During the entire time they had spent together, none in the group had ever spoken much of namedays. It had never been relevant to any of them and it was far beyond their ability to keep track of them. Any sense of time but that of the cycle of day and the advancing winter was often lost as the days blended together due to their tremendous similarity. Only certain events managed to mark one day from the other; this had been applicable to their travels till they had reached the cave. She now knew the answer to be several years, but during the time spent amongst the snowy mountains and their equally snowy winds, anyone could've convinced Meera it had only been a few months. Time lost its omnipotence when far away from men and their castles.

As a result, it made little sense handing gifts to congratulate one of the members' nameday. Meera had quickly forgotten her own, even Jojen's, but she ever so often wondered if the other's cared. She had come to the conclusion they didn't, and there were far greater worries to be concerned about. Upon arriving at Winterfell from Castle Black, she had not cared either to keep track of time; at least, much less so than before they journeyed north.

Still, Meera decided this was not to get in the way of the joy gifts potentially brought. Bran had begun to spend more time with his ravens, having taken the task of feeding them from maester Wolkan and the servant girls. He now always seemed to have at least one by his side. As he had gifted her a sword, she wanted to give him something in return. It wasn't anything of importance, of course, yet it served as a kind reminder of her home at the Neck. The little crocodile skin purse hadn't been put to her use in a long time ever since the gates to Castle Black had opened to them. Bran had his own purse already, but Meera wanted to show him kindness, despite that he had not shown her much. The little Reed girl had always been stubborn and insistent, even in kindness.

The raven which usually followed her around seemed to pay closer attention as she went to the Godswood. It kept flapping determinately from point to point, stopping to eye her until she passed its position – at least this way, she was aware that Bran was actively keeping watch. The fact that Bran could see everything at any time, herself included, undeniably made her feel vulnerable at times, yet along with it came a sense of protection.

In contrast to his regular position, he wasn't facing the Heart Tree today. Instead, she saw him talking with his ravens, casting glances at the surrounding trees and the pool just by his side. He gave her one as she approached. A raven flew onto his chair before he spoke.

"You've been speaking to Jaime."

She couldn't halt herself from being a little disappointed. "Am I not allowed to do so?"

"You are…" he gave in. "Not many Northerners would appreciate it."

"They can dislike me for it all they want. They don't like Crannogs like me anyway – it hasn't stopped me before. Do you care for their appreciations?"

"I'm Lord of Winterfell, Meera. I have to."

"Stop it already. You're the Three-Eyed Raven and everything that comes with it." Meera cleared her throat slightly. "What the soldiers and guards and townsfolk think of his companion is not one of those things. You know so already."

"Jaime's not a friend of Winterfell. He can't be."

She took a few steps towards him. "I know, he won't be – I'm not trying to make him one. But he is here by his free will, after all. That counts for something."

"He assaulted my father in an open street, Meera."

"Then why is he still alive? That's obviously not what you want, yet he remains free to roam the castle."

Her prince immediately retreated into himself at her testy comment. "I haven't decided what to do yet."

"I couldn't understand what it feels like to house such a man. I'm sure you'll know what to do."

"When Jaime arrived that night – my eyes could have been anywhere else." He said. "I don't always control what I see."

Despite being the Three-Eyed Raven, the seer of everything, he seemingly didn't know everything. "It could be that you see what you need to see."

"I would have learned of Jaime's arrival nonetheless."

"Yes, but your visions wanted you to see him nevertheless."

"Sometimes I'm shown things I don't want to see." He coldly replied, brushing off her argument while partly agreeing. "But perhaps."

Meera took the implied end of their conversation as an opportunity to do what she came for. She moved just in front of him and began to untangle the purse from her belt. While doing so, she felt a slight heat rising to her head and an increased beating of her heart. 'Stop' her mind ordered herself but to no avail. Getting nervous with a person she had spent so many years alongside made her feel silly.

"What would you have me do with him?" he asked her. Meera's thoughts were cut off and replaced with wondering whether his question was out of curiosity or if he was actually looking for advice.

