Bran
Bran's world spun as he saw it all. Everything that had happened…and everything that would have, but for him. He could hear the voices, the countless lives of the Three-Eyed Ravens that had come before panicking, trying to reach out to him. Echoes, they are only echoes of those long past, he thought. Rather than let them fill his being, he replied in kind. You are no longer needed. Your bodies have long decayed to dust, your mates and children wait for you, it is time to go to them, he called, patient but firm. You are dead. You must go. They protested of course, voices crying out in uncertainty- the unknown, the inability to see all ends, to leave the present to the mercy of the future being their greatest objection. Bran did not yield, as he might have in another life. He held his ground, until the youngest of them finally began to dissipate. The elders cried out in alarm as each Raven ceased to be, their knowledge, their histories lost. As it happened though, and the vast chorus of voices slowly faded to a very few, Bran found he was better able to impress on them the importance of the moment. Your work is done, your songs sung a thousand thousand times over across a thousand thousand years. It is time for new life, new songs. We'll take it from here- and if we fail, we will join you shortly, to meet you and yours beyond the curtain. Would that be so terrible? At long last, the old ones' voices began to dim, until Bran Stark found himself alone in the great web of weirs. With only himself for company, he drank deep of the tree's power, feeling it fill him, until hunger, thirst, tiredness fled. Until he felt strong enough to rejoin the world of the living.
With a great wrenching effort, he pulled himself free of the tree, collapsing backward into someone's arms. Meera, he thought. The ravens in the branches of the white tree were screaming and flitting from branch to branch in alarm. An avalanche of emotions, of raw feelings surged through him, and he found himself too overwhelmed to even speak.
"Bran! Bran?!" she cried, falling backward to the cold earth with him held tight. "I'm alright…" Bran muttered, shaking his head, feeling dazed. "I'm alright, Meera." As if realizing just how she was holding him, her lord, she reluctantly released him and he flopped out of her warm embrace and onto his belly. "Oof." he grunted. Alright, brilliant. Stupid legs, he thought. He flopped over again, feeling so much like a fish wriggling around uselessly on a dock. Tentatively, he reached for the Raven's power, and found only the warging he had always been able to do. The Flock has flown, he realized. It is only me in here, only Brandon Stark- and that's all I'm meant to be. He refocused on the present, letting the half-remembered past-that-wasn't fade into nothingness. "Sorry if I scared you, Meera. I just… wanted to see if I could do it. Use the trees, and all that. They wanted me to join them, the other Ravens-" he saw her beautiful green- no, grey, eyes widen "-but I told them to move on. We can do it, Meera. We don't need the echoes of the past to help us forge the future." She looked at him like he had sprouted wings. "Don't worry. It's done with, we just need to move forward. We need to get back to Winterfell as soon as possible…" he trailed off as he realized the birds had all gone silent, looking to the treeline north of them. The air became noticeably colder, even in the snowy wood. Meera held her weir-handled sword close, found in the depths of the Raven's cave. "Hold it close." he warned her, and she looked at him with those big eyes again. Gods, I could drown in those and happily, he thought, forgetting the peril for a moment. The two watched with bated breath as the sun sank below the horizon- and something stepped into the edge of their clearing.
The Other looked nothing like the beings from the cave. Rather than appear as a sort of…winter-man, Bran supposed, this creature was not and had never been human. It stood perhaps five and a half feet tall, wearing the storied reflective icy armor, a razor-thin crystal sword in its left hand. White hair fell in a careless curtain about its shoulders and down its back, and yet it never seemed to be so much as a frizzle out of place. It advanced slowly, almost listlessly. He's bored, Bran realized. He thinks this is beneath him. Meera's breath quickened, and she became Bran's world.
