"You need to be more careful," Cregan warned, as Malissa helped him to his feet.
"Thank you," Tristan said, smiling at Malissa before turning back to Cregan. "Why, I've run faster and further before." He could feel Shield, an echo of his wolf still in his mind. He hadn't noticed how distant Shield had seemed at first, hiding in the shadows of his mind as Tristan wore his skin. But no longer. Now, whenever he entered Shield, he felt the wolf at his shoulder, urging him, guiding him, racing with him. They'd just gone on a full circle of the isle, running at full tilt, the earth under their claws, the wind in their fur, the burning air in their lungs before circling around and racing into the First Grove, coming to rest before that cave. There was something in that cave, something pulling him in and keeping him away, he would enter that blackness one day, he knew it. Then came the familiar blow of the weirwood staff that pulled him back from Shield and into his own skin.
"I'm not talking about Shield's body, I'm talking about you," Cregan sat down opposite him. "Get some water for him Malissa." As Malissa hurried off to fetch some from a nearby pool, Cregan fixed him with a stern gaze. "When you enter the mind of a beast, you do not return alone, part of that beast comes with you, shapes you and defines you. At worst it may come to change everything about you."
"How?"
Cregan sat back as Malissa returned with a bowl of water. Tristan drank greadily. "That will be all Malissa," Cregan said.
"But I want to stay!" Malissa complained.
"I need to instruct the stark boy, you have other duties to attend to, now go."
Malissa huffed but left. The Green Men may have had no official hierarchy, but the longest serving commanded the most respect, and Cregan had been serving for a great many years.
When she'd gone, he continued. "All beasts are different. Dogs are trusting and live with humans, so entering their bodies is easy, they rarely resist. Spend enough time in them, and the most closed of men find pleasure in the company of others. Spend too much time in them and that man will never see the knife in his back. Deer are beautiful, soft, homely, and pray. If you spend time in them you will find new love for your offspring, but a warrior will become a craven. Birds, everyone wants to be a bird, you could look down on the world, soar to untold heights. But then the day will come when you will hate yourself that you don't have wings, where you will live for the times that you can wear the skin of a bird and fly. Or you will throw yourself from a tower in desperation to truly feel the wind around you."
"Then why are you having me enter at all?"
"Because your bond with Shield is deep, and Shield is a wolf."
"And what does that mean."
"You'll see," Cregan got to his feet. "We're done for the day, do not enter Shield's skin again, we'll do more tomorrow."
They didn't do more tomorrow. Instead, Tristan went to the First Grove with Malissa, to tend the Weirwoods there. As always, when he was with Malissa, she started bombarding him with questions.
"What's your brother like?" She asked him as she raked through the fallen red leaves, gathering them into piles and revealing the bright green grass beneath.
"Which brother?" Tristan asked as he carefully snipped a broken stem of leaves from the nearest branch.
"The King," she said.
"Robb?" He looked over at him, she wasn't even looking at him, instead she was swishing the rake back and forth, almost dancing. "He's good. He's kind, wise, generous and strong."
"Like the kings from the stories?"
"No, at least not entirely," he replied. "He's good," he said again. "He wants to be a good ruler."
"Like Lorimass Mudd?"
"Not exactly, Lorimass was a kind king, and Robb is kind, kind to his friends and his allies, but unlike Lorimass, he's not kind to his enemies."
"Oh! I've heard that phrase, kind to his friends and terrible to his enemies!"
He smiled at her eagerness, but that wasn't wrong. "No, Robb isn't terrible to his enemies. I'm terrible to his enemies."
"Why, can he not be terrible?"
"I-" Could Robb be terrible? No, that was the whole point, Robb was the good one, Tristan was the terrible one. Being the terrible one was a dark path, he wouldn't have Robb go down it, Robb had a new world to build. He couldn't do that behind a veil of terror. "No, Robb can't be terrible. That's what I have to be?"
"So you're the terrible one?"
"Yes, so that he doesn't have to be?"
"For him?"
"Yes."
"Then why did he send you here?"
Tristan didn't reply.
"Tristan?"
She looked over at him, waiting for an answer.
"I don't know," Tristan said stiffly.
"Oh. Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said, beaming at him before returning to her task.
As Tristan trimmed a few more branches he saw it, the opening, the black entryway in the largest weirwood that called him whenever he entered Shield's body. He glanced around, there was no one else nearby, and Malissa was busy with her rake. Taking the chance, Tristan hurried over and looked inside. It wasn't an opening. It was just where the trunk of the weirwood had twisted, in the light of day he saw that there was a little nook there, but nothing else. Why then was he drawn to it? He circled the tree, looking at it. There was nothing else there. On the other side of the opening was the traditional face carved into the weirwood, the lips slanted in sorrow. Nothing.
