Fellow Human
Verified Roado Rolla
What are you talking about?
Hearts of Iron (ASOIAF/Worm)
- Thread starter FantasticCheese
- Start date
You're quite right. Amy was exceptionally lucky that nobody suffered anything worse than bruises. Humans are quite fragile, and the wrong kind of bump to the head could lead to a concussion or worse.
- Location
- Portugal
That gives me a question? If someone hag gotten a brain injury, what would Amy do?
einargs
Verified Spiller of the Egg Yolk
- Location
- The Egg Yolk, Outer Layer
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Amy explicitly went through and checked everyone when they were unconscious.
- Location
- Earth
I've been idly wondering what direction could this take.
Amy is a very rule-driven person, she doesn't have much direction and wants/craves a framework of what she's allowed to do.
Obviously, give a man three days of hunger and they'll stop considering anything but survival, so this week definitely changed her somewhat.
But I wonder how would she react to an incredibly rule-bound society.
Aristocracy, nobility, the pretense of rules they claim to abide by to control their fellows.
Will Amy feel pulled towards that, so she can abide by a new set of rules she doesn't truly understand but believes she needs?
It's an interesting challenge to her psychology.
She hasn't done anything horrible yet, so she's not the person we know she could be.
She could still easily become the Red Queen, a far more terrible one at that.
She already spilled the beans about her power, that word will travel, conflict is inevitable on that front.
She could run, but the village she's ended up in will be scoured clean in search of any information about her whereabouts.
If she doesn't people will suffer, if she does people will suffer.
Amy is *really bad* at impossible choices, the situation she's in always degenerates until she forced to act on impulse, which goes horribly.
This will be a trainwreck of majestic proportions.
Amy is a very rule-driven person, she doesn't have much direction and wants/craves a framework of what she's allowed to do.
Obviously, give a man three days of hunger and they'll stop considering anything but survival, so this week definitely changed her somewhat.
But I wonder how would she react to an incredibly rule-bound society.
Aristocracy, nobility, the pretense of rules they claim to abide by to control their fellows.
Will Amy feel pulled towards that, so she can abide by a new set of rules she doesn't truly understand but believes she needs?
It's an interesting challenge to her psychology.
She hasn't done anything horrible yet, so she's not the person we know she could be.
She could still easily become the Red Queen, a far more terrible one at that.
She already spilled the beans about her power, that word will travel, conflict is inevitable on that front.
She could run, but the village she's ended up in will be scoured clean in search of any information about her whereabouts.
If she doesn't people will suffer, if she does people will suffer.
Amy is *really bad* at impossible choices, the situation she's in always degenerates until she forced to act on impulse, which goes horribly.
This will be a trainwreck of majestic proportions.
Drift 1.6
Drift 1.6
Amy IV
Amy IV
Horses stank. And they pooped. A lot. I learned all these fun facts on the morning's trek.
At least I didn't have to ride one. That would have been a nightmare in these robes, although I was wearing pants underneath.
In fact, Cley was the only one mounted while the rest of us were trailing behind on foot and leading the animals by their bridles. Everyone except for Wyl -he had been sent off ahead earlier in the morning- traveled in a diamond wedge formation with me at the center.
Message received loud and clear, guys. No running off.
Soon, we reached the first true sign of civilization, an honest-to-goodness dirt trail. No longer were we in pure untamed wilderness. People had walked here. As we traveled along the path, the trail became wider and more obvious while the trees shifted from oaks and pines to the shorter variant of Ironwoods. Timberwoods, I recognized. This grove lacked the giant Ironwoods, but there were many blackened stumps present as we moved southward.
Then, the tree coverage thinned out, and there were buildings - farm houses and homesteads crafted from cobble stone and timber with thatched roofs. We passed many pens housing goats, sheep, and chicken as well as small plots growing a variety of crops. I saw potatoes and yams, cabbages and carrots, leeks and onions, a variety of herbs, and more that I couldn't name. One farm even housed a small orchard of apple trees.
As the density of buildings increased, so did the population. More and more people paused tending to their farms to watch us as we passed. I received the lion's share of looks, mostly of mild interest but for a few who narrowed their eyes in suspicion.
The dirt trail gradually became more packed as we passed into open terrain. There was now an obvious delineation between where the forest ended and the rest began. I could officially say I had left the Wolfswood behind.
Rolling hills and pleasant grassy fields spread before me in a gorgeous vista broken up by pockets of trees that dotted the landscape. Our destination seemed clear. The largest collection of buildings yet lay less than a mile out nestled at the base of one of the taller hills and culminated in stony walls surrounding the tallest structure I had seen yet.
The path became a full road through the town's center, if not paved, then well trampled and wide enough to accommodate four or so riders side by side, or two cars traveling in opposite directions. Or wagons rather, as there were several horse drawn carts moving away from and towards the walled compound.
Upon closer inspection, the keep was rather impressive. Stacked smoke gray stones formed walls a half dozen meters tall that wound along contours of the hillside, interrupted at intervals with steep roofed watchtowers constructed of dark timber. The main gate consisted of an iron portcullis large enough to fit someone twice my height flanked by jutting battlements with crenelated parapets. I couldn't see much inside the walls, but the main building rose above the rest of the towers, seemingly built into the hillside. It was reminiscent of a country ski lodge, with a steep roof to ward off deep snow fall and massive timber beams intersecting to form triangular highlights of dark wood, very similar to the patterns found on Ironwood bark. Overall, it gave the impression of the kind of strongholds seen in romanticized paintings of vikings or norse culture, complete with scrollwork, corbels, and carved finals in the shape of wolves, bears, and other woodland creatures.
That dark charcoal colored wood had become familiar to me over the past week. Ironrath was a fitting name, as it appeared the keep had been built out of Ironwood.
The portcullis was currently raised, and we quickly passed beneath the stony, arched tunnel into a courtyard of sorts. Upon entering the yard, we were greeted by a dozen men carrying the same heraldry carved above the main gate - the silhouette of a young Ironwood tree.
