AN: Maybe today

Previously:

A great pure white dragon, shot with streaks of red beneath the scales, landed in front of me with a thud; its head was larger than Balerion's skull, its eyes the color of crimson sunrise.

I reached out, my right hand touching the dragon before I opened my eyes to a searing pain as I felt myself engulfed in the golden fire.

# 026 A New Day

I did not know how long I spent passed out, my mind catching up to the real world as it replayed my wand turning to ash. The fire on my arm had gone out a moment later, but the skin had burned badly up to my elbow… so much so that I did not feel any pain.

The ground around me was still burning, however… yet there was no fire. I blinked, watching the ethereal flames of gold rise from the ground itself.

I blinked, looking at my hands; overlayed over the flesh was the image of my skeletal hands… 'No… my soul,' I thought as I reached out to the world around me.

Slowly, my skeletal image moved outside my flesh, moving beyond the limits of the flesh, holding a golden glow similar to the flames that rose from the ground itself. I was the air itself, as I was Viserys Targaryen. Possessing the air, I saw the golden flame move, reaching out to slowly move around the skeletal fingers… the Magical Energy being pulled as I slowly wove a spell before letting it disperse.

'Looking through the Gate must have given me Mage Sight,' I theorized, 'That or looking at pure magical sunlight got to me.' All I knew was that I could see Magical Energy and potentially souls when filled with the Magical Energy.

I closed my eyes and focused… feeling. As I opened my eyes, I willed myself to see the physical and ignore the metaphysical, my sight returning to its original form.

I breathed, inspecting my right hand. The skin was… warped… as though it had been burned and healed in an instant. The flesh felt raw, as though it was supposed to be burned but not at the same time. It still hurt as though it was burnt, though.

Channeling the sun fire was dangerous; I knew that before I decided on the course of action and actually cast the spell, and the feedback my body got, as a result, was… something I had to live with in order to end the fight that the Faceless Men started.

My wand... unfortunately, did not survive the ritual. The fact that both dragon bone and dragon glass had turned into ash made me reconsider ever using that bit of spell-work again, given how the focus I had crafted essentially blew up in my face.

I took a moment to grieve the wand that unlocked the path to power for me, the pile of ash looking as though it had a weight of its own that mere wind could not move around.

The fact that I saw it in my vision made me wonder if I could truly not use the same wand combination… and if it meant the rest of the vision was reliable as well. I was not going to simply take the word of some dead Greenseer, however, and I would definitely be testing it out, both to make sure I was armed and to check if what the First Faceless Man… the Faceless One, had claimed.

Worst case scenario… I was going to go with Plan B. I did not like Plan B… Plan B had a decent chance of death involved.

Clamping on my mind, I got up from where I was lying, only to come face to face with Huan. My dog had long since grown large enough to meet people at eye level, and he had been standing guard outside the circle, holding a first aid kit in his mouth.

"Good boy," I muttered, picking up the first aid kit with my left hand. The latest Healing Potion was built upon the old one, the healing poultice, mixed with Dittany Leaves. I grew myself in a pot. I did not know how to create the Essence of Dittany for now, but the leaves themselves worked fine enough as ingredients to improve the quality of the potion and accelerate the healing process and maybe save most of my skin. I was not sure if the injury could heal as though it was a physical one, but I could only hope.

I looked up, the branches of the Rowan Tree casting a shade over me, guarding me against the first lights of the dawn as though shielding me from harm. I found it poetic, as my mind picked up on something... something that I had forgotten... but something important about the Rowan Tree itself.

Ever have that thing where you have a word at the tip of your tongue, but it does not come… what I had was like that but with memories.

My hand traced over the vial of Memory Potion in the bag instead of the Healing Potion. A potion of Forget-Me-Not and Nightshade... it was the liquid I used on the proto-Pensieves to pull memories out of the skulls... a way to preserve said memories out of the body. The problem was that the Memory Potion, as it was, was also poisonous... magically poisonous. Magic amplified all the properties of the ingredients, and Deadly Nightshade had already made a name for itself.

I uncapped the seal, dipping a finger into the potion before drinking the rest of it with a single motion.

Tapping the finger, I dipped into the potion to my temple; I focused on the memory I was looking for, the one that refused to come to the front of my mind but existed within my mind before pulling.

The silvery thread started to rise out of my temple, called forth, and bound to the Memory Potion at the tip of my finger, amplified by the potion I had just drunk.

