(Erlend Mudd, ???)
Mance had been a tough nut to crack.
Most mortals when facing the combined power of the cruciatus curse and mind-fuckery would be lucky if they didn't turn into vegetables.
It's a good thing this King Beyond the Wall had a strong will and defiance; otherwise, he'd be short of a puppet, which was never good. The man dared plot ways to off him even in his last moments.
Which, admittedly, was quite impressive.
After dropping the altered wildling back into his tent, Erlend had risen to the skies once more. Decidedly heading northwards.
He contemplated heading towards his Uncle and linking up with everyone from there, but there was indeed a certain tree codger he needed to deal with.
There were two reasons for this: vengeance on behalf of Malora, and then came the logical reasoning. There was no sense in leaving the Targaryen Bastard to the Night King. Who knows what bullshit power the icicle king would end up getting if he was allowed to get his hands on the three-eyed raven.
Literature in his past life had shown that giving your enemy even a slight advantage could easily fuck you down the line.
A power-up was still a power-up, no matter how minor it appeared. Plus, Malora would be quite pleased to have new research material. Whatever magic was keeping Bloodraven alive might be useful.
Its restraining capabilities on someone as strong as Bloodraven were fascinating. Unlike the Blackstone that cut off one from their magic and was incapable of channeling it, this one seemed more flexible—a good substitute, at the least.
As for the tree demons, he had no real plan for them aside from the house-elf treatment. Sure, he could just wipe them out of the face of the planet, but that appeared too easy a punishment, considering what they had nearly put this planet through.
He could easily feel the World's Will desiring their torment.
It gave a better idea of why the will had simply slowly whittled away their numbers over these past millennia instead of just outright orchestrating a disaster similar to the biblical flood of his previous world.
In a sense, the World wanted to punish them for their sins. A direct death is too easy for its taste.
Watching as your kind slowly but surely withered away, numbers decreasing alarmingly as time passed, births plummeting to unrecoverable levels. Despite all that 'wisdom' and magical skill, nothing could be done to stop it.
Well, that would fuck with anyone's mind. Especially for creatures as proud as the Children, who were forced to watch their legacy all but vanish into thin air.
Damn, mother nature was hardcore, but he dug it.
…
On the way to Bloodraven's cave, he noticed a peculiar sight.
It was a horde of wights shuffling slowly in the direction he was heading. Not far from them was a bona fide frigid bastard. His expression alone would give the Ice Queens of the fanon worlds a run for their money.
Grayfia had nothing on him. Daphne Greengress, pfft… She was just a mere princess compared to this guy.
Jokes aside, Erlend observed the tall and gaunt figure peer around the area. The cold one kept his main focus on the undead thralls, who were shuffling about to their destination.
This confirmed the fact that the Night King was going after Bloodraven.
It was weird, though, a single White Walker would be no match for the three-eyed raven, even if the man didn't lift a finger. The Children would not go down without a fight. That was their primary tool, after all.
Unless?
Actively reaching out, Erlend connected his aura to the earth below him. Feeling for any disturbances in the environment.
As suspected, he soon hit the metaphorical goldmine, as he felt traces of a dozen or so groups similar to this one approaching his destination. It made for an interesting situation.
Should he let the Walkers play with the cave dwellers for a bit and then swoop in? Adding hope before destroying it. Or perhaps he should just wipe out the Walkers? Then, he proceeded towards the cave on his own.
Choices, ah, the choices. Both were oh-so tantalizing.
Unfortunately, logic ended up prevailing over sadistic pleasure. It was the primary reason he decided to deal with the geezer now, and there was reason to dig a hole for himself.
So, with that decision, an imperceptible glint appeared in his eyes as he gazed at the cold one. Hmm, he might as well use this to snuff out any weaknesses the living were unaware of.
Every piece of information could be useful in the final battle.
…
Magic, unsurprisingly, was fatal to the White Walkers.
The problem was that magic users within Westeros were plain weak, unreliable, and in very short supply.
After creatively dealing with a bunch of Walkers, he'd confirmed the fact that castle-forged steel was indeed basically useless on them.
Had his Banners not been prepared, fucked would be an apt way to describe the Seven Kingdoms. Fortunately for Westeros, he'd been essentially sitting on one of the largest Dragonglass deposits and had put it to thorough use.
Tradition had been the best excuse to ward off any silly questions asked about the reasoning behind equipping his men with them. Not that many had the balls to question his decisions.
Dragonglass would be the most efficient way to deal with them if you were a normal man. Fire was good, but just lighting your sword or arrow on fire wasn't effective against the Walkers.
Tyrion had likely already figured out that it was the 'mysterious' ore that he was looking for, but unfortunately for him, he could not make absurd amounts of gold as he had intended.
That didn't stop the dwarf from searching for deposits within the Westerlands. Hoping to make a profit out of selling to the rest of the Realm, who would no doubt be panicking at the moment.
Wights aren't dangerous individually; the problem is that they almost always exist in hordes, which leaves quite a mental impact on any army.
