The Green Fiend

POV: William

Tallhart Private Pavilion.

Year 290 second day of the first moon.

A few minutes after a magical show began...

"Come in, William," the Deputy Commander of the Winter Guardians entered with a swift step, bowing respectfully to his newly knighted General.

"Lord...Ser General...!" William did not know if the title "Ser" was more of a diminutive than an honorific than the previous "Lord General."

"Just "General" or "Sir" is fine too, William... At easy, Vice Commander." Ordered the General in a friendly tone, placing the paper on the desk and then immediately asking:

"Any news from Uncle Leobald? Is Torrhen's Square ready to receive us?"

"No relay or raven back from Torrhen's Square yet, Sir. But I have an urgent request from Ser Haymitch, General." Communicated William without abandoning his rigid stance.

"From Haymitch...? What is it about?" His superior asked with careful interest.

"Here...the Captain on Lord Stark's service told me to communicate these exact words to you verbatim and that you would grasp the "message."

[Eyes too curious during the show. The Masked Witch has sensed something... So do your magic, Sorcerer of the Old Gods]..." Communicated William bluntly, minimally understanding the coded message...but, given his counterpart's lightning-fast and alarmed look, the General must have grasped it fully.

"Oh, Shit...! Didn't Lord Stark ban the magic show?! Robb and Jon were to be segregated in punishment in the crypts of Winterfell until the end of next Winterfell, hearing that man!" So retorted the boy taken aback, lashing out at the unsuspecting Vice Commander...

"Here... I wouldn't know, my lord... Indeed, both Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, until last night, seemed quite angry." William tried to say.

The Lord General rose to his feet, pacing back and forth to work out a solution to the Gods only knew what a complex program...

"Family, Duty, Honor my ass!!! And as for you, Mr. "Words of a Stark are not Wind"...grgnn! Other than Moat Cailin, Stark! I'll make you shell out every last penny to rebuild all of The Wall from scratch...!! No...Phew...Calm down...We just have to play a little ahead.

...Change of plans, Deputy Commander. We need to speed things up. I need you to relay this to my father and inform him to anticipate my departure by sunset.

I need my ship to be ready to receive us as soon as possible." Quickly communicated the Green Knight after a few seconds of thought.

"Yes, Sir!... Emm, what about Lady Dacey, General?" William asked with slight hesitation.

*Pach!* The General slapped his forehead as a gesture of self-improvement.

"Right, the appointment with Dacey...! Good call, William! Good call...!" The General crinkled his eyes for a solution, continuing to pace and mutter to himself:

"O holy names... I cannot stand Dacey up! Nor much less delay the event in Torrhen's Square! Fuck it! Among the three hundred witches and sorcerers, the very Key of the East pulled a Natural 20 on intuition...! Tsz...! And that was not enough; even the Bard wanted to run away! All the convergences in the world came together to stab me in the back with poisoned blades in three rounds of surprise!!!

What am I going to come up with now...? Seraphinus, you help me...!

Shit! One pebble after another, causing avalanches from all sides...! It was supposed to be harmless entertainme...nt ..." A stroke of genius seemed to have just run in to help.

"But yes, of course! An Entertainment! A dance... some music... some show magic! It all goes together perfectly! Ahahaha! Three birds with one stone!!! Ahahahaha!" The boy suddenly turned 180 degrees and thundered in surprise:

"Vice Commander William!" But the 16-year-old officer of the most fearsome and prepared elite squadron in the North was ready.

"Yes, Sir!" Replied a battle-ready William.

"Send Gelt to Haymitch and tell him to hold the witch back as long as possible! And for heaven's sake, by "detain her", I mean "waste her time without incurring the wrath of Carcosa!" As for you, William, you must run faster than a Dothraki stallion being chased by fire! Find Master Zick and communicate to him as soon as possible these exact words:

[Love emergency! Your beloved ward needs the help of the Greatest, Most Charming, Funniest, and Selfless Guardian of Love ever known in living memory!

...

End POV.

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POV: Author

A few dozen steps from a pavilion set up for a magic show.

About twenty minutes after, the fastest relay team in the North performed the most remarkable Parkour performance ever seen in Westeros...

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A respectable magical performance of the "Battle of Dawn" had recently concluded, and the task of a Red Witch entrusted to her by her master came to an end. But now, far more pressing duties demanded the full attention of Quaithe of Shadows.

A mission that could have revolutionized the world of Magicians!

Quaithe had to inform the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa as soon as possible.

This was one of the greatest discoveries ever made since the Empire of Dawn! So naturally, the Guardian of Magic had to be made aware of it! And only her master could contact Archwizard Lo Tho directly.