Once I removed the memory, that feeling of having forgotten something I should have remembered left me until I placed my forefinger and the thread of memory to the middle of my forehead, where my Third Eye was.

The name came to me then... Wiggenwald... a magical tree that had a basis of the Rowan Tree... used in healing due to the association between Rowan Tree itself and healing... Magical Rowan Tree used in healing potions. In Harry Potter, it made the Wiggenwald Potion, which healed… I suppose.

My memory recovered; I took a Bezoar and forced myself to swallow the enchanted piece of calcified goat hair and whatever... just as the edges of my vision started to darken from the poison of the nightshade. Magically enchanted anti-poison to counter the magically enchanted poison.

It was hard to admit, but I was slowly losing the knowledge that I had before this life... not as a consequence of any spell I cast, but from how long it had been since I had learned of that knowledge. Repetitions helped, and it worked for most of the knowledge regarding Westeros and Magic, but the Memory Potion was what I counted on to be the true winner for my retention of the more esoteric forms of Magic I had read up on my first life… and maybe a few improvements to the comfort levels of this world.

The leaves fell from the tree, willingly given through a basic application of Greensight... Druidcraft? Technically they were both a form of Druidcraft… have the power to skinchange the tree and go through the right rituals, and greenseers could do what they just did.

Instead of falling to the floor, the wind picked up the leaves, causing each of them to land on my outstretched right arm, slowly covering the burned flesh and giving off a feeling of comfort.

Slowly adding the Healing Potion to the leaves, I reached out to the side, outside of the circle, where I had left my clothes. From the pile, I took out my ring, with a piece of obsidian attached to it. The ring was less of a fashion statement and more of a utilitarian backup that I disliked using, mostly because the fire I could conjure from the obsidian was less reliable and far more resistant than the spellfire from my wand, not to mention that the metal itself overheated from the magic.

The magical flame sank into the cast as I pulled on the transformative properties of fire, willing it to merge together with the leaves and absorb the potion. Ever so slowly, my right arm was covered by a green glow that left behind a similarly colored cast made from the Healing Potion and the leaves of the Magically activated Rowan Tree. While my Transfiguration was limited to wood, I was good at it from the sheer practice I got.

I could feel the cast slowly absorb Magical Energy, not dissimilar to the Weirwood... just slower. The cool feeling brought comfort to me even if I could force my mind to work through the pain.

The potion slowly healed the burn, accelerating the healing process and ensuring that the flesh was not as red and easy to get infected as it would be. I would need to figure out a way to solve the problem of having such an injury, but for now, the cast would have to do. At least there was no great pain, though that probably meant the damage was worse than superficial.

I slowly got up, relying on a large stick I took from the ground as my body ached from a combination of being bruised and sitting still the whole night in the cold. I was tapped out for all intents and purposes until my own reserves recovered to a safe level to casually use magic again.

Leaning onto one of the fallen branches of the Rowan Tree, I slowly hobbled towards the keep, Huan close behind to provide support if needed.

"The Faceless Men are dead," I declared simply, having sent a raven to check the House of Black and White, which was still standing, though its doors barred entry to anyone who came to check.

Ser Willem looked up at me, his eyes clouded with age, but I knew he saw me clearer than anyone else. He nodded, looking at my arm.

"I had Nessa prepare food. You hurt?" he asked from the chair he was sitting on. He did not seem like he had slept since I left the night before.

"Nothing crippling," I dismissed, though I was not sure. I did not sense any deep damage, the Shadows I bound to my flesh taking on the brunt of the backlash. It would scar... and I would have some issues of mobility if it healed wrong, but it was a sacrifice I had made, and I was going to live with it. There was no use angsting over it.

Ser Willem nodded as I fell on the other chair, taking a deep breath while simultaneously pulling on the ambient magical energy to replenish my reserves.

"Nothing the last night. Your eyes have changed again, your grace," said Wat the Eyes, coming over to give a report after Wat the Brains took over the watch on the wooden tower I had raised with my magic, which looked more like a glorified tree house. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes from standing watch the whole night while I was near the Dragon Well. "They twinkle with light," he added, answering the unasked question.

I grunted in acknowledgment, burying the fact that I had eyes that twinkled. That way led to eating lemon drops and calling people 'my boy.'

