Year 102 A.C.
POV: Denovan
"What are you doing, witch?" I said through gritted teeth as, on impulse, I lunged forward and grabbed her by the neck.
The sound of Melika's slight gagging was muffled by the immediate reaction of the Marcas. I heard the sound of several blades being unsheathed all at once, metal scraping against leather in a tense unison. I ignored the danger around me; my focus was entirely on the woman in my hands.
Contrary to what I expected, Melika did not fight. She seemed distressed by the position she was in, lacking air, but there was no panic in her bicolor eyes. And that, at the very least, gave me relief. It seemed this young witch didn't have absolute control over everything, even with her strange "magic" that had almost bewitched me a few moments ago.
Gradually, I loosened my grip, enough so she could breathe, but I kept my hand on her throat and the axe pressed against her skin.
She drew in a sharp breath of air and, before trying to free herself, raised a trembling hand toward her warriors.
"Lower your weapons," her voice came out hoarse, but carried an unquestionable authority. "Lower them... now."
The Marcas hesitated. They looked at me with anger, and took a long time to obey. I didn't back down either. Only after the wildlings reluctantly sheathed their blades did I let go of her neck and lower my axe. Even so, Sigrid and my men maintained an impenetrable guard.
Melika massaged her throat, but when she looked at me, there was no anger. There was an almost sickly devotion.
Ignoring the snow-covered ground and the indignant gaze of her own people, she bent one of her legs and knelt before me. Just one knee on the ground, her head slightly lowered, a gesture that was the standard of submission among the lords and knights of Westeros, in the South. She shouldn't know how to do that.
"I did nothing against you, Black Naga. And I would never consider using any magic to harm you," she said, her voice gaining firmness. "What you felt... was merely the effect of the runes marked on my skin. They affect the senses of those who are not prepared. I am your servant, not your enemy."
I took a step back, my eyes evaluating every inch of that unexpected scene. "Stand up. And stop with the riddles. How do you know my name? Better yet..." I waited until she was standing and took a wide step, getting close to her ear and said in an icy whisper, "How do you know about the Naga?"
I distanced myself from the woman, and she quickly answered my questions, with every sentence her eyes looking into mine, almost hesitantly.
"I was warned, my lord..."
My lord... that is not common here in the North.
"...I had visions more than a year ago about your coming," she began, her green and honey eyes momentarily fixing on mine. "Since then, I began to wander. I used the knowledge the Gods gave me to gather the small, scattered clans. All the Marcas you see here... I gathered them for you. We are your first army forged by prophecy."
I looked at Melika, letting out a cold and humorless laugh. "You call me my lord, speak of Prophecies and Gods... everything seems too perfect for my taste, why should I believe you..." my face approached hers dangerously and I said, testing the pronunciation of her name, "MeLiKa?"
"I was warned you would be skeptical like this," she said, a soft smile playing on her red lips. "The Gods told me that the Black Naga does not believe in them, even while walking under their protection, even being guided and receiving divine gifts that make him superior to any human..."
Her voice continued, the intonation and attitude of the woman seeming to change, dangerously childish, her eyes wandering to mine, then anywhere else, until returning to mine, and repeating the process as she spoke: "So... as a way to show my sincerity... let me serve you... accept the Marcas as one of your own... just as you did with the other two clans you passed through."
I scowled. My skepticism had always been my greatest anchor to reality. R.O.B. sent me here, not gods in trees. But I couldn't deny that the knowledge and influence this woman held were undeniably useful. If she had already unified part of these wildlings in my name, it would save a lot of time and bloodshed.
"Very well," I said, my voice still heavy with suspicion. "Stay close to me, Melika. I still don't trust you. Prepare a large tent for me and my men."
I was about to turn to pass the orders to my warriors, but her voice interrupted me again.
"Everything is already prepared, my lord... for you, and your men and... your beasts," she said, with an excited look.
I looked at her strangely. She really had prepared them for my arrival.
"Guide us, then," I ordered.
Melika turned to the Marcas warriors and made a simple gesture with her hand.
"Return to your tasks. Staring at him like vultures is not the image we want to portray," she said.
