Chapter 6: The Night is full of terror

Summary:

Marc goes to a assigned room in Darry Castle to spend the night.

However, his sleep is not as peaceful as expected as a strange visitor came in...

Chapter Text

As I was walking and watching the place around me in the corridor, I stopped by the door by which Eddard Stark, Arya and I arrived as I didn't want to get lost in Darry Castle and to allow the queen or her son to take the opportunity to strike at me. I saw Jory Cassel moving with Vayon Poole and knew that soon, I would find a room where to rest. I stood near the door, not wanting to disturb the sleeps of those neaby. As two Stark guards were passing, I saluted them. They answered back, one of some looking at me with recognition, probably from what happened in the hall.

As I stood by the door, contemplating my next move, I noticed Vayon Poole approaching. His eyes held a glimmer of recognition, likely due to witnessing my intervention in the hall. Vayon's expression was a mix of curiosity and admiration, and I could tell he had formed an opinion of me based on that incident.

"Good evening, Marc," Vayon greeted me respectfully. "Lord Stark has entrusted me with the task of finding you a room for the night. Please, follow me."

I nodded, signaling my willingness to accompany him. We then walked through the corridors of Darry Castle in the part where lord Stark's household seemed to have taken residence, and as we did, Vayon spoke with me shared some insights into Arya's perception of me during their journey to her assigned room.

"You know, your actions in the hall were quite impressive. You defended Lady Arya valiantly."

I nodded in acknowledgement, a small smile playing on my lips. "Thank you, Vayon. I did what was right. No child should suffer the cruelty of others."

The steward's eyes softened, and he seemed to appreciate my sentiment. "I can't argue with that, especially since I have a daughter of my own to worry about."

Understanding the weight of his words, I nodded sympathetically, even though a part of me shuddered as I thought upon what could happen to his daughter. Rejecting the dark and awful imagery of my mind, I answered with sympathy.

"Indeed, the safety and well-being of our loved ones are always of utmost importance."

Vayon's respect for me seemed to grow as he listened to my response.

"My lord trusts you enough to allow you to join Winterfell," he then remarked, his voice tinged with respect. "He was already grateful with your intervention, but whatever you have discussed with him seem to make him see worth in you."

I appreciated his acknowledgment and the trust that Eddard had placed in me. I knew that joining Winterfell would provide an opportunity to further assist and protect the Stark family, as well as deepened my own understanding of their world to know it better beyond the superficial knowledge from the books, shows and fandom.

"I am honored by Lord Stark's trust," I replied, gratitude evident in my tone. "I am committed to doing whatever I can to ensure the safety and well-being of his family and those close to them."

Vayon's admiration seemed to grow as he listened to my words. "Your presence and skills will undoubtedly be invaluable for his son in the days to come," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

I nodded in agreement with him, even though I was hoping he would be right.

Finally, we arrived at a suitable guest room. Vayon opened the door and gestured for me to enter. "Here is a room where you can rest for the night. It is not much, but I hope it meets your needs."

I stepped inside and surveyed the room, grateful for the opportunity to finally settle down after the events of the evening. I turned to the steward and expressed my gratitude. "Thank you for your assistance and for guiding me here. I appreciate your help."

Vayon offered a slight bow, his voice filled with sincerity. "You're most welcome. Rest well."

With that, Vayon bid me goodnight, and I closed the door behind him. As I prepared myself for the night, I couldn't help but reflect on the whirlwind of events that had transpired. The truth I had revealed, the decisions Eddard had made, and the trust that had been placed in me—all of it weighed heavily on my mind. Yet, amidst the uncertainties, I found solace in knowing that I had played a part, however small, in safeguarding the Stark family and the realm they held dear. My cautious part was still conflicted, both glad that I had found shelter and trusting people and yet still flummoxed by my bold intervention and the fact I put my life in danger in a place where life expectancy, even for highborn, could be as short as a fly's wing.

Trying to chase away these thoughts and doubts, I finally went to sleep. But as I drifted into sleep, my mind was plagued by an unsettling dream.