Looking at the cup of soup, not feeling like I could eat it… though I still forced myself, as magic had this tendency to make you ignore mortal requirements. The best bet was the disparity between the Magical Energy in the soul and the actual physical food one consumed. It was hard to live without both. "Anything else?" I asked the Eyes, who had the inexplicable ability to see any sort of glamour… while lacking in any other magical talent whatsoever.

"Your hair is closer to silver than the white it had become; it has a faint flow to it, your grace," he stated before leaving to take a nap. I mentally reached out, feeling the self-inflicted glamour of my own perception of myself. It was similar to the trick Belle pulled unconsciously; those strong with magic seemed to hold some sort of an illusion, projecting their image of themselves out.

The subtle shift in light was… not something I expected. My increased connection to the Sun must have caused it. As I pushed my will, I felt the glamour I tried to weave collapse, forcing me to sigh. I usually kept my hair short because the upkeep was less of a hassle, but I might have to come up with a way to hide the glowing hair or even shave my head to operate without getting too much attention.

Three ravens landed before me as I held my hand, calling fire from the dragonglass on my ring, binding the shadows to the three birds to prepare a Magic Missle for future use, as the one I had before was burned off during the ritual.

"I had a vision… a Dragon Dream," I said finally, after forcing a few spoons of soup, making Ser Willem turn his attention back to me.

"You once told me that visions, when you do not look for them, mean everything and nothing," responded Ser Willem, making me nod.

"It warned me that there would be threats in this world, supernatural in origin and dangerous," I repeated, trying to wrap my head around it.

"You do not need prophecy to tell that, can you, your grace? What did you see?" asked Ser Willem, giving me the look that he did when he thought a move I made in the yard was too reckless.

"I saw man… turned to monsters. I saw a future of the path I could build," I said, knowing that it would be the truth. I had plans to create a Valyria that was better than what had been. Westeros was great and all, but creating something from scratch in the Stepstones would have been preferable to having to listen to the whinging of idiots who cried about my magic being unfair.

Now, I was not so sure. If Valyrians had access to the wands I could make, they would have become worse than what I had seen in my visions. This world was too grimderp for things to go my way for too long, and I needed to have an organization in place to take over what the Faceless Men were doing.

"Maybe it is far too soon for my plans. All I saw was a warning for the future… which has become more obscure after what I had done," I stated, getting a nod from the old knight. Contrary to popular belief, I had a plan… a long-term one that hinged on certain events happening as they should. I had killed off the Faceless Men, meaning there was a likelihood that the White Walkers would prove to be more problematic than it would have… if I took the shows I had seen as the potential future... I took them as loose guidelines, given how I knew most characters were named after their book versions.

For now, White Walkers were a priority, but I would need to gather more knowledge and an army to get there, as I would not launch an invasion and kickstart all the wars that would follow Robert's Death. Despite being a drunkard beggaring the Realm, Robert's Peace was still a Peace in the end. It gave me time to prepare for the more important war.

The calm silence ended when Ser Willem next spoke, "You are nearly four and ten, yet you have done more valiant deeds than the greatest men I had the honor of knowing. You do not need to burden yourself with the weight of the world… at least not on your own. I am sorry, your grace, for there is not much I can give you… but there is one thing I can do if you permit me, for I cannot ask my king to kneel, your grace, as it would not be proper."

I looked at him before snorting. "And I care so much for propriety," I stated. My knee hit the ground for the last time in my life. "I would be honored, Ser."

"Viserys of House Targaryen, you have defended the innocents, shown mercy where you could, and put an end to those who declared themselves your enemy. So you are old enough for me to do this," he said simply, taking the sword out of the cane.

My knighting was a private affair… a formality meant to honor Ser Willem more than my own actions... mostly because I did not care about being a knight that much, nor the renown it would bring. Witnesses were important for such events to show that your knighthood was legitimate. To those who would demand proof from me, I owed none.

I had thought of it, the concept of knighting. I was decent with a blade, but I knew that my opponents went easy on me even now. I had no care for becoming a knight, mostly because there were no knights whom I respected enough to grant me the honor, save one. Ser Barristan was a good man, but he was flawed, and he had bent the knee to Robert instead of dying or taking the black, an act that I could understand, an act that I could forgive should he come and beg to become my Kingsguard, but not an act that I could not forget. I considered Rhaegar to be a moron, and he was dead. The Sers Hightower, Whent, and Dayne, or the Idiot Trio as I called them, chose to die after supporting the Crown Prince in whatever harebrained scheme he had that caused the Rebellion. Sir Richard, who had been still sleeping, was a good man who had saved my life twice, but he, too, had his own demons and flaws.

