Jon had only been Beyond-The-Wall once before. The quick jaunt up the coast that led him to a meeting with Mance Rayder. This trip was twice as important, and twice as dangerous.
The Stranger in rags, as they had been forced to call him, was an expert guide, leading them through the underbrush, past mud pits and around thorn traps. The Haunted Forest lived up to its name. Even Val felt an ominous presence in the darkened boughs and creeping ice.
"There's too much frost," Val muttered, "the trail ponds shouldn't be frozen this far south."
Stranger yelled back from the front, "They've hidden winter beneath the ground, and now that the living have fled, it rears its head."
Jon expected to encounter bands of Wildlings. Maybe a fleeing group or a hunting party. He wasn't sure where Mance had encamped his army. Their only meeting was with the dead. A group of fresh wights hidden in the snow burst from the underbrush.
"Do we fight them?" Benjen cried.
Stranger shook his head, "We don't have time."
Two hours of hard riding brought them into the heart of the forest. Jon recognized a feeling in the air, a tint to the sky. There was a heavy magic nearby.
Suddenly, the trees melted away and they rode into a wide clearing surrounding a massive hill, atop which a Heartree stood proud and tall. The weirwood would put any tree he had seen on Skagos to shame.
"Make for the base of the tree, find the open knot," Stranger ordered while a flock of birds descended around him.
Their horses were tied hastily to make shift stakes and Beorn pushed aside a heavy curtain of roots, revealing a tunnel leading down, underneath the tree.
Mari noticed Val standing up on the hill, gazing off.
"Val!" Mari shouted.
"It's a storm," Val yelled down.
Mari's eyes rolled back, she'd kept her birds close at hand, now they sat in the branches of the weirwood to keep watch. Her favourite, Ballast, snapped her wings and streaked upward.
Ballast was gliding in the open air, the only calm spot that Mari could see for leagues around. This single clearing had been surrounded by dark roiling clouds. Sheets of snow and ice rained down, drawing closer and closer by the minute.
"This can't be natural," Mari whispered.
"We are almost out of time," Stranger said at her side. "First Ranger, Whitewolf, Freewoman, we must prepare to defend the tunnels."
Mari followed everyone down into the opening, leaving her birds above.
The tunnels were just tall enough for her and the others to stand, with Beorn having to hunch slightly. The Stranger pulled bundles and chests from the dirt floor and began passing out torches, oil, linen and rusted hook spears made from bronze.
When Beorn tried to grab a spear, the Stranger stopped him.
"No, you and Skytongue must go deeper. The Children await you," he said.
Beorn glanced back at Jon, obviously confused. Jon just nodded and continued helping Benjen soak the torches.
Reluctantly, Beorn followed Mari's lead down a side tunnel. The roots grew thicker and the sound of their companions grew fainter. He nearly bowled over Mari when she came to a stop.
In front of her, crouching on the ground was a Child of the Forest. It was the closest he'd come to the ancient beings. His father and Mari were the only ones he knew had actually conversed with them, on Skagos and in the Riverlands.
"Come," the creature said, and beckoned them farther in.
Beorn quickly realized there were more Children infesting the nooks and corners of the tunnel. They were led into a nexus chamber at the heart of the hill. The Heartree above them burrowed straight down, forming a central pillar. Nestled in it was a pale-skinned corpse, not unlike the ones Jon had described to him in the godswood on the peak of Skagos. This body was infested by the roots, caught in a death grip. Littered across the floor were skulls and bones, animal and human.
"A dead greenseer?" Beorn wondered.
"Not dead yet," the corpse said.
/
"Are there any other supplies?" Benjen asked as he stared at the rag man, again wondering what he hid beneath his clothes.
The Stranger shook his head, "That was all that could be gathered from the old caches."
"Will it be enough?"
The Stranger sharpened the edge of another spear, "It will have to be. We must hold the tunnels for as long as the Children need."
Benjen sat down and picked up a spear, joining the effort. Ghost and Crag were sitting at the entrance tunnel, keeping a keen eye on the tree line. Benjen could feel his skin prickle and his nerves stood on end, like he was on sentry duty himself, "What is this Crow?"
