Aegor approached the giant weirwood and carefully touched it.

Just looking from the tunnel, one could not be certain this was a weirwood. Torghen Flint’s confidence that it was the largest heart tree in the Seven Kingdoms came entirely from the enormous human face carved into the wood—and in Westeros, only those who follow the Old Gods carve faces on weirwoods.

Together with the presence of a weirwood sapling on the kitchen floor above, which supported this speculation, no one doubted his claim.

As for the theory that the crown and roots of this immense tree extended into the Wall, or that the weirwood gave the Wall its strength to resist the White Walkers, that was still a matter of association and inference.

But it was just like how Melisandre believed Aegor was the Prince That Was Promised: many ideas, once accepted subconsciously, appear true in everything, with proof everywhere, even when there is no clear evidence.

Leaving these speculations aside, based only on what lay before their eyes, there was another possibility: they might simply be looking at a magical door carved from weirwood, and it was a coincidence that a twisted weirwood sapling had sprouted in the kitchen above.

This was not impossible.

Aegor examined the door carefully, looking for more clues to prove or disprove that this was part of a living tree. If everything went as he hoped, he would soon become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, leading the Watch and the settlers of the Gift against humanity’s greatest enemy. A deeper understanding of the magic woven into the Wall could only be a benefit.

(I wonder if this glowing wood is radioactive?)

Aegor muttered to himself as he touched it through his glove. He found nothing unusual. Thinking that a bit of fur could not shield him from anything harmful anyway, he took off his glove and touched it with his bare hand.

The surface of the wood was cool, but not freezing. It held a peculiar temperature. If he had to guess, it was about ten degrees Celsius—not warm, but at the foot of the cold Wall, it was noticeably higher than the surrounding air.

(Is this from the magic that makes it glow? Or is the glow just a side effect?)

One question after another surfaced in Aegor’s mind, but none could be answered. After feeling around the surface for a while, he noticed a new detail: the door was not flat, but curved.

The central line of the carved face was the most prominent. From there, the cheeks and outer edges gradually curved inward, an extremely slight curve, but present nonetheless. The whole thing formed a very shallow arc.

Though not decisive evidence, this shape was strongly consistent with the surface of a huge cylinder.

People live on a round world, but do not feel the curve beneath their feet. The larger the surface, the less its curve is felt. The exposed section of this door was about three meters wide, and the curve from side to side looked, by estimation, like part of a circle—perhaps one-twenty-fifth to one-thirtieth of a full circle, an arc of about thirteen to fourteen degrees.

If this face had been carved into a cylindrical trunk, then the full circumference of the trunk would be seventy-five to ninety meters. Dividing by pi, Aegor quickly calculated that the diameter of the trunk would be between twenty-three and twenty-eight meters.

And that matched the thickness of the Wall’s base.

Yes, it could still be coincidence. But everything in the world is connected; all coincidences are, in a way, inevitable.

If this speculation is true, if a giant weirwood really does stand buried within the Wall, then the greenseer—or rather, the Old Gods—are far more than the indifferent, withdrawn force Aegor had once imagined. They may have fought side by side with Azor Ahai in the Dawn Age, may even have guided him, and later had a hand in the building of the Wall and the founding of the Night’s Watch. In the song of ice and fire, they had once held immense importance.

(I wonder how many such weirwoods lie hidden beneath the Wall?)

Aegor shook his head, beginning to suspect his thoughts were being influenced. He admitted to himself that, despite trying to remain objective, Torghen’s introduction had shaped his view.

No more pondering. Whether there was a giant weirwood buried here would be proven one day when there were enough men to dig through the permafrost.

Aegor set his thoughts aside and pulled his gloves back on. Around him, most of the Northerners had also calmed down. Awe and reverence began to appear on their faces.

If carving a face on a weirwood made it a heart tree, a symbol of the Old Gods, then this glowing, speaking tree before them might well be accepted as the very presence of the Old Gods.

After a few minutes of silent prayers and murmured discussion, some of the Northerners finally remembered the true reason they had come here.

Robb Stark broke the hush. “Such a heart tree is indeed extraordinary. But what does this have to do with my brother’s disappearance?”

“Hmm.” Torghen Flint nodded and replied, “The men who searched below after Bran went missing found signs of their passage. But strangely, the trail ended right here, before this face, and there was no trace of them returning. It was as if they had passed through it.”

Someone quickly questioned him. “Traces? With the ground frozen so hard, how can there be any tracks?”

“As for footprints, only the big stable boy’s were faintly visible, and those were soon trampled over. But Bran could not walk. He was carried on a makeshift stretcher. The scratches the wooden poles made on the ground were very clear.”

There was no other choice. At Robb’s request, the attendants who had followed them down relit the torches and held them close to the ground.

In the flickering torchlight, amid a chaos of faint footprints, there were indeed two deep parallel scratches leading straight to the wooden face, ending right beneath it without any sign of turning back.

“I see nothing,” Roose Bolton said in a flat tone after looking for a few seconds. “And how can you prove these marks were not scratched in the dirt by you, to mislead us?”

