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Chapter Forty: Bloodraven

Robb paused at the cave's opening, peering cautiously into the narrow tunnel beyond. It was barely wide enough to accommodate Hodor, with Bran on his back. Other than that, all he could see was the darkness and the long, white tendrils of weirwood roots hanging from the ceiling. But it was the smell emanating from within that made his skin crawl. A damp, musty smell underpinned by the sickly-sweet stink of decay. But it was the thought of Bran actually living in there that made him feel the worst. A sense of shame that he'd given up on his brother, leaving him to languish in a cave in the middle of nowhere.

In the meantime, Daenerys caught up with him after securing her dragons. Robb looked back at them, still quite unable to believe what he was seeing, despite the Others and the undead armies – real dragons seemed a little over the top. And the woman who called herself their mother was now looking up at him, her brow creased with apprehension. "This is your brother?" she asked.

"It is, aye," Robb replied, stifling a resigned sigh. "Look, if tarrying here is too much trouble for you, you can leave and I'll find my own way back."

"I'm not leaving without you," Daenerys insisted. "Besides, I really don't mind. We can rest here overnight; it certainly looks well sheltered. And did your brother say Jon was coming?"

"He is, now come on you two!" Bran's voice echoed through the tunnel beyond the opening, startling both Robb and Daenerys.

Before they followed, Daenerys mouthed silently: "How does he know that?"

Perplexed, Robb shrugged. He then offered her his hand for safety as they crossed the cave's threshold.

While Hodor carried a lantern, it was Meera Reed who led Robb and Dany into the cave, holding a flaming torch aloft. She was small and slight, like all of her kind, but fast and sure-footed. He thought to mention her father, but the silence inside was so oppressive he felt the words stifling inside him. Even the darkness was thicker than normal. The lantern lights barely touched it, and Robb frequently felt the damp tendrils of weirwood roots, hidden in the darkness, brushing against his face as he moved though the tunnel. Underfoot, bones crunched sonorously and made him inwardly flinch. They were just animal bones. He hoped.

Behind him, Daenerys turned her lilac eyes to the ceiling and gasped. When he turned to see what had startled her, it was the skeletal remains of a huge bat, still hanging from an unseen rafter overhead. Tightening his hold on her hand so she wouldn't be left behind, he gently tugged her onwards. As they rounded a corner, he thought he saw large, green cat's eyes peering out of the shadows and briefly catching the light of Meera's lantern. But they blinked and vanished before Robb could get a proper look at them.

Every so often, he thought he heard light, shuffling footsteps retreating into the darkness. But whether they were real or just their own echoes, Robb couldn't tell. All he knew for sure was that he misliked this place enormously. Barely an hour ago, he had been the width of a gnat's arse away from death at the hands of White Walkers and their icy spiders. Down here, in the damp and treading among the bones, it hardly felt any safer.

"How big is this place?" asked Daenerys as they opened into a chamber. "Have you been here before?"

"Never," Robb replied.

Meera spun on her heels to face them, her moss-green eyes flashing in the light of her flame. "It's all right, your grace. Just follow me and don't stray off the path, then all will be well. You have my word."

They passed through the chamber and into another tunnel. There were other entrances, leading to other passageways that stretched out in other directions. Many were blocked off by the countless weirwood roots that crawled through the walls and ceilings, others were perfectly accessible but Bran and Meera ignored them. They came to another chamber, one in which Robb could have sworn he saw people enmeshed in roots, like they had been caught in the middle of a spider's web and wrapped up in endless, interweaving sticky silver strands. It was then that he wondered about food. What was Bran eating? And Meera and Hodor, the old giant in particular would take some feeding.

He saw the cat's eyes again. For definite, this time. Larger than any house cat, wide and blinking. Daenerys shrank from them, picking up her pace to match Robb's. "I've been in some very strange places, your grace, but nothing like this." She ducked deftly under a large root, her back arcing gracefully. Still a strand of her silver hair snagged on a loose root.

They reached another hall, this one easily as large as the common hall of Winterfell. It was clean and warm, this far below ground, but there was no sign of life and Meera kept walking, following Hodor and Bran. Robb would have thought this was easily the best place to set up a makeshift home, but clearly his brother had had other ideas. It was then that he remembered Mole's Town, constructed entirely underground and he found himself wondering if this wasn't something similar. It was big enough, with so many old networks of tunnels and passageways.

