The Black Lion and The Old Gods

DURRANDON'S POV

[TITLE "PALADIN" HAS LEVELED UP!]

[TITLE "CLERIC" HAS LEVELED UP!]

It seems the system had finally worked retroactively, acknowledging all my actions and skills in favor of the Faith of the Seven.

From the fact I was a squire to a respected Kingsguard, study a lot about the Faith of the Seven from the Grand Maester, with the occasional interaction with the High Septon with me making a generous donation to the faith, had won both the archery and melee in the first Tournament I participated in, worked tirelessly to perfect both Alchemy and Blacksmithing, and even acted as an extension of the Stranger itself.

Leveling up to become 3rd level Paladin and Cleric as a result.

But the best part, and perhaps the most broken aspect of every title I gained, was that each level earned me one Point to spend either on my Stats or buying new Perks.

Currently I have 45 left.

[DIVINE HEALTH]

*The divine magic flowing through you makes you immune to disease.

[HARNESS DIVINE POWER]

*You gain the ability to spend a Divine Point to fuel your evocation spells with radiant damage. Additionally, you touch a holy symbol, utter a prayer, and instantly regain a quarter of your mana.

With Divine Health, locking my immunity to disease would be a great safety net in case I went "astray" in the middle of an expedition to Sothoryos, the green hell.

It was completely broken.

Sure, poisons were most often used as weapons.

But it certainly makes life much easier for me to not have to worry about getting sick.

At the top of my head I could recall: The Great spring sickness, winter fever, grey plague, grayscale, greywater fever (from the Neck), pox, red death from Basilisk Isles, redspots (basically chicken pox), shaking sickness (similar to epilepsy), shivers (parkinsonism), Bloody Flux (which is basically dysentery), butterfly graver from Naath, and countless diseases from Sothoryos.

Yeah, it definitely might be the reason I won't be dying so easily, alongside my constantly growing Health Bar.

Although my Valyrian Gladius already had the Infusion to deal Radiant damage, being capable of Harness Divine Power into my Eldritch Blast or Chromatic Orb would just ruin the day of most undead bosses in any Magical Dungeon.

Not to mention imbuing some Crossbow bolts by casting Arcane Weapon with radiant damage and one shooting a horde of zombies.

Gotta prepare for the worst once the monsters begin roaming the world.

For now though, I believe that will suffice.

—————————————————————

After a long time traveling through the Crownlands, it was refreshing to get away from the metropolitan Capital and emerge into the lush green Riverlands.

Since my unofficial party was getting bored with our travels, I decided to indulge them with some storytelling about the places we were visiting while Shadows took a nap on my lap, and Tyrion helped me out.

The King's Road headed north, and we could see the mountains of the vale appearing on the horizon, but our carriage was taking us to a road eastwards, around the Antlers and approaching the massive castle named Harrenhal.

The very name of it conjured images of mighty ruined towers and whispers of curses, of legends of King's follies and Dragon fire.

It has packed more history and tragedy into its three hundred year history than most Westerosi castles have in ten times that.

Such was its reputation that one might've expected the approach to it would be equally imposing, but it wasn't.

These lands right into the middle of the Riverlands were lush and fertile, farms stretched out in every direction as far as one could see, all parts of the rich estate attached to Harrenhal.

This was flatland.

The castle was not built here for defensive purposes, it didn't sit atop a crag or hill, nor was it bound on all sides by rivers like Riverrun was.

It was as if the builders were saying that the castle itself was enough.

So wellbuilt, so indomitable, that it didn't need any other physical advantage.

"Arrogant bastard must have been compensating for something." Thoros chuckled while putting a smile on Tyrion's face..

Indeed, so large was it that it appeared on the horizon when we were still a day's travel away, its walls and towers dark against the sky.

As we slowly approached, it grew to dominate our view like nothing else south of the wall would, and that included both the Erie and Casterly Rock.

Or so Tyrion said.

Huge, sprawling and ominous.

Harrenhal charred walls were in stark contrast to the sunlight blinking off the Gods Eye lake that loomed over.

Perhaps its immensity could best be described in comparison to another massive castle, one could fit at least three Winterfells inside Harrenhal's curtain walls.

"I've never been to Winterfell." Jalabhar admitted, having a hard time to understand my comparison.

"Bigger than the Red Keep, trust me." Syrio helped me out.

These walls that now loomed above us were so high we could only see the tops of five towers inside, the shortest of these was half again as tall as the tallest tower in Winterfell.

"You know, I once wished to piss on the edge of the world." Tyrion revealed it to us rather comically. "Perhaps I might start with the tallest building."

"Ha! Why not begin with The Rock?" Thoros chuckled.

"Knowing my father, he might take the opportunity to push and watch me fall." Tyrion admitted and everyone believed he was kidding.

The gatehouse our path led towards was on its own as large as Winterfell's great hall, and awaiting us on the other side would be a Godswood seven times the size of Winterfell's.

"Again, trust me, it's quite big." Syrio recalled one of his visits.

"But you are a short man, anything must be big to you." Thoros laughed.

"What's your point?" Tyrion barged in, faking being offended at the comparison of heights.

"Let the prince continue his story." Jalabhar said, still paying attention to what I was saying.

Both Sandor and Lothor remained silent, either hearing attentively or not caring at all.

To call Harrenhal impressively large would be an understatement.

But although the building of Harrenhal was undoubtedly an astonishing physical feat and it now dominated the landscape like little else in Westeros, we cannot ignore for any longer that it is but a shell of what it must have been when it was first built.

For although it is still in many ways a functioning castle, it is also a ruin, and has been since almost the day it was finished.

The tops of the five stone towers were, for lack of a better word, melted.

Deep cracks run down its misshapen sides and the whole place was blackened and eerie.

The story of how it came to be that way was a familiar one to all students of Westerosi history.

"Aye." Tyrion nodded grimly, probably thinking that his father did have something to inspire his way of putting out rebellions.

It was built under the orders of Harren the Black, who was the King of the Isles and Rivers before the Targaryens invaded, his kingdom extended from the Iron Islands right across the continent.

He was a vain man and wanted a castle to match his kingdom and ego, and to spread fear among his enemies.

"Like most Ironborn bastards." Thoros joked while almost everyone else remained serious.

Harren ordered the construction of the largest castle in Westeros, and not just the largest by a little bit, he wanted something that dwarfed all others.

"Heh!" Thoros laughed.

"Not one word." Tyrion replied in a friendly yet firm manner.

So, for forty years, slaves and subjects alike put stone on stone, day after day.

The weirwood grove that had stood on this spot for millennia was cut down and used in the construction.

Harrenhal took form and it was everything Harren the Black had desired, he felt invulnerable inside its walls.

But his confidence was no more than hubris.

"I told you." Thoros announced puffing his chest before noticing his wineskin was already empty, ignoring the stares of annoyance coming from both Sandor and Lothor.

It was said that the day the last stone of Harrenhal was set in place was the very day that Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys landed on the continent, demanding that all lords and kings of Westeros bend the knee to them.

Harren refused.

He had Harrenhal after all and believed that nothing could harm him inside his mighty castle.

But of course, the Targaryens had Dragons, and Balerion the Black Dread, the mightiest Dragon of them all, flew overhead and burned him alive in his castle.

Balerion's flame was so hot that the very stones of the stronghold melted and deformed, leaving it the smoking husk that it is today.

"Almost poetic that The Black Ironborn would be cooked alive by the Black Dread." Tyrion mused to himself and Jalabhar nodded in agreement, both relating to one another, having grown up in a place with a dicey history with raiders from the sea.

Since then, it has passed from house to house, with tragedy never far behind.

The line of House Qoherys ended with murder, House Harroway were the victims of Maegor the Cruel rage, House Towers was simply died out for the lack of heirs, the Lord of House Strong died in a fire, House Lothston descended into insanity and so on.

"All silenced by the God of death." Syrio remarked, finally understanding a little about Westerosi history.

There's a good reason why people say that this place is cursed, and yet it stands here.

Too immense to ignore, too iconic to leave completely to ruin, so massive that it would take an army to garrison and so feared that few would willingly stay here.

Broken and ruined, and yet was still breathtaking to me.

The seven of us stared at it as the Lannister retinue made its way inside.

Courtesy of Lady Whent, who had received us with all the due respect deserved of a member of the Royal family.

Amongst the crowd of bowing knights and servants, I sighted a young girl that I briefly recalled from the books.

—————————————————————

PIA'S POV

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and red and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders.

Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the wind, emblazoned with the crowned Golden Lion of Lannister.

I knew very few of the riders, not that it meant anything coming from an orphan servant.

For instance the infamous Clegane brothers, the Mountain of Muscle and Steel, Gregor Clegane, and his younger brother, Sandor Clegane, with his terribly burned face.

And of course, the Warden of the West, Lord Tywin Lannister, exited his carriage before being joined by a tall kid that came out of another carriage.

The tall kid with queer features could only be the Crown Prince, recently appointed Ward of the Rock.

I heard that much from the gossip in the kitchens at Harrenhal.

'By the gods, he is handsome!' I thought to myself, completely unaware of my blushing cheeks.

His hair, although mismatched with both black and silver, was well kept like any regal prince ought to.

And when our eyes met, even if for a brief moment, I saw his alluring eyes, one stormy blue and the other a magical purple.

