"I can't sleep," Tristan said through bleary eyes and muggy thoughts.
"Not if you won't lie down, my lord," Elmar insisted. His squire was frantic and alarmed, riding at Tristan's side.
That wasn't what Tristan meant when he said he couldn't sleep. Elmar thought he was unable to sleep, no Tristan couldn't let himself sleep. It came every night, and better days of mist and weariness than nights running from a crow looking to consume him. A little longer, only a little longer now. "We keep going," he said. Gods but it took almost all he had to make it sound like an order. He had pushed his squire hard, but they were almost there now, they could make it by nightfall, he knew.
Shield remained at his side, and had ever since he came rushing back to Stone Hedge, Tristan couldn't send him away to tame the wolves of the Riverlands anymore, he needed him, the warmth of him, the presence, for those few moments he could close his eyes, he knew it was Shield that kept the crow away.
At least his warriors were not seeing him like this. He had kept them at his side as long as possible, before telling them an urgent summons drew him away and giving them their orders to continue pacifying the troubled riverlands. If they saw him deteriorate further then word would reach Robb, maybe even further, perhaps Martyn and Raymond would reconsider swearing to him and seek a new lord to serve. No, it was best this way, the uncertainty of the unknown over the certainty of weakness.
They emerged onto the beach in the fading sunlight. "My lord!" Elmar said, alarmed. Tristan's focus snapped, his hand drifting to his sword belt, the swimming world hardening into a solid vision of sand and shifting waters reflecting orange. The God's Eye, in all its majesty. At the moment, his warriors were circling it, one group to the east commanded by Martyn, another by Raymond in the west, they were to bring the king's banner to every town and village they came across and meet at the other side.
But Tristan did not look to see if he could see them, see the fading sun glinting off plate or lance tip, for three boats were pulled up on the beach, and before each of them stood one of the Green Men. "He made it," one of them said, sounding surprised.
"Cregan said he would," said the one in front of the middle boat, stepping forward. "Prince Tristan, it's good to see you again."
"And you as well…" he replied, he recognised the man, but the name faded into the mist of his mind. He dismounted, placed his foot badly and stumbled.
Elmar was at his side in an instant and helped him right himself. The middle green man whom Tristan could not recall stepped up and looked at him. "Good gods man, it's worse than Cregan made it out to be." He turned to the others. "Take the horses, we need to move, quickly."
"Take them where?" Tristan asked, but the other men stood up and took the horses by the bridles.
There had been no horses on the Isle of Faces, but the green men spoke ancient words and neither Tristan nor Elmar's horses resisted as they were guided to the boats and stepped inside, as if in a trance. "Come, prince Tristan."
"How did you do that?"
The green man took him by the arm. "We know old ways," he said simply. "Now come," he lead the way to the boat. "Even for us, it is not wise to cross the god's eye during the night." Tristan sat on the wooden bench and Elmar sat beside him, the green man opposite. As the three boats pulled across the lake, Tristan glanced around, looking up at the sky. "Where are you?" He breathed, scanning for black feathers, straining his ears for dark cries. No, don't look for it. He looked instead to the other boats, marvelling at the horses standing completely still. If not for the flutter of their manes, he would think them made of wood or stone. When the boats slid into the sand of the Green Isle, the horses leapt out as though nothing they were skipping a stream and made for the grassy areas up the beach. More of the green men were on the beach, but only regarded the horses with mild amusement before returning to their conversation.
Except for one.
"Tristan!"
Malissa tore across the sand and slammed into him as he got out of the boat. If Elmar hadn't caught him he would have fallen in the surf. She looked up at him and grinned. "Cregan said you were coming, I missed you!"
"I… missed you too, Malissa," he said, struggling to form the words. "Is Cregan here?"
She looked hurt at his reply. "Not here," the green man who had rowed them over said, getting out of the boat behind him. "Malissa, see to young Elmar here."
"I'm staying with my lord," Elmar insisted.
The green man bristled and retorted, but Elmar refused to change his position. "So be it," the green man said finally, throwing his arms up in surrender. "Malissa, take Tristan and Elmar to the clearing." He looked at Tristan. "I will see to your horses."
"This way," Malissa said, taking Tristan by the hand and leading him up through the trees.
Cregan was sat cross-legged in front of a great weirwood, green hood up, eyes closed, white weirwood staff resting across his knees. "Cregan," Tristan rasped, stumbling forwards.
Cregan's eyes opened and he smiled, kindness etched in every line of his face. "At last, come here," he gestured to the ground in front of him.
