Gormon IV

Pyke, 298 AC

Sometimes, Gormon's mind went back to his younger days at the Citadel, when he had just begun to forge his chain. How hopeful he had been, how full of life and dreams. Those days had been far from easy, though, he remembered them well. From simple studying to other, more complicated tasks, a maester's day was never empty.

However, those days had also been...well, simpler, compared to his current situation. Peaceful, even. Back then, the chance of dying by a soldier's blade, or even just seeing someone killed right in front of his eyes, had been nonexistent.

Unlike now.

Gormon would gladly pay anything he had to go back to those younger, simpler days.

He also knew it was an impossible thing to ask. He could only clench his teeth and go on.

"Are you all right, maester?" asked Ser Harras Harlaw, his sword dirty with the blood of the man he had just killed.

"I...I'm fine, Ser Harras. Thank you for asking." It was a lie, of course. He was anything but fine. His legs were trembling, and every single part of his body was screaming at him to run to safety. An overwhelming sense of fear still lingered into him, just like it had the past few weeks. The few grey hair he had left were now fully white. But he couldn't let the other man know how he really felt. He didn't want to burden him with the frailties of an old man.

"Beg your pardon, I should have come earlier." The knight cleaned his blade on the corpse's clothes. Gormon looked at the dead man, and couldn't help but rejoice a little at the sight. Lord Rodrik's killer had finally met justice. He had acted under Maron's orders, but was still deserving of punishment.

"It's not your fault, ser." How could he blame Ser Arras? Although it was true that, had he arrived just a few moments later, Gormon would be dead, it was something beyond his control. And what did it matter, anyway? He was alive and physically unharmed. And his presence here meant that things were going well.

"Tell me, how are your troops faring? Did they have any...difficulties in landing here on Pyke?" he asked, the memory of the destruction of the Lannister fleet still alive in his mind. Who knew what other tricks the Qarteen warlock had up his sleeve. It was a little strange that he had done nothing so far to counter the loyalist forces' advance. A thought suddenly crept into his mind. What if he is just preparing something? It was a chilling hypothesis to contemplate. That man was the biggest threat to the success of their efforts, and had to be eliminated as soon as possible.

If only they could find him. Ser Harras' men hadn't seen him so far. That wasn't a good sign. It could only mean that he was hidden somewhere, plotting something. Just the thought that he could suddenly appear with something that would thwart their plans increased his anxiety.

Ser Harras scratched his head. "Well, aside from Maron's men resisting us, it was quite a smooth landing. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Gormon was relieved to hear that. "And what about the other islands?"

"Last I heard, fighting was still going on on Old Wyk. And I don't think it will end any time soon. It is Maron's stronghold, after all, and he is still there with many of his men. As for the rest, I don't know. Ravens have yet to come." He shrugged. "Hopefully, we will have more islands under our control before the Redwyne fleet arrives." A dry laugh escaped his lips. "Could be worse, I suppose. We must try to stay optimistic."

"I hope Lady Asha shares this attitude, as well."

"Where is she, by the way? I haven't seen her at all since my arrival."

"I thought you two had already met." Truth be told, it had been a few hours since he had last seen Lady Asha. He hadn't given it much thought at first, what with him being in mortal danger. Where could she be now? "She..." Then, suddenly, a terrible realization hit him.

"What is it, maester?"

He should have expected it. Lady Asha was hungry for vengeance, and given her reckless nature...

"Lady Asha...I think I know where she is." he said, his voice trembling. "She must have gone off on her own to...to kill the warlock."

Ser Harras' eyes widened at those words. "Asha..." He then cursed and his fists clenched angrily. "Godsdamnit, couldn't she just have stayed here?! I swear, if that monster kills her..."

"Could you spare some men to form a search party?"

"Of course, but...where should we look for? We don't even know where the warlock is."

"He could be anywhere in this castle...unless he has fled to another island." He tried to recall his interactions with the mysterious man. Not many, to be honest. He had always tried to avoid him as much as possible. He looked into his memory for every scrap of information, even the smallest hints, anything that could help him.

