Note: Yes, Bran can walk in this

The birds always sang a tune of welcome every time he came here, with the sun breaking through the roof of branches, lightening the bed of grass, moss and the intertwined gentle streams from above. It was a rare sight for Bran, being used to the urban wilderness of London, and the reason why he took every opportunity to go to Meera's home country along with her. The grass here wasn't fake, it wasn't planted, it simply was – as it should be. But there is no place for such in the capital, despite its parks, gardens and whatever cultural Victorian custom might praise nature. Here, it was quiet. One could sit back in their chair, place themselves by a tree and read, or really whatever they wanted to, without being disturbed. It was a place to gain the calmness you couldn't in a big city, where people let things take their time. It was peace and solace.

Or maybe it was just her.

Maybe it was just her, who made sun break through the roof of branches, or her voice with which the birds sang their beautiful welcome. Maybe the forest bed of moss was the green in her eyes, maybe the streams received their energy from her presence. Maybe the soothing atmosphere was her happy demeanour, maybe this place was her.

Meera scouted for a place by a stream. Bran followed but always lagged a tad behind his more energetic girlfriend, especially in these parts with so much to gaze at. She smiled at him, having stopped. "What about here, Bran?"

"Here's wonderful." He answered, his thoughts dampened by her smile. He stood and glared before she started to laugh, waiting for him to take out the blanket.

"I know we didn't get much sleep," she knowingly smirked, "but please, stay awake for this."

Bran began fiddling with the backpack, retrieving the blanket and covering the humid grass. They had already eaten at Jojen's cottage and had packed only beverages and their books. Jojen had lived in London for some years, but never coped properly with the city, and moved away as a result. Both Meera and Bran agreed it was the best solution. He didn't mind housing them once in a while – in fact, it was always painstakingly obvious how much he prepared for their visit but kept neglecting the fact that he did.

It was true, though; they hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Bran wondered what Jojen thought of it, but he must have gained conformity with the idea by now. Understandably, he had been close to mortified when he first realised they were together. In fact, most viewed their relationship with some askance at first, his mother especially. But they hadn't cared, and whenever any doubt occurred, such would quickly be erased by the presence of one another.

Meera leaned back against the tree and put on her glasses, waiting to be handed her book. He did so but didn't join her immediately. Instead, he went to dip his fingers in the stream. "You know," he turned towards her, crouched, "I keep getting jealous of you."

She lowered the book. "I never thought you the jealous type."

"You grew up here," he exclaimed while signalling their surroundings, "who wouldn't be jealous of that?"

"Hmm, I wonder," she smiled, "maybe those whose father's a CEO, mother a professor and who've grown up in a mansion?"

"You say you would've switched?"

Meera's expression was comforting. "No, I wouldn't."

He didn't know many others his age who would be truly jealous of this. The only one he could think of was his father, but none of his siblings. Robb was far too concerned with business to ever see the beauty of the green nature, and Sansa loved the luxurious lifestyle they'd been granted too much. Arya and Rickon simply wouldn't have the patience.

"Bran, I just remembered." Meera suddenly said. "We haven't fixed the present for Robb and Margaery, have we?"

Bran feigned contemplation, but very well knew the answer.

"Their wedding is two days after we return to London." Meera continued.

"We'll figure something out, or ask Sansa to buy something for us – she'll know what to buy."

"What a heartfelt, brotherly action." she dramatically said, but couldn't restrain from laughing at herself. Her laugh was like music you couldn't help but dance along with.

Literature was their opium. They both loved it, loved the stories and the authors that could convey them. They had promised each other to read at least a book every month, but it often came to more than that. Sometimes they'd swap books, make fun of the other's choice, read extracts to each other they found particularly beautiful. Not long into their relationship, Theon had spied on them when they were in the bedroom – only to later state his disappointment with the results.

In stark contrast to the relationships of his siblings, Bran and Meera rarely did more than a brief kiss openly. Arya and Gendry, Rickon and Shireen would all snog (at times more than just that) unashamedly in the middle of the living room if they felt like it. It wasn't that Bran didn't dare do it, he simply did not want to – such moments were too precious to him to be shared with everyone around. Luckily, Meera felt the same, although not as strongly as himself. Jojen was the only one they felt comfortable "doing more" around, hence their "lack of sleep" the night before.

"How long do we have to wait to tell them?" Bran asked. He had asked a little over a week ago.

"Well someone's impatient." Meera jokingly answered and closed her book, laying it. "Let your brother and soon-to-be Mrs Stark enjoy the stage spotlight for some time, I think. They like it far more than we do."

"At least Margaery does – not so sure about Robb." He stated, then hesitated to continue. "And about that…"

"About what?"

"The name. Our last name, after the wedding."

"What about it?" she asked, but he knew she was aware. Bran found the subject uncomfortable for some reason.

"You know."

She pulled him closer, making a frolic mischievous face at him. "I'm no Sansa, it's not like I'll subject to you like some dainty princess."

"I have figured that by now."

"Would you like to be named Reed?"

"I wouldn't mind," he said, which wasn't entirely true. The instant he'd said it, however, she had read past his words.

"Mr Bran Stark, you are the worst liar in existence. Did you know?" she asked with a glance.

"As a matter of fact, I did." He had heard it over and over. "We'll both take Reed, too." He stated.

"You know, my father very much admires yours," she said. "You should have seen him when I told him we were a couple. At first, I feared he would be mad that you were seven years younger than me. But that fact quickly drowned by your last name, or more precisely, that my boyfriend was a son of Ned Stark."

"I got about the same reaction from mine."

"Perhaps they should get together themselves." She remarked, causing a laugh from both of them. "My father always asks when we'll come by him."

"We are there once every two or three weeks." Bran defended.

"He likes you, Bran. As do I."

Astonishing how words could act as heaters.

"You don't think Margaery will be envious of another Mrs Stark?" she continued.

"Why would she? She's very kind and polite."

"Oh, I know. Have you seen the preparations for the wedding?" He signalled he hadn't. "It's all very extravagant. I wouldn't dare think of the cost."

"What does that matter?"

"It matters a lot. Not to your father, or to Robb. But she likes it expensive and high-end, and not that there's anything wrong with that – it just makes me believe she would never address me as Mrs Stark."

"I have no idea where you're getting all of this from." He said, truthfully and confused. She just kissed him slowly in response.

After a minute of bliss or two, Meera pulled herself away. "But I'm no Margaery either. Or perhaps, I am," she quipped, picking up her book once more. "Who wouldn't want to be a Stark?"