The Summer Child

Bran Stark opened his eyes.

It took a moment for them to adjust to the darkness and for his mind to fully arrive in the present. He felt the soft earth beneath him, and a root digging uncomfortably into his back. Traces of something else lingered on the edge of his consciousness and he wasn't sure what he had woken up from, whether it had been a vision or a dream – the two had become nigh indistinguishable of late. The memory was hazy and unfocused, and Bran couldn't remember exactly what it had been about. Probably just a dream, then. He could usually remember the visions clearly.

He looked around. There wasn't much to see: aside from the white weirwood roots that ran everywhere and Hodor sitting in the corner, the room, if you could even call it that, was bare. Except for the Raven, of course.

The old man hung a few feet away from Bran in the tree, the roots snaking through him and keeping him alive. His eyes looked vaguely in the boy's direction, but they were white and sightless. He was somewhere far away. Bran sighed. There were times when he wished nothing more than to be able to see all the things the Raven could see, but at other times, like now, he was instead glad that he was not in his position, stuck in a tree for all eternity. Though, if Bran was honest with himself, he already wasn't that much better off. His legs were useless so he had to rely on Hodor to get anywhere and he couldn't leave this cave any more than his mentor could, lest the dead got their claws on him like they had Jojen.

This train of thought had made Bran more miserable than anything else. He needed to do something, or he was going to go insane. "Hodor." he called.

Hodor sat up from his position and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Hodor?" he asked.

"Yes. Can you take me out of here for a moment?"

"Hodor?"

"Up." Bran clarified, pointing at the ceiling. Understanding dawned on the giant's face and he walked over, gathering Bran up in his arms and heading for a tunnel that led outside. 'Up' might have been a very vague direction, but Hodor seemed to know where Bran wanted to go. He had taken him there frequently, after all.

The tunnel – Bran didn't know if the children had made it or if it was a natural hollow – always seemed longer than it really was; the end receding into the distance like an illusion until you already stood right in front of it. It was as if the Raven's cave was unwilling to acknowledge the outside in any way and did its best to push it away, Bran mused while Hodor sat him down to push open the heavy wooden door at the end of the tunnel. He flinched a little at the bright light flooding in and had to squint against the sun. It had to be midday. Time was impossible to measure down in the cave.

Outside, the world was a sea of white, only broken up in places by the black peaks of ridges and boulders jutting out of the snow. Already there were considerably less of them than when Bran had first set sight on them, when they had arrived here a few months ago. Most were now buried under the white blanket. As distant as the world sometimes seemed in the cave, time hadn't stopped while he was down there and neither had the winter. I was steadily creeping closer, devouring the world as it went. Soon there would be nothing left at all.

Aside from this lone tree jutting out of its hill. And Meera.

Her figure sat hunched in her usual spot, a few meters away from the white tree trunk. The scraping noises and sparks flying away from her told Bran that she had found a stone to sharpen her knife on. It was what she mostly did these says, aside from using the knife to carve etchings into the wood. Bran had wanted to persuade her to take on of the children's dragonglass daggers, instead, but in the end he'd never brought up the matter. Somehow he knew that his friend wouldn't part from that knife.

"Hey." he greeted. Hodor sat him down a couple of feet behind Meera, so he could prop himself up against the roots

Meera turned around. "Hey." she returned, looking him over. "No lessons today?"

"No. He's looking at something else now. I don't know what. But," Bran added, excited to tell her of his progress, "he's been teaching me to warg into animals that are much farther away than before! Yesterday I flew a raven south, to see how long I could control it, and I saw the Wall!"

"That's…far." Meer said reluctantly. "That's good, right?"

Bran's mood dampened a little. "Not good enough. The Raven said I wasn't thinking in the right dimensions yet. I have to do better next time."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure you'll get it." She went back to sharpening her knife.

"Have you seen Summer?" Bran tried. He desperately wanted to keep talking to her, but already he could feel her slipping away again. It always went like this. "He wasn't with me when I woke up."

"I think he's still out hunting – whatever he can find out there." she replied. She didn't turn around.

