(Pyke: 4/27/299 Ivory IV
Ivory stood at the edge of the desolate tourney field, her temples throbbing with a hot, pulsing agony that seemed to radiate throughout her skull. As she tried to focus and rubbed at her temples, she scanned the expanse of grass and dirt and found the arena devoid of patrons and knights.
The grandstands that had once held cheering crowds were now nothing more than looming shadows in the darkness. The banners and flags that had flown proudly in the daylight now hung limp and lifeless in the still night air. The jousting lanes that had once been filled with the thundering hooves of charging horses were now silent and empty.
In the center of the field, the lists stood tall and proud, their wooden barriers now standing as stoic sentinels, guarding the memories of past battles and triumphs. The sand that had been trampled underfoot by countless horses and armored knights was now undisturbed, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.
Even with the pain at her head, Ivory couldn't help but feel a sense of eerie calm as she stood in the midst of the empty tourney field. For one brief moment, she let her guard down, until a suffocating darkness descended upon her thoughts. The night air brushed against her, carrying with it the scent of decay and the faintest hint of something foul mixed in with the smell of fresh rain.
In the silence, a pale light swirled to life within the murk, somewhere beneath the stands. Ivory stalked forward, drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. The scent of damp earth and burning wax mingled in the air, suffusing her senses with a heady aroma. The ground beneath her feet became softer, and she could feel the squish of mud between her toes. As she approached the light, she could see the faint flickering light of a single candle dancing beneath the wooden planks of the stands. Ivory could feel the warmth of the candle upon her face, and even though it was hidden from sight it had felt as if it had been mere inches away. The silence was deafening, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind through the grass and wood. The stars above began to fade, replaced by the soft glow of the rising sun. The sky turned from a deep purple to a soft shade of pink, signaling the arrival of a new day.
"What is this? Why do you show me this?" she asked, expecting no answer. Believing the sight to be but a dream yet asking herself just the same.
"Ymg'ah ya nwngluii, ng Y' mgr'luh uaaah ahehyee liahe Y' mgr'luh zhro," a familiar voice whispered out from the dark.
Ivory froze, her heart racing in her chest as the fell voice she had heard near Port Yhos months before had echoed in her mind.
"You are my eyes, and I see the beginning just as I see the end," her mind deciphered.
She felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. As she did, she noticed how cold and clammy her skin had become, as if the voice had drained the warmth from her body. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her heart continued to pound in her chest like a drumbeat. For a moment, she wondered if she was going mad, but then the voice spoke again, clear as a bell, and she knew she was not alone. "Bugnahor bugahagl…" So quietly had it spoken, that it had been nearly drowned out by the whispers emanating out from beneath the stands.
"I will not step forward," Ivory spat, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and frustration as she struggled against the invisible force that began propelling her onward. An unseen hand had taken control of her body, and she seethed at the idea of being so helpless yet again. Ivory scanned her surroundings, during her forceful march, her breath having caught in her throat, as she tried to find anything to grab onto to stop herself from moving but the empty list field offered no help, no respite. The more she resisted, the stronger the force grew, until it was all she could do to keep her balance as she stumbled forward, closer to the voices that had been speaking to one another beneath the wooden planks.
"The dawn draws near," she heard a raspy voice say.
"So it does," a flat voice replied.
As Ivory's feet dragged her closer to the shadowy figures, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up her into her throat. The flickering light beneath the stands cast a sickly glow over the faces of the hooded figures, obscuring their features and making them appear more sinister than they already were. The shorter one seemed almost delicate in comparison to his companion, whose face was a mass of scars and twisted flesh. It was a face that spoke of cruelty and malice, and Ivory felt her stomach turn at the sight of it.
As she drew closer, the raspy voice of the taller man grew louder, his words filled with a sinister sort of glee. Ivory could see the gleam of gold and blue in the mismatched eyes of the scarred man, and she couldn't help but wonder what sort of hunger burned within him. It was a look she had seen only on the faces of monsters, like the Demoness of the Stepstones and the Kraken of the Iron Islands, and it made her skin crawl. For it was a hunger not of the flesh, for she knew that look all too well, but of something else. Something far more sinister.