Her authority was strong. Her knowledge, perhaps her prophecies or her 'magical' runes, guaranteed her the position of supreme leader of that clan, something that must have been very difficult, after all, she was a woman, but the warriors dispersed quickly, but not before casting nervous glances at me and my beasts.
My warriors were completely disturbed. When we arrived, they expected to be met with a bloody battle, or at the very least, a tense negotiation. Finding an almost religious submission, led by a witch who seemed to destabilize even me... that was messing with their minds; it was easily visible in their tense faces and shoulders.
POV: Korr
Korr was not happy in the slightest.
His hand didn't loosen its grip on his bow, and his eyes kept wandering in all directions, searching for any enemy in the shadows of the tents. The air was strange. The camp lacked the typical tension of a newly encountered clan. There was a campfire in the center of the village that burned too hot, with blue flames that shouldn't exist. And those tattoos on the faces and arms of the people...
He didn't feel comfortable.
If it weren't for the gigantic black sabre-toothed tiger walking lazily by his side, and Denovan walking ahead, he would have gotten out of there already.
In almost a month of following Denovan, the leader had won Korr's absolute respect. Denovan knew how to forge superior weapons, was a born tactician, strong as a bear, yet gentle with his own men. Rare traits in any leader Beyond the Wall.
As Denovan used to say during the long cold nights: "We are all going to die. It might be today or fifty years from now. May we die in an epic way and not sleeping in our furs, and may we do everything so that our names are remembered. Our bodies will turn to ashes, we won't take anything to the land of the dead, but we can leave a legacy, let them tell legends about us when we die."
Korr wanted that. He didn't want to be forgotten like a useless hunter who died of cold in some random ditch. He wanted the Free Folk to sing stories about him around campfires on cold nights.
And it was clinging to this newfound courage that he entered the large tent indicated by the witch.
The interior was strangely warm and smelled of burnt herbs. When his eyes adjusted to the half-light, he froze. The leather that lined the inner walls of the tent was completely covered in paintings. Black, red, and blue.
Korr walked slowly, observing. There were figures of colossal serpents, direwolves, elks, and felines he couldn't name. He saw drawings of ships larger than mountains and stone towers that touched the clouds. He saw winged creatures spitting fire. They were the dragons Denovan had spoken of.
The paintings were separated into panels and seemed to form a sequence of images narrating a story that hadn't happened yet. It was disturbingly beautiful. He had never seen anything like it in his entire life.
POV: Denovan
The paintings bothered me in a profound way.
I ordered my men to settle on one side of the tent still with their guard up. They, even though tense, leaned against some furs and started to converse. The tent was large, fitting all of us comfortably. Sigrid and I remained standing. My eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the painted leather on the walls.
It was painted from left to right, like a long scroll. I expected the story illustrated there to start in a traditional way, with the birth of a child or the union of two clans.
But no. The first image was not a baby. It was the figure of a muscular man holding a hammer, striking a glowing anvil. Fire and steel.
I felt my stomach drop. My past life, in the present day, was nothing but distant images.
I continued following the drawings. In the next panel, the man was surrounded by shadows and seemed to be being bitten by a serpent.
My death because of the viper.
In the third panel, a small boy with bright eyes stood facing a grey falcon head-on, while a golden thread connected both of their heads.
It was me. With absolute certainty, it was me. That damn golden thread gave away too much.
No god in Westeros should know this. R.O.B. put me here, but could he, somehow, in search of his entertainment, have communicated with the witch? Or worse: can the mystical energies that flow through the weirwoods and ancient magic read someone's soul, regardless of where it comes from?
If before I could think that the woman didn't know much, had just made lucky guesses or maybe some prediction—magical dreams in Westeros were somewhat common... but now I was certain. The woman knew. And she knew many things that I preferred to keep to myself and not with just anyone.
I would have to talk to her. And soon.
I need to know how loyal Melika truly intends to be. I need to discover how far the influence of the Old Gods reaches her and this whole world, and if she is just a piece in their game or if she can be a piece in mine.
"Did you like it, my lord?" Melika's voice sounded.
I looked away from the wall drawings and looked into her eyes for a moment, too long to be polite, but that wasn't my goal.
