Past, Present, and Future

Bran Stark left the heart tree and merged with his broken body. He opened his eyes. Instead of him observing the world around him in the trees, the trees beyond Winterfell were now observing him. Bran felt winded, as he felt whenever he had run with Summer within him. However, his current feeling was because of what he saw during his time in the heart tree. Bran had seen the past. He had seen his father, and the former children of Winterfell years passed. He saw Theon. Theon was praying to the old gods at the base of the heart tree. "Please. A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon not as Reek. I was inronborn. A son…a son of Pyke, of the islands." He heard his voice, desperate and pleading, so unlike the proud Theon Greyjoy. When Bran had seen him last, Theon had declared himself Prince of Winterfell. Now Theon was broken…more than Bran would ever be. Theon's former black hair was white, brittle and thin when in the past it had been thick and healthy. His skin was pale as snow, and it loosened around his neck and face. Bran could see that Theon lost fingers from both of his hands. He was trembling as he prayed by the heart tree, begging to die as someone worthy than to die as someone not. And Bran had answered him.

The three-eyed crow had told him that he couldn't make others hear him while in a tree. They would simply hear the wind, he said. "He heard a whisper on the wind, a rustling amongst the leaves. You cannot speak to him, try as you might." But Bran had tried. He tried to answer Theon's desperate salvation. Bran held no grudge against Theon, or bore him no hatred or enmity. Bran wanted to remind the broken man of who he was and what he could become. Instead, Bran remembered all the times Theon had ate at the dinner table and how close he was with Robb. As a small child, he remembered when Theon had told him an Iron Islands story at his request. It wasn't as if Bran couldn't remember; he did remember of how Theon had invaded Winterfell and ordered him to surrender. He had later killed Maester Luwin and other servants before burning the only home Bran ever knew to the ground. Bran wondered what his siblings would do if they had seen Theon broken beneath the heart tree. Robb would demand Theon to explain himself; Sansa would weep; Arya would spit on him and say that he was better off dead; and Rickon would scream and try to tear Theon apart.

Suddenly his father's voice echoed in his ears. Bran had been seven years old then, and had been whole that summer day. The fall had not come. A deserter had fled from the Night's Watch, and had told his father about the white walkers. His father had executed that man; it was supposed to be Bran's first time, that day. No one knew that it would be his first and only time. Theon was there that day, as was Robb, Jon, his bastard half brother, were there, as were his father's men. All the men that had surround Bran that day was either dead or gone. Bran's father and brother were dead. Jon was now the Commander of the Night's Watch, and Theon was half-dead and broken.

"Can a man still be brave when he's afraid?"

"That's the only time a man can be brave."

Somehow Theon had heard him calling out his name. The man had looked around, nervous eyes peering beneath the brittle white bangs. Soon Theon seemed to hear him. Bran saw a faint recognition in his eyes. Then Theon had been pulled away, but the broken man had not been as broke n when Bran had first seen him. He was no longer Reek. Theon was resurfacing once again.

Bran felt suddenly tranquil. He could hear the wind in his ears and could feel the wind whispering to him. It was the first time that Bran had understood. The wildling woman, Osha, had told him that they were whispering to him. Now he could hear them. Now he could understand. He could also hear the water in a nearby stream, and could taste the fresh coolness of it. Snow sprinkled on his nose, his face, and wondered if the three-eyed crow had spent his unending days like this.

You helped him, yes? Bran immediately recognized the voice of the three-eyed crow. He didn't feel shocked that the three-eyed crow could hear his thoughts and was a telepath. There were so many things Bran didn't know about his new teacher.

Yes, I did. I helped Theon. Bran knew that he didn't have to explain why he helped Theon Greyjoy. The three-eyed crow already knew.

You were able to communicate with someone while in a heart tree. No even I could do that feat. Someday you will become more powerful than I. Bran was silent, still pondering over Theon. Would the Theon who had been family to the House Stark ever return? Bran didn't think so. The boy who had wanted to be a knight would never return, as his father would never return from the living.

See if you can see the future. The three-eyed crow wanted to see how far Bran's ability could go. Perhaps that will answer some of your questions.

I thought you said I couldn't control the past. How would that be different for the future?

The three-eyed crow was silent for a moment. It just is, was his reply.

