31

Summary:

The journey to Castle Black with Robb and Bran.

Notes:

Oof, over three months… Sorry. Set up chapters like this are a lot less fun to write. Robb's part kinda just bogged me down.

Edits: Random spelling and grammar mistakes across some chapters. Fixed two mentions of Ghost being the runt of the litter as that is not the case in canon(books). I also changed the cause of the scar on Jon's hand mentioned in chapters 14 and 23 from being from the lantern glass to being the burning curtain, this means he was burned as Targaryens are not actually immune to fire.

Notice: If you need to re-familiarize yourself with the OCs or any of the other background details of this story, there is now an appendix for helpful reference. The only spoilers are some far off pairings.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Robb:

Long Lake was aptly named; from the northern bank one could not see the headwaters of the White Knife. Slender and lanky, the lake spanned over fifty leagues, half the length of the Wall. It had taken them three days to travel up the kingsroad to where the glacier melts of the Northern Mountains fed the basin.

The first two nights had been easy, they'd stowed inside worn inns. Their travel had been quicker then too, crossing farmland and sprawling plains along the well traversed path of the kingsroad. From the moment they breached the wolfswood, their progress slowed which was all the better for their horses, especially Obara Sand's steed.

Oberyn Martell's daughter pushed her mount as if she was being chased, perhaps by the chilling wind which snaked over the North. Robb might have felt pity for the Dornishwoman if she did not bleed her mare needlessly in her haste. He admired Rhaenys for confiscating the woman's spurs in the dim of night.

It was almost amusing to watch the Southern half of the group suffer. By noon, the air was pleasant enough for Robb to enjoy the breeze but they shivered constantly day and night. Even the Northmen had lost most of their innate resistance and complained of shriveled balls and inverted cocks after washing in the lake.

Traveling through the wolfswood proved quiet, mostly. Distant howls of wolf packs drew replies from Greywind and Summer, the lighter coated wolves only rose their heads in alert. Wolves were not the only ones howling, Theo barked japes and laughed like thunder, and Val…was best ignored.

Safe under the shadows of the dense thicket, Jon brought Frostfyre out of its satchel. He resumed training the dragon to take flight, Rhaenys had joined this task when his brother had seen her longing looks at the dragon.

The direwolves had taken better to the dragons than Robb had expected. Though once Ghost had returned the squirming dragon to Jon with the scaled beast's long neck in its maw. Other times, the two creatures fought, the reptile took to biting the wolf's tail whenever presented the opportunity and dueled for attention from Jon, one of his children or his wives. The white dragon riding the back of a growing direwolf had been one moment of unity between them as well as one of the most unique sights Robb would ever see. Overall the heir to Winterfell thought the two mythical mutes acted like brothers. The other three wolves were still weary of the winged lizard, with good reason, the beast was a menace.

They made camp by a stream an hour past Long Lake, over halfway to the Wall from Winterfell. The journey was long but Robb had not yet felt bored. His company filled the moments when the excitement of traversing the North grew dull; Theo Wull and Ethan Glover always had a jest, Oberyn Martell had tales of Dorne, Essos and his conquests, Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning offered training and his own stories. The legendary guard had Bran stuck to his side like sap.

Robb glanced down as he mindlessly twisted the weapon. In the firelight the crimson ripples on the white dagger almost glowed like red hot steel fresh from the forge. The shape of the blade still fascinated him; the tip of the long thin three sided blade reached beyond his elbow when in his grasp but there was no mistaking its deadliness, a good thrust would pierce mail as easily as parchment and possibly even plate if he put all his weight into the strike. The blade was sharper than a razor and never blunted, a fitting fang for a direwolf. In his hand he held a child of Ice, a literal sliver of House Stark's blade. In a strange way Ice was still the first Valyrian steel blade he'd wield. Sheathed at his hip was a sword of live steel and yet only this dagger would truly be able to protect him if they faced the true enemy.

He entertained himself by questioning when the last time there was so much Valyrian steel was in a single location. Had there ever been such a time in Westeros? Two swords, five spears and six daggers. Of their party of twenty one, nearly three in four had a weapon of the precious metal on their person and the rest held obsidian. Robb himself had been entrusted with the dagger by his niece Alsauna, the blade however rightly belonged to his namesake: little Robyn.

Six days' ride north of Winterfell and five south of Castle Black, and they'd already agreed to hide the blades as well as they could when at the Wall and beyond. They had a kingdom's wealth on them and both the wildlings and the black brotherhood boasted a large population of thieves.

Taking so many blades was a great risk, if they die then the swords, spears and daggers will be lost. On the other hand, the steel would save them in ways castle forged steel and dragonglass could not. Every sword made a difference and could save a life. The mission was of incredible importance, their success or failure would alter the wars to come greatly. If they fell…well at least Robb and Bran had a replacement in Rickon, and Jon had Aegon, however that was more consolation than a comforting thought.

A shove on the shoulder shook Robb from his thoughts. Theon wore a smirk. "Keep staring at that dagger and I'll start to think you prefer blades to sheath."

"I like women." He did, he even married one. Though in this life Robb was still a greenboy of four-and-ten, a maiden, unlike Theon and even Jon, as strange a thought as that was. Robb didn't want to think about girls though, that was an exhausting and complicated topic.

Theon sighed and glanced towards Jon's tent. "Gods, I never thought I'd be envious of Snow but at this point I'm almost willing to fuck the angry woman and you saw how she treats her horse, I'd hate to see how she rides a man."

Cringing a bit at the thought, Robb shuttered. He did not get the sense that Obara would treat her lover any better than a horse. Robb shook his head and focused on his friend. "It has barely been a week." Well a few hours short of a week to be precise.

"Lose your prick then you can tell me not to use mine while I still got it. I can't believe that the ugly bastard still lives." As if habit, Theon looked around in paranoia, he had done so the whole trip, flinching at every barking shepherd's dog or hunting hound they passed. The Greyjoy relaxed when he saw only the woods and the stream but then his eyes dropped. "Forgive me."

"Of what?" There was much his friend could be apologizing for, Robb couldn't point to one.

Fiddling with one of the dragonglass arrows that he'd been entrusted with, Theon's face grew grim. "Everything. I got you killed, ruined your war effort. I should have died with you or for you." Theon picked up a stone and threw the little round thing as far as he could. "It was all for nothing anyway; my father is a right cunt."

Robb had to bite back his bitterness, his campaign had been ruined in large part due to Theon. Would he have ever forgotten his honor if Jeyne had not comforted him in his grief? He didn't know if he could ever look at Theon and not on some level suspect him of betrayal but he could give him a second chance and maybe when the wars are over, he could trust again. "You didn't do all of that? And I lost the war myself."

"I would have." Theon's admission killed the conversation, neither wanting to pull on that thread any longer.