Ivory locked eyes with his, and when they did, a sudden jolt shot through her body, transporting her to a damp cave that reeked of salt, sweat, and shit. The putrid stench clung to her nostrils like a noxious cloud, threatening to choke her as she gasped for breath. A fire burned in the center of the rocky space, casting flickering shadows that danced wildly across the cave walls. All around the blaze, men who reminded her of the brutal crew of the Bloody Woman, stumbled and twirled like drunken fools, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of bleeding, mutilated flesh. Some were missing limbs, while others sported deep gashes and bruises, but none seemed to feel the pain they should have. Several others writhed upon the floor of sharp rocks, their bodies smoking like cooked meat before small spouts of nauseatingly green flame erupted from their mouths. Through it all, a quiet, almost playful, laugh echoed out from the shadows, coming from a man wrapped about in chains. She could not see his face, only a pair of laughing golden eyes peering out from the dark like a pair of malevolent suns.
She recoiled from the moment and found herself still staring at the scarred man. She turned her sight downward at something that dangled from the thick neck. Running down his tattered tunic was a thin bit of string, and as Ivory peered closer, she noticed a small bulge at its end. The shadows made it difficult to see what it was, but she could feel a familiar warmth emanating from it. It reminded her of the cursed ruby she had once worn, and she couldn't help but wonder if the item held the same sort of power. A lie, she thought bitterly, remembering how the red woman had used the ruby to nearly succeed in deceiving her into thinking she was more than mere chattel.
"Was this the same?" she wondered, focusing her sight upon the man. Her futile attempts to reveal his true guise had done nothing but cause his figure to ripple, as if it had somehow sensed the intrusion and resisted in response. Despite her fear and revulsion, Ivory found herself drawn closer to the two hooded figures. She knew she should turn and run, but her feet still refused to obey her. She was powerless, a puppet being pulled along by forces beyond her control.
"Consider my proposal, friend," the larger man whispered to the unscarred one with the golden-brown hair. Following his words, Ivory couldn't help but study the handsome features of the golden-haired youth. His soft curls peeked out from beneath his hood, and his sharp, clean-shaven jawline and full lips gave him an almost ethereal quality. But Ivory knew better than to be deceived by appearances, and she suspected that this young man was far more dangerous than he appeared. His plain tunic and trousers were solidly colored and clean, yet they seemed to conceal a lean, muscular form that hinted at his physical prowess. She noticed a simple dagger hanging at his hip in a leather scabbard, a weapon that looked well-used and deadly. The shrouded figure then presented his palm, revealing a small circular object that Ivory had never seen before: a wooden token, no larger than a silver coin. As she peered closer, she saw markings were etched into its surface.
'A white rose,' she asked to herself, as tilted her head and caught a glimpse of white paint coloring a rose-like pattern carved into it.
"I am not your friend, stranger," the young knight hissed, his voice having more of an edge than his outward appearance would have otherwise seemed to have indicated, before snatching the object out of the taller man's open hand. "I only came out of curiosity," he added, as he thumbed the token and stared at it with a grim scowl and inquisitive gaze. There was something unsettling about the way he moved and the look in his eyes as he gazed at the wooden token in his hand. His fingers were long and slender, the nails clean and well-kept, yet they gave off an air of lethal grace, the kind that could deliver a deadly strike with ease. "I could gut you now," soft golden eyes shot back towards the tall man, "and see the truth for myself. It would certainly help spare whatever remains of my sanity and free me from any more of these annoying games. I have suffered enough of those at the rock."
"That would be most unwise," the unpleasant man chuckled, giving no hint as to having taken the threat seriously. The laugh was a hollow, soulless sound that seemed to echo through the empty stands and reverberate in her ears. His black grin was like that of a predator, baring its teeth before it pounced on its prey. "It wouldn't do well to have a murder happen on the eve of the prince's nameday. It's bad luck, you know?"
