When Bran's dream ended, Garon's consciousness silently returned to the Weirwood.
The Three-Eyed Crow that had been perched on the Weirwood had long since flown away.
Beneath the night sky, Winterfell had grown noisy again now that Bran was awake.
But Garon had no time to concern himself with any of that.
His consciousness broke free of Winterfell's Godswood and returned to the Weirwood at Deepwood Motte.
Thinking of the Three-Eyed Crow's prophecy to Bran in the dream, Garon couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "Help me? I'm the hope of this world?"
Reality felt as absurd as if, in his previous life, he'd been an orphan, only for a butler to suddenly show up and tell him he was the sole heir to a trillion-dollar company.
Garon had never thought he would become the hope of this world.
Ever since he had crossed over, his goal had always been clear—
A man should stand tall between heaven and earth. How could he remain forever beneath others?
Garon only wanted to lead the North's cavalry, seize the Iron Throne that symbolized power, and carve out a vast realm for himself.
If he lived a second life only to achieve nothing, how would he be any different from rotten wood or decaying grass?
That was what he thought, and that was what he did.
But reality always seemed to come up with some new twist!
"I'd planned to keep my distance from the conflict between R'hllor and the Great Other for now, but now even the Old Gods are involved."
"They've even dragged me into it. I doubt they'll let me walk away, even if I want to."
"Damn it, what are all these gods trying to do?"
Garon looked north. His original plan had been to become king before the