exactly alive, but rather merely existing, fused to the roots beyond the world of men.
Riding alongside us in the retinue was the young Ros, the king's official assistant and mistress. The way that girl's mind operates is something that fascinates me deeply. It is a psychological enigma: how can a mind so chaotic, carnal, and unpredictable wield so much raw power while simultaneously maintaining such surgical control over her capabilities?
Suddenly, the flow of my thoughts was interrupted when I heard her mutter something, visibly frustrated, as she adjusted her reins.
— What afflicts you so early, my lady? — I asked, without looking up from my book.
— The king did not allow Princess Rhaenys to accompany us on this trip — Ros replied, sighing dramatically. — I desperately needed her at the Wall. I wanted to test a theory for an experiment of mine.
Instintively, my mind began to map out a thousand possibilities. What could Ros intend to test at the top of the world that depended specifically on Princess Rhaenys's presence? Perhaps young Aemon, the current maester of the Night's Watch, had brought his petrified dragon egg to Castle Black, and Ros's plan consisted of using the blood of a still-fertile Targaryen woman to try to awaken the beast?
No... that made no sense. Ros is not a blood mage. What, within the mysteries and magic of the First Men that she commands, would require the presence of Valíria's bloodline?
While I lost myself in suppositions, I heard the sound of laughter coming from the vanguard.
It was the king, amusing himself ahead of us. Curious by nature, I leaned slightly forward in my saddle and inquired:
— So, young king... what has brought you such joy in a moment so freezing?
— If you knew what experiment she wants to conduct at the Wall, you would be laughing too — Arawyn replied, glancing back with a glint of pure mockery in his eyes.
— It is a very serious experiment, my king! — Ros protested instantly, crossing her arms and nearly letting go of the reins. — And of crucial importance to the advancement of the world's sciences!
The king merely continued to laugh, shaking his head, leaving me even more intrigued by the dynamic of that duo.
As we crossed the gates of Castle Black, we were immediately received by the Lord Commander and his dozens of men. Unsurprisingly, the eyes of those starved criminals and exiles locked onto me like blades.
To be fair, I cannot entirely blame them. Thanks to my thermal adaptation runes—which I enchanted directly into the fabric of my clothes, since my bloodlines do not possess the mystical heritage of the First Men to endure permanent matrices on the skin—I didn't waste my time wearing the heavy, shapeless furs of the North. I wore a gown of gossamer blue silk, with a neckline that would be considered daring even by the libertine standards of Dorne. In that bastion of ice and gray rock, my presence was a visual affront.
Due to the precarious accommodations and the deplorable state of Castle Black, we were forced to share the same quarters, as Ros and I were the only women in the entire fortress. As soon as the heavy wooden door shut, isolating us from the cold, the curiosity that had been gnawing at me throughout the journey finally boiled over.
— Very well, my lady — I began, closing the anatomy treatise with a dry thud. — Satisfy my curiosity. What experiment is this that you so badly wanted to perform here, and which required Rhaenys's presence? I highly doubt that the magics of Dorne or the properties of Valyria would have any practical utility on the structure of this Wall.
Ros sat on the edge of the bed, sporting a mischievous grin.
— It doesn't have much to do with traditional magic... although, come to think of it, it can only be considered sorcery — Ros explained, gesturing with her hands. — You see, Princess Rhaenys's groan is the most erotic, overwhelming thing ever heard in this world. I have the firm conviction that even a centenarian would instantly get rock hard upon hearing it. I wanted to test this thesis here at the Watch, since the maester of this place is well past that age.
For the first time in nearly a century of existence, I was left utterly speechless. And mind you, I was the type of woman who talked back even to my own father, who ruled the Seven Kingdoms from atop the Iron Throne.
The sheer absurdity of that chaotic mind shattered my stern composure. I began to laugh—a clean, genuine, loud laugh—something I hadn't truly done in perhaps decades.
— Please, my beautiful young lady... never, ever change — I commented, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of my eye.
Ros crossed her arms over her anything-but-modest breasts, pouting sullenly.
— Why does everyone say that to me? What is so wrong with me that I need to change, anyway?
With my curiosity fully satiated, I prepared to leave her to her thoughts, but Ros was not done with me yet. She measured me up and down with an analytical, shameless gaze.
— You know... you're not half bad either. I can see you carry that same air of latent sensuality. You, dornishwomen, and the women of Lys have something in common.
— My mother was from Lys — I replied almost automatically, returning my eyes to the book.
— Ah, yes! That makes all the sense in the world — Ros snapped her fingers, her eyes gleaming. — Therefore, you serve perfectly for the experiment.
That made me slowly raise my eyes from the book, staring at her with an arched eyebrow.
— Girl... are you suggesting that I lie with the king in the princess's stead to test if my groans can make the member of a decrepit old cleric rise?
I was not offended. In fact, the audacity of that line of reasoning amused me. I continued, testing her limits:
— Do you happen to have the slightest idea how old I am?
— I do. Well over a hundred years old — Ros replied with a terrifying naturalness.
I stood frozen for a second. The surprise finally caught me.
— Do you know exactly who I am?
Ros uncrossed her arms, adopting a posture visibly offended by my underestimation.
— You've been in the North for a long time, milady, but it seems you still underestimate us a bit. I may look silly to outsiders, and I admit I prefer using skinchanging in my day-to-day life instead of being bound to the visions of a greenseer. But on paper, I am a level three greenseer; in practice, thanks to the custom runes the king forged for me, I operate at level four.
Knowing all of this... Did you really think I wouldn't know who you are? Until young Bran reaches his full mystical potential, I am the second greatest greenseer alive in this world, don't you forget it.
