The Greedy Frog
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Hey, I Ruin Stories! Chapter 47
🕑 Added 2024-06-22 16:17:34 +0000 UTC[Parallelly — King’s Landing]
"Do you think my son can be cured too?" the woman whispered anxiously.
Inside the city, hidden from the watchful eyes of Varys's little birds and the kingdom's numerous spies, the common folk murmured among themselves.
"He cured my son," proclaimed a man standing on a makeshift podium of stacked planks. "He gave me another chance at life."
"He restored my mother's sight."
"He healed my hearing!"
One after another, men and women sang praises of a mysterious figure, recounting the miracles they had witnessed.
"Do you think he's a priest of the Gods?" another voice trembled with hopeful uncertainty.
Rumors spread, invoking names of gods in hushed tones.
"He serves a god," the man who had encountered him affirmed. "He spoke of the one true god."
People hesitated to discuss him openly. They didn't know if he followed the Faith of the Seven or the ancient gods.
"Remember, he's our benefactor," the man who had first met the priest reminded the gathering. "He saved my son's life, and many others'. He's brought us all hope."
Everyone present had benefited from the priest’s kindness and feared jeopardizing him by attracting the attention of the kingdom's Faith of the Seven.
"He's not from here, you know," a woman spoke up. "He's been seen with the crown, yet he's never mentioned them or us."
"He keeps his involvement discreet," the man on the podium deduced. "And so must we."
The crowd agreed.
"He has protected us, so now we must protect him."
"How?" the question lingered in everyone's mind.
"We form a group," the man declared. "We shield him from the crown's poison and the eyes of the Faith."
"That's risky!"
"Are you unwilling to risk for our benefactor?" The man's words silenced the crowd. "We must do everything for his sake."
They were afraid, but they resolved to support him.
"We'll form this group," one woman suggested. "Expand it, keep watch everywhere to shield our priest."
"We can do that," the man on the podium nodded. "We grow our group in his name, in honor of his kindness."
"Yes!"
"We'll do it!"
"We must protect him!"
Decisions were made, hearts united to safeguard the man who had brightened their lives.
"What shall we call him?" an elderly woman asked. "We can't use his name, nor anything that would draw attention."
Another dilemma, another consideration.
Yet the man on the podium had an answer.
"He saved us, gave us vision, brought light," he proclaimed. "The Guide. Let's call him the Guide."
The idea resonated, and the crowd agreed.
"Yes! The Guide!"
"He showed us the way!"
"He is our light!"
And in that moment, unknown to the kingdom, a group had formed—a secret cult.
The Cult of the Guide.
…
…
[Parallelly — Castle Black, North]
{Jon Snow}
"Gahaha!" The booming laughter filled the room, and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont relished the tales of the imp. "Never have I heard such entertaining stories here on the Wall, Lord Tyrion."
"I don't doubt it," the imp chuckled in response. "The Night's Watch seems to have more grim tales than merry ones."
Some scoffed, others looked somber, and a few grew indignant.
It reminded everyone of the stark contrast between their gray lives on the Wall and the vibrant world beyond its icy confines. This was the life they lived—whether by coercion, choice, or inheritance. It was their reality.
"We appreciate the tales you bring, Lord Tyrion," added Alliser Thorne, his eyes scanning the room. "But what we truly need is more than tales."
He paused, searching for something unspoken.
"Unfortunately, the men we hoped to receive are not here," he concluded.
This prompted Tyrion to twirl the beer jug in his hand thoughtfully.
"The Queen has permitted me to assess the situation and act accordingly," he explained, gaze fixed ahead. "Additional men will only be sent if the threat is deemed significant."
"Bloody hell!" Alliser's outburst shattered the solemn atmosphere, his hand slamming down on a bottle of dark red wine. "Our men are dying protecting the realm, fighting those wildlings! And you're still assessing?"
Amidst the commotion, I heard a whisper behind me.
"What is a Stark bastard doing living this life?"
It was the sorcerer, standing calmly behind me, seemingly indifferent to the turmoil ahead.
I felt compelled to respond.
"I'm a bastard. Bastards have no claim to their family's name," I explained, memories of Lady Stark's painful words echoing in my mind. "We are born of noble blood but carry lesser rights than common folk."
He listened intently, his curiosity evident.