"Stay on the path, it is narrow and a steep fall," said Meera as they emerged onto another passageway. To demonstrate her point, she directed her flame over the edge of the bridge they were on. It had been so dark Robb hadn't even realised it was a bridge, but now he could make out the sounds of a rushing river, far below them.

Keen to keep moving, both he and Daenerys picked up their pace. Until they reached another room carved into the rock, where the weirwood roots descended in a tangle all the way to the floor. Slowly, he walked a circle and realised the roots formed a throne, on which a man sat and merged with the tree. The roots grew around him, over him, under him and through him. His skin was as pale as the weirwood bark, his one eye open and gleaming red. Whoever he was, he showed no sign of having seen Robb and Daenerys, nor of having registered their arrival at all. Unmoving, he sat and did nothing.

"Robb," said Bran.

He turned to find Bran settled into his own nest of roots. Crossing the room to be near him, Robb got as close as he could to his brother; a tangle of roots making it difficult. "Bran, what is all this? What are you doing here?"

"He's teaching me, Robb. Bloodraven is teaching me."

He knew he meant the tree-man. "Teaching you what?" he asked, looking at the roots surrounding his brother and thinking of that half-dead abomination a few feet away. "He's teaching you to turn into a tree?"

"To look through the faces of the trees," said Bran. "Don't you understand? The faces in the weirwoods aren't just for decoration."

For a moment, Robb was lost for words. His eyes followed a particularly large root that was twisting its way beneath Bran's perch. Once, he recalled, a long time ago, the First Men had tried to chop down all the heart trees, he always did wonder why. Even as the thought passed through his head, a movement from within the shadows caught his eye. He thought it was just Daenerys, at first. But he turned to find someone much smaller, with nut brown skin that was dappled like a deer. She had large, cat-like green eyes and Robb bristled as he made the connection to those that had followed them through the tunnels. First the white walkers and the wights, then living dragons and now he found himself in the company of a Child of the Forest. They were supposed to have been slaughtered, wiped out of existence, during the war against the First Men. But here she was. The thought it was wonder that anything surprised him anymore.

He returned his attention to Bran, still sceptical despite everything he'd been through. "And what do you see when you look through the faces of the trees."

"Everything, as they see it," Bran replied. "I saw you sleeping beneath a heart tree in the Riverlands after the Red Wedding and I knew you were not dead, I saw the Septon rescue you. I saw you marry Margaery Tyrell in the godswood at Riverrun. Later, I saw you burn her brother's body and I've been following you ever since. I tried to reach you, to send you a message, but I do not think you heard me. Father heard me, once. I called his name and he turned to look. Bloodraven says it was only the wind, but that's not true. Theon heard me too, I believe."

The breath caught in Robb's throat as he looked at his brother, blinking back his own bewilderment. "You saw father?" he said, at length. "He is dead, he is beneath no tree."

"The heart trees record everything that ever happened." It was the Child who spoke. She looked as young as Arya, but her voice was that of a woman grown. Sweet but sorrowful. "Those with the gift can move sift through time, selecting events they wish to re-examine. Your brother has the gift and we've been waiting a long time for him. He is the last green seer, the most powerful warg and skin changer."

Suppressing a chill, Robb looked to the tree man once more. He had been half-jesting when he said they were teaching Bran to turn into a tree. Now it looked ominously like the truth. Maybe he did not understand, but he knew he wouldn't let his brother stay here and have the life drained out of him by the trees. He would not become enmeshed in roots, deep below the ground. The thought of it made him nauseas. And the man's name … Bloodraven. Familiarity chimed in him, he knew it from somewhere but he couldn't quite place it. Anyway, he wondered, what is that man doing? He was present in body alone.

"A skin changer," said Robb, faltering now. "Rather like a warg?"

Bran nodded. "A warg bonds with an animal, like we do to our wolves. Skin Changers can take over any animal. You saw through the eyes of a dog, once Grey Wind was dead. Sansa was looking through the eyes of falcons, but she thought it was just a dream. Neither of you are controlling it, that is all. But it's still skin changing, even if you're not very good at it."

"Thanks, I think. But you can control it?"

Bran looked to Daenerys who entered the room bearing a platter of dried fruit and goat's cheese. She offered some to Robb.