Walking nearby the prince's feet, as a well trained pet, was a lovely cat with beautiful dark fur.

And towering over him from behind, was the Hound, being vigilant of all of those approaching the prince.

"I convey my greetings to you, my Prince! And to you as well, Lord Tywin!" The elderly Lady Whent greeted us with all the respect we could hope to receive. "Welcome to my humble castle."

After both Lord Lannister and the Crown Prince acknowledged Lady Whent's welcoming, they were led inside the castle.

By then the others that remained were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts.

The carriages in which they had ridden, all of them made of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by heavy draft horses, spacious enough to carry multiple grown men.

Despite my wishes to get acquainted with the Crown Prince, I knew it simply wasn't meant to be.

I mean, he will one day become King, and I … I'm just a commoner girl without parents or enough significance to even draw his attention.

Lady Whent certainly wouldn't approve of me being around during the feast she had prepared for the Warden of the West and his Ward.

—————————————————————

DURRANDON'S POV

Making small talk with the Lady of the castle who had offered us the guest rights, I trusted Tywin to do the rest of the talking, and justify my absence from tonight's feast, until we were ready to leave tomorrow.

With that taken care of, I left my unofficial party behind to settle down for the night and went exploring.

Allowing Shadow to roam free in this place.

Since I've gotten close enough to this place, my Divine Sense has been tingling with a noxious odor lingering in the air that only seemed perceptible to me, warning me that this place had been desecrated with a curse.

So I concluded the good old Harren the Black had somehow gotten his hands on some sort of blood magic curse or shadow binding hex that he performed as a middle finger to the Targaryens who might've attempted to use his castle.

Sadly I knew not of how to lift a curse yet, and I believe Thoros was not yet a firm believer of the Faith he preaches to ask a favor from the Lord of Light.

Regardless, the effects apparently only seemed to actually affect people after months of prolonged exposure to the residual miasma.

So I continued my quest…

As I mentioned previously, the gatehouse was immense, as all of Harrenhal was.

I counted a dozen of muder holes above our heads as we had passed through, and it was clear that the curtain wall wasn't just prodigiously high, it was also thick.

Stupidly thick.

Which complicated things for me to get a pulse on the nature of this place's malediction.

The scale of everything here was nothing less than overwhelming.

But as tempting as it was to just stand and stare at the immensity of it, I decided to take a wander, for it really would take days to explore every nook and hidey hole here.

Everything I have seen or experienced in the Red Keep was here, only bigger.

There was a stable, of course, except this one could house a thousand horses.

There was a bear pit with six tiers of marble sitting around it.

The Great Hall was called the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, but if I was to be picky here, then there were probably only thirty-something.

Don't get me wrong, I've read that plenty of noble houses have only one fireplace in their Great Hall.

Two or three would be a luxury even for a King, but more than thirty?

Was Harren the Black preparing for the Long Night?

Honestly I believe that speaks more of the ego of the man that ordered the construction of this place than the actual need to heat this, admittedly, cavernous room.

Moving on…

The kitchens were in a peculiar domed building.

Beyond that, were the barracks, sleeping quarters were a set above an armory with its own forge and beyond this…

The thing I've been looking for.

The Godswood.

Assuming the appearance of my Monk persona, just to grind Bloodraven's gears if he happened to notice me through his three eyed raven mumbo jumbo.

At twenty acres it took quite some time to cross, even with my Running Skill.

I've mentioned previously that it was seven times the size of Winterfell's Godswood, the irony of course was that this was never even intended to be a place of worship, or somewhere important in the castle.

Since Harren the Black was an Ironborn, he had no need or respect for weirwood trees or the people who revered them.

So this Godswood was here just because he wanted to have the biggest Godswood of Westeros.

The Heart Tree itself, perhaps appropriately given the number of weirwood trees that were chopped down to help build this castle, had a twisted and a terror-filled face on it, its red eyes seeming to stare with unmitigated venom at all who come close.

I walked straight up to the tree, curious.

My eyes roamed the bark of the trunk until I focused on the face carved into it.

Just like the tv show and books described, the eyes seemed to follow me, staring down into my soul.

A similar, yet weaker, feeling I got while having an audience with the New Gods.

And the familiar oppressive weight of the gaze was almost enough to make me into a believer immediately.

But I would hate to become an Oathbreaker or Heretic before the eyes of the Seven so soon without even trying.

'Weird tree.' I heard Shadow muttering while tilting her head.

"So it was here where you came first." I spoke to her, before scratching her back. "Found any pray here?"

'A few rats.' She replied while laying down rather lazily. 'Even found one with wings. But it was so noisy and annoying that I let it escape.'

Chuckling at her words, I informed her. "That was probably a bat."

'Bat?' She questioned.

Casting Minor Illusion, I showed her what a bat looked like.

'That's the one!' Shadow warned me, ready to pounce at it.

Dispelling the illusion, I retrieved a piece of fish from my Inventory and threw it for her to catch.

'Delicious!' Shadow said before biting it in the air.

Enough distraction…

Sending my cat away, I shifted my gaze back to the Weirwood tree.

Expecting to feel something I reached out and put a hand on the tree's bark.

Besides my Magic Affinity pointing out the obvious, I had decided to take my time and assumed a meditative stance nearby the ancient tree.

Finding the perfect balance between venting out my primal barbaric rage while masterfully channeling my Ki was the key to momentarily empower my magical bloodlines enough to connect with these magical trees.

Not that I was willing to make a blood sacrifice over it, that would be definitely crossing a line for the New Gods.

In most fantasy settings, nature was a guiding force of life on a different yet similar level to most classic deities.

Nature Gods weren't strangers to that, as they acted on keeping the ecosystem in whatever they regarded it as the perfect equilibrium.

In Science Fiction it is sometimes theorized by its in-universe scientific community that all living things on the planet in question were connected to these supposedly nature deities through a system of neuro-conductive structures such as complex underground network of roots or a primal hive mind.

The circle of life if you will.

Think of James Chameron's Avatar with its goddess Eywa or the real world myths about Gaia as Mother Earth.

According to George R. R. Martin, the old gods are "based on animism and traditional Pagan beliefs of Wicca and various other Celtic systems and Norse systems", melded into one construct.

Martin has also stated that druidism and primitive religions were influences.

In his Chronicles of a Song of Ice and Fire for instance, the Old Gods were known as nameless deities of stream, forest, and stone once worshiped throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and beyond the Wall.

With the common belief that the Old Gods took the deceased down into the earth and trees.

They were so named because the Faith of the Seven (the "New Gods") replaced them in all but the northern region of the Neck, where worship of the Old Gods was still practiced by crannogmen, northmen and free folk.

Although some accounts state that there were clans who worship different gods, dark gods beneath the ground in the Frostfangs, gods of snow and ice on the Frozen Shore, or crab gods at Storrold's Point, there was no reliable confirmation.

And that was the main problem when dealing with the Old Gods.

There were no priests, no holy texts, no songs of worship, and practically no rites that go with their worship.

It was a folk religion, passed from generation to generation, as prayers were usually done in silence.

So most of the exact details were not understood about them, merely that the Old Gods were nameless and numerous.

It is also said that the Old Gods only have power either where the heart tree faces can see or the immediate proximity to it, and since the destruction of most of the heart trees in the south they are believed to have no power here.

Worshippers of the Old Gods believe that no man can tell a lie in front of a heart tree, as the Old Gods know when men are telling a lie, and that they judge the people in front of them.

As such, an oath might be made in front of a weirwood tree, or with a hand placed in the mouth of the weirwood's face.

The Children of the Forest carved faces in the trees during the dawn, centuries before the coming of the First Men from across the narrow sea, and once both groups shared this continent, attractions rose from the belief that the greenseers could see through the eyes of the weirwoods.

For some reason, after the Pact, the First Men adopted them as their faith. Either both faiths merged into one or the First Men were godless men to begin with.

Retrieving my lute out of my Inventory, I began playing a gentle melody while activating my Balm of Peace.

This place had so much negative energy, that all of my efforts to reach the hive mind of the Old Gods were being instinctively repelled.

Though I at least succeeded in drawing its attention.

"Hey there primeval tree. You don't seem to be alright." I began speaking with the Weirwood tree before me, while keeping a watch of my surroundings. "You must've been through quite a lot in these past centuries. I know to someone like you it might feel like a drop of water in the ocean that is your lifetime." I continued, trying my best to have my Bardic Inspiration reach whatever intelligent form of life that might be hearing me. "Sadly I won't be able to keep you company for much longer, but I was thinking, would you mind hearing one of my songs?"

Feeling the breeze grow slightly stronger as I heard the swishing sound of rustling leaves, I took that as a positive sign.

"Unfortunately I lack the understanding of your language, so pardon me if you meant 'no'." I eventually replied, trying my best to sound reasonable before whoever I was dealing with. "Alright then, this is a song I've come up with while writing about a tale of the romance between a First Men woman and an Andal man, who journeyed to Westeros alongside other settlers to begin new lives. I'm well aware that history had not been kind to both nature and men, but this is my reflection of what might've been if peace had thrived."

Clearing my throat, I snapped my fingers while subtly casting Minor Illusion to back me up with the appropriate soundtrack before finally starting.

