Chapter 11

As I walk away from the training yard, I feel the weight of the battle lifting from my shoulders. The path to the hot springs seems longer today, perhaps due to the intensity of the fight between Jon and Robb. In my heart, they are already brothers to me, not by blood, but by something deeper. Jon, in particular, occupies a special place, thanks to the maternal affection that Ashara always gave him, making his childhood less dark.

I step onto the hot rocks that surround the fountains, feeling the hot steam rise around me. As I dive into the water, my thoughts wander to the future. I decided that I would soon travel around the North, visiting several houses. Not only will this deepen my knowledge of this land and its people, but it will also allow me to find loyal companions.

However, a shadow hangs over these plans - the Boltons. I feel a chill that doesn't come from hot water when I think about them. It is time for the line of ancient Red Kings to meet its end.

Then my mind turns to Howland Reed. If the rumors are true, he is a skin-changer, a greenseer, although his visions of the future are hazy. I ponder whether I should invite you to be my spymaster. But how to convince him? I remain immersed, with my eyes closed, searching for an answer, but it escapes me, so, finally, I give up and surrender to the tranquility of the waters.

I emerge from the waters thoughtfully, the vapors still dancing around. A new concern creeps into my thoughts - Littlefinger's brothels in the North, if they even exist. I must deal with that, I think, but after my journey. Now, my plans turn to something more pressing, something that could change the fate of our kingdom.

I dry myself off and start putting on my clothes, my mind already formulating how to present the blast furnace and Bessemer converter designs to Ned. With them, we could produce our steel, an invaluable advantage against the other kingdoms. But as I dress, my thoughts wander to a darker, more ancient enemy - the White Walkers.

Obsidian, the only weapon we know against them, appears in my mind. There are rumors of a vast deposit on Skagos. However, obsidian is too fragile to forge swords. A new idea begins to form - to create an alloy with obsidian. It would be an arduous task, requiring experimentation and skill, but if successful, we could hold the key to defeating the White Walkers once and for all.

I remain there, standing still, the towel in my hands, lost in reflections on this new and daring undertaking.

I walk slowly out of the hot springs, thoughts still swirling in my mind. Now, focus on bringing Tobho Mott and Archmaester Marwyn to the North. Marwyn, with his vast knowledge, could be crucial in deciphering the runes of the First Men, knowledge almost lost in time.

As I walk into the grove of the gods, I feel a calm come over me. The woods have always had that effect on me, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of the world. I approach the large weirwood tree, its twisted and ancient trunk imposing an almost sacred presence.

I kneel before it, closing my eyes, my right hand resting on the rough bark. And then, something extraordinary happens. A feeling of being pulled somewhere else washes over me, a new and disconcerting experience. Suddenly, I find myself standing in the center of a clearing, surrounded by hundreds of weirwood trees.

I look around, trying to understand, searching for any sign or guidance. But I find nothing, just the silence of the trees and the feeling of a deep mystery hovering in the air. I'm about to take a step, when the sound of hundreds of voices speaking simultaneously envelops me, "You've finally come this far, Alaric Stark." I frantically look around, but all I see are the weirwood trees, their carved faces silently watching me. I stop, take a deep breath, and risk a question: "Are you the old gods?"

"Yes, Alaric Stark," the voices respond in unison.

"Why did they bring me here? And why now, and not before?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper in the hallowed clearing.

The voices explain, "We were dormant and weakened, both by the diminishing magic in the world and by the Andals, who nearly exterminated the weirwood trees to the south, leaving us greatly weakened."

I nod, absorbing the gravity of his words, and ask, "But why did they bring me here?"

They respond: "We wanted to see the one whom our father gave his blessing and sent to this universe."

This revelation leaves me stunned. "Father of the ancient gods? Blessing?" I mutter to myself. Then a realization hits me, "That galactic being... is that your father?"

"Yes and no," the voices respond. "He is the creator of everything, so technically we are his children. But at the same time, all creation is his children. The only difference is that we know of his existence."

I nod, trying to process this revelation. I am faced with ancient and profound knowledge, which goes beyond the limits of my understanding. The words of the ancient gods echo in my mind, revealing a universe far more vast and mysterious than I ever imagined.

Understanding the magnitude of what was revealed to me, I give voice to my curiosity. "So by 'blessing' you mean the wishes he granted me?"

"Yes, Alaric. That was your blessing," the voices confirm, reverberating around me.

Nodding, I continue, "Is there any other purpose for calling me here?"

The voices respond, charged with an ancient urgency, "Yes. Go north of the Wall. Seek the Children of the Forest so they can plant the weirwood trees in the North. This will increase the concentration of mana, making the land more fertile and the people more healthy."

These words involve me, imposing a responsibility that I feel weighs on my shoulders. Planting weirwood trees is not just an act of restoration, but a step toward strengthening our world against the forces that threaten it. I nod, my resolve firming.

"I will understand the calling and fulfill this mission," I promise, my voice resonating with the weight of commitment.

The voices of the ancient gods quiet, as if satisfied with my acceptance. I remain kneeling before the weirwood tree for a moment longer, feeling the ancestral bond with the ancient and powerful forces that shaped our world. When I finally stand up, a new resolve shines in my eyes. The journey ahead will be long and full of challenges, but I am ready to face it.

The voices continue, weaving yet another layer into the tapestry of my destiny. "In the North, we order the giants to leave for where the Children and the Three-Eyed Raven reside. This will keep them safe, and when you go there, they will follow you back south of the Wall."

Restless, I ask, "When should I leave there?"

"You will know when the time is right, Alaric Stark," they respond, their voices echoing like a distant wind.

There is a silence, a brief interlude before they continue. "In the meantime, go deep into the crypts of Winterfell and retrieve the Frozen Throne. This will strengthen the Stark bloodline, making your brothers and sisters stronger, and more resistant to disease and cold, like the Targaryens to fire. Additionally, will increase your powers as wargs."

The characteristics they describe seem like echoes of my desires, albeit attenuated. I'm about to inquire further when the voices say goodbye: "We now bid you farewell, Alaric Stark."

Suddenly I find myself back in the grove of the gods, still kneeling before the weirwood. I look up, realizing that despite the apparent length of time in my encounter with the gods, here, time has barely moved. I doubt the reality of the experience, wondering if it was a hallucination, but then one of the weirwood's branches hits me in the face. I touch the spot, whispering, "Okay, it definitely wasn't a hallucination."