Author's Note:

All rights belong to GRRM and the powers that be at HBO. No infringement is intended, I'm just playing in their sandbox.

I hope you all had a wonderful, safe and delicious Thanksgiving!

Thank you for your reviews ZabuzazGirl, Vulcran, Darthwolf, Suppes1, NeroFlashfox and guests. I'm happy you're enjoying. :-)

Donny- thanks for the constructive criticism, but I think you should consider a broader scope. Women can absolutely still be threats in this world. I'd argue that Catelyn's feelings about Jon have always been irrational. In canon Jon never would have contested his siblings (male or female) claims on Winterfell even though he was Ned's 'the firstborn'. I believe Cat was pissed Jon existed and made up excuses (rational & irrational) along the way to feed that resentment because she couldn't/wouldn't take it out on Ned. Her feelings still hold up even with Jon being female, different, but still valid. I'm going to discuss Cat's issues with Alyssa in this chapter. That being said, I hope you stick with me.

Chapter 4 : 297 AC

Westeros, Winterfell

Bran Stark went to bed after the King's welcoming feast utterly exhausted from all the excitement. Like most nights sleep came easily, but tonight he was restless. For what felt like hours he tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable spot on the mattress. Sensing his discomfort, Bran's direwolf curled in close trying to shield Bran from his woes. The wind whipped and howled against the window, pushing it open. Feeling the sudden draft Bran gingerly nudged his wolf away and crankily rolled out of bed.

The moment he placed his bare feet on the ground Bran was shocked to discover that he was no at home, but in a large hall with a missing wall and no ceiling. What remained of the structure was lined with soot and wreckage was scattered all around. Fresh snow fell from the sky, but he wasn't cold.

A young woman dressed in black stood in the middle of the ruin with him. Her hair was pale, almost white pulled back in coifed braids. She moved towards Bran with measured steps it was as if there was an invisible chord between them pulling her forward. Her eyes transfixed on him as if she felt that at some moment he would disappear. There was something familiar about her face, but Bran couldn't place it.

"Hello?" Bran called out to her. "Do you know where we are?"

The woman continued her approach, barely making a sound, eyes unblinking. If she did in fact hear him, there was no indication. The closer she came, the more Bran's fear grew. Her expression was off. It reminded Bran of the love he saw in his lady mother's face, but completely wrong. The warmth that should have been in her smile was warped. Her hypnotic purple gaze twinkled, not with affection, but like a woman possessed. She looked him up and down, triumphant and proud. Without warning, she reached out to touch.

Bran flinched backward and somehow found himself several feet away.

Perplexed, Bran looked around, unsure of how he'd managed such a feat.

The blonde woman remained where she was, undeterred. Her head was bowed in reverence before a great chair made of silver swords. Bran realized that she hadn't been looking at him at all but instead the Iron Throne.

"How did I get to King's Landing?" Bran asked aloud before shouting. "Excuse me, my lady!"

The woman turned around, this time the smile on her face was caring and undisturbed.

Bran heard heavy footsteps come from behind him. He dark haired warrior, a Northman Bran had never seen, and yet Bran was positive that he knew him — his name was just out of reach. Before Bran had a chance to move the figure passed through his body, as if Bran was merely a puff of air.

"Whoa," Bran gasped. His hands patting and pinching his torso and arms. Bran was relieved to find that his body was still in tact. The young adults began a hushed conversation paying him no mind.

"They cannot see you, Brandon."

Bran yelped, nearly peeing his sleeping breeches.

A new man appeared next to him. To Bran he looked quite old and simply alarming. The man was of slender stature with an air about him — something mysterious and imposing, but oddly Bran felt safe with him. He had white hair cropped short that shined brighter than the fresh snow falling in sideways from the gutted throne room. There was a burgundy blotch on his angular face extending from under his black tunic all the way up to his right cheekbone. That birthmark was framed by a single functioning red eye.

"How do you know me, Ser?" Bran wondered shakily. "Who are they? Who are you? How did I get here?"

"I have known you, Brandon Stark, for a long time," the man said. "I have had many names throughout my life, but you may call me Brynden."

Bran gulped, astonished.

"Think of them—," Brynden paused after a beat, pointing to the blonde woman and the Northman who were now sharing a lover's kiss. "—as an echo. What you're seeing is a possible future that has been reset."

The blond woman was on the ground, a knife in chest. The dark haired man holding her as he cried.

"You have the ability to see the past," Brynden explained. "Things that could be. And things that are occurring right now."

This must be a dream, Bran decided.

