The Cold Awakening Beneath the Weirwood Tree
The snow in the Godswood of Winterfell was colder than any year before.
Bran sat in his wheelchair, his back resting against the rough trunk of the Weirwood Tree—the patterns in its bark like an old man's veins, the seeping red sap congealing into dark red ice crystals in the low temperature, like solidified drops of blood.
His fingers lay on the armrest of the wheelchair, his fingertips an unnatural bluish-white, the lingering chill after a Greensight, as if countless ice needles swam through his veins.
"Bran, it's time for your medicine."
Meera's voice came from the Godswood entrance.
She held a ceramic bowl, filled with warm herbal soup, the steam quickly condensing into white mist in the cold air.
She walked to Bran's side and offered him the bowl, her tone softening when her gaze fell upon his vacant eyes, "What did you see again?"
Bran didn't answer immediately.
His gaze was still fixed on "another world"—a few seconds ago, a Greensight had suddenly descended, and he had seen an endless ice plain, blue light spreading across the snow like a living river, and at the end of the river was a tall, thin figure, a black cloak fluttering in the wind, its eye sockets two burning blue lights.
It was the Night King.
He slowly blinked, and the ice plain before him vanished, replaced by the scene of the Godswood: snow hung on the branches and leaves of the Weirwood Tree, a few crows hopped on the branches, emitting hoarse caws; the distant city walls were faintly visible, and a Night's Watch patrol moved along the walls, the iron pieces on their armor reflecting faint sunlight.
"The Night King is moving."
Bran took the ceramic bowl; the bitter taste of the herbs spread across his tongue but could not dispel the chill in his bones, "His army... is larger than I imagined, with giants, ice horses, and... things that crawled out of the deep sea."
Meera's expression changed.
She tightened her grip on the spear at her waist—it was the weapon her father had left her, its tip wrapped in cloth, still stained with the black blood of a wight.
"Does Jon know? We have to tell him the news."
"He knows some of it."
Bran took a sip of the herbal soup, his eyes becoming vacant again, "I saw him inspecting a dragonglass dagger on the Wall, I saw him having the Night's Watch move wildfire, but he doesn't know... the Night King's target isn't the Wall, it's me."
These words struck Meera's heart like a piece of ice.
She knelt down, looking into Bran's eyes—they were the eyes of a child, yet filled with a burden and sorrow beyond his years, "Why you?"
Bran didn't answer, for he too was searching for the answer.
Greensight was like a broken mirror, only showing fragments at a time: sometimes the Children of the Forest carving runes in ancient forests, sometimes the moment the Night King was stabbed in the heart with dragonglass, sometimes Jon raising longclaw in the snow, the wolf's head sigil on the sword clashing with the Night King's ice spear.
These fragments were like threads, but he couldn't find their beginning.
He turned his wheelchair, moving closer to the Weirwood Tree, and pressed his forehead against the cold bark.
The eyes of the Weirwood Tree were two deep brown annual rings, like an old man's pupils, now meeting his gaze.
He could feel the whispers of the Old Gods, like the sound of wind through leaves, like the sound of snow falling to the ground, like the footsteps of the wight army moving across the distant ice plains.
"Bran."
An aged voice echoed in his mind—it was the lingering consciousness of the three-eyed raven, the old man who had taught him Greensight but ultimately died at the hands of the Others, "You must see the complete thread, see the Children of the Forest's mistake, see the Targaryen's fire, see the Stark's ice, see... balance."
Balance?
Bran frowned.
He remembered Sam's letter from The Citadel, which said, "dragonflame can destroy the Others' bodies"; he remembered the wolfblood and dragonblood in Jon; he remembered Daenerys's dragons in the East, those burning flames; he remembered the Night King's ice, that coldness that devoured everything.
Could balance be the confrontation of fire and ice?
II. Fragments in Greensight: Echoes from All Sides
Greensight descended again, this time the images were clearer than before.
(I) Fire and Ice on the Wall
Bran "stood" on a watchtower of the Wall, Jon by his side.