Bran felt a heavy weight form in his chest. Ever since Jojen, Meera had kept this distance from him, a distance that hadn't been there before. The death of her brother had hit her hard, and since then nothing had been the same. He knew she hated this place; he could see it every time she looked at the Children or at the Raven. After a while she had stopped coming into the cave almost entirely. Sometimes Bran found her watching him when he woke from another vision, but she always left once she noticed he was awake. The only times Bran ever got to talk to her was out here.

He missed Meera. He missed her cheerful grins. He missed listening to her snarky arguments with Osha. He missed the stories she used to tell him by the campfires; the one of Bran the Builder; of the frog and the spell-weaver; of the tourney at Harrenhal and the Knight of the Laughing Tree (Bran had known that one already, but hadn't said as much, since he didn't want Meera to stop telling it. She was a good story-teller.) Really, he just missed his friend. Even though she was sitting only a few feet away, it felt like miles. It wasn't fair.

"Are you angry with me?" he blurted out.

The blade stopped scratching over the stone. Meera sat it down carefully and turned around, her expression unreadable. "What? Why would I be angry with you?"

"It seems like you are."

"Well, I'm not."

Bran swallowed. For a moment he considered whether he should say this, but he had to get it off his chest. "I'm sorry for what happened to Jojen. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I didn't know what would happen…"

"My brother knew." Meera cut him off, dropping her whetstone into the snow. Now she did look angry, though if at him he couldn't tell. "He knew exactly what would happen to him. He chose to come anyway. That's not on you."

"But it feels like it is." Bran said earnestly. "I'm really sorry. I don't want… You never talk to me anymore. I just want to know if you're alright."

His friend snorted, and Bran had never heard her sound that bitter. "Alright? Of course I'm not alright. My brother was the only one I had for – well, forever, and now he's gone. He's never going to come home to Greywater Watch and neither am I. They won't even know where we are. And you, you're off dreaming all the time, so…" Meera cut herself off with a frustrated grunt and jumped to her feet, starting to pace.

"I have to learn." Bran said defensively. There was a small part of him that added, And it feels good to escape from this body that can't walk, climb or do anything for himself, but Bran tried his best to ignore that part. Having these dreams and visions was his duty; so what if he started to like them more than his own reality? "I have to know everything the Raven knows before winter comes. There's so much of it. I don't know if I can do it all."

"Yes, you have to learn. I know." Meera stopped pacing and looked at him. Her deep green eyes shone with something Bran couldn't identify at first, before he realized that it was frustration. "But what do I do? I can't dream like you or Jojen. I can't do anything. I can't feed us, I can't hunt or fish or explore, because we can't leave this stupid tree. All else I know is to fight, and the Children already keep us safe, or so they say. What am I doing here, Bran?"

He opened his mouth to say something – and closed it again, with everything unsaid.

"Nothing." she answered her own question. "I don't even know what we are doing here. Why have your and Jojen's visions led us here?"

"The dead are threatening everything. I have to be able to see." Bran said. That was what the Raven had told him. That he had to learn to see before the Long Night came.

And that Bran had to take his place. That he had to give up everything and become like the old man in the tree.

"But did he tell you what you are learning it for?" Meera lowered her head as all the energy suddenly seemed to drain out of her. It looked wrong; not like her at all. "My brother may have been content not knowing, or maybe he did know; I'm not sure. But I have to. What is the end goal here? The dead are going south, away from us. They'll meet the Wall soon, and then the rest of the North. What can we do from this cave that would make any difference?"

"I need to learn to see." Bran repeated desperately.

„What does that help?" Meera asked.

What did my brother die for?

Bran swallowed thickly. "It will." he said, with all the confidence he could muster.

Meera looked at him and it was clear she didn't believe it. In the white shine of the snow, Bran could see once again how much she loathed this place. Her expression held frustration – but there was also a kind of acceptance. With a painful jolt, Bran realized that she would stay with him no matter what. Despite everything.

His friend gave a hollow little nod and turned away, returning her gaze to the empty landscape.

Bran wished he could say something, anything, to make this better. That he could promise her they'd go back soon, or even that what they did here had a purpose. But even in his head those promises sounded empty. He didn't know enough and he was just as boy with a broken body, stuck at the end of the world. What did it help that he could see distant people and events when he couldn't change them?