In that regard, the bloodying of his Banners through their battles with the Dothraki came in useful. When one can withstand the charge of thousands of unwashed, barbaric, and bloodthirsty Dothraki. The charge of thousands of wights no longer looks as intimidating in comparison.
Of course, as long as one took care of their Walker, then they would fall swiftly. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done for the average soldier.
…
Finally done with the last Walker, Erlend calmly made his way toward the bound Dragon.
He did not bother to hide himself or disguise his entrance. They walked in full view of the nervous tree demons, each of them reaching for a dagger or weapon as soon as they passed by them.
None of them stood in his way. None of them dared to.
Finally, deep within the cave, for the first time, both men met. Bloodraven made for an interesting sight, bound as he was, his lone eye peering curiously at the man who'd thwarted his plans for so long.
By his facial expression, the Great Bastard didn't seem all that impressed with Erlend, preparing no doubt to give some self-righteous bullshit to justify his actions.
Deciding to de-escalate the situation, "My ancestor seduced Shiera Seastar and put a baby in her while you were scheming your way into that cesspool." Erlend stated politely.
Brynden choked on whatever he had to say. His greatest shame, being brought up so abruptly, was like a slap to the face for the usually self-assured persona.
The silence seemed to stretch within the cave. None of the tree huggers dared interrupt the two monsters, one appearing bored with everything, whilst the other did his best to get a hold of his disturbed mental state.
Only after getting a hold of himself did the aged sorcerer speak. "I see you're just as arrogant as your forefathers." His words would have had more venom to them if the man weren't already tired of everything.
"Please. We're still better than the pointless squabbling and infighting your family loves to indulge in."
Neither of the two missed the irony in the King's words. The Riverlands were, after all, the home of division and conflict, and both of them held strong ties to it.
Chuckling to himself with great difficulty. "That bitter bastard must be rolling in his grave. The last Blackfyre tied to you in all but name, his greatest masterpiece, nothing more than minor gains for the massive armies you command." After so long, Bloodraven's hatred for Bittersteel had never abated.
Going so far as to suppress the 'love' he held for Shiera. His momentary joy was quickly replaced by a grave expression.
"I know what you want, Mudd. You can have it as long as you free me from this wretched coil. I no longer wish to remain in this realm." Brynden offered, not paying attention to the gasps of shock from his jailors.
Raising his eyebrows at the audacity, "What's in it for me, Crow? You do remember that I am not one to let go of grudges so easily," Erlend retorted.
"As compensation for my ill-sighted decisions. Your lover can have all my power to do as she desires. She is far more compatible with it compared to that Greyjoy brat."
Interrupting them angrily, "Y-You! You cannot do this, human… It is not your power to give!" Leaf protested frantically. The leader amongst the Children feared what Erlend would do with such power.
With a wag of his fingers, Erlend silenced the demon. "Shush, the adults are speaking."
Just as the others were about to resist and even attack the Mudd King, Erlend let out his divine pressure upon the defiant creatures. They fell to their knees in awe and horror, as just the pressure alone would have been enough to kill them had Erlend not held back.
Motioning towards the aged sorcerer, "I'll deal with you hellions later. Go on, Bloodraven, I'm listening."
Said-sorcerer licked his lips nervously, realizing for the first time that he might have punched way above his weight.
"There is another way to transfer my powers, instead of just teaching it. Normally, it would require my instructions and a specific magic that only I can use to complete the transfer, but it's also possible for you to do so on your own initiative."
"Initiative?"
"Yes, Initiative. Normally, this shouldn't be possible, as it needs me to do everything, but you certainly are powerful enough to brute-force it."
Looking at the man with faint disgust, "You mean forcefully taking over the body of an inexperienced and naive child?" Erlend said.
Coughing awkwardly to the side, Bloodraven could not deny the accusation. Then again, the man only wanted freedom. Death, while not his preferred method, was still a viable option.
Erlend ignored the geezer. His mind focused on what exactly the bastard meant about the initiative.
After a while, his mind cleared, and he stared incredulously at his former enemy. "You mean for me to grasp your soul and simply pull those powers away from it?" Erlend half-asked, half-stated.
Tilting his head in acknowledgment, he said, "Exactly. Of course, you must have a particular skill in dealing with souls, but since you're a Mudd, that shouldn't be too foreign for you."
Hmm, it wasn't a bad option, and only Bloodraven would be affected. As for the insinuation at the end, Erlend merely ignored it.
The Mudds were fighting to survive and avoid being turned into blood bags for the Valyrians. Messing with souls was the least of their concerns.
Looking straight at the one-eyed bastard. "Right then, this will hurt you more than it will hurt me," Erlend said cheerfully.
Bloodraven visibly shivered, feeling the undisguised malice in the King's eyes.
The children of the forest could only lie helplessly throughout the ordeal, unable to get up as Erlend's pressure fell upon them. Their fate would not be as kind as Bloodraven's. Unlike the three-eyed raven, they were far more in tune with Nature.
