Chapter Seventy Two: Startling Discoveries

The four men stood at the peak of the mountain, gazing out at the endless expanse to the north.

They were in the midst of a fierce blizzard. They could hardly even see their immediate surroundings, let alone what was miles away on the ground below. All the same, they knew full well what was out there.

They know it as well as I do.

The red priest shivered slightly, and he pulled his outermost layer of clothing closer to his chest.

Noting his associate's discomfort, the Stormlord said in concern "Have you a chill, Thoros?"

"No more than usual, Lord Beric," Thoros of Myr assured him, "You needn't worry; my faith in the Lord of Light keeps me warm."

"I would caution you not to rely too greatly on your lord," the king of the Free Folk advised the Essosi, "The value of fire is not to be understated, but even the gods have no sway over the Night's King."

"That may be," Thoros admitted, "But it is the will of R'hllor that the Army of the Dead should perish. I mean to bring that goal to fruition."

"As do we all," the First Ranger conceded, sighing and folding his arms, "If only we were not so vastly outnumbered… I might have a little more faith in our chances."

"Faith is all some persons have, Lord Benjen," Thoros of Myr contended, "You mustn't take it for granted. Oftentimes, that alone is enough to ensure one's success."

"While I do not wholly agree, I understand the sentiment," Mance Rayder commented, "I personally believe there is hope for the people of Westeros. Our ancestors did not defeat the Night's King once just so their descendants could be exterminated by his forces millennia later."

"Well, someone has to be the victor," Beric Dondarrion pronounced, "The Army of the Dead may prove to be a greater challenge than they were in the Age of the First Men. They've had all this time to build up their strength and numbers."

"Furthermore, they likely know we're waiting for them," Benjen Stark debated, "The second coming of the Long Night was announced nearly six years ago. Think on all those who perished north of the Wall since then. Most – if not all – of them were aware of the Seven Kingdoms' plans to combat the Others."

"That is no great cause for alarm," Thoros of Myr stated, "The White Walkers would undoubtedly expect some resistance by the time they reach the Wall, anyway."

"Do you suppose they know they'll find some before they get there?" Lord Beric asked.

"It is possible," Mance Rayder thought aloud, "If so, they may see us as more of a nuisance than an actual threat to their campaign. Of course, regardless of the size of our company, we could never hope to dissuade the Night's King from marching south."

"That matters not," Benjen Stark declared, "We will engage them in battle, nonetheless."

"Then you are prepared to die, my lord?" Beric Doncarrion presumed.

"Absolutely," the First Ranger affirmed, "To me and my brothers of the Watch, death is merely part of our duty to the realm. Every time we go north, we set out knowing we might not return. This occasion is no exception."

"Indeed," Beric Dondarrion concurred, "I respect that about the men of the Night's Watch; their willingness to accept whatever fate may await them. We, too, came here knowing we might never go south of the Wall again."

"You might," Mance Rayder countered, "You've already died once, Dondarrion. Yet here you stand."

"Yes, that is true," the Stormlord remarked, "However, if I die again, Thoros might not be able to bring me back a second time. Even if he could, I would not want him to."

"Why is that?" Benjen Stark queried.

"For one thing, the revival is an unpleasant experience," Lord Beric disclosed, "One can never come back with their soul intact. You could say it makes one feel… less human. In addition to that, Thoros can only bring back one person at a time. Although I am leading the Legionnaires stationed at the Fist, my group is the smallest and weakest of the three garrisoned there. There are others in our party who are far more valuable alive than I."

"Such as?" the King-beyond-the-Wall enquired.

"You and Lord Benjen, as well as Lord Commander Jeor," the Stormlord replied, "If any of you three was to fall in battle, I wouldn't hesitate to return Thoros' gift so he could use it to restore you to life."

"That is rather noble of you, my lord," Benjen Stark muttered appreciatively, "But consider the size of the Night King's host. Even if you were to bring one of us back, it would matter little."

"Just so," Mance Rayder agreed, "One man may not make much difference in the long run."

"One man could make all the difference in the world," Thoros countered, "It all depends on the man himself and the path he chooses to follow."

There is truth in that statement. I have witnessed that truth for over half my life. My own existence is proof of that truth.

There was a wave of silence over the next few minutes. The only sounds that could be heard were the breathing of the men and the whistling of the wind. If one was to listen closely, a wolf's howl could also be heard from somewhere to the southeast. The boy was momentarily distracted by the howling, but he quickly returned his attention to his mentor.

Over the last few months, every time the old man and the boy went somewhere in the lands beyond the Wall, they heard a wolf howling. The old man knew it was always the same wolf. The boy claimed the wolf's presence felt oddly familiar. It vaguely reminded him of his own direwolf. There was a perfectly rational explanation for that, which the old man also knew. However, he had not yet shared this explanation with the boy, as he wished to see if the boy could find out the answers on his own.

Here atop the Frostfangs, Brandon Stark, Mance Rayder, Beric Dondarrion, and Thoros of Myr could not see the old man or his apprentice. Even if the weather had been serene, they would never have even realized either of them was there. Nevertheless, the two of them could see those four men as clearly as if the Sun had been shining that day.

