Bruda took a step back, his eyes wide and fearful, as he took in her appearance. His hands were shaking as the ramifications firmly hit home. He had obviously lost his mind, that was the only explanation. The only reason why he could see that beautiful face again. She wasn't actually there, she couldn't be. The world wasn't so kind to him, nor was it that cruel to her. She was a ghost, a copy, a figmentation of the bad memories he held deep within himself. So how come he was able to reach out and caress her cheek as if she were actually standing in front of him? How could he smell that painfully familiar scent of hers, the one he somehow still remembered after all of these years apart. She smiled at him, her teeth white and bright. She put her hand on top of his as he stroked her face and he allowed a few tears to drop from his eyes. This was some sort of cruel trick or possibly a very vivid dream. He'd wake up any second now, relieved to have been right but left with an aching emptiness he really didn't want to experience. If he slept for a bit longer, could he keep this distorted reality alive?

"How...are you...what is...I don't…" Bruda's words were incomprehensible and muddled, his brain unable to form proper sentences. He was too shocked, stunned, speechless.

"Hush now," she whispered. Her voice sounded the same, that recognisable soothing tone she always had to use with him. It was so similar that he could believe that it was actually her. "There's no need to talk just yet. I know...this must be so difficult and painful for you. Confusing too, I imagine. I can barely understand it as well so you're in good company."

"You're not real." His voice was quiet, his eyes no longer able to meet her warm gaze. It hurt too much to give into the facade.

Isabella gripped his hand tighter, not to hurt him, but to comfort him some more. "You can touch me. You can feel me. You can hear me. All of those facts point to only one explanation...I'm actually here."

"But how?" He was becoming slightly angry now because someone - he didn't know who - was messing with him and the secrets of his past. "It's not possible. It can't be possible." He was trying to reason against the voices pleading with him to just accept it, his brain against his heart. It would be such a lovely world if this had actually happened.

"Do you really need to know how this happened? I know you need explanations for most things you come across but maybe this is one of those...fantastical miracles people talk about. Is it really that important to find out why I'm here."

Bruda took a step back, pressed up against the door of the small room they were in. "It could be the most important question this world has ever known. Why are you here?"

"I don't know," Isabella sputtered helplessly, looking at him exasperatedly. "I haven't done this."

"I wasn't asking you."

"Then who are you asking?"

"The person who did this. Maybe they're somehow listening in. Maybe I'm asking the world itself or the gods who control it. This isn't an act of any ordinary mortal, that's clear to see." His eyes searched the room, scanning the ceiling. "Hello! Can you hear me?" he bellowed loudly. "What force sees fit to mock me? You'll find that it's a very small world when you mess with me."

"Bruda, stop," she pleaded. "You're not acting like yourself. You're scaring me."

"How would you know what I'm like? Even if you are actually Isabella, the woman I loved, then you haven't known me for centuries. A person will always change over such a long expanse of time, in more ways than one."

"Loved? As in...past tense?"

Her mumbled words made him pause. He had said loved not love. Had it been an accident, a slip of the tongue or...was it his true emotions taking control? Had he somehow moved on from her, his adoration now focused on Melisandre instead? Had he truly changed that much?

"Stop it," he said firmly.

"Stop what?"

"Sounding like her! Looking like her! Being like her!" It was too much to handle; he was beginning to feel light headed, as if the walls of the store room were slowly closing in on him.

"You're asking the impossible of me because I am me. I am your Isabella and I always will be."

For a moment, she thought that she had won him over when he stopped talking. He stared at her with wild eyes, reddened with tears that were stinging his skin. His mouth opened and closed as he searched for a response, any response. None would come. He turned around quickly and opened the door, bolting from the room before she could react. Wiping away the tears, he raced through the corridors without looking back, his breath heavy and ragged. He went back the way he'd come, charging past the council room. He wondered whether he should go back but realised that he was in no fit state to talk to people at the moment and he didn't think he'd be able to explain to those inside what had happened. They'd lock him away, see him as dangerous and a threat to the queen. Maybe they would be right in thinking that.

