(Pyke: 4/20/299) Ivory III

As she lingered near the brook, feeling lighter than air, the all too familiar metallic taste of blood sat upon her tongue. Confused at her surroundings, Ivory stared up towards the starless heavens, staring at the yawning blackness undulating across the endless sky. The impenetrable veil, black and ominous, was disturbed only by the silver gleam of a crescent moon. At the back of her mind, beyond her memories of hardship and suffering, a fell chant repeated endlessly.

"N'gha, n'gha, n'gha," it intoned, in a guttural fashion. The very words themselves, sounding ancient beyond measure, and eerily familiar.

"Death, death, death," she repeated absently, as her mind sifted through the foul pall that had befallen it.

As the ungodly tune echoed throughout the vast expanses of her consciousness, Ivory felt a conversant shadow lingering just out of the corner of her vision. She could feel its primordial gaze upon her as she lingered by the stream. Turning quickly, she spied nothing but shadow in the dark wood before her. The steady trickle of a calm stream, served only to heighten her unrest.

"Where am I?" she asked the unwelcome presence. Hearing nothing but the wind sifting through the leaves and branches of the trees, she sneered at the shadows of the wood. "I know you're there…" she clenched her fist, and bared what teeth she had. "Come out, damn you!" Ivory roared, before she found her attentions peeled away from the wood and across water to the opposite bank. Just beyond the trees, she spotted the soft golden glow of campfires, and an ever nearing spot of torchlight stalking through the underbrush.

"Mgr'luh," the voice whispered.

"See? See what?" she hissed, as she stared at the point of light. A cool breeze swirled around her, causing her to shiver and draw in her arms, before feeling bare flesh upon flesh. Looking down, she realized the naked state of her body, and grimaced at the scars, and the bruises, and the burns. "Is this what you wanted me to see, because I've seen enough of this," Ivory pulled her eyes away from her hideous body.

"Gn'thor," it droned, ignoring her words.

"Water? Eh?" she mocked, intent on paying it no heed, until she felt her feet begin moving of their own accord. Try as she might, Ivory could not resist whatever profane power had compelled her forward. Once she neared the softly flowing waters, she felt a deep chill beginning to creep into her bones. Hovering just above the water's edge, she peered down onto a pristine mirror-like surface, and discovered a strange version of her own ugly reflection staring back at her. A reflection which bore a sinister grin, and a scarred face with a black void for a left eye.

"Look closer," she could see it mouth.

Gazing deeper into the murky depths of the river, she saw something writhing and slithering just beneath its still waters. Hypnotic to the eyes, it was, and nearly unseen, save from her own. As ripples began to dance upon the unbroken surface, she realized just how much the sight had reminded her of the pit within Pyke, and the creatures therein. Instinctively, she drew back, expecting something to emerge but finding nothing forthcoming. As she stood there, pondering her place within what she presumed was a nightmare, Ivory began to feel a sudden throbbing at the left side of her head.

"Ugh," she groaned, as she lifted her hands and cradled her head. The effort to dull the pain, proving futile, she grit her teeth in preparation for the pain she knew was coming. Yet before it could, the sounds of snapping twigs pulled her attentions to the opposite side of the riverbank where she had earlier seen signs of flickering torchlight.

"I don't trust the waters, Urlan," a voice muttered uncertainly amidst the crunching undergrowth. "You heard what happened to the army by Stone Hedge?"

"Yes, I heard," another voice sighed in seeming exasperation. "Those are Lannister lies, Kyden. Everyone knows the Kingslayer's scouts were seen right before the camp was destroyed. I'm certain its merely some plot by the old lion, or the Kingslayer, to make us fear them," a slim man replied, as he emerged from the shadows of the trees, trailed by a fatter man with crooked teeth. "They're wasting time stealing away in the dark, when they should be running for the hills. The northerners, and those fire sorcerers, are putting the Westerlands to the torch. It's only a matter of time before this war is over, and the lions are surrounded and killed."

