Alaric Mormont stood motionless under the frigid starlight, his eyes fixed on the creature that seemed to have sprouted from the roots of the tree itself.
She was small, with dappled skin like that of a deer and large eyes of a red so vivid they looked like dying embers in the darkness. Alaric didn't need floating messages to understand what stood before him. His mind, sharpened by his Skill: Insight, read the creature like an open book. He noted the almost imperceptible lean of her torso, the weight distributed on the balls of her feet, and the way her fingers dug lightly into the earth.
She was ready to vanish into the shadows at the slightest sudden movement.
Alaric quickly realized the motive behind her request. It wasn't necessary for her to explain why she wanted him to remain alive. He was the nexus, the catalyst for something awakening in the fabric of reality. For a mystic species on the brink of oblivion, the return of magic was a beacon in the darkness, or an anchor for their existence that they desperately wanted to keep functional.
"It was you, wasn't it?" Alaric broke the silence. His voice was calm, devoid of the harshness one would expect from a warlord. He wasn't asking; he was stating a fact. "You created the storm that sank the Blacktyde ships."
The Child of the Forest's red eyes widened. Her surprise was clear, reflected in the sudden twitch of her nostrils. She hadn't expected this to be his response, nor that he would connect the dots so accurately.
"Yes," she replied, her voice sounding like the rustling of dry leaves. "We heard the war cries of the sea, and the greed of that drowned man. But the price was high, son of the island. We cannot repeat the feat until the moon completes its cycle. Until then, more envoys of the drowning god may attack. He has caught your scent and the nature of your existence, and he will not stop until he can consume your power."
She took a step forward, her small, gnarled hands extended in a gesture of supplication that seemed far too ancient for such a small body.
"Come with us. We can protect you in our lands. There, the iron of men cannot threaten you."
Alaric did not move. He did not allow himself to be seduced by the promise of sanctuary.
"I presume those lands lie Beyond the Wall," he said, watching her with reserved attention. "Where hundreds of thousands of wildlings dwell."
The creature tilted her head, sensing, or thinking she sensed, fear regarding the savages. What she failed to realize was that he held little fear for the wildlings who lived beyond the great wall of ice.
"Yes," she admitted. "But the men beyond the Wall are not a problem. We can keep them away. They know the boundaries they must not cross."
Alaric allowed a slight touch of skepticism to surface on his face.
"How could an endangered species keep tens of thousands of wildlings away?" he questioned.
The Child did not seem disturbed by the fact that he knew of her people's decline, assuming it was only natural to expect such knowledge from the one who brought the comet. She merely exhaled a long sigh.
"Our numbers may be few, Alaric Mormont, but we are not alone. We have made alliances with other beings who seek the same as we do. And we possess the loyalty of thousands of followers of the Old Gods. Men and women willing to offer their own blood so that the trees may continue to see."
She paused, and a feverish glint passed through her gaze.
"And our numbers are also increasing. Faster than they have in many centuries."
Alaric processed the information in silence. He felt there was a missing piece on this board of ice and shadows.
"Can you say the same of the White Walkers and the wights? Can you keep them away?" he asked, probing the ground.
Again, shock crossed the creature's features. Alaric's knowledge of the Others seemed to disconcert her.
"The White Walkers..." she began, appearing to choose her words with caution. "They are not as dangerous to us as they were becoming. Things have changed. A balance has been found."
Alaric narrowed his eyes. He searched her for any sign of deceit, any hesitation that might indicate a desperate attempt to recruit him under false promises. But to his surprise, he found nothing. She wasn't bluffing. She genuinely believed that the greatest threat in the North had become manageable. This was something he would have to reflect on more deeply in the future.
"The green comet," Alaric said, in an inquiring tone regarding the nature of this shift in balance.
"The green comet," she repeated, in an almost religious confirmation.
Alaric nodded in silent understanding. Contrary to what he feared, magic had not strengthened the Others, increasing their danger far beyond its original level, but had instead created a new power in the lands beyond the Wall. The Child, interpreting his gesture as acceptance, took another step forward.
"You will come with me, then?"
Instead of answering, Alaric shifted his focus. His voice took on a denser tone.
"The Bear."
The word hung in the air like a sentence. The creature's reaction was immediate: tension returned to her body with full force, and apprehension crossed her face like a shadow.
"The Bear will not be a problem either," she said, too hastily and far too vaguely.
"He has been missing for the last two months." Alaric took a step toward her, his imposing presence forcing her to recoil. "I presume you are the cause of that."
She nodded slightly, but the gesture brought no comfort.
"But that doesn't mean the mind behind the bear has been dealt with," he continued. "The skinchanger behind the bear is still alive, isn't he?"
The creature opened her mouth to respond, but Alaric cut her off with a sharp gesture.
"Do not lie to me. I will know if there is a lie in your words. And do not evade."
The Child hesitated, her fingers trembling against the bark of the Weirwood behind her.
"Yes," she finally confessed. "He is alive. But that will not be a problem under our watch."