Growing up he always loved wild stories. Whenever Old Nan took the time to recant tales about the Kings of Winter and The Long Night he would sit enraptured, hanging on her every word. Old Nan never told Bran stories like this. He wracked him mind, trying to remember what he was thinking about before he fell asleep. What could have caused such a peculiar hallucination? His mother and father always praised him for his fanciful imagination, but never had Bran conjured up an ancient albino man with a red eye telling him he could see the future and whatever else.

By some enchantment the scene around them morphed and Bran and Brynden were transported from King's Landing back to Winterfell. Instead of being back in his own room, Bran was inside his parent's bedchamber. They were both still awake, his lord father staring at the ceiling and his lady mother laid as far away from her husband as the bed would allow on her side.

It was late at night, the large pillar beeswax candles that illuminated the stone room were starting to burn low. Bran crouched down low by the foot of the bed, but it was no use, he was too big to go unnoticed. He had nowhere to hide and no idea how to even begin to explain how he'd come to be there.

His lady mother had her copy of The Seven Pointed Star out above the fur covers. She must have just finished doing her evening prayers.

Was this a…what did he call it — an echo? Bran wondered to himself. He looked around, hoping to confirm with Brynden, but the old man wasn't there.

"Why aren't you more concerned about our girls?" Lady Stark murmured.

"Enough, Cat," Ned said in a quiet command, clearly exhausted.

A bird cawed from the window. Bran crept over to it, unsure if he'd been seen. The winged creature was a raven with three knowing eyes.

"Brynden?" Bran whispered. The three eyed raven croaked which Bran assumed meant yes.

Bran's head snapped back to his parents, they had not moved from their positions.

"Can they see us Brynden?" Bran pantomimed.

The raven turned its head as if to say no.

"It's not enough," Catelyn snapped. "You should have told the him no."

His lord father sat up in bed giving his wife an incredulous look.

"He looked as if he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and devour her," Ned replied impatiently. "What would you have me do?"

Catelyn raised her voice as she turned to face her lord husband. "Why don't you understand that with your bastard legitimized she could supplant Sansa!"

They were talking about Alyssa and the King, Bran realized. Whatever Brynden the raven was showing him was happening now.

Bran's heart broke as he watched his lord father put his head in his hands. This was the first time Bran had ever seen his father look so conflicted "Love… she would never," he promised.

Lord Stark's certainty did nothing to calm his wife. "What if she uses her influence on the king to—"

Bran watched as his lord father shook his head, huffing in anger. "Stop saying 'she' as though Alyssa didn't grow up in this house. And what influence are you talking about?"

Bran sat on the floor, curling into himself. He had never seen his parents argue. He hated it. His lady mother sat up in bed facing her husband, her mouth in a stern line, her Tully eyes hardened and her voice dripping with disdain.

"Alyssa introduced herself to Robert and moments later she was declared Stark. She has bewitched him, Ned. Which she will use to sabotage my daughter's prospects; I know it!"

Bran knew that it was unlikely his sisters would ever inherit Winterfell, given that their lord father had three true born sons. However, now that Alyssa was recognized, she was entitled to be considered first for whatever social opportunities and advances that came along as a high lord's eldest daughter. In that regard Alyssa technically had supplanted both Sansa and Arya.

"Do you truly believe Alyssa would harm her sisters?" Ned demanded in a clipped done.

"Be weary of the bastards, for they are treacherous by nature. Devious, jealous and untrustworthy because of they are born the product of lust, a deadly sin," his mother recited.

Uncharacteristically enraged, his father shot up from his marriage bed pointing a finger at his lady wife. "Don't you dare quote that Book of Seven nonsense to me!"

Bran couldn't believe what he was seeing. He knew that his mother's faith was deeply rooted in The Seven, but it shocked him judge his half-sister so harshly. He was unaware of just to profound her mistrust of Alyssa was.

"Your bastard is beautiful, flowered and now she has rank," Catelyn insisted. "The king's interest in her will make her bold. If Prince Joffrey shares his father's passions who's to say Alyssa won't use that to her advantage one day as well? That will jeopardize Sansa's position as future princess consort and queen. And what of Arya? Which of the great houses would want her now with a bastard sister out in society? Alyssa's presence in court will be a blight on both our daughter's chances."

Both father and son looked upon Catelyn Stark dismayed.

