Chapter 82 - Leaves of Renewal

126 AC

Ulf Pov

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape as we rode away from the Twins. The decision to inform Lord Forrest Frey of our departure weighed heavily on my mind, but Lady Sabitha's unexpected visit added another layer of complexity to the already tense atmosphere.

Lady Sabitha approached me with a coy smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Ulf," she purred, "one last dalliance before you embark on your journey? A fond farewell, if you will."

I shifted uncomfortably in my saddle, torn between duty and desire. Her proposal hung in the air, tempting and dangerous like a moth drawn to a flame. But I knew better than to succumb to such fleeting pleasures, especially after the conversation I had with Muhroom, a wise old friend who had opened my eyes to the grave offense I had committed.

With a stern resolve, I declined Lady Sabitha's advances, my words firm and unyielding. To my surprise, she burst into laughter, a melodious sound that echoed through the air. "Well, Ulf, it seems you've finally grown some balls," she teased. "I wouldn't want to hear that you lost your head to some irate southern lord for indulging in forbidden affairs."

Her laughter lingered in my ears as we continued our journey southward. The landscape changed gradually, from the familiar Riverlands scenery to the more coastal ambiance surrounding Seaguard, the seat of House Mallister. The air carried the salty tang of the sea, and the sound of crashing waves accompanied our approach to the formidable stronghold.

We were met at Seaguard by Lord Jorah Mallister, a jolly fellow whose jovial demeanor eased the tension that had accompanied us from the Twins. Within the confines of his solar, he declared his loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra, a revelation that prompted swift action. That very day, a raven took flight from Seaguard to Dragonstone, carrying the news of Lord Jorah Mallister's allegiance to the Blacks.

As we left the coastal ambiance of Seaguard behind, our journey southward led us through the hallowed lands of Oldstones. The ancient ruins stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time, their weathered stones echoing tales of a bygone era. Among these somber remnants of history lay the Tomb of King Tristifer IV Mudd, a haunting sight that bore the weight of a formidable legacy.

The atmosphere around the tomb was palpable with the spirits of battles long past. King Tristifer, a legendary figure who had valiantly resisted the encroaching Andals, was said to have engaged in one hundred battles, emerging victorious in ninety-nine and succumbing only in the final confrontation. His story was etched in the annals of history, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit of the Riverlands.

I couldn't help but share the significance of this historical landmark with my squire, Addam. As we stood before the imposing monument, I imparted a lesson that transcended the boundaries of time. "Addam, remember that no matter what happens, one should never lose, for in defeat, the victories you've earned before count for nothing. Take heed from the example of this man," I said, pointing to the weathered stone that marked the final resting place of King Tristifer Mudd.

The gravity of my words seemed to resonate with Addam as he absorbed the wisdom embedded in the ancient stones. From that day forward, I witnessed a newfound determination in him. Addam's training intensified, his focus sharpened, and his commitment to honing his skills became unwavering. It was a transformation that filled me with pride, for I saw in him the potential not only become one of the key players in the impending Dance of Dragons but to survive it as well.

As we made our way toward Raventree Hall, the towering ancient stone walls adorned with moss came into view, creating an imposing silhouette against the sky. The forested valley leading to the stronghold whispered with the secrets of the past, as if the very trees bore witness to the eons of history that had unfolded within their shadows.

Raventree Hall itself stood as a testament to the resilience of House Blackwood. High stone walls, adorned with the climbing tendrils of moss, embraced the stronghold. Two massive square towers flanked the gate, and additional square towers stood at each angle along the wall, a formidable defense against any potential threat. The deep moat lined with stone added an extra layer of protection, creating a fortress that seemed to blend seamlessly with the ancient trees that surrounded it.

As we approached the gate, knights clad in the colors of House Blackwood greeted us, their armor reflecting the hues of the forest. With a nod of recognition, we were ushered inside the stronghold. The courtyard bustled with activity, and the air was thick with a sense of purpose that matched the weight of the moment.

Lord Samwell Blackwood awaited us in the great hall, a figure of authority and dignity. Beside him stood a young child who, by the looks of it, must have been Benjicot Blackwood. Pleasantries were exchanged, and Lord Samwell acknowledged my deeds in the North.

"Lord Samwell Blackwood, there is an important matter which I have to discuss with you," I declared, my voice cutting through the ambient sounds of the castle courtyard.

Upon hearing my words, Lord Samwell's gaze met mine, and a flicker of curiosity crossed his features. Without a word, he motioned for me to accompany him to his solar, a silent agreement that the matter at hand warranted a private conversation. My companions exchanged puzzled glances, unaware of the unfolding events.