"A being of power, the caretaker of this Godswood, and an ally for the Children still living North of the Wall." The Stranger answered.
"A Shepherd, then?"
"No. The Shepherds are the link between the people and the Old Gods, the people and themselves. The Crow was called here to fulfill another purpose. He was empowered to see further, to watch in the darkness." The Stranger explained.
"To watch for the White Walkers," Benjen concluded.
The Stranger laid down his spear and picked another. "When he lived among men, he was said to have a thousand eyes and one. Now, he believes there is nothing he cannot see."
/
"Come closer," Brynden commanded.
He was careful to keep his request soft but firm. The two young Shepherds were wary, the tall one was afraid. Good.
His vision darkened for a few moments and his body felt faint. The Great Other's fell hand was closing around his neck. Calling out to this group had been a risk, but the window to escape was small.
Where was the bastard? The boy had plenty of dragon blood, it would make the assimilation simpler. The Valyrian magics Brynden favoured would be easier to replicate on a kinsman.
The Children could not carry his mind and soul south, a mortal man was needed for the task. For nearly two years they had dawdled and waited, saying it was too soon to flee behind the Wall. Finally, they could no longer deny his requests.
Things were moving quickly and Brynden had grown frustrated with his caretakers. The eldest of their kind had obscured their movements on Skagos. He had no true grasp of their discussions with the Shepherds; they preferred he spent his time watching the Far North and tracking the movements of the White Walkers. They knew little of how far and wide he could truly see.
Regardless of their dealings with the Greenseers, the island would be unsuitable to him. Too many curious souls in one place. Brynden planned to make his new home far from the Wall.
"Bring me the Whitewolf," he whispered.
Skytongue and the brute looked confused.
"The Stranger," the woman referred to the dead Ranger, "told us we were to come speak with you, Jon stayed behind to prepare the defenses."
His orders had been contradicted. Why? The Children had been acting queer ever since the Others had crossed the Frostfangs in force. More and more of the Children fled south, overcoming their suspicion of men to find refuge in the Godswoods. Mance Rayder's army was the last chance for any of the Wildlings to escape the frozen hell their homeland was becoming. Any who stayed behind would die to the cold or the wights, that included himself.
He swung his eye to the Child sitting by his side, "I need the Whitewolf," he repeated.
The Child, wrapped in a robe of red leaves and black vine was unbothered, "The Whitewolf has a different path before him," it said.
Brynden resisted the urge to grind his teeth. The Children had not spoken against his plan when it was proposed. They hadn't so much as blinked when he chose the Whitewolf as a vessel. He looked back at the Shepherds before him. He'd have to make due.
"Skytongue?" he asked.
The woman stepped closer, "I am Skytongue."
"I am called the Three-Eyed Crow. In truth, I am a sentinel. I have given my body to the Weirwoods as a living sacrifice. It was my eye that watched for the return of the Others. Now, the Great Other has come to kill me, but my vision will be needed in the years to come."
It was an embellishment, boasting words to inspire the young woman. True, no other living Greenseer could see as deeply into the schemes and movements of the White Walkers as him. It was difficult for any Dreamer to see past the magical protections of the Wall, but for Brynden it was easy. Could the Children recreate his abilities? Possibly. Brynden's reign as Hand of the King had been so effective due to his talent and dedication to sorcery. It would be difficult to find another with his depth of power in the current world.
First Man blood ran thin outside the North, with the Shepherds taking in anyone who showed talent. The Targaryens were gone from Westeros, apart from Jon Snow. Dabblers and Wood Witches were spread thin across the Seven Kingdoms, Brynden had watched and even guided more than a few, but none came close to the power he once wielded from King's Landing.
"This body cannot be taken from here, Skytongue." Brynded said, "Thankfully, my powers and experience can live on, but someone must carry them. I would ask this of you, Mari Skytongue, daughter of Torrhen Wolftongue. To take up the mantle of the Three-Eyed Crow. Take up the burden, for the great war to come."
