A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Review responses are in my ffn forums as normal. I did see one or two reviews mentioning they were coming into this fic blind. Just as a reminder, this story, like Titanomachy, is a direct sequel to Theogony. I would at the very least recommend you read Theogony to understand just who and what this Taylor Hebert is. If you like Theogony, don't be afraid to leave a review. If you hate it, you probably won't really enjoy this or my other fics that much.
Chapter Eleven: Children of Men
Flurry loped sedately beside Taylor through the forest. He radiated a sense of satisfaction with every near-silent step. The Crows were so terrified of him Taylor could smell it.
Aemon was the only exception. He'd even kindly offered to let her ride his horse, but the earth was kind to her feet and she felt no exhaustion from the long trek. She wore her leather blindfold for the two other Crows who had not seen her eyes, and carried her staff in hand. Occasionally Fluffy would drift to her side so she could scratch his ruff, but normally he liked to lope a little further ahead.
The great Ice Wall dominated the sky. Even this close, she could not see beyond it, nor even the giant stones at its base that ultimately created it. She wondered if her willingness to take the journey was just to see what was beyond it.
"So what is a Maester?" Taylor said casually as she walked. "I've heard the other Crows call you that."
"Depending on who you ask, a gathering of self-important old men," Aemon said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I am part of the Order of Maesters, a brotherhood of learning and scholarship that traces itself back many, many thousands of years. Legend has it the Maesters were formed after the Long Night. Each link in this chain I wear symbolizes a subject I have studied and mastered to the satisfaction of the Maesters who came before me."
Taylor was tempted to ask why they hadn't reinvented space travel or computers if they'd been around for thousands of years, but then thought of what the greenseer showed her. The corruption in the stars that showered down on the world was like a heavy weight to those who lived under it.
Ahead, through the trees, came the first frost that marked the wall boundary. The closer they got to the wall, the more intense the hoarfrost became, until it turned into a light coating of snow. Her bare feet crunched in the ice.
Aemon, kind soul that he was, noticed. "My lady, your feet. Are you not cold?"
Taylor shrugged. "It doesn't bother me. It's just the heat sinks in the wall doing their jobs."
"Heat sinks?"
They cleared the forest line and emerged into a barren, tundra-like expanse of packed snow. This close, the wall filled her entire field of vision.
"Something like this couldn't be built by mortal hands," Taylor said. "The wizards who built it were clever. They laid down rune stones, each as large as a house. Nineteen or twenty of them through the length of the continent. The stones sucked the heat from the air, drawing with it moisture. It formed a highly localized, artificial glacier. That's what the wall is, just a magically shaped, artificial glacier."
Ahead of her, Two-Toes brought his horse to a stop and turned in his saddle. "How the fuck could you know that?"
"An old witch sang a song about the history of the Free Folk, and I saw the truth of it in her soul," Taylor told the man. "The trees confirmed it. They remember a time before the wall rose, and when it was still low enough people could jump over it."
Aemon, meanwhile, stared at the Wall with a stunned expression. "Of course," he muttered.
Two-Toes didn't look convinced, but turned and continued to lead the way across the localized tundra that surrounded the north side of the wall. The magic of the wall was so powerful Taylor didn't even see the gate they were heading to until they were almost there.
Thick iron portcullises partitioned the long gate tunnel into sections for added protection against ground assault. Two men in black cloaks waited just inside the first of the gates. Two-Toes pulled a curved goat's horn and blew a long, mournful note.
Calls of "Open the gate!" echoed down the ice tunnel.
By the time they reached it, the portcullis was lifted by ropes to permit their entry, as was the next, and the next. Despite the flickering torches, the tunnel was almost as cold as Taylor's Hel winds. She could feel the heat being drawn from the living beings around her as the enchanted stone nearby worked its powerful magic.
It was a feat of magic that was worthy of the gods.
