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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 129: The Three-Eyed Crow
The crows led them across the Frostfangs for three days.
Jon had lost count of how many times he had stumbled, how many times the cold had seeped into his bones and threatened to drag him down into the snow. But he kept moving, kept following the black shapes that wheeled against the grey sky. They were his only guide now, his only hope of finding Bran.
Kára walked beside him; her face showed her exhaustion. The other wildlings followed behind them, their numbers dwindling with each passing hour. They lost two men to the cold and one to a nasty fall.
But he could not stop. He could not turn back. Bran was out there, somewhere in this frozen wilderness, and Jon would not abandon him.
The crows descended suddenly, spiraling down toward a valley below.
Jon looked down and saw it, there was a mass of trees down there. A forest of dead trees, their branches twisted and black, their bark cracked and peeling.
The forest stretched for countless miles, like a dark stain on the white landscape, and beyond it, Jon could see the endless expanse of the Lands of Always Winter.
"The Witherwood," Kára said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The dead forest. No wildlings dare to come here, except for the Thenns. It leads to the Lands of Always Winter, where the Others rule without opposition."
Jon looked at the forest, then at the crows. They were circling above the tree line, their black wings beating against the grey sky.
"Stark!" they called. "Stark!"
"Jon." Kára grabbed his arm, her grip tight. "This is a death sentence. If we go in there, we will not come out. The Others are strongest in these lands. They can feel us. They know we're here and come for us."
Jon looked at her, seeing the fear in her eyes. She was right, of course. She was always right. But he had come too far to turn back now.
"I'm going," he said. "I have to find my brother. The crows are leading me to him. I can feel it."
"And if they're not?" Kára demanded. "If this is a trap? If the Others are using your brother to lure you in?"
Jon was silent for a moment. He had considered that possibility, of course. The Others were cunning, and patient beyond measure. They were capable of cruelty beyond anything Jon could imagine.
But the crows had called him by name. They had said "Stark." And Jon knew, deep in his heart, that it was Bran.
"I'm going," he repeated. "You don't have to follow. I understand if you want to turn back. I won't hold it against you."
Kára stared at him with a complicated expression. Then she let out a long breath, her shoulders slumping.
"You're a fool, Jon Snow," she said. "A complete and utter fool."
She turned to the other wildlings, speaking in the old tongue. Jon could not understand the words, but he understood the meaning. She was giving them a choice.
Some of the wildlings nodded, their faces grim. Others hesitated, their eyes darting toward the dead forest.
"Kára," one of them said, his voice trembling. "We can't. The Others-"
"I know," Kára said. "But if we go back, we're dead anyway. The dead are everywhere now. There's nowhere to hide. At least if we go with him, we have a chance. A small one, but a chance."
She turned back to Jon. "We'll follow you, Jon Snow. But I want you to promise me something."
"Anything."
"If I die out there," she said, her voice steady, "if I fall to the Others, I want you to burn my body. I won't become one of those monsters. I won't be used to kill the people I love."
Jon looked into her eyes and saw the fear there, the deep, primal fear of what came after death. He reached out and took her hand.
"I promise," he said. "If you fall, I will burn your body. You will not rise again."
Kára nodded, a faint smile forming on her lips. "Good. Then let's go find your brother."
<><>
They continued down the mountain trail, the Witherwood growing closer with each step.
Something is watching us, he thought. Something old. Something hungry.
He glanced back at Kára and the wildlings. They were close behind him, their bows drawn, their eyes fixed on the darkness between the dead trees below. They felt it too, Jon realized. They knew they were being hunted.
"The wights," Kára said, her voice barely a whisper. "At the village. They didn't follow us. They let us go."
"I know," Jon said. "I noticed."
"That's not what wights do. They don't let prey escape. They chase. They hunt, and they never stop."
Jon nodded slowly. "Unless someone told them to."
Kára's face went pale. "The Others. They know we're here. They've been herding us. Leading us to..."
She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"To them," Jon said. "They want us to come. They want us to enter their lands."
"Then why are we still going? Why are we walking into their trap?"
Jon looked up at the crows. "Because we no longer have a choice."
They had reached the midpoint of the descent when the growls began.
Low…deep…hungry.
Jon stopped, his hand flying to Longclaw's hilt. "Hold!"
The wildlings froze, their bows raised, their eyes scanning the Witherwood below. The crows circled above, their calls growing more frantic.
"Stark! Stark!. Danger!. Danger!."
From between the dead trees at the bottom of the trail, shapes began to emerge. Massive shapes. White bears, but dead ones…their fur covered in frost, their eyes burning with the same pale blue light as the wights.
