Authors Note: Hey y'all. So this is just a little piece that's been stuck in my head for a week now, making it almost impossible to work on anything else. It's a relatively short piece in total, but there are several more chapters that I've written and will post if anyone enjoys the first section. I love Bran, and this is just a little story about him in the future after all the crap that he has to deal with. It's slightly AU (since I'm combining stuff from the books and the TV show) featuring my favorite parings and an original character. Hope you enjoy.
Bran walked across the court yard, and in that instant he knew it was a dream. He always walked in his dreams. Summer trotted happily at his heals. The huge oaken doors to Winterfell flew open in front of him and he was momentarily blinded by the summer sun streaming in through the wide open gates. When his eyes adjusted, he saw it, a great lioness trotting in through the gates. Bran knew that it was a dream and that the lion couldn't hurt him, but what he found odd was the lack of fear he had of the great cat walking into Winterfell.
He glanced down at Summer, who great the lion as one would an old friend, pouncing on her, goading her into play with happy yips. The lioness pounced on Summer, the dire wolf just falling to his back, as the lioness nuzzled and licked him. The lion turned her attention to Bran, large green eyes meeting his own, and he was falling backward, to the ground the great lion on top of him. She purred and tucked her head under his chin, her rough tongue licking his cheek. But when he looked at the lion, it was no longer a lion, but a wolf, a dire wolf, smaller than Summer, with a dark brown tinted coat, but the green eyes still bore into him.
When he finally opened his eyes, Bran could see that it was still dark outside. He pulled himself up in his bed and stared out his window. He flung his useless legs out of bed, and pulled himself into his chair. The chair had been a brilliant design, that the Imp had drawn up for him after the dust from the great wars had finally settled. A light padded chair, with large wheels on either side, so he could push himself around the newly reconstructed Winterfell, without needing to be carried. Gendry, his sister Ayra's husband, had constructed the chair himself in Winterfell's forge.
Not for the first time, Bran's heart felt heavy at the losses that the world had endured though the wars and the attack of the Other's afterwards. That winter had been hard, but thankfully short. Perhaps it was the forced retreat of the Other's as Queen Dany had forced the Others back beyond the wall with her dragons, before securing the throne for herself. The following spring had been bitter cold, but long. Giving him time to oversee the reconstruction of Winterfell. He had raised the new castle on the ruins of the old one, remaining true to the concepts and structure that Bran the Builder had laid forth. It had taken five years, but the castle stood tall and proud, as if it had never been raised
Ten years, he thought staring into the east waiting for the sun to rise. It's been ten long years since the White Walkers were sent running. Twenty years since my father died. Bran had been eight then, still a boy, but now he was a man of twenty eight, and Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North beside. Arya had married-though she swore she never would, Sansa had married the Hound, Sandor Clegane who'd been made Lord of the Eerie after the dust settled, even little Rickon, had married a young daughter of Dorne, only he remained alone. No one wants to marry a cripple, he thought bitterly to himself. He'd never say it aloud, but he knew.
Not that he hadn't had offers, he had. It seemed that many houses wanted to join with the Starks who had pulled themselves from the ashes of a ruined Westeros. But every time he met one of these girls who'd be his wife he saw nothing but pity in their eyes. Whether is was pity for him, as a cripple, or pity for themselves, at the idea of being married to a cripple, he wasn't sure, but what he was sure of was that he had had enough of pity.
He thought of his dream, as he watched the sun peak over the horizon. A lion, he thought. A Lannister perhaps? Bran frowned. Nearly all of the Lainnister's were dead. The Imp had died only a few years ago, but Cersei and Jamie were long gone and the vast majority of the Lannisters had been killed by the war. Tommen, the heir to Casterly Rock, had taken a Maesters chain instead, renouncing his claim, and had actually been sent to Winterfell once his training had been completed. He had heard that a minor branch of the Lannisters had inherited Casterly Rock, but the Starks remained ever wary of the Lannisters. He wondered why he would have welcomed a Lainnister into Winterfell so happily, when he heard a small knock on his bedroom door. He turned his chair, and saw Rickon walk in. His brother stared at him, a frown marring his normally happy features.
