The Green Man was sitting in front of the heart tree, in the same position she had been when Tyrion found her with her children a few weeks ago. She gave a look to her brother and left him at the entrance to the woods as she continued by herself. She knew that she had nothing to fear from the man.
"Master Highsmith," she said, taking a seat next to the man.
"Thank you for meeting me here, your grace." the Green Man said, clasping his hands together and resting them on his lap. "I see you've recovered from your ordeal."
Margaery gave him a thin smile. "As much as I can."
"Lord Tyrion was very worried about you," he said. "He never said so, but it wasn't hard to tell. You're well-loved."
"I am happy to hear so. I do my best to love others." Margaery said, curious where the conversation was going.
"Have you heard anything from the king?"
Margaery shook her head. "Not recently. The last raven I received was from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He planned to see his father, who was among the wildlings on the Gift, before riding to Castle Black."
"He's an interesting man." the Green Man mused. "Strong and solid, like the North, but he's southern in his own way."
"I believe he's one of the few men capable of ruling the seven kingdoms," Margaery admitted. "I think others believe the same."
"Oh, I have no doubt they do." the Green Man said. "Royce, Mallister, Tarly, they all love the man. Your Hand also has an immense amount of respect for him."
"Why did you ask me out here?" Margaery asked.
She knew that her grandmother would scold her for being so blunt and abandoning all the lessons she had been taught when it came to word games, but the queen didn't care at this point. Bryn Highsmith didn't seem like the kind of man to play political games.
"I'm waiting on a friend," Highsmith said, staring at the boughs of the tree. "I suppose while we wait, I should explain what my men have been doing."
"I thought they were awakening the forests?" Margaery asked.
"They are, but do you know what that means? What that entails?" the Green Man asked.
"Well….no," Margaery admitted.
"Two things, my lady. The first is to reawaken the Heart Trees that are still south of the Neck. In the days of the First Men, they acted as conduits for greenseers, a way for them to communicate in a way between long distances." the Green Man explained. "This is a power kept mainly by the Children of the Forest, but there are very few men who have learned it as well. The Green Men, for one, and Bran Stark. The reason I say this is because greenseers could also see through the eyes of a Heart Tree, and so were able to keep watch beyond the Wall for White Walkers. Eventually, the Children went into hiding and First Men were forced to go beyond the Wall and keep watch themselves. Bad blood came up between the watchers at the Wall and beyond, a tribal system emerged, and…."
"The Wildlings were created." Margaery guessed.
"Exactly." the Green Man sighed. "The greenseers were vital to the defenses of the Westeros against the Others, and since they've gone away, Heart Trees have gone into a slumber of sorts, hidden away deep in the forest and in ancient holdfasts all across Westeros, safe from the axes of the Andals. My men are waking those trees up, casting their eyes north and watching the enemy."
Margaery nodded. "You said that there were two things. What was the other?"
The Green Man glanced up at the tree again, frowning. Margaery wondered what his obsession was with the tree. The Heart Tree was very pretty to look and, and even the face carved on its trunk did little to diminish, but it was almost as if he was waiting for his friend to fall from its branches. He muttered something under his breath about the lateness of his friends before looking back at the queen.
"I will get to that in a moment," he said. "There is one greenseer who is not like us, and who is much more powerful than we could ever be."
"Who might that be?" Margaery asked.
"Bran Stark." the Green Man said. "Years ago, my predecessor became aware of another greenseer, a human one. There are few who are gifted with the curse of prophecy, which is also known as green dreams. Many use this power in some way or another, but they don't truly know how to use it. This human greenseer was taught how to harness his ability by the Children of the Forest, and he taught the king's brother this. Your grace, there are two threats to the Others that they truly fear: Daenerys Targaryen's dragons and Bran Stark."
"Why would they fear a boy who can't even properly walk?" Margaery asked, trying her best to comprehend what the man was saying.
Her grandmother had taught her how to use logic and reasoning. She had been at her grandmother's side for years, a woman who used common sense like an iron gauntlet as well as a sharp knife. What Bryn was explaining to her seemed too far-fetched, too unrealistic. It went against everything in her nature to believe it.
"I would have thought your grandmother would have taught you that a mind is just as dangerous as a limp, my lady," Highsmith said with a slight smirk. "Bran Stark is a….keeper of the past, shall we say. He holds many of the memories of those who fought against the Others the first time they struck. He is a fountain of knowledge, and as you know, knowledge is power."
The branches above began to shake violently, then stopped. Margaery had no choice but to look up at them, wondering what had happened. The Green Man gave a short bark of laughter.
"Get down here, you little demon!" he chuckled. "Forgive my friend's rudeness, my lady. It's been quite some time since she has been in the presence of royalty."