At first, nothing came to his mind. Then, it happened.

He remembered the warlock's frequent visits to the castle's library. He seemed to have a maester's love for knowledge, and had shown a particular interest in books about ancient history and Valyrian magic. Perhaps he was looking for something that could help him with his spells. Had Gormon shared that information with Lady Asha? He didn't quite remember. Anyway, that was the first place into which they would have to look. And they needed to hurry.

"We must go to the library...at once!"

"You think he's in there?"

"Yes! And if we are lucky, we may find Lady Asha as well." Before something bad happens to her, he added to himself. He didn't even want to think of what they would have to do if something went wrong. They had to find Lady Asha. And they had to kill the warlock. There was no time for hesitation, no space for error. They had to be as quick as the lightning and as unrelenting as an executioner's blade.

Ser Harras started barking orders to his men. Some stayed to help secure that part of the castle, while the others joined their commander. Soon after, they were all following Gormon. He realized how strange that procession had to look. Eleven armed men, all of them professional soldiers who would never hesitate to kill an enemy, following the lead of a frail old man whose only weapon was his wits. An unusual sight, to say the least. But after all, weren't those unusual circumstances?

Who would have guessed that one day I would be leading soldiers against a warlock? He had never even been in a brawl as a boy, for gods' sake!

They encountered next to no obstacles on their way. What few of Maron's soldiers were left tried to ambush them, only to be quickly eliminated. The servants just gave them frightened looks. Overall, it wasn't a difficult trip.

Once they reached the upper levels of the castle, they were met with an unsettling silence. Nobody seemed to be there aside from them. It was as if something had sucked out all noises from that place.

It somehow reminded Gormon of a grave. A silent, empty grave.

"Is the library still far?" Ser Harras asked him.

"Not much, we are almost there." And soon enough, we will find out whether my assumption proves true. He couldn't wait for all this to be over, and dearly hoped they would find both the warlock and Lady Asha. However, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at the thought. Whatever happened, someone was going to die.

Gods, let it be the warlock.

They rounded a corner and arrived in a corridor, at the end of which was the door to the library.

"Here we are, now..."

As soon as Gormon spoke, the door opened, making no noises in doing so. And strange enough, there seemed to be nobody on the threshold. All that could be seen was just complete darkness.

"What the..."

Ser Harras made to grab his sword. But suddenly, he and his men dropped to the floor. Gormon gasped and looked at them. They had their eyes closed. Are they...

"They aren't dead, just sleeping." said a voice from inside the room. Gormon knew that voice. His blood chilled as it continued to speak. "I don't want them dead...for now, at least." Gormon gulped. "Come in, Maester Gormon. I mean you no harm."

Gormon seriously doubted those words. The sane thing to do would have been to turn on his heels and come back with more soldiers. However, a part of him also knew that, had the warlock wanted to kill him, he would have already done so by now. What could he possibly want?

"I just want to talk. I swear on my soul that I won't lay a finger on you."

Does he even have a soul? Gormon dibated with himself what to do for the next few moments. Finally, he made his choice.

He made a few temptative steps towards the door. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the darkness vanished and he could finally see in front of himself.

The warlock was right at the center of the room, literally surrounded by huge piles of books. He was in a sitting position, but, to Gormon's astonishment, he wasn't on a stool. No, he seemed to be floating in mid-air, and was also surrounded by a strange blue halo that gave him a eerie look. He was left speechless by the sight as he advanced into the room.

"I'm glad to see you again, maester. I was really looking forward to talk to you."

Gormon couldn't understand if he was being thrutful or was instead mocking him.

"Would you like a seat?"

"I...no, thanks."

"As you wish." A page of a book that was right in front of the other man was then turned. What the...how did he do it? He hadn't even moved his arms.

"Perhaps you are wondering why I didn't kill you on sight."

Gormon thought better to not lie. "Indeed, I am. I expected you would...I don't know, struck me with a bolt of lightning or something like that."