Eventually Wull's stifled laughter rolled over the camp, even muffled it was loud and thunderous, making most conversations halt so as to accommodate it. With Theon and the Northman in the same place, they'd taken to calling Theo; Buckets, his nickname, to avoid confusion. "You know, we might have an even smaller princeling sooner than we thought!"

"Twenty pups doesn't come as much of a shock anymore. Wolves, I tell you." Mark Ryswell commented before he took a swig of his wineskin.

"Aye. The life of a Kingsguard…" Ethan smiled, shortly after their arrival at Winterfell they were sworn in as Jon's guards. "You just know there are guards that get their jollies from late night door duty."

Ryswell smirked. "Half of Robert's guard seem ugly and fucked up enough."

The Glover loosed an easy chuckle. "Reckon Blout imagines he's the whoremonger when he's at the door? I hear they almost got the same gut."

Robb toned the jesting of the guards out and thought of his own future. His mind turned again to Jeyne, sweet and pretty Jeyne. He hated it but Robb knew he could not be with her, he could not marry her once again, he'd done that once and it did little to aid him, his own good-mother betrayed him. A part of him recalled the glimpses of the comfort she offered him in that cursed future and Robb craved it every night he remembered another shard of that other awful life. Robb knew he needed a better match if he wanted to protect his family. He needed to let Jeyne go, reluctant as he was to, this Jeyne would never be his Jeyne.

Deep inside Robb felt some bitterness toward Jon. Robb had married Jeyne in part because he couldn't stand the possibility of a son of his own growing up like his brother, a bastard. Robb had dishonored her and wanted to be honorable like his father, in the end he got himself and his mother killed, and made Jeyne a widow. It irked him that he had all these memories of Jeyne and their marriage and yet would be forced to discard them for a 'better match' while Jon had his future wives practically fall onto his lap. To some degree, it was probably best that way; Jon was stubborn and unlikely to ever initiate a relationship with not one but four women and Robb couldn't have Jeyne. He supposed that was his own fault rather than Jon's, his brother had married largely out of duty, for armies and security while Robb had married for honor.

Ever since the detailed overview of the future a part of Robb has been a touch resentful of his brother for his future. Jon not only ended up with a crown, love and children, but a good reputation as well. Robb didn't even survive, he died being known as the King Who Lost the North. He'd always been proud of his place as heir, he'd wanted nothing more than to honor the position and lead the North as well as his father, and he failed tremendously. It was Jon who cleaned up all Robb's mistakes and fixed everything.

Before he had always disliked being treated above his brother, now everything had swapped and a vile piece of his heart longed for it to go back to the way it was, to the time when Robb was always the victor no matter if Jon did better. He had always had the advantage of his birth and that was now gone. At least he was still the superior fisherman…

As if summoned by jealousy, Jon parted the tent flap following after Val. The uncrowned king dropped down next to Robb, the black gambeson cushioning him. 

Val sauntered over to sit with Rhaenys. "Are you pleased, my moans are now reserved for you, Snow, and the girls?"

Ever since they entered the woods, excluding the previous night and the morn, the wildling princess had made no effort to silence her moan when joined by Jon in their tent. The first night when Jon had tried to quiet her, she had loudly replied: 'One doesn't silence the wind's howls, why should I silence something just as natural? Take pride in my cries Snow.'

The Dornishwoman glared. It was her whose patience had broken first and who was brave enough to act on her annoyance. She had marched right past Lady and Ghost, slipped into the tent and gave a scolding lecture to the blonde. She returned with red cheeks and word that Val had been mocking the 'submissive kneelers' for not standing up to their king. Huffing, Rhaenys shrugged. "I'm more pleased that I and the others can now sleep uninterrupted." 

"Oh? Did I plague your thoughts?" The wildling pried. 

To Robb's shame, the woman's whines had perverted Robb's dreams. She had turned his mind repeatedly to his own future experiences with the act and whom he did it with, it made it all the harder to forget Jeyne.

Crossing her arms, the tanned princess leveled a flat stare at the blonde. "Hardly in a way that would please you."

That drew a hum from Val. "I find the outcome last night was beyond my wishes. Was your sleep restful?" The playful tone continued as she raised an arched eyebrow.

"Yes, dreamless and my thoughts were completely absent of naked blondes."

Val did not appear disappointed. "And of partially clothed blondes? Blanketed in furs or the limbs of a certain man."

This time a blush reddened the younger princess' cheeks, though it could have been a trick of the firelight. "You seem to have more than enough fantasies concerning honey haired women for us all."

"Perhaps you should correct that. You only need to steal your way into our tent." Blue-grey eyes looked to the shelter.

Tracking the gaze, Rhaenys seemed to pause at Jon. His brother, flushed pink, gave her a smile, or an awkward attempt at one, and a half hearted wave.

Rhaenys returned the smile almost just as graceless before rejoining her spat with Val. "It is bad enough that two of our party smell of sex, I will not subject everyone to a third."

"I require a bath then?"

Scrunching up her nose, the Targaryen nodded. "A thorough one."

"Care to join? I should get used to being pampered like a Southerner, should I not?" The Free Folk woman teased as she scratched Ghost's ear.

Having nosed his way between his partner's two future wives, the white direwolf also enjoyed pets from a darker skinned hand. "Jaehaerys can clean you up if you desire pampering, it was he who made the mess."

Hearing enough, Robb toned the bickering out. He no longer envied Jon for having multiple brides. Robb preferred to keep it simple, one would do for him. It would spare him the stress, the early grey hairs and the excessive number of children, of whom too many seemed unphased by their parents' activities. At least Jon had Targaryen blood, silver hairs might suit him, Robb did not desire to see if he'd fare so well. "They seem to get along well enough."

"I suppose." By Jon's tone, Robb couldn't tell if he was truly agreeing or not, mayhaps a bit of both. His brother ran a hand over Frostfyre's horns as the dragon lounged atop the shoulders of the cloak Sansa made him.

Despite the war raging inside of him about his brother, Robb could not deny that Jon remained good. He was happy that Jon and Sansa were getting along, that his sister might have gotten her love story after all, even if they only married to unite claims and protect her from another unwanted marriage. "I approve of you and Sansa."

Jon's jaw slackened and he turned towards Robb with wide eyes. It was still baffling how Robb had never noticed the irises were purple, but further than a foot or two away and a person would know no better, they were too dark. "I haven't done anything."

"You didn't need to. Joffrey is a right prick. It is bad enough knowing what happened last time. I guess what I'm trying to say is I know you'll treat her right and that makes you better than anyone else. If you do hurt her though..." Robb left the threat open ended.

"Aye, aye, I have had enough good brother's threaten me to know my fate and Val doesn't need one, she'll geld me herself." Jon shivered and Robb understood. Another reason not to take multiple brides: greater possibility of vengeful good-brothers, three of whom were reputed to be some of the best swords in the realm and two others are heirs to kingdoms. "I trust you'll knock me upside the head until I see sense?"