The tree shook again, but then something dropped out of it. Margaery instantly recoiled back, her hand held up defensively. Her mouth was open, ready to scream when she stopped herself, her natural curiosity taking over as she studied the small, elf-like being in front of her.
"Gods…." she breathed. "The stories….they're true."
Her brother Willas had read her a few books when she was a girl about the Children of the Forest and the history of Westeros. This was before her grandmother had taken her under her wing and began to teach her how to play the game. The small, child-like creature in front of her, with eyes like a cat and a sly smile, fit the description perfectly.
"Queen Margaery, this is Leaf, leader of the Children of the Forest," the Green Man said, introducing the two.
Leaf bowed deeply, one hand holding her stomach and another on the small of her back. She wore a cloak of woven leaves and what looked like leg bindings made from bark. Her eyes were liquid gold and green and her skin was nut-brown skin like a deer's. When she spoke, her voice was high and sweet, but it was also tinged with sadness that broke Margaery's heart.
"A pleasure, Queen Margaery."
Margaery wasn't sure how to respond with anything other than shock. The child had spoken with perfect fluency as if she had been speaking westerosi all her life. Margaery, after a long pause, smiled and bowed in her seat.
"It's an honor to meet you, Leaf."
"Leaf here was the one who taught the greenseer who taught Bran," Highsmith explained. "She was born sometime after Aegon's Landing on the Isle of Faces, but went north of the Wall when she had a vision that she was supposed to help a Raven open his third eye."
"Bloodraven?" Margaery blurted out. She covered her mouth, but the Green Man simply nodded.
"That's right, your grace. Leaf had a vision about Brynden Rivers, although she didn't know it at the time," he said. "She went north when he did and waited until he came and found her and others at the cave."
Leaf's smile faded as the Green Man told her story. "The cave is gone. Destroyed by the Evil. Bloodraven is no more."
"He gave his life fending off the Others while the other Children in the cave escaped south of the Wall," Highsmith said sadly. "Leaf, ever since, was named leader of the Children and had taken up her rightful place on the Isle of Faces, where the rest of the Children are gathering."
"There are more?" Margaery asked.
"We were once numerous, and now we are few, but we will fight." Leaf promised. "The Evil cannot win."
"Bran Stark and my men have done their best to seek out and rally what's left of Leaf's race." the Green Man explained. "History believes that they have gone from the world, but that's not what happened. They hid and waited and eventually faded as well. The Children of the Forest have always been slow to have children, and some don't bother because they fear mankind."
Margaery looked at Leaf. "Is this true? Do you fear me?"
Leaf shook her head. "Not you, good queen, but others, yes."
Margaery slowly reached out to the child with one hand. Leaf eyes it for a second before putting her oddly-shaped hand in hers. Margaery gently held the three-fingered hand in her own.
"I promise you, Leaf, leader of the last of the Children of the Forest, that no harm shall come to you," Margaery swore, her eyes never leaving Leaf's. "So long as I am the queen of this land and my husband rules, you will always have the deep forests and the Isle of Faces to live. I will do everything I can to protect your race from those who would harm it."
Leaf gazed into Margaery's eyes, searching for something until she found it. She grinned and tightened her hold on the queen's hand.
"Thank you, good Queen Margaery."
Gendry Baratheon
"You have to set your feet, Gendry." Ser Cortnay advised. "And step when you attack."
The old knight was watching as Gendry wielded the ancient axe. He had plenty of strength and endurance. That came from years in the forge. What he needed was technique and practice, and a lot of both. Ser Cortnay was the most qualified man to teach the former smith.
Gendry squared his shoulders and feet as Ser Cortnay showed him before swinging at the target, taking a step forward as he did. He felt the difference from his last stroke. There was more power and he wasn't just relying on the strength in his arms, but all the power in his body was used in the attack. The black blade sheared through the straw mannequin-like it was parchment.
"Well struck, lad!" Ser Cortnay praised. "You're strong, just like your father, but he knew how to properly use a warhammer. Do you think he took down Rhaegar Targaryen with just his muscle?"
"No, ser," Gendry responded.
"No indeed." Ser Cortnay nodded. "He was a great warrior, but that's because he trained and knew how to use his weapon."
"Yes, ser," Gendry said.
"Keep practicing lad. We'll add armor next week." Ser Cortnay instructed. "You need to learn how to strike. With a hammer, you can smash your enemies any way you wish. With an axe, you have to be smarter with your strikes."
"I'm afraid we won't be here next week," Edric said, walking up to the pair.
Like Gendry, Edric had also been training daily with the master-at-arms in the castle. He used a warhammer, just like their father, but he was also training with a sword. From what Gendry saw, he was a diligent student who also shared Gendry's habit of getting angry whenever he did something wrong.
"Why's that?" Ser Cortnay asked.