"Do you truly think so?" the fat man's eyes shimmered in the moonlight, the fear evident within their widened gaze. In the gloom, she could hear the sound of chainmail beneath cloth, but not which colors they wore. "I heard their bodies were never found. I heard that their tents were cut to shreds!"

"Animals then," the man named Urlan answered, brandishing two large waterskins as he did so. "And once this war is done we can see if all this fuss about the Others returning is true. Lord Stark is trustworthy and honorable, but the firewoman? She's…a mystery. A dangerous mystery if the Baratheon girl gives us any sign of her mother's strength," the man quietly muttered the last.

"But, that was a force of five-thousand! How did none manage to escape? How…" Kyden began, only to be interrupted by the thin man.

"Oh, by the seven, stop with your moaning, Kyden!" Urlan snapped. "I'll not hold your hand, while we are getting water, again," he continued as he moved to kneel by the bank.

A soft gurgling sound, emanating from somewhere behind the men, caused the round man to turn his back to his companion. "What was that?" he whimpered.

"It's just your mind playing tricks on you," the reedy man replied, without so much as a glance back.

As Kyden stared out into the woods, Ivory could only imagine what forms the shadows had taken before his beady eyes. Whatever it was he saw, Ivory did not, because she bore witness to something far more tangible than mere ghosts in the woods. As Urlan filled his water skin, the surface of the river seemed to boil, temporarily confusing the slender man before a figure with oily-black skin sprang forth and dragged him under. Beneath the moonlight, she saw the dark water turn slightly darker, before it quieted.

"Urlan?" the fat man spun quickly on his heels, and upon seeing no trace of his friend, save an abandoned waterskin near the bank, his next words had cracked with fear. "Urlan?!" he quivered, his eyes growing wider than ever.

Before he could raise alarm, a figure with bulbous eyes reflecting the light of the moon, emerged from the woods behind him. Having apparently smelt its fetid presence, the man named Kyden turned quickly, but had no chance to scream. For a clawed hand had raked off the lower part of his jaw, in an instant, leaving nothing but bits of dangling sinew, a shredded tongue, and the quiet gurgling of a man currently shitting himself in fear. She watched in horror, as the man's fat hands frantically grasped at the gaping wound at his neck, which quickly turned them and his surcoat dark with blood. Before he could stumble forward, or fall upon his knees, the creature from the wood seized hold of him and opened it still disturbingly hidden maw. Wide, did the hungering abyss of its mouth grow, before it clamped down around the fat man's bloody neck and tore away his head. Ivory stood dumbfounded at the sight, having never seen such a thing on Pyke.

'What purpose does that serve,' she wondered with grim curiosity, as she watched the fishman swallow the head whole like a frog swallowing a fly. In the moonlit gloom, Ivory could see the round bulge of the man's head creeping down the thing's throat, before disappearing completely within the monster's stomach. The slick figure stood soundlessly beneath the moonlight, holding the headless corpse like a broken toy. It twitched suddenly, as its wet black skin glistened under the glimmering moon. After a moment, the creature carried the body closer to the edge of the stream, holding it as if it had weighed no more than an infant. Slowly, it lowered the lifeless body beneath the murky waters, causing the river to suddenly flare into unholy life. As its clawed hands emerged from the brook, the dark waters became ever darker, before falling unnervingly silent.

Standing at the bank of the creek, a familiar slurping sound emanated from the mannish figure standing in the gloom. "Rivermen, sleeping. Lions, near. Come," it croaked, raising its hands, and pointing somewhere past the trees to where the orange glow of campfires could be seen. Shivering, she realized that its gulping voice had sounded uncomfortably similar to the round man whose head it had just consumed. One by one, she saw as the wide heads of the creatures from the pit of Pyke, arose from the water, until the entire breadth of the stream appeared as a nothing more than a bumpy path along a dimly lit road. After the whole of their number had surfaced, the fishmen stalked out of the waters without a sound, before vanishing into the woods and towards the soft glow of the campfires beyond.

