#and the roots of the weirwood feed on bodies (and their magic) in the crypts after death

[mkstrigidae]

Winter's Child Preview Snippet

This one is Jon's arrival and first day at the wall, and a conversation with a LOT of subtext. It's a pretty important one for beginning to unpack the mythology/lore driving the story, and I'm curious to hear what you guys think of it! This one is wildly unedited, so pardon the possible capitalization errors/clunky sentences.

Jon reached out, placing a trembling hand on the great wall. immediately, he began to feel his knees buckling, taking a gasping breath to try and center himself again.

He had always known that Bran the Builder had constructed the wall, had used magics beyond any house’s gifts today, to create the towering monolith.

What he hadn’t realized was just how much magic was humming in the layers of ice and- he blinked, unsure.

He’d always thought the wall was ice and rock, but something nagged at the back of his mind.

“Uncle-“ he asked, later, quietly, as they stood atop the structure, “what is the wall made of?”

Benjen was quiet for a moment, turning eyes on him that had always been more perceptive than Jon cared for. Twyla didn’t blink as she stood behind her bonded, her golden eyes piercing him.

The oldest stories we have speak of it being Bran the Builder’s creation.” Benjen murmured, his voice pitched so that only Jon could hear it under the whistle of the wind atop the wall. “Ice created of magic wilder than you or I could dream of.”

Ghost gave a snort beside him, his breath clouding the chilled air. Jon agreed.

“And what do you believe?” he asked his uncle, grateful for the fire that flowed through his veins as the temperature dropped.

“I believe that no stark- not even a winter-blooded one has ever been able to do anything-“ Benjen gestured around him, “Like this. Not Torrhen, not Brandon the Breaker, not even-“ he swallowed, looking down into Jon’s eyes with something that looked oddly like guilt. He turned away the next second, continuing. “If the Stark gift before Torrhen was really that powerful-“ he sighed, looking down over the frosted landscape, “Then why did the gods take the winter-blood gift from us when we needed it the most? Why, if Bran the builder could use our gift to protect the entire north with something as massive as the wall, did it not protect us from the clutches- the claws- of dragons?”

Jon felt a hot rush of shame in his veins as he thought of the Targaryen conquers bringing the north to heel 300 years ago. Would that his blood was only Stark. His uncle’s hand on his shoulder cut him off the next minute, though, and Jon realized that his expression was affectionate, and held no blame.

“You are a Stark.” Benjen reminded him, softly. “Not what blood the man who sired you gave you. The old gods granted you the gift of skinchanging- no Southerner has ever been able to do that.” Jon nodded, his throat tight as his uncle squeezed his shoulder. The flames leapt up his throat, flickering against his insides, but he held them down.

“The winter-blood gift was… harsh.” Benjen continued, looking Northward with a distant expression on his face. “Skinchanging- warging- is akin to communing with the old gods through the creatures they brought forth in the first days. It brings out the truth of a man-“

“Or woman.” Jon said, thinking of Arya’s ferocity and the ease in which she slipped in and out of various creatures.

“Or woman.” Benjen chuckled in agreement. “it allows us to connect to the old gods in a way the winter-blooded never could.”

Jon frowned.

You have heard tales of our ancestors, Jon.” Benjen sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Harsh, cold men- many of whom held a powerful ambition and the gift to make it truth. All of whom were winter-blooded. It’s a magic that can easily corrupt- turning hearts to ice as the self is lost. It doesn’t feel akin to greensight or skinchanging- but rather something other. Something older and harsher. Winter was never meant to be a gift.”

“But it’s been gone for 300 years.” Jon’s brows drew together.

Benjen was quiet for a second, and something prodded at the back of Jon’s mind.

“What testimonials we have written of it are telling.” he answered, finally. “And the feel of it can be found in the crypts among the oldest of the tombs. Magic harsh and alien enough that, at times, not even the weirwood will draw on it for nourishment.” they were silent for a moment.

“Do you think it will ever come back?” Jon asked, feeling the bite of the wind on his skin. “The winter-blood gift?”

“We are better stewards of the north- better men- as skinchangers.” Benjen told him, with some finality, his face darkening. “The greatest stories of the winter-blood gift speak of impossibilities like the wall, or of power that twisted the minds of men and made them something less than human. Less than alive.” He smiled at Jon, but something about it was strained. “As skinchangers, we can see through the eyes of others- we can hold a sacred bond with the guardians of the weirwood.” He buried a steadying hand in Twyla’s thick fur. Though still massive, she was a leaner creature than most of the direwolves, though Jon knew it only lent her a speed that none of them had. “If the winter-blood gift ever was returned to us, I would pray it was given to someone who could tame it. Who could temper the danger. and not be swallowed whole by it.”

Jon frowned, searching his uncle’s face. It felt as though they were having two separate conversations.

“But to be able to create something as magnificent as the wall-“

“No man could ever create something as powerful as the wall.” Benjen shut him down. “Not alone, and not instantly. Magic undoubtedly helped build the wall, but no man could ever hold onto a power that absolute. It would destroy them.” He twisted his face. “Regardless of whatever magics built the wall, you have to decide soon if you’ll devote yourself to guarding and protecting it. There’s little room for questioning once you’ve chosen, and it makes men uneasy to speak of the wall’s origins, Jon.” he sighed. “The wall is a strange and not well understood marvel. such things can inspire awe, or they can inspire suspicion. To discuss it is… not done.”

Jon nodded, his tongue heavy in his mouth with more questions, but he remained quiet, thinking of all his uncle had spoken of as they watched the night fall over the far north.