He carried on running, not really thinking about where he was going. He sped past one of the maids, frightening her as he turned the corner. She dare not shout at him or ask him why he was in such a rush; the warlock had a reputation. It was well known that you should leave him well alone if he was doing anything peculiar, less you wanted to become wrapped up in it. Eventually, he made it back to his chambers, arriving there out of instinct. The one place he could feel safe in this castle. His hands were still shaking as he turned the knob, hoping that Melisandre wouldn't be inside. She would be worried about him and ask why he was in such distress - talking about it would only make it real. For now, he could believe it was only a dark fantasy. Thankfully, the room was empty when he stepped inside and he let out a relieved sigh. He closed his eyes as he leant his head back against the door, trying to compose himself and his breathing. The silence was soothing and much needed.

"I don't think you've ever run from me."

His eyes snapped open and, before him, Isabella was there once again, somehow in the room that had no other entry other than the door he was blocking. She looked hurt at his actions, wounded that her love would be frightened of her.

"Is this my life now? To be tortured by your presence, the ghost of my long dead wife?"

"I'm not dead," she reiterated. "I'm alive and standing in front of you. We've been given a second chance. How wonderful is that?"

"You died in my arms! I watched as the life drained out of you, leaving your eyes emotionless and glassy. The worst day of my life. You told me to move on and I did partly, after many, many years."

"You don't have to move on now. We can spend our lives together again. I thought you'd be happy."

"Don't you dare," he said angrily. "Don't you dare and try and guilt me into believing you actually exist. I'd be happy if you were real but, as I've said repeatedly...you...are...not."

"Is there a way I can prove to you that I'm real?" She stepped forward, closer to him with a coy smile on her face. "It's been a long time since I've done this but I think I can remember the basics." She caught his face in her hands and captured his lips with her own. The kiss, tender yet passionate, didn't last very long as Bruda managed to pull away. Isabella still smiled at him despite his hesitance, believing that it had done the trick.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Why not? I'm your wife. Did you not like it?"

"It's not that. It's making me want to believe you've somehow come back from the dead, which is going against my better judgement."

"That was sort of the point of kissing you. That, and because I've missed it." Her smile brightened when he smirked, a signal of his growing acceptance of the situation. "You got old." Her tone was sad as she looked at him, thinking about the years they'd missed when they should have been together, thinking about the time that had passed for him. She wondered how long he had been alone for.

"You didn't." Bruda looked her up and down. It was remarkable how much she looked like she had done on the day she'd died. Died. He had to remind himself that that had definitely happened. He was being lulled into the dream because it was so sweet. "I need to know how and why this has happened."

"You don't. Just accept it. I'm here, the past is in the past and we can forget about it."

"I can't forget the majority of my life! Those years, losing you...they shaped me and who I am. I can't forget that." He looked at her closely, moving away from the door and walking around her in a tight circle, his staff banging gently against the floor. "Why are you so adamant that I do?" She wouldn't meet his confused gaze. "You know who did this."

"She didn't want me to tell you. She said that I could see you and talk to you if her role was left unsaid."

"She? Isabella, you need to tell me who did this. Whoever is behind this is someone of immense power and I'd rather find out who that is."

"Oh, you do flatter me," a familiar voice sounded behind him, one he hadn't been expecting. A wave of regret flooded him as he realised that he'd made a fatal mistake in who he had chosen to trust.

He'd been too fixated on Isabella, which was perfectly understandable seeing as his wife had seemingly been reanimated, to notice that the door to his private quarters had opened. Ustrina stood in the doorway with a devilish smirk on her face. She was once again wearing the purple cloak he'd seen her in the first time they'd met, her black shirt hiding underneath. She seemed different, more powerful, something greater than just a young woman innocently visiting King's Landing. Had he really missed this for so long? He could practically feel her aura once she stepped into the room, fighting against his own. He'd been careless and let her into what was meant to be the most secure place in the kingdom.