"You think I'm an ignorant savage. And you've been so many places, I guess it must be so. But still I cannot see, if the savage one is me. How can there be so much that you don't know?…You don't know."

"You think you own whatever land you land on. The earth is just a dead thing you can claim. But I know every rock and tree and creature, has a life, has a spirit, has a name."

"You think the only people who are people, are the people who look and speak like you. But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you'll learn things you never knew you never knew."

"Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn Moon? Or ask the grinning bobcat why he grinned. Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain? Can you paint with all the colours of the wind? Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?"

"Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest. Come taste the Sun-sweet berries of the earth. Come roll in all the riches all around you. And for once never wonder what they're worth."

"The rainstorm and the river are my brothers. The heron and the otter are my friends. And we are all connected to each other, in a circle, in a hoop that never ends."

"How high does that sycamore grow? If you cut it down, then you'll never know. And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn Moon. For whether we are white or copper skinned. We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain.

We need paint with all the colours of the wind."

"You can own the earth and still, all you'll own is earth until…You can paint with all the colours of the wind."

The wind breeze grew stronger and the sound of rustling leaves made me believe it was the way this weirwood before me applauded my performance.

"I will take that as a compliment." I replied in a charismatic tone, bowing down in acknowledgment like any likeable Bard ought to. "Perhaps one day one of your fellow weirwood trees might tell you about it once I've finished writing."

Finally feeling that I've successfully managed to break the ice between me and this magical tree, I placed my left hand inside its mouth and brought my right one near my face, placing my holy symbol against my forehead before uttering a prayer.

"Merciful Mother, yours is the path of peace. Yours is the path of redemption and I am your instrument. Where I walk, I walk in your light. With your compassion I heal. With your wisdom I teach. Please guide me in this time of need. I've met with this aspect of the faith of the Old Gods seeking harmony between our ways. Should I seek their redemption by offering my services in exchange for leading a more virtuous path to their ways? Through my limited mortal comprehension I've understood that cutting down these trees will bring nothing more than senseless animosity between us. The people of the continent have been starving with the constant winters ruining most of their crops and reducing the wildlife for their hunters to hunt, I believe the Old Gods might be able to bring back some semblance of balance in these chaotic times."

At first I heard nothing, almost as if both pantheons were baffled, if not outright offended, by my suggestion of a treaty between them.

But as soon as my Holy bracelet began to radiate pure light, I knew I'd just gained the approval of the New Gods.

Shifting my gaze to face the Weirwood tree which had my left hand in its carved mouth, I finally asked.

"As an emissary of the New Gods, I'm hereby offering my services to help extend nature's indomitable will. Guide me to lecture my people about the primeval knowledge they have missed for so long. And in exchange, I ask of you to accept the more virtuous aspects of civilization. Together we can make the world a better place."

Frankly, for this offer to have any value, I was aware that my heart needed to be clean of deceit, since worse than conflict spawned by ignorance would be one birthed by betrayal.

I really believed both faiths had their ups and downs.

The Faith of the Seven carried the problems of a religious institution that was easily corrupted.

But there were plenty of people who legitimately had faith in this religion and were good despite of that corruption, like Septon Meribald who once abused his position as septon to convince young women to have sex with him, now walks barefoot through the countryside of the riverlands as a wandering septon in exchange for food and shelter for nearly forty years, as penance for these sins he committed as a youth.

The Old Gods and the weirwoods believers pray to is more intimate and a matter of personal faith rather than the performativity of it, since trees don't give sermons or orders, they just listen.

While its magic looks to be based on blood sacrifice same as that of R'hllor, theirs is more digestible. Beheading people bound for death sentence under/on weirwood trees against actively burning people alive, innocent or otherwise, for magical powers.

But some of its most common practices, like the right of First Night some Lords had over their subjects, had been abolished for obvious reasons.

However, Roose Bolton will one day say that 'where the old gods rule, old customs linger'.

Despite how people from my previous life loved to place barbarism above civilization for the sake of a romanticized past, I opted for a more cynical approach.

And regardless of how much Eddard Stark might seem to flawlessly impersonate the concept of honor, it is explained that it was something he picked from his foster father, Jon Arryn.

That said, while my mind went adrift while coming up with reasons as to why this alliance was beneficial to both parties, I felt sap drip over my left hand and noticed that the Weirwood tree had begun to weep.

After quickly retrieving an empty flask to store it all, I was greeted with multiple notifications.

{PING!}

[SKILL ROOT EVOLVED!]

[NEW TITLE ACQUIRED!]

[YOU ARE NOW A DRUID!]

[IT IS NEITHER THE STRONGEST OR THE MOST INTELLIGENT OF THE SPECIES THAT SURVIVE, BUT THE ONE MOST RESPONSIVE TO CHANGE. ADAPT OR DIE, THAT'S NATURE'S WAY!]

*Whether calling on the elemental forces of nature or emulating the creatures of the animal world, druids are an embodiment of nature's resilience, cunning, and fury. They claim no mastery over nature. Instead, they see themselves as extensions of nature's indomitable will. Many druids pursue a mystic spirituality of transcendent union with nature rather than devotion to a divine entity, while others serve gods of wild nature, animals, or elemental forces. The ancient druidic traditions are sometimes called the Old Faith, in contrast to the worship of gods in temples and shrines.

*Druids are also concerned with the delicate ecological balance that sustains plant and animal life, and the need for civilized folk to live in harmony with nature, not in opposition to it. Druids accept that which is cruel in nature, and they oppose that which is unnatural, including aberrations and undead. Druids sometimes lead raids against such creatures, especially when the monsters encroach on sacred sites or over regions of unspoiled nature.

[NEW SKILL LEARNED!]

[TRUE TONGUE Lv-1 (0%)]

{THE SECRET LANGUAGE ORIGINATED FROM THE SOUNDS OF THE NATURAL WORLD THAT THE CHILDREN OF THE FOREST WERE SURROUNDED BY.}

{WHEN SPEAKING THE TRUE TONGUE, THE CHILDREN OF THE FOREST WERE DESCRIBED AS SOUNDING LIKE THE WIND THROUGH LEAVES, RAIN ON WATER, OR THE SOUND OF STONES IN A BROOK.}

{IN ADDITION, IT IS POSSIBLE FOR RAVENS TO SPEAK THE TRUE TONGUE, AND THEY CAN BE MADE TO REPEAT WORDS IN IT IN ORDER TO SEND MESSAGES OVER GREAT DISTANCES.}

[NEW FEATURE UNLOCKED: SPEECH OF THE WOODS!]

{AN ABILITY SHARED BY THOSE CAPABLE TO CONVERSE WITH BEASTS AND MANY FEY, BY DECIPHERING THEIR NOISES AND MOTIONS.}

{MOST BEASTS LACK THE INTELLIGENCE TO CONVEY OR UNDERSTAND SOPHISTICATED CONCEPTS, BUT A FRIENDLY BEAST COULD RELAY WHAT IT HAS SEEN HEARD IN IN THE RECENT PAST.}

{THIS ABILITY DOESN'T GRANT YOU ANY SPECIAL FRIENDSHIP WITH BEASTS, THOUGH YOU CAN COMBINE THIS ABILITY WITH GIFTS TO CURRY FAVOR WITH THEM AS YOU WOULD WITH ANY OTHER INTELLIGENT BEING.}

[*SPECIFIC CONDITION DICTATES THAT NO REGULAR PEOPLE WILL ACKNOWLEDGE THAT DURRANDON BARATHEON IS A DRUID. ONLY THE CHILDREN OF THE FOREST WILL ACKNOWLEDGE IT AFTER SPENDING ENOUGH TIME IN HIS PRESENCE*]

I read through everything the notifications showed me quickly and efficiently.

I've just become a Druid, literally capable of speaking with beasts, plants and the environment by making sounds regular humans simply couldn't physically reproduce.

The breeze shaking the trees nearby now seems more like a whisper of a language I just began learning.

As if watching non-dubbed Anime without the subtitles, I was capable of understanding one word or less in every sentence.

Some "trust" and "friend" here, followed by "peace" and "prosperity" there.

Not gonna lie, that wasn't the doom and gloom I wasn't expecting from these 'elder gods' collective memories.

And it fortunately didn't seem to conflict with my allegiance to the Faith of the Seven.

For the hell of it, I read through the entire thing one more time to see if anything changed.

I just couldn't get over how awesome this was.

The only downside I guess was that I had someone else looking over and forming their own expectations of me.

And since I already got illness covered, perhaps I will also be lucky enough to eventually unlock a feature that will grant me some sort of immunity, or at least resistance, to poison damage.

There's no such thing as being too prepared for poison with all the concoctions this world has to offer.

What else could help me level this title?

Would it be against the Faith of the Seven to start planting Weirwood trees? Was it even possible to plant one of those anywhere?

I believe it all depends on their roots reaching a deep enough level to connect with the other already existing Weirwood trees.

Besides, I could just buy it from my Nexus' Market.

—————————————————————

As I amble about elsewhere, drinking in my surroundings, keeping my appearance as Monk, a few thoughts spring to mind.

I had countless times noted the scale of the buildings, which was apparent inside and out.

The ceilings of most of them were far higher than normal, for example, and the steps wider.

This was impressive, but the implications of this scale were obvious.

