Essos, Tyrosh
Vaegon Nylaeris
They stood atop the Bleeding Tower, guarding the mouth of the Tyrosh port, grim-faced as they watched the icy plain stretching in the distance. The scale of such magic far exceeded anything they were capable of. Though perhaps with enough sacrifice and blood, they could repeat the shattering of Dorne's arm, but that, that was the domain of true gods.
Vaegon and his compatriots had stood for too long, convinced of their power and invincibility. Their own pride and arrogance had caused their own gods to disappear, forgotten in the depths of time, unnecessary and redundant.
The Great Devourer rested in his volcanic chambers, content to watch what was happening, and the Archon of the Council of Fourteen suspected that he was somehow afraid of confronting this Dovahkiin.
Since he was the sworn enemy of the Black Dragon, and according to the stories passed down from father to son, their current god was severely wounded when he came to their world, wasn't it logical to conclude that it was this powerful warrior who wounded the dragon in this way?
The thought was as disturbing as it was filling him with desperation.
"The amount of magic unleashed here, still over a moon after that fight, is incredible." Teamon said, standing nearby and tinkering with some glass candles.
"I can't even imagine what must have been happening here at that moment. It really does look like the gods themselves were clashing here, which would confirm our earlier suspicions. And that monster frozen in the branches of the tree is probably the spawn of the Drowned God, the Ironborn and the mythological Deep Ones deity," he added thoughtfully, lighting and extinguishing the candles alternately.
"Dragons are afraid to fly up to this tree, and there is no chance they will land on the ice-covered surface." Tyris Vael, sitting next to him on the battlements, chimed in, "The magic contained in it, the magic used here, arouses fear in them. It makes one think. If this Neferion, an interesting name by the way, is able to do something like that, what is his limit? What else can he do, and do we have anything that could be used against him?" he asked, his face expressing decided scepticism.
"We cannot behave in this situation in a normal way." Vaegon declared after a moment, looking at his interlocutors in turn. "Because the question we must ask ourselves is: How many dragons and their riders are we willing to sacrifice to throw against him, and do we have enough of them?"
"And of course, do we have enough courage to go against him?" Tyris added. "The other houses will not throw their forces against such a fearsome foe unless we set an example."
His friend and rival Laemon Balaerys nodded in agreement at his words, "I agree with the old fox. Practically every Valyrian knows what happened here. News travels fast on the wings of dragons."
"So we agree that fighting is out of the question at this point?" Taemon asked, finally tearing his gaze away from his artefact.
"It's the most logical option at this point," Vaegon admitted, though it almost physically hurt him to admit their own weakness. "We will try to reach an understanding with him for now to allow our ships to pass through the channel he has opened in the ice off the coast of Dorne."
"I'll go to Gorgossos in the meantime." Taemon stated, immediately drawing the eyes of all the lords present.
"Why would you go to this living hell?" Laemon asked in shock, and all the blood seemed to drain from his face.
"Believe me, this is the last place, I want to be, and considering my profession, I don't shy away from blood and human sacrifices." The Grand Sorcerer replied with irritation visible on his face. He had been to this place cursed by the gods twice in his life, gaining new mental scars both times.
"On top of that, you'll meet that psychopath, Monaerys... Try not to kill him though, because you'll take his place again." Tyris interjected and then added with a raised eyebrow, "What do you intend to find there, though? I doubt there are chimaeras or any hybrids capable of even scratching our enemy."
The Grand Sorcerer looked at them with a haunted look. "Gentlemen, I assure you that if there is a solution to our problems, it is on the Isle of Tears. There are worse things there than chimaeras and other such mutants. The magic of this place is tainted by thousands of years of unspeakable atrocities and abominations committed there. Gorgossos is proof that there is no limit to how low a man can stoop or to what he will go."
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Dorne, Sunspear
Neferion
Neferion looked curiously at the tapestry hanging before him, which depicted the arrival of Princess Nymeria at the head of a thousand Rhoynar ships in Dorne. He had to admit that it was an exquisite piece of work, executed extremely meticulously, so much so that he could see the resemblance between his princess and the person who had served as a model for the artist.
However, although his eyes were focused on the masterpiece hanging on the wall, his attention was on the conversation going on right next to him between Nymeria and Agnes Blackwood, who had arrived last night aboard one of the ships.
He could, of course, have spoken to the Lady of the Riverlands himself; after all, if he understood correctly, she was seeking his help in freeing her lands from the clutches of the Stormlands kingdom. The Princess of Dorne, however, was quick to take the initiative, even possessive of his interests, while he sipped his wine, feeling that it was not even worth his while to interfere.
Did he feel like he was already married? When had this happened? All in all, it was a pleasant feeling to have someone looking after your interests for you. Though he had no doubt that Nymeria was equating his welfare with that of Dorne at the moment.
Still, he felt he should interject himself into the conversation before the princess became too territorial, especially as taking over the very fertile lands in the middle of Westeros had strategic advantages, mainly if you were practically a living god whose mere presence made it suicidal to attack your lands.