Just one week earlier, the Conclave had sent out white ravens to all the holdfasts in the realm. That meant the seasons had changed. However, that was not why Benjen Stark, Mance Rayder, Beric Dondarrion, and Thoros of Myr were currently in the Frostfangs. As it happened, they and all their colleagues who had gathered at the Fist of the First Men were still unaware that winter had begun. Castle Black had dispatched a party of riders to the Fist in effort to inform them of this development, but the riders had yet to reach their destination.

The real reason these men were out in the Frostfangs was simply to conduct reconnaissance. Every fortnight for the last few months, Lord Commander Jeor had ordered an expedition into the Frostfangs to monitor and report on the Army of the Dead's movements. Thus far, those expeditions had all ended virtually the same way: the Night's King's host appeared to get bigger every time, but it never wandered into the Frostfangs. That will change soon.

All the previous expeditions had been led by Watchmen, Free Folk, and Legionnaires of lesser status. This was the first time the leaders of those companies had led an expedition. No one had forced them to undertake this duty; they had all volunteered. They seemed obligated to endure the same dangerous work as their subordinates.

Although there was no one else standing atop the northernmost mountain in the Frostfangs at this time, the four men had not come by themselves. They had been accompanied by around three dozen others. Most of that group was gathered at the southern base of the mountain with the horses. The rest had gone north to get a closer glimpse of the foe.

All forty of those men were risking their lives just by being in the area. Of course, they had known right from that start that there was a high probability that none of them would make it back to the Fist of the First Men alive. The scouts' odds of survival had been even slimmer.

Bloodraven already knew that a few of those men would never see the Fist again. Just minutes earlier, he had seen them meet their ends. Their more fortunate colleagues had managed to escape the same dismal end. They were in the process of hastily retreating up the northern side of the mountain.

A minute later, the remaining scouts reached the summit. They were exhausted from undertaking such a steep ascent in so little time, but they did not allow themselves to rest.

One of the Night Watchmen approached Benjen Stark and urged him "First Ranger, we must get out of here!"

"Calm down, Garth," Benjen urged his fellow black brother, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Now, tell me; what troubles you? Has something happened?"

Before Garth could answer, one of the wildlings proclaimed, "They're coming!"

The company leaders did not need any clarification on who he was referring to. Even so, Beric Dondarrion murmured unsteadily "You mean the White Walkers…?"

"Yes, my lord," one of the Legionnaires confirmed, "The Army of the Dead has finally started to advance!"

"How many?" asked Thoros of Myr.

"All of them," another Legionnaire announced.

The Legionnaire was speaking the truth, but Mance Rayder appeared somewhat skeptical. Luckily, one of the other surviving wildlings was a warg. He turned to the warg and inquired "Is that accurate?"

"Well, even I could only see so far in this weather, Mance," the warg remarked, "But we can be certain the entire host is on the move. All the Others and all their wights are headed this way!"

That was enough to convince the King-beyond-the-Wall and the others that the Night's King had indeed begun his march. They were quick to act upon this news.

"Fall back!" Benjen Stark exclaimed, "We must return to the Fist immediately!"

He, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, Mance Rayder, and the surviving scouts promptly began the long descent down the southern face of the mountain. They watched their footing, so as not to stumble and break their necks. Other than that, they concentrated on getting to the bottom of the mountain as quickly as possible with little regard for anything else.

Although the Others were as much an enemy to him as they were to ordinary men, Bloodraven managed to stay as calm and composed as ever. When he turned to his apprentice, he noted that the boy was more than a little uneasy. Fortunately for him, they had no reason to stay there any longer. The bastard knight placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and stated "Let us depart now."

Brandon Stark turned to his teacher and nodded compliantly.

An instant later, they arrived back in the safety of the cave. It has started. The Long Night will soon be here.

The lands beyond the Wall and the North were already covered in white, but everywhere south of the Neck was still relatively temperate. The Long Night would not officially begin until the entire continent was buried in snow. They should savor the Sun whilst they still can. Bloodraven himself had not basked in sunlight in so long that he had nearly forgotten what it felt like on his skin. Not that he was bothered by the lack of it.

Ever since he became the Three-Eyed Raven, Ser Brynden Rivers had managed to abandon all forms of desire. He had not longed for anything or anyone. He never envied the people he watched over or the lives they led. He certainly never yearned for any of their possessions or any material goods. He did not even miss the ability to see with both of his real eyes or the ability to walk with both of his real legs.

Be that as it may, he much preferred venturing outside his cave to sitting idly inside it. At least then he could experience those abilities again, even if they were only occurring in his mind. Additionally, he could keep himself informed on the affairs of the world without even getting up from his throne.

That was fortunate for him. If ever he did rise from his throne, he would die very quickly. That was not to say death frightened him. Brynden Rivers had already lived longer than he had any right to. Anyone who glanced at him might have thought he was in great pain, but that was simply not the case. He had long ago forgotten what pain even felt like. His last true encounter with it had been just before the children of the forest rescued him several decades past. Somehow, this throne of weirwood roots had numbed his body completely, which in turn inhibited him from undergoing pain for the rest of his life.

Despite all that, Bloodraven knew that even with the weirwood throne, he would not live forever. That did not disturb him in the slightest; he was content with that knowledge. All men must die, he reminded himself. He only hoped that whenever his time came, he would not come back a wight.

