High Heart

A high bald hill ringed by weirwood stumps, holy to the children of the forest — and said to be haunted still.

The fuller tale

High Heart is a bald, wind-scoured hill in the heart of the riverlands, ringed by the stumps of weirwoods the Andals cut down in an older, uglier age of conquest — a wound in the landscape that has never quite healed over, and a place the smallfolk still route their wagons well around after dark. It was sacred to the children of the forest and to the First Men who came after them, and whatever exactly haunts it now, the local conviction that something does has outlasted every King's Landing century since the trees themselves were felled. In Dunk and Egg’s era it remains simply what it has always been to travelers on the roads nearby: a landmark best admired from a comfortable distance, and crossed, if at all, well before sundown.

The fallen of this place — if any, they are named here. Spoilers.

No death the chronicle records has come to this ground — or none the maesters have set down.