Bran shed his skin again. It was easier now; the shedding of his own skin into the skin of the tree was easy as merging with Summer. He was seeing through the heart tree at Winterfell. A pond shown its reflection; the tree was the same, magnificent and white, with fallen leaves trailing in the water. Bran saw two men sitting by the pond. Leaves covered the ground, green as a summer's grass, but they still sat. One man had his hand on his direwolf's fur, stroking the thick coat. The direwolf's coat was a mixture of grey and white. His eyes were gold, and was as huge as the master stroking him. The man's eyes were on the bird flying in the sky. Bran saw that the bird was a blue robin and had an auburn chest. The bird chirped, making the man smile slightly. Bran looked closer at the man. His hair was a darker shade of auburn than on the bird's chest; the color was almost dark red. His eyes were blue, but somehow the man seemed older beyond his years. Bran would put the man's age at twenty-one years. He had a thin face and was clean-shaven. Next to him Bran saw another man. He seemed younger; perhaps the age Robb would have been if he had lived. The seventeen year old was cleaning a sword. Bran almost gasped out loud at its magnificence. The sword shone in the sun, gleaming red and gold. Rubies were etched the hilt, and a wolf's head produced from it. The younger man was absorbed into cleaning the sword until he saw his companion smile. He looked up, and Bran saw that he had a close-trimmed beard, red as fire. Bran also noticed that he and his companion shared the same eyes.

"What do you see, brother?" Rickon. Bran remembered the anger and pain in his younger brother's eyes. Those same eyes, Tully blue, stared back at his older self. The older Rickon seemed annoyed at his older brother's interruption.

"It's not what I see," Bran heard his older self whisper. "I hear the bird talking to me." His voice seemed deeper and wiser compared to now. He almost sounded like…the three-eyed crow. Rickon's voice was louder than his own, and also echoed the anger and sadness that he had when he was a boy. "She is saying hello." Both brothers were silent for a moment. Rickon started to clean his sword again, and Bran's older self continued to observe the world around him.

"Can you really read minds?" Before Bran could answer his brother's question, leaves skirted around them, and a dark haired woman crouched down before them. "Hello, sister," Bran heard Rickon reply. Arya. If only his mother could see this day. Arya was beautiful. Her former long hair was cut short, and her skin was a shade darker than her brothers, brown from the sun. Her eyes were grey, soft as stormy clouds, and her smile reminded Bran of their father. The older Arya nodded to them. Behind her came a female direwolf, who was grey and white. Nymeria. A boy walked slowly after the Arya's direwolf. Bran could see that the boy had grey eyes and thick black hair down to his neck. He was tall, but hesitated before coming closer, silent as a shadow. Bran didn't know who the boy was. Arya's son?

The boy answered for him. He bowed down to Bran first. "Lord Bran," he whispered. Then he did the same with Rickon. "Lord Rickon." He bowed to Arya as well. "Lady Arya."

"Hello, Clegane's heir." Rickon's voice was cold. His blue eyes were like chips of ice, and Bran was reminded of his father. Arya said nothing to the boy, and Nymeria growled at him. Only Bran showed a hint of courtesy. He dipped his head to the boy. My…nephew, Bran realized as his older self replied, "My lord Anlaun."

Bran felt himself shed his skin from the future. He was in his broken body again, listening to the sounds of the forest. Where…was Sansa…? Where were Shaggydog, Meera, Jojen, and Hodor? Where were they?

I think you, Brandon, house of Stark. This time Bran could feel his mentor's sadness.

They died. It was so simple. Otherwise, Bran's friends and family would have been there. They would have been with them twelve years into the future. Bran felt a pressure on his chest. Suddenly, he found it hard to breathe. Bran could feel the three-eyed crow's soothing wisdom in his ears. You cannot change the past or the present. Sometimes you cannot change the future. You will rise high, Brandon, house of Stark, the winged wolf…but at a price. Do not give up hope.

I don't know how to live now that I know… Bran couldn't finish his sentence. Jojen, his first mentor, would not die alone. His sister Meera and Hodor would die with him. Sansa, the sister that Bran thought he had lost, would actually die. That made the pain harder to bear, and Bran felt tears prickle his face.

Live, the three-eyed crow whispered into the greenseer's trembling ear. Live.