Ser Willem had been there when I most needed it, and he

was loyal and true when none were. He knew my thoughts on the matter, that if I were going to be knighted, the old man was the only one whom I respected enough to do it for me.

Once the ceremony was done, I checked up on my sister only to find her and Lanna passed out, probably after staying up all night, unable to sleep with me out there.

I ended up being sequestered in my workshop, trying to figure out a way around the problem of lacking a wand and gathering enough tools to handle a fighting retreat from Braavos if it came to that. Just because I was going to the enemy territory did not mean I could not prepare.

I first removed the memory and knowledge of being incompatible with the Weirwood and Dragon Bone combination; such things had no place when using magic.

The Weirwood reached out like a bony white hand, grasping the sliver of dragon bone. It had taken me months to grow the Weirwood to bind the dragon bone, but my abilities had grown since then.

A wave of the wand did nothing, only for golden flames to lick through the red veins of Weirwood before the entire thing broke apart into dust. Sighing and deciding to work it out later. Dragon Bone and Weirwood combo did not work, yet I did not know of any other alternatives for now. Nightwood would not work, the material had the ability to unravel any structured spell that was not blood magic, and I did not have easy access to another magical animal to use for parts.

As I moved around pieces of moonstone around, I heard a knock, letting the door open on its own with a thought. "I have heard the news, your grace... or would you prefer Ser Viserys?" asked Bellonara once the door opened on its own just as she was about to knock, stating the fact once more as though she had trouble believing it. It was always fun to use magic to unsettle people and remind them of my power, and the power game we played seemed to be doing it for the Black Pearl.

"Technically, Dark Lord is the proper term... given how I killed off an entire religion, but I will let you choose," I quipped, as my mind picked up on her thoughts. She seemed to be suppressing her actual reaction, which cycled through disbelief, shock, disbelief, confusion, back to disbelief once more, before accepting, knowing that I did not like lying, and this was too serious a topic to joke about before her mood shifted to arousal.

"Well, my lord, I would have thought you had come to bed... to celebrate," said Bellonara, pressing herself to my back as I worked.

"Where is Belle?" I asked, my mind cleared of the distraction as I pushed the half-finished Cloak of Invisibility to the corner, making space for the large stick of rowan I had used as a walking stick as I started carving glyphs along the shaft. Normal wood did not have the efficiency of the Weirwood, but a staff was a staff, and I could pull more Ambient Magic through the staff than I could on my own. The ash of weirwood and dragon bone went into the cauldron, mixed with blood, and slowly painted on the runes.

"It is only a few hours past dawn, your grace; she is still sleeping," said Bellonara as she watched me work. "It is news that is hard to believe, however," stated the Black Pearl, holding herself with grace.

"You can always confirm it; I know you have your spies," I stated, turning towards her. "Now that you and your daughter are safe from any potential reprisal, what is it you wish to do?"

"Why ask us, your grace?" asked Bellonara, giving me a coy smile. "I thought you enjoyed our company."

"I do, but I dislike having someone bound to me against their will," I countered, having done some reflection after living a life as a slave in the Valyrian Mines had me… it was traumatizing. "I am giving you a choice to leave and have things return to normal. You chafed under the control of the Faceless Men, and I am not foolish enough to keep you against your will and have you plot my downfall. Now is your chance to make your own path, given your pet wizard killed them for you."

"You act as though they were not a threat to you, your grace, or who truly holds the leash," said Bellonara with a smirk, "Or that you did not wish to rid of them."

"The world I am building has no place for the likes of Faceless Men; I dislike zealots on principle, even if I might agree with some of their points," I shrugged, not mentioning the potential mess that it may have caused. If the Faceless Men were playing whack-a-mole with the crazier cults that could abuse magic, then I would have to figure out how to address that problem in the long run. I did not have the temperament of trying and failing to destroy cults, but I had proven that I could hit an entire cult all at once if I chose to dabble in the Darker aspects of Magic. In the short run, I had too many things on my plate to care much. "Just because they think some way is the best does not make them the authority."

"And where would me and Bellegere fall… in this world that you are building, your grace?" asked the Black Pearl pressing herself closer to me, her breath tickling my lips.