A snowflake landed on his shoulder, melting instantly. Others soon followed, dancing in front of Bran's face as if mocking him and his futile efforts. Behind him, Hodor got to his feet and tried to catch some of them, blundering noisily through the snow and muttering excited 'Hodor'-s. In that moment, Bran wished he could trade places with him: forget all his troubles as easily as that and chase after snowflakes. Sometimes he envied the gentle giant.

Meera's back was still to him. The two of them and Summer were all he had left. He would probably never see his family again – like her, if she stayed with him. But she couldn't see in the same way that he could. If he focussed well enough, he might be able to look at Winterfell and see his sisters, his mother and brothers – if they were still alive. Maybe. It might only be a distant look into their lives, but Meera didn't even have that.

"Meera?" he asked, surprising himself.

His friend turned her head half towards him, her eyes questioning.

With a grunt, Bran heaved himself onto his elbows and crawled to her. Meera made a move like she wanted to stand up and help him, but he quickly shook his head. For once, he didn't want to depend on her help. She'd done enough for him already.

When he reached her, he propped himself up on his arms and met her eyes. "I want to try something." he said, before reason could catch up and remind him how unlikely this was to succeed. "I don't know if it's going to work, but…" his voice trailed off uncertainly.

Meera cocked her head to the side. Her guarded expression started to morph into something more curious. "Well – you won't know unless you try, right?"

"Right." Bran agreed. Of course she was right. He had to try. He breathed out deeply, holding her eyes. They were a dark green, almost as stark as Jojen's had been. He kept that image in his mind as he focused, reaching out through the roots of the Weirwood tree beneath them.

The next moment, he felt his eyes roll up in his head and suddenly they were seeing completely different images: faces he didn't know; events passing to fast to comprehend; places coming and going in the span of a heartbeat. A hundred different doors to go through, and thousands more behind them. As always, it was overwhelming. Bran didn't know how the Raven could do it all the time. All he knew was that in the chaos, he needed something to focus on, to remember where and who he really was.

Green eyes. Like a forest glade in summer.

With that image at the back of his mind, Bran started looking through the maelstrom as best he could, trying to find the one speck he wanted to see. He had never gone this far before and it took all his concentration not to get lost. But then he felt a new sensation he'd never felt before; something like a strong tug at his chest, pulling him forward as if on an invisible string. It was almost as if the vision wanted to be found. Abruptly, all the other doors vanished and he was there.

Once he saw it clearly, Bran took a moment to watch and imprint it in his memory. This was much farther than he'd gone before, he thought proudly. Then he snapped out of it, leaving the body of a crow to return to that of the crippled boy lying on the snowed weirwood roots. Meera was hovering over him, concern written on her face. Her hands moved to his shoulders to steady him. "Bran? Are you back?"

He nodded haltingly. When he went and came back, it always took a while before his body remembered how to move correctly in its confines. Sometimes he caught himself trying to move his legs, forgetting. It didn't seem like much time had passed, but he could never tell that with certainty, either.

He met Meera's eyes. He opened his mouth to describe it to her – and then closed it again. It just wasn't enough. His memory held every detail, but he wasn't good enough with words to give this to her just by describing it.

A stupid idea took root in his head. On impulse, Bran took Meera's hand from where it rested on his shoulder, linking their fingers. She acknowledged his action with a look of confusion, but she didn't move to pull away. "Bran?"

"Do you trust me?"

Bran winced internally at his own question. She'd have every right to say No. She probably would.

But Meera's face smoothed into open curiosity and she nodded. "Of course I do, Bran. Why?"

"Oh. Alright." Bran resisted the urge to twist his hands. She trusted him. Somehow that just made him more nervous. Would this even work? "Ah, you should look around for a moment. Find something that reminds you where you are."

"Okay…" Meera replied, a faint hint of amusement sneaking into her voice.

"Really, I mean it. You could get lost otherwise. Find anything to hold onto."

Meera caught the seriousness in his tone and her expression became serious as well. She nodded, looking into Bran's eyes to show him she understood. "Alright. Now what…"

Bran squeezed her hand a little tighter – reassurance for her or for him, he wasn't sure – and concentrated. This time there was an immediate sharp tug as he went back into the vision. This time, the maelstrom of images condensed almost immediately into the one he had found earlier, the slightly warped view from a crow's eye, sitting atop a lonely, tall pine tree.

