White walkers did not cross the wall, before Bran was brought through it. They never even tried. It should have been a clue. But nobody saw anything strange in it.
They did not seem interested in anything else in Westeros except for Bran, but everybody believed in his tale about memories of the world.
It was a mistake.
/
He is close to winning now, he knows it. Three-eyed raven is alone. He'll kill him and he would have nowhere to go. No body to switch to. He'll make sure of it, even if he have to kill everybody in the whole North. The creature cannot posses the dead, and he made sure his generals were immune to it's magic. Victory is so close.
He walks slowly toward the weirwood tree. And makes a mistake of looking It in the eyes. He tries to bring out his sword, but he can't move.
It's over - says the voice in his head.
He bears his teeth. He's paralyzed, and he can feel a warm body moving in his direction. He wants to say something, but he can't.
You failed
The creature is gloating. A small smile on it's otherwise stony face.
I've seen it all before. You've failed. And they will choose me their king.
Night Kings tries to break It's spell, but It's to strong. He's gotten to close. He can't believe it. He knows he cannot allow himself to lose. But he did. Suddenly he can move again. He turns around, and there it is. A small person with a knife. He grabs her by her throat, and she lets go of her knife. Then he feels a strange warmth spreading through his gut. He looks down. He knows he have failed. It terrifies him.
And then he knows no more.
/
How did the first men nearly won the war against the children of the forest in the first place? Children had magic, while humans had bronze weapons and leather armours. Why did the white walkers turn on the children in the first place?
It was all so clear now, in time.
White Walkers were created to protect the children of the forest from something. Something that gave the first men a great power. Something that the first men brought with them. Something that turned on them in the end. Being that switched from host to host, through thousands of years. Something that could control minds of those around him, and change how they saw the world. Something that could change the way you thought, without you knowing it. One moment a friend begin to looks like an enemy. A family member like a traitor waiting to strike. A lover like a danger to your position, and a people you thought you wanted to protect like obstacles on the way to your goal.
/
At first she was upset. He had a better claim to the throne than her. It felt like a betrayal, even though it was no fault of his.
Later, when the fighting started she did not think at all, she acted. Protecting him, as he was her only family left in the world. And she loved him. Maybe not as she should, maybe not as was proper, but she knew she loved him none the less. She even felt happy for the moment. A Targaryen alone in the world was a terrible thing, and she was not alone anymore.
But then the thoughts started.
How everybody was cheering on him, and not her.
How everybody was trying to get his attention, and she was sitting alone, set aside.
How he could so easily take away everything she worked so hard to get.
And how he refused to keep quiet.
Jealousy was an ugly thing, but she could not help but feel it overwhelm her.
The longer she pondered on it, the clearer it become that he would betray her somehow. That he would hurt her. She did not want to have to execute him. The thought of burning him alive was making her nauseous. Would he even burn?
He was her nephew.
She loved him.
And now he was her most dangerous opponent.
/
It's influence is soft, undetectable. You can never realize that something is wrong, that It has already been in your head for a long time.
You'll never be able to tell if It has taken over somebody else. Not until it's too late. You look at It, you speak to It, you thing you are talking to the person you've known your whole life, but they are gone. Burned away by it's influence.
/
She was looking down at the legacy of her family. The heart of their power. Kings Landing. The city was yielding. Sounds of bells ringing all around her. It was not enough. After all the pain and suffering. All the losses. After all the trials. After she was sold, chained and betrayed. Raped and defiled. It was it. With nearly no bloodshed. With little to no flames. And soon she would have to give it all up to him. She knew it now.
It made her angry.
She was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the blood of old Valyria. Unburnt, mother of dragons, a queen, a khaleesi, the breaker of chains. And she swore to take what was hers with fire and blood.
Then, suddenly, as she was sitting on Drogons back, listening to the sounds of the bells everything become so clear. They did not want to give her the rule, so she would have to take it. Like she took the cities. Like she took the khalasar. Like she took everything she owned.
She brought Drogon up into the air.