The heavy oak door to Lord Samwell Blackwood's solar creaked closed behind me as we entered, shutting out the murmurs of the castle courtyard. The room was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through heavy curtains, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. Lord Samwell gestured toward a pair of chairs by the hearth, inviting me to speak freely.

As I began recounting my dream of the greenseer and my journey beyond the Wall, Lord Samwell's face transformed from an expression of polite curiosity to one of incredulity. "You wish me to believe that a Knight who follows the Seven is blessed by visions of the Old Gods?" he questioned, skepticism lacing his words.

"It does not matter what you believe, Lord Samwell," I replied calmly, sensing the weight of doubt in the air. "What matters is the chance we have to revive the ancient weirwood tree of House Blackwood. Do you not wish to see that happen in your lifetime? To be remembered as the man blessed by the Old Gods?"

Before Lord Samwell could respond, a voice echoed from the doorway. A young girl, fiery and determined, burst into the room. "Brother, don't listen to his..." she began before Lord Samwell cut her off, shouting her name in frustration.

"Aly!" he exclaimed. "How many times have I told you not to listen in on my conversations?"

"It doesn't matter, brother. What matters is that this man thinks we are stupid enough to believe him," she retorted, her eyes blazing with fury.

Lord Samwell, attempting to maintain decorum, interjected, "Alysanne, treat him with respect. He is one of the most renowned knights of the Seven Kingdoms."

"It is fine, Lord Samwell," I reassured him, rising from my seat. I looked directly at the young girl, recognizing her potential role in the turbulent times to come. "I understand your hesitation in trusting me, Lady Alysanne."

Her disdain for the title was palpable, but I continued, "But what is the worst that could happen?" I posed the question, urging her to consider the potential benefits. "You have a chance of reviving the weirwood tree at best and things remaining the same at worst."

As my explanation unfolded, Alysanne's fiery demeanor mellowed slightly, though skepticism still lingered in her gaze. Lord Samwell, sensing the need for resolution, inquired, "So how will we proceed?"

"Tonight," I declared with a sense of conviction, "we will place the weirwood seed into the heart of the tree, and then with the blood of the Old Gods and Valyria, it will rise again."

"Very well," Lord Samwell agreed.

"Aly, show Ser Ulf around the castle as I have to prepare for tonight," Lord Samwell instructed, his focus shifting to the imminent task at hand. Aly grumbled under her breath, clearly displeased with the sudden responsibility thrust upon her. As we exited Lord Samwell's solar, I attempted to initiate a conversation with her.

"So, Lady Alysanne…" I began, but before I could finish, she cut me off with a stern correction.

"Don't call me lady. I am not one," she asserted, her demeanor reflecting a distaste for titles.

"Very well, Alysanne," I corrected myself, respecting her preference. She led me through the corridors, and soon we found ourselves in the bustling courtyard, where the daily life of Raventree Hall unfolded before us.

I saw a crowd gather round Harlon and another man. "Mushroom, what is happening here?" I inquired, curiously.

"Well, that man there, Robb Rivers, challenged our dear Harlon to a contest of archery," Mushroom explained, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

"He's going to lose because Robb is the finest archer in all of Westeros," Alysanne remarked with a hint of confidence.

"And so is Harlon," I countered, expressing my faith in our companion's skill.

"Let us see," Alysanne suggested, and we observed the archers in action. Arrows soared through the air, hitting the bullseye with impressive accuracy. The crowd watched in awe as the two contestants displayed their mastery of the bow.

"I told you, he's good," I remarked to Alysanne, noting Harlon's skill as the arrows consistently found their mark.

However, to our surprise, the contest was declared a tie as neither Harlon nor Robb Rivers showed any signs of faltering. Alysanne, perhaps irritated by the lack of a decisive winner, muttered under her breath. The tension between the archers heightened, creating an atmosphere of friendly competition.

"Ulf, what did you speak about to Lord Blackwood?" Mushroom inquired, sensing a certain mystery in our conversation. I replied cryptically, telling him to wait until nightfall, a response that only seemed to deepen his curiosity.

"So, what do you like to do, Alysanne?" I inquired, attempting to strike up a more amicable conversation and foster a better understanding between us.

"Why do you wish to know? Are you trying to court me?" she retorted rudely, catching me off guard with the unexpected hostility in her tone. Irritation flashed across my face, and I decided to respond with candor.

