A/N: Chap 9 review responses are in my forums as normal. And now, with this chapter, we also have a very good idea of whose who to the south.
Chapter Ten: Under Spreading Boughs
"How's the boy?"
"Fever. He's not going to make it, Two-Toes."
Orban met Selby's eyes and saw certainty there. The old Ranger witnessed more than his share of death, and knew it when he saw it.
Storic Cerwyn, third son of Lord Boric Cerwyn and nephew to Adrick Cerwyn, the Lord Commander himself, lay moaning on the travois they'd rigged to one of the pack horses. Linens barely held the torn flesh of his face together through the thick coating of blood that had seeped through.
The hide of the snow bear that ripped apart his face and killed four more of Orban's ranging was hung over him, uncured still and beginning to stink. Of the ten men he left with, only three were whole and healthy. Two, including Selby, bore wounds from the bear that set upon them without warning, and fought like a beast possessed.
It fought like it had a man's eyes looking through its own.
They were easily a week from Castle Black, even under good conditions. As they were, it might take longer. But more importantly, Lord Boric was the favored vassal of the Winterfelll Starks. His son joined the Watch as a point of honor, rather than a refuge from the law. For him to die from a fucking bear…
Selby could read Orban as well as Orban could read the land. "The Lord Commander won't like it."
Orban didn't even try to deny the man's words. "He's just pissy he can't walk out the north gate without rain falling on him. There's no rain today, Selby. And young Shaen told me she cured one of the village woman from her deathbed."
Selby leaned over and spat. "Word is Crows can't even find her."
"Crows who mean her harm can't," Orban countered. "Me and the Maester found her just fine."
The two men looked back on their ragged van. The rest of their company stared back with the hunched shoulders and hard eyes of defeated men. "We're to the witch," Orban decided then and there. "Any man who means her harm has to stay behind or make their way back to the castle."
Roge One-ear, a man who'd seen almost as many rangings as Orban himself, scratched his beard. "Lord Commander won't like that, neither."
"He'll like it less if his nephew dies," Selby declared, throwing his vote in. "Maester Aemon told us all the witch fed 'em, observed guest rites and let 'em go. Keep your blades in their sheaths and give no insult, and mayhap she can save the boy's life."
The Lord Commander didn't understand the hierarchy of a ranging. A good team had a leader, true enough. But a good leader listened to his men, especially if those men had the years and knowledge to know what they spoke of. Orban's team did, and he listened.
And they had no better ideas.
With a closer destination, they went as fast as their wounded allowed. Orban could not help but feel a sense of relief when they found the trail to White Tree, and saw that the turn to Wolf Hall had been expanded by the passage of feet to allow horses. He led the way into the path that led to the old bear cave where he and Aemon last saw the woods witch named Telos.
On horse, the passage was shorter than he remembered. Even so, there was no mistaken their destination. They arrived in a clearing that seemed somehow brighter and warmer than the dull, rain-drenched forest they left behind.
The moment they cleared the trees, they heard a woman shout.
"Doji, hide the sheep. Them sheep fuckers are here!"
Behind him, Selby snorted. "She's talking 'bout you, Dale."
Fat Dale growled. "Shut it, cunt."
Clearing the curve of the hill, it took a long moment for Orban to realize he was not in the Reach. The building they came across looked like one of the new brick houses one might find in the deep southern reaches of the kingdom. It was a solid brick and mortar house with some timber beams that supported a steep roof of tarred planks stacked atop each other in rows to ensure no water leaked through. It was steep enough that Orban doubted any snow would accumulate during the winter, either.
"By the gods, did some Dornishman sneak north while we weren't looking?" White Beard looked as stunned as the rest.
It wasn't just the strange house, though. The whole clearing had changed from when Orban was last there six months past. The forest had been cut back to the heavy stream that circled the base of the hill, creating a spacious glade where two sheep and a pair of lambs were grazing. He saw forest fowl all around, picking insects from the thick clumps of grass that sprouted from the soil.
On the far side of the glade, he saw what looked like kilns under timber shelters to protect from the elements, and just on the edge of his sight he could see the golden tips of barley ready to harvest and a garden staked through with vines.
It was into this scene that the tall, broad-shouldered Wildling shambled over to the sheep and began to herd them toward a small fold made of woven branches. The source of the voice proved to be a young wildling woman with the beginning of a swollen belly. Orban realized it was one of Shaen's girls. She walked right toward them without a hint of fear.
"Leave your steel with your horses, all of it. Then take the boy into the house. She's waiting for you."