There were dozens of them, emerging from the shadows of the Witherwood, their growls rumbling through the frozen air.
"Back!" Jon shouted. "Back up the mountain! Now!"
The wildlings scrambled, their boots slipping on the icy trail. They had been descending for hours; climbing back up would be difficult, but it was their only chance. The bears were emerging from the forest below, so they could not go forward…they had to go back.
"Jon!" Kára screamed. "They're everywhere!"
Jon saw them now, more bears, emerging from the Witherwood on both sides, cutting off any escape into the forest. The only path left was the mountain trail behind them.
But even that hope was short-lived.
A sound rumbled from above them. It was a much deeper, more primal growl that seemed to shake the very mountain. Jon looked up the trail and felt his blood run cold.
There was another bear. But not like the others. This one was massive…easily five times larger than the rest. Its fur was white as snow, its claws and fangs made of ice, its eyes blazing with a cold, ancient intelligence. This was no mere wight. This was something else. Something far more dangerous.
'Is this…one of the Others?' Jon realized. He had assumed that the Others only used humans to create their peers, but apparently he had been wrong about that.
The giant bear was blocking the path up the mountain, its massive form filling the trail. Behind them, the wight bears were closing in from the forest below. They were trapped between two threats, with nowhere to run.
'They lured us here…only to trap us.' Jon thought.
"Jon!" Kára's voice was desperate. "What do we do now?!"
Jon looked at the giant bear blocking the path above, then at the wight bears emerging from the Witherwood below, then at the crows circling overhead.
As long as they have the crows to guide them, they could-
The giant bear opened its jaws, and a stream of ice shards shot toward the flock. Several crows exploded in midair, their bodies torn apart by the frozen projectiles. More began to fall, their black feathers scattering across the snow.
"No, stop!" Jon screamed. "We need them!"
He could see it now…the path through the forest, the path the crows had been leading them along. If the birds were all killed, they would be lost. They would never find the place where his brother was hiding. Bran would be lost forever.
"Jon, we have to fight!" Kára shouted. "There's no other way!"
She was right. The crows were dying, the bears were closing in from both directions, and there was nowhere left to run. They had to fight.
"Form a circle!" Jon shouted, drawing Longclaw. "Protect each other! Kára, take the others, focus on the smaller bears! I'll face the giant one!"
"What?! Jon, you can't-"
"I can!" he tried to show some confidence, at least. "Just keep the others off me!"
He charged up the trail toward the giant bear, Longclaw raised high, his enhanced speed carrying him faster than any normal man. The beast roared, a sound that shook the very ground, and lunged toward him.
Jon dodged the massive claws, rolling through the snow. He came up swinging, Longclaw cutting into the bear's flank. The Valyrian steel sliced through the ice and flesh, but the beast barely seemed to notice. It turned, its glowing eyes fixed on him, and swiped again.
This time, Jon was not fast enough. The claws caught him across the chest, tearing through his leathers and furs, carving deep gashes into his flesh. He cried out in pain, stumbling backward.
The bear advanced, its massive form blocking out the grey sky. Jon raised Longclaw, ready to make one final stand.
And then the fire came.
Balls of flame streaked through the air, slamming into the bear's side.
The beast roared in agony, its frozen flesh cracking and sizzling. More fireballs followed, each one striking the Wight Bears that surrounded them.
Jon saw the opportunity; the beast had lowered its defenses, so he struck. "Haa!"
Longclaw was buried deep into the monster's neck.
The giant beast opened its piercing blue eyes as if it was in shock.
Then… without a warning, the immense monster exploded into shards of ice, being reduced to nothingness.
Jon groaned in pain and lowered his sword. He glanced in the direction the fireballs had come and found three figures standing on the rocks above him.
They were small, slender figures with pale green skin and strange, patterned faces. They wore robes of leaves and moss, their hands raised, fire flickering in their palms.
'Children of the Forest,' Jon realized. 'They're Children of the Forest.' He never forgot the stories. The descriptions that Old Nan had used. He recognized these creatures of legend.
"Jon! Come on!"
Kára was there, her hand grabbing his arm. He had not seen her return, had not realized she had come back for him.
"I told you to go!" he shouted.
"And I told you I wasn't leaving you!" she shouted back. "Now move!"
They ran, Jon leaning on Kára for support, his blood soaking into the snow. The children of the forest covered their retreat, their fireballs driving back the wight bears. The remaining crows swirled above them, leading the way down the trail.
Jon looked back as he stumbled forward. The wildlings were falling. He counted four of them dead, their bodies torn apart by the bears. Only five remained. But there was no time to mourn the dead. This was the time to run.
They reached the bottom of the mountain trail and looked out across the frozen forest.