I dropped the chip of dragonglass I used to carve the runes into a box with other pieces of obsidian fragments, shutting it and willing the wood to merge, locking it completely before focusing on the woman before me.

"There is a place for you if you ask for it," I stated, enjoying the curves pressed against me, slowly grinding against me as I looked into her chocolate-colored eyes. I reached out to the connection I had to her binding, causing Bellonara to shudder at the presence she felt. Her mind was in ecstasy, as my mere presence had slowly become like a drug to her.

"Under you, your grace?" the Black Pearl purred, placing kisses as she buried her face against my neck, her breath tickling my neck as she rode a mini-orgasm. Her hands traced along my abs before going lower. While I would enjoy victory sex, there was a time and a place for it.

I looked to the side, my eyes landing on my hand, the green me against… still covered by the green cast that protected it and worked on healing it. The fact that I had been losing the soul stuff that I had built around my body since I first created it made me sigh.

I needed a focus that was not made from Weirwood. That being said, I needed it to contain the magical properties of a Weirwood. The soul-cultivation ritual was specifically designed to imbue the properties of the Weirwood, its essence, along with other concepts, and bind it to a vessel… any vessel. In theory, I could even split the raw soul stuff produced from the potential of creating life through sex across myself and, say, a piece of wood to force an artificial bond.

"You make it so hard to despise you, Viserys Targaryen… a man who could hold what many can only dream of in the palm of his hands," said Bellonara, guiding my left hand to her ample breasts "and yet is willing to let it go… had I been any younger, I would keep to myself, though I am glad Belle found a good one," she teased, closing the distance and getting a growl in return. "Have I awakened the dragon?" teased Bellonara, palming my manhood.

I leaned in to capture her lips, only for Bellonara to pull back, scrunching her nose in the act. "You need a wash…" she stated, making me snort at her exaggeration, despite the fact that I smelt of ash, blood, and sweat… and the stink of death that was less physical and more spiritual. My action had marked me in more ways than one... but this was the first time she actually said anything about it, "Why don't we draw you a bath," suggested Bellonara.

My hands ghosted over her soft curves, a growl rising from my throat as I flipped us around so that Bellonara had her back pressed against the desk, my body trapping her there.

"I need to get to House of Black and White... there are things I must retrieve," I stated, not wanting to lose the Orb or the Dagger. "I do not have time for baths."

"Can any enter the House of Black and White?" asked Bellonara

"None but me," I admitted, having felt my spell target, even the Novices.

"Then, you have time for a bath," she said, pulling me by my uninjured hand. "Rest will wait for the whims of the king, as they should."

She had a point, and I was not at my best as I was. I never liked resting on my laurels, but making sure I was at my best was going to be handy.

"And the Sealord?" I asked, getting a dismissal wave from Bellonara, "He will be easy to convince, what with his plot to have you take Belle as a lover. The Sealord knows better than any that an alliance with you is more profitable than the other options," said Bellonara, comprehending the political problem that would be happening.

"Well, my lady, why do you not advise me on Braavosi Politics?" I asked, with a smirk as I

"Later… First, I shall wash you, then… well, I will ride you until you ask for mercy, as I promised I would, should you actually rid us of those death worshippers," said Bellonara with eyes filled with lust as she pushed me before taking my hand and guiding me upstairs.

I liked that plan… I liked that plan very much.

I took a sip from my flask, a potion... made from a version of Wake Bean Tea…, also known as Coffee, with added magic to boost its effect. It was apparently something belonging to the Summer Islanders that Bellenora was addicted to as well, though she kept it for special occasions, which the death of the Faceless Men and the mind-blowing sex counted as.

Having arrived in a pleasure barge, I grew out of the trees. I had sent Bellonara to the Sealord's Palace, dropping by her more public Pleasure Palace to pick up clothes and guards for her.

The next stop I made was the Happy Port. The partially made Cloak of Invisibility holds enough enchantment to keep me hidden from the ones who might be seeking me, including the guards who seemed to be trying and failing to not stick out. The cloak was mostly a Notice-Me-Not Enchantment which was less effective than I would have preferred, but the Disillusionment Charm proved itself to be both an elusive and hard-to-master spell.

The brothel would be the best location where I could get some information on the gossip of the months I have been away from the city. The sources that Bellonara's... apprentices had given me a general picture, but relying on one source made a man blind.