"When she was looking for you, she was flying her dragons the wrong way," he explained. "So I took the riderless one and led them straight to you."

"It is true," said Daenerys, softly interjecting. "I lost control of Viserion, I had to follow or risk losing him."

Robb turned to look at her, finding her disturbed at thought of some supernatural power taking over her dragons. Her arms were wrapped tight around her middle, her gaze fixed on Bran. "You were flying my dragon?"

"I was your dragon."

Summer appeared, sniffing tentatively at Dany. But the wolf still knew Robb and came padding over to get his ears scratched. Like Ghost, he was enormous now. His maws were strong, teeth lethal. He was almost overcome with exhaustion when he rose to excuse himself, but Bran called him back before they could retire. Taking the hint, Daenerys left with Meera to give them some space.

"I saw Sansa and Margaery, not so long ago," said Bran, once they were alone. "They were in the godswood together, praying for your stillborn daughter."

Robb didn't understand. It took a moment for the words to arrange themselves into a sentence that made sense, for the meaning to sink in. Then he felt numb and dazed, like he'd been clouted over the back of the head. He hadn't even known Margaery was pregnant.

The cries of a ghost baby jolted Margaery from her sleep. But she was used to it now. She lay back down in her bed and placed her hand on Robb's pillow, in the spot where he should be. Why she did it, she could not think. It only served the heighten the sorrow of his continued absence. But, she reasoned, missing him was better than pretending everything was as it should be. Besides, she no longer had the energy to lie to herself, never mind anyone else.

Before long, she rose from her bed and allowed her ladies to dress her, all the while she looked listlessly out at the darkness. The sun had failed to rise the same day she had miscarried Princess Alys. Was it the long night that had taken her? When she thought about it logically, it made no sense. All the same, her heart sought a connection and she found it impossible not to equate the two events.

At the time, she hadn't cared if the sun never rose again. But while her grief was not passing or going away, it was galvanising into something else. Something harder, more brittle. This night was the enemy of life itself, this oncoming storm was the war they needed to win. She had known all along, but only Alys' death in her womb had brought the coming wars into focus and she saw it more clearly than before. Tears would only freeze on her cheeks, so the time for crying was done. The only option left was to fight.

Straight-backed with a renewed sense of purpose, she left her chambers and strode through the halls of Winterfell. Her heels ringing against the ancient stones, drawing the attention of the two young women waiting at the foot of the staircase into the main keep. Sansa and Arya turned to look up at her and smiled in recognition. Outside, the fires burned and warded off the darkness of winter.

"Good morrow, ladies," she greeted her sisters by law as she drew level with them. "What news?"

"A raven from Lord Royce at Castle Black," said Sansa, handing her the scroll.

The seal was unbroken, she noted. Inside, she found a brief and blunt message written by a man with no time to lose.

"The wall has collapsed at Castle Black, a chasm almost a mile wide," she said, paraphrasing the message for Sansa and Arya's benefit. "At the moment, they have men guarding it and they're working to repair the damage. But…"

She trailed off as the other two straightened, their faces turning pale and grim. She didn't need to finish her sentence. They all knew what it meant. Now Margaery didn't know whether she was supposed to panic, flee or break down again. Neither of those things were to her taste, however. So, she folded the letter and handed it back to Sansa to read for herself. The truth was, they had been waiting for this to happen. It was their worst-case scenario and it had come to pass. And, now that it had, it gave her something to fix her mind to. A clear, shining goal: to hold Winterfell against the armies of hell.

"We must have Wolkan send out ravens to all outlying villages and vassal houses, warning them of the grave news," she said. "Sansa, see to it. Arya, you're to go to the Master at Arms and inform him of what's happened. Tell him, he's to take command of all our men at arms and man the curtain walls. We must establish a warning system."

Arya shrugged. "The same one the Watch uses. One blast for wildlings, two for wights and three for White Walkers."

"Yes," Margaery agreed. "But one blast for all visitors … the wildlings are no longer our enemies."

Arya nodded, a faint smile of approval on her face as she bent to her task. Before she could vanish, Margaery added: "And spread word of an urgent meeting in the common hall."

She would call the banners, too. What was left of them. The lords of the North would soon arrive, if they dared leave their halls at such a time. If not, she expected their deputies. One person who would not be afraid to leave the sanctuary of thick curtain walls, however, was the next person on her list. She even managed to smile as she opened the double doors of her chambers. "Grandmama," she greeted old Lady Olenna.