She sighed before answering – however, not from frustration, but from gathering strength. She neither dared nor wanted to disappoint or anger Bran, but that concern came second to lying. "You said he wasn't a friend of Winterfell or the Starks, to which I agree. But I stand by my opinion – you shouldn't kill him. He doesn't deserve that. Send him to the Wall instead, or use him as a bargaining piece in warring against that… Dragon queen. I understand if you do have him executed though, my prince. It's your decision to make."

"I can understand why you want to keep him alive," he answered, the tension on his face loosening slightly. "It's the same reason I want him to."

Meera's smile wasn't equally reciprocated by him. She vividly remembered his smile; yet the last he gave her had faded from her memory. Still, although her satisfaction was deteriorating for each one, she appreciated whenever they could find something to agree upon – even if she wasn't quite sure of what he spoke.

The crocodile purse was now in her hand. They both looked at it a bit before she offered it to him. She felt even sillier now.

"It's from the Greywater – my father killed the crocodile himself and had a craftsman make the purse for me."

Bran stared blankly and unaltered at the object. His eyes turned to hers after a few seconds, now confused. Meera became so too.

"I wanted you to have it. It's not of much use to me while living in Winterfell anyway, and since you've begun to feed the ravens yourself… I just figured you could use it."

His gloved right hand was raised into the air, holding a small leather purse. His eyes questioned her, digging into her own. "I already have a purse."

Her tongue didn't cooperate with her mind. "Oh…" it blurted as if making an apology, which was far from what she wanted to. She tried to think of a way he would accept her gift, but couldn't come up with any. That purse was the only thing that she could really gift him – she didn't have anything he didn't. He had already been the recipient of her protection, help, warmth, even her brother's life, in a way. Attempting to convince him to accept it would be futile. Meera felt disappointed.

He lowered his own leather purse to his lap, continuing to look at her, still somewhat confused. His stare allowed for the entrance of an excruciating awkward break from speech.

She replaced the crocodile skin purse with the mundane sword Bran had had made for her. "I had a sword before this, one I took from the cave. You ordered me to give it away, so I did. I didn't care for the sword itself, you know. I cared that you ordered it from me. I accepted this sword as an apology, but I would've accepted it even if I still had my previous one. You know that, don't you?"

Bran's eyes strayed from hers, searching for something they couldn't find, before returning. "I didn't give you that sword."

The slight anger which had built up in her was replaced with further disappointment, sprinkled with annoyed curiosity. "Gendry said you ordered it. For me."

"He was told it had been my order. It wasn't." He stated. Meera felt her face and limbs drowning in a myriad of emotions. "Sansa told the guard to say the sword was on my orders. She wanted you to have it."

"Oh Bran…" she mumbled, as her body began to show its inability to contain the drowning sensations through shiver.

"My father always valued honesty and truth the most."

The words made the sword fall from her hand and her knees to become weak. 'Yes, and he's also dead because of it' she wanted to say, but couldn't get it past her lips. The sword, which was now lying in the snow just beside her, had meant something if not much. It was bland, rather short, uninteresting to look at, but all that didn't matter. It had been a gift. Suddenly, it wasn't even that any longer. She silently turned around and began to leave the Godswood.

"I can have one made for you." He offered as she was wandering off.

Meera failed to see what results answering could have produced. With her head feeling dizzy, she could feel the snow pressing together under feet – a feeling she had become so accustomed to from years of actually doing it, it now felt like an unknown sensation.

Exiting the Godswood, she began to grow curious of the dramatic response she had just given her Prince. At least it felt dramatic to her, but she was unable to make sense of why. It had only been a sword and a purse, after all. Yet she felt as if time was running out, as if certain, unidentifiable requirements weren't being fulfilled.

She knew where those requirements came from, though. They weren't specific, but they still hung above the other thoughts within her mind. It was a matter of accepting she had them. For some time now, the root of those expectations, and the disappointment they could provide was clear to her somewhere inside her mind. It had neither come immediately nor all of a sudden but had developed through time. A part of her loved him, a part that wanted to be expressed and reciprocated, but was neither.