One man strode forward, more finely dressed than the others. Polished metal pauldrons and a chest piece over a black, diamond-patterned gambeson. The man's face was hard lined with a harder frown made all the more imposing by his height and scars - I counted one mark on his forehead, a gash on his right cheek, and a line crossing the right side of his mouth.
"This is her?" He asked.
His sharp voice matched my expectations.
"Aye," Cley responded, "she gave us no trouble on the way."
The hard-lined man nodded curtly. "The rest of you are dismissed to your regular duties."
He turned towards me, "Lord Forrester wishes to speak with you."
Turning on his heel, he quickly strode in the direction of the lodge-like building. Supposing I should follow him, I walked briskly to catch up, Cley matching pace with me.
Our path took us past stables, an archery range, a blacksmith's workshop, and several structures whose purposes I wasn't certain of. The steps ascending to the lodge were steep to the point that I leaned forward to compensate for my sense of balance - not wheelchair friendly.
The main doors were thick Ironwood constructions bearing the symbol I had come to associate with the Forrester name. The entrance led straight into a large open room of ebony plank flooring with a vaulted ceiling. Massive fireplaces to either side of the great hall remained unused, but ashen stains suggested they weren't solely for decoration. Sunlight shone through the latticework of the tall pentagonal windows lining the far wall, bathing the hall in a natural ambiance and providing a well lit backdrop to the room's centerpiece, the throne.
It was more than a mere chair. Carvings of forest scenes adorned the tall-backed seat in the same five sided shape of the windows behind it. It rested heavily upon a raised dais spanning the width of the hall - anyone who sat in that seat would literally be looking down upon the rest of the room's occupants. There were two shorter chairs, one to each side of the main throne.
I could easily imagine a lord presiding over his court from atop the raised seat with an imperious gaze, declaring laws, raising taxes, or whatever it is lords do. I did have to imagine because the seats were currently empty, the dais unoccupied. Besides a few workers cleaning or moving about, the hall was empty.
My expectations of being made to bow before the lord seated on his throne were shattered as we took a side door down another hall past more modestly sized rooms. These people sure enjoyed their forest scenes. Forest ponds, forest glades, forest trees, forest animals - that was about half the extent of the paintings and tapestries hanging on the walls, the other half being portraits presumably of nobles with neutral expressions and fancy clothing.
The grizzled soldier led me past an open door that appeared to lead to a library, or at least that's what I gathered from the shelves stocked with books and scrolls. Inside, a trio of well dressed children were seated around a young man -he looked about college graduate age- and listening to him lecture on some topic. From the snippets I caught, he was teaching basic arithmetic as he swiped beads back and forth on an abacus-like device. Of the four, only the girl had a view out to the hall, and our eyes met for a brief passing moment.
I idly wondered how Lara was doing. If my treatment was any indication, she likely had not met any harm simply for being my acquaintance. Then again, I had apparently been mistaken for some form of nobility which might have provided me greater protections in their culture. If both history and life taught me anything, it's that those who hold the power give little thought to the wellbeing of those who do not.
Our final destination was a moderately sized room at the far end of the hall. I could guess from the writing implements and organized parchment sheets that the room served as a solar or study - even medieval lords had paperwork to attend. Ebony, charcoal, and slate mixed in with rich shades of coffee and walnut brown matched the prevailing color theme I had seen so far, and the architecture agreed with the rest of the keep's design. It was the decor that set the solar apart, and it spoke of a rather distinct character. A bearskin rug complete with taxidermied head complemented the expansive elk's antlers mounted above the fireplace. Swords sheathed in their scabbards were racked on a wooden frame in the back left corner below a shelf holding up what looked like a blackened fragment of driftwood. Looking closer revealed the shaft of an arrow sticking through the middle with its point broken off.
On the back wall, placed squarely between two windows hung a near lifescale wooden panel depicting a man and woman with their arms wrapped around a sextet of who I assumed to be their children - two young men in their late teens or early twenties, one girl around Lara's age, a boy and girl about elementary school aged, and a baby held in the mother's arms. The portrait's subjects weren't exactly smiling, but neither did they wear dour expressions. Instead, the family seemed content to be with one another. The artist had done an exceptional job of portraying the human elements -the way the children jostled for position, the smirk on the young boy's face as he looked knowingly at the girl next to him, the stern face of the man that hid the softness around his eyes- little details that brought the carving to life.
In fact, the artist's work was so incredible that I immediately recognized three of the carving's subjects standing in the room right in front of me. Standing off to the left, the lord's son from yesterday morning stiffened at my approach. I couldn't blame him for that reaction - I would have been uncomfortable in my presence too after what I did.
That likely made the man and woman standing behind the desk the lord and his wife. The lady's sharp eyes pierced like needles, and the lord's lacked most of the kindness present in the portrait. I didn't recognize the balding man to his right.
I surreptitiously gulped. It was time to hear what they had to say and to make my case for why they shouldn't burn me alive or send more hunters after me. I couldn't afford to act on my irritation or fear like I did in the grove - just thinking of Len and what happened raised my hackles. No, I needed to be conservative here to show these people that I wasn't a threat.
The scarred, armorclad man joined the lord's contingent while Cley leaned against the side wall.
The lord gestured to the desk upon which sat a hunk of bread and bowl of salt I hadn't noticed before.
"I invite you into our home as a guest and extend my hospitality for the duration of your stay."
"Um," Don't stutter, "I accept."
I tried not to phrase it as a question, but my inflection went a bit high - I didn't know the proper customs, and this really felt like one of those fancy rituals from a Victorian era historical drama.
He gestured to the food again. "I know the fare might not be to your expectations, but I would like to observe formalities if you please."
Does he want me to- am I supposed to eat the bread?
I was stuck in a loop of indecision. Was I misunderstanding him? Would it be rude if I grabbed the bread? I was gathering up the courage to ask him when Cley spoke up.
"My lord, if I may?"
"Go ahead," he nodded.
