10

Chapter 10: Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Meera

After an entire damn day of riding they all had the opportunity to stop and rest. Meera's fatigue was not of exhaustion but because of her wound. The blood loss and pain combined took their toll on her. She passed out once but things were finally better. She had some ointment for her wound and stitches thanks to the Night's Watch. Even Leaf had done something with dried oak leaves that took some of the pain away.

The fire was warm and those not on watch duty basked in it. The cloaked rider had gone off on his horse as soon as they settled, announcing that he would return but that was hours ago. How long did he expect them to wait? And just who was that man? He wore a black cloak of the Night's Watch but didn't seem like one of them. That burning chain the man had was further proof for her suspicion.

All she cared to think about was lying still and enjoying the wonderful smell of the foxes cooking over the fire. Their pelts would make nice few pairs of gloves. Surprisingly the Children did not require such. They were cloakless, shoeless, they needed none of it.

"Hey," Edd called from across the fire, "how much longer will he be like that?" he pointed his dagger to Bran after biting off a piece of fox from the tip."

Before Meera could give a guess, Matthas had given a little kick to Bran's legs. "Oy! Wake up!"

Bran was jostled but his eyes didn't even flinch.

"Enough of that!" a gruff voice called followed by thumping hooves. The stranger returned from his hunt and had a nice doe over his lap. "Don't worry about him. He's alright."

"How do you know?" Meera asked, "And just who are you?"

The muffled chuckle came from the stranger as he jumped down and tossed the doe to his feet. "All in good time, little lady. Better to be said just once when he wakes." He stabbed the deer and began to skin it with fast precision. He didn't wear gloves, and his hands were a cold, pale blue color, but not the same as the White Walkers. Who was this.. creature?

Meera looked over to where Bran lay, motionless and almost like he wasn't even breathing. He told her some of the things he sees when he's like this, but what he was looking at now, she had no idea.

Summer had padded over the snow to his companion and rested next to him, laying his head on his chest with a calm look about his face and eyes looking at Meera, almost assuring her that things were alright.

Bran

Together, Bran and his older self, or has he now decided to call him, Bearded Bran, stood in a grand solar of a castle both of them never had the chance to see in their younger years for things one does for love.

They both walked over to a different side of a large bed where in the center of it lay the Bearded Bran, restless and covered in cold sweat that was somehow freezing into ice and frost.

Bearded Bran who was standing by, pulled the sleeve of his right arm up, revealing a blue mark of a handprint. "It began with this. In my time, I foolishly went into the sight alone and walked up to the Night King himself, only to realize that his power was not just of the cold. He could see me, he touched me." He covered the mark. "With his brand on me, the magic of the cave would no longer keep him out. Without the Night's Watch or a plan, we barely made it out alive. All of the Children, Summer, and Hodor died that night and I had everything poured into my mind at once. It took over my senses and destroyed every trace of who I used to be. But that was the better of it, if you could say. The worst didn't happen until after the Battle for the Dawn. My inaction brought the downfall of too many friends and family. In the end, I was chosen to become King. But what none of us realized was that the mark on my arm was more than just that, but a small piece of the Night King's essence lived in it. It took ten years for it to grow strong enough."

"To do what?" Bran asked and his older self didn't even need to tell, for it was happening at that very moment.

A tense groan emerged from the Bran in the bed and it was like he was being restrained. "Cold," he shivered through his teeth, "it's all cold." His eyes suddenly burst open at the same moment his skin began to grossly transform, the warmth vanishing completely and the flesh cracking and shriveling up, changing from pale into a blue that was cold just by the mere sight of it. "No!" He sucked in a breath as the effect creeped up his neck and just before it reached his lips, his eyes turned ghostly white and glowed out in a sudden burst of light. Then, he fell back limp as the effect continued, changing the color of his hair to white until he was completely transformed. And then the eyes opened, revealing the deathly blue of the Night King's eyes.

Bran had stepped back out of instinct and watched this new demon sit up and do what he could physically not. The Night King stood up on legs that shouldn't work just as the door to the room opened.