"I dreamt of a Lion last night," Rickon said
"As did I," Bran nodded.
"Do you think we should tell the others?" Rickon asked.
"Did the lion attack you?" Bran asked, remembering how happy he had been to see the lion.
"No," Rickon frowned even deeper. "That's what I thought was odd. I embraced the lion as I would a sister and Shaggy seemed very protective of her." Bran nodded. He hadn't quite puzzled out the meaning of the dream yet, but he knew that what ever this lion was supposed to be, meant no harm.
"You can if you want," Bran sighed. "But I don't think the dreams meant trouble." The whole family had gathered at Winterfell from the farthest corners of the seven kingdoms, for Bran's name day next week.
"Still want to ride today?" Rickon said a smile finally spreading over his face. The Hound had planned a hunt for that morning and the four men, Gendry, Rickon and himself, were all riding out in but a few hours.
"Does a Lannister shit gold?" Bran laughed. Rickon laughed heartily and left to dress. Bran called a servant who helped him do the same. It still bothered him that there were many things that he couldn't do on his own, but Winterfell had been designed with his handicap in mind. In place of stairs there were angled ramps, so that there was no place in his castle that he couldn't go. It had been quite a challenge to do and he had to send for an architect from across the Narrow Sea, but it had been done.
Bran glanced at himself in a polished silver mirror. He would have been as tall as his father, perhaps taller as Rickon was, but he was confined to the chair. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were as thick as Gendry's from pulling himself around on his bars and pushing the wheels of his chair. His face was that of a Stark, dark eyes and strong features, his dark hair kept short. He was handsome. He'd been told so on a number of occasions, but he was also not whole.
When he was dressed, he joined his siblings to break his fast in the great hall. Arya sat lecturing her twin sons Eddard and Robert not to put their elbows on the table, while Sansa praised her own children, Eleanor, Robb and Edwin, on their table manners. Rickon said whispering into his wife, Marci's ear, while she sat huge with their first child. He envied his sibling for their happiness. Each had found love however odd it may have been and clung to it.
After they ate, the men mounted their horses and were off. Bran's own mount Crow, a black gelding with a good temperament had been trained much the same way that his young mare Dancer had been, responding to his voice and touch instead of spurs. He rode out with his brothers, both by birth and by law, and came to the wolfwood, where they were planning on hunting. Sandor's hounds were baying ahead of them, on to the scent of something, and Summer and Shaggy Dog, padded silently beside their masters. The hunt was merely a distraction for Bran, and an excuse to ride. Sandor's courser bolted ahead of the rest and left Bran with Gendry and Rickon.
"Rickon tells me you had a dream last night," Gendry asked in a nonchalant tone. Bran looked at the bastard born Lord of Storm's End, who Stannis had legitimized with his dying breath. Bran simply nodded. His sibling knew of his dreams, the green sight as the small folk called it, and likewise, so did their spouses. He opened his mouth to answer, but his attention was turned in the direction of the Kings road to the east. He saw a figure, riding hard, as if demons themselves were at their heels. He watched as the figure adjusted in the saddle, pulling its legs under it and stood on the galloping horses back.
Bran could see now that the figure was a woman dressed in mens clothes. She stood up straight on the horses back, seemingly unafraid, reins held in one hand. The wind tossed her long unbound dark hair into a tangled mess, but she seemed not to care. She dropped to one side, her foot catching in the stirrup and her other foot barely seemed to touch the ground, as she vaulted her leg back over the horse and in to the saddle. He had seen Dothraki riders do this in King's Landing, but had never seen anyone ride like this otherwise.
Back in the saddle she reigned her horse to a trot, and glanced in his direction, halting her horse entirely. The dappled grey horse she was riding, panting hard and pawing the ground in excitement. Before he knew what he was doing, Bran was turning his own horse and urging him forward towards this wild girl. Something about her was intriguing. As he drew nearer, he could make out the girls features. She was young, maybe eighteen, with a long tangled dark mess for hair, and pale skin, marred with mud and dirt. She seemed delicate, too delicate to be riding like this by herself. Even under the mens tunic and breeches he could see that she was curvy, her waist tiny by comparison. She cast her eyes down as he approached.