The warlock chuckled. "There are better ways to kill a man. Anyway, as I said, I wanted to talk you. Specifically you. You are the only one on these islands with enough wits and knowledge to be called a true scholar. Something which I am as well, despite my...peculiar field of study."

Gormon couldn't help but feel a little flattered by those words. "And...what is it that you wanted to talk about?" Curiosity had had the better of him, by now.

"Tell me, Maester Gormon, formerly of House Tyrell: what do you think of the ironborn?"

He was taken aback by that. He had expected a question about something books-related. Westerosi or Valyrian history, or even just ravenry. Why would he just want to know his opinion?

"I'm not sure I understand, my lord. You just asked me...my thoughts on the ironborn?"

"Exactly. And please, don't lie to me. Feel free to tell me what you really think."

Gormon took a moment to gather his thoughts. What should I tell him? As a reachman, he wasn't particularly fond of the ironmen and their culture. On a personal level, though, he held no grudges against them. Aside from a few despicable individuals, of course. He had met both bad people and good ones.

"Well...I don't exactly have an opinion. Like all people, there are good ones and...and bad ones."

"But what about their culture as a whole? The reaving, the killing, and the so called "iron price." What do you think of this? Could the ironborn really change and leave their bloody past behind?"

That was a tricky question. As Maron Greyjoy had proved, there were far too many ironmen who still clung to what to them were the good old days. The days when their longships had spread blood and terror from Oldtown to the Stony Shore. Back then, Westeros hadn't been molded into a single entity yet, and the ironborn had been mostly lucky in their raids. But now, with a united realm under the Targaryen throne, it was simply foolish to think that the old ways could come back. It would take at least another generation for Lord Quellon's reforms to be truly succesful and the Old Way to completely die out in the ironborn's hearts.

"I think that...it could happen. But, like with all cultural changes, it would take quite some time."

"And even then, there's no guarantee that some nostalgic fool wouldn't ignite the sparks once again."

Gormon had to admit that the warlock was right. "It's indeed a possibility, my lord."

"Ha! You agree with me, then! The ironborn will never change." The warlock's voice took a somehow darker tone. "They will always be there, ready to suck the blood of greenlanders like parasites infesting a plant! They are irredeemable!

"That's why they have to be destroyed."

Gormon wasn't sure he had heard right. "I'm sorry, but did you really say...destroyed?"

"Yes. That's why I'm here. Or did you really think I was loyal to Maron?" He laughed, and Gormon took a few steps back. He didn't like the turn things had taken. "That fool...he never even realized what I truly wanted. Why I needed all that blood..." He paused, then added: "Magic always comes with a heavy price, maester. Especially the strongest types. And that price is almost always blood."

Gormon thought back to all the blood that had been shed on the Iron Islands. To the foolish war waged in the name of Maron Greyjoy. "Did...did you tell Maron to rebel?"

"Of course not. The seed was already there. I merely...watered it."

"And..." He had to ask it. "What are you going to do now?"

"Just wait. The spell is almost complete. Soon, the Iron Islands will cease to exist. A storm is coming. The biggest storm ever."

He felt panic rise into him. "A storm? Are you...are you serious? You can't mean to destroy everything!"

"The ironborn don't deserve to exist."

"You will die, too!"

"That's where you are wrong, Maester Gormon. A small portion of my magic will protect me...and you, too, should you so wish."

"My lord, please..." He had to do something. He couldn't allow that madman to go on with his plan. There were many ironmen who deserved to die, that was true. But there were also many innocents. "I beg of you, desist. You can't exterminate the ironborn."

"I can and I will. And if you stand in my way, you will suffer the same..."

Just then, there was a swishing noise, like an object being quickly thrown at them. Gormon saw that it was a dart, and as soon as it came into view, it was abruptly stopped before it could even reach the warlock. A tentacle of that same blue halo that surrounded the other man wrapped the bolt and snapped it in two.

"WHAT?!"

That scream had both Gormon and the warlock turn towards its source. Standing in the doorway, a crossbow in hand aimed at them, was Lady Asha.

"What the...how the fuck did you do that?"

