Chapter 83 - Backlash

126 AC

Ulf Pov

The surge of triumph still coursed through my veins as I sought out my comrades. Upon entering the hall, I found them huddled in a corner. Addam ,Mushroom, Hugh, and Harlon wore expressions of solemnity.

"Why the long faces?" I inquired, nonchalantly biting into a piece of bread.

Mushroom burst into laughter. "You have the nerve to ask us that after what you did," he retorted.

"What did I do?" I snapped, a hint of anger creeping into my tone.

"You unleashed some twisted blood magic yesterday," he muttered, cautiously mindful of the House Blackwood members nearby.

"Do you comprehend the consequences of your actions, Ulf?" he questioned, his gaze piercing.

Then, a realization flickered in his eyes. "You don't give a damn, do you?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"I merely fulfilled the duty entrusted to me," I asserted.

"Oh, is that so?" Mushroom scoffed. "Then enlighten the fucking septons and the arseholess in Oldtown. They'll surely be baying for your blood."

"You're not in the bloody North where they'd worship you. You're in the South, where the Seven are revered," he spat out.

"Imagine how the people and nobles alike would react when they learn that their Holy White Knight resurrected a dead weirwood tree with his own blood," Mushroom continued with a sneer.

"Wait, don't bother answering. I'll tell you," he declared. "They'll fucking lynch you."

"I just carried out my duty", I said.

"Whoever bestowed that 'duty' upon you royally fucked you over, you fool. Just know that," Mushroom spat out with contempt.

Preferring not to engage in an argument, I rose from the table, grappling with doubts that clawed at my mind. Seeking solace, I made my way to the godswood.

As I stepped into the sacred grove, I found Lord Blackwood seated, tears streaming down his face. At the sight of me, he rose and enveloped me in a bear hug, his weeping intensifying.

"Thank you, thank you..." he continued to express his gratitude.

"I apologize for doubting you," he managed to say amid tears. Then, he knelt before me.

"House Blackwood will forever remember what you have done for us. I only wish my father were here to witness this. I solemnly vow that House Blackwood will remain indebted to you and your descendants until the end of time," he declared.

In that moment, all lingering doubts dissolved within me, replaced by a profound sense of accomplishment. I had rendered a service to the old gods residing in the South.

For my mission was clear—to aid the people of the Seven Kingdoms, whether they followed the old faith or the new.

We had reached the imposing walls of Riverrun. The past week had cloaked us in a heavy silence, the events at Raventree Hall casting a lingering shadow over our group. As we entered the castle, Ser Elmo Tully, the heir to Riverrun, greeted us. He stood with an air of alertness, his two sons flanking him. As I approached, tension palpable in the air, I noticed the guards at the ready, hands on their sheaths.

"We meet again after a long time, Ser Elmo," I ventured, attempting to break the icy atmosphere.

"You are right, Ser Ulf," he replied, his gaze unwavering.

His sons, however, seemed uneasy, their breaths strained.

"We've heard some rumors, Ser Ulf," Ser Elmo spoke, his tone serious.

"About what happened in Raventree Hall," I stated, and he nodded gravely.

"Ser Ulf, I am afraid..." he began, but his words were interrupted by the arrival of an old man, hunched with age and gray hair.

"Elmo, kill him," the old man commanded, his eyes fixed on me. "He has come from the Seven Hells."

Hugh tightened his grip on his Warhammer, ready to act, but a subtle gesture from me held him back.

"I will take care of it, Grandfather," Ser Elmo assured as he ordered guards to escort the old man away.

"Ser Ulf, you are not welcome in Riverrun," Ser Elmo declared, his tone firm. "For your own safety, I suggest you color your hair and return to Dragonstone."

"And what crime have I committed to deserve such treatment, Ser Elmo?" I retorted, a frosty edge to my words.

"You know very well what you've done, Ser Ulf. The news has already spread throughout the Riverlands, and it won't be long before every man , woman and child in Westeros learns of it," he stated coldly.

"May the Seven forgive your soul," he added before turning away.

Shaking my head, I couldn't help but feel a sense of bitter disappointment as we left the castle, the weight of judgment hanging heavily in the air.