"I was just trying to be polite, but I cannot help the fact that you are acting like a..." I started, frustration evident in my voice, but I stopped myself before the harsh words could fully escape. Alysanne's expression shifted momentarily, registering a glimpse of shock at my unfiltered response.

However, her shock quickly transformed into laughter. "I knew that the White Knight was not as white as they said," she remarked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. It dawned on me that she might be intentionally provoking a reaction from me with her rude remarks.

"You are quite smart," I said with a nod, acknowledging Alysanne's cunning as she continued to circle around me.

"For a lady," I added playfully, aware of her attempts to provoke a reaction. Alysanne, undeterred, started running behind me.

Somehow, our playful banter led us near the stables, and in a spontaneous move, I sought cover behind Vedros, my loyal companion.

Alysanne, her anger dissipating, approached with a curious expression. "Is she yours?" she asked, her tone gentler than before.

"Yes, she is," I affirmed, sensing a change in the atmosphere as we stood near Vedros.

"Do you wish to ride her?" I asked, attempting to shift the tone of our interaction. Alysanne nodded vigorously, her earlier animosity replaced by genuine enthusiasm.

After the exhilarating ride with Alysanne on Vedros, the sun began its gradual descent, casting an enchanting glow over Raventree Hall. As evening descended, we were escorted to our respective rooms to prepare for the significant events that lay ahead. A refreshing bath rejuvenated me, and once ready, we were summoned to the great hall for supper.

In the warm glow of the hall, Lord Samwell insisted that I call him by his name, a gesture of familiarity that hinted at the bond we were forming. His young son, still inquisitive, bombarded me with a barrage of questions, adding a lively energy to the evening.

Supper concluded, and the momentous time had arrived. We made our way to the godswood where the ancient weirwood tree stood, a sentinel of time. The fading light of day bathed the scene in an ethereal glow, setting the stage for the ritual that would unfold.

Approaching the weirwood tree, a hush fell over the group. I could feel the anticipation in the air, the weight of the task we were about to undertake. Nearly a thousand ravens perched on the ancient branches, a majestic sight that added to the mystical atmosphere.

With measured steps, I walked towards the weirwood tree, carrying the precious seed that held the potential for ancient magic. Carefully, I placed the seed inside the hollow of the tree, a symbolic act marking the union of past and present. The moment was charged with significance, and I could sense my heart quickening in response to the sacredness of the ritual.

As the bearer of the seed, the next step required a sacrifice. Drawing my dragon glass dagger, I made a deliberate cut on my palm, allowing the blood to flow over the seed. The crimson liquid mingled with the ancient magic of the weirwood, a connection forged between the past and the present.

When my part was done, it was Lord Samwell's turn. However, Alysanne stepped forward, expressing her desire to contribute to the ritual. She took my dagger and, with determination in her eyes, sliced her palm. Her blood joined mine, a shared commitment to the ancient magic we sought to reawaken.

The maester, a silent observer of the ritual, promptly bandaged our hands, sealing the bond we had formed through blood and magic. I glanced at my companions, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. Fatigue began to wash over me, and the world around me blurred.

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, surrounded by the distant echoes of voices. The cacophony signaled the conclusion of a pivotal moment, the seed now entrusted to the ancient weirwood, and the promise of a new chapter in the history of House Blackwood.

After that, I was gently escorted to my room and laid to rest. The weariness of the ritual, coupled with the weight of its significance, settled on my shoulders. As my eyes closed, I hoped for the success of the undertaking, the culmination of our efforts echoing in the corridors of Raventree Hall.

It was in the embrace of sleep that the night unfolded into morning. Suddenly, I was roused from my slumber by Alysanne's urgent voice, and I realized that a new day had dawned.

"It worked! It fucking worked!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious as she eagerly dragged me by the hand towards the godswood. As we entered the sacred space, a sight unfolded before me that filled my heart with both relief and triumph.

A few leaves had begun to sprout on the ancient weirwood tree, a subtle but undeniable sign of life. Alysanne's jubilant proclamation resonated in the quiet godswood, echoing the success of our shared endeavor. The promise of renewal, of awakening ancient magic thought lost to time, hung in the air.

In that moment I knew that I had accomplished the task entrusted to me. The dormant magic of House Blackwood's weirwood had been rekindled, marking the beginning of a new era for the house and the Riverlands. The godswood, once silent, now held the whispers of a revitalized connection between the Old Gods and the people of Raventree Hall.

As I stood amidst the burgeoning leaves, the weight of responsibility began to lift, replaced by a sense of fulfillment.