They emerged into a snowy courtyard framed by old, tar-painted wood structures that looked almost like an old monastery more than a castle. And waiting just inside was a withered, scowling man in a great black bear fur cloak. He was flanked by two more of the Crows, but for all the man's fierce scowl Taylor saw death in his face.
His scowl turned into a grimace when Flurry loped through the gate right behind them and walked up to stand at Taylor's side. Despite her six foot height, his shoulder was still as tall as her head. She reached up and ran a hand lovingly through his fur.
There were dozens of other men in the courtyard, many of whom appeared to have been going about various tasks. All went still and silent when they saw Flurry.
"Why is that beast in my castle?" The Lord Commander's voice sounded like a hasp on wood.
Taylor made a point of looking up at Toe-Toes. "I thought Orban lived here?"
"I mean that Gods-be-cursed wolf, you fool girl!"
Taylor bit back an angry retort. The man's soul was twisted from a lifetime of defeats and bitterness. "Do you want it to rain on you in your own castle as well? In your own chambers?"
A small crack of thunder echoed across the courtyard like a gun going off, and directly over the old man's head, Taylor gathered a small cloud. She had to fight against the pull of the runestone in the wall to do so.
The Lord Commander paled and reached for his sword. Into this tense silence, Aemon cleared his throat. "Lord Commander, I believe Lord Stark's men are waiting to escort Lady Telos?"
The hand dropped. Without another word, he turned and strode away with stiff legs and quiet gasps for breath. Those other men with him drifted away, making room for four men who stood out from the others. They wore heavy mail hauberks over woolen shirts and pants, with a gray tabard over their chests with a running wolf symbol.
"Lady Telos," the leader of the men said. "I'm Amory Branch. If it pleases you, we have a horse ready."
Taylor considered protesting about going on foot, but decided it wasn't worth the fight. "Thank you, Amory. Don't worry about Flurry, he only eats people who pull weapons on me."
Flurry chuffed loudly, then licked his lips. The four Stark men shared a long, worried look before they turned and led her to their waiting horses.
Taylor was just a little girl when she last rode a horse. Her dad made horses nervous–and pained, since he was easily over 300 pounds of pure muscle. Mother, however, loved horses and took Taylor riding several times.
The mares that the Stark men rode were relatively small, sturdy ponies with thick fur and ruffs of even thicker fur around their hooves, almost like draft horses. She greeted her mare with a smile and a touch of her long jaw to sooth its spirit and assure her that Taylor would be kind. And Flurry would not eat her.
She mounted easily, thankful for her heavy linen undergarments. The four men exchanged a look. "You've ridden before, m'lady?"
Taylor stored her staff in the stirrup. "Once or twice. Lead on, Amory. I wish to see the other side of the world."
One of the other men opened his mouth to point out she was blind, but Amory shook his head sharply. "Then let us be on our way," the man declared.
They did just that, stepping out from the castle into a long, rolling tundra of desert-like dryness. The wall's effect again, she had no doubt. But free from the wall's magic, she looked finally on the rest of the world and let the sight of the land just soak in.
The world was vast. She saw oceans and continents, darkness and light. And millions upon millions of people struggling to scratch a living from a magic-corrupted world.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
Even on horseback, making good time, the trip would last over two weeks. The four soldiers had a small, crude tent made of hide for her to sleep in, while they slept under the open stars. She noticed that they very intentionally stayed away from any villages or holdfasts.
Lord Stark was probably not eager to let his vassals know he'd sent for a Wildling woods witch.
She didn't mind, though, because she enjoyed being free of the limiting magic of the Wall.
Given the conditions of their travels, it was no surprise one of the men became sick. He spoke nothing of it, though he coughed and spat at the phlegm that was beginning to fill his chest. They kept themselves apart from her at Amory's insistence, being polite but distant.
But when the man woke on their second week with a fever, she'd had enough.
"Get your arse up, Locke," Amory ordered the man. "We're not carrying you."
"Fuck off."
The riposte was spoken in a wispy, weak voice as Taylor left her tent. "We're resting today," she decided.