Unfortunately for them, that meant they could easily sense Erlend's connection to it now that they were in his presence, and that certainly didn't bode well for them.
…
(Lorimas Mudd, Castle Black)
Lorimas felt proud of Erlend for some reason.
It was as if a burden had fallen from his shoulders, his instincts warning him that Erlend had done something either incredibly dangerous or incredibly good, maybe both. You could never know with the lad.
The elder Mudd was busy directing the Banners present in the region. Amounting to approximately thirty thousand bloodied men prepared to die for the living.
Of course, the Crown had no interest in sacrificing their men all willy-nilly. That would be the height of foolishness, instead, the rest of the lords and their levies would bleed, securing a bright future for Westeros and the rest of this seven-forsaken world.
No clear number was made since lords and their levies were arriving every day, but it was assumed that there would be more than a quarter million men manning the Wall by the time the Night King arrived. Another three banners, made up of nine thousand men, were to guard the rear, ensuring that the Free Folk didn't get any ideas whilst everyone was fighting.
If it wasn't for the devastating rebellion and the follow-up wars that had rocked Westeros to its core, there would have been more. Unfortunately, they would have to make do with what they had.
Had Lorimas known about the canon timeline, he would have been horrified by how much worse it could have been.
An officer bowed his head to the Mudd, "My Lord, the wildlings have made camp within the reaches of the wall. Should we send scouts to keep us abreast of their movements?" He asked.
Lorimas nodded his head towards the officer, The so-called Free Folk had made a terrible impression on the aged lord, their arrogance and self-assurance infuriating the usually jovial lord. It was no surprise to anyone that their 'rebellious' allies met a fiery end. His nephew was never the forgiving type.
Taking Lorimas's silent gesture as a yes, the man exited the tent, ready to carry out the unspoken orders.
As soon as the Officer left, Lorimas felt a presence appear out of nowhere. Without hesitation, the older Mudd gripped his concealed Blackstone dagger and stabbed at the presence.
The dagger failed to hit its target as a barrier blocked it.
Recognizing the magical shield, Lorimas relaxed, returning his dagger to its hidden location as his eyes met those of his nephew.
"You brat, you know how dangerous that could've been for you!" Lorimas complained. This nephew of his was getting more reckless by the day.
Rolling his eyes at his Uncle, Erlend sat himself on the vacant seat across from the man behind the desk. Smirking with amusement and unconcealed happiness.
"So, what brings you here? I thought you were still having fun scaring the wildlings."
Unperturbed by the stare, "They won't be an issue for long. I made sure to make a personal visit to all their chiefs." Erlend revealed.
"Loyalty charms?" Lorimas asked.
"Yup."
Lorimas had difficulty wrapping his head around the fact that Erlend had created one of the most outrageous magics he had ever heard of. While he was no sorcerer, the seasoned man was mindful enough to keep himself familiar with the more popular forms.
If only to better protect himself and his family.
"Then we might as well recall the 3 Banners guarding the rear," Lorimas suggested.
"No need for that. The lords will be more at ease if they know that they won't suddenly be taken unaware by our 'allies'. Sure, I could reassure them, but it's hard to change millennia-old hatred in just a few days."
Lorimas nodded his head in agreement. The only reason his older brother and Aemma were even able to get married in the first place, despite the 'enmity' between the two Houses, was because they were a continent apart for thousands of years. Being a ward for old Jon also helped greatly.
His reputation amongst the Valemen had won that marriage great support, both from Jon and the Vale lords. It wasn't like the Mudds could claim to be purely First Men anymore, so old that there was no reason to hold on to ancient grudges.
Their Riverlander enemies were not so lucky. Who told those idiots to resist? Then again, a quick death was better than a slow and gradual one. Perhaps their lords did have some foresight to go all out.
Looking embarrassed, "You'll need to stay in command for a bit. I have to return South and give Senya her gift." Erlend said, whilst revealing a beautiful valyrian sword.
The slender thing looked fit for a woman's hand, the red ruby on its guard sparkling with unnatural energy. The pommel and guard shared the same golden luster, with the fiery outline that the pommel boldly presented giving him a good idea of its origins.
Only a fucking Valyrian noble would so blatantly design it that way. Erlend's words confirmed that it could only belong to one House, the Targaryens.
"Yes. Yes. Go and play with your Dragon Queen. Seven knows you two haven't had enough of each other since you met."
It was the older Mudd's turn to roll his eyes. Those two were like two peas in a pod, thinking they were slick when they first started their relationship.
Hmph, Dalia, Seven Bless Her, had instantly realized something was up the minute the two got together. Not that he had a problem with their relationship. It was practically a Mudd tradition to seduce the descendants of Dragonlords, even during the Freehold's reign.
Chuckling at the generational joke, Lorimas shooed his nephew away. Wanting to get back to work, before that shit piled up once more.
Upon returning to his seat, his eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he glimpsed the true size of the pile.
"MOTHERFUCKER!"