Domeric XII

With Alyx's time so close, Domeric had to curtail his "show the flag" operations. He'd been riding across his own lands with a strong guard of Bolton soldiers, letting pink silk banners flap in the breeze to look impressive. Even if the wildlings didn't understand the Common Tongue, they needed to know what the flayed man meant, and the price of defiance. If the gods were good, nothing much would happen. Turns out, the gods were good. Disturbances of the peace had been kept to an appropriate minimum, and the new settlers had somewhat cottoned on to the rhythm of things this side of the Wall. They could start planting almost as soon as the last crop was brought in, and he'd sent Mance and company up and down his estates promulgating the message. It was a bumper crop by all reports, and the weather looked to hold, allowing another. His poor mills were grinding corn at all hours, leading to a nice little bump in his income. That, with the addition of his stake in the Vale silver mines starting to pay out, the ready coin problem was starting to recede; no tourneys or ransoms needed. He rode back inside the gates of his own personal Evil Hogwarts, and let the men on the ramparts give a little cheer. When Dom dismounted, all the household was assembled in the outer ward to greet him. One, two, three, Mordaena, Nymeria, and hugely pregnant Alyx each got a kiss in turn. "All is well, I trust?" His wife nodded. "While you were out, the Wisdom of the pyromancers arrived...and the red priestess." He wasn't sure he liked that tone. Had she been disruptive? Dragonstone was in the midst of the Narrow Sea, and got all sorts of foreign visitors. The priestess attended the queen herself; surely she would be courteous enough? "Let the Wisdom and his apprentices know that a building, well away from anything important, will be provided where they can start the production of wildfire."Alyx nodded. "I've already made arrangements, dear. There are certain requirements: a false floor packed with sand as a safety measure, among other things; they brought detailed plans." "Good, good. What about the priestess?"His wife looked oddly reticent. "She said you'd arrive today. How could she have known?" Domeric shrugged. "Good guess? Maybe she has dreams like Arya. We live with giants now. Nothing will surprise me." That made her smile. "I suppose you're right. She said she would entertain us tonight at the evening meal, but needed private preparations. Lady Melisandre remains in her chambers for the nonce." "That's fine. I want to know what she knows about the Others. That's why she's here. I need to wash up; see you in a bit." ***Ah, it was good to be back. Domeric sat in what he still thought of as his father's chair, the lord's high seat upon the dais in the Dreadfort's great hall. The leather upholstery was, shall we say, of indeterminate origin, but quite comfortable all the same. The armrests were tipped with carved wooden skulls, and the whole thing was just so very on brand. He sipped on hippocras, a kind of spiced wine, one of his father's favorites. Some things must be genetic, because Domeric liked it too. If you used your imagination, it kind of tasted like off-brand soda with a kick, sweet and spicy all at once. A serving man brought him a nice crispy capon, all stuffed with onions and mushrooms and seasoned just the way he liked. Alyx sat to his left, tearing into her food without ceremony. Everyone was there: Mordaena with his daughter Yesenys, Nymeria with baby Maron and his nursemaid, Al, Elia, Arya, and Brad. The only missing person was his aunt Barbrey. The last letter they had from Barrowton said her time was close, so they didn't dare travel, especially at her age. If the gods granted her a healthy child, Domeric would happily sacrifice a thousand men in thanks. Good thing the gods didn't work that way, because he would really do it. While they ate, Lady Melisandre did magic tricks, conjuring fire, weaving it into moving images that she could move like puppets. She made dragons that flew about the hall, fought, and ate each other. She could make lines of flaming soldiers fight mock battles in the open air. Wreathes of flowers, sunbursts, dancing lights, both abstract and concrete, thrilled the whole hall. As he admired the performance, Domeric remembered Mance had returned as well, while his "court" of Val, Tormund, the Magnar, and Ygritte were still on progress in their own sectors. "How are your people, Mance?"

The wildling king raised an eyebrow. "My people? Oh, my lord, you have it wrong. They are your people now. I have no hold on them at all."

