Thank you to everyone who is still reading this and still taking time to comment. I really appreciate it. Thank you.
Before you all get too excited, this is just a sort of "mini-chapter" full of exposition (which I hate, but had to choice but to do) just to set out what's going on in my version of the war for the dawn.
Chapter Fifty-Two: Where Winter Fell.
The children of the forest hadn't been seen south of the wall in thousands of years. But then, nor had direwolves and Robb never went anywhere without Grey Wind. Feeling a little more assured, he stepped closer to the creature uncoiling itself from the roots of the heart tree and studied it again, wary of coming across as rude but curious at the same time. Myriad questions crossed his mind all at once and all them seemed stupid, but vital.
He came here to fix leaking pipes and instead fronted a barrage of images before being confronted with a small creature no bigger than Rickon that everyone else had thought died thousands of years ago. As such, he felt his questions deserved answers, no matter how trivial.
"How did you get here?" he asked, lowering himself to the ground to be level with it.
"I got here the same way you did," the Child answered, pointing toward the stone steps leading to the archway. "Through those doors."
Faced with an answer as mundane as the question itself, Robb could only reply; "Oh." Then he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. He had assumed some form of mystical ancient magic would have been involved somewhere along the lines, or some sacred knowledge of underground networks and tunnels. But no, this creature had walked through the open doors, most of which had locks rusted to nothing. Anyone could walk in, if they so desired.
"So, you just walked past the Guards and through the gates in the curtain walls?" he probed, still baffled by the creature.
"Anything is possible in the long night," it replied.
"So why?" asked Robb, shuffling closer to the child. "Is it you causing the hot springs to leak? They've worked for centuries and now, suddenly, they turn cold and when I try to find the cause, all I find is you and a thick white fog."
The white mist avoided the Child, but coiled upwards through the holes in the roof and slowly permeated through the whole vault. A spectral fog slowly palling over the castle itself, if it carried on as it was.
"You're a Winter King now, just like your forefathers before the dragons came," the Child pointed out. "Don't you know what the runes say? Don't you know what this vault was for? Can't you imagine what this is?"
Feeling he was being chided for his ignorance, Robb's heckles raised. "Brandon the Builder built this place. This was the first vault of Winterfell. The runes are in the old tongue, which only the giants and the children speak. No man alive today can read those runes so perhaps you can do me the honour?"
"Use your brain, Robb," the child snapped. "Why do you think Brandon the Builder built a big hole in the ground and just left it."
"He didn't," Robb countered. "He built this place and a drum keep to guard over it."
"Yes, to guard over it. Guard over what?" The Child was growing urgent, its large golden-brown eyes skittering over the white mist and the cloisters lining the chamber.
Robb looked as well, wondering what the purpose of it was. The villagers always said there was a dragon down here. Or an ice dragon. Others said it was a monster, a prospect that terrified them as children. So much time had passed, thousands of years, in which the truth had been lost and superstition had sprung up in its place. He may be a King of Winter, but he was no historian.
"I don't know," he confessed. "This mist?"
"This isn't a mist," the Child corrected him. "This is the place where winter fell. The runes engraved in the walls are warding spells to keep this creature imprisoned. The hot springs in your castle aren't to keep you warm in the night, they're to keep this creature contained. It hates the warm, the light and the feel of iron. Now the hot springs are dying and the creature goes stronger; his servants sense him and are moving south to find him again. Robb, this mist is the Great Other, imprisoned beneath Winterfell for thousands of years. Look at it now; look how strong it is."
On instinct alone he refuted the claims, but from the corner of his eye he could see that white mist thickening as they spoke, Robb turned toward it, narrowing his eyes as if he was making faces in the clouds. Try as he might, he saw nothing but the thickening, swirling mists. But, if the Child spoke true, surely the answer was simple.
"If that's the case, then to defeat the White Walkers, all I have to do is fix the pipes and contain this Great Other?"
"It's too late. It's already escaped. It's why your sisters can't light their fires; it's why your castle is so cold and long night has fallen once more. It will be like catching smoke. When you pass the wards on this room again, the magic will be broken."
Uncomprehending, he shook his head. "What do you mean broken? The runes are cut into the rock itself. How can I break that?"