The three standing guards froze in the midst of dousing the fire. "My lady, Lord Stark's orders…"
"I don't answer to Lord Stark," she said. "And that man has pneumonia. If you want him to die so badly, take a sword to him. Otherwise, we're staying here. Geoph, please set my tent over Locke. He needs to be out of the wind. Amory, there is a weirwood grove in the forest two miles from here. I intend to go there; you're welcome to accompany me if you wish."
"For…what purpose?"
"To cure the poor man," Taylor said. "What kind of healer would I be if I let one of my own escorts die?" With that said, she walked to her mount and began to saddle it to the men's surprise, since that was a chore they'd done for her.
The leader of the squad looked torn, but she knew they would cooperate. Amory felt responsible for the men under his command, and no more wanted Locke to die than she did. "Very well. Ruff, you stay too."
The fourth man nodded and sank back down by the fire, completely unbothered by the idea of not riding.
Though Taylor knew in theory how to saddle a horse, her lessons were long ago. No surprise then that Amory had his mount ready before her, despite her starting earlier. She mounted up in her increasingly travel-stained clothing, and began riding at a respectable clip toward the distant godswood.
When they arrived, Amory seemed shocked that she was right. "How did you know this was here?"
"Weirwoods are quite talkative if you know how to listen," she told him as she dismounted before the ancient, long-abandoned groove.
This grove was more than just trees, though. Taylor could see strange, child-like creatures flitting about the red leaves, blending in so completely she would not have seen them without her bifrost eyes.
"I'll need your travel mix pouch."
"M'lady?"
"The gods of this grove require an offering, Amory. Surely your packet of nuts and diced apple is worth Locke's life?"
Wide-eyed, the man handed over his travel snack pouch. Taylor took it, and then tossed it directly to one of the hiding creatures in the red canopy. Amory yelped when the pouch did not fall back down.
With the offering made, Taylor walked to one of the carved faces in the four white-barked, massive trees and collected a generous serving of sap. She did the same for the others, until she had her entire pouch full. When she had what she needed, she placed her hand on the furthest tree. All four visible trees had a common root system, and were in fact the same organism. She thanked them, briefly merging her divinity with theirs, and accepted their blessing and the blessing of their semi-divine servants, even as she blessed them in return.
When she left, she could hear the near subvocal chittering of the creatures in the tree. "I have what I need," she told Amory. "Locke will be ready to travel tomorrow."
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
Winterfell was a castle. A true castle, like the great Norman beasts that dotted northern Europe and England. The walls were made of solid granite blocks with diamond-shaped arrowslits spaced along the top half and crenelations above. Towers were set at even distances, some collapsed from age or fire. There were few right angles, though. It looked like the castle grew up organically in spits and spurts over the course of whole ages.
Further past the walls she saw what looked like a great keep and even the hint of trees within. Looking past the walls, she saw a small, compact village working within the nearly self-contained castle.
It held a godswood that sang a silent welcome to her.
Though there was a large, well defended gate on the north-facing wall where a small village had also sprung up, that also meant many eyes would see her enter. Instead, Amory led her a long way around to a western-facing, much smaller gate.
Within the gate was an enclosed yard that housed what looked, sounded and smelled like a kennel of large, mastiff-like dogs. The moment Flurry entered, the dogs exploded with barks, whines and howls. Taylor said, "Hush, please."
The following silence of the dogs left the four guards escorting her further disconcerted. As she dismounted, the far door of the enclosure opened to reveal three men–two more guards in Stark livery, and a Maester who looked to be old enough to be Aemon's father. The man paused when he came across the silent dogs, the horse-sized wolf, and Taylor's blindfold and staff.
"You are the woods witch?"
"You are the maester who smells of vinegar and old leather?"
The man blinked, confused. It was Amory, bless him, who spoke. "Maester Adelbard, this is Telos of the Trees and her companion direwolf, Flurry. M'lady, this is Maester Adelbard."
The Maester was at least self-aware enough to realize that Taylor was no mere savage, though he raised his brow at the title. "I was not aware you were of noble blood, my lady."