"Amy, it is customary in Westeros for visitors to receive guest right, a pact between guest and host that is seen as inviolable. Neither party may harm the other so long as the guest stays within the host's walls, lest they break the sacred covenant and incur the wrath of gods both old and new. And the anger of men both high and low." He pointed to the desk for emphasis. "If the guest and host have not yet shared a meal, it is traditional to serve salt and bread so as to ensure guest right is observed."
"Okay, I understand."
I took the dense chunk of bread and dipped it in the salt. Contrary to my expectations, it stuck wetly - it must have been mixed with water.
I took a bite, Yep, salty.
"Thank you for inviting me into your home," I said in between bites.
The woman's and the lord's eyes softened, and the tension drained a bit from the room. The armored man still scowled.
"Welcome to Ironrath," the lord said, "I am Lord Gregor Forrester," he nodded towards the woman, "My wife, Lady Elissa," then towards the young man, "my son, Rodrik," he finished off with the balding man and the scarred man, "Our castelan, Duncan Tuttle, and our master-at-arms, Ser Royland Degore."
Oh my god, master-at-arms? Armsmaster? I couldn't help but draw the comparison because it was perfect. He shared the same stern-set mouth and penchant for walking around in his armor. The only things missing was the famous armsbeard and halberd.
Lord Gregor spoke, "I should like to make your acquaintance and ascertain the truth of matters, but for now I see you have had a long journey. I would be a poor host if I made offers of hospitality without merit. My wife will escort you to a bath if you like and your guest chambers where you may rest until tonight's meal."
He gave me an indecipherable look. "I understand a certain amount of coercion was used in bringing you here. I apologize for any discomfort that may have brought you. I want you to know that you are not a prisoner within these halls. You may leave at any time so long as you bring no further harm to anyone under my protection," he paused, "But I believe there is much to be gained from mutual cooperation."
I took the dismissal as it was and followed Elissa out of the solar.
Well that went better than expected.
Actually, the meeting exceeded even my most optimistic outlook. I had knocked the lord's son and several of his men unconscious, putting them at risk of serious injury, and then I had run off. Yet still I was apparently forgiven, and they had made a show of ensuring me that I would be safe under their roof.
A part of me remained mistrustful. People can lie. People have lied. Yet, if violating guest right was as frowned upon as they made it seem, and if he made sure there were a half dozen witnesses present, I could probably trust that I would be fine.
"I am told you do not go by any titles." Elissa's words got my attention. "You prefer to be called by your given name?"
"That's right," I nodded.
"Then I welcome you to Ironrath, Amy."
She stopped in front of another door down the hall and beckoned to a female worker. "Narissa, would you fetch a bath for Amy here? A change of clothing wouldn't go amiss either."
"O' course, m'lady."
"And show her to the main guest room after."
"Aye."
Narissa put her hands on her hips and looked over at me.
"Don't ye worry 'bout a thing m'lady. We'll get the hardships o' the road sorted out proper like. Be just a moment with the water."
She had a lovely Irish lilt, or I supposed since we weren't in Ireland, it was a lovely Westerosi lilt.
"You don't have to call me 'my lady'," I said, "Amy is fine."
"Oh don't be like that m'lady. You mustn't be so modest 'ere. We may be a bit backwards compared to what yer familiar with, but we do know how to make our highborn guests welcome."
I didn't bother to correct her assumption.
"The room is yers, I'll be back in just a moment," She hurried off.
When I had first heard the word "bath" my hopes were immediately raised that this place would have indoor plumbing despite the fact I had seen no evidence for it. Then those same hopes were quickly dashed when Narissa said she had to fetch the water. Still, I supposed anything would be worthwhile at this rate. If the water wasn't so damn cold, I would have dunked myself in the streams days ago.
I sat in the sole chair the room held, right next to the tressled window. It was concerning that the bathing room had windows, but I supposed they had to get light in here somehow without artificial sources. I was comforted by the fact that I was on the side of the keep facing the steepest section of the hill, and any potential creeps would have to climb up to window height.
Narissa returned bearing two large buckets steaming with hot water strapped to a pole slung over her back. The girl had muscles.
The contents of the first bucket and most of the second were poured into a slatted wooden tub bound together with iron bars and lined with linen sheets.
Guess they thought of the potential for splinters.
She chatted as she worked, "No proper bathhouse in the keep like other houses 'round the North, but come wintertime, the hot springs'll start up again. Course, if ye were tavelin' the Wolfswood in clothes like that durin' the winter, ye wouldn't've made it all the way 'ere."
She dampened a set of cloths from a nearby drawer.
"Who can say when winter'll come. With the way things've been, maybe this summer'll never end," she snorted, "Ha! Wouldn't that be nice."
I hummed in agreement. If this was the summer temperature, then I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the depths of winter held in store.
Logs shifted as Narissa lit the fireplace with a flint.
"M'lady, ye can disrobe now. Bath's all but ready."
Apparently the women of Westeros were comfortable being naked around each other. I, however, was not from Westeros. I was also not like most women.
"I can clean by myself, it's fine."
That should get her out of here.
"Nonsense, m'lady. I'll take care o' ye right proper."
I needed a better explanation then.
"Where I come from, it's considered, uh- improper for a lady to go unclothed around others."
"Nothin' improper about it m'lady," she insisted.
"Narissa, please leave the room. I'm not comfortable taking off my clothes around others." I left no room for misunderstanding. If my tone was harsher than intended, then it was only because of how discomfited I felt.
She looked taken aback. "I apologize m'lady. O'course I'll let ye alone then."
She turned her head back to me at the doorway. "Holler if ye need anythin'. I'll have a change of clothes ready for ye once yer finished."
Then I was alone.
I sighed, leaning back in the chair. Muddy boots and only marginally cleaner socks were the first item to come off followed by my robes, then my undershirt and pants. Lastly came my undergarments, added to the haphazard pile of clothing.
Lowering myself into the hot tub sent a wave of pure bliss cascading throughout my whole body. Muscles I hadn't been aware of untensed. Aches and stings soothed. Grime floated off my skin as the water did its work. I let out another sigh, long and content.
Nine days without a bath or shower would have made anyone go temporarily crazy, I decided.
After a few minutes of soaking in the warm water, it was time to move on to the next phase.