"I'm sorry I told him," Isabella said frantically. "He was asking too many questions. It was the only way to convince him. I shouldn't have…"

Ustrina's voice was soothing and quiet as she spoke, a purr. "Shush. There's no need to worry. He was bound to figure it out eventually. This way, the fun can start much earlier than I thought."

"Figure out what?" Bruda asked, on edge and gripping his staff tightly.

"Don't you know by now?"

"I have a sickening sense of what it could be. I'm sincerely hoping that I'm wrong and this is some sort of trick I can move on from and forget."

"Oh, Bruda. For someone who embodies everything that is mystical in this world, you are truly ignorant of the possibilities we're presented with." Ustrina looked down at her hands just as a red glow began to build up around them. Similar to the magical energy Bruda possessed, crimson tendrils wrapped around her fingers, much more delicately than Bruda's chaotic force. He could tell she had a strong control over the force, which signalled many years of practice. He stiffened at the sight, resigned to what was obvious.

"You're a sorceress."

"That sounds so...dark. I'm just like you. Why can't I be deemed a warlock too?"

"What do you want? Why did you come here? I'm guessing that it isn't just to see the queen, like you told me."

"I want to make people happy. I've told you that so many times and now you can see how I can do that." Ustrina glanced at the other woman in the room with a smile.

"Bringing people back from the dead won't make anyone happy. It's sick and disturbed. No matter what powers you possess, you can't interfere with the natural order of things."

Ustrina laughed lightly, mockingly. "Coming from you, I've never heard such a hypocritical comment. How is this different to what you did to save yourself? You died and came back. Your dear wife has done the same."

"It was different. First of all, I put plans in place to allow it to happen. Secondly, I have the power to come back, she doesn't. That meant I could return properly, not as some ethereal impersonation. You need to stop this."

"But aren't you happy?"

That stopped him, his face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Aren't you happy to see her after so long?" she asked again.

"That's not the point."

"That is exactly the point," Ustrina said imploringly. "How much suffering is seen across the kingdom and beyond just because of death? Imagine a world where no one would have to go through losing a loved one, a friend. Wouldn't that be better? How better would your life have been if Isabella hadn't died that day?"

Bruda hated how it sounded so perfect and idyllic, even if he knew it couldn't happen. "Death is a part of life. You can't change that. No one should wield that power."

"We have been given the power to do precisely that!" she countered. "We could accomplish so much, do truly great things. A Realm without pain, without fear, without sorrow."

"You keep saying we. I'm not going to be a part of this."

"Bruda, you've been a part of this for longer than you could possibly imagine. How do you think I found you in one of the many inns this city has to offer? It should have been obvious from the moment I told you that my room conveniently had two beds. That wasn't just luck. You kept saying that it was like I knew you. What if I told you that I do?"

"I'd think you were lying and I'd tell you to steer clear of this dangerous path you're going down."

"The voices inside your head," she said simply.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You claimed that some voice in your head told you to go to Daenerys and help her, to make sure she won the Throne. To ensure she won the battle against the dead. I was that voice. Manipulating your every move so that I could get you to this point, to get the perfect queen as ruler."

Bruda had to grip the wall as the repercussions came crashing down on him. He would have fallen if it weren't for his staff. This was too much. He couldn't believe this nonsense. But the sincere expression on her face...from what he'd seen recently, it made sense. "What do you want with Daenerys? If you're telling me the truth, and you're the one who brought us together...why do you need her? I won't allow you to harm a hair on her head, mark my words. You may hold some form of power but you'll be no match for me."

"Oh, look at how protective the old man gets. I don't want to hurt her. I idolise her. From such a young age, all she wanted to do was help people who couldn't help themselves. I'm the same, saving people from fates they don't deserve. So how come you look at me with so much...disdain and anger?"

"Do you honestly believe the words you say? Bringing people from the grave doesn't do any good for anyone. You're not like Daenerys, you more closely resemble the Night King."

