From a dragon's perspective, many things invisible to humans could be seen clearly.
Dany's eyes were still her own, yet at this moment, she was seeing through Drogon's gaze—Drogon was using her eyes to look at the world.
"What do you want that for?" Leaf's cat-like eyes shimmered with confusion.
It was a white tree trunk as thick as a human arm.
It seemed that long ago, someone had chopped off its upper part. Only about one and a half meters in length, its top was knotted with a bulging lump.
The trunk was white as bone, its surface sprouting four or five clusters of delicate "bloody hand leaves," like a sweet potato left too long in the pantry, now covered in tender buds.
All other trunks in this cavern grew from visible roots, but this one seemed to be buried deep inside the rock, unseen to the eye.
Still, it was easy to imagine the root beneath must be enormous.
The other vine-like trunks in this stone chamber were all slender—some no thicker than chopsticks, others about the width of a thumb.
This one, however, stood out like a crane among chickens.
"I can sense the immense magic within it. Its bark could be used to wrap a sword hilt, its core could make a wand, and its outer layer could serve as a scabbard," Dany said.
She didn't bother hiding her thoughts. Aside from her own companions, there wasn't a single magic-ignorant fool here.
Weirwood grew slowly, and for a trunk to reach this size, it must have existed for countless years. Both the greenseers and the children of the forest would surely understand its value.
Seeing Leaf's displeasure, Dany quickly added, "I know felling or burning weirwood is forbidden for your kind, but using its branches to make weapons—that's an ancient tradition."
"This is a sacred altar. It's different," Leaf replied.
"No other weirwood is worthy of me," Dany said, shaking her head. She then entered the state of the Song of Wind, letting her voice travel into Leaf's ear through the air. "You understand what this means, don't you? Only I am qualified to wield it as a weapon."
Leaf looked up at her, eyes wide and full of awe.
After a long moment, she stepped back and said, "Very well. You may take it—but you must not use a blade."
"Break it off by hand? I have the strength, but that could split the branch," Dany said with a frown.
"No," Leaf said, "you must place your hand on it and sing to it."
"What song? The Song of Wind? I don't know that one," Dany said.
"Not the Song of Wind." Leaf shook her head, then recited an ancient verse in the old tongue.
As soon as Dany heard it, her heart trembled. That wasn't a song—it was a prayer of offering. She had heard it once before.
Inside the body of the Door God, she had heard "the Builder," Brandon Stark, recite the same words.
After he finished, the Mother of Weirwood had merged with a tender branch, which had then detached itself from the trunk and fallen gently into his hands.
In the North, the Old Gods had no priests to preach their faith, no pious prayers, no hymns of praise, not even rituals of worship.
Their followers prayed as Eddard Stark did—sitting beneath the heart tree, wiping his sword, and confiding his thoughts.
But the children of the forest were singers of the earth. They sang their devotion.
Now, immersed in the state of the Song of Wind, Dany closed her eyes and began to sing.
The horsemen and white knights couldn't understand the words, but they felt that the Dragon Queen's voice was ethereal and mournful, carrying a heavy sense of ancient history. She sang beautifully.
Within her own song, Dany felt herself ascending.
Her spirit entered the trunk—then spread downward into its roots, branching out deep beneath the earth.
It was cold, dark, yet teeming with life.
She followed the roots into subterranean rivers, then into vast, endless underground seas. Suddenly, she came upon a vertical shaft, descending deeper and deeper, with no end in sight. She passed through ancient tunnels, so deep and far that she lost all sense of distance. In one stone passage, several skeletons lay slumped against the rock walls.
Crack!
A sharp sound pulled her back to reality.
Looking down, she saw that the trunk had broken free from the stone wall and now lay heavily in her hands.
"I just followed the roots deep into the earth. My mind traveled thousands of miles, yet there was still no end—in every direction, it stretched forever. How vast is this sanctuary, really?"
As they walked back, Dany asked the squirrel-like woman beside her.
