The God of Cold and the Night King

The dark clouds slowly parted, and moonlight spilled across the earth.

The black flames died out, leaving the weirwood tree charred black.

Rhaegar stood on top of the Children of the Forest, slightly raising Blackfyre. "Who are you, and why did you lead me here?"

He'd been woken in the middle of the night, and he was in a foul mood.

The Children of the Forest looked at him timidly and whispered, "You may be the prince foretold in the prophecy. You should receive guidance from the Heart Tree."

"The Heart Tree?"

Rhaegar muttered to himself and glanced at the charred weirwood tree.

With skills like that, it expected to win his faith?

The Children of the Forest were humanoid creatures from legend, and they certainly had an air of mystery about them.

But in the end, they'd been defeated by the First Men, who wielded bronze weapons.

And the First Men had then been defeated by the Andals, who wielded iron.

At last, the Dragonlords of Valyria drove out the Andals, claiming their rightful place at the top of the Food Chain.

Rhaegar gave the Children of the Forest a strange look. "You're a little too weak."

They were weaker than he'd imagined, utterly helpless.

"We wield magic. We don't need bodies like those of stupid giants."

The Children of the Forest spoke in a shrill voice, gesturing wildly as they argued.

Rhaegar said nothing, his expression growing stranger by the moment.

The Children of the Forest beneath his feet were short and frail, but judging by their features and the bandeau across their chest, they were clearly female.

Chestnut curls, green eyes, and big, round ears.

They didn't look nearly as legendary as the Children of the Forest described in the history books.

"History made real is always