A/N: Chap 30 review responses are in my forums as normal. Thanks for reading.

Chapter Thirty-One: Apprenticeship

"You warged into a human?"

Bran found it difficult to look into his brother's (cousin's) eyes. "Into Hodor, yes."

Jon pursed his lips. On a man with a rather dour face, Bran knew it was a frown. "More than once, I'd wager."

"Yes. And it...and I got Meera Reed killed for it." Her screams still echoed in Bran's ears, even weeks after the fact. "I won't do it again."

Robb spoke gently. "I know you won't, Bran. You promised, and I know you'll keep your word. You're a Stark."

"Hodor," said the gentle giant. His strong arms cradled Bran easily as they made their way up the stairs to the queen's temporary solar in Castle Darry.

Behind them came their Uncle and little sister. "Why is it a bad thing?" Arya said.

"What if he warged into you?" Ser Brynden's voice sounded deep and craggy. He wasn't one for idle chatter. He spoke when he had something to say. "If he took your body away from you and made you do things you didn't want to do?"

"I'd kill him," she said with chilling conviction.

The Blackfish snorted. "How? He'd control your body. Do you understand now why it's a dark thing? The lad's given his word, though."

When they reached the head of the stairs, they found the queen's Shadowbinder waiting for them in a deep crimson dress and her odd, foreign mask. Though she'd worn loose dresses to hide the fact, in the clear light of the morning they could see she was vastly pregnant. "Welcome, my lords," she said in clear but accented Common. "Her grace awaits you."

She led them into the queen's private chambers at the castle. Within they found a fired clay pitcher of water, a glass bottle of amber fluid, and a hardy wooden table with a linen blanket on it. The queen herself wore the same clothes as from the meeting this morning. She looked up with a warm smile that changed the shape of her face from one of harsh plains to bright vistas.

Bran tried to hide his blush.

"Please come in. I hope you don't mind being informal."

"Not at all," Robb said. "It's refreshing. In truth, I'm still floundering over Sansa's...decision."

The queen sighed. "You and me both, my friend. That said, Tyrion is one of the most intelligent and genuinely kind men I've met. He's a polymath-he's studied engineering, history, literature and math, and he's fairly good at all of them. He already holds one of the highest offices in the kingdom and I'm paying him a very generous salary. Sansa will want for nothing. And he will never mistreat her. That much I promise you."

"She hates the cold," Arya said.

The queen laughed. "And she hates the cold." She sobered a little as she studied Arya, but then turned her attention to the brothers. "Lord Stark, if you're willing to come here, I need to see your eye. The rest of you can sit if you'd like. I took the liberty of bringing some Port Royal sugar wine. It's very strong, though, so be warned. Arya, you can have some watered wine."

"Why not sugar wine?"

"Because you're too young for distilled spirits."

"Says who?"

"Says the queen with the firebreathing dragons, girl," Ser Brynden said, exasperated. "Shush now, child."

Meanwhile, Hodor gently placed Bran on a chair where he could see the queen shake her head at Arya's brashness. She'd always been brash, but he knew the events of King's Landing had changed her. Watching their mother fail so badly made her even harder. He knew she'd been bullying the other kids in Winterfell.

At the table, the queen watched as Robb removed his eye-patch. It startled Bran that she stood taller than his brother, if only slightly.

"Hmm, that's good," the Queen said. "Most of the eye remains. Yes, I can heal this. Would you lay down?"

As Robb did as instructed, the Shadowbinder appeared at the queen's side with a steaming tub. The queen dipped a cloth into it and leaned over to thoroughly wipe the man's face. Ser Brynden stood and moved closer, his hand very firmly on Arya's shoulder to keep her from getting too close.

"What will you require to restore him?" Ser Brynden asked.

"Nothing," the queen said. "My magic is not based on sacrifice or conjuring. Life itself is powerful enough." With that, she held her hands over Robb's scarred eye.

Bran felt the power flowing through her, almost like a current of water. It felt at once intoxicating and terrifying to him. He wanted so much to stand beside her and to touch that wondrous power, even as the thought of it in his hands made him think of Meera's screaming. Of the Night King's stare through space and time and the Three-Eyed Raven's disappointed look there at the end. He'd already killed a friend and failed his first teacher with his power-who else would perish if he had more?

Abruptly it ended with an exclamation from his great uncle. "By the Gods, it's true!"