To man the castle when it was first built must have taken an entire army, and to feed that army, and keep the building maintained, while maintaining it provisioned and warmed… would have required many thousands more civilians.

It would be wrong to think of this as merely a castle, it was a small city.

Just to keep it going and heat those massive rooms would cost astronomical sums of money, and perhaps that was why Harrenhal has never been rebuilt or fully occupied since the Targaryens invaded.

To repair it and to run it would be financially crippling for any noble family, and if they did, which King would want a rival in a stronghold such as this.

Harren the Black may have been guilty of hubris in the extreme to imagine that his castle could withstand Dragon fire, but if there were no Dragons, this would undoubtedly be the mightiest castle in the land.

I must confess my surprise that Aegon didn't attempt to claim it as his before melting all of it down to ruins.

Nevertheless, some of the castle was still in use, and has been since Harren's downfall, it was too amazing of a structure to just abandon.

The ground floors of most buildings were still in use, or parts of them at least, but three of the five main towers have been abandoned completely.

Standing at the foot of even the shortest of these towers, I had to crane my neck to see the top.

And it was clear that the blackned, charred and melted were just part of the damage that has been sustained, in three centuries of neglect.

Great cracks run down the blackned side of all the towers, the original masonry was excellent, but Balerion the Black Dread has left his mark.

The original names of this towers were now lost to history, but they were now known as:

The Tower of Dread.

The Wailing Tower, which got its name by the agonizing howl of the north wind through the fissures in the stone there. Its noise reaches almost every corner of the castle, and the more supernaturally minded say it's the wail of the dead killed here by Dragon fire.

There's the Tower of Ghosts, before which lies a vast ruined sept, which I fully intended to provide a substantial donation to restore it.

The Widow's Tower, was connected via a vertiginous curving bridge to Kyngspyre Tower, the largest and tallest of them all.

It was these last two towers that were still in use, the bottom third of them at least.

And there was nothing else for it.

Ascending the broad spiral staircase of Kyngspyre Tower, this was where the Lord's chambers were.

As one would expect, they were spacious and as well cared for as any part of the castle.

But the higher I got, the more it became apparent that this tower was leaning, weighed down on one side by slagged stone which had melted and run down the side of the tower until it sat once more, in an unnatural looking globules of stone.

As the lean became more pronounced the higher I got, so too did the proportions of the insides become more… unnervingly misshapen.

There were no torches this high up, so I had to cast a ball of light using Minor Illusion, and on some floors the windows were completely covered over by stone, or at least where I think the windows once should have been.

And eventually, the stairwell itself becomes too twisted for regular people to continue.

Thanks to my Climbing and Balance skills, I was now not risking falling like Bran did in the beginning of the books.

And even if I did, I had Slow Fall stacked on top of Rage as a last resort to survive the impact.

Having said that, the highest room in the highest towers wasn't what I was expecting.

The flutter of leathery wings echoed softly downwards for me from the roof of the top of this tower, bats from what I could hear, although it was hard not to imagine how others would think of the echo of Balerion the Black Dread.

Searching around with both Observe and Divine sense, I notice a familiar piece of golden paper stuck in between a fissure on the wall.

Grinning from ear to ear, I proceed to read the clues for my next Magical Dungeon.

Thankfully I had already made myself acquainted with the Castle's Layout.

But as I stood at the highest room of Harrenhal, I could see southwards, through a ruined window on the wall, and the view was a beautiful one, out of the Godseye lake twinkling in the afternoon sun.

The water seemed flatter and still from up here, with just the occasional boat picking its way across to Harrentown far below me on the shores of the lake.

But my eyes were drawn to the distance, to the Island in the middle of the lake, the Isle of faces.

The place where the First Men and the children of the forest signed the Pact ending their wars against each other.

A reddish and greenish burst of color that somehow seemed shrouded in mist, even in this fine weather.

Perhaps one day I will sail there and see what I can find, hopefully meet one of the crannogman during their pilgrimage, but for now, I am going Magical Dungeon hunting.

—————————————————————

The symbols spread all around the entrance to the Magical Dungeon were signaling that I was entering a pocket dimension.

My set of Runed Bronze armor on top of my Dragon Scales were evident picks.

Picking a piece of cured leather and channeling magic into the component, I casted one of my first class spells.

'Mage Armor.'

{-10 MP}

As the spell engulfed me, an extra layer of glowing arcane runes covered my armor and lines spread all over my figure before turning invisible.

It's always better to be extra safe than extra sorry, even if I got my Legerdemain Hands to safely deactivate most of the traps inside these dungeons.

Besides, it never hurts to level up my spells.

In any case, as I began to make my descent down the set of stairs, the wall sealed back the entrance behind me.

Unlike my experience with the Magical Dungeon under the Red Keep, this time the Undeads were already patrolling the tunnel I needed to go through in order to reach the Treasure Room.

"Someone seemed to have patched the game after my first time resulting in such a shameful cheat." I remarked in amusement before lighting up both my Valyrian Steel Twin Gladius with Radiant Damage.

Dancing amongst the horde of undeads with my broken weapons, I watched as they disintegrated to dust with Holy slashes.

But even with my speed and precision, this was still taking too long.

Some of them even managed to graze my Mage armor with their low quality weapons.

As I continued to slice what must've been the thousandth undead under this cold and dark place, having put to test both my resistance against poison and necrotic damage, I blasted four beams of Eldritch Blast and got rid of the last remaining zombies.

Couldn't believe my luck that I've actually got my hands in so many perks and features optimal for dealing with these undeads, otherwise I'm sure I would've taken an entire day of fighting and resting to get through this dungeon.

Which certainly would have prompted Tywin and my unofficial party to begin searching for me throughout Harrenhal.

But by my account, it would still take around half an hour until the sun rises, and they still thought I was resting in the room Lady Whent provided to me.

I almost felt sorry to leave her exposed to this castle curse, but with the Weirwood of Harrenhal awakened, I gotta say, the lingering miasma seems more diluted.

If that makes any sense.

Right after sighting the end of the dungeon, I noticed some creatures had been expecting for my arrival.

They weren't the same figure of the average undead I've been facing during my usual expeditions.

Crawling up and down the walls around me, I saw three incorporeal monsters, which were actually hard to fully see in this dark space, detaching themselves from the stone surface.

Instead of the rotten flesh clad in the moldering apparel it used to wear when it was put to rest now carrying the stench of decay, these new enemies looked like dark veiled spirits as they moved rather uncannily.

They screeched loudly while I used Observe on them, doing so I got some useful information.

{SHADOW, MEDIUM UNDEAD}

{LV - 30}

POW: 18

MOB: 42

END: 39

INT: 18

STL: 40

DEF: 0

HP: 500

SPEED: 60 ft.

DAMAGE IMMUNITIES: NECROTIC, POISON.

CONDITIONS IMMUNITIES: EXHAUSTION, FRIGHTENED, GRAPPLED, PARALYZED, PETRIFIED, POISONED, PRONE, RESTRAINED.

DAMAGE RESISTANCES: ACID, COLD, FIRE, LIGHTNING, THUNDER, NON-MAGICAL BLUDGEONING, PIERCING AND SLASHING.

SENSES: DARKVISION 60 ft.

VULNERABILITIES: RADIANT DAMAGE.

LANGUAGES: NONE.

[AMORPHOUS: The shadow can move through a space as narrow as 1 inch wide without squeezing.]

[SHADOW STEALTH: While in dim light or darkness, the shadow can hide instantaneously.]

[SUNLIGHT WEAKNESS: While in sunlight, the shadow is weakened, taking repetitive Radiant damage until it finds cover or is destroyed.]

"So you guys are this place's equivalent of the Red Keep's undead spellcaster, huh?" I rushed my pace with a small grin. "Show me what you got!"

As I charged the three monstrous shadows while dual wielding my weapons, I noticed torches were being put out behind me by a cold gust.

It was not until I caught someone sneaking up behind me that I reacted.

"I see that things are finally becoming more interesting." I boldly remarked while escaping the embrace of the fourth sneaky Shadow by chopping both of its hands with my Radiant Swords.

The ghostly undead shrieked in agony before diving back into the darkness.

"Coward!" I shouted back while casting Minor Illusion to illuminate the immediate space before me, immediately becoming so tired of not being able to see in the dark.

My mental map eventually reminded me of the three first Shadows I've spotted that were about to rush at me.

Pinpointing the hostile creatures, I blasted three overly aggressive ghostly shadows with my Eldritch Blast.

My shots almost missed their marks, only by spending 2 Sorcery Points to get the Seeking Metamagic effect, as the Shadows were just a blur.

[0/500 HP]

[250/500 HP]

[400/500 HP]

One down, two injured and another playing hide and seek with me.

Picking several small stones out of my Inventory, I coated them with my First Class Spell, Arcane Weapon, Harnessing Divinity on top of it, before throwing them with great force and precision at the spectral undeads running away back to the darkness.

[- 10 MP]

[0/500 HP]

The more injured one was the one slower enough to be pelted with my improvised attack, while the other successfully avoided it.

Different from the slow and sloppy iron clad zombies I've been facing up till now, these Shadows were nowhere near as resilient, but their ghostly frame and high mobility did synergize with their annoying guerrilla-like fighting style.