"Really? What do they say about me?" The man tore his eyes away from the tapestry of fire and a shadow settled over his face. "That the Domeric is the greatest king there ever was, or even a god." Domeric snorted. "Shows what they know. I'm not even number one in the North. Do they know about Lord Stark, or King Stannis down south?" "This is 'down south' to them, my lord. All the Free Folk know is you brought them to a promised land of plenty and fought off winter itself with your red sword.""Others slew Others as well. You should know. You were there." "I was, but tales have a way of growing in the telling. The cold, dead things that once troubled them in the night are gone, with a great big wall between them and us. You did that, modest though you are. My stunted, skinny folk eat and feast like kings by their reckoning, and have broad green lands for their own. All feel safe in the shadow of your walls and those pretty pink banners. The giants are even more pleased with their Ironforge, did you call it?" Dom smiled. From the sound of things, Alyx had finished her capon and was starting in on his. He slid the dish over to her. She was eating for two, after all. "I thought it was a good name. The giants really like their big iron hoes."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings."They do, and they've sworn eternal gratitude to you, and your sons after," Mance said, somewhat bitterly. Just what was his problem? His people were safe. What more did he want? Maybe they could go back beyond the wall once the Others were beaten, but personally, Domeric saw no reason they couldn't just stay. It wasn't like they lacked room. With a flourish, the red priestess clapped her hands and the roaring lion of fire dissolved into a gentle rain of sparkles. They didn't burn at all when they fell on you, just tingled a bit. Arya and Brad looked especially enthralled. "My lord, I thank you for your hospitality," she said, kneeling before Domeric. Dom wasn't fooled. She was angling her body specifically to give him a good view of her cleavage. He remembered enough from maester's lessons to know the Red Temple had sacred prostitutes, tempting converts with promises of pleasure. It would take more than a nice pair of tits to convert him, thank you very much! He had more than enough women as is. In fact, he felt a little bad about it. There weren't enough hours in the day to give Mordaena, Nymeria, and Alyx all the attention they deserved. "Rise, my lady," he said politely. It would be best to get to the point. "I want to know about the Others."There was a tremor, very slight, in her fine features, but she mastered herself quickly. "If it please my lord, they are servants of the Great Other, whose name may not be spoken. They hate all light and life, seeking to plunge the world into eternal darkness." "Great Other, huh? So they have a leader? How do I kill him?" This time, the priestess could not hold back a bright laugh. "Hah! You are as rumor made you, brave beyond compare. But the Great Other is a spirit, and cannot be slain by mortal hands. He wars eternally with red R'hllor, the Lord of Light." "If he wars, he can be defeated. My squire, Arya Stark, spoke of a citadel made of ice. If I went there, burned the place down, killed them all...""...then the Great Other would be bereft of servants, and powerless to act upon the mortal plane. But that is not your fate, my lord. They will come to you, with all their evil power, bringing dark and cold, a winter without end. You lack the weapon that you need to triumph. Even one such as you cannot overthrow the force meant to assail the realms of men." "Yeah, we'll see about that," Domeric muttered darkly. Nobody else was speaking. Even Alyx had stopped eating. "I don't suppose you know what weapon I need. What's better than Valyrian steel?" The Red Woman paused, considering her words carefully. "I, my lord, my powers are greater here, but some things are denied me. Azor Ahai reborn, of whom the prophecy of old spake, is assuredly King Stannis...but there is something else. I saw it in the flames. A light was lit in the east, a forgotten star burning again after a hundred years. I do not know its name, but help will come. You must be ready to receive it."She was too diplomatic to say, "Receive this religion I'm preaching to you," but Domeric could read between the lines. Help was fine, but they knew how to kill the Others now. They'd drive back to cold and bring the dawn. The only night would be for the Others, an endless night of oblivion. If other men wanted to fight by his side, they were welcome to join, but this war was his to fight. "Is that all?" he asked. Melisandre smiled, looking suddenly more confident. "Not at all, my lord. I tell you, your son shall be born this night. I saw it in the flames. He shall be bigger than you, and stronger, winning many a tourney, but no battles will he fight. He will grow old and grey without ever riding to war." "Any father would wish the same for his child. If there is to be war, let it be in my time, so my children can live in peace." Alyx reached out and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were greasy from the capon, but it was the thought that counted. "There is more," she continued. "Barbrey Martell will bear a healthy son, who will be as a brother to your own. Martell will be Hand, but Bolton will marry a beautiful princess." Alyx frowned at his side. "What princess is that? There is only Princess Shireen, and she, well..." "Might be the Lady Melisandre means a princess of Dorne. The heir to Sunspear is still unmarried, but she could conceivably have a daughter who marries my son," Domeric suggested. The fortune-telling game was fun, but he knew to take these predictions well salted. This was just another version of the dancing flames, entertainment. "What about me?" asked Arya excitedly. "Do you know my future?" The red priestess nodded. "You will grow very rich and have two children. One will be a boy, and wild. He will take a wildling bride and be near as strong as his Bolton cousins." Brad Frey squeaked. "You mean?" "Oh yes," the Red Woman confirmed. "You will wed the Stark girl, and take her name. Men will jape when she covers you with her cloak, but you will be happy." Arya leaned forward, eyes shining. "And the other child?" Melisandre smiled. "The sweetest songbird in the Seven Kingdoms will she be, not at all like her rough and rowdy brother." Domeric choked back a laugh. A dainty little daughter would be just the thing to give Arya fits, but he wasn't laughing long. Alyx slid back from the table. "I think it's time," she said. Lord Domeric called for servants and Maester Tybald. They hustled Alyx away to her childbed, and everyone was hastily dismissed. How the hell did this priestess predict it so exactly? It was not a long or difficult labor. A few hours later, just past midnight, on the first day of the new century, Royce Bolton came into the world. ***

Two year time skip next chapter!