"This place was locked and abandoned for a reason. No man can enter this chamber without weakening the spells," the Child explained. "Now you have come and damaged the wards when they were at their weakest. Do you know that when a man swears the Night's Watch vow, he strengthens the spells that went into the wall?"
Robb shook his head. "But now there are so few men there the spells will be all but non existent."
The Child jerked its head in a semblance of a nod. "The wall has grown weak; it's been cracking for years; melting away and refreezing, but always a little lower than it was before. When the wall grows weak, the white walkers grow strong. When the white walkers grow strong, the Great Other grows strong as well, because they are his servants. They feed off each other and now the great war for the dawn is coming again."
Robb couldn't tell if he was sceptical, or whether he just didn't want to believe. "So tell me, if that's the Great Other, how come he hasn't killed us yet?"
"Because he can't," replied the Child. "The Great Other's servants will do his killing for him. You need to stop them."
Robb's head was spinning like a child's top, trying to make sense of everything he was being told. The wall was weak, so the others were strong. Worse, the wall was slowly collapsing and wouldn't regain its strength until thousands of others took the vows to rebuild the wards in the ice. And the Others were coming here, to the place where winter fell, to rescue their long imprisoned god. It made sense, but then it made no sense. It was a jumbled mishmash of folklore and ancient superstition coming to life in front of his very eyes. Once more, he tried to give voice to his fears.
"If the wall falls," he said, finding his mouth dry. "And the white walkers are able to move south, will they come to Winterfell?"
"Yes," the Child confirmed. "And once they release the Great Other into the world, the realm will be as good as theirs."
It occurred to him then that the Others had already created the perfect conditions for their southern migration. The whole realm was in darkness, winter had a stranglehold on the entire nation and most of the people were indifferent to their existence. Although it was all slowly beginning to make sense, Robb was also realising how impossible the situation was. He turned to look at the innocuous white mist again, wondering what form it would take if it ever did regain its full strength. He hoped he would never live to see such a thing.
"Tell me how to defeat the Others," he said, his voice low. Now was not the time to disregard advice. Old Nan was full of stories about the long night, but not so good when it came to solutions. No one remembered the last long night and no one knew what they were doing. But the knowledge of the children stretched down the ages.
"The last heroes ended the long night," the Child explained. "Many people focus only on one, but one cannot do it without the others. You are nine and together you will win the war for the dawn. First there is you, the Stark of Winterfell to bring ice and winter. Then there is your bedmate, Daenerys Targaryen who brings the fires and dragons. Shireen Baratheon brings the storms. Robert Arryn brings the wind and the air we breathe. Edmure Tully brings the rivers that fertilise our realm. The Lannisters bring wealth and prosperity. The Tyrells bring the promise of spring, of renewal and regrowth. The Daynes of Starfall herald the end of darkness and usher in the dawn. Finally, the check and the balance is Jon, the child of both ice and fire, who holds the balance between the two elements that dictate this realm's fate. You all need to join forces and wage this war together."
Robb shook his head. "Tyrion Lannister cannot fight; Shireen is a girl of eight, Robert Arryn a sickly boy of nine… I don't see-"
"You misunderstand," the Child cut in. "Jaime Lannister should have been the rightful heir and he is already north of the wall, as is Theon Greyjoy. The child lords only need to be there, to add their forces to the fight and bring their blood to the pact when the battle is fought and won. So long as you all work together to restore nature's balance, you will win."
"And the Daynes," he added. "What of them?"
"One has your blood; the blood of the First Men," the Child reminded him. "And Starffall, like Winterfell, has its name for a reason. When the dawn came, the star fell from the Dornish Mountains, according to legend."
"Aegon," Robb sighed, rocking back on his heels. "I have to fight alongside Aegon or all will be lost. And Theon fucking Greyjoy."
And Jaime fucking Lannister, he inwardly reminded himself. There was no real question of his compliance. It had to be done. He had to unite all nine of them and get them all fighting under the banner of the dawn. But there was one more thing he needed to know before leaving.
"What were those visions I saw?"
"Things that happened, other things that might have happened had you made other choices, other things that are yet to happen."
"I saw myself being knifed through the heart," he recalled. "Then Grey Wind's head stitched onto my body."
The child shook its head. "It was never going to happen in this reality."
"What was the point of showing it to me?"
"To scare you. To remind you actions have consequences. Come with me now, and I'll show you more."
Robb backed off. "I don't think I want to know."
