*Bran*

A knock at the door made Bran turn his gaze from the fire. There was something about fire that always dream his attention. He couldn't help at times but just to stare at the flames for hours on end. His brother and sister found him very odd now, and indeed, Sansa seemed so off-put by Bran and his abilities that she seemed at times to be avoiding him completely. That was one of many reasons he enjoyed the sight of the flames. They danced, they swayed, and they crackled.

At times, he could almost see things in the fire. Yet the knocking at the door continued, seeming to be demanding nothing less than his full attention.

"Yes?" he called to the door.

The door opened, and the well-meaning face of Maester Wolkan peered in. He entered the room, carrying a bundle in his arms. A thick blanket was wrapped around the bundle, although whatever it was, it was long.

"How fare you today, my prince?" Wolkan asked, looking down at his crippled lord.

"Cold," Bran answered truthfully. "I never truly appreciated the warmth of summer days until my legs stopped working. Now….." he waved a hand in a vague gesture, "they're always cold. Can't seem capable of warming them."

"Ah yes," the maester nodded his head knowingly. "According to the medical books of the Citadel, the reason that happens is that blood warm the body. Yet the warmth is only transmutable through the spine. It acts like a regulator, you might call it. When one suffers an accident like you, my prince, even if the back is set perfectly, it severs the ability of the spine to regulate heat to the rest of the body below the point the break happened."

Bran was amazed by that. The spine regulates heat! He had never even thought of that, but now he thought about it, why wouldn't it? If the spine was connected to everything, as he seemed to believe since that's what it felt like, it made too much sense to be ignored!

If the spine regulated heat, did it also regulate other things as well? "A question, if you wouldn't mind answering," he said. He motioned for the maester to take a seat.

"Of course," Wolkan said, taking the offered seat, which was the edge of his bed.

"Does the spine also regulate my ability to father children?" he asked, "I'm paralyzed from the hip on down. Does that mean that I won't be able to have children?"

Wolkan chuckled uncomfortably. His face began to turn a bright shade of red. "No, my prince," he said. "You see, your…..your….manhood, we'll just call it that, does not need regulating. It acts of its own accord at times. I am just curious, can you feel it?"

"Yes," Bran remarked.

"You see, the question you ask about is if your back also controls the seed of life," Wolkan said, continuing his education. "That is not the case. They say that manhood's have their own minds, which the stones technically act as. That's why you will get…..well….stiff at random times, especially at your age. Your manhood is capable of making the seed on its own. So, if you have a special lady in mind that you wish to have children, it's very possible."

Bran seemed to draw into himself, thinking about that. Yes, he did have a special lady. Only problem was, she hadn't responded to the letter Bran had left, bearing his feelings for her. He had felt supremely silly doing so, but what needed to be done was done. He could have spied on her, looking in from the ravens that Maester Lexxa kept, but he felt that it would be an unwelcome intrusion.

Meera also had the sight, to a very small degree. He didn't want risking getting caught doing it either. He felt she would probably be able to tell. No, better to respect her privacy.

"What is that?" he asked, shaking off the amazement that he had felt at all that he learned. He indicated with his head.

"Ah!" Wolkan said, brightening at the change of topic. Relief seemed to ooze from him at the chance to get away from the other topic. "If you please, I have made some things for you."

He undid the cloth bundle, and in his arms were two sets of straps, six straps in each set, set around wooden frames that had joints near the middle. Underneath the straps were long wooden poles. Wolkan stood up, laid the long poles on the bed and approached with the strap sets.

"May I?" he asked.

Bran nodded his head. Wolkan bent between Bran's legs and grabbing one leg, took one of the strap sets. Now Bran understood that they were leg braces. He could feel Wolkan moving his leg, but he couldn't actually feel them. It was more of the motion of his legs moving back and forth.

"These are similar to what Maester Luwin made me after I first fell," Bran remarked. "Yet they were for riding. Well….it was actually that saddle maker who did so. Yet it was Luwin who set him on the task. Tyrion Lannister gave the plans."

"These are much more versatile," Wolkan said with no small amount of pride. He moved the other set. "You see the small lever the is push out from your knee joint?"

Bran glanced and saw that a small piece of wood was jutting forth. "Yes," he acknowledged.

Bran could feel his other leg being moved. "That lever, if you push down, will lock the brace in any position you desire," he informed him. "Go ahead and use your hands to straighten your legs then push the lever down."

