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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
|Word Count: 6,877|
𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. He was surprised at just how deep and rich Westeros history was, a fascinating yet confusing read. The farther back he read the more vague and fantastical history sounded. Then again, a few hundred years ago the continent had been conquered by dragon riding nobles who has escaped an empire destroying disaster. The oldest details on the continent's history were about First Men and the Children of the Forest, a mysterious and magical race which sounded like Godlings back home. The books all varied on what the ancient history truly was ranging from the humans and Children warring, the two living in peace or the sudden arrival of the White Walkers during the either their war or peace time.
"Now I remember why I hate oral history. Facts get muddled when they finally decide to write it all down." Geralt grumbled as he shifted his attention to another book.
One thing that he focused on though was the White Walkers. No clear description or history was given about these beings, only that they lived in the coldest reaches of the north where no man has ever braved. Some stories detailed them as graceful elf like beings, others being an ancient human race like the Valyrian's. Often though they are described as monstrous creatures, yet no clear description was given. However, the books detailed the signs of their arrival, that of endless life consuming winter...just like the White Frost the prophecies back home detailed. Maybe these White Walkers were the source of this Frost...or they were simply a coincidence of this world...
"Maybe they're just a myth that I'm getting too wrapped up in." He grumbled as again the books gave no answers, slamming the last book shut with a frustrated sigh.
Leaning back, he'd look to the nearby candles as he idly fiddled the Igni Sign with his fingers, making the flames puff out before igniting again. However, when he tried again the flames didn't go. He was certain he did the Sign right as he tried again and a second time. A third time got the candles lit once more, making him sigh in relief.
"Signs been getting weaker each day, means the Source in this world is weak." He muttered, having been testing his Signs secretly outside of the keep. Indeed every time he used them they were becoming harder to use and less powerful. If this had been happening back home he'd be more worried yet since this world lacked monsters he felt less concern. Fighting humans with Signs made most fights one-sided as he thought back to his encounter with the Wildlings. If he hadn't had Quin he would have been cut down quickly and Igni had wiped out a third of the group.