Quaithe had to communicate those words to her master in person. She could not simply use the pendant of telepathy; she had to find Chai Duq.

A figure stumbled between her path, pouring hot beer on her...

"Oh, darn. Forgive my clumsiness, milady...Oh, darn... I think I got all over your beautiful dress, my sweet lady!" So said the scruffy man in filthy but well-made clothes... Clothes depicting a double banner, including the Direwolf of the Starks...

"A little too sunny an hour to still be drunk, Ser." Reproached the importunate Witch with annoyance.

"Ser Haymitch...! Ser Haymitch of...Haventee...no...Raven...Somethigh...Raventree! Yes, Ser Haymitch of Raventree Hall to serve you, my lady...emm...my lady of the masks! No, that doesn't seem appropriate...Emm...your name, milady?" Said the knight in a slow, swaying, annoying way....

"You don't need to know it, nor did I ask yours, 'Ser Haymitch of Raventree Hall'... Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to pass." Quaithe attempted to discard the harassing drunkard to the left.

"A-a moment, milady, let me-let me help you dry this ugly mess! I have a handkerchief! I am a prepared knight of honour!" The degenerate was touching her pelvis!!!

In all the lands of the East, such an outrage against a Grand Wizard was certain death!

"Stop! Don't you dare touch me...! {Ragain Arkh-}... Tsz, take off those filthy hands, Ser!" The Witch, for a moment, was carried away by the rage impulse, trying to burn the insane maniac's insides from within and make him spit out glowing blood from every orifice, but Quaithe then stopped her hand.

{No delegate of the Confederation could use superior magic in public}.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, my charming lady... Forgive me, is it me who is too high or were your irises spitting real fire?! But you're not one of those infamous Eastern enchantresses, are you?! Ah! I love magic!!! Once I passed...emm...by chance, of course, at a brothel in Oldtown, and there I met an old whoremonger named...Emm...Marw..., yes, Marwyn! He claimed to be an Archmaester of the...emm, High Mysterious?.... It doesn't matter! What matters is-" Quaithe shushed the man by grabbing his face with both hands.

"Look at me, Ser Haymitch..." The witch opted for a harmless cantrip of charm. The drunkard's celestial eyes made contact with hers...

Quaithe chose legilimancy for her problem. Something reeked in the Witch's sharp instincts. She had known all kinds of tavern or harbour drunks in her long life, and the man was no mere alcoholic.

"Why do you want to waste my time, sweet and brave Knight?" Asked the witch, stroking her dirt-stained blond hair with both hands. The knight became hypnotized, resting his hands on the shoulders of the only support in sight so as not to fall backward.

"Beca...use... Because I must stop...I must stop you, milady..." Replied the knight in a relaxed tone. The witch continued stroking his hair and asking:

"Why do you want to stop me, sweet Ser? And on whose orders?"

"The Bastard... Snow... By order of "Snow", I must protect "Snow"..." The mind was a brothel of obscenities and nefariousness... Among the myriad impure thoughts, Quaithe dug deep and glimpsed what she was looking for. A boy with white hair and silvery green eyes--he was the ward of The Watcher!!!

"That's enough, Great Mage Quaithe of Shadows...Let him go." A sinister and familiar voice broke the mental link.

Quaithe turned suddenly, recognizing the presence... It was Ramas, Zick's hunting dog!

"And as for you." Ramas lightning struck the still half-stunned rider on the knee and throat, landing him. "Urgh! Coff! Coff! Coff! Bleargh..." the helpless man emptied all the excess liquid he had ingested onto the lawn, continuing to choke and vomit simultaneously.

"Get out, you beggar!" Ramas kicked him violently on the chest, throwing him backwards. The man, after painfully taking the blow, began to crawl away like a worm.

"It was my right defending myself, Bounty Hunter... I did not violate any order." Quaithe justified herself.

Everyone from Carcosa all the way to Asshai knew the fame of Ramas Sepret, "the Rogue Wizards' Hunter," the one who, by sheer force alone, delivered the head of Uwhabet Soran, a dangerous fugitive War Mage of the third circle, hidden in a villa-fortress in Qarth. A mansion patrolled by at least two dozen Unsullied and several mercenaries in the pay of the fugitive mage...

"You could have simply gotten rid of him by stunning him. Magically extrapolating the memories of a poor ragamuffin is not within the permissible faculties of the treaty." Ramas replied.

"... What have you come to do, Sir Ramas? Were you stalking me, by any chance?" Rebutted Quaithe.