Brynden could see the moment the woman latched onto his words. The instilled need to matter, to give of herself for the greater good.
A trio of Children emerged from the roots above him, clambered down in haste. The Enemy had arrived. Brynden cursed, it was happening too fast. He was running out of time.
/
Jon blew out a long breath, adjusted his grip on his sword and cleaved through a one-armed woman. Wights had swarmed out of the tree line and clogged the tunnel entrance. The Stranger instructed them to work in pairs. Pin the dead to the wall or the ground and then set them aflame. It had worked the first ten times, then a few had slipped through and they had retreated down the tunnels. Now their spears were gone and the fighting was close, brutal and dangerous. Val had taken a wound to her shoulder and Jon's thigh had a large gash.
"How much longer do they need?" Benjen screamed, wrestling with a legless man while Crag and Ghost chewed apart another.
The Stranger looked up then reached out and pulled Jon and Val backwards. The Wights surged forth just in time for a group of Children to drop from the ceiling with a thick net of wicked thorns. It stretched taut and as the points stuck into the flesh and muscle of the wights. Like a school of fish, the Wights slowly pushed and pushed but were caught in the trap.
A Child of the Forest with honey-dark skin ran up to them, "We are almost ready to depart this place."
Jon dragged the remains of a skull off his blade, "What about Beorn and Mari?"
"They are serving their purpose. worry not Whitewolf, we will ensure their safety." The Child motioned to their companion who brought over a large bundle of rotted canvas. "While the Crow faces his fate, you must prepare to return south."
The Children led them further into the tunnels, Jon heard the cracking of wood and the sound of earth moving. The tunnels were collapsing.
"Why were we brought here?" Jon asked.
"For many reasons," the Child responded, "you witnessed the New Pact but that is not all the Old Gods require of you."
Jon was confused, in pain and starting to run short on patience.
"Enough with your riddles!" he shouted.
The Children looked up at him with a tense frown. They shoved the canvas bag towards him. He took it, unwrapping the top. The canvas fell away to reveal a rotted sword hilt. What were once undoubtedly fine adornments of silver and gold were now caked in dirt and rust. It had a rounded pommel and swooping, artisanal guards.
His own sword was good castle-forged steel, straight from Winterfell's armoury. It wouldn't hurt to have an extra blade on hand, just in case. As long as it still had an edge.
Jon grabbed the hilt and drew the blade up. The sword moved through the air so quickly, Jon nearly cut Benjen's head clean off.
"Careful, Nephew!" Benjen warned.
Jon was silent, his attention focused on the miracle he held aloft.
"Valyrian steel…" Jon reverently whispered.
The Child had gifted him a treasure worth a House's fortune. How did such a rarity come here? Of all the places in the world to find Valyrian steel, a hollow at the end of the world seemed like a bad joke.
He had no time to question the origin of the blade. The Child in question had already disappeared and Jon was forced to quickly affix the sword to his waist. A Valyrian blade was a mystery to solve when they were safely out of danger.
"Which way do we go?" Val asked, as she cinched a makeshift bandage.
Ghost and Crag scented the ground, circling the room until they decided on a direction. The group followed their wolves around bends and through narrow openings. The farther they went, the closer to the surface they drew. Their torches began whipping and moving as the air grew fresher. At the very end of their path, Benjen cut through a thicket revealing trees and a stream. Jon clambered out of the tunnel. Looking back across the clearing, he saw the mass of undead surrounding the weirwood hill.
"Our horses?"
Jon turned to Benjen, who stared in amazement at their steeds, hale and healthy tethered to a nearby log.
"We have to wait for Beorn and Mari," Val stated.
Benjen crouched down with Jon and Val.
"We need to stay hidden, we can't say how many of these wights are out here," he said.
Jon heard a quiet creak from above, the Children had reappeared and perched in the boughs around them. Hopefully, Beorn and Mari wouldn't be far behind.
/
"What must I do?" Mari asked the ancient man.
"You know your history, all power comes with a cost," he responded.