"Pfft, luck," the shorter man spat.
Ivory watched the exchange with a sense of unease, feeling as though she had stumbled upon something she was not meant to witness. A part of her wanted to be free of whatever this vision was, but she remained rooted to the spot, as the pain at her temple seemed to pull her onward like a hook upon a fish. She felt something dark at her back. Something evil tracing her very steps, and as her stomach churned, her body allowed itself to twist quickly to confront whatever it was that stalked her so and found herself greeted with nothing but shadow. All she could discern were vague, shapeless forms that seemed to be moving in the darkness. She stared into the darkness for what seemed like forever, before she heard the taller man continue to speak, his voice low.
"Consider what I offer you, and in the end, you will find that our goals truly are aligned. We both seek to better our positions, and right the wrongs that have plagued us since we drew our first breaths." She turned away, to face the men, and was relieved that the dawn still lay ahead of her but horrified that the world at her back had seemingly fallen away into oblivion.
"So says the hooded man, whose identity I still do not know," the young knight snorted. His eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened around the wooden token, as if ready for battle. "Do not confuse our stations in this life as being even vaguely similar. I will not risk the ire of the rock on some empty promises whispered into my ear by cloaked mummers hiding in the shadows like rats. I have trusted people once. I will not make that mistake again."
"Bah! The rock," the tall man spat, ignoring the younger man's words on trust, as he narrowed his eyes and the ugly smile faded from sight. "Even the strongest fortress can be breached if the right tools are employed. Ask Harren Hoare, I'm sure he would agree," A dangerous glint shone within the mismatched depths of the man's eyes. His voice grew cold and menacing as he spoke, each word dripping with a malevolent intent. "And empty promises?" He repeated, his words punctuated with a sharp, almost threatening edge. "I assure you, young ser, that my promises are anything but empty." She watched as the man's hand twitched, as if he were restraining himself from reaching out and grabbing the young knight by the throat. His gaze flicked to the wooden token still clutched in the knight's hand, and for a moment, Ivory thought he might make a move to take it back. But then he seemed to think better of it, his expression once again returning to one of cold amusement. "You'll see," he promised, the words carrying a weight of foreboding that seemed to linger in the air long after he had spoken.
"I am not interested," the young knight interrupted, his hand tightening around the wooden token. "Leave me be or face the consequences. We've lingered long enough, that I worry the eunuch has caught sight of us," he said, before apparently hearing something in the distance. Ivory stood frozen, watching the exchange between the two hooded figures with a sense of mounting dread. Her head throbbed with pain, and she felt as though she were in the grip of some dark magic. As the shorter man's eyes grew dark, she could feel his gaze fix upon her, even though she remained hidden in the shadows. For a moment, she thought he might have seen her, but then he turned back to the man with the horrid voice.
"Oh, he has caught sight us. Or at least who he thinks is us," The taller man's eyes sparkled with a cruel amusement as he spoke, savoring the moment with a sadistic pleasure. His voice dripped with a honeyed venom; each word laced with the slightest hint of mockery that was almost palpable in the air. His tone was almost musical, as if he were playing a game, toying with the young knight's emotions. A wry smile played across his face, revealing a set blackened teeth that appeared as bits of coal. The way he delivered the words was almost hypnotic, despite their hoarseness, drawing Ivory's attention to his every inflection and gesture. She felt a shiver reverberate within her as she watched the man, unable to tear her gaze away from his piercing mismatched eyes. It was clear to her that he was a master manipulator, someone who took pleasure in playing with people's lives like they were mere pawns on a game board. "But, as you wish. Keep the token," he said. "Let it remind you of the opportunity you have spurned on this day. And remember, young knight, that there are those who would do anything to achieve their goals. And they will stop at nothing to eliminate anyone who stands in their way. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."
"So spake the lion," the short one growled.
