Chapter 237

Endless night.

He felt he had already left his body, drifting back and forth with the steam from the bath, and he felt Lord Eddard gazing at him gently, his eyes full of endless regret.

He also saw Robb, who looked younger than the last time they had met, like a boy still shedding his childishness, but he appeared very happy and waved both hands at him, as if waiting for his arrival.

He saw another girl hidden behind Robb, whom he thought was Arya, but she was clearly more mature and had almost the same hair color as Robb.

It was Sansa.

She looked at him embarrassedly, yet still shyly reached out her hands to him.

He wanted to smile in reply, but a finger drifted past beside him.

Oh, this is the joyful realm of the old gods.

He just knew.

He felt he still had energy; his stature was larger than Robb's, larger than Lord Eddard's, and he sensed he had enough capacity to expend, so he wandered among the white clouds, searching for Arya.

It's been ages since I've heard from her; I hope to find her here, yet vaguely I also hope she isn't here.

Perhaps if he became more familiar with this place, he could observe her from another angle—see her drive the sharp end of a sewing needle into an enemy's chest, see her messy hair bursting with vigor.

Behind an oak tree he saw a child—oh, that was his youngest brother Rickon. He shyly hid behind the tree, peeking at him.

He really wanted to go over, hug him, and spin in the white clouds asking, "Where is Bran climbing rocks now?"

He also saw many people. Some he had seen before: Orell gave him a pursed-lip smile and ran off into the distance; the six‑armed Varamir sat on a branch watching the white clouds, occasionally letting his gaze drift over to look at him before turning away.

Many, many people. They all believed in the old gods.

He drifted over a meadow and realized he had become just a little bit smaller.

By the stream beside the lake he saw Ygritte, happily splashing the water; droplets sprayed toward passing butterflies, which fluttered gracefully one by one, veering into a towering red tree, while a squirrel darted swiftly through its branches.

He smiled at her, feeling the warmth of the sun. She also saw him, waved, then sadly laughed while linking arms with a man beside her. That man, leaning on his waist, waved at him.

He didn't move, but the wind, like a slow wave, swept him away.

He still had to go on; he still had endless curiosity.

He drifted back and forth at the cloud's edge, following the clear breeze through the forest, chasing the sound of wandering. He saw those who were running.

A handsome youth rode a warhorse made of gray smoke across the green plain, with another following behind—oh, that was…

The woman seemed to sense something; she halted her horse, stared at him dreamily, then broke into a bright smile, as if about to run over and hug him.

Oh, he almost burst into tears.

She wore a wreath of fresh flowers on her head, her dark‑brown hair flowing with the breeze; her face was lovely and charming, radiating confidence and joy from head to toe. In an instant he thought of Mei—but no, she was even more confident, more radiant, more delightfully approachable than Mei.

Mei really ought to learn from her. Mei never feels joy for no reason, nor is she ever approachable.

The handsome youth with the same hair color as her took the woman's hand and walked toward him, giving a slight nod, while the woman wore a sweet smile tinged with a hint of doubt… making one infatuated.

Unlike the vague, shifting figure that often appears in dreams, here she is utterly real and concrete.

He didn't shed tears; he only forced a smile onto his face. He saw that she did the same.

Then he felt a pulling force.

He was about to leave this place, and with his last strength he waved goodbye to them.

Again, endless darkness.

He could feel neither his hands nor his feet; he could not sense cold, nor any touch. He was like a cloud suspended in air, and even with all his might he could not perceive the extent of his surroundings or anything at all.

He felt he had spent months in the darkness.

Finally, at a certain tremor, he returned once more to the underground dark river that flows with hot springs.

He no longer had a heavy body or any extra burden; he followed the direction he had walked in his last dream, going up along the hot river. At last he saw again the stalactite pillars and the hot‑spring waterfall cascading down beside them.

The milky‑white dragon egg still lay quietly in the steaming spring pool.

He felt the secret lay within that dragon egg.

He bent down; the scalding hot spring could not burn him, the water flowed through his body, and he thought he could not lift the dragon egg—but the instant his hand touched it, he felt its weight.

He took the egg from the pool, about to set it aside, but the egg cracked open at once. A tender shoot sprouted from inside the shell.

