Chapter 27: The Sons of the First Men

"Where were you?" Rickon asked his older brother, but Bran remained silent with his back turned and facing the great Weirwood of Winterfel. Rickon was so angry at him, but he suppressed all urges to throttle his brother onto the ground. "Answer me Bran, where were you when our sister was screaming, and crying, and… suffering"

Bran finally faced him, with tear stained cheeks and puffy red eyes. Rickon had never seen his brother cry, even back then when they faced with death. Part of him began to mellow upon seeing his brother's remorse.

"I could not face her, Rickon. I knew…" Bran began to cry again, he cradles his head on his hands and wept like a child. "I knew he was going to die when I sent him the sword… I just didn't know who he was… I knew…"

"What do you mean you knew?" Rickon knelt before his brother and took Bran's shoulders to steady him and have him look Rickon in the face.

"I knew that forging Lightbringer would take his life…" Bran replied trying to turn away.

"Gendry? Who is this man?"

"He was a blacksmith of Baratheon blood, dragon's blood…" Bran looked down and his eyes went dark, then he said, "That sword needs blood to be forged."

"What do you mean, brother?" fear began to take root into Rickon's heart and his hands began to shake.

"The sword of light thousands of years ago had to be forged thrice, and during the last time it took the life of woman… I was told that this time, for a sword to be used agains the Others, it shall need to be forged thrice…" Bran's voice was shaking. He had just realized what the prophecy had meant for his family, for his people. "I know now why it was me… why the Bloodraven had chosen me…" he cried even more, and grieved at the fate of his family.

"It has taken one life, who will be the next brother?" Rickon asked with an equally trembling voice. He could only name a few people who would have blood worth taking, and three of them were family.

"I don't know… Rickon, it could be anyone…"

Silence then came between the two brothers and they merely sat down against the Weirwood's massive trunk. Neither of them knew what was to be done. They both wanted to protect those they loved, but they did not know from what.

Then, Rickon chose to break the silence… "Why us? Brother, why our family?"

Bran took a while to answer, but he had cynical laugh as he came to the conclusion, "because we are the sons of the first men. Our blood is the blood of westeros, no other family other than the Targaryens are this pure in their lineage as us."

Rickon felt the irony in it all- the wolves and the dragons being called upon to defend the world. Why do they have to sacrifice everything? They were once a very happy family, yet because of the world he could barely remember what it was like. For the first time in a long time, Rickon missed his mother's embrace and his father reassuring presence. He wanted to go back to that time when they were all together in Winterfell.

"We are the sons of the first men, we are the sons of winter, Rickon," Bran said in a whispering tone, "We have the blood of wolves and we shall bring an end to this, I know we can."