The dreadful man stroked his chin, his features contorted in a smug smirk. His lips curled upwards, the set of blackened teeth revealing themselves once more. "Ahhh, the wit and wisdoms of Tywin Lannister," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm like poison from a snake's fangs. His eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating intelligence, seeming to relish the dangerous nature of their exchange. The air was thick with tension, as if a storm were brewing just beneath the surface, and Ivory could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "We can do this with or without you, ser," he continued, his voice low and menacing, the words rolling off his tongue like a warning. "But if time should see your mind changed, leave the tile in the jousting tent before the first tilt at midday. Doesn't matter where. I will find it." Each syllable was enunciated deliberately, with a sinister intent that sent a chill down Ivory's spine. She couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in the man's presence, as if he were a predator waiting to strike.
And with that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows beneath the stands, leaving the young knight alone in the darkness. Ivory watched him for a moment, then turned and fled, her body finally becoming her own once more. As she ran, the pain in her head began to recede, and she realized that the vision was fading away.
When Ivory opened her eyes, she was back in her modest room, lying in her bed. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, and the only sound was the rustling of the rising winds outside. The rough woolen blankets on her bed scratched against her skin, and she could feel the texture of the wood beneath her through the thin mattress. The candle flickered, casting eerie shadows upon the walls, and Ivory couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched. For a moment, she lay there, breathing heavily, and turned to stare at her scarred reflection upon the mirror at her bedside. To her surprise, a black mark had begun forming around her left eye which itself had grown discolored with what seemed like splotches of black blood. She blinked, thinking it a trick of light, before realizing it was not. Cautiously, she lifted a hand to touch it and found it rough like dried leather upon her fingertips.
"Greyscale?!" she thought with horror, and shot up from her bed. Ivory rushed over to the mirror and stroked at her discolored skin. As she moved her fingers over the black mark, Ivory could feel a wetness and a prickling sensation like tiny needles. "No! This is impossible!" Ivory wanted to scream, but then the black scales rippled in the candlelight, as if something living had shifted just beneath her skin. Her stomach churned, and she fell to her knees, before expelling its contents all over the stone floor of her room. She spat out the remains of sour taste from her mouth, and could smell the bile mixed in with the scent of salt and smoke that lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the strange dreams she had been having lately. She shuddered, feeling a cold draft from the window as the wind picked up outside and rattled the shutters, making them creak and groan in protest.
She wished to cry, but had naught the energy to do so, and simply returned to her bed and pulled the covers tight around her, feeling a chill run down the nape of her back. The room felt smaller somehow, claustrophobic even, and she had an inexplicable urge to run outside into the open air. But Ivory lay there unmoving, the chill of the coastal storm seeping in through the cracks in the stone walls of her room. The salty scent of the ocean mingled with the earthy smell of damp wood, creating an aromatic experience that permeated the air. The candle's flickering flame cast eerie shadows upon the walls, and the occasional bolt of lightning illuminated the room with a blinding white light that left her temporarily blind.
It was during one of these flashes of lightning that Ivory saw it - a shadowy figure lurking in the corner of her room. She couldn't make out its features, but its presence filled her with a deep sense of dread. With each flash of light, the figure seemed to move closer, inching its way towards her bed. The prickling sensation on her skin intensified, and Ivory felt as though tiny insects were crawling all over her body. She tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat, and all that came out was a choked gasp. Suddenly, the storm outside intensified, and a bolt of lightning struck nearby, illuminating the room with an intense white light that lingered for several seconds. During that brief moment of clarity, Ivory saw the figure standing directly beside her bed. It was similar to the things she had seen in the bowels of the Bloody Woman, but far more humanoid in shape, its features still twisted and distorted, and its eyes still glowed with an otherworldly light. Ivory tried to pull away, but the figure reached out and grabbed her arm, its fingers cold and clammy against her skin. With a sudden burst of strength, Ivory broke free from the figure's grasp and scrambled towards the door. She flung it open and ran out into the hallway, crashing straight into the arms of the Red Woman, her heart racing and her mind filled with terror. A platter of full of bread and meat clattered to the floor, and the witch enveloped her in a deceptively strong embrace.
