"I'll wait for you in the Temple of Wisdom. When you understand the meaning of self-sacrifice and grasp your duty, you'll come back for me."
Leaving the hill where the wolves were gnawing on the Six-Skinner's second body, Dany faintly heard the Three-Eyed Crow's parting words.
"Let the Night King come looking for you instead!"
She was sick of his nagging—and bolted.
The crow kept chirping, heedless of whether she could stand it, spewing muddled nonsense that clashed violently with Dany's own worldview.
Since she could neither deal with him for the moment nor glean anything useful, Dany returned to her own body.
From Varamyr's soul soaring into the sky, diving through a weirwood, and settling inside an old wolf, it all sounded lengthy but took only an instant.
Only her chat with the Three-Eyed Crow dragged on. By the time she got back, a group of Thenns were sprawled over Laly's "corpse," weeping.
—The soul that had ridden Little White and unleashed the "True Dragon Roar: Soul-Chasing Strike" was her green-seer-based second soul. Her nine-hued vortex—the first soul—remained in her body, letting her move freely.
"Sweetling, your mother is with the gods now," the white-haired old woman soothed her sobbing granddaughter. "No more pain, no more hunger, no more sorrow. The gods have taken her back to the earth, back to the forest.
"They live with us—in the rocks and streams, the birds and beasts. My daughter is one of them now. She is the world, and the world is her."
The funeral prayer intrigued Dany; it nearly described the Old Gods' ultimate fate for a soul.
Ordinary folk could never know how a soul merged with the land—they'd never experienced it alive, nor could they speak once dead. Only green seers both "saw" it and could describe it to others.
Pensive, Dany glanced at the old woman, then asked the Thenn chieftain, who was stomping and sighing in grief, "What place does your mother-in-law hold in the tribe?"
"She's a forest witch. All rites—birth, death, marriage—she conducts them."
So, this witch without magic or runes was essentially the wildlings' priestess.
"Your daughter isn't dead yet," Dany said, squatting beside the old witch.
"Not yet—but she will be. Her soul has returned to the land; only a shell keeps breathing," the crone lamented.
In a sense, she was right.
Spear-wife Laly's soul had shattered; its shards kept turning to spirit-essence and drifting away. Without a soul the body would soon perish.
Dany offered no promise. She merely placed her hand on the round-faced spear-wife's brow and triggered Soul-Strike—Recast.
Her second soul and Little White slipped past a soul-barrier and re-entered Laly's inner world.
A tattered, dusky-blue realm: its edges riddled with dark, bottomless holes that hid vast terror and chill. In the center floated a cluster of soul-shards—like countless slivers of glass.
Each shard was crystal-clear, flashing broken scenes from Laly's life—memory and will made visible.
One by one, shards drifted away, drawn toward the wall's shadowy holes, where an unseen grinder smashed them finer still. The dust sprayed out to join the Old Gods' wondrous cycle—into streams, forests, lakes, beasts, people—blending with the world itself.
From her dragon-back perch, Dany pointed at the thinning cluster.
"Gather, and breathe!" she commanded.
A sparse, tinkling rain of spirit-essence tore through the void. It took on the faintest green hue—her mental brand—then, like weary birds at dusk, it flocked toward Laly's shards.
No pyres burned nearby, no dense essence to draw on; the rain was thinner than drizzle. Yet to this broken soul-realm, it was life-giving dew.
In theory, Dany could grant essence only to dragons and eggs. She'd long wondered: if she could enter someone else's soul-sea like she did a dragon's, could she bestow essence that way?
Her main soul, based on the great-mage meditation, had never managed it. But the green-seer second soul could.
As she'd hoped, the drifting essence—tinged by her faint green light—fused with Laly's soul.
Before her eyes, the shards began to grow.
Yes—grow. After drinking a little essence, each tiny fragment sprouted like a sapling, sending out branches. Branch met branch; shards knit together and expanded.
Gradually a complete phantom of Laly took shape.
At one moment her fingers twitched; at another she opened bewildered eyes, staring at the white dragon that roofed her sky.
Then the essence-rain veered away; Laly was "full."
Colorful drops swept toward the soul-wall; the icy holes shrank, and the realm became whole again.
Chuckling in triumph, Dany astride Little White vanished from Laly's sight.
Reality.
Half an hour passed. The old witch and hill-tribe chief had tried repeatedly to dissuade Dany from—well, treating spear-wife Laly.