Olenna was sat by the fire, sipping at warm small ale. She set down her cup and clapped her hands, the signal for another chair to be pulled up at the hearth. "Margaery, my dear, how good it is to see you up and about again."

"And not before time. We have a slight problem in the north."

"Oh, another one."

"The wall has partially collapsed," she said, adding what was in the letter.

"Oh dear," Olenna mused, thoughtfully. "Well, white walkers can't be any worse than the Lannisters."

"All the same, I think it is time you returned to Highgarden," said Margaery. "Whatever winter brings, it will be much crueller here than in the south. Now the worst has happened, Willas and father will need your counsel much more than I."

It pained her, but she knew it had to be done. Lord Manderly would order a ship to take her south, as far as King's Landing would have been good. But they couldn't risk a run in with Cersei. It would have to be all the way to Dorne, from where she could travel over land to the border of the Reach.

"And you would like me to take Prince Cregan?" she asked.

Margaery hesitated. "The mother in me wants him as far from here as possible, where he will be safe. Or at least, cloaked with an illusion of safety. But the Queen in me wants him here, where he belongs, where we stand united and shoulder to shoulder with our people. They do not have the luxury of sending their children to safety."

"But their children are not the heirs to Winterfell, to the North," Olenna pointed out.

"That has no bearing on a mother's love for her child," she said. "Oh, Grandmother, I never expected this decision to be easy. But nor did I think I would be so torn."

"Even so, you already know. Don't you?"

"I think so," she said. "If I send him away, I look scared. But I am not scared. However, I will not risk my son's life out of pride, or a desire to impress the Northern Lords. Even so, I am the Queen in the North and this is the North's darkest hour. We will stay and we shall not be moved. We will never desert the people."

Once upon a time, she thought falling in love with a man would make her weak-willed and vulnerable. But it was nothing compared to how much she loved her son, even her poor sweet daughter who never got the chance to live. But her mind was made up. "The people cannot fight for a Prince far away in the Reach. We stay and we stay together."

Olenna reached out and took her hand, squeezing with a surprising strength. "I hope the North appreciates you, my dear."

"Rhaegal, land!" The dragon ignored Jon's command and continued his north-bound flight. "Rhaegal, put me down. I need to go back now. We can't leave them." Reasoning with the dragon worked no better than commanding him. So, in the end, Jon went with it. He clung on to the ridges of his spine, letting himself be carried north and north again, out over the emerald and white canopy of the Haunted Forest. As they went, he tried to get recent events straight in his head.

He remembered Melisandre coming to his rooms at Castle Black to inform him Ser Alliser had seen him holding Daenerys. That he was going to use the information to bring him down. Again. Only he tried to act first and made the mistake of playing by the book, naively thinking his rivals would have returned the courtesy. Now he took himself for a fool as he recalled the flash of the blades in the night, the pain of them sinking into his tender flesh. And the blood. Sickly and scarlet against the fresh fallen snow. The blood of the dragon.

What after that? He had opened his eyes to find Melisandre breathing down his throat. Breaths that were hot as fire, burning him from within. Then the chaos, the fires, the wall collapsing and Rhaegal taking flight with him on his back. It was all a blur. A great chain of events that had spun out of his control. He couldn't even begin to imagine what he would find upon his return. Castle Black burned, the wall gone and many of his brothers dead. And the assassins, he reminded himself. But couldn't bring himself to care about them. If they hadn't died in the fire, he trusted Edd or Davos would do the honours for him.

"Rhaegal," he tried again. "Please turn around. Now."

How do I say that in High Valyrian? He wondered. For in the common tongue, it certainly had no effect.

He told Dany he would see out the war as Lord Commander, a final sop to the vows he had taken as a naïve boy. Fuck them, he thought to himself, looking back over his shoulder. He would fight this war, but under the banners of House Stark. He had dreamed of that, as a boy. Endless nights he had imagined himself riding out into battle, wearing the Stark name, the Stark colours and under the Stark banners. And if he died in the wars to come, he knew he would die proud.

Rhaegal descended, turning Jon's attention back to the matter at hand. His stomach folded in on itself as the dragon jolted and lost altitude again, the same queasy feeling he'd had when flying on Drogon. And that had been with a much more experienced dragon rider than him. To his mild discomfiture, Rhaegal seemed to be heading for the trees.

