Of Memories and Offerings
Eighteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
You are not precisely sure where the Children had found seats for you all but you are glad for them, though at first they seemed fragile things whose pale limbs might break from the weight of Ser Richard's armored form.
Not a seam nor a nail in them, you realize. The wood must have been been shaped by some sorcery, not hewn and carved with hands and tools.
How much magic could they weave, these forgotten children of faerie? you wonder, for the first time. Not much before the awesome power that is the province of the Last Greenseer, but you had seen time and again that magic need not be mighty to be useful.
For now you set the thought aside, for other more urgent maters need addressing: of Valyria's dark heritage and the horror that lurks still in the catacombs beneath Lys, a creature of near-godlike power wishing for nothing more than the peace of oblivion and willing to drag hundreds of thousands into its grave, and beside it a sorcerer twisted by unlife who above all else wished to live again, a threat and a chance also should they die of its own will at a time and place appointed beneath the branches of a weirwood tree.
"It cannot die what which has never truly lived," Bloodraven rasps contemplatively at the tale's end. "To remove the danger to Lys, if you truly think there is aught worth saving in that den of indulgence and folly, you must play the midwife not the executioner... allow it to be fully born a spirit of the land, not a scream of defilement echoing forever against itself, and it might join the Greendream."
"You do not sound entirely satisfied," Dany remarks.
"Power has its uses, but I do not relish the thought of one more voice screaming of old anguish, and in a manner foreign to the others besides..." he sighs. "It is good that you would think to gentle the wretched thing... a kingly deed. Alas that those are rarely easy."
"I do not rule Lys," you demure with a smile.
"Ha!" he half-coughs another cawing laugh. "You must have grown rusty since your days in in Braavos, your grace, for truly one would have to find a babe in arms to believe that."
"So how might I assure that I conquer something other than tumbled ruins and broken corpses?" you press.
"The ritual must be done in Lys, a Heart Tree grown from potent blood to bind with its roots the Unborn's power that dreams of blood and fire be stilled, and landwarden indeed it shall be, a mighty protector of the lands, the
city. Perhaps in time it might even be shaped by the dreams of those who dwell therein."
Quest Gained: Grow level 3 Heart Tree in Lys and persuade the Unborn spirit to bond with it
"So it might spare me the use of an army in a few centuries," you jest with a shake of the head.
"How easily you speak of centuries, when I have not even seen two." There is no resentment in the ancient's voice, but not quite resignation either, more a sort of wistfulness that reminds you more of the Children's solemnity than the last of king Aegon's Great Bastards.
"Do you know aught else of Valyria and its history, its lore..." you begin in earnest, feeling a pang of loss that Lya is not with you that she may share your excitement.
This time the pause is far longer... as dead sits the Last Greenseer upon his throne for almost an hour through before he stirs once more, withered limbs shivering as though with great exertion. "I fear I cannot hand you all the pieces for those who speak loudest do not know and those who remember only whisper. Great was the Winged Fire in days of old, and far did they fly from their roosts. Even as their descendants came as far as Dragonstone and Driftmark to settle and to rule, so too did the wyrms of old hunt men and drive them before them as deer before a wolf-pack. So came men to the sunset shores flotsam upon the storm..."
"So it happened twice," Dany interjects. "The First Men and the Andals all fleeting the heirs of fire in the east. I'm surprised they do not resent us more..."
Bloodraven waves a hand vaguely to the roots that fill the chamber. "Gods do not think as men do," he answers. "Perhaps they do not see the pattern..."
"Or perhaps they know something we do not," your sister counters. "It would not do to... underestimate them." Something unspoken passed between the child and ancient magus.
Bloodraven gives no sign beyond perhaps the barest hint of a smile lost in the shadows, then he moves on. "Of the Doom and the days before it the Gods know nothing, for there were no Heart Trees in Valyria, and I only a little more from what I have studied in my youth, for I fear even in those years Essosi tomes were filled with the self-aggrandizement of petty magisters and those of Westeros with the pious ramblings of the Faith."
"What of Summerhall, then? You showed it to me, but not the whole of it," you remind him.
"You asked of your father's follies, not your great-grandfather's, and in truth it gladdened me to hear it. Too many have died with stone eggs clutched to their chests..." He sighs and looks into the distance, hearing no voices save those of memory you suspect.
"Yet now the world is changed and magic surges strong." You pause a moment then add softly. "I have faced wildfire and it did not consume me, yet I would not use the foul stuff unless there was no other way."
"Good!" the man upon the tangled throne declares. "It is no force of making, of
transmutation, wherever those thrice damned fools with the temerity to call each other wise may say. It is a thing of pure destruction. But tell me, your grace, if you could hatch your twice stolen egg who would you give it to?" You have to admire the offhanded way in which he mentioned knowing of your acquiring of the egg and 'kidnapping ' of Valaena Velaryon.
What do you answer?
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OOC: Devils, fey, Deep Ones, and wildfire disposal in the next update. Also don't read too much into Viserys' quip about it taking centuries for the 'tamed' genius loci to be useful, you will get your reward immediately if you manage it.