Good news arrived — Lord Roose Bolton, leading the army of most of the northern lords, had defeated Stannis Baratheon. The battle had been fierce, with many dead on both sides.
Roose wrote that Stannis had been killed; his body had been identified and buried. Bolton also added that now the full might of the North was marching south, toward the Twins, to assist in the confrontation with the Vale.
"Well, that's it then. The war is practically over," Jaime said, barely concealing his delight.
"I don't know, I don't know," Tyrion muttered. "It all seems too easy… I can't believe Littlefinger was cornered so simply. And Bolton doesn't inspire much confidence either — he'd be better suited to running a slaughterhouse than ruling the North. What do you think, uncle?"
"Lord Bolton is a dangerous man, but he can see his advantage through a castle wall," Kevan replied thoughtfully. "I think it suits him to continue supporting us. That part is clear. What concerns me is something else — what will Dragonstone, Driftmark, and the other island lords do now? They hardly have any reason left to fight."
"To begin with, we should send them a letter, test the waters, and offer an honorable surrender. Then we'll see what happens. Will you do it, grandfather?" I asked Kevan, and he nodded. On my final day in the Red Keep, I had almost no time left for all of this.
Besides, we had plenty of people who knew all the angles and were well versed in diplomacy — let them deal with it.
***
An hour later I visited the godswood, lay down beside the weirwood, and after steadying myself, sank into the greenery. Turquoise, as if understanding that I needed calm, settled beside me, placed her head on my stomach, and grew still.
Herald Orm walked among the trees, searching for possible danger, and once he was sure everything was safe, stepped aside to Jon Cafferen and asked him something in a quiet voice.
Slowly and unhurriedly I calmed my breathing. The scent of sun-warmed earth and grass gradually faded, as if evaporating. A ladybug crawled across my hand, and I felt the faint tickle of its legs. With a deep buzzing hum, a bumblebee flew past. A bird's trill sounded somewhere nearby — and then everything slowly disappeared…
Images flickered past, bringing neither understanding nor answers. I moved through the visions without lingering or stopping — none of them were what I sought. I wanted to break through to the North. A sorcerous wind played with reality, and the visions flowed and shifted like a swift river.
In the next moment I felt an unknown force seize my shoulder. I became aware of another presence — and I was thrown onto a clearing.
Many weirwoods grew here, and in the center, atop a rise of stone and earth, stood the largest of them all — majestic and truly enormous. The setting sun painted its leaves crimson. The face on the trunk seemed especially alive and, for some reason, sorrowful, while the wind drew a quiet melody from the rustling leaves.
The air smelled of herbs and cold water — not far from me, a lively little stream ran straight from the roots of the weirwood.
"Who are you?" An old man stood directly before me, dressed in worn black clothing. The wind stirred his thin hair. It seemed that once it had been white, but time had turned it gray. He was thin to the point of emaciation, and one of his eyes was missing. Milky-pale skin, a birthmark on his neck creeping onto his cheek, and a faint reddish tint to the iris of his remaining eye — I understood at once who this was, but I didn't show it.
"And who are you?"
"I am the Three-Eyed Crow and the one who Sees… I am a king's son. Does that answer satisfy you?" he chuckled hoarsely, though his eye remained completely cold and attentive. "Now who are you?"
"I am the master of a young dragon and the one who caught your interest. Does that answer satisfy you?" For some reason I felt that this man could do nothing truly serious to me, and I felt no fear. And if he wanted to play riddles, then he should know he wasn't the only one skilled at it. "Why did you drag me here?"
"Do not toy with me, boy," metal crept into his voice. "For the third time I ask you — who are you? And how did you learn to see the greenery? What is your nature?"
"An answer for an answer. You ask — I answer. Then I ask — and you answer. Does that bargain suit you?"
"You are bold and disrespectful!"
"Tell me your name, so I may greet you according to your status."
"And what if I bind you to this place and you become a weirwood's ghost? Have you thought of that?" Apparently Brynden Rivers — and it was undoubtedly him — had decided to pressure me a little and try to frighten me. Yet I had intrigued him, and he clearly wanted answers.
In theory, this man could become a good ally and perhaps teach me something. And as far as I knew, his goals were reasonable — to help people against the evil beyond the Wall.
But I didn't like that he wanted to speak from a position of power.
"I doubt that would work," I said, feeling the invisible threads with which he had pulled me here and tearing them away with a sharp jerk. "Think about my proposal, Three-Eyed. Perhaps it will turn out that we can help each other?"
"I will think about it," the wind carried his answer to me, and flashes of green separated us.
No, no, no… What the hell! Damn it! I was thrown out at the exact moment when the most important and interesting part had just begun.
I returned to my body and opened my eyes. Turquoise was still lying there, motionless, watching me from beneath half-closed lids.
(End of Chapter)
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