"Oh, no," he called out. "No, Rhaegal, not there. Go for clear ground."

He heard the uppermost branches of the trees brushing against the dragon's tough scales, his powerful legs skimming the spruces. But he hit the ground in a clear opening, sparing Jon a nightmare landing. And when they came to a rest, a familiar sight greeted him. Drogon and Viserion, curled up between two huge weirwoods. Realising Daenerys must be close by, he slid down from Rhaegal's back as soon as his feet were on solid ground.

"Daenerys!" he called out. "Dany!"

There was no sign of her anywhere, except for her dragons. Several sets of footprints led toward a cave entrance, but the number of them set his nerves on edge. There shouldn't be that many. All the same, he followed them to the fissure in the rock between the large weirwoods. Already he was reaching for Dark Sister, when she appeared. A flash of silver emerging from the shadows within, smiling widely. "Jon! We're down here."

Forgetting the sword, Jon closed the distance between them and threw his arms around her, holding her tight. For a long moment, he didn't even consider letting her go. Sensing something amiss, he heard her muffled voice but the words were lost to him. He wanted to tell her everything, to spill it all out there and then. But it was hardly the right place to do so.

"Are you sheltering in that cave?" he asked, breaking off the embrace. "Because we need to talk."

"Jon, first I must tell you something," she said. "Your brothers are here. Robb and Brandon."

Stunned, Jon was briefly speechless. "Bran? And Robb?"

Daenerys beamed and nodded. "Lady Meera will show us the way."

He had not seen the other girl, crouching in the cave with a lantern. She smiled at him and waved him over. Without another moment's hesitation, he hurried after her, following her through the vast network of subterranean passages and caverns. Unable to think of anything except being reunited with Robb and Bran again, he didn't question the route or where they were and why. He just wanted his brothers. His real brothers.

Bran was first, all tangled up in roots which Jon had to reach through to hug him. But he looked well. Surprisingly well for a crippled boy who'd sought sanctuary in a cave. Jon cradled his brother's face, getting a good look at him, checking those familiar blue eyes and that same auburn hair.

"There's a lot to tell you," said Bran.

"There's a lot I need to know, but first just let me look at you."

In contrast, Robb looked half-dead. An effect made worse by the fact that he was fast asleep under a tattered cloak. He'd lost a lot of weight, leaving him looking gaunt and his skin was as pale as the weirwood roots that trailed down from the ceiling. And his time in the wilderness had left him with a thick ginger beard that almost masked his identity. However, when he woke up, they were back in each other's arms in a heartbeat and they held each other tight.

"You found the dragon queen, then," said Robb, drily.

Jon stifled a laugh. "I found your letter, too."

"Sorry about that." The colour rose in Robb's face, returning a little life to his deathly pallor. He managed to hoist himself into a sitting position. "Have you talked to Bran?"

"Briefly."

"You find him much changed?"

"He's almost a man now-"

"I don't mean that," Robb cut in. "Has he told you what he's doing here? Who that man in the tree is?"

"What man?" But Jon was already looking over his shoulder. He had been so swept up in finding his brothers, he hadn't paid attention to the vast tangle of weirwood roots that dominated the cavern. But now he saw it, the man as white as bleached bone merging with the roots. Half-man, half-tree was how he could best describe it. Surely, he thought, that man cannot be alive.

"There's sixty singers down here, all in the same state," said Robb, whispering low.

"Singers?" he repeated. "What in seven hells are sixty singers doing down here? What's Bran doing down here?"

What was anyone doing down there? Now Jon noted the tree-man's one-eyed gaze fixing directly on him. An unnerving gaze, to say the least.

"Bloodraven," Robb murmured in his ear.

"That's not possible," said Jon, turning to face Robb again. "That just cannot be possible."

A bastard of Aegon the Unworthy, last known bearer of Dark Sister. The sword suddenly felt heavy on Jon's hip as he crouched beside his brother. "Robb, why are we here?"

Daenerys and Meera returned, seating themselves on a sturdy looking root. Meanwhile, Aegon's bastard stirred in his weirwood prison. "Jon Snow," he said. "Daenerys of the House Targaryen. We've been waiting for you. There is much to discuss."

Jon looked to Daenerys, wondering if she knew what was going on. Because he was at a loss.

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