First of all, if we manage to get 200 power stones, I'll release a bonus chapter.
Guys, I'm stopping by to comment about magic. In ASOIAF, magic reveals itself in various forms. I'm making things unfold mainly through runic magic, or blood runes, whatever you prefer. The concept is simple: using something physical as a catalyst for magic. It must be crafted while being imbued with magic through the will of the writer or bearer, and after that the magic acts mostly passively.
This doesn't mean there won't be people using magic actively, but besides the red priests and the Faceless Men from the original series, I will make things progress through runes, especially since the First Men already used them in bronze. A strong example is the Royces, who inscribed runes on bronze.
So this is how I will use magic. If you have any criticism or ideas, feel free to share them. Thank you very much for reading.
Chapter 27
Year 108 A.C.
POV: Denovan
Five years.
A lot changes in half a decade when you live under the constant cold and the edge of the blade.
At this moment, my consciousness was merged with that of an immense eagle. Through the cloudy skies of the North, it looked more like an Argentavis from Earth's prehistoric period than any other type of bird.
Its name was Heindall.
The sea eagle was immense. She was one of my greatest experiments with runic magic in recent times, and my greatest pride of all these years, to tell the truth. She had a wingspan of over four meters, was heavy, strong, with talons larger than a bear's, and black... as black as one could expect a creature linked to me to be.
She came to be when Horus found an isolated nest high on a coastal cliff. I didn't pay much attention at first, but after using the falcon's eyes to see the colossal size of the parents, I changed my mind. I made Horus steal one of the eggs. Those eagles looked a lot like the Brazilian Harpy from Earth, they were huge, I couldn't help but want one.
I bonded with the hatchling while it was still inside the shell. I wasn't afraid of something going wrong; the worst-case scenario would be the bird's death, but that wouldn't kill its parents or siblings. An egg was ideal for the experiment. After the last time I bonded with an unborn mammal and it almost caused the death of its mother and siblings, I then excluded any animal that gestates its young internally, and a bird, a bird lays eggs, and the hatchling is nourished by the egg, so I believed it couldn't go wrong. Perhaps the countless battles and deaths had left me a bit numb... but, to be honest, I doubted it would die. The most that could happen would be it hatching weaker than I expected.
The hatchling began to grow at a frighteningly fast pace. Nix was left in charge of incubating it, and the owl seemed to like taking care of that giant egg.
But the most important thing was the runes. I drew several blood runes on the eggshell, including my own creation: the "Mark of the Beast", the Ouroboros. I added runes of strength, resistance, and speed. Everything that seemed useful to me was engraved there. The result was remarkable. After three days of incubation, the inside of the egg dried up, consuming all the nutrients to force the hatchling's growth. It forced itself to be born. It broke the large, strong shell, and in less than a month it was already flying and was larger than Nix the owl.
Heindall, the great black eagle, as I decided to call her, was what I liked to call the pinnacle of my power as a warg. She was intelligent, brutal, and fast... everything about her screamed power.
On land, Fenrir was my apex. Even without wearing any armor, and sporting several scars on his immense body of almost 1.90m in height, he was an absolute monster in battle. Nothing stopped him. The same could be said of Kali and Orion, but Fenrir and Heindall were out of the ordinary.
I had even made a thick leather armor for the black wolf, but he refused to wear it, so, reluctantly, I gave in to this desire. For Heindall, I did something different. It took a lot of work and demanded a one-month pause in the unification of the clans to forge it perfectly. She wore metal talons fitted over her natural ones. The damage that eagle did in a dive was disturbing.
My giant eagle was serving as a scout at the moment. I didn't want a silent approach. I was tired; this was the last clan I planned to recruit.
Many clans had already heard of me; some were receptive, others preferred a bloodbath in response to my offer of unification. Today, I led an immense force. The bulk of my people were waiting in their respective tribes... awaiting my final call to start the mass migration to New Hardhome.
