Grand Maester Pycelle had fallen asleep again. When it'd first happened, Bran found it amusing. Now? It was more tiresome.

Ormund prodded Bran with his quill. "Let's go," he whispered excitedly. "We can still go and investigate secret passages! It is still early."

Bran frowned. He had never escaped the classroom as Arya had done a good number of times in Winterfell. "We can go and investigate in the late afternoon," he murmured, glancing at the snoozing grand maester uneasily. "We're supposed to be here for another hour at least. We cannot go sneaking around the castle and missing our lessons…"

The prince rolled his eyes. "Learning what? We've been sitting here for hours – doing what? Watching the old goat sleep."

A snicker slipped from Bran's lips. "Old goat?"

"I heard Lord Tyrion Lannister call him that once." Ormund grinned. He swept a few strands of coal black hair from in front of his eyes behind his ear as his blue eyes sparkled. "It suits him very well does it not? The old goat!"

"The old goat," Bran echoed with a smile. "Perhaps we should ask the king to assign us a new instructor? It will be horrible if we fall behind in our lessons. My father will be disappointed in me if he hears I am not learning."

"My father would not particularly care."

"Ormund!" Bran stopped as he heard a particularly loud snore from the grand maester. "Your father will always be proud of you."

"If I sleep with a dozen wenches from the tavern or hunt down a boar he will." The prince sounded bitter. "At times I wonder if I will always be in my brother's shadow. Then again, Orys does contemplate if he will ever leave our father's big footsteps in the future." Bran never thought of it that way. He heard many stories about jealous second sons who rose in uprisings against their elder brothers. He knew he certainly wouldn't fight against Robb.

"Why are you talking?" Grand Maester Pycelle had woken up. He coughed and frowned. Mumbling to himself, he stood up and shuffled towards them, stroking his long, snowy beard. The two dozen heavy chains that stretched from his neck to breast chinked softly as he hobbled slowly. He squinted at the map in front of Bran and tutted under his breath. "Empty eh, Lord Brandon?" he said, shaking his head. "What will His Grace say? He cannot have an unlearned imbecile in his fine court, eh? As a boy of the North, I thought you would at least know all the seats of your lord father's bannermen. Very disappointing Lord Brandon. I had expected much better from you." Turning away from a puzzled Bran, he studied Ormund's map, which was similarly vacant of information.

"You too, my prince?" The old grand maester shook his head again. "The king will not be pleased…not pleased at all. What will your lady mother say? One day my prince, you will have a keep of our own and you must be a learned man to be a good ruler eh? No man will follow a foolish man."

"You fell asleep Grand Maester," said Ormund bluntly. "You fell asleep before you taught us anything."

Grand Maester Pycelle blinked. "You are mistaken my prince! I have told you a number of times to write on the map the names of the noble houses of Westeros below or above their seats!"

"No Grand Maester," said Bran uncomfortably. "You haven't."

The grand maester blinked again. "Eh?"

"You haven't told us," Bran repeated.

"You haven't," Ormund chimed in. Grand Maester Pycelle muttered to himself under his breath before shuffling to the door. Bran and Ormund glanced at each other in confusion.

"Keep working," Grand Maester Pycelle mumbled to them absently. "My lord prince, Lord Brandon, I want to see those maps completed in an hour. I will come back to inspect them at an hour's end." He trundled out without another look or even another cough.

Ormund scowled. "Old goat," he grumbled. "I refuse to be trapped inside this stifling classroom all day! Tonight, I will request a new tutor for us! Brandon, will you be at my side when I demand a new instructor for us?"

Brandon? Ormund had ceased calling him Brandon about an hour or less after they were introduced to each other. "If you wish me to be my prince," Bran said uncertainly. "I will always be at your side."

"My prince?" Ormund snorted. "When did you begin calling me 'my prince' in moments like this? I thought we are friends, Bran! Do friends call each other 'my prince' and 'Lord Brandon'? I think not." He stood up and stretched. "We can ask Uncle Renly to help us with the maps?" he suggested, "or we can have Edric finish it for us. He cannot refuse us. Oh! We should do that! Once these horrid maps are done, we can go exploring!"

Bran frowned. "We should complete them on our own." He didn't like the idea of forcing Edric Storm to finish their maps at all – it was corrupt, callous and just cruel. An idea struck him. "Why do we not divide it in half?" he proposed. "I will write down the names of the noble houses of the North, the Vale, the Iron Islands, Dragonstone and the Westerlands whilst you jot down those of the Riverlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach and Dorne? When we finish, we can share our answers. We will be done soon!"

