The old Gods and the New

Aerion, "will bare its burden in due time". He said this with an act of presumption. The price he was so willing to accept in his act of deceit showed him the true horrors of death. The price was a heavy one and it scarred his heart. 

Unlike the others, he never had dreams to set his course. No allies among the Gods to confound his thoughts. Once he thought they had abandoned him in truth, but it was he that could not fathom his freedom through their eyes. He cannot forget the scar's they have placed upon them. His mother refused to see reason in those times and now I pray to those I once deemed unworthy for her recovery. My guilt is more than sufficient after the many losses, I've suffered. Aboard a ship he was a boy but on land a man they deemed him. Yet, he still crave for the approval of those he is supposed to be equal with. My debt has been repaid, though it still remains at large, he thought.

Aerion stood at the entrance of the cave peering at the clouds. He needed a brief moment. The smell of the rot sometimes becomes too hard to bear. The stench that remains once the maggots feed away at the dead flesh almost seems enticing. It was hard to resist and some failed to overcome temptation. He swallowed as the grumbling of his stomach made itself known, echoing off the walls like a beacon.

Defiance was the only thing lingering in his eyes at the slight embrace of the wind; breathing rather heavy, he chose to lean on the cave's cool walls for balance. The heat that left his body felt like it was boiling, with every breath he released, the smell of salt encapsulates his every being.

He was surrounded by the shade.... It casted a deeper shadow than the one that already lurked behind him like a demon. Bigger and bigger it loomed almost trying to engulf him, but then the sun would come out of hiding and taunt the darkness. Only allowing a brief moment of rest. He hears the critters as well as the bloody winged beast's. They have tried to capture the little ones in hopes for a feast, but none would stand together long enough, even for there own sake.

From the eye of the wolf, we can be seen as a famished bunch. He watched the rising of the sun as the deceitful truth played in front of all who had eyes to see. Even the Gods could not be fooled. Valeanna's head rested upon Vhaera. Her hair cascading down in fragments as the light hit her bones.

They all looked older than their years. Aerion a boy of zero and seven still stands at the waist of his elder sister. Her name day past long ago. She is to be about two and zero. Alys was another matter. He was older but had the frame of a man in his twenties. Vaemond in particular had more than stature. Most of the men that followed him did. Their features were sharp like ice, some were leaner and slenderer in shape, while others were bulky in size and muscle. They could all agree that it was due to the blood. Before he was told stories of some who were short with decent characteristics. They were redefined in all things, yet they still behaved like mortal men.

In times of war boys are treated like men rather than boys. Girls become fragile things. A prize to be won after every battle. What cannot be said is that this is the very thing that is done too little girls and women alike in brothels.

During their time away from Asshai they came across a small narrow island with people folk filled with disease. They had many a women and strays lingering in its street, yet every night those women left their doors open to any stray beast or wonderer who so happen to bring with them a few measly coins. Some clutched their babes in their arms feeding them as a man suckled the other. The children pretend to see nothing but go to dark places to practice the very same. They are trained young, he supposed. For a few that found courage approached him. He would prefer to pay them for their silence. Many would flock to him like hens waiting for sustenance. 

For women are dealt far worse and harsher than a man who is deemed a traitor. It mattered nought if you were low or highborn. If your wife, sister, or cousin was unfit she was killed or sold off. Those that left behind children have left them to be condemned by their fathers. Forever to be on lookers in the eyes of the village. The taunts of their mother's misdeeds will rule over them like a blade until they choose to hang for it. 

Aerion used to wonder what that was like. These very children would one day grow and venture for better things for who else will determine their legacy, but everyone that plays the game becomes the pawn; and Aerion knew that beauty causes a lapse in morals. For they will always be a battle that needs fighting and those that had very little then, would now, gasp at the attention of those that found them to be rather divine. In a way this was them. He feels as though his hands were forever forced by the wills of his birth, but he took no interest, unless it was pointed out plainly in front of him. 

Men have written about the wrongs of women for thousands of years. None describe the anguish of the men that brought such sorrow. Those ladies sadly re-learned a great lesson. It does not matter how much a person is able to bring to the table. An empty promise does not provide comfort nor the illusion of safety. 

A brothel may be a sanctuary for a princess, but a death sentence for a commoner. The gap between status is immense as the oasis that stands between Ghis and Astapor. This was how he felt. He did not know where he truly stands. A slave, a sword, or a follower. He felt drained of any strength he is supposed to possess. 

The fact that he did not know who his father was, brought him more turmoil because he could not even guess what he would look like in the near future. His mother told him that his father had black hair and eyes the color of a pasture. She told him that he used to plough the fields. That they owned cattle. When he was little, he could not believe, he would call her a liar. 

Now it was not so, for among them no innocence could be found. It was quiet for now.

Some of the men had gathered wood and cloth from the dead in order to make torches for tonight. No one dared venture too far; for they were all trapped in a cage of their own making. With the prophet's constant whispers the night before, sleep was hard to find. Some chose to rest outside with the harsh winds, others prayed alongside him. For those that laid awake he could not say. Aerion found himself yawning, though, he refused to believe that such a body so young could be burdened by the notion of sleep itself. He was expected to be brimming with energy, if only he grew up with such a life, now all he found himself doing was sleeping. Inside this cave time felt like it moved much slower than the day. For in the past, he could stay up much longer. Perhaps he was waiting for something then, he could never know himself as his mind was at the beck and call of the masters.