While the men behind grumbled about how the witch could know they were coming, Orban remembered what kind of eyes Telos of the Trees had. "Do as the girl says," he decided. He dismounted and removed his buckler to hang it on his saddle. "Do you have anything for the horses?"
"We have a stream and there's grass on the ground," the girl said. "But there's gonna be a price, Crow. Think about what the boy's life is worth."
"How the fuck you know we're coming?" Fat Dale said.
The girl snorted but turned and left without answering. She walked back to the large young man and helped him pen the sheep into their fold.
"Swords off," Orban said again. "Dale, stay with the horses. Walk them down for water, and do not draw steel. On your life, just don't. The rest, get the boy."
White Beard and Roge lifted the travois whole and carried it after Orban and Selby, whose broken arm made him useless for the task.
As they grew closer, Orban couldn't help but notice how the gray granite of the hill seemed to project out as a shelf in just the perfect shape to hold the house. If he remembered correctly, there was a large basement under. The house had wood shutters that were open to the sunny day and secured by strips of hide that were cemented in with the same lime mortar used to level and secure the bricks.
It was as well made a structure as anything he'd ever seen, and as large as the wood hall at Last Hearth.
Following the White Tree girl's direction, he led them to the south-facing door on the long side of the house. Like the windows, the door was made of cleverly fitted wood planks and hinged with thick strips of hide pegged into the wooden frame set within the bricks.
When he stepped inside, Orban felt a sudden surge of welcome. It completely stripped away his worry and suspicion. He observed an elevated fireplace and brick oven on the east side of the home. A small cauldron of black iron, likely made at Castle Black, sat over a small fire within the large hearth, while the brick oven beside it was closed and radiating heat he could feel from the door.
A roughly hewn table of raw timber stood opposite, sturdy if crude. Between, a wooden ladder leading to a loft.
Telos stood beside the table with a silver-lined staff of weirwood in hand, as if expecting them.
She wore a skirt that hung past her knees that looked like a strange blend of wool and some coarser material that hung low on her narrow hips and was woven in patterns he couldn't quite understand. Over it she wore a blue-dyed linen blouse with a short vest of the same coarser material.
"Put Storic on the table," she said.
Orban's heart thudded. Selby stumbled. "How do you know the boy's name?"
"He looks like a Storic," she said. She wore a heavy leather blindfold, but was staring right at Selby when she spoke. "Just like you are a Selby. On the table if you wish me to heal him."
They put the boy on the table. He moaned in agony at the jostling; Telos touched his forehead. "Sleep, Storic."
The moaning stopped and the boy went absolutely still as if dead. Instinctively, fearing she'd just killed their brother, Roge went for his knife. He stopped, though, when a deep growl rumbled through the house.
Orban turned to see the largest direwolf he'd ever even heard of walk into the front door just like a person might. The massive gray and black beast barely fit through the door, and filled the whole space within. White-blue eyes latched on to Roge with such open menace the Ranger pissed his pants.
The White Tree girl followed after the wolf. "Flurry, move ya big cunt."
She pushed at the wolf's flank to make room for herself, walked firmly right past the stunned Night's Watch men, and stopped at the table. "Oh, that boy's right fucked, ain't he?"
Telos ignored the men. "What do you do first?"
"Wash in boiled water," Morag said. She then proceeded to take a wood carved ladle and tip it into a large clay pot on the floor by the table. She poured the water into a smaller clay vessel that had some dried herbs in it that foamed with the water.
Meanwhile, Telos removed the bandages to the boy's face. "I could heal him completely, leave no scar at all," she said absently to Orban. "But this is the nephew of your Lord Commander. The boy would gladly try to kill me for his uncle if he could. Even in his sleep, he carries hatred for me in his heart. So, he will keep the scars. Perhaps they will help him grow into a man worthy of his name. But even scarred, he will leave this place on his own feet."
Orban nodded. "Thank you, my lady."
"All it will cost is a horse and saddle."
The ranger stuttered. "My lady?"
"Morag's with child. I'd like her to be able to ride to visit her family. We're not friends, Orban. Your Lord Commander has placed a price on my head. I will not heal Crows for free. So, what's the boy's life worth?"
With a direwolf nearly the size of a horse behind them, Orban decided quickly. "That is a fair trade, m'lady."
Telos nodded. "Okay, Morag. Do you have the needle and sinew ready?"
The girl nodded and held up a curved bone needle. Orban watched as the two women gently washed the wound with wet linens before the girl used the needle and the long, thin sinew strand to sew up the first of the three long gashes through the boy's face.
"I can't do nothing for the eye," the girl said.