"Quite right," said Ormund thoughtfully. "A much better idea than Edric doing our work. You do not want to write the Dornish houses? Your mother is Dornish is she not?" He looked hopefully at him.

"Very well," Bran sighed. "I will write the Dornish houses. If we must complete another map tomorrow, you can write them." He suspected when they enter the schoolroom tomorrow, the ancient grand maester would give them a copy of the same blank map to complete.

"Fair enough," agreed Ormund cheerfully. He picked up his quill again. "Shall we write as fast as we can?" Bran sighed and smiled at his friend. Ormund never had much patience for letters and numbers. In the training yard, Ormund rode a horse as if he was born to; his right hand gripped a sword as well as a man twice his age; his left a spear, the only men better than him were probably all Dornish. Ser Barristan said he had much work to do to be one of the best warriors in all of the Seven Kingdoms – he was on the right track. Bran himself enjoyed learning to fight with a sword, a bow and a spear, though he secretly favoured their lessons in the classroom – even under the tutelage of Grand Maester Pycelle.

Silence settled over the schoolroom as Bran turned his attention to the map in front of him. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the prince twirling his quill, bored. Inwardly shaking his head at his enthusiastic friend, Bran began to write down Westeros's noble houses, beginning with his own house. House Stark – Winterfell, Bran jotted on the map. Slowly he made his way around the North. House Cerwyn – Castle Cerwyn. House Tallhart – Torrhen's Square. House Dustin – Barrowton. House Flint of Flint's Finger – Flint's Finger…It was not long before he triumphantly wrote House Reed – Greywater Watch, the last Northern house. He quickly turned his attention to the Vale. He was less familiar with the Vale houses than those of the North, but thankfully Maester Luwin had revised them with him before he left for King's Landing.

"Where's your wolf?"

Bran looked up. One glance at Ormund's map was all Bran needed to know his heart wasn't into the task. "He is in my room," he answered. It was tremendously kind of Princess Lyanna to deliver his direwolf to him, but he wondered if it was a wise decision. At Winterfell, the direwolves were granted freedom to wander throughout its halls; at King's Landing, Bran was obliged to keep his wolf either in his room or in the kennels like…like an ordinary dog.

"You still have not named him yet?"

Bran shook his head. "I still haven't thought of the perfect name yet." At first it struck him to name his wolf after his aunt Lyanna…but then Robb told him that his pup was male. Besides, there were many Northerners, ships and even a royal princess named after his famous aunt.

"It'll come to you," said Ormund encouragingly.

"Have you finished the Crownlands yet?"

Ormund rolled his eyes. "Really Bran? Must you always return to class work? I see you've finished the North."

"We had an agreement," Bran reminded him.

"I know, I know. We had an agreement. I will begin now," Ormund added as he caught sight of Bran's frown. Bran watched him scrawl down House Baratheon of Storm's End – Storm's End and House Baratheon of King's Landing (royal house) – King's Landing. "At least write down Houses Tyrell and Tully," Bran sighed. As if he was being forced to skin a dead stag, Ormund groaned and reluctantly marked them down on the map.

This time physically shaking his head, Bran returned to his own map. He soon finished the Vale houses and his quill lingered uneasily over the Iron Islands. He wished he'd paid more attention when Maester Luwin told him about the houses Theon would eventually rule over.

"The Ironborn have many cadet branches," Maester Luwin once said. He was informing Robb, Jon, Lyarra and Daenerys when they were younger. Bran himself had wondered into the Winterfell schoolroom and overheard him. "Are they like trees?" he had asked. His siblings and Dany had laughed.

The patient Maester Luwin had shook his head and said gently. "Not trees, my dear boy. Branches of offspring more like."

"Offspring?"

"Children, Bran. You and your sisters and brothers are Lord and Lady Stark's offspring. One day when you have sons and daughters of your own, they will be your offspring and your lord father's descendants."

"What are cadet branches?"

"All your Stark cousins are from cadet branches Bran; descendants of second and younger sons of the previous Lords of Winterfell." Maester Luwin had then pointed to the sigil of House Karstark. "Do you know which house that is?"

"House Karstark!"