"I don't want to create an army."

"Then tell me what you want!" he shouted, tired of the cryptic way she was talking, so many riddles. Why couldn't people just make their intentions clear from time to time?

"I want power. No, I need power. Power and the opportunity to save people, to do what I did for Isabella on a grander scale. The only way that I can do that is if I rule in her place."

"There's no way that she will give up her throne. She sacrificed far too much to get it."

"Do you remember what I told you in passing? Think back." Ustrina waved her hand and the red energy formed a small cloud in the air. His face and hers appeared in the smoke, from when they had been brought in front of the queen in the great hall, when they'd been spotted at the tourney.

The image of Ustrina spoke but he already knew what she was going to say. "My family have had this for generations. The story goes that it must be given to a ruler who was perfect. That has to be you." The cloud dispersed and Bruda noticed that the other warlock had only been looking at him.

"She is the perfect ruler for what I need because she has an inherent weakness. You. She would do anything for you, anything you say. She would give up her throne if your life was on the line."

"I'd tell her to let me die before doing that."

"Are you so sure that she would do that? How did she react the last time you died?"

Bruda looked at the floor, knowing she had a point. "So that chest...the gift...it was empty."

"But it wasn't. It contained an essence of my power, a component of what brought back Isabella. It made you remember her, the most painful memories coming back. So much feeling and pain...you practically brought her back to life yourself."

"I trusted you."

"Why? Maybe because, deep down, you could tell that I was just like you."

"Don't insult me." Bruda brandished his staff, the tip starting to light up in a blue fire. "We're not alike. Because I'm not going to let you do this." His magical energy poured at, firing in her direction. She hardly moved, instead waving her hand. A red wall appeared, shielding her against his attack. With an annoyed roll of her eyes, she pushed back with a grunt and the force knocked him over onto the floor, his staff rolling away. She looked down at it before picking it up. She stood over his body, the red energy around her lighting up her face.

"In some ways, maybe you're right. We're not completely alike. You're an old man, Bruda. You can't fight me. The only thing you can do is...join me. Look at you, lying there on the floor, so very feeble. Is that you've become? I expected more. You're weak. I'm giving you the opportunity to be great once again."

"Just get on with it and kill me."

Ustrina's eyes flashed in anger and she sneered. Gripping the staff, she pushed it in Isabella's direction, stopping just under her chin. "You'll do as I say or you'll never get to see your wife again."

"You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't sacrifice what you've accomplished." Despite knowing how she had come back, Bruda had to accept that Isabella was real and now he couldn't face losing her again after being reunited.

"I had the power to bring her back. I have the power to reverse that whenever I want. So you're going to listen to me."

He stood up slowly with his hands out in surrender. "...what do you want me to do?"

"For the time being, nothing. Act as though nothing has happened or changed. Daenerys...no one...needs to know about this. Isabella is just the first example of the happiness I can bring but the next moves are already in play."

xxxxxxxxxx

For the far North beyond the wall, it actually passed as a warm and pleasant day, with the sun out early and there being no sight of clouds for as far as Jon could see. His mood matched the weather, a smile on his face when he'd woken up. Tormund had snarled at him, asking why he was so 'bloody positive'. Jon didn't have an answer for him because he simply didn't know. He presumed that it had something to do with ignoring the numerous letters that kept arriving, either from King's Landing or Winterfell. The two central women in his life were vying for his attention and unwavering support; he had chosen to give such things to neither of them and it allowed him to sleep better at night. He was cut off from those problems, which proved to be no inconsequential when compared to other things. Hadn't they learnt during the war that there were more important things to worry about other than power? Living with the Free Folk, Jon could see firsthand how life could be stripped back to its bare minimum. You just had to focus on surviving, eating, and sometimes cleaning. He preferred it to the mess that was presumably going on on the other side of the Wall. Maybe, once they figured out why he was avoiding sending correspondence back to them, Daenerys and Sansa would come to realise that they needed to value a few things over than having everything. As far as he could tell, everything would be solved if Daenerys was happy with having six kingdoms under her name, instead of seven, and if Sansa was happy with having some support in her realm, compared to not having complete control. The wildlings had shown him how dangerous greed could be, even if it still affected them in different ways - he'd had to split up numerous fights since he'd become their leader because people wouldn't share food equally.