As I stood in the frozen graveyard, surrounded by skulls and bones, the piercing caws of ravens echoed in the eerie silence. It was then that a three-eyed raven materialized before me, his gaze penetrating my very soul.

"Trepasser. Trepasser," the raven cawed, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the bleak landscape.

With confusion and fear swirling in my mind, memories of childhood fears of death resurfaced. I deepply disliked the situation and felt vulnerable and my cautious self disliked this context, no matter how surreal and dreamy or nightmarish it was. I mustered the courage to address the enigmatic figure before me.

"Bloodraven," I spoke softly yet firmly, acknowledging the ancient being's other name.

Bloodraven's form shifted, taking on the appearance of Brynden Rivers from the history of Westeros. His pale skin and centuries-old eyes, one of them red, spoke of the magic and mystery entwined within him.

"You know my name," he replied, curious yet cautious about my knowledge.

Meeting his intense gaze, I stood my ground. "By your greensight, you may have guessed who I am and how I know your identity. And I also know your true name, Brynden Rivers," I asserted with unwavering resolve.

He watched me intently, as if assessing my worth, before finally cawing again.

"I have observed your presence in the recent days," he accused, his voice tinged with caution. "You are a disruption to the song, an interloper who shouldn't be here."

Acknowledging the truth in his words, I nodded, my jaw clenched. "Yes, I have made some interferences—intervening in Arya's trial, preventing Lady's death, and challenging Joffrey's reputation. But I didn't ask to be here, and I didn't expect to become a part of this deadly Game of Thrones," I retorted, my frustration growing.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, "Do you, as an agent of the Old Gods, know how I ended up in Westeros?" My voice held a tinge of sarcasm, as if I doubted whether he actually knew anything useful.

Bloodraven's gaze intensified. "Your arrival from another realm is a unique occurrence, and it has drawn the Old Gods' attention."

While his answer was more a riddle than a clear one, I considered that the Old Gods and him considered my hypothesis of an "Last Action Hero" style arrival likely. That didn't solve the question of how it was possible, as I knew magic as an energy and power wasn't a thing of my world. My thoughts were interrupted when Bloodraven spoke again, his words dripping with disapproval, "And your arrival was observed with wariness. Your presence there is not only unnatural, but your actions and intents threaten the balance of this world. You would doom everyone with your recklessness."

Hearing the accusation behind his words snapped me out of my generally well-tempered demeanor. I looked at the greenseer with narrowed and angry eyes, my patience wearing thin. Even though a part of me could understand his stance, I couldn't stand being accused of wrongdoings while my own position was complicated and difficult to fit with their rules and so-called games.

"But the suffering and injustice in this 'song' are undeniable," I argued, my personal disagreements with the methods of the Old Gods seeping into my words. "While a believer, I do not believe in fate, only in the patterns that repeat, and I can't stand idly by while millions suffer due to the greed of a few."

Bloodraven listened, his ancient wisdom absorbing my words, but I sensed a touch of condescension in his demeanor. "You see only a fragment of the grand design," he said patronizingly. "The Old Gods work in mysterious ways, and the outcome may yet surprise you. While I understand your desire to change the course of events, we must tread carefully, for unintended consequences can unravel the fabric of time."

My anger flared at his condescending tone, and I held his gaze firmly, unyielding in my convictions. "I may not fully understand the intricacies of this world, but I refuse to believe that we are mere pawns, bound by an unchangeable fate," I argued fiercely. "I've seen the patterns in history, the echoes of the past in the present. The mistakes of those who came before us should be lessons, not prophecies or chorus. They are only chorus because people either failed to learn from the past or forgot it. If we are to make any difference, we must question, challenge, and seek a better path."

Bloodraven's expression softened slightly, as if contemplating my words, but I could sense his resistance to my way of thinking. "You speak with conviction, but such a perspective can be both a blessing and a curse," he remarked, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "To see patterns and trends can provide insight, but it can also blind one to the unexpected and the true complexities of existence."

