"Who exactly are you?" Jon frowned, staring at the round-faced Thenn woman.
"You damn crow, of course you've seen me—back at the Free Folk camp," Larry pointed at the White Knight and glared at Jon. "You and that old man brought a pile of parchment and made a sacred pact with us!"
"You sensed something strange too?" Dany slid off Little White's back and walked to Jon's side, staring at the woman with suspicion.
"You too." Jon Snow was taken aback and leaned in to whisper to Dany, "Ghost really doesn't like her scent."
"Hey, what are you two whispering about? I'm me. Who here doesn't know that?" The round-faced woman showed no guilt, instead projecting confidence with a loud voice.
"What's going on?" The Thenn chieftain glanced at his wife, then at the Dragon Queen and Jon, looking completely confused.
"Go rub her face. I suspect she's a Faceless Man," Dany told Jon.
"A Faceless Man?" Jon shuddered. Not only did he ignore the Queen's wild suggestion to go rub the chieftain's wife's face, he actually took a few cautious steps back.
He retreated behind the Queen.
Dany stiffened and turned her head blankly. "There are so many people here. What are you afraid of?"
"I'll do it!" The White Knight, who had been following Dany closely, had overheard everything. Without hesitation, he removed his helmet and, under the stunned, furious stares of the Thenns, strode up to Larry. Like grabbing a chick, he clutched the petite chieftain's wife's arm in his right hand and began vigorously rubbing her small, round face with his fan-sized left hand.
Red marks appeared where he rubbed, tears even welled up.
"What are you doing?!" Chieftain Doss roared in fury and lunged at the White Knight, thrusting his weirwood spear toward the knight's waist.
Clang! Jon stepped forward—not drawing his blade, but using the sheathed sword to deflect the spear. With an awkward expression, he said, "Chieftain, we suspect your wife may have been replaced by a Faceless Man. The Faceless Men of Braavos—you've heard of them, right?"
"Rubbish! I'd know my own wife! Just last night we even..." The Thenn chieftain was fuming, but still coldly withdrew his spear.
The Faceless Men's reputation had spread even beyond the Wall—every few years, Braavosi traders would dock at Hardhome to barter for furs, gold, amber, and other goods from the Free Folk.
"Doesn't seem like it..." The White Knight spread his left hand. Between his fingers and palm were streaks of fine, black grime, but no traces of human skin. Meanwhile, the chieftain's wife's little black face was flushed red with marks.
"Kill him! Kill them!" the chieftain's wife shrieked, voice tearing. The Thenns in the rear grew restless, their eyes all turning to their leader.
Hiss— Little White opened its golden eyes and snorted a stream of flame from its nostrils.
Silence fell. All commotion vanished.
"Larry, let me ask you something," just then, Ygritte stepped forward to stand across from the chieftain's wife, carefully observing her. "A year ago, when we were bathing in the hot springs at Windwhisper Gorge, what did we talk about?"
Then she added, "I think there's something off about you too. You're not like the Larry I knew. She wasn't nearly as talkative. She always preferred knives to words."
The chieftain's wife sneered and instantly replied, "Two spearwives bathing together—what else would we talk about? Of course we were comparing Doss and Gigg's manhoods!"
"Comparing manhoods?!" Dany's eyes nearly popped out.
Jon's face turned grim. He grabbed Ygritte's right arm and asked in a low voice, "Who's Gigg?"
"Gigg's a Free Folk raider from my squad. Mance sent him on a patrol half a year ago and he never came back. Probably dead," Ygritte sighed.
"And what was he to you?" Jon pressed.
"He stole me, and I stole him right back," Ygritte answered without shame, completely matter-of-fact.
Jon's face turned green.
Dany and Barristan Selmy exchanged a sympathetic glance.
Among the Free Folk, there was no formal concept of marriage—or rather, no traditional wedding rites.
They didn't believe in law or private property. People simply took what they could by strength—including partners.
When a man fancied a woman, he couldn't act like a lovesick fool. He had to be dominant—full-on alpha male behavior.
If she resisted or disobeyed, he'd slap her.
To make her his wife, there was no need to win her or her family's consent, and certainly no bride price. Not even a single copper coin.
He'd sneak into her home at night, carry her off. If caught, he'd just fight for her—provided he was strong enough.
The woman, too, couldn't act meek or tearful. She had to fight back fiercely. If she truly didn't want it, she could even kill the man without breaking any tradition.
To the Free Folk, a real man brought back women from afar to strengthen his clan.
Still, even in their customs, there were taboos. One could only steal daughters, not someone else's wife. And never a blood relative—such unions were believed to offend the gods and curse the offspring.
Of course, this didn't mean Free Folk women had no power. Just like men could steal women, women could steal men. Even the ugliest spearwife could claim the handsomest youth—if she had the guts to try.