His chipper mood (he couldn't remember the last time he had been so irrationally happy - maybe he had been before he'd left for the wall the first time) may have also been down to the sight of Oslen as she sat with her legs tucked under her by the river closest to their colossal camp, if you could call it such - it was more an amalgamation of hundreds of smaller camps situated close to one another. Jon was walking through the small patch of tall trees that hid the flowing water from view, intending to wash himself in the freezing cold water. He'd grown used to the uncomfortable temperature but not so much as he'd fully submerge himself in it. Tormund had delighted in telling him a story of a man he'd seen swim naked in a river, the cold making his 'tiny poor todger' to fall off almost instantly. Jon hadn't been able to get that image out of his head for some time. As he came to the river bank, an area that was somehow quiet and peaceful with the noise from the camps shrouded by the forest, he spotted her washing a pile of clothes, unaware of his presence.

He kept telling himself to play it cool. He didn't need to make a big deal of him arriving. She may not have wanted to be disturbed. He should just get on with what he wanted to do and not make it weird. All she had done was speak to him, nothing else. It was called being friendly - there was no way that she would be attracted to him. He quietly glanced over at her but she was still focused on her task so he resolved himself to keep the silence intact. He crouched by the water, seeing a distorted reflection of his face. He looked dirty. He wondered how Eddard Stark would react to seeing him now. He'd probably be proud of how he'd made something of himself, become a part of something. Catelyn Stark would have been disgusted at his appearance if he'd been at Winterfell but she had been disgusted by him all of his life. He cupped his hands and brought a pool of water to his face, wincing loudly when it touched his skin. It was even colder than he'd expected. He'd been suitably loud enough to get Oslen's attention, who looked at him curiously but with a sly smirk.

"Is the Southern boy not used to the cold yet?" she shouted over, abandoning the pile of clothes as she stood up. "I could heat some up for you. Draw you a bath."

Jon sputtered, water droplets rolling down his face and getting caught in his wild beard. "I am! It's just...I thought I...saw something."

Oslen crooked a distrusting eyebrow. "Is that so? Well then, if you love the cold, why don't you get in? I promise not to look when you're stripped down."

He could feel a warmth spread over his cheeks at the thought of her seeing him naked. "I don't think I will."

She laughed. "Has Tormund told you that story about the frozen penis? Trust me, that story changes every time he tells it. I wouldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe anything he says really."

"Well, that's comforting to know."

"Still not going to get in?" She frowned when he shook his head. "Shame. I would have liked to see you dance around as soon as your big toe went in. You're smarter than you look."

"I'll...take that as a compliment," he remarked, fully aware that she was getting closer to him.

She was soon in front of him, her hands on her hips. "Do you want to see something?"

A multitude of scenarios entered his head at her words and he had to work hard to control himself. What could she possibly mean by that? He was hoping that it was what he was thinking. He concentrated on keeping his eyes firmly focused on her own mischievous gaze. "Depends on what you have to show me."

"I stumbled across it really. I couldn't believe that it was so close to where we set up the camp."

So it wasn't what he'd been thinking about. He managed to hide his disappointment. "How far away is this...mysterious and wondrous sight?"

Oslen took his hand in hers and began to lead him away, not waiting for him to agree to come with her. "Not very far. Come on, live a little. If you want to be like us, you have to do some exploring from time to time."

