Late July, 299 AC
Theon stood on a pebbled shore, green waves lapping against the stones. Before him rode a great longship, an old man standing at the prow. The old man's hair was long and snowy white, as white as his terrible smile. A great scar ran across his face, splitting his lips and chin in twain. He looked at Bran's foster brother fondly, but his words were brusque.
"You set us a battle we cannot hope to win, Theon. This Torrhen's Square will never fall."
Theon smiled. "It's not Torrhen's Square I mean to take."
Bran's nerves tingled as he awoke. He wished he could climb something, or even pace, rather than lie against the weirwood tree. Jojen glanced at Bran, his eyes solemn, as though he knew something was amiss.
"Hodor," Bran called up to the giant stable boy. "Take me to Maester Luwin, now."
The maester was not in his turret, nor in the Great Hall, nor in the yard. They finally found Maester Luwin in the glass gardens, giving instructions to a gardener. The green and yellow panes cast an eerie light on the two men, like waves rippling in the sun.
"My prince," the maester said when he had dismissed the gardener. "What brings you here?"
The maester had to look up to see Bran in his basket on Hodor's back. It usually made Bran feel awkward, but today it made him feel tall as he loomed over Jojen and the maester.
"I had another dream," Bran said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Theon ordered the attack on Torrhen's Square."
Ser Rodrik had left again not seven days past, taking nearly every man of fighting age to throw the ironborn back into the sea. Cley Cerwyn had followed after him with another three hundred men, and the maester had sent ravens to White Harbor and the barrowlands and even the wolfswood, commanding the bannermen to raise their levies.
"Theon?" Maester Luwin frowned. "He should be with your brother, though there was naught about him in the raven from Ashemark."
"I saw him," Bran insisted. "He was on a rocky beach, talking to- to-" Bran paused, remembering the fearsome name Old Nan had spoken "-to Dagmer Cleftjaw, he told him to attack Torrhen's Square, and Dagmer said it would never fall, but Theon said that he wasn't trying to take it." Before the stunned maester could reply, Bran barreled on. "Jojen, tell him your dream."
Jojen sighed, his mossy green eyes sad.
"I dreamt that Winterfell was surrounded by the sea. Black waves crashed against the walls, and the salt water flowed into the castle. Dead men floated in the waters, their bodies pale and bloated."
The color drained from the maester's face.
"Theon," Luwin said, his lips barely moving. "Theon is the sea crashing over Winterfell."
Bran blinked down at the maester's bald head, confused.
"Why would Theon do that? He's Father's ward, he's Robb's friend."
"A ward, aye, but taken as a hostage to ensure Lord Balon's good behavior," Luwin explained, fidgeting with his chain. "Theon always boasted of the great deeds he would do..." the maester shook his head, his grey eyes flitting back and forth as he thought.
"We do not know how or when he will come, or how many men he has. Theon knows this keep like the back of his hand, there are a thousand ways they might come."
The maester sat down heavily on a bench, twisting his hands. "Ser Rodrik took too many of our men, but I am to blame as much as he is. I never saw this danger, I never..." Luwin looked up at Jojen, a bitter smile on his face. "I should have listened to you, it seems."
"Jojen had another dream," Bran said uneasily. Of all the dreams, this was the one that scared him most. "He dreamt that Rickon and I were dead, and Reek was skinning off our faces." Bran wouldn't have thought it possible, but Luwin blanched even whiter.
"Hodor, take Bran back to his room. Jojen, fetch your sister. I must think- I must think on what to do."
Maester Luwin roused Bran in the middle of the night, as quick and silent as a mouse. He dressed Bran in his warmest clothes, and packed saddlebags with spare clothes, boots, and other things from the chest at the foot of Bran's bed. Summer paced the entire time, the direwolf's tongue lolling from his mouth.
The maester was just clasping a thick woolen cloak about Bran's shoulders when Osha crept into the room, Rickon half-asleep in her arms. He was dressed like Bran was, and the wildling woman had more saddlebags slung over her shoulder. Osha set Rickon on his feet, and the maester took his hand as Osha lifted Bran.