"Do you ever wonder what they see?"
Malissa had come up beside him and was resting on the rake.
He pointed out in the direction the carved eyes were staring. "That's what they see, from this tree at least. That's why we pray before the faces, that the gods might see us."
"And that's why they were cut down," Malissa said. He saw a tear in her eyes. "The Andal invaders cut them down, so that they might never have to suffer the sight of those they wronged."
"Not in the North." Tristan said.
"But they don't grow in the southern forests anymore," Malissa said. "All they see south of the neck is the insides of castles. The fields and rivers, the mountains and holes, the great lakes and rolling hills, the gods are now blind to them all. All except what they see from this little island."
"Perhaps when Robb's won the war we can plant some new ones," he said, touching her shoulder akwardly.
She lit up instantly. "Do you think so?"
He shrugged. "I don't know why not, I'll ask him when I leave. If I leave."
"You'll find what you're looking for soon," Malissa assured him, wiping her tears away. "And when you have and you go back, you can pick out some spots for us to plant some Weirwood trees."
He smiled down at her. "Okay then, I'll do that."
They continued to work on the grove. They barely made a dent in what needed to be done, but it was good work.
The next day brought no such joy.
"There are too many of them now," Aldan said, arms folded across his barrel chest. "If we don't cull them, this will happen even more and we'll run out of food."
The doe's body was torn to bloody shreds, meat pulled from her flanks and rear, blood staining the dirt and grass where she had been pulled down.
Cregan, kneeling beside the carcass, looked over at Tristan, the other five Green Men elders following his gaze. "What do you think, Tristan?"
Tristan stiffened. "They're only doing what's in their nature, wolves hunt deer."
"Perhaps they do," Aldan said, "but if the pack grows too wild their numbers must be brought low or else the balance of the forest is disrupted for everyone."
"I agree," said Mirrin, the oldest woman of the Green Men. "We should cut down the numbers of the pack."
"It's only one deer, there are many on this island," Tristan protested, "that doesn't call for them to be hunted. It's not like they're hunting you."
"Wolves never hunt men unless they're desperate," Mirrin replied, "if all the deer die, they will become desperate."
"And all the deer will die if they are not stopped. We should go, tonight, cut their numbers fown to size." Aldan was looking straight at Cregan. "We have to maintain the balance of the isle, that was the duty given to us."
"I thought your duty was to protect the isle?" Tristan asked. "How does hunting down wolves for doing what they do naturally help that?"
Mirrin smiled, kind eyes going hard. "Prince Tristan, we have protected this isle, for thousands of years. When the Andals tried to invade us, we drove them into the water, with obsidian and iron. When the followers of the Faith tried to burn down our refuge, we called the waters of the eye to rise and wash away the invaders. When the men of iron and salt came for our weirwoods, we sent them to the deeps. When the men of fire and wings came to us, we give them what they want, some words here, a marriage conducted in the old ways there, and sent them away. But we also protect it from within, from rabid dogs, mad wolves and the weeds that spread rot and death. These are less clear dangers, but dangers none the less."
"But-"
"Mirrin is right." Cregan cut him off. "The woles are a danger."
"They need to eat as much as you or I!"
"Enough."
"No!"
"I said enough!" Cregan declared. "Let's get back. We need to get ready for the hunt."
"I won't do it," Tristan insisted.
"Then don't," Aldan replied. "We've protected the isle for milennia, we don't need you."
They turned and headed back for the camp.
At word from their elders, the Green Men prepared. They retrieved iron tipped spears and weirwood bows, fletching extra arrows and sharpening the spearheads. Throughout it all, Tristan stood apart. The wolves didn't have to die for this, all they did was kill one deer.
He saw Aldan drop a large bundle of spears, tied together by reeds at his feet, slice through the reed and start handing them out. The younger acolytes like Malissa were kept in the middle of the camp, far away from what would happen next.
If he had his sword, he'd put a stop to it. But his sword was somewhere else. He'd try speaking to Cregan one more time.
He found the elder sat on a rock right in the middle of the camp, flanked by two other green men elders. Beside them a small, heavy wood pen had been erected, the door hanging open. His legs were folded neatly, his hands in his lap and his eyes… they were rolled up into his head, the whites looking out at the world, blind.
"Cregan-"
"Silence," one of the the elders. "He is busy. When he's done, he'll speak with you."
"Here comes the first one!" A voice called.
