"Brynden, you're a White Walker!"
Clang! Clang! Clang!Five knights instantly drew their swords, forming a protective circle around the Dragon Queen.
"Hodor."Hodor looked blank.
Nearby, the Reed siblings turned pale as ghosts.
Leaf frowned but said nothing.
"Good, very sharp eyes." A faint light of appreciation flickered in Brynden's remaining dull eye."However, I am not a White Walker. You should understand that very well."
Dany waved a hand, signaling her men to sheath their swords. She stepped forward, stopped in front of Brynden, frowned, and asked, "Why should I understand?"
"Heh. What you did in the Citadel's archives—I saw it all. I must say, dozens of generations of Targaryens combined aren't half as clever as you."Brynden spoke with a tone layered with meaning.
What he really wanted to say was cunning.
"The Citadel's archives…"
Jaqen and The Death Codex – The Great Art of Becoming a Wight?
Dany's expression changed.When she had passed The Death Codex to Jaqen, she hadn't even been in Westeros.The Three-Eyed Raven could only guess from scattered clues, never with certainty.
If that was the case—"I don't understand what you're talking about," Dany said, feigning confusion.
Of course, she had to play dumb.What Brynden knew now, Brandon might not—but he surely would in the future.
"Well then…"The skeletal king gave her a long, deep look."White Walkers are servants created by the God of Cold through magic.Magic is merely a form of knowledge. If I can master that knowledge, I can use it.Just as countless supernatural paths in the world began by imitating the gods."
He paused, then asked curiously, "But tell me, how could you see through my nature so easily?"
"Would I have come to see you if I weren't sure?"
A nine-colored vortex spun rapidly in Dany's mind, and the power of her fire priesthood surged violently within her.Anyone attuned to extraordinary forces could feel it.
Reed, Leaf the squirrel-man, and even Hodor—now once again in Bran's form—were all visibly shaken.
"You've grown dozens of times stronger than when we last met!" Brynden's voice trembled in awe."How did you do it?"
In an instant, Dany's aura vanished. Her magic folded inward until she seemed utterly ordinary once more."Through diligence and a few fortunate encounters," she replied calmly.
Displaying her strength wasn't merely for intimidation—it was also a message to Brynden:Her talent was already exceptional. Whatever artifact he possessed to enhance one's potential might benefit her, but it wasn't something she needed.
This supposed "gift" from the ancient Targaryen ancestor was, in truth, a trade offer.Clearly, he had something important he wanted from her.
And since it was a transaction, she needed to start by lowering the price—making the seller believe she wasn't desperate to buy.
"Who is the God of Cold? What is His relationship with the Greenseer?"Dany asked the question that had long troubled her.
"Let us change the way we converse," Brynden said softly. "For me now, the flesh is no longer the armor of the soul—it has become a burden."
His single eye dimmed, and his voice grew faint as a mosquito's buzz.When he finished speaking, he closed his eye before everyone and fell into a deep slumber.
Leaf explained, "Lord Brynden's body is near collapse. In recent years, all his moments of lucidity combined wouldn't amount to half a day."
"Enter the weirwood?" Dany frowned.
"You can do it," the squirrel-man said firmly, his gaze burning with certainty.
"Of course," Dany replied, hesitating only slightly before nodding.
In the blink of an eye, the "Little White" of Slaver's Bay crossed thousands of leagues as Dany entered her dragon-spirit state.Her secondary soul merged with the dragon soul, and she tore free from her conscious self—diving into the roots of the nearby weirwood.
It felt like a car merging onto a highway, like a starship entering hyperspace—just as it had when she pursued the skinchanger Varamyr.
She passed through a world of blood-red light and emerged before a colossal human face.
A tall man with shoulder-length hair knelt reverently before it, praying.His bone-white hair covered most of his face.But in this realm of spirit, Dany could still see—his pale skin, his blood-red eyes, and the wine-colored birthmark shaped like a red raven across his cheek and jaw.
It was the young version of Brynden Rivers—the Bloodraven himself.
"When you meet a god, should you not bow?" Brynden asked without lifting his head.
Dany stood upon the back of her white dragon, clad in blue-white armor. Her voice was calm."If I were to bow, what of the millions of faithful in the Seven Kingdoms who worship the Seven?"
Brynden rose to his feet, flicking his long hair aside to reveal his intact right eye and the red mark on his cheek.He studied Dany closely, then lowered his head once more. The white strands fell forward again, concealing both the bloodraven mark and his right eye.
He seemed to forget that this was a realm of spirit—he didn't need to toss his hair to see.Or perhaps, habits from life had become so deeply ingrained that they lingered in his very soul.
"Sigh, I never would've dreamed that the Targaryens would produce someone as audacious as you—someone who dared to seize even the thrones of the Seven Gods, and actually succeeded," he said, his expression complicated.
"Don't say that. I'm timid," Dany replied with a faint smile. "I'd never dare commit kin-slaying, never dare start another Dance of Dragons, never dare incite a Blackfyre Rebellion. I wouldn't be as foolish as your father, as mad as my own, as oath-breaking as my brother, or as heartless and ruthless as you."
Brynden turned his head sharply, revealing his twisted cheek and wide eyes. "You're truly arrogant," he said.
Dany tilted her chin slightly, answering in a tone that made her confidence sound entirely natural. "That's because you haven't seen how humble I am before truth, justice, and light. My arrogance is reserved for the unjust and the corrupt."