And on one side of the mountain, almost completely covered by dead trees, was a cave. A massive cave, its entrance carved into the side of the rock.
"Careful, look!" Kára pointed to some distant part of the forest. There were thousands of blue eyes staring at them.
"We are surrounded by them." Jon realized. "But…why aren't they approaching?"
"They can't." One of the children, looking around, spoke to them.
Another one pointed at their feet.
Jon saw something drawn on the earth. It was a black line, it appeared to have been painted on the snow.
"They can't cross that." The children said.
The wildlings looked at each other with incredulity. But the evidence was clear.
None of the undead seemed to be following them.
The bears had scattered as soon as Jon killed their leader, and the other wights were not coming any closer.
"Looks like we are safe…for now." Kára held onto Jon. "But you are bleeding."
"You are infected…" One of the children said to Jon, pointing at his wounded chest. "You must hurry inside."
The three children turned around and disappeared inside the cave.
The entrance was completely dark, but after taking just a few steps, Jon saw a light at the end of a tunnel.
"It's much warmer here…" Kára commented.
They kept going deeper into the cave and found themselves in some kind of chamber.
And then…Jon saw him.
Bran.
He was sitting in a chair carved from the roots of a great weirwood tree, his eyes closed, his face serene. He looked older, Jon realized. There was a power in him that had not been there before.
"Jon," Bran said, his voice soft as he opened his eyes. "I was waiting for you."
Jon staggered toward him, his legs barely holding him. "Bran... I found you. I finally found you."
He collapsed at his brother's feet, his strength finally giving out. And as the darkness closed in around him, he heard a woman's voice…it was familiar, strange, and impossible.
"Fetch me some water. And bandages. He's losing blood."
Jon looked up and saw her. Melisandre. The red priestess from Dragonstone. The woman who had been sent to Winterfell and then... vanished.
"You," Jon breathed. "How...?"
"Later," Melisandre said, kneeling beside him. "Right now, you need to rest."
<><>
Jon woke to the sound of dripping water.
He was lying on a bed of furs, his chest wrapped in bandages, his wounds already beginning to heal. The cave was dim, lit by a few flickering torches, and the air was thick with the smell of earth and roots.
Bran was sitting beside him, his eyes fixed on Jon's face.
"He should be dead." A child of the forest said. "He was cut by their cursed ice…the wound was deep. The infection…"
"What?..." Jon glanced at the small humanoid who was gazing at him with no emotion in their eyes. "What is she saying. Wait…I think I saw Melissandre before…"
Bran shook his head, making a gesture to the children. "Jon is no longer a normal human, Leaf. You should have perceived that much."
The children of the forest called Leaf just shrugged. Seemingly no longer interested in Jon, she walked away from the chamber.
"Bran," Jon said, his voice hoarse. "It's really you…you're alive. I thought... I thought you were dead."
"I'm not dead," Bran said. "Not yet. But I came close. The Others nearly found me. If not for the Children..." He gestured toward the figures standing in the shadows. "They saved me. They and…the Three-Eyed Crow."
Jon looked at them, the small, strange creatures with their pale skin and bright eyes. They looked back at him, their expressions unreadable.
"Children of the Forest," Jon said. "They really exist. I thought they were all gone by now."
"Almost," Bran said. "But not quite. A few survivors have been hiding here, protecting this place. They are some of the last greenseers."
Jon turned back to his brother. "What happened to you, Bran? How did you end up here?"
Bran was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was distant, as if he were speaking from somewhere far away.
"I was guided here by the Three-Eyed Raven," he said. "He taught me to see. To see the past, the present, the future. He showed me what's coming. I have learned so much, Jon. I have become…something more."
"The Three-Eyed Raven…" Jon repeated. "I think I heard about him. Wasn't he a member of the Night's Watch?"
"Among other things." Bran nodded. "He has shown me so much, Jon. I wish I could share this knowledge with you."
"Knowledge about what?. The Others?" Jon asked.
"More than just the Others," Bran said. "There is something older and much darker, sleeping beneath this land. The Others are just its soldiers. This being is the true enemy of all living things…and it's waking up after sleeping for several millennia."
Jon felt a chill run down his spine. "The Primordial Being of Ice. Joffrey once told me about it. He asked me to never tell anyone about it."
Bran nodded slowly. "Joffrey was right. The Wall he created was a barrier, but it was never meant to stop the true enemy. Only to delay it. Joffrey's magic strengthened it, but even that will not hold forever."
"Then what will?" Jon asked. "How do we stop it?"
"There is only one thing that can defeat darkness…and that is light," Bran said. "We need the Primordial Light."
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