If the heart of the North was Winterfell, then the heart of Winterfell was without a doubt— the godswood.
This three-acre grove of ancient weirwood trees was said to have stood for more than ten thousand years.
Bran the Builder had raised the castle around this primeval stand with the help of giants.
The godswood itself was enclosed by a wall.
To reach it from the solar one must cross the yard, pass down a long gallery into the guest rooms, and follow the passage that opened upon the iron gate into the godswood.
Now the moon hung cold and sparse in the sky; the night air was like frost.
A biting wind swept across Winterfell and made Galon shiver. On the dim parade ground he tightened his cloak and kept walking.
Along the way he met several Winterfell guards on patrol, but Eddard had already given orders, and Galon passed through without hindrance to the iron gate that guarded the godswood.
A torch was fixed to the wall on either side of the gate. Galon stood beneath the light and peered into the trees, searching for anything unusual.
But the place was so primeval and dark that it seemed to swallow sound itself.
Beneath the star-smeared sky, thick black trunks pressed close together, their twisted limbs weaving a vaulted canopy.
From a distance the godswood looked like a sleeping, hulking thing waiting for someone to come.
"Is the Three-Eyed Raven really here?" Galon asked himself. He searched for movement but found none.
Of course, the raven might be hidden deep in the wood, watching him through the heart tree.
"Never mind. I came this far." He shrugged inwardly. "Whether it's fortune or doom, let the Old Gods decide."
A sharp light flashed in his eyes.
He set his hand on the hilt at his hip and strode beneath the iron gate into the trees.
The night swallowed him. He followed a narrow path inward toward the pool at the godswood's heart.
The ground underfoot was years of leafmold; every step seemed absorbed by a thick carpet, leaving only a muffled, oppressive silence behind.
The quiet made Galon uneasy, and he quickened his pace.
Before long he found himself beside the black pool at the center of the godswood, beneath the heart tree itself.
He stood staring at the carved face in the trunk: hollowed eye-sockets stained with dried red sap that looked monstrously like blood under the night.
The expression carved into the weirwood's face was melancholy and terrible.
For a moment Galon had the unnerving sense that the carved face was looking back at him.
Darkness, a strange atmosphere, the thought of the hidden Three-Eyed Raven—every suggestion tightened his nerves.
He scanned the gloom, searching for the raven, but saw only black branches overhead. Finally he fixed his gaze on the sorrowful face on the heart tree and called out.
"I've come as agreed. Show yourself."
His voice trembled faintly and echoed between pool and trunk, but there was no answer. It felt as if the whole godswood contained only Galon alive.
He frowned, surveyed the grove again, and said in a sharper tone, "If you don't appear, I'll leave."
Only silence returned. Galon's confidence wavered. Had he come on the wrong night?
He made a circuit around the heart tree and found nothing.
After a pause he decided to return and try again the next night. Still, before leaving, he followed northern custom and dropped to one knee before the heart tree to say a prayer.
At that instant a few caws sounded from somewhere above, and then the air around him filled with green sparks.
In a blink the world turned, and Galon found himself drawn into a vision.
Space folded, time turned.
The familiar sensation rose again, and this time he steadied himself in only a few breaths. He stood within a green-lit space and said coldly:
"I came when I was asked. Lord, reveal yourself."
The green motes swirled and gathered, and the shape of an old man took form before him.
Galon studied the figure. The man's skin was ashen, gaunt to the bone. One eye was a black hollow, the other a red, bloodshot globe.
His left leg was whole; below the right knee nothing remained. He leaned on a staff fashioned of old timber and regarded Galon with a long look before speaking.
"Glover..."
The voice was dry and slow, as if unused to speech.
Galon's heart tightened. He recognized the figure at once as the Three-Eyed Raven—Brynden Rivers.
He raised his guard and probed cautiously. "Who are you? Why did you call me here?"
The raven's pale face curved in a curious smile. He did not answer directly. Instead he tapped his staff on the ground once.
The air froze.
Galon found himself held fast, unable to move. The Three-Eyed Raven's presence spread through the space, and an image of Winterfell began to rise around them.
Under the raven's will, Winterfell's history raced backward: people and seasons rewound together. Ned as a man, Ned as a boy, Rickard—one scene dissolving into the next.
The wild procession of visions made Galon's head spin.
He felt sick, until a cool clarity came from his eyes, pushing the nausea away. His red gaze flared and the binding faded; he stumbled but regained his footing.
Now he watched everything with keen focus.
The vision changed. Where Winterfell had stood there rose a wooded hill.
"The Wolfswood." He recognized at once the forest where he had spent six months. He looked at the Three-Eyed Raven, seeking understanding.
The raven raised a finger to his lips, signaling him to watch.
A tall, dark-haired First Man stood upon the hill, and beside him a small woman of the Children of the Forest with red eyes.
They raised their hands together, and below them ancient First Men and Children poured up the slope, shouting in old tongues.
Galon's ears registered only rough sounds, but a meaning emerged in his mind—King of the First Men… and the green seer.
"This is—" his mind guessed at once: the tall man was an ancestor of the Glover line. But who was the red-eyed Child beside him?
The sight confused Galon.
He did not yet understand why the Three-Eyed Raven had shown him this. He looked to the raven again; this time the old man did not hold back.
Slowly approaching, the raven used the one red eye left to stare toward the vision and spoke in a dry, rasping voice.
"Descendant of the Glovers, you guessed rightly."
"The First Man and the green seer before you are your ancestors of the Glover line."
Galon felt shock surge through him. He had heard the rumors that the Glovers hid Children of the Forest blood, but he had not expected it to be true.
The Three-Eyed Raven's form passed through the vision, and his long voice tugged at Galon's mind.
"For many generations only you were born among the Glovers with the red eye of a green seer."
"And so—"
The raven fixed him and a smile that was hard to read touched his lips. In that strange tone he laid a fate before Galon.
"The pact between Glover and the Old Gods must be fulfilled by you."
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