Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

When Samwell returned to the surface, the snowstorm had ceased.

It was just past noon, but the sky was dim, as if night were about to fall at any moment.

Since the collapse of the Wall, the duration of daylight had been rapidly shortening. Perhaps it wouldn't be long before the endless Long Night engulfed the continent.

Samwell walked through the snow, his mind preoccupied with the image of the slumbering giant he had just seen deep underground.

According to legend, during the Age of Heroes, the Stark's once produced a "Builder" named Brandon.

This man had commanded giants to construct several architectural wonders on the continent of Westeros, including the Wall, Storm's End, the Sky Tower, and, of course, Winterfell.

Could the giant beneath the earth be connected to him? And why had the Horn of Winter triggered such a reaction?

There were also tales of Joramun, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, blowing the Horn of Winter to awaken the giants below the earth and end the Night King's reign.

Could this Horn of Winter truly awaken the giant he had just seen?

Samwell rubbed the horn, which was still faintly warm, but he did not attempt to blow it.

Legends were unreliable.

He didn't even know whether the underground giant was friend or foe, nor what price blowing the horn might demand.

For now, the priority was ensuring the Northerners migrated south and establishing a new defensive line at the Neck. There was no need to invite trouble.

With that thought, Samwell returned to the main castle and saw Lady Catelyn pacing anxiously near the hall's entrance.

"What's the matter?" he asked as he approached.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but Arya is missing," Lady Catelyn said. "That child is always running off!"

Samwell sighed helplessly and offered a few words of comfort.

At that moment, Sansa stepped forward and said quietly, "Your Majesty, Arya must be hiding."

"Oh?" Samwell glanced at the young girl beside him. "Your sister doesn't want to leave with me?"

Sansa shook her head and whispered, "Actually... I don't want to leave either. I just don't have Arya's courage."

"Leaving also takes courage," Samwell said. "The South is no safe haven. This retreat is not an escape. There are even harder battles waiting for us in the future."

Sansa was silent for a long time before she said softly, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, for troubling you."

Samwell smiled and then saw Lady Catelyn approaching with her youngest son, Rickon, in tow.

"Your Majesty," Lady Catelyn said, "it seems we won't find Arya anytime soon. The situation is urgent, and I don't want to delay you. Please take Sansa and Rickon with you for now."

"Very well," Samwell agreed without hesitation. "Take care of yourselves and keep a close watch on the North. If you spot the army of wights, retreat immediately. Do not attempt to fight them head-on."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

After a brief farewell, Samwell mounted the white dragon with Sansa and Rickon and headed south.

The sky was gloomy and overcast, with cold winds howling.

Sansa clung to her brother and huddled behind Samwell, using his broad frame to shield herself from the biting wind.

Looking back, Winterfell grew smaller and smaller until it was just a speck she could cover with her finger.

Her cheeks were cold and wet when she realized she was crying again.

"We will return," came the man's voice, warm and reassuring.

"Mm." She nodded firmly. "I believe in you, Your Majesty. You will drive away the White Walkers and reclaim our land."

The white dragon flew swiftly along the Kingsroad, heading south. Before long, they passed the Barrowlands.

Sansa dozed off and awoke to find daylight had fully broken. Below, three wide rivers converged, glinting like silver ribbons stretching eastward.

It was the Trident.

Sansa realized she had left the North behind.

But the South was just as cold. Looking down, all she saw was a vast expanse of white.

Rickon was awake now too. Sansa took out some provisions and fed him before loudly asking the king in front, "Your Majesty, would you like something to eat?"

Samwell turned and waved her off, indicating he didn't need anything.

After finishing the cold, hard bread, Sansa saw a massive, charred castle appear ahead.

Five towering spires stood by the lakeside, like five black fingers pointing to the heavens.

"Is that Harrenhal, Your Majesty?"

"It is."

The white dragon soared over the desolate castle.

