The Nameless One

A/N: Well, took some doing to get this chapter ready in time for Wednesday night (in my time zone anyway) but now that it is here, I can officially celebrate the 11th anniversary since I posted this story with you guys. Thanks again for the continued support and I hope you enjoy my exploration of Game of Thrones lore here.

Read, enjoy, and review!

Sansa Stark took a moment to digest the proclamation that Lord Forrester just made, her thoughts reeling. And based on the sudden gasps and the looks of awe and reverence from all around her, she wasn't the only one in that position.

Looking ahead, she felt an odd sense of peace washing over her. Blinking, she remembered a conversation she had with her father when she was much younger. She had asked him why did the Old Gods of the First Men didn't have names, like the Seven that her mother had been teaching her about. The Lord of Winterfell had paused for a moment as if wondering how to answer the question best for his little girl. Then he took her hand and brought her to their godswood. Only then did he opened his mouth.

"The Old Gods are deeply connected to the life of the land," He had told her. "When nature thrives, they thrive. But when it suffers and bleeds, so do they. As such, they are more humble than the New Gods because they know they all parts of a larger whole. So, they do not need elaborate pageantry and prayer from their followers praising their holy names every day."

The redhead could recall feeling puzzled at the idea of gods bleeding before frowning. "Then what do they need?"

She remembered her father sighing, his tone wistful as he pointed at the nearby river that had gone dry earlier in the year due to the harsh summer sun. "For men to understand that abusing the bounty of nature repeatedly threatens the balance with famine at a later date. And so, when the Old Gods bleed too much, we bleed with them."

Sansa was snapped out of her reminiscing thoughts when she noticed that, slowly but surely, the blue flames kept glowing brighter than before. Becoming convinced that, at the very least, something alive and magical was definitely stirring in the sacred tree, she felt the sudden urge to strongly support House Forrester's future plans to plant as many ironwood trees in their land as they could to help heal the damage the Wolfswood suffered during the Whitehill siege. Then she smiled sadly, realizing her father would have probably love that idea.

"I am sure you have many questions," Rodrik said slowly. "I will do my best to answer them. But first, I think we should let Spring approach. The Old God asked to me bring you here specifically, after all."

The Lady of Winterfell in exile looked at the last of the Children of the Forrest and noticed the sense of wonder in her eyes. But there was still nervousness in her gaze. She swallowed audibly, then shook her head as if to clear it.

"I hadn't been in the awakened presence of Old Gods in thousands of years," She finally said, her tone distant. "Not since many of them worked together in concert to...place their curse on my twin sisters and me."

A deep silence fell over their group. Sansa was already been told by her beloved brother that Spring was born during the Age of Heroes, as hard as it was to imagine, but she suspected that rest of them didn't know that, except for perhaps the former guardians of the North Grove and maybe Princess Val. Gwyn especially looked particularly shocked at the revelation but said nothing.

Before long, however, the surviving Child of the Forest walked forward, her head low. Soon, she was just a few feet away from the flames, which was when she decided to halt. For a moment, stillness reigned supreme in the underground chamber, their group waiting for a sign with bated breath.

And then, Sansa heard the sound of music.

It was subtle and not particularly loud. In fact, she could barely listen to it at first. But soon, the redhead realized that she was listening to the melodious sound of wind on leaves. This confused her a bit because there was no wind down there but then she shrugged slightly, deciding this was a nature god after all.

Looking around, she noticed that Josera, Elsera, and Val let out a loud gasp of recognition at the same time and immediately dropped to their knees. Sansa raised an eyebrow at the strong reaction from the proud Princess of the Free Folk, indicating that she was willing to make an exception and kneel where her gods were concerned. Then, after a bit of pondering, she decided to do the same and bend the knee before one of the deities of her ancestors. As the rest of her group imitated them in reverence, a sudden thought crossed her mind at that moment, accompanied by a popular proverb and it amused her.

"Sorry brother, but when in Valyria, do as the Valyrians do," She thought to herself as her lips curled in a small smile. "Good thing you are not a jealous god, though."

After a few minutes of contemplating the sound of the leaves while Spring stared at the sacred tree with a tilted head, the Lady of Winterfell in exile noticed an abrupt shift in sound. Blinking, Sansa realized that she was now listening to loud ripples of rain on water. The splashes differed in length of sound too, as if certain words required a longer flow. This new melody echoed around the chamber more loudly than the last but it continued for a shorter amount of time.

And then the chorus of animals began to sing.

Sansa was startled for a moment the sound of a direwolf howling for a long moment caught her off-guard. Then, she heard the unmistakable neighing sound of a horse in a tone she could have sworn was marked by urgency. Then, the rumbling sound made the floor shake slightly and Sansa recognized it as the voice of a mammoth after a moment. But if she thought that echo was deafening, it got surpassed when a powerful roar erupted from the flames of the weirwood tree.

It was the shriek of a dragon.

Mere moments later, the blue fire's brightness dimmed. And the melody of nature began to fade.

The underground chamber was wrapped in a thick blanket of silence as their god grew quiet. Sansa couldn't see Spring's face from her position but her shoulders seemed tense. Then she sighed deeply and turned around.

Josera Snow was the first to find his voice. "That was True Tongue, wasn't it?" The experienced warg asked.

The Child of the Forest nodded, her expression nostalgic. "Indeed. The original language the Old Gods taught my people, long before the form of speech that men now call the Old Tongue was ever spoken. It communicates magically, giving birth to sounds that encompass the essence of the natural world. Quite importantly, the throats of men are not designed to speak it and their ears can only grasp the melodies of the songs of the earth this language can provide, not the actual lyrics."

