As soon as the Stranger's eyes opened, he sat up and gasped for air. As if he came from the ocean in a whirling hurricane, knowing that both the vast ocean was the knowledge that he absorbed, and the vortex was now his mind. But with a grunt and a bit of an effort, the Stranger raised himself back to his feet. A wave of dizziness hit him in which the Stranger grasped the pedestal until the dizziness had passed. Not noticing that he had dropped his walking stick. With a respite of relief, he opened his eyes. As soon as he viewed a rack of books, he saw, with the aid of magical sight. What were once blank covers were now covered, with titles that gave off a bright glowing light.
In a panic, the Stranger ran down a hallway and into a different chamber. Before running into a suit of armor that looked like it came from the 15th century. As the suit of armor spilled onto the floor. The Stranger, with a groan, quickly got up before turning and seeing a rack of sword blades. Awed by the sheer collection of every length and width. From the Braavosi Rapier to a Dothraki Arakh. To even a few sword blades, that seemed that they were just odd. But what awed him was that with the aid of the 'magic sight,' he was able to tell that they were all made out of Valyrian steel.
He soon approached the blades, and faintly he saw the blade rack come alive. First, a faint ripple caused the Stranger to stop and ensure his sanity wasn't leaving him. But then the surge began again and was far more detectable. Then something truly unique happened; the shelf that held the sword blades came seemingly alive and gave the Stranger a long sword blade that was evenly tapered. As the Stranger just stared in awe of the magic that he witnessed. Hand outreached, the shelf gently placed the blade into his palm.
As flesh met steel, the Stranger stared in awe at the wonder he saw. 'Magic,' the thought permeated in his mind like a blast wave, instead of fear and loathing. It was awe and childlike wonder as if he discovered sugar for the first time again. However, as soon as he began to think about the wondrous possibilities of his newfound power. He heard the voice at the frozen Weirdwood tree.
"Go to Winterfell." The voice said, the echo present of a thousand individuals ringing in The Stranger's head.
"Who's there!" The Stranger exclaimed, panic evident in his voice.
"No need to fear us." The voice said, "We seek to protect the world, but our champion, is in danger."
"And who is your champion?"
"The Young Wolf." The voice said before continuing onward. "Protect him and his mate, and we shall reward you with any desire."
"Okay, how shall I get to Winterfell?" The Stranger asked, not noticing that during his telepathic conversation with the Old Gods. He had unknowingly wandered back to the main Chamber and absently touched a leathery tome with no title. As if smirking, the Old Gods just replied with two innocent words. "This way."
Suddenly the Stranger was hit with a bolt of knowledge. Dropping the Sword blade. As the ability rammed through his skull, like a bull through the street. Goring anyone and anything in its way. Then suddenly, it stopped. The Stranger rocked back and forth until he stopped and realized. He knew what to do when he got to Winterfell and, most importantly, how to earn Robb Stark's trust.
With swift action, the Stranger returned to the armory and was able to find a sword hilt, handle, and a pommel. With quickness, he returned to the blade, picked it up, and assembled a functioning sword. Then with agility and swiftness, he sheathed the weapon with devilish theatrics. Then he was shocked as if his actions were caused by the Gods themselves. And not of his own authentic self, but the knowledge that God's themselves imbued did not leave. Compartmentalizing the implications there, the Stranger proceeded to retrieve his walking stick.
After traveling throughout what the Stranger called the Chamber of Knowledge, the Stranger came to a long and dark hallway. Which opened to the side of the mountain. He walked and continued to walk until he was at the edge of the cliff with hesitation, hand gripping the hilt of his newly acquired sword. With the wind whipping his hair and frost nipping his skin, the Stranger proceeds to see the pre-dawn grey transforms into dawn. As the sun's rays gripped the new day.
"Now, how do I get to Winterfell?" The Stranger asked, turning around to see if he overlooked anything. But all he could see was what the sunlight could provide him, and which wasn't much. He delves back into the darkness, not before raising his hand.
Revealing things that were easily missed. As a bag, that eerily looked like a doctor's bag. That was resting atop a table, a board tide to the rocky wall. And a pile of sticks right off to the side. The board had faded instructions to some quirky design that couldn't be read to an average person. However, to the Stranger, the instructions were clear as day. Aided by his magical sight, he could read each critical step to ensure a successful outcome of building a flying broomstick.
"You know if I didn't know any better." He grumbled to himself, turning to ensure that he was alone. "This would seem to come out of a horrible fanfiction." He chuckled as he quickly skimmed through the instructions. Placing his walking stick on the table. Missing an important detail, which was evident on the board, said, 'Remove all objects or else physical harm may occur.' However, in both his resolve and stubbornness, the Stranger either didn't notice or just plainly didn't care. He was met with the bag being thrown into his solar plexus. Causing him to collapse to the ground gasping for air.
After a minute, the Stranger pulled himself onto his feet. He looked up to see his walking stick. In the middle of the table and floating five inches from the surface, re-read the instructions. The Stranger pointed to the pile of sticks and a flick of his wrist. The numerous twigs flew and magically attached themselves to the stick. Followed by extending his arms and clapping his hands. Then Stranger put his clasped hands to his face, breathed into his clasped hands, and whispered. "Cuil." As he released his hands. A small blue magical cloud ran towards the broomstick, enveloping it. Until it was covered, causing the item to spin faster and faster. Caused the Stranger to back away from the table in fear, and part of him was worried that it would explode. But then, suddenly, the broomstick stopped. The magical blue cloud dissipating like steam from a person after they leave the shower. Faint blue essence waifs off the wood until it disappears, absorbing into the air and nature. He was shocked and confused with a single question in his mind that he had no answer for. 'Why did it do that?'
With a quick dismissal, the Stranger grabbed the broomstick. Forgetting about the doctor's bag, but was soon reminded. As his foot collided with it, sending great pain. To him, causing him to yell, curse the old gods, and send a soliloquy into the air only using the word fuck.
It was only the pain subsided that the Stranger decided then and there. To toss the bag into a world where it could never ever harm another foot again. As he grabbed the bag, what shocked him was how light it felt when he picked it up, including a feeling of insecurity that began to well at the pit of his stomach. Wondering if it was worth taking it with him. 'Maybe, I should. It might have some good ingredients for spells and potions.' He thought, also wondering how does magical flight with a flying broom works in Westeros. Knowing full well that G.R.R. Martin wasn't Tolkien's heir in terms of world-building. But he quickly dismissed the thought. He assumed that it would work the same way most fantastical worlds worked. By placing the broomstick between his legs and facing the cave's exit. After the Stranger magically attached the doctor's bag to the broomstick with a wave of his hand. He ran towards the exit. With each pace, he saw the magic collecting around the broomstick. Charging it so that it could get him where he needed to go. As he neared the exit, he noticed the magical energies changing from a faint blue to a lively green to, finally, a vibrant yellow. Causing the broomstick to levitate only for a few seconds but, that was needed for the Stranger to continue, with the edge quickly approaching. The Stranger thought he saw something from his magical sight, a phrase that said 'Broom ag eitilt.'
Because at that time, he was at the edge. In a split second, he bent his knees and summoned all the physical power he could. Then he jumped off the cliff. A full minute he flew; shock turned into elation, elation turned into joy. But it was not to last. Gravity quickly took hold, and quite quickly, joy turned into realization and realization into fear.