With me marched two hundred free folk, half of them were from small clans that came to us, and did not wait to be conquered, they came with the hope of a better life, but the other half were the best warriors I recruited over these four years, forged in the discipline I imposed with iron and fire. A third of them were my elite, sporting at least a few runes marked on their bodies, which gave them physical enhancements and served as a symbol of status and strength before the others. In our group, the Marks were a source of absolute pride. Only the strongest and most capable received them, and the more runes a warrior had, the greater his history.
I was on my way to the last clan before the great objective: the clan of the Frozen Shore. It was one of the largest and most structured. They had boats, looted with intelligence, and lived well. For this reason, they would be the hardest to convince. Brute force is not always enough to subjugate those with a full belly. But, whether they wanted it or not, the dread of my name already preceded them.
I am at the peak of my physical constitution. My growth has stagnated recently, leaving me at a colossal 2.15m in height. I was a mountain of muscles covered in plates of black steel and bronze. Often, my mere presence was enough to mitigate the bloodlust of some chiefs.
I stopped fighting alone a long time ago. When you are too kind, people abuse it. I am no longer the boy who sought only to be "good"; now, I keep my kindness only for my own. But that does not mean I don't accept challenges. Quite the contrary, I accept them... and I win them in the most brutal and fast way possible.
I changed in these years. I saw the worst of humanity with my own eyes, it's one thing to hear about it, to know it exists, it's another to see it personally. I saw rape, cannibalism, and atrocities that would make the Old Gods weep sap. I made it clear wherever I went: whoever commits such acts, dies. The last clan of cannibals I decimated still left a bitter taste in my soul: three hundred dead, burned to ashes. We spared only the children, too young to understand the monstrosity of their parents. Melika, even coming originally from such a clan, said that what we did was right: a way to discipline the others and prove that under my leadership, there would be laws.
The names they gave me varied, but they commanded respect. After five years, few places on this side of the Wall had never heard of "Denovan, the Black Beast" or "Denovan of the Ten Shadows", or as they called me behind my back, "Beast King".
"We should end this in a duel right away...", Sigrid's voice brought me back to my body.
I looked to the side. My sister looked exhausted. The leather armor she wore was stained with the dried blood of past skirmishes.
"Sigh... I'm tired, Denovan. Finish them quickly so I can sleep in a place that doesn't smell like a corpse," she complained, resting her head on my arm for a moment.
"I warned you, Sig," I replied, my voice coming out much thicker and hoarser than years ago. "I told you this journey would be exhausting. That the path to the East would exact its toll. You stubbornly insisted on coming."
She shrugged, a sketch of a smile appearing on her soot-stained lips. "And I would let you have all the fun alone? Over my dead body."
I placed my heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly in a rare gesture of affection. "Thank you for the company, sister. Once we finish here, we can finally start building what we wanted. Hardhome awaits us."
I looked at the mount I was on: Boreus, a giant elk. I caught him years ago just on impulse, in a test to see how far I could bond with a beast. The answer was: very far. As long as I am focused and the creature is within my line of sight, anything is possible.
"Prepare the horses!" I ordered my men. "Leave Boreus at the camp with the wagons. I am going to switch to Pitch."
The elk was imposing and even stronger than my horse, but he had no armor and would be an easy target in a frontal charge. Pitch, on the other hand, was my brother of war. He was a battle horse accustomed to me, to the chaos, to the smell of blood, and to the sound of metal clashing.
As I climbed into Pitch's saddle, I felt the immediate connection. Orion and Kali positioned themselves at my flanks, each over 1.50m tall at the shoulders, true killing machines covered in bronze and scars. And, taking the vanguard, the gigantic Fenrir took his position behind me.
I looked back at my hundred elite men, some equipped with bronze, even steel, with the tired looks of those who have walked through hell and back, but this was a different day, so I said:
"This will be the last battle before Hardhome..." my voice thundered. "Do not die. I will not die and, as always, I will lead the charge."