The Lady of Winterfell in exile frowned at that, wondering if that physical impediment was why the wish that her beloved brother made which allowed her to understand any language from the known world encountered limits with this inhuman tongue.

Eventually, Lyanna Mormont got back on her feet. "Then...what did the Old God had to say?"

Spring inhaled sharply before continuing. "A great many things. While not above the act itself in every case, it appears he actually tried to convince his godly peers not to curse my siblings and me about 8,000 years ago but couldn't make them budge. And while he is nameless like the others of his kind, I can tell you that he used to be one of the most powerful and popular Old Gods before the coming of the Andals. In fact, before his long slumber, he was the patron deity of the Greenseers, and helped them fuel or interpret their visions."

Josera's expression morphed into reverence once more and she suspected her own was not too far behind.

"Incredible," She murmured.

Then she sighed, wishing her father was there so that they could see such an incredible example of their ancestral religion at work together.

"He left me some instructions too," The Child of the Forrest revealed. "Including an explanation for how to channel his power to our benefit when the enemies that outnumber us arrive."

Asher looked thrilled at that. "So, the Old God has chosen to intervene on our behalf?"

Spring paused for a moment, her expression growing tense once more. "Yes, but the words he used to explain his reasoning gave me cause for concern."

She took a deep breath, then opened her mouth again. "The closest translation I can use on the Common Tongue would be something like, "hurry up and defeat the last scion of the bloodline that we stripped of their ability to skinchange for their transgressions...there are darker tides ahead."

More silence followed her declaration as they digested that piece of knowledge. Soon, however, pieces started to fall into place in Sansa's mind with the revelation that the Old Gods had punished House Bolton in the past by removing the magical potential from their blood.

Before she could stop herself, she chuckled; which made the group turn to her.

"Sorry," Sansa said in a sheepish tone. "It's just that I have now realized where the origins of House Bolton's tradition of flaying their enemies come from. What they now consider a matter of strength and pride is, at its origin, a matter of weakness, since it's the Boltons trying to half-ass a legitimate magical ability that they didn't actually have anymore and so, they probably felt a deep sense of shame about it. And the fact that the Starks could warg probably made them feel even more furious about it."

Slow nods of understanding spread across the room as they followed her logic. For her part, Sansa felt oddly empowered by that epiphany. Knowing that their sadistic tradition started because they felt inadequate compared to her own family felt rather telling. And it made it easier to dispel some of the illusion of might and terror her old tormentor had placed around her mind while he was abusing and manipulating her.

Her eyes hardened. "Never again," She mentally vowed.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Gwyn Whitehill cleared her throat. "Well, that sounded seemed grim, especially coming from an Old God that can grant visions of the future. On the other hand, I suppose it also means the nameless deity is confident that we will be able to defeat Ramsay and his forces."

Lord Rodrik nodded at that. "Seems that way. And his aid is certainly welcomed against our enemies. Anything else?"

Spring hesitated for a moment, then clenched her jaw. "Well, the patron of the Greenseers told me that I would need the aid of your sorcerer siblings to prepare the ritual."

The magic-wielding bastards looked determined all of the sudden. "You can count on us," Josera responded with vigor.

"Very much so," Elsera assured them. "Tell me what kind of blood magic spell he will require for the channeling and I will do my best to succeed."

"We can discuss that soon," Spring said slowly. "But first, I should mention that he had a direct message for Sansa Stark."

Multiple gazes turned to her, while her own widened. "Me?"

The child of the Forrest nodded as she bit her bottom lip. "I am sure Rodrik will be able to explain some of these details in more depth later but, it seems that when Silverwing set fire to the Weirwood tree that housed this slumbering god, an unexpected effect was that some of the inherent magical power of the fire dragons, including the famous Valyrian dragon dreams, merged with Greenseer patron and enhanced its capacity to glimpse the future."

The inhuman woman paused for a moment then got closer to her. "He wants me to give you a prophecy that is and I quote, "not to be shared with anyone until after you have delivered it to your brother the king."

Another heavy silence followed that declaration. Taking a deep breath Sansa took a step forward after looking at the others with an apologetic expression. "Well, then I guess I will follow those instructions. Do you, err, want to whisper it in my ear or...?"

Spring shook her head. "He gave me the temporary ability to share the message to you in the True Tongue. That will be enough."

And so, the last Child of the Forrest started to sing again but this time she understood the words...and felt immediately that they truly carried the weight of prophecy.

The words the Seastone wrought are set to fire,

Fourth new moon rises o'er Nagga’s Mount.

The Dragonwolf shall face a challenge dire,

Till bodies fill the dark bay beyond count.

__

Yet eastward must the ice first trace its course,

Through island chains to lands of cannibals.

To find the Lord of the shackled bright light,

And wrest from him the secrets of the gods.

__

To the fused castle must the dragons go;

Deposed queen’s daughter face her ancient roots.

The swamp guide alone the way does know,

To walk the path in thine own enemy's boots.

__

When eight have Danced and God’s Eye rids of pride,

Tis only when the namesakes reconcile.

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed my first true attempt at a poetic prophecy :D

And this one has detailed lines full of foreshadowing no less. For reference, this prophecy will cover events that will take place along the way from story arc 8 to the end of Act 2 of this fic at the conclusion of story arc 13. I can't wait to read what you guys make of the lines in the comments below as the story progresses and we get closer and closer to certain developments. There will be some fun discussions to be had, I am sure.

But regardless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. And trust me, there will be more answers and explanations in the very next chapter, I assure you.