To Gut A Fish I
To say that the Vale had many valleys was akin to saying that the sky was full of wind or that the oceans carried a lot of water. Unlike the ever shifting paths of the winds or the endless expanse of shapeless water though, a valley was an old thing. Carved in time immemorial, each and every one of them had seen the tread of countless feet, from Singers to Giants and First Men to Andals. And each and every time, they would bestow a name upon the valley so that they could tell stories about it. In time, the name would fade from the valley again, campfires going cold and villages swallowed by forests, but the stories would endure. And one day, another set of feet would come to the valley and name it all over again.
As one who had the favor of the Gods of stream and stone, Dalla had spent more then enough time in silent contemplation before a Heart Tree to know the truth of this old tale. It was one thing to be told it by your elders to make you more humble and another to
remember. To hear the voices of old as they sung and prayed before the trees in tongues so old that even their names had been forgotten. To hear men, singers and Fey stand before them, all invoking some ancient right to a place before the bemused voices of the Greendream.
It kept things in perspective to her. Made it easier to do what she did, both for her people and the old raven on his distant throne. The valleys did not care for any claims staked by those that lived in them. They had seen countless claims and outlived them all. One day, the last man would leave these valleys, making place for whatever came next. And they too would one day sit in these valleys and speak of age old claims that some newcomers were contesting. Maybe the Greendream would be bemused to see the cycle repeat again. Maybe even the gods would be no more, they too passing away to make room for others.
So when she and her allies came to the Twisting Valley on this eve, Dalla knew deep down how small and tiny all these events were. How laughable the claims and grudges of a mere few millennia. How little heir lives and deeds would matter before the grinding mills of time. She couldn't deny that the change in perspective had not changed here, especially in recent times as she dove deeper and deeper into the past and even began to carefully peek into futures that might yet be.
Some had told her how she seemed to have become more peaceful, he old brashness fading in the wake of her studies. Yet personally, she now felt she understood how the deathless monster in his cave could peer out at a whole word and see nothing but puppets to snare in his strings. Tools to be used and discarded as he deemed it necessary. Maybe she would one day become like him. For now though, she still had her own legs and could speak in her own voice. And her own eyes to see the results of her machinations.
And thus she had came here to the camp of the Red Feet clan, or more precisely what was left of it, in person and with her the allies she had chosen. Maybe not these people in particular, but she had knelt before the Dragon in all the ways that mattered, so she too had chosen to work with whatever aid he was sending her. The old mage was kindly enough on the surface, though no one who bothered to look wouldn't have noticed how the animals were getting skittish in his presence or his habit of looking through people as if they weren't worth noticing.
The two dragons were easier to stomach in that regard, even when in their human guises. They were female, sisters apparently, for whatever that meant for something that was made, not born, and her people had taken only a glance at them to know to keep their distance. One had hair white as snow, the other black as the night and both had a chill clinging to them that went deep as bone. Most thought the two of them Fey and Dalla didn't correct those rumors, because it meant they were careful around them. Careful not to be snared in pacts or becoming the target of cruel jests.
Only the undead warrior was troubling to Dalla herself. Not because of what he was, because she was decently sure that the Old Gods would not condone it's use, if they feared the enemy to seize the thing from them, but because of what the thing that was it's mind. She had not seen the mold growing within the dead flesh, only heard the brief explanation from Qyburn, but she could feel it. Feel the truth of the description. It was familiar like the Greendream to her, yet alien in it's fractured state that bordered at madness. Distracting too, for she could always sense the faint cauldron of hatred, longing and desire that was boiling within.
They were an ill fit for what she allegedly had come her to do, but it didn't matter. Tallurd from the Deep Water was not a man she had been able to sway with nice words and promises of lands in the vales. The clan chief was slouching on his throne, assembled from pelts, broken lances, sword and the dented armors from knights, beaten into a seat like shape. Around him stood his fines warriors, hulking men in leather armor with rune etched axes and swords, easily surrounding the small group she had brought with her. Neither salt nor bread had been offered so far.
"Well, with what deed have I earned the misfortune of your presence, Andal whore? Hadn't I told you last time that you better not return to my hearth?" He spoke with little rancor, but the chuckling from the warriors at calling her the whore of Andals was rather telling anyway. They had indeed not parted on good terms.
Still Dall stood upright before him, leaning lightly on her staff and not deigning the insult with so much as a twitch of her mien. "I remember our last meeting Tallurd and you told me that I shouldn't try to sway you again and that's not what I'm here for. I'm here because your kin asked me to." Truth be told, she cared next to nothing about Tallurd, but others did. The Mountain Clans were too few and too fractured to spend their lives lightly, no matter her own feelings on some of the clans.
The camp went silent at that and more then a few hands were going for spears, axes and sword. Even Tallurd had gotten up from his throne and was glaring at Dalla with twice the vitriol, he voice a low growl. "Pick your next words carefully, whore, or I'll see how big a blessing your heart is worth."