In order to keep the ravens outside, she closed the windows tightly. She was aware it didn't have any practical effect, that Bran could still watch her all he wanted, but it was her way of showing rejection. After wandering aimlessly back and forth inside her chamber, she left it. She desired to speak to the person who had actually given her that sword.

On her way to the solar of the Queen in the North, the walls felt isolating and their greyness dismissive. They hadn't given off such an impression previously. It made her walk faster, almost as if stressed.

Meera was just going up the stairs leading to the solar when the Queen came descending from them.

"Meera!" she exclaimed, smiling. "I was just about to go find you myself."

She forced her mouth to answer the smile. "Oh. Where do you wish to speak?"

"We can just go back to the solar – Lord Baelish has just left, so that we could speak in solace. If you wish?"

She did.

Meera thanked the servant boy pouring her some boiling tea, even though she didn't want it. Sansa laid aside some of the papers lying on the table, to make room for discussion.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Meera asked.

"So did you, Meera." Sansa replied. "Do go ahead."

Meera adjusted herself before speaking. "I spoke with Bran, just now -" she trailed off, realising she hadn't prepared what to say.

"Yes?"

"I learned it was you who gave me the sword."

Their eye contact broke at the words. Sansa looked down at the table, then her lap as she leaned back into the chair. "I told Bran there was no need in telling."

"You could just've said it was from you."

"I thought you'd appreciate it more if it came from Bran."

"And I would have – had it been from him. But instead, he becomes the one to tell me it didn't."

"I'm... Sorry, if it created any discord between you and Bran." Sansa stated, firmly locking their eyes together. "I truly am."

"What did you expect from it? That I wouldn't find out? To bind us with lies? It wouldn't have helped." Meera said, offended. She was answering more at Sansa than responding. Meera's outburst created silence for a short moment.

Just as Sansa began to open her mouth, Meera took the word. "I – I'm sorry, Sansa. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I'm sorry. It was stupid of me."

Meera managed to smile nonetheless, this one genuine as she realised little to no fault lied with the Queen. "That's nothing to worry about. We all just want what is best for each other."

Sansa's face softened at the remark. "Bran too."

She swallowed. "I suppose he does."

"I know he does. You know too." She smiled.

"It's just… It can be hard to tell, at times." Meera confessed. "Hadn't I known him before, I'm not sure I would be of the same opinion."

"Which is only understandable. I think that Bran maybe has become a bit – overwhelmed at returning to his home. He needs time to adjust."

"We all do, don't we?" Meera jokingly said.

"Indeed. I had to as well when I came here while the Boltons occupied the castle. But Bran needs a little more than usual, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would, yes."

"Which is why I've been considering if he maybe needs some time for himself, to cope."

"I wouldn't be so sure – perhaps he needs to be tended more than anything."

Sansa sighed. "I'll be frank then, Meera."

"About what?"

Sansa stood up from her chair, went to the window. "I'm waging a war in the Riverlands. Men are fighting and losing their lives to reclaim town after town, castle after castle in the Tully name. And while the war is going very well, there have been some inconveniences."

"Such as?"

"We have received reports of rebels marching north, through the Neck. They are not a large force, but the expendable forces from Winterfell and most other houses are already off to fight the war to free Edmure Tully. But we need to defend the North. And that is why we may need your father's assistance."

"My father helped yours, both personally and with soldiers. I'm sure he'd do it again."

"That is what I was hoping for. But he needs to be informed of our request, and from what I know, ravens can't be sent to the Greywater."

As if someone snapped their fingers in front of her face, she realised where Sansa was going. "And you want me to be the messenger."

"Indeed – you're the only one here who is able to find the castle itself."

'But couldn't Bran just warg a raven till he finds it? Surely, he could do it as well' Meera wanted to say but didn't. Sansa had to be aware of her brother's abilities, at least to some extent. Yet the Queen wanted Meera to go instead.

