"Despite the commonly held belief that the few that remember the lore think, the Others are not simple mindless monsters. They're a race in as much as the Children of the Forest are. The very first race to walk upon this world, back when this world was nothing but ice and snow. Before the sun's light kissed the earth and seasons became a thing. All land was winter." Coldhands started. "It was a situation that lasted for millennia, but like all things, change is constant and inviolable."
Over the past few seconds, and before he started weaving the tale, he had lit an unneeded fire, a small thing in between the two of us. Its heat was unneeded as I didn't quite feel the cold, and I doubted a wight was all too worried about a little cold. But there was a glint in his black eyes as he looked at the fire. Sadness at something lost.
"The world changed as it grew closer and closer to the sun, until its very light began to kiss the earth. The ice melted, then boiled, and those vast stretches of ice gave way to the sea. Where the Land of Always Winter encompassed the world, with the coming of the sun, they began to retreat. Losing ground with every century till they were pushed all the way back to Westeros."
A Child of the Forest scuttled out of the undergrowth before cautiously making its way to where I sat. It... no. I looked at the features once again, before spotting the barely formed but very visible breasts. She glanced between Coldhands and me for a few seconds before sitting down at my feet. I recognized her as the one who had come to me earlier.
Coldhands glanced at her before continuing. "That's where the Children come in. They were the second race to be born on this world, with the oldest and the first of them to have walked the world even during the time when the Land of Always Winter encompassed the whole world. They were the first ones to name the Others. In their tongue, they had given the cold ones the title, The Elders. A respectful nod to their status as the first, but one that has gotten twisted in translation after the millennia that followed. Somehow, the Others never saw the Children as a threat. In fact, they had some form of tentative peace. The Others stuck to the lands of always winter, and the Children were given leave to every other thing. Both races were minuscule in number, so they hardly encountered each other. But growth continued, change continued, and a new race was born. The giants.
Just like the Children, the giants were no threat to the highly evolved and superior Others, so they ignored them for the most part, and used them as cheap labor whenever they wanted. Then there were the strange ones from across the stars, as well as the ones from beneath the waves. I know little of them, for the Children were beyond their reach. In truth, the tentative peace ended with the coming of humans.
The coming of humans heralded the strengthening of summer, and with the strengthening of summer, the Others were pushed back once more. Ice melting, snow drifting, and dropping as raindrops. Every century, the Others were forced to retreat further north till they decided to put a stop to everything. Refusing to simply roll over and die due to nature turning its back on them, they conducted a ritual. The details are lost, but whatever they did gave life to the Great Other. It was too late to reclaim all that they had, but the presence of the Great Other ensured that they did not lose it all."
"Would I be wrong to assume the humans did something foolish then?" I enquired at Coldhands' short pause.
Coldhands gave a laconic smile at my words. "I would chide you for your dislike of them, but you are not wrong. Unlike the others, the Children or the giants, humans did not accept the status quo. Humans are not native to these lands. The First Men were the first of their ilk to cross the sea through the land bridge and arrive here, and seeing how plentiful and bountiful the land was, they decided to stay, where they then met the Children. As humans are wont to do at the first sight of the strange and what they deem unnatural, they attacked.
It was a generational war. A war that led to both races losing individuals in the thousands. However, unlike the humans, the Children of the Forest were never a large group, neither were they a very promiscuous one. Every loss of life meant more to them than ten losses from the human camp, so they decided to end the war, in an act of sorcery so powerful it destroyed the land bridge that linked the two continents and left the humans shocked, shocked enough that when the idea of peace was offered, both groups were all too happy to bury the hatchet and work together, whereby the First Men took upon the Old Gods as their Gods. Then there was peace for at least another four thousand years."
I resisted the urge to say, but... It was not a very difficult battle. Dracula was too upright and polite to banter like a young man barely into his twenties. Nevertheless, Coldhands threw me a look like he knew what had been on my mind.
"For the Children and the Others, four thousand years is not a long time. But for humans, that's more than a hundred generations, and with time, they began to forget. Forget old alliances, forget old warnings and threats, forget the peace they had enjoyed. A particular group of humans decided to explore, ignoring the warnings of the Children as nothing but superstition..." Heh. "They ventured past the north, past the haunted forest and the Frost Fangs and into the Lands of Always Winter. They never returned; instead, what stepped out of the lands of always winter were the Others.
A race of people that had felt wronged, slighted by Nature's very attempt to smother and eradicate them for the sake of a younger race. They had been content to remain in their lands, however, they had not been blind to the war between the humans and the Children, and seeing they had made peace and the humans were beginning to venture into their own lands, they grew wrathful. And decided that instead of waiting for their doom, they would instead once again cover the entire world with ice once more, with the help of the Great Other."
"And so the Long Night began." I noted with intense eyes focused on Coldhands.
