~~ Thank you Pierre_2196 for your suggestion on the first Harem member. ~~
Chapter 14 - The Three-Eyed Raven
As soon as the talks inside the tent were finished, the mood of the camp changed. Word moved fast among the free folk. Mance Rayder stepped out and sent for the leaders of the major tribes. One by one they came. Thenns, horn-foot clans, ice-river hunters, cave dwellers, even the great giant chiefs walked behind the rest.
They gathered in a half-circle outside the tent, stamping their feet to keep warm as the wind cut through the camp. Mance read the parchment again, his voice steady and clear despite the cold, explaining each condition in simple words. Live in the Gift. No more raids. Help man the Wall and its empty castles. In return, safety, land and freedom from the dead.
Some grumbled, but most listened.
No free folk warrior was stupid enough to throw away lives in a useless battle when a peaceful solution lay in front of them. They had all seen too much death in the last few winters. They had lost friends, family, and whole clans to the cold and the shadows that moved behind it. Even the loudest dissenters fell silent after Mance reminded them of the dead marching.
But the the giants were different.
A few giant elders stepped forward, their deep voices rumbling like thunder. They were uneasy. Giants had not crossed the Wall in generations. Their stories said it was cursed, a place no giant should approach. It was their boundary, their fear. But when the Lord Commander himself came and spoke, promising no tricks and no chains, their shoulders relaxed a little.
Jeor Mormont did not speak to them as enemies. He spoke like a commander who understood the worth of a strong ally.
And giants were worth more than most armies.
He promised them safety. He promised them land. And more than that, he promised them purpose. The work waiting at the Wall was enormous. Even Castle Black, the great seat of the Night's Watch, had fallen into disrepair. It had broken lifts, towers which were tilting, roofs which had collapsed and frozen gates. The other castles were worse. They were abandoned ruins filled with snow, stone and silence.
Giants could lift what a hundred men could not. They could haul timber, raise walls, and move big stones that would take whole teams of oxen and men. The Lord Commander offered them that work with a level of eagerness that even Mance found surprising.
But it was understandable.
From a commander's point of view, giants were a necessity.
Soon enough, the last fears were calmed. Issues were settled and the voices lowered. New plans of action were formed. A few scouts would remain behind to guide the remaining tribes who were still journeying through the wilderness. The rest prepared to move south.
They decided to first march to the Craster's Keep. It would serve as a main stopping point. From there, they would move towards Castle Black.
While all this planning took place around the fires and tents, Matt stood quietly to one side. He listened, but with only partial attention. The other major part of his mind was busy with something else. It was something strange that tugged at him like a whisper through the wind.
When he stepped outside the main clearing, he saw it.
The sky was filled with ravens.
Not a handful, not a scattered flock but dozens, circling in wide, slow circles over the camp. Their wings made a soft beating sound. Some dipped lower, sweeping just above the tents. Some perched on poles and branches with their black eyes fixed in one direction.
Toward him.
Matt stopped walking to test his theory.
A few ravens left the circle in the sky and swooped low. Three of them landed on a small tent nearby, staring at him with sharp, unblinking eyes. One hopped forward, tilting its head, studying him with a strange awareness that was not natural.
There was only one meaning behind this.
The Three-Eyed Raven had found him.
Or perhaps had always been watching, but now he was calling him.
The raven croaked once, loud and clear. Matt took a step toward it. The bird spread its wings and lifted off the roof, flying low and slow as if waiting for him to follow.
And so he followed it.
The raven led him past the edge of the camp, past the noise and warmth of the fires, into the thin line of trees on the hill. The wind was sharper here.
As Matt left the camp and followed the raven into the trees, he heard the faint crunch of snow behind him. The sound didn't fit the rhythm of his own steps. He kept walking for a few more paces, pretending not to notice, then stopped and turned. The raven perched on a low branch ahead, waiting.
A woman stood a short distance away. She didn't reach for a weapon or look startled at being caught. She simply met his eyes, calm and steady, without any fear.
Her face was sharp in a clean, practical way. She seemed to be the sort of person who lived outdoors and belonged there. Pale hair fell loose around her shoulders and she watched him with a careful kind of interest, not shyness or challenge, but just curiosity.
Matt tried to place why her face seemed familiar, but he couldn't pull the thought together. It felt like a memory brushed past him but never settled.
A moment later that memory became clear. Matt recognised her from the shows of his past life. She was Val, sister-in-law to Mance Rayder. She was a beautiful, daring and dangerous woman. But he shrugged that thought off. Whoever she was wouldn't change what he needed to do now.
Val's eyes flicked briefly to the raven waiting ahead, then back to him. She didn't step aside or why away after being discovered. Matt wasn't sure whether she intended to stop him or simply wanted to see where he was going.
Either way, the raven croaked impatiently. Matt gave Val one last glance, shrugged off his thoughts, and continued on into the darkening woods.
He walked up the narrow slope, following the flicker of black wings ahead.
After a short climb, he reached a small clearing.
At its center stood a weirwood tree.
It was bigger than those found in the North and its bark was white as bone and its leaves red as spilled blood. A face had been carved into the trunk long ago, its eyes hollow and deep, its mouth curved downward in a silent lament. Snow clung to its roots like white fingers.
The raven perched on a branch right above the carved face.
It called again with two soft croaks, almost like asking him to put his hands on it.
Matt understood the instruction.
This was a connection point, a place where the old magic still lived. A place where the Three-Eyed Raven could reach him clearly.
He stepped closer. He felt no fear. Only a strange awareness in as if the air itself was watching him. He lifted his right hand. The weirwood face seemed to lean closer, its carved eyes drawn to his touch.
He placed his palm against the cold, smooth bark and closed his eyes.
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End of Chapter 14 - The Three-Eyed Raven