After the last of the fishmen had left her sight, Ivory shot up in a start, finding her sheets soaked in a cold sweat. In-between shallow breaths, Ivory remembered the terror behind the eyes of the fat man, as vividly as she would have had they been her own. The sides of her head pulsed, and she felt a warmth trickling down her nose and lips. Reaching up to her mouth, she tasted iron, and stared at her blood-soaked palm. There she sat, upon the uncomfortable bed, gazing dumbly at her hand and watching as drops of blood continued to strike her forearm.

"Fuck," she spat in sudden realization, before reaching over for a spare bit of cloth at her bedside and stuffing it up her nose. After a short time, the pain at her head had grown nearly unbearable, and she clenched her teeth once more. Rising from her seated position, still cradling her head, Ivory felt her legs give out from under her, causing her to immediately collapse onto the thin carpet surrounding her bed. As her knees hit the floor, she heard a loud pop, and bit back a yelp of agony.

"Godsdammit!" she cursed through gritted teeth. Reflexively, she grasped at her knees, feeling the pain as it radiated throughout her legs. Eyeing the side of her bed, Ivory slid over to it and pressed her back against the disheveled furs and cushions left dangling along its edge. Gradually, the pulsating soreness began to subside, and as it did so she found herself staring out of the small window near the length of her bed. Shining high in the night sky, she saw the same crescent moon from her dream, and frowned.

"What are you doing tonight, Greyjoy? Is what I saw of your make?" she questioned no one, as she rubbed her knees to further assuage the dull ache within them. The persistent throbbing of her head had seemingly receded with her fall, and she found herself being thankful for that. Hesitantly, she rose to her feet, hearing a soft crack midway through her rise.

"Ah," she winced. After briefly testing the tenderness of her knees, she started pacing around the room, and though the night was dark, the restless had set in. Finding herself unable to return to sleep, she glided over to the enormous chest of iron and old wood sitting at the end of her bed. After clicking open its latch, Ivory rummaged through its contents in search of appropriate wear, before discovering a simple black eye patch stitched with a strange design. "What is this?" she stared at the thing, turning it over in her hands and feeling a certain weightiness to it. "Meh," she shrugged, tossing it aside. After several minutes of navigating the mess of objects and cloth strewn about within the old chest, Ivory finally discovered what she needed. "This should do," she affirmed, staring at the crimson tunic, dark brown pants, and thick leather belt with scabbard, now held aloft in her hands. Once she set them down across her bed, Ivory began to hurriedly remove her sleeping rags, intent on slipping into the tunic and pants before anyone could see her naked body. When she had been fully clothed, Ivory fastened the belt around her waist, completing the ensemble. "Better than nothing," she said to herself, as she stared at her reflection in the grimy mirror. Reaching over to small table at her bedside, she grabbed a small curved dagger left to her by the red priestess Melisandre. "And at least you have some use," Ivory muttered, eyeing the curiously fashioned blade with the golden hilt shaped in the likeness of a dragon and the heart-shaped ruby embedded at its center. Looking at her long-haired reflection once more she told herself, "Too long." Taking a handful of her silvery-white locks, she held them in a tight grip and sheared them off with the exceedingly sharp edge of the gilded dagger. After ensuring she had given her hair a proper cut, Ivory secured the knife into the scabbard on her belt and inched quietly to the door, placing focused ear to its wooden surface. Hearing nothing but the hollow stillness of drippy damp halls and burning torchlight, she gently opened the door and scanned the length of the hall leading to her room. "Hello?" she muttered softy. "Hmmm…" Ivory hummed, narrowing her eyes. As soon as several minutes of silence had passed she stepped forward, head snapping to and fro and spying nary a servant, monster, or otherwise. 'Nothing, not even so much as a damned insect trilling in the blackness,' she observed. The hall was empty to her sight, and yet strangely, as Ivory stood there she could still fell a set of eyes upon her. Shivering at the feeling, she stole along the hall, finding its unnatural tranquility nauseating. Long did she skulk, among the shadowy torchlight, with her companion of wet stone beneath tiny feet. Her keen ears, ever on the alert for even the faintest of sounds, had given her nothing as she scoured the empty castle. After hours of discovering only empty rooms and dead ends, it dawned on her that whatever servants and guards had been present earlier in the day had seemingly vanished into the ether. "Where in seven-hells is everyone?" she whispered to herself, as she peeked around the corner of the hall leading to the main hall of Pyke and to where the pit lie. Before she could come to the set of iron doors leading to the great hall, a hand touched her shoulder.