"You're right, I am." Meera hesitantly replied.

"I'm not asking you to leave Winterfell – I'm asking for your help. I know it's dangerous, but with the archery I've seen you practice, it'll only be dangerous for those you meet."

"And you're sure Bran will manage in that time?" she asked, putting on her curious and unaware voice. She wanted to test Sansa.

"Of course. Besides, you'll get to your mother and father again – I'm certain both have missed you."

"I'm sure too," Meera mumbled as she felt her heart sink further that it was. The odd dizziness overtook her senses once more. Her next sentence was muffled immensely to her own ears. "I'll… Have to think it through."

"Naturally, Meera. Take your time."

Apparently, Arya had been searching for her and had awaited her at the end of the stairs leading to Sansa's solar. The natural coolness she wore was just as unsettling to Meera as if she had deliberately shocked her.

In addition to her usual expression, Arya seemed more distressed than normal – disturbingly more, in fact. She told Meera to follow her, and on their walk to the outdoors, her stiff, determined quick walk accompanied by focused glances over her shoulders, revealed both anger and uneasiness. Meera became slightly so too, as a result.

She stopped to look at the smithy's, allowing the hammer strikes from its inside to be heard through the silent wind. Arya then turned to Meera, pulling a letter from a pocket. Her eyes matched the cold of winter.

"I'm going to kill them." She stated. "Both"

Meera closed the distance between, hesitating to answer. "Who?" she then asked.

"My egotistical sister and that slimy advisor of hers."

"You can't do that" Meera vainly said, knowing it was a futile answer. She wasn't able to come up anything much better due to the suddenness of Arya's statement.

"I can. Neither of them can stop me." She said, now getting angrier with every word.

"She's your own sister, Arya. Would you honestly want to kill your own family?"

"I have family elsewhere." She answered, turning her head to the smithy's.

"You have Bran, yes, but that will be it."

"I said, 'elsewhere'. Or didn't you catch that?"

"Why would you ever want to do that?!" Meera exclaimed, her voice raised a result of frustration. She was getting mad from perpetual discord amongst the Stark siblings. "Why?"

Arya clenched her teeth behind her lips, raising her hand with the letter in it. She was handing it to her.

"What is that?" Meera asked, frustrated.

"A letter I found in 'Lady Stark's' solar, hidden inside a locked drawer."

"And yet you found it."

"And yet I did."

Meera got within reaching distance of her offering hand. She wasn't surprised nor shocked to learn of Arya sneaking around looking in drawers – she was disappointed more than anything. They had agreed to keep an eye on Littlefinger, not Sansa. "What does it say?"

"You can read it yourself." She coldly responded, forcing it into Meera's hand, now looking her in the eyes.

The extensive length of the letter was revealed as Meera unfolded it. She cast a glance down at its entirety and quickly noticed the complete absence of misplaced ink, as well as the beautiful style it was written. It read:

"To Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen, the Unburnt and the Breaker of Chains

It is with great discretion that I address you, and I do hope that this letter is brought to you accordingly.

I won't waste ink on further formalities – it ought to be no secret that our individual goals are ultimately conflicting and therefore incompatible with their desired end result. You claim the Iron Throne, the one that rules over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. As Queen in the North, I cannot accept that claim.

But it is for this very reason that I have sought to address you. Your claim lies solely upon the legitimacy of the Targaryen Dynasty, which, to everyone's knowledge, was effectively removed under Robert's Rebellion, the one you call Usurper. Furthermore, your claim also rests on the idea that no other Targaryens are alive, and it is therefore a matter of course that the Throne should then be yours. I support you in that regard.

As the holder of a title such as "Breaker of Chains", I assume that you are of peaceful intent in Westeros, and would seize King's Landing peacefully, had you the opportunity. I am of the same idea. I hate war and do all in my power to prevent it unless it is inevitable for the survival of my house. It is to avoid a bloody war and the countless deaths and immense misery it would bring that I wish to cooperate with you.

