Year 102 A.C.
POV: Denovan
"You're not going to attack me, are you?" I murmured, keeping my body still.
The red wolf was static, her amber eyes fixed on me with an intensity that seemed to read my soul. The low growl that had previously vibrated in her chest had ceased, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence.
Beside me, I heard Sigrid's voice, carrying a hint of melancholy. "So... you bound with her?"
"No," I replied, without taking my eyes off the beast. "I didn't do that. I managed to bind with one of the pups inside her... but now, she's staring at me as if she knows exactly what I planted in her womb."
The wolf continued watching us as we slowly retreated toward the cave entrance. To our surprise, she didn't stay behind. With slow, heavy movements due to her prominent belly, she followed us. She walked behind us through the forest trail until the vicinity of the village. The moment the first huts appeared on the horizon, she stopped. She turned around with an almost royal dignity and returned to the safety of the cave's shadows.
'Horus, follow her. Watch over her, my friend.' The hawk swooped down, confirming she had returned to her nest.
The next day, we returned. The trust between us was growing. The approach was easier; I reached the point of being able to extend my hand and feel the coarse, warm texture of her reddish fur. Sigrid, however, didn't have the same luck. Whenever she tried to touch, she received a warning growl that bared sharp teeth. It was already progress, but the wolf clearly saw me as something "different" from her, yet of the same hierarchy.
However, the bonus of my bond began to show its price.
I noticed that the pup I was connected to was growing at an unnatural speed. The wolf, previously capable of hunting and satiating herself for four days, was now voracious. She fed twice in a short interval, and her energy seemed to be being drained. What I feared happened: her body could not withstand the accelerated development of "my" wolf.
That afternoon, premature labor began.
The atmosphere inside the cave was tense. The smell of blood and fluids permeated the cold air. We followed every moment. The first pup to come out was stillborn; it was the smallest of the litter, tiny and fragile, as if it had been consumed from the inside. The other two that came next were alive, but they were extremely weak, barely able to whimper.
Then, he was born.
He was a black blur amidst the straw and blood. While his siblings were minuscule, the black pup was already born twice the size. His eyes were not closed; he opened them immediately, revealing two golden, lucid slits that met mine. He didn't look like a newborn; he looked like a miniature beast, already conscious of his strength.
Looking at the dead pup and the other three struggling to breathe, I felt a weight in my chest. What had I done?
The potential I awakened in that direwolf before he was even born had sucked the life out of his siblings. I had created a wolf with immense potential, but at the cost of a litter. If I had bound to more than one, I probably would have killed the mother wolf in the process. It was a miscalculation, the arrogance of someone who thought magic wouldn't collect its due.
"This must not be repeated... not with mammals," I murmured to myself, while Sigrid helped me clean the surviving pups.
The red wolf, whom Sig now called Scarlet, seemed to understand we were there to help. She became docile, allowing us to care for her offspring. Her exhaustion was visible, but the protective instinct now included us.
I looked at the small black beast in my hands. He tried to bite my finger, already demonstrating an innate aggressiveness. A sideways smile appeared on my face.
"Fenrir," I named him.
The name echoed in the cave. A fitting name for the one who would, one day, be a giant among direwolves.
When we returned to the camp with Scarlet following us and the pups protected in our cloaks, we were greeted by Morn. The warrior's eyes widened, his gaze alternating between the direwolf and the black pup in my arms. He looked like a child before a magic show.
"Truly... the Old Gods bless you, Denovan," he said, keeping a safe distance. "How can a beast share your characteristics as if it were your own blood son?"
Scarlet positioned herself in front of me; she was somewhat tired, visible through her movement and posture, but even so, she let out a guttural growl at Morn. She exuded an aura of a protective mother, ready to shred anyone who made a sudden move.
Morn gave me a judging look, narrowing his eyes. "You didn't... you didn't mate with the wolf, did you?"
The silence that followed was cut only by the wind. I looked at Morn with a mixture of anger, disbelief, and pure disgust.
"Morn. By the gods... don't use that ice-filled head of yours to say such an atrocity," I replied through gritted teeth, feeling a vein pulse in my forehead.
"It still seems suspicious to me..." he insisted, staring at little Fenrir. "He looks just like you, boy."
"All my beasts take on my characteristics through the bond, Morn! You saw the sabre-tooths, the birds, and the horse! Do you really think I go around doing that with every animal I find?"
He pondered for a few moments, scratching his thin beard. "It's true. There would be no way... and you said you're only twelve."
I sighed, massaging my temples. "Let's change the subject before I lose my patience. I'm leaving tomorrow. Prepare the five men who will go with us."
Morn's tone changed instantly, becoming more serious. "So the time has come, eh..."
"Yes. I'm going to the tent; I'm exhausted," I said, a bit irritated.
I turned my back and entered the hut without waiting for an answer. It was a tiring day... seeing the pups so weak and anemic and even one dead gave me a bit of guilt. I lay down on the bear skin, but my mind was racing at a hundred miles per hour.
'No use dwelling on it now; if it didn't happen now, it could happen later. At least I know what shouldn't be done.'
I closed my eyes and called out mentally. 'Huginn.'
