"May I call you Leaf?"
The one who should not exist strode across the devastated landscape toward her, his smile as bright and dangerous as Valyrian steel. Melted snow dripped from his fine golden hair.
The searing white mist had begun to dissipate, and droplets of moisture fell from the branches above, trickling down her spotted face—warm and strangely comforting against her skin.
A glance upward revealed that the forest of ice and snow had been transformed into something akin to a rainforest after a summer storm, steam rising from every surface.
But when she lowered her gaze, the reality of what had occurred could not be denied. The ground was a tableau of horror—half-melted ice, crimson-tinged puddles, blood-soaked chunks of flesh, scattered weapons, blackened soil, and broken, splintered trees all combined to paint a grotesque portrait of death and devastation.
The two southron humans moved methodically among the wounded, ending the lives of northerners who had not yet fully perished. Her own people—what few remained—looked upon the scene with terror and bewilderment etched upon their ancient faces.
She looked skyward once more. The ravens that had circled overhead had vanished without a trace, abandoning them in their hour of need.
"The Three-Eyed Raven is not as formidable a greenseer as legends suggest," the golden-haired youth observed casually, as if discussing the weather. "He likely foresaw none of this. Then again, who among us would have predicted that ice and water could erupt with such fury?"
She bowed her head to Joffrey, ancient pride bending before necessity.
"Leaf, speaking for the Children of the Forest, surrenders to you," she said, her voice like autumn leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. "I implore you to spare them; the blame for this folly rests solely with me."
Joffrey studied her gold-green eyes with unconcealed fascination. "It is said that the green or red eyes among your kind signify the gift of greenseeing. Have you never sought to become a greenseer yourself?"
Leaf tilted her head slightly, a gesture both human and alien. "I lack the necessary qualities, do I not?"
"Bloodraven is malevolent to his core," Joffrey continued. "Surely you know his history—a man who embodies the worst aspects of human cruelty. How can you permit such a creature to hold dominion over your dwindling people?"
Leaf lowered her gaze and offered no response, though her three-fingered hands twitched with unspoken emotion.
"We need not be adversaries," Joffrey said, his voice softening. "Leaf, do you truly comprehend who stands before you?"
The one who should not exist, she thought, but did not speak the words aloud.
Tyrion knelt awkwardly in the snow, his mismatched eyes gleaming with strange fervor as he proclaimed: "Before you stands the heir to the Iron Throne, Prince of Dragonstone, Lord of the Lightbringers, messenger spreading the gospel of the gods, Azor Ahai reborn, destined to defeat the darkness and bring an endless summer, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, may he reign forever!"
Ah, truly? Leaf thought with mild bemusement.
She blinked her ancient eyes innocently and hesitantly offered the blessing, "May he reign forever," though the words felt strange upon her tongue.
Joffrey stepped closer, his boots crunching on the blood-soaked ice. "The gods have not forsaken you. I can serve as protector to the Children of the Forest. Under my guidance, all living creatures may unite against the long night and the calamities wrought by dark powers."
He gestured expansively. "Your companions may return to your tribe and convey my intentions. With the throne's protection, the lands of the south can once more become your homeland."
"Of course," he added magnanimously, "you may all accompany me southward if you so choose."
Leaf felt utterly bewildered. Have I somehow convinced him of our worth? Have I spoken words I do not recall? Are humans now possessed of such mercy?
Having no alternative, she translated his offer verbatim to the five surviving members of her tribe, her musical language flowing like water over stones.
Joffrey listened patiently as they conversed in their melodious tongue, so unlike the harsh sounds of the Common Speech or even the flowing cadences of High Valyrian.
His decision had not been made in haste. The Children of the Forest possessed extraordinary magical aptitude, were gentle in their nature despite their fearsome appearance, enjoyed lifespans that dwarfed those of men, and faced immense pressure to sustain their dwindling race. What purpose would be served by driving them into extinction?
As for his newly acquired titles, since he had committed to this performance, he might as well embrace it fully. Messenger of divine gospel, Azor Ahai reborn, the hero-king destined to usher in eternal summer—the legendary aura that had inspired countless souls to willing sacrifice now suffused the air around him like perfume.
And the burning sword "Lightbringer" described in ancient texts might well be interpreted as his dragonflame blade, if one were inclined toward such beliefs.
"Your Highness," Jon called, excitement evident in his usually solemn voice as he approached bearing a dark blade. "Valyrian steel! The wildlings somehow possessed such a priceless treasure!"
Joffrey grasped the hilt, feeling the perfect balance of the weapon. "Uncle," he said to Tyrion, "surely you can divine this sword's name."
Dark as a tendril of smoke, with a slender blade designed for a woman's hand or a man of slight stature—this could only be Bloodraven's legendary weapon.