Turning towards the two women seated at a small mahogany table on which cups of brewed tea with Yi-Ti lay.
He stopped behind Nymeria and, placing a hand on her shoulder, gave her a sign to let him speak now, then looked at their visitor, who was looking at him with a mixture of reverence and hope.
That look had been with her ever since she saw the frozen Stepstones and the ice tree the size of a mountain growing from them. She had seen the power of a god and treated him as such until he told her to stop. It was nice to be worshipped... for the first few minutes. Then it became tiring.
"Lady Agnes," he addressed the woman, his voice, although quiet, immediately dominating the entire chamber, carrying with each word unquestionable authority. A side effect of using Voice.
"Let me ask you a question. I understand that you expect me to liberate the Riverlands from Arrec Durrandon's rule and take over their rule, yes? So you are not exchanging one foreign ruler for another one from whose rule you will not be able to free yourself. Arrec Durrandon will die, as will his successors, while I will perhaps walk these lands when the sun sets for the last time."
She glared at him stubbornly, her determination unwavering. "We do not trade one foreign ruler for another but the gods who have abandoned us for one who can save us."
"We Blackwoods, though we live south of the Neck, still worship the Old gods, and the rest of the Riverlands worship the Seven. Yet neither came to our aid when the Stormlanders slaughtered and oppressed us for nearly three centuries."
"My father and two older brothers, along with my husband's father, perished in the last rebellion against the Storm Kings. And thousands more, both nobles and commoners. And the repressions that were imposed on us later mean that despite the fertile lands, many people are dying of hunger. More than half of all harvests must be sent to the Stormlands." Despite the hardness of his voice, Neferion could easily sense the deep emotions resounding within him and the pain deeply hidden.
Because his power came from the soul and fed off those of his brothers, he gained a deeper insight into the souls of mortals themselves. From there, it was easy for him to recognise lies or those harbouring evil intentions towards him. Here, however, he sensed nothing of the sort.
In addition, Krosis was already spreading faith in him throughout the Riverlands and performing miracles in his name with the few thu'um whose understanding he had imbued in them.
Finally he said, "You may remain here as long as you wish. However, send a raven to your husband that I will appear at Raventree Hall within the moon, for I have a few more things to attend to in the meantime." He did not say it out loud, but he considered simply paying a visit to Storm's End on the way and killing two birds with one stone.
Agnes beamed immediately and, falling to her knees, took his hand, kissing the back of it. Her eyes filled with gratitude and long-buried hope. "Thank you, My Lord. You are truly worthy of being called Divine. When our gods are silent, you answered. I do not know about the rest, but in me you will always have a devoted worshipper. My god."
In that moment, Neferion felt a delicate thread connecting him to the woman, and the invisible bonds that had bound him since his arrival loosened slightly, though almost imperceptibly. It wasn't the first time he had felt something like this, but now at least he knew what it meant. He had gained another believer.
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North, Winterfell
King Jon Stark
Jon watched the maesters in the godswood around the heart tree as they discussed. To be honest, he had stopped listening to their words a few days ago, waiting only for Tyrion's reports on their progress.
Of course, nothing could be determined; what's more, they had gathered here once again during the night, and not only had the face carved into the tree stopped crying blood, but the blood that had gathered around it had disappeared, and the only trace of its existence was the soil soaked in it.
Seeing that he wouldn't learn anything from the scholars anytime soon, he decided to take a closer look at the tree for the first time in several moons. At first glance, everything seemed fine, until his attention was drawn to the face carved into it. Once stoic, expressing no emotion, now a mask of pure anger, filling him with primal fear.
'Something bad happened to the tree,' he thought with distress, 'Something bad is happening to the old gods.'
Suddenly feeling an absolute need, a call for blood, he put his hand to the trunk of a tree and rested his forehead against the bark, as if listening... And indeed, after a moment... he heard.
"Jon... Stark... Stark... wolf... wolf... direwolf... king... winter... beware... beware!"
His ears were filled with whispers of many voices that, with each word, grew louder and more numerous.
"The enemy... enemy... terrible... is coming... the veil... veil... has fallen."
He felt terror and urgency in the words he heard. The voices were frightening, and he could feel their power pushing against his mind. And if they were afraid, all the more so was he.
"Seek... seek... find... Dragon... North... Ysmir... Ysmir... hope... warn... warn... veil... weak... weak... soon... shattered."
Who was he supposed to find? What Dragon? Ysmir? The veil? The voices grew more insistent, more desperate.
"They... they are coming... our doom... Your doom... abominations."
"Madness… Rot…Rot… Will… Will…"
"Hatered... Hatered... Terror... Destruction... Trinity."
"Chaos... Champions... Bloated... Change... Change... Keeper... Unbound... Unbound."
Soon the voices became unbearable. Every word seemed to be carved into his mind with an invisible chisel.
"They... are coming... They're coming! .... THEY ARE COMING!!!"