"I'll take care of that," Telos said calmly. "You're doing well."
She's teaching the girl, Orban realized.
The sewing was done. The left side of Storic's face looked like tenderized veal tied off into cutlets for the fire. Telos herself took a linen and walked over to the boiling cauldron. Without regard to the heat of the boiling liquid, she dipped her bare hand into it and removed a large, steaming mat of herbs. She carried it right past them to a small clay pot set on the sill of one of the open windows.
She tipped her hand within and removed a pinch of red powder. Over the mixture, she waved her right hand.
It might have been a trick of the light, but Orban swore he saw a green glow from her fingers and small sparkles of ghostly light fall down over the poultice. She placed it on the boy's face, unsecured.
"What about his eye?" Orban could help but ask. Storic's left eye was all but gone, reduced to a few giblets of jelly and an empty socket. In answer, Telos reached for another clay jar and removed a small pear.
The pear was gold. It was no mere trick of the light; the fruit shone with its own light that brightened her face. She used her fingers and pulled a piece of the flesh off before eating half of it. She tossed the other half over the Night Watch men's heads where the giant wolf snapped it up in its jaws.
The small piece she'd taken, she slipped into Storic's mouth.
"Gods," Orban whispered. Selby made the sign of the seven-pointed star.
The boy's socket filled with blood and jelly. Even as he watched, the boy's eye reformed. It did not have the same color as the other, though. Instead of a simple brown, the new eye was pale blue like the wolf's eyes.
Telos regarded it squarely. "A good reminder," she said.
Suddenly Storic Cerwyn screamed and jerked off the table. His paultice flew from his face, but in so doing Orban saw another miracle. Just in the few moments it lay on him, his face was completely healed. The massive gashes had healed into thick ridges of scar; the sinew had simply faded away. And his intact, pale blue eye widened in shock as he saw where they were.
Stumbling drunkenly, the Lord Commander's nephew spun about and saw Telos. "Witch!" he screamed. He reached for a sword that wasn't there and surged forward; Orban caught the lad by his cloak and yanked him back.
"Listen here, boy," Orban said, loud and firm enough to break through the boy's hazed thoughts. "Lady Telos just saved your life. Think, boy. The bear. It kilt you, boy! Slashed your face wide open, took your eye. She healed that. Do not repay her with violence!"
"I've changed my mind," Telos said. "Not any horse, his horse. Morag will need a saddle too, after all. And did I see a bear pelt out there?"
Orban knew better than to argue. "We'll make sure to leave it. By your leave, my lady?"
Telos nodded and said nothing as the Night's Watch men dragged the confused but completely healed young man from the home.
When they were outside, the boy found his words. "Two-Toes, that's Telos! Uncle said we're to kill her!"
"Let it go, lad," Selby said from beside him. "The Lord Commander can decide if we did wrong or not. I'll ride the packhorse, Orban. The Seven knows I'm no use in a fight."
Orban nodded and motioned for Fat Dale to prepare the mounts for their ride back to Castle Black.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
The night after his small party made it back to Castle Black, without either Storic's mount or the pelt from the bear they killed, Orban received a summons to the Lord Commander's chambers. He climbed the shallow stone stairs until he reached the chambers, and within he found the sick, withered form of Lord Adrick Cerwyn.
The man sat in his great chair by the fire, a tin goblet of mulled wine in his hand. Maester Aemon sat nearby, watching Orban with an attentive expression on his face. "Lord Commander," he said as he entered.
"Two-Toes. Pull up a chair, man. Have some wine."
No Ranger ever refused spirits. Orban took a ladle and poured himself some of the still warm wine and moved a wooden stool closer.
Since that long week of rain that followed Adrick back from Telos's homestead, the Lord Commander had been fighting illness after illness. The pneumonia almost killed him that first week, but Aemon nursed him through. He never truly recovered, though, and as the weeks turned into months, the once strong, towering man seemed to shrink in on himself.
"The boy told me a wild story," the Lord Commander said. He paused to cough. "I'd hear your take."
"The bear came on us like an ambush," Orban said. "A great snow bear, fourteen feet on its haunches. It killed Stel and Dob with one blow, and bit Mikah's leg off at the knee. Storic drew steel fast, Lord Commander. He drew first blood on the beast and gave the rest of us a chance to prepare, but paid for it with a fearsome blow to his head. Selby broke his arm shoving his sword into the beast's belly, and Nog broke his neck the same. We killed it, but at the cost of half my men."
"You took the boy to that witch." He coughed again, the hate in the last word catching in his throat.