Suddenly I noticed both of the remaining phantoms rushing at me in a coordinated attack, while one went high the other went low.

Using both Action Surge and Flurry of Blows, I finally got the opening I've been waiting for.

Using the same speed I displayed during the end of the melee competition, I skewered to pieces both of these sorry excuses of Dementors.

[0/500 HP]

[0/500 HP]

However, as soon as I took action, almost as if waiting for the perfect opportunity, I felt cold hands grabbing my head from behind.

Not even my Stealth stat was capable of providing me with enough perception.

'Shit! A camper!'

Despite my recent earned immunity, it was a sickening sensation that sat upon me, having shadowy claws finding a gap on my Mage Armor before carving scars on my face with Necrotic Damage through my helmet's opening was more than unpleasant.

Immediately my Disguise Self spell was broken and I returned to have the body of a child, thankfully my Runed Bronze armor adjusted to my size.

It was a fifth motherfucking Shadow who just ambushed me!

My Alert perk only warned me of danger when it was already too late to react appropriately, as I was still committed to finishing the other two Shadows.

'SHIIT! That hurts!' I grinded my teeth while trying to escape my enemy's hold, but it was as if I was becoming weaker by the second.

[WARNING: POWER DRAIN!]

[BASE POWER STAT REDUCED TO 20!]

[IF IT REACHES 0 YOU WILL DIE INSTANTLY AND ANOTHER SHADOW WILL RISE FROM YOUR CORPSE!]

If not for my Draconic Scales and Arcane Ward, I'm sure that the necrotic punishment would've been much worse than that.

"Enough!" I shouted in anger while raising my right hand, displaying my Holy Bracelet before spending one Divine Point to use Turn Undead on this insolent creature.

It shrieked so loud that I thought I would go deaf from it, but as it loosened its grip on my head, I spun around to face it.

Watching as my Holy Symbol put the fear of God on this vermin, I put it out of its misery by decapitating its head.

[0/500 HP]

Though this time I knew better than to celebrate, I got to see that I was bleeding from my eyes, mouth and ears.

Gotta respect the irony, having just watched the Weirwood of the Castle 'bleed' just like that.

Spending my last Divine Point to heal myself with Lay on Hands, I felt my Power Stat restored back to normal.

'Phew! That was a close one!' Were my thoughts once the torches began to light up again, signaling that the combat encounter had finally ended. 'If I had that much trouble with these guys, I don't even want to imagine the havoc that they would lay against regular knights. Next time I will just take my Dragonbone Crossbow and end it immediately. If that doesn't work, I will resort to Wildfire.'

As I reached the literal end of the tunnel, I came face to face with a familiar wall on the entrance of the Treasure Room.

However, this one wasn't a plain bricklayer like all the others.

It had some carvings that, if my Heraldry skill served me right, represented basically all of the entire Houses in Westeros.

This certainly got my attention.

Thrusting my fist inside the central triangular hole on the wall, I waited as the solid pieces of stone rose up, prompting the entire chamber to shake.

Right now, after learning the True Tongue skill, I barely managed to understand the familiar whispers apparently greeting me and most likely congratulating me for completing this dungeon.

Walking inside the treasure room, I noticed that the massiveness and luxury of Harrenhal was also carried over to this chamber.

A massive version of the already big circular room under the Red Keep, lit by even more torches spread around its walls.

And at the center, another large chest could be seen.

Noticing the view of mosaic tiles depicting what looked like a black skull was certainly unexpected, but even more interesting than that was the view of the brick walls surrounding this chamber.

This time only one panel made of a singular piece of stone was found, thankfully I could still notice some ancient carvings etched on it.

Approaching it, I felt a familiar pull leading me to touch the black stone.

Placing my palm against the cold surface, I felt the long awaited surge of energy that lit up the carvings, finally allowing me to understand them properly.

'Necro…' I began reading when suddenly a window popped up before me.

[WALL OF BASIC NECROMANCY]

{WOULD YOU LIKE TO ABSORB THE KNOWLEDGE IT POSSESSES?}

[YES/NO]

Literally 'hell yeah'!

Without a second thought I pressed "YES", causing the wall before me to glow gold before settling back to its normal tone of colour, its surface no longer containing the arcane knowledge that had just been absorbed into my mind.

[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED!]

[NECROMANCY MAGIC - Lv 20 (0%)]

{HOW MUCH YOU UNDERSTAND ABOUT THE ARCANE KNOWLEDGE OF THE SCHOOL OF NECROMANCY.}

[Necromancy is about the manipulation of life and death, making it the most infamous school of Magic. It also deals with undeath, manipulating the energies that animate living beings. Specialists in the Necromancy School are called Necromancers and most go down this path seeking to extend their own life or become immortal. They also create undead like skeletons and zombies that serve either as workforce or as bodyguards. At lower levels of Necromancy has you draining the life force of other creatures, or bolstering your own. You will also gain access to the way of animating the dead, allowing you to create skeletons and zombies of fallen creatures. At its pinnacle, Necromancy Magic gives you full control over life and death itself, being able to pull someone's soul out of their bodies and trap it or put a soul back to a dead body in order to resurrect a being back to life. There's also the option to become an immortal Lich. … Most people see necromancers as menacing, or even villainous, due to the close association with death. Not all necromancers are evil, but the forces they manipulate are considered taboo by many societies. …]

Pulling my hand away from the now smooth stone, I retrieved my Awakened Spellbook from my Inventory.

"Page, are you there?" I asked while flipping her pages.

"At your service, master." She replied after manifesting her spectral appearance.

Allowing the Spellbook to float freely around me by using my Legerdemain hands, I finally explained my reason to summon her.

"Make a new chapter for Necromancy Magic." I said while establishing a mental link between us, sharing most of the knowledge I just gained. "Run simulations for a viable spell out of its concepts."

"Done." Page immediately announced. "Five feasible formulas have been prepared. They are all waiting to be put to practice."

"Excellent."

…

After a series of trial and error, only two spells ended up working.

Surprisingly they were both Cantrips.

{SPARE THE DYING Lv- 1 (0%)}

{NECROMANCY CANTRIP: You touch a recently killed creature, starting with 1 minute. The creature comes back to life and becomes stable, though remains unconscious until taking a long rest. This spell has no effect on undead or constructs.}

CASTING TIME: 6 SECONDS

DURATION: INSTANTANEOUS

RANGE: TOUCH

COMPONENTS: VOCAL, SOMATIC

It is not optimal to teach all my allies in order to bring me back to life in an emergency, since they would need to be nearby in order to meet the requirements, but beggars can't be choosers.

Next…

{DECOMPOSE Lv- 1 (0%)}

{NECROMANCY CANTRIP: You reach out with a skeletal hand and touch the corpse of a creature. Over the next minute, the corpse begins to rapidly decompose, sprouting fungus and moss as it begins to degrade into compost and mulch. An odd-colored flower or two may also spring from the corpse at this time. If your target instead is a living creature, assailing it with the chill of the grave. The target takes a sliver of necrotic damage, and it can't regain Health Points for an hour. Until then, the mark of your hand clings to the target. If you hit an Undead target, you boost its stats for an hour.}

CASTING TIME: 6 SECONDS

DURATION: 1 HOUR

RANGE: TOUCH

COMPONENTS: VOCAL, SOMATIC

Man, that's some way to ruin someone's funeral.

Possibly even prevent a magical resurrection.

Plus stopping someone from healing or boosting an undead on top.

"Excellent progress." I remarked to Page. "Run a thorough revaluation on why the other spells didn't work. When I get the time I will help you out by testing them again."

"On it." Page replied with a respectful nod before I closed her book and stored it back on my Inventory.

Now finally looking at the giant chest in the middle of the chamber, I recognized that its hinges were featuring the same distinctive rippled patterns like the one I found on the Red Keep.

Unfortunately inside it I found no Valyrian Steel weapon, just another potion.

[POTION OF ULTIMATE MAGIC]

[A POTION THAT COMPLETELY RESTORES THE DRINKER'S MANA BAR]

Exactly what I needed to put spells into my Elixirs.

On top of that, I still got the good old pile of gold.

But before I made my way to leave, my Observant perk called my attention to a peculiar silver ring that framed the Black Skull on the ceiling I had previously inspected.

The silver ring had countless faint carvings, that to the regular eye didn't seem like much, but looking carefully with my Observe skill, I almost gasped.

One of the signals stood for the castle I've already completed, it being the Red Keep.

But I was sure I had never noticed it in my previous Dungeon.

While the entrance and exit to the treasure room was previously opposite one another in the circular rooms of the Magical Dungeons under the Red Keep, I noticed a carving in between them that really resembled a doorframe.

But it was placed against a plain wall.

Wiping the wall with my hand, a window popped up.

[INTERDUNGEON TRANSPORT GATE]

[A method of long-distance transportation between cleared dungeons.]

[WARNING! Players must first clear all the Great castle's dungeons in each Kingdom, in order to be allowed to transport themselves to a specific destination]

You must me fucking with me.

Can I really unlock fast travel like this?

That's just too much of a Game-changing mechanic to be introduced just like that, perhaps even Game-Breaking.

But like always, I'm not complaining.

Perhaps just a little.

But not for the reason you might be thinking.

'Great castles'?

Are you referring to the Great Houses?

