This is actually my first story written in english (since it's not my native language), so there may be many grammar and punctuation mistakes, but I hope you will be able to understand it. I would be grateful for any remarks especially those that contents constructive criticism.

This story is also a part of a long, multiple chapters story. Some things may not be quite clear (like the characters of Liv Hanna and Sol), but I hope it won't be a problem. Any references to the previous events hopefully won't disturb either.

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THE CHARACTERS, PLACES OR ANYTHING THAT MAY REFER TO THE ORIGINAL WRITTEN BY G.R.R.M.!

Bran

The wind was cold, very cold. Bran shrugged and leaned down, trying to hide himself in Summer's long, warm fur. Now it was only natural for him to ride on the direwolf – they're both parts of each other, after all. After Hodor's death it was his only way to move around in the places where a horse can't go. He shrugged again, this time not from the cold. He still couldn't believe that Hodor is dead. That day will haunt him to death, he knew that. The knife in Liv Hanna's hand, the screams, the blood on the ground...

Bran shook his head to send the unpleasant thoughts away. He didn't want this horrible memory to haunt him, not then, not there. He wanted to enjoy this day – after all that time he came back home. But was this really his home? It wasn't the Winterfell he remembered. It was burned and ruined castle with high piles of snow everywhere. It was dead place, inhabited only by that group of armed wildlings, who stayed here only on somebody's order. My home, thought Bran bitterly. Or maybe what is left of it. Winterfell will never be the same. Not without Robb and Jon, without father and mother, without Arya and Sansa. Just empty shell left after something once great.

He didn't know how and why, but suddenly he found himself in the godswood. This was the only place that still remained the same, the only place untouched by war and bastard of Bolton. But the memory of Maester Luwin dying beneath the heart tree haunted Bran as soon as he reached it. So many sad memories. So many great men that will never come back. The thought made the boy sob. No, I'm too big to cry like a little child, he reprimanded himself. But whatever he may have thought wouldn't stop the tears. He wiped away some of them, but eventually gave up and started crying.

The tears made his sight blurred, but he didn't care. He knew, when Summer reached the heart tree and made him stop and lay down onto the cold ground. Using all the strength he still got, he managed to come down from the direwolf and sit next to him. He rested his back on the tree and closed his eyes, he could see nothing because of the tears anyway. It was cold, but that was fine. Bran cuddled himself to Summer, enjoying the warmth of the beast. Winter has come, he thought, feeling the cold wind again. This time it brought some snowflakes with it. They melted on his cheeks.

Bran wasn't sure how long he was sitting like that, thinking. He was thinking about the past, remembering the better days from his childhood, he was thinking about his lost siblings and all of the ones he knew and was aware that he will never see them again. And about Jojen. Every time, the presence of the heart tree remembered him about his friend who sacrificed himself. For me, Jojen died for me. He knew, he was painfully sure that he will never forgive it himself. And he would never forgive it lord Brynden and Liv Hanna.

Among all of that thoughts there was one more, the observation that he made suddenly. Maybe that wasn't anything important, but he found it somehow comforting when he realised that he was sitting there exactly the same way as his father used to in the past. He was always sitting here, beneath the heart tree, whenever he had something on his mind. And Bran had really much on his mind right now. Maybe finally he understood his father's reasons to do so. With the next powerful blow of cold wind, the boy hid himself into Summer's fur. But father didn't have a direwolf with him, and I have. He missed his father, just as much as the rest of his family. He never felt so lonely like then, in the abandoned godswood of Winterfell. Only Summer's warm presence was comforting him.

He was sitting there, his eyes closed as he would never want to open them again, when suddenly he heard a soft sound of crushed leaves and sticks on the ground. Somebody was coming. Unwillingly, Bran opened his eyes, only to see the tall figure approaching him.

"Is everything all right? I got worried – you disappeared for so long" said Meera in soft voice.

He turned away from her, not wanting her to see his tears. It was so childish of him to start crying like that and he didn't want Meera to think of him as of a child. He was almost a man grown and he should act like such!

"Bran?" repeated the girl, this time more worried.

"I'm all right," he murmured, knowing that it's not true.

And Meera seemed to know that too. She came closer, squatted next to him and placed her hand on his arm.

"You know you can always tell me what's bothering you, right?" she whispered to his ear.

The touch of her hand was so warm and comforting, even more than Summer's presence.

He didn't answer her, just kept his eyes closed, desperately trying to overcome tears.

"Bran," she whispered again, her warm breath tickling his ear.

He felt her other hand lightly touching his cheek, when she gently turned his head to face her. He still didn't open his eyes, not wanting to confront her while crying like a child. She took her hand from his arm and started to stroke his hair. He found this gesture so pleasant, so comforting, as like it would chase away all of his depressing thoughts. But he still couldn't stop the tears, on the contrary – they seemed to pour more intensively, especially when he thought that his mother used to do the same when he was upset. And she will never do that again. With that thought another burst of tears shook him.