"Forgive me my lord," she said, her voice calm and even. "I didn't know anyone else was around."
"You're only a few hours from Winterfell," Bran said his voice low and stern, the way he knew a lord's voice should sound. "That was impressive riding." Her eyes flickered up to his only for an instant, but Bran felt a stirring in is chest. Even covered in dirt, this girl was the embodiment of beauty.
"Thank you my lord," the girl smiled and seemed to be hold back laughter. Yes, Bran thought, Laugh at the cripple. "It's kind of you to say so." Her eyes remained on the ground in front of his horse, Bran wished she would raise her eyes to his, so that he might see her better, but before he could ask her she spoke again. "I beg your pardon my lord, but I must return to my companions." Bran nodded, sad that she wished to be gone from him so quickly. She bowed her head slightly, and turned her horse around roughly and galloped off back from where ever she had come.
"Who was that?" Rickon asked from Bran's left. Bran shrugged as he watched her ride away from him, and felt an odd tugging in his chest at the sight of her retreating figure.
It was well into the afternoon when the men returned from their hunt. Sandor had brought down a deer and sent it to the kitchens so that it might be cooked for dinner. As Bran wheeled into his solar, he found his sisters waiting for him, both with angry expressions on their faces. "What is it?" Bran sighed.
"A Lannister has come to visit Maester Tommen," Arya said, the name Lannister rolling off her tongue like a curse. "She got here four hours ago, and we had to greet her and offer hospitality."
"A Lannister," Bran sighed again, thinking only of the girl he'd met on the road, where she was, what she was doing.
"Yes," Sansa said, her voice soft, but still disdainful. "She asked us to show her to her cousin and feed her garrison. She said she'd happily call on you at your convenience."
"We haven't had a Lannister in Winterfell since," Bran began, remembering his dream.
"Since the bloody Kingslayer pushed you out a window," Arya finished. Bran shot his sister a warning look. "What?" she asked. "It's true."
"I'll change and then greet her myself," Bran said more sternly than he meant to. His sisters nodded and rose to leave.
"Better to receive her in the hall, Bran," Arya cautioned. "I'd not invite a Lannister into my chambers if I were you." When his sisters had finally left, Bran rubbed his face. A lion has come to Winterfell, he thought. He ordered a bath and cleaned, and changed his clothes before sending someone to this Lannister woman. He wheeled himself down to the great hall, and pulled himself into the lords chair, just in time for his siblings and to join him. His sisters were shooting him meaningful looks, and he sighed not for the first time that day.
Maester Tommen walked into the hall, at his side a lovely woman. Tommen's Lannister features were a stark contrast to the young lady's. Where his hair was spun gold, hers was a dark brown, long a wavy, bound into a simple braid down her back. Where Tommen was tan, she was pale. Her gown was Lannister crimson, and she was small, tiny even.
"My Lord," Tommen said with a bow, "My I present my cousin, Lady Josslyn Lannister." Josslyn's green eyes darted up to meet Bran's and he grimaced in instant recognition. Her face may have been scrubbed clean, and her hair brushed free of it's tangles, but he knew this was the same wild girl he'd seen on the King's Road.
"Lady Josslyn," Bran said his voice unusually tight. "If I had known it was you on the King's Road I would have seen you safely to Winterfell." He could feel the eyes of everyone on him as he looked at the beautiful girl before him.
"Far be it for me to interrupt your leisure, my lord," Josslyn smiled slightly. Bran noticed a slight blush creep into her cheeks. "I had not thought that you would recognize me." Bran was silent. If this Lion was nervous in the wolves den, she didn't show it. "I thank you for your hospitality my lord," she continued. "I had not thought I would be received as warmly."
"Do you think us barbarians then," Bran snapped. "Who do not know basic courtesies?"
"No, my lord," Josslyn smiled sadly and Bran immediately felt bad for his harsh reaction. "Not at all. There is little to no love of Lannisters in the North," she said with a quick look at her cousin beside her. "Not that I would blame your family had you turned me away. I'm only here to see my cousin, and to see the North with my own eyes."