Let me see…

North obviously had Winterfall, the Vale had the Erie, Riverlands had Riverrun, Westerlands had Casterly Rock, the Iron Islands had Pyke, the Reach had Highgarden, Stormlands had Storm's End and Dorne had Sunspear.

Thankfully I already got the Red Keep from the Crownlands before leaving, so it's 1 out of 9.

Man, that's gonna take quite some time.

Regardless, I got necromancy knowledge to work on, my gold to spend and a mana potion to study.

Perhaps this transport gate was meant to be more of an endgame feature.

Of one thing I was sure, if I was once unsure about making Harrenhal mine one day, I no longer had any doubt.

I will achieve what Harren himself failed to.

For now I will continue my travel towards Casterly Rock.

Coming out of the Magical Dungeon, I went straight to the chamber Lady Whent prepared for me, only to meet a young servant girl who was already awake and taking care of her duties.

She reminded me of a young Cinderella, years before finding her fairy godmother.

Pondering for a moment, I shrugged. 'Why the hell not?'

—————————————————————

As the sun rose and Tywin's retinue began preparations to move out, I came out of my room as if nothing happened and had Sandor follow me towards the others.

Oh, and I had managed to allure, with my Silver Tongue, a pretty servant named Pia, who was surprised to find me wandering the castle that early in the morning.

She was the same one that I noticed during my arrival at Harrenhal.

A pretty, giggling girl, sweet and simple.

With a sense of inferiority even worse than Alysse's.

And if I recall correctly, this Pia would eventually have a reputation for promiscuity.

I've managed to convince her to agree to travel with me so we could continue to know each other.

The poor girl didn't seem to know if she should blush or cry at the idea of leaving this dreadful castle with me, her charming prince.

In order to calm her down, I changed subjects and shared with her what I knew from the places we were about to travel past.

And in the brief time we spent together, Pia seemed to gain the approval of Shadow, my trusty cat, who had been sleeping most of the time during our journeys.

Having said that, traveling north along the King's Road was a pretty yet tiresome journey.

To the west flowed the Green Fork River, deep wide and uncrossable for hundreds of miles south of the Twins.

And to the east, the mountains of Arryn rose up, the impenetrable but for the occasional donkey track heading off towards promised passes through the mountains.

Main problem further along would be the vicious Vale mountain clans, who mostly didn't believe in either the New or the Old Gods.

Very few paths branched off of the main road and there were fewer travelers than one might expect for the kingdom's main arterial road.

But eventually, the King's Road did start to pass through settlements once more, as we entered the Riverlands proper.

Lord Harroway's town was probably worth a mention as it was technically the last crossing point over the river south of the Twins.

It was here that the Green Fork River merged with the Blue Fork and the Red Fork, three rivers merging into one, the Trident River.

Although now the home of house Roote, Haraway was still named after House Haraway who were the unfortunate victims of King Maegor the cruel.

He took Alys Harroway as his second wife, but then his third wife convinced him that Alys was having a series of affairs, something he clearly allowed himself to do but wouldn't allow his wife to.

Maegor's response to this possibly even untrue allegation was to wipe out every living Harraway, men, women and children.

He was not called Maegor the Cruel for nothing.

Today, Harraway the town was a simple place, much like any other, with a Sept, a round stone tower and an inn.

The ferry itself however was a bit of an oddity.

It was a wide flat bottomed boat decorated with carved horse heads and possessing a wooden house on its deck.

It was perfect for traders and travelers who wanted to get across and didn't mind helping with the rowing, but it would take an eternity to get an army across the river here.

For that they would need to travel down a few miles further south, to the Ruby Ford.

The Ford was not new, but it wasn't always called the Ruby Ford, in fact that was quite a recent name.

For it was here that the decisive battle of my father's rebellion took place.

As in all good tales of war and rebellion though, this seemed to have actually happened, the heir to the throne Rhaegar Targaryen and the pretender to the throne Robert Baratheon found themselves facing each other in the middle of a battle, and became locked in single combat.

For a time they were well matched, but eventually Robert brought his Warhammer crashing down on Rhaegar's chest, killing him instantly.

Rhaegar's breastplate was encrusted with many hundreds of rubies arranged in the shape of a mighty dragon, as Robert's Warhammer caved in Rhaegar's chest the rubies went flying in every direction.

The battle was won, Rhaegar forces were routed and the survivors soon turned to scrabbling in the mud and blood of war's aftermath, seeking the rubies.

Even now, several years later, some claimed to have found some of them that had washed up miles downstream.

So the Ford became known as Ruby Ford, but let us go on just a short distance further.

Our second destination now was a place equally steeped in history but much less celebrated.

After everything I gained from both the Red Keep and Harrenhal, I've decided to spend most of my travel seeking castles and palaces, but they were the homes of only a small fraction of the population of Westeros.

For most people, their lives were concentrated more on the field and family homes, or relaxing at a cozy inn.

And the most famous and central Inn on the entire continent was the Inn at the Crossroads.

As the name implies, it stood at a crossroads.

North on the King's Road takes you to Winterfell and the Wall, South takes you to King's Landing, go East from here and the high road takes you to the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, Westwards along the River Road leads to Riverrun and then to Casterly Rock.

It's hard to say how long an inn has stood here, but this building before me dates back to the reign of Jaehaerys the first, and at various times has been called the Two Crowns in honor of Jhaeherys and his Queen Alyssane.

The Bellringer and the Clanking Dragon as well as several other names.

It was a three-story building surrounded by a low white wall. A thatched stable building lay separate to the main inn as did a bell tower.

The inn itself was undistinguished as buildings go, other than a few white stone turrets, and the curiosity that part of it, the rooms on the south side, were built on pilings.

Apparently when it was built, the Trident River passed underneath, and guests in those rooms could lean out and fish for their supper if they so wished.

The Trident has of course changed its course through the countryside since then and what was left was a patch of soggy weed ridden ground underneath the inn.

But I didn't come here to stare at weeds.

Going in, the air inside the inn was heavy with smoke from the roaring fire, the smell of roasting meats wafts from the kitchen, mingling with that of ale and wine, and to be frank if it has been raining damp leather from the cloaks of passing travelers.

The wonder of this place was that it was a stopping off point for everyone, lords and ladies stood here while on their travels as the merchants and traders, local farmers gather here in the evenings and soldiers from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms drink and talk and gamble here.

The crossroads made for odd companions, dyers with black and purple hands shared a bench with rivermen reeking of fish, an ironsmith thick with muscle squeezed in beside a wizened old septon, hard-bitten sellswords and soft plump merchants swapped news like boon companions.

The politics of the Seven Kingdoms was not forgotten here, but this was as close as there was to neutral ground in the Game of Thrones.

This was my kind of place.

All kinds of people from all corners of the realm mingling, chatting and sharing bread.

There was a ready supply of Dornish red, a minstrel tuning up in the corner and a night in a warm bed to look forward to.

After so many nights on the road, this was hospitality and community, even if most of the Lannister retinue will end up sleeping in the stables.

While some of the major individuals at Tywin's retinue enjoyed their second rest in this calm and pleasant place, I noticed grandfather himself staring at me from time to time, probably trying to understand why I had requested that we make a pause here.

Having to cope with my shocking revelation that not only Magic was real, but I was capable of wielding it, Tywin must've believed that Harrenhal had a significant value to me.

Hence why he covered up for my absence from the feast Lady Whent had prepared for us without saying a word to me.

But seeking this common place right after visiting the allegedly cursed ruim of Harrenhal, seemed to be strange enough to him.

As was my sudden interest in the servant girl I had brought with us.

Letting Thoros challenge the others for a drinking and singing contest, I sneaked out when nobody was looking, casted Disguise Self and went to greet the owner of this lovely establishment as my Bard persona.

A few Gold Dragons was more than enough to have a letter be sent to Chataya detailing what sort of business I was expecting to have between this promising Inn and her fabulous Tavern.

And to seal the deal, being a celebrity ascending in popularity, I've offered to play a few songs for the inn's guests.

Besides, I had paid in advance to have one of my half siblings living in one of the Stoney Sept's brothels taken care of and properly sheltered once she grew old enough to work here.

Bella Rivers if I'm not mistaken.

And to my great satisfaction, I've managed to locate the most notorious sellsword of the TV Show.

Bronn, son of you-wouldn't-know-him.

A tall man, thin and hard as a bone with a wolfish smile, and was as quick as a cat, if his Mobility stat was to be believed.

With his black sense of humor, and a pragmatic, thoroughly amoral philosophy I was sure he would fit right in amongst my unofficial party.

Though my Observation skill continued to inform me of some random piece of information about the people I used it on.

This time for example, it said that Bronn was…

A fucking Rayne?!

Now that's just utter crap.

Well… at least he didn't seem to have the slightest clue about it.

In any case, it was an alternative universe I've transmigrated to.

Since both Jaime and Cersei were apparently children of the Mad King, and everything led me to believe that Young Griff was a Blackfyre, why not this.

But seriously, this kinda makes me worried about what else was different from canon.

What else, should I be worried that Jon Snow will actually be the son of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne?

"Excuse me, dear sir..." I spoke with the minstrel that had been playing some of the well known songs of the Seven Kingdoms. "But I believe it's your time to rest. Don't worry, I will cover for you."

