10th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Eel (11 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Lannisport, Godswood
It is not easy to sneak through Lannisport unnoticed, even at night. With the impaled bodies of the Deep Ones scattered throughout the city, left to rot in the sun, there were always people in the street to observe them, making it difficult for me to pass by unseen.
And with the influx of visitors increasing, arriving to watch the tournament, there were more and more people around the corpses, rather than the numbers dwindling over time as the novelty of the cadavers wore off.
In a few days, it is likely that I will no longer be able to go out at night as far as the Lannisport Godswood.
A Godswood that did not even come close to comparing with the one on Bear Island.
Its Heart Tree, which was not even a Weirwood, was almost naked. With its branches all cut away, the Heart Tree, the prayer altar of the Old Gods, looked like nothing more than an ordinary trunk on the verge of death.
And the face carved into it, which would normally bring a sense of unease to those who observed it, only gave it a sadder and more decadent air.
But despite this, it is alive, and the Old Gods can watch me through it.
Not only can I feel a strange energy coming from within it, the same energy I felt with the Weirwood Heart Tree of Bear Island, but I have also spoken with it through "Speak with Plants."
When I tested this level 3 magic, which allows me to talk to all kinds of plants, including trees, four days ago, I was dumbfounded when I began to hear the tree's thoughts, and even more so when my theory was proven and the Old Gods began to talk to me through it, making it repeat their words to me.
It was not perfect. The low intelligence of the tree, which only allowed it to reformulate the words of the gods into short phrases, made the conversation slow. But it was better than nothing.
I contacted the gods to find out what happened to the Drowned God. I knew he was not dead. That simply destroying his avatar would not kill a god who seemed to have death as one of his domains. But I wanted to know for how long the destruction would keep him away.
After the Old Gods made clear their dissatisfaction with my coming to the war, they explained that the Drowned God lost much of his power by having his avatar destroyed and could not interfere with the mortal realm for some decades.
With that matter settled, I asked something that would not leave my mind: Why was the Avatar of the Drowned God so weak?
They said that, because they had no heart trees on the islands, they did not know for certain, but they supposed that, due to the Ironborns' lack of foresight, the war reached the Iron Islands too early and he did not have time to slowly form his avatar to an ideal state, forcing him to utilize a body that did not possess even a third of what a true avatar should have.
In other words, the incompetence of his own followers made him fail. No wonder he called them fools in my mind.
Afterward, I raised the issue of the Faceless Men and the Many-Faced God. I asked if I was right in my assumption of the reason they were here: to prevent the balance of life and death from being broken.
Once again, I was correct.
It still fascinates me how the Many-Faced God, even thousands of miles away, managed to have knowledge of the Drowned God's plans.
The Old Gods explained to me that, as the domain of the Many-Faced God involves life and death, he can likely feel when the natural path is manipulated, just as the Old Gods can feel when nature is excessively damaged.
What they could not explain was how the Faceless Men managed to reach Lannisport in time.
With the distance between the Iron Islands and Braavos, it should have been impossible to send their assassins in time, since the creation of the Drowned Men began after the letter summoning Westeros to war was sent, giving very little time for a voyage.
A mystery for the future.
With the magic's duration running out, I asked my last question: Why didn't the Many-Faced Men try to capture me like the Ironborn did? Could the Many-Faced God not become stronger by feeding on me?
The answer was somewhat enlightening regarding the power of the Many-Faced God.
Despite not possessing any Heart Tree in Braavos or having exchanged words with the Many-Faced God since his awakening, the Old Gods think, with much more certainty than their assumption about the Drowned God's avatar, that he has not sent his assassins to capture me so far because he does not need me.
According to them, the Many-Faced God, powerful even before the passing of the comet, must possess little interest in me.
When asking how they could be so sure, they do not answer me, saying that it is a matter beyond my concern.
Another mystery.
Over the next three days, I returned and had several other conversations with the Old Gods. They involved various topics, such as possible dangers I must pay attention to, what is special about the Weirwoods, and our agreement made through Puddles on Bear Island.
The gods already had a list of things they wanted me to accomplish south of the Wall. Simple things, like planting Weirwoods in busy locations in the North.
Nothing that would harm me or House Mormont, as requested in the agreement.
I agreed and, seeing the intention behind the pattern of the requests, I gave a suggestion that would involve revealing the existence of the Children of the Forest to certain people.
They resisted initially, because of their policy of not wanting to interfere in the south, but upon explaining that the plan would not involve them beyond the initial revelation and that I would handle everything, they said they would think about it and give an answer later.
Today is the "later."
First, the somatic component: Touching the left chest and the head at the same time.
Then, the verbal component: Speaking the druidic words. In this magic, the words sounded inaudible to the human ear.
Only the plants, possessing their own unique means of communication, could hear me.
Green particles appear around me and are scattered in an explosion that spreads the particles in a radius of 9 meters (30 feet) around me.
