Who: Ned and Bran (also dream!Jon, Theon, Sansa, Catelyn, and Robb) What: Dreams When: Last night-this morning Where: Bran's bed Rating: PG-13 at most Status: Complete
Winterfell was a series of buildings and keeps, some of which were ancient and decrepit, some of which were in good repair, all of which Bran knew. He knew that the land was uneven and that one only had to climb a few rivets to get to the parapet. He knew that he only had to jump from gable to gable to climb the abandoned watch tower. Bran Stark, at seven, knew more about his Lord Father's ancestral home than the man himself. It was possible that he knew even more than Bran the Builder, but what he mostly knew was that his mother didn't like him climbing. It was all right, though, Bran was sure footed and found wedges and holes that no one else ever could. He loved the smell of the castle roots and being able to look out over the godswood.
Today was different, though. He wasn't exploring today, at least not when the parapet melted into cold mountains and a bloody rock. Ice, that was what they called it. Robb was there as well, and Theon was near them along with some other men. Jon was near Bran and his pony. Jon, his half brother, his lord father's bastard, whom Bran loved as much as any brother could. Jon had a horse. A man's horse, not a pony like Bran's. "Don't look away," Jon said. "Father will know if you do." Bran did not. His stomach barely even lurched when Father swung Ice down on the deserter's head, nor when the head rolled. As Theon kicked the head, Bran heard Jon say, "Ass." His half brother squeezed his shoulder. "You did well."
A few minutes later, as Bran held fast to his pony, his lord father asked him if he was well. "Yes, Father," Bran answered, looking up at the figure that loomed over him like a giant. "Robb says the man died bravely. Jon says he was afraid." "What do you think?" Father asked. "Can a man still be brave if he is afraid?" "That is the only time a man can be brave," his father answered. Father explained why he'd done it. "...the man who gives the sentence should swing the sword." And as his lord father spoke, the spinning happened again...
Only he wasn't spinning. He was falling. The three eyed crow was eating the corn from his hand. Bran began to cry. Not cry, said the crow. Bran looked around him. Below him, his sister was crying, his mother was in the godswood...no one was happy. Now you understand why you must live, said the crow. "Why?" Because winter is coming. Bran looked down. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" His father answered the same as before. Now, Bran. Fly or die, said the crow. And Bran flew. But the crow cared nothing for Bran's excitement. It began to peck at him, pulling at his hands and face. Bran gasped and swatted at the bird. "What are you doing!?" he exclaimed. He was flailing his arms and yelling in his sleep, but when he woke up, it stopped abruptly and Bran looked around for his wolf. "Summer," he said, but there was no wolf there. Only Cobalt looking at him from the foot of his bed, ears up, head cocked to the side.