"Ahh!" she yelped, brandishing her blade at the pale woman with red hair at her back, and raising it her neck. Seeing the shadow-binder, she relaxed her arm somewhat. "Don't ever do that to me again, witch," Ivory accidently shouted the first, before realizing the necessity of silence. Standing there in the quiet, she heard her voice resonate down the halls, and was greeted only with an unsettling calmness. "You?" she turned, hairs on end. "What are you doing here? I nearly killed you!" she barked.

Smiling softly, the red woman replied, "Following you. It is unsafe to traverse these halls at night, my Princess."

"Hmph. Really? You do not seem all too concerned," Ivory sniffed, lowering her blade.

"R'hllor protects me," Melisandre closed her eyes with a smile, seemingly taking in the torchlight lining the halls.

"I'm sure he does," she groaned, rolling her eyes, before sliding the blade back into its scabbard.

"One day the warmth of his being will enter into your heart and steel you and your descendants against the coming darkness," the priestess countered with a soft gaze.

"Descendants? Unlikely," she snorted, recalling the hot prongs, before glaring at the woman. Spying no one over her shoulder, nor behind the woman in red, she asked "Where is everyone? Where is Euron, what has he done? What do your precious flames tell you?"

"The deceiver has sent five ships to confirm the fate of Lord Balon," the Asshai witch declared. "But not in the manner in which the Crow's Eye had expected."

"Hah," she laughed at her monstrous abductor's misfortune. "And what did he expect? For the Demoness to come to the Islands trussed and hooded? To be delivered to him upon a platter?"

"I'm sure that would have been ideal for he and the dark power he conspires with. But the light of R'hllor sets its own path, burning through the deceitful trails of others. Even those created by things hidden within the darkest of shadows," a knowing look came upon crimson eyes, followed by the gentlest of smiles.

"Stop looking at me like that," she growled, distrusting the look of grins upon the faces of others.

"My apologies, Princess," Melisandre said with a bow. "King Euron has craved iron ships for some time. Yet it is the jelly substance, said to be nestled within their metal holds, that draws him the most. However, none will come. Not by ship, nor by land, and neither will siege be laid upon the port of lions as he had wished."

"Certainly not with five wooden ships, they wouldn't, and what jelly?"

"I know not its properties, Princess. I know only that Euron seeks it," Melisandre asserted, staring at her with only the slightest bit of doubt clouding her disturbingly scarlet eyes. "And I would also urge you to be cautious when attempting to divine the true nature of the false one's designs. For R'hllor has illuminated the truth to me."

"What truth?"

"That the Great Other directs Azula's hand," the woman stared into the torch at their side. "She believes her schemes her own, but soon enough the truth will be revealed to her, just as it was to me. In time, she will be undone once her source of strength vanishes from the sky."

"The Demoness, undone? Hah! Your vaunted firegod spout to you untruths, priestess," she scoffed, still remembering the fear and power Azula Baratheon had instilled upon her amidst the desolation of Grey Gallows. "She was strong before the bleeding star, and she will remain strong long after," she continued, still unbelieving of the red woman's words.

"She lingers on now only by the power of R'hllor as it streaks across the heavens," crimson eyes peeled away from torchlight, turning to her with an enigmatic smile. "You may not have faith in the power of the flames, my Princess, but in time you will."

"And what of Euron? Is he away?" Ivory questioned, dismissing the woman's minor attempt to turn her towards her strange religion with self-doubt. Setting aside the red woman's words for later, she instead focused on uncovering the whereabouts of her captor.

"He has not been on the Island for several days. He seeks bells in the Riverlands."

"Bells? That's it?" she scrunched her faced, baffled by the statement.