"I do not claim to have all the answers," I admitted through gritted teeth, my anger barely contained. "But I can't stand idly by while people suffer. If I can find a way to make a positive impact, even in the smallest of ways, I will."

My eyes darkened again as I couldn't help but let my anger get the better of me, "If I don't, I am no much better than the Kingsguard when they stood while Aerys raped his sister-wife."

I spat again, my frustration and anger boiling over, "Perhaps you should taste how it feels to live something you believe to be tales before finding it to be real to understand my position."

As I spoke those words, the dream abruptly shifted to a horrifying scene from Game of Thrones. We both found ourselves amidst the tragic event where Shireen Baratheon was being burned by Melisandre on her own father's consent. My heart clenched violently when I became aware of the setting, as the scene was my most emotional-wrenching and painful scene in the whole series, beating every gruesome death and rape depicted in the show. The eerie atmosphere of the cold, snowy military camp surrounded me, and I felt a shiver down my spine. Shireen's desperate cries for her parents echoed in my ears, and the sight of her being tied up and then burned was unbearable.

My emotional reaction to witnessing this scene was overwhelming, far more intense than when I watched the scene as her death was off-screen. Shireen was a character I had grown fond of throughout the series, and to see her facing such a horrifying fate was heart-wrenching. My anger from earlier had dissipated, replaced by a deep sadness and helplessness that threatened to consume me. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, my usual composure shattered by the emotional turmoil.

Every fiber of my being wanted to rush forward and try to save Shireen, to free her from her bindings, and prevent this cruel and senseless act. But the dream, like a memory in a pensive, prevented me from interacting with the people around me. I was forced to bear witness to the tragedy unfolding before my eyes, unable to intervene.

The air felt thick and suffocating and the weight of this moment was tenfold what I would feel for such situations. The cries and the stench of burning flesh mixed with the snow and chilled me to the core. Shireen's pain and fear were palpable, and I felt as if I was there with her, experiencing her agony and desperation.

The sight of the soldiers, including her own parents, standing by and watching her suffer was gut-wrenching. I clenched my fists, feeling an overwhelming urge to break free from this dream, to escape the awful nightmare that had overtaken me. But I was powerless, trapped in the scene, unable to change its course. Looking at Melisandre, I felt the biggest rush of anger and hatred I ever felt. Until now, the notion of enemy was nearly a foreign notion to me because of my demeanor and values. But experiencing the scene as if it would become reality made me feel in a manner similar to Arya when faced to awful injustice. If it wasn't for the fact it wasn't real, I would have jumped at the Red woman, strangling her, tearing apart her necklace and making a spinosaur move on her neck. A part of me was disgusted with myself, but the burst of anger combined with the whole emotional turmoil I was experiencing in this instance was like the tornadoes wrecking havoc Los Angeles in "The Day After Tomorrow".

Beside me, Bloodraven seemed to share my distress, though he remained composed. The weight of the scene weighed heavily on him, though he remained composed. He had seen countless events and horrors throughout history, but this was different—it was my mind, my thoughts, creating this nightmare for us to witness, even if it was from my peculiar knowledge I had on his world and its future. He looked at me with a mix of understanding and concern, seeing the turmoil within me. Seeing glimpses of my emotions and thoughts, he guessed what plagued my mind as we were accidentally witnessing the event. He had a sense of the responsibility that weighed on my shoulders. To be an observer of fictional or past tragedies was one thing, but to confront the possibility of those fictional and future tragedies becoming real was an entirely different matter. It was a dilemma that he could not easily dismiss. Shireen's kinship to him added an extra layer of complexity to the situation, even though he knew her fate was a possibility in the Song.

As the flames consumed Shireen, my heart sank, and I fell to my knees. The pain, guilt, and sorrow I felt were almost unbearable. I felt like an accomplice to this heinous act, even though it was just a fictional scene. The fact that it mirrored a potential future in Westeros only intensified my despair. While I was grieving both this tragedy, I struggled in pain to leave this nightmare. A part of me felt tainted and monstrous. How could I let my temper took the best of me? Even worse as I let my emotions striking out against the greatest greenseer and warg of times, at least before Bran.