Since the main soul had always remained in the sea of consciousness, Dany had never lost consciousness. Faced with the request from the Hardfoot woman for euthanasia, she repeatedly refused and impatiently replied that she was performing divine magic to pull their loved one back from the brink of death.
"How could that be? Everyone knows the dead can't be brought back to life," complained the Hardfoot chief.
"Exactly. Larry isn't a shapeshifter, so she can't start a second life. In fact, even the Green Seers can't return to their original bodies after death," the forest witch confidently stated her truth.
"Your Grace, isn't raising the dead a power of the Red God's priests? Can you really do it?" Even the White Knight was doubtful.
"She's different—she wasn't truly dead," Dany said calmly.
Jon plucked a tuft of sheep's wool from the woman's coat and held it near her nostrils. He sighed, "Barely breathing—ah!"
"What are you doing?" The woman suddenly opened her eyes, exhaled deeply, and stared at Jon, who had been touching her nose.
"Ah!" Not only did Jon get scared and fall flat on his butt, but even the nearby Hardfoot people screamed and backed away.
"Careful, White Walkers may be nearby. Larry's been brought back to life!" a wildling shouted in panic, gripping his spear and scanning the surroundings.
"Dead people can't speak," said the forest witch as she rolled up her daughter's sleeve, revealing rough, yellow-black skin. She exclaimed with surprise, "And Larry's hand isn't black—she's not dead!"
"What's going on?" Larry struggled to her feet, dazed. "I think I just saw a dragon... a big white one—ah!"
She turned her head and found herself face to face with Little White's golden eyes. Panicked, she cried out, "It's that one! Wh-what happened to me?"
"By the Seven, she really came back to life," Barristan said in disbelief.
"Your Grace, how did you do it?" Jon asked in shock.
"Heavens, the Dragon Queen actually snatched Larry back from the hands of Death!" the wildlings cried in awe, their eyes filled with reverence for Dany.
Dany smiled lightly and said, "It's nothing. No need to be amazed. It's getting late—let's return to the Wall."
Nothing?
In that moment, everyone suddenly felt that the Dragon Queen before them was far more profound and mysterious than they had realized.
"Um, Dragon Queen," the elder of the Hill Tribe, whose face looked like tree bark, blushed and stammered, "can our Hill Tribe sign the Three-Party Lease Agreement with you?"
"Of course. A Targaryen keeps their word."
"Thank you, Your Grace!" The wildlings shed tears of gratitude.
With a few hundred Hardfoot warriors as her guards, Dany no longer feared White Walkers launching a surprise attack from the forest.
Two dragons soared in the sky as she rode a shaggy short horse provided by the wildlings, leading the group to reunite with the suicide squad and head south toward the Wall.
Along the way, they encountered many wildling tribes. Some intended to return to their northern homelands; others planned to go to the challenging settlement in the east. Some wanted to head west to the Milkwater to join the Weepers in a daring crossing.
Some, with no clear direction, simply waited for death in abandoned forest villages.
Dany was willing to help as many as she could, but she would never lower herself to beg anyone to let her help or save them.
Just like with the Hardfoot Hill Tribe, she never went out of her way to recruit any wildling tribe they met on the road. But if they brought up the Agreement, she would give them her answer.
Whether or not the wildlings chose to join her southbound journey was entirely up to them.
Some wildlings still distrusted the southern kings and left. Others remained hesitant and stayed in the forest. Some, like the Hill Tribe, chose to sign the sacred contract with the Dragon Queen. And some brought their doom upon themselves—trying to ambush her, only to be incinerated by dragonfire.
Around two in the afternoon, the suicide squad returned to the Wall with two thousand wildlings.
"Woooo—" A horn blew from the top of the Wall.
The gates opened, and a group of Night's Watch brothers rushed out. Along with the wildling warriors at the new camp, they loudly welcomed the returning heroes like legends of old.
When they were about a kilometer from the Wall, the Dragon Queen mounted her black dragon, circling low above the heads of the heroes—she was their queen.
Beneath the blue sky, on the wide land where the last snow was melting, the people cheered, and the dragons spread their wings.
"Long live the Dragon Queen! Long live the Suicide Squad! Long live the dragons!"
"Brave and fearless Daenerys!"
"Heroic Queen Daenerys!"
Force can conquer people—but it cannot win their hearts.
Atop the Wall, Stannis clenched his fists. A flicker of jealousy passed through his deep blue eyes.
(End of Chapter)
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