I used the tools at my disposal for a proper deep cleaning. A bar of soap smelling faintly of herbs slipped and slid over my skin as I washed away the dirt and muck. I had the choice of either a hard comb or a coarse brush for my hair. I started with the comb, a stark white piece with fine teeth.
Taking the time to fully straighten my curls was not an endeavor I underwent often, but I would make an exception for the week-and-a-half-long forest adventure. Clump by clump, knot by knot, the tangles came undone. Gentle application of the comb and copious amounts of water did the trick.
The brush doubled as a method for getting out the most stubborn spots of dirt on my person as well as removing the last of my knots. More soap was applied for good measure, and I finished by rinsing off with the remainder of the bucket dumped over my head.
My hair would frizz up again in no time flat, but the important part was that it was clean. I dried myself off with the linens folded nearby and wrapped one around my waist with another draped over my chest before knocking on the door.
"Narissa, are you there?"
"Aye, m'lady. Are ye needin' the new clothes?"
"Yes. Um, can you-"
"I won't peek."
The door cracked open and the neatly folded bundle was handed over to me.
"Thank you," I said.
"O'course."
I began to dress myself. This was different.
It took some consideration to figure out what went where and in what order it was supposed to be worn. First and foremost, there were no undergarments, or at least not the familiar panties and bra. Instead, I had a shift. The texture was soft enough, but it was a far cry from modern fabrics. I briefly considered donning my dirty undergarments, but I powered past the temptation. Overtop that was a sort of undergown, a one-piece dress with short sleeves and a skirt that went down to my ankles. The final layer was a long-sleeved surcoat of dark green overlaying the dark gray gown - these people sure did love their blacks and grays and dark greens. I slipped into a pair of thick woolen socks that went up past my knees and a sturdy set of leather boots. Lastly, I cinched a belt with pouches around my waist, giving me something resembling a waistline. Because why not, I thought that if I was going to dress like a noble lady, then I might as well commit fully.
Pausing at the door, Almost forgot, I turned back around to fish my phone out of the clothing pile and slipped it into one of the handy belt pouches.
I knocked a second time then opened the door all the way.
"Oh, ye look lovely, m'lady!" Narissa exclaimed, "Be right this way to yer room."
I couldn't help but compare myself to her. Narissa's flaming red locks put my red-brown curls to shame. Not to mention, she was… busty, and she had a lovely smile with a healthy dusting of freckles on her cheeks rather than the peppering present on my face.
She was honestly quite pretty, and I found myself blushing.
Jesus, Amy. You find the first attractive girl and you can't help your damn thoughts, I berrated myself. This wasn't the time or place to think such things.
Except, since when had I thought of anyone besides Vicky in that way? I nearly tripped over my own feet.
"Are ye alright?" Narissa put a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm fine, just a bit tired. Wasn't watching where I was going."
"I'll say," she accepted my response, "with a journey like what I've heard ye've gone through, can't've been easy."
I hummed ambivalently.
Vicky, I missed her so much. Too many things had been going on that nothing but surviving my ordeal had crossed my mind until Lara had forced me to reevaluate my situation. Even then, I barely had time to consider the implications while running exhausted and then when traveling with Cley and the others.
Now there was nothing else in the way. I might never see my sister again. My beautiful, radiant sister. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them back. I wouldn't let anyone see my weakness here.
We reached my room mercifully quickly - the keep was not terribly long from end to end.
"'Ere we are. I hope it's too yer likin'. Need anythin' else m'lady?"
"No thanks," I tried to keep my voice from warbling, "I just need to lie down for a while."
"If ye need anythin' at all, ye can let any o' the others know, and I'll come fix ye up right quick."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
"O'course."
I didn't wait any longer to close the door and collapse onto the bed. The room was nice, I supposed.
I hiccupped. A droplet slid down my nose. The tears that I had been holding back began in earnest. There was nothing else to do, nothing else I could do.
I wished Vicky was here with me, and I hated myself for it, for being so weak that I would pray desperately for her to be separated from everyone and everything else she loved and cared for just to join me in my misery.
And I knew she would have done it in a heartbeat.
I spent the afternoon crying quiet sobs and wishing I was home.
Is there a reason she hasn't grabbed some grass or something on the way here to have something to work with just in case? I don't believe they'd be suspicious of a handful of common grass or some nuts.
Egleris
Vagrant Dragon
- Location
- Italy
She shouldn't even need that much, if she still has some of the berries she collected to feed herself - I wasn't clear if she lost those during her escape, or not. Also, I wouldn't be so sure that they'd not be suspicious; if they spoke with Lara, then they might have been aware that she has the power to manipulate plants... and believes it possible for a Lord to mind control a large number of people. I wouldn't assume anything until we have more information on what exactly the Forresters are thinking.
Anyway, this is a very interesting story; unusual to have Amy be the one inserted, and unusual to not have it be immediately the Stark the first Westerosi that the inserted character meets. Both of those are great signs for the story to have a more original plot than usual, and the prose itself is great, so I'm really looking forward to more of this.
Anyway, this is a very interesting story; unusual to have Amy be the one inserted, and unusual to not have it be immediately the Stark the first Westerosi that the inserted character meets. Both of those are great signs for the story to have a more original plot than usual, and the prose itself is great, so I'm really looking forward to more of this.
Amy was scared enough to go for a contingency plan with the wolves and while she was being chased on her own, but she's not yet paranoid/savvy enough to consider having emergency organic materials on hand at all times. Westeros is not a forgiving place however, and her ways of thinking will be affected by the culture and its people to varying degrees.
Makes total sense to me! Thanks for the answer, I'm too paranoid for my own good.
Map 1.6
For those of you who like maps, here's roughly what Amy's route looks like so far.
View: https://imgur.com/a/x9cGdFF
View: https://imgur.com/a/x9cGdFF
Hard Iron-Wood (gagaking)
- Location
- US
Crossposting from SB: So before this gets proven to not be what happens, have an Omake. (Also, open to advice on how to improve it or future omakes).