"Impressive," I commented, seeing Yna's illusion in the bed with a man. I had only taught the Seer how to use the basics, and she had apparently mastered it enough to make it work for her over the months. 'She is probably powering it with the Tantric Magic,' my mind noted.

"Your grace," said Yna, bowing low. "That one leaves bruises, so all he gets is a ghost," she said with a smirk. Her two eyes gleamed in the light of the hearth before I dismissed the glamour that was made of compulsions, coming face to face with the one-eyed witch who could tell the future from a drop of blood. "I was expecting you."

I held my left hand up, pulling spellfire from the dragonglass, shaping into the glyphs of 'Sleep' and throwing it at the man. The illusion disappeared, and the man fell back onto the bed, unconscious.

Ignoring the sting of the heated metal of the ring, I sighed, knowing that I was going to get a new headache. I hated Divination.

The House of Black and White still stood, a Monument to the Dead… as though I had not burned everyone who had been a member of the giant House of Marble and Misery that looked as large and grim as it always did. No one thought that the mists were too low, this being Braavos and all, though it gave us an advantage in sneaking into the building as I wrapped it around us using my cloak as a focus.

Those who saw me would find their eyes slipping past my form.

What I heard from rumors and preachers was worrisome. I had caught the tail end of a sermon by the Church of the Starry Wisdom, whom I avoided for the simple fact that their mere presence implied worse things than Mages trying to find ways beyond death. Their sermon, something of a "newborn star," had me almost go through a panic attack and figure out a way to add them to the House of Black and White in the now-extinct clergy.

I only needed to tap the Weirwood Door once before it opened up, and Wat the Brains and I went in while Wat the Eyes and Ser Willem stayed back in the Ranch behind the Magical Protections to watch over Dany and others. I had figured out how the Faceless Men entered, as the assassin used the face of the old man whose face he took as a vessel to skinchange into the horses. Since the horses were already inside, he had moved through the magical protections with the help of his Valyrian Steel trinkets.

The air was oppressive, worse than it had been, as though the souls of the Faceless Men were there with us. I opened my eyes to my new sight, seeing golden flames of Magical Energy and the shifting forms of humans, their form slowly losing their cohesion. I had to do something about that before their souls were absorbed by the building and wove themselves into a subtle curse.

The Entrance Chamber of the House of Black and White was always eerie. It was quiet in a way only a Morgue could be, empty apart from the Dead Priest on the floor... the Kindly Man who had stabbed me, lying next to a mess of wood and cloth. The remains of the puppet had a sword sticking through its torso that sent a twang of pain through my chest.

My focus was drawn to the staff, still standing upright, still holding the Orb of Divination atop it… yet the wood itself lacked the signature red color. My hand wrapped around the staff, pulling on it only for the staff to snap and turn to nothing but dust.

The Orb of Divination fell on the floor, rolling towards one of the corners of the room. As I picked it up, I noticed that I was standing in front of a Weirwood Face, its eyes looking as though there had been a fire beneath the chunk of weirwood that was hung on the wall. 'Or is it hanged… is a Weirwood Face a tapestry, or are they still considered a person, given they are likely the Greenseers turning into Weirwoods?' I mused idly.

"What can break Valyrian Steel?" asked Wat behind me, breaking me from my thoughts. He had already filled a skin with the poisoned waters of the Well.

"Same thing that forged it. Dragon fire and magic," I responded automatically, knowing the answer from the necklace I had given Dany. There were few things hotter than dragon flame. I turned to find Wat inspecting the blade that had been shoved into the chest of the puppet I had used.

What I had first thought to be a short sword that had pierced the chest of the puppet turned out to be a broken blade. Normally, I would wonder why someone would use a broken sword, but the subtle smoky pattern on the blade meant it was Valyrian Steel.

I took the blade, inspecting it against the light, making out a faint impression of runes that were not Valyrian.

The blade was warped and obviously broken; the blade was as thick as my hand ending in a sharp edge. The colors were lighter however, as though the shadowbinding used in its enchanting was reduced.

"Runes of the First Men," I noted with a soft hum. "From my knowledge, there are two Valyrian Steel blades in the world that might have such runes on them… and I am only certain of one."

"Right… I saw them runes… on the banner of a knight from House Royce when he came to Gulltown once," said Wat, making me nod. "Which swords are they, your grace?" asked Wat.