"No, my lady of Asshai... I was looking for you. Master Zick requested the Honorable Duq of the Chai Dynasty for your specific services for a favour." Ramas justified himself by bowing respectfully.

"My specific services...? Now?" Asked the witch suspiciously.

"I'm afraid so, my lady. You are to embark as soon as possible on the ship departing for Torrhen's Square and, together with the Honorable Wizard Nogul and Wizard Baronthaì, you are to render service for two days and two nights to all of Ser Duncan Tallhart's specific requests... I have a missive from the Guardian Guarantor bearing the seal of the Confederation." Two wizards, well known to her, joined the duo escorted by another pair of agents of the Spider Queen...

"Sir Ramas, I'm afraid-"

Quaithe's last vain attempt was nipped in the bud.

"The ship sails in two hours, my lady, and the distance to port is considerable. All your belongings are already on their way to be carefully embarked on. There is not much time left. Please follow us." Said the man in an eerie but polite tone and an icy, unyielding gaze.

"... So I will." She was left with no other choice. Quaithe would have to contact her master through the amulet...

****

About half an hour later...

"I told you I could do it." A filthy, smelly Knight passed a dark steel pendant into Ramas Sepret's hand.

"... You did not need to grope her in that indecent way." Admonished Ramas with a grunt.

"Of course, there was a need. You were the one who suggested me to 'Mask' my thoughts, or was it? I needed inspiration." Replied the maniacal Knight blandly.

"Do you have any idea who that woman is, Ser? If she wanted, Quaithe of Shadows could torture you in any corner of the world, haunting your dreams for the rest of your days." Admonished the Hound of Zick, peering more carefully at the runes engraved in Valyria's Steel pendant.

"Pff, let it come to pass... My dreams are already a heath of torment and misery." Ramas conceded at least that point. He knew Haymitch's story, and the Bounty Hunter felt a twinge of empathy and respect for the man who had experienced some of that immense pain and apathy.

"Ser Duncan would have another favour to ask of you, Ser... A task befitting you." Communicated Ramas breaking the wave of silence.

"I am not Duncan Tallhart's whore. Tell your master that I have already sold my ass to House Stark...If Bloody Snow needs my services, let him address the favour in person to Lord Eddard." Replied the Knight scornfully... If Zick had been the instigator of the request, Ramas would have already ripped the madman's balls off, making him sing until he begged for eternal forgiveness. But Duncan had begged him to treat Haymitch with an eye to the matter...

Bloody Snow must have foreseen the Bastard Protector's pissed-off attitude.

"Ser Duncan will request the favour from your Lord, Ser... And I am more than certain that Lord Eddard Stark will accept," Ramas replied in a tone that should appear polite.

"All right, all right, go for the favour... But speaking of more relevant matters, should I or should I not warn Lord Stark...? Is the child safe or not?" Haymitch asked, abandoning his drunken whorish manner.

"He has the protection of my master and his heir... No one will touch that child." Replied The Watcher's sworn shield.

"It will be better for you... So you, do me a favour and take this message to Bloody Snow:

[From now on, until the boy comes of age, I will hold you personally responsible for any 'unknown evils' or 'bizarre incidents' that loom over Jon.]." Ramas peered at the man with a gaze overflowing with murderous intent and bloodlust.

"Is that a threat, Ser?" The Knight of jesters did not seem to be affected in the least by the presence of the Death Star himself.

Ser Haymitch Rivers, blandly and rudely, turned away from his Occasional-Complice, massaging his chest and answering:

"Indeed it is. So I'll see you around...emm...Ramát? Mmm, no... I guess I'll call you Ironfoot from now on... Until next time, Ironfoot!"

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End POV

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POV: Quaithe of Shadows.

In a Galley moored at a small docking port on the Torrhen River.

About two hours after a Hound barely restrained the impulse to stab a drunken knight in the back...

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"Is the Flagship Galley to your taste, my lady? Can I have something brought to you? You must be tried by the perilous and sudden journey..." Zick's protégé asked courteously.

Her captor did not appear to be armed. Instead, Bloody Snow wore a set of simple brown leather pants, a linen tunic with leather shoulder straps and joints, and a half-fur cape.

These were hardly battle or grand reception attire...

"A fine ship, Ser. No, thank you. The carriage ride was "pleasant". Though "too" sudden and forced for my taste..." So replied the Shadow Witch in a noticeably angry tone.

