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KoW - Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2024-11-04 03:12:19 +0000 UTCRobb Stark
White roots was all he saw, some as large as mountains while others as thin as a babe’s arm. Within their veins of red sap were stars that seemed as distant as the sky, each one with its own color and shape, as special as a snowflake.
At the middle of it all was a clearing of obsidian stone, keeping the encroaching roots at bay with a singular ring of onyx fires. At the center of it, in return, was the crouching form of a bald, frail old man.
His clammy skin was twisted with numerous scars; his body a thin, emaciated, wiry thing with spindly long limbs.
He looked up at Robb with fearful eyes, despite his face being equally pitiable as the rest of his body; his pupils were a shining red that seemed to overshadow the many stars in the backdrop of this environment.
Robb could feel a crushing pressure on his shoulders the moment he breached the old bastard’s mindscape, it showed itself in countless whispers and murmurs trying to pry themselves into his brain, they spoke in ancient tongues, beguiling, provoking, guiding, insulting, and trying so very, very hard to subvert his own consciousness.
But to no avail, as he envelops his mind with the comforting blanket of the light side, all voices find themselves with no target, as if speaking to a wall.
“H-how?” The man’s voice was of a wispy nature, perfectly matching the frailty of his own body.
Robb ignores the question, much like most people, his form in the dream world matched perfectly with his real body, wearing his usual battle garb.
He walks around the limited platform, the onyx flames proving to be lacking of heat as he walked mere inches away from it.
“I thought you were this manipulative, powerful figure.” He finally turns to the pitiful figure. “Turns out you’re an amateur who bit way more than he can chew, barely holding on as the world crashes around you. No wonder your mind was undefended, before the white walkers, you must have only met others like you, unknowledgeable fools with no understanding.”
The man seems to crawl into himself, his face morphing into a deeper expression of fear and chagrin, but his lips make a thin line, refusing to even speak.
It seems to Robb that Bloodraven was much too used to having his way, that he was unused to a position of weakness, so much so that when he had to decide on a point of action, he choose silence.
It was something 2nd has seen too much in his life, and why he never focused much on the force abilities of precognition and prophetic visions, he was more in favor of abilities like Force Empathy and Psychometry that allowed him to gather trustworthy information and deduce the enemy’s next step.
In fact, in high level fights and battles against skilled force sensitives, it becomes often a situation of ‘I know that you know that I know that you know etc…”, or in some cases you’d face people who can hide their presence from the force, and therefore disallow you knowledge in your visions, or even worse, change it so that they’d be filled with misinformation, much like Darth Sidious would have done in his future.
At one point it becomes too much of a hassle to navigate those traps, and one would rather simply gather information and make a conclusion based on that, like a normal person.
“Whoever taught you whatever ritual you’ve done to yourself is an idiot, or worse.” He continues. “Even I, with my limited knowledge of the Weirwood Network, can feel the countless force ghosts dwelling on them, it becomes then the most simplistic and obvious answer that when you concoct a ritual that merges you with a gestalt consciousness of such strength, to put countermeasures in place.” He would have scoffed, had he the capability to do so.
The archaic man’s lips tremble, and Robb could see a trace of anger and shock on his face.
“How- What- Who are you?!” Even when Bloodraven raises his voice, it still sounds fleeting.
“Bran Stark builds a wall 700 feet tall, purifies a Dark force nexus and builds a fortress atop it, and you think he wouldn’t put a failsafe into place in case the white walkers return?” All but the last fact was truth, but the croaky old man wouldn’t know which was which.
“You have ruined everything! The- the visions, they make no mention of-“
“Ah, the visions.” Robb interrupts. “Let me guess, the Weirwoods do not see time as linear, and therefore you’re able to see across space and time?” Shock paints Brynden’s face. “I thought so, what you’re doing in truth is employing the collective strength of the Weirwood Network to employ some basic force abilities, it’s all strength and no finesse, like a giant child playing hide and seek in the forest, you could crush any normal man, but anyone with a brain can hide themselves from your sight.” He says.
Bloodraven’s face blanches at the realization, if people could affect what he sees, then…
“And then the hammer falls.” Robb says. “Couldn’t you have realized that sooner, aren’t there places you couldn’t look into even had you tried, Ancient Valyria, the Lands of Always Winter, the God’s Eye, and more?”
“I-I thought they were simply shielded against my visions.” Bloodraven finally says a full sentence. “It never occurred to me that my visions may be altered!”
“Well, you didn’t see me in your visions of the future, did you? That’s simple enough proof.” Robb refutes. “You were so immersed in your own prophecies that you thought yourself with a timeless perspective, living so much in memories of the past and future revelations that you thought them to be your present, and therefore, couldn’t distinguish between the two.”
“Well, sorry to break it to you, but you’re as much in the present as any of us.” Robb ridicules.
“50 years… 50 years as the so called three eyed raven, and it was all for naught?!”
Robb realizes he may have gone too far when he saw the man’s form change in plain vision, the obsidian circle visibly diminishing in size as despair creeped on the sorcerer’s eyes, gradually losing their shine.