You are already familiar with Jon Snow, my bastard brother. Whether or not the news would have been spread to your ears by the time this letter arrives, I do not know – but let me explain the situation if it has not. Jon Snow is not a 'Snow', not a bastard of the North. He is not the son of my father, Eddard Stark, and an unknown woman. Prior to venturing beyond the Wall, he resigned his title as King in the North on the basis that he did not have male Stark blood in his veins. Instead, he has that of Lord Eddard's sister, Lyanna Stark, and that of your very own brother, the late Rhaegar of House Targaryen. In the North, and soon in all of Westeros, this will be common knowledge. If you do not believe me, you are more than welcome to ask him yourself the next time you cross paths.

The Baratheon House replaced House Targaryen after the Rebellion, and despite that they have already ceased to exist, it remains well-known that Robert Baratheon left many offspring spread across all of Westeros. By far, most are no longer alive, but some have persisted. There remain those nobles and commoners who would rally under the Stag banner, were it to be raised once more. At Winterfell, the seat of my Kingdom and the capital of the North, there is one such offspring residing within its walls.

Both of these pose a threat to your claim as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. This is why I am inclined to enter negotiation with you, whenever it will suit the both of us. A base for my proposal is as follows.

The establishment of the Northern Kingdom, which would contain the regions known as The North, The Vale and the Riverlands, in which I will remain as a recognised regent.

I will surrender Jon Snow and the Baratheon bastard by the name of Gendry Waters to your mercy and will.

There will be a well-rounded political, economic and military alliance between our two kingdoms, in which both will strive to defend the other in case of turmoil or an external threat.

War is rarely the solution and it is because of that truth that I beg you to consider my offer.

From the Queen in the North, Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Queen of the First Men."

Several times while reading and studying the letter, Meera's eyes met a knowing, borderline smug expression. It did not have the company of a smile though, only a stiff, bitter mouth. After reading it through one first time, she started to be more thorough on specific passages. This wasn't due to actually analysing, searching or understanding anything she hadn't already – it was simply the result of bafflement and the confusing feeling that came along.

"Do you now understand why I've decided to kill them?"

Meera rolled the letter back into a scroll. "No," she said, which was a lie, but she struggled to find meaning in agreeing with the Stark in front of her.

"No? Did you read it?"

"I did. But I don't see what killing the Lady of Winterfell and Littlefinger would help."

"They are planning to ship off Jon and Gendry to that... Dragon bitch." Arya exclaimed, clenching her fists in anger. Meera wasn't exactly used to the use of such slurs, especially not among nobles. Then again, Arya didn't quite fit the typical expectations of a noble. "She'll kill both of them to get that throne. And for all I care, she can have it! But she can't have neither Jon nor Gendry."

"Maybe we can talk her out of it – maybe she just needs to see some sense."

"Littlefinger's got an all too tight grip on her to sway her."

"And thus killing them both is the only resolution?"

Arya nodded, almost eagerly.

Meera's heart sank as pictures of a struggling, blood coughing, weakening Jojen lying in the deep snow emerged. It was often she thought of him, but she managed to avoid the final act of his life from occurring inside her head. Sure, Arya and Meera didn't have the same relationship with each of their siblings, but to both, it was family, still. Believing Arya meant what she said was far from impossible, but Meera knew she had not thought much of the moment itself, in which she'd have to kill her. Much less could she have thought of the consequences, both for her emotional state as well as that of Winterfell.

"I killed my brother, back up beyond the Wall."

Arya narrowed her eyes in response, possibly intrigued more than sympathetic. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" Meera said, a sad smile on her lips. "Neither Bran nor I ever talk of him. He meant everything to me, even though I was the one who took care of him. I could become angry with him too, but I never acted on it. I knew it wouldn't help."

"Did he try to kill those closest to you?" she insultingly asked.

"No…-"

"Then I don't see the point of your story."

