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There was a silence in Driysa's soul, a ghost-like whisper replacing her usual strong stance. She could feel the harsh wind more keenly in her eyes; it was a tearless state that suspended her feelings within her so she could feel everything and nothing all at once. She kept her fingers wrapped around Bran's hand, feeling comfort in his cold fingers. He had to keep offering her smiles, meant to reassure, but Driysa could only keep replaying each final moments like one of Bran's picture books. The final time she looked back at her shamble of a house, the moment when she realised Jojen was no longer going to act as a mediator between her and the rest of the group, the moment she noticed Summer had disappeared from beside her, the moment Hodor had taken her place in front of the door and let her escape the cruel grasp of death yet again. She was expected to keep going, to push away her own thoughts and put her all into protecting the diminishing group, she knew that's what her role was. Her mind was no friend of hers, though, and she couldn't shake a horrendous feeling of guilt. That she should've died. She should've stayed with her family and died by the blade of a Night Walker protecting them, she should've stayed with Jojen and given her life for his, she should've stayed holding the door and let Hodor go on. She should've done a lot of things.
She'd managed to evade death too many times, the selfish child she was, and now she had to face the consequences of living. She had to stop trying to grieve and do what she had to for Bran. Doing things for Bran was never easy though. Meera was better at understanding the more complex aspects that came with travelling with Bran, never once questioning the magic he possessed - or possessed him. Meera was quicker at accepting the help of the thing that was eerily similar to what had killed her brother. Fear still sat in her, growing bigger like a crackling fire, at the presence of the decaying corpse that led them through the forests of the North. Her mind was screaming at her to attack it, to pin it down and stab its icy blue eyes flickered out, or to grab her friends and run as far as her legs could take her. Bran said he trusted the man though, that he was his Uncle, and that he was different. So Driysa had to fight against her most basic survival instincts and to follow the corpse blindly because it was what Bran wanted.
Driysa couldn't do it like Meera, keeping her left-hand gripping her spear strong enough to whiten her knuckles as she stayed close to Bran while her eyes darted around for any sign of the dead, trying her best not to jump when her mind played tricks on her. The trees were more comforting here, blossoming under the icy touch of the North much unlike the trees in the barren wastes they'd escaped from that were all identical to the things found in there - dead and a skeleton of their normal selves. She took comfort and apprehension in knowing exactly where she was. her family was not so far, she was certain she could find her way back to them. The only thing that stopped her was the fear she'd arrive to bloodied bodies strewn around her home, and Bran's hand firmly in her own.
"This is where I leave you," The corpse kept his eyes on the domineering wall ahead of them. Driysa had never travelled south of the wall, it had been something she'd imagined as a babe. She'd imagined how she'd arrive at some kneelers castle and assume the role of the leader due to her skills alone and lead siege to all other things, allowing her kind to live there instead. It had been a nice dream of a young child who knew nothing of the world.
"You're not coming with us?" Meera asked.
Driysa kept her eyes on the Wall. She had an uncle who had tried to scale it. She remembered vividly her father returning home with little emotion, he had died from the fall a much better death than falling to the sword of a crow. She also remembered seeing her dad cry for the first and only time when she'd woken up from a nightmare and seen him by the fire. That was the night she'd become his favourite, as her tiny arms wrapped around his and sat in silence. She wondered if he cried the night he found her missing and if his new son had hugged him the same as her.
"The Wall is not just ice and stone. Ancient spells were carved into its foundations. Strong magic to protect men from what lies beyond. And while it stands, the dead cannot pass," Benjen turned away from the wall, and his longing expression disappeared, " I cannot pass."
Driysa let out a small sigh of happiness, feeling the pressure that had pinned her down alleviate from her heart. All she'd hoped was to find a place free of the White Walkers but she'd never imagined she'd live to see the day she could pass by the Wall to that freedom. Perhaps she could get used to living under the rule of some cowardly king if it promised her life away from the fear of the White Walkers.
Benjen moved closer to Bran, causing Driysa to absentmindedly inch closer also as Bran's fingers escaped her grasp. She let out a weary sigh, slowly following after the two as he placed Bran down near a Weirwood tree.
"What about you, what are you going to do?" Driysa asked, kneeling beside Bran.
"The Great War is coming, I'll fight for the living for as long as I can,"
"Thank you Uncle Benjen,"
"I wish you all good fortune," With that Benjen trotted off in the direction they had just come.
Driysa kept her eyes on him for as long as she could, watching him shrink before disappearing into the forests behind them. She wondered if such a thing happened to all newly made wights, was there a period where they were still half-human, where their heart still beat like a human's only much slower? Or was he gifted with a similar type of magic Bran possessed? She hoped she wouldn't have to meet many of Bran's other family members, certain they'd be as bizarre if not more.
A rustling caught Driysa's attention, snapping her thoughts back to Bran as she watched him struggle to move closer to the Weirwood tree. Once again fear found her, attacking every thought she had with irrationality and trepidation for what could go wrong. She stared at Bran, pleading in her eyes, as he only returned a look of absolute resolution. As Bran reached the face of the tree, Driysa pulled his arm back letting fear control her.
"Don't," Drisya pleaded, "Can't we just leave it all behind?"
Driysa never pretended to understand what kind of magic was used by the old man or the children of the forest, all she knew was it was the same magic that created the White Walkers and had brought the Night King to the cave. She wasn't sure if she could ever trust magic, it was too wild and unpredictable for her, but she knew that, no matter what, she would try and keep Bran safe. She couldn't help but be terrified that Bran's magic would put him in danger, that the one thing she couldn't fight would be his demise.
"I'm the Three-eyed Raven now, I have to do this," Bran smiled softly, intertwining his fingers in Driysa's before reaching for the tree once with his free hand once again.