"The river runs deep and swift, flowing downward into an underground sea where sunlight cannot reach. The tunnels are long and winding, never-ending. Bottomless pits and mysterious shafts lead straight to the heart of the earth," Leaf said with a sigh. "No one knows how vast this place truly is. We've lived here for millions of years, and there are still many places we've never explored."
"Millions of years? Were there even humans back then?" muttered Belwas, carrying the weirwood trunk over his shoulder.
"There were only giants and children of the forest in Westeros. I don't know what lay beyond the Narrow Sea," Leaf replied.
"Then why not move south, to where the sun shines warm? This place is dark, cold, and damp—it's miserable to live here," the big bear said.
"That's a stupid question," Dany said, shooting him a glare. "Of course they'd want to go south, but do you think the Andals and the First Men kings would let them?"
On their way back, they passed dozens of children of the forest—big-eyed, long-eared, with skin the color of does.
Most were sitting around campfires, wooden bowls and spoons in hand, eating dinner.
It was a simple meal: stewed mushrooms, roasted fish, and thick red soup fragrant with onions and barley.
Gurgle, gurgle.
In the silence of the cavern, the plump eunuch's stomach made an embarrassing noise.
Several children of the forest turned their large eyes toward him, the firelight flickering in their curious gazes.
"You still have barley and onions here?" Dany asked after a polite cough.
"We store plenty of oats, barley, and dried fruits during summer. The onions we grow inside the caverns," Leaf said.
"How many children of the forest are left here in the sanctuary? Do you have enough food to survive the Long Night?" Dany asked.
"Only sixty or so of us remain, but we've never lacked food," Leaf sighed.
Within a few more exchanges, they arrived back at Brynden's stone chamber.
Inside, more children of the forest were eating with the Reed siblings and Hodor.
As Dany and her companions found spots near the fire, a white-haired child of the forest spoke the Old Tongue and handed them wooden bowls carved from weirwood.
Inside was the same red soup—barley, onions, and chunks of meat simmered together.
Dany smiled warmly, thanked them, and took a bowl and spoon, waiting for Belwas to taste first.
"Tastes good. Fresh and tender," the fat eunuch said.
Although Belwas wasn't poisoned, Dany didn't eat. The soup was crimson, resembling blood.
Even after Leaf explained that the color came from weirwood sap, Dany still felt queasy.
She handed the bowl to Belwas, pulled out her wineskin, and began eating roasted fish while sipping wine.
"Do you drink?" she asked.
They hadn't come empty-handed—they carried dried meat, sha qi ma, and fruit wine.
Yes, sha qi ma—deep-fried compressed biscuits glazed with sugar and sesame. High in fat and sugar, they could even be boiled into soup during a march.
"Dragon Queen, may I have a cup?"
As Dany poured wine for the children of the forest who gathered around, a short, thin girl stepped forward.
She had brown hair and clear green eyes like a summer lake. Her pale cheeks were a little rough, her features plain.
She stood less than one and a half meters tall, slim and wiry—
and, admittedly, very flat in the places that mattered.
Dry-fried green beans, Dany thought.
She met Dany's gaze and explained softly, "My brother is sick. A cup of wine might help him feel a little better."
"Wine does nothing to cure illness," Dany replied, though she still filled the girl's wooden bowl with orange fruit wine.
"He's in a lot of pain," said the slender girl with green eyes.
"What's your name?" Dany asked curiously.
"Meera Reed, daughter of Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. My brother's name is Jojen."
The green-eyed Meera walked to the campfire and held the bowl to the lips of a small boy wrapped in thick furs.
He was even thinner and smaller than Meera.
If not for the maturity reflected in his pale green eyes, Dany would have thought he was still a child.
"I can drink it myself," Jojen said weakly, taking the bowl from her.
"What illness do you have?" Dany asked.
"I'm not ill," Jojen replied.
"But your sister said you were," Dany said.
"My body is weak."
"No, your soul is wounded."
Dany could feel how faint his spiritual presence was—his soul's fire flickered, almost extinguished.
"I'm fine," Jojen whispered.
