Chapter 22 - Tree Network Online
As the conversation ended, I turned to Lord Ned and said, "We will go back now. I have to return to the wildling camp."
Ned frowned. "How will you go there so quickly?"
I smiled a little. "I have my means, Lord Stark. You would not believe me even if I explained it."
Ned looked at me for a moment, then shook his head. "I have seen enough miracles in the last few days. I better not get more surprises." His voice carried tired honesty. A man could only take so much and in the last few days he had heard too many things. Children of the Forest, ancient magic, settling Wildlings, plans for the North. He had reached his limit.
He added, "The godswood is already barricaded. No one else will enter without my permission. Only I, or sometimes my children, visit the Heart Tree. So the Children will not be disturbed. They can live peacefully here."
"That is good," I said.
Ned and Ser Rodrik Cassel then made their way out of the godswood, still shaken, still whispering between themselves.
After they left, I turned to Leaf. "I will go back now."
Leaf raised a hand. "Wait."
She walked to the group of elder Children. They gathered in a small circle, their voices soft and quick, murmuring in their own tongue. Their golden eyes flickered like candlelight as they discussed something important. After a short while, all the elders nodded in agreement.
Leaf returned to me. "I will go with you."
I was surprised. "Why? Do you not need to help your people here?"
"They will manage," she said calmly. "They are strong. And now that the Lord of this place has accepted us, we face fewer dangers. They will settle the godswood on their own."
She stepped closer. "You need guidance. You carry the sight, but you do not understand it yet. The green-seeing ability must be learned. If you do not train it, it will overwhelm you one day."
I paused. I did not need her guidance—not truly. But I could not tell her that. She was offering help with a sincere heart, and refusing her would only create confusion or insult.
So I nodded. "Very well. I would be honoured to have your guidance."
Leaf smiled gently, a rare expression on her face. "Then I shall follow you."
She continued, "Let us return to the cave once more. It will be easier for you to slip into the greenseer's sight there. The roots still remember, and the old magic has not faded."
I nodded, and reached for both of them, Leaf on one side, Val on the other, took a firm breath and in a blink the world bent around us. We stood again inside that same root filled cave, the one where Brynden Rivers had once been bound for so many long years.
Leaf guided me toward the hollow where the previous greenseer had sat. "Sit," she said softly, and I lowered myself into the dented stone. The weirwood roots stirred at once, creeping over my arms and legs. They did not pierce me as they did not need to keep me alive with magic. They only coiled lightly, settling me into place.
Leaf placed her small hand upon the roots curled over my wrist. "Close your eyes," she whispered. "Follow the dreams."
I obeyed, and slowly the world opened. At first it was awkward and uncertain, but then I could feel everything. My fingers were like roots, my blood was like sap rising through the white bark. I felt the tree above me, its branches shaking gently in the wind. Through the leaves I sensed the cold air sliding past, carrying snowflakes and the smell of distant fires. The stones beneath us hummed faintly. It was overwhelming for a heartbeat, like hearing a thousand voices whisper at once, but I held steady and let it wash through me.
With Leaf guiding, more trees answered. One by one they awakened in the far North, bright points of awareness flaring in my mind. The magic there felt stronger, clearer. It did not take long, maybe only moments before I touched them all. From some of the northernmost trees I sensed movement that did not belong to the living. The dead walked there, but only in scattered pockets. The White Walkers had not begun their long march yet. They were only gathering and waiting.
Through another tree I saw the remains of the wildlings' old camp which was now empty. Nothing was left except blackened fire pits and bits of broken wood.
Further south, I saw the main wildling host still moving. They were nearing the Craster's keep now, pushing steadily on.
As I pushed my senses farther, I drifted toward the Wall. The closer I came, the more I felt something tugging at the flow of magic, like a thick curtain or a river running uphill. It did not stop me, but it slowed everything around me. The Wall did more than blocking people. It also pressed against magic itself. It felt as if the Wall allowed some currents to pass and pushed others back. Cold and death magic, tied to the White Walkers was held back the strongest. Life magic and greensight could slide through without much trouble, almost as if the Wall recognised them or filtered them. The Wall was judging, choosing and filtering. Because my power was tied to the greenseers, and because Leaf's presence guided me, I passed through without any resistance.
Once I crossed, my awareness spread into the northern part of Westeros. Here the weirwood network felt thick, strong and more connected. Even so, gathering all their voices took a little time, maybe a minute or two. Slowly, one by one, the heart trees in the forests and those kept in the woods of the northern lords answered me. Some were faint, some were sharp, some were old and hollow in feeling, but all were alive. Leaf stayed beside me in the dream, guiding threads of sight that might otherwise slip away. Soon I could touch each tree and, through them, shift my view in any direction I wished.
When I drifted farther down, beyond the Neck, things changed sharply. The number of weirwoods dropped at once. The South felt empty compared to the North and True North. Many trees had been burned or cut during the Andal invasion, just as the stories said. I saw scorched pits where heart trees once stood and lonely groves where only normal oaks or ash trees remained. A few untouched weirwoods still survived in the Riverlands, mostly in hidden or forgotten forests. A handful remained in the western hills, kept by small, isolated houses who never fully gave up their old beliefs. Their weirwoods had no carved faces, but they still lived.
In the Vale and the Crownlands I found even fewer. The Stormlands were no better—only a rare white trunk stood here and there, most of them uncarved, left alone out of respect or fear. The kingswood of old must have had many, but now only memories remained. But in Dorne, surprisingly, a few trees still grew. They were scattered and faint in voice, but they were alive. Their faces were worn down by sand winds or perhaps never carved at all. Even so, the presence of any weirwood that far south surprised me.
By the time I finished counting, one thing was clear to me the Andals had nearly wiped the old forest clean. Maybe one or two percent of all the heart trees in South still survived compared to the North and almost all of them were in the woods and isolation. Seeing it through the eyes of the trees made the truth sharper than any story ever had.
End of Chapter 22 - Tree Network Online