"Father, Smith, Warriors, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

King Rhaegar, as Father of the realm stood in place of her father Lord Eddard Stark and she felt a few tears on her cheeks as he unfastened the grey direwolf on her back and removed the cloak. It felt like the end, the end of her Father's house, of House Stark, and it took all of her composure to keep a sob from escaping.

Her new husband was not nearly as emotional, his pale eyes were expressionless as he cloaked her in Bolton colors.

"With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband." She said, she who barely remembered what love was, and knew only that his man's father had murdered her brothers.

"With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife." he answered. She wondered if he'd ever loved anybody, or if he was even capable of it. Sansa did not know Lord Roose Bolton, but by all accounts, he never smiled, never laughed, never showed any emotion at all. She found herself dearly hoping his son didn't take after him.

The Septon raised his crystal high in the air and spoke in austere tones, "Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Domeric of House Bolton and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

Those in attendance gave polite applause and Sansa looked down to see her friends beaming at her. She shouldn't be sad she knew; it could've been worse; she was a traitors' daughter and about to be the Lady of Winterfell. Besides she'd known she was going to wed Domeric for years, and it had never made her cry before.

But now it all felt so real, she glanced again at her husband, his face still blank and dispassionate. Even so it wasn't him she objected to, it was his family, she'd never forget the Sack, or her brothers' bodies, not for as long as she lived. It wasn't Domerics fault of course, he was still a boy, but still marrying him felt like a betrayal.

It was even more painful when they passed the Lannister party on the way out of the sept and Prince Daemon call out to her, "To the Flayed Wolf. May all traitors come to share the same fate." The crowd around her laughed uproariously and she heard his twin say, "Now we just need to find someone to marry her sister and the wolves can all fade away. Perhaps Ser Gregor would like another wife?" The crowd laughed again, and she thought she saw even Ser Loras crack a smile, but it was probably just a trick of the light, he was far too noble to smile at something like that.

She'd felt tears come rushing back to her eyes even so and became so lost in her dark thoughts it was only her years of etiquette training with her Septa that kept her from embarrassing herself, but she managed, doing everything that was expected of her.

When she got to the feast Domeric was kind and thoughtful though, he'd asked the cooks what her favorite foods were and had them bring those up first. The gifts were splendid as well, from Lady Margaery she received a prized set of jewels and a high harp made of ebony leafed with gold. Princess Daenerys and Lady Royce each gave her dresses and fine jewels, not as thoughtful but lovely all the same. The gift she cherished most came from a lord she'd never even met before, Lord Petyr Baelish who served the Warden of the East in some capacity. He'd been an old friend of her Mother's and gave her a beautiful Myrish lookinglass with a painting of her on the face, from when she was Sansa's age. It took Sansa's breath away and she promised she'd treasure it forever.

When it came time for the dancing King Rhaegar played the first song, and it lived up to the tales told of him, for it brought tears to her eyes. Domeric was an able dancer and she shared two songs with him before Margaery's 3 brothers took turns dancing with her, and so did Prince Aegon and even her bastard cousin Jon, who she'd been surprised to see. Jon's Mother had spoken vehemently against the match, but she had even shown up as well and wished Sansa nothing but the best.

When the dancing was done, they sat together and Lyanna told her stories of her father's youth. "At Harrenhal, he was so quiet, you should have seen him, Sansa it was truly something. When he fancied the Lady Ashara, your Uncle Brandon had to ask her to dance with Ned, he was too shy to ask her himself." Sansa couldn't help but smile, she'd known her Father so little, every word about him she cherished.

By the time the dancing was done, and the bedding called her mood had improved markedly. King Rhaegar had taken the Queen and his children aside after the sept and they'd left her alone for the rest of the day. Domeric was so gentle and her friends so kind she could almost forget about the crowd's smug laughter as she was taken to the bedroom.

Sansa may have been able to forget their laughs and their sneers but a thousand miles north her brother Brandon never could. The laughs, the sneers, the gloating, it hounded him relentlessly. He had learned to fly, to see everywhere, and everywhere he saw men laughing.

"She didn't want to marry him." He said, surprising even himself with the words.

"I could have stopped it." He continued. The Pale lord gave no response, but Bran knew he was listening. "I could have stopped it a thousand ways. I could have sent a pack of wolves to kill him, a flock of birds. I could have drowned his ship. I COULD HAVE STOPPED IT."

Atop his Weirwood throne Bloodraven opened his single red eye, once a frightening visage for Bran to behold, but one he had long since grown accustomed to. "That is not our way. We wield our power for the realms of men, not the whims of a few."

"The realms of men." He repeated scornfully. "What have the realms of men ever done for us? They cast us out and hunted us down."

Bloodraven was unimpressed, "That is Bran the boy talking." He spoke in his lordly tones. "You must put him aside, and let the man be born."

Bran the boy. That was how it always was with Bloodraven, if he had a thought or an idea the old man didn't agree with it was childish or selfish. On a normal day he swallowed it and moved on, but today was anything but normal. "Was it for the realms of men that you destroyed my family?"

If the words surprised him or bothered him, Bloodraven gave no sign. Outwardly he appeared as he always did, but Bran didn't let it stop him, not today. "6 times the Royal army broke against Moat Cailin. The 7th time they broke the line, because of you."

