Ser Alaric Mormont
The next few days were spent with a tense air weighing heavily on everyone's backs.
On the first day, this applied only within the castle, but by the second day, news of the septon's vision had already spread outside its walls and, eventually, beyond those of the city as well.
When in the camp, I saw firsthand the fear and apprehension in the eyes of the men.
If they had heard something like this months ago, they would have simply laughed and called the septon and those who believed him "southerner idiots."
But having experienced magic firsthand and seen how destructive it could be, they couldn't help but fear the future. Even more so when the septon's vision narrated a North drowned in snow and the living dead, like the Wights of ancient legends.
Some, managing to gather their courage, came to me to ask about the veracity of the prophecy of the world being consumed by ice and fire. My response was the one previously discussed by Rickard: "There is no reason to believe the septon's vision is true. He may have simply mistaken a dream for a prophecy."
The narrative would be one of denial until we ensured it truly doesn't happen.
This became our plan after I returned from my conversation with the Old Gods about the White Walkers, even with several people watching me on my way to the Godswood.
Rickard was somewhat shocked after discovering I could speak with them, and even more so after I told him what they told me.
Basically, what the gods told me, after being surprised themselves by the septon's vision of the future, was that after an ambush by the Children against the Walkers, which resulted in the loss of four Walkers and thousands of Wights as a consequence, the Walkers haven't been seen for a long time, leading them to believe the situation was no longer a threat to worry about.
Arrogance. That was my initial thought upon hearing their account. But thinking a bit more, I understood where they were coming from.
After using the Conjure Minor Elemental spell just once, I can easily understand their confidence.
Despite the number of Wights, they could easily win by attacking the Walker that created them, which can be done easily with long-range fire magic, something a few Fire Mephits could easily handle.
If they have this spell, or even a better one, as I suspect they do, it's no wonder they no longer worry about the threat presented by the Walkers and their king.
Unless you possess no magic or find yourself surrounded in an open field, the White Walkers and their Wights are not a true problem.
I understand that. So, how did they manage to turn the tide and conquer half of Westeros in the future?
The Old Gods could not tell me.
After thinking for a bit, I finally asked something I should have asked from the beginning: Septon Mycah, is he for real? Does he have a connection with the Seven?
The answer was discouraging and explained why they didn't question me when I told them about Septon Mycah's vision: He was legitimate.
From the little the gods managed to observe through the Heart Trees south of the Neck, Mycah really does have a connection to the Seven, and it was through this connection that he managed to learn his magics, or "miracles," as he called them. Which, by the way, were many.
Apparently, the chance of Mycah having learned all his spells on his own was basically impossible, seeing as they themselves, the Old Gods, had difficulty discovering on their own how magic worked after the comet.
Another bombshell. Even being gods, beings theoretically made of magic, at least in my head, they did not have total control or knowledge over it.
But that was a reflection for the future. I have much more urgent problems at the moment.
After answering me about Mycah, the Old Gods said they would seek to find out what the Night King and his White Walkers are doing that could lead to their victory, and that I should get in touch from time to time to find out any findings.
Reporting this conversation to Rickard, it was decided to keep the truth, which did not include my conversation with the Old Gods, hidden from the men and share it only with the nobles, since their assistance would be necessary for any future plan formed after the Old Gods returned with information.
Since then, I have been making daily trips to the sacred grove.
The path there is quite populated, so I was the target of many stares. Fortunately, I am always accompanied by several guards ready to act when necessary. No one has tried anything drastic so far, but should they try, the guards would be ready.
***
22nd day of the 8th moon, 269 AC
The Hour of Rest (1 PM)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Lannisport, Lion's Den
Another day without the gods having anything concrete to report, and another day with the castle consumed by the tense atmosphere.
Although the night had fewer eyes on me, the difference from the day was slight, besides being less dangerous. Having fewer people and fewer guards could encourage the bold to do something.
Even the arrival of the royal commission yesterday, which brought Rhaella Targaryen and the heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar Targaryen, which should have been cause for great celebration, did not change the mood of the city.
The reception the royalty received was one of extreme antipathy.
Aerys filled the road to the castle with men blowing horns, but the most he got in return from the population was polite applause.
Inside the castle, the reception was a bit warmer, but nothing compared to the arrival of the Tully and Hightower commissions. The commission only surpassed the arrival of the second Reach commission, which arrived the day before theirs and brought Olenna Tyrell, wife of Lord Luthor.
From what I heard, her passage through the city attracted only a few dozen people, and she wasn't even received by Aerys, who put Tywin to work in his stead.
Apparently, the tournament, which was meant to immortalize deeds and announce a great change in Westeros, was completely stolen and redefined. Now, the tournament will be remembered as the one that brought news of the possible end of the Seven Kingdoms.
"I will go straight to my quarters. Beren, tell Lord Rickard that I have received no answer," I say to the leader of the guards accompanying me through the castle on my return.
"Yes, Ser Alaric," Beren replies, calling me by the title I am now known by.
I didn't need to explain to him what kind of answer it is or from whom. He and the other guards already knew after accompanying me into the grove as well.