"Your grace," A woman's voice said, "is everything-" A tall, blonde woman wearing golden armor and carrying a golden sword at her hip froze when she met the eyes of the Night King. She hesitated to react, either from the shock or the realization of who and what had happened. Such was her downfall. The new Night King had moved fast and her sword was only drawn out halfway when one hand stopped the blade from freedom and the other grasped at the lady knight's throat and in an instant a crack sounded throughout the room and the woman fell down dead. But the Night King's grip remained on the sword hand and a few seconds later, the body twitched. Those lifeless eyes started to glow blue and the knight stood up with a blank expression on her face.

No words were exchanged and the lady knight set off with her sword drawn out of the room. The memory began to fade and suddenly the cries of thousands of people surrounded everywhere like echoing whispers.

Immediately, the two of them were standing atop the highest tower of the Red Keep, overlooking the entire city as the screams erupted from every part of it and every now and then there was a sighting of a blue glow of dead eyes looking back at the castle.

Bearded Bran brought them out of this vision to somewhere Bran did not know, a hillside that overlooked a great grass valley next to a river. There were two opposing forces charging at each other.

"The southern armies answered as fast as they could when word spread, but by then," and second look of the two opposing forces, the living were only a few thousand knights on horseback against a massive force of over twenty thousand but from this position on the field, the living would not be able to tell what numbers they were facing. There was no battle that ensued, only a massacre. Only at the absolute end when it was guaranteed which force would win did the living retreat how they could. Maybe two hundred escaped while the rest were butchered beyond humanity and eventually stood back up from where they all fell as new recruits. "The wars and instability left us few, hurting… and vulnerable."

Bran could only watch in horror of it all transpiring before his eyes. "It started with one," he muttered to himself, "and now it goes on with thousands."

"From sickness, to ideas, and everything else," Bearded Bran added as he placed a hand on Bran's shoulder, taking them from the field to a place he knew well. Winterfell. They stood on the rooftops at the eve of twilight, though Bran could only barely tell because there was still just a scar of sky left before storm clouds covered it up and darkness fell upon the land. "Winterfell had been the first to defend the realms of men when the Night King returned. And now, it would be the last."

The army that manned the castle and stood in formation outside the walls was large, but not the height of the North's strength. And it was barely visible, but Bran could discern southern banners atop poles. "This is all of it," Bran exhaled, "all the remaining might of Westeros."

"The Seven Kingdoms," Bearded Bran said, causing Bran to look at him, "or are you forgetting that there are those who dwell in the lands north of the Wall?"

When Bran looked back, the battle had been halfway fought and the outside forces were all dead, only those garrisoning the castle with the protection of the high walls delaying the inevitable.

Or so Bran thought.

A mighty roar erupted through the sounds of battle and death and from the darkness of the sky, a barely visible silhouette of a gargantuan creature swooped down and unleashed a torrent of fire on the field of undead soldiers, burning them all into ash and buying time.

A black dragon bigger than any creature alive had entered the battle and someone was riding on the back of it. Could it be the Targaryen Queen?

But the sudden rupture of flames gave enough light for Bran to see just how bad the battle was. Winterfell only had several thousand while what had to be over a million soldiers of the dead were swarming the castle.

Another burst of dragonfire trailing half a mile across the dead created a wall that burned brightly and hot, impassable to the soldiers who would stop at nothing to kill all.

The black dragon swooped over the castle and landed on a tower and all eyes for one split second looked at the rider. It was not the Targaryen Queen, it was a man. But could it be… Jon?

"Sansa!" Jon called angrily from the top of the dragon, "fall back! Retreat to the Wall, now!" Without waiting for a response, the dragon took to the skies again and resumed burning all that it could.

"Jon," Bran breathed, "atop a dragon?"

"You'll understand soon," said Bearded Bran.

Time shifted faster and eventually Winterfell was overrun. Even with hundreds of the living still inside, there was no more that could be saved. The last act the dragon did in this battle was dive down at the castle and unleash all the fire it could on the stone and both the living and dead within.

When the flames swept over Bran and Bearded Bran, they were brought to the courtyard but it was morning now, with very little light but enough that they could witness the aftermath of damage.

Bran walked among what was there in utter silence with his mouth agape in shock. There were no bodies among them, only ash and snow. The great castle of Winterfell was destroyed more thoroughly than it had been after Theon had left. The Great Keep looked like a giant candle of stone that had melted. Winterfell was less than a carcass of what it had been.