Torghen Flint’s face darkened. “Lord Bolton, your words are too harsh. The Flint Clan are devout followers of the Old Gods. Before this sacred heart tree, under the gaze of the Old Gods, how could we dare to deceive our liege? Lord Stark, if there is even half a lie in what I say today, may my clan suffer hunger and cold this Winter, die beneath the swords of the White Walkers, and never live to see another spring dawn!”

Such an oath, in another place, would depend entirely on the speaker’s reputation and the listener’s trust. But here, in the far North, under the heart tree, it was different.

The descendants of the First Men hold the Old Gods sacred. They walk and pray in the godwoods, hold naming days, weddings, and funerals under the watch of the carved faces. In old tales, the petty kings met in the densest groves, made peace or swore their oaths under the eyes of the weirwoods.

To swear before a heart tree is as serious as any vow. And this oath was deadly. To doubt it after it was spoken would be close to a public insult.

The Flint Clan aided in manning the Wall and had no real fault in Bran’s disappearance. They had hosted the northern lords warmly. As guests, there was no reason to repay them with hostility.

And more than that, before this huge glowing face that could speak, everyone in the tunnel felt the invisible weight of a watching presence. Without more reason, they chose to believe Torghen Flint.

“Enough, Lord Flint. Take back that oath. We all trust your word.” Robb Stark had not been Lord of the North for long, but he understood the weight of things. He spoke at the right moment to calm them. “But my brother is missing, alive or dead I do not know, and the trail ends here. So where has Bran gone? Has this weirwood swallowed him? I must have an explanation, to give to my family and my people.”

It was a fair demand. But the trail really did stop here. What could Torghen Flint do? If anyone was to blame, it was him, for not posting guards around the well that day.

“The tracks end here, and I cannot explain it. If my Lord insists on knowing more…” Torghen Flint gritted his teeth. “Just give the word, and we will cut this face apart to see what lies behind it, that could make Bran Stark vanish here!”

It was a frustrated outburst. Even though Robb had found the Flint Clan’s strictness toward a small sapling amusing, he would not dare, for all his boldness, to order the destruction of this vast, sacred heart tree.

The tunnel fell silent again as everyone pondered. At last, Hother Umber, who had met Aegor once before and come here with his nephew, spoke. “Lord Stark, I heard at Last Hearth that Bran, when he was at Winterfell, once spoke of wanting to go Beyond the Wall?”

“That is true. From what I know, it was because of the Reed children. They came north from the Neck for the harvest feast, and after that stayed at Winterfell with him. It was then that Bran began asking about Beyond the Wall, and often spoke of visiting the Wall,” Robb Stark said with a deep frown. “My mother realized Jojen and Meera were filling Bran’s head with strange ideas. But the Reeds have always been loyal bannermen, so it was hard to send them away. I never thought he would end up running away from home!”

“The two Reeds… I have not heard much about the girl, but I know of the boy called Jojen,” said Galbart Glover. “It is said that he nearly died of greywater fever as a child, and after he recovered, he claimed to have the green sight, to see things in his dreams. I thought that was just a way to speak kindly of a sickly child… But if a heart tree can glow and speak, is it so strange for a boy to dream of visions?”

“What are you saying?” Robb looked at him. “That my brother’s flight, and his disappearance here at Nightfort, is the will of the Old Gods? That the trail ends here because he was taken away by Them? What use could the Old Gods have for a boy who cannot walk?”

“That is not for us mortals to guess. But it gives us a way to think of it: your brother, heir to the North, has not come to harm. He came to this tree, answered its question, and was taken under the care of some power. He is safe, and may even be lending his strength to a greater purpose. Does that not give you a little peace of mind?”

“Heh…” Robb’s face twitched. He wanted to say it was nonsense, but after a moment of silence, he let out a long sigh. Thinking of it that way, he did feel a little calmer. Hope is a precious thing.

But when he returned to Winterfell, how was he to explain this to his mother and little brother? Should he bring them all this way just to look upon this strange heart tree?

Robb thought long and hard, but in the end, he found no better answer. He looked once more at the shining heart tree, and understood that his search for Bran would have to end here, unsatisfying as it was. To press further would make things difficult for the Flint Clan or for Aegor. Both were his friends. In such troubled times—no, in this winter of troubles—why burden them?

“Enough,” the young Lord of the North finally said, shaking his head helplessly as he turned to Aegor and Torghen Flint. “I will accept this explanation for now. But I ask the Night’s Watch and the clans along the Wall, including the Flint, to keep watch. If my brother is seen again, inside or beyond the Wall, do everything to send him back to Winterfell.”

The two men nodded, both relieved. With Robb’s words, the matter of Bran’s disappearance was settled. The Flint Clan could remain at Nightfort, and Aegor could turn his full attention to the settlers of the Gift and the true inspection to come.

After a while longer in the presence of the heart tree, they regained their composure. They agreed to climb back up and return to Nightfort, to inspect the stronghold and the section of the Wall the Flint Clan held.

Robb loved his brother dearly, but even so, the disappearance of one Stark was not as important as the safety of the North, or even the realm.

They began to ascend in silence, one by one, each lost in their thoughts.

In that silence, Aegor seized a moment to speak. “Lord Stark, there was a small incident at Castle Black today that I believe you should know of.”

(To be continued.)

***

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