- Dracarys.
/
Melisandre was wrong. She was wrong many times. The Lords of Light enemy, the Great Other, was not the Night King. It wasn't something you could kill. It was something you could only lock away and pray it never gets out.
That's what Starks of old did after they ended the first long night. After they drawn the truce between the humans, the children and the white walkers. Together they managed to cage it for the first time. After the war for dawn. Just before white walkers went north thousands of years ago.
The Wall wasn't build to keep out the white walkers. It was probably build by the white walkers. It wasn't also build to keep out the wildlings. It was magical barrier protecting the known world. But with every oath broken, with every unwilling watcher, with so few men swearing the vows the spells weakened over time. And evil begun to wake up from it's slumber in the roots of the weirwood tree.
/
They left the Wall behind about two weeks ago, although it was hard to tell now that the winter has come to the Westeros. The darkness was only letting down for a few hours a day at most. Jon was worried. They took little with them. Mostly what they could carry. There weren't many hunters in their group. Mostly woman and children. Everybody was tired. If it wasn't for Ghost and his warging they would have already been in trouble. And it looked like life was only gonna get tougher.
He still couldn't believe they banished him to the Wall. After all he's done. After all he's sacrificed. Sansa did not even invite him to her coronation. It hurt. He tried not to dwell on it. But it hurt, that after everything they've been through it has been so easy for them to discard him. A lone wolf dies. At least he still had Ghost. And it didn't seem like Tormund was going anywhere.
It was ironic, that in the end the only person he could truly trust, was the men he had betrayed himself.
The road ahead wasn't his only problem. The weird dreams started soon after they've stopped in the godswood beyond the wall. They terrified him. Every night he saw Bran's face. Not as he was now, but his childhood face. In his dreams Bran was screaming. He couldn't understand him. He couldn't hear Bran's voice over the sound of his own heartbeat. The feeling of something terrible about to happen didn't let him sleep. They were walking north, and the further they went the stronger the feeling become.
/
It called to Bloodraven first. It imprisoned him, and took over his body. It gave It a bit of strength. Then it started to sing through the weirwood roots It was imprisoned in. The last children of the forest went to It. They were ensnared too, and so it's strength grew.
Winterfell used to be another line of defense, a seal weakening It. Seal of Stark blood. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell was more than a saying. It was a reminder. And when there was no more Starks in Winterfell the seal was broken. The only thing keeping It in its prison were the heart tree roots, and a weakened Wall.
White walkers felt it's awakening, and so they went south. Their magic protecting them from it's influence, for now. They started to gather an army that would be immune to Its call. For the dead want nothing, and could not be swayed, by even the sweetest of lies.
It has gotten Brandon Stark under it's influence. Slowly. By words from two young greenseers It's enslaved earlier. And they brought him to It, and It consumed him. But not before the boy alerted the white walkers to It's position. Unfortunately, it was already too late. The boy that once was got burned away from his own body like impurities from an ore. His mind fleeing in to the roots that once held It. And only It resided in his body. Broken it might be, but gifted with a powerful magic. Making It's work even easier. It fled to the wall, but could not pass. The Walls magic was weakened but not completely broken. It has to be brought through.
It was easy for a crippled boy to be brought through.
/
It went to Winterfell. And it started plotting. It needed White walkers gone, the only power that could take it's freedom away. It did not act, at first. The more blood poisoned roots of the weirwood trees, the better for him. And a lot of blood was shed.
The Dragon Queen came, and she was an easy target. The seeds of madness already in her head. They were easy to nurture. Easy to grow.
They've beaten the Night King. Quickly. Too quickly. It's influence made it so. It clouded his judgement. Slowed his movement. Walkers never saw Arya coming because It shrouded her steps from their sight. It couldn't meddle with her. Much. She belonged to another god. But he could use her. And even the child of the faceless one wasn't entirely immune to his charms. It got her to leave as soon as It could.
