Hunters
Huan was musing about cakes, chocolate and marzipan. What else shall Elves come up with just to make it even easier to get their human blood? Oh, well. He loved these snowlands. They were reminding him of the home, of the long time ago, he doesn’t even remember, but it was occurring to his fine mind, watching how the light breeze is chiming through the beauty that is untouched and the pristine-like. He liked it in here. It was bringing both the homeliness, and the sense of safeness, and the serene calmness. Which was intruded by his Elf Rider, The Owner, who never chose to be Dragon himself, even if he could.
However, Jon is found by his Dragon Egg, rare, it chose him, just as he chose Celegorm, if it is required, the life finds its way of how it shall be, and to Celegorm, the shapeshifter, he could be anything he could dream up. And they do make mistakes, but they are necessary, if it wasn’t like that, how they would learn? He sat on one of the hummocks which were heaped by the warmish snow. It was one of those nights that were safer and warmer than the rest, and when the Spring finally comes, it is one of the most beautiful seasons of the human world, shiner and prettier than that of the elven kingdoms. It was endearing to know it. And to live in the times when all they have is the Full Moon which they are watching from the grand slopes. They loved heights, and tallest zeniths, it was making them as if they could fly even further from the fields of views, the horizons which weren’t touched by the sky or the night, the earth or the water. It was the experience of freshness, that is replenishing your tired insights, and they had pretty much, a lot of them, so to say. Huan spoke up first.
- How was the discourse with your human son? – He only looks like one, behaves like one, and speaks like one, but he is only humanlike, the heart is of the Elf, of the Dragon, if we wish to be more specific about the subject. – It does irk you, doesn’t it? – Well, more or less, it is the nettling taste of the Life, he was brought up among them, if he were with us, it would be another story. – But, you cannot grasp the fact, that it could be so, life-changing? Is that it? – What life-changing? – That the Elf could be as human as it is probable for the Man to act as the Elf? – It all comes down how you are to be educated. – And he never had the finer prospects. – Ah, do not rankle even more, if that is even workable. – You thought, if you are near him, that he will change. – Something among the lines, to induct him a little bit into the Elf ways of life, thinking or even the introduction to our own culture and civilization and even the way we see the art.
- But it happened, the other way around?
- Yes, oh, yes. – Oh, and such an intimidation of Great Hunter of Woods, and look at him now? Humans are all around him and he cannot capture neither of the ones.
- You see that poetry? This is the actual satire. They trust me, and I cannot do anything about it. I might use it to my advantage, but to what end? This is my truest form of punishment, it cannot go worse from here. And look at them, no, really, down there, they look up at me, and they wave and they accept me, you too, I return back their blessings and you howl, and yet, they do not know, to my mind, they would all already, with all of their blazed lanterns and lamps, be in my birdcages. Delivered to the Undying Lands.
- They see you as someone who gave the seed for Jon’s birth. You are wedded to none other but to Lyanna Stark, the birth sister to their erstwhile King. It means a lot. Celegorm. It is the same blood, the blood of Ned Stark. You are Wolf to them, their Wolves of the North. The Northerners. One who helps to build, and I am your Wolfhound of Valinor who protects, I have the werewolf bloodlines in me, I am the Great Dog of War, the War bloodhound, we are larger and brutish, but not smarter or have the speed, but we are agiler and we do heal faster, unlike the healing properties of Dire tongues, they see us as theirs, as ones of their tribe. We are them. And, you are his birth father and it means very much to the people of the North. They do respect and see the lines of yours as the entity that did deliver them Jon Snow, and you are Feanorian, your son is and his blood shall be, along with that of the Dragon and Valyrian.
- I know. Still, his mindset is exasperating me. I do not know how to approach to him. How to speak with my child. I do not recognize him any longer. – You weren’t with him for that long, that you can claim that you have the cognition about his realizations, you weren’t the one who raised him, you only found out about him when he was already the youngster and yes, you put a claim on him at the spot, you didn’t wait for the permission, but still…, it isn’t just the upbringing, he was being tutored while living among them. – I knew him from his earlier days, from his young nights, we were in touch, and I was there, always, when I found out about him, and faced him, that was our first man’s hug, how we are even parting even now. Nothing changes. Forehead to forehead and our palms into the manes of our heads. Almost cuddled, but he just doesn’t give up! – Would you like for him to be…a craven?
- More Elf. – And an Elf…gives up? – Do not bite my tongue. – Oh, no. He is everything you coveted to have in your son, but the gist of matter is…how did you call it? – Mindset. – Yes, and he loves humans, he chose them, it is vexing, yes…but… - You know what human beings are, and what we may offer to them, and what they may even serve to us. You know.
- Celegorm, listen to you, and quiet.