"Bells possessing the power of King's blood," Melisandre stared at her. "The abomination believes it necessary in his bid to return the dragons to the skies. But R'hllor has shown me this is not so. We need only wait, and in time he will meet his end, just as his master will."

"You place far too much trust in your little fires, witch," Ivory snapped at the red woman's continued vagueness.

"They are all I have, and they have not led me astray," she replied softly, the smile never leaving her lips. "Come. There is something you must see," Melisandre urged, offering her hand.

"Why should I follow you?" Ivory scowled, slapping away the proffered hand.

"Why are you awake, if not to do so?" The woman from Asshai grinned, before concealing her pair of delicate hands back beneath the shadows of her crimson cloak. Shifting quietly, Ivory watched as Melisandre turned and move smoothly down the length of the castle's damp halls without a sound.

"Dammit," she grunted, following at the red woman's heels. Before long, Ivory felt the pain at the base of her skull return. Pulsing ever so slightly, she rubbed at her left temple, feeling as though something or someone had been staring through her eyes in that fleeting moment.

Hours had passed until they had finally reached their destination near the northern end of Pyke. With only a single dying torchlight between them, and the blackness of the sea before them, Ivory felt at a loss as to their purpose for being there and what it entailed. "Why did…we travel…so…far from…the castle…just to stare…at the sea?" she huffed with each word, partially out of breath from their trek down from the castle.

"Be patient," the priestess said calmly, smiling as a fell wind blew through her hair. After a moment, the red woman looked up and allowed the pale glow of the moon to illuminate her delicately attractive features.

"Patient?!" Ivory wished to scream, but found herself hindered by the burning deep within her lungs. "Why?! What…" she heaved, feeling the heat within her chest rising with each breath. "What…" Ivory continued, sensing the strength of her voice returning, yet before vociferous anger could be unleashed, she spotted numerous points of light emerging from the directions of the Wyk Islands. Though whether from Old or Great, she could not discern. Steadily, the lights began to grow nearer to the coast of the island upon which they stood. "Are those the servants? Where are they coming from?" she asked without issue, the burning of her lungs having ceased following her pause at the sight of the torch lit boats growing closer.

"From the Island of Old Wyk. King Euron is using them to construct a pit within the bones of Naga," Melisandre looked to her. "It will be a pit far greater in size than the one laying within the bowels of Pyke."

"Why? The one in the castle does not seem to be so lacking in usefulness as to warrant such a massive increase in size," she added, before realizing the truth just as the woman had answered her query.

"He wishes to use it for the dragons," the shadow-binder confirmed.

"But he does not possess dragons, nor is he close to hatching them, if it is as you said," Ivory countered, watching as the boats veered somewhere off to the docks of Pyke and away from their position.

"But he believes he is, and he will not stop now, not until he has what he was promised."

"What you promised him!" she clarified, pointing at the woman. "And what are we to do when he realizes that you cannot give him what he wants? Be tortured?! Die?!" Ivory screeched. "I will not be the plaything of another monster so long as I draw fucking breath! Now that he's not here, I'm leaving!" she turned, heading for the docks.

"And where will you go, Princess, where he cannot find you?" the priestess asked, hands hidden from view. "He has eyes beneath the sea. His creatures will be upon you before you get even an inch away from the island. We need only wait and…"

"No! I had enough waiting to last a lifetime! I'll take my chances," Ivory spat, turning on her heels.

"But I will not," she heard the woman-in-red mutter, before feeling a pinch at the base of her neck.

Suddenly, the sand beneath her feet became fluid and Ivory lost her balance, before collapsing. Flailing uselessly in the sand, she could only watch as the stars swirled in the darkness overhead. As her vision slowly dimmed into a black haze, she spotted the figure of the red witch, and could only curse. "You…fucking…bit…." she slurred, her thoughts focused on why the witch had even brought her out here in the first place.

"You will thank me when this is done, my Princess," Melisandre knelt down by her side. "I promise you," she caressed her cheek.

"Fuck…you…" Ivory forced out, trying to grab at her, before losing consciousness.