Bran

He had been in the cave below the great weirwood tree for two full years when Brynden Rivers closed his pale, milky eyes for the final time. Bran and Meera supped in silence that night and even Hodor said his name less than usual.

By then, Bran's training was already complete. It was as though the weirwoods answered every thought he had with a vision. Many of the visions brought him great joy: Jon driving the Boltons from Winterfell, Arya journeying home, the return of dragons to the realm, and Sansa arriving safely in Riverrun. But he had also seen things which made him weep: the Red Wedding, the entire city of King's Landing reduced to a pile of rubble, and the Others bringing down the Wall. After that, there was only...darkness. Since winter came, he could see nothing of the North...nothing of his home. The Others had begun cutting down weirwood trees.

After Meera left to hunt for food, Bran slipped inside the trees. Winterfell...let me see Winterfell. Nothing. The Wolfsood, then. The White Knife. Last Hearth. Nothing. Bran felt the roots of his tree seat creeping around his legs. Suddenly, there was a prick in his shin and he saw the North...save for Winterfell.

Thousands of dead men had infested the land and were slowly making their way toward the Neck. Giant spiders followed the frozen White Knife, plainly preparing to attack White Harbor. Jon. Show me Jon. The trees showed him nothing. After hours and hours of searching, Bran finally woke up.

...

"I have work to do. I've had a breakthrough. I've seen the North! Not Winterfell, but everything else," he told Meera before she left to go hunting the next day.

Once Meera and Hodor had left the cave, he continued his search. Stark...find me another Stark! Much to his surprise, the trees took him to the island of Skaagos where he saw direwolf and a little boy. Rickon! Shaggydog!

"Rickon," he shouted, letting the wind carry his voice the way Brynden had taught him. His brother's eyes darted from the trees to Shaggydog and back.

"It's me, Bran. Can you you hear me?" Rickon's eyes grew even wider, but he nodded.

"I'm beyond the Wall. Listen to me, no matter what happens, you have to stay on Skagos! The Others have –"

"Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor," the giant stableboy shouted, shaking Bran until he opened his eyes.

"Yes, what is it Hodor." At least Rickon will be safe; I will speak with him again another day.

"Hodor, Hodor," answered the stableboy, pointing to Bran's legs. Slowly, Brandon Stark looked down and saw that his toes had grown longer...whiter...and wooden. They were hooked and dug deep into the ground like roots.

"It's okay. There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise," Bran replied, hoping it was true.

...

The next day, Bran was alone when he awoke. He called and called, but nobody answered. Bran steeled himself and continued his search.

Jon? Where are you? Show me Jon Stark! Nothing. Arya...where is Arya? Please...show me Arya! Nothing. Even if they're dead, I should still be able to see them. If either of them were still alive, they were no longer Starks...no longer Jon or Arya. Bran found that he could see Winterfell through several of the remaining weirwood trees in the Godswood. He continued to study the Sidhe invasion, looking through time as the Wall and then castle after castle fell to the Army of Winter.

Eventually, he saw a girl who looked strikingly like Arya, but...different. Her skin was as white as the moon and her eyes were bluer than anything that Bran had ever seen. Whatever had happened to her, she plainly wasn't a Wight. She kept repeating strange names to herself as she walked past the remains of the Godswood and her eyes were far bluer than even those of the dead men. She is an Other. How...why would... No! They can't have her!

"Arya," said Bran, letting the wind carry his voice once more.

"Who said that," the creature snapped, unsheathing a small sword and looking around in confusion. Arya can hear me and she recognized her name. She'll never be one of them, Bran decided, resolving to reach whatever remained of his youngest sister and guide her out of Winterfell.

"It's me, Bran, your brother. Do you remember me, Arya? I'm beyond the Wall. Rickon is alive too, he –"

"My name's not Arya. Arya of House Stark is dead. The Night's King murdered her. And she only had three brothers, stupid. Jon, Robb, and Rickon Stark are all dead too. That makes you a lier, whoever you are."

She didn't remember her name; she only heard my voice, Bran realized. Arya – or whatever the Others turned her into – doesn't even remember me. She remembered Robb and Rickon. She is still in there...somewhere. She has to be! I can't tell her any more about Rickon though. Not now...not until I've brought more of her back.

"Arya. Your name is Arya. You're Arya Stark of Winterfell. You have to remember who you are."