Whenever death came to claim Brynden Rivers, he planned to embrace it openly. Truthfully, he did not expect to live beyond the Long Night. Even if he did, there would already be another Three-Eyed Raven in the world. Up until now, his only reasons for living had been to be the Three-Eyed Raven and to train a new one. Once his apprentice was ready to take his place, he could die without any reservations.

As it happened, Bloodraven believed Brandon Stark was almost ready to succeed him. Although the boy had only been learning from him for half a year, he had proven to be a promising disciple, a hard worker, an efficient researcher, and an attentive listener. He could be a little too eager or impatient at times, but that could be excused, considering his age. I was not the most calm or patient child at that age, either. Then again, he had not become the Three-Eyed Raven until he was seven and seventy. Brandon Stark was destined to replace him even before his eleventh nameday.

"Will they get away, Ser Brynden?" Brandon Stark enquired in concern. Obviously, he was referring to the men in the Frostfangs

The elderly bastard of Aegon the Unworthy focused on his apprentice and declared "If they make haste, they shall. Even if they did not have horses, I anticipate they'll flee the Frostfangs without suffering further losses. The numbers of the dead are great, but the Others and the wights move slowly."

Especially in a horde. On the other hand, hordes were deadlier than lone wights or small groups of wights. Now, every wight and every White Walker was headed south. That would be a problem for every person whose heart was still beating.

In any case, the boy seemed relieved. Evidently, he is still attached to the First Ranger, Bloodraven noted. His responsibilities as the Three-Eyed Raven required him to remain impartial, unless there was a conflict between the living and the dead. Eight and forty years ago, he had severed all links to his past, and he had no intention of mending them. To me, House Targaryen is just another family now.

Of course, even if his father's family had retained their crown and their standing, Ser Brynden could never return to them. That was due to a number of factors, namely his age and his physical debilities. Meanwhile, Brandon Stark had no such hindrance. Since nothing and no one was forcing him to stay in the cave, he could leave it whenever he wished.

At present, Bloodraven saw no reason to keep the second son of Eddard Stark with him. So long as he remains impartial in his duties, he can be allowed to return to Winterfell. The children of the forest never said the Three-Eyed Raven had to remain in this cave. Or in any one place, for that matter.

Although the Three-Eyed Raven could see everything at once, Bloodraven often wondered if a mobile Three-Eyed Raven could actually be more efficient than a stationary Three-Eyed Raven. While he did not have the means to test that hypothesis himself, his successor certainly did. One day, he will be an even greater Raven than I. I do not know how, but he will. His ability to travel could be why.

"May I ask a question, my lord?" the young boy said curiously.

The former black brother nodded and pronounced "Ask me anything, and I will answer."

"Do my uncle and his allies have any hope of triumphing over the Others at the Fist of the First Men?" Brandon uttered hopefully.

"No," Ser Brynden Rivers apprised him straightforwardly, "They mean to make a stand at the Fist. If they do, they will all die. They have no chance of emerging victorious. The only ones who will survive are those who decide to run."

Brandon Stark gazed at his feet sadly. A few seconds later, he looked up at his teacher and stated inquisitively "I understand that they will not be able to stop the Night's King. But will they at least manage to stall his advance?"

"For a while, yes," Brynden Rivers contended, "Alas, they will not hold out indefinitely. Even if every one of the Watchmen, the Legionnaires, and the Free Folk manages to vanquish a hundred wights at the Fist, over ten times that number will be left to march on the Wall."

"What will happen then?" Brandon asked anxiously.

"The Wall's enchantments are sufficient to ward off any undead creature," the ancient man told him, "As long as it stands, the Army of the Dead could never hope to cross into the Seven Kingdoms."

"But could the Wall actually crumble?" the boy conjectured.

"Such a thing is possible," Bloodraven admitted, "However, it would take an object of tremendous power, such as dragonfire or the Horn of Joramun, to topple the Wall easily. Thankfully, the Night's King possesses nothing of the sort. His march will not be halted altogether, but his progress will be slowed greatly. Take comfort in the knowledge that the Army of the Dead could never pass through the Wall, Brandon Stark. They will never go over or under it, either."

"Couldn't they go around it?" Brandon speculated, "The mountains west of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge may be too steep for men to climb over, and the waters east of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea may be too cold for men to swim in, but the Others do not seem bothered by heights or freezing temperatures."

"There is a possibility of that, as well," Brynden Rivers stated, "Should the Night's King choose either of those approaches, his likelihood of entering the Seven Kingdoms would increase, but at the same time, he would lose a significant percentage of his forces."

"I do not think that would discourage him," the wolf boy thought aloud.

"Indeed not, Brandon Stark," the bastard knight conceded, "But before he attempts to go around the Wall, he will most definitely look for a way to destroy it first."

"I believe you are correct, my lord," Brandon Stark uttered grimly. There came a long pause. After that, the lad let out a deep sigh and said, "Would you permit me to apologize?"

Bloodraven was taken aback. "Apologize for what?"

"The Night's King was once a man," Brandon pointed out, "It is said he was another Brandon Stark. If that is true, it means one of my relatives is to blame for all this terror. Please know that I am deeply sorry for my family's role in this catastrophe."