"I have apologized everyday for almost seventeen years since I brought her home," Ned said stricken. "I may not have said it plainly enough, but I am so sorry, Cat. I'm sorry that I returned from the Rebellion with a child that wasn't ours. You didn't deserve the hurt and betrayal it caused. I love you, but understand I will not apologize anymore. I'm ashamed that you have let your feelings fester in such a way. Alyssa is my blood. She is loyal and would never do the things you and your Gods accuse her of. I will hear nothing on this subject from you anymore."

Catelyn and Bran watched Ned turn to snuff out the candles on his side of the bed. He went to their bedroom door before Lady Catelyn cried out hastily, "Where are you going?"

Ned paused, half his body already out in the hallway. He looked over his shoulder sparing a defeated glance in her direction.

"I need rest and I won't find it here," he answered withdrawn. "Goodnight, Cat."

As his lord father left the three eyed raven gurgled and hopped down from the window ledge and onto Bran's knee. The bird croaked again and Bran was back in his room. His unnamed direwolf sleepily raised its head from Bran's abandoned bed, greeting him with a gentle whimper.

"What are you?" Bran demanded. He sat down, rubbing his hand through his wolf's fur. He faced the window looking accusingly at toward the raven who was now back in his human form. "Why have you shown me these things?"

"I was responsible for showing you the echos of Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow," Brynden shrugged. "Eavesdropping on your mother and father…that was your doing."

Bran recalled the blonde woman and the Northman in the snow covered remnants of King's Landing.

"Jon…," Bran whispered.

Part of his brain seemed to ripple with recognition at the sound of their names, a vivid rush of memories played out in his mind but the images passed by so fast that Bran couldn't make any sense of it. He knew those people and yet he did not. He shook his head, trying to shake the ache forming in the back of his skull.

"I would never spy on my parents," he pointed out. "Not like that."

"You thought of them," Brynden said. "You took control of the vision and brought yourself home."

How could he do something like that when he had no idea how it happened? Bran folded his hands in his lap, frustrated.

Brynden looked down at Bran with a critical red eye. "You're a greenseer, like me, Brandon Stark," he explained. "One day you will be the best of us."

[/~/]

Bran awoke hours later to find his wolf happily licking his fingers as if to say good morning. His body was stiff with fatigue. He was certain he slept but in the night he found little rest. Bran dressed hastily, thankful that his formal woolen tunic and leather breeches meant for important guests were already laid out for him. Bran took stock of his room one last time, scanning for any sign of his bizarre experience. Unsuccessful, he left his chamber with his direwolf by his side disappointed.

Platters of food were still sitting out when Bran and his direwolf arrived in the Great Hall even though the room itself was more than half empty. Today Lord Eddard was to take the King and a riding party hunting through the Wolfswood. Bran went to the dais, waving absentmindedly to the people he recognized.

"Bran?"

It was his older brother Robb who called him. Only he and their little brother, Rickon were there. His parents and sisters already off attending their duties for the day. His wolf greeted its littermates who Robb had named Greywind and Shaggy Dog, respectively.

"You're late," Robb told him. His voice impatient. "Ser Rodrick wants us in the yard. The princes are going to train with us before the hunt."

Bran nodded, his face mildly apologetic. As quick as he could, Bran helped himself to a rasher of bacon and bread.

"After we go climbing?" Rickon begged.

Bran smiled at his little brother. His other passion was climbing. Since he was Rickon's age Bran was scaling walls like he was born to it. Everyone tried to stop him, Maester Luwin even dropped objects from tall heights and counseled him as they examined the broken pieces. 'That could be you someday, young master,' Luwin cautioned sagely. Bran took in all the advice, but it couldn't be helped. From the very first time his small hands touched the ancient stones of his family's Keep it was as if he could feel a presence within the rock. To Bran its was though the walls themselves invited him to climb, they guided the path of each approach and the best ways to descend. He hated that it made his lady mother a nervous wreck and he did feel guilty when he promised to stop his endeavors, but his lord father gave him leave to do it as long as mother didn't see. Bran was surefooted, everyone said so; he wouldn't quit.

"Yes," Bran grinned, ruffling Rickon's hair. "After we will go climbing."

Bran sipped his mead and people watched while Rickon played with the direwolves. Everything about the day seemed perfectly normal, but as he took in the last bite of bacon a pinch of intuition tickled the base of Bran's skull.

"Are you done?" Robb pressed. His auburn brows raised and Tully eyes exasperated, to Bran he looked just like their lady mother. The pair of them detested tardiness. Bran wiped the crumbs from off his sleeve and shot up from the table and belched unexpectedly. Robb rolled his eyes disapproving of Bran's table manners, but still he grinned along with Rickon who filled the room with his bell like laughter.