"Interesting. You seem much less confident in protecting me from this skinchanger than from the White Walkers," Alaric observed, reading the evident discomfort in her posture. He straightened his body, his decision made. "I refuse your invitation."
In the end, he had too much to lose by leaving House Mormont and the island behind.
The creature's expression transformed. The supplication vanished, replaced by a prophetic and somber intensity. She lunged forward a step, her voice gaining a resonance that didn't seem to come solely from her lungs.
"You will die if you remain south of the Wall!"
"I have far fewer enemies in the south than in the north," Alaric retorted, unperturbed.
"Only for now!" she exclaimed. "Other forces will find out about you. They will come. And when rumors of your magic spread, all men south of the Wall will turn against you. They are ignorant and hate what is different and more powerful."
Alaric felt the deep hatred emanating from her as she said those words. It was an ancient resentment, forged by her own experience.
"But there, in our land, we are creating a different place," she said, her red eyes glowing as if she were seeing a glorious vision. "A place where this will never happen."
Alaric interrupted her reverie with the coldness of one who had experienced more of man's cruel nature than she had.
"Perhaps you would be right if I were in the southern kingdoms," he said. "But I am in the North."
He advanced slowly, crouching down to be at her eye level. He stared at her directly, his face inches from the markings on her deer-like skin.
"Prejudice against magic still exists in the North, beliefs that it is demonic, but it is much less than in the south, where believing in such things is religious dogma, stemming from their holy scriptures, rather than simple superstition."
Alaric lowered his voice, his expression maintaining its usual reserve but charged with obvious intent.
"But this northern superstition could easily be overcome if I linked my magic to the Old Gods. And that is what I have been trying to do by performing flashy magic at the feet of a Weirwood Heart Tree. Though I must admit... it would be much easier with the presence of a Child of the Forest by my side."
He didn't explicitly invite her to reveal herself to his men, but he let the weight of that possibility hang in the freezing air of the Godswood, and in her ears.
The silence of the Godswood seemed to weigh upon Alaric's shoulders, an invisible pressure that only someone attuned to the world's hidden currents could sense. The proposal he had just cast, the idea of a Child of the Forest walking among men as his ally, hung between them, defying millennia of isolation and mistrust.
The creature recoiled, her red eyes glowing with an intensity bordering on fury.
"No!" The refusal came with a fervor that made the low leaves of the bushes tremble. "My people no longer interfere in the world of men. That time passed when the Pact was broken and blood stained the rivers red. We are the shadows of the trees, Alaric Mormont. We are not pieces in your games of castles and lineages."
Alaric remained unperturbed, his posture relaxed, but his eyes catching every micro-movement of the creature.
"You say you do not interfere," Alaric pointed out, his voice calm and analytical. "And yet, you yourself admitted there are thousands of men in your lands, living under your watch and following your goals. Thousands of human lives under the tutelage of the Children hardly sounds like 'not interfering'."
The creature waved her hands, a quick and nervous gesture.
"You do not understand!" she hissed. "It was not my people who joined them. It was they, your own kind, who sought us out. They came in search of truth, of survival, of wisdom. And only those who passed the tests, those whose souls were untainted by greed, were accepted, and it was a slow process, with only small groups being accepted at a time."
She paused, her expression softening slightly, as if trying to find a way to appeal to what she considered a human's weak point.
"If what keeps you here is the fear of abandoning your family, of leaving your own blood behind... you can bring them. The Mormonts can come with you."
Alaric let out a short, almost imperceptible sigh. Always the same bargaining chip: safety and lineage.
"It isn't just about leaving my family behind," he replied, looking at the scars on the trunk of the weirwood.
The Child of the Forest stepped forward again, desperation beginning to bleed through the speed of her words and the erratic glint in her eyes.
"They would not be mere refugees!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. "Your house would hold a position of nobility similar to what they have here, or even greater. They would be second only to the Old Gods themselves and the Council. And you... you could hold a seat on that Council. You would sit beside my people, the Giants who remain, and the spirits. No one would dare complain about a man in a place of power if that man is the one who brought the comet. They would see you as the Chosen."
Alaric watched the tremor in her hands. She was becoming desperate. The need to have him under her control, or at least within her domain, was driving her to offer titles and thrones. To her, it was the height of honor; to Alaric, it was just another cage.
"I refuse," he said, his voice as firm as iron. "And I refuse because this isn't about having a position of power either. It is about not being at the mercy of beings you call gods. I will not trade a master of flesh for masters of sap and mist."
The Child seemed to wither for a moment, her desperation turning into profound incomprehension. However, Alaric was not finished. He was not a man so headstrong as to ignore a tactical advantage.
"But I am not irrational," he continued, capturing her attention again. "I propose an agreement. Something that serves your interests and mine."
She remained silent, listening.
"When the Stark men arrive at Bear Island, you, or another of your kind, will reveal yourself. You will make it clear before the Starks and their leader that the Old Gods stand behind me. That I am the instrument of their will."