Taylor shrugged. "My mother was a queen; my father was a king's son. But that was long ago, in a land you never heard of nor will ever see. So, the titles mean nothing. Dear Aemon told me that Lord Stark's son is ill. I'm assuming from my welcome you wish my presence kept discreet. Shall we go see the boy?"
Adelbard hesitated. "My lady…with respect, I cannot allow that creature into the castle."
"Very well then. We'll leave."
Taylor turned and started back to the outer door to the shock of everyone within. The old Maester surged forward in alarm. "My lady, please! We cannot allow a direwolf within the castle walls!"
"He is not a direwolf," Taylor said, pausing to study the man. "He is my dearest friend and companion. He understands me as clearly as you do, and is likely smarter than you. If he has no welcome in these walls, then neither do I."
"Peace, Adelbard," a new voice said. The door that opened for Adelbard and his escorts now opened for a new figure, and it took only a second to see how the guards bowed for Taylor to know this was Lord Stark himself.
Edwyle Stark appeared to be a vital man in his thirties with a thick black beard braided to a point, and a head full of wild black hair. Ice-blue eyes regarded her intently. He wore mail over wool, with an arming sword at his waist. His boots were muddy leather, with more mud about the cuffs of his pants. He looked less like a noble lord and more like a professional soldier. To her bifrost eyes his soul looked like a block of granite–unyielding and strong.
"The Lord Commander speaks very poorly of you, Telos of the Trees," the man said. "Though Maester Aemon appears more generous."
"Dear Aemon is a kind, curious soul. Adrick is an ass. That's why it rains on him every time he enters my forest, but not on Aemon. Even if they travel side-by-side."
Her utter lack of deference made Adelbard stutter and some of the new soldiers bristle. Amory didn't even flinch.
Neither, for that matter, did Edwyle. Instead, he studied Flurry. "A magnificent creature," he said. "I've heard that wargs still walk among the Wildlings."
"I'm no warg. Flurry accompanies me of his own free will. I saved him from a bad hunt, and he has been my dearest companion since then. If he has no welcome here, then neither do I."
The lord of the castle took one long step toward the direwolf. His men shouted in concern, but Flurry just looked at the man in curious interest, then at Taylor. He growl-whined.
"He likes you," Taylor translated. "You smell braver than your men."
"He didn't even flinch," Stark said. He sounded amazed.
"He is no mere best. His mind is sharp. Inhuman, but very intelligent."
Edwyle turned his gaze back to her. "You do not speak nor act like a wildling. I heard you say you were the daughter of a queen, the granddaughter of a king. Who, if I might ask?"
"My mother was Freya, Queen of Asgard and Princess of the Vanir. My father was Kratos, son of Zeus, King of Olympus. Both lands are so far away as to no longer exist. And so I am here, alone. The weirwoods have welcomed me as their kin, and the people of the forest as their own. I am of the Free Folk."
"And you wear a blindfold but can see."
"The blindfold is not for me, Lord Stark."
The man quirked his lips, but from the absence of lines on his face she suspected it was as much a smile as he would ever give. "I was told that you do not heal for free. If you were to heal my son, what price would you ask of me?"
"A strong breeding stallion for my ride home, and as many books from your library as I can carry in my arms."
The answer raised a brow. Adelbard made a strange whimpering sound. "You have long arms, my lady, and our library is not so large," Lord Stark noted. "Nor are my stables so full. You wouldn't rather have gold or silver? Jewels? Steel?"
"You can't eat gold, Lord Stark, and a weapon is only as good as the mind wielding it."
He regarded her intently. "Can you heal my son?"
"There is only one way to find out, Lord Stark. And just as I expect payment for my services, I would ask for nothing if I cannot."
"You believe you can do what fifteen other maesters and heals from across the Narrow Sea can do?"
She shrugged. "Ask your Lord Commander friend about things I can do that others cannot."