The elderly man tried to form a sympathetic smile, and he stated gently "You needn't apologize for the misdeeds committed by a brother of your ancestor who lived back in the Age of the First Men. Those crimes were his alone to bear, and time has removed any further blame from you and your kin."

Once again, Brandon was reassured. He beamed and said gratefully "Thank you, my lord. I am glad to have this feeling of guilt lifted from my mind."

"That is good," Ser Brynden uttered approvingly, "Your burden is already great enough without involving your personal feelings."

"I can promise you that my feelings will never stand in my way," the wolf boy firmly pronounced.

Bloodraven was oddly impressed by that statement. It was spoken with such… conviction.

He truly is nearly ready.

Brynden Rivers took a moment to gaze around the area. For the last five months, the cave had held a total of eighty-four occupants. That number included sixty children of the forest, nineteen House Stark guards, Meera Reed, Jojen Reed, Hodor, Brandon Stark, and Bloodraven himself. There was also the direwolf Summer, as well as a number of goats and fish.

At this time, however, the cave was nearly deserted of its bipedal residents.

Earlier that week, Ser Brynden had announced that winter had begun. The cave's other residents had been quite busy since then.

The majority of the children of the forest had spent the last several days outdoors, observing the Wall's defenses and searching for any signs of wights or Others. The Northmen had elected to go out and do some foraging and hunting, as they would not have many opportunities to do either in the future. Or rather, they would not have many opportunities to forage or hunt in acceptably safe conditions.

At the rate Brandon Stark was learning, he and his companions would be able to return to the Seven Kingdoms fairly soon. There was a chance they would leave even before the Night's King and his forces reached the cave of the Three-Eyed Raven. If so, they would not have to fight their way out, and they were certainly under no pressure to gather fresh meat so expediently. Still, the Northmen would have been more comfortable if they did not have to constantly stop to hunt. Whenever they left, they aimed to get to the Wall as quickly as possible. Thus, they planned to have plenty of provisions already gathered beforehand.

The Reed siblings had joined the House Stark guards, as they had both longed to spend some time outside the cave. In addition to that, while the Northmen could gather large game on their own easily, the Reeds were better-skilled at tracking and trapping smaller animals. For that reason, Brandon Stark had allowed his friends to take Summer with him, as well. The direwolf was as good a hunter as any man, and his prey never got away.

At present, there were only six people in the cave apart from Brynden Rivers and Brandon Stark. Two of them were House Stark guards; they were known as Hallis Mollen and Lew. Another three were children of the forest. Their names were too long to be uttered in the Common Tongue; Brandon Stark and his friends had given them and the other children names based on their appearances. These three were referred to as Ash, Coals, and Scales.

The last person there was the simpleminded gentle giant Hodor.

Lew and Hallis Mollen had stayed behind to guard their lord's second son. Ash, Coals, and Scales had stayed behind to tend to the Three-Eyed Raven. Hodor had stayed behind because Bran liked having him close-by, and because he had no aptitude for scouting, foraging, or hunting whatsoever.

Ser Brynden was pleased that Hodor had lingered. The tall young man's past was shrouded in mystery. Even he, who saw everything at once, did not understand the full extent of the stableboy's background. In fact, Hodor was one of the very few people who could actually bewilder the Three-Eyed Raven.

"I've another question, ser," Brandon Stark remarked.

"I am listening," Brynden Rivers pronounced.

"Should we vacate the Seven Kingdoms?" the wolf boy inquired.

The Three-Eyed Raven was intrigued. "Do you believe we should?"

Brandon shrugged and murmured "We cannot ignore the possibility that the Army of the Dead will overpower the armies of the Seven Kingdoms. Since the Three-Eyed Raven's duty is to ensure the survival of humanity, we should be prepared to save as many people as possible. But once the Night's King arrives south of the Wall, nowhere in this country will be out of his reach. As such, our only hope for survival would be to retreat across the Narrow Sea."

"It could take far longer to evacuate the residents of the Seven Kingdoms than it would the Night's King to get past the Wall," Bloodraven pointed out.

"I realize that," Brandon proclaimed, "Be that as it may, we might still have enough time to evacuate at least half of those who live in the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps more if we are fortunate."

"I admire your desire to aid your fellow Westerosi," Ser Brynden muttered, "However, even if effective, this ploy would only delay humanity's demise. The Others and their wights are not fair swimmers, but in time, they will find a way to cross the Narrow Sea. They would likely freeze the surface of the water and walk over it."

"I feared that might happen," Brandon Stark commented glumly, "Westeros is not safe, Essos is not safe… am I right to assume that nowhere in the world is safe?"

"That is correct," the ancient bastard confirmed. Except for this cave, but that could change at any time. "That is precisely why we must defeat the Night's King before his domain extends to the entirety of Westeros."

"I agree, ser," said the second son of Eddard Stark, "I only wish I shared your faith in our ability. Although the Seven Kingdoms has forged alliances with the Dothraki, multiple sellsword companies, and one of the Triarchs of Volantis, we are still vastly outnumbered."

"The outcome of this war will not be determined by the amount of manpower on either side," Bloodraven professed, "If we are to emerge victorious, we must employ other resources."