Two moons had elapsed since we traversed the Riverlands. Everywhere we went, the lords' apprehension towards me escalated. As we passed through villages, the smallfolk would visibly pale at the sight of my distinctive white hair. Septons, once proclaiming me a figure of virtue, had now declared me a heretic, accusing me of forsaking the Seven and worshiping demons from the depths of the Seven Hells. The shift in sentiment was stark; we were no longer welcomed but chased away, stones hurled at us by the same people who once showed kindness.

The benevolence extended to me before had evaporated, replaced by contempt. The very septons who would have once declared me a saint were now singing a different tune.

"Why not color your hair, Ulf? It might put an end to all this," Mushroom suggested.

"I will not," I asserted.

"I won't change who I am just to placate those who scorn me. I know the kind of man I am," I declared resolutely. "I cannot live in hiding."

"That's exactly what those bastards in Oldtown want, especially that wretched Otto Hightower," Mushroom spat out. "Before the incident in Raventree Hall, you were the symbol of the 'Blacks.' Now he's painting you as the vilest man in the Seven Kingdoms. The last thing I want is to see you killed by some random villager," he added with a tone of genuine concern.

"I understand," I said, acknowledging Mushroom's concern.

The distant silhouette of Harrenhal cast a shadow over our journey, a looming fortress that seemed to harbor secrets as dark as its towering walls.

"I'll bet you a gold dragon they'll kick us out as well," Hugh grimly predicted.

"I agree," I replied as we approached the imposing gates. Once inside, we were led to the hall where Ser Simon Strong, the castellan of Harrenhal, welcomed us. 

"My grandnephew wrote to me," Ser Simon began, and I awaited his revelation.

My thoughts involuntarily drifted to Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, whose influence seemed to reach even into the heart of this foreboding castle.

"And what did he say?" I inquired.

"He told me to thank you," he replied, a sly grin forming on his lips.

"For what?" I questioned, genuine confusion clouding my expression.

"For destroying your reputation by performing blood magic," he chuckled heartily. "He also mentioned that you made his and the Lord Hand's task much easier."

The irony of the situation struck me, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger. "I do not understand. The septons were praising you, yet you are nothing but a smallfolk who rose above his ranks," Ser Simon sneered.

"Do you know what we do with runts in Harrenhal, Ser Ulf?" he taunted, his tone dripping with contempt. "We chop their heads off."

I maintained my composure, holding back the torrent of rage building within me. "Will you kill me as well?" I asked calmly.

"No, my grandnephew wants you to roam around the Seven Kingdoms and destroy your reputation further," Ser Simon declared with a malicious grin. "Now go and fuck off, and if I see you here tomorrow, I will cut your head off myself."

With a bitter taste in our mouths, we left Harrenhal and made our way outside to camp for the night. Hugh's frustration was palpable. "I wanted to bash that fucker's face in," he seethed.

"It's good that you've developed a semblance of self-control," Mushroom remarked dryly.

"We should go back to Dragonstone," Hugh suggested, eyes burning with anger. Harlon, however, widened his eyes in disagreement.

"No," I said firmly. "We are yet to finish the task given to us by Prince Daemon."

"I agree with Ulf," Harlon interjected hastily.

Exhaustion weighed on us all, and I decided, "We are all tired. I believe we should make camp, stay the night, and see what we should do in the morning."

As we set up camp, the flickering flames cast dancing shadows on our faces, reflecting the uncertainty that lay ahead.

After the meal concluded, my companions retired for the night, seeking rest under the watchful moon. Yet, my duties as a sentinel called me to stand guard, and I found myself drawn toward the Gods Eye, the largest river in the Seven Kingdoms. The moon hung in the sky, casting an ethereal glow upon the waters, and at the river's heart lay the Isle of Faces.

With a small pebble in hand, I attempted to skip it across the river. However, my initial attempts proved futile as the pebble descended into the water after the first skip. Undeterred, I made a second attempt, only to meet with the same outcome.

"Use a bigger pebble; it will help you," a woman's voice advised.

Turning towards the source of the guidance, I saw a woman with dark green eyes and long black hair. She wore a simple green dress, her presence enigmatic.

Taking her advice, I chose a larger pebble and sent it skipping across the water. Grateful for her assistance, I acknowledged her with a courteous nod. "Thanks for your advice, my lady," I said.

"It's alright," she replied, offering a mysterious smile.

"Are you not afraid of me?" I inquired, curiosity mingling with caution.

"I am not like the others," she responded cryptically. "I recognize greatness while others flee when presented with it."