At first Gormon was too stunned by her sudden arrival to say anything. Then he somehow managed got a hold of himself. "LADY ASHA, RUN..."

Before either he or Lady Asha could even move, the warlock struck first. He raised a hand toward the door, and Lady Asha went up in the air as if an invisible hand was clutching her, the crossbow falling to the ground in the process. Then, the same invisible force moved her right in front of the warlock.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Maester Gormon. I had really hoped to spare you." His hand began to slowly clench. Lady Asha gasped and kicked. Gormon was horrified. It seemed that the warlock was choking her with some kind of magic.

"I will be merciful, though, and give you a quick death once I'm done with my niece."

Niece? What the...

"What the fuck are you saying? I...I don't even know you..." said Lady Asha gasping for breath.

"Oh, you know me, indeed. I have always concealed my identity, but I see no reason to do so now that you both are going to die." At that, the raven mask slowly came off from the other man's head. Gormon watched as his true face was finally revealed.

Lady Asha's eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she stopped struggling. "Uncle Vic...is...is that you?"

Uncle Vic...does she mean Victarion? Victarion Greyjoy?

Gormon had never met Lord Rodrik's uncle, but he could see a slight resemblance. They had the same eyes and jawline. However, the similarities ended there. The warlock was bald and with a short beard, his face thin to the point of being gaunt. And he was exhibiting a smile that terrified Gormon even more.

"Sorry, Asha. I'm afraid Victarion is long gone. A body can host only one dominant mind."

"What the fuck...do you mean? How...are you even alive?"

That was a good question. As far as Gormon knew, Lady Asha's paternal uncles had all died in exploratory expeditions in the Sunset Sea, years before his coming to Pyke. But even if one of them had survived, they would have come back earlier.

The other man chuckled. "Father really thought he could get rid of us. He wanted to integrate with the greenlands so badly. He wanted to be done with the Old Way once and for all. He didn't even care about us that much. Our own father!" he screamed and grit his teeth.

"He was wrong. The ironborn will never change! They will always be ready to kill and loot at the first sign of weakness from the greenlanders! Father was a fool!" His grip on Lady Asha's neck tightened and she screamed. "He wanted to destroy the old ironmen...well, I will do it for him! When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly. I dreamt many, many things. And now...now I will do everything I ever dreamt of, and even more!" He cackled maniacally, the blue halo around him trembling and then expanding. Lady Asha was then thrown around like a rag doll, her screams echoing in the dimly lit room.

Seven above, this man is insane! What he was saying made no sense. What had happened to make him like this?

"When you meet your grandfather in whatever afterlife there is, tell him I'm doing a far better job than whatever he could ever hope to accomplish!"

Gormon's mind was racing. He had to stop him. But how? I'm just an old man. An old man who...then he remembered the object he had hidden in his sleeve a few days ago. A safety measure, in case something went wrong. He had hoped he would never have to use it. Alas, it seemed that all his hopes were doomed to break horribly.

It's for a good cause, he told himself. I have to act fast, while he is distracted.

He took a deep breath and lowered his arms until his hands were hidden by the sleeves. The warlock didn't seem to notice it. Good.

He willed his legs to move faster than they ever had. He jumped at the warlock and, in a swift move, pulled out the knife and stabbed the other man right in his chest, where the heart was located. It was all so fast and sudden that the warlock had barely time to blink and realize what had just happened. He gasped and looked at Gormon. Finally, he fell to the floor, dead, the blue halo dissipating along with the invisible force holding Lady Asha.

Gormon rushed to the young woman's side, his heart beating like a war drum. I killed a man. Gods, I killed a man. He knew that the other man had deserved it. He knew he had done the right thing.

Still, it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

"My lady...are you...are you alright?" he panted.

Lady Asha moaned and looked at him. She didn't even have the strength to speak.

"Don't worry, I will...take care of you. It's...it's all over now."

He helped the young woman stand, as much as his body allowed it. Together, and very slowly, they left the room.

AN: And it's finally here! How was it? Not too bad, I hope. Anyway, if you have questions, feel free to ask. See you in two weeks with Tygett's next POV!