"Such as the dragons?" Brandon presumed.

"Correct," the Three-Eyed Raven confirmed, "Of course, three dragons will not be sufficient to stop twenty million wights and White Walkers, but they will be instrumental in eliminating a sizable portion of the Army of the Dead."

"Well, I have already mastered warging into all manner of living creatures, including men," Brandon Stark pointed out. I would not say you have 'mastered' it, but you are nearly there. "However, I have no experience warging into a dragon. If the dragons are to be a resource, perhaps I should attempt to enter the minds of Eliaxes, Draegar, and Ygrenyon."

"You are free to attempt so," Ser Brynden stated, "However, you must remember that dragons are unique. They are not like man, bird, or beast. They cannot be subjugated or driven into submission by any other living being. Thus, you will never be able to fully control them. Not even I, whose veins hold the blood of the dragons, could ever truly master real dragons."

Brandon was clearly dismayed by that information. He mumbled "Is there anyone who can?"

"There is one," Bloodraven professed, "Your cousin, Jon Targaryen. He has the blood of both the First Men and Old Valyria in his veins. That makes him both a warg – like you and your siblings – and a dragon like his half-siblings and aunt."

Brandon Stark had known for a while now that his brothers, sisters, and cousin possessed the same ability to enter the minds of animals that he did. However, he was the only one who had made use of that ability. Up until now, he had never asked why that was. Right then, he inquired "If the six of us are wargs, why am I the only one that has used them?"

"Because their abilities have not awakened yet," Bloodraven answered plainly, "If the dragons are to become our allies, it is up to you to change that. Once your cousin returns to the North, you must go to him and awaken the warg within him."

"Very well, ser," Brandon acknowledged, "I only pray I will be able to do that in time. After all, Jon is on his way to save his mother with Lord Tyrion Lannister. There is no telling how long that will take. It could be months before they are back in Moat Cailin. By then… the Others may have reached the Wall."

"Then you must prepare yourself," Brynden Rivers advised the lad.

"For what, my lord?" Brandon queried.

"For whatever the future may hold," the elderly former black brother expounded, "You and I are aware of everything that is and everything that was. But everything that will be remains unknown even to us."

"What about the greensight, my lord?" Brandon disputed.

"The greensight has its own uses, but even those uses have limits," Ser Brynden contended, "While green dreams can accurately prophesize what is to come, they are worthless if one is incapable of interpreting the symbols. It is critical that you understand that, Brandon Stark."

"I do understand, ser," the wolf boy claimed, "I know better than to rely too heavily on the gifts of the Three-Eyed Raven. I give you my word that I will not abuse them. Nor will I take them for granted."

Bloodraven nodded in approval. "See that you do not. The power of the Three-Eyed Raven is to be respected and feared, but it is not absolute. You must always remember that there are other awesome forces in the world. Some of which are even greater."

Brandon Stark was at least partly stunned. "What power could be greater than yours?"

"There are several, actually," Bloodraven revealed, "But I will only tell you of two in particular. One is the power of the Night's King. His power exceeds mine by a very wide margin. That is why you and I cannot hope to best him on our own. There is, however, another power which is almost as grand as his, if not more so."

"What would that be?" Brandon muttered curiously.

"You've known of this power for a while now," the ancient knight informed him, "Your cousin serves one of the individuals who possess it."

The young boy promptly realized what his mentor was talking about. "Do you mean Lord Gregor Clegane's source, my lord?"

"I do," Brynden Rivers confirmed, "That power is far beyond even my comprehension. I do not wholly grasp the full scale of the power, but I have seen what all it is capable of."

"The whole realm has seen that," Brandon commented. Indeed. It has effected more change in the past decade than I have in the last five. "We are quite fortunate to have that power on our side."

"I would not be so certain of that," Bloodraven advised him, "Gregor Clegane may be looking out for the prosperity of the Seven Kingdoms, but I'll remind you that I referred to him as 'one of the individuals' who has his power."

That captured Brandon's interest. "Ser, do you mean to tell me there are others?"

"There are," the elderly bastard confirmed, "Currently, there are seven such people in the world. That includes the Mountain That Rides."

"Who are the other six?" Brandon enquired.

"Alas, I only know the identities of four of them," Bloodraven confessed, "The other two are still hidden from my view."

Brandon Stark was deeply confused. "How is that possible?"

"I shall explain," the ancient bastard professed, "Because Gregor Clegane's power – what you call 'the source' – is greater than mine, the identities of those who possess it are hidden from me. I only manage to determine how many have this power because they manifest as irregularities in the world. I cannot locate these irregularities on my own; I can only verify their existence in the world the moment they enter it. A total of seven have existed for the last five and twenty years. That was when the last one was born."

"When did they first appear?" Brandon inquired curiously.

"One of them has existed since before I was rescued by the children of the forest," Brynden Rivers enlightened him, "To this day, I have never learned who he is. The second one was born shortly after I became the Three-Eyed Raven. He turned out to be a slave trader named Yezzan zo Qaggaz. The next three were all born within two or three years of each other. The third is still a mystery. The fourth was Lord Gregor Clegane. The fifth was a Meereenese noble named Hizdahr zo Loraq. It was six years before the sixth one came about. He is a novice at the Citadel named Mollander. The last one – and, so far, only female – was born in Asshai just a year later. She is a red priestess known as Kinvara, though she has been going by the identity of her late colleague, Melisandre."