He turned and saw a grey bundle hurrying through the camp. It was a wolf cub. He made to gather it up, but no one paid it any heed. Instead they just let it pass them and run directly into the pen. When it was in, a green man quickly shut the door. Suddenly the wolf started howling, claws clipped the wood of the pen like it suddenly wanted to get out.
What was going on here. Tristan looked back at Cregan but he still sat there, unmoving.
More Green Men got ready, faces grim and spears ready. Two passed with slings hanging from their fingers, casting furtive glances at the pen. "Here comes the next one!" The two slingers darted aside as a second wolf cub trotted through the camp. The door to the pen was opened and the wolf cub entered, the door closing behind it. The howling and scratching doubled in intensity.
"What's happening?" He asked, but no one answered. He waited for Cregan who still just sat there? What was he doing, it's not like he was communing with the gods, he wasn't even in front of a weirwood.
A third cub, it's fur darker and eyes brighter than the other two followed the same path and was ushured into the pen, which was shut, the door tied shut with heavy reeds.
"That will do." He turned to see the two elders helping Cregan to his feet. "Everyone get ready, they'll be here soon."
"Yes Cregan."
As the two elders departed to direct the others, Cregan stepped over to the pen, Tristan followed him.
"Are you going to kill them?" Tristan asked. The cubs looks so pitiful and helpless, surely they hadn't brought down the deer.
"No, you don't thin a pack by slaughtering it's young. They are merely bait."
"Bait!"
"I told you before," Cregan said, looking at him. "Wolves are pack animals. The adults will come for them soon and we'll kill enough of them to thin the numbers. Then the cubs will go free."
"That's barbaric."
"But natural. What did you do when your father was taken prisoner, or when Winterfell was taken?"
Tristan glared at him. "I went to rescue him."
"Despite their being a continent and several armies in your way, we are just a few acolytes of old gods, the wolves will come."
"There were other ways."
"No, there weren't," Cregan said. "I needed the wolves to come and protect their young, not come to slaughter us. They will be so focussed on looking for their cubs, that they will not pose a danger to our people. That's why I brought them here."
"You brought them here?" Tristan asked. "How?"
Cregan looked at him. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and one of the wolves quietened down. It scratched it's ear like a hound and jumped three times. Then it went back to howling and Cregan's eyes rolled back to normal. "How do you think I've been able to teach you about being a skinchanger."
"You're a skinchanger?"
"I am," he said, his voiced laced with pride and sadness. "The last on the isle."
"The last?"
Cregan nodded. "Before it was me and my teacher, now it's just me."
"What happens when you…"
"If there is no one to replace me, then there will be no skinchangers on the isle of faces, for a time."
"For a time?"
"Yes," Cregan said. "I wasn't always here, on the isle. I came from a castle myself, in the north. I asked and asked about my dreams, but no maester could provide an answer. No more than my fathers or my brothers, my mother or my sister. But in my dreams… in my dreams I came south, following an owl that showed me the way. And so one day I left. I announced my intention to join the Citadel and made my way south. It wasn't so suspicious, there were too many sons for me to have a purpose in the household. On the way south I went off the beaten track, I rode to the edge of the eye and there was a boat waiting for me. I got in and paddled across, and found my master waiting for me. I've been here ever since. Another will come, in my lifetime or not."
"Is that why you brought me here? You want me to be your student."
Cregan laughed. "I've enjoyed the art of teaching, but you don't fit well here, you have other places you must be. Perhaps later in life you will want to spend your days here, but now, you must be elsewhere. I did not offer to take you away from your family forever."
"Cregan." They turned to see Mirrin waiting, weirwood spear in hand. "We're waiting along the forest line, it's time."
Cregan nodded and said to Tristan, "it's time, you go and wait with the young ones. Leave this to us."
"Gladly," Tristan said.
He turned on his heel and marched back towards the edge of the camp, where Malissa and the other young members of the order, from children to young teens. "Everyone stay together," Malissa said, ushuring everyone together. "Tristan, you're here!"
"You sound surprised," he said.
"I thought you'd be with the older ones, give how good a warrior you are," she said.
"The wolves were just doing what was in their nature, I'm not going to kill them."
"I see," Malissa said, "well you're welcome to join us, we're going to the beach, away from it all."
He nodded and followed Malissa's direction to the white sand beaches. As they sat down in the turf, muttering their prayers.
He sat a little distance away from the others and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked out at the lake, the orange light of sunset lay a shining sword along the dark water. A howl made him look around, the cubs were still calling for help, calling their parents to the abatoir. Of course they would come, they would come to save their pack, whatever it cost them. He looked at his hand, curled and wretched. But it had bought Beth, Bran and Rickon their lives, was that not worth it?
