Ebrose

Her face was soft – a mixture of eternal youth and ancient complexion. Her skin was a deep emerald, with matching eyes that seemed to see through him when he made contact with his own. She was no taller than a young girl, with a small frame and proportionate features. In the dark, he mistook her for a human teenager. Once they'd shined their lights onto her, however, it became abundantly clear: she was not human. He felt his heart pound in his chest: she was one of the children.

"Who are you?" Lance shouted at her, pointing his weapon directly at her face. Ebrose quickly stepped over and placed his hand on the top of the weapon, urging the ranger to lower it.

"Don't," he urged. "She's not one of them." Lance eyeballed the maester with uncertainty before resigning himself to the request. Ebrose silently thanked the man for his trust before turning his gaze back to her. She took a labored step forward, her body moving as if she were an old woman struggling to stay upright, into the primary chamber where natural light bathed her green skin for all to see.

"He wants you to take a seat," she explained, ignoring the fearful provocation. "Place your hands upon the roots of the tree." The whole room looked to Ebrose, who scanned the room. So many lives in my hands, he despaired. I hope I was correct in coming here.

He took a step towards the main root structure, staring at the skull. He cleared away dried pine needles and brown leaves that turned to dust upon contact with his feet and, with some joint pain, winced as he sat with his legs crossed on the dirt. He reached out towards the first root he saw before he stopped and looked at the rest of his group. They looked on, the tension in the room palpable. He forced a confident smile, trying to put them at ease. It must have worked, because Lance quickly placed his rifle against the roots and sat down, placing his hand on the ancient, white wood. Doctor Stone was the next to sit, and soon the entire room were in various seated positions, some with their hands grasping the roots and others hesitantly reaching out. Ebrose looked at the child apprehensively, knowing what was coming next. She made no expression, only staring at him patiently. He took a deep breath and pressed his palm against the root, grasping it tightly.

Before he could exhale, he found himself standing in the snow, staring at the distant hills. The sun was just barely creeping above the horizon, bathing the world in gentle morning light. The wind whipped around him, but he didn't feel cold – he only felt the ethereal breeze dance around him. He exhaled and saw his breath crystalize in the air in front of him before dispersing into the wind. He took a sharp breath in, feeling the cold air enter his lungs, lingering smoke in the air entering his nose and mouth so that he could taste it. Despite the permeating odor, he felt as if that air was the most pure and clean air he'd ever breathed in – as if his lungs were young again and the air was untouched by the pollution mankind had accomplished over the last few centuries of industrial development. It felt primal.

He turned around and was greeted by a scene of carnage: a burning castle, crumbling in parts, surrounded by a sea of corpses. There was so much blood and soot that the snows ran red and black and gray. Bodies stacked on top of bodies. A burning moat surrounded the structure, with only a few signs of life – men in ancient armor trudging through the apocalyptic scene, carrying swords, spears, shields, bows and axes. Some sported long, grizzled beards. Others were covered in leather armor and helmets. A few on horseback resembled his travelling companion, Turk, more than the other men. Before he could truly understand what he was seeing, he saw someone walking towards him from the open gate of the city.

She walked slowly through the blood-soaked dirt and into the snow, growing closer with each passing moment. Her crimson robes flowed in the wind along with her fiery red hair. Her hands were hidden in her sleeves, joined in front of her body as she moved. Her face was beautiful but pained. He saw her determination, her pain and hope. She looked past him, staring at the rising sun. As she walked, she slowly reached up to her neck, pulling away the ornate golden choker adorned with a massive ruby. She glanced over to him, looking through him, before betraying a satisfied smile from the corner of her mouth, as if she couldn't see him but she knew he was there. The choker fell from her hand, dropping into the snow, the light refracting from the gem and suddenly going dark, as if the stone were absorbing all of the light and giving none back. She suddenly stumbled slightly. Her beautiful face now covered in wrinkles. Her flowing hair turning into a mop of white whisps, thinning but not falling out. Her lithe frame became hunched and frail. What began as a beautiful woman walking through the snow, fell to her knees as an old woman, resembling a witch more than a grandmother, before falling face first into the snow and dying at his feet.

"Do you know where you are?" a voice came from behind him. He turned and saw a young man wrapped in feathery black robes, a mop of brown hair on his head. His expression was somewhere between completely vacant and unbelievably wise. Ebrose took another deep breath.

"It's you," was all he managed to gasp.

"Yes," the Raven agreed, waiting for Ebrose to answer him. The maester turned his head back towards the battlefield and the dead woman at his feet.

"This is the Long Night," he surmised.

"The morning after," the Raven corrected him, taking a step forward and joining him. "These moments are just after the Night King was defeated in the Winterfell Godswood," he explained.

"I'm witnessing it," Ebrose remarked in awe. "I'm seeing what happened then."

"You're seeing it as it's happening now," the Raven corrected again. "I exist in all time, everywhere, all at once," he explained. "I'm showing you this now, as I see it. As I've always seen it." Ebrose turned to him.

"And the others?" he asked.

"They're seeing what they need to see," the Raven answered simply. "You're seeing this because of what happens next."

The Raven looked past him and focused his gaze on the same gate that the woman had just walked through. Ebrose turned back to watch. From the smoke, another figure stood. He was an older man, carrying a sword and looking on at the fallen woman, an impossible look of disgust, fear and sadness on his face that Ebrose had never before encountered. The anguish this man was showing, along with his utter contempt, was something that he imagined could only be experienced by someone who had seen the Long Night up close. As he stared at the dead woman, another figure approached him from behind.

This figure was smaller, barely more than a child, but with catlike grace and a confident, vacant expression on her bloodied face – as if the Long Night hadn't affected her any more than suffering through an arthouse film she didn't care for. Her brown hair was shortly cropped, and her intricate leather armor was tinged with the signs of battle. The older man looked at her and said something he couldn't hear. The girl stopped and looked at the sword-wielding man, then turned her gaze to the corpse at their feet. Ebrose looked over at the Raven, who simply stared ahead at the unfolding scene. When he looked back, the girl was walking silently through the snow towards the corpse. As she got closer, her steps came slower, as if to show apprehension – even disbelief at what her eyes saw. She stopped in her tracks and bent down, picking up the choker and looking into the gemstone deeply. The dull gem roared back to life, glowing with a beautiful, ominous luster.