The raven landed on the wooden stand in the tent.
"Go to the Vale of Thenn. Find my brother Ulfar. When you are with him, let me know; I need to speak with him."
The raven croaked and departed into the evening. I had much to prepare, and time was a luxury I couldn't waste.
The next day, the cold morning air brought a freshness that seemed to purify the tension of the previous days. We packed our things and set off very early.
"Thank you, Morn, for the last few days... in some time, one of my ravens will come to summon you."
Morn let out a short laugh, adjusting the axe on his belt.
"Let me guess... one with black feathers and golden eyes?"
"Exactly like that," I replied, shaking his hand firmly. There was a silent respect there, one created over time, with our shared effort and sweat.
We set off. The five warriors Morn had selected were tested men; they had fought side by side with us against the giant wight and now walked with renewed confidence. The Ice-Bones guided our group toward a medium-sized clan, hidden among the thin snow of that forest we were trekking through.
"They are called the Marcas; they are a collision of other small clans. It hasn't been long since we discovered them; they are a new group," explained one of the scouts as we walked.
"Marcas?" Sigrid asked, curious, already managing to understand the Common Tongue better.
"They paint their skin with dyes that don't come off. They say the color is sewn into the flesh itself... it's a strange sight."
"Tattoos..." I murmured to myself. The word sounded strange in that world, but the concept was familiar.
"And they say they have a witch," added another warrior, lowering his voice as if fearing the wind would carry his words.
I continued listening, attentive. The North was revealing itself to be much more diverse than the Maesters of the South would ever dare describe in their parchments.
In the middle of the afternoon, I felt the pulse. A warm vibration in the back of my mind. Huginn had reached the destination.
"Sig... I'll be out for a few moments," I warned, feeling the weight of consciousness shift.
"Mm-hmm," she nodded, moving closer to me to ensure my physical body remained safe.
In order not to delay the march, I rode Breu. My beasts formed an immediate defensive perimeter. The tigers growled low, sticking to the horse's flanks; Nix landed on the saddle pommel; Muninn and Horus took to the skies, while little Fenrir, vigilant despite his size, kept his ears up on the back of the saddle, protecting his sleeping siblings.
A blink of an eye, and the forest disappeared.
I was in Huginn's body. The smell of damp stone and peat smoke from the Vale of Thenn invaded my senses. I was in the great hall, perched on a wooden beam. Below me, my brother Ulfar looked at the raven with a mixture of shock and expectation.
"Bro-th-er..." The word came out slurred, as if the raven's vocal cords were rusted harp strings.
Ulfar's eyebrows jumped, but he soon smiled. "Denovan?" The voice still held doubt.
"I'm fine, and before you ask, Sigrid is with me." I gestured with my wings, adjusting the connection. Gradually, the words flowed with more clarity.
"Well... we've known that for a while; she at least warned a woman who takes care of the horses."
"She told me that; I was somewhat surprised she thought of it. How are my mother and our father?"
"They are fine. Valka almost left to get Sig in the first few days; Father was confident she would know how to take care of herself."
"Unconcerned as always; if it weren't for me, she would have died of cold during the night."
"She is terrible at planning," Ulfar said in a playful tone.
"She's improving... but that's not what I came to talk about."
"The unification has started well, Ulfar. I already have two clans under my banner. I'm heading to the third. How is the Vale? Anything strange?"
"That's good. I knew everything would work out; after all, it's you doing it. And nothing strange, everything as usual. And well... I did it, Novan!" Ulfar raised his arm, and a few seconds later a grey-feathered hawk, Sharp Wing, landed on it. "I entered his mind. I am a skinchanger now, like you and Sigrid." His enthusiasm was evident.
"That's incredible, Ulf... the skinchanger siblings..." I said proudly. After all, even with the blood of the First Men, it wasn't common to become a skinchanger, let alone three in the same family and generation.
"I'll tell Sig later; she'll be excited... she's trying to connect with a direwolf now; she'll try harder if I tell her," I said happily. It was good to see things working out, and this was transparent even through Huginn's voice.
"Competitive as always... but I imagine you didn't send one of your ravens just to talk about that."
My tone shifted to something darker. "You're right. Listen well. The White Walkers... the living dead. Those things Father used to tell us about, they are not just legends. We found a wight, a giant living dead. Keep the Thenns prepared. No one is to be buried. Burn all the dead. Strengthen patrols at the edges of the forest. In every village, if a wight appears, fire is the only answer. There are other things, like dragonglass and legendary Valyrian steel, but we don't have those things for now."
"I'm telling you because Father is stubborn, and maybe he won't believe it at first, so convince him. I know I can count on you, brother."
Ulfar paled but nodded with determination. "I will do as you say. But are you sure, Denovan? I know you have your visions and..."
"I didn't just see it, Ulf, I fought it. It was strong, agile, and had inexhaustible endurance. If I hadn't brought several torches, that creature would have easily killed more than forty men."
He looked at me still with reservations and said in a sigh, "Father will act. I will convince him."
"Stay safe, Ulfar. Give my regards to Mother and Father, and also to Halgar; I miss them."