Robb Stark sat up with two whole, unblemished blue eyes and a shocked, pleased smile. "Your grace, there are...there are no words!"

Queen Rhaenys smiled kindly. "Lord Stark...Robb...you chose peace over war. You saved tens of thousands of lives. You've earned the right to see clearly for your wisdom."

The young Warden of the North stood and looked around the room in wonder. "It is so odd. My head aches from it."

"That should fade in a few hours," the queen explained. "Your mind compensated for having a single eye, so now it'll need to relearn to see from both." She turned to Bran. "And now for the other Stark."

She motioned with her hand. Before Hodor could lift him, her power flooded the air around him and lifted him gently. The others backed away in silent shock as Bran floated to the table. She levitated him face down before lowering him gently.

"I'm going to have to expose the injured areas of your spine, Bran," the queen said.

"I understand, your grace."

Strong, gentle hands pulled up his linen tunic and coat, and then gently pulled down his woolen trousers, to expose his back from just below his shoulder blades to the rounding of his rump. A warm, wet cloth ran down his back. He could tell the moment it passed his injury, suddenly becoming muted and distant.

"Your grace, may I ask how Ser Jaime Lannister met his end?" Bran asked. He'd already begun his desperate journey back from the Raven when it happened, and so did not see it with his power.

She'd just placed her hands on his spine when he asked. He wasn't sure she'd answer. When she did, it was with a distracted air. Her magic swelled around him, flowing through his back so powerfully it made his breath catch in his throat.

"You can feel that, can't you?" she asked gently. "My own teachers called it the Force. The force of life and existence itself that flows through all living things. Some gifted few are sensitive to it. Fewer still can manipulate and use it. You're one of them."

"What about me?" Arya suddenly said.

Bran wanted to tell her to be quiet, that it was only him. But he knew what his hubris had wrought in the past and kept his mouth shut.

The queen's answer surprised him, though, because he could feel how the power flowed through Arya as well. "I'm sorry, Arya, but I wouldn't be able to train you. As for your question, Bran? Ser Jaime's sister murdered his father and their last son, before drinking poison herself. He flung himself from the Red Keep tower. It was...fitting, I suppose."

Bran wasn't sure what to say. About the Lannisters he found it oddly poetic. But what concerned him was Arya. The queen lied about her. He was sure of it. Then he thought of her words. She didn't say Arya couldn't learn, only that the queen couldn't teach her. Before he could follow up with that thought, a surge of almost unbelievable pain almost blinded him. He gasped from it, moaning despite himself. He felt her hands on his back, and felt the power roaring through him.

"The pain is the awakening of your legs," the queen said. "I'm sorry, it's unavoidable. Quaithe?"

The Shadowbinder knelt down with a wrapped biting stick. Bran accepted it, biting down hard as the pain surged again. Then again and again, one wave after the other that left him panting. And then it ended, just like that. He felt gentle hands removing his useless boots, and then caressing his feet.

He gasped from the contact. He could feel her fingers digging into the soles of his bare feet, and the stinging sensation that made his toes feel like they were on fire. "I feel it," he shouted. "Gods, I feel that!"

"Your spinal column was broken in two spots," the queen said gently. "That's why it hurt so much. But Bran, understand that this is the easy part. You're going to have to relearn how to walk."

"What do you mean?" Robb asked.

"Muscles that are not used grow weak," the queen said, as if it was common knowledge. "He hasn't had the use of his legs for years, as I understand it. I healed his wounds, but I can't restore his lost muscle. He'll have to relearn to walk on his own. It will take time. He can do it; I have no doubt. I'll help him. That's part of what I'll be teaching him, in fact, when I make him my apprentice."

She said all this as she continued to rub his feet, bringing both to life where before they had been dead, useless clubs. Bran realized he was crying, but couldn't help it as he pushed himself upright.

The queen came around to face him. Do you understand why I can't teach Arya?

Her voice sounded clearly in his mind, borne by her wonderful, beautiful power. And thinking about it, he glanced at his sister. She would use it for darkness. She's been tainted by rage and hate.

The queen nodded, then smiled. "You're going to be great someday, Brandon Stark. I'm going to send you to King's Landing with Quaithe. You can even stay with Sansa if you wish. When I return, I will begin your education on something far greater than Greenseeing."