Sansa noted that Harrenhal was far larger than Winterfell. Even the shortest of its five spires was twice as tall as Winterfell's tallest tower.

But this once-great castle, the largest in the Seven Kingdoms, had been destroyed by dragonfire and was now a ruin of blackened stone.

Long ago, Aegon the Conqueror had used Harrenhal's ruins to demonstrate to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms that no castle could shield them from dragonfire.

Flying south past Harrenhal, they reached the Gods Eye Lake.

During the Dance of the Dragons, two of House Targaryen's most famous dragons, Vhagar and Caraxes, had battled here, both perishing in the fight.

It was said the lake had turned red with their blood after the battle.

But now, Sansa saw that the Gods Eye was blue and pristine, like the eye of the earth.

To her surprise, the white dragon began to descend.

At the center of the lake lay a small island known as the Isle of Faces.

Legend had it that the Children of the Forest and the First Men had signed their pact here, ending their conflicts and marking the end of the Dawn Age and the beginning of the Age of Heroes.

Thud!

The white dragon landed heavily, causing the small island to tremble.

"Your Majesty, are we resting here?"

"You stay here for a moment."

Samwell jumped off the dragon's back and strode toward the heart of the island.

The Isle of Faces was home to hundreds of weirwood trees, each bearing a carved face. Crimson sap oozed from their eyes, resembling tears of blood.

Samwell walked through the forest, the twisted trunks spreading around him like grotesque creatures.

"Come out, I see you," he said.

His voice broke the silence, shaking the snow from the treetops.

Cautious, timid eyes glimmered among the dense branches.

"I mean no harm," Samwell added. "I am the King of the First Men. I respect the pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest."

Hearing this, a figure leaped from the shadows.

"You're Caesar?" The voice was sweet and melodic, tinged with an unfamiliar cadence and a trace of sorrow that pierced the heart.

The figure was small, no more than a meter tall, cloaked in leaves. Her exposed arms bore spots and patterns resembling a fawn's.

Her eyes, large and luminous, were a blend of gold and green, slitted like a cat's.

These were not human eyes.

"Yes, I am Samwell Caesar, King of the First Men, the Andals, and the Rhoynar, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms," he said with a harmless smile. "You must be one of the Children of the Forest."

The girl nodded, her messy auburn hair swaying, adorned with twigs and wilted flowers.

"Yes, that's what the First Men called us," she said. "The giants called us 'squirrel people.' But we prefer to call ourselves the Singers of the Earth. Long before your kind set foot on Westeros, we sang to this land for thousands of years."

"That's remarkable," Samwell replied. "Do you have a name?"

"When needed, I do," she said. "You may call me Leaf."

"Leaf," Samwell asked, "why are you here?"

"The monsters in the dark have awakened in the North, so we had no choice but to flee south," Leaf said sorrowfully. "You said you respect the pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest?"

"Yes."

Leaf glanced at Samwell warily and asked, "Do you know the contents of the pact?"

Samwell nodded and replied, "Yes. The pact granted the First Men ownership of the coasts, plains, grasslands, mountains, and hills, but the dense forests would forever belong to the Children of the Forest. The First Men were also forbidden from felling any weirwood trees."

Leaf sighed and said, "But you still cut down nearly all the weirwoods in the South. Only the ones here on the Isle of Faces remain."

"The Andals' actions were indeed wrong," Samwell admitted. "To make amends, I can return the Isle of Faces to you. From now on, the Children of the Forest will have full ownership of this land, and no one will disturb you again."

"Thank you," Leaf said, her face lighting up with a sweet smile. She skipped closer, her voice lively. "The Greenseer said you are a wise King, and it seems he was right."

Samwell raised an eyebrow and asked, "You've met the Greenseer?"

Leaf nodded.

Samwell continued, "Then it was the Greenseer who told you to flee south?"

Leaf nodded again.

A cold glint flashed in Samwell's eyes. "So he knew the Wall would collapse?"