Together they left the hall.

Robb walked ahead with Rickon hoisted on his shoulders. Bran tried his best to keep pace with Robb's long strides but it was no use. He lagged behind, listening to his Rickon joke and play. His little brother's tuft of auburn curls bouncing as Robb broke into a light jog, imitating the neighing of a horse.

As Rickon clapped his hands in delight the world around Bran blurred. He saw a young boy with Stark features and dark hair running in a field that looked like the hills just beyond the Winterfell gates. The boy was breathing ragged. Bran watched as he ran making a mad dash, face marred by terror as an arrow flew past him.

"Are you all right, Bran?"

Bran's eyelids fluttered as everything came back into focus. He was in the training yard with his brothers and the Baratheon princes. Ser Rodrick stood next to Bran holding out a wooden practicing sword. Bran took the sword in a daze. He remembered leaving the great hall and stepping out into the courtyard with Robb and Rickon just ahead of him, but entering the paddock and fastening on his training shield? It was a complete blur.

What's happening to me? Bran thought.

"Let's show Prince Tommen your forms," Ser Rodrick suggested.

Bran turned apologetically toward Prince Tommen as he wondered how long he had kept everyone waiting. Bran rolled his shoulders, adjusting to the feel of the shield strapped to his left arm and the sword in his right. He widened his stance and nodded his head, letting the prince know he was ready. To Bran they both looked to be about the same age, but Tommen was slightly taller. Bran noticed that the prince's posture was off. His ribs weren't engaged and his shoulders were too high. It wouldn't take long for Prince Tommen to get sloppy. Bran could win his match if his offense was aggressive.

For years Bran had been learning his forms and learning the craft of war. He liked it, swordplay and strategy, though to be honest it surprised him how difficult it was to wield a weapon. Ser Rodrick was a tough master at arms, but so far seemed pleased with Bran's progress. It would still be a long time to go before he could move on from practicing with wooden swords and graduate to live steel. It was Bran's ambition to be a knight. He longed for the day he would be old enough to don the finest armor and fight epic battles. He wanted to be great, like Barristan the Bold and his father — the man who beat the great Arthur Dayne, The Sword of the Morning. He could see himself being a fine Bannerman to Robb or even a galant Kingsguard someday to Sansa when she became Queen.

Prince Tommen made the first strike, his sword limply made contact against Bran's shield. Bran took the hit and pushed his bodyweight into the prince. It caused the blond boy to go off balance and Bran outstretched his sword hand, hoping to get a strike of his own when a vision clouded his sight.

Bran was in a reception hall of dark stone, the wind and sea could be heard in the distance. He was doing it again, greenseeing. The blonde woman, Daenerys, was seated on a dais and the Northman, Jon Snow, stood several feet away. The room blurred and Bran saw his sister Alyssa in Jon's place dressed a brocade gown of Stark colors and a slender sword at her hip. In Daenerys' seat was a man, Bran didn't know. Bran started at the flame hilt of her sword. Alyssa was an archer, not a swordswoman. The gown of roses, was something he'd never seen her wear before. He tried to take in Alyssa's features, to see if anything was different, but the closer Bran tried to make note of the details, Jon Snow's face would overlap his sister's. Was it another echo or perhaps something else?

The midday bell rang, bringing Bran back to himself.

He was on the ground, the prince standing above him. Bran realized that he must have lost. He was horrified that he lost time again. His body was moving and behaving normally while his mind appeared to be somewhere else. Everyone's practice came to a halt. It was almost time for King Robert's hunt. As the men began to depart, Prince Tommen outstretched his hand, helping Bran to his feet.

"Good match," Prince Tommen said weakly.

The prince's voice seemed genuinely shy and thankfully not afraid of Bran.

"Good?" Prince Joffrey scoffed, slapping his brother on the back. "Wolves are no match for stags."

Robb came over, putting a protective arm around Bran's shoulder.

"And yet I bested you today, your grace," Robb challenged.

The crown prince's green eyes narrowed at Robb as he huffed.

Grey Wind, Bran's direwolf and Shaggy Dogg each growled in warning from their resting spot. Everyone turned warily at the beasts who were standing guard by Rickon Stark.

"Well, I…," Prince Joffrey stammered. "I couldn't embarrass my lady Sansa's older brother in his own home."

"Come your graces, my lords," Ser Rodrick called. "You must get ready for the hunt!"

Prince Joffrey gave Robb another dark look before stalking out of the training yard. Tommen quickly followed behind, but not before giving the Stark brothers an apologetic smile.