"Don't be afraid." he said quietly, as the Other's eyes fixed on her raised sword. His nostrils flared, he lifted the crystal blade, and launched himself at Meera faster than Bran's eyes could follow. With the reflexes only possible of a crannogwoman, the Lady Reed brought her sword up and the Other's blade crashed against the dark metal with a single clear ring. In the split second of the Other's flinch of surprise, Meera forced the Other's blade away and brought her own down in a short brutal slash. The dark metal bit through icy armor, white-blue flesh, and the bone beneath, and the Other's shin parted at the middle. The creature thrashed wildly as it fell, razor-sword flitting through the air. It landed sideways in the snow with an otherworldly shriek of pain. Bran watched transfixed as the stump sizzled and burned like a wound being cleansed of corruption by Maester Luwin. Dragonglass, they cannot so much as touch it! Bran remembered. The Other rolled over, a jab at Bran as he lay prone in the snow. As always, Meera's intervention saved him, her sword smashing down on the Other's outstretched arm! Bran could hear the elbow shatter like glass, his attacker letting out a fresh screech, silenced when Meera drew a dragonglass arrowhead from her pocket and pressed it to the Other's temple. His ice-blue eyes bulged and his skin bubbled like melting wax, exposing bits of crystalline bones beneath, hair melting away like a dew-frosted spider's web! He fell face first in the snowdrift, lying inert, as Meera took several shaken breaths. She prodded the Other with her foot. When it did not melt, she raised her sword above her head. "No." Bran said, finding his voice after the flurry of attacks. It hadn't been a minute. Meera looked at him incredulously. "They need to see. They all need to see." he explained, reaching down with a hand protected by fur covering and pulling a frosteel dagger from the Other's waist. He flipped it and its larger sibling to Meera, who caught each with perfect grace, careful to not let her bare skin touch them.
"How are we going to move him?" she asked Bran as he stared at the unconscious form of the Other. He didn't answer right away, thinking on the safest method.
"We won't make it to the Wall before dawn, so if that kills him outright it isn't our problem anyway." he shrugged.
"Dawn won't kill him." A soft voice at his ear nearly made him jump out of his skin! He flopped over, cheeks burning red. Graceful as a salted slug, while Meera Reed made a prancing stag look bowlegged. A small creature, childlike in stature but with eyes full of wisdom, stared back at him. She and others of her kind appeared from the trees, slowly descending. This is more than just a few… Bran thought wonderingly.
"I thought you'd all gone with Leaf…" Meera whispered behind him.
"Not all of us. Only some." the Child of the Forest replied softly. Large shapes cut through the trees, snuffling or talking in low voices. Giants, and mammoths with them! Bran's face split into a wide grin.
"You must come to Winterfell with us. You kept us safe, let us return the favor." he said at once. The Child bit her lip.
"Once, your race was greater even than the Others. Shapechangers, moon-mothers, wargs, greenseers, swamp shamans…now they fight over space that has never belonged to them. Truly, would the creatures men have become rejoice to see us or our brothers?" she pointed to the advancing giants, most of whom looked haggard, underfed. "Or would they fear losing what they consider their lofty positions?" Bran frowned. "Men, they are the children." the green girl said quietly.
"Still, we're better together. You and the giants belong at Winterfell with us. House Stark has wargs when before there were none, direwolves howl south of the Wall for the first time in ages. When we win…you will be welcome in every northern hall, at every northern hearth. It is as much your homeland as ours." he repeated vehemently. "You can't just let the Others kill your kind off. Men would fight, will fight, why won't you?" he asked.
"Let's just get to the Wall, see how the Night's Watch reacts to…all this." Meera cut in, pointing to the first light of dawn on the horizon. "I know we don't want to be out here when night comes again." she said. The Children quickly bound the Other in blood-red vines, talking to each other in the True Tongue. "Will they hold it?" Meera asked anxiously. "A friend of ours told us how strong they can be."
"They will hold. There is power in living wood. So too is there power in all that lives." the Child replied cryptically.
It was slow going (the giants were in worse shape than Bran had at first assessed) but when the sun was at its height, they saw the Wall break the sea of trees that was the Haunted Forest. A palpable sense of relief broke over Bran then. We'll have the Wall between us and the Night King…and his new friends. As the ragged column such as it was emerged from the trees, Bran heard the horn of the Night's Watch sound four times. He grinned again. I wonder what Jon will make of that. He desperately wished to see his brother, to see Ghost too. To lay eyes on another that shared his blood. Not that he'd trade the years he spent with Meera for anything. After what, four years? More? The greatest part of it with only her for company. Hodor had been Hodor, Summer a direwolf, the Children in the cave mysterious and alien, the Raven himself an utter enigma. They had talked of their lives until that point- Meera of her beloved parents, times with Jojen, although Bran noticed she spoke of him rarely. Of Greywater Watch, of learning the sword, the spear and the bow from Howland Reed. The man who helped Father defeat Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the finest swordsman to ever live.
"He taught me how to be a Reed, Bran. Jojen was never robust, he had my mother's weak health, so my father taught me all he could. How to hunt, fight, treat a wound, poison an arrow, move in silence, swing tree to tree, all he knew of lizard-lions, …anything and everything." she smiled, a rare joy for Bran Stark. "I miss him dearly. More than I miss Jojen, though that can't be right to think…" she sniffled suddenly. He took her hand from the sledge, the Other being carefully carried in its bindings by giants holding either end of the vines.