Robb nodded before grinning. He shouldered his brother. "How is it that you somehow earn my pity for taking multiple wives? One of whom is my sister."

"It's the face." Theon smirked. "That brooding mug of yours constantly looks like someone kicked your pup. One would think you still haven't got your cock wet if the princess over there hadn't practically announced it."

Violet eyes rolled, as Jon mostly ignored the Ironborn. His face turned earnest as he looked upon the heir to the North. "Robb, thank you."

Instinctively, Robb's arm came up to pull his cousin into a side hug but he flinched and ceased the action when he remembered the dragon atop the Targaryen's shoulders. "We'll be brothers in truth again."

Instead it was Jon who initiated the manly embrace. "Aye, as we should be. I'm grateful for it, if Aegon were my only brother I might go mad."

"He seems a good man." Robb hadn't spent much time with the sole pale haired Targaryen but they got along well enough and any prince who married two bastards and abdicated could only be decent.

Jon sighed. "From all I can tell, he is, but also trying at times. He was training the dragons to drop on people just before we left."

His gaze met the ruby eyes of the pale beast, it was as if the thing knew they were speaking of its siblings. Robb was thankful the dragon joined them on their journey, if only to spare his family the burden. "A good thing Frostfyre is no longer exposed to his lessons then."

"There wouldn't be a realm to save if those two had been paired." Jon shuttered.

As if to prove Jon correct, the dragon jumped right into the fire the same way boys might a lake. It scattered some charcoal from the pit on landing. Crawling out of the flames, the beast basked on a toasty rock.

"A menace that one." Greyjoy muttered bitterly. "Stole a squirrel I caught yesterday. I don't understand how you can sleep next to that thing."

"He makes the tent quite warm," Jon shrugged. "Targaryen babes used to sleep with eggs in their cradles; a few likely woke to a dragon. Don't be scared."

The topic of his brother's bed warmers, made Robb's mind go to a question he'd long been desiring answers for. "What happened between you and Margaery last week?"

Immediately Jon closed off, his face becoming a visage of impenetrable stone. "I'm not discussing this."

"Why? We all know you snuck into her chambers. Did you forget where to put it?" Theon teased, as if Jon was still a bastard rather than a king.

Robb's eyes immediately looked to Garland, just to find that he was quietly eyeing the king like a hawk with an emotionless expression.

Scoffing, Val interjected. "He knows quite well where to put his cock and what to do with it." 

A glare was leveled over all those around the fire by Jon. "I will not speak of Margaery like this without her consent."

While Robb might have respected Jon's commitment to Margaery's honor, one look at Garlan made him think it would be best if his brother gave a little information. It wasn't as if Jon was likely to have truly dishonored the Tyrell.

"You think that she and Sansa are not gossiping behind your back?" Greyjoy leaned in, he always liked such vulgar topics.

Jon crossed his arms and leaned back. "That is different. I will not discuss her with you of all people."

The two never had the most amiable relationship, if anything it was historically hostile. The Greyjoy had spent a long enough time in Winterfell to know how to get under Jon's skin, though the same method never worked twice, Theon alway had Jon playing defensive. "She isn't deformed or diseased down there is she?"

"No! Of course not!" In his hurry to defend one of his future queens, the king fell right into the Ironborn's trap. Jon was quick to stop his mistake. "Damnit Theon, stop asking questions."

"Did you make the Tyrell girl squirt?" The Red Viper's interruption made everyone turn to him. He only lifted a sharply arched brow in prompt.

Recovering, Jon picked up his jaw. He seemed simultaneously horrified and relieved. "Is that common?" His tone spoke nothing but there were answers in silence.

Theon clearly picked up on this, and shook his head in denial. "Bullshit. I thought that was a brothel myth."

"No myth." Oberyn grinned as if it was his sole purpose in the world was to educate boys on women and he did so happily. "Many women have the ability but very few have the pleasure to experience it. My dear Ellaria back in Dorne is one such woman. A woman needs to have a particularly strong peak to release her nectar."

Resigned to the open nature of the conversation, Jon gave up his valiant fight for Margaery's privacy. "So Margaery is healthy?"

The Viper smirked. "Your pretty flower is fine, more than fine I'd wager. She is a lucky girl, at least I know you'll treat my niece nicely."

"Uncle, do remember whom you speak of. Such topics in association with a queen will be highly inappropriate in the impending future." Rhaenys chastised as she held her head high, despite her burning red cheeks.

Beside Daemon Sand the female bastard snickered as she addressed Jon. "You will have your work cut out for you in loosening that one." 

The insult did little to chafe the princess, if anything she straightened in pride. "Being too tight is almost always better than being too loose."

Sensing the hostilities between cousins, Oberyn stepped in. "I do hope my niece doesn't mind, but may I inquire at how you pleased your golden rose? Her eldest brother is a friend and he would be as displeased as Garlan here if she were to be… plucked. I on the other hand welcome the spread of more Dornish behavior."

Jon was quiet for a moment as he chose his words with care. "Margaery remains a maiden."

"He only used his wicked tongue and fingers." Val put forth bluntly. She even lifted her hand to wiggle her fingers.

"Oh?" Bouncing off the ground, Oberyn sauntered over behind Jon and placed his hands proudly on the Targaryen's shoulders. "That pinch of Dornish blood serves you well."

It still amazed Robb that Jon had forsaken their, Robb's, father's honor. Before the direwolves, they'd refused every offer Theon had made to go into Winter Town for the brothel. Winterfell itself had serving girls that would smile at them but they'd strived to be like Lord Eddard Stark. Jon himself was so adamant about not passing on the name Snow that he was willing to join the Watch. It was strange how quickly Jon had changed, then again neither of them were as honorable as the Lord of Winterfell.

His brother's eye twitched under the Viper's grasp and he put his foot down, smothering out the flaming heart of conversation. "Enough of the subject, Neither I nor Rhaenys or Garlan will tolerate further degrading talk regarding a lady of a great house."

With the king's command the topic was dropped, at least in open discourse. Most turned to speaking quietly to their neighbors. The order did reward Jon with an approving smile from the half-Dornish princess.

Not wishing to watch his brother exchange shy glances with the girl, Robb glanced to the side and eavesdropped.

Jonnel was hunched over with his head in his hands, mumbling to himself. "I did not need to know that about Mama. I need a septon or priest to cleanse me, to purge my mind of the past three days."

Robb could sympathize, he planned to be drunk the day Jon and Sansa wed. He also thought it wise to never think about how nieces and nephews are made ever again.

From the dirt, Val's youngest hellspawn ceased nuzzling the growing shadowcat cub to look up at her half brother. "I could traumatize you enough to make you bury the memory."

