Chapter 349

“There are many reasons, but the most direct one is—it’s impossible to build,” Bran replied without hesitation. “The meltwater from Frostfangs flows entirely into the sea through the Milkwater. The gorge experiences massive summer water flow at the bottom. Building the Wall at a lower elevation would result in it being washed away; building it midway up the mountains would see it tilt and collapse in no time; and building it at the summit… Have you ever measured the height of the gorge’s cliffs? Both sides are well over a thousand feet high, far taller than any section of the Wall. The cliffs themselves form a natural barrier. Constructing the Wall here would be as difficult as building countless Eyries. The manpower and resources required would rival those needed to construct the Wall itself all over again.”

Aegor frowned, unsatisfied with the explanation. “Fine. But at least patrol routes could be established along the gorge’s edges for the Night’s Watch to use. Shadow Tower soldiers reported to me that there are no usable paths—they’d have to carve new ones from scratch. Why is that?”

“There used to be paths,” Bran said with a long sigh. “But after thousands of years, landslides have sent them tumbling to the gorge bottom, where the current swept them away. They’re gone, as if they never existed.”

He paused, then added, “Speaking of weaknesses in the Wall’s defenses, let me tell you something long forgotten. Remember how I mentioned earlier that White Walkers find it difficult to control wights across the Wall?”

Aegor nodded. Of course, Bran had said that earlier, promising to explain why, and now seemed to be that moment.

“I’m listening.”

“The Wall isn’t just a physical barrier keeping out wildlings and monsters; it’s also a magical one. White Walkers are reluctant to approach it, which has given rise to the belief that the Wall actively repels them. This isn’t entirely a misconception, but it’s only part of the truth. The Wall’s primary magical function isn’t simply to repel White Walkers—it’s to block the power of the Great Other, the god of death and cold. This force, dispersed in the air, sustains both the White Walkers and their undead minions.”

“I see,” Aegor said thoughtfully. “But wouldn’t it be better to extend the Wall across the gorge? You’re not going to tell me that this power sinks to the bottom like some heavy gas, making it impossible to penetrate, are you?”

Though Bran lacked modern scientific concepts like the weight of gases, his countless years of inherited wisdom and insight allowed him to quickly grasp the essence of Aegor’s point. Skipping over the irrelevant details, he countered, “As Lord Commander, you should be familiar with the layout of the nineteen castles along the Wall. Which one lies at the center?”

Aegor scoffed at the rhetorical question. “Of course. If we’re counting numerically, that’d be the Nightfort. It’s the tenth castle from either the east or west. But if we’re talking about equal distance between the two ends of the Wall, then it’s Castle Black. That’s why even in the Watch’s weakest moments, it remained the headquarters—it’s equidistant from the Wall’s eastern and western edges, whether traveling by ground or atop the Wall itself.”

“Exactly,” Bran said approvingly. “Now, what if I ask you which castle lies equidistant between the Bay of Seals and the Bay of Ice?”

Aegor opened his mouth, the answer forming before he’d consciously thought it through. The Wall’s western end was fifty miles from the Bay of Ice, so the castle equidistant from both coasts had to be a bit west of Castle Black. Not the Nightfort, nor Deep Lake—it was…

His heart skipped a beat as realization struck. The answer was the very place they were standing: the ancient fortress of the Night’s Watch, home to the massive weirwood and the Black Gate.

“Castle Night!” Aegor blurted. “Seven hells—so this means that during the early days of the Night’s Watch, the gorge was indeed within their patrol range!”

Bran nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. “Correct. I can also tell you that the magical energy repelling the Great Other’s power and the White Walkers originates from the massive weirwood embedded within this section of the Wall. Its roots extend deep into the foundation of the Wall itself, carved with ancient runes. Those runes bind the vast magical energy that the weirwood radiates, shaping it into a barrier that mirrors the Wall’s structure. Together, the ice of the Wall and this magical ‘soul’ form the ultimate shield against the dead.”

...