Ghost lay at Jon's feet, its tail sweeping across the snow, making a "rustling" sound.
Jon held a parchment, on which Sam's handwriting read, "The Children of the Forest created the Night King with dragonglass, and they also restrain him with dragonglass; dragonflame is ancient fire and can burn away his magic."
"dragonflame..." Jon repeated softly, his finger tracing the word "Dragon," his eyes filled with doubt, "Can Daenerys's dragons really help us?"
Bran "saw" Jon's memories: Robb's blood at the Red Wedding, Catelyn's screams, Sansa's tears in King's Landing, Arya's disappearance.
These memories were like knives, stabbing at Jon's heart, and at Bran's heart too.
He knew Jon's hesitation—as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he could not leave the Wall; as a Stark, he had to protect the North; as a Targaryen, he also had a blood connection to Daenerys.
Suddenly, a wolf howl came from the distant snow.
Ghost immediately pricked up its ears, and Jon gripped longclaw.
Bran "saw" three ice wolves dart out of the snow; their eyes were blue, their bodies covered in ice crystals—they were the Night King's "ice wolf scouts."
"Shoot!" Jon shouted.
The Night's Watch immediately raised their bows, and burning arrows shot towards the ice wolves.
The ice wolves were hit by flames, emitting shrill howls, their bodies melting into black water in the snow, but quickly re-freezing into ice, becoming three ice crystal statues.
Jon walked to the ice crystal statues and tapped them with longclaw.
The statues shattered, revealing wolf bones inside.
"The Night King is testing our defenses," he said to the Night's Watch beside him, "Distribute all the dragonglass daggers; let everyone know that only dragonglass and fire can kill them."
Bran's "gaze" left the Wall, a pang of sadness in his heart.
He knew Jon's pressure, how vulnerable the Wall's defenses were, and that the Night King's army would soon arrive.
He had to transmit more information to Jon, such as the Night King's target being him, and that Daenerys's dragons would soon come to support them.
(II) Books and Blood at The Citadel
The scene shifted; Bran "stood" in the restricted section of The Citadel.
Sam was squatting in front of a bookshelf, holding a tattered scroll of "The Chronicles of the Children of the Forest," its page edges carbonized as if scorched by fire.
The old Maester stood beside him, his face solemn, holding a fragment of dragonglass.
"It says here," Sam's voice was excited, his finger pointing at the runes on the page, "the Children of the Forest created the Night King to fight the 'first wave of human invasion'; they stabbed dragonglass into the Night King's heart, giving him the ability to control ice, but they didn't expect... he would lose control and begin to devour all life."
The old Maester sighed, handing the dragonglass fragment to Sam: "Dragonglass is the key, capable of both creation and destruction.
But now, too few can wield this key."
Bran "saw" a letter for Jon in Sam's pocket, with a small map tucked inside, marking "the Children of the Forest's last altar," where a "magic dagger that can kill the Night King" was hidden.
Sam was about to send the letter by raven, but he didn't know that a small team of Others had already infiltrated Oldtown, their target being him.
Bran wanted to "shout," to warn Sam, but he couldn't make a sound—Greensight could only observe, not interfere, this was the first and most cruel lesson the three-eyed raven had taught him.
He could only "watch" Sam hand the letter to the raven, watch the raven fly out of The Citadel, and watch the blue light of the Others' team flicker in the alleys of Oldtown, growing closer and closer.
(III) Dragons and Governance in Meereen
The scene shifted again; Bran "stood" in the great hall of Meereen.
Daenerys sat on a raised platform, Drogon perched on her shoulder, its black dragon scales gleaming with metallic luster in the sunlight.
Tyrion stood beside her, holding an economic report, reporting: "The estate's grain production has recovered to 70% of pre-liberation levels, and with reduced merchant taxes, more spice ships are trading in Meereen, and the skill schools have trained over two hundred blacksmiths and weavers."