The man's head shot out of his palms to stare incredulously at her before rapidly shaking his head. "No, gods no! And I don't want to know what that would entail."

Shireen rolled onto her back to peer up at Nell upside down rather than crane her head back. "Would you prefer I hit you real hard on the head or you could have my mead?"

"The mead." Jonnel held out a greedy hand.

A disappointed whine escaped the pale girl, she kicked her feet in a silent tantrum. "Fine but you owe me another skin."

Whipping his hand out in request again, the double blooded Stark scowled. "Or you could be a good sister and do it out of the kindness of your own heart."

The blue-grey eyed girl scoffed. "What heart? I have only ice. And you should know that I don't do things for free, I trade. I'll even accept a few of those bog devil drinks of your wife's once we get back to our time."

Robb thought Jonnel turned a pinch green. "Those things are rancid, likely poisonous and taste as horrid as your fermented goat's milk."

The mad Valstark giggled. "Aye, but they are also good entertainment."

"Ugh. I pity any spearwife that Varon tries to steal, his breath is likely fatal with what he intakes." Jonnel's lip curled in disgust.

A pale specter appeared behind Robb's nephew, three dead hares tied over a white chad shoulder. "The fuck did you say, swamp dweller?"

For a single moment, Robb witnessed terror flash in Jonnel's grey eyes but when he turned to face Varon, he bore a fond smile. "I said you have a remarkably impressive tolerance to alcohol."

Jon's eldest growled. "It's the damn dragon's blood burning half of it away." Varon lightly dropped his kills. Before Robb knew it Jonnel was pulled off his stone seat into a wrestling match. "That's for lying, frog eater!"

Robb just shook his head and snatched the hares before the shadowcat or dragon stole breakfast.

Bran:

Besides the soreness of his butt, Bran loved their journey. His father hadn't the chance to take him on many visits to their bannermen, Bran had never been so far from Winterfell. He enjoyed riding his pony alongside his brothers. 

Bran thought the best part of the trip so far was easily getting to train under the guidance of the Sword in the Morning. Every chance they got they spent training, Jon, Robb and the older boys were pushed far harder than he and Brynnard. Ser Arthur was as legendary a swordsman as he was said to be and Bran was honored to train under him.

Holding up the thick stick, Bran blocked a weak strike from Jon. He knew his brother was going easy on him and Brynnard due to being older but Jon was also learning in his own way.

Ser Arthur shouted from the side as Bran kept his eye on Jon who glided on his feet. "Good parry Bran. Now keep moving, you are letting Jae keep you in between him and Brynnard. Two on one is only advantageous if you aren't fighting one at a time."

Eyes widening, he took in his brother's slight smile and Bran glanced around for his ally but came up empty. Realizing the truth, he made to look over his shoulder but Jon attacked with the swing of his branch. Leaping to the side, he dodged the strike.

Jon maneuvered again to keep Bran in Brynnard's way. He took another attack and Bran once more parried but quickly rushed to Jon's left, his weaker side.

"Better." The Kingsguard called out. "But-" The knight's voice cut off as a cloud of dust pummeled Jon's face.

Backing up, Jon coughed and spat up the dirt. His narrowed eyes glaring at his son who rushed him. Jon blocked the first strike resulting in a loud clack of wood on wood. The swings were much fiercer than Bran expected from both of them, even with Jon holding back less against the older boy. It was almost as if the boy intended to hurt his father.

Softly but urgently, Arthur spoke from the side. "Now attack! He gave you an opening."

Bran lunged forward hesitantly to poke Jon in the side with a strike but his target had just pushed his enemy onto his rear, Bran's opportunity had closed. Like a snake, Jon slipped beside the thrust before grabbing Bran by the wrist and shoving him towards Brynnard. The sudden push and his nephew's leg made Bran tumble onto his stomach.

Jon growled behind him. "Dirt, really?"

Frustrated, Brynnard grumbled bitterly. "You were herding Bran like he was a sheep, so I turned a disadvantage into an advantage."

He couldn't help but feel guilty over the spar. Bran knew it was his fault for their loss. Brynnard had hardly gotten to cross blade with his Jon because Bran was in the way. Bran was sure that Ser Arthur's last order had been a trick to teach him not to miss an opening; he failed his ally twice. It still hurt to be blamed though.

The kingsguard hummed approvingly at the Brynnard. "Very wise. Who taught you this?"

Snorting, the dark haired, blue-eyed Stark rose from the leafy forest floor. "Kepa but Mom taught me most of the best tricks."

A dark but amused chuckle escaped Jon's throat as he tried to get the dirt out of his eyes. "Of course she did." Bran wondered if his brother was reminded of all his funny spars with Val, or the time he wrestled Varon and lost badly.

"Now Jaehaerys, your failure?" Arthur Dayne pried.

Jon huffed, but answered plainly. "I let myself get baited."

Nodding, the knight passed Jon waterskin. "Yes and you only won because Bran hesitated allowing you time to correct yourself."

Before Bran knew it he was defending himself. "It was a dirty trick, I didn't know if we were still sparring and I'd be stabbing Jon in the back."

"The duel isn't over until someone yields or I call it. In battle don't think any man still with his head is not a threat, it can be surprising what a man can endure. And get used to dirty tricks, in some duels it is alright to fight honorably, in war seeing your enemy defeated before you is what matters most so don't be afraid to stab them with their back turned. Now Brynnard, save your tricks, we are not testing them here but rather your blade." Ser Arthur tossed the boy his sword, or rather his stick, they didn't bring training swords.

Brynnard caught the sword with a frown. "I didn't get to use my sword much."

The sour remark only made the Dornishman smirk. "Then make sure that is not the case this round. And Bran do not parry so much against a significantly stronger opponent, it'll break your guard and I don't want it to become a habit. Now begin."

Following the command, Brynnard moved on Jon. Bran took a single moment to be surprised at the other boy's aggression, he was normally always apathetic and casual. He didn't give it much thought however, Bran refused to be the reason for their loss again, he was supposed to become a great knight, not a burden.

When their training was done, a midday meal was had, and they were back on the move, Bran directed his pony to Jon. "Will you let me be a member of your Kingsguard one day?"

Jon looked at him thoughtfully. "Perhaps. You may become an exemplary knight but you are too important to be a knight of the Kingsguard, at least permanently."

"Because of the greensight?" Bran knew it made him special, it was why he was on the adventure in the first place. Brynnard was training him, though for now he was just explaining it. Greenseers could see through weirwoods and all that the trees had ever witnessed, they can even foresee the future though not plainly. The powers both excited and disappointed Bran; he wanted to be a knight, not a wizard.

Nodding, Jon gave him a sad smile as if he understood and perhaps he did, Jon wanted to be a Stark but he had to become a Targaryen. "Aye. When we head south for the tourney, I intend to speak to your uncle and Lady Whent. Harrenhall lacks an heir."

