Black soil and white wood—these were the only constants in the cave that stretched endlessly beneath the frozen earth.
Here, far beyond the Wall, beneath unnamed hills locked in eternal winter, lay a labyrinth of interconnected caverns that plunged deep into the heart of the world. No living man had ever explored all the dark passages that wound through this subterranean realm.
"The dead grow ever more numerous," came a voice like water flowing over smooth stones, sweet and high-pitched, more akin to a mournful song than human speech.
The speaker resembled a child, though she was anything but. Large eyes that shifted between gold and emerald watched the world with ancient patience. Her hair, a wild tangle of colors, was interwoven with twigs, leaves, and tiny flowers that should not have survived in such lightless depths.
She wore a cloak fashioned of living leaves that whispered when she moved, and her dark brown skin was dappled like a doe's flank. She was one of the children of the forest, the first inhabitants of Westeros, though in their own tongue, they called themselves those who sing of the earth.
From a throne carved into the heart of an ancient weirwood, the Three-Eyed Raven responded, his voice a hoarse whisper that seemed to emanate from the very roots of the tree.
"The servants of the Great Other have indeed awakened," he croaked, "but hope remains. The dead they command cannot breach the spells woven into the entrance of this place."
The White Walkers—the Others of legend—could transform the slain into wights, servants bound to their terrible will. Thousands upon thousands of the dead marched at their command, a tide of rotting flesh and ancient bones that threatened to engulf the world of men.
The child of the forest gazed at the old man with eyes full of concern. He was ancient beyond reckoning, his withered body gradually merging with the pale weirwood. Roots grew through his limbs and torso, and his flesh had begun to transform into bark and wood. Only a single crimson eye remained to him, along with long white hair that fell past his waist like a frozen waterfall.
This was the Last Greenseer, the final keeper of the old powers.
Once, greenseers had been the wise men and women of the children of the forest, but as their kind dwindled toward extinction, they had been forced to seek those rare humans born with the gift—the ability to see through the eyes of the weirwood trees and look across vast distances of space and time.
Brynden Rivers. The old man who had once given them hope, but who now seemed unable to prevent the final darkness that approached.
"Greenseer," the child said softly, "perhaps we shall all return to the earth with you when your time comes."
She knew the truth that neither wished to speak aloud. The man had long since exceeded any natural lifespan. Only his unwavering will and the power of the weirwood had sustained him these many years, but even such formidable magic had its limits.
Perhaps in a few months, or a year or two at most, the old man would finally embrace his eternal rest.
Yet Brynden Rivers—once called "Bloodraven" by those who feared him—had not surrendered to despair.
"No," he insisted, the roots around him trembling slightly with the force of his conviction. "I have found a new greenseer who will serve after I am gone. He will accomplish what I could not, and he will help the world thwart the designs of the Great Other."
She knew of whom he spoke. Brandon Stark, a boy blessed with the rare gift, had received the old man's attention since birth, watched through a thousand eyes as he grew.
Unfortunately...
"Has not the child journeyed further south?" she asked. "To the plains that were once great forests in the time before?"
Bloodraven's single eye flashed with a mixture of hatred and regret.
This is not how events were meant to unfold, he thought bitterly. I watched over him for so many years—how could matters go so awry?
The weight of failure was almost unbearable to him.
He was Brynden Rivers, the infamous Lord Bloodraven, a man of noble dragon blood. His deeds had become the stuff of legend during his lifetime, whispered from Dorne to the Wall and beyond.
Men said he had a thousand eyes and one, that he practiced foul sorceries in the dark of night, that his very breath could steal a man's soul.
So what if they did? The slanders and fears of lesser men only proved that his existence was too significant to ignore.
Even after being exiled to the Wall, stripped of all that was rightfully his, he had risen to become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
Time had caught him at last, as it catches all men.
The gods had shown him favor when, in his seventieth year, he encountered the children of the forest beyond the Wall, the last remnants of a vanishing race.
Fate had smiled upon him. He had become the greenseer of the Haunted Forest, the Three-Eyed Raven who saw all that transpired beneath the sun. Though he could no longer walk upon the earth, he could fly. He had ten thousand eyes, a hundred thousand, a million. He could view the entirety of the world through the eyes of every raven, every crow, every creature that lived and breathed.
I am not ready to die. Not yet.
Brandon Stark represented his best hope—perhaps his only hope. Through the boy, he could begin anew, utilizing the might of the Seven Kingdoms to stand against the advancing White Walkers. Perhaps even to reclaim the dragon's throne that had been denied him.
"The course of fate has been diverted by one who should not exist," he said, his voice gaining strength. "If we can but correct this aberration, the boy will embrace the destiny that awaits him."