"We need to talk..." I said in an icy tone.
The witch's smile diminished slightly.
"I have prepared a place, my lord. Follow me..."
"Sigrid... look after them. Don't let them make a mess..." I said, pointing to where the warriors were seated (and some even lying down, testing the furs).
Sigrid didn't answer me. I felt her eyes piercing my back as I walked away.
Melika pulled aside a hide that allowed entry into another room and gestured for me to enter.
I looked at the room; it was a bedroom, nothing much. Before entering, I looked at Sig, who still hadn't answered me. I looked into her deep green eyes and said nothing, until Sig let out a sigh and went to join Scarlet, who was staring intently at the box on the back of Breu. The box held her pups, hence all that obsession.
Seeing that everything was alright, I entered the room and Melika quickly followed me. I saw there was a chair. I walked slowly to it, took the axe off my back and sat down, looking at the woman, my hand still on the weapon's grip.
"You can start talking, Melika... tell me everything. When was your first contact with the Old Gods? What did they tell you? What do you know about me? Don't leave anything out... Show me that I can trust you."
Melika grabbed another spare chair, sat down, and began to speak.
"I was a common Free Folk woman, living in a cannibal clan..." she said and looked at me expecting some reaction. There was none. My eyes were cold and remained fixed on her. Seeing that I didn't say anything, she continued:
"It was an ordinary day. My group and I had gone out to hunt... we took the same path we always took. We were looking for anything to feed ourselves. Our clan was located very close to the Frostfangs... few things survive there..."
"We were returning, unfortunately empty-handed. We found nothing... but that isn't so uncommon..."
"We could go hunting the next day, take another path, or, if the chief ordered, we could attack another clan... but on our way back, we were attacked. There were five of us; they were many. All wearing animal skull masks. Their weapons were purple, very dark. I didn't know what it was before; we were terrified. But today I know it was dragonglass, one of the only things that can kill the White Walkers..."
"We fought. We aren't cowards, but little by little they killed three of us. To survive, my brother, the only one still alive besides me, told me to run. I... I obeyed. I ran, ran... I don't know how long I did that, but when I had no strength left to continue, I found myself in front of a weirwood tree. It was beautiful, its leaves as red as blood and its trunk whiter than snow. This one... this one had no face. No one had carved one yet."
"I leaned against the weirwood and started praying to the Old Gods, for them to let me survive, and then I passed out. The next day, I woke up. I was starving, but I was fine, nothing had happened to me..."
"I thought it could have been the Old Gods who heard my prayer, so I carved a face into the weirwood. After that, I left. I didn't return to my clan; I suspected it was they who had attacked us... a tactic to reduce the population and have food, some were cruel..."
"I joined a small clan that was located much further south. They allowed me to live among them, gave me food and a warm place. And then time passed... three years went by... until the dreams began."
"I saw myself in a dark place. It seemed starry, it was like looking at the night sky, but without the cold and the night wind. I thought it was a very lucid dream. I was a bit excited; I had never had one like that..."
"But then I heard a voice speak my name. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I tried to turn around and couldn't; not even from the corner of my eye could I see what it was."
"The voice spoke with authority. It asked that, when I woke up, I make a drawing with blood on my spear. The drawing flew in front of me. It was strange. I analyzed it with focus, burned it into my memory. The voice told me to put my all into it when I made the drawing, to remember the evening I ran without stopping, to remember every moment of that desperate run. And then its hand left my shoulder and I woke up."
"I woke up sweating. I remembered every detail of that dream. I didn't make the drawing; I thought it was just a strange dream. I spent my day normally, until, upon sleeping, I dreamed of that place again. And this time the voice was mocking. It said it was a mistake telling me such knowledge. Then I woke up. This time, I made the drawing. I did it with my own blood. I didn't know what it represented, I didn't feel anything different, and I spent another normal day, without dreaming of anything. Several nights passed and I didn't dream again at all. Then came my day to hunt. During the hunt, the spear felt lighter in my hand, but I only really felt the effect at the end of the hunt. I always felt exhausted, with tired arms. But this time I felt only a mild fatigue; it felt like I could still keep going for a long time."
