This is a sequel/companion to the fic "So Goodbye Until Tomorrow" written by Val-Creative and myself. You can find this fic on their page. Happy reading
Bran couldn't see.
His body shook, and Jon yelled for the Maester.
One moment he was in the body of a small fox, and the next his vision went black. He hadn't been trying to release himself from the mind of the animal, but perhaps his body had other ideas.
Maybe Warging into hundreds of animals to see the Night King's progress through the realm wasn't such a good idea after all.
After Arya died, after she was killed and turned, the whole of Winterfell was effected. She had just gotten back and she left so suddenly, on such a ridiculous mission. To kill the queen.
Bran saw her leave from his window, and he wondered if she knew there was nothing she could do. Cersei's fate was sealed long ago. The prophecy created surrounding Cersei and her children and her death, it was unavoidable. Bran could see it happening, and the great hammer swinging through the air and the splatter of blood on the walls of the Red Keep.
Bran's body seized violently and he was thrown out of his remuneration. He could feel Jon sitting next to him, could feel the anxiety rolling off of him. Jon didn't dare touch his younger brother, for fear of hurting him. Jon listened as the Maester rambled about episodes and maladies but his eyes never strayed from the shaking form of Bran.
Jon didn't think he could handle losing another sibling. First Robb, then Rickon, and most recently…. Arya. He knew that if anything happened to Bran, if he died, Jon would have to do the same he did to Arya. He could see Longclaw propped against the wall out of the corner of his eye, the Valyrian Steel glinting in the candlelight. Jon could still feel the blade sinking into the flesh of his baby sister. He didn't want the same memory with Bran.
Slowly, Bran's shaking ceased, and his breathing evened out. Jon gently pushed Bran's fringe off his sweaty forehead and waited for his eyes to open. When Bran's eyes opened, all Jon could see was white.
He couldn't seem to release himself from the mind of a lone fox. He trotted through the snow on its four legs, nose in the air, hoping he could maybe scent the dead. Bran stood still for another minute before trying to pull himself back to his own body.
Nothing happened.
He still stood in chest high snow, his white fur coat blending in almost seamlessly. Bran's ears perked up, ready to receive any sound that happened in this part of the forest. Distantly, a twig snapped, and Bran's head jerked in that direction. He focused intently on the trees and surrounding underbrush, all covered in snow, looking for any movement. A squirrel darted through the powder, kicking up a small cloud in terms wake. Other than that, Bran saw nothing.
He turned and trotted the direction he had been intending to go. Bran tried again to get back to his body, and got the sense of Jon lifting him into a bed, but he couldn't fully assimilate back. Dropping back into the foxes' consciousness, he went on his way, slinking through the snow.
If he had another episode, if he seized again, Bran didn't know if he would ever be able to feel his body again. But how to be the Three-Eyed Raven if he can't access his body? How to warg into other animals if he cannot transition with his human body? The old Raven never taught him about this.
Sansa swam in a haze of grief.
All her thoughts were consumed by the image of her baby sister laying prone in the snow with Jon's sword in her stomach. Sansa's own cries echoing back in her mind, "What have you done to her! Arya! ARYA!"
Sansa knew what it was like to lose a sibling, she had lost her fair share.
But she wasn't there for the others. She never saw their bodies laying cold in the snow.
After all they'd been through to get back to each other and now… she's gone.
The only thing that was keeping her mildly sane was the rest of her family. They had become only three, but ever closer because of that. There was rarely a time where they were without the others.
Bran. Her little brother, who seemed to think that just because he had changed meant he was no longer apart of their family. Well, Sansa had changed too, and she needed her family more than ever, and she knew Bran did too.
Then there was Jon. Her bastard half-brother. She had hated him as a child, thought she was better. But now, Sansa knew she wouldn't be alive without him. Her brother. Jon.
As she walked through the cold halls of Winterfell, Sansa thought of what their life would have been like had none of them ever left. Would everyone else still be alive?