More of a broken skeleton.

"Before Robert died, Westeros had thirty million. And after the Dragon Queen perished, the famines and petty skirmishes brought us down to eighteen by the day the Night King returned. And now, less than twenty-thousand remain."

Bran knelt down and tried to sift his hands through the ground but he simply passed through it all. His hand clenched into a white knuckle fist and the surroundings transformed into a place that still had clear skies and green grass.

"I wanted to save Hodor from his fate… there were no hinges, no bar to hold the door, only him when I escaped. I don't know why or how the Night King's power has grown." he looked at Bran somberly. "We can't save them all, Bran."

Atop a hillside in front of the mighty black Dragon was Jon, both creature and man looking down at all who managed to escape. "There is only one place we can go," Jon told them all in an authoritative voice, "one place we can hide. And it is only when we get there can we find out what we do from here. Because I don't know. What I do know is that we have more time than we deserve."

The dragon, Jon, and all the people faded into dust leaving Bran alone with his older self.

"It took an entire year, '' Bearded Bran said, "before we finally discovered what it was we could do to survive, to fix what we had done." He looked up to the sky which was not real. "But that shall be for another time. You shouldn't go without food, Bran." he suddenly did what looked like a smirk. "I think I envy you, Bran. You are what I couldn't be."

"What do you mean? I'm not the Three-Eyed Raven yet, am I?"

"No, not yet. And that's the point. You are Brandon Stark still. I am not. I lost so much because of what I am."

And echo of a memory that wasn't Bran's whispered all around.

'My brother died for you,' came Meera's voice, and suddenly the two of them were in a room back in Winterfell, standing by the window. Meera was at the door, looking on the verge of tears and Bran was in a chair looking… like nothing. There was only a vacant expression on his face. 'Hodor and Summer died for you. I almost died for you,' there were sniffles of tears and the last words were the most sad. 'You died in that cave.' She sounded hurt from betrayal of all things and it made Bran feel terrible to hear this.

"I won't become that… you." Bran stated. "When we return to Winterfell, I'll do everything I must when I'm lord again-"

"You can't be Lord of Winterfell anymore, or Lord of anything. King of nothing. You must only be the Three-Eyed Raven."

He was forced out of the sight and back into reality. He took a slow, deep breath as he came to his surroundings. Summer's head was on his chest, there was a warm fire, and food. Delicious smelling meat was cooked. He looked to his right and found Meera's body lying close to his with a hand over a dagger and the other arm under her head, resting peacefully.

He sighed out in relief at the sight. The way he saw how she was in Winterfell, that sadness and grief she was fighting back. It was heartbreaking for him to watch as much as it was for her to experience. How he could have ever been such a dense idiot like that, it made him angry. But being here, in the present instead of that foolish future, he was glad and happy he wouldn't make the same mistake. He couldn't lose his best friend like that, someone who had been his protector better than many others in his life, soldiers, family, friends. She was the one he trusted the greatest with his life.

"Ah, you're back."

Bran looked to his left and saw a dark-clad stranger cut up thick strips of meat and gave them to the Night's Watch. Summer and Meera both stirred, Summer looking at the stranger but Meera looking at him.

"Where are we?" Bran asked.

"Safe," the stranger said without looking at him.

Glancing around, Bran had full sight of just about everyone except for a few. Hugh, Balian, and two of the Children "Did anyone else make it?"

"No," the stranger replied as he cut a very generous strip of venison and handed it off to Bran. "What you see is all that remains, and you're damn lucky. The Night's Watch has never been able to leave with so many alive after an encounter with the dead."

Eddison Tollet looked at the stranger from where he sat across the fire. "We survived the Fist with a hundred men."

"And how many of them made it back to the Wall? Twenty? Not even that much?"

"Who are you?" Bran asked, his curiosity overpowering his hunger for the meat in his hands.

The stranger paused and looked at him. There was a pale blue skin underneath the hood he could barely see, almost the same as the White Walkers but different. He pulled the hood off and then the covering over his face.

Bran almost lost his breath. He saw the deathly features before the familiar ones. "Uncle Benjen," he breathed and Eddison sat up.

"Benjen?!" Eddison almost exclaimed.