Illyrio stood before the map, his finger pointing towards Westeros: "Dragonstone has few defenders; we can capture it first as a base for our return to Westeros.
Dorne has agreed to an alliance, and House Tyrell also has an intention to cooperate.
As long as we deal with Cersei, we can unite with the North to fight the Night King."
Daenerys nodded, stroking Drogon's scales, the black dragon emitting a low growl, as if responding to her thoughts.
Bran "saw" her memories: the marriage alliance in Pentos, the Dothraki grasslands, the liberation of Astapor, the battles in Yunkai, the governance of Meereen.
These memories contained blood, tears, hope, and also a wariness of power.
"Jon Snow..." Daenerys suddenly spoke, her gaze falling on the North on the map, "Sam's letter says he is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and also from House Stark?"
"He is Eddard Stark's bastard," Tyrion replied, "but according to Illyrio's informants, his true identity... might be related to us."
Bran's "heart" leaped.
He knew what Tyrion's "related" meant—Jon was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, Daenerys's nephew, a half-blood of Targaryen and Stark, the union of fire and ice.
Drogon seemed to sense something, suddenly spread its wings, and flew into the sky.
Bran "followed" Drogon, seeing the scene outside Meereen: Rhaegal and Viserys were practicing fire-breathing, their flames burning the distant dunes black; the Unsullied were training, their phalanx of spears like a forest of steel; the Dothraki Riders' arakhs glittered in the sunlight, like flashes of silver lightning.
Daenerys's power was growing.
And this power would be key to fighting the Night King.
(IV) needle and Shadow in Braavos
In the final scene, Bran "stood" in an alley in Braavos.
Arya was hiding behind a dumpster, clutching needle, her eyes fixed on a man in front of her—the man wore a black coat, a Faceless Men assassin, who was pursuing Arya.
Bran "saw" Arya's list: Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay Bolton, Walder Frey... and the name of this Faceless Men assassin.
He "saw" Arya's movements: she held her breath, like a cat waiting for its prey, her fingers gently caressing the hilt of needle, the gift from her father Ned, made of valyrian steel, capable of killing Others.
The assassin walked into the alley, his footsteps light, but they couldn't escape Arya's ears.
She suddenly darted out from behind the dumpster, needle like a silver flash of lightning, striking towards the assassin's heart.
The assassin reacted quickly, dodging sideways, drawing the dagger from his waist, and engaging Arya in a struggle.
Bran 'saw' Arya's skills: it was the 'Water Dance' that Syrio taught her, light and deadly; it was the survival skills she learned while wandering in the Riverlands, ruthless and practical; it was the disguise and assassination techniques she learned in the Temple of the Faceless Men, precise and calm.
Finally, Arya seized the killer's weakness, and needle pierced between his ribs, through his heart. The killer fell to the ground, his blood staining the cobblestones of the alley red. Arya squatted down, wiped the blood from needle, and whispered, "Next, Walder Frey."
Bran's 'sight' left Braavos, and a warmth rose in his heart. Arya was still alive, still seeking revenge, still growing. Her needle, not only could it exact revenge, but it could also fight against the Night King's army of wights in the future decisive battle.
III. Echoes of the Past: Lyanna's Secret and the Truth of Balance
Greensight suddenly became intense, and Bran felt as if he was caught in a storm. The images before him were no longer fragments, but a continuous 'movie'—it was an event from over twenty years ago, at the Tower of Joy.
Lyanna Stark lay on a sickbed, her face pale, her breathing weak. Beside her stood Ned Stark, his face full of tears, clutching a blood-stained sword—it was Arthur Dayne's 'Dawn' sword, having just endured a battle.
"Ned, promise me," Lyanna grasped Ned's hand, her voice weak yet firm, "Protect him, don't let him be harmed, don't let anyone know his identity... He is Rhaegar's son, of Targaryen blood, and also of Stark blood."
Ned nodded, tears dripping onto Lyanna's hand: "I promise you, Lyanna, I will protect him as I would my own son."
