Chapter 15 - Dreams and Reality
Robb Stark, the King in the North, sat in his war tent, dawning his armor and furs. His wife, Talisa, waited for him in his private tent. His wife, Talisa, waited for him in his private tent. The glow from the candles lit his worried face. He was winning this war, so far, but now he held a most disturbing scroll delivered to him by Raven from Lord Bolton. He ordered his guards to deliver his mother to him so that they may speak alone. His mother, Catelyn Stark, entered the tent. Robb told his men to wait outside. She stood there with a look of sadness on her face.
"So … am I to be escorted everywhere I go from on?" she asked.
"You brought discord into our camp, so for now, yes," he said with authority. She looked down in disgrace. He stood up. "But I did not summon you here to shame you," he added, handing her the scroll.
"What's this?" she asked fearfully and began reading. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of regret.
"Lord Bolton has the Kingslayer and the woman knight you sent with him," said Robb angrily.
"I thought I wasn't brought here to be shamed," she snapped.
"You're not … keep reading," he said more calmly. Catelyn Stark returned to the parchment. Robb turned his back on her slowly, letting her read. Her eyes darted along the paper more fiercely. Finally she looked up.
"Theon Greyjoy!" she exclaimed. Her son quickly turned back around. The letter read that Theon Greyjoy had taken over the castle of Winterfell, when he had promised loyalty to Robb. "I told you to never trust a Greyjoy!" she scolded, "And what of Bran and Rickon?! There's no mention of them! The Lannisters have my girls and now the Greyjoys have my sons!"
"They might have escaped," he said trying to reassure her.
"I should have been there! I should not have listened to you," she continued.
"And I told you that Tywin Lannister would never trade the Kingslayer for Sansa and Arya, but you went behind my back and let him go anyway!" he shouted.
A great silence grew between them. The candles flickered. Robb sighed.
"Keep reading," he said more calmly. His mother returned her gaze to the parchment once more, but soon looked up quickly confused.
"A second man?" she asked confused.
"Lord Bolton said that he serves you, just as Brienne of Tarth does, but his banners are unknown," he said plainly. She searched his dark eyes.
"I only sent Brienne," she said as honestly as she could without letting her anger seep into her voice. He walked up to her, closing the gap between them.
"He bore a metal shield with a star and ringed stripes … " he noted. Catelyn Stark shook her head.
"I know nothing of this man," she said.
In the woods just outside of Winterfell, Brandon Stark ran through the trees, holding a bow. His eyes were searching for his target, when a raven startled him as it swooped past his face and alighted in a tree. Bran stepped closer, notching an arrow and took aim. Suddenly, Jon Snow and Robb Stark stood by his side.
"Don't think too much, Bran," said Jon.
"Relax your bow arm," said Robb smiling as he looked forward stoically. Bran carefully let the arrow fly, but it missed and the raven took flight. Jon and Robb laughed.
"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" he could hear Ned Stark's voice echo. Bran looked towards the sky, trying to locate his father's voice.
"Father?" he questioned, but when he looked to his right again, his brothers were gone, replaced by a new person. An older, slightly taller person than his brothers but with similar dark hair, dark eyes and posture. For a split second, he thought he saw a future version of his brothers. The man's arms were crossed like Robb's, looking onward, but his face was concerned like Jon's. His clothes confused Bran the most. They were so simple and not suited for the cold, a thin tunic with short sleeves, baggy blue pants, and what appeared to be a light coat tied around his waist. But that was not the most unusual part of him. A bright blue light glowed from his chest.
"So, you going to fire that arrow, Legolas?" said the strange man, in a strange accent, still looking ahead at the raven.
"What?" questioned Bran. He could not take his eyes off him. The man finally stopped looking off into the distance to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark and deep.
"Don't do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do. There's a little gray area there and that's where you operate," he said pinching his fingers together so there was a small gap between them.
"What does that mean?" he asked, but he never got an answer.
"On your left," said another voice. Another man with similar attire appeared to his left, only he was slightly taller with burlier arms, dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He too sounded like he was not from Westeros.
"Trouble sleeping?" he asked. The Raven with three eyes crowed. Bran wasn't sure if this moment was real or not. "I slept for seventy years. I think I've had my fill," he added, gently putting a large hand on his shoulder.
And with that notion, Bran woke up, sleeping atop furs in an open tent, breathing heavily, unable to walk again. Greeted by his dire wolf, Summer. Rickon stirred from his brother's anxious activity. Hodor gathered wood for a fire. Osha, a wilding woman in service to House Stark of Winterfell, had helped him, his brother, and Hodor escape the betrayal of Theon Greyjoy. She brushed her hand over his head, calming him. Ever since he was paralyzed from the waist down, the little Lord of Winterfell had stranger and stranger dreams every night. Sometimes he would be roaming the grounds inside his dire wolf. Other times he would get glimpses of the future, like his father's death, or Robb going off to war, or Jon at the Wall, but this time … this time was extra strange.
"Every night it's the same … I'm walking and running, but... this time … it was different," said Bran.
"They're only dreams Little Lord, nothing more," Osha said calmly.
"No, my dreams are different. Mine are true."