"Aye, former First Ranger," Benjen resumed cutting the meat. "Still dolorous, Edd?"

"Heh," Eddison chuckled nervously, "last we heard you went missing."

"Aye. We were following the tracks of the White Walkers, except they found us first. Othor and Jafers fell first, then a Walker stabbed me in the gut and left me to die with them. But then the Children found me and kept me from turning into one of them," he looked out beyond the trees to the north where their pursuit had been.

"How?" Meera asked.

"Same way they made the Night King."

"Dragonglass," Bran said, "a shard of dragonglass through your heart."

"And now I'm neither alive nor dead. Comes with its advantages," he said holding up his blue hand which was gloveless, "I've never felt cold ever since. But neither have I felt the warmth."

Bran finally took a bite from his venison and it tasted like he never had meat before. The juice, the cooked flesh, such savory flavor. If only he had a bit of salt, maybe some of the duck fat gravy he used to have when he was a boy. The provisions the Night's Watch had were dry for preservation, not fresh like this. A couple of years living on moss was worth rediscovering a taste like this.

"Tell me something," Uncle Benjen started, "The Three-Eyed Raven told me there was another now, but he couldn't explain it to me before the dead found you. I've yet to meet this one, but I suppose I already did when the elk found me."

"It's hard to explain," Bran started, not sure if he should tell, "but I'm not alone and I'm not the Three-Eyed Raven yet. I don't think I want to be."

"We must do what we must. This new Raven, is there anything you can tell me about him?"

Bran didn't respond immediately, trying to think what was best to say and what he should keep to himself.

"I see," Benjen stood up and walked over to Bran, "we're going to have a little chat, alone." With strong arms, Uncle Benjen pulled Bran from where he lay and carried him from the warmth of the fire.

"Wait," Meera almost tried to get up after him.

"We'll be fine," Benjen assured her, "you can rest." He carried onward into the trees, not far, the camp was still in sight, but far enough that words exchanged would not be discernible. To Bran's surprise, Summer did not follow, instead his direwolf stayed by Meera's side. Benjen set Bran down against the trunk of a large oak tree. "So what can you tell me that you shouldn't tell the others?" Benjen asked as he sat down in front of Bran, smiling comfortingly like he used to remember.

Bran sighed, trying to find the best way to put this. Then he realized, there wasn't really one. "He doesn't have a physical form anymore. He's forever in the Sight and has been showing me things I could never believe."

"The latter sounds about right. I don't know too much about the sight, but it's hard to think of someone living on without a body. It seems to me like you have faith in this new teacher of yours, and that's good. It's what we need."

"It would be hard not to believe him." A lump formed in Bran's throat, trying to block him from saying what he knew because even he had to admit to himself that speaking this was going to sound mad and impossible. "It's me."

Benjen looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean my new teacher is me… but a different me, older, thirteen years older." Already his words made him frustrated. How could anyone believe this? "He told me that the way things went in the future were catastrophic. He showed me that we won a battle but lost the war. He showed me how I… how I died. I became a new Night King."

Benjen, for the first time since reuniting with him, looked absolutely breathless and terrified. "What else?"

"The last of humanity fled out here, north of the Wall. Jon was the one leading them. He was on a dragon too."

Benjen looked at Bran and out of all reactions, smirked. "Figures he would be."

"What?" Bran asked, now confused. "What do you mean by that?

"You'll find out. The Three-Eyed Raven told me you were almost ready. I'd say the next weirwood you find, you should finally take a look at what my brother found all those years ago in Dorne."

"Why can't you just tell me if you know?" Bran asked.

"Because you have the chance to see it for yourself in person. Sometimes things can't be put into words to do them justice. Trust me. I wish I could have seen it for myself."

Benjen picked Bran back up and brought him back to the campsite, Benjen returning to cutting the meat and Bran keeping silent. Uncle Benjen cut off another big piece of Venison and brought it over to Meera. "I'll take the watch, you can sleep now."

Bran's sleep was a restless one, it didn't feel like he was able to get any rest. Blinking in and out of it, images would shift every time he opened his eyes. The fire had transformed from a small gathering of flames, to glowing embers, to replenished. The night had darkened more and more until the tiniest bit of brightness came through.