"... Where is my pendant? Was it the maniacal Knight who stole it from me on your order? I warn you, Ser Duncan of House Tallhart, not even the Watcher will be able to stop the fury of the King in the Yellow should I "mysteriously" disappear or perish by an "unfortunate" accident." Somehow, Bloody Snow had learned of her master's gift...but the Green Knight certainly could not know all its arcane properties.

The witch could not contact her master at long distances, but should Quaithe ever be in danger of her life, the pendant would sound an alert to the Archwizard, and if Chai Duq wanted to find her, pendant or not, nothing would stop the Sorcerer King from his purpose.

Quaithe was not a "mere" pupil or personal assistant to the Lord Supreme of Carcosa; she was far more valuable...

"Ah, just the pendant-your jewel is right here, my lady." Bloody Snow slipped and dangled a dark steel chain from her hands, testing the witch's patience.

"Ser Haymitch has been so thoughtful, searching assiduously for you in an attempt to return it to you... The Knight must have "accidentally" noticed the pendant on the ground, rightly thinking it belonged to you. A simple "misunderstanding" and nothing more. You will get it back, my lady, and no one here will harm you. You have my word..." Bloody Snow explained in a friendly manner, trying to quell the tension.

Quaithe did not respond; the witch reached out to take back what belonged to her ... but the Demon's hand stepped back.

"Nevertheless... Before I take it back, I would kindly appreciate it if you would first listen to what I have to say. I have had to stir up quite a bit of water and erect many emergency bridges to have the honour of your presence, Lady Quaithe... Would you not be so rude as to thwart my efforts before they are due?" Quaithe, before answering, looked around. She and the Demon were alone. No presence disturbed the duo on the spacious and silent bow of the Galea.

"You know about Eddard Stark's Bastard. It was you who purposely drove him away from Winterfell...You didn't want my master to get too close to that child. Am I right?" Asked the witch without half-measures.

"I wonder why everyone always wants to plunge the knife into the heart of the steaming pie and scald their tongue before its time. Where has the good old lukewarm crispy crust gone? Eheheh... It wasn't funny, huh?" Quaithe was in no mood for jokes or formality.

"Yes, I know something about the bastard. And no, I don't want Chai Duq to come near Jon..." Said the boy, abandoning polite formality and resting both arms on the pier railing.

A beautiful sunset rose on the horizon. The river, the mountainous landscape, the flat expanses, Quaithe had to admit that the setting was very soothing and evocative of stillness. The witch approached calmly beside her interlocutor, asking:

"My master would do no harm to the child, far from it. Chai Duq and the entire Confederacy would protect Jon Snow from any threat, helping him raise his gifts... None-" The eloquent Witch was interrupted.

"Jon will not go to Carcosa. He belongs to the North, his family, his House, and his blood." Promulgated Bloody Snow without allowing room for possible negotiations.

"You do not know what you are talking about. You don't know what he represents to the magic-" Quaithe corrected herself, "To 'All the peoples of the Known World.' Do you even know what dormant power is hidden in his blood?" Asked the witch, hoping inwardly that Bloody Snow knew less than he claimed.

"... Pure "Ice" and "Fire." A union of Primordial Blood never known in living memory. The prophets of Asshai devoted to the Red cult sing of a "Prince Who Was Promised," who, according to the Prophecy verses of the song "Fire & Ice... " It was the enchantress who sang the verses in High Valyrian:

"{There will come a day after a long Summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this Dread Hour, a warrior will be reborn amidst salt and smoke and shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer... } Aye, this is the first verse that Daenys the Dreamer sang four hundred years ago in the temple of R'hllor, but the Guardian of Love must have at least hinted to you the legend of the lost {Song of the Phoenix}..." Quaithe tested the waters.

"I know what you are referring to... All the Great Factions of the Known World have been desperately hunting for any shred of clue concerning the Three Progenitor Artifacts for millennia.

Carcosa believes that the reincarnation of the "Starry Gem," the jewel created from the Glowing and Frozen Flames of the Dragon God himself, may be concealed within one of his purest descendants... Those who coexist in harmony between two impossible-to-unify elements: Fire and Ice. But Jon is not an Artifact... He is only a child." Zick's protégé knew much more than she believed. Quaithe had to find out to what extent.

"Ser Duncan..." She called to the witch in a soft tone.

"Yes, my lady...?" The prey took her bait...

Bloody Snow's face turned to look at her. The boy's eyes made contact with hers, and the Red Witch seized the opportunity by attempting to infiltrate his mind...

Surprisingly, there was not much resistance... Only a primary spongy barrier got in the way of her infiltration. Quaithe passed through it in a few moments. Master Chai had confided to her that perhaps even Lo Tho himself could not use the Legilimency art against The Watcher.