Bran did so, and soon his leg was straight, or as straight as he could get it with one hand. Grabbing the lever, he pushed down until it caught on something inside. He glanced at Wolkan who was finishing strapping his other leg. The maester beamed at his own ingenuity.

Bran let go of the leg, and it fell down to the ground….and held it's straight form. Excitedly, he moved his hands to the other leg, straightened it, and locked it in place. They were both straight, and he looked down with a smile at them. It was a pleasant fiction to be sure, but he couldn't help but with his mind's eye remove the braces and see his legs as working, full of vigor as when he was a young boy, ignoring his mother's commands to not climb.

"I also made these for you as well," Wolkan said, and picking up the two poles from the bed, held them out to Bran.

These weren't poles, he realized. They were crutches, with wide and padded arm rests and well-craved hand grips in the middle. He glanced up at Wolkan, not quite sure why he'd need crutches. Yet by the way Wolkan was grinning, he assumed there must be a reason.

"With these braces locked," the older man explained, "You can use these crutches to walk." Bran's eyes went wide as he looked with new appreciation at the crutches and braces. "It won't be true walking, you must understand. But with training of your body, you can you the braces to set your feet and the crutches can move you forward to the next one. Your Prince, you won't be bound to people carrying you or chairs anymore. You will be just as capable of doing just as much as anyone else can."

"Thank you," Bran said barely able to say the words.

The maester held up his hands as if it were no big deal. "It's the least I can do for your brother," he assured Bran, "Your brother, he's a far gentler and understanding lord than the Boltons."

"I would assume so," Bran said, admiring the crutches and braces. "You were there when Ramsey stabbed his father in the back. He told you to tell everyone that your father was poisoned by his enemies. You didn't want to say it, but they pressed you and you could see the madness in Ramsey's eyes."

Wolkan said nothing. Bran did take some pleasure in stumping people with his ability to tell them about their pasts. It did give him an almost godlike complex at times. He smiled amusedly at himself, people could hear him in the past. Did a future him talk to the people of the past, causing them to believe in the Gods?

"Let's practice with these crutches and braces," Wolkan said, breaking into his delusions of grandeur.

"Why haven't you sent the letter to your father yet?" Rhaegar demanded, storming into the chamber and slamming the door behind him. Bran stood in a corner, arms crossed as he saw his aunt Lyanna turning to the Prince. Her eyes were wide with alarm.

"I did!" she said to him.

"Oh really?" Rhaegar demanded, throwing him arms in the air and stalking up to her. He seemed like a predator, advancing on his prey. "I told you to send the letter, did I not? I told you if you didn't send the letter saying you had come of your own free will, then bad things would befall the Realm."

"I did," Lyanna repeated defensively.

"Then why has Robert Baratheon declared war on the throne?" Rhaegar snarled, pointing a finger accusingly at her. "Why has your father called his banners? Why has House Arryn also taken up arms against us?"

"I don't know!" Bran's aunt repeated, holding up her hands defensively. "I've done exactly everything you've told me to do, Rhaegar."

Bran shook his head, angry at his inability to change the situation. He looked at them as they continued to argue, and just to think….to think that this man thought that his aunt was willing participant to her kidnap and rape. The very thought sickened him. Couldn't Rhaegar tell that that Lyanna was desperate to keep him happy? Why would she be desperate if Rhaegar was telling the truth?

Yet, Bran couldn't help but feel that he wasn't getting the full picture. He knew there were pieces missing to his full understanding of the situation. How he had decided to kidnap Lyanna, what decision had driven him to taking her to the Tower of Joy. He'd have to go back further to see more.

"Ah," a voice said, tutting its tongue at him. "You are following the silver-haired one again. I don't understand your fascination with him. There are far more important things to be using your visions on."

Bran turned to see the old Child of the Forest sitting on the open window. Bran walked up to him, unconsciously making himself small so he could walk past the two. As he walked, Rhaegar turned and muttering, sauntered over to the bed and sank down onto its edge.

"I believe you," Rhaegar was finally saying. "But that doesn't answer why they have raised the banners against House Targaryen."

"To his mind," Lyanna said soothingly, standing up and walking over to his side. She climbed onto the bed behind him and began to rub his shoulders, "Robert can only see that you stole me. Do you think he's one to take that slight lightly?"

"They don't understand," the Dragon Prince growled. "They don't understand what we have."

"Yes, yes," Lyanna was saying, "They don't realize what we have."