"I already knew of that," Brandon remarked, referring to the last sentence, "This is all quite interesting, my lord, but there is much I still do not understand. Firstly, if the people who have the source are hidden from you, how have you managed to discover who they are?"

"That, my lad, is somewhat fascinating," Ser Brynden disclosed, "For as long as those persons remain quiet about this 'source,' they are kept hidden from my view. However, once they share the existence of the source with someone who does not have it, their identities are exposed to me. To date, five of the seven have done just that."

"May I ask when you learnt of each of them?" Brandon said enquiringly.

"Yezzan zo Qaggaz was the first," Bloodraven recounted, "Thirty years ago, he mentioned the source to one of his favorite bed slaves. She dismissed what he told her as something incoherent uttered in the throes of passion. Four years after this, Hizdahr zo Loraq shared the source with his father and mother. His parents assumed he was simply inventing an elaborate story.

"Gregor Clegane was the next," the ancient greenseer continued, "Twelve years ago, he revealed the source to his lady wife and the other top members of the Legion without Banners. He was much vaguer than the two men before him, but his colleagues chose to trust in him. Overtime, he was able to spread the source's existence throughout the world. By the end of Greyjoy's Rebellion, the head of every Great House knew of the source. By the middle of the Great Summer, the source was common knowledge in Westeros."

"Indeed; everyone in the realm knows of it," Brandon commented, "But if everyone already knew, how could you have discovered the other two?"

"It does not matter if they share the source with someone who is already aware of it," Bloodraven apprised him, "I could not tell you why; perhaps the source is somehow different for each one of them. Regardless of all else, whenever they share their own source with another individual, they reveal themselves to me."

"Who was after Lord Gregor?" the second son of Winterfell queried.

"Kinvara," Ser Brynden replied, "She traveled with Hizdahr zo Loraq and Yezzan zo Qaggaz for a time. After they died, she travelled to Pentos and contacted my father's descendants. I suspected she was one of them, but I did not confirm my suspicions until a year past. Shortly after autumn began, Kinvara confessed to having the source to Allard Seaworth.

"The most recent was Mollander," the ancient knight went on, "Less than a turn of moon ago, he told his fellow student of the Conclave, Alleras – who, in actuality, is Oberyn Martell's bastard daughter, Sarella Sand – about his own source. He was the last to be revealed to me. Thus far."

"Have you any idea whom the final two might be?" Brandon enquired.

"Alas, I have none," Bloodraven admitted, "However, the three surviving holders of the source are certain that there are others like them. Unlike myself, they do not know how many, but they believe that whoever these others are, they are native to Westeros."

"Should we be looking for those other two, as well?" Brandon said inquiringly.

"For the present, we need not bother," Ser Brynden proclaimed, "We have more immediate troubles that need tending to. Nonetheless, we will revisit this at a later date. You must know that the people who possess the source… they have power that could transcend that of anything else in the world."

"Why do you believe that, my lord?" the wolf boy inquired.

"Because every time they mention this source, I am blocked off from their conversation," Bloodraven revealed.

"'Blocked off?'" Brandon repeated in bewilderment. "How so?"

"I can still witness their discussion," Ser Brynden clarified, "But their speech is grossly distorted. Particularly when the only ones involved are those who have the source. Whenever the source comes up in those talks, they speak in a strange dialect."

"So, they are speaking in another tongue?" Brandon assumed.

"No, they still use the Common Tongue," the former black brother disclosed, "But some of the terms they use are… shall we say, unfamiliar. Even with my greatest efforts, I cannot decipher the meaning behind those terms. It is as though something is preventing me from getting closer to the truth."

"What truth?" asked Brandon.

"The truth of the source," Bloodraven explicated, "After observing the source for all this time, I have concluded that there are only two feasible explanations which could apply to it. Either the source is beyond the comprehension of those who do not possess it, or we are simply not meant to learn the real meaning of the source."

"Maybe we should simply turn a blind eye to the source," Brandon suggested. After a brief pause, he hastily added in "For now, at least. If the source truly is as dangerous as you believe, my lord, we will have to revisit it at a later date. However, until the Others have been defeated, we can afford to ignore the source."

"That may be for the best," Ser Brynden conceded, "Furthermore, I do not believe Gregor Clegane, Kinvara, or Mollander pose any grave threat to the Seven Kingdoms or its inhabitants. So, we shall let them be for the present. But I assure you; this topic is still far from resolved, Brandon Stark."

"Aye, ser," his apprentice avowed, nodding his head lightly.

There was quietness for a few seconds. Then, across the cave, the Three-Eyed Raven abruptly heard the muttering of "Hodor."

He gazed over at the huge stableboy – who was actually a man grown, but was referred to as a boy due to his blissfully unaware and innocent mindset – and saw him accept a platter of food from Coals. Although Hodor's vocabulary was severely limited, he hardly ever said his name just for the sake of saying it. There was usually a meaning behind every utterance of it. When he said "Hodor" that time, he must have meant "Thank you."