Lord Stark looked to the old Maester, who shrugged. "In truth, my lord, I have no better option. I have known Maester Aemon for nigh on ten years, and I've yet to hear him write or speak a lie. He believes she can."
Stark regarded her again. "Very well. A stallion and riding gear. But no more than five books."
From his soul, she realized with a numb shock that the books were more valuable than the stallion. "Of my choice?"
"With some exceptions, yes. There are some books we must have."
"Very well, Lord Stark. Let's go heal your son."
With their agreement sealed, Stark turned and led them out of the kennel enclosure and into a larger courtyard. They turned almost immediately, though, into the side door of a wood and stone building. Few of the denizens of the castle who were going about their daily tasks had a chance to see them.
The new building appeared to be a long, low-ceilinged guest house of two levels, narrow enough that solid wood beams supported the second floor. The hall they walked through was narrow and lined with old, exquisite tapestries of past hunts or battles, all made with exaggerated, primitive figures and animals.
A woman waited for them outside the fifth door down. She was a stout woman–wide bodied without being fat, with a strong chin and sharp, intelligent eyes a shade lighter than her husband's. She wore a heavy damask-silk dress woven through with stylized wolves. Black hair was held back by a wimple, though a single sapphire hung on a golden clasp over her forehead.
She curtseyed to Stark. "Lord Husband. This is the wildling the Lord Commander spoke of?"
The woman's distant courtesy to her husband was as genuine as her disdain for Taylor. Looking at the two of them, Taylor wondered if they hardly even spoke before conceiving their son. There was no love nor even mild affection at all between them, though at least Taylor saw some signs of respect.
"So it is," Stark said. "The Lady Telos of the Trees. My Lady Wife, Marna."
Taylor turned her blindfolded face to the shorter woman. "The sapphire is lovely, Lady Marna."
The compliment obviously threw the woman off balance, believing as she did that Taylor was blind. With a look at her husband, Lady Marna Stark opened the door before them.
Within, in a room lit only by a few oil lamps and a cold fireplace sat a young, gangly boy. He sat at a wood writing desk reading a small book. When he looked up at them in surprise, Taylor drew in a breath as her bifrost eyes showed the depth and nature of his illness. She stomped across the room, causing the boy to stand in alarm when Flurry followed after.
Taylor stood her staff on the floor and grabbed one of his bandage wrapped arms. "What is this curse called?"
"The disease is called…". Adelbard stopped mid-sentence when he bounced off Taylor's unmoving, upright staff. He stuttered a moment, looking from the staff, to Flurry, and finally to his liege lord. He found his voice again. "Grayscale. It is called Grayscale. It is a disease that hails from southern Essos across the Narrow Sea. It spreads slowly across the body, converting flesh to stone, until it strikes the brain and renders the patient mad. A most dreadful disease."
"Not a disease," Taylor said. The spite and dark magic that went into the creation of the blasphemy of a disease for some reason infuriated her. "This is a curse." She waved her hand and asked for the air to assist. The shuttered windows blew open; the empty fireplace roared to life as Taylor dragged the poor boy to a pool of light near the fire.
She ignored the startled yelp from Lady Stark over the display and concentrated on the woman's son.
At first glance, the raised welts looked almost like hives with rough, almost stone like lesions in their center. But under her magical vision, she could see a minuscule field of fungal growth–of a cursed mycelium laced with dark magic that spread under the skin as the outer fungal layer blossomed. It was horrible to look at.
"Are…are you a witch?" The boy, Rickard Stark, stuttered from the strange event of her arrival, and the discomfort of the disease spreading on his neck.
"Not a witch, no," she said absently. "Lord Stark, you have a godswood. We need to take the boy there. Are there any other infected?"
"Four others from Winter Town," Lord Stark said. "They have been isolated."
"Bring them," Taylor commanded. "I'll not allow this curse to linger in any land I walk in."
"And shall you receive a stallion and books for them as well?"