He wanted to applaud his aunt for being able to keep up the charade as well as she was. It must have been hard, lying through her teeth, as it wasn't the Stark way. Bran was sick of hearing such filth, although he had to admit, Lyanna had a way of making what she said very convincing. If Bran hadn't known the truth, he might have been convinced of Lyanna's sincerity. However, he had heard the tale a hundred times.

"I'm trying to understand why the silver-haired one as you call him, kidnapped my aunt," Bran said to the Child of the Forest. "He was Prince of the entire Realm, heir to the throne itself. Yet, he had to kidnap my aunt."

"Aunt?" the Child asked. "I am not familiar with the term."

"She my father's sister," Bran said, turning to him. He saw the blank look on the Child's face, although he couldn't help but feel that 'Child' had been the wrong term. Especially since this "Child' was old and clearly male. "She is my sire's sister."

"Ah!" the Child snapped his fingers. "I do not clearly understand the terms you use, but she of your sire's brood. That's what we call, I believe you'd call 'siddings'."

"Siblings," Bran corrected. "I am surprised you don't know this. Didn't you ever talk to Blood-Raven?"

The Child shook his head. "Blood-Raven wasn't nearly as malleable as you are," he said.

Malleable? What did he mean by that? But before Bran knew, his arms had been clutched in the iron grip of the Child. Bran really hated this part, this sheer aggressiveness on the part of the Child. Yet he knew what would happen next.

The Child jumped from the window and Bran followed him and next thing he knew, instead of a long fall, he was on a river bank. Azor Ahai stood at the head of a dozen men, all on horses. These were all grim men, a massive direwolf at Azor Ahai's side.

"Men!" he shouted to the group. "I have sent the summons and you alone arrived to do what was needed to be done. I bless you all for it. The night is dark and full of terrors, but we will drive off the dark."

Bran did notice that it was very dark, compared to other times he'd been in the past. He looked up, and the sky he could see beyond the trees was heavy laden with snow. The Long Night had arrived in this part of the land. He didn't exactly know where they were, the lands had changed over the eight thousand years since Azor Ahai had fought off the Long Night.

"It will take us just over a week to reach the Long River and another to reach the River of Many Branches," Azor Ahai told the men. "I have forged swords similar to mine for each of you. I have fought the walking dead before, and these weapons do indeed kill them. We seek out the Others and we will kill them."

"You say des blades kill de walking dead," one man with heavy scaring to his jaw from past battles said. "How do you know dat dey will kill de Others? Have you killed one of de Others?"

"Not yet," Azor Ahai promised. "But blood magic has made these weapons. The Children of the Forest are ready and waiting with a small force at the Many Branches and they for certain have means of killing them."

"The thing I want to know is why the Children haven't been able to stop them," one of the other men grunted, a fair hair man that seemed never to have grown a beard. "They have magic, surely they should have been able to stop them."

The other men grumbled their agreement to this. Bran shook his head and turned to the Child. It was his people that had made the Others. It was all their fault. In their own desperation to fight man, they had created a weapon so terrible that none could stop it on their own.

"I know I ask much," he said, hanging his head low. "I ask you no more than I have already given myself. Yet…." He raised his head. "There is only one truth I know for certain. If we don't stop them, the whole world would perish! And. We. Must. Not. Allow. That."

He pulled his sword out and held it over his head. It seemed to blaze with flame. "The Night is dark and full of terror!" he shouted and the men drew their own blades and shouted the battle cry. "But the light casts out the darkness!"

With that, the proud warrior turned and sheathing his sword, kicked the sides of his horse with the sides of his feet and with a snort the horse trotted forward, heading north. Bran wasn't able to say what the Long River and River of Many Branches were. He was certain he could have used his sight to find and see what they were called in the present day. Yet he watched them, filled with wonder as the old tales spran to life before his eyes.

"Old Nan use to tell me about the Quest of the Last Hero," he said, stepping to where the last horse had been, now pulling far ahead. "He took twelve companions and his hound and went north. It was a direwolf, so not completely true, but the essence was."

"Yes, yes," the Child shook his head. "A foolish venture, if ever there was one. And one filled with sorrow and to this day the last Children who live speak with fear of this quest."

"What do you mean?" Bran asked.

"You will see," the Child said, and reaching up, put the tip of his finger on his head.

Bran snapped out of his vision, staring at the wall across from him. He was like a statue, and if anyone had talked to him, they would have gotten a lackluster response. Slowly Bran came to himself, trembling and shaking as he came to himself. It was harder and harder for him to shake off each time he met with the Child of the Forest, whom he didn't even know his name.