Alaric took a step forward, his shadow looming over the small creature.
"In exchange, I will become the herald of the Old Gods in the south. I will carry out the wills transmitted to me, provided, and mark this well, that such wills do not conflict with my own interests or the safety of House Mormont. Furthermore, I give my word: if the Mormonts fail to protect themselves and we are driven from our lands, I will retreat north, to your lands, and deliver myself to you."
The creature opened her mouth to respond, perhaps to protest the arrogance of Alaric's conditions, but he cut her off with an authoritative gesture.
"Do not answer now. Do not speak for all your people and do not try to decide this alone. Seek the opinion of the others. Consult your Council."
Alaric shifted his gaze from her and fixed it directly on the carved face of the Heart Tree just behind her. The tree's red eyes seemed to judge them, watching every heartbeat and every word uttered.
"Speak to whoever is watching through those eyes," Alaric said, knowing the tree was an antenna, transmitting the conversation to whoever had the skill. "I will wait."
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she began to retreat. Small, silent steps, moving backward toward the massive white mass of the weirwood. She kept her eyes fixed on his until the thick trunk cut the line of sight between them.
Alaric remained where he was. He crossed his arms and waited. The wind stopped blowing, and the Godswood plunged into absolute stasis. Minutes passed; ten, perhaps fifteen. An ordinary man would have grown nervous, but Alaric, disciplined as he was, remained in a deep calm.
Finally, the creature emerged from behind the tree. Her expression was solemn, almost resigned.
"They accept," she said, her voice echoing with a gravity it lacked before. "The pact is sealed by sap and earth. But hear me well, Alaric Mormont: if you break your part, if you betray the trust of the gods or refuse to come when the hour arrives... we will bring you by force. Even if it goes against the gods' own desires for peace, we will not allow you to become a weapon in the hands of our enemies."
Alaric gave a slight nod.
"I would expect nothing less," he replied, unfazed by the threat. "But I expect the same in return. Do not attempt to sabotage my position here in the south to force me to flee north before the time is right. I will recognize your touch if that happens."
The Child straightened her back, appearing genuinely offended. The red of her eyes seemed to flare in the darkness.
"We would never do such a thing!" she exclaimed, a note of disdain in her voice. "Among all beings capable of intelligence, only men possess that malicious nature to betray for convenience."
Alaric did not take offense. He had seen enough of human nature to know she was partly right, but he also knew that "malicious nature" was often just the name losers gave to superior strategy.
"I expect you to act according to those words," he said pragmatically. "If you have nothing more to say, then it is time we part ways."
The creature hesitated before turning.
"I have one last question," she said, her voice returning to a tone of ancient curiosity. "Why this distaste for the gods? You carry and emanate the same energy they do. Why treat them as enemies?"
Alaric looked at her, slightly confused by the comment that he carried the same energy as them, but he quickly masked the reaction with the most honest answer possible:
"I hold no distaste," he explained. "I have only disinterest. Disinterest in being at the mercy of and following the interests of distant, apathetic beings who, for the most part, are immune to the damage caused by their own actions. In the world of men, if a lord errs, his people suffer, but his head can also roll. The gods watch the suffering while reaping the praise. I prefer to be the master of my own fate."
The Child of the Forest shook her head negatively with an ancestral sadness.
"The Old Gods are not like that. They care. They feel every leaf that falls and every drop of blood that touches the soil. It was because they care that they ordered us not to bring you by force now, to give you the chance to choose."
Alaric turned his back on her, beginning to walk toward the exit of the grove.
"I will have to see that for myself," he said over his shoulder. "After you reveal yourself to the Stark men. If that answers your question, I am leaving."
He stopped abruptly after a few steps. A thought occurred to him, and he felt words forming in his throat in a different way. They were not the words of Westeros, nor the Valyrian of books.
"What is your name?" Alaric asked.
The words did not sound like human speech. They resonated like the sound of constant rain hitting moss and the rustle of thousands of leaves moving at once under a summer breeze.
The Child, who was already almost vanishing into the dense darkness between the pines, stopped short. She turned, and a flash of pure recognition lit her face. She answered in the same tongue, and the sound was like rivers running over smooth stones, the crashing of the waves of the Bay of Ice against the cliffs, and the rhythmic beat of heavy drops falling on fertile soil.
To her, that was not "Druidic." It was simply her native tongue, the language the world spoke before the first bronze axe struck a trunk. When she finished, the silence that followed seemed more sacred than any prayer.
Alaric nodded, absorbing the complexity of the sound she had emitted.
"It is a beautiful name," he said, returning to the Common Tongue, though the echo of magic still vibrated in his larynx. "But around others, for the sake of men's understanding... I will refer to you as Drizzle."
The creature did not contest. With one last crimson look, she merged into the shadows, disappearing so completely it seemed she had never been there. Alaric Mormont walked out of the grove, leaving the secret of the pact to the trees and preparing himself for the game of men that was about to knock on his door.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
For 6 advanced chapter, you can go to my patreon: Patreon.com/Keiondir