Mari swallowed, "Sacrifice. I am prepared to sacrifice."
The Three-Eyed Crow gestured to a basket resting on the floor in the corner of the room. Mari walked over and reached in. There was a bowl and a number of tools, Mari frowned as she drew them out. A thick knife, a small curved blade and a hook attached to a length of rope. She looked back at the man, "I don't understand," she said.
"Blood is the greatest sacrifice one can make," The Crow explained.
Mira took a deep breath, "Should it be a limb?"
Beorn jolted at her words, he was about to protest when the Crow interrupted.
"The sacrifice required must be greater, it must be lifeblood."
"How can I carry your soul if I'm dead?" Mari asked.
The Crow simply turned his head to Beorn. The two siblings locked eyes.
"I'll do it," Beorn told her, his voice low and calm. He stepped forward and began taking off his coat and cloak.
Mari was struck silent watching him kneel before the Crow, baring his chest.
"Skytongue," The Crow said, "You must open the throat of your sacrifice, collect their blood, then mix in the Weirwood sap and consume the paste."
Mari ran her fingers along the bowl.
"It's the same ritual as bonding with an animal," Mari noted, "That requires only some blood, why do I need to take a life?"
The Crow shifted, "Your mind is strong, but to take in my knowledge and abilities, it must be forced open, beyond what you are able to achieve naturally. His life will fuel this transformation."
Mari held the curved blade, it wasn't bronze but carefully chipped glass. The black oily surface hid any bloodstains, but Mari had no doubt it had seen its fair share. Mari stepped over to her brother, looked down at him. He'd always been taller than her.
When they were young children, Beorn would let her ride on his shoulders through the meadows. Mari loved to go 'giant-riding', and Beorn would make up tall tales about climbing great peaks and battling living storms. He would bring her inside and they'd curl up by the hearth together and sing until she fell asleep.
"Why are you hesitating?" The Crow asked.
Mari gripped the knife again. Her hands were sweating.
"Dammit, girl, you know the price. Now do it!" He demanded.
"Mari," Beorn whispered as he lifted his head higher, "if this is your destiny, then it must be mine as well."
How could she listen to that kind of talk, let alone accept it?
"What will Father say?" Mari said.
Beorn frowned, "He'll say I died for a great cause, for you."
Her hand shook, "What will Jon say?"
Her brother cringed, "Jon knows that duty must come first."
Mari lowered the knife, "You think this is your duty?"
Beorn reached out and held her hands, "Maybe this is what I was always meant for. Why else would I be here?"
He was serious. Mari couldn't believe it. Beorn actually thought this was his worth, to be a human sacrifice.
Tears slid down her cheek, "How can you say that? Without hesitation? How can you look at all you've done in the last few years and throw it away?"
Finally, she saw it. A slip of his resolute mask, a hint of fear in her brother's face.
"You could have done the same things. You could have brought the direwolves south, guided Jon and made peace with the Starks. No doubt, you'd have done a better job of it," Beorn said.
Mari struck him hard, a punch right to the face. Beorn fell back. She looked up to the scowling Crow and dropped the knife.
"Whatever power you offer, whatever fate the Old Gods have decreed, I won't sacrifice my brother," she declared.
"It is the only way!" the Crow yelled.
Mari was unmoved, she threw the knife away from her.
"You," The Crow called to Beorn who lay still on the floor, "She is unwilling to take this power, this purpose into her own hands. What of you?"
Her brother could only shake his head.
The Crow whispered, "If neither of you will carry out the ritual then I will have to make you."
The Crow's eyes shifted to solid white. Mari scanned the chamber, looking for what animal he was planning to skinchange. No claw or talon came for her. Perhaps the animal was in another chamber.
Mari crouched by Beorn, turned him over to check on him. In a split second, Beorn's large hand closed around her throat. He rose up, keeping a harsh grip on her, then slowly dragged her across the roots and skulls to the fallen knife. Beorn planted a boot in her back to keep her face down.
"Beorn!" Mari gasped.
Her brother turned his head down. His eyes had gone warg white.