Another howl, louder, more urgent, the alphas would be here soon. How many would be enough, one in four of them? Half? More?
He shook his head. His father had taken him into the wolfswood with Robb, Jon and Theon to hunt a large pride of shadowcats that were killing too many of the elk that roamed the trees. He knew that it was necessary to cull the excess killers of the wild, but one kill by one pack of wolves? That didn't merrit this response. And the cubs…
He closed his eyes and opened them again in a glade of soldier pines and weirwoods. There was no time, he had to go now. Bunching the muscles in his legs, he tore off around the southern edge of the forest.
He ran and he ran, he was the strongest on the isle, the fastest, and he knew what he had to do, he could succeed. He leapt over protruding stumps and twisted roots. His tongue lolled out, stroking along the edge of curved fangs, deadly fangs, soon to be bloody fangs.
No, he pulled himself to a halt, that wouldn't work, the cubs needed him and he needed to be quiet. He started running again, only slowing down as he saw the camp of the men come into sight. They were there, many of them, clutching weapons with which to hurt his kin. No. Not today. He wanted to charge. One of them was right there, not looking at him, it would be so easy. A leap. Crushing jaws. Blood and flesh. No. He slowly padded out of the wood and circled around the men who carried iron and fire, who were intently looking out to the main forest, where his brothers and sisters cried for their children. They would be running, they would be here soon. He sped up and entered the camp from it's unguarded southern side, passing between tents and stools. Hurry, he knew where it was.
There! He sniffed the air, nothing, nothing nearby. He moved towards the cage of wood. But wait! Someone comes, a small thing, meatless.
"Cregan!" It was the girl, she was running fast, bare feet slapping on the grass. "Cregan please you have to-" She pulled to a stop when she saw him. He stared at her, growling, baring his fangs. "You," she whispered. "Tristan, are you in there?" He growled again and advanced. She was going for Cregan, she was going to ruin everything. "Tristan, please, I'm going to get Cregan, I'm going to get you out, if you can hear me, just hang on."
She made to dart passed him but he matched her moves, not letting her pass. He advanced. She couldn't ruin this.
Her eyes widened in fear and she started backing away. "No, please Shield, please, I don't want to hurt him, I'm not going to hurt you!"
The scratching, it started again, urgent. The cubs! He bowed his head, showing he meant her no harm, and slipped to the side. He looked up at her, then towards the edge of the camp where the line of men waited. Go cub. Go.
"I can go?"
One growl.
"No?"
He backed away, stupid human. She stepped forward tentatively, then ran onwards, casting a look back at him. "Cregan!"
When she was gone he turned back to the cage. He let the cubs know he was there, then leapt up, his claws tearing through the reed ties like they were nothing. He gripped the door, tasting wood, then pulled.
They were inside, small and precious. One of them, the dark one backed away. He growled. They had to come, and come now, before the girl brought help. One of them stepped forward, then another. But the dark one refused. He growled again, ear pricked, snout flaring. Nothing yet, but soon. Come on! Still the cub backed away, it was scared of man, it wanted it's parent. He would show them the way. Come! Still nothing, but there was the scent, it was coming. No more time, he rushed forward. The cub tried to dart away but it was too slow. He caught the little one gently between his jaws, feeling fur and bone. He turned and led the other cubs away. The others knew, the others were wise, they followed him. Back throught the camp, he kept at their pace as the wolf in his jaws cried out. It was just a cub, it didn't know better. Outside the camp they broke into a run, making for the treeline. He deposited the cub on the ground and growled, jerking his head towards the woods. None of them moved now. They needed a guide. So he set off into the woods, he would find his kin and return to them their young. The cubs would survive.
Sudden pain brought him back. He groaned and sat upright, sand falling into his face from his hair. "What, I-"
"You did it," Cregan said from above.
"Did what?"
"I saw your handywork with the pen, I never thought a direwolf would be so precise." Malissa was looking at him worriedly. Cregan was impassive. "So, will you admit that it was you?"
Tristan stood up, looking Cregan directly in the eye. "I will," he said. "And I stand by it."
Cregan stared at him for a while. Then nodded. "Good, you're beginning to see."
"See what?"
"You'll see."
Tristan wanted to punch him. "What will I-"
"Get some rest," Cregan said over him. "The hunt is called off, once Shield delivers the cubs to their parents they'll be safe. You need to rest, to prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"The tree, the one that calls you when you enter Shield's mind. When you go there, you will at last see what you need to see."