Hard Iron-Wood:
-------------------------
It was the next morning, and the foreign witch, Amy, had been brought before him. "We've heard about your abilities. I believe we should negotiate." Lord Forrester began.
"Alright, but my healing comes with strict conditions." She started.
"Actually, I'd rather start with acquiring some of the wood from the pillar trees. Would you be capable of getting it for us, in certain shapes for our needs?" He interjected.
'I already have a maester, and I don't feel comfortable subjecting my smallfolk, much less my household, to the powers of a foreigner, especially a witch. Who knows what the costs could be, or if she is truly as skilled as she claims? It would also be a shame to lose her to a scandal from a failed healing.' He thought to himself.
"Wait, really?"
Yes"
She seemed incredulous. "I can help the lame walk, the blind see, the deaf hear, restore lost limbs, cure sicknesses that don't plague the mind, and yet you want me for the hard wood?!
I mean yes, the wood is special. I've never seen wood that strong, and it's a fascinating wonder of nature I have never seen before, that fills me with all sorts of questions, but still!"
"Yet still, I am asking for the wood, not the healing." Lord Forrester replied.
'At least for now, until I know more about her and her magics. I've heard all magic comes with a price, with the more powerful the magic the higher the price. For the miracles she claims she can bring, what would the cost be? No, I'd rather stick with the iron wood. That I know will be reliable, as it will merely be similar to the wood we currently get, but of a better quality.' He mused.
"Well, huh. Good, I guess. But really? No, this is fine." She took a breath. "The wood shouldn't be that hard to get, or have many issues. Let's discuss what you need".
'Why would she have desired to do the healing that much that she only reluctantly gave in? Mayhaps it's as I thought, and she would have gotten some power over those she healed, or some such thing. This was a good decision.'
Hard Iron-Wood:
-------------------------
It was the next morning, and the foreign witch, Amy, had been brought before him. "We've heard about your abilities. I believe we should negotiate." Lord Forrester began.
"Alright, but my healing comes with strict conditions." She started.
"Actually, I'd rather start with acquiring some of the wood from the pillar trees. Would you be capable of getting it for us, in certain shapes for our needs?" He interjected.
'I already have a maester, and I don't feel comfortable subjecting my smallfolk, much less my household, to the powers of a foreigner, especially a witch. Who knows what the costs could be, or if she is truly as skilled as she claims? It would also be a shame to lose her to a scandal from a failed healing.' He thought to himself.
"Wait, really?"
Yes"
She seemed incredulous. "I can help the lame walk, the blind see, the deaf hear, restore lost limbs, cure sicknesses that don't plague the mind, and yet you want me for the hard wood?!
I mean yes, the wood is special. I've never seen wood that strong, and it's a fascinating wonder of nature I have never seen before, that fills me with all sorts of questions, but still!"
"Yet still, I am asking for the wood, not the healing." Lord Forrester replied.
'At least for now, until I know more about her and her magics. I've heard all magic comes with a price, with the more powerful the magic the higher the price. For the miracles she claims she can bring, what would the cost be? No, I'd rather stick with the iron wood. That I know will be reliable, as it will merely be similar to the wood we currently get, but of a better quality.' He mused.
"Well, huh. Good, I guess. But really? No, this is fine." She took a breath. "The wood shouldn't be that hard to get, or have many issues. Let's discuss what you need".
'Why would she have desired to do the healing that much that she only reluctantly gave in? Mayhaps it's as I thought, and she would have gotten some power over those she healed, or some such thing. This was a good decision.'
Technical problems with it, but good short.
Basically you changed the POV too much, and it took a minute to understand that the italics were thoughts of different people.
Drift 1.7
Drift 1.7
Amy V
Amy V
I cried until there were no tears left to spill. Until turbulent thoughts were the only thing remaining as I lay there curled into a ball, memories treasured and reviled, vague worries of the future, and the troubles of the present. Eventually, even thought fled and my existence was empty. Dull, emotionless stupor. Neither joyful nor miserable.
Life went on without me, time passing without regard for my feelings.
Knock knock
Dim awareness of the outside world creeped back into me, the unwanted stepchild I wished I could shove out the door with a suitcase in hand. Telling whoever it was to fuck off, however, would not be a winning move.
"Dinner is ready, Amy."
Not Narissa. Not Lady Elissa. I didn't recognize the speaker, but it was curious that they used my name. She sounded young.
Uncurling myself took effort, not physically, but my brain rebelled against taking any action that wasn't sitting as an unmoving rock. My faculties moved at the pace of molasses with an invisible, intangible weight dragging down my every step.
Food was not a welcome prospect right now, but I opened the door anyways - secluding myself in the princess' tower would do me no favors with the Forresters.
The girl from the library greeted me on the other side. More than that, she was an older version of the girl from the family portrait. Brown hair and green eyes further cemented the resemblance to Rodrik and Lady Elissa. Her dress was well embroidered, another clear signifier that she was the lord's daughter.
I had noticed a clear dichotomy of clothing quality between the nobles and commoners. Under different circumstances, I would be more upset at the wealth inequality and the whole stupid system of highborn and lowborn, but I'd had other concerns, and at the moment I couldn't muster up anything beyond apathy. I'd care later when I didn't feel like shit.
"Would it be your preference to sup alone? I can call someone to bring your meal to your room if you'd like."
Doubtless, my puffy eyes and wet cheeks were dead giveaways of my afternoon crying session.
"That's alright," I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, "I'm fine to eat with you all tonight."
She took that at face value. "Shall we go together then? I'm Talia, it's very nice to meet you, Amy. "
I took her outstretched hand, but instead of initiating a handshake, she began to lead me down the corridor.
Currently in a growth spurt. Additional calcium is required for optimal growth, my power supplied me with information regarding her health and condition.
"It's nice to meet you too, Talia."
"Don't let my brother Ethan pester you too much. Sometimes I feel his tact could use some training to match his wit." She looked aside at me. "If he bothers you overmuch, don't feel afraid to tell him to knock it off."
Well developed vocal cords. Fine control. Does she sing regularly?
"Um- I'll keep that in mind."