As I thought violently to leave this awful situation, Bloodraven and I managed to find ourselves back in the graveyard. Both of us were disturbed, even though I took the brunt of the experience. A part of me was darkly amused by the irony of the situation for wishing for him to taste how I felt to truly live situations I had seen or read and to choose one of the worse. A part of me wondered how it had been possible, even if the inkling of magic was enough to make me suspect such possibility. While I knew I was without magic, I couldn't dismiss the fact I could have been affected by it in one way or another, especially in the presence of Bloodraven.

I let out my cries and tears as we were back in the creepy graveyard. I was feeling sick, relieved, disgusted and shattered. I finally looked at Bloodraven, speaking to him, my voice quivered with a sense of guilt and self-loathing.

"Now you understand how deeply I can be affected by the fictional tragedies I've watched and read. Shireen's death is the most wrenching moment for me, and to experience it as if it were real is beyond words. That was how I felt when I witnessed the ordeal between Arya and Joffrey in Darry Castle, even though it was less disgusting, awful and monstrous. But it is very awful to literally live scenes that were before only fiction, but also disturbing, because that made me look like a creepy and sick man who took delight to watch people's lives in their whole complexity and vulnerability."

I wiped away the tears, trying to collect myself.

"How can I live with myself if I take the passive and apathetic path? I'm sorry, but I can't do what you or the Old Gods ask of me."

Bloodraven's expression softened, and he seemed to grasp the weight of my burden. He understood my conundrum and my inner turmoil and why it drove me to change the course of events and alleviate suffering.

"I see your turmoil, and I understand your desire to make a difference," Bloodraven replied, his voice calm. "But remember, even with the best intentions, meddling with the threads of fate can have unforeseen consequences. It's a delicate balance, trying to alter the course of history without causing irreparable harm."

I took a deep breath, my anger being brutally abated and overwhelmed by my sense of guilt and remorse even though determination was still there. "I know. That's why I want to convey changes through advices and analytical approaches. Advices can be taken or not, but they can allow soft changes like a breeze. I do not know how much you witnessed with your greensight and how much you see of what I would do in the incoming future, but I didn't reveal everything to Eddard Stark because it would have been inefficient and catastrophic, not to mention the mental and emotional breakdown he would have or the fact such an approach would make things worse. I just try to convey my skills and knowledge in a way that can allow changes without making it too obvious or attracting the wrong attention too quickly."

Bloodraven didn't respond, but watched me with his eerie eyes as if he was looking deep in my soul. I felt shiver in my inner self but couldn't let myself to let out again my emotions.

I took a breath, "That's why I was angered by how you speak to me. Not only you arrived in my mind and dreams while seemingly using my fears with this graveyard full of skulls, but your words, no matter the truth in them, make me feel I was deliberately wreaking havoc on the song without a care for the world and the people. For any other person, that may be the case, and I know hell is paved with good intentions. But evil also triumphs when good men do nothing. I know that my actions have consequences and that I am restricted by their impact and the restraints of my knowledge. But I can't allow myself to be this passive spectator. That could work back in my world when your reality was just a story created by someone as what was happening was a distant thing with no grip on reality. Not anymore."

I held up a croaked voice, "I ask forgiveness for accusing you of things you can't do because of the restrictions you have. I know of the taboos that exist among greenseers and wargs. But please, do not ask me to do something I am not certain to hold. You are like an observer on a mountain peak, watching everything in the valley, and I am more like someone that used to fly over the valley but is now forced to be within it. The whole picture may escape me, but I can't dismiss my emotions or the emotions of the people that are now around me. Otherwise, I am like the monsters of your world or those of mine for whom one death is a tragedy, but a million a mere statistic."