The last time he woke up, he felt warmer. Summer had adjusted himself to be right up next to Bran on his left and Meera had sidled up on his right.

The next few days were a fast paced travel. They were lucky to have elk for steeds. The journey to the Wall was cut in half thanks to the added speed of the animals. Were Meera not in a fragile state, they could have gone much faster but they would take what they got without complaint.

Finally, the enormous looming structure of ice came into view. The party had stopped at the heart tree used by the men of Castle Black to induct members who followed the old gods. They had gone unnoticed since no horn had blown.

"Set the elk free," Benjen said, "They deserved to live out their days while they still can."

Reluctantly, the men of the Night's Watch collected their belongings and watched as the large elk took off back into the forest where they came.

"All that meat," Matthas sighed, "Hobb would have enough for venison stew for months."

"I'll make sure good supplies are sent when I return to Winterfell," Bran announced. He looked over to Benjen who was dismounted and gazing up at the tops of the Wall from under the weirwood.

"There's powerful magic carved into the foundations of the Wall. It's what's kept the Night King from crossing for so long."

"Do they still work?" Bran asked. "There was magic that kept them out of the cave but then it didn't."

Benjen turned to him, stunned and concerned. "What do you mean it didn't?"

Bran felt he should mention what Bearded Bran had told him. "The new Raven told me if the Night King touched you then he leaves a mark, and if the mark is across the barrier then he can finally enter. But none of us are marked, so how did he cross?"

"I… I don't know." Benjen admitted. "That's a question for your teacher, Bran." He walked over to his horse and looked ready to depart.

"Can't you come with us?" Bran asked.

"The same magic keeps me from crossing too. I'd rather not find out if it works or not at the cost of collapsing. I have my last duty to do as long as I can."

"What duty? Where are you going?"

Benjen mounted his steed and pulled the hood back over his head. "War is coming Bran, and the fewer monsters there are to march on the Wall, the better. I'll hunt them until there's not a breath left in me."

He rode his horse over to Bran and reached a cold hand down that Bran took softly. "Be strong, nephew. Tell the rest of our family I miss them." The cold fingers slipped and Uncle Benjen spurred his horse into a gallop after the elk.

Once Uncle Benjen was out of sight, Bran turned his eyes to the weirwood and crawled over to it.

"Bran," Meera said, "are you sure about this?"

"I have to be ready," Bran told her, "I need to become the Three-Eyed Raven." But with his older self's help, he could do it the right way. He placed his palm below the mouth of the heart tree and was taken into the sight.

He was back at the Tower of Joy, watching his father pause as he ran up the steps. There was no echo of Bran's voice, just the wind that stopped Ned Stark. But could it really have just been that?

Bran followed his father up the tower into a room where his aunt Lyanna lay dying in a bed of blood stained sheets. It was the first time he ever saw his aunt in person. She was beautiful, just how his father described.

After some words were exchanged, Lyanna began whispering things to her brother. "His name… is Aegon Targaryen…" Bran was too stunned to notice the rest of the words, only the soft cries of a babe took his attention to the nursemaid who gave a small bundle to Ned. Wrapped in a blanket was a little newborn baby.

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna breathed and cried, "Promise me…"

Bran's father shed a tear that fell on the cheek of the babe as Lyanna's life passed from her body. Bran kept his eyes on the babe, almost like they were both looking at each other. Bran blinked, and suddenly he was standing face to face with his half brother, Jon, fully grown and looking out from the battlements of a castle flying the banner of House Tully, Riverrun. He didn't know how, but he knew that this was not a memory, but a vision of today but thousands of miles away.

Jon was Aegon Targaryen, Lyanna's son.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Bearded Bran suddenly spoke from behind Bran. startling him. "This great secret that Ned Stark kept for so long. If only we knew how much it would tear us all apart. How we would let it tear us apart."

Bran circled Jon, like he was taking in this new man he saw before him. His cousin, Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to House Targaryen and the Iron Throne. He almost had the urge to laugh but it only brought a smirk to his lips because of thinking what his mother would think of this were she alive. "Incredible."

Jon cocked his head a hair in Bran's direction, almost like he heard what was just spoken.

"Lord Targaryen," a man in Tully armor approached Jon, "Lord Umber's sent word. He and his men have sacked the garrison of Frey soldiers hiding in the woods."