"Aye, bloody time I suppose." The man replied while massaging his throat. "My voice was already becoming hoarse."

Politely nodding at the minstrel's ramblings, I took his place and drew the attention of everyone in the Inn, especially of Tywin Lannister.

Since he knew that I was behind Fighter's display of combat prowess, why not also having something to do with the other individual claiming to hail from the same unfamiliar place.

Playing my lute's chords with the same dexterity I became famous for in Chataya's tavern, I began singing.

"The fairer sex they often call it. But her love's as unfair as a crook. It steals all my reason. Commits every treason of logic with naught but a look."

From where I stood I could sight the table occupied by the few men I've personally picked to follow me to Casterly Rock.

Bryden Tully appeared to approve my choice of combatants, since it was the fifth time I caught him fraternizing with them.

"A storm raging on the horizon. Of longing, heartache and lust. She's always bad news. It's always lose-lose. So, tell me, love, tell me, love, how is that just?"

With both Thoros of Myr and Jalabhar Xho cheering and applauding my performance, with Syrio Forel speaking with Bryden, I spent a Divinity Point with Balm of Peace and continued.

"But the story is this. She'll destroy with her sweet kiss. Her sweet kiss. But the story is this.

She'll destroy it with her sweet kiss."

By now, even Tyrion seemed to be mildly interested in my talent.

Same thing for Tywin, who by all accounts would have already left for his room if that wasn't the case.

"Her current is pulling you closer. A charge in the hot, humid night. The Red sky at dawn is giving a warning. You fool better stay out of sight."

"I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I'll welcome my sentence. Give to you my panence. Garrother, jury and judge."

"But the story is this. She'll destroy with her sweet kiss. Her sweet kiss. … oh-oh…But the story is this. She'll destroy it with her sweet kiss. … ohhhh! …But the story is this. She'll destroy with her sweet kiss. Her sweet kiss. … oh-oh … But the story is this. She'll destroy it with her sweet kiss. … ohhhh! …But the story is this. She'll destroy it with her sweet kiss."

The familiar and satisfying sound of applause flooded the Inn, so with everyone's mood so elevated, I proceeded to give my own spin on the already very familiar songs of this land.

Finally, after a couple of hours of making everyone partying, I decided to bookend the night for everyone by singing another song from my previous life.

The expectation and eagerness of the crowd to hear another original song was palpable.

"Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger! Come quell your daughter's hunger!"

Thankfully only the grown ups were there to hear this one.

"To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn. For 'its naught, but bad luck to fuck with a puck. Lest your grandkid be born a hairy young faun. Bleating and braying all day, hey ho! The fishmonger's daughter, ba ba."

Countless cheers and laughter were given as I repeated the song's chorus a few more times before ending it.

"The fishmonger's daughter, ba ba. The fishmonger's daughter, ba ba. The fishmonger's daughter, ba ba ba! … ta dada da tata …da dada tatata!" I took my hat off and bowed. "Thank you everyone! Blessed be the Gods who have given me the gift of singing to entertain you all! Have a wonderful night!"

Waving at everyone before taking my leave, I left to continue working on my recently acquired titles.

—————————————————————

As the sun rose once again, we hit the road once again.

Fun fact, while traveling upriver towards Raventree Hall, home of the mysterious house Blackwood, I noticed some of the Lannister's soldiers singing the two songs I 'borrowed' from Jaskier.

And I wasn't the only one to notice their cheerful mood, given that I caught Pia humming 'Her Sweet Kiss'.

As we approached, trudging slowly uphill from the river, it was hard not to imagine this as a northern castle, despite being firmly rooted in the Riverlands.

The curtain wall was high and ancient, covered in moss with massive towers at each corner and the gatehouse flanked with two more huge towers.

Even from outside the walls, House Blackwood's massive Weirwood Tree was visible against the skyline.

And of course, there was a reason for this. House Blackwood was descended from the first men like most northerners.

Indeed, legend has it that before the rise of House Stark and the kings of winter they ruled a vast swath of what was now thought of as the North, including the mighty Wolfswood.

But they like everyone else in the north eventually had to bow to the Starks, however in their case, they were driven southwards until settling down where they are now.

And they clearly landed on their feet, for they ruled as kings over the riverlands during the

Age of Heroes, around which time, or perhaps a little later, started their feud with House Bracken.

This was surely the longest-running and bitterest feud between two major houses in all of

Westeros.

At least one that was so openly displayed.

Coming back to that in just a moment because my grandfather's retinue have now just reached the gates of Raventree Hall.

As I observed it from the outside, it was more of a castle than a hall, an impression underlined by the secured gatehouse I passed through and the moat I passed over.

But now, standing in the muddy outer bailey and looking up at what lay inside, it was clear that this was a defensive structure on the outside only.

There was no squat stone Keep built here, with narrow arrow slits for windows, no… there merely was a hall, wooden and tall.

And as I went in, it was hard to dislike it, with its woollen tapestries hanging from the walls and large windows letting the light in.

Even with the main hall itself being nothing less than cavernous, it was the Lord's solar that both me and Tywin first headed to as the men following us made camp.

It was at the back of the building, and despite the dark wood beams of the walls, floor and ceiling, it felt airy and spacious.

Most of the light in this room came through the large windows and lattice work doors that look out over the Godswood.

And it was impossible to look out over this Godswood without being awestruck by the colossal weirwood tree at its heart.

It must surely be the largest one south of the wall, even rumored to be bigger than the one at Winterfell.

But, from its surface appearance, it was also very much dead, as its trunk and branches petrified slowly over the centuries.

And this fact was at the heart of the feud I mentioned earlier with House Bracken, for the Blackwoods claimed that millennia ago the Bracken's poisoned their Weirwood tree, killing it.

This wasn't the start of the feud.

That happened well before the Andal invasion as the Brackens jostled with the ruling Blackwoods for power.

But after the invasion, their political rivalry became a religious one too.

The Brackens converted to the Faith of the Seven while the Blackwood stayed true to the faith of their forebears.

There are territorial disputes as well that have lasted centuries, if one traveled a few miles east

from here to the village of Black Buckle, they would find themselves in lands still claimed by both Houses.

There have been many attempts at peace, including one period of 300 years where the

descendants of a bastard born of both houses ruled, but these have always seemed to end with cries of bloody betrayal on one side or the other.

On a second note, it was nearly dusk.

And so nearly time for the daily spectacle I have heard so much about.

One hears it before they see it.

The cause and cries of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Ravens rising to a crescendo as they approach, as they do every night.

Turning the twilight sky dark, with their maelstrom of wings before settling as one on the Weirwood tree, roosting for the night before setting off again before dawn breaks.

Lord Blackwood said that they have done this every day for thousands of years, being the reason for how Raventree gained its name, and how house Blackwood earned its distinctive coat of arms.

It is also the reminder of the perhaps most famous son of a Blackwood, Bryden Rivers, Bloodraven.

His mother was Melissa Blackwood, and his nickname came from his birthmark, but also as a nod to his heritage here.

Most recently, Black Betha Blackwood was Queen consort to King Aegon the Fifth, Egg to his friends.

Which may seem like a genealogical footnote, but it means that the Targaryen bloodline today, is part Blackwood, and quite a strong part.

Aegon's son, Jhaeherys married his sister, and their son, the Mad King, married his sister.

So their children are also a large part of Blackwood.

Cersei and Jaime for instance.

And Aerys's grandchildren.

Joanna, Lann, Rhaenys and me.

I wonder how they were doing without my presence.

For all of her faults, I trusted that Cersei wouldn't be negligent in raising them, if not a little too indulgent in spoiling them a little.

But since Lann convinced me that he wasn't another Joffrey in the making, I was less worried about it.

Though I pitied them in having to appease Joanna's temper without me.

As for my first party member.

Certainly I've trained her enough to make me trust her skill, otherwise I would have forbidden her from continuing her night raids without me.

Much less task her with raising an organization of both thieves and assassins.

But enough history lessons.

I could understand what was so appealing with this Weirwood.

With my True Tongue skill and Speech of the Woods feature, I managed to hear fragments of the messages these black feathered birds were delivering.

Some of the Ravens echoed the past while others sent messages that I assumed were being exchanged by the remaining Children of the Forest.

Enjoying the pleasant evening in Lord Blackwood solar at his invitation and this unique view over the Godswood, the massive white tree covered in black Ravens merged into gray in the evening's gloom.

This would be the last time someone would see it like that.

—————————————————————

Incidentally, during my stay at Raventree hall, I noticed that one of my relatives from the Frey House even came to visit me since I couldn't visit the Twins without risking traveling through winter before arriving at Casterly Rock.

His name was Cleo Frey, son of Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey, and father of a boy named Tywin.

Not a very impressive man, much like the rest of his unexceptional family, but I saw an opportunity to have him around during my time as Tywin's Ward.

Back to the most interesting part about the castle.

Approaching the massive white branches of an ancient weirwood tree that could be seen from any point on the castle grounds, I sneaked past the guards at the front gate and entered the Godswood.

I had no idea why they would waste the manpower guarding such a place, were they really afraid that someone would attempt to harm an already "dead" weirwood tree?

As I continued to follow the path, which was lined with roses, and other pretty flowers along the way, I concluded that Lord Blackwood obviously spent a lot of gold and manpower on the upkeep of the Godswood.