Taylor straightened to meet the dour man's gaze. "My price is to heal your son. The others are because this curse offends me, and I shall not have it in any continent I walk on. The curse is magical, Lord Stark. It is a curse meant to kill. It will find a way to change, and will go from being a slow disease to a lethal plague if enough people are nearby. Come, Rickard. Let's go get you healed."
She continued to lead the boy by his wrist. Stark gave a few orders and Amory went to fetch the other sick people. Taylor, meanwhile, left the room, walked two doors down and then turned left toward the Godswood.
"How do you know where the Godswood is, m'lady?" Rickard sounded frightened, but she could also hear hope in his question.
"The god tree told me."
The weirwood proved to sit in the middle of a sizable copse of trees. The air within the space was surprisingly warm; she looked and saw people bathing in hot springs set up against castle walls that felt older than most. It was the great white tree rising from the center of the space that pulled her attention, though.
They climbed through the root-entangled ground until they reached the massive, red-leafed tree. "Please remove your shirt and sit against the tree, Rickard," she said. The boy did so only after a nod from his father. Doing so revealed the extent of the fungal curse across his arms, shoulders, chest and neck.
Moments later, four people bundled in old rags like lepers were led in by Amory and two other Stark men. Taylor saw that they were even more advanced in their illness. "All of you, disrobe and sit with your backs to the weirwood. You will be cured and made whole today."
The one woman and girl among the four was hesitant–Taylor simply directed them to the far side of the tree. They were so deeply infected they could not keep anything on–the curse had spread all over. The two men were so far gone in pain they didn't care–soon the five of them sat with their bare backs to the tree. Taylor gathered their garments to burn.
"Adelbard, can I get an iron cauldron, please? The size of a water pale should do. Fill it half full with clean water."
While the cauldron was being fetched, Taylor touched her hand to the tree and briefly merged with its power. Just like White Tree, the god spirit within recognized Rickard as its own. It agreed without hesitation to help her heal the boy, and almost immediately sap began to flow from its carved face.
"Gods," Stark whispered. He stared at the fresh flowing sap in wonder.
"Yes," Taylor said without looking at him. "There is only one weirwood, Lord Stark. One great tree that straddles the world, though its spirit is endless. They protect you against evil you don't even know; they cherish you and your ancestors. They will help your son and your people, through me."
A soldier arrived with the cauldron. Taylor placed the heavy thing on the pile of discarded clothing. With a whisper, fire erupted from underneath it as the clothes and the spores within them burned. The water boiled almost immediately as Taylor took the raw, fresh red sap in her hands. With Vanir cant, she cast her most powerful healing protections into it. The potent magic of the sap accepted her spell, magnifying it tenfold until it was more powerful even than Idunn's apple. Such was the power of the native gods in their own lands.
Gold-green flame danced from her fingers as she sprinkled the super-charged magic into the cauldron. The boiling water instantly cooled into a thick red gel.
"Stand, Rickard," Taylor said. The boy stood, and Taylor slathered the gel across every infected spot, as well as the expanding mycelium under the visible sores.
"It's cold!"
"It will burn shortly," Taylor said. "When it burns like fire, run to the springs and wash it off. Then you'll be healed."
His eyes widened as he stared at her while she finished slathering it on. He was the least infected, so he took the least amount of time.
"Can I help administer the unguent, my lady?" Adelbard stared at it in fascination. To his mortal eyes, Taylor realized it was likely glowing.
"Only if you would like it to dissolve your hands, Maester," Taylor said.
"You have no such concern for yourself?" Stark said.
Suddenly Rickard yelped and sprinted toward the hot springs.
"I'm in no danger," Taylor said as she motioned one of the highly infected men to stand. He hurt so badly he didn't even notice a young woman slathering his whole body in a glowing red cream. By the time she moved to the second man, the first was already screaming as he ran toward the hotspring.
By the time Taylor finished with the woman and daughter, exhausting the powerful unguent in the process, Rickard had returned whole and cured. "Mother! Father!"
She could see where the potion burned his skin, leaving it red and raw, but all trace of the curse was gone.