"Shhh, my princess. Shhh," Melisandre hushed, her voice like a soothing balm on Ivory's frayed nerves, her words carrying an otherworldly sense of calm that somehow managed to quell the younger woman's fears. She held Ivory's trembling body in her arms with a surprising strength, and even as Ivory struggled to break free from her hold, she found herself powerless against the other woman's iron grip.
Ivory's heart was pounding in her chest, her mind racing with fear and confusion. "There was something in my room! We must get away!" she screeched, her voice rising in hysteria as she tried to break free from the priestess's embrace. "Let me go!"
But Melisandre held her firmly, her calm voice cutting through the chaos in Ivory's mind. "There is nothing in your room, my child," she said, her tone soothing and reassuring. "Look," she added, gently turning Ivory to face her bedroom.
Her panicked breaths slowed as the red woman turned her around, and she looked back into her room, feeling a sense of relief wash over her as she saw that it lay untouched. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting shadows that flickered and danced across the walls. Everything seemed to be in its proper place, save for the sickening puddle of vomit that lay on the floor.
Ivory's eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of the intruder that had caused her so much distress. But as she scanned the shadows and corners, she found nothing. No sign of movement, no shadowy figures lurking in the corners. The room was still, save for the soft crackle of the candle and the sound of her own labored breaths.
Ivory's shoulders slumped in relief as she realized that her fear had been unfounded. Melisandre's unnervingly calm presence had brought her back from the brink of panic, grounding her in the reality of her safe surroundings.
"See, my child? There is nothing to fear. The Lord of Light is watching over you, and I will protect you. You are safe." As the priestess released her from her grip, Ivory let out a shaky sigh. She felt foolish for letting her imagination get the best of her, and even more embarrassed for someone like Melisandre to have seen it and been the one to console her.
As Ivory stood there, staring at her room, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled deep in her stomach. Though she wanted to believe that it had all been a figment of her imagination, there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind that refused to be silenced.
The memory of the intruder's cold touch lingered in her mind like a stain, refusing to fade no matter how hard she tried to forget. It had been a touch that had felt all too real despite the fact that she knew it couldn't be.
And yet, as she looked around her room, she saw no signs of an intruder. No footprints on the floor, no broken furniture or scattered cloth. It was as if whoever, or whatever, had invaded her room had simply vanished into thin air.
The silence of the room was oppressive, broken only by the sound of Ivory's ragged breaths. She felt as though she was trapped in a nightmare, one that she couldn't seem to wake up from.
Swallowing her pride, Ivory spoke up, her voice on the verge of trembling. "Will you stay with me?" she asked. "I'm scared."
Melisandre's eyes softened as she regarded the younger woman. "Of course, my child," she said, her voice low and soothing. "I will stay with you as long as you need me."
The relief that washed over Ivory was palpable. She felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, knowing that she was no longer alone in her fear, thought she would never admit it to anyone save herself.
Melisandre took a seat next to Ivory on the bed, the rustling of her robes the only sound in the room. Ivory felt the warmth of the priestess' body next to her, and it was a comfort that she had never known before.
As they sat there in silence, Ivory felt her breathing begin to slow, the knot of fear in her stomach beginning to loosen. She knew that the nightmare may come back, but for now, she was safe in the presence of Melisandre.
As the red witch's hand came up to gently stroke her hair, Ivory closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the comfort of the moment. She had nearly forgotten about the black mark upon her eye, and wondered if it had even existed at all, for the priestess had said nothing. Ivory wished it so, before drifting off into a dreamless sleep. The last thing she remembered was the soft rustling of the red witch's robes, the gentle touch of her hand, and the soothing sound of her voice, as she whispered a prayer for Ivory's peace and comfort.