As I poured out my emotions and convictions to Bloodraven, the haunting scene from Game of Thrones lingered, casting a chilling atmosphere over our conversation. The eerie graveyard setting mirrored my fear of failure and the dangers he had warned me about.

As he listened, Bloodraven's demeanor softened further, showing that he truly understood the depth of my feelings and the internal battle I was facing. Despite our differences in approach as a greensight observer, he saw the sincerity in my desire to bring about positive change.

"I can sense the urgency in you to take action and make a difference," he responded thoughtfully. "You're not alone in grappling with the complexities of this world. Your emotions and empathy are both strengths and vulnerabilities. They reveal your genuine concern for the consequences of your choices. When I came to your dreams, it wasn't to condemn you, but to offer caution."

He explained, "The path you choose is yours to bear, and it won't be an easy one. I have glimpsed various potential outcomes resulting from your decisions, each shrouded in uncertainty."

At that moment, the scene seemed to shift, emphasizing the divergent paths that lay before me, each with its own set of consequences.

"But even in uncertainty, there is hope," Bloodraven continued. "Your approach of bringing about change through advice and subtlety is wise. Small actions can create significant transformations over time. You have the potential to influence events without causing chaos or drawing unnecessary attention."

His words resonated deeply within me, and I nodded in acknowledgment. I could sense his understanding and wisdom, realizing that he wasn't trying to hold me back entirely but to guide me in using my knowledge responsibly.

"As for my initial approach, I apologize for my harsh words," Bloodraven's voice carried remorse. "I wanted you to grasp the gravity of your actions, but perhaps I underestimated the impact it would have on you. I never intended to distress you, only to make you aware of the consequences."

Amidst the complex emotions that still gripped me, I sensed Bloodraven's sincerity and understood that his approach had its own purpose. He sought to make me aware of the intricate nature of the world and the potential consequences of my actions.

"I accept your apology," I replied, my voice steadier now. "And I also apologize for involving you in this... possible future scenario."

Bloodraven nodded solemnly in response to my acceptance, acknowledging the weight I carried and the courage it took to strive for change in a harsh world.

"I comprehend the gravity of your burden, and I respect the determination you possess to navigate this world's cruelty," his tone now carried a note of respect.

I sighed, "I know what is at stake and that any of my moves can create a storm more devastating than the one you are observing to prepare those you feel would play their part. It is your position and role. I won't lie I am uncertain and a bit wary of you or of your endgame, but I do not regard you as an enemy. To tell the truth, I do not regard anyone as an enemy because it is not me. If we can find some middle ground, maybe we will be able to work in complementary. You have the foresight and the experience of this world. I have an outsider perspective and consider that the ideal man is both an idealist and a pragmatist. I know you to be pragmatic and I know myself to be still a dreamer even though my own knowledge made me more attune to the diversity of shades of reality."

Bloodraven pondered my words, considering the potential synergy in our collaboration. He recognized my sincerity and the value of blending our strengths and viewpoints.

"You're right," Bloodraven acknowledged, his voice both measured and encouraging. "Our distinct strengths can work in harmony, shaping the course of events if we find common ground."

With his understanding and willingness to consider my perspective, I felt a sense of relief. I then took a breath, "You can be certain of this: no matter how violent the incoming storm, no matter how I fare in this ocean of violence, lies, and intrigues, I will do my duty to pursue what is right, not what is easy. And I'll do it, not because of the will of gods but because it is the right thing to do. I do not seek power because it is feeble and treacherous. I do not seek glory because everything that once shined disappears in the darkness. All I want to make a difference with my abilities. I am no servant with a submissive demeanour who has no autonomy and no ability to adapt himself to the unexpected. I am no warrior with brute strength. I am only me, a stranger who found himself in a position where he can't do nothing and can't do everything. And I will do it to the best of my abilities and virtues. And while I will act on my gut and feelings, I place myself in the hands of God, whatever the form he would take."

As the tension in the dream eased, the atmosphere of the eerie graveyard seemed to respond, becoming less oppressive and chilling.