The instant she finished the sentence, the facade of a silly, sensual girl vanished completely. Ros's mind expanded and pressed against mine with the brutal force of an avalanche; it was as if the colossal weight of the Wall itself were crushing my consciousness. I felt with absolute clarity that if that girl decided to invade my mind at that moment, there would be no blood sorcery or ward in Asshai capable of protecting me.
I couldn't help but think, with a tinge of ancient cynicism, of how deeply unfair the gods are when they choose whom to grace with their gifts. I spent my entire life crossing oceans and studying the darkest arts in an relentless quest for more magical power... while someone with Ros's natural talent simply handed the keys to destiny on a silver platter.
— Very well — I swallowed my pride, flashing a smirk. — Let us test your theory.
When we entered the king's private chambers, Arawyn was already waiting for us, sitting by the hearth with a metal mug in hand. He raised his eyes upon noticing our joint entrance.
— Well... I won't lie and say I expected any company other than my assistant tonight — the king commented, his voice deep and deliberate.
— We had to resort to Plan B, my king — Ros announced, approaching him with swaying steps.
— And what would Plan B be? As far as I know, I wasn't even informed about Plan A — Arawyn retorted, narrowing his eyes.
— It's obvious, isn't it? — Ros spoke, as if explaining something elementary to a child.
— Our Masked Lady will take Rhaenys's place in the thesis.
The king let out a frustrated sigh, massaging his temples.
— My beautiful Ros... I think you have a very wrong conception of me. Do you truly believe that it's enough to just come here, bring any woman, say 'lie down' and I will simply do what you want? You are roundly mistaken.
Before he could continue his moralistic speech, I made a fluid movement with my shoulders. The blue silk clasp gave way, and the dress slid down my body, pooling onto the stone floor. I revealed my complete nudity. Thanks to the dark magics and blood rituals I performed over eras, my body remained untouched by time: firm, slender, at the absolute pinnacle of an eternal and statuesque youth.
Arawyn cut his own speech short in that exact same millisecond. His eyes trace every curve of my skin with predatory intensity. He cleared his throat, changing his tone of voice instantly:
— Well... there is a very clear reason why you are my assistant, Ros. You truly do know me better than anyone.
Lying with that young king was something that had never crossed my millennial plans, but I confess that as I watched him strip out of his clothes, revealing his taut muscles and the sheer imposing nature of his masculinity, the idea was far from displeasing to me.
I walked over to the solid wood bed and lay down, deliberately opening my legs without a single shred of modesty. Arawyn approached with firm steps and, with a snap of his energy-infused fingers, the runic mask covering my face split perfectly down the middle, revealing my full features for the first time in that castle.
The king contemplated my face for a brief moment before letting out an ironic laugh:
— Yeah... now it makes all the sense in the world why those two idiots fought an entire war and killed each other for your favor in the past.
— Yes, my king... she is truly stunning — Ros agreed with crossed arms, watching everything up close, her eyes gleaming with scientific excitement. — Now, please, do your job already.
Any expectation of a relaxing moment after so many years of carnal abstinence vanished the instant the king freed his member from his royal trousers. I looked at the size of it, and a thought of pure panic crossed my mind: How am I going to relax with something of this magnitude invading my body?
Without asking for any permission or advance warning, Arawyn gripped one of my legs firmly, flipping my body on the bed with absolute brute strength and placing me on all fours.
— We young folks do it like this in modern times. Now, let's see what you're capable of... grandma — he whispered in my ear with a mocking tone that irritated me far more than it should have.
The audacity of that boy ignited a spark of pride that had long been dormant within me. It was time for a real woman to put that arrogant little wolf in his place.
Dawn began to break outside, and the rhythmic, slapping sound of flesh against flesh still echoed vigorously through the stone walls of the room. My legs were already positioned alongside my own head, pinned there by the king's relentless strength, as he used the entire weight of his muscular body like a press to increase the depth of every thrust.
— Stop... my king... please... I can't take any more... — I begged between sharp groans, breathy sighs, and nails digging into the sheets. My voice was already completely hoarse from screaming in pure pleasure.
He only laughed out loud, maintaining the devastating rhythm that didn't slow down for a single second throughout the entire night.
— Let this be a lesson to you not to underestimate the new generation — Arawyn replied with a wild smile.
With one final, violent thrust that made me arch my back and scream, he released his warm seeds deep into my womb, pouring out yet another abundant load that added to the countless others he had already left inside me throughout the entire night.
Because my pelvis was elevated and my womb completely flooded, the excess began to ooze abundantly from my slit as soon as he withdrew. The fluid ran in warm trickles down my stomach and reached my breasts, mixing with the fluid from a violent squirt of my own belated orgasm, which ended up hitting my own face due to the intensity of the contraction.
Arawyn pulled away from the bed, laughing at my exhaustion. He walked over to the corner of the room and woke Ros—who had fallen asleep in a chair during the final hours of the night—with a sharp slap on her ass. The king activated a quick-cleaning rune on his own body, dressed with his usual imposing grandeur, and stepped out of the chambers. The young Ros, displaying visibly shaky legs and a clumsy gait from the night's mystical and physical fatigue, ran right after him to fulfill her morning duties.
I remained there, splayed on my back across the messy sheets, desperately trying to catch the breath that had been stolen from me, feeling my entire body burn and tremble.
Never, in all my visions or wild schemes throughout the centuries, did I imagine that my diplomatic trip to the Wall would result in an act of such carnal savagery. With a tinge of genuine anger mixed with exhaustion, I wiped my face with my arm and thought to myself:
That old Aemon's cock better have stood up from my screams... because I suffered hell on earth just to test this damn theory.