"A Lannister, with a love of the North," Arya snorted somewhere beside Bran. "I had thought that the Lannisters wouldn't like the cold." Josslyn never seemed fazed for a moment. She inclined her head to Arya,
"Not all would do well in the cold," she said with a small laugh. "But I was born in the first year of the last Autumn. The cold is really all I know, and with the unseasonably cold Spring turning to Summer, I found Casterly Rock too warm for my taste." Bran watched Josslyn closely, she had all the civility and bearing of someone who grew up in the royal court, but that wild girl he saw on the road intrigued him more than he'd like to admit. Sansa seemed to have the same thought.
"You spent time at court," she said. "Judging by your bearing."
"Yes, my lady," Josslyn said. "Several years in fact." She reached into one over her long sleeves. "I have brought this. A letter from your brother Jon." She walked up the slanted ramp to the dais, where he and his family sat, and offered the letter to Bran. He took it, and his fingers grazed hers for an instant, and he found his hand seemed to burn with a pleasant warmth where her hand had touch his. She blushed again, and returned to her cousins side.
"Would you dine with us Lady Josslyn?" Bran asked before he knew the words were even out of his mouth. He heard the gasps of his siblings and could feel their angry glares on his back. He didn't care, he found this woman intriguing, whether a Lannister or not. He watched Josslyn take in his siblings reactions.
"If you' d have me my lord," she smiled kindly. "But you don't have to stand on ceremony for my sake, I could take a simple meal with my cousin and be just as happy." She had gracefully given him an out, and she had done it so deftly that he could easily rescind his invitation and no one would be insulted.
"I insist." Bran said firmly. His sisters would not be happy about it but he couldn't care less at the moment. Josslyn was fascinating, and he wanted to spend more time with her, no matter if it made his sisters mad. He watched Josslyn's eyes flicker to either side of him at his sisters.
"Then I accept, my lord." she said with a smile. "I'd be happy to share a meal with your family." She bowed and excused herself, and Bran watched her wistfully as she left. No sooner was she out of earshot then his sisters descended on him.
~x~
Tommen escorted Josslyn from the hall, and when she was finally in the safety of her own chambers, did she feel that she could relax. She was so sure that Bran wouldn't recognize her that she felt bad for lying through omission. His sisters on the other hand, she exhaled another great breath and frowned.
"Please don't be offended Joss," Tommen said sadly.
"I'm not, Tom," Joss said honestly. "If half the stories they tell of the Starks are true, then it's no wonder they look at me suspiciously." Tommen frowned and absentmindedly fingered his maester's collar.
"You handled yourself well though," her cousin smiled bitterly. Joss hugged him tightly. She knew none suffered for the Lannister name more than Tommen, who was Cersei's son. If she was regarded with suspicion, then he was regarded with hatred. "Poor Bran doesn't seem to know what to do with you," Tommen laughed, and Josslyn turned to hide her blush. If truth be told she hadn't know what to expect from the famed Lord of Winterfell, but when she saw him on the road she couldn't believe how handsome he was, no one had warned her of that. Everyone seemed to focus on the fact that he was a cripple, but none had said that his dark eyes seemed to stare right through you as if examining your very thoughts. She shivered remembering the way his hand had felt beneath her fingers.
Josslyn groaned throwing herself into a chair, "What am I going to do about this dinner? Arya and Sansa clearly don't want me there."
"You could feign ill," Tommen suggested with a hint of disapproval.
"No," Joss dismissed the idea. "I wouldn't do that." She ran a hand down her braided hair, if truth be told, she was excited about the idea of seeing Bran again, though she told herself she was just being a silly girl. She just didn't want to make his sisters uncomfortable. She heard a knock at the door, and sat up straight, pretending to be the proper lady that she been taught to be. A young serving boy walked in and bowed clumsily.
"Lord Stark wished me to inform you that dinner will be in his solar in an hour, m'lady," the young boy and then left the room. Josslyn suspected the reason, but all the same, washed and changed for dinner, making her way through the stone walls of Winterfell to her now private dinner with it's lord.