Lyanna smiled, and took a necklace from under her pillow. A small dragonglass hung from the necklace, with a wolf's head sigil carved into it. "Give this to him," she said, "This was given to Rhaegar by the Children of the Forest, who said it could protect him... protect the child of fire and ice."
The scene switched, and Rhaegar Targaryen was talking with the Children of the Forest. The leader of the Children of the Forest was an old man with white hair, holding a dragonglass staff: "The fire of Targaryen and the ice of Stark are the key to fighting the Night King. The Night King is our mistake; we created him with dragonglass, and only the combination of fire and ice can destroy him."
Rhaegar nodded, and took the dragonglass necklace: "I will find the ice of Stark, combine fire and ice, and protect this world."
The scene switched again, to the moment the Night King was created by the Children of the Forest. Dragonglass pierced his heart, he let out a piercing shriek, his body began to freeze, and his eyes turned blue. The leader of the Children of the Forest looked at him, his face full of regret: "We thought he would protect the forest, but we didn't expect him to become a monster that would destroy everything... because we only gave him ice, not fire, not balance."
Bran suddenly understood.
The birth of the Night King was the mistake of the Children of the Forest—they only used ice (dragonglass), not fire (Targaryen blood), and did not give the Night King balance, so he lost control and became the embodiment of eternal winter.
And the key to fighting the Night King is balance—the combination of fire (Targaryen's dragonflame, dragonblood) and ice (Stark's wolf blood, dragonglass).
Jon Snow is the combination of fire and ice. He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen (fire) and Lyanna Stark (ice); in his blood, there is both the fire of the dragon and the ice of the wolf.
Daenerys Targaryen possesses the fire of the dragon, and has dragonflame that can burn away the Night King's magic.
The 'Children of the Forest's magic dagger' that Sam found is made of dragonglass and valyrian steel, possessing both the power of ice and the power of fire.
Arya's needle is made of valyrian steel, capable of killing White Walkers, and also possessing the power of fire.
All of this is for balance.
IV. Shadows of the Future: The Decisive Battle at Winterfell and the Weight of Destiny
The vision of Greensight turned to the future—the decisive battle at Winterfell.
Bran 'stood' in the center of the Godswood, surrounded by Jon, Daenerys, Arya, Sam, Tyrion, Illyrio... everyone was here. The Night King's army surrounded Winterfell, blue light surging like a tide, the wights' roars deafening.
The Night King stood at the forefront of the army, his gaze fixed on Bran. He raised his ice spear, pointed it at the Godswood, and shrieked: "Balance... I want balance..."
Jon raised longclaw, shielding Bran, and Ghost roared beside him. Daenerys rode Drogon, with Rhaegal and Viserys beside her, and dragonflame shot towards the army of wights like three pillars of fire. Arya clutched needle, hiding in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to assassinate. Sam held the magic dagger, standing beside Bran, his hand trembling with tension.
"Bran!" Jon shouted, "Tell us, how can we kill him?"
Bran 'spoke', but his voice was not his own, but that of the three-eyed raven, of the Children of the Forest, of the Old Gods: "Use the magic dagger, stab him in the heart... that is his weakness, where the Children of the Forest pierced the dragonglass... only the combination of fire and ice can destroy him."
Arya heard it. Like a shadow, she rushed towards the Night King. The Night King raised his ice spear, preparing to stab her, but was blocked by Jon's longclaw. Daenerys's dragonflame shot towards the Night King, burning away his cloak, revealing the ice armor underneath.
Arya seized the opportunity, jumped behind the Night King, and the magic dagger pierced his heart.
The Night King let out a piercing shriek, his body began to melt, and the blue light gradually disappeared. The army of wights lost control, fell to the ground, and turned into pools of black water.
The snow in Winterfell stopped, and the sun shone through the clouds, illuminating the Godswood. The red sap of the weirwood tree no longer congealed, but began to flow, like beating hearts.
When Bran 'woke up', he found himself lying in the snow of the Godswood, with Meera anxiously shaking him. The branches and leaves of the weirwood tree swayed above his head, and red sap dripped onto his forehead, bringing a warmth that dispelled the chill in his bones.