"We've been summoned to King's Landing, along with the rest of the lords of the Stormlands," Edric said, holding up the letter. "Do you remember the Black Wolf the Green Man mentioned?"
"What of it, brother?" Gendry asked although he was still getting used to calling Edric 'brother' instead of 'my lord'.
"Benjen Stark is riding south with a wight. Proof of the Long Night." Edric said. "I can only assume he wants to show it to an assembled audience. Save some time riding from castle to castle."
"I will prepare a guard for you." Ser Cortnay said instantly.
"That would be perfect, Ser Cortnay," Edric said. "Gendry, may I speak with you?"
As Ser Cortnay walked away, Gendry leaned the axe against his shoulder, waiting to hear what his brother had to say.
"When we're in the capital, you'll need to dress like the son of Robert Baratheon," Edric said, ignoring the scowl that came across Gendry's face.
"I'm a smith. I don't dress in that frilly nonsense." Gendry replied, leaning his weapon against the fence and grabbing an empty tankard, dipping it into a nearby water barrel.
"Gendry, you can dress like a blacksmith all you want. When we're in the court of the king, we both need to dress appropriately." the younger Baratheon said, making a vague hand gesture. He spoke using his hands often, Gendry noticed.
"Just like in the forge. You have to dress appropriately. I wouldn't work around fire dressed how I am." he said, gesturing now to his appearance.
Edric wore a black, sleeveless doublet over a clean white shirt with large sleeves that cinched at his wrists. His cloak was pushed off his shoulders, but Gendry knew that it would still get in the way if he was bent over an anvil, hammering a sword blade. To put it simply, Edric was dressed to receive a visiting noble, not forge an axe blade.
"You'd burn that fancy shirt of yours," Gendry grunted, taking another drink of water.
"I'd burn my shirt." Edric agreed. "Look, I've already had some clothes made up for you. I promise they're not as bad as you think. The tailor told me that they're very practical and simple."
"Practical and simple." Gendry sighed before eventually nodding. "I can work with that."
"Good," Edric said, looking slightly relieved. "How does the axe feel?"
Gendry glanced at the weapon. It looked crude and fearsome, but it was well made and was perfectly balanced in Gendry's hands. He felt good swinging it and his confidence grew after each training session with Ser Cortnay.
"Good," Gendry said, draining the last of his water. "Whoever made it certainly knew what they were doing. Bronze and obsidian usually don't go together."
"They don't?" Edric asked.
It was Gendry's turn to make a vague gesture with his hand. "Master Mott once had to work with obsidian for a customer. It's brittle and annoying to get into the right shape. Do you see the edge of the axe blade? That was made with a chisel and a lot of precise, careful strikes to create a relatively smooth, yet still sharp, edge."
"Does obsidian usually come like this?" Edric asked, walking over to the weapon and running a hand over where the two axe heads met the shaft, held there by the bronze.
"Not usually," Gendry said, crouching next to his brother. "It flakes off more often than not."
"Children of the Forest used it for spears and arrows," Edric said.
"Aye, I'm sure they did. It's perfect for that." Gendry replied. "This is truly an amazing weapon."
Edric got to his feet, dusting off his hands despite them being clean. "Gendry, I've had a thought."
Gendry raised an eyebrow. For how mature his brother tended to be, it was easy to mistake his age. Then there were times, such as now, when there was that boyish twinkle in his eye that reminded Gendry just how young Edric was. He had yet to see the harsh reality of life. Living in a castle, waited on hand and foot by servants, taught by tutors and maesters, and trained by knights and a master-at-arms usually had that effect.
"Go on," Gendry said.
"There's a tradition with our house," Edric explained. "When a boy comes of age at 16 namedays, he is taken out to hunt a stag. The antlers of the creature are then attached to a helm. Stannis, Renly, our father, they all wore helms with antlers."
Gendry shrugged. "So you want to go hunting for antlers?"
Edric nodded firmly. "We'll be marching to war soon, brother. We must look like Baratheons."
Gendry thought for a moment, slowly warming to the idea. He could already imagine how fearsome they'd look in horned-helms, swinging their weapons and wearing blood-spattered steel.
"Just think about it," Edric said, walking off. "I hope you're ready for the ride. It's quite a distance to King's Landing and you're not riding on a wagon."
"Fuck," Gendry muttered.
Sansa Stark
The Bloody Gate was the first line of defense into the Vale. Much like how Moat Cailin huddled over the King's road as it lead north to Winterfell and Castle Black, the two towers of the Blood Gate stood tall and proud on either side of the narrow road, connected by a stone bridge.
Sansa was no expert on defensive strategies, but she was not dumb enough not to understand how the Bloody Gate had withstood attacks from a dozen armies. The two stout towers were built into the side of the mountains, almost as if they had been hewn from the natural giants. Combined with the bridge and the narrow road that passed under, Sansa could almost imagine the headache any attacking commander would have. The road was only wide enough for four riders to ride abreast, and those riders would have been open to attack from above nearly the entire way back into the Riverlands.