"The boy took fever, Lord Commander. We bound the wound best we could, but it was the fever that was gonna take him. We weren't going to make it back to Castle Black. So I took him to the witch."
Aemon took a sip of his own wine. "Can you tell me what she did to heal him?"
Orban told them everything he saw; from the pregnant girl doing the sewing to the glowing pear that restored the boy's eye. "The poultice was only on his face a few minutes before he woke. When it fell off, the scars were set and healed, like they were months old. And the eye–you saw it."
"I did," Aemon said. "Remarkable, just remarkable." He sipped his wine again before regarding the Lord Commander. "Adrick, my friend, you need to send the raven. He'll not take it kindly if you don't."
The Lord Commander scowled–the man's lips had a slight shade of blue to them.
"Raven?" Orban looked from one man to the other.
The Lord Commander explained. "The last recruits to come from Winterfell spoke of an illness befalling Lord Edwyle's only son. Young Rickard has Grayscale. Carried by traders from Essos who came through White Harbor. Lord Manderly has seen fit to close the city, and the traders and their ship have been put to the flame. But young Rickard still has the illness. He's Edwyle's only son."
Orban looked from the Lord Commander to Maester Aemon. "She said she is no friend to us."
"And yet, young Storic is alive and whole," Aemon said. "Scarred to be sure, but he sees from both eyes. She did the impossible for what–a horse, saddle and bearskin? Perhaps she would be willing to do the impossible for Lord Winterfell."
"But not for free," Orban said.
"No, not for free."
"You'd have to give her safe passage."
"Aye, if she were willing at all." The Lord Commander did not sound pleased at the idea. "More like she'll tell us to piss off."
Two-Toes very much doubted Telos would do such a thing.
Ten days later, when a raven returned with Lord Stark's response, he was tasked with seeking out Telos. To his surprise, Maester Aemon chose to go with him. Roge and White Beard rode with them for added security.
One week into their journey they reached White Tree. Given that it was almost seven months now since Maester Aemon saw the village, the kind-hearted man seemed enthused at the changes he saw there. Even Two-Toes had to admit that the village which first hid Telos had changed.
Shaen and Usha built themselves a larger home using crude bricks and timber. Though the home was small compared to most lords, it was larger than most small folk in the Seven Kingdoms could claim. It bore all the hallmarks of Telos and the stolen tools she had.
But with that new, larger home as inspiration, the other families did the same. The space that once held the small hovels was cleared out, with the new, larger homes built further back in the cleared forest. Only two were done, but a third was in progress.
The cleared space was dedicated to a larger sheepfold, stye and coop for both hares and forest fowl. The cropland was tripled, and despite the late summer bore a handsome, healthy crop of grains and summer squash and roots.
"It's like a whole other village," Aemon said. "All this because of Telos?"
"Seems so."
As they moved along the side of the stream, Two-Toes caught sight of a familiar horse and a tall, gangly youth standing beside it. The young man turned and met their gaze evenly, utterly unafraid. "Morag, Crows're here!"
Shaen's eldest daughter stepped from the first brick and timber house, a little more round in the belly than last time. Her clothing looked far more like something from south of the Wall than what Wildlings normally wore. It was a woolen dress cinched just under her bosom that hung to her knees. The sleeves were bare, but her feet were clad in leather and wood shoes.
Behind her came Young Shaen himself. He too seemed to be wearing woven clothing of a higher quality than Orban was accustomed to seeing among the people north of the wall. The girl glanced at the four men of the Watch for a moment before turning to the tall youth. "Help me up?"
The young man lifted her as if she weighed nothing and got her easily onto the saddle. Rather than grip the reins herself, the young man patiently led the horse onto the trail. "Well, come on, then," the girl called over her shoulder. "She's been expecting you."
"Of course she has!" Maester Aemon sounded jubilant at the idea.
They made an odd little column, the pregnant girl and her man on a Night's Watch horse, and the four Night's Watch men behind them. Maester Aemon hummed happily to himself as he looked around the Haunted Forest with interest. "It seems brighter, doesn't it?" he noted.
Orban hadn't noticed himself, but once the Maester mentioned it, Orban had to admit that the forest did seem a little less oppressive than it usually did. The trees seemed more saturated with their colors, and the birds sang a little brighter. Even the sun seemed to shine more brightly, though Orban wondered if that wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him.
Even with Morag's young man walking, they made good time on horseback. Once they reached the trail to Telos' hall, he was able to notice things that the stress of his last visit did not permit.