"One of them is Ice, the Ancestral Blade of House Stark, and it is in Winterfell, and the other was lost during the Storming of the Dragon Pit in the Dance… this is Lamentation," I stated before proceeding to curse in three different languages, one of which was not ever heard in this world.

The fact that Faceless Men had this particular sword that was lost during the Storming of the Dragonpit was rather damning. It was broken, burned, and the smoky pattern faded, suggesting that the shadow binding that made the enchantment over it was somehow used up.

I placed the blade to the side, as I would take it with us. Honor demanded that I return it to House Royce. They could have it when they bend the knee. Until then, I could study it without having to worry about accidentally destroying it… given that the blade was already mostly destroyed and thought to be lost to time.

I turned to the ashes of the Weirwood staff, and the pile of white dust, black as sin with the handle of dragon bone standing half-molten from the heat but still usable. The blade went into its sheath on my belt, followed by a pouch that now contained the Weirwood Dust, finding itself next to the pouch that contained the ashes of my wand.

I held out the Rowan staff I brought with me, the moonstone on top of it glowing softly to cast light that was bound with conceptual revealing.

The layout of the House of Black and White was a simple one; a couple of corpses were in the rooms where they slept before I finally found the Hall of Many Faces… or what was left of it. Anything beyond was now unreachable.

"Sunfire must have melted the stone columns, causing a cave-in," I muttered to myself, touching the wet stone and mud blocking the path. The columns that stored the faces of the dead, as it turned out, were load-bearing, and the entire Hall of Faces had collapsed. Being constructed in the middle of an island, the collapse had led to flooding, which further made any further attempt at accessing the loot a long and drawn-out process. A cursory spell through the orb in my hand showed that the rest of the House of Black and White beyond the Hall of Faces was intact, though flooded. Any books I could get would be ruined, but I could not see any gold... or rather the emptiness that I knew to be how I saw gold when looking through the magical sight.

Fuck.

Giving a sigh, I decided to start on my next plan to go through the physical obstacle. Taking a lesson from nature, I dropped a few saplings on the floor, pulling on the residual magical energy and casting a spell that was Druidic in nature. Channeling the ambient Life Force in the air from the simultaneous death of the Faceless Men into the saplings, I watched as roots and branches started to dig into the rubble, slowly shifting it until it formed a passage to the other end of the Hall of Faces.

It would take a while, maybe a few years even, but trees could crack stones and move through the water, and they could grow to shift the rocks around enough to form a trunk that I could manipulate into becoming a passage... but it would just take time.

I used Lamentation to cut off the head of the High Priest of Death that was in the entrance hall as well, the skull was intact, and I had a special purpose for that skull. Taking the head and burning the body, I turned to head out when a raven landed on my shoulder… a raven that was

"What happened to you?" I asked, looking at the raven that I had used to talk through the puppet. His wings had a glow to them, and each flap of his wings seemed to cause a wave of heat and flakes of amber to float.

"Sun… Fire," the raven croaked as I went through the mental gymnastics to understand why this specific effect happened. The raven had been at the ground zero of the ritual, channeling the entirety of the sun fire through itself. Where my wand had disintegrated, and my arm burned, the raven looked to be changed in a more general manner, bound to fire as it was.

"Right… you just got promoted to the status of familiar," I declared, a smirk forming on my lips, "And I am going to need a tail feather later," I stated, not trusting the protections that may be compromised in this location to craft a new wand.

"Ah… your grace, the First Sword and guards are at the door," said Wat, looking through the eyes on the face of the moon that was carved on the doors.

"Tell them to wait," I commented, dumping the materials we were able to scavenge from the House of Black and White in the middle of the room, carefully away from everything else.

"What if they attack?" asked Wat, paling at the idea.

I looked at him for a moment, "You are quick; figure something out and tell Syrio that I killed all the Faceless Man for harming one of my men; I am not above doing the same to the entire city," I stated, knowing that the First Sword would wait.

That got Wat to nod as he started to go outside. I trusted him to keep things from escalating or act as an early warning should they decide to try to burn the temple to handle me, not that it would work. Should words not work, Wat had the bag of grenades I prepared in case we needed to make a fighting retreat. Given the lack of explosions, I think he had everything under control.