No, Sansa thought. They wouldn't be, because they were Starks. And Starks cannot sit back and watch others suffer without trying to help.
The Noble House of Stark.
Bran, Jon, and Sansa. The three to survive out of eight.
All they had to do was get through the winter. To survive the long night.
Sansa heard a cry from the end of the hall, and her heart froze in her chest.
Please.
She lifted the hem of her skirt from the floor, and ran. Sansa followed the raised voices and ended up in Bran's room.
Where he lay, unmoving on the floor, with Jon and the Maester bent over him.
"C'mon, Bran… Wake up. There's been nothing so far that can stop you, why should this?" Sansa heard Jon softly say, running his hand through his brother's hair.
Sansa quickly stepped into the room and dropped to her knees beside Jon. "What's happened? Is he-"
"He's still alive. Bran has had a seizure, and it seems to have stopped, but he still won't wake. His eyes opened once, but all I could see was… White." Jon looked over at Sansa, who was staring blankly at Bran, and reached out and took her hand. "He's going to be okay, Sansa. We will do everything we can."
"What if it's not enough?" She whispered.
Jon gripped her hand tighter and looked back to Bran.
"It has to be."
Bran could feel everything that was happening to his body. Jon's hand on his forehead, Sansa's knees slightly pressed against his side. He could hear the words they spoke.
He was so close. If only he could just-
Bran breathed in a suddenly and deeply, jerking himself into a sitting position, startling the people around him.
"Bran!" Sansa cried out, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around her brother.
His chest heaved and his eyes were wide and he felt…
Like Brandon Stark.
He looked at his siblings, and his eyes started to well with tears.
"Sansa… Jon…" Bran said, his voice filled with more emotion than they had heard in a long time.
"We're here, Bran. We aren't going to leave you." Sansa said, taking his hand.
Jon grinned and leaned forward, planting a kiss on his brother's forehead. "We're glad you're okay."
Slowly, Bran shook his head.
"No… I don't think… I have much time left." He said, softly.
It was silent. No one spoke, the only noise was the wood, crackling quietly in the fireplace.
Bran continued, "I… feel like myself. I haven't felt like myself in a long time."
"But that's good, Bran. Don't you want to be yourself?" Sansa asked.
"It's more than that, Sansa." He paused, and took a deep breath. "I was always meant to be the Three-Eyed Raven. I met the one before me, and he told me he knew I was coming. He had always known I would come. And before… before he died, he told me he hadn't felt that much like himself for a hundred years."
Jon shook his head. "No, your experience is different, everyone does things differently."
"Not the Three-Eyed Raven, Jon. Our paths are fixed. And the Raven after us, and after them, and after them. Except, I have never seen another Three-Eyed Raven after me. I haven't met anyone who would be it, and I haven't seen anything. No opportunity to pass on the memories." Bran stopped and looked down.
"I am the last Three-Eyed Raven. And I'm going to die."
Jon stared at his little brother.
"It's because of the warging isn't it."
It wasn't a question.
Bran nodded. "The mind isn't built to travel."
"What are you talking about? Wargs...they're just a story." Sansa said.
She had a flash of a dream, of her powerful legs propelling her through the forest, thick fur enveloping her body. And when she stopped at a stream to drink, in her reflection she saw the eyes of a wolf staring back.
"It wasn't a dream, Sansa."
Sansa looked at Bran, and he inclined his head. "Warging usually starts in the dreams. If you realize what it is, you can learn to control it. If you don't, you'll just continue to warg in your dreams."
"Does that mean I'm going to die too?" Sansa's voice was oddly flat as she said this. Bran squeezed her hand.
"No. I promise." Arya's Valyrian steel dagger came to mind, but he shook the thought away.
Getting his mind back into his body had been no easy task, and Bran could already feel the pull to travel back into the mind of another.