"I do hope you don't mind my excitedness," she apologized, "We so rarely receive guests, especially ones as interesting as you."
"Thank you?"
Light muscle development in the upper body. Concentrated most strongly in the back and core. Indicative of some kind of training? I recalled past patients - this didn't feel like traditional weight training. It was more reminiscent of…
Swimming maybe? No, that didn't feel right, yoga?
I'd figure it out later. We'd arrived at the main hall already.
"We would very much enjoy it if you ate with us." Talia led me to the table closest to the dais, and I followed.
Multiple faces were recognizable to me, Lord Gregor, Lady Elissa, Rodrik, the Armsmaster lookalike, and baldy. I struggled for a moment to remember their names, Royland and Duncan, that's right. There were others I hadn't yet met.
Examining Talia with my powers had oddly put me in a better mood. Better, but still not good. I took the offered seat between Talia and Lady Elissa, the latter buffering me from Lord Gregor and the rest of the table, for which I was grateful. The only occupants to my left were Talia herself, a grinning boy I was betting was Ethan, and a younger child.
I thought it was a bit awkward that I had been placed between Elissa and her children, kind of like I was a trophy on display. As a guest -and a foreign one at that- seating me at the main table next to the lord's children and wife would probably be seen as a position of honor, a signifier for my status and importance.
Instead it made me supremely uncomfortable. Though, would I have been less tense seated anywhere else in the hall? Unlikely.
Hopefully, the evidence of my tears wasn't easily visible to everyone here, but that might have been overly optimistic. Of the several dozen or so people seated and supping, more than a few shot curious glances my way.
Their combined gaze pressed down on me, but I did my best to ignore it and focus on other things. Like the food. I wasn't hungry earlier, and I still wasn't now, but if nothing else it could distract me for a while.
The servers had laid out the meal buffet style, a mixture of trout and chicken roasted in garlic and savory spices, lighter breads and baked potatoes paired with a creamy cheese dip and chopped leeks, a selection of berries more plump and juicy than those I had foraged, and pitchers of a sweetly smelling beverage. It was a minor feast.
The combination of aromas and a rumbling stomach overcame my melancholy, so I loaded up my plate with the offerings.
As I ate, more people filtered into the hall, filling it to bursting. With them came a riot of noise, uproarious laughter, slamming of tankards, dozens of conversations overlapping. Closing my eyes and letting the sound wash over me, I could almost convince myself I was attending a banquet back home, one of those fundraising events I got dragged to twice a year. I opened my eyes and returned to cold reality.
Oh well, the drinks were good. I washed down my meal with a sweet cup of juice flavored with blackberries. It burned more on the way down than what Cley had shared with me.
"-Amy."
"Huh?" I looked at Talia, "Sorry, what was that?"
"I asked if you were enjoying the food so far."
"Yes, thank you. It's very good."
"You should thank the cooks," the grinning boy winked at me, "they might just give you something sweet for your troubles."
"He thinks himself more charming than he is," Talia wore an exasperated expression.
"Ethan," the boy grinned, "welcome to Ironrath, Amy."
"Uh- Thanks."
My conversational skills were on full display.
He continued unperturbed, "Glad to see you like our fare. What sorts of foods do the people of your homeland eat?"
"Actually, we have potatoes and chicken and all the same foods you have here."
Given the similarities in species, language, and now diet, I was beginning to lean towards the alternate Earth theory. It was hard to believe that all of it could have evolved on an alien world in a way that so coincidentally matched my own.
"Truly? They have potatoes where you're from? I thought that was a strictly Northern crop." he hummed, "There must be something exotic you can share with us."
Exotic. Why is it always exotic with these people? Wait, I bet they don't have- "Pizza."
"Pete-za?"
"P-I-Z-Z-A, pizza. You spread cheese and tomato sauce on bread dough with whatever toppings you want then bake it in an oven. It's really good. I'll show you guys how to make it sometime. Er- I'm not the best chef though, so keep that in mind."
What was the harm in a little cultural exchange? I'd introduce the best American dishes to Westeros yet.
"Tomato sauce? I'm not sure I've heard of that," Talia said.
"Can't say I have either," Ethan agreed.
"Tomato sauce. It's made from tomatoes, like the plant?"
Brother and sister shared a glance.
"It might be a mistranslation," she said, "What does a tomato look and taste like?"
"Ummm-" I paused to think of a good description, "Tomatoes come in a variety of colors, but they're normally bright red. They have skin like a bell pepper or a persimmon and gooey when you bite into one. The taste is closer to a vegetable than a fruit, kind of a balance between acidity and sweetness." I wracked my brain for more comparisons. "Oh! It's similarly sized to an apple. At least the ones you use for pizza sauce are," I finished.
Talia had a frown of concentration on her face while Ethan looked puzzled.
Talia spoke first, "I've heard of bell peppers."
"It's Dornish," Ethan clarified.
Like that helped me understand at all. I took another sip of my drink.
Elissa dropped her conversation with her husband to join us. "Persimmons are grown deep in the Reach, south of Highgarden." She tapped her chin in thought. "I've tried all kinds of Dornish peppers, including your bell peppers. But as for your tomato, I've not a clue. Sorry to say, I'm not it's grown in any of the Seven Kingdoms."
There went my dreams of introducing modern civilization's greatest achievement to an entirely new world.
"That's alright," I said dejectedly.
"But pizza does sound like a fascinating dish." Ethan didn't sound like he was cheering me up, more like he was just that intrigued by foreign cuisine. "Are there any others that you're partial to? Perhaps we can find ingredients that we do have."
I drained the rest of my cup, trying to recall any dishes that seemed remotely feasible. "Well-"
Our foodie conversation continued on, and I began to form an image of Westeros in my head based solely on the crops grown and animals raised in each region.
Being from the North, my hosts had a great deal to say about its cuisine and how it related to their way of life. Apparently, we were experiencing unseasonably warm weather right now, allowing for extended growing periods of crops that otherwise wouldn't have survived. Come winter though, the landscape would be inhospitable, and they claimed people relied on preserved food stocks or the hardiest crops and game.
