What the Raven Hears
Eighteenth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
"So weirwood trees cannot be grown in the soil of dreams. Can dreams be sown to grow upon the call of their bearers in the waking world?" you muse, thinking back to Tiamat's gift that had allowed you to untether the Shadow Tower from its foundations. Being able to bind and hold such power, to grant it out to those heading into peril would be of almost immeasurable worth, though if it could be done you know that it would be measured just the same, in blood or in treasure.
"Alas, Your Grace, such grand powers are not lightly bound even by the gods," Bloodraven replies. "Should there be need of magic beyond the bounds of invocations and limitations of form then you must set about the task yourself."
The realization that he knows what powers your dreams had unveiled is startling, but not unpleasant as it might have been hearing from another. "Did you see what I saw?" you ask curiously.
"I know only that it was a revaluation of fire as are many of the Dragon Dreams..." the Last Greenseer replies, the words trailing off in unspoken invitation.
Seeing no reason to hide what the dream had revealed you recount the tale of the Red God's birth in full together with what you had guessed about his nature, just as you had to Dany.
Soon enough however you leave talk of gods and powers behind, though not history. Ever since Malarys' revelation of ancient Bolton magics and taking the oath of the current lord of the Dreadford you wondered how deep those roots went and whence that knowledge ultimately springs.
"The Boltons are... older than the Starks, older perhaps than all the Houses of the North," Bloodraven speaks slowly, half his attention given over to listening for voices only he can hear. "The words upon their banners name them butchers, albeit diligent ones, but there is an older phrase that reveals more by far: 'a naked man has few secrets, a flayed man has none'. The secrets they sought in those elder days were not only common dross, words of crime or rebellion torn from bloody lips, but rather the secrets of sorcery, of necromancy taken from the servants of the Enemy. I cannot say much more for the Boltons of old did not discuss these matters before the Heart Trees and none of their sons and daughters became Greenseers, save the a pair of exiles spread out over the span of two hundred summers..." a painful rattling cough cuts him off. "My apologies, Your Grace, my time within the flesh puppet has made me forgetful of the limitations of my own body."
You wince inwardly, careful to keep your expression to one of neutral interest. Brynden Rivers is not a man to welcome pity over the choices he had made in life and the place they had led him.
Alas that you are not quite as skilled as you had thought. "I'm not dead, Your Grace, far better to know pain than to lay unfeeling in the dirt while worms gnaw at my innards."
"And glad I am that you are still here to offer counsel and aid, Lord Bloodraven," you say with simple sincerity that draws forth another brief smile. "Speaking of counsel, should we continue the Bolton practice of... discretion before the gods?"
"Where the practice of necromancy is concerned, yes," he replies.
"Did House Boltons keep to the gods the First Men brought with them across the sea longer than most then?" Dany asks after a moment. "Perhaps we can find something of Mother Earth still in their keeping, knowing or unknowing."
"No, they abandoned them as soon as most of their neighbors had, for you see there were three gods in those days of old: The Storm God, the Earth Mother, and the Ferryman who alone of all of them bridged the gulf of years."
"The Ferryman?" you ask intrigued.
"You know him and have offered up sacrifice before his altars. The Merling King he is named now, for the spirits of the seas and the fishermen who depended upon its bounty kept his faith alive."
"Speaking of sacrifice..." you trail off, unsure if the question you are about to ask does not sound overly ambitious even for you. "How grand a sacrifice can the Old Gods consume and how much of their authority do they gain there by? Should a Fey King or a Lord of Hell breathe his last before the Heart Tree for instance?"
The pale throne creaks as Bloodraven's head falls to the side, eye closed for a moment. "It depends upon the nature of the Fey King and his court, mighty spirits would be able to break any lingering connection by will alone, whereas those not aligned with the domains of the Old Gods will slip away as easily as oil and water separate. As for the devils I can offer only speculation, for no great Lord of Hell has ever spilled his heart's blood thus. So long as the being is not a true god, able to hear the thoughts of its faithful and grant their prayers, the sacrifice would be no different from any other, but should you somehow capture one of the Lords of the Nine I advise caution."
"That is not something you have to worry about, my lord, I have no plans top capture a god," you laugh.
"Think back to three years ago, Your Grace, would not the spirit you sacrificed in Gogossos have seemed like onto a god to you then?" Bloodraven replies. "Better to speak a warning and not need it, than to need it and never to have spoken it."
After that proclamation silence falls for a long moment, to be broken again by Dany. "What have you seen of the Houses of Westeros? How are they moving in the wake of the Hand's death?"
"The Usurper King has crawled deeper into the wine barrel, the Lannisters sink their claws ever deeper into the court and plan increasingly frantic appeals to the Faith that proves for the first time resistant to their blandishments. Of the lesser Houses, there are Crownlanders too 'honorable' to take Lannister bribes but not so much that they would keep to old oaths, reactions have been varied."
This time he deliberately pauses for breath. "Lady Milah Chelsted has been swift to assure the court of her continuing support by sending her cousin and heir to squire under Ser Richard Horpe of the Kingsguard. Lord Talbert Chyttering has been keeping his own counsel, though he did send his younger brother Elbert to Braavos and I very much doubt it is from a sudden love of Braavosi roast clams. Lord Goddar Farring has grown reclusive and suspicious, certain that the Hand has been assassinated, even banishing his maester from his lands. Rumors of madness abound..."
"He
was assassinated," Dany snorts.
"But not in a way that can be proven, and most lords would rather believe it an accident than admit to how vulnerable they are," you state, making a mental note to see if the business with the maester had been more than simple paranoia. After all you have learned of them you would not be surprised to find some deeper treachery.
"Houses Rambton and Sunglass remain content in their faith for the future," Bloodraven finishes. "One might consider them part of the High Septon's faction at court."
About what you had expected, much as you disliked the man for the hand he had in both your exiles, Jon Arryn was one to inspire more loyalty than the likes of Tywin Lannister. Still, the opportunity awaits.
Lastly you ask of the giants and receive confirmation of what Maester Aemon had said, the moot approaches its end, relatively speaking. It will be done in a month, perhaps two.
What do you do next?
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OOC: Well here we are, it jumps around a lot, but I hope I got the connection points right to smooth it out at least somewhat. 
