He watched the red leaves fall around him. He didn't move an inch. After accepting the trade, he fell unconscious from the sheer pain. He felt as if his head was about to burst like Oberyn's when he fought the mountain.
That fight didn't happen in this world. No. That memory came from his past. From his other life.
Gods. The things he saw and read as Erick were so different from his current world. Those newly recovered memories tormented him. In that world, he was not born, or he was stillborn; his mother had many dead children.
"Bloodraven," that man had sealed his memories in the weirwood tree in the Godswood at Winterfell.
"Abomination. But still useful," said Bloodraven. His body fused with a weirwood tree. "You will send Jon Snow north to fulfill his destiny," he said in his memories.
That brief exchange changed everything. His whole life, his plans. He had intended to go to Essos, far from the chaos of the west. A bad idea, so in the end, Brynden Rivers saved him. A shame for the bastard, he saved his future killer's life.
"A death," whispered the leaves. A mission, one he would be happy to accept.
"A destruction," roared the rocks. And he thought of Night King. It was not his desire, but it was his responsibility.
Finally, he stood up. A small cascade of red sap flowed from the face of the weirwood tree. A man was collecting the liquid in a bowl. Dozens of people surrounded him.
Greenseers. He had found them. His heart tightened against his chest. Being able to see everything would help him in his quest for revolution.
"Son of destiny," said a man. Pale, beautiful skin, silver-gold hair falling over his shoulders. He was attractive. There was something around his eyes that made him seem unnatural. Jaehaerys identified him as a Targaryen, without a doubt. But which one? "Can you walk?" He just noticed that he was speaking to him in High Valyrian.
"I can," he replied.
"Follow me then," the man pushed his way through the undergrowth.
"Are you a greenseer?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement. Before unlocking his memories, he had thought that magic might be real. That wargs and greenseers existed. The curse of Harrenhal confirmed it. And his memories opened up a whole new world for him.
"I am," the man replied. He walked confidently. He had the bearing of a warrior.
"Can I be one?" asked the prince.
"I am bound to the island. I was once a prince, a dragon rider. Those were the days," he said, sounding like an old man, but he looked young, about Rhaegar's age.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I am a greenseer. I arrived here by accident a long time ago. I asked the same question. They made me one. I didn't know what I was agreeing to. I will never be able to set foot off the island," the man seemed to lament. "If you wish to be a greenseer, you must forget everything outside: your mother, your brothers, your wife, your daughter. You will own no land. You will be bound to serve a greater good," that was disappointing.
"I don't have a daughter," the man shrugged. "Where are we going?" The man gave him a clay container covered with a lid. When he lifted it, he saw a red liquid moving inside. It was like the arcians, but it seemed more alive and brighter.
"The island wants to give you gifts. We have been preparing them since the day you were born," said the man.
He followed him, walking beside him. 'A prince, a dragon rider,' he searched his mind for candidates and found one easily.
He watched his eagle approach. The man didn't notice it, but Jaehaerys did. He extended his arm so it could land. Just as he was about to ask it what it was doing on the island, he found himself looking at his own face. A second later, he looked back at the eagle.
"I see," it seemed he would not leave the island without some magic.
"Past. Future, what's missing?" asked the Targaryen at his side.
"Present. Harren's curse," said the prince.
"Harren was a fool and an imbecile," said the man. Jaehaerys wasn't expecting insults from what was, in the eyes of all Westeros, a mystical man. "But he was an excellent sorcerer," he said vaguely. "Spells didn't save him from dragon fire," he sneered.
"Did Harren leave the curse behind when he died?" The whispers claimed that the ghost of the man himself was responsible for the curse.
"Indirectly. Every stone in the walls, in the towers, in the hall is filled with spells and blood. Thousands died to soak it with blood," the man explained. They came to a small clearing. There was a clearing where a small weirwood tree sprouted. It couldn't have been more than two feet tall. "Their blood remains in the stones, their souls bound to eternal suffering."
"And why do they attack my men?"
"Why can your men enjoy the sun? See their children and their wives. Even sleep with a good prostitute," he asked back. "Why can your men rest at night and Harren's men cannot?"
"So it's... envy?" It seemed absurd and logical at the same time.
Even adding a dead body every day served to sow panic among the crowd. It was a twisted game.
"A way of putting it. In their suffering, they find a glimmer of happiness in making others suffer," said the man. "When a man leaves Harrenhal, he takes a part of Harrenhal with him. They carry souls that will torment them until they manage to kill them."
He grabbed the earth around the weirwood and pulled. Jaehaerys watched as he pulled out a clay pot, inside which was the sprout of the elder tree.
"There is already a weirwood in Harrenhal," said the boy.
"One contaminated by the three-eyed crow and his singing brats," the man spat.
Jaehaerys thought about it. The weirwood was through which Bloodraven could see the seven kingdoms.
"Should I cut it down?"
"You can purify it," the man said. "The red sap from here. You must put it at its roots. It will look withered for a while, but then it will spread like no other weirwood tree. Even so, one will not be enough to rid Harrenhal of all Harren's cruelty," he clarified, pointing to the vessel.
"I know they are magical, but how will they help destroy the spirits?"
"Destroy?" The man raised an eyebrow. "They will not destroy them; they will put them to rest. They will feed on them. Don't be surprised when you see it grow beyond what you ever thought possible."
"As big as the one on the island?" The man smiled, his cracked lips tightening, but he did not answer. "Is there anything you can tell me about the three-eyed raven?"
"He was a greenseer. He lived right here on this island," the man began as he walked. "The man was not content to remain bound here, no, he wanted more. He used to use ravens to look outside the island; besides being a greenseer, he was an exceptional warg. He left the island. He succeeded, but to do so, he contaminated the trees outside the island. He made them his own and used them for his own will. He became a parasite, semi-immortal. I don't know how long he's lived, or how many bodies he's had. No one on the island knows. For no one has lived that long." His voice grew tenser with each word. "The man knows how to cover his tracks well. We can only theorize about how he managed to change bodies; no one has ever been twisted enough even to try. The man spat on the Isle of Faces. And it was he who gave the shit singers the idea to create the first White Walker." Jaehaerys listened, drinking in every word as if it were Dornish wine. "We can glimpse a little of the future; it's not fixed, it always changes. But if the three-eyed raven lives, no one else does," he finished in a whisper.
In the TV show, the man ultimately becomes the king of the Seven Kingdoms. In the books... only George knows. He was an enigmatic creature who apparently supported humanity.
"The stories say that it was the children of the forest who carved the faces of the weirwood," said the prince.
"They did. At first, it was for the gods of nature. Then they betrayed them, we don't know why, whether it was because they didn't answer their prayers or because the three-eyed raven convinced them," replied the man. "You will carve the face of this weirwood tree," he pointed to the vessel, "when the time comes. The gods will guide you."
"So the gods are real?" asked the prince.
"Are you real, Jaehaerys Targaryen?" he asked rhetorically. "You've already spoken to one," he added.
Finally, they reached his raft. On it, he found a chest that he did not bring with him. He watched the man place the tree on the wood.
"Thank you," he said to the man. "Can I return to the island?" The mysticism attracted him.
"Only the island knows," said the man. "No man can challenge you," he added, knowing his strength. "But you will not face only men, remember that," then he disappeared into the undergrowth. Jaehaerys knew what he had to do.
"I hope it holds," he said, pushing the boat into the lake. It would be a shame to die when he had already achieved everything he needed.