CHAPTER 179

293 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

In the wake of the Greyjoy Rebellion, a mysterious new figure emerged from the North, a druid named Emrys. His reputed extraordinary magical abilities and the growing extent of his influence stirred a whirlwind of rumors that stoked fear and envy among the ruling houses of Westeros.

News of the druid's ability to enhance fertility had already reached the ears of the Northern lords, filling them with hope for more fertile lands and a brighter future. However, the lords of the Riverlands were far from thrilled, their position as the primary grain suppliers now hanging in the balance.

Inside the venerable halls of Riverrun, Lord Hoster Tully, a man both stern and shrewd, called upon his advisors to address this emerging situation. Seated at an ornate, polished table, the lord and his council members plunged into a somber discussion about the druid Emrys and the profound implications of his powers for their realm.

Lord Hoster Tully's solar in Riverrun stands as a dignified chamber steeped in authority and tradition. Its centerpiece, a robust mahogany desk intricately carved with waves and trouts, is surrounded by a scatter of maps and parchments. A large, arched window provides a view of the Tumblestone River, its sunlight gently filtered by silk curtains in hues of blue and silver. Adorning the walls, tapestries unravel the storied history of House Tully. The very essence of the solar mirrors Lord Hoster's sense of duty, intellect, and unwavering devotion to family.

The council was in session with Lord Hoster Tully seated at the head of the table, flanked by two significant figures. Maester Vyman, a seasoned diplomat in a chain of office, and Ser Edmure Tully, his heir.

With a sense of urgency, Lord Hoster spoke first, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility and the concerns that troubled him.

"This Druid Emrys wields a power that could potentially reshape the balance of power throughout the realm. While the North may benefit from his abilities, our position as the primary grain supplier is now under a looming threat."

Ser Edmure Tully leaned forward, his brows furrowing in visible concern. With his auburn hair and a robust frame, Edmure emanated a sense of determination and capability. He was dedicated to his people's welfare and the honor of House Tully. While his intentions were noble, Edmure's impulsive nature sometimes led him to decisions with unintended consequences.

"Father, if the North's lands become more fertile, other regions might seek to ally with Emrys. Our influence over the grain trade could diminish."

Ser Edmure Tully's concerns were both valid and immediate. His youthful energy and earnestness often brought fresh perspectives to the council, though it also occasionally led to rash decisions. As Lord Hoster's heir, Edmure had large boots to fill, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of that responsibility.

While comfortably seated in his plush armchair, Maester Vyman interjected, his voice calm and measured.

"It is essential that we ascertain Emrys's intentions. His magic might have far-reaching consequences, both beneficial and detrimental. We must not act in haste."

Maester Vyman, a seasoned scholar with deep knowledge of history and diplomacy, had faithfully served as an advisor to Lord Hoster Tully. His aging face bore the wrinkles earned from years of study and counsel, framed by a cascade of white hair. Known for his meticulous records and the well-preserved library within Riverrun's walls, Maester Vyman provided Lord Tully with sage advice, guiding him through the complex political landscape of Westeros.

Lord Hoster Tully, silver-haired and with a well-groomed beard, drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. His gaze appeared distant as he pondered the intricate situation. An air of authority and experience surrounded him. Hoster was a shrewd and diplomatic lord, well-versed in the realm's complex politics.

His primary concern lay in maintaining the prosperity and influence of House Tully, securing the best future for his family. He was an ambitious man, evident in his efforts to arrange advantageous marriages for his children. Hoster Tully understood the importance of alliances and the delicate balance of power in Westeros.

"We have long been known for our contributions to the realm's sustenance. If Emrys's magic disrupts that balance, it could lead to unrest. The Damned Freys would undoubtedly create problems for us."

Ser Edmure's eyes gleamed with determination.

"Father, should we not send a diplomatic envoy to the North? Opening a line of communication might allow us to understand his motives and perhaps forge an alliance that safeguards our interests."

Lord Tully seethed with frustration at his advisors, deeming them nothing more than repetitive songbirds. He lamented their lack of genuine insight, their tendency to parrot his own thoughts, mistakenly believing that hearing his own words echoed back at him was what he desired. He questioned the purpose of their discussion when they seemed incapable of offering anything new or truly valuable. However, he recognized that he couldn't afford to make enemies with them, as his hands were already full dealing with the Freys.

