The king retreated to his chamber, enveloped by the oppressive darkness that hung heavy within. Outside, the sky loomed a somber grey, the air thick with an ominous silence broken only by the erratic dance of crows, their caws a cryptic message lingering in the stillness. Seated before the window, Bran Stark took a deep breath, the weight of his visions and responsibilities pressing upon him.
As Bran Stark stared fixedly at the swirling crows outside his window, their chaotic dance mirrored in his unblinking gaze, a profound stillness settled upon him. Gradually, the world around him faded into obscurity as his mind slipped into a trance-like state.
The reflection of the crows shimmered in his eyes, their dark forms cast against the blank canvas of his sightless gaze. Slowly, his eyes glazed over, turning a stark and piercing white, a telltale sign that he had transcended the physical realm and entered the ethereal realm of visions.
Meanwhile, the man who had arrived earlier remained in custody, provided with basic necessities as decreed by the king. In the small council room, council ministers continued their discussion on the subject.
The tension in the small council room was palpable, each minister's face a mask of worry and disbelief. Especially, the environment was even more grim after learning about the possibility of the existence of White walkers still lurking around them.
Lord Gendry Baratheon broke the uneasy silence, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the murmurs. "This is madness. The White Walkers were defeated. We all saw it. This man was either lying or delusional."
Ser Davos Seaworth, his face lined with the weariness of many battles, shook his head. "Yes, we all did but I believe the man. I know one thing that fear like this, it can't be faked."
Gendry continued, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, leaned forward from his seat. "But Ser Davos, Belief isn't proof. We can't let panic spread through the kingdom over one man's experience. We need solid evidence."
Tyrion Lannister slyly remarked, "Oh! I assure you, Lord Gendry, we're way beyond spreading panic. "
Gendry's brow furrowed, and his expression turned stern. "Is that supposed to be a jest at my expense, Lannister?" His voice carried a hint of irritation, his ego clearly stung by Tyrion's sarcastic tone.
"Perhaps but I was just stating the obvious." Tyrion replied calmly, completely unbothered by Lord Gendry's aggressive tone.
Gendry glared at Tyrion, frustration evident in his furrowed brow and clenched fists, struggling to contain his rising irritation and the urge to voice his dissent.
The tension crackled as Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, spoke up, his voice smooth but grave. "It wouldn't be the first time we've faced the unexpected. The dead walking again… it's not beyond the realm of possibility in this world."
Tyrion Lannister, ever the pragmatist, interjected, his voice calm but firm. "I agree. If there's such a threat lurking within the walls of our kingdom, we must quickly do something about it."
Lord Gendry's voice rose, laced with both anger and fear. "And how do you propose we do that? Send more men to die in the wilderness chasing shadows? We can't risk lives on the word of one broken man. After all, it's just one man who has reported seeing the White Walker. Why are you all so scared?"
Tyrion whispered to Varys sitting beside him. "What did I tell you about leaving him in these kind of meetings?"
A woman burst in. "Lord Tyrion, Your Grace summons you."
Tyrion walked up to the king's chamber, the heavy oak door creaking softly as he pushed it open. He entered cautiously, the dim candlelight casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. "Your Grace, you called," Tyrion said, his voice hushed and filled with concern.
Bran sat near the window, his expression distant and troubled. Tears welled up in his eyes, catching the faint light from the candle nearby. It was a rare sight — Bran, who had endured so much stoically, now visibly shaken.
The vision had such a profound impact that it left him completely numb.
Tyrion waited for Bran to speak, sensing the gravity of the moment and the turmoil within the young king.
Bran finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Lord Tyrion, the man speaks the truth."
Tyrion's brow furrowed deeper as he processed Bran's words. The gravity of the situation was sinking in, and he knew they could no longer ignore the potential threat lurking in their midst.
King Bran remained seated, his eyes fixed on the swirling flock of crows outside the window. Tears welled in his eyes, reflecting the dim light of the chamber. His expression was pained, as if carrying a heavy burden. It was not merely the arrival of the White Walkers that troubled him; it was something else from his vision that he chose to conceal…even from his trusted hand, Tyrion Lannister.
Bran's eyes returned to the window, where the crows continued their erratic dance.
Tyrion hesitated, his brow furrowing as he chose his words carefully. "Your Grace, what exactly did you see?"
Bran's gaze remained fixed on the crows outside, their dark forms swirling against the grey sky. His voice was quiet but firm. "That's all for now. Thank you, Lord Tyrion. You may go."
Tyrion nodded solemnly, sensing the weight in Bran's words and demeanor. He turned and exited the chamber, leaving Bran alone with his thoughts and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Outside, the crows that had been dancing and cawing suddenly took flight, their wings cutting through the cool air.