Spell cast, I can now speak with all the plants within this radius.
"Have you reached a conclusion?" I speak, looking into the eyes of the Heart Tree.
Having learned in previous days that the Old Gods possess omniscience of everything that occurs before their trees, I do not waste time asking if they are behind the Heart Tree.
The answer from the gods comes seconds later and in a fragmented manner.
"Yes."
"However."
"Extreme."
"Caution."
"Read."
"Thoughts."
"Before."
"After."
"Threats."
"Must."
"Eliminated."
Not being accustomed to possessing consciousness or speaking, the words of the gods are delivered by the Heart Tree in a broken fashion.
"That is manageable, but only if they are not nobles. I cannot go around killing nobles. Remember, I will do nothing that will harm my house."
"No."
"Nobles."
What is this now?
"That would not be wise. It is the nobles who are most likely to possess magic and give birth to children with magic."
"Nobles."
"Untrustworthy."
"Infight."
"Greed."
Ah. I understand where they are coming from.
They fear that, motivated by greed, the lords will stray from the path we have planned as soon as they see what the magic I teach is capable of.
"Mountains."
"Clans."
"More."
"Trustworthy."
"But."
"No… others."
It makes sense. Since the mountains have remained nearly untouched for millennia, the mountain clans are, nowadays, the most traditional and most devoted to the Old Gods in all the North.
The only ones who could perhaps contest that position are the houses of Skagos, an island inhabited by glorified savages.
And since both must still possess several Heart Trees, the Old Gods must have judged them trustworthy after observing them throughout all these millennia.
"Fine. No nobles. But after spreading those prepared for their posts, I cannot prevent the Lords of their lands from taking them under their wing."
Thanks to the way the feudal system works in Westeros, the peasants are little better than slaves. They possess only as many rights as their local lord decides and must obey whatever order he commands.
Should the lords want to use the power I teach for personal gain, those I instruct will have little choice, just as I currently have little choice with King Aerys.
"The most I can do is not recruit those from lands governed by ambitious Lords. But I lack intelligence on the other Lords, so it will be you, through what your trees can observe, who will guide me in deciding which houses should be left out."
"Bolton."
They already know! And one of them is the Boltons. An obvious one.
"Manderly."
I can see the logic behind it, despite already foreseeing the problem of excluding what is possibly the second most powerful house in the North.
"Dustin."
I know nothing about the Dustins. So I have to trust them.
Bolton. Manderly. Dustin. That is already nearly half the North.
"Stark."
"That will not work."
I already have a suspicion as to why they do not want to include House Stark, and I cannot allow their exclusion based on the gods' pure paranoia.
"What we intend to do is impossible without the support of Lord Rickard Stark."
"Not."
"Trustworthy."
"Greed."
"Maester."
"Manipulated."
Maester Walys.
The maester who was exposed on Bear Island by Puddles for influencing Rickard to make decisions that benefit the Citadel. Which decisions she did not say, but apparently it was enough to make the gods reject the inclusion of the Starks.
"Exactly. Manipulated. Convinced. Influenced. But now that he has already been informed by Puddles about the nature of the Maester and his organization, we can influence, convince, and manipulate him ourselves."
I wait, but no answer comes.
Damn. I should have followed my instincts, prepared some Enhance Ability, and boosted my charisma.
"Greed is not exactly bad. I understand, by your aversion to it, that actions driven by it must have harmed you and the Children of the Forest, but refusing to work with anyone who possesses it is to deny yourselves opportunities.
Take me, for example. This proposal of mine is not free of ulterior motives. I would not propose this plan if House Mormont had nothing to gain. I also possess greed within me. And do you know why I am admitting this? Because this greed is beneficial to both of us, and I know that.
And carrying out this plan without his authorization is not much different from treason. No one, no matter how benevolent, pure, and free of greed, would accept individuals not much different from spies roaming their realm. That is why I plan to speak with Lord Rickard about this after the tournament and explain how he can help; and, because of his greed, he will accept the plan and his part in it.
So. Will you be greedy with us or let this perfect opportunity pass?"
This was the moment of truth.
It would be bad for me if they refused, but not a complete disaster.
The plan I proposed to them was a modified version of another plan I had been thinking about for weeks. Their refusal would only force me back to the original, which would take a few more years to bear fruit.
A bit frustrating, but much safer than working behind the back of a man where I might earn the enmity of House Stark.
It is much safer to earn the enmity of Tywin, as I will over the course of the tournament, than that of the Lord Paramount of the realm in which I live.
"Proceed."
"With."
"Plan."
"But."
"If."
"Signs."
"Betrayal."
"We."
"Disappear."
"With."
"Disaster."
A threat in case their paranoia proves correct. I can work with that.
"You shall have your own paladins within ten years, your divinity."
I just need to learn how to teach magic.
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