"I swore oath to your kin that I would warn you, if I knew your lives were at risk." She swept her gaze over the crowd, not only the warriors in the first row, but also those behind them. The young, the old, the wives. There were far fewer of them then the last time she had visited the Red Feet. Tallurds warband had shrunk again, now that the raiding seasons were over, leaving only the hardened core of his followers. "They didn't betray you. The clan didn't divide. They are still waiting for you."
There was not much reaction to her words and what little she got was mostly anger. Chief among them was Tallurd, who was barely keeping his temper in check. "Don't speak of the families you talked into abandoning us. And don't speak to us as if we were lambs ready for the slaughter. Do you truly believe we will be defeated by some lowlanders in our own mountains? Or are you afraid for your precious Andals?"
One of the dragons, the white haired one calling herself Arsyris stepped forward and raised her voice before Dalla could answer. "Truly, such spirit! Such bravery and zest!" She turned once, glancing over the assembled warriors who seemed suddenly much less sure of themselves. "Seeing you fight the Blackfish man to man would certainly be something. The clash of steel against steel as the ground is watered with blood. What a missed opportunity."
"There is something else, you need worry about," spoke Syraris, the black haired sister, with an impish smile on her face. "Great evils lurk in this valley. Right here and now, they are just biding their time to tear into the Andals. Such a perfect place for an ambush, such a perfect slaughter they will visit upon them. But you are here too."
This time, Dalla spoke quickly, lest the two of them gave the game away. "What they say is true. Something will attack the Andal host in the coming night. Something of cold and death. If you don't leave, it will slaughter you too." All true, from a certain point of view. She pretty sure that the two dragons would readily admit that they were the great evil if somebody asked, but that was unlikely to happen.
There was a more solemn quiet in the camp as she made this prophecy, though Tallurd did not want any of it. "Then we will fight whatever it is too. We are not cowards like your folk Dalla. We will not kneel before Andals or Fey or whatever thing coming to us. These are
our lands and we will fight for them until the last drop of Red Feet blood." As he spoke, his warriors regained their fervor, openly shouting in confirmation of his words by the end of it.
She could hear Qyburn quietly sigh beside her, but she herself hadn't even that much to give. It was all so pointless. She could easily admit that Tallurd was a good speaker, which was why so many still followed him, but he was also an idiot who would get them all killed for his pride. Idly she wondered if he too was one of the ravens puppets, slowly walking to his doom for a purpose he would never know or even understand.
For a moment she got distracted by these thoughts and for the first time, she heard the deep, booming voice of the thing that they had brought with them. She didn't know if the voice was true or just part of the figment of a giant that they had woven over it, but it was almost a physical thing, rattling you to the bones and demanding attention.
"Why," it asked. "Why would you see your clan sundered when you could just leave and live?"
Tallurd didn't hesitate a single heartbeat, responding long before most had overcome the shock of the giant speaking at all. "For our blood and our honor. We have fought for these lands ever since the invaders come and we will fight for it to the last. Our ancestors will smile upon us when we join them, because we will die with honor in battle, not like cowards and slaves."
The giant stepped forward, leaving the shadows of the night and being bathed in the flickering light of the bonfire. "We too thought like you did. Once. Long ago. We were fools. You are a fool. There is no glory or honor in death. There is only the echoes that slowly fade. Through a thousand, thousand eyes your ancestors see this world and they see how little their honor mattered. How little their glories are remembered. This world has forgotten them and so it will forget you, Tallurd of the Deep Water. Leave. Live. Become more then a forgotten skull in a nameless vale."
The crowd wavered at the booming proclamation, but it was too little, that Dalla could already see. "Don't dare to teach me about my ancestors, giant," came the snarled response from Tallurd and just like that, the uncertainty faded and gave way to rage and indignation. It was cruel irony that they were offended at the words of their own ancestors given a semblance of flesh again. "We have done our ancestors proud! We have offered them Andal blood freely, slain the invaders where we could and taken their riches for ourselves. As my father has done and his father before him. As all of the Free Folk will do until the day the last invader is bleeding upon pale roots."
"The roots tire of the blood of Andals and Free Folk," the giant spoke quietly, as if the minds within could not believe them themselves. But with each word, they grew surer. "Rivers of it have been shed and you still live in squalor and filth. Your people had generations upon generation to win this war and they never did, but now greater enemies lurk beyond the horizon. Even the oceans will run red with blood in the wars to come Tallurd, and the roots will drink deep from them. Fight in those wars if you value your life so little, but waste no more of our time."
The chieftain still stood tall and defiant, his hand slowly untying the knot holding an axe on his back. "We would rather die then kneel before some far away king like you and the whore."
The two dragons began to laugh, cruel and mocking as the giants hand gripped the haft of it's own axe. "Then we will grant you that wish."
AN: Shining a bit of a spotlight on both Dalla here and a bit more on what goes on in the mess that is a Blood Clot Mold.
I hope our dragons have fun with that slaughter at least.
