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Chapter 55
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 21:07:28 +0000 UTCLying is an art, and Aegor had learned a particularly practical technique from discussions in his previous life: to deceive others, you must first deceive yourself. What is the most unassailable truth? Reality itself. When crafting a lie, it’s crucial to immerse yourself fully into the role you’re playing. Everything you say and do must align with this fabricated identity—just like writing a novel. No matter how strange or outlandish the setting, as long as the story remains internally consistent, it becomes believable. If a liar can commit so thoroughly that they themselves begin to believe the lie, their deception becomes nearly unbreakable.
Aegor had assumed the role of an adventurer from beyond the Sunset Sea. From this perspective, he was entirely truthful—he had disclosed everything he "knew" about his identity. If he hadn’t uttered a single lie, how could anyone possibly expose him? Yet, while concealing the truth of his transmigration, he subtly guided Melisandre’s thoughts in a direction that would lead her to "discover" the answers he wanted her to find. As long as her curiosity was satisfied without straying into dangerous territory, Aegor could navigate this encounter unscathed.
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Melisandre. Fans of the original series often referred to her as "Aunt Mel," but whether you called her Aunt, Sister, or even Granny Mel, there was no need to demonize her. She was simply a woman—a red-haired priestess who wielded magic and communed with the so-called Lord of Light. Faced with Aegor’s entirely truthful answers, even she couldn’t find a foothold for further interrogation. Instead, his "unintentional" hints sparked a realization in her, and she narrowed her eyes, falling into thought.
“Ah, I see,” she murmured after half a minute, connecting Aegor’s answers with her visions in the flames. “The boy possesses a divine vessel’s constitution. A demigod desires him.”
“A demigod? And what exactly is that?” Aegor asked, feigning curiosity.
“A demigod is exactly what the name implies,” Melisandre explained. “A being weaker than my lord, the Lord of Light, yet vastly more powerful than mere mortals like us. You could think of it as a sorcerer of unparalleled strength.”
“And what is this ‘divine vessel’ constitution?” Aegor pressed further. “And if this demigod desires the boy, why cripple him?”
“A divine vessel refers to an affinity for gods—a rare ability to effortlessly perceive the messages of beings like the Lord of Light. Some people see his truths clearly through the flames, while others require guidance. And then there are those who will never hear his voice, no matter how devout they are,” she said. “Curiously, those with the strongest affinity often possess extraordinary talents as sorcerers. Yet their healthy bodies, powerful souls, and unshakable wills can obstruct divine communion—preventing the gods from speaking to them directly. In such cases...” Her voice turned colder. “The gods may resort to harsher methods. You’ve seen what comes next.”
Aegor shivered, understanding her implication instantly. Among a thousand skinchangers, only one might possess the potential to become a greenseer. And among those, Bran Stark had the most exceptional constitution—an ideal successor to the previous greenseer. Yet his inherent strength made him resistant to the greenseer’s influence. To overcome this, the old greenseer had chosen a cruel solution: to weaken Bran, temporarily stripping him of his strength.
And even the succession itself seemed suspect. Would the old greenseer merely pass down his knowledge and memories to Bran? Or would he take over Bran’s body entirely, using his powers to observe Bran’s past and seamlessly impersonate him?
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The thought filled Aegor with unease. He needed confirmation from an insider like Melisandre. “So, theoretically, if someone were to cripple a healthy person—or make them ill—during their weakened state, this demigod you speak of could seize the opportunity to invade their mind and exert control?”
“In theory, yes,” Melisandre replied with a dazzling smile. “But direct harm is a last resort. In truth, when someone’s spirit is empty—when they doubt themselves or their future—that too opens a door for influence. Such methods are tools of the weak. The Lord of Light has no need for such base tactics. His blessings reach wherever the flames burn. My lord’s strength far surpasses the demigod you encountered.”
With her confirmation, Aegor’s last shred of doubt evaporated. It was all clear now. Bran Stark’s fall wasn’t a coincidence. It had occurred the day before he was meant to leave for King’s Landing—a deliberate act by the greenseer to stop his ideal successor from leaving the North and falling outside his sphere of influence. The accident was staged to weaken Bran physically, creating an opportunity for the greenseer to plant dreams of the Three-Eyed Raven in his subconscious. The crippled boy would then be guided by Jojen Reed, a puppet entirely under the greenseer’s control, leading Bran straight to him.
What a ruthless, calculated scheme.
But one detail still didn’t add up. Aegor had been present when Bran fell. He had seen the sequence of events with his own eyes, and there hadn’t been any signs of external interference. How had the greenseer orchestrated the accident? “But… it seemed like a genuine accident,” he muttered.
“You’re dealing with a demigod, my friend,” Melisandre replied, her tone laced with disdain. “What you saw was an accident, yes. But was it truly an accident? A demigod spreads their influence through faith, encouraging mortals to act as their agents and extend their reach. Within this domain, they don’t need direct control. Subtle whispers in the subconscious, a gentle nudge here and there, and the events they desire unfold naturally—as if by coincidence.”
“Heart trees. The Old Gods!” The realization hit Aegor like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the fog of his thoughts. His voice trembled as he blurted out his conclusion.
Melisandre’s eyes narrowed, and she gave the slightest nod before gesturing for him to stop.
Her reaction confirmed everything. The so-called Old Gods were nothing more than an invention of the greenseer—or rather, the greenseer was the Old Gods. Through this fabricated deity and its associated faith, the Children of the Forest and the First Men had planted weirwood trees across Westeros, allowing the greenseer to expand his reach. These trees weren’t just a network for observation but a conduit for manipulation.
Winterfell’s godswood, where the fall occurred, was less than 200 meters from the broken tower. With the influence of the weirwood so close, all it took was a subtle whisper in Bran’s subconscious to spur him to climb the tower to feed the ravens. A similar nudge could have inflamed Jaime and Cersei’s reckless passion, leading them to seek privacy in the tower. And with Aegor interfering repeatedly, trying to avert the accident, the greenseer had likely noticed him. Was that why Melisandre sensed the "aura of a powerful being" lingering on him? Had he unknowingly crossed paths with the greenseer in a battle of wills?
Aegor shuddered. He had been inches away from disrupting the greenseer’s plans. Thank the gods—or the lack thereof—that he hadn’t succeeded.
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As sweat dampened his tunic, Aegor’s mind spiraled into further conjecture. If Melisandre’s leech-burning curses had coincided with the deaths of three "false kings," could her god’s methods be equally manipulative? Robb Stark’s death at the Red Wedding, Joffrey’s poisoning, and Balon Greyjoy’s mysterious fall all appeared unrelated to her magic. But were their fates shaped by the same whispers and nudges?
Could this entire game of thrones, this song of ice and fire, merely be the battlefield for gods and demigods warring over dominion in this world?