But perhaps Zick still needed to prepare Duncan for that kind of threat...

Quaithe's consciousness suddenly found itself in a quiet, vast prairie shaded with crystalline green reflections. A natural paradise kissed by faint spasms of warm light and caressed by a calm, gentle breeze.

The nose was intoxicated with the scent of wild herbs, and the lungs filled with heady fresh mountain air. The environment was soothing and comfortable--as if the woman were surrounded by an ethereal cloud of amniotic fluid ready to embrace and welcome her.

And there, Quaithe's eye caught the only source of the light present...

A small dying star, too faint to be a child of the sun but too bright to hide among the myriads of sparks scattered across the vast night sky... That was the treasure chest that held all of Duncan's memories. The boy's innermost secrets were kept within that fragile, luminous floating bubble.

Quaithe confidently approached toward the treasure. Every hidden instinct inwardly soothed the witch by whispering to her ["Come closer, my dear... There is no danger. You are safe here, Alys...No, not Alys...Elissa!"]

That name suddenly awakened the enchantress, instantly reactivating all the defences she possessed.

That cloud was not cozy bamboozlement; it was a Parasite! A Parasite that wanted to infiltrate her mind in its turn!

Quaithe instinctively activated a defensive Fourth Circle magic, summoning a sphere of fire and shadow around her. The cloud vaporized, but the environment did not seem to like the visitor's aggressive reaction. From being the welcome guest she was, Quaithe of Shadows was now considered an "Intruder."

The ground began to shake and move. Quaithe was forced to use a levitation spell to detach contact from those amorphous quicksand made of grass...

All the green of the vast prairie was being rapidly absorbed by the bright pulsing heart of the environment until it took on humanoid features... No... not humanoid: Titanic!

The guardian creature, more than a hundred feet tall, clad in shining emerald-green plate armour, with three pairs of majestic silvery feathered wings on its back, and wielding a towering, two-handed war hammer as tall and massive as a tower, rose to its feet and...showing part of the gloomy face concealed by its helmet, roared with the most guttural, scratchy, demonic of cries:

{"Get Out..."} *ssSDOOMKaaAABOOOM!* It was only a whisper to the titan, but the poor helpless woman's eardrums exploded. Quaithe tried to raise a wind wall to counteract the air pressure, but a mere shield could not stand up to a host of heavy cavalry.

The witch jolted backwards a hundred feet, tumbling pitifully over dry, stiff loam... and that was just the beginning.

The Green Titan with Silver Wings did not wish to peacefully repeat the intimation and, brandishing his hammer in the air, the Green Demon sprang to the attack, thundering in a roar of war:

{"GEEEET OOUT!!! ROOAARGHH!!!!!"} The speed was ultrasonic; in less than the blink of an eye, the air pressure shattered Quaithe's enchanted mask and robes, and before the end of the world came upon her helpless body, the invader forcibly severed all mental connections.

"IAAYYAAH!!! NOOOO!!! NO! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!!!" Quaithe knelt on the oak shingles clutching her skull, plagued by continuous excruciating spasms... The woman still could not distinguish fiction from reality.

Legilimancy was a double-edged sword. One of the most dangerous magical arts with the highest toll of control over the inner will. A single mistake or distraction could turn a mentally lucid person into a decerebrate vegetable for the rest of his days.

Disconnecting the mental link so abruptly and without control required a high price to be paid. Her head continued to spin incessantly. A trickle of blood trickled from her nose, her esophagus begged to regurgitate, tormenting her with conatal impulses, and her bladder pressed to the point of bursting... Quaithe had to inhale deeply for more than a minute and squeeze out all her psychic will and self-control not to give in to those humiliating impulses. And then ... a hand came to help her not to drown.

The Green Fiend gently placed his palm on her head, and in an instant, a warm, restorative feeling melted much of the icy spines that plagued her.

The first impulse suggested that she look her merciful saviour in the eye and thank him, but the Red Witch could not find the courage to peer into those two abyssal orbs again...

Quaithe looked up to scan only part of the Demon's face, the mouth beginning to move.

"I do not like to receive threats, let alone make them in my turn. But listen carefully, Lady Quaithe of Asshai, because I do not like to repeat myself either..." The friendly smile changed to a murderous snarl.

"{No One will approach that child without "My" explicit permission… Do I make myself clear? }" That voice! It was the same abysmal voice of the Green Titan!

Quaithe's head nodded shakily without meaning to...

"{Jon Snow is under My Protection}"

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End Chapter

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