"That night, I dreamed again, and the voice showed me the drawing and presented it as a 'rune'. Several nights passed like that; the Old Gods gave me this magical knowledge. And then, exactly one year ago, the dream was different. I saw one of the Old Gods in front of me. He was distant, very distant... just a being made of light, too far away for me to see him perfectly, I could just see something white, very distant. Then his voice sounded as always."
"He told me that a man like no other would appear and I must serve him, that all my effort was so that I would help him. He then made an image, an image of you. You appeared in front of me, looking older than you are today. Then your beasts, the ones you have today and the ones you will have, began to appear. And, in a flash of light, I saw many landscapes: a forge, a baby with golden eyes and black hair... and they kept passing, passing. I can't remember even fifteen of them. All the ones I remember, I made drawings, paintings in the tent. I eternalized them so as not to forget..." she said, with a devoted tone.
"And about the names, yours and some of your titles... I know them from the images, which passed through me. When they passed, some names were spoken, and so I kept them."
"I had only one more dream before they ended completely, which was when he told me to gather an army for you. I tried, I pushed myself to the maximum, but it was very difficult. I only managed to gather the two hundred who are the Marcas; more than half of them were from my old clan. I inscribed the runes on their bodies, they felt the effects and decided to help me..."
"And so, here we are... my lord."
My eyes were fixed on hers. She didn't seem to be lying, but everything was very strange. In House of the Dragon, Game of Thrones, and in the various books, an Old God never spoke directly to anyone; only images, flashes of past, present, and future were shown. Nothing was defined, only displayed. You deduce, you are the one who knows...
A giant smile appeared on my face. My teeth were bared, my pointed canines on display. I let go of the axe, stood up, and leaned over Melika's chair. Our faces were very close, and then I said, amused:
"And he said I wouldn't believe you?"
She seemed a little disturbed and said: "When the Old God was teaching me the runes during the dreams, I... sometimes he spoke some strange words and some advice. He seemed to ramble. One of those times, he told me that you wouldn't believe me until I told you everything and offered myself completely to you," she said without shyness. Her bicolor eyes looked at me with a devotion that seemed to awaken something in me; our proximity and the heat of our bodies were intoxicating.
The smile remained on my face. I pulled back slightly from her face, still with my hands on the armrest of the chair, and said with certainty and confidence:
"He was right, I believe you now. But you... you are somewhat confused. What communicated with you were not the Old Gods. The face you carved in the tree never influenced the gods to choose you..."
"I don't know why he chose you among so many, nor do I know why he is doing this, but let it be clear: it is not the Old Gods who are communicating with you. It is something more powerful and mysterious than any of these gods we know."
"The one you speak of with devotion is a being of immense power, who is bored, and his actions are based almost entirely on that. I don't know the limit of this... so don't be so devout."
"How can you say that... he blessed us so that we may fulfill his will. I did his will, and you must be doing it..."
"I'm sorry, but he gave me no orders at all. He gave me powers and sent me here..." I said, moving away from the chair.
"You are lying!" she said, standing up and facing me. She seemed utterly furious and disturbed.
"Whether I am lying or not is not important. Since you believe in him so much, then follow me, Melika. Let's see this world... that is what I came to do: recruit you, gain power, and then build a safe and warm place for us and then see the world... and don't forget to teach me that magic rune you learned..." I said, extending my hand.
"Just enjoy it, Melika... if you think I am wrong, then try to convert me," I added, in a mocking tone.
Melika looked at me as if evaluating my words and attitudes.
Then she took my hand and said: "I will make you believe in the Old Gods..."
"Yes, yes. We will leave the day after tomorrow. Let's rest and leave. I believe your people already know enough; I have nothing to teach."
"You can teach about bronze. You are a good blacksmith, we have a good amount here."
I looked at her and said: "You really prepared everything, huh... we will spend five days, then. Build the forge, teach how to make the molds, and we will leave."
"Now go rest, Melika. Just warn your men that all the distrust there was between us is gone... and leave the rest to me."
She looked at me and said with a sigh: "It will be done, my lord..."
-/-/-
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