He nodded and said, "Stay alive, and we will be fine."
Without responding, I commanded Huginn to depart. The raven dived through the window, but not to return to me. He was flying South. To cross the Wall, toward the Red Keep.
I needed to talk to a certain King. Talk about some dreams and prophecies, and perhaps give some advice that could change a future so tragic and bloody for his family. Now, whether he would believe me or not, I would only know in a few days.
Consciousness jumped back into my body.
I regained my senses just in time to see a group of warriors emerging from the trees. They were unlike anything I expected to see here in the North. Their faces and hands were covered in intricate beastly designs, spirals, and runes written in the Old Tongue in a deep black, blue, or red that seemed to glow beneath the skin.
The man who stepped out first from among the trees looked at me and then at my beasts—first at Breu, whom I was riding, shifting to the sabre-tooths, and a quick glance at the sky until he focused on me again. "We were waiting for you... Black Beast," said the man with a tattooed wolf that climbed from his neck to his ear. "The Witch of the Marcas is waiting for you." The man spoke respectfully for a wildling, and I saw a drop of devotion when he spoke of the witch.
Our men went on high guard, drawing their weapons, but I signaled for them to lower their arms and dismounted from Breu. Staying mounted left me somewhat exposed. But my eyes didn't leave the man; I found him suspicious. In fact... the witch was strange; there hadn't been time for my fame to spread yet...
The men didn't surround us; they led the way and left their backs exposed to us, appearing to have full confidence that we wouldn't attack.
My gaze shifted from them to my men. I exchanged looks with Sig and Thormund; my arm made a slight movement toward the axe on my back.
I saw a slight glint in their eyes; they seemed to understand that all of this was very strange.
The weapons were sheathed, but they were ready to be drawn.
We entered the village. It was small, built on a slope, which helped prevent the icy wind from entering the tents—it was done intelligently. But the looks that fell upon us carried a strange reverence.
In the center of the village, before a campfire with an orange flame and traces of blue, she waited.
The woman was an affront to the Northern climate. While everyone wore layers of bear and wolf skin, she wore clothes that seemed sculpted to show the curves of her body. Her arms and deep neckline revealed tattoos that seemed to move as she breathed. But it was her eyes that gripped me: heterochromia. One emerald green and the other a mesmerizing honey-brown.
My mind, with two lives of experience, almost short-circuited. In the previous one, I had seen "perfect" models and actresses through screens and they were beautiful, but that woman exuded a magnetic fascination that forced me to look at her. I felt my hormones, driven by mutations, act like an erupting volcano; a fire I had forgotten began to grow in me.
I felt a painful poke in my ribs. Sigrid.
"Get a grip, idiot," she hissed.
I gave my head a slight shake and fixed my eyes on the mesmerizing woman in front of me. I saw her tattoos—beasts, runes in the Old Tongue, and even drawn humans.
The witch smiled, an expression both syrupy and dangerous.
"I was waiting for you, Black Naga."
"Black Naga?" I repeated, my voice coming out a bit raspier than I intended.
She approached, her hips swaying in a way that was impossible not to watch; she displayed all her curves with every step toward me. When she was close, the scent of herbs and something sweet emanated from her skin.
"Perhaps it's a bit early for that title..." she whispered, coming so close I felt the heat of her breath. "Should I call you just... Novannn?" Her voice lingering on my name in a way that was all too familiar, as only Sigrid and Ulfar used.
I felt a shiver sweep through my entire body. My guard went up immediately. All this fascination I felt for this woman was strange to say the least; that alone was enough to keep my guard high. But her saying "Naga," a name I never shared, of a serpent I don't even know if it truly is that... my hand went quickly toward my axe.
Seeing my action, the woman took a step back, but she displayed an amused and sensual smile, as if mocking my ignorance.
In an instant, my axe was at her throat and I said slowly:
"Who are you, Witch?" My eyes flickered between her and the members of the Marcas clan who were clustered around us.
Before she could respond, all my warriors had already drawn their weapons and were in a battle stance.
The warriors of the Marcas clan didn't draw their weapons but took a step back with their guard up for a possible attack.
But the witch—she seemed amused, like a child playing a prank she had been preparing for a long time.
"My name is Melika," she said, her syrupy and calm voice with that childish fun bathing my ears with a tenderness that made my heart take a dangerous leap.
'Damn.' This woman was dangerous; that was all I could think, seeing those eyes looking at me as if I were the most important thing in the world, those red lips and...
My thoughts were kicked out of my mind by the piercing cry of Horus, who descended from the skies and landed on my shoulder.
My eyes fixed on Melika again, only this time they contained displeasure and a touch of anger.
"What are you doing, Witch?" I said through gritted teeth as, in one impulse, I lunged forward and grabbed her by the neck.
The sound of Melika's slight gagging was drowned out by the reaction of the Marcas. I heard the sound of several weapons being unsheathed, but I ignored it; my focus was on this woman. She seemed at least a little distressed by the position she was in.
And that, at the very least, gave me relief. It seemed this young witch didn't have control over everything, even with her strange "magic" that had almost enchanted me just moments ago.
-/-/-
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