Game of Thrones and all related characters are the property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and Bantam House Publishing. The Lost Regiment and its characters are likewise the property of William R. Forstchen and ROC publishing. No money is being made from their use in this work of fanfiction.
BRAN
This was not Winterfell.
The buildings that Bran saw were scattered far apart, like a smallfolk village but built unlike anything Bran had seen. They seemed mostly fashioned from painted boards or ceramic bricks rather than stone or logs. Unlike the huts and cabins of smallfolk the roofs were shingled instead of thatched, and many had glass windows, as well as being noticeably larger, although smaller than a rich man's manse.
A small crowd was gathered outside of one good sized house., They were all dressed in ways bran had never seen-the men wore well fitted trousers and shirts tailored to fit the body more closely than a doublet and felt or straw hats of various styles. The women wore dresses of a different cut than at Winterfell, and most had their hair bound up underneath bonnets tied under their chins, although a few girls around Bran's age or younger left their hair uncovered and either loose or hanging in braids. Bran didn't know which was stranger, that he was dressed like the men and boys-or that he was walking.
On a platform in front of the house's door were men like from his earlier dressed in blue and gray or butternut, looking warily at each other. Were these the 'Yankees' that Maester Luwin had spoken of and their enemies?
"Where am I?" he heard himself say.
A man turned around and looked at Brean like he lost his wits. "You're at Appomattox Courthouse, son." His words were not in the common tongue, yet Bran understood him. "General Lee's surrendering."
Bran didn't know who this 'General Lee' was, or what kind of name for a town was 'Appomattox Courthouse.' Before he could ask, he heard a loud CAW! Behind him.
Turning around, he saw the three-eyed raven from his vision.
And it was sitting on the shoulder of Beth Cassel'.
Like Bran himself, Beth was garbed in the style of the people around them, a light gray dress of wool with a wide flowing skirt and over her curly red hair was a black bonnet. Her face had the same flat, emotionless look he'd seen on her since he woke up.
The Three Eyed Raven cawed, and Beth spoke. "Hello Bran."
They were the first words he'd heard her say besides 'yes' and 'no;' yet she still spoke with the same dull monotone.
"Where are we?" Bran asked. "What is happening?"
The raven cawed again. "Look behind you."
Bran heard a loud creak of a door opening; turning around he saw a big white bearded man dressed in gray with a gold hilted sword strapped to his waist and a broad brimmed hat on his head. The soldiers in blue brought their hands to their foreheads in what Bran thought looked like some form of salute, which the gray clad man returned.
As the man in gray stepped off the porch onto the ground, a similarly dressed man brought up a saddled grey gelding. The man stepped up into the saddle; once mounted he seemed even taller.
The door to the house opened again and a shorter man dressed in blue stepped out with three others. Although this man wore no sword and his blue coat and trousers were shabby looking, Bran somehow knew that he was the bluecoat leader.
He glanced at the man in grey on horseback, removed a strange tubelike object from his mouth with his left hand, and took the broad brimmed hat he wore with his right. He raised the hat to the gray-clad horseman, who raised his own in return, then rode off with the other men in grey following him.
Bran looked back at Betha. "What did I just see?"
Another caw from the raven, Beth replied, "The end of a war."
Before Bran could respond, he realized they were somewhere different. A motley collection of tents of various designs, mostly ragged looking, was strewn about in a manner similar to a logging or hunting camp. Many men in clothes ranging from well fit and tailored to threadbare rags and barefoot were gathered around; most of the clothes were either some shade of grey or light brown.
The large majority were in rags.
The strangers took no notice of Bran or Beth beside him but looked up to the horizon. Bran glanced and saw the white bearded man from earlier riding his horse towards the camp. The men all walked up towards him and surrounded his horse.
"General Lee!" one of them shouted. "General did you really surrender us, General?"
The bearded man, apparently this General Lee, gave a long solemn nod. "I did." He turned his gaze to the throng surrounding him. "General Grant," he began, his voice breaking, "has been, most generous in his terms. You may keep whatever horses or mules you own. Long arms and cannons issued by Richmond are to be surrendered; however, you may keep whatever personal arms you possess. You are not to be taken prisoner, but to go home and rebuild your lives as best you can." He paused and took a deep breath. "We've fought together for four years, and I've done the best I could for you. The odds against us, however, were too great."