Aegor stood frozen, the implications overwhelming him. The Wall wasn’t just the largest man-made structure in the known world; it was the most incredible magical artifact. A colossal barrier generator, powered by a weirwood heart at its core.

For the first time, Aegor felt awe for the Wall’s hidden beauty—its seemingly crude exterior concealing unparalleled sophistication. Suddenly, the chain of events in the original story felt absurd. Daenerys losing her dragon to save Jon, ultimately leading to the Wall’s destruction? Unforgivably foolish.

After silently cursing the original storyline, Aegor felt a surge of confidence. With all the preparations he’d made and this extraordinary defense at his disposal, if he couldn’t win the war, he deserved to be drowned in a puddle of his own spit.

...

Still, Aegor’s instinctive caution soon raised another concern. “But what if the White Walkers destroy the weirwood forests lining the gorge? Wouldn’t that open a gap in the magical barrier?”

“They will try,” Bran admitted unexpectedly, “but let me clarify: the weirwood forest along the gorge merely enhances the barrier; it doesn’t create it. As long as the Wall stands and the great weirwood remains intact, the magical shield will hold. Even if the forest is destroyed, the Great Other’s power would only seep through the gorge slowly. The White Walkers would still be significantly weaker south of the Wall. Handle it properly, and they can be defeated.”

That was a relief. But Aegor’s mind, ever restless, jumped to another, deeper question. “You keep referring to the power of the Great Other. What exactly is this ‘Great Other’? And for that matter, R’hllor—what are they? You said there are no gods. Are they just like you? Sorcerers with greater powers?”

...

Bran hesitated for the first time. “That, I cannot answer. I have never encountered either the Great Other or R’hllor—neither their essence nor their manifestation. What I can confirm is that they exist, undeniably so. They are powerful, far beyond my ability to comprehend or challenge. But they are not omnipotent gods, as their followers believe. They are not human, either. Perhaps they are a higher form of life, something beyond our understanding.

“My advice is this: stop speculating and overthinking. In this war, it’s meaningless to consider the possibility of the Great Other personally intervening. If it happens, then unless R’hllor himself acts, everything the Night’s Watch prepares will be for naught. Tell me, Lord Commander—do you believe in prophecy?”

Prophecy again? How had the conversation veered in this direction?

Though perplexed, Aegor had grown accustomed to Bran’s seemingly tangential remarks. They often followed a hidden logic. After a moment’s thought, Aegor gave a measured response. “I think prophecy should be taken with a grain of salt. It shouldn’t be ignored, but it shouldn’t be trusted blindly, either.”

Bran met Aegor’s eyes, his expression unreadable as he gave a faint, enigmatic smile. “Not a bad answer. But prophecy comes in different forms. If we divide them into three categories, the first would be curses and venting—self-fulfilling in nature. For example, if someone you offend predicts you’ll ‘die a horrible death,’ it’s meaningless. Everyone dies, after all. However, if you live your life constantly fearing that curse, it might indeed come true.”

Aegor nodded, amused, recalling the prophecy given to Cersei by the witch in the woods.

“The second type stems from a deep understanding of the world’s mechanisms. These prophecies rely on abundant information, logic, and reasoning to predict the direction of events. While not always accurate, they are often valuable references. Ignoring them would be wasteful.”

Aegor nodded again. “Fair enough. And the third?”

“You’ve surely heard the following: ‘After a long summer, when the stars bleed and the cold darkness envelops the world, a hero shall be reborn amidst salt and smoke. He shall awaken dragons from stone, wield the burning sword Lightbringer, and be the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, destined to drive away the darkness.’”

“Yes, I’ve heard it,” Aegor replied. “That’s one of the most widely known prophecies in existence, thanks to the priests of R’hllor spreading it everywhere. What about it?”

“That is the third kind: not a prophecy, but a warning, a final ultimatum, and a declaration of war—from R’hllor to the Great Other,” Bran said, his tone solemn as he began interpreting the prophecy through the lens of the greenseer’s wisdom.

...