Bran felt his jaw slacken. "You mean to give me Harrenhall?" Despite being half melted the castle remained one of the most impressive ever constructed.

Even while in the middle of riding Jon reached out to shake Bran's shoulder affectionately. "I can think of no one more fitting."

He was honored, but Bran didn't exactly wish to be a lord, even for Harrenhall. "What of Ser Oswell?"

"I'm told he'd been rather surly at being given command of the glass trade in Dorne when Rhae and the others left. Lordship is not to his tastes it seems. Besides, he has already taken his oaths."

"What if lordship is not to my taste either?" Bran thought it unfair if Ser Oswell got to be a kingsguard and he didn't, though the man had already sworn a vow to not hold land.

Jon paused, frowning in contemplation. "Benjen tried to teach me this in the other life but I want you to experience life before you swear yours to me, there is plenty of joy you are forbidden from experiencing as a member of the Kingsguard. Maybe you'll meet a girl that is worth more to you than your dream. Will you at least give being a lord a try? Harrenhall can fall to Cailin like in their future if you pass on it."

Bran nodded, but he knew he didn't want to be a lord and he didn't desire a wife. "Will I still be able to be a great swordsman?"

"Of course, little brother, a lordship shall not stop you. What did the Dragonknight say of Lord Cregan?"

The story instantly made Bran feel a little better. "Prince Aemon said he'd never crossed a finer sword than Lord Stark."

Nodding, Jon grinned. "And Cregan was no knight." Jon paused and sighed. "Even if you do not become a knight you shall almost assuredly become a legend, Bran. Brandon the Seer, they'll call you. Your sight will guide us through this winter, you'll be a hero. Sadly that might overshadow your honor and prowess with a blade, but I'll be sure to exert a touch of kingly influence to make sure that gets remembered." His brother offered a small smirk at the end.

"Thank you, Jon."

His brother's eye caught on a tree in the distance and he cut off what he intended to say in favor of glaring. Bran could see the tree had half a hundred or so eagles. Sticking its head out of Jon's satchel, the baby dragon stared menacingly at the tree, if it could properly roar it surely would have.

Jon shook his head before continuing. "Now, I recommend thinking of a house name soon, it took long enough for you to name Summer," he teased, though his tone was rather flat, because of the eagles.

"I won't be a Stark?" Bran didn't like that. If he was a kingsguard he would never lose his name.

Once again, his brother placed his hand on Bran's shoulder. "You'll always be a Stark, just as I will, a name does not change that."

Bran just smiled back at him.

Dropping Summer a cooked squirrel, Bran looked to the other direwolves as he ate his own supper. He'd dreamt of the pack hunting again the previous night, though Ghost and Lady split from their brothers and only returned after dawn. Bran saw Greywind was devouring its own meal at Robb's side, the bigger wolf had tracked a fox to its den overnight. Still the largest Ghost sat not by Jon but by Rhaenys and Lady. In lack of Sansa, the smallest direwolf had found another to keep her fur sleek and pristine, though Rhaenys had help as the albino wolf groomed its sister with kisses.

The Targaryen princess was beautiful even when she wore a brooding scowl that reminded him of Jon. Absent-mindedly she stroked the silver she-wolf's neck. After a few moments passed she lifted her head towards Jon. "Jae?"

Jon wasn't far, only Val sat between the two. "Aye?"

"I'm not completely well informed of the topic but Aemon told me a bit and I imagine you should be careful while skinchanging, not just for anything physically dangerous but more mental. I've noticed Ghost and Lady seem close, I think it would be wise to avoid entering their minds if they become mates, specifically while they are performing the act." Rhaenys nodded awkwardly at her feet.

 The two direwolves lapped at eachother's muzzles to lick up leftover meat juices. Bran hadn't really thought about it but after Rhaenys mentioned it, they did seem like they might take after Jon and Sansa. Perhaps they'll have pups eventually.

Rhaenys' caution was similar to Brynnard and Jon's other kids' warning but it still confused Bran. "Why?"

"Well…" The Dornishwoman grimaced as she chose her words. "Mating is said to be pleasurable to promote reproduction. If you were to be in their mind while they did so, your mind might associate wolves with that pleasure. That is extremely unhealthy. Of course this is just a theory but there are many of these things that I hypothesize could be dangerous."

Bran thought he understood, he'd seen a dog mount a dog before and a horse mount a horse but never a dog on a cat or anything. He couldn't imagine it, they were different sizes. Though he did recall some of Nan's tales about old Northern houses marrying Children of the Forest or having giant's blood. Once Nan spoke of a lord commander of the Night's Watch taking a corpse or an Other to wife. Bran couldn't see the appeal in mounting anything even if the princess did claim it felt good, the idea sounded gross and dishonorable.

His brother's voice cut through Bran's thoughts. "It makes sense. And I don't think Ghost would appreciate the intrusion much. What else have you thought of?"

A white smile brighter than the campfire spread across the future queen's face. "I imagine it might be dangerous to spend too much time inside any animal. Too long as a bird you might forget you cannot fly as a man. Swim too long as a fish and you might drown yourself. Cannibalism or eating human flesh would be bad, while we might understand it is wrong, the stomach has no morals and craves what it feels like."

Robb nodded. "Jonnel and the others mentioned spending too much time out of body when teaching us. Good point on cannibalism, we should inform the others on our reunion."

Scratching Ghost behind the ears, Val hummed. "Beyond the Wall skinchangers often meet and discuss their abilities, perhaps we might chance upon one. I'd keep a distance from Varamyr, he has a nasty reputation and an even more vile character. It isn't uncommon for him to kill a man and steal his beast."

From the side, Brynnard spoke up. "Muña forgot the most important rule: never seize the body of another man."

Gasping, Bran was a touch curious, though equally disturbed. "That is possible?"

Varon grunted and lobbed a bone into the fire. "Aye, but don't fucking do it. You're more like to break their mind than anything. Hodor is an example of that."

"Hodor?" Robb repeated. "Hodor wasn't always simple? Who could have done it? There were no skinchangers in Winterfell. This Three-Eyed Crow?"

Rising from a log, Brynnard pointed a finger at the heir of Winterfell threateningly. "Don't accuse him of such a foul thing!"

Not even looking, Varon tugged the dark haired boy back onto his seat with a single arm. "To weirwoods time is a funny thing."

If the weirwoods were involved… "A greenseer then!" Bran excitedly contributed.

A hush seemed to have rolled over the camp like a silent stormfront, Bran shivered as the blonde half-wildling's cold blue-grey eyes met his sorrowfully. "Aye… You."

Robb straightened and looked ready to jump up and fight. "You must be jesting?" 