He swiftly steps to the frail man before him, gently lifting him by the shoulders.
Robb closes his eyes, focusing on enveloping him into his veil of Force Stealth. In a single moment, the man’s mindscape changes almost instantly, the crawling roots parting before their small clearing, as if they couldn’t see it at all.
“The voices…” Bloodraven breathes. “They’re gone, you freed me from the curse!”
“Don’t let your hopes up, this is simply a temporary measure.” Robb says. “The moment I latch my hold over you they’ll come back as strong as ever.”
Brynden frowns. “If you are truly who you say you are… If you’re Bran the Builder’s weapon against the white walkers, then that means we’re allies.” He says.
“Not so quickly, Bloodraven.” Robb answers. “This isn’t the Red Keep, where you attempt to beguile and politick your way into favors. If we are to be allies, then we need to be of one mind.” He explains. “The fate of humanity is at stake, we can’t afford to be divided, or to attempt any funny business. Only once we decide on our next actions, shall I teach you how to keep the voices at bay.”
The frail form of Bloodraven keeps silent, standing with a longing gaze toward the branching weirwood roots, watching as they parted before him, finally free of their touch.
A few long minutes later, Brynden Rivers turns toward Robb with a resigned expression.
“I will not be a servant, but I believe we can work together.”
Robb nods. “Good.”
--*
They spent the next few hours simply sharing information, Robb mostly spoke about his knowledge of the force and its abilities, while Brynden informed him of the state of the world north of the wall, most of the important information Robb had already knew or guessed, but Brynden had a greater insight on the details.
Brynden’s abilities turned out to be weakened, as the same magic imbued into the wall that kept the Other’s influence at bay affected his too, meaning that he saw much less than Robb thought, much, much less. The only way he can affect that side of the wall is through the minds of powerful Force Sensitives who can bridge the gap. It’s why he tried to spy on him using Sansa.
“Whilst I wage the war to the south, I’m going to need you to put the north to order.” Robb says. “When the Wildlings gather in force, I plan to be here in order to negotiate their passage, to do so; I’m going to need your help.”
“In what way?” Brynden asks.
“I’ll need the remaining Children of the Forest and the Giants by my side, that legitimacy will go a long way into giving me leverage on the negotiations.”
Bloodraven frowns. “The Children will follow my lead, but the Giants are another thing entirely. Even the few hundred who joined Mance are doing it out of existential fear, there are as many as half scattered around the Thenn and the Frostfangs, willing to die at the hand of the Others.”
Robb would have frowned if he could. “Can you gather them all and arrange a meeting? I’ll see if I can convince them.”
Giants are a game changer, give him a couple and put them in armor and a bow, and he’d have highly mobile artillery units who can crash through a gate.
“With the help of the Children, maybe?”
“Then do so, then I’m going to need you to coalesce the scattered tribes of the wildlings in factions.” He says.
Bloodraven frowns. “They’re already gathered under Mance Rayder’s banner, what good would that do?”
“I cannot, and will not, offer passage to all the wildlings beyond the wall.” Robb explains. “Those who wish to pass and kneel shall be allowed to, those that wish to pass and fight, shall be sent to other lands where their presence won’t bother the rest. Of those who stay, some will want to trade and coexist, which we will offer supplies and protection in exchange for trade, and others will want to stay and fight, whom we’ll arm and prepare against the others.” He says. “I have already planned for the Manderly fleet to sail to Eastwatch by the Sea, in order to accommodate them.”
“And I will need to accord faces to different factions of the wildling. I’d rather negotiate with four people rather than tens, or else we won’t be able to come to a simple agreement.”
A thoughtful look crosses Brynden’s face. “That may be feasible.” He says. “Some deaths and dreams here and there should suffice.”
Robb nods, starting to feel wakefulness slowly start to pull him away.
“Then, I don’t have long, so I’ll attempt to teach you how to hide from the so called voices.”
Robb proceeds to give the aging man a rudimentary lesson in Force Stealth, he thinks that he’ll have an easy time learning it, being able to at least blunt the force of the whispers at first.
And sure enough, after a short time, Robb finally lifts his veil off the old sorcerer’s mind.
The old man sat cross-legged to the floor, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.
And so, when the writhing roots finally take notice, they move much slower, with many of them still ignorant of Bloodraven’s presence.
The pitch black fires suddenly heighten in size, pushing even further outward as Bloodraven renews his will. The small clearing of obsidian increasing in size.
When Brynden opens his eyes, his skin healthier and less bones showing off his ribcage, he nods gratefully toward Robb. “Thank you, I will make sure to pay you back.” He says.
Robb nods. “You can do so by leaving my brother alone.” He says. “I will not have him subject to the same ritual that rendered your life so miserable.”
Bloodraven winces, but he steels his resolve and nods.
“I shall heed your request.”
“Good.”
--*
Robb slowly wakes up at the sound of a maids knock.
“My Lord.” A voice echoes through the door. “Time to break your fast!”
He stands up, looking out the window at the rising sky.
‘Even in sleep I cannot rest.’ He thinks.
Comments
Dark B3rry
Thank you for the chapter!
Rachel N
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