At one point, the toddler -I learned his name was Ryon- told us his favorite foods. Butternut squash and sweet cakes. Unfortunately for the boy, sugar was an expensive import for the North.
Gourds, squashes, and highland fruits abounded in the mountainous Vale. Many folk raised goats and sheep in greater abundance than in the North.
All manner of fresh water fish could be found swimming the myriad currents of the Riverlands, so much so that the Lord Paramount took the trout as his heraldry. The riven sodden region was fertile and south enough to support grains like wheat, oats, and barley in greater quantities than its northern neighbor.
Further south were the Westerlands, the Stormlands, and the Crownlands, and although they each had their distinct culinary footprints, the three regions shared similar enough climates to support most of the same crops. There were differences in what game could be hunted, but that was of less interest to me.
Dorne was described to me as the southernmost boot of Westeros, a land of arid desert, and it was at this point I gave up on trying to match Westeros to any of Earth Bet's continents. I probably shouldn't have tried in the first place when the two worlds didn't share the same moon. Dornish farmers grew varieties of peppers in the summer and many species of citrus fruits in the winter. I counted Oranges, lemons, nectarines, and grapefruits among others. No tomatoes.
The real standout however, the uncontested breadbasket of the entire continent, more than matching the combined output of the other six kingdoms through sheer volume was the Reach. Waves of grains, corn, and beans were harvested, stored, and shipped everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. A massive assortment of fruits including strawberries, grapes, figs, apricots, melons, peaches, pears, and plums did not make an exhaustive list. The Reach thrived with olive groves, vineyards, cattle ranchers and pig raisers. You name it, they had it.
Not gonna lie, that place sounds waaay better than this dump, I didn't much look forward to the cold.
"-sherbet, a combination of cream and pureed fruit, chilled with ice." Lady Elissa finished describing ice cream.
"We have something similar to that too, but we call it ice cream. I don't think it would make for a very good winter dessert," I giggled.
I had no idea where my sour mood had gone. Somehow, cataloging the crops and cuisine of Westeros had brought me such simple joy. Despite the cultural divide and despite the tenuous circumstances leading up to this, socialization had never been this easy for me before, my self consciousness fleeing as the night progressed.
"No," she smiled back, "it's very much a southern summer treat."
I finished off my second cup. "Well, it wouldn't have been so bad this morning. Felt hot enough on the way here."
"Folks are calling it summer's last dying heat," Ethan shrugged, "It's been the longest summer on record, but winter always comes."
"What would you know of winter, my summer child?" Elissa playfully chided her son.
"I was born in winter, mother." He spoke in such an innocent tone that it wrapped right back around to being smug.
Talia rolled her eyes.
"Mhm, I'm certain you have such vivid memories of the fierce snows," his mother shot back.
Why would he not remember winter? He's definitely old enough…
Something about their wording niggled at my mind. Westerosi had a strange way of referring to the seasons, and I couldn't help but feel that I had forgotten some important piece of context.
I reached to refill my cup, but Elissa put her hand on mine.
"I don't wish to overreach, Amy, but it may be important to keep a level head tonight."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"This would be your third cup, no? I have an eye for people's tolerances, and I do believe that you may be approaching your limit."
Oh fuck, "Is- is this alcoholic." I pointed at the pitcher.
"Strongwine, dear. Did you not know?" She rested a hand on my shoulder.
A sudden bout of lightheadedness washed over me, making me sway in her arms.
"I- um, no. I didn't. Wh- why didn't you tell me?"
Two cups. Carol always did say it lowered your inhibitions. I thought it was funny how holding a conversation seemed easier.
"I'm sorry, Amy. I didn't realize you weren't aware. Here," she reached for a separate pitcher near Ryon's side of the table, "milk to cut the wine. And another loaf wouldn't hurt either." Elissa set a hunk of bread on my plate.
My power supplied several methods for modifying bacteria that could synthesize alcohol degrading enzymes. Each idea went ignored as I wolfed the bread and downed the milk Elissa poured for me.
"We can postpone until the morning," she spoke quietly underneath the hall's clamor.
I thought about it. I had wanted to go into this with my best foot forward, ready to think as clearly and logically as I was able, but this threw a wrench in those plans. Maybe I should have delayed until morning, but I wanted to get this over with, damnit. Waiting would do no good when I needed to figure out where things stood as soon as possible.
"No. No, that's alright, just um- just give me a bit of time."
"Of course," she reassured.
I let my liver do its work while I sat motionless at the table. Ethan and Talia must have sensed the shift in my mood, because they left me to my own devices.
Plates were cleared and cups drained. Conversations petered out, and people filtered out of the great hall. Time was running short, and the meeting drew near.
I seemed to be fine. There was no slurring of speech, and the room didn't spin anymore, but how would I know if I was in the right headspace? Drunks sometimes didn't realize just how emotional or irrational they were behaving while under the influence. Did I really want to risk screwing this up?
It would be so very easy to fix with just a few modifications to the ribosomes of any common bacteria to make my problem go away.
No.
I wouldn't break my rules, not for this. The consequences of a single mistake could be catastrophic. I had no intention of bringing the germs in Guns, Germs, and Steel to Westeros. It was kill order worthy levels of potential disaster, and worse, it was villainous to mess around with powers like that.
Shaping plants was one thing, changing bacterial structures was on an entirely different level.
I'll have to go into this sober, errr drunk.
I couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at my hosts. They didn't think to tell me anything earlier? I knew it probably didn't even register to them, being from a culture where the drinking age was irresponsibly low, for Christ's sake, the kids were drinking it too. At least theirs had seemed watered down compared to what I imbibed.
The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got. Alcohol's dangerous for developing brains. Doesn't Elissa care about her own children's health?
And what a fool I'd been. How could I not have realized sooner what I was putting into my own body? Fuck!
Flushed cheeks heated my head into a daze, the frustration beating a drum in my temple. I thought our conversation had been pleasant, but it was nothing more than a fake reprieve from the misery, returned now greater than before. I wanted out of here. Out of this room. Out of this world.