Meera was just as angry as Arya by now, the sorrowful contempt building up in her body. "Then why aren't they dead yet? Why is it you come to me before killing them both? It's not like I'm going to stop you - you and I both know I couldn't."

"You…" was the answer, still looking for words. "You needed to know of the abhorrent decisions they're making."

"Thank you, Arya. But maybe Bran could help us?"

"What would he do? Most of the Winterfell soldiers have left, and it's not he can exactly do the deed for me."

"He is still revered as if he was Lord of Winterfell, even he has renounced himself from the title. If he were to read the letter, he possibly could talk Sansa out of it."

"He'd also need to convince Littlefinger."

"Sansa is Queen, Littlefinger's not. If she insists, he will agree."

"Then go and ask him, if you're so confident in him." She almost sarcastically said. "I know you trust him very much. If trust is the correct wording."

"It is." Meera stiffly answered. She had every intention of questioning Bran the next time she saw him, and she'd make sure that next time would be soon. "But I want to make sure you don't go killing your own sister when I'm off to ask him."

"You can't stop me from doing it."

"It would seem so. But if I may…" she began, expecting allowance from Arya. Once she received it, Meera continued. "I think you should reconsider. And if my word isn't enough, ask for Gendry's. I know you care lots for him, but I can hardly imagine he'll commend sororicide. Show him the letter. Ask what he'd do. You know him better than I, but see if he doesn't agree with me." 'For the love of summer and all that is good, I hope he does'.

On her way to Bran, a decision she made immediately after seeing Arya enter the smithy's while making firm, determined and fast-paced steps, it occurred to her the reality of what she just had read. While speaking with Arya, Meera had been too focused on hindering possible horrible deeds, to think much on the contents of the letter. The plausibility of Bran not being aware of the letter was minimal, yet it concerned the very life of a man he'd grown up with. Gendry, she could understand he'd sacrifice for peace between two kingdoms, but the lack of empathy for her own sister was close to contemptuous. However much she tried, Meera was persistent in her inability to convince herself Bran had a plan for it all. Even so, she wished he had.

"Arya just showed me a letter." She stated, deliberately not attempting to hide her feelings about it. As no answer came, she stepped closer to Bran, who sat by the Heart Tree, as ever. Meera was getting tired, almost sick of continuously having to find him there.

"I expect you weren't happy with the contents of it." He said, stating what was obvious.

"Indeed, I wasn't." She agreed with a hint of scorn. "Arya wasn't either, but I suppose you already know that. Both of which reveal that you knew about the letter itself."

"Of course I did. I see most things." He said with a calm with an effect on Meera's anger equal to that of blowing on a small, beginning fire. "I thought you knew."

"I do! But Bran, it's unfathomable to me why it is you haven't done anything about it yet! I've asked you multiple times to put an end to Littlefinger's… Whatever he's doing at Winterfell. I don't want him here, neither do you, neither does anyone. I can understand your passiveness when it comes to Jaime, but not this man. He's doing nothing good for anyone but Sansa and himself while being here. Gods, not even Sansa is he aiding. And even when he's making your sister organize the death of your cousin, you remain inactive."

She could see her aggressive outburst had had the wanted effect, as she saw a humbled Bran looking down at his lap. Meera figured he knew himself that it was deserved.

"And now Sansa wants me to go south to assist her in that war of hers." She sighed in what resembled despair. "I'm not sure what to think anymore" she then admitted, this time reaching for help.

"She's in need of it. They're a threat to the North." He answered, still avoiding eye contact.

As she gulped, her heart sank along with the saliva. The dizzying feeling returned. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that your father's men could assist in defending the North, as they always have. It'd be a chance for you to return to your family for the first time in ages, too."

Her heart raced as blood rose to her head, reddening it with uncontainable emotions. He really was a prick, unfortunately. "No no Bran, no…" she faintly let out. That boy could send a raven to Greywater himself, but he did not offer it. He wanted her away from Winterfell. "Why do you say that?" she said as her voice increasingly thickened.