"Good. Any prisoners?"

"None."

"Very well. Send a response that he is to weed out the last garrison hiding to the east near the burned hamlets. Then once that is done, he's to meet us at the Crossroads Inn."

Lord Targaryen. Bran noticed how Jon flinched just a little at the sound of that. But he went still when two others came into sight, both of whom he had not seen in a long time. His Uncle Edmure was so old looking now, he almost didn't recognize him. But his sister Sansa had barely changed at all. She was a girl last he saw her but now she was a woman, a tall woman too, standing a couple inches taller than Jon even. She carried herself with much stature and her eyes had the glint of fierce purpose behind them but at the same time she had this gentle nature about her too.

Bran found himself looking deeper into his sister's eyes and suddenly he was in a memory. He was inside Witnerfell and it was night, Sansa was sitting at a desk with a scroll in her hands. She looked different than how he just saw her. There was this air about her that was cold and almost menacing. He turned around and looked at Bearded Bran who walked up from behind.

"This isn't a memory of your time, Bran. This is from mine. A time before Jon, Sansa, or anyone except myself knew the truth of Jon's birth. If we had found out at a better time, maybe things could have been easier for us, things could have worked how we wanted them to."

At that moment, in walked Jon wearing dark armor and a gorget bearing two direwolves on it. He looked tired too.

"When exactly is this?" Bran asked.

"Less than a week before the Night King's arrival. Allies have gathered, alliances are being fulfilled, and promises are being broken."

Bran turned his head when he thought he heard the words 'King in the North' said from Jon's mouth. he was taken aback. King in the North? Jon became King of the North when he was still a Snow? That was impressive but from the sounds of it, it was no longer his title. "Jon was King in the North?" Bran asked.

"Every Lord of the North raised their sword and declared him such. But then he did what was needed instead of what they wanted."

"You didn't tell me you were going to abandon your crown." Sansa's words broke through Bran's attention. She didn't even look at Jon when she said that. Was this that important to her?

"I never wanted a crown. All I wanted was to protect the North." Jon spoke fiercely. "I brought two armies home with me, two dragons-"

Sansa finally turned to face him. "And a Targaryen queen."

It was clear Sansa was furious but couldn't the sense of it all be any clearer? Bran had seen just how many soldiers marched for the Night King and even if the North had the numbers it once did before Robb went to war, it still wouldn't have been enough.

For an instant, Bran didn't recognize his sister. Some parts he could but not in the right way. Growing up, Sansa always had the average child's ambition to be the best at what she did best but this was in a far greater desire than what someone her age might have. And then there were the things Sansa had that other kids rarely did, being kind to others and sweet. But it was all gone. She appeared so… severe. Bitter. Greedy, yet not of money or comfort.

Lust for power. The same as every loathsome player in the game of thrones he had seen over the greensight. From what the Three-Eyed Raven showed him in the tree, from what his own self showed him.

His darling sister with her innocent dreams and carefree attitude was gone, replaced by… by…

"Cersei Lannister with red hair," Bearded Bran finished his thought for him.

Cersei Lannister… considering all the things he had seen, though they were not many, that was a heavy comparison and this scene before him was unfortunately proving his older self more right by the second.

"Do you think we can beat the Army of the Dead without her?" As Jon spoke on, Sansa continued to show her annoyance and irritation. "I fought them, Sansa. Twice. You want to worry about who holds what title, I'm telling you it doesn't matter. Without her, we don't stand a chance!" Jon stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Do you have any faith in me at all?"

Sansa finally softened and it looked as though she would start to smile. "You know I do."

"She'll be a good queen. For all of us. She's not her father."

Sansa stiffened once again and the chance for her smile died. "No, she's much prettier." Jon thought she was making humor, but she didn't appreciate that. "Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?" Her eyes flashed coldly at Jon. She looked at him as though an enemy stood before her.

"Did he?" Bran asked. "Bow because he loved her or for the North?"

His older self looked at him blankly. "Yes."

The room and everything faded away, faded back to Riverrun.

Sansa had once again transformed into how she was now, instead of what she will… could be. The old, carefree Sansa was still gone, but this replacement was clearly not the same person as that mysterious stranger to him. She had this light about her and a look of adoration, respect and trust to Jon now, almost resembling what he saw their mother give to their father. Bran didn't like what he saw in that memory of his other self. "What turned her like that?" He asked. "Does she not understand how terrible this war will be on the world?"