As the council deliberated, word of their discussions spread throughout the Riverlands. Lords and ladies engaged in their debates, with some cautious of Emrys's powers, while others saw an opportunity for prosperity. In the midst of political maneuvering, House Tully stood at a pivotal juncture. Their decisions had the potential to reshape their relationship with the North and ripple outward, impacting the balance of power and alliances across the Seven Kingdoms.

...

In the heart of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister sat in his opulent study, the room bathed in the warm, golden light that filtered through thick, crimson curtains. His surroundings exuded wealth and power, with the polished wood of the desk gleaming under the glow of candles. Before him lay maps and parchments, but it was the map of Westeros that held his unwavering attention. His fingers, adorned with a golden signet ring, tapped rhythmically on the polished surface.

It had been a day since his brother Gerion departed for the North on a mission to befriend the enigmatic Druid Emrys. While Tywin had faith in his brother's diplomatic skills, he understood that a single plan might not suffice in the face of such an unpredictable situation. The complexities of power demanded multifaceted strategies, and Tywin was a master strategist.

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As he contemplated the situation, his sharp intellect wove a web of political intrigues, each strand a potential weapon against the growing influence of the druid. In Tywin's world, one plan was never enough. He needed to be prepared for every conceivable outcome, regardless of the odds.

One avenue he explored was the power of information. Knowledge, in his eyes, was a weapon that could cut deeper than any sword. In response, he summoned his network of spies, those shadowy figures who operated in the darkest corners of the realm. He issued them a command, his voice dripping with authority, to gather every morsel of information about the Druid Emrys—details about where he originated first, his magical abilities, and his connections. The quest for the druid's true identity had proved futile, but the pursuit of knowledge was relentless. Even a sliver of information could tip the scales between victory and defeat. It didn't matter how many spies he lost; he could always buy new ones. Tywin knew that understanding one's adversary was the crucial first step to countering them effectively.

Tywin shifted his focus to the realm of alliances. Throughout his life, he had demonstrated a mastery of forging strategic partnerships to bolster House Lannister's standing. With a precise hand, he dispatched ravens bearing messages to influential houses, their contents subtly alluding to the potential threat posed by the enigmatic druid. The information he disseminated was designed to implant seeds of doubt and fear within the hearts of his rivals, rendering them more amenable to the idea of uniting against a common adversary.

Comprehending the inextricable link between power and wealth, Tywin acknowledged that he could not permit the druid's influence to disrupt the economic stability of the realm. Thus, he issued orders to his agents, tasking them with a thorough investigation into the druid's role in the North's burgeoning prosperity. Their mission was to uncover any potential vulnerabilities that could be exploited to disrupt the flow of crucial resources.

Recognizing an opportunity to wield the faith of the people as a weapon against the druid's surging popularity, Tywin contemplated initiating a covert campaign to inflame religious fervor. This campaign would aim to cast shadows of doubt upon the druid's intentions and harness the power of faith to erode his influence. To set this plan into motion, he called upon his loyal brother, Kevan, entrusting him with the clandestine mission of meeting the High Septon in the heart of King's Landing.

As Tywin's elaborate plans continued to take shape, his eyes exhibited a calculating resolve that bordered on obsession. He stood on the precipice of realizing his lifelong ambition – the establishment of the Lannister Dynasty as the unchallenged authority in Westeros. Armed with a strategic combination of political maneuvering, the manipulation of information, the cultivation of strategic alliances, and the exploitation of religious sentiments, Tywin was unwavering in his commitment to ensure that the druid's burgeoning influence would never pose a threat to his family's dominion over the realm.

The labyrinthine depths of the old lion's mind churned with intricate schemes and tactics, each meticulously crafted to further cement his position and safeguard the legacy of House Lannister. The quest for the Iron Throne was a merciless contest, and Tywin Lannister was not only ready to participate but to do so with a brilliance that matched his reputation.

...

In the tranquil realm of the Vale, where unwavering devotion to The Seven had held sway for generations, a disquieting undercurrent began to take hold. The tales of the mysterious figure known as Druid Emrys had swept across the land with an intensity akin to a raging wildfire, leaving the fervent Knights of the Vale profoundly disconcerted by his mere existence.