"It'll be good for you." He responded, although the traces of hesitation in it were lost in Meera's emotional trembling. "You can be accompanied by some guards for your safety, if you want."

Meera didn't understand. In the one moon or so they had spent at Winterfell since their arrival, the lesser noble, boyish, wild daughter had been sure she'd noticed… something, just some 'signs', as Gendry had coined it, from the son of one of the Great Houses of Westeros. Perhaps it was foolish to think that years of loyalty and sacrifice would bring much but a little gratitude, but Meera had sorely wished it wasn't.

"You're going to be left alone with Littlefinger." She managed to vaguely defend. He simply nodded as a response. She then continued. "Do you really want me to leave?"

This time his eyes met hers. She searched for whatever sympathy that was to be found in them, but her struggles were fruitless. A long, excruciating silence reigned the next few moments. "I need you to. House Stark needs you to, the North needs you to."

She began to feel almost numb.

"It's…"

"It's what?" she angrily questioned through slowly watering eyes.

"Jaime."

"What's with Jaime?"

"Remember what you said? That 'I see things I need to'? You were right."

Meera remained unable to compose herself, but she lacked both energy and will to lash out at him. "You're not making any sense, Bran."

"I know I'm not. I… Can't."

"Why 'can't' you make sense?!"

"It's complicated. I've seen this, you know."

"Then tell what's going to happen, Bran!"

"I can't. I don't know how it will happen, and if I tell you, I'll disturb it."

She took a few steps away from him. "So this is it? You're going to send me off?"

"You'll return once the task is completed. But there are certain things that need to be done. This is one of them."

"Did he talk you into this? Or was it Sansa? Why are you suddenly so bloody concerned with the defence of the North?"

"I'm effectively Lord of Winterfell, as you mentioned to my sister. That means taking precautions on defending the North."

Every one of his words were draining in their effect. They left her powerless and sad, to put it simply. "He'll kill you, Bran. You mentioned the very reason just now. This is what he wants, to leave you defenceless."

"I promise you, he won't. He has already tried once, and that didn't work. There will be some time before he tries again."

"You're mad" she mumbled, not seeing the point in saying it aloud. "So should I bring the thanks and greetings from House Stark to my father?"

"Yes, do that. I hope you'll travel safely." He dismissively said. "My sister cut her hair to look like a boy when she was on the road a few years ago. You could do that as well."

The cup had already been filled to the brink, and now it overflowed.

"You don't know anything, do you?! I spent years defending you, feeding you, carrying you mile upon mile all out of loyalty. And what show of gratitude do I receive? Not only one, but two dismisses! All I wanted was for you to thank me, to say you wanted me to stay, that you needed me, anything! And what about what we've done while at Winterfell? I know it's not much, but… We held hands Bran, I kissed your head like I used to! Did that not mean anything at all? Nothing? I'd like to say I'm surprised, I wish I could, but I can't.

"I'll make sure to tell my father how much you've taken from your own. He'll be delighted to hear of how you've treated me and those around you. Yes, we'll go kill some lowlife rebels in your sister's name, and so what? I'm certain Littlefinger and she will be pleased. It won't affect either of us two. Yet you insist on having me go. You could just as easily have sent the message yourself."

With a pitiful voice, he answered: "I said, I can't disturb what will happen. It would break everything."

She ignored him completely, noticing the ravens that were all silent and resting in branches, watching. "And you keep those ravens to yourself! I don't want to see a single one on my journey. I'll shoot one and eat it for dinner if I do."

Meera ran off, not looking back at him. In her chamber was everything she needed for the journey. She packed what she could think of as necessary and immediately went on down to the stables. The horse master clearly didn't anticipate her arrival or her rude facial and bodily expression, and quickly gave her a good steed to carry her. Without a second thought, she was already out of Winterfell through the South Gate.

The only thing to accompany her, beside her thoughts, was the crackling coming from the pine branches she used to sustain her fire. It was a nice sound they gave off. They helped comfort her sobbing and dry the tears.