"That's your choice, and probably a wise one," the child answered. "But know this. The Other who leads his like now is of your blood. The thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the one they call the Night's King. Know also that we have you brother, Brandon-"
"Where is he?" Robb cut in, urgent now. He didn't care who was leading the Others in their migration. Some old Stark who joined the Watch aeons ago. But he cared about Bran.
"He is safe as safe can be," the child assured him. "He is under the guidance and protection of the Three-Eyed Raven. You'll know him as Brynden Rivers, a man of your brother's blood. We saw you heading here through the tree, so I followed you. But you have nothing to fear from Brynden Rivers."
"I'm not scared of him. He was Aegon the Unworthy's bastard," Robb remembered. "He vanished ages ago. So how can he protect my brother?"
"With our help. No Other can cross our circle, Lord Stark. Win this war and you can take Brandon home again."
"Why can't you bring him here?" Robb demanded. "You got here yourself, you said so. You could have brought him with you, but you didn't."
"Because he has his own role to play," the child pointed out. "As do you. Now forget your pipes, there's nothing wrong with them except that they're being overwhelmed by winter. Bring the dawn and we'll do the rest."
"At least tell me where he is so I can find him," Robb persisted. "You owe me that much, if I'm to lead my men into another battle."
"At the weirwood grove in the Haunted Forest. You won't need to search; we will bring him home personally."
Robb got back to his feet, turning toward the only exit. He had left Daenerys guarding the gallery beyond and she would soon be growing worried about him. When he swallowed, he found his throat tight and dry from breathing in the bitter cold air. Meanwhile, the Great Other swelled, but remained stubbornly insentient. It was nothing palpable, either. Catching it now would be like catching smoke.
Before leaving, he turned to the Child one more time. "Thank you."
The child turned its big, golden-brown eyes on to him with the same mute appeal as before. "The war will begin as soon you set foot outside this chamber, Lord Stark. Remember that."
Robb nodded and walked away. He reached the stone steps that led up the wall like a sally port and passed the ancient runes. This was the place where winter fell, they reminded him. As he passed, he traced his fingertips over them for luck. He stepped through the archway, back into the gallery that led him there earlier and paused. Nothing happened. Nothing changed.
Walking on again, he climbed back under the collapsed vault, and soon saw the small light of Dany's lantern, where she was waiting in the outer hall, surrounded by a thickening darkness. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw him approaching.
"I was about to head back and raise a search party," she admonished. "What happened in there?"
Robb laughed drily. "I'll tell you when we're back inside."
As he replied, he felt a low rumbling vibration beneath his feet. Barely perceptible, at first, it built rapidly enough to make them both start.
"What's that?" asked Daenerys, swinging her lantern around to face him. "Can you feel that?"
Even as she spoke, the rumbling was now strong enough to shake the stones of the vault they were in, sending down dust clouds and loose masonry. He grabbed her hand and began running. "Come on," he urged her. "Just run!"
Jon's horse wickered, rearing up on its hind legs and threatening to throw him from the saddle.
"Whoa!" he called out, simultaneously trying to find the source of the noise. "Whoa, boy, settle now, settle."
But the rumbling grew louder. Ahead of him, he could see the Broken Tower of Winterfell loosing a few more levels as its uppermost layers came crashing in. As the bricks fell, the dragons flew out, screaming into the night and breathing great rivers of fire. Jon leapt from the saddle and ran the rest of the way to the gatehouse, almost losing his footing as the quaking ground tripped him up.
"Ser Loras!" he called out, blindly.
"Here, your grace, the horses are spooked," the knight replied.
Everyone else was trailing behind them, the armies also fighting to keep control of their mounts. Jon made the decision to run on ahead with Loras and raise Winterfell for help. He made it through the gates as Dany and Robb were emerging from the crypts at the far end of the courtyard, covered in dust and clutching lanterns. Robb had sustained a cut above his eye, but was otherwise fine.
"Brother," he said, lurching towards him with a wildly swinging lantern in his hand. "Winter's fucking come now."
Sam had never run so fast in his life. Or for as long. But he kept his legs pumping, waving his hands over his head to get the attention of the wildling camp ahead. His heartbeat raced, fear and more fear driving him onwards as the earth shook beneath his aching feet.
"Run!" he cried out. "Run! Run!"