Dany smiled faintly. "You're exhausted, completely drained. Have you suffered a spiritual attack lately?"
This was the Sanctuary—who could possibly attack a guest of the greenseer?
"No one attacked me," Jojen murmured, setting down his empty bowl before collapsing into the hay, eyes half-closed in a drunken haze.
"What's wrong with your brother?" Dany turned to the tearful "green bean" beside him.
"He wants to go home, but he's foolish… he refuses to fight his fate," Meera said, her eyes red.
"What fate?"
"My brother possesses the Green Sight. He can enter the Green Dream."
The Green Sight was similar to Dany's Dragon Dreams—prophetic visions known as Green Dreams.
The "dreamwalker" Dany and Jojen shared comparable abilities.
A dreamwalker was like a diminished version of a dragon spirit, while the Green Sight was a lesser form of the greenseer's gift.
Jojen couldn't find animal companions or commune with trees like a true greenseer, but his prophetic ability was even stronger.
Much like Dany herself—she wasn't a dragon spirit, yet her prophetic visions had once foretold the Doom of Valyria with unmatched clarity.
"Green Dreams always come true. Jojen dreamed of his own death—it would happen after he helped Bran reach this place. He's going to die soon… h-he's going to die…" Meera began to weep.
"Hodor, Hodor!"
Inside Hodor's body, Bran's expression grew frantic. He could only shout helplessly.
Dany sensed he wanted to embrace the crying crannog girl.
"What did the Three-Eyed Raven say?" Dany asked.
"Nothing. I came all this way hoping he could help my brother," Meera said, shaking her head sorrowfully.
"Your brother is sick," Dany said with certainty.
"What kind of sickness?" Meera asked blankly.
"Stupidity. If he's seen his death, then he should fight to avoid it. Instead, he's lying there, waiting for it to come.
That's not acceptance of fate—it's following a script, doing everything possible to make sure his prophecy comes true," Dany said mockingly.
"Green Dreams always come true. Destiny cannot be changed," Meera muttered.
"Oh, please. Of all people, your brother should know that defying fate is simple enough."
"How?" Meera's green eyes lit up with desperate hope.
Leaf, her brown cheeks flushed from wine, turned to listen as well.
Only Jojen himself remained unmoved, lying limp in the hay, eyes closed as if his spirit had already departed.
"If you've foreseen dying in a certain way but don't have the courage to resist fate," Dany said calmly, "then be bold about it—slap fate in the face with sh*t. End it yourself first, in a different way."
"Hahaha! Belwas likes the queen! That's right—slap fate in the face with sh*t!" the fat eunuch bellowed, clutching his wooden bowl and laughing joyfully.
"Dany, eat the weirwood seed while it's fresh. After that, go to the Wall at once," said the skeletal Brynden in a faint, mosquito-like voice.
That guy…
Dany's heart tightened. She looked at Jojen again, her expression grave. What exactly did Jojen see in his Green Dream?
Why did she feel that Brynden didn't want her to find out?
What secret lay hidden here?
Perhaps Jojen wouldn't die of despair at all.
(Appendix: The Godswood)Noble families across the Seven Kingdoms often build small groves called Godswoods within their castles.
Followers of the Old Gods pray there, while worshippers of the Seven use them as gardens.
Essentially, a Godswood is simply a walled garden filled with trees.
The Heart Tree is the central tree within a Godswood, carved with a human face. It serves as the object of prayer for Old God believers.
Most Heart Trees are weirwoods—Winterfell, Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and Storm's End all have them.
If a castle, such as King's Landing (built only three hundred years ago), lacks a weirwood, another great tree may take its place.
Any tree carved with a face can be considered a Heart Tree.
In ancient times, Old God worshippers would hang the entrails and organs of their enemies on the branches of Heart Trees, and stuff severed heads into the mouths of the carved faces—an offering of blood to the Old Gods.
Before Aegon's Conquest, the Starks of the North practiced this often.
Praying to the Heart Tree allows true communion with the Old Gods—far more real and effective than the Seven's so-called "fasting prayers."
(End of Chapter)
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