"Because they had dragons."

"Dragons you gave them!" Bran screamed. "You led Rhaegar to dragons' eggs in his dreams. You taught him how to hatch them. You let them loose against my family."

He still showed no shame. "The realm needed Dragons to stand against the long night."

"Did the realm need Rhaegar too?" Bran spat acidly. "You sent that shadow binder from Asshai. You knew she would murder Robert the night before the trident."

For the first time the Pale Lord showed some discomfort. "You have flown far and seen much, and you have hidden it from me." He whispered.

"Answer me" Bran cried. He had not planned on having this confrontation tonight, not all was ready, but he had crossed the Trident, there was no way to back out now.

Bloodraven still refused to show shame, "Robert would have made a terrible King." he declared. "He was a great warrior and a strong battle commander, but he had no taste for politics and no skill at ruling. There would have been no peace with him on the Iron Throne, nor after his death. There must be a united realm to fight the Others."

Bran could barely hear his words; the hypocrisy was so thick he was like to choke. "There's always an answer." He said in disbelief. "Everything I want to do to help or avenge my family is childish and selfish, everything you do is for the realms of men."

He took a deep breath. "I'm leaving." He ground out "I'm going to avenge my family. I'm going to restore my house, no matter what you say."

"You cannot." Bloodraven declared. "The realm cannot afford a fracture right now, things are too unstable as it stands, and you have a part you must play here. The Others …"

"Fuck the Others." He cut him off with a furious yell. "Fuck the realm and Fuck you. I'm leaving and you shan't convince me otherwise."

"I cannot allow that." he said in a mournful whisper, and as he spoke the great weirwood whose roots they made their home began to stir. Branches reached out and grasped Bran's small arms and wrapped around his torso and legs.

Bran let out a sigh. Was it always going to end this way, was he just deluding himself hoping it could have gone otherwise? If so, then so be it. The words had been spoken, there was no way to take them back now.

He reached out with his greensight and stopped the branches. Bloodraven's eye widened in surprise and he pushed harder, but Bran was stronger. Much Stronger.

"You were right, I have flown far and seen much. Farther than you ever dared to. And deeper too. I went to the old places without you, the places you warned me never to fly to." He looked at him and smiled, it was not a pleasant expression. "I spoke with the old singers, in the old trees that have lingered for 10,000 years. I learned from my ancestors, from Brandon the Builder who lingers in Winterfell's Godswood and Garth Greenhand at Highgarden, and the Children who walked the earth before men ever did. You could not wake them, you were too afraid or too weak, but I could."

The weirwood roots began to move again, but not around Bran. They coiled and slid like serpents in the grass, running along the cave up the Pale Lords weirwood throne. They didn't wrap around his arms or his legs though, only his neck.

The Old Lord's red eye widened slightly. "Are you truly prepared to do that."

Bran swallowed heavily, his resolve faltering for a moment "You mean to keep me here, to use me no matter what I want. If I leave you here, you'll never stop trying to bring me back until I give my life for your cause."

Bloodraven did not deny it. "I must. The realms of men are more important than any one man, any one house. You must play your part."

His mouth was dry, his hands were shaking. It was so simple, such an easy thing to do, for him no harder than closing his fist, and yet he could not bring himself to do it. But if he didn't, he'd be imprisoned here forever, or he'd be brought back the first time he stumbled, forced to look over his shoulder forever.

"You cannot do it Bran; you know that as well as I do. I may lie to you and manipulate you, but I have also raised you, protected you, taught you; I have been like a father to you."

"NEVER" he rage came rushing back, the anger, the resentment, the hate. The roots tightened around Bloodraven's pale neck and coiled again and again, even as his red eye widened in shock. "Teacher, yes, and for that I will be eternally grateful. But Father? Never!"

There was a crack as the old man's neck gave way, and Brynden Rivers, Sorceror, Greenseer, Hand of the King for 20 years and Lord Commander of the Night's watch finally died.

Bran just stared for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he opened his third eye and summoned the Lord of Bones. A dim, dumb, brutal, beast of a man, but not without his uses. He'd been one of the first men Bran had ever skinchanged into, back when he'd wanted to learn how to use a sword. The brute had known little of sword play, but he'd allowed Bran to learn and acquire other things of great interest.

In the other man's body he brought forth a huge Horn with gold bands and 3 sets of runes along its face and carried it with him into the cave. He walked it to where the Pale Lord's corpse lay, and cut the other man's hand to spill blood over one set of the runes. Then Bran released his hold on the Wilding, and as the other man recovered his senses and gained control of his body he walked across the room and cut his throat spilling his blood over a different set of the Horn's runes.

It was easier than with Bloodraven, there was no mixed feelings about the man, no hesitation, no doubt in his mind the other man deserved death and no distaste at being the one to carry out the sentence.

As the other man died struggling and gurgling, the Children began to filter into the room drawn there by the commotion, there large yellow eyes shining in the darkness, taking in the scene quickly. One hissed in shock and rage, his hands on his weapons, "What have you done? You killed the last Greenseer. You have doomed us all." He said in the true tongue.

Bran shook his head, "I am the last Greenseer. And our age is just beginning." Bran took another knife from the wilding's corpse and cut his own hand over the third set of runes and the horn began to light up and pulse softly.