The wight blinked up at me, before remembering my claim to knowledge, then he nodded along, the firelight dancing in his black eyes. "Aye. The Long Night was not merely a season or a weather pattern as many now believe. It was war. It was vengeance. It was a last stand."
The Child at my feet shifted slightly. Her fingers, long, bark-like, dug into the dirt as if steadying herself against the weight of memory. She did not speak, but her eyes shone with a pained clarity. The clarity of experience, she had lived it.
"They came like a tide," Coldhands continued. "Not mindless, not beasts, but with strategy and purpose. Whole villages vanished in the night. The sun did not rise for years. Crops withered, animals perished, and the living turned on each other in desperation. The Great Other's influence blanketed the world in darkness, and from that darkness marched the Others with their wights. They could not breed, they could not grow food, but they could convert the dead. Every slain foe became another soldier. The very air they brought with them turned men's blood to ice and turned mothers against their own babes."
I said nothing, though the weight of the tale was beginning to settle like the falling snow on my shoulders. He wasn't just recounting myth, this was history, half-swallowed by time.
"What happened next, I find it hard to believe humanity managed to win against such a foe." I questioned, but in truth, I already had an idea. The Last Hero.
Coldhands gave a curt nod. "Yes. Desperation bred alliance once more. The Children and the First Men, joined together. The Children had already lost so many during the War of the First Men that they were but a shadow of what they once were, they knew they would not survive or be spared of the Others' indiscriminate wrath, and so they came together with the last of the First Men's heroes. Recruiting the aid of the giants, they forged blades of dragonglass. They wielded songs and spells of a bygone era. And somehow, through fire and blood and sacrifice... the tide turned."
"And the Wall?" I asked, looking into the distance, at the ever looming structure.
"It was built not just of stone and ice," Coldhands said quietly. "But of sacrifice. Of ancient power. The Wall is a boundary in more than one sense. A spell woven into the world itself, meant not merely to keep men out or wights away, but to keep the Others penned inside their last domain. For thousands of years, it held, but not forever," Coldhands murmured.
"What do you mean?"
"The Wall weakens. The magic that keeps its protection frays, due to its guardians forgetting the true essence of their calling, what was once an honorable duty, with words sworn to bind and reinforce the wall with a cadre of men, is slowly being twisted and turned into something else, like always they forget, Because that is what humans do." Coldhands' voice held no malice, only sad understanding.
"They forget. They build their thrones on top of bones and convince themselves they were born kings. They write songs that paint enemies as monsters and heroes as flawless. The wall, a bastion for protection and a barrier against the Others, turned to a simple gatehouse with little men of honor or the proper calling, swearing ancient oaths one day, and breaking it the next."
The fire crackled softly between us.
Coldhands stirred the fire with the tip of Dark Sister, letting the embers shift and dance. The Child beside us had gone still, watching the flames as if they might speak.
"There is more you must understand," he said, his voice quieter now. Not hushed from fear, but reverence. "You know of the Old Gods, correct?"
"Some idea," I acknowledged. "They're the Gods of this land are they not?"
"A simple definition but not incorrect." "The Old Gods are the heart trees. The faces carved in weirwood. The land you walk upon, the rivers you pass, the mountains your home lies upon. But in truth, they are not gods, not truly. Not in the way Valyrians think of gods, or the Andals with their Seven. They are... memory. Will. Thought, layered upon thought. The Old Gods are the greenseers that came before, the minds of the dead that refused to pass. When the first of the Children looked into the Weirwood and saw the threads of the world, she did not die in truth. Her body withered, but her mind lingered. Rooted into the land."
Coldhands looked up at me. "She was the first... and many followed. Every greenseer that passed after her joined the Weirwood. Became part of something greater. A chorus of thought. A network of minds, memories, dreams. And not only Children, humans, too. When the First Men came and took to the Old Ways... few among them were chosen. They were rare, yes, but their minds were strong and strange. They joined the chorus. Now the Old Gods are not one voice, but many."
I frowned. "Is that the same for you?" I asked. "Once you die, does that mean you become one of them, Bloodraven?"
"Yes I will, but it is not death as you know it," Coldhands said. "Every heart tree is an eye. Every face carved in weirwood trees is a gateway. That is why the Weirwoods bleed when cut, because pain and awareness linger. They are still watching. I will be watching. However, it is not a step I plan to take anytime soon. I must groom a successor first, otherwise I might very well be the last greenseer, and the last of the Old Gods.
Bran. I wonder where he was now.
I let the silence hang for a few seconds, the fire pit crackling ahead of me. The icy winds ruffled my cloak and made its best attempt at smothering the fire in the pit. "What about your magic? How do you control the birds and the wolves?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
Coldhands gave me a knowing look before he continued. "There are two gifts the Old Gods give, gifts born from their very nature. The first is warging. The ability to send your spirit into beasts. The second is greenseeing the gift of sight beyond time. To glimpse moments long past, or those yet to come, like fragments of dreams. They are different, but not separate. A man can be taught to warg if only they have the strength of will as well as enough magic in their veins; the same cannot be said for greenseers. For every hundred wargs, you can only find a single greenseer. To learn either art requires one thing above all."