"You have a true and noble heart," Bloodraven's voice resonated with understanding. "Your words and actions reveal your compassion and the desire to do what's right, even if you don't fully comprehend the grand design."

He appeared to contemplate the impact of our conversation and my emotional state. The realization that his presence could affect me on such a personal level made him more cautious. Despite this, his words brought comfort, and I nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you for recognizing that," I replied, my voice still weary but more composed. "While I lack your foresight and centuries of experience, I will remain steadfast in my convictions. I understand the risks and consequences, and I'll be mindful of the outcomes my actions may trigger."

Bloodraven's red eye gleamed with a hint of approval, acknowledging my determination and resolve. "The path of change is challenging, and doubt may arise," he warned. "But cling to your principles and be aware of the ripples you create. Your journey is unique, and surprises may lie ahead."

As our conversation neared its conclusion, a sense of mutual understanding and trust enveloped us. Bloodraven recognized the potential within me to effect change and met me on more equal footing. Yet, despite the relief, I couldn't shake the guilt and regret over the unusual circumstances that initiated this extraordinary exchange.

"I will do my best," I affirmed. "I can't promise perfection, but I'll strive to make a positive impact in this world, one step at a time."

With a final nod, Bloodraven spoke with a hint of a reassuring smile, "Then we shall navigate this intricate tapestry together. Trust your instincts, and remember, even in the darkest of times, there is always hope."

And just like that, the Three-Eyed Raven faded away, leaving me to awaken from my troubled dream, my mind still filled with lingering thoughts and unanswered questions.

I took a moment trying to appease my mind and to settle in. But my cautious side was crying inside me, calling me back on my intervention and my incoming interferences. Fighting back the habit to speak aloud my conflicting thoughts, I tried to appease myself, but the emotional drain of the quarrel with Bloodraven was still affecting me. Finding back sleep was a very hard challenge as my mind was struggling against my own turmoil and the words of the Three-Eyed Raven. Would my interventions, even though solely advises and knowledge, truly wrecked out the events to the point the Long Night would become the Endless Night? Would I truly condemn millions of people, of living things and the soul of this world to the worst kind of darkness?

And while some middle ground seemed to have be found between the greenseer and me, uncertainty still plagued me and I was feeling guilt as if it was crushing me. The vivid scene of Shireen's death brought back as a reality in the vicinity of my mind was the most awful and painful experience I had experienced in my life. Shame and remorse were striking in my soul and made me feel as more despicable than the likes of Joffrey and of Ramsay. Even if my rational and analytical side was reasoning within me on the fact it wasn't the case, I deeply regretted expressing such wish to Bloodraven as it was like a curse wish. A part of me wondered if it wasn't a bad prank of the deities of this world to bring whatever humility they believed I needed to have.

Another part was wondering if I had been dreaming all of it and that Bloodraven wasn't really there, but was only a reflection of my fears and cautious-self expressing themselves through the mythical figure of the Three-eyed crow, raven or whatever he was truly. In spite of myself, I considered that I had no inkling of his intents or if he would visit me in such a way. The man was a mystery, but like any other, just in an enhanced way. I chased away those questions and thoughts as they gave no answer and no matter the truth, I would have to take this dream as a reminder of the hazards that were awaiting me and praying that my advices and decisions wouldn't go too awry or bringing much more pain because of a lack of foresight or relying too much on the ability to listen of the people I would encounter and advise. A nostalgic part of me suddenly felt like Elsa when she heard the voice calling her out into the unknown. Except this voice I might have heard was warning me and trying to make me comply to a certain rhythm like a conductor that would remind a sole musician to follow the rhythm of the orchestra. I knew I couldn't easily trust him but I could not dismiss him or considering him as an enemy, mainly because what was the worth of an enemy except exhausting your time to focus on someone or something you wanted to destroy as a dubious love you you wanted to conquer? Maybe he saw me as an enemy and a hurdle even with the truce that ended the dream, maybe he was not and maybe he didn't care for me. But all that didn't matter. I knew I had crossed the Rubisco and needed to move forward until the moment death decided to make her courtship to me.

