Bran dashed through the corridors of Winterfell, feeling and hearing the gigantic man pursuing him. It felt a bit like the games of hide-and-seek he would play with the other children in Winterfell, but those games had not had him feeling like he'd lose control of his bladder when he was being sought. Left, right, right, left, left, right. Finally he burst out into the main courtyard and, to his immense relief, he saw Jory Cassel and a contingent of guards marching towards him. Jory halted.
"Brandon Stark, sir, what's wrong?", he asked.
"Help! He's trying to kill me!", Bran gasped.
"Who is?", said Jory, sword half-drawn already.
But the answer to that came crashing into the courtyard after him. The Mountain looked even more terrifying now, if that were even possible. He saw Bran and charged, bellowing like a bull. Jory and his men drew their swords and put themselves between Bran and the huge man.
"Run! We'll hold him off!", Jory called over his shoulder.
Bran turned and sprinted for the godswood, hearing the cries and clashing of steel behind him. He slammed the doors of the godswood shut and pulled down the heavy wooden bar with difficulty. On the other side, he could hear sounds of battle and bowed his head, tears in his eyes; poor Jory. He turned and ran deeper into the godswood, seeking sanctuary. He knew, in the back of his mind, that the sacred ground of either the godswood or his mother's little sept wouldn't stop that monstrous man from killing him, but he was a scared child and this sped him towards the weirwood, which was as grand as ever. Two soldiers were standing guard by it, but they raised their weapons as he approached.
"Young Brandon Stark, what is it?", the taller of them asked.
Bran opened his mouth to tell them, but was drowned out by a huge crashing and splintering of wood behind him; the Mountain had broken through the doors. He was bleeding badly from a head wound and several lacerations on his chest and left arm, but still standing. He made his way towards Bran, who stumbled back towards the weirwood. The Stark guardsmen raced forwards to protect him, spears and shields at the ready.
"Stand down, or we will attack!", the shorter one said.
But the Mountain paid him no heed. Bran watched in horror as the two men attacked the huge knight, managing to get in a few good blows; the taller one actually managed to pierce him below the ribs before he was gutted with the gigantic claymore. Bran pressed himself against the trunk of the weirwood tree, as though trying to absorb himself into the bark and escape, as the Mountain advanced on him. There was a flash of white fur, an explosive growl and then Summer was tearing in from the side, sinking his teeth into the giant's arm and hanging on. The Mountain let out a great bellow and swung his arm; Summer flew from it, struck an oak tree with a whimper and a muffled crunch, before falling to the ground and moving no more.
"Summer!", Bran cried in horror.
But the Mountain was between him and his direwolf and he could only sink to the earthen floor of the godswood, his back on the trunk as he gazed up. The Mountain's right arm was mangled, bloody mess but he still possessed enough strength in his other arm to raise the sword, stained with the blood of the guardsmen he'd slaughtered in the pursuit of the boy. Bran pushed himself to his feet, staring the huge man in the face with a defiant look.
"I am a Stark of Winterfell. I will not die cowering before you!"
And he spat in his face; Gregor Clegane flinched, for he was unused to his victims showing anything other than fear, then roared and raised the sword to cut the boy in half. Bran's eyes watered with fear but he kept them open, bracing himself for the blow… which never came.
Bran was never sure exactly what happened, even though he witnessed it himself. It was like the tree itself moved, lashing out at Gregor Clegane. There was a huge surge beneath his feet, a creaking of wood; the wind screamed something that sounded like "NO!", and Gregor Clegane, a towering giant of a man who could cut horses in half and punch stone pillars so that they shattered, was thrown backwards through the air with the ease of someone swatting a fly. He hit the ground hard, rolled three times and came to a stop, utterly out cold. Bran blinked, not entirely comprehending what had just happened, then dashed towards Summer's prone form.
"Summer? Summer, wake up!", he said.
There was a great racket by the smashed-in gate and suddenly people were pouring in, guards with weapons and expressions that indicated they were ready and willing to use them. Catelyn dashed in behind them, her hair in disarray; Sansa, who shrieked at the sight of the dead guards; Arya, Meera and Jojen, all of whom had weapons in their hands; Septa Mordane, whose hands flew to her mouth in shock. Catelyn came dashing over to Bran.
"Brandon. Brandon, are you all right? What happened here?", she demanded, hugging him close.
"Him. That one, the Mountain, he tried to kill me!", he said, pointing at the huge form.
The guards were ranged warily around him, spears and swords ready to pincushion him if he so much as opened one eye.
"No! Wait!", Catelyn said.
"My Lady?", one of them said.
"I want to know why he did this. As will Ned. Put him in chains and lock him up."
"As you command, Lady Stark."
A cart was ordered brought and he was moved, with difficulty and none-too-gently, onto it. But Bran's attention was caught by a new arrival. Ser Jaime Lannister, back in his golden armour and white cloak, had just entered the godswood with his sword drawn. His green eyes fell on the dead guards, then onto the Mountain as he was being wheeled out, and then settled on Bran. Something worked behind them and a look of utter shock and horror came over the Kingslayer's handsome face as the dots connected in his mind.
"She can't have. No, no, she can't have.", he murmured.