"Very good Bran. House Karstark's founder, Lord Karlon, was a Stark. For his valour, he was granted many lands and he built a castle called Karl's Hold, which we now know as Karhold. As the castle's name changed, as did the name of Lord Karlon's descendants. The Starks of Karl's Hold became the Karstarks of Karhold. One day you will have a keep and serve Robb as a loyal brother and bannerman. You will be the founder of a cadet branch too."

"Staring at the Iron Islands won't do you any good." Bran blinked. He was still in King's Landing, not Winterfell. He was nine, not a little boy of five. Nostalgia jabbed his heart. He wanted to go home…

"What is it?" said Ormund, concerned.

Bran shook his head. "Nothing. I…I am a little tired, that is all. Last night I had trouble sleeping – my wolf was whimpering and whining again."

"You should let him out for a walk."

"Direwolves are not dogs, Ormund. I cannot put a leash on him and take him out for a walk. Direwolves are not used to being restrained or cooped up. I don't know why Robb asked your sister to deliver my wolf to me. It was so kind of both of them, but I think my wolf is more miserable here than in Winterfell."

Ormund looked thoughtful. "Let us go to the kingswood," he suggested. "Your wolf can run around there and we can keep an eye out on him. It is still early and we can stay there for a few hours! We can take Uncle Brynden with us too!" Bran nodded slowly and bit his lip. What Ormund proposed sounded fun and exciting, but the kingswood? It was not exactly close. Before Bran could answer, the door opened and the crown prince walked in.

Bran rose and dipped his head. "Prince Orys." Orys Baratheon nodded back at him. "Lord Brandon." Bran spent more time with Ormund than Orys, but he knew the Baratheon brothers were as different as night and day. To the king's chagrin, his heir, Prince Orys, was more sober and serious like Lord Stannis. He laughed from time to time, but preferred to maintain an impassive expression.

"Why are you here Brother?" asked Ormund. "It is good to see you of course," he added. "A visit from my older brother is always exciting."

"We are going hunting," said Prince Orys flatly. "Tomorrow. All of us – Lyanna, you, Lord Brandon, Edric, Gendry, me – will be accompanying Father and Mother on a hunt. I thought to let you know."

Bran felt ill. A hunt? He was rarely allowed to hunt in Winterfell due to his age, but his stomach turned every time he caught sight of the returning hunting party, with nearly every man there carrying a dead animal. "Must we all go, my prince?" said Bran uneasily. "I…I am…"

"Squeamish in the sight of blood?" offered Ormund. Bran nodded. The crown prince was silent. Did I upset him? Bran wondered. "Come with me," Orys finally said. Bran obeyed and followed him out, leaving Ormund alone in the classroom to poke at his map.

"Being afraid of blood is not a sign of cowardice," said Orys solemnly, "but you must overcome that fear my lord."

"I am not exactly afraid, my prince, but the thought of killing innocent beasts for sport…" Bran shuddered.

"I was afraid of hunting too, my lord of Stark. When I was younger, I had often wondered why my father enjoyed the sport to such a great extent. I still wonder that now. Have you hunted before, Lord Brandon?"

"No my prince. Not really. I have once, but we did not actually hunt. It was um, more of a geography lesson." He reddened. "My father never enjoyed hunting as a sport. He said to hunt for the sake of hunting for food, not sport."

The crown prince nodded. "That is understandable," he agreed. "However, you will serve your brother Lord Robb as a bannerman one day, and you will fight for him if it comes to it. You must get used to the sight of blood, Lord Brandon. It will be better to be used to it now than later when you are a man. My father insisted you come with us tomorrow; stay near me if you so wish. I dislike hunting, but I must be there as my father requested it."

"What of Prince Ormund?"

"Ormund will attempt to hunt with Father." Prince Orys almost sounded tired or bored. "He is not afraid of the sight of blood."

"Really my prince?"

Prince Orys was silent. "One day I will be your brother as much as you will be mine," he said at last. "I am only…taking care of you I suppose. As a brother. Look, just stay near the guards. Hunting is a dangerous sport you know."

"I am aware of it my prince."

"Good. I would brush up on my archery if I were you, Lord Brandon. Perhaps it would be an arrow that would save you from being mauled to death by a boar or a stag." Bran shivered at the ominous words. "Be prepared to break your fast at dawn tomorrow," Prince Orys continued. "We will be leaving shortly afterwards, Lord Brandon. Be ready."


Rosy-fingered dawn smiled at Bran as he drowsily made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. His wolf was silent at night yet he hardly slept well. It felt like in every hour he would wake and toss and turn before returning to another hour of fitful rest. His vivid nightmares did not help either.