"Bran! Are you alright?" Meera's voice was tearful.
Bran nodded, sat up, his wheelchair toppled beside him. His eyes were no longer empty, but filled with a resolute light. "I know," he said, "I know how to kill the Night King, I know how to protect this world."
He raised his hand, holding a small piece of dragonglass—it had condensed from the sap of the weirwood tree, carved with a wolf's head and a dragon pattern, a symbol of fire and ice.
"Meera," Bran looked at her, his tone serious, "We must immediately send people to the Wall, to Meereen, to The Citadel, to Braavos, to deliver the message to Jon, to Daenerys, to Sam, to Arya. Tell them that the Night King's weakness is his heart, where the Children of the Forest pierced the dragonglass; tell them that only the combination of fire and ice can kill him; tell them that Winterfell will be the place of the decisive battle."
Meera nodded vigorously, picked up the wheelchair, and helped Bran into it: "I'll arrange it right away; I'll send the fastest messengers, without delay."
Bran turned his wheelchair, approached the weirwood tree again, and pressed his forehead against the bark. The whispers of the Old Gods sounded again, this time no longer vague voices, but clear instructions: "You are the Greenseer, the thread that connects past, present, and future. You must wait in Winterfell, wait for the arrival of fire and ice, wait for the realization of balance."
Bran closed his eyes, feeling the power of the Old Gods, feeling the distant fire (Daenerys's dragons), feeling the distant ice (Jon's wolf blood), feeling the impending decisive battle.
He knew that this decisive battle would be cruel, many people would die, much blood would be shed. But he also knew that as long as fire and ice combined, as long as balance was achieved, they could defeat the Night King, protect this world, and bring spring again.
The crows in the Godswood again let out hoarse cries; this time, there was no fear in their cries, only hope. Bran watched the crows fly into the distance, towards the Wall, towards Meereen, towards The Citadel, towards Braavos, like black arrows, carrying his message, carrying the hope of fire and ice, carrying the mission of balance.
The snow in Winterfell began to melt.
V. Epilogue: The Interweaving of Threads of Fate
As the sun set, Meera walked back to the Godswood and told Bran that the messengers had departed. "Jon's messenger will travel by land, reaching the Wall in three days at the fastest; Daenerys's messenger will travel by sea to the port of Meereen, which will take about ten days; Sam and Arya's messengers have also departed, without delay."
Bran nodded, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. He knew that soon, Jon would return to Winterfell with the Night's Watch army, Daenerys would cross the Narrow Sea with her dragons and Unsullied, Sam would arrive from The Citadel with the magic dagger, and Arya would finish her revenge with her needle and return to her family.
They would gather in Winterfell, converge in the Godswood, and there, engage in a decisive battle with the Night King's army.
Bran's fingers caressed the wolf's head sigil on the armrest of his wheelchair, a symbol of Winterfell, a symbol of Stark. He thought of his father Ned, his brother Robb, his sister Sansa, his sister Arya, and Jon. They were all Stark, all embodiments of ice, all guardians of the North.
He also thought of Daenerys, her dragons, her fire, her mission. She was Targaryen, an embodiment of fire, a restorer of dynasties.
Fire and ice would eventually meet in Winterfell.
Balance would eventually be achieved in Winterfell.
Bran closed his eyes again, and the images of Greensight flashed through his mind: Jon's longclaw interweaving with Daenerys's dragonflame, Arya's needle cooperating with Sam's magic dagger, the Night King's ice spear colliding with their weapons, the red sap of the weirwood tree merging with dragonblood and wolf blood.
This was destiny.
This was his mission as the Greenseer—to connect past and future, to connect fire and ice, to connect the threads of fate of all people, to let them interweave in Winterfell, to restore balance, and to save the world.
The wind in the Godswood was no longer cold.
The branches and leaves of the weirwood tree began to sprout.
Spring would eventually arrive.