While his brother was in denial, something sank in Bran's heart and he knew Varon spoke truthfully, Bran knew he committed the unspeakable sin. His eyes prickled with unshed tears, how could he ever be as honorable as his father or Barristan the Bold if he was capable of such evil?

Growling, Jonnel threw something at his sibling. "Gods damn you Varon." The man gave a loud defeated sigh and rubbed his face. "He speaks the truth though. Hold the door, hold door, Hodor. Bran forced Hodor to sacrifice himself so he and Meera Reed could escape Bloodraven's cave when the wards fell."

"I made Hodor into Hodor?" His voice was weak when he spoke. Bran knew the answer, he'd already had it confirmed but he just hoped, he hoped it was a cruel trick or a prank, he hoped they were wrong even when his heart told them they weren't.

A dignified scoff broke the quiet lull. "You did not." Looking up, Bran saw Princess Rhaenys had her chin up in defiance and he couldn't help but admire her. Her dusky eyes were so dark but so warm and kind. "You did not, another you did, a you that lost everything. Even though it was very wrong to do so, your survival helped the living win against the dead. Though that does not make it a right; a deed is no less vile if it works out for the better, necessary perhaps but never right and never celebrated."

Jon stood up and moved to kneel before him and Summer. Bran felt a hand placed on his shoulder. "Rhaenys is correct, you've done nothing yet, and you will not. Hodor is not your fault."

There was a mournful air as no one spoke, until Brynnard that is. "Breaking of the mind is not the sole problem with skinchanging a man." Dread filled Bran as the other boy spoke, he wished his nephew would be quiet but it was not to be. Even Jon seemed disapproving of his son's tact. "A little piece almost always comes back with your mind even with animals, the bigger your influence the bigger theirs is unless you break them. It is bad to normalize enslaving people on such a level their body isn't even their own."

Slavery was a sin punishable by death in the North, the tale of former Lord Mormont was still spoken of frequently, he was supposed to lose his head and he ran, escaping justice. Ser Jorah was honorless according to Bran's father. What Bran did was worse.

He was grateful Jon pulled him into a hug as he felt the damp spots on his brother's coat. Bran was crying, crying over Hodor of all people, Hodor who wouldn't be Hodor without Bran. He wondered if Jon ever cried, Bran had never seen it.

"The stuff of nightmares." Even muffled by Jon's coat, Bran could hear the revulsion in Jonnel's mutter.

Varon was uncharacteristically somber when he spoke, his voice the closest thing to soft that Bran had heard from the man. "Aye. Skinchanging as a whole is easier if the animal is willing, a team functions better than any master and a slave."

Even Mad Shireen sounded gentle. "Bribing helps, lots of animals just want food, comfort and freedom, same as anyone."

Freedom was the word that echoed in Bran's mind over the rest of the night, as Robb gave him an embrace of his own, as he tossed and turned, and as he buried his face in Summer's silvery coat of steel tones. Freedom.

He also wondered if Hodor too dreamed of being a knight, giant and lowborn like Ser Duncan the Tall.

Bran was less than eager to attend his lessons with Brynnard after the event but the boy had claimed if he went untrained then it was more likely his family might die. Reluctantly Bran agreed to continue.

Before the previous day Bran thought of his nephew as a friend of sorts, the boy was between him and Robb in age. Byrnnard had also helped Bran improve with the bow or told him stories. After that supper though, Bran was unhappy with the older Stark.

"We have trained enough with skinchanging for now. Let us try seeing the past and future." The dark haired twelve year old spoke as they rode. All their training not with the sword had been done on horseback.

Flinching, Bran shook his head. "I don't want to. I'm not seeing through time again."

A firm frown pulled at Brynnard's lips. "You have not even seen through time before."

"I won't do it. What if I make another Hodor." Stubbornly, he kicked his pony forward to speed up.

Unfortunately his nephew's mare was larger and faster. "If you don't learn to control both your abilities and yourself then that is exactly what you will do."

Guilt itched at him until he slowed. Bran had nothing to say.

"You shouldn't be able to mess with anyone's minds with what I have planned. We'll be doing blood magic. Normally it would only result in a vague glimpse of the future, but with our minds you should be able to guide yourself to my past, my memories." Pulling the dragonglass dagger from his hip, Brynnard sliced a tiny cut into his small finger, a ruby bead formed. The boy held the bloody finger towards Bran's face.

Bran recoiled away from the limb. "What am I supposed to do?"

For a moment the strange prince stared as if it was obvious. "Lick it." At Bran's disgusted face, he rolled his eyes. "Use your own finger or something then but you need to consume my blood. It'll help you learn control. Just focus on my blood and reach out for my past as you normally do for Summer."

Shoulders slumping, Bran sighed in defeat. Swiping the growing pool of blood with one of his own fingers, Bran resisted a petty smile over the other boy's twitch of pain. With a whine, he cleared his mind and brought the drop to his tongue, the taste of iron hit Bran immediately.

Focus on the blood and reach for the past, the future, Brynnard's past. Blood, past, Brynnard. Blood, past, Brynnard.

A woman's voice caught him off guard but he was still beside Brynnard, astride his horse, with no women to be heard. Bran tried again and focused on the sweet tone that sounded so familiar.

When Bran heard the melodic and mournful song return he opened his eyes. Around him was a circle of large white stumps overlooking a blossoming land. In the sky he saw a stream of clouds forming in a giant spiral before his very eyes. He twisted around in amazement before the voice beckoned his attention once more.

Atop one stump sat a red haired woman, beautiful and crowned, Sansa. She looked less like their mother than he'd have thought. Nuzzled into her side sat a boy of age with Rickon, with brown hair even darker than Jon's. As Sansa sang, Brynnard gently played with a sprout budding out of the severed weirwood.

Besides them stood Jon, bearded and draped royally in blood reds and blacks, his hair already sported streaks of silver which Sansa had been spared.

Under the king's arms was Cassana, but she hardly looked to be the fierce warrior Bran had come to know her as. His niece was slightly chubby, already taller than the average man and her long face looked awkward no matter the angle. 

The song drifted back into Bran's ears and he realized what it was about. A portion was seemingly dedicated to each of the fallen Starks, first their father, then Robb and Mother, each was capped with a similar verse. As his sister sang of him, Bran felt his eyes water.

"Oh brother, brother, I hope you can see

with your third eye, my family and me."

Sansa's voice cracked and she hugged Brynnard closer, her husband's free hand on her shoulder. She seemed to stare at Bran with teary eyes full of hope but the queen couldn't see him. He wanted to hug her but he felt as if he was nothing but the wind.

While Bran was unable to comfort her, there was something that could: Nymeria. From where the massive wolf came he could not say, it simply appeared as if summoned to improve the mood for Arya's song.

Next Sansa sang of her sister, their relationship and Arya's many accomplishments. Her blue eyes followed the direwolf as it loped nearer.