"No," one man cried. "We can keep on fighting!
"
"Yes!" cried several others.
"Let's fight on, General!" roared more. Soon, the entire camp was shouting the same words. "The South will never lose!" "We're all ready to die for the cause!" More voices rose in clamor of agreement."
"SILENT!" The entire camp quieted down at the mounted man's word.
General Lee continued, "I will lead you no further, in this slaughter." He paused at the men assembled, from greybeards old as Maester Luwin to boys scarcely older than Bran. "My men," he said sadly. Goodbye." With these last words, the general turned his horse, and followed by two other horsemen, rode out of Bran's sight.
Again, the scene around Bran changed. He, Beth, and the three eyed raven were on the sight of a dirt road with several men in blue like at that house were either riding on horseback or in small white covered wagons passing them by.
Off to the distance, noise like thunder was sounding off. Bran could see three horsemen coming up over the hill; at their center was the disheveled looking man he saw on the porch.
"That artillery," the man said after he took out a paper wrapped bundle from his mouth. "That our men celebrating?"
"It is, sir," answered the horseman to his right. "They heard the news of the surrender; they feel the need to express their joy."
"Well, tell them to stop." Now Bran saw the man in blue's face look hard. "The southerners are now cour countrymen again. "I see no point in humiliating them."
Bran looked at Beth, wanting to know why he was seeing this. But before he could open his mouth, everything around him faded...
Bran's eyes pried open. He was awake, in his room-and below his waist he felt nothing but a dull numbness.
"Oh, the little lord's awake, is he?" Across from his bed, Old Nan was sitting and knitting something; Bran didn't care to know what. Beth was also in the room, sweeping the floor. She spent a lot of time around Old Nan lately; the old servant had ample experience caring for the feeble-minded.
"Beth," Bran said. "Beth, I had a dream, and it had you in it. You remember?"
Beth shook her head and answered in her flat monotone voice, "No."
"So, the little lord had a dream, did he?" Old Nan asked. "And little Beth was in it? Was she talking?"
"Yes," Bran simply said. He didn't go into any more details; what he saw in the dream was too unnerving. How had he dreamed of these blue coated strangers who came to Winterfell while he was asleep? What did it mean? He knew what Maester Luwin would say-that a dream was just a dream, nothing more.
And before he could say anything else, the door to Brans chambers burst open, and in walked Nan's gigantic great-grandson, holding what could only be the saddle ehose design Tyrian Lannister had sent via raven.
"Hodur!"
End of Chapter 14
Okay, short chapter I know. In the past few months, I've been sidetracked because my rent was raised and I've got dental surgery coming up, so I took a side job to help pay the bills.
Anyway, enough about my personal problems. Lately I've been seeing in comments from readers that some of you think that I'm going to be having people from our world regularly pop up in the story. Sorry, not gonna happen. In my story, such occurrences happen very infrequently, like once every couple of centuries, and usually in groups too small or not technologically advanced enough to have much of an impact.
Anyway, I've also got this idea for another story if anybody is interested. Between the Doom of Valeria and Aegon's Conquest, a brigade of Union soldiers from on of their western Armies mysteriously appeared in the Dornish Marches. They managed to ingratiate themselves with several local noble families and establish a semi-democratic Commonwealth of the Marches (which still retained several aspects of feudalism). Surrounded by hostile neighbors, such as the Ironborn in the Riverlands, Dornish reavers, and the Faith Militant, the only thing that stood between them and destruction was the power of rifle-muskets and cannons over medieval weaponry. After Aegon and his sisters/wives landed, these Yankees' grandsons decided their best bet would be to side with the Targaryons (although they won several concessions) and helped the Dragons conquer Westeros. Under King Jaehaerys I, a full scale industrial Revolution happend. By the time of Jaehaerys's death, most of Westeros would be linked by a vast railroad network and telegraph would replace ravens (although the maesters would be the ones operating them).
I don't plan to write this story, but if anybody is interested, drop me a line. And please, despite the shortness and long wait, I hope to update this story with more content soon.