"Your grace," Quaithe said softly. "Perhaps...his vision is clearer than mine, and I cannot stay by your side any longer with my child. Is his sight not clearer even than yours?"

It was the first time Bran had seen Quaithe openly question her queen. More surprisingly, given their recent experience with southern royalty, she seemed to consider it. "He certainly gave your protections around my bedroom a challenge."

Bran's cheeks blossomed brilliant red. "I'm sorry, your grace."

The queen laughed. It was a free, open sound, unlike any he heard from those in power. Father rarely if ever laughed. "I know, Bran. Unfortunately, it's just too fun making you blush, so you'll just have to get accustomed to it. I do have a serious question for you, though."

She pulled up a simple wooden stool as Bran himself turned his body and sat up fully. He tried moving his legs and was surprised at the effort it took. "Yes?"

"You came to me, at King's Landing. Right before the fire. Couldn't you have come sooner?"

Though she hid it well, Bran heard pain in her voice. He remembered his visions of her weeping for her lost friends. Ser Barristan especially.

"I… I could see anywhere, anytime, the Three-Eyed Raven said. But only if I cared to look. I'd already begun my trek south with Hodor and grabbed a weirwood to see the lay of the land. Something tried blocking me to the south, so I pushed past it and saw what was happening. I'm sorry I didn't look sooner."

"Bloody chance," the queen whispered.

"Fate, one might say," Quaithe said. "Your grace, I realize now it was not my power that broke the Warlock's illusions. It was his."

The queen merely nodded. "How old are you, Bran?"

"Ten and five, your grace."

She sat studying him intently. Occasionally she would glance to Quaithe or to Robb, but usually her eyes drifted back to him. With the gaze he felt her power again, as light as a feather against his mind and heart. He opened himself to her without hesitation, though it meant sharing even those unbecoming thoughts he had when he first gained his power and saw her swimming.

Rather than be offended, she smiled. She looked amused, but not upset. "I'm not going to warn you of the danger," she finally said. "You know better than anyone here. Tomorrow I'm flying to Castle Black. He doesn't know it yet, but I'm taking Jon Snow there. That means flying a dragon. Hodor can't come, and even with training it will be weeks or even months before you can even walk. But I have to admit your greensight is more powerful than my own Force visions. Do you wish to travel south, or stay with me?"

Don't you know my answer? Bran formed the thought and sent it easily through the aether of her power. He'd hoped to surprise or impress her.

She merely nodded. I do. But your brother needs to hear it from your lips.

"Your grace, I wish to stay with you, if you'll have me."

"Very well, Bran."

Bran turned to his brothers to gauge their reaction. Robb looked proud; Jon looked like he did that time Father caught he and Robb in the pantry stealing his prized Dornish red. "Dragons?" he asked aloud.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The feast that evening was more muted. The armies were breaking up-the northmen were marching home, accompanied by five thousand southern foot and another thousand knights led by Ser Baelor Hightower. Their mission was to begin the difficult chore of restoring the many castles along the Wall.

Bran sat to the queen's left, while Robb sat to her right. They spoke quietly about food stores, harvests and the lands in the Gift that, in theory, were meant to support a much more robust Night's Watch. When the meal was done, Bran felt surprised when the queen instructed Hodor to carry him to her solar.

The giant placed him on a rug near the fireplace. A chambermaid, maybe three years younger than Bran, stared in surprise at the giant.

"Hodor, you can go back to Lord Stark," the queen said. She reached up and touched the giant's head.

He grinned at her. "Hodor. Okay."

What? "He spoke…"

"You know what happened to him?"

"Me," Bran said. "I did."

"But you broke the loop," the queen said. "He was fated to die holding that door, until you interceded. His mind will slowly clear. He was always damaged, a little. But he will come to speak better in time."

The queen sank cross-legged to the floor opposite. She grinned at the confused chambermaid. "You'll need to be our chaperone, Suzene."

The little girl curtsied. "Yes, your grace." She sounded dead serious, then glared fiercely at Bran, as if he were a threat to the queen's virtue.

Rhaenys herself chuckled. "Okay. It's been a few years since I tried training a novice. So, we're going to start at the beginning. Close your eyes and imagine you're sitting on a beach..."

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

Elliot kept sniffing at Jon.

The Night's Watch man stood half-paralyzed as the great gold and white dragon rubbed its massive snout against him, knocking him over. "I think he wants you to scratch him," Bran hazarded a guess. "See the ridge of his jaw? I've seen her grace rub him there."