Amidst the resplendent grandeur of the Eyrie, the ancient stronghold of House Arryn perched on its lofty spires, Lord Yohn Royce, acting on behalf of Lord Jon Arryn, convened a gathering of the most esteemed advisors of the Arryn house. While Lady Lysa Tully was in attendance as the lady of the Eyrie, her attention was divided as she cradled and breastfed her twelve-name-day-old child, Robert.

The chamber was bathed in a gentle cascade of sunlight, filtering through the expansive, arched windows that offered panoramic views of the verdant valleys below. A colossal hearth, nestled against one wall, radiated a welcoming warmth that provided solace during the chillier days. At the heart of the room, a commanding oaken table served as the emblem of authority, a hallowed space where the lords of the Vale assembled for solemn discussions and deliberations.

The atmosphere in the chamber resonated with a quiet, understated power, mirroring the enduring legacy that House Arryn had forged within the realm. The lords of the Vale had come together to address the unsettling news that had rippled through their lands. Among those assembled, Ser Hugh Pryor, the Lord of the Pebble, stood out as a fervent devotee of The Seven and a steadfast advocate for the Knights of the Vale. His voice trembled with palpable indignation as he proclaimed,

"The emergence of this druid, Emrys, is nothing short of an affront to The Seven. Our faith has been our guiding light for generations, and now, this silver-tongued man preaches of the Old Gods, sowing discord among the devout believers of the North."

Lord Yohn Royce, a seasoned warrior bearing the weight of experience in his stern countenance, cast a discerning gaze upon the faces gathered around the venerable table.

"We must exercise caution, for the druid's influence appears to be on the rise. We need to weigh the potential repercussions for our realm. Ser Hugh, your unwavering efforts to spread our faith have not gone unnoticed. It might be prudent for you to attempt a dialogue with this Druid Emrys, seeking common ground and understanding if possible."

Ser Hugh Pryor nodded, the resolve in his eyes reflecting his readiness to confront the enigmatic druid.

The mere thought of the North never failed to remind Lord Royce of the humiliation he had endured at the hands of the newly ennobled Aermir Drasil. The loss of one of his family's cherished heirlooms was a wound that still festered, even if he possessed other bronze armors. The memory of that smug face fueled a deep-seated anger that lay dormant within him, surfacing with every contemplation of the North.

Sir Hugh's countenance contorted with disbelief as he retorted, "Reason with a heretic who defies The Seven? My lord, forgive me, but this is an abomination. We must put an end to his teachings before they corrupt our lands."

Lord Yohn Royce, while harboring reservations about the idea, knew that he wasn't the ultimate authority in the Vale. Their true lord, Jon Arryn, was known for his aversion to conflict and his preference for diplomatic resolutions. The ongoing discussion continued to fuel the tension that swirled within the chambers of the Eyrie. A tapestry graced the walls, depicting the serene visages of The Seven, their divine grace captured in intricately woven threads. However, within those hallowed chambers, the battle between faith and power raged on, casting shadows over the otherwise tranquil depiction of the tapestry.

...

Meanwhile, amidst the heart of the Vale's intrigue, Druid Emrys conducted his gatherings in the midst of the ancient groves that punctuated the northern landscape. His attire consisted of robes crafted from natural fibers, adorned with moss and leaves, an embodiment of nature itself. In the presence of this enigmatic figure, those who gathered felt both reverence and a burning curiosity.

One individual who found himself drawn to these sermons was Robin Flint, the heir of House Flint of Widow's Watch. Several generations ago, House Flint had been swayed by the conversion initiated by House Manderly through the ages. On a day like any other, beneath the sprawling canopy of an ancient weirwood tree, Druid Emrys stood before his congregation, his voice resonating through the grove.

"Brothers and sisters, we are bound by the spirits of this land, the very essence of nature itself. The Old Gods have watched over us since time immemorial, and it is our duty to honor their wisdom."

Unbeknownst to Emrys, his words had not gone unnoticed. A spy, dispatched by the Knights of the Vale, had infiltrated the gathering. Aermir's power and intelligence network were formidable, yet they were not all-encompassing. He couldn't surveil every house in the Vale, nor could he know the identities of every spy and knight at their disposal. In the shadows, Ser Harlan hissed to his fellow knight, Ser Martyn, as they observed.

"He spews lies, attempting to tear down the faith that has sustained us."