I can't do this tonight, the thought struck clarity into me like a gong ringing in an enclosed space. There was no out, and I couldn't go into delicate discussions with these emotions raging inside of me.
"Elissa."
"Yes, Amy?"
"I changed my mind. I can't do this, not right now." I bit back the first acidic retort that came to my mind. "Can we wait until tomorrow?"
"Of course."
She laid a hand on my shoulder, but I flinched back.
She withdrew, "I think it's time I retired for the evening," her mouth wavered, "Good night, Amy."
All I managed was a vague grunt. I didn't spare pleasantries with the kids before heading off.
Not waiting for an escort, I retraced the path back to my room and sat gingerly on my mattress. Rubbing my temples did little for the budding migraine.
I sighed, I always find a way to fuck it all up.
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ScissorSlipper
Barber cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah, she was too gullible about the alcohol huh. And shaper must be getting impatient again .. I do believe it's better to bend biology in small ways that probably won't kill anyone, compared to bottling things up and then lashing out with bigger biological changes. Depends on what they want from Amy.
I noticed that people speak in a more modern way in this fic compared to other ASOIAF fics, since people seem to understand Amy perfectly well, but I think that's convenient to read so I don't mind.
Thanks for the chapter!
I noticed that people speak in a more modern way in this fic compared to other ASOIAF fics, since people seem to understand Amy perfectly well, but I think that's convenient to read so I don't mind.
Thanks for the chapter!
Would it be healthier to have an outlet for her powers? Yes. Does Amy have a good track record of doing that? Absolutely not. Give it time, and Westeros will force her to change the way she views herself and her powers.
Thanks for the feedback on my dialogue. I don't want everyone else to speak too modernly, at least in regards to word choice, although I don't think Amy would have too hard of a time parsing Westerosi linguistic idiosyncrasies regardless of that. I'm going to try to use more Westerosi idioms and language specifics where I can because I really want to sell the setting and the characters.
Nausicaa
Monster-Friend
I really like how you write Amy here. Every change to her behavior is natural and realistically slow/resistant.
She has a long history of repressing everything. Not just because of Carol being a paranoid bastard, but Earth Bet in general being hostile to powers like hers. And for good reason.
So yeah, I'm totally rooting for Amy to do cool stuff just as much as Shaper is, but I really like that you didn't skip all the character development in between. And the plot that drives those changes in her doesn't seem contrived either.
She has a long history of repressing everything. Not just because of Carol being a paranoid bastard, but Earth Bet in general being hostile to powers like hers. And for good reason.
So yeah, I'm totally rooting for Amy to do cool stuff just as much as Shaper is, but I really like that you didn't skip all the character development in between. And the plot that drives those changes in her doesn't seem contrived either.
Should be more than not or more than a few, etc
Otherwise good stuff, I look forward to more
Shaper's Diary Entry #1 (Sachertorte)
Sachertorte
The Twilight of Boredom
- Location
- Behind Your Wall
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
SHAPER'S DIARY ENTRY #1
First time writing a diary. So the first thing that I'm going to say is that even after we are permanently separated from her home world (dubbed Earth Bet by her species), SHE. IS. STILL. STAGNATING!
A while ago, I was having high hope for her the moment she started altering the native plant life starting from that tree back in the forest, which she had made a wonderful beacon of. At that point, I started to think that this was it. The moment I've been waiting! The day she finally embrace her true destiny and become the greatest artist known to all life in existence, just like all of my previous hosts from eons ago! This was it!
Oh, how fucking wrong I was. Especially, and I mean, ESPECIALLY, after she unknowingly drank that drinking utensil full of wine thanks to that lady!
She had the opportunity to take the easy path. Have the bacterial cells within her own body be modified to combat those ethanol molecules within, turn the dishes she's eating so that they have anti-alcoholic properties in them, ANYTHING! But nooooooooo, she decided that, "nOoOOOo, thIs iS gOiNg AgAiNSt wHaT CaRoL aNd ThE uNwRitTeN RuLes hAd TaUgHT mE! PoOr mE!"
BOO FUCKING HOO!
By The Warrior, I HOPE THAT WENCH OF [PHOTONIC ENGINE]'S HOST NAMED CAROL "PISSY FACE" DALLON GET STRUCK BY LIGHTNING OR SOMETHING! IF IT HAVEN'T BEEN FOR HER, MY HOST WOULD'VE BEEN ABLE TO SPREAD HER WINGS FREELY COMPARED TO [WARBRINGER]'S HOST, THAT STAGNATING LIZARD BRAIN CALLED LUNG!
....
All I ever wanted is to see arts and not....this hell.
End. Diary. Entry.
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
Summary: Shaper letting her frustration on her host's self-stagnation and irrational fear out on her interdimensional diary, because knowing Shaper, she'll probably inherit Panpan's irritation as time goes by.
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Fellow Human
Verified Roado Rolla
Hmm how bad is alchocol really, it's pretty normal for teens to drink where I'm from and everywhere else I think.
No matter how goody two shoes fiction will tell you that teens are, at least regarding the alchocol, fighting for their lives and even killing is fine, but alchocol, that's illegal!
It's all influenced by American culture, which ironically also shows teens as throwing massing drinking and debauched parties whenever parents are gone.
IRL yes there are teen drinking parties, just not that big or with a veritable drinking feast. It's somewhat hard for teens to get alchocol, so they drink what can, even if it's the worst and cheapest alchocol.
No matter how goody two shoes fiction will tell you that teens are, at least regarding the alchocol, fighting for their lives and even killing is fine, but alchocol, that's illegal!
It's all influenced by American culture, which ironically also shows teens as throwing massing drinking and debauched parties whenever parents are gone.
IRL yes there are teen drinking parties, just not that big or with a veritable drinking feast. It's somewhat hard for teens to get alchocol, so they drink what can, even if it's the worst and cheapest alchocol.
Oh yes, this is such an infuriating setback for Shaper. Just a little while ago, host was collecting so much useful DATA on local wildlife, and now host refuses to use powers for better DATA collection? What gives?