Settling into the new body, Bran looked around. The bird sat alone on this tree, but Bran didn't feel alone like he had before. For the first time, it felt as if someone were there with him in the vision; a warming presence. In that moment he knew that it had worked. Meera was seeing the same image he was seeing.

The thought made him almost giddy with excitement. Sadly, the crow's beak couldn't smile. Bran instead focused its eyes on the scenery in front of them. Below, a bog stretched from horizon to horizon. As far the crow could see there was nothing but marshland, muddy waters, sparse trees and reed swaying in the currents of unseen streams beneath. And, right below the pine tree, a castle.

It hardly deserved the name, if one were to compare it to the likes of Winterfell or even the ruined Nightfort, appearing not much larger than the former's main courtyard. Its walls were composed of woven reeds, its towers low, sturdy wooden constructions. A gate was missing entirely. It wouldn't take more than a single fire arrow to set it all aflame. And yet it was a castle that had never been conquered, Bran knew.

The reason betrayed itself in the slight waves that stirred in the waters on the eastern side of the castle, and the water plants moving almost imperceptibly back into place where the castle had just been. The castle's movement itself was so subtle that even Bran, who knew it was there, barely saw it. Any other foreigner who did would probably think that the swamp air was playing tricks on their mind – after all, things like moving castles existed only in children's tales and the boasts of the occasional crannogman who'd ventured beyond his swamp and had looked a little too deep into the ale tankard.

Instead of confusion at the sight, Bran felt joy. That was always his reaction whenever he discovered something new, and, for a while at least, it made him forget about the broken body he would have to return to soon. He might never become a knight, but he saw things that most men never would and couldn't even imagine. Through the mist, he could see people milling about behind the walls. He saw archers training, fishermen carrying their haul, and, atop one of the towers, a man with a raven on his shoulder watching it all. Bran would have loved to just watch for a while longer and enjoy losing himself in this.

But, his conscience reminded him, you can't.

The castle began to fade away, recede into the distance until it was only one small spot in a kaleidoscope of others, all churning around him endlessly. Then that faded, too, and Bran found himself back on the cold snow, one hand clasped around the tree roots and his friend's hand in the other.

Meera's breath was coming in gasps, her eyes were wide. Her fingers suddenly tightened painfully around Bran's, before pulling away just as quickly. It was her first time experiencing a vision, Bran realized with guilt. He should have thought to warn her better. Then her head snapped around to him. "Was that… How did you do that?"

A hesitant smile broke over his face. "So you did see all that? It worked?"

She nodded haltingly. Her eyes clouded over. "Home." she whispered. There was so much longing in that one word. The next second her eyes cleared and they were seeing him again. "Was it a vision? Is that how you see things?"

"Yes. But I've never gone that far before."

"It felt – real. Like I was really there. Jojen described it differently."

Bran thought for a moment. "I think he saw differently, Meera. I'm not really a greenseer – at least I don't feel like one. Visions are so difficult, but with animals, even when they're far away," he made a vague gesture, "it feels easier, seeing what they see. It's so much more vivid and…there."

"Hm." Meera pondered on that for a long moment. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "It seems easy to get lost in that."

Bran turned away uneasily. Sometimes he felt like those brilliant green eyes could see right through him.

"Bran?" Meera flicked his arm, and he reluctantly turned back. There was no judgement on her face, just warmth. "Thank you. For showing me."

Bran felt colour rise to his cheeks. "You're – you're welcome. I just thought you – I miss home, too." he admitted. He glanced away. "And I, well, I always wanted to see your castle, actually. I hoped my father would take me one day."

"If we ever get out of this frozen waste, I'll take you." Meera promised.

"Really?"

"Really. But you'd have to swear by the Gods never to tell any soul of it." She gave him a slight nudge. "You'd be one of very few outsiders to have ever seen Greywater Watch, my prince. Though – I suppose now you already have. Hm. By rights I should make you swear right now."

"I can keep it to myself. But how does it move like that?!" Bran wanted to know, brimming with curiosity.

To his surprise, Meera grinned at him – actually grinned; a smug, wolfish grin. "You expect me to divulge my family's best-kept secret? Just like that?"

Bran felt absurdly light, seeing her smile again. "You don't trust me? Here I thought we were friends!"

"You'll have to do better than that, my prince."

"Alright." Bran shrugged. "I'll just go back to the founding of the castle and figure it out myself, then."