Closing my eyes, I placed my left hand on the Weirwood Face, focusing on what I wanted, what I needed. My mind reached beyond thought and memory, beyond form and time itself, as I used Divination in its rawest form to pluck the knowledge I needed from the Ether itself.

Visions meant nothing if you were not looking for a specific something… but they were invaluable if you had an idea of what you wanted and a grounding on how you wanted it done. I had looked through the Weirwood to the future it would have.

Taking chalk from my pocket and drawing a simple pentagram on the large slab of stone that made up the ground, I placed the Weirwood Face on top. Next, I placed the skull of the Kindly Man I had taken, filling it with a vial of Memory Potion and the water from the Pool in the Middle of the House of Black and White.

Lastly, I dropped the Orb of Divination inside the skull.

I took off my Dragonglass Ring, the skin under it red from the heating of the ring every time I pulled on the fire to make spellfire. I would have to figure out a safer method next, but for now, I pulled on the spellfire once more, in the comfort of having taken off the ring.

The Weirwood Face, the last remnants of the face of a Greenseer long dead, turned to stone over the centuries, came to life, the Memory Potion seeping through the bone to the Weirwood. Spellfire flowed through the red veins of the wood as the wood itself, animating it, making it flow. Soon, the face grew taut over the skull of men before flowing into the bone itself.

As I shaped the wood, I watched the souls around me slowly flow, sinking into the `host` that they were familiar with at a conceptual level, merging and becoming a single soul.

Once it was done, I held a white skull, its eyes glowing with the flames of the dragonglass that made the Orb of Divination held within.

"Viserys Targaryen?" asked the Faceless Men, whose shape took the form of a familiar girl in the middle of the large room, an illusion formed from the light of the Dragonglass. "What have you done to me?"

I faced the black haired girl, looking into her red eyes. I tapped my hand to my head, pulling out the memory of the vision, and threw it at the white skull, the Weirwood absorbing the memory and the experiences.

"So you know," she said, the knowledge and memory becoming part of her.

"I understand why you have done what you did… heck, I even understand the Storming of the Dragonpit, given how both Rhaenyra and Aegon were unworthy of even having dragons with how they bumbled their way through that Civil War of theirs… that does not mean that you get to fuck off to the afterlife, however." I started, looking at the founder of the Faceless Men, the black-haired girl with the red eyes of a greenseer. "Here is the deal, I will take care of the major problems that may lead to extinction-level events… given I live in this world as well. I will even set events in motion once in a while to make sure what happened in Valyria will not happen again… Hell, I will even personally make sure that the White Walkers are dealt with."

"And in exchange?" asked the girl without a name, whose wrath carved through Valyria just as mine carved itself through the House of Black and White.

"You serve me," I declared, "You are bound to an artifact with the ability to observe the world, and you hold the knowledge of Magic from the last six hundred years," I stated with a smirk. "And you are not bound to your body or soul anymore, just a coalescence of memories… a ghost. You are… a Spirit of Intellect," I said with a smirk. "Or at least close enough to one that the difference does not matter."

Had I made a Bob… yes, yes, I have. Eat your heart out Kremmler... or whoever made Bob.

"Then serve, I shall," stated the girl accepting the situation. "Though if my soul is no longer bound to my own body… am I who I was… if not, who am I?"

I looked at her for a moment, considering my option. "I think I will call you… Morrigan," I said with a smirk.

I felt something bind itself to me as I named the spirit… my right arm started to itch.

I ripped off the cast made of leaves and potions to heal it. The skin beneath looked burned and ugly, still red, but somehow healed as though it was months old after less than a day.

On my forearm, shadows danced… flowing like ink.

First, the shadows formed a line, the shadows moving from my elbow to my hand.

Next, it formed a circle bisected by the line.

And finally, as the itching stopped, the shadows formed a triangle containing the line and the circle… forming a symbol that had a personal meaning for me... a form I knew it took for the knowledge I held within my own self, much more than being an actual rune or glyph.

"Then I shall be called Morrigan… Master" said the being I bound to my will.

AN: A few days late, but enjoy.

As always, I appreciate all your comments and it drives me to work more, so go for it.

"We'ze gonna krump da humies. For da see-boss! WAAAGH!"

Now, I have to figure out if it is feasible to fuse Mushrooms with Humies... and there is a theory that weirwood is a mushroom... so human Weirwood hybrids that go WAAGH!!!... maybe... not canon though, but I would love it if anyone made an omake of this.