As Coals served Hodor, Ash and Scales served Lew and Hallis Mollen. They had brought some food for themselves, as well. Once they all had their platters, the six of them proceeded to eat their supper.

The only two people there who were not eating at this time were Brandon Stark and Brynden Rivers. Of course, Bloodraven derived all the sustenance he required from his weirwood throne, whereas his apprentice had already had his supper an hour earlier.

While the men and the children ate, Bloodraven thought to address the subject he had been planning to address for a long while. He solemnly turned to the youngest person in the room, and he announced, "It may please you to know that we are rapidly drawing close to the end of our association, Brandon Stark. Before long, you will be ready to head south."

As he expected, the wolf boy was quite pleased by that statement. He murmured somewhat eagerly "How long do you think it will be before then, my lord?"

"That is entirely for you to decide," Ser Brynden debated, "It could be as soon as a fortnight. It could be as late as year's end. It depends entirely on how the final phase of your training progresses, and how willing you are to continue following my instruction."

The lad stood up tall and straight, and he declared "Even now, I am but your humble apprentice, and I am always ready and willing to serve you, my lord. I will begin this 'final phase' whenever you deem me ready to begin it."

"Then we shall begin now," the Three-Eyed Raven proclaimed. He gestured to the foot of his throne, beckoning the boy to sit back down. Once Brandon entangled in the weirwood roots again, his mentor gazed down at him and stated, "Tell me, Brandon Stark; what do you know of your friend Hodor?"

That caught the interest of both his apprentice and the stableboy. The latter gazed up from his supper platter and remarked curiously "Hodor?"

Brandon Stark thought for a minute, and then he pronounced "I must confess that I do not know very little about him, my lord. All I really know of Hodor is that his true name is 'Walder,' he is the great-grandson of Old Nan, and he is fair with a sword, despite his simplemindedness. Oh, and, of course, there was once a time when he actually spoke words other than 'Hodor.'"

"That is all true," Bloodraven affirmed, "Do you know how he came to say 'Hodor?'"

"When I was growing up, I would occasionally overhear my family and retainers talk about that," Brandon Stark illuminated, "But I only heard tidbits of that tale at Winterfell. I did not hear a proper telling until I went north of the Wall. On our way here, we stopped at Craster's Keep for a night, and my Uncle Benjen told us what he remembered of it."

"What exactly did he tell you?" the Three-Eyed Raven queried. He already knew the answer to this question. Even so, he wanted to know how much Brandon knew firsthand.

"It happened on the same day my father left for the Vale," the second son of Eddard Stark recalled, "Hodor had sparred with him in the training rings a couple times that morning. He was also present when my grandfather, uncles, and aunt saw my father off in the afternoon. Just before my father set out, Hodor collapsed very suddenly. He underwent a violent shaking fit, and then… he started shouting."

"What did he shout?" Brynden Rivers asked rhetorically.

"According to my Uncle Benjen, his exact words were 'Hold the door,'" Brandon disclosed, "He shouted that very phrase repeatedly. Before too long, 'Hold the door' became 'Hodor.' He has never spoken a single other word since then."

"Peculiar," Bloodraven commented, "What 'door' do you suppose he was referring to."

"I haven't a clue, my lord," Brandon Stark pronounced, "To this day, no one knows what really happened to him, let alone what he was talking about."

"If you were given the chance to learn the truth of that affair, would you take it?" the former black brother enquired.

"Absolutely," the wolf boy adamantly proclaimed. Just what I expected him to say.

"Then it is time the truth was discovered," Brynden Rivers pronounced, "I have seen that incident many times over, and as of yet, I am no closer to finding an explanation than I was when it first occurred. I am going to show you that episode, Brandon Stark. It is my hope that you will have greater luck than I at making sense of it."

"I will certainly try, my lord," Brandon asserted. I know you will. I have faith in your ability, my boy. The second son of Winterfell leaned further back into the weirwood roots, and he shut his eyes. Bloodraven proceeded to do the same.

But before either of them could hope up his third eye, they were interrupted by another exclamation of "Hodor! Hodor!"

The ancient bastard and his apprentice opened their eyes once more, and they saw Hodor rushing towards them. He seemed strangely distraught.

"What is it, Hodor?" Brandon asked the stableboy in concern.

"Hodor," the huge man muttered in an urgent tone, "Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor."

"Do you understand what he's saying?" Bloodraven questioned his apprentice.

"I believe he is trying to tell me something," Brandon conjectured. That much is evident. A thought suddenly occurred to the Three-Eyed Raven. Did Hodor actually understand what we were talking about a moment ago? Could it be he is not as dimwitted as others believe him to be? The likelihood of that was low, but not nonexistent.

Hodor then knelt before the weirwood throne and leaned closer to Brandon. The wolf boy queried "What are you trying to tell us, Hodor? Is it about what happened to you?"

The stableboy gave a nod of his head. Brandon was amazed. As was his teacher. So, he understood us after all.

"What should we do, ser?" Brandon queried.

"Hear him out," Bloodraven advised the lad. Even if we cannot translate his speech, we may as well humor him. Brandon appeared to be having a similar line of thought. So, he complied with the order.

"Go ahead, Hodor," Brandon bade his friend, "We're listening."