"HEI HEI," they roared, raising their weapons, their eyes seeming to gain a gleam, it seemed that finally everyone would have a period of rest.
POV: Torghen (Leader of the Frozen Shore Clan)
I had four hundred men. Four hundred warriors who knew these coastal lands like the back of their hand. But, as I watched the small troop that appeared on the snowy horizon, cold sweat began to run down my back.
They did not shout. They made no noise. It was a morbid silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of a single horse's hooves on the snow. My men were nervous; we had the numerical advantage, but they had... that.
At the center of the enemy formation, mounted on a black stallion that looked like a living nightmare, was he. The Black Beast. Denovan looked more like a metal statue than a man. The aura that emanated from him was of such primitive ferocity that it instigated the desire to flee in any living being.
He stopped at a short distance and dismounted in a slow and deliberate manner. When his boots hit the ground, the earth seemed to vibrate. He was a giant, a black mountain that blocked the pale sunlight. By his side, two monstrous sabertooths growled, the sound vibrating in my teeth.
But what came out from behind the black horse caused me the true chill of death. A giant wolf. Giant even by the rare standards of its species. Even from afar, the golden eyes of those beasts seemed to dismantle me. My instincts screamed for me to give up... to drop my weapons and run.
I looked at the sky and my stomach churned again. Several birds, including a black eagle of colossal size, circled above us in an unnatural pattern, as if they were just waiting for the feast to begin. It felt like Death itself had come personally to fetch us.
I was the leader of the Frozen Shore clan, but facing that Beast King, I felt like a child holding a twig. Everyone around me was sweating cold, their hands trembling on the shafts of their spears.
Denovan took a step forward. The silence was absolute. He slowly removed the horned helmet from his head, and I was curious to see the face of the man who carried so many macabre titles. He was young, incredibly young for his size and fame, but his golden eyes were old and cruel.
"I am Denovan of the Beasts," his voice was not a shout, but it echoed across the plain as if the Gods themselves were speaking. "I came to offer a choice. You can kneel and help build the future of the Free Folk... or you can die here, today, and be forgotten by the snow."
I swallowed hard. I looked deep into those eyes and knew, in the bottom of my soul: if I gave the order to attack for my four hundred men, none of us would see the sunset.
The indecision tortured me. To abandon everything we had built here to follow this outsider... would it be right? The life of my people was in my hands. What if he was a tyrant? I heard of clans that were massacred by this man. Could he be trusted?
The rumors and warnings from other clans were too exaggerated. They said he was invincible. That he dabbled in sorcery and blood runes. That he even had a powerful witch as a wife. That his beasts ate the heads of fallen enemies.
I... I did not doubt any of those rumors looking at him.
But how would I be seen by my men if I surrendered without raising my sword?
"Let it be done the old way... warrior against warrior. The winner takes all and the loser loses all..." I said with all the courage I had left. I knew that, in an open war, my men would die. I couldn't kill them like that. And if I were to die, let me not die like a surrendered coward after the death of my men.
I started to hear laughter. But it didn't come from the giant man in front of me, it came from his elite warriors. They laughed as if my courage was a funny joke, as if they had seen leaders do that countless times and the result was always the same.
Denovan looked at me for a while. His eyes gleamed, and a predatory smile formed on his face.
"Do you know how long it's been since I received a direct and honorable challenge like this? A good few months," he said, with a lot of amusement in his deep voice. "They say the First Men are the bravest; I used to believe that. But, after going through so many clans, I saw that the reality is different. Many greeted me with poisoned weapons. Leaders preferred to kill their own people as a distraction so they could flee. Some even wanted duels just to be treacherous, hiding archers outside the circle. I had almost lost hope of finding honorable and just men."
He spun the axe in his hand. "I didn't believe you would be one of those. You are the last clan I am challenging before going to Hardhome... tell me your name, leader of the Frozen Shore."