Mari looked back to the Crow, "What have you done? To Warg a man goes against every law and custom!"
"Customs and laws will not stop the dead that walk," The Crow told her. "Now I have given you the chance to act with honor, you've refused. There is no more time for distractions."
Beorn reached down and picked up the curved blade. Mari tried to shift his foot, to throw him off balance.
"Once your brother is gone, you will finish it," The Crow declared, "you would not want his death to be pointless, would you?"
Beorn smoothly put the blade to his neck, and paused. The Three-Eyed Crow frowned and tilted his head. The blade touched Beorn's skin then his hand drifted away. Beorn arms were tensed, his shoulders hunched forward.
"Do not fight me," the Crow said, "Accept your fate."
Beorn stepped off of Mari as he staggered forward towards the Crow. His teeth clenched and sweat poured down his face. With a loud scream Beorn lunged forward and stabbed the knife into the Crow's leg. Mari thought she heard a thunderous growl reverberate through the chamber.
In a single instant, the Three-Eyed Crow screeched, Beorn's eyes snapped back to colour and Mari grabbed him by the hand and dragged him backwards.
The Crow tore the knife out of his flesh and began to speak when the roof of the chamber shifted, cracked and fell in. On top of the rubble were wights. They crawled their way out of the rock and ground, pulling their broken bodies up the roots to grab, claw and bite into The Three-Eyed Crow.
"Oh Gods," Mari yelled.
A dozen more corpses fell into the hole, the chamber was being overrun.
"Come on!"
Mari dragged a dazed Beorn through the tunnel behind her. She wasn't sure how she knew which way to follow, her instincts led her left, right, right and then left; until she burst out into a snow filled ditch.
As Mari and Beorn fought to catch their breath, they saw Jon, Val, Benjen and the Stranger riding towards them. Everyone was so exhausted they barely spoke. They were forced to double up on the horses, with Val and Jon sharing a horse to free a saddle for Beorn and Mari.
They put distance between the Heartree Hill and themselves, making east for the coastline. On the shore of the Shivering Sea they allowed their horses to collapse in the sand.
"What happened to the Crow?" Jon asked.
Beorn blinked hard, "He warged into my body."
Everyone was shocked.
"That's possible?" Benjen asked.
"Possible, dangerous, and taboo," the Stranger explained.
"The roof caved in and the Wights devoured him," Mari continued, "The Children disappeared at some point, I don't remember when."
Val came up to examine Mari for any wounds, "I thought that we were supposed to free the Three-Eyed Crow? Wasn't that part of the Pact Mance made on Skagos?"
The Stranger stepped forward, "The Three-Eyed Crow has been freed." He turned back to the tree line and pointed.
Three Children stood in the shadows, and slowly came to join them on the beach.
"You have done well, Skytongue, Bullheart." The lead Child said. Jon recognized them as the gifter of the Valyrian sword.
"I don't understand, we've failed, the Crow is dead surely." Mari protested.
The Child only blinked, "A body that held the power of sight has perished, yes. The Crow was never meant to be more than a watcher. The one we chose for the role exceeded his authority. He was useful, but we could not permit him to journey south. His interference would have jeopardised all we are working towards."
"What about his sight? His vision?" Beorn asked.
"The powers of the Crow were great, but he was not as unique as he believed." The Child looked speculatively at Beorn, "Bullheart was able to throw off his possession. Perhaps among the Shepherds we will find strength we believed had vanished."
"What now?" Mari wondered.
The Child turned south, the Wall loomed on the horizon.
"Now the Skildva must retake the cursed fort, and make ready. The King in the North comes."
/
A/N : Thank you all for reading! It's been a while but this chapter was very fun to finally get out. Bloodraven thought he could see everything, but the Children have their own plans. Beorn definitely has more to him than meets the eye, and Jon now possesses a certain Valyrian sword.
Next time we go back south, to see the aftermath of the War of the Stags. Stannis holds the throne and four of the Seven Kingdoms. But how will he secure control of the Reach and the Westerlands? And what does Dorne have to say about all this?
As always, C is appreciated.