Robb squeezed Bran's shoulder.

"You're better than Prince Tommen, Bran," he said. "What happened?"

Bran bit his lip unsure of where to begin. Who would believe him about these visions? What did it even mean?

"I don't know," Bran confessed. It was a half truth.

Robb frowned he looked as if he wanted to press the issue further. "You'll do better tomorrow."

Bran hummed.

Robb gave him another brooding stare before ruffling his hair. Bran swatted his hands away and pushed him toward the paddock gate. Robb took off in a light run, leaving the training yard laughing, Grey Wind followed behind him. Bran went to Rickon who was still in his favorite spot.

His little brother was perched on the paddock bench with his direwolf Shaggy Dog waiting patiently at his feet.

"Finally," Rickon whined. "Climbing?"

"Yes, I promised," Bran answered. "I'm going to get a waterskin for us, then we'll find a place to explore."

"If you go to the kitchen, bring treats," Rickon requested.

Bran nodded absentmindedly. "Wait for me here." He was talking to his brother and his own wolf.

Rickon rubbed Shaggy Dog's fur. "Don't forget snacks!"

When Bran left the kitchen with a full waterskin and two of meat pies everything changed.

"Come find me."

Bran stopped mid step, instantly recognizing the gruff voice of the white haired man from his dream. It was Brynden. Bran looked around at the quiet courtyard. The bulk of the Stark, Baratheon and Lannister were all gone on the hunt. He was alone. There was a squawk above him. A large black bird flying over head. It was the Three Eyed Raven, Bran was certain.

The bird soared confidently above, but instead of the blue sky and black feathers Bran only saw the brilliant white of the weirwood tree and its mysterious red face.

As if in a trance Bran went to the Godswood. With each step a presence stirred inside of him, filling him with power. The wind rustled and the crimson leaves of the heart tree swayed. It was as though a lasso wrapped around Bran and pulled him forward like a beacon. Instinctively, Bran touched the bleeding sap as though he was caressing the face of the Gods.

As Brynden spoke, the Gods showed Bran many things at once.

"The Old Gods have tried to set things right. They had to stop their power from fading."

Bran saw an enormous blue dragon with purple and silver scales fly over a city with red roofs.

"No longer broken, this time you will truly fly.

There was a pale haired man in golden armor sitting at a table with his sister and two others he didn't know. On the table was a hand-and-half longsword with a pommel made of black adorned with a red jewel.

"You were meant to be their memory, but now you must become their voice."

Flowers of every color falling from the sky in a keep made of pale stone.

"Come find me, Brandon Stark. Join me."

On a snowy hill there was a great heart tree gleaming in the soft light of the rising sun. This was where the Gods wanted Bran to go. Brynden would be there waiting for him.

Everything went black.

When Bran came to his was once again on the ground. The leaves of the weirwood tree swayed above him, the breeze settled and just above their gentle song Bran could hear the sorrowful howls of the wolves.

"Bran!"

He sat up, startled as his sister Sansa came sprawling into the Godswood. Her face was flushed and tears streamed down her face.

"You must come Bran, it's Rickon! Something's happened…they're saying he's dead!"

Author's Note:

I hope that all made sense.

I was super disappointed with how all the magic on the show felt almost like an afterthought or hindrance sometimes on the show. It's crazy how we never got to really learn how Bran's powers worked. ::deep sigh::

This isn't a time travel story, more like a cosmic do-over. Bran and Bloodraven/Three Eyed Raven and Children of the Forest will be the only ones who have a general idea of that fact.

In my story The Old Gods powers have been dwindling for a long time while The Seven and R'hllor have been flourishing. In the books we know greenseers can't change the past, but I feel like the Gods would do something to save themselves. So they turned back time and reshuffled the deck to hopefully change some outcomes.

Bran's arc will be him becoming an active vessel for the Old Gods instead of the cryptic shell he became on the show. I hope you liked the clues in his visions.

For all my CatelynStans: None of Cat's feelings or observations in this chapter are coming from left field. Cat's stance on Alyssa isn't a kind one, but it wasn't for Jon either. She was weary of Jon because he could have contested the claim of any of her true born sons and now with the genderbend, Cat is worried for her daughters. That is something rooted in GRRM's work. Catelyn may not start out great in my story, but she didn't in the books or the show either. In this moment she's just a mom who's let her compounded fears get the best of her and that's something that happens to everyone. Cat is going to have a journey and this is the place where I want her to start. No trolling please.

My endgame is still Targaryen Restoration.