He felt Meera stopping her action and move a little away from him, probably watching closely his face, as she always do when she's worried about him. Then she leaned down, very close to his face, so close that he could feel her breath on his cheeks. Suddenly he felt her warm, soft lips on his left eye as she kissed away his tears. Bran's heart stopped for a split second and then started racing twice faster then normally. He enjoyed the feeling very much and felt really disappointed when she moved, luckily only to place same kiss onto his other eye. At the same time her gentle fingers wiped tears from his cheeks.

"My sweet prince," she whispered as she broke apart. "Please, don't cry any more."

With that she hugged him close and buried her face into his hair.

They were sitting like that for a while. Bran still kept his eyes closed, only now because he was afraid that when he would open them he will lose the feeling of her lips. He just moved as close to her as he managed. And even if she didn't really asked what's bothering him, he started talking.

"It's so empty," he murmured against her arm. "Empty castle filled with ghosts of the past. Everything here remembers me about the ones that are already gone. My family, Old Nan, Maester Luwin and the rest. They're gone, but I'm still here. Bran the Broken. A cripple. I'm alive, when better than me are..."

"No," Meera interrupted him, placing a finger onto his lips. "Don't say such things, please. They are not true. You are not worse than your brothers or anybody else."

Bran smiled bitterly.

"I am. I'm a cripple while they were healthy and strong. But they're gone and I'll never see them again."

"I know, I know," the girl started to stroke his hair again. "It's good that you still remember those who died, but you can do nothing to help them. Do you think your father would be happy to see you sitting in the godswood and crying over the past?"

"No, he wouldn't. He would tell me that I should rather try to make the future better," sighed Bran.

He finally decided to open his eyes and tilted his head back to look at Meera. She was smiling shyly and looking at him with caring expression on her face.

"But I don't know what to do to make the future better," he added sadly.

"You definitely won't be able to do anything while sitting and crying," the girl giggled slightly.

He smiled in response.

"No, I think I won't."

Meera reached out her hand and touched his cheek.

"I'm glad you finally smiled. You surely worry too much."

His smile grew wider as he leaned against Summer's side and looked above.

He had simply forgotten about the weather, about the snow and cold. But as he watched snowflakes settling onto red leaves of the heart tree, he noticed also how much he was covered by fresh snow. But I'm not cold any more, he thought. Not with Meera by my side. He really loved her, but he was afraid of telling her so. Once he did, but he was sure she didn't really heard that. Bran didn't think he will ever have courage to tell her again, he didn't want to put her in the difficult situation. He knew that she's too nice to openly reject him, because she wouldn't want to hurt his feelings, but he also knew that it's just not possible for her to love him back. Because I'm a cripple and I'm good few years younger than her. She deserve someone better. A man, not a child like me. So he will stay silent. He will never tell her about his feelings, but he will enjoy every little moment they would share, every little moment like this one, when she would be so nice to him. She treat me like her little brother, she treat me like Jojen. And I shouldn't expect anything more.

"Bran?" Meera's soft voice broke the silence.

"Yes?" he blinked a few times to chase away his thoughts and focus on her words.

"You know you are not alone, right?" she said silently. "You know that you have me, Sol and Summer. We will not leave you."

Bran smiled slightly. For some reason she kept repeating it to him almost every evening. The rest he knew by heart such well that he could almost say it along her.

"I will always be there for you, whenever you'd need me. I would never leave you alone. You can always count on me. Please, remember you're not alone."

He knew that she cared of him. He was sure that she really mean what she says. And it didn't count that she would never love him the same way he love her. All what counted was the fact that he could really be sure that she wouldn't leave him alone and wouldn't let him sink into sorrow.

The godswood was peaceful and silent. Only wind could disturb them. But when the distant horn sounded, both of them tensed.

"One blow. That means friends," said Meera.

"As long as their friends are also ours," muttered Bran in response.

Meera chuckled.

"I think they are."

Suddenly she stood up.

"I will go and check what's going on," she informed him. "And then I'll probably find Sol."

He didn't want her to go, but he knew he can't stop her. Please, stay with me? How childish that would sound? He knew she would stay, but he didn't want to stop her against her will.

"Are you going with me?" she asked.

Bran shook his head.

"I think I'll stay a little longer."

"But don't stay here too long, okay? And don't cry again."

"I won't," he assured her, feeling like a little child instructed by his mother.

Or maybe not. Somehow, from the deepest part of his mind came to him one old memory. That day he was playing in the godswood with Arya. When they had seen father coming to the heart tree, they both hid themselves into the bushes. Their father was sitting silently for a long while and Arya grew really bored, but suddenly their mother entered their sight. She came closer to Lord Eddard and had a little talk with him. Before going back to her duties she told him not to stay long and not to trouble so much. And somehow whole this situation was so similar to what Meera had done for him today. That awareness was comforting and also gave him hope that he's not just the little boy for her. Yeah. I'm free to dream.

Just before going away Meera bent down and slightly kissed his forehead.

"Don't trouble so much, my prince," she whispered. "I hate seeing you so sad."

Her eyes expressed so sincere concern and worry, that he didn't know what to say. But apparently she wasn't expecting any response. She smiled to him with care and something he couldn't quite put his finger on and reached to stroke his hair once more.

"You have the snowflakes into you hair, my prince. Just like the tree above you."