"It is your heart speaking true, Meera Reed. No one can fault you for that. I know a girl or two myself who might miss their father rather more than their younger brother, half a baby when he last saw them." he said. She turned to him, walking steadily alongside on those graceful legs he so loved as he loved everything that she was.
"As you say, my Prince." was her only reply. A man would take her in his arms, lift her off her feet and bring her lips to his, Bran thought. Not me. I'm as graceful as a wight and nimble as a legless turtle. I'm Bran the Broken. The shame of it, the dismay at not being able to care for her as she had him, made his cheeks burn. She had hunted for them, massaged his shoulders and back to keep them from going stiff, even carefully trimmed the hair from out of his eyes with the edge of her dagger, and later her sword. She has carried the whole of House Stark for years by herself. Any lord would be favored by the gods themselves to have her hand. The Reeds were the lords paramount of the Neck, the southern marshy region of the North, a world unto itself- but their loyalty to the Starks of Winterfell had gone beyond simple lip service, it went into their very blood. Before the dragons, before the Andals, before Starks and Reeds…a Winter King had taken a Marsh King's daughter as his wife. A drop of Stark in every Reed, a drop of Reed in every Stark. Once we reach the Wall, I'll ask her. Not in front of everyone at Winterfell, out here where the gods can hear. Truly, it's the least a broken prince can do to make the woman he loves a princess.
Once they reached the Wall itself, Bran looked at the gate with apprehension. This is the first time Children of the Forest will live south of the Wall since it first went up, to say nothing of the Other, he thought. He heard voices on the other side, and finally he heard the great gears and winches clanking to raise the barrier, revealing several men in black who promptly swore or gasped at the sight before them. A crippled boy on a sledge, a tired-looking young woman, who knew how many Children of the Forest, a gaggle of giants… The brother who seemed to be in charge looked doubtfully at the bound bundle the giants minded.
"Is that-" he pointed. "-what I think it is?" he asked, eyes wide. Bran nodded. "The same. I'm Brandon Stark, Prince of Winterfell, and this is Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch. We have her to thank for catching an Other for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to see." he explained. The black brothers immediately muttered in dissent.
"Lord Commander, this can't possibly be allowed-"
"Our whole purpose here is to stop the cold ones from getting into the Seven Kingdoms-"
"Who will keep it confined for such a purpose? Who knows if it will live that long away from the cold and the darkness?" they all interrupted each other. The Lord Commander such as he was closed his eyes and exhaled.
"There are less than a hundred of us, lads. Half of us wouldn't last a night besieged by scarecrows. If one as a prisoner will finally bring the armies of Westeros to bear in support of the Watch, we can't pass up the chance." He turned from Bran and went back under the Wall, the Children trotting past Bran after him.
"I guess that means we can go in…" Meera said uncertainly as the giants began slowly working their mammoths through. The beasts were brighter than they seemed, able to cope with the confined space. They know it will open up at the other side, Bran realized. Finally, Meera took up the rope to pull Bran along, but he gently reached out and took her arm.
"Hold on, Meera." She looked at him confusedly and then he saw her beautiful eyes go wide again as he slowly turned, his legs slumping over the edge of the sledge. Brandon Stark took a long breath, and then he pushed off, staggering forward, shaky as a newborn colt, onto one knee. "I want to do this before we reenter the Seven Kingdoms." he said, chest heaving as he looked up at her. "For years, you protected me, provided for me, fought for me. I don't need carrying, but that doesn't mean I need you any less. Who in this world could I love more than you? Besides, the Starks after me definitely need carrying, and I would not want to be Prince of Winterfell without you as my Princess. You shouldered the burden of my house this far, Meera Reed. Would you carry it a little further?" Bran asked, breathless and red-faced. I don't know how to ask a girl to marry me, but that sounded alright, he reasoned. The brothers around them stared. Meera looked down at him, her lovely mouth slightly open. Slowly, she got onto her knees, onto his level, though still a head taller.
"I…I…" she stammered, tears running down her cheeks. She took the hand he held up to her, brought it to her heaving front and composed herself. "You are Bran the broken boy no longer. You are Prince Brandon Stark, a man grown, and due all your mighty name is owed, though I would marry you if you were some nameless wildling boy." she breathed, and her wonderful hands cupped his face. She drew him up to stand for true, and as their lips met he looked into those eyes he loved so. Yes, her eyes are grey, I see it now. Like Father's were, like mine ought be, like our children will have.