The Silver Tree's Summons
Winterfell had quieted after the battle, but the silence was not peace. The child stood beneath the Silver Tree, her breath fogging in the icy air. Maeve hovered nearby, robes shimmering faintly, eyes reflecting the pale light of the tree.
"You have survived the army, the Frost-Wraiths, and Lily's sorcery," Maeve said.
"But power alone does not make you whole. To wield it, you must face yourself."
The child's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean? I've faced death itself."
Maeve shook her head slowly.
"Death is only the beginning. Now comes the trial of the soul. Every memory, every fear, every shadow within you must be confronted. Only then can the Silver Tree's power remain in your hands, not consume you."
A silver light radiated from the tree, enveloping the child. She felt herself lifted from the ground, as if the tree had claimed her entirely.
The Mirror of Memories
Suddenly, she was no longer in Winterfell. She stood in a vast hall of ice, the walls lined with mirrors. Each reflected a different version of herself the child who failed, the child who killed unnecessarily, the child who fled.
A voice echoed, layered and multifaceted
"Choose your path. Face yourself, or be consumed."
She approached the first mirror. Her reflection sneered, eyes burning with anger and betrayal.
"You think you can command the North? You are nothing without the Silver Tree. Everything you touch ends in ruin."
The child recoiled. Memories of soldiers and spectral warriors falling during battles, the Frost-Wraiths striking, and the lives lost in Lily's assault flooded her mind.
"I, I did what I could," she whispered.
"And yet you failed," the mirror countered, shattering into shards that floated around her.
The Trial of Fear
From the shards emerged shadowy forms of Job and Althea, twisted and monstrous. Their eyes glowed like fire and frost, and their voices were layered with despair and accusation.
"You will leave us to die," Job's shadow said.
"You cannot protect anyone."
"Your power will destroy what you love most," Althea's shadow added.
The child's heart ached. She raised her hands, calling the Silver Tree's magic, but the shadows laughed, warping her memories into impossible horrors Winterfell burning, Job lost to the Frost-Wraiths, Althea bound in Valyrian chains.
"This is fear," Maeve's voice cut through the illusions.
"Face it. Accept it. Only then can it serve you."
She closed her eyes, letting the shadows engulf her. And instead of resisting, she embraced the fear every failure, every death, every loss and allowed it to flow into her, transforming into clarity.
The Trial of Love
Next, a corridor appeared, lined with frozen statues of those she loved. Job, Althea, Maeve, even spectral warriors of the North. But each statue bore expressions of torment.
"They suffer because of you," a whisper said.
Tears streamed down the child's face. She touched Job's statue, then Althea's, feeling the frost under her fingertips.
"I will not let you suffer in vain," she whispered.
The statues began to thaw, their expressions softening. Love, she realized, was not protection from suffering it was the strength to endure it. Every bond, every connection, every loyalty fueled the Silver Tree's power.
"The heart is a battlefield," Maeve murmured.
"And love is the shield that does not break."
The Trial of Morality
Finally, the hall opened onto a plain of endless snow, dotted with choices. In one direction lay Winterfell, threatened by a new army of Frost-Wraiths. In another, Lily's army approached, ready to enslave the North. In yet another, her friends and allies lay in mortal danger.
A voice demanded:
"Choose. Who do you save? Who do you condemn? You cannot save all."
The child's chest tightened. She could not abandon any yet the magic of the Silver Tree required a choice.
Closing her eyes, she remembered Maeve's lessons sacrifice, balance, and understanding that true power demanded impossible choices.
"I will save them all," she said.
"Not because I am strong enough, but because they give me strength."
The Silver Tree's roots erupted from the snow, intertwining with her essence. The trials coalesced, showing her not only what must be lost, but what can be gained through courage and compassion.
Emergence
The hall of ice and shadows dissolved. She was back beneath the Silver Tree, the first rays of dawn illuminating her exhausted, determined face. Maeve knelt before her.
"You have passed," Maeve said softly.
"But remember trials are eternal. Power is a mirror of the soul, and your soul will always be tested."
Job and Althea appeared beside her, frost and magic lingering on their skin. Job's hand brushed hers, and a warmth spread through her body despite the lingering cold.
"You've grown," he whispered.
"And the North stands because of you."
"We stand together," she replied,
"and we will face the next storm as one."
Omen of the Future
As the child rose, the Silver Tree's leaves shimmered with prophecy. Shadows shifted in the snow, hinting at the Frost-Wraiths' return, Lily's dark schemes, and the trials yet to come.
"This is not the end," Maeve said, voice grave.
"You have faced your soul, but the world will not relent. The North has survived one trial. The next will demand more than courage it will demand sacrifice."
Job placed his hand on the child's shoulder.
"Whatever comes next, we face it together. Not as leaders, not as soldiers, but as family."
The child nodded, feeling the weight and the power of her lineage. She had passed the Trials of the Soul, but she understood that victory was temporary, fleeting, and that the path ahead would be darker still.