He didn't realize what he was saying until the words had already left his mouth. There was no reply and Bran turned to see that his friend's eyes had gone wide. "What?! That's something you can do?" Meera whispered.

Bran rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He felt uncomfortable just thinking about this power, much less talking about it. "The Raven's started teaching me to look to the past now. I think I can do it, but it's much harder. There's so much of it. I probably wouldn't come anywhere close to when Greywater Watch was built."

Meera had an unreadable look on her face. It was usually so expressive that it was easy to read, but now there was too much passing over it too quickly. "That's..." she began and paused for a long moment. "...amazing." she finally decided.

"Scary." Bran muttered.

"That too." Meera worried her lower lip with her teeth. "So you can see far away things that happen right now... you can see things that have already happened...what about- you know..."

"The future?" Bran shook his head. "No."

"Isn't he teaching you that?"

"Not for a long time." he repeated Bloodravens words to her. "I'm not ready."

"Maybe that's for the best." she muttered. "The future can be dangerous."

"But it would be useful to know it, wouldn't it?"

"I wouldn't want to know mine." Her expression was suddenly dead-serious, her eyes boring into him imploringly. "Promise me you'll never look into my future! I don't want to know."

"I won't." Bran promised. He doubted he would even be able to do that for a long time, if ever. And even if he could, the thought of looking into Meera's future felt – wrong. Like he'd be spying on his friend. No.

The snow was falling steadily now, settling on their faces and clothes before melting away. With no wind to stir them, the snowflakes looked strangely beautiful as they fell, Bran thought. They sat in silence, gazing out across the empty landscape. The only noise was Hodor's occasional exclamations whenever he had caught a snowflake.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bran saw movement in the white. He turned to see a small grey speck racing across the snow, as yet far off in the distance. It vanished twice behind a ridge, before reappearing from behind a third only yards away from them and turning into the familiar shape of Bran's direwolf.

The boy felt the smile return to his face as Summer bounded towards him, covering the remaining distance with awesome speed. An instant later, Bran found himself on his back with one forepaw settled on his chest and a wet tongue giving attentions to his face. He was too breathless with laughter to do anything but accept the enthusiastic welcome.

"Alright, I think he got it." Meera finally took pity on his situation and pushed the wolf off his chest. Summer snarled and snapped in her direction, but it was all in play. The two of them respected each other like only two hunters could, Bran knew.

Sitting up to wipe the slobber off his face, he noticed that Summer's muzzle was red with blood. He must have made a fresh kill. Bran stroked his nose fondly. The direwolf was almost twice as big as him now and quite able to survive on his own, even though Bran sometimes still couldn't help but see the small puppy that leapt onto his bed or tried to follow him into trees. The same playfulness was still there, but tempered with the experiences of their path. Summer's amber eyes shone with an intelligent certainty whenever he came back from his hunts. Bran wished he could be that certain.

"He's been away for a while." Meera commented. "Longer than the last time, and that was longer than the one before that. There's no game here anymore. Everything is moving south."

"I know. There's just a few ravens left that I can warg into, but Summer won't go near them. I think he senses Bloodraven."

As if the old man had heard his name being spoken, Bran felt the familiar tugging at the back of his mind right before the ancient voice spoke. It was thin with age, but still carried an authority that expected to be obeyed without question. It's time. Follow Leaf.

Bran turned around to see the small figure crouching a few steps behind them. As always she hadn't made a sound, not even Summer had heard her. She fixed him with those unreadable green eyes and beckoned, before vanishing into the hollow that led to the heart of the tree.

Meera had followed Bran's movement, noticing the Child of the Forest as well. "I wish they wouldn't do that. I swear, sometimes they just show up out of nowhere just to scare me. No one should be allowed to be that silent."

Bran nodded absentmindedly. "I have to go. He is expecting me."

A shadow fell over her face. "Back to the visions. Right." She crossed her arms defiantly. "Try asking the Raven what exactly you'll be using them for, alright? Because if the answer is just 'to see' again, I'll make sure to sit in that cave and pester him until he comes up with something more practical."

As funny as it was to imagine that, it also made Bran slightly uncomfortable. "I don't think he'd like that. And he's teaching me so much – there has to be a reason for it."

