Who: Bran & Eddard Stark What: Reunion! Where: Winterfell When: Soon after this Warnings/Rating: None
The feeling was surreal. Bran sat in the chair that Kit used - this strange metal thing that he pushed himself in on the foot roads. They had been talking for some time, trying to come to a conclusion as to how Bran could move about in Westeros. With Hodor missing, and Bran suddenly so large, there hadn't been an obvious answer. They'd debated. Bran wanted to find a horse, but Kit asked how he presumed he was going to mount a horse in the first place. But, when the time came - unexpectedly, Kit had crossed the threshold in his chair - and lo and behold, Bran sat upon it on the other side.
Suddenly, he was home.
Kit chattered on in the back of his mind, but Bran took hold of the journal and, hastily, scribbled responses to his various family members. It had been hard - very hard - to be unable to divulge his identity with the revelation of each Stark. But Kit had been stubborn, and, on the other side of the strange door, much more powerful than Bran. The other boy hadn't even wanted to recognize or name him, until Bran began endlessly saying his name over and over and over. Kit had caved quickly thereafter. - And, once he had come to accept Bran, they actually got on quite well, finding themselves as similar as they could be, given the vast differences between their respective worlds.
The past few days had been spent with Kit going around to all the strange metal creatures and p.. pla - plastic objects, naming them for Bran. Kit had noted that most already thought him odd. He didn't mind looking a fool for Bran's sake.
But none of that mattered now. Now Bran was home, where he knew the names of everything. And home still stood. It was so much like a dream, that Bran had a hard time convincing himself it wasn't. He kept reminding himself as he gazed about in wonder. He was in his old room. It's not a dream. The bars that had been secured into the walls hung as ever. The room smelled of smoke and old furs. It's not a dream. The chair Old Nan often sat in, while Bran lay in his bed, was set as if she'd just left him for sleep. Then, rather suddenly, Bran was crying. He remembered the way Winterfell had last appeared to him. Ashes. Bodies. His entire world had been reduced to cinders. It's not a dream.
He had another chance now, he told himself - no, Kit told him. His father's voice - he'd never expected to hear it again - rang up the stairs. "I'm here, Father!"