Like ghosts they crept through the halls, Summer's claws clicking softly on the stones. Hodor was waiting in the stables with the Reeds. Jojen and Meera were dressed as they had been the day they came to Winterfell, Meera in browns and Jojen in greens. Meera mounted her horse, but Jojen slipped away into the darkness without a word.
"Hodor?" Hodor asked as he gently deposited Bran in his saddle.
"Hush," Bran said, putting a finger to his lips. Hodor nodded, shaking his great head up and down.
Bran thought Rickon might ride his pony, but instead Hodor brought forward a mare. Luwin was arranging the saddlebags when Osha stopped him, bringing some saddlebags over to Bran's horse and slinging others over the back of a third who had no rider. When she was finished she swung up into the mare's saddle and gestured for Hodor to hand her Rickon.
A shadow sprang out of the darkness, green eyes burning, and Rickon yelped with joy. Osha clapped a hand over his mouth as Hodor set the four-year-old in front of her. Shaggydog stood on his hind legs and sniffed at Rickon, ignoring the nervous whickering of the mare. When Bran turned round to look for Jojen, the boy was already mounted on a horse beside his sister.
"You must ride for White Harbor," the maester whispered when all was ready. "Find the river and follow it south. The ironmen may be here at any moment, so ride as hard as you dare, and avoid the roads where you can. It is a journey of three weeks, if all goes well. Lord Manderly will keep you safe and sound, I pray."
"What about Winterfell?" Bran whispered. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, I promised Robb.
"When Theon comes we will yield. There is no shame in that. I'll have men watching, and I've prepared letters to send with the ravens as soon as they are sighted."
"Why not send them now?"
"I'll not raise the alarm falsely, nor endanger you should a raven fall into Theon's hands. Now hurry, children, and may the old gods and the new keep you safe."
That had been hours and hours ago. The walls of Winterfell were no longer visible in the distance, nor the towers Bran had once climbed. All around them seemed grey, from the dull clouds above to the pale grasses below.
Bran clutched Dancer's reins tightly. If his legs still had any feeling, they would surely be paining him now. The horse's hoofs beat out a steady rhythm, and Osha's words echoed in his mind. Marching the wrong way. Marching the wrong way. It's north he should be taking his swords. North, north, north.
The sun was dipping slowly beneath the horizon when they stopped to make camp. Was it only this morning that the maester had sent them away?
No sooner had they finished their supper than Rickon curled up against Shaggydog, his fingers clutching the direwolf's dark fur. The day had been long and confusing, and Rickon missed Winterfell- his room, the godswood, the Walders. He was angry and then sad, except when he remembered that he had Shaggy. Within minutes Rickon was asleep, leaving the others in their circle around the fire.
"We're going the wrong way," Jojen said, the firelight shining in his eyes.
Osha looked at him sharply.
"My home is north, little dreamer, but yours is not."
"I will never go home again."
"You don't know that," Meera said, leaping to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing.
"Another dream, little grandfather?" Osha asked.
Meera turned to Osha, her eyes hard. One hand clenched her spear tight, the point aimed at the wildling. "Why did the maester send you with us?"
"He didn't," Osha said, unafraid. "I heard him in the kitchens, mucking about trying to get food for your journey. The man may be learned but he is no wildling. Half of what he packed was sensible, and half foolish. Weren't hard to guess who he would be sendin' away."
"But why did you come?" Bran asked. Osha snorted.
"Two boys in the forest, with direwolves at their heels. Another direwolf for each of the children gone away. Direwolves and wargs and a girl who is a wolf, and green dreams beneath the heart tree." The wind whispered in the leaves and Bran shivered. Osha turned to him.
"I overheard the last dream you spoke of." The wildling spit on the ground.
"There's what I think of that Theon. I've not forgot he would have had your brother feed me to the wolves."
"You will not stop us?" Jojen asked. His voice was queer; dread and curiosity and excitement all bound up together. Osha met the boy's strange eyes. Jojen gazed at her until she looked away.
"No. The black wolf is not ready for such a journey. I'll take him south."
"Thank you," Bran blurted, though he still wasn't quite sure what was happening. "When we return I owe you a debt, I swear it as Prince of Winterfell."
"I'll hold you to that oath," the wildling woman said, her voice strange. "Be sure you return so that you may honor it."