He immediately realized it was a fish‑scale tree, though he wasn't sure whether all fish‑scale tree seeds are "dragon eggs." But he was certain the tree's branches had grown from within the dragon egg.

He placed the dragon egg firmly on the ground beside the stream. In an instant, green trees covered the egg, their roots digging into the soil beneath his feet, thickening, completely engulfing the egg and spreading outward, continually sending out new roots.

He followed the spreading branches upward and saw the fish‑scale tree break through rock, thrusting out a slab of stubborn stone, then winding up the cliff face.

The branches grew thicker and thicker until they filled the underground space.

All around rumbled.

He rose to the surface.

A white branch as thin as a finger emerged from a crack in the stone, pushing a tiny tip out of the ground, while the surrounding grass stood even taller.

The tree's pallid trunk bore a spray of fine twigs at its top, from which tiny red leaves slowly unfurled.

How tiny it is.

He stood constantly by the tree, watching the fish‑scale tree slowly grow taller and sturdier through wind and rain, untiring. He did not know how many days and nights passed before the tree finally bore its first flower and first fruit.

He waited and guarded day and night.

At last it ripened and fell to the ground.

He picked up the fruit, put it in his mouth. At first it tasted only endless bitterness, then a lovely sweetness.

When he wanted to wait for the second seed, he "fell" again.

He saw his own "corpse" lying there. The Night's Watch brothers held candles and torches, lighting the room brightly, as if performing his final rites.

It was time; he felt he could return. He surged forward.

Pain—unbearable pain. His joints were as rusted, unable to move.

At last someone noticed the anomaly. He first confirmed it, then sprinted out, letting out a shrill cry. Soon he heard many footsteps approaching.

He saw Gren, Pipp, Red Paul, Ballet from Seal Bay, and the red‑haired beauty Zamp. Zamp was a Night's Watch man among the free folk, the one who had brought him beyond the Wall to swear the Night's Watch oath.

They helped him lower himself slowly to the ground. Each step was arduous, but he felt he was recovering quickly.

"Gods, you actually came back to life!" Gran's voice, like a bull's, bellowed loudly, spittle spraying onto his face. He even felt the chill of the spittle. "You were clearly dead, we confirmed it!"

"What happened?" Qiongen gasped out.

"What happened, you actually ask us?" Pip wondered, "How would we know what happened, you've been lying here for a day and night..."

Again came the sound of soldiers and armored footsteps. The black-clad night watch made way for the newcomers, at their forefront was Sir Rodrick.

He didn't speak, reached out and placed his hand on his face, then felt his chest.

"If I'm not dreaming, you should have come back to life again. You died before, you know that?"

"Perhaps. I wasn't sure before, but now I know." He grabbed the nearby leather armor, put on leather pants, the scabbard and everything else were gone. The black cloak still hung on the wall.

He pushed through the crowd and walked over, reached out to take it, but then hesitated.

"Sir Rodrick, please give me a new cloak."

"This commander's cloak is warmer!" Pip snatched the black cloak to drape over him, but he grabbed his wrist.

"No, Pip, I no longer need it." He pushed away the gripped wrist, "Until death, my watch ends here."

"Who are you, Qiongen?" Sir Rodrick asked, his mouth forming a wide arc.

"By order of the Duke of Winterfell, Meyer Stark, I am now the leader of this unit."

Sir Rodrick took off his own cloak embroidered with icefield wolves and draped it over his shoulders.

He pulled the cloak tight, feeling the lingering warmth on it. He felt the whole world beginning to bloom for him.

"Pip, please inform Archmaester Emon, the chief craftsman of Awyck, and the chief ranger; Zamp, Gran, take those you trust and arrest the Quartermaster Bohm Marsi, Sir Ellisar Sehn, and Maztek Wick, Blackbeard Red, George of Kat's Ridge, and Orrenyi Water; Orrenyi Water must be taken alive, and also control his remnants. Sir Rodrick, please send Winterfell's soldiers to assist them."

"Orrenyi Water took your letter early yesterday morning to the Eastern Lookout..."

"Send ravens to the Eastern Lookout, demanding that Cathek Pak capture."

Those who received the orders nodded heavily one after another.

On the day he woke, he disbanded the Night Watch legion by order of Winterfell; thereafter each day he felt he was killing...

When Tormund-led free folk army approached the Wall, he had already retaken the Wall under his new identity.