"Bran, we'll figure it out. You're not going to die, you're not." Jon was very adamant. Bran liked that about him. He cared so much.
Bran smiled softly at his siblings and said, "The pack survives."
His whole body went rigid and he shook and shook, but he didn't leave his mind. He couldn't.
"Bran! Bran please, please, please, we can't lose you too, Bran please!" Sansa was shouting, and Jon tried to hold him, but it was no use.
His body spasmed back and threw his head against the stone floor.
And everything went still.
There was no Summer to come mourn Bran, like there was Nymeria for Arya. Summer had no place in this icy cold.
There was no waiting around, either. It would disgrace Bran's memory, and his position as Three-Eyed Raven to let him turn.
The funeral pyre was lit that night.
As the flames danced and celebrated the life of yet another Stark, Sansa slipped away.
Jon didn't blame her. It was hard to watch. But he wasn't going to leave Bran alone. Not again.
"I'm sorry you'll never get to see another summer, Bran. I'm sorry you never got to climb again." Tears fell freely down Jon's cheeks as he spoke, the Northerners around him quiet. "But I'm proud of the man you became. You were strong. Stronger than any of us. You are gone too soon, but the North will remember you. Brandon Stark of Winterfell. The Three-Eyed Raven. The boy who went beyond the wall and survived."
Jon took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Bran. My brother. I will miss you."
There it was.
On her bedside table.
Sansa's fingers clasped around the handle, and she thought of her family. Of her brothers, her parents, her sister.
Bran.
A great sob wracked her body, and she fell to her knees.
The Valyrian steel dagger was cold against her palm.
She had lost everything. Her family, her life… She had her home, but for how long? The Night King was on his way. He would kill anything and everything in his path.
Anything to bring on the endless night.
Why should she give him the satisfaction of bringing her into his army?
Mother. Father. Robb. Rickon. Arya. Bran.
She could see them all again.
They could finally be together again, like her father promised.
Sansa brought the dagger to eye level and stared at the blade. She could see her face in the polished metal.
She watched her tears fall.
There were footsteps in the hall. Sansa rose and backed herself into the corner of her room, away from the door.
She watched the handle turn, and Jon's face appear.
His eyes first went to her empty bed, before rising and scanning the room. They land on her and focus on the blade in her hand. His eyes went wide and he pushed the door open fully.
"Sansa… What are you doing?"
"The North remembers, Jon. I remember." Tears streaked down her pale face, and her breathing was ragged. "I remember them, and all I see when I close my eyes are their faces. Cold and unmoving. Our family. Mother, Father, Robb, Rickon… Arya… Bran. I can see them, and I can't stand it anymore."
Jon took a step forward. "Sansa, please think about this. Put down the dagger."
"I can't do it anymore, Jon. I can't. I've had to be strong for so long, and I can't anymore."
"I can't lose you too, Sansa, please."
"I'm sorry, Jon. I have to. I have to be with them. I miss them so much." Her hands started to shake.
"What about me? Don't you think I miss them too? You can't do this, Sansa! What about the North?" Jon's voice was getting increasingly desperate, he didn't know what to do.
"The North remembers. And so do I."
With a loud sob, Sansa stretched the blade out in front of her, and drove it into her abdomen.
"No!"
Jon cried out and rushed toward her, catching Sansa before she hit the ground.
"Why, Sansa? Why must you leave me to face this alone?"
Sansa's hand left the grip of the dagger, and reached up to touch Jon's cheek.
"Family."
Her arm fell to the floor.
Jon cried.
His family was gone.
The dead were at his door.
Jon knew he told Gendry he didn't want to fight anymore, and now he couldn't seem to find a reason to.
Except.
To protect the place he was happiest. His home. His family's home.
Jon didn't think he could ever leave Winterfell, and as he stood at the gates, facing an army of the dead, Jon was filled with resolve.
This was his home. Winter had come, and he wasn't going to let it last forever.
Jon drew his sword.