"We come in peace."
A female voice echoes in my mind. She was young.
"Stop."
Beren and his men stop and look at me, waiting for the reason.
Looking around, I find several of the nobles and servants walking through the castle corridors.
Many of them sent discreet glances and murmured, more so than before the Septon's arrival, but none was the owner of the voice.
It was the first time I heard that one, but I already know who it belongs to.
"Your left. At the window." The female voice echoes in my mind again.
Following the direction and looking through the window, which gave a view of the inner garden, I find the Hightower girl from four days ago sitting on a bench and looking directly at me.
She was again wearing an exaggeratedly green dress and accompanied by the same two men from before.
Lord Leyton Hightower, her father, and Archmaester Culler, who continued to wear the Valyrian steel mask.
In the Great Hall four days ago, when everyone was leaving, I analyzed both with my GM Eyes, and I was not only surprised by the discovery of their identities but also by their classes.
They were, respectively, a Wizard and an Artificer. A class totally foreign to me, but according to its description, it revolved around building magical objects.
I didn't know what magical levels they were at, if their classes were just decoration as with Rickard, or if they reflected real capabilities like Septon Mycah's, but their social power alone made me wary of them.
The possibility that they also possessed magic only made me more apprehensive. Even more so with the way they looked at me in the Great Hall; especially the Archmaester.
"You tried to invade my mind," I point out, as happened in our first encounter.
"I was just trying to find out if the rumors were genuine. I will not make the same mistake."
She was not a good actress. Was that how I sounded when I had 9 Charisma?
"Lies. I can sense the dishonesty in your voice. You, your father, and the Archmaester already knew. Through your maester spies, I presume. I imagine Maester Yves has sent several letters talking about me. What did he say?"
I see her eyes widen further as she adjusts her posture. She didn't expect that.
While she exchanged a few words with her father and the Archmaester, someone spoke at my side.
"Ser Alaric, is something wrong? Do you need us to do something?"
To my right, Beren was also looking toward the southern trio. Because that was what Beren saw, just more southerners looking to bring trouble to the North.
"No, Beren. There is no need to do anything. Just wait a little longer."
Beren stepped back without argument, even though he was likely wondering why I was standing there in silence while staring down the southerners.
He will definitely report this to Lord Rickard.
Something for later. Back to the strange sorceress.
"What are your intentions? Do not lie, or I will leave."
"We wish to exchange knowledge."
"Magical?"
"Yes."
"Why would I do that? I have done quite well so far on my own. Maester Yves must have told you what I am capable of, what I did on Bear Island. And from the reports you must have heard over these four days, you must have realized that not even Yves fully knows my capabilities; no one knows, except for me. So, tell me, why would I trade knowledge with you?"
"Our kind is scarce, and from now on, everyone will judge us even as they seek means to have us under their control. In times like these, we must support one another."
A proposal for a temporary alliance? Interesting, but she is manipulating our context.
"You paint an incomplete picture. Westeros abhors magic to the point that the septon calls his own a 'Miracle,' but that doesn't mean we are in the same position. You are the ones living in the heart of where this intolerance was born and persists. When I return to the North, to my island, I will be far from almost all danger."
"Why don't you leave now, then?"
Her question, spat out with mockery, catches me off guard. I expected bargaining. I expected her to offer the intelligence of the Citadel's spy network or something of value to try to win me to her side.
The girl smiled as she looked at me.
"You accuse me of something when it is you who has committed the act."
She knows?
"What are you talking about?"
"You speak of being free when you return to the North, but are you not right now trapped in the hands of the Dragon and his Lion?"
She knows. It makes sense. Four days are more than enough for her—and perhaps the others, if they also know how to cast Detect Thoughts—to read the minds of Aerys and Tywin.
With Hightower being a house of great renown and the Archmaester being someone of high hierarchical standing in the most powerful organization in Westeros, it isn't impossible for them to have secured a few audiences, perhaps even a dinner, with the two men tormenting me, or some member of House Lannister who also knows what is happening between the Mormonts and Lannisters.
"You are trapped," she continued. "Even if you return to your small island, you still won't escape the minds of your jailers. The Lion, with his fragile ego, will pursue you for perceived disrespect that doesn't exist against his house, and the Dragon, obsessive and mentally warped, sees you as something too precious to let escape. The four of us are in a situation where cooperation is the best choice. And if you think you don't need our magical knowledge, let us trade favors. No matter how powerful your magic is, it cannot make you live apart from our society."
"Those are very large assumptions."
I am exposed, but I cannot admit it. Showing weakness only makes your enemies bolder.
Unfortunately, judging by her growing smile, she didn't buy my denial.
"It isn't necessary to give a final verdict on our offer now. There are still several days ahead. The tournament hasn't even begun. But I hope you see our side after returning from your next meeting with the Dragon."
My next meeting with Aerys? Why is she saying this? What does she know?
"Ser Alaric Mormont!" I hear a thick voice speaking behind me.
Turning around, I see guards bearing the sigil of the three-headed dragon staring at me.
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