He wasn't too sure about this. It was possible that she was leading him to an even more secluded area so that she could kill him. For what reason, he didn't know but his brain wasn't working too logically. They carefully stepped across a path of large stones in the river, allowing them to reach the other side. She had laughed when he'd almost fallen in, recovering his balance just in time and attempting to play it off. She'd practically dragged him through another patch of forest, denser than the one he'd previously gone through. He kept asking where she was actually taking him but she would either dismiss his concerns with a laugh or ignore them completely, continuing to walk on in silence. Jon was fully aware that this untamed patch of land could easily hold a whole host of animals that they wouldn't want to come across. He'd had his fair share of wildcats in the past and he wasn't in a hurry to reconnect with them.

The trees eventually broke and thinned, revealing a scene of grassy loping hills stretching out ahead of them. That was when she let go of him, suitably sure that he wouldn't be able to get lost in the open expanse of land. That didn't stop him from complaining as he pointed out that her definition of 'not very far' was completely different to the one he knew. Yet he kept following her, which she addressed, telling him that he could leave whenever he wanted but he was choosing to stay with her. Was that because he'd come too far now not to see this sight or was he enjoying the way her hips swayed when she walked a little too much? They'd go up one hill, then down and up another. They repeated that pattern a number of times, much to Jon's annoyance. His legs were beginning to grow tired but he wasn't about to say that aloud since Oslen was looking to still have a lot of energy. Eventually, when he was starting to think about heading back, she paused as they reached the top of one of the hills, looking down into the valley below. Jon was perplexed. There didn't seem to be anything of extraordinary note. Like the hills they'd traversed over, it was covered in a dusting of snow with patches of green poking through. The one thing that stopped the monotony of the view was a tree, directly in the centre of the valley. And that was the thing that Oslen raced towards when she spotted it.

It was larger than he realised. Much larger. From the top of the hill, it looked like any other tree. But, as he got closer to it, he quickly saw how magnificent it truly was. It was a Direwood, its pale trunk blending in with the snow although he couldn't spot the usual face carved into the bark. It dwarfed any other he'd seen. He reckoned that at least four men could hug it with their arms stretched out at the same time and that he could walk across the largest branches as if it was the ground itself. No wonder Oslen had been so enamoured with it. It felt...alive. Like it was more than a tree. It crackled with an unseen energy. Maybe all trees possessed this quality but he'd never noticed. He felt sorry for it, abandoned in the wilderness. He'd never seen a true grow so remote, so far away from others.

"Wow," he breathed.

"As expressive as always," Oslen shot back with another smirk. She did that a lot, he thought.

"I wasn't expecting this."

"I hadn't expected you to expect it. I don't think anyone knows it's here. No one would travel this way because of how many hills there are. There's nothing around to forage for and even the greatest of hunters would struggle to find any animals around here."

"How come you found it then?" he wondered curiously.

"Luck, I suppose. I was bored. It was like it...called to me. I walked and I walked...and there it was."

"How many times have you been here?"

"Not a lot. It can get...too much."

He looked at her in concern. "How do you mean?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you what I thought." Why did she seem shy now?

"I've heard and seen a lot of things that I never would have believed growing up. I'm probably the one man who'll listen."

She appeared hesitant, looking back at the tree as she thought about what she should do. "There are many stories about the Children of the Forest. I'm sure you know who they were."

Jon thought back to Bran and the legend of the Night King. "My brother told me about them."

"Well, one tale claimed that their powers originated from one place, hidden away from most people. I think this is the spot. I believe that the Children first lived here, came into existence here, before they expanded. I probably sound like an idiot."

"No, no," he quickly reassured her. "It makes sense, I guess. They'd have to come from somewhere and this tree…"

"Doesn't feel like a normal tree, does it?"

"Exactly." He shared a look with her. "Do you think it's...magic?"

"I wouldn't know. I have no expertise in the topic. They said that magic died when the children and the last dragons did."

"Yet dragons fly in our skies and I've seen magic in person." Jon thought back to Bruda and the unbelievable things he'd done.

"Maybe magic survived then. Maybe because of this tree." They stared at the direwood for a moment, feeling its aura stretch out to touch them. It unnerved Jon slightly although Oslen continued to smile at its warmth.

"Maybe."