The child regarded him with eyes that had witnessed the passing of centuries. "How might we correct such a deviation?" she asked, her melodic voice betraying no emotion.
"This interloper possesses abilities not of the mortal realm," Bloodraven replied. "Fire, steel, and sight beyond sight. He may be the trial we must overcome before the dawn can break."
Bloodraven recalled the visions he had glimpsed through his far-reaching sight.
"You alone among your tribe understand the Common Tongue of men," he continued. "I need you to undertake a journey. Take several of your strongest kindred and bring this anomaly to me."
After a moment's hesitation, the Last Greenseer decided to reveal one of his most closely guarded secrets.
"Take my raven with you," he said. "It will locate the human skinchangers who dwell in the forest. These individuals will prove valuable allies in your quest."
The child saw the desperate hope that burned in the old man's single eye.
For countless years, her people had hidden from mankind, concealing themselves in the deepest woods and the darkest caves. Now, the greenseer asked them to actively confront a human of terrible power?
The one who should not exist. She tried to envision what manner of creature this might be.
Fear fluttered in her ancient heart, but she knew her duty. The greenseer's vision encompassed all things; his wisdom transcended that of any living being.
"I understand, Greenseer," she said with a slight bow of her head.
Perhaps this journey would unfold without difficulty. She turned and began to walk from the chamber, each step careful and measured.
Behind her, the old man's voice drifted like smoke through the stillness of the cave. "Take this sword with you," he whispered. "The humans you encounter will likely have need of it."
She turned back and beheld a slender longsword, its blade as black as a starless night.
She had wandered the world of men for more than two hundred years. She knew the legendary weapon by its ancient name.
"Dark Sister," she breathed, a hint of awe in her melodic voice.
The black raven took flight, soaring from the cave entrance into the frozen waste beyond.
The children of the forest followed close behind their winged guide.
Many dead lay buried beneath the heavy snow outside the cave's entrance. The aura of life that emanated from the small party swiftly awakened these dormant sentinels, and throughout the snowfield, pale blue eyes flickered open in grotesque faces.
A host of wights rose from their icy graves, lurching toward the children of the forest with unnatural hunger.
Does the Great Other watch us even now? she wondered.
Her own companion was a small, clever fox that darted between the shambling corpses. The other six members of her tribe rode beasts better suited for battle—a pair of shadowcats whose claws could tear a dead man to ribbons with a few swift strikes, and several wild boars whose powerful bodies carved a path through the wights like a plow through summer soil.
The raven circled overhead, untroubled by the grim scene below.
They broke through the encirclement with surprising ease.
She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. These appeared to be merely mindless dead, not under direct control of a White Walker.
Wights fully commanded by one of the cold gods were far more cunning. Combined with their overwhelming numbers, such foes would have posed a significantly greater challenge.
The raven wheeled toward the southwest, its purpose fixed.
Her companions looked to her, their ancient eyes filled with a curious mixture of excitement for the journey ahead and apprehension for the unknown dangers that awaited them.
She sang to them in the True Tongue, the first language ever spoken in the dawn of days: "The earth blesses us, the forest blesses us. The Last Greenseer has found his heir. We go to correct the path of fate, and our people shall flourish once more as in days of old."
Trusting in the wisdom of the greenseer, the children of the forest left their final sanctuary and ventured into a world that had all but forgotten their existence.
"Hear me!" bellowed a man of imposing height, seated atop a shaggy mammoth whose tusks had been adorned with bronze rings and strips of dyed leather. "Since the lord has given his command, all must obey without question! None shall act without proper authority!"
The free folk erupted into chaos at these words, each clamoring to make their opinions known, none willing to heed the counsel of others.
The children of the forest observed this display with bewilderment.
The singer was not overly surprised by the spectacle. Her long years wandering the fringes of the human world had taught her much about the peculiar behaviors of men. Those who dwelled beyond the Wall lacked the rigid hierarchy of their southern kin, but neither were they given to sustained conflict amongst themselves. She knew that time would eventually calm these turbulent waters.
The allies that the raven had guided them to were all assembled, and soon their combined force would march toward the Wall.
She felt a surge of confidence as she surveyed their numbers.
More than five hundred strong fighters had answered the call, along with over thirty skinchangers whose consciousness could flow into beasts of every kind—wild boars, snow bears, shadowcats, mammoths, direwolves, gray wolves, foxes, eagles, ravens, and wild dogs.
Surely no single man, no matter how unnatural his powers, could withstand such a force?
She allowed herself a small, pleasant smile as she contemplated the journey ahead.
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