"Sister, oh sister, I hope you can see

with your gold eyes, our family and me."

"Happy nameday Arya." His gentle sister whispered as the direwolf stopped before her.

Pushed forward by Jon, Cassana wrapped her arms around Nymeria's neck. "Mumma…" The direwolf nuzzled back and licked at her face, an easy task as even on all fours the beast was only a few inches shorter than the girl.

Brynnard watched perceptively and only stopped to help wipe away his mother's tears from her cheek. His blue eyes shifted between Nymeria and Bran. He, Bran felt, could actually see him.

Before he could feel more unnerved, the scene had changed and the boy was a year or two older. No longer was Bran atop a looming hill but in a cavernous hall fit for giants. At the other end of the chamber was a throne of swords burning a sickening green.

"Why are they destroying it?" Brynnard's voice carried anger as he stared across the room.

From his side was a different one of the boy's mothers, Rhaenys. "Your father would have preferred to save it in its entirety but it is too heavy to move. We will be storing the seat."

"But why get rid of it?"

The Dornish queen knelt. "The throne was a symbol of conquest, power, subjugation and for three centuries blood, death and greed. The replacement will represent unity, each region shall provide their part, and each paramount a sword. Even your father will provide a sword to represent his oath to the realm. That throne was Aegon's dynasty, the next shall be ours."

Bran didn't know how to feel about the dismantling of the legendary throne, a part of him felt insulted on behalf of the Conqueror but the other half understood.

Brynnard hummed. "It was not comfortable."

A chuckle escaped Rhaenys. "No, it hurts your rear more than the stone bench in the garden. And you cut yourself pretty badly on it."

"Will there be weirwood on the new throne?"

"There will, the Freefolk will be providing it. Some of Cannibal's bones shall be included as well, along with some dragonglass." Rhaenys rubbed Brynnard's shoulder and kissed his temple. "Do not fear, it will be a throne fit for a king, a dragonlord, and a warg."

The vision changed again and it was dark, Brynnard and his family laid under the stars. Maenara was cuddled into Jon while Brynnard himself was firmly in the middle where he could hear all the stories no matter the speaker.

Margaery told tales of the Reach and of Garth Greenhand, of the magical man or god who fathered kings and heroes, who carried an endless bag of seed and spread it over his travels. Bran personally thought that Sansa was the superior storyteller as the Tyrell kept giggling at that part. Brynnard was quite pleased to hear that Brandon the Builder is said to descend from the man.

In a matter of seconds the world had spun, the sun had risen and Bran was once again in someplace new. Gone were the moonlit fields and instead were elms, alders and one young weirwood. The pale tree was nowhere near as big as Winterfell's, it was tiny and barely as wide as Bran's shoulders.

Brynnard now looked almost as he did in the present. He looked the happiest Bran had ever seen him. The prince held a chisel in hand.

Even older than the first vision, Jon stood by the tree, his silver hairs having conquered all but the root of his once dark hair. He didn't look old, if anything he looked more fair and like a Targaryen king. 

On the opposite side of the tree Val smirked. "Which expression shall we grace the gods with?"

Aerea and Robin were quick to answer, shouting "Joy! Joy! Joy!" Maenara joined them with more dignity.

From behind the younger children, Haella offered her own suggestion: "Lecherous!" She drew a bunch of cheers from Varon, Jonnel, Minisa, Shireen, Myriah and Lorys. "Let it be a warning for visitors about pervy seers."

While Val seemed amused and inclined to agree, Sansa put her foot down. "Joy it will be."

The wildling just smiled at her son and Haella's booing, before handing a piece of charcoal to Maenara. "A joyful face for the gods."

Maenara beamed at being entrusted with the design. She quickly got to work. Jon and Jael thwarted Varon's attempt to steal another stick of coal, and Val dragged away Haella just before she could mark the backside of the weirwood.

When the time came for carving, the blonde queen helped Aerea and Robyn make the first marks which were dimples. Then each child was given a share. "Little Raven, would you like to open its eyes?"

"Aye." Brynnard carved with the utmost reverence for his task.

In the end the family admired the carved face, it came out well for having so many different carvers. None admired it so much as Brynnard.

With a rush of cold air the happy expression of the white tree morphed into the great expanse of sky. Bran looked down to see white scales glimmering like a cloak of a million diamonds and beyond the massive sanguine wings Bran could see the world thousands and thousands of feet below.

He shivered and clutched on to the closest thing which happened to be Jon, who sat before him and seemed unaware of Bran's presence though he did flinch. In all Bran's life he'd never been so high, his climbing and even his practice with skinchanging birds couldn't prepare him for flying. Only the gods looked down upon the world in such a way.

"How far are we away?" Brynnard asked from in front of his father, his shout was bitter and grumpy but hinted with wonder and amazement, how could it not be; he was riding a dragon.

After growing more comfortable, Bran realized he too was riding on dragonback! Robb would be so jealous! And Jon and the others as well! Bran was the first! That is if it counted when in a memory.

Jon hummed before going limp for a passing second. "Half an hour or so."

Displeased Brynnard huffed. "Can we dive?" The boy asked it hopelessly and without emotion. The question destroyed Bran's mood and filled him with dread.

The king's laugh was swallowed by the wind. "Only if you tell no one, not your mother, and not even Val."

"Deal."

With an incredible amount of bravery Jon took his hands of the grips and pulled at straps the held the two to the saddle. Jon yelled as he held the handles again. "Are you holding on tight?"

Brynnard's response was filled with excitement. "Aye!"

Before Bran knew it Frostfyre spun and collapsed its hundred foot wingspan. Bran's heart tried to climb up his throat and its thumping and the howling wind was all he could hear. They plummeted like a falling star and all he could do was hold on to his brother in vain but his fingers were so cold. His butt slid back in the saddle, the leather slippery from the condensation. He pulled as hard as he could but Bran was no match for the sheer force of the gales pushing against the new opening between him and Jon, he was ripped from the back of the dragon.

He screamed as he spun and spun falling towards the earth. Would he die if he hit the ground? Would he be dead and the realm doomed in the coming war? Bran didn't want to know. Closing his eyes, Bran cried out for help but he couldn't even hear himself. He prayed Brynnard could hear him in the future and pull him back, or that Jon and the dragon would return to swoop him up.

Bran was going to die. The land was getting closer and closer, through teary eyes he could see Castle Cerwyn in the distance. He was always doomed to fall, if not from a tower then from a dragon.

Desperately he tried to escape the vision, it had been so easy to leave that he had done so before even entering the memories, but now with his impending doom Bran couldn't escape the scene. He couldn't think of anything but the cold air, his fear and his desire to go back to the future. Bran closed his eyes as tight as he could as he hurdled towards the ground. He could watch as the earth rose to meet him.