I turned a corner in the Godswood, and suddenly I could see it again.

This close to it, I noticed how the trunk was absolutely massive.

If one were to hollow it out and make a bed out of it I was certain that an average man could lay in it, spread-eagle and not touch the walls.

Well it looked dead at least, from what I could see of the bark on the trunk, but a faint humming could still be heard from it with my True Tongue skill.

Almost as if it was snoring.

Having enough of observing from afar, I walked up to it, becoming more curious the closer that I got to it.

There was a face carved on to the tree, like any other weirwood.

Except this one wasn't weeping red sap.

But if it's dead, why haven't the branches fallen or broken from a windy day?

Was it merely because that weirwood didn't rot?

I reached my right hand out to the tree.

Wanting to touch it, to feel the dead bark.

My first thought was that the white bark was not as hard as I initially believed it would be.

It still felt like the bark of a tree, as there was only so much deviation you could have when it comes to that.

But I didn't feel anything overly powerful from it like I expected, or remembered from the one on Harrenhal's Godswood.

I expected to be able to feel something, like a spark of power that I could use to activate its dormant power.

Nothing.

I frowned at the tree, but continued to rub the bark unwilling to believe that the ancient weirwood was really dead.

From what I understood, a Weirwood tree wouldn't die for sure even if someone cut it down.

Something to do with its roots reaching deep enough.

On a whim, I used a Divine Point to use Lay on Hands and placed both hands on it.

Trying to heal it with divine energy, I soon noticed a sharp stream of energy jolting through my arm as something locked my palm to the tree.

I tried to yank my hand back, but I couldn't.

Regardless of how strong I pulled, something more powerful was holding it there.

All of a sudden, an influx of mana surprised me, with enough force to distract me from the fact that my hand had been freed from the bark of the tree and was now dangling by my side.

I looked down to my palm to see that there was a small red symbol that soon disappeared, leaving no sign of its existence behind.

[TITLE "DRUID" HAS LEVELED UP!]

My gaze went back to the weirwood tree to see if it would give me any indication of what just happened.

But the tree didn't look like it once did before.

For starters, the face on the front of the tree was finally weeping red sap, as most healthy weirwood trees did from time to time.

I looked up after that, to confirm what I thought had happened.

What I saw was not the look of a dead weirwood tree with no leaves.

No, now there were red leaves sprouting from the massive branches that reached over the city.

The white bark looked more alive, and less cracked.

Finally realizing, I understood that I've just revived the ancient old weirwood tree, and leveled my title again.

{PING!}

Before I began reading through all the notifications telling me of what I got, I decided to reflect about the position I found myself in.

What would happen if everyone realized that the 'dead' weirwood tree had been revived?

They would all certainly come rushing to see what happened.

So with that, I turned away from the tree, and quickly made my way deeper into the gardens before anyone came to investigate.

—————————————————————

[WILD POINTS UNLOCKED: 2]

*You have 2 Wild Points, and you gain more as your title reaches higher levels, regaining all spent points when you finish a short rest.

[CURRENT WILD-FUELED FEATURES:]

**WILD SHAPE: You gain the ability of magically assuming the shape of a beast that you have seen or studied about. You can stay in beast shape for a number of hours equal to your Druid level. You then revert to your normal form unless you expend another Wild Point. You can voluntarily revert to your normal form. You automatically revert if you fall unconscious or drop to 0 Health Points. While you are transformed, the following rules apply: Your stats are replaced by the stats of the beast, but you retain your personality, Intelligence and Stealth if they are higher than the animal you've turned into. You also retain all of your skills not tied to your specific body, in addition to gaining those of the creature. When you transform, you assume the beast's Health bar. When you revert to your normal form, you return to the number of Health Points you had before you transformed. However, if you revert as a result of dropping to 0 Health points, any excess damage carries over to your normal form. You can't cast spells, and your ability to speak or take any action that requires hands is limited to the capabilities of your beast form. Transforming doesn't break your concentration on a spell you've already casted, nor prevent you from taking actions that are part of a spell, such as manipulating an illusion that you've already casted. You retain the benefits of any features from your titles, race, or other source and can use them if the new form is physically capable of doing so. You choose whether your equipment falls to the ground nearby you, is stored into your Inventory, or is worn by you. Worn equipment functions as normal, but its effectiveness depends on whether it is practical for the new form to wear a piece of equipment, based on the creature's shape and size. Your equipment doesn't change size or shape to match the new form, and any equipment that the new form can't wear must either fall to the ground or be added into your Inventory. Equipment that merges with the form has no effect until you leave the form.

**WILD COMPANION: You gain the ability to make a loyal beast become a familiar spirit to you, and you can expend a Wild Point to conjure it before you. When turned into a familiar, the beast of choice turns into a fey, unable to die permanently. Your familiar acts independently of you, but it always obeys your commands. While your familiar is within 30 meters of you, you can communicate with it telepathically. Additionally, you can see through your familiar's eyes and hear what it hears while concentrating, gaining the benefits of any special senses that the familiar has. During this time, you are deaf and blind with regard to your own senses. You can also temporarily dismiss your familiar. It disappears into a pocket dimension, even if it is killed, where it awaits your summon. Once you summon it, you can cause it to reappear in any unoccupied space within 10 meters of you.

Not the Skinchange ability that I was expecting to become an unstoppable Professor X of the X-man, but still, this could prove to be even better.

With Disguise Self and Alter Self, I could pretend to be basically anyone, perhaps this Wild Shape could make me almost any beast.

Let's see my options.

[CURRENT RESTRICTIONS FOR YOUR DRUID LEVEL DICTATES THAT YOU CAN'T ASSUME THE FORM OF A BEAST THAT CAN EITHER BREATH UNDERWATER OR FLY.]

Not the best start, but I believe it's only fair, since I just got the feature.

[KNOWN WILD SHAPE FORMS:]

**Ant, Baboon, Badger, Cat, Deer, Frog, Goat, Hyena, Jackal, Lizard, Rat, Squirrel, Otter, Little Valyrian, Scorpion, Spider, Weasel, Camel, Mastiff, Mule, Poisonous Snake, Pony, Turtle, Fox, Beaver, Boar, Constrictor Snake, Cow, Draft Horse, Elk, Zorses, Unicorn, Stag, Porcupine, Shadowcat, Riding Horse, Wolf.

Wow, I've literally become Beast Boy with only two levels.

Some were a little niche, but I was sure I could find a use for them.

Granted, most of them weren't that exceptional besides helping me out with my scouting and infiltrations, as none of them could fly or were good swimmers either, since the breathing under water restriction didn't mean anything with my Storm Aura feature providing it to me in the seas.

Wonder if that also applies to rivers and lakes, because it definitely should.

But I will cross that bridge later.

For now…

"Come here, Shadow!" I said after returning to the room Lord Blackwood had offered me to rest.

'I'm here!' She replied after obeying my orders.

"If I get this right, you will be basically immortal with it."

'Immortal?' She tilted her head.

"Will live forever." I explained.

'I like living!' She said excitedly.

Nodding with that confirmation, I said while spending a Wild Point. "Shadow, I want you to be my Familiar."

My trusty cat, which I had trained and befriended for years now, had gained a faint glow.

Some magical marks began moving around her fur almost as if they were alive, and she disappeared in thin air.

When conjuring her for the first time, my heart almost stopped when it took more than a second for anything to happen.

But eventually, Shadow had appeared out of nowhere, and began inspecting her surroundings.

Wanting to make sure she was the same cat, I scratched her head before casting Observe, noticing she had gained a much simpler version of my System.

Almost as if she had entered my party.

'That was weird. What just happened?' Shadow asked, suddenly coming up with more complex sentences without noticing.

Concentrating for a moment, I was surprised to find my vision shifting towards Shadow's, as I could not only understand simple thoughts of my pet without her voicing them out, but also see myself from her perspective.

'Hungry.' She thought.

'Heh. It seems that even the allegedly immortal fey creatures could have basic needs.' Smirking at her antics, I thought. 'It must be either that or Shadow simply didn't care if she required sustenance or not.' Patting her on the back, I told her. "Go find Pia, she will get you something fresh to eat."

'Yes, master!'

I had dusk till dawn, when Tywin would command his men to dismantle their camp and prepare to hit the road.

Speaking of the old lion, he has indeed connected the fact that I had magic to the 'rebirth' of the weirwood tree at Raventree hall.

But to his credit, he knew better than to sound crazy trying to explain it to someone, much less confront me with it.

Just watching me from the corner of his eyes, as if I would suddenly display my magic for all to see, believing that I didn't notice it.

—————————————————————

(13/10/2021)

(13/10/2021)

(28/04/2022)

*Hope this chapter is of your liking.

Anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so.

Check out my auxiliary chapter if you still haven't.

Thanks as always for your attention and please be safe.

Any problems with my writing, just point them out and I will correct them as soon as possible.

** So, as some of you have already guessed, I'm taking quite a lot of inspiration from D&D, more specifically the fifth edition.

Classes, monsters, spells and plenty of other features.

To some of you the lore of both D&D and Asoiaf might not appear compatible, but besides using 'it's a multiverse' card, I will say that I'm working on homebrewing a lore that isn't that much confusing.

No promises though. 😅😓