CHAPTER 240
CHAPTER 240
296 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
(LAST WEEK's CHAPTER 1/2)
...
Every part of the information coming into Jon Arryn's hand was reaching into Old Lion's hand right after a few days. Tywin was on a fishing outing with his nobles. The stream started in the mountains on top of Ashenmark and then ran along Sarsfield, running all the way to the North of Casterly Rock. This was the stream of water he used to flood the Castamere.
He was sitting along the stream and holding a flimsy-looking fishing rod. Everyone else was standing behind him in silence, he asked,
"Are there any words from Gerion?"
One of the advisors said,
"Yes, my lord, he is still waiting in the Temple for the Druid, but as you know, The Druid is at the Three Sisters. So he wasn't able to make contact with the Druid himself, but he is becoming fast friends with one of Druid's followers, he is a warg called Jorah Glover."
Tywin sneered,
"One of the hill peasants of Deepwood Motte? Is there not someone with more influence?"
The advisor shook his head and said,
"My lord, his family is not the problem here. Right now, even the smallfolk are seen as something close to a noble when they become warg in the Temple of Old Gods."
The advisor explained to Tywin how the dynamics of the North were changing and gave information about all the wargs under the Druid. He gave him the info Gerion sent, and after reading it, Tywin's understanding and feeling had changed; he looked down on poor houses like Glovers since they had no use other than being a tool, but this Jorah was one of the most influential figures among Druid's followers right behind Drasil and Mormont girl.
Gerion had written about how he started to be accepted among the wargs and if he couldn't make connections with Druid here. After Lord Drasil came back from his campaign, he was going to try his luck at Moat Cailin with him.
Then Tywin took the spy messages about what was happening in Vale; he read them and sighed. Jon was acting too arrogant; he had the numbers, but the enemy had magic, and he was underestimating the awe and terror aspect of it. After he read the information about what he did in Stonehold Castle, he became more sure of himself. He shouldn't become his enemy until he was sure he could kill him in one shift strike.
He mumbled to himself, "So he was bluffing when he came here."
As he thought, The Druid was not strong enough to level a castle, but he was strong enough to break his enemies' morale in a siege.
But this was not the most intriguing part for him. That part belonged to how he was able to reach Pebble with an army without being seen. At that moment, he remembered the two black birds he summoned in Casterly Rock, the things he called blessed sacred animals. What if he was still underestimating him? What if he was able to control more than just one or two birds? What if he is different from other wargs?
After Tywin witnessed The Druid's power, he read everything related to the Age of Heroes and Wargs. He remembered the part about the Warg King and how he was able to command thousands of animals. That would explain all of it; this meant he could create an information blockade whenever he wanted to. If his conjecture were right, this was as scary as his spells, maybe more.
...
Temple of the Old Gods rose majestically against the backdrop of the sky, a testament to the recent resurgence of the old faith. People always believed in the Old Gods in the North, but it was more of a cultural thing than real faith. Now, they fervently worshiped the gods. Gerion Lannister, always drawn to places of mystery and mystical significance, found himself stepping into the hallowed halls of the Temple.
As Gerion explored the Temple's architecture, he encountered Jorah Glover, a man with an ambitious gleam in his eyes. Many times in their conversations after Jorah got inebriated told Gerion he harbored dreams of wielding magic akin to the Druid. Gerion thought there was nothing better to loosen someone's tongue than alcohol and a smiling, friendly face.
It had been months since he came here, but every day, he was learning new things. At first, they accommodated him out of duty because their Druid ordered it, but after some time, Gerson's infectious personality broke the ice around them.
"Jorah," Gerion began, "How is your journey with magic? Do you have any progress?"
Jorah's eyes sparkled with a mix of determination and eagerness. "Gerion, I've delved deeper into the mysteries of the Druid's magic, hoping to cast spells that rival our leader one day..."
He looked a bit tired,
"But I had no success."
Then he smiled,
"But his teaching transformed my weak warg magic. I wasn't even able to warg into one beast, but now I have 5 of them. I will continue to fail until one day I succeed."
Jorah was able to control three wolves, a brown bear, and an eagle. Gerion nodded, acknowledging Jorah's aspirations. "To wield such power is a noble pursuit. Tell me, have your experiences as a warg and a priest provided you with insights into the Druid's actions?" Jorah was not a fool. He knew Gerion was always trying to find slivers of information about their lord, but the things he was giving him were nothing but useless quips and praises for their lord; he knew Gerion's aim, but the man was too much fun to spend time with, and on top of it, his lord had ordered him to accompany him.
Jorah might be an ambitious man, but there was one thing that surpassed his greed for power, and that was his loyalty to his lord; his aim was to become the most important retainer of his lord and rule this Temple in his absence. Jorah's gaze turned thoughtful. "Being a warg has allowed me to connect with the spirits of the animals, to understand the intricate balance of nature. As a priest, I strive to channel the Druid's magic, to become a vessel for the energies that shape our world."
Their conversation carried on, weaving Jorah's tales of magical discoveries and dreams of unlocking the Temple's deepest secrets, and they also talked about Gerson's dream of bringing Brightroar back to his family and how, after his diplomatic mission was over, his big brother was going to finance his expedition.
...
In the Paps, nestled on the towering summits, the Vale army, a formidable force of ten thousand men, had gathered to fortify their defenses in anticipation of the impending Druid's invasion. The air was tense, charged with both the chill of the mountain winds and the anxiety that clung to the hearts of the waiting soldiers. They had pulled all the soldiers to the castles, conscripted almost every able-bodied smallfolk into levies, and created an army of 18 thousand men.
Gerold Grafton, the seasoned commander, surveyed the strategic positions chosen for their defensive preparations. The rugged terrain of the Paps offered a natural advantage, and the Vale lords worked diligently to ensure that every vantage point was fortified.
...
Two weeks had passed since the initial warning of the Druid's impending invasion. Gerold Grafton gathered his advisors in a makeshift war tent, the air heavy with unspoken concern.
"I expected the Northern forces to arrive by now," Lord Grafton mused, his brow furrowed with worry. "Our defensive measures are in place, but their absence is disconcerting."
One of his advisors, a seasoned veteran with a weathered face, spoke up, "My lord, perhaps unforeseen circumstances or the challenging sea routes have delayed their arrival. We must remain vigilant and prepared for their imminent approach."
Lord Grafton nodded, his eyes fixed on the map spread before him. "True, delays are not uncommon in such endeavors. We shall maintain our watch, ready to face whatever challenges may come. We have more than 18 thousand, and they only have 5 or 6 thousand. This must be our sliding victory. I cannot accept anything else."
The winds outside howled, carrying with them the distant murmur of the rushing rivers that surrounded the Paps. The Vale lords exchanged uneasy glances, their thoughts mirrored in the uncertainty that hung in the air.
As the days turned into nights, the soldiers stood watch, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Many ravens now circled overhead, their presence an eerie remainder for the possibility of war on the horizon.