With the Dragon Queen in It's clutches it was easy to make her paranoid. Angry. Jealous. Willing to do anything. And she exceeded It's wildest expectations. A whole city razed in a single day. So much death. So much destruction. It's powers grew.
Aftermath was so easy it felt boring. Send the faceless ones child away, to the edge of the world, to die. Send the child of the Old Gods to the furthest North to die.
Sansa was tricky, but her lust for power won in the end, and she become a queen in the north. And she was Its. She lost her faith in the seven a long time ago, and ones that did not believe, had no protection from him.
Swaying Tyrion to propose It for a king of the remainder of Westeros took some finesse. Tyrion started talking, thinking about Jon's story. From bastard, to being elected as Lord Commander, to being elected as leader of Freefolk, to being elected as King in the North. Thrice chosen leader. Who better to lead. But in the end Tyrion said what It wanted.
/
Jon opened his eyes. He was surrounded by darkness. His heartbeat was deafening. He did not known where he was. Then he saw Bran, just a hands reach away for him. He grabbed for his brother, but his arm passed through the boys form.
- Bran... Bran! - The boy opened his eyes.
- Jon? - his voice was weak, squeaking. - Jon, is that really you? What are you doing here?
Jon smiled unsure of himself.
- It is my dream, isn't it? - Bran shook his head. - Then where are we?
The darkness around them was thick, and swirling. But he could see Bran pretty clearly. His brother looked years younger. And he looked scared. His hair were wild, like he did not comb them in a long time, and his clothes looked more like rags now.
- We are in the roots of the weirwood - Bran answered. Jon felt like something was wrong. He just couldn't tell what.
- Why? Last time I've saw you, you were a King of Westeros. Were you looking for me? - He felt hope, for a moment. But Bran looked strange. Like he did not know how to explain something. Finally he managed to open his mouth.
- No. Jon, you don't understand. That wasn't me! - The feeling of dread that was plaguing him before he fell asleep returned.
- What do you mean Bran? You are safe, in Kings Landing.
- No. It isn't me.
- Bran, you don't make any sense. Who could it be, if it wasn't you. We've spoken. You banished me to the wall. - Bran's eyes grew rounder, and there were tears starting to gather in their corners.
- No Jon, I would have never banished you. You are my brother. - He sobbed - it was not me! - He tried to hug Jon, but his hands passed through his body. His lower lip started to quiver. - Jon. I've never left that cave. I've been here since... i don't know. A long time.
- That's impossible. We've spoken in Kings Landing. We've spoken in Winterfell.
- I've never returned home. Jon, please, believe me! I've been trapped here. - he paused - You've had time to grow a beard. I don't know how much time has passed.
Jon just stared.
- If you have been here, wherever here is, all this time, than who I was talking to?
- The Three-Eyed Raven.
- But... you, he said, he is a Brandon Stark and a Three-Eyed Raven.
- Jon, do you even know what a tree eyed raven is?
- No. He said he is the memories of the world.
- No. He's evil. It's evil. And it's hungry. I think white walkers were after him. He was imprisoned here. And I let him loose. And I think - he looked scared now. Really scared. - I think he is like an old god. But a very bad one. And he is free. And it is all my fault.
Jon tried to touch his face, but it was no use.
- Bran, where are you?
- In the roots.
- No - he hesitated - where were you when he got loose?
- In a cave. Below a Heart Tree. In an old godswood. Not that far from the Wall. I would try to help you Jon, but, I have no body. It's just me in the roots, and corpses. I can't even warg into anything since they left. I can't get out and nothing alive comes in. I'm scared.
- Bran, listen, I'll try to find you. - Bran was crying openly now. - Don't cry. Gods. I will find you, and I will find a way to get you out.
- Don't leave me Jon!
- Bran, I don't know how long I can stay in here.
- Please, don't leave me alone.
He felt something pulling him out of the dream.
- Bran...
- Jon! Jon! No! Please, don't leave me alone! Please! It's dark here. I'm scared. Don't leave me alone! Please.
And then Jon woke up. His brother begging still ringing in his ears.