Even though Sansa had passed through the gate only twice in her lifetime―once when she was entering the Vale and the other when she was leaving it to head north―she could tell that there were many more men than there had been before. She could make out the colors of at least three houses just by looking at the tabards worn by the soldiers.
"Something's different," Harry muttered to himself. "I left five hundred men here under Ser Nestor. There looks to be double that."
Ser Wallace, who rode on the other side of Sansa's betrothed, heard his old friend. "I'm sure Ser Nestor has a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Look, here he comes now."
The youngest son of Anya Waynwood was correct. Ser Nestor Royce, the Knight of Gate, came riding out to meet them on a large honey-brown charger, wearing full armor. Lord Yohn's cousin was a large, barrel-chested man with a thick neck, bald head, and a brown beard that was flecked with grey. Sansa had met him only a few times, and although he was courteous, although a little gruff, to her, he was less to his men. Sansa found him to be prickly, prideful, and quite stern.
Sandor had simply referred to him as a 'cunt'.
Strangely, Ser Nestor wasn't alone. Another man, wearing a white tabard decorated with black birds and red hearts, accompanied him. He was not nearly as old as Ser Nestor, but he did look to be in his fourth decade and had the build of a life-long warrior. At his side, he wore a sword that had a heart-shaped ruby on the pommel.
"Ser Nestor. Lord Corbray." Harry said as the two men approached, each bowing as they came to a stop. "I am surprised to see you here, my lord," he said, directing the comment towards Lord Corbray.
"I and others received Benjen Stark's raven, my lord," Lord Corbray explained. "He directed us to King's Landing. He said that our attendance was of the utmost importance."
Harry glanced at Sansa before responding. It was clear that he was a little confused about everything, but he would dare admit it.
"How many of you are here?"
"Besides myself, Ser Symond, Lord Belmore, Lord Hunter, and Lord Coldwater have joined me." Lord Corbray replied. "Others have ridden to Gulltown and intend to sail to the city."
"My lord," Sansa said, speaking to Harry. "It seems my uncle means to head west before heading south and sweeping back east to King's Landing."
The plan wasn't hard for Sansa to understand. Her uncle, after stopping at Riverrun, probably decided that it was best to travel to Casterly Rock then Highgarden before arriving at King's Landing where the Vale, the Stormlands, and maybe even the dornish could assemble.
"Were you under some other understanding, my lord?" Ser Nestor challenged.
"I have been on the road for many weeks, Ser Nestor," Harry said, a slight edge in his tone. "I was unaware of Benjen Stark's message until this very second."
"If he came south, then he must have passed through Winterfell. You would have happened to see him, did you?" Lord Corbray asked. "I'm not one for vague riddles and words."
"There is trouble north of the Wall, my lord," Harry said, doing his best not to mention the Others. "Benjen Stark has proof of just how dangerous it is."
"If it's all the same to you, my lord, we have our own problems," Ser Nestor grunted. "My scouts have been investigating the strange disappearance of the mountain clans for weeks now and have found nothing. The savages are planning something."
"This problem affects the whole realm, ser, including the Vale." Harry countered. "We will ride to King's Landing. Ser Nestor. The Vale will stay under the care of Ser Morton for a little while longer."
"I think what Ser Nestor is meaning to say, my lord, is that Lord Eddard would be more than capable of dealing with the wildlings." Lord Corbray said in a much more cooperative tone.
"My lord, my father can barely call upon ten thousand men," Sansa said. "Would the Knights of the Vale be so callous as to leave their allies to fend for themselves in a fight?"
Lord Corbray straightened in his saddle, looking as if he had just been struck by lightning. "We would never leave our allies in their time of need."
"Nor would I expect you to, my lord," Sansa said with a nod. "I know my father would always welcome the chivalrous men of the Vale to fight by his side against this great threat."
"Our lances and swords will be his should he or the king call upon us," Lord Corbray said with another slight bow.
"I'm sure my brother and father will do just that, my lord. After all, the prowess of the Knights of the Vale are legendary," Sansa said, making Lord Corbray sit up just a bit more, a very proud look on his face. "If it's alright, my lord, ser, my betrothed, and his men are very weary from our long ride. Some sleep and warm food would do us all some good before we begin towards King's Landing."
"Of course, my lady," Ser Nestor said with a bow of his head. "You shall have both."
The old knight and the lord of Heart's Home both turned their horses back towards the gate, leading their liege lord's party. Harry leaned over in his saddle to Sansa, his eyes wide with amazement and pride.
"That was remarkable!" he whispered.
Sansa smiled, feeling proud of herself. "You're welcome," she replied with a sly grin.