He went to his knees before the old master. "Cregan, I need your help."
"What you need," Cregan said calmly, "is to sleep."
"But-"
Cregan placed his hand on Tristan's forehead and guided him to the ground. "Sleep now."
"I can't."
"Nothing will trouble you. Not here, under the protection of the gods. Malissa, the covers." He wanted to rise, to protest, but the soft ground of the forest was too inviting. Malissa passed Cregan a soft bundle, which he flourished out to reveal a heavy coverlet which he draped over Tristan's form. "Sleep," Cregan said again, resting his hand on Tristan's forehead. "I will watch over you."
"But-"
"Hush now, sleep," Cregan insisted, never raising his voice.
And Tristan did, his head lolling back against the mossy ground, his eyes closing and untroubled sleep at last fell upon him.
When he opened his eyes he took a deep breath and stared up at the canopy above him with no need or desire to do anything. The sky was blue and clear and the song of thrushes in the air. He raised his hand before him, stretching out to the sky.
"Awake, are you?"
He turned his head. "Cregan."
Cregan was walking towards him, the base of his staff tapping the ground, a clay bowl in the other hand. At the sight of the bowl and the steam rising from it, Tristan's belly growled.
"How long did I sleep?"
"Two nights, and the day in between," Cregan said, passing the bowl to him, filled with a warm, light broth. "And I think you needed every minute of it."
Tristan didn't answer, for he was already consuming the broth. When he had finished, Cregan was sat opposite him, cross-legged again, with the staff again across his knees. He had so many questions he needed to ask. Where was Elmar and the horses, and Malissa, being foremost among them, but Cregan spoke before he could.
"Now that you've rested. Why don't you tell me all about this crow."
"You know about it?" Tristan breathed.
"A little."
"Can you stop it?" He whispered.
"Not until I know more about it. Speak."
And he did, he told Cregan of his dreams and of seeing the crow through Shield's eyes, how it tore at him in his sleep and haunted every waking hour. Through it all, Cregan simply listened. When Tristan was done Cregan waited for too many long moments, thinking. "It is as I feared," he said finally.
"What do you mean?"
"You are not alone in seeing this crow. There are others across these Seven Kingdoms who have found it in their dreams. I myself have seen it from here."
"Here!"
He nodded gravely. "Yes, whoever this crow is, it knows not to challenge us here, but I see its shadow."
Tristan swallowed, focussing on one word that Cregan had said. "Whoever?"
"Yes. There is another out there who has awakened their eye. And for some reason, they have fixed it on you."
"Why? Why me?" All the people I have killed, perhaps?
"I do not know, but whoever it is their power is great, but untrained."
"Why do you say that?"
"When you hunt, do you attempt to draw attention to your prey?" Cregan said simply.
Tristan nodded. "So what do I do?"
Cregan smiled at him. "You rest, and then we hunt."
After a day of rest and exercise, where Tristan introduced Elmar to the green men and he spoke for long hours with Malissa, the clearing was prepared. Malissa laid out two circles of broken Weirwood branches, one for Tristan and one for Cregan. Elmar helped her. Shield sat at Tristan's side and a wide ward of green men surrounded the clearing. Over them loomed the weirwood tree.
Cregan took a breath and sat in the circle of branches, his face serene, his staff across his knees.
"Is this a good idea?" Tristan asked as he sat opposite Cregan. "I've only had one good sleep."
"I wouldn't want to risk more. Whoever this crow is, he has his eye on you and has for a long time, while on this island, you have been out of sight and mind. I don't want him suspecting a trap when he sees you again."
Elmar and one of the green men both stepped forward holding clay bowls. HIs squire adapted well to being on this island, and all its strangeness. Tristan took the bowl, filled with a thick, red fluid. "Thank you Elmar."
"Be safe, my lord," Elmar implored him before stepping away.
"Shield," Cregan commanded, and Shield padded over to Tristan curling around him. "He will be your anchor, hold onto him." Tristan nodded, weaving the fingers of his claw into Shield's fur. "Are you ready?"
Tristan nodded. "Then let us see who hunts you." And as one, they drank.
They slept into a field of mist and shade, pale grass half a man tall stretched as far as they could see. He looked around to get his bearings and nodded. "Let's go Shield," he said and they walked. Cregan was nowhere to be seen, but he would come when the crow did, they had discussed it all. Tristan looked around and saw more strangeness with every step. The grass was uniform, every blade the same height, when a gust blew they bended all as one. There were no trees or bushes or beasts or birds, no mountains or hills, no sound of the sea or smell of flowers, just grass and grass. Even looking to the horizon, the world was flat, with no curving of the earth.