- No one hears us this high, and they still wave at us, ugh, I would go with my hunting methods and catch them one by one, load up on the pirate boats of swans and some even nail at the prow, singing the Song of the North! – You know what? – What? – I see how Jon ended up being an idiot. IT IS YOUR FAULT! – Excuse me!? – It is in the blood. I just should have known. I always deemed it is all about Starks. No, it is in the blood of old.
Celegorm couldn’t argue with them. Only to concede. Yes, they are the apex predators. They weren’t deserving thralldom or cages to be under yoke, imprisoning, they are slaving themselves, travailing and drudging, slogging away, they worked and they did all with their magic and ten fingers, the stick and the rope, but when it comes to human beings, they are their reward and the prize, they are obsessed over them, just as humans are tempted by them, drawn and attracted, there was the secret connection between the bloods, of the one that which no one could know so!
- Then, you want to catch some prey? To ease yourself out? To tame your unfailing spirit? – With what? – The Hunt? – For what and for whom? – The sport. – Hm, let me think about it, I have to inform the family. For…by the way… - By the way? The modern words? You are influenced heavily. – Oh, stop it. But I did find out that Ned had the daughter before the wedlock to the current wife? And the one, the wonder child, the youngest, that was one night-stand, with their Muse and Nymph, Osha? – One gave birth, the other rises, you know how it is going, they are all good, and you do change the question with the answer, are you interested or not? – I am, but…I mean…whom?
- Humans. – I do not do it any longer. I mean, I do, but I do not. – You see, it makes you uncomfortable by even thinking about it, so, we came to the conclusion, it isn’t that your son bothers you, but you are annoyed with yourself, for you see that Jon is right or that you have changed. – May we turn to that sport? I would rather omit your speculations. Because I do not know whom you would have in mind, that is why I said, humans. There are challenges among them, but individually? It is hard to find. – Aha, speculation. Another modern expression, oh, my…if I didn’t know better, by looking at stars, cuddling with you and you with my fur, I would even mistake you for a human. – Humans are weak. Let us be candid with each other. – And you are outspoken, and many times, even unbounded in your turn of phrases, are you even endearing someone? – Well, I said, if we are hunting the individual, it is fictional, unreal. – What are you spewing? – Individuals. You have a group of people you fight or the Houses, hardly there are individuals for hunting. – In Man? – Yes, in Man. – And what about creeds of particular men. – What creeds? – Assassins. Of all clans and guilds.
- I know about them, but they sparsely would gravitate toward Elven kind, they are specifically trained for human kind of theirs. – You never attempted? – We never tried it. – So? - It isn’t tiring you? – What? – That you are hammering my hunting style? Like I said, I do hunts for the sport, but those are challenging mythic creatures of the threat and peril, and when we must provide the human blood or the food or the fitted materials, but the individual? Whom do you intend to hunt? – Like I said, there are the cultists. – They work as one individual, they are not the cluster. – So? – It wouldn’t be just and fair. – Since when? – Since…oh…dammit. – You were never distracting yourself with the particulars. – Well, I do now. And what would we do with that person? It must be male. I cannot fathom myself out to do it with the woman so.
Hm, indeed, after the capture? What to do, what would be the use? They are hunters, they manipulate and maneuver, and they operate how they are functioning. He was hearing about all kinds of men, and those men weren’t just the killers, they were conniving with the evil-doers, they were conniving and heartless for human beings themselves. They should have been the better variations of the Elves, for they have the short lives and malady, and the sickly feelings of their hastened doom, but no, they were spending their time of how to trial someone, to judge, to criticize, lash out, to tell someone else how to live a life, to torment, how to put down or debase, or how to spare someone with a quick death, but nevertheless, travailing it to the end. Their shortened lived lives were specked by the blood and bloodiness, and with some virtuous intentions of being the human being as such. What in the Hell, Jon Snow saw in them? He can’t get it.
*
- I know you heard about the coups. His reputation is unfettered and uninhibited. His image is that of the villain, but he has the soft spot for women. – Tell the real name. – Daario Naharis. My Good Sire. - Hm, I heard about the man whose alias is preceding his prestige. And that is him? – He had the rightful name, but it is forgotten in the sands of time, he goes by the one that is his reality. – And a name he goes by? – It is riveting. It is the Sandman. – He leaves the sand after each kill!? – He does, thus the stage name. – And his next exploit is whom? – Kill a Papa.
*
Tears are a prelude to joy, veritably unremembered. The gruff, guttural voices of Wolves and those of their Riders and Owners are Masters and Mistresses, Ladies and Lords, any of suchlike...
They are not persons. They are Powers. Winds talk, they listen. Walls siphon and sustain, Men draw, dogs smell, and they hear, they talk, but no one pays heed.