At first, the huge Northman did not move an inch. He merely remained frozen in his position, kneeling before the second son of his lord. Then, he gradually leaned forward, as though he meant to whisper something into Brandon's ear. Brandon tilted his head sideways so that his ear was facing Hodor's mouth.

Brandon and his teacher waited for Hodor to say something. But he made no sound. Instead, he reached down with his right arm, and then he slowly lifted that same arm into the air.

By the time Bloodraven saw the rock, it was too late. A split-second later, Hodor slammed it into Brandon's forehead. The boy was knocked out instantaneously. This sudden aggressive action surprised every other person in that room, including the Three-Eyed Raven himself.

"What in the Seven Hells?!" Lew yelled, jumping to his feet and drawing his sword. Hallis Mollen did the same thing.

As they charged towards Hodor with their blades raised, the tall stableboy rose to his feet and turned to face the guards. He did not look as though he was even going to attempt to resist them.

When they reached Hodor, they kept their swords pointed at him, and Hallis Mollen demanded "Explain yourself, Hodor."

How do you expect a man who only speaks one word to account for his actions? Less than one second after that thought passed through Ser Brynden's mind, Hodor started chuckling. He chuckled for ten full seconds. After that, he finally opened his mouth to speak. He said in a very condescending tone "You are such utter fools."

Those words shocked Lew and Hallis Mollen. Of course, any other words that came out of the stableoy's mouth other than his name might have had the same effect on them. The children of the forest were almost as stunned, and even Brynden Rivers was slightly astonished.

Hodor was quick to take advantage of their momentary bewilderment. He seized Lew by his shoulders and swiftly broke his neck. As the body dropped to the ground, Hodor took Lew's sword and attacked Hallis Mollen. Hallis managed to parry two blows, but the third got past him. Hodor drove his steel clean through the other man's chest.

It took him less than ten seconds to kill the two Northmen. It was not yet too late for the children of the forest, though. Bloodraven turned to his attendants and urged them "Run!"

The three children of the forest did not need any further coaxing. They attempted to flee from the room. Alas, Hodor was too fast for them. He reached them before they were even halfway to the exit. He slashed Scales in the back with his sword, he plunged the blade into Ash's throat, and he smashed Coals' head in with the hilt.

Bloodraven was still in the process of trying to grasp what had just transpired here. Not five minutes ago, there had been eight people in the cave, all of them alive and well. Now, there were five corpses, an unconscious boy, an inexplicably bloodthirsty man, and a permanently immobile elderly man.

Brynden Rivers was frustrated by these sudden acts of violence, as well as the betrayal of the man who caused them. However, he was not saddened, enraged, intimidated, or even scared. He had let go of his emotions long ago. Right now, he was just trying to determine why Hodor had done what he had done.

I expect some form of explanation is imminent.

Hodor took a minute to examine the five bodies on the ground and ensure that each of them was in fact dead. After confirming that he had indeed succeeded in killing Ash, Lew, Scales, Hallis Mollen, and Coals, he smiled in satisfaction.

It was then that he turned back towards Bloodraven. The ancient knight kept his one functional eye on the huge stableboy as he came closer. Once Hodor was within reach of the weirwood throne, he stood perfectly still.

His smile gradually changed to a smirk, and he muttered "You do not know how long I've been waiting for this, Rivers. At long last, I can end this charade."

"What charade?" Ser Brynden said inquiringly.

"The one I've been living for over twenty years," Hodor elaborated bitterly, "Do you know what it's like, having to live a constant lie? Having to pretend that your speech is impaired? Only being able to speak one word for over half your life? Knowing that even a single slipup could ruin everything you work for?"

"Just what are you working for?" Bloodraven asked, "What do you hope to accomplish by doing this?"

"That is none of your concern," Hodor snapped crossly, "Anyway, you won't be around to see what I have planned. I'll make sure of that myself."

He then lifted his sword into the air, gripped the handle with both hands, and positioned the tip of it in the center of Ser Brynden's face. The elderly bastard son of Aegon IV Targaryen did nothing to resist. He had already resigned himself to this fate. All men must die, he reminded himself.

"This is nothing personal, Rivers," Hodor claimed in a haughty yet sincere tone, "Your character always interested me. I enjoyed watching you and reading about you, but after seeing you in the flesh – or whatever you're made of now – I can safely say the show and the books hardly do your character justice. Oh, well; I suppose none of that really matters anymore."

Up until that moment, Bloodraven had only been aware of the whereabouts of five of the seven people who possessed the infamous "source." When those statements came out of Hodor's mouth, he could not make sense of parts of them, but the location of a sixth individual was suddenly revealed to him.

"Oh, and don't worry about your apprentice," Hodor hastily added in, speaking in a condescending voice once more, "I'm not going to kill him. Not yet, at least. All you need to know is that Bran and I will be long gone before his friends return with the other guards and children of the forest. Maybe that'll give you some solace in the last moments of your life."

Sure enough, the news that Hodor was going to spare Bran's life – even if only for the present – did bring the Three-Eyed Raven some peace of mind. It is too late for me, but he still has a chance to survive. That thought was the penultimate thing that went through Bloodraven's head. The very last thing that ever went through it was the full length of Hodor's sword.