Leaf instinctively began to nod but stopped awkwardly when she saw the change in his expression. "Uh, I understand your anger. But even if we had warned you, the Wall still would have fallen—just in a different way. This was something you could not have stopped, like the Trident always flowing east into the Narrow Sea. The course may twist and turn, but the destination cannot be changed."

Samwell's face remained impassive as he nodded. Then he asked, "Did the Greenseer tell you how the story ends? Do humans triumph over the Long Night, or do the White Walkers rule Westeros?"

Leaf nodded and then shook her head. "The future is always uncertain, like a river not yet fully formed. It holds countless possibilities for change. Moreover..."

She gave Samwell a strange look and added, "According to the last Greenseer, the future has undergone some terrifying, unforeseen changes—all because of one person..."

Samwell could guess from her expression that the Greenseer was likely referring to him.

He changed the subject. "Do you know the origin of the White Walkers? I mean the real origin, not just the legends."

Leaf said, "I once asked the Greenseer the same question. He said the White Walkers are a great deception."

"A deception?" Samwell mused. "What does that mean?"

"He didn't explain further," Leaf said. "It seemed as though he was afraid of something."

Samwell fell silent.

Leaf added, "The last Greenseer has already passed away. But the new Greenseer resides in King's Landing—you must know him. Perhaps you can get answers from him."

Samwell knew she was referring to Bran Stark. He shook his head lightly and said, "To be honest, Leaf, I don't trust these Greenseers."

Leaf blinked her large, innocent eyes and tilted her head in confusion. "Then why are you telling me all this? I served the Greenseer for a long time. When the new Greenseer went to your human castle, I couldn't follow him."

"You're different," Samwell said with a smile. He then changed the topic. "By the way, Leaf, have you seen this armor before?"

As he spoke, he unclasped his cloak, revealing the bronze armor he wore beneath.

It was the Royce family's armor—Chronicle.

Time flows like a river, eroding all things.

Yet Samwell still remembered the day in the Sept at Skyreach when Bronze Yohn Royce had presented him with this armor.

And later, on Bloodstone Island, the biting cold emanating from the bronze armor had clashed with the fiery power of the Red God hidden within the greatsword Dawn.

This allowed Samwell to seize an opportunity and avoid becoming a puppet of the gods.

Thus, he had always kept this armor close, even though he was now nearly invincible and no longer needed armor for protection.

"I've seen it," Leaf said immediately after glancing at it. "It's one of seven suits of armor given to the Night's Watch by the gods, but most of them have been lost."

"The gods?" Samwell asked. "Which gods?"

"The ancient gods," Leaf said. "Oh, you humans now call them the Old Gods."

Samwell seemed to understand something. A long-standing doubt that had troubled him for years was finally resolved in that moment.

He had once thought this bronze armor was a gift from the Great Other, the God of cold and darkness. But subsequent events had contradicted that assumption, leading him to a different theory.

Now, if this Child of the Forest wasn't lying, his new theory appeared to be correct.

By extension, as a representative of the Old Gods, the Greenseer—the Three-Eyed Raven—should not harbor ill intent toward him.

With this in mind, Samwell decided that once he returned to King's Landing, he should have an open and honest conversation with Bran Stark.

Perhaps he could uncover more answers.

"Leaf, would you be willing to come to King's Landing with me?"

Leaf hesitated, her golden-green eyes flickering with doubt and confusion.

In the end, she shook her head. "I'd rather not. You humans are too fond of killing and hatred. We only want the forest."

"Very well. Farewell, then, Leaf." Samwell didn't press her further.

"Farewell."

After the King departed, small figures began to emerge from the shadows of the forest. They skipped and leapt out, surrounding Leaf and chattering in an ancient language that was incomprehensible.

Their voices were lively and sharp, like birds chirping and squirrels chattering.

The once-silent woods of the Isle of Faces came alive with sound and movement.

(End of Chapter)