I waited.
"A soul strong enough to let go of its shape."
Coldhands rose slowly and pointed at the Child seated near us. "She is a dream-singer. Her voice once sang into the roots of trees, guiding the minds of fledgling greenseers. But there are fewer of her kind now. So few left to teach."
She looked at me then, wide, ancient eyes in a face that looked no older than a child's. Her lips moved, forming a sound that was not quite song, not quite language. But I felt it. In my bones, anyway. It rippled down my spine like a chill wind through dry leaves.
"She says you are already halfway there," Coldhands murmured. "That your mind is... fluid. Your soul old. Not bound as others are. Your blood thrums with so much magic, it is a wonder that your very words are not powerful invocations in themselves... Perhaps that is why you were brought here."
"I did not come to be bound to trees," I said coldly.
"No," Coldhands agreed. "But you came to learn. And great and terrible power such as yours, if tempered by the Old Ways, can become more than mere might. It can become understanding. No amount of practice would make a greenseer out of you, however there is something else we can try."
He gestured at the raven that had perched on a nearby branch. It tilted its head at me.
"Reach for it. Not with your hands. Not with your eyes. With your will. Close your eyes. Breathe. And let the shape of your body fall away like water."
I hesitated. I remembered enough about warging to know that a warg was at their weakest the moment they slipped their skin, leaving their body vulnerable. Then a second thought washed away my wariness like blood in water. Even if my mind was absent, they could not kill me, at least I very much doubted they suddenly knew to stab me in the heart with a wooden stake. Coldhands looked at me and behind those empty black eyes, I could sense the Bloodraven's cunning at work. So I gave a small smile, a smile I was certain showed some teeth, before deciding to do as he said.
I focused, and the world dimmed. My blood pounded in my veins, and the fire faded to warmth. The trees to silhouettes. I could still feel my body, but it felt distant now, like something I had outgrown.
"Push," came Coldhands' voice, like wind at the edge of my awareness. "Push your will forward, not down. Do not seize the raven. Call to it, let it invite you in and in that process you shall, become it."
I felt resistance. A mind, small and sharp, all instinct and hunger. It flitted from me like a leaf in a gale. It was weak, oh so very very weak. Against my vast presence, it would have been the work of a breath to crush its weak mind and take the body for my own. Like literally taking candy from a baby, or stomping on an ant on the roadside, yet instead of that I reached out again. Gentler, and let my intentions be known. The mind drifted closer, curious in its inquiry, then it touched me of its own accord and all of a sudden I shed thought of my hands. My tongue. My teeth. I let go.
And then I was falling.
No... flying.
My wings beat against the sky as the wind rushed against my face. My feathers. My heartbeat drummed light and fast in a chest the size of a fist. I could see with startling clarity, more than I ever had as a man but not any better than as a vampire: the pattern of veins in a leaf, the trembling movement of the Child below, the faintest shimmer of heat from the fire. The two cold men seating opposite each other.
I cawed victoriously.
And then I was back.
I stumbled, the fire suddenly far too close. Coldhands moved to catch me, but I recovered before he could do more than stretch his hands towards me.
"Well done," he said, surprise, worry, fear, and pride in his voice. "Few succeed on their first try. Fewer still without tearing the beast apart in their minds. I believe you have a penchant and a true calling for the higher mysteries related to the mind."
The raven landed near me, preening.
I blinked. The world had changed. Or I had. Still, this was magic, I acknowledged to myself as I stared at the raven. Not Dracula's magic, but mine. It also confirmed a suspicion. I had a soul, or at least Vampires from Castlevania did. Which made sense considering Drolta was made into a night creature after Alucard killed her.
"What now?" I asked.
Coldhands looked at the trees around us. Their red eyes seemed to glow. "For now, you practice on your own. There is much for me to prepare on my part for the return of the Others. Especially if the spider manages to get back to its masters with word of my location. I cannot move my body so instead I would have to make contingencies for my successor."
I hummed in response. I was not blind to my fault in this. I had underestimated the stealth capabilities of the Others and their get. Hell, I didn't even know they had ice spiders, so I turned back to Coldhands with a depth of seriousness in my voice. "If for any reason my man fails and the Others learn your whereabouts, send a raven to my castle, and I will send you guards to protect you."
Cold eyes stared at me for a long second before giving a slow nod as he slowly stood up. "We shall see. Farewell, Lord Vlad." And just like that, there was a change. In the way Coldhands held himself. The wight looked at me, then turned away without another word and began to walk in the direction its elk had disappeared, leaving me alone to wonder how Isaac was faring.