I knew from the rumors that he wanted to go to the ruins of Hardhome, but hearing it from his own mouth confirmed the madness. Why there, of all the damned places? He must know something I don't.
I sighed, accepting my fate.
"I am Torghen..." I said quickly, in a respectful manner. I didn't know exactly how to address such a monster.
"Since this is the last clan of my unification, I will give you a clean fight, Torghen. I hope you show me that I was right to accept," he said. When he finished speaking, he put the horned helmet back on his head. Immediately, without needing any verbal command, his monstrous beasts began to back away, sitting in the snow without taking their eyes off me.
"Call one of your men to initiate the rite of battle," Denovan ordered.
I looked back, searching for the warrior closest to me.
"You..." I said, pointing my finger.
"Me?" the man replied, confused and terrified.
"Yes... come. Initiate the duel."
"Y-yes, chief." He took a step forward, stuttering slightly. He looked at the black mountain in front of us and swallowed hard. "May the winner take all... are you ready?"
"Yes," Denovan replied, his voice muffled and thundering from behind the steel.
I just nodded, drawing my steel sword, a southern blade I looted many years ago and of which I was very proud.
"Then... begin!" the young boy shouted quickly and already ran away, as if he feared being crushed in the first clash.
POV: Denovan
I would be fast.
I was so close to the Naga that I felt the golden threads tremble from time to time. My last night of sleep had been turbulent; I managed to control the Naga through a dream. It was indescribable. Its strength, its speed in the water, its ferocity. I wanted, no, I needed to find it in the physical world. I just had to take the boats from Torghen's clan and sail towards Hardhome. And, by a cosmic irony that was no coincidence at all, the gigantic sea serpent was in those waters.
I don't believe in coincidences. R.O.B. must have had a hand in this. Maybe it was the direct consequence of my request to be the most powerful warg in history. I didn't know the details. I only knew that I needed to end that duel quickly.
My thoughts were cut short by Torghen's strike.
He was fast for a Northman, but incredibly slow for me. The arc of the steel sword went whizzing past me, cutting only the freezing wind, while I leaned my torso with ease.
I took advantage of his anxiety, the weight of his desperate strike, and counterattacked.
My axe did not seek his flesh. I aimed surgically at the weapon. The blade of my axe met the side of the hilt of Torghen's sword with crushing force. The sound of metal and steel shattering echoed through the snowy valley. His sword was cut cleanly right next to his hand, leaving only a useless piece of the sword's hilt.
Torghen widened his eyes, in absolute shock.
I didn't wait for him to reason. Before he could blink, I delivered a brutal, frontal kick straight to his chest. Torghen flew backwards, falling into the snow with a dull thud, the air expelled from his lungs like a burst sack of skins.
I walked calmly over to him and crouched down. I did not place the edge of the axe at his throat, but instead rested the blade on top of his heaving chest.
"It's over," I said coldly. "Now, get up and prepare your people. We are leaving. I want all your boats and all your provisions. We are all going... without exception."
Torghen was frightened, coughing to try to catch his breath, but an immense relief washed over his eyes. He was still alive. His people would not be massacred. He nodded quickly, repeatedly, looking like a grateful child.
I removed the axe from his chest, rose to my full height, and raised my weapon to the grey skies.
"THE UNIFICATION IS OVER!" I shouted, my voice reverberating through the mountains like the announcement of a new era. "LET OUR LEGEND BEGIN! LET US BUILD OUR WALLS AND OUR BOATS! LET US MAKE THE MEN OF THE SOUTH RECOGNIZE OUR DOMINION! LET US MAKE THEM FEAR US! LET US SHOW THAT A WALL OF ICE CANNOT HOLD US!"
The roar that followed was deafening. It wasn't just my warriors and my beasts that howled and celebrated. No. The men of the Frozen Shore, influenced by the relief and the speech of power, joined the clamor. Even Torghen, who had just been humiliated on the ground, raised his arms in silence.
-
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