Bearded Bran didn't make any notion for an answer, he simply spoke his mind. "Power is power. Only a few can resist the taste of it and the desire for more. We will always want more, convince ourselves that we need it, that we deserve it." His older self shrugged. "Only those around us that truly care can help a person resist the temptations, but when you shut them out…" He trailed off, cryptic as always.

"Lord Tully," Jon greeted, "good to see you where you rightfully belong."

"I'm glad I don't need to worry about the banners changing again. The Freys polluted my family's home for too long. Cleaning their mess will be much work. But I am ready to fight as well. The Lannisters are still pulling back. But if we gather our forces, we can strike-"

"No," Sansa cut in, "you've only just returned. Settle down, gather your strength, your people, and your home together before you act. A rash decision like that can lose everything you just regained."

Edmure cleared his throat. "Yes, that is a wiser move, niece. I almost thought my sister was standing with me again."

Sansa smiled half at the remark.

"Can we count on your support when the time does come?" Jon asked.

"Of course. I never thought I'd ever say this, but House Tully will back House Targaryen and House Stark when they send the call. You have my word."

Jon gave a curt nod and went off on his own, leaving Sansa alone with Edmure.

"Are you sure about him?" Edmure asked once Jon was out of sight.

"Why do you ask?" replied Sansa.

Uncle Edmure appeared as though the answer should have been obvious. "Most of his life was spent thinking he was your father's bastard and a constant shame on my sister and our House. He's supposedly a Targaryen… don't you think he may be holding a grudge still if he thinks your mother was in the wrong to think of him as such?" He looked at her with a firm stance. "If you notice he turns against you or shows a single hint of being just like his grandfather, let me know as soon as you can. I will stand with you."

"He's not his grandfather," Sansa said calmly but with a certain edge in her eyes. "And I expect you to retain the loyalty you promised us."

Edmure's mouth mushed into itself as if he tried to say several things at once except only a strange mumble escaped from his lips and he was stunned by it.

"I'll take that as a yes, uncle. You'd find me not as tame or naive as Robb was if that was a no." She walked past their uncle with determination stricken on her face.

Bran came back from the sight and gasped as he fell from the weirwood.

Meera quickly picked him from falling any further than he did. "Are you alright?" She seethed.

"I'm fine," Bran gasped, "but you shouldn't strain yourself, Meera. I can manage while you get better. Alright?"

Meera smiled reluctantly. "Alright-"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Matthas grumbled from where he sat, "would you two just fuck already? I'm freezing my ass off waiting." the way his voice carried in the forest, it was like many people were saying it.

Bran and Meera looked at him angrily and spoke at the same time. "We're not-" They looked at each other with a bit of red in their faces and scooted a small distance apart.

Edd growled at him. "You don't have to wait, you idiot! Go to the bloody gate and get someone out here if you're bored."

Matthas got to his feet and marched for the Wall, not caring if the others were behind him.

Leaf and Edd gathered Bran and Meera and followed after Matthas and they finally broke through the trees into the open and view of the Wall.

The whispering winds were broken by the echo of a single horn blast from atop the Wall, like the call of an animal in the distance.

The journey to the gate was somewhat suspenseful. This was the first official moment that Bran would no longer be hiding away, his return to the world he used to know. Even though he saw much through the power of the sight, he was nervous to see in person how much had changed.

The iron gates cranked up and a grouping of torches broke through the darkness of the tunnel and five men in black walked out from under the gate's teeth.

"Edd!" One of them called out, "bout time you bloody got back…" all eyes fell upon either Summer or the Children.

"Hugh and Balian?" another man asked.

"Dead." Eddison said bluntly. "But we're alive and with guests." He gestured a hand to Bran and Meera. "This is Brandon Stark and Meera Reed. And these ladies are… the Children of the Forest."

Bran noticed that all the remaining Children had narrowed eyes at the men of the Watch. Leaf stepped forward. "How pitiful to see what the Night's Watch has become. The noblest of callings, reduced to this."

Eddison cleared his throat. "Well then, let's get inside already. We have much to report."