They were already running, but the wrong way.
"No, not this way. That way!" he motioned with his hands, pushing north.
He stopped dead, panting and gasping for air, to look back at the wall. Great cracks had appeared over its face, now the whole lot was crashing to the ground. By the time he made a run for it, Castle Black itself had been flatted under a landslide of ice. Now the wildlings were running for their lives, trying to escape through the hole in the wall, oblivious to the danger that still lay that way.
"It's not safe!" he cried out as loud as he could. "Please, it's not safe."
But his warnings were lost among the cracking and crashing of great sheets of ice as the wall fell like a house of cards. Even as he watched, a young woman clutching an infant was running toward an avalanche cascading down from the top of the collapsing wall. Without even thinking, Sam surged forwards, throwing his whole weight toward the woman and shoving her violently out of the path of the falling ice. All three of them, crying baby and all, rolled downhill toward the edge of the Haunted Forest, completely unable to disentangle themselves until they reached the bottom of the incline.
Dazed and bewildered, they looked at each other wide eyed.
"Thank you!" the girl said, tightening her grip on the baby.
Sam blushed. "You're welcome. Now I need to get to the others, my lady."
Before he could go, the girl grabbed his cloak. "What's your name?"
"Sam," he replied. "And yours?"
"Gilly," she answered. "Promise you'll come back for us once it's safe?"
Sam nodded, giving Gilly his word, before running back into the heart of the devastated wildling camp. The place where the wall once stood was now nothing more than stumps and mounds of discoloured ice jutting up like broken teeth. Ice falls and avalanches had killed many, and more were undoubtedly buried out of sight. "Oh, shit!" he said, remembering the wildfire.
Falling, falling, falling… that was all Jaime knew. He and Theon both, falling, tumbling and crashing down the steep hillside. Somehow, they managed to cling to each other as they snowballed downwards, hitting trees and bumping over jutting rocks. Their yelps and curses muffled by the snow, until they finally hit the bottom. Bruised, bleeding, battered to bits, they lay on their backs, in each others arms looking up at the sky.
"What the fuck was that?" Jaime murmured, screwing his eyes shut.
"That was winter," a girl's voice replied. "Nice to see you again, Theon. Good of you to bring the child-crippler along too."
They both sat up, trying to get the girl in focus. At a loss for who she was, Jaime turned to Theon who apparently knew her well. The Ironborn was looking at like he was seeing a ghost.
"Meera!" he gasped.
Just as Jaime thought the worst was over, another rumble came that panicked them all. Friend and foe alike whipped around, ready to run for cover. Then, a green flash of light lit up the night sky, emerald flames soaring skywards followed by an ear-splitting explosion to the north of where they lay. Jaime felt the breath being knocked from his lungs.
"Wildfire!" he cried out, backing farther into a grove of weirwoods. "How did that get here, it's fucking wildfire!"
The girl gathered her wits first. "Come with me, both of you."
With no other choice, Jaime followed and dragged Theon along behind him. The grove was wide, with a largest, most terrifying looking heart tree he had ever seen. As he approached, he saw more faces peeping up from behind its huge roots. Small people, with nut brown skin and wide golden-brown eyes. A door into the tree opened by itself and he found himself being pushed inside.
They were greeted by a direwolf standing guard at a tunnel. Ignoring it, Jaime let himself be led farther and farther inside the tree. By now, he was so used to such fantastical sights and realities, he couldn't even bring himself to question it any more. Eventually, he was led to a space deep in the heart of the tree, where a boy lay on the floor entwined in the roots and tendrils. A boy he hadn't seen since he pushed him from a window of the Broken Tower.
Bran Stark looked up at them both as if he had been expecting them. "The wall has fallen," he stated, matter-of-factly.
Thanks again for reading. Reviews would be great, if you have a minute.
As I said at the end of the last chapter, it's all a bit tinfoil. But I love tinfoil theories. Anyway, hopefully someone out there is still enjoying it. Thanks again!
If there's any mistakes in there I'm happy to correct them. But please understand that I'm a human being, not a machine, as such mistakes will happen every now and then. Losing your bearings in a fictional world is easily done and there's no need to get all hyper-aggressive about it.
Next chapter will be back in balance with action in King's Landing and North of the Wall. Soon, within the next four or five chapters, I hope this story will finally be over.