The Lord of Light, R'hllor, regarded all other gods and faiths as his enemies.
The Red Woman burned heart trees and godswoods.The Red Woman burned statues of the Seven.The Red Woman burned statues of the Drowned God.The Red Woman burned wildlings who still clung to the Old Gods.The Lord of Light, R'hllor, tolerated no rivals. In the faith of the Red God, every other belief was heresy.
Following the banner of the stag, the Red Priestess and her followers of R'hllor burned as they went—burning every road they passed, burning anyone or anything tied to other deities.
What's more, the Red God's Church preached the dualistic doctrine of "Good and Evil":The true god R'hllor was the god of light and life, the god of good; his mortal enemy, the Cold God, was the god of darkness, ice, and death—the very source of evil.
The Cold God was an Old God, and the Green Seer was the Old Gods' priest.
Thus, Melisandre had always considered the Three-Eyed Raven to be the Cold God's proxy.
And therefore, Brynden had every reason to want to deceive R'hllor.
"Jon was once a follower of the Old Gods," Brynden said. "He was even blessed by the Mother, granted the Spring of Green, and born with the highest talent of a skinchanger.
But once resurrected by R'hllor, he would instantly become the Holy Son of the Red God.
If destiny had to unfold that way, for the sake of the greater good, we could endure it.
But now that you've broken prophecy, why shouldn't we do the same?"
"That makes sense," Dany said. "But the problem is, you still need the Lord of Light's power to resurrect Jon Snow, don't you? Borrowing a god's power to bring him back, while snatching away that god's savior—it doesn't sound very honorable."
Brynden looked at the Dragon Queen's righteous expression and sneered. "Let's hope that when Azor Ahai drives the Lightbringer through your heart, you'll remember those noble words."
"What do you mean? Didn't you just say fate has changed?" Dany frowned.
A mocking smile tugged at Brynden's lips. "Your power exceeds what the Three-Eyed Raven can control, so naturally, you've stepped beyond the future he foresaw.
But when you asked who your enemies were, I told you clearly—everyone is your enemy.
Only you can hatch dragons. Only you have awakened the purest Valyrian bloodline. Only you are the Holy Spirit of this age's end.
Your bloodline, soul, talent, and future are what everyone covets and fears.
You're strong, but are you stronger than a true god?If I weren't also a Targaryen, if I hadn't regained my own will, I would never have allowed this opportunity to fall into your hands."
Dany wasn't intimidated. She smirked coldly. "Don't try to bluff me. If R'hllor were truly invincible, the Valyrians wouldn't have stolen the Song of Fire, nor would he have been sealed away for thousands of years.
I have five dragons. I'm about to ascend as a demigod. I command five thousand Valyrian steel soldiers. Even the allied armies and Balerion don't frighten me—why would I fear him?"
Even without Brynden's warning, Dany would have remained cautious of R'hllor.
Or rather, she would always be wary of anyone powerful enough to threaten her.
For instance, even though the Three-Eyed Raven swore in the names of the Old Gods and the Gate God not to harm her under guest right, she still brought five Valyrian steel knights along.
"So, are you in or not?" Brynden asked bluntly.
"Of course I am," Dany replied just as directly. "I have nothing to do with R'hllor. If the price is right, why wouldn't I?"
"So in the end, you're just haggling with me like a marketplace vendor?" Brynden said, speechless.
"You're asking me to help you deceive a true god. Shouldn't I be careful about that?" Dany said defensively.
Brynden sighed helplessly. "Only a Green Seer is worthy of using Weirwood Seeds. Giving you a share is already a favor because we're both Targaryens. What more do you want?Believe me, the Three-Eyed Raven and the Children of the Forest are poor folk. There's nothing left worth coveting."
Dany chuckled. "Oh really? And where exactly do Weirwood Seeds come from? Don't tell me you've hidden the Gate God's 'true divine body' somewhere?"
The fruit of immortality may be precious, but isn't the tree that bears it even more so?
A cold, crimson gleam flashed in Brynden's single eye. "Do you really think that's possible?"
"So it's true? I remember the Gate God merging into a young branch, which Brandon plucked, and afterward, the entire trunk withered away." Dany looked genuinely surprised.
"You—" Brynden stared at her, his face twisted with confusion and resentment. "Why does the Mother favor you so much? You don't even believe in her."
"What do you mean?" Dany asked, puzzled.
"The Mother sang the Song of the Wind for you and even led you through time, back eight thousand years, didn't she?" Brynden's eyes widened with fury, his teeth clenched as if he wanted to devour her alive.
"So what if she did?"
"You're not a follower of the Old Gods!" Brynden snapped.
Dany laughed softly. "Do you think the Gate God needs followers? You think believing in the Old Gods makes everything they own yours? Don't delude yourself. Trying to emotionally blackmail a true god is pointless."
"Deluded?" Brynden roared, feeling deeply insulted. "You're insulting the Green Seers, the First Men's believers, and the Old Gods themselves!"
"Enough. I don't feel like arguing with you. If you really want to know why, go ask the Gate God yourself."
Dany waved her hand dismissively, unwilling to debate theology with a zealot.
"I don't want the Gate God's divine body," she said finally. "I just want to see where the Weirwood Seeds grow."
After all, how could she steal the fruit if she didn't even know where the orchard was?Once Brynden died and Bran went south to play the Game of Thrones, wouldn't the sanctuary be left undefended?