The path was lined with what looked like lime and river rock almost like a cobblestone pathway. It didn't extend the whole way, but rather seemed to fill those spots where the passage of feet and hooves had created muddy pits. The trees and brush that forced them to move on foot the first time had pulled back. Orban looked for signs of trimming, but he couldn't see any broken branches. The trees and brush just seemed to be growing back away from their passage.
When they came upon the glade, the effect of the brighter sunlight became even more noticeable. Sheep grazed contentedly across the green field. On the other side of the water, he spotted a brick and timber hut just like what he saw at White Tree, though the larger home for Telos dominated the glade.
"Telos has a remarkable grasp of building techniques, doesn't she?"
At the front of them, Morag snorted to herself. "Help me down, Doji."
The young man adoringly did as instructed before walking the horse to a small timber stable that was not there when Orban last visited. "Come on, Crows."
The young woman led them across the bright, happy clearing until they reached the south-facing, long side of the hall. It required them to walk up several steps set directly in the granite. Orban could not see any chisel marks at all, almost like dragonstone.
Within, he once again felt that disarming sense of home, like he hadn't felt since he was a child.
Telos stood before a large standing loom with dozens of strands held down by stones, and a clever array of carved sticks. She stood before the loom, shooting a bundle of yarn through with a long wooden shuttlecock. She shifted the position of the warp and weft of the threads with each passing, creating what looked like a long, well-made stretch of fabric.
Like before, she wore a simple skirt that hung from her hips to her ankles, and a linen blouse with a thick woven vest for modesty. She didn't look up from her work. "Hello, Aemon. What brings you to Wolf Hall?"
"In truth, I've wanted to return since we last spoke," the old Maester said. "However, dire news made it a necessity. We were quite shocked by the skill with which you healed young Storic. The proof in his scars, and the color of his eye, spoke eloquently of your talents. May I ask how you healed him?"
"Magic," the tall young woman said. She never stopped her weaving.
Aemon blinked. "I was told that your companion here used bone needles and sinew to sow the wound?"
"Morag needs healing skills as a woods witch," Telos said.
"Are you not a woods witch?"
She turned to look at him with her naked crystal eyes. Once more, Orban found his breath frozen in his chest. She ignored him, though, and smiled at Aemon. "What can I do for you, Aemon?"
The Maester nodded. "The Lord Commander was obliged to report your healing skills to Lord Edwyle Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfelll. Lord Edwyle's only son has contracted a terrible disease known as Grayscale. It is a slow, agonizing illness that ends only after years with madness and death. Lord Edwyle requested the Night's Watch to bring you to Winterfelll to cure his son."
Morag's face screwed up with worry, more than she'd ever shown around Orban since Ser Dalard. The soon-to-be mother looked fearfully at Telos as the much taller, stranger woman considered.
"Does this man know that I am not his to command?"
Aemon shrugged. "He was made to understand from the Lord Commander's missives that you would not act for free. Those beyond the Wall are outside the law; he is willing to pay whatever you ask, if you can save his son and heir."
She finished off a last row of thread and then cut the thread with a touch of her finger; Orban didn't see precisely how. She placed the shuttlecock down on a newly fashioned wooden table before turning to regard the two men squarely.
"What kind of man is this Lord Stark?"
"I've only met him once, m'lady," Aemon said. "But he is a Stark. The men of the north are hard but fair, by and large. They value their honor and their word, and their own vassals hold them to that word."
"And has he given his word that I will be allotted free passage to and fro even if I cannot heal his son?"
"This much, yes," Aemon said. "He promised free passage to and from Winterfell. There are four Stark men at Castle Black who will escort you in peace. The Lord Commander too has promised safe passage. As for payment?"
Aemon reached into his robe and removed a leather-bound book the size of his hand. He stepped forward and held it out. "A primer as incentive," he said by way of explanation. "Of the common tongue. It is a book Maesters often give to the children of various lords."
Telos took the book, a smile on her lips. "You wrote it," she said. Glancing up, her smile seemed wider and more genuine. "From memory."
The Maester gave an eloquent shrug. "It was the same book I first learned from; one I memorized as a child. I hope it will assist,"
She paged through the book, nodding to herself. "I was afraid you used cuniform or pictographs," she said to herself. "But this is a simple alphabet."
"You're not going with the sheep fuckers, are you?" Morag said.
Telos laughed. "Neither of these men have ever violated a sheep, Morag. And don't worry. This land is protected. I'll be back before the baby is due."
"What if the baby comes early?"
"He won't," Telos said.
"You sure?"
"Very. He'll be right on time, and healthy as an ox. And you will be too. I promise."