Shield felt none of this. Tristan could sense his protective rage as he sniffed the ground, looking for any sign of the crow that tried to hurt them. It was there, Tristan knew it, he could feel it on the back of his neck, like the shadow of an axe ready to fall.
He wanted to look up in defiance, but forced himself to look down. He was not here to issue a challenge, a challenge might be refused. He needed to be weak, he needed to become prey. And so he ran. Even in this otherworld of dreams, he began to tire, his breath came heavy and when his chest burned he finally came to a halt, panting heavily before turning his eyes to the sky.
The crow emerged from the sky. Its shape was faded, like it wasn't really there, but it lowered through the sky lazily, black eyes fixed on Tristan. As it fell it shrank in size, from a wingspan that would cover continents until, by the time it landed it was only as large as a man. It regarded Tristan hungrily, opened its mouth and let out a shriek of delight, of a hunted that had run its prey down and was ready to toy with it. Come on Cregan Tristan thought. The crow stalked forwards with no rush, for it felt it had all the time in the world.
A second cry split the sky, a cry of defiance and power and both Tristan and the crow looked up as an owl descended shimmering gold and alighted on the ground as Cregan, white staff in his hand, standing between Tristan and the crow. "Enough, crow," Cregan said, planting his staff on the ground. "You will come no further. This is not your mind, and you have no right to be here."
The crow cackled and took another step. "This mind is under my protection, continue your approach at your peril."
Cregan spoke as if he understood the crow, each sentence a response to a statement Tristan could not hear.
"What claim have you on this mind? What is your design here?"
The crow's reply was a shriek and a scream rolled into one.
"I will not forsake my charge, leave!" Cregan said.
The crow grew, it loomed and towered over them as it continued to shriek ungodly cries.
But with each cry Tristan began to perceive what was being said. He understood more than heard individual words amongst the cacophony.
"Just because you saw this mind does not make it yours." Cregan's voice was calm, measured.
"...fly…feast…"
"Find your sustenance elsewhere, no ammount of daring will bring you what you seek." Cregan replied, having heard more than Tristan.
With every sentence, Tristan heard more words, perceived more meaning.
"Stop me… cannot… mine!"
With that a huge gust of wind tore through the grass, ripping it up in tufts and streams scattering it around them. Shield leapt in front of Tristan and broke the wind, letting it pass around him with knifing sharpness. Cregan drove his staff into the ground and the wind settled, the grass falling back to earth and slotting each blade back where it had been as if nothing had happened at all. "Your power is great, but untrained and made foul by your dark purpose. In the name of the Old Gods, I command your egress."
The crow, as large as a dragon, it's eye gleaming black and red opened its mouth and at last Tristan heard a full sentence, the voice that spoke it terrible and terrifying. "Your gods will not stop me, they have no power!"
"They do," Cregan said, his voice utterly calm. "And I do. You were warned."
Cregan raised his hand and the gale took up again, but this time tore towards the crow. Where the first storm had been wild and furious, tearing across the entire dreamfield, this one was focused rage, driven at the crow so much so that Tristan hardly felt it, and it was not the only weapon that Cregan had. Shadows leapt from the grass in the shapes of beasts great and tall, lions and wolves and foxes and fish, little mice to great elks and antelope, every beast that had ever been seen by a weirwood's eyes, raised from the grass and flew at the crow, savaging it. Black blood rained down from the wounds torn in the crow. But it staggered forward, trying to push forward, but unable to do so, as though Cregan had raised a pane of glass between them. Cregan's expression never changed, he simply stared at the crow as more beasts, dragons and unicorns and harpies joined the menagerie attacking the crow, which tried desperately to cast them off. Tristan watched open-mouthed as the crow tried to recoil, tried to flee having realised it was outmatched, but Cregan's shadow army kept going and held it fast, locking the crow in place. The crow and Cregan locked eyes, Tristan forgotten on the grass below. Cregan raised his staff and it gleamed and shone a brilliant white. When it burned so bright all shadow faded, Cregan bent his arm back and hurled the staff, which struck the crow as a bolt of lightning.
The crow shattered, each feather shimmering into a smaller crow and each of those broke into yet smaller corws until the last of them fled as dust motes on the gale and Tristan and Cregan were left alone on the grassy field.
"What was that?" Tristan gasped.
Cregan turned to him, his staff back in his hand. "A conversation best not had here. Come." He held out his hand. Tristan took it and when Cregan pulled him up he pulled him out of the dream and back into the waking world.