Tyrion nodded, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Dark Sister, one of the two ancestral swords of House Targaryen, once wielded by Queen Visenya herself, lost when Brynden Rivers took the black."
"Would you have it for your own, Uncle?" Joffrey inquired.
Tyrion chuckled ruefully. "It is slender, yes, but not short. Has my generous nephew somehow forgotten my stature?"
Joffrey turned and presented the sword to Jon Snow. "Keep it in your care for the present. Perhaps Grandfather Tywin will appreciate this gift, now that the Lannister ancestral sword 'Brightroar' has been lost for centuries."
The melodious conference among the Children of the Forest gradually subsided. Leaf approached with two members of her tribe, their movements graceful despite their wariness.
"Your Highness, we are prepared to enter your service," she announced, her voice carrying a note of resignation beneath the formal words.
The remaining three Children of the Forest concealed themselves partially behind the trees, observing the proceedings with naked apprehension.
"Excellent. I believe you will find the southern lands much to your liking." Joffrey seized the opportunity to stroke Leaf's coarse hair, noting how she suppressed a flinch at his touch. "Please convey to your three friends the need for caution on their journey. The ravens may prove to be their enemies rather than their allies."
Will they? Leaf wondered silently. She no longer knew whether she could trust the ancient greenseer who had guided her people for so long.
Was he watching this tableau even now, through the eyes of birds or trees?
Surrounded by the bone-white trunks and blood-red leaves of the weirwood trees that dotted the forest—the sacred trees upon which her tribe had depended since time immemorial—she experienced a sense of estrangement and disquiet for the first time in her long existence.
The pale moon had just begun its ascent into the night sky when the victorious party returned to the Nightfort through the Black Gate.
Benjen Stark sat apart from the others, feeding a small fire with broken pieces of furniture. He chewed mechanically on a piece of dry flatbread, occasionally taking deep swallows from a skin of sour red wine.
The Children of the Forest—creatures he had believed existed only in Old Nan's tales—had become their captives. Benjen wanted to feel triumph or at least satisfaction, but such emotions eluded him.
He was the sole ranger remaining from their expedition. His own sworn brothers had plunged daggers into the backs of their comrades. Whom could he blame for such treachery?
Ironically, it was Tyrion Lannister—the man with whom he had established the least rapport—who approached to offer consolation.
"Consider the favorable aspects of our encounter," the dwarf suggested, settling himself awkwardly beside the First Ranger. "We dispatched several hundred wildlings and skinchangers. Henceforth, your rangers' patrols will face significantly reduced danger."
He offered a twisted smile. "One might argue we have saved dozens of lives this day."
Benjen's mouth twitched mirthlessly. A simple analysis of events would reveal that these wildlings and Children of the Forest had come solely for the Crown Prince, yet the Night's Watch had paid the blood price in their stead.
Children of the Forest.
His gaze drifted to the three diminutive figures huddled near Prince Joffrey.
These creatures were undoubtedly the architects of the attack, yet they now enjoyed the prince's protection as if no hostilities had occurred.
Benjen felt a powerful urge to seek vengeance for his fallen brothers. Yet he remained motionless, listening as the Crown Prince conversed with the ancient beings as if they were honored guests rather than prisoners.
"Leaf, how many of your kind remain in the world?" Joffrey asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Leaf sipped delicately at a bowl of mushroom soup. "There remain perhaps three score singers like myself," she replied, using the term her people used for themselves. "And several thousand of our kin who dwell within the land, trees, and beasts."
Joffrey's expression revealed that he was comparing this information against some prior knowledge. More than sixty, he thought. They stand upon the precipice of extinction.
"What are your people's views regarding unions between close kin?" he inquired, the question seemingly emerging from nowhere.
"Ah," Leaf responded, seemingly unperturbed by the strange query. "All such arrangements are possible among us; we do not observe the rigid prohibitions that govern human pairings."
Very good, Joffrey thought. This suggested that the offspring of the Children of the Forest who mated with close kin were unlikely to suffer the physical and mental deterioration that plagued human offspring of such unions. Perhaps their race might yet be salvaged from oblivion.
Joffrey sliced a piece of roasted venison from the haunch that turned slowly above the fire.
"Upon our return to the south," he told Leaf, "you shall reside initially within the godswood of the Red Keep. Though modest in size, it will suffice for your immediate needs."
"When the appropriate time arrives..."
His voice trailed off as his thoughts turned southward.
The exploration of the Wall was complete, with even the legendary Children of the Forest now in his grasp. The time had come to redirect his attention to King's Landing.
King Robert had already reached the Crossing on his journey north, with only the Neck lying between him and Winterfell.
And what of Varys? Though the Spider had shown little overt reaction to the calamitous news from Pentos, how could such a creature ever be trusted?
The moment to return had arrived.
...
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