Alys continued his prayers throughout the night asking for strength. The last of the supper we had was watered down, only parts of the broth that was deemed fit, went to the sick. The men only bickered amongst themselves too weak-minded to actually strike those bedridden.

I have seen what it is like to always be on the precipice of death. Though we have ventured on many escapades through the east, few places were ever truly given a name. Uncharted areas in Essos, remain unbound and untouched by man. The sea charts our course many a starry night, but now that we remain idle the deeds and uncertainty of our future seeps into the mind like poison. I watch these brave men cry in dark corners over the loss of another child. They no longer view Vhaera as such, even though she has yet to flower. She is the root of all our problems.

"It is easier to blame a child for the problems of others than seek out justice for the weak." I believe that is something Vaemond would say. It has only been a half-a-day, and he already missed him. He was a father to him in some ways, a friend and a protector the next. Aerion was glad he was not here to witness the solemn faces of his men and the actions they must take later on. He wagered it would take them a few moons, before they reached the border. Vaemond went in search of their kings loyalty, hoping for their support and fleet. Since they didnt waterboard them for their act against Ghis. He had his doubts of kings and there promises. That is if they don't come across any deadly attacks from these winged creatures. That is not all he worries about. There are creatures far smaller that could bring a man so close to death. He did not know the names of such creatures and those that surrounded him did not care to share.

I fear we have forgotten where we truly came from. Field after field bought much to be desired. The feeling of the soil after it rains is the best sign a farmer can ask for. We have slowly forgotten this. Our eyes have become rich from exploits and driven to fever due to its madness. Yet, if he were asked. It is a knight he rather be than that of a farmer. A thought, no, a dream of his own. Redworm would be proud to know that he is learning for himself rather than taking the word of whosoever speak it.

"No one looked at him." As he lingered in his thoughts. No one spoke to him. No one paid him any mind. He was surrounded by men sworn to different houses, a vast host less than 20,000 strong and yet he was alone." (G.R.R.M quote)

Even with such a host of men we would still never be able to defeat Ghis. Whether Aerion or the men among them liked It or not they needed Vhaera. But the question is what happens once they don't? He wishes no ill will towards her, but he thinks only of the truth. His tongue grew bitter. Maybe he harbored a little bit of contentment for her as well. After all, he has been away from his mother's side. He knew nought how she was fairing, rather than the bleak moments of solace she provides when awake. He knows nothing of before. He thought maybe if he had been there, she would still be beside him now.

Aerion 'had never learned to soften his speech, to dissemble or flatter; he said what he thought, and those that did not like it could be damned. (G.R.R.M quote)

But even so he does not wish to sow anymore seeds of doubt amongst these men. Though he is plated in armor and carries a steel sword, a lady's armor is courtesy, and these men had axes, knives, and fists. A fight will break out the longer they go hungry. He could only hope that once she wakes the wait will be over and they may receive some sort of answer.

The sun had already made its way past the rocks. In this short moment he found himself reminiscing. During his many voyages, his sword has yet to be unsheathed. He decided long ago that his blade will taste the flesh of the ghiscari, not a common slave, beggar or high Lord. Vaemond made him train on unsteady feet. He claimed that balance was for the weak. It did me no good for when a Sword master could be found to teach, he claimed I lacked balance, but he also could never make my hold upon my sword waver. I never fell, not once, and neither did my eyes. The color of blue, brown, grey, and green blended into one. Each face becoming one as I pictured my enemies. Blank faces starred back at me, only husks remained in my mind for I had no true enemy to cast blame upon for my misfortune. I did not witness it myself. The soldier who took my mother, nor the first that gave her, her first beating, neither the men who took my sister by force long before she even reached the city gates. Neither did I hear the cries of Alys as his wife died from the plague. He has just as much right for vengeance than all of the Gods combined. The slave master that used to watch over me and my mother is but a fleeting memory. The sound of their lashes and the cries of the other slaves still haunts my dreams. It took him quite the while to get adjusted to what a normal life is. The look of water still makes him queasy and sometimes he finds himself losing air in his lungs as his mind goes dizzy. 

He vaguely remembers his time in Asshai, but one of their stories turned prophecy to some remained heavy on his heart for this reason alone, does he justify his sacrifice. A similar ritual must unfold though Alys will not tell me for even he does not know. I am sure of it. 

"In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed, and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dead hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword and that sword shall be Lightbringer. It was a time when darkness lay heavy on the world. And so, for thirty days and thirty nights Azor Ahai labored sleepless in the temple foraging a blade in the sacred fires. Heat and hammer and fold, heat and hammer and fold; oh, yes, until the sword was done. Yet when plunged it into water to temper the steel it burst asunder. The second time it took him forty days and forty nights and this sword seemed even finer than the first. Azor Ahai captured a lion, to temper the blade by plunging it through the beast's red heart, but once more the steel shattered and split. Great was his woe and great was his sorrow then, for he knew what he must do."

"A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade and as it glowed white hot in the sacred fires he summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world. She did this thing. Why I cannot say, Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the red sorrow of heroes." (G.R.R.M quote)

It is this tale that forces their hands. Daemond had long past into the night. They no nought how long their ruse will hold. Aerion had already planned to claim that the boy went alongside the company of Vaemond and what Vhaera witnessed in her hour of need was his last goodbye. He must hide the scar upon his sisters' hand, cover the remaining dead and hope for the best, for the hour of the wolf is long and grueling, and they must make a feast to temper its hunger, or else they be killed off by songs and sand.