Nothing… It was painless. Just cold…

After waiting and waiting, Bran opened his eyes to snow and shadow. He cried in joy at being alive and on sturdy ground. Bran buried his face in the frosty power to hug the earth. All too soon the chill forced him to raise his head. He froze as he realized that he was not safely with his brothers on their trek to the Wall.

Under a weirwood stood a man, strong, dark, slender and bearded. Clad in black, bones and decorated in runes, the man flexed his fingers, one hand black and frozen, the other rippled with the wavy scars of flames, just like Jon's palm but its veins filled with hot lava. The stranger stared deeply into the forest with mismatched eyes, one cold and blue, the other fiery and red. 

When the mismatched gaze glanced directly at Bran, the boy tore his eyes away. The Stark looked to the sky and hoped he'd be forgotten. His heart calmed slightly at the sight of the magic interweaving with the cloudless heavens. He could almost ignore his near death and the mysterious man.

Another song graced Bran's ears as he stared up at the long streamers of light dancing across the night. The sound was like nothing he'd ever heard, haunting yet alluring and so irresistible, it was like a siren's song. Even the magical sight in the sky couldn't compare to the hypnotizing melody that ensnared him.

Below the stars Bran saw a woman, naked and bewitching. Her skin pale, horrifyingly so, it glittered like morning frost. A thin pale patterning spanned across her form, translucent and blue, the hard ice under the fresh snow. Tall and elegant she moved like a wraith. So graceful was she that she didn't even seem corporeal, just an unimaginable figment of beauty.

The woman approached the man and slipped into his embrace. Where his skin met her own steam billowed in wispy white tendrils.

A wave of dizziness hit Bran and suddenly he was back atop his horse. He swayed and nearly fell but was pushed back upright. Bran looked up into the blue eyes of his nephew and muttered his thanks.

Ignoring pleasantries, the older boy went right for the gut. "Did you see my past?"

"Aye." Bran nodded and tried to will away the memory of his fall and the couple beneath the dancing lights. He wanted off his horse, he didn't want to fall or feel a beast and leather beneath him.

But they rode on.

For the rest of the day Bran remained silent, everyone noticed and some tried to cheer him and failed. Bran simply ate and scratched Summer when they were not riding. Robb even knelt before him and offered his ear if Bran wished to talk, Bran only nodded.

He went to sleep dreading his next lesson in the sight, but vowed to be brave for his family, for the realm.

That night his dream took a form similar to his final vision. A pack of wolves traversed a frozen ominous forest under the cold blanket of night.

The wolf at the front emanated a thick white fog that shrouded its followers, Bran couldn't tell where the fur ended and the cold icy fog began. Its eyes were two piercing bloody stars burning through the snowy cloak. Where Ghost's jaw would have a lolling tongue, this one had a flaming maw. Dripping like blood from its belly and neck was molten lava, leaving a trail of red hot tears.

Half a step behind walked a wind so fierce that it was visible, swirling gales crashed against each other like river rapids. Underneath the storm glimmered a coat of copper and iron scales, sharp as swords, a wolf's armor. Greywind.

In the shadow of its siblings was a third wolf, silvery and slender. In its forehead was a third eye, green and weeping just like the other two, it stared at Bran as if it knew he was there watching. Its head was held low in surrender. From the beast's shoulders sprouted phantom wings that could make it fly yet not to safety.

Icy creaks and groans echoed through the haunted woods. A slight scurrying sounded from the trees. The winged wolf whimpered.

Before Bran knew it, the wolves and their company were ensnared. Tiny nearly unnoticeable threads of ice were wrapped around their necks strangling them.

The snow coated tree trucks moved but they were no longer trees but the legs of massive white spiders. The more the wolves struggled, the tighter the web was about their neck.

Bran shivered from the cold and blinked. He was blinded when he opened his eyes. Instead of the cold dead night, there was bright sunlight. The warmth could not burn away the dream.

Inside of him, Bran could still feel the winged wolf, the one with the opened third eye, howling, its voice shaking him. He itched to run to Jon and say that they should turn back, the sinking of his heart demanded it. But Bran lifted his chin up as if he wasn't scared, he didn't understand what he saw, that was why they were going on the adventure. He needed to learn, everyone said so. Bran didn't want to disappoint anyone; Brynnard wanted to meet the Raven, Val wanted to see her sister, Jon wanted to save the Wildlings. If Bran spoke then Jon would trust him and they would turn back, he couldn't do that over a simple dream.

His fear fought back against his decision but Bran was stronger, he was brave like his brothers. The looming sight of the Wall on the horizon filled him with great strength, lent from all the heroes that ever manned it. 

 They could not turn back, they had much to do and the entire realm was at stake.

Notes:

Poor Bran. Little boy just wants to be a knight.

Honestly, it is kinda amusing that Brynnard of all people is the one talking about time, magic and all that considering he may have been the reason for the time travel.

Also this is the last bit of prophecy and visions for a long while, I had fun with it but there has been enough for the time being. Well there is one more time but it is just a single tiny line. A few chapters from now.

Anyway I cut this chapter in half, this is already dragging. I really didn't want it to be so long, I guess I'm terrible at pacing but this set up kinda needs to happen and I'm not motivated enough to think of a better way to do it, my thoughts are mainly on the future exciting bits. Once we get beyond the Wall things will be happening like crazy.

Rant time: All the talk about a Jon Snow show just fills me with a feeling I can only describe as negative. HotD was good, though there aren't any characters that I am strongly attached to for the next season. If Snow is made though I don't know if there is anything that can get me to watch it. Seasons 5-8 have poisoned that continuity so much I can't stand anything from that half of the show anymore, the issues can't be fixed retroactively. They permanently tarnished the North, Jon, Sansa, Daenerys, the Mannis, Varys, Littlefinger, Dorne, the White Walkers, etc… Kit was an okay Jon, mostly the writing's fault, and while Jon is one of my favorite ASOIAF characters, I hate this news. I don't want this made, I want to forget about the GoT show, I want them to make the Dunk & Egg / The Blackfyre Rebellions, Robert's Rebellion and stop trying to connect things to the trainwreck's timeline rather than the books. I guess my big peeve is that this show would legitimize the trashy second half of GoT in a way by picking up where it left off.

Ugh. Sorry for the rant, I'm just disappointed, bitter and depressed. I guess part of it is I'm annoyed that there are so little fics being posted now and those mostly start somewhere in the show after it has already ruined things. The Sansa/Ramsay marriage is just unjustifiable in universe and began the collapse of the show.

My next update will likely be this fic.

The next chapter will be back in the Vale where we shall continue where we left off with Mya. It should be a more exciting chapter than this. Though it will also likely be slightly frustrating because…well…Mya.

Upcoming Chapter POV Order:

Mya II

Multi VI

Realm I

Jon V