Meera sighed. "Probably. But sometimes I wish you wouldn't trust people so easily. You're putting a lot of stock by what that old man is saying. I-," she cleared her throat, suddenly looking anxious, " I just don't want you to become a white-eyed husk stuck in a tree. That's not you, my prince."

Then what am I? Bran wanted to ask. Without this, without what the Raven was teaching him, he was just a useless cripple stuck at the end of the world. His family was a world away and thought him dead; his childhood home was a burned ruin; the dead were marching south; and there wasn't a thing Bran the cripple could do about any of it. He had followed the Raven's call all this way because he felt in his bones that this was what he was meant to do, and…

When was the last time he had done anything but follow what the Raven told him?

Bran bristled at the thought. A sliver of doubt entered his mind. Thinking about it like this, it made him look like little more than a puppet. Maybe he should start demanding answers. Or try to find them for himself. He had his visions. And he could see much farther than he'd thought. Perhaps it was up to him to do something, even though he was painfully aware that he hadn't learned nearly enough yet. But by the time he had – who knew what the dead might have done, what might have happened to the people he cared about? He looked at Meera. And then at Summer.

Spontaneously, he beckoned the direwolf closer. He reached for his shoulder and loosened the wolfs head brooch that held up his cloak. "Meera?" he called. "Can you tie this around his neck?"

His friend looked at him quizzically. She took the brooch from his hand and inspected it. "Sure I can. What are you up to?"

"Like you said. We can't just sit here." This wouldn't change much, but at least it gave Bran the feeling that he was doing something. He focused on Summer, who was looking at him expectantly. "You have to go back the way we came." Bran told him. "To the Wall. Find Jon and show him this. He'll know it's from me. He'll know we're still alive." Summer didn't blink, and Bran knew he understood. He gave a short bark and padded over to Meera.

Meera hesitated for a moment before kneeling down to secure the brooch around his neck. "Is that wise, Bran? It's a long way down to the Wall, even for a wolf. What if he runs into the dead on the way?"

"He won't. He's too smart for them." Bran said. He met the direwolf's intelligent yellow eyes, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of sadness. In truth he didn't want Summer to leave him, too – but Jon was perhaps the only family he had left aside from Rickon. And he needed somebody to know that he wasn't dead, that he was trying to help as best as he could. More importantly though, so did Meera. "Sam knows you're travelling with me." he argued. "Maybe he'll find a way to tell your family. We should let them know we're still alive, shouldn't we?"

Meera looked torn. "I want to. I just don't think we should risk letting the dead find out, too…" Suddenly she squared her shoulders, something steely entering her eyes. "But you're right. And the Raven is wrong. We can't change anything if we're all isolated from the world up here. If this gets to them – I don't know, maybe we can figure something out." She finished her work and stood up. "There."

"Will it hold?" Bran experimentally nudged the brooch dangling from Summer's neck.

"Crannogwoman's knot." Meera grinned. "It'll hold, trust me."

"Alright." Bran took a fistful of Summer's fur, pressing his face to his wolf's. Summer nearly threw him over in cuddling into him. Bran silently sent a prayer to the Old Gods. Please, let nothing happen to him. Before he could change his mind, he pulled away and gestured southward. "Go. Run like you're chasing Grey Wind back home. Find Jon."

Summer licked his face one last time. Then he raced off, a streak of grey over the pristine snow. At the first ridge, he suddenly stopped and looked back.

"Go!" Bran called. "I'll be fine." Summer stood looking back for another moment. Then he bounded away and vanished behind the ridge.

"You don't deserve that wolf." Meera sighed.

"I know." Bran said. He tried to make out the grey fur in the distance, but already it was gone. Suddenly he felt cold. His eyes were starting to sting.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. Another took his chin and insistently turned his face around to her. "I was kidding." Meera said, smiling at him. "You do. You really do. You're a good man, Bran Stark. Don't ever let anyone tell you you don't deserve something."

"I…" Bran faltered, completely uncertain what to say. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Meera straightened up. "Now let's get you back inside, before you freeze up on me. Come on."

A good man. Bran wished he could be as sure as Meera. She still trusted him. For her sake, he had to be better. He had to try harder to get to the point where the Raven wanted him to be. Even if he had to question the instructions he gave him. If he didn't have the courage to see and to act on what he saw, everything they had been through might as well all have been for nothing.