"Forget it," Brynden muttered, lowering his head as his long hair fell to hide his birthmark. "I can't win an argument with you. Only someone like you could achieve great things."
Dany waved her hand and said in a clear voice, "Enough, I don't want to keep chatting idly with you. Let's get to business.
"First, tell me the secret of the Cold God and the White Walkers.
"Then, explain the connection between the Cold God and the greenseers—why their meditation techniques are so similar to those of the White Walkers, even complementary at times."
"The Cold God is one of the Old Gods, yet also an Other. The term 'Other' is literal—it refers to gods not of this world."
"A god from another world?" Dany asked in surprise.
"Another world?" Brynden froze for a moment before understanding what she meant.
"The phrase is fitting," he said. "But if there truly is another world, then between that world and ours must lie some sort of boundary. Perhaps the Other Gods were originally born from our world, but they belong to something beyond it."
"How is that any different from being from another world?" Dany frowned.
"There's a big difference. Take you, for instance—you were born in Westeros but grew up on the continent of Essos.
"If you claim the Iron Throne, few in the Seven Kingdoms would truly oppose you.
"But replace you with someone else, say a khal from the Dothraki Sea, and every noble in Westeros would fight to the death to resist him.
"In the same way, if the Other Gods came from a completely different world, they could never merge with ours—nor could they command the Song of this world's laws."
"That makes some sense," Dany nodded. "Then tell me, if they came from beyond our world, how did they become Old Gods?"
"The Other merged with one of the Old Gods, becoming the Cold God—both Other and Old."
"True gods can merge? How?" Dany asked, puzzled.
Brynden chuckled. "That's a question for you, the so-called 'Seven Gods' expert. How did the Seven become one?"
"That's different," Dany replied. "The Seven are seven aspects of a single deity, seven divine offices of one being. Just like you—you can be seen as a Targaryen bastard, the King's Hand, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and a greenseer all at once."
Brynden turned his head again, briefly meeting her gaze before bowing once more. "Not so different. The fact that they could merge means they shared something in common."
"Then which Old God did the Other merge with? And what did they have in common?" Dany pressed.
Brynden repeated his gesture—turning, glancing, lowering his head—and said curiously, "You've already noticed how the greenseers' fundamental meditation is strikingly similar to that of the White Walkers, even complementary. Haven't you considered the connection?"
"I can't imagine it," Dany said in disbelief.
"It's the truth," Brynden said simply.
"I've met the Gate God—the Weirwood who holds the Song of the Wind. He was gentle and kind, nothing like an evil god," Dany said with difficulty.
"And in your heart," Brynden asked, "what makes a god evil?"
Almost without hesitation, Dany replied, "One who accepts blood sacrifices and harms mortals. Like the shadow demon R'hllor, or the Black Goat of Qohor."
Brynden sighed and shook his head. "Your standards are self-centered. It's like saying, 'Those who treat me well are good, those who don't are evil.'
"In truth, the Mother Goddess—the one you call the Weirwood God—never rejected blood offerings. In fact, she may have loved blood more than R'hllor ever did.
"Think about it. What tree doesn't love good fertilizer? And what's a better fertilizer than the blood and flesh of living beings?"
"That…" Dany was stunned. Brynden's words actually made a strange kind of sense.If she had studied the Old Gods' rituals more deeply, she wouldn't have been so confused.
The worship of the Old Gods was far bloodier and more brutal than that of the Red God.
R'hllor's followers burned people alive; the true devotees of the Old Gods—the wildlings and the mountain clans—cut open the chests of their sacrifices and hung their entrails from the heart trees.
After the Andal invasion, the North's worshippers of the Old Gods abandoned blood sacrifice, though a few mountain clans still clung to the old ways.
And if you think of the Drowned God—who teaches his followers to kill, burn, and pillage—it becomes clear enough. He too is an Old God.
The only difference between Old Gods and New Gods lies in when they were born.
Deities of the primordial era, whether true gods or demigods, are called Old Gods—those born before the Second Age, over ten thousand years ago.
For example, the Fire God R'hllor.
Gods born after the dawn of the Second Age—the Age of Men—are considered New Gods.
Like the Seven. Like the Lord of Light, R'hllor.
Yes, even though the Seven are just seven carved wooden idols, they're still, technically, New Gods—and the Great Black Goat too.
R'hllor's case is peculiar. He existed in ancient times, so by definition he should be an Old God.
But at the dawn of the Second Age, when the "Sheep-Egg Brothers" stole the Song of Fire from him, he lost his fire godhood and gradually transformed into the Lord of Light.
The Lord of Light was born only a few thousand years ago, so he is, naturally, a New God.
But I digress.
From the distinction between Old and New Gods, it's clear that the Old Gods are the more primitive ones.
The ancients were more bloodthirsty and savage than modern people—what's strange about that?
"Sigh, the Weirwood God's nature wasn't evil; it was the barbaric customs of that primitive age that were," Brynden said.
At that, Dany recalled the tale of "Brandon the Builder" cutting branches from the Gate God's tree, during which a hundred noble maidens committed suicide—this was before the Seven Kingdoms were even formed, when every petty lord with a castle called himself a king. Despite that, she couldn't help but speak in defense of the Gate God.
"But the Weirwood God is dead. How could he merge with the Other?" Dany asked, still puzzled.
"The branches died," Brynden explained, "but the roots fused with the Other."
"Uh… that's insane," Dany muttered, eyes wide in shock.
(End of Chapter)
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