My reasoning, my compassion and my cautiousness struggled to find an answer and bickered to each other like dragons in the sky. Unable to appease myself, I decide to go praying. Finding appeasement in the peaceful void of prayer and my faith in God could be a useful thing, even more in such a place. In the core of my soul, I inwardly pray for appeasement and reassurance to face the incoming struggles. I didn't ask anything else as while a believer, I learnt to consider God like a presence and not the Almighty, omnipotent and omniscient figure. The divine representations people were considered to me as windows of what we saw or expected to see of the mystery of deity, no matter what its true form was. Even the Seven, the Old Gods, the Lord of Light or the Drowned God, no matter their physical presence for some, were just representations of something that went beyond human's understanding, no matter how limited and narrow-minded my understanding of Westeros might be.

The little prayer helped me to chase away the trouble the awful dream had brought, even though the questions he raised were still lingering. I went back to sleep, hoping not to be disturbed again by anything, either in dreams or in reality.

AN.:

Here is a peculiar chapter as while it is a discussion scene, it is also (hopefully) an eerie scene. I wanted to conclude the first day arc of this fanfic with something that settles the stakes as established from the previous chapters and the motives of the MC. And Bloodraven was an interesting perspective and character to tackle.

This chapter has been a mix of ChatGPT different chats (first drafts and additions and rewrite) and of personal additions plus corrections.

I had this scene in mind as I was thinking of how greenseers would notice present and possible future ripples, notably in regards of the Song.

This chapter had been rewritten many times to have something that could be satisfactory to me. I wanted something of a mixed tone, showing a) disagreement in methods from at least one character, b) the character's flaws/vulnerability/reasons, c) a reminder of the surnatural of Westeros and beyond and how the MC's presence might be perceived, d) the idea of dream scenes is something I found interesting to explore and e) a mixed scene in the way the MC interacting with another character, even though the end seems promising. The first versions were more confrontational from the MC which made him antipathic and ironically OOC (as inspired from myself, I know what are my flaws, but I also know how I would react in an emotional state). But the thing is, no matter how Bloodraven is (canonically or in the context of this fanfic), the MC has a mindset that disliked conflicts though that doesn't mean he would accept to receive blows of any sort (no matter if in matter of crictics, good points are raised) without defending himself.

The GOT scene reviewing is an idea I had during one of the rewrite process with the help of ChatGPT, as the first versions was making my fictional self kind of antipathic and provocating, which was ironically a bit OOC. As I had recently watched the fifth season of GOT, this gave me the inspiration for the pivot scene of the chapter, the one that gave an idea of the motives of the MC (a little teased in the very first ones), but also one that might allow a "truce" between him and his interlocutor. And as for many, this GOT scene is a wrenching one for me, even though I do not have issue concerning how it has been settled in the context of the show. I would say it is the worst scene in emotional regards I had watched (but not the worst in quality terms. In fact in acting and editing, it manages to display the horror in a way that enhances it). I also included it because I do not have memory of my dreams and used to imagine in my head stories of my own when I went to sleep. So, that the MC's mind plays a dirty trick to him during dream state in the context of Westeros was something I consider interesting and plausible.

The huge paragraph in which the MC questioned his own dream is my own addition, partly because as since Bloodraven is a mysterious character, even more for someone like me, I didn't want to rely too much on ChatGPT's "generous" interpretations of the character and to create potential inconsistencies. Besides, with the matter of dreams, when well thought, one can use the self-doubt as a tool in the character's demeanor and development.

I have no idea if I would bring back in the future (at least in dream lands) Bloodraven, but if I did, I would like complementary information that would help me to define how the interactions would go as the one case that would justify his return in interactions with the MC would concern a certain winged-wolf (though a certain crannog boy will have a role in incoming chapters)...

Teaser: the next chapter is the true first interlude and concerns a certain Valonqar's nemesis ruminating events of the evening...

Have a good reading !