Bran Stark had various dreams. He didn't have wolf dreams ever since he learnt to wear Summer's skin, but when he rested he had other dreams. His father, Sansa, Arya... those three who had parted to King's Landing, never to return. Sometimes, Jon was there too, the brother who had left Winterfell for the Wall and who he had briefly seen before reaching the Wall, from Summer's eyes. And Robb, and Catelyn, and Rickon. They all went through different paths, and he wished they would just all cross once again.
But there was also another recurrent dream. It was the dream he seeked, the only one that made him a little happy.
In it, he was still the prince of Winterfell. His father still lived, and his mother was still by his side. Robb and Jon were joking and laughing, and Sansa was eating lemon pies and talking to Jeyne Poole, until Arya threw some food at her, which made Rickon laugh and Sansa shriek. And next to Bran was her. Meera Reed sat next to him, held his hand, walked with him (in his dreams, at least, he was not a cripple), laughed with him, she was always with him.
She was meant to be his wife, and she told him that she loved him, and so did he. Bran could tell her how much he loved her in that dream, yet when he woke up and paradise disappeared, he looked at her and was unable to do it. Perhaps, someday, he would gather enough strength and courage to confess that he loved her, but it wouldn't be the same. There was no Winterfell left, it was just an abandoned castle now, and no home to return to for them to get married. The dream was just that, a dream.
Happiness seems to be unreachable in this world, Bran thought. For someone who is broken, that is.