"You looked like you were beaten by a deer," Ormund commented, joining him at a table. Bran glanced around. Servants bustled here and there, carrying food or hunting gear as they attempted to avoid the excited lords and ladies who waited to leave the Red Keep for the hunt. From what he heard, only a select number of courtiers were to accompany the royal party. "I hardly slept," Bran admitted with a yawn as a servant placed a plate full of food in front of him. The smell of freshly buttered bread topped with three generous rashers of bacon sided with two fried sausages sickened him. The hunting tapestries hung on the walls didn't improve his situation either. "I had a dream," Bran said suddenly as Ormund dug into his breakfast with great relish. "I dreamed that I was a direwolf – my direwolf – and I was running in a forest. I was being chased. I was so parched…but I did not have time to stop at the creek and drink…"

"Be in good spirits Bran," advised Ormund. "Thinking about a bad dream will dampen your mood. That is not good for a hunt eh? Eat up! Drink up! Father said it is good to go on a hunt on a full stomach."

"Really?"

"Come! You will have a jolly good time today! Once we written, you will have plenty to write to your family. They will be proud of you Bran. Oh! Imagine if the two of us kill a deer together! Would that not be thrilling?" Not particularly. Bran managed to smile at his friend and bite into his bread. On a regular day, it would taste delicious; today it tasted like sand.

Before Bran would eat a sausage, the king marched in, the queen at his side, a boisterous grin on his face and an uneasy smile on the queen's. "Let's go and hunt some boar!" boomed King Robert. "When we return for the feast, I want to see a boar's head on a plate!" Ormund cheered with some of the other knights who had been selected to be part of the royal hunt, sers Lancel Lannister and Loras Tyrell among them. Bran managed a weak smile as the king approached him.

"Excited Bran?" he said cheerfully.

"Very Your Grace," Bran lied. He forced himself to smile at the king. He hated lying and had a habit of looking at his feet when he did lie.

"That's my boy! When I first saw you, I thought you would be too like Ned – all honourable, solemn and all that. I kind of hoped you would be more like that late uncle of yours, Brandon Stark. I would've enjoyed hunting with him." He paused for a moment. "What was it that your father said that described a full Stark? Wolf blood. That's it. Wild wolf blood. Do you have it Bran Stark?"

"I don't think so Your Grace."

The king chuckled. "We shall see, eh? We shall see. Come! The sun won't smile on us all day! By the time you all finish breaking your fast, the boars would've all gone! You'll ride with my sons Bran." Ormund stood up enthusiastically, scoffing down the remainder of his sausage and bread. Bran followed him, more unhappy at the prospect of hunting than before.

"Are you hunting too?" Bran blurted out as he caught sight of Princess Lyanna pull on a pair of brown leather gloves. The princess smiled and nodded. "I have a wager with my brother Edric," she said pleasantly. "Edric is under the impression that I will flee at the sight of blood and had boasted he would hunt down a buck by himself. I wagered ten dragons I will kill a deer first."

"Take care, princess."

"Call me Lyanna, remember? I will wipe that smug grin from Edric's face, mark my words." She flushed with excitement. "How is your wolf?"

"Very well…Lyanna. My wolf is healthy, but low in spirits I believe. He longs to prowl the Red Keep with freedom as he did in Winterfell."

"That is dangerous is it not? He can have freedom of the kingswood next time you decide to go hunting. Maybe the godswood too if you're there to keep an eye on him." Bran nodded gratefully. "Thank you Lyanna." They followed King Robert, Queen Catelyn, Ormund and Orys out of the Great Hall. "The maesters say that it is now closer to the end of summer," Bran overheard a passing Crownlands lord say to his friend. "As the Starks say, winter is coming."

"Are the leaves not beautiful?" Lyanna remarked, nodding at the pile of orange and red leaves dancing from the godswood. "It is a pity the long summer is near an end. We will have a long winter now."

Bran nodded. "Summer is near an end," he repeated softly to himself. Summer. Something jolted inside of him. Summer. As he mounted his horse and urged him into a steady trot across the courtyard, he could've sworn he heard a wolf howl – his direwolf's howl.

Summer.


I've decided to continue with my original plan and include a chapter about Jon's time in Dorne if it's necessary. I might write a spin-off later. Anyway, I've changed my plan outline slightly and I'll tell you more about them when the changes kick in. Two more chapters until Part 3 :D Again, at the end of Part 2, there will be an appendix :)