"Are you mad?"

"I've seen Sansa stand on his head in my visions, Jon. He shan't hurt you."

Grumbling, Jon hesitantly did as he was told. Elliot shoved harder into the scratch, forcing Jon to set his feet. The queen stood speaking intently to Quaith and a few of her other people before sending them on their way south. Ser Brynden was at Robb's side with a thousand Tully men to augment those of Lord Stark.

The queen waved her farewells to them before she walked to where Bran sat on the grass near the great red and black Temeraire. This close to the largest of the queen's dragons, Bran could feel the heat shimmering off his black scales. The light dusting of snow around them melted where the dragons slept. Now wide awake, gold eyes regarding Bran with a strange, powerful intelligence. He could feel the dragon's mind somehow pushing against him, trying to figure him out.

I am Rhaenys' Bran thought back. The dragon didn't entirely understand. So instead, Bran envisioned as clearly as he could the night before. Sitting with the queen of the Seven Kingdoms as the sole object of her attention, listening as she spoke and feeling the power she described. He envisioned how her smile warmed his chest and reminded him of those rare, wonderful times when father smiled at him, or when Meera hugged him during their long, cold trek.

The push changed from a challenge to acceptance. There were no words, only an idea. Brother.

He didn't even hear the queen until she knelt beside him. She stared at him with open surprise. "Already?" she asked.

Bran knew what she meant. "I...they don't use words, do they?"

"No. We're like children to them, when we communicate. In my training, what they do was called telepathy. Mind-speak. And...wow. I'm impressed, Bran. I'm impressed that you made that connection so quickly. Are you ready?"

For her flight, the queen had dressed in a form-fitting black suit, over which she'd draped a great, ominous black cloak and an alien black helm. Bran wore his warmest furs. "I believe so, your grace."

"When we're alone, Bran, please call me Taylor. It was the name I grew up with. As my apprentice, we're going to spend a lot of time together, so you might as well get accustomed to it. When we're alone, I'm not your queen, I'm your Bendu master."

Bran had no idea what Bendu meant, but he knew the honor that she was bestowing on him. "As you wish. Taylor." The name felt odd on his lips, but she nodded approvingly before using her magic to carry him onto the great black and red dragon's neck. She positioned him between the rock-hard scutes that ran down his neck, forming a surprisingly comfortable seat.

She sat behind him, so close he could feel her weight against his back. Surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him, and as they did he saw she had a scarf. "We're going to be flying high, where the wind is so cold it can give you frostbite. Wrap your face in this."

He did as he instructed. Nearby, he felt a surge of alien mirth and turned to see Jon Snow hanging like a dead buck over Elliot's neck. The dragon remained perfectly still, even while mentally laughing his tail off. Eventually Snow found his seat.

"Use his horns as handles to hang on," the queen called. "You won't hurt him, I promise." She slipped on her helm, then wrapped the great cloak around them both.

"It's not him I'm worried about!" Jon called back, even as he did as she instructed.

Bran felt her power urging Temeraire to fly, and so the dragon did. Nearby, Saphira burst into the air with a massive flap of her wings. Finally, with Jon Snow screaming like a little girl, Elliot took flight as well.

The most amazing thing about the flight wasn't how small everything below looked, though that was amazing enough. Nor was it the fact that the clouds were not solid at all, but were instead just large billows of fog that hung high in the sky.

No, the most amazing thing about the flight was Taylor's mind in his, guiding him in what she called meditation. Without words, she used her power to show him how she healed. Not just others, but her own wounds. More, she guided him in doing the same. Her power gently lay over his own, showing him how to direct it into his withered, weak legs.

All the while, the dragons flew. When he wasn't basking in the glow of his new master's power, he observed how the dragons conserved their energy. They flapped their massive wings a few times to gain altitude, and then glided for a time. Often, they would change their course slightly to catch a wind that lifted them without flapping. If the wind direction changed, they just flew higher or lower until the wind shifted again.

Bran could not help but feel sad when Castle Black came into sight. He didn't want the flight to end. Because of the feel of her power; because of the feel of the dragon below him and her arms around him, Bran wanted the flight to last forever.

Through his scarf, he heard her voice aloud. "Your journey is just beginning, Bran. You've just taken your first steps into a larger world."