Puzzled, I pressed on, "What is your name, my lady?"

"Alys Rivers," she revealed, and an instinctual unease prompted me to unsheathe my dagger. Alys Rivers, the woman who had taken the heart of Prince Aemond during the Dance of the Dragons – a witch.

Witnessing my reaction, she burst into laughter. "I knew it. You know who I am despite never even meeting me," she declared with amusement.

"Why do you reveal yourself to me, witch?" I questioned, suspicion tainting my words.

"Do not be scared of me; I can never take control of your mind," she assured, though my vigilance remained unwavering.

"Why should I trust a witch?" I challenged.

"Perhaps you desire answers," she suggested, her tone taking on a contemplative note.

"Do you not wish to know why your mother died, the poor Mary..." Before she could finish her sentence, my dagger was at her throat, and I stared into her eyes with an intensity that matched the fury within me.

"What do you know?" I demanded, my voice laced with a mix of desperation and anger.

She grinned, unyielding under the pressure of the dagger against her throat. "Oh, she died because of some unknown disease, did she not?"

My grip tightened on the dagger. "Answer my question right now!" I demanded.

Her grin persisted as she replied, "The truth is often more painful than the lies we tell ourselves. But do you truly want to know, Ser Ulf?"

"I do", I said.

Alys Rivers continued her narrative, her words hanging in the air like an ancient incantation. "I was just nineteen namedays pregnant with my third child when I saw, in my visions, a great calamity. It was a vision where I witnessed the dragons dance, and in the end, all of them met their demise. But then, there was a blinding light, and I saw a figure with hair as pure as white resurrecting the dead dragons," she recounted, her voice carrying the weight of prophecy.

As she spoke, the moonlight seemed to lend an otherworldly quality to her words, casting an ethereal glow upon her features. A sense of foreboding crept into the night air, and I couldn't shake the feeling that her revelations held a deeper significance.

"I remember the day as well," she continued, a disconcerting smile playing on her lips, adding an enigmatic layer to her tale. "It was the day you were born."

The revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning, and a cascade of thoughts surged through my mind. The day of my birth, intertwined with prophecies of dragons and a figure with hair as pure as white which was essentially me.

"Why did you share this with me now?" I questioned, the gravity of her words sinking in.

"Because, Ser Ulf, you are part of a destiny greater than you can fathom," she replied cryptically. "The dragons' dance may have ended in tragedy, but from the ashes, a new beginning emerged. You are the harbinger of that beginning."

Her words hung in the air, pregnant with meaning, and I struggled to comprehend the weight of the destiny she alluded to.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

Alys Rivers fixed her gaze upon me, her dark green eyes seemingly reflecting the mysteries of time.

"Do you wish to be a slave to them all your life?" she asked, her voice a whispered temptation.

"I am no one's slave," I asserted, the conviction in my voice cutting through the night.

"Do you really believe that?" she challenged, her eyes searching mine.

"You could achieve whatever you wanted with the knowledge you have. You could do anything you wish," she tantalized, her words hanging in the air like an alluring promise.

"I just wish to see you reach your potential," she continued, her proximity increasing as she slid towards me. Her dark green eyes held a mysterious allure, and I couldn't help but notice her cleavage as her hands ventured into my pants.

"Together, we will be stronger than anyone," she seductively murmured. "And with your seed, I will finally be able to give birth to a living child."

But the intoxicating spell was shattered as I pushed her away, the reality of the situation crashing down upon me. "Fuck off, you witch," I spat, my resolve unwavering.

"Look what has happened to you," she lamented. "So much power, and you're not willing to use it, you fool. Just listen to me, and you will become the king," she urged, her voice a haunting melody.

Her words echoed in the night, and I laughed in response. "You never answered my question about my mother," I pressed.

"You are not ready for the truth," she replied, the sky rumbling with distant thunder.

"They will not be happy if I tell you too soon especially who your father is," she added, a foreboding tone underscoring her words.

I walked away from her, the rain beginning to fall, a cascade of droplets cleansing the tension that lingered in the air. "Go west," she called after me. "And you will find your answers."

As I ventured into the night, raindrops glistening on my skin, the mysteries of my past and the enigmatic destiny ahead whispered through the storm. Alys Rivers' words lingered, a haunting melody in the symphony of fate.