"So bastards take on different surnames," I continued. "In the North, like me, we are Snows. In the Vale, Stones. Pykes in the Iron Islands, Hills in the Westerlands, Flowers in the Reach, Storms in the Stormlands, Sands in Dorne, and Waters in the Crownlands."
"There are more bastards than one would think," I added quietly, the deaths in the Watch often belonging to such men.
"And the Watch doesn't hold it against you, being a bastard?" he questioned.
I smiled faintly, recalling similar thoughts of my own.
"No, they don't," I affirmed. "That's why I joined—for the honor, the brotherhood. But expecting respect would be foolish."
He seemed to understand, choosing not to probe further.
"Snow!" Alliser's sharp command interrupted our conversation abruptly.
"Have you gone deaf?" he barked. "Answer when called!"
Alliser harbored a peculiar disdain toward me, though I still do not know why and how it started.
"No, Ser," I responded evenly.
"He's just a boy," Tyrion interjected with a laugh, a hint of irritation flickering within me as I heard his laugh. "Let him breathe."
He was of the family that had killed my father, Lord Stark.
I remained silent. I was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch now, my ties to past relationships severed the moment I took the oath in this icy wilderness.
But anger still simmered in my heart.
"He may be a runt," Alliser scoffed, "but he's shown skill lately."
He smirked, a gesture that only meant pain.
"He's broken a few runts' arms, so he should handle a sword outside," he suggested.
I had been too engrossed in conversation with the sorcerer to catch their previous words.
"He's not ready for that," Lord Commander Mormont intervened with a frown. "We can't afford to lose another man."
"Then I'll accompany him," the sorcerer unexpectedly interjected, giving me an idea about the topic.
"Hah!" Alliser laughed in mockery. "A man who's never faced the perils beyond the Wall speaking of battling wildlings!"
My heart quickened, realizing their intentions to venture into the icy wasteland.
"You'd be surprised," Tyrion retorted pointedly at Alliser. "This man who hasn't faced the dangers, has in truth confronted dragons, conquered a free city, and recently freed my brother from Stark and Tully captivity."
My anger flared. Heart raging.
Did he harm the Starks?
No, I reminded myself sternly. I was a brother of the Night's Watch now; external matters must not be brought here.
"The wildlings are far more dangerous than you imagine," Alliser warned.
"Warlocks, dragons, armies of thousands," the sorcerer added calmly, stepping forward. "They are dangerous too, I believe."
Alliser scowled, yet Lord Commander Mormont interjected with a different perspective.
"If you believe Jon is capable, then surely the sorcerer, with his skills, is as well," Mormont reasoned.
Tyrion pondered briefly, then turned to the sorcerer.
"You'll ensure that both you and him return safely," he promised, eyes fixed on the sorcerer. "Can you safeguard the bastard and survive the icy expanse, Darius?"
I stood silently. I knew these frozen lands better than the sorcerer, yet now he was tasked with my safety?
Absurd.
"Without a doubt," Darius smirked confidently. "And I'm eager to see these wildlings."
"They're not some common folk, sorcerer." Alliser's tone was sharp, though he masked his anger. "Don't treat them as such."
"Of course," Darius nodded calmly. "It was merely reassurance."
"Are you ready, Bastard?" Tyrion directed his question to me, breaking through my racing thoughts.
My heart pounded, emotions swirling within me—perhaps too swiftly, in too great a rage, I spoke without reflection.
"I—" This was my opportunity, a chance to prove myself. "I'm ready."
Whether it was a wise decision or stupidity, only time would tell.
…
…
[Temporary Camp of the Free Folk, Beyond the Wall]
{Ygritte}
"The wind howls fiercely from beyond the Wall," Mance, whose strength surpassed all others in these lands, sensed the shifting air. "We cannot allow that wind to breach our lands."
It wasn't the wind he spoke of, though.
He meant intruders—those who sought to infiltrate our free lands, persistent annoyance for years.
"Ygritte," he turned to me, "I trust you can handle this slight breeze?"
A slight breeze.
Only a handful of individuals, perhaps four or five.
"I can," I affirmed.
Four or five against the icy terrain, against our people.
I could manage them.
Seeing my resolve, Mance burst into laughter.
"Of course you can! You're Ygritte!" His pride in me was evident, and it warmed my heart.
It was a confidence I intended to uphold forever, a source of pride for him and our free folk.
Even if it meant claiming the heads of those few intruders.
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[[A/N:
I will tone down the writing style a little, still learning, will need some time to master the old tale style.]]