"Stop calling me that! Please, my name is..." her voice trailed off and she began to chew her lip. "My name... No! I...I am Beltaine. I hate these stupid weirwood trees. Arya Stark always liked them though. During the summer, I used to...she used to play in them and... Whoever you are, you'd better leave me alone and leave Winterfell forever or...or I'll..." Arya – or whatever she was calling herself – bit her lip and looked as though she were about to cry. "Leave me alone," she shouted, running away from the Godswood.

"Wait, Arya..."

"That's not my stupid name," replied a sad voice that sounded far more frightened than it did angry.

Just a little longer. That's all it would have taken. She was starting to come back. I saw it in her eyes. They didn't seem quite so blue as before. Bran cursed himself for not knowing the right words to keep her from running away.

He warged into a nearby raven and watched the thing that had once been his sister – no, she is still Arya – for hours that day. He saw her struggle against her captor-husband, the man who had once masqueraded as Reek at Winterfell.

When the Night's King called himself the King in the North, a scorching anger flooded through Bran's veins. He tried to reach out to kill the man and felt something strange happening. Before Bran could tell what it was, Hodor shook him awake once more.

This time, Bran looked down and saw that his feet were entirely wooden and had started to join together. The root that had pierced his shin days ago was poking out of his left knee. He shuddered and began to sob.

"Do not fear, Brandon Stark," said a calm voice. "You were meant to be Lord Brynden's heir and take his place. This is the price of his power. Since his passing, we have left you alone to explore your strength, but we were always watching." When I'm in the tree, can the Children of the Forrest see what the trees show me?

"We only know that you have tried very hard," said Leaf as if in reply. "What did you see before Hodor woke you?"

"I saw my brother, Rickon. I saw the North, engulfed in an invasion of dark forces. I saw..." Bran decided not to tell them about Arya. He did not know how the Children of the Forrest would feel about his attempt to bring back someone who had been turned into an Other. And some things were better left unsaid besides.

"You are ready, I think, to find someone."

"Who?"

"You will see for yourself, Brandon of House Stark. Go to the Wolfswood. Go now, before it is too late." Bran closed his eyes.

Brandon Stark's heart leapt with joy as soon as he saw his nuncle through the eyes of an old, gnarled weirwood. "Nuncle Benjen," he shouted, a gust of wind carried his voice to his nuncle's ears.

"Who...what...who are you," Benjen asked, his eyes widening as he looked up at the weirwood. His voice was hoarse and he was much thinner than he had been when Bran saw him at Winterfell years ago.

"It's me...Bran. Your nephew. I'm north of the Wall...or what used to be the Wall, with the Children of the Forest." To his credit, Benjen Stark did not ask the obvious questions. Instead, he simply nodded. Mayhaps he too sensed that it would not be long before the Long Night began.

"What happened to you, Nuncle?"

"Lord Commander Mormont sent me on a ranging to find out what happened to Ser Waymar Royce. Ser Waymar was a vain knight who joined the Night's Watch within two months of coming of age. The third son of one of the oldest houses in the Vale. Lord Royce already had two sons and there wasn't likely to be much glory for his third, but as a knight and a highborn with a maester's education, Ser Waymar could've risen high in the Night's Watch...even if he was a bloody halfwit.

Ser Waymar was sent out with two seasoned men to track Wildling raiders who had been spotted climbing the Wall west of Castle Black. When they never returned, me and two other men tracked them into the forest, but when we reached an abandoned Wildling village, we were attacked."

"It was one of the Others," Benjen continued. "A big one, with a great ice sword. He slew both of my brothers, but I got away...somehow. I wasn't too far from a Wildling village when the sun came up, so for the last few years I hid myself among hundreds of thousands of wildlings who came down behind Mance Rayder, waiting for a chance to escape. When Stannis defeated the so-called King Beyond the Wall, I was with the men who had already fled to Hardhome. I saw thousands of dead men and women fell off cliffs, only to get up, kill everyone they met. The men they killed got up too. I made it to one of the boats and have travelled on foot from the Karstark lands to the Wolfswood. The Others don't seem to like the weirwoods much."

"I learned through the trees that the leader of the Others – the Night's King – he calls himself the King in the North."

"The North knows no King but the true King in the North, and his name is Brandon Stark," Benjen replied.

"The Night's Watch is ended. I relieve you of your vows, Nuncle." Benjen Stark knelt before the weirwood tree. "I need a champion, Ser Benjen," said the King in the North. "I believe I have an idea."