While Jon was undercover among the Free Folk, Ygritte had repeatedly hinted—both subtly and bluntly—that he should steal her. But when she realized Jon was too much of a dull blockhead to act, she decisively stole him instead.
Really, Jon had no reason to be angry. Ygritte, a 19-year-old spearwife, hadn't been a maiden for six or seven years. Who knew how many she'd stolen—or how many times she'd been stolen.
Dany looked at the chieftain's wife, who now had a glint of smugness in her eyes, and smiled meaningfully. "If you really are yourself, Lady Larry, then why does everyone feel you aren't? Can you prove that you are who you say you are?"
"Uhh..." The round-faced woman was stunned, and everyone else froze too.
Prove that you are yourself—how could anyone do that?
Even modern Earthlings struggle with such a question. How could this backworld native ever manage?
"This is Larry!" Chieftain Doss stomped his foot.
"Look at your daughter," Dany nodded toward a little Thenn girl who was trying to hide. "Look how far away she's standing from you."
The little girl stood four or five meters from her mother, her eyes brimming with tears—bewildered, yet too afraid to come closer.
"Hmph! With you two making such a ruckus, how could my daughter not be frightened?" the round-faced woman barked, hands on hips.
"Enough. Real or not, we'll find out soon enough."
Dany took two steps back and slipped into her second-level dragon-spirit state. Her violet irises stretched into vertical slits that glinted with a chilling gold-red light.
A wave of majesty—imperious, noble, and terrifying—rolled off her. For a heartbeat, space and time themselves seemed to freeze.
Air thickened; time slowed to a crawl.
In the utter stillness, the Dragon Queen's rosy lips parted. Invisible ripples fanned out through the air. The round-faced woman caught the brunt of it—her sheepskin hood flew off, tousled chestnut hair whipping back, the muscles in her small, round face quivering like waves in a gale. Her brown eyes rolled white, and from her tightly clenched mouth burst a piercing howl.
"Aaah—!" The voice was unmistakably male, dredged from the depths of a soul.
The soul-rending cry made everyone's heads spin; nausea rose in their throats, yet it also yanked them out of the dragon-roar's warped spacetime.
"Eraang—!" Clear as crystal, the sound of a dragon's call rang in their ears. Beneath its heavy majesty, it felt as though body and spirit alike had been scoured clean.
"Valar myr!*" Jon's face drained of color as he pointed at the Hard-foot woman. "That's Varamyr Six-skins!"
Dany had already seen it.
Soul-strike targeted the spirit directly. Within the dragon's roar, another presence was shaken loose from within Lari's soul—a shriveled, elderly man.
In short: Lari's body still housed Lari's soul, but buried deep inside was someone else.
A powerful skinchanger.
"Seven hells," Dany whispered, stunned. "Soul-snatching—perfect, flawless soul-snatching! The legends were true; a warg really can seize a human body."
"Abomination!" cried Doss of the Hill Tribe. Spear raised, he lunged at the woman who now clutched her head and wailed.
"Clang!" Dany's iron boot kicked the spear aside. "What are you doing?"
"Varamyr's committed a monstrous sin—he's stolen Lari." Doss's face twisted with rage and bewilderment. "You were the first to notice. Why stop me?"
"You believe it? You believe a warg possessed your wife?" Dany asked hoarsely.
How could a tribesman accept the impossible faster than she could? Was it ignorance—or fearlessness?
"This is sorcery straight from the tales!"
"I've seen its like," the Hard-foot man muttered, anger darkening his gaunt face. "When a skinchanger is dying, he'll try to leave his decaying body and take over an animal companion for a second life.
"But some commit abominations. Unsatisfied with life as a beast, they seize a human instead—usually someone close."
"Seven gods," Dany breathed, eyes wide. "It happens often?"
"Everyone knows," Ygritte said, giving the convulsing Lari a disgusted kick. "Our elders warn us: if a skinchanger takes a human body, kill him at once. Let your dragon burn him."
"Then how did you know this one was possessed? Almost no one sensed a thing." Dany frowned.
"He is a six-skins—the most fearsome of wargs." An elderly Hard-foot crone, hair white as snow, shuffled forward. "In my six winters, I've seen many. When they seize a person, the victim fights—screaming, clawing. Never this silent, this spotless."
But Varamyr was hardly the strongest; he'd envied Jon's talent, and Jon couldn't match Bran. The Starks were born monsters.
"It wasn't entirely silent," a spear-woman ventured. "Near dusk yesterday, while we gathered the dead, Lari lay on the ground screaming for a bit."
"Why didn't you say so sooner?" the crone snapped, thumping her staff.
"I'd never seen a warg possess a human," the woman mumbled. "When I asked, she said she tripped on a root and hit her head."
(End of chapter)
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