If the Weirwood Seed's power was worth the risk, then so be it.
Following the squirrel-like Child of the Forest named Leaf, they wound through twisting tunnels, crossed several dark, rushing underground rivers, avoided thirty or forty bottomless pits and mysterious shafts, and walked for over two hours through this forgotten cave where time itself seemed frozen.
At last, they saw the Weirwood Seed.
It was a stone chamber the size of a single bedroom. The walls were covered with white weirwood roots, like pale veins sprouting from the rock itself.
Clusters of crimson "blood-hand leaves" dotted the roots, and between the vines hung sparse, glowing fruits.
Each was crystal-clear, about the size of a thumb, with dark bloodlines swirling beneath the surface—like tiny blood tumors glowing with eerie red light in the darkness, as if they were the cursed stars beneath the dome of hell.
"Is this what a weirwood seed looks like?" Dany asked, turning to the Old Bear.
The Old Bear stepped forward, leaned close to one of the "fruits," studied it carefully for a while, and even touched it with his hand.
"Except for being a bit larger, changing from milky white to deep red, and glowing, it's no different from an ordinary weirwood seed," he said.
"Do ordinary weirwood seeds have the power to awaken innate abilities?" Dany turned to Leaf.
"Have you ever seen a weirwood seed before?" the squirrel woman asked in return.
"No," Dany shook her head.
"Weirwood seeds are extremely rare. In all my years, I've only seen the heart tree in my grove bear fruit once.
There are quite a few weirwoods on Bear Island, but only the heart tree produces fruit.
And even then, the number is especially small—only thirty seeds. No one eats them; they're scattered on the hillsides and grow into new weirwoods," said the Old Bear.
"Thirty is already quite a lot," Leaf pointed toward the vines along the wall. "Count them. Do you see thirty?"
"Nineteen," Quaithe blurted out.
Leaf said softly, "The world is balanced. The gods granted us long lives but denied us the fertility of humankind, lest we multiply endlessly like deer in the forest without wolves to keep them in check.
But compared to weirwoods, the lives of the Children of the Forest are as brief as mayflies beside the water.
If eternal, undying weirwoods bore seeds every year like ordinary trees, then after millions of years, there would be no space left in the world for any other plants to grow."
"By that logic, weirwoods shouldn't have seeds at all. I know they can reproduce by layering—a single tree can spread into an entire forest.
For instance, the grove stretching several kilometers above our heads probably all came from one original tree.
And look how strong the life force of weirwood is—it can sprout even from rock pits hundreds of meters underground," Dany said in wonder.
"No matter how resilient the weirwoods are, it remains true that south of the Neck they are almost extinct," Leaf said sadly.
"Ah, the Andals should never have burned them. Even if they didn't believe in the Old Gods, weirwood furniture could last for millennia without decay.
If they had developed a trade in weirwood lumber, Westeros would have had an inexhaustible gold mine!" Dany sighed.
"Please don't speak blasphemous words in a sacred place," the squirrel woman said angrily.
"Do you know what plant rules the world?" Dany asked. "Wheat. Because humans can't live without it.
If one day mankind relied on weirwood as much as they do on wheat, don't you think the entire world would be covered in it?"
"Anything that exists must prove its value to the dominant society to survive. It's true for weirwoods, and it's true for giants and the Children of the Forest," Dany said, looking at the squirrel woman meaningfully.
The squirrel woman, who had roamed the Seven Kingdoms for centuries, was no naïve little flower. She replied at once, "If we lose what makes us unique, how are we any different from the dead?"
Dany smiled and shook her head. "Even the world itself changes. And yet, the beings who live in it cling to the fantasy of remaining the same forever?"
A flicker of confusion passed through the squirrel woman's clear, catlike eyes, but it lasted only a moment before she said calmly, "Everyone has the right to choose. This is the godswood. You've seen what you came to see—let's go back."
"How many of the fruits do you plan to give me?" Dany asked.
The squirrel woman rummaged through the stone cave and found a wooden bowl, then plucked all nineteen red fruits one by one and placed them inside.
"All of them are yours."
"So generous?" Dany said in surprise.
Once the fruits were picked, their glow faded, and their color shifted from blood-red to milky white—a strange sight indeed.
At the stems, a crimson liquid began to ooze out, bright as blood.
Leaf held the bowl to catch each drop, as though drizzling red syrup over milky jelly. It gave off a faint bitterness, like the scent of crushed walnuts.
"Bran has already eaten one," Leaf said, her catlike eyes flashing with a peculiar expression. "And Ser Brynden said that only fools long for treasure they can't take. The next time weirwood seeds ripen will be at least a hundred years from now."
Did they really think Dany would be embarrassed by that?
Not a chance.
"Fair point," she said with a natural smile. "Your caves stretch in every direction, connecting the entire Land Beyond the Wall. If a free folk or a giant sneaks in and steals them, you'd be worse off. Better to give them all to me."
"Let's go," the squirrel woman said stiffly.
But Dany didn't move. She let her dragon soul merge with her body, and her violet eyes narrowed into slit pupils as she scanned every cluster of leaves and every vine.
"Hmm?"
Suddenly, her face lit up. She stepped forward a few paces and pointed to a tree trunk. "Give me this one too!"
(End of Chapter)
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