Snow fell silently, blanketing the landscape in a thick, unbroken sheet of white. A solitary crow, its feathers stark against the whiteness, trudged through the snow, leaving a trail of tiny footprints. After a few moments, it stopped, cocking its head as if sensing something in the distance.

Through the swirling snow, a dark figure emerged, riding a spectral horse. Both horse and rider were unsettlingly still, their skin an eerie pale blue, eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. These were no ordinary travelers but White Walkers, the ancient enemies of the living, their very presence brought death and fear.

The White Walker dismounted, moving with a grace that belied its skeletal frame. It bent down, its long, icy fingers gently cradling the crow in its palm. And as the White Walker was about to insert its nail into the crow, turning it into one of its own, Bran's eyes snapped open.

He was lying under the protective canopy of a large, ancient weirwood tree, its red leaves whispering secrets in the wind.

Meanwhile, in the Red Keep, Tyrion Lannister hurried to Bran's chamber. He found it empty, save for an open window, the curtains fluttering in the cold breeze. His mind raced with questions. Where could the king have gone? And where did he go at this early hour?

As he was about to organize a search, Tyrion noticed a shadowy figure approaching through the falling snow. Squinting against the blizzard, he could make out the silhouette of a horse and rider, the latter's head obscured by a heavy hood. The rider's clothes, draped in dark, heavy fabric, seemed foreign, adding to the air of mystery and unease.

Tyrion's heart pounded as he drew his sword, ready for anything. Every step the horse took echoed ominously through the wintry silence, the snow crunching beneath its hooves. Tyrion braced himself, his mind racing through possibilities—friend or foe, ally or assassin. The rider's slow, deliberate pace only heightened the tension, each second stretching into an eternity as the figure drew closer.

The horse finally halted a short distance away, the rider's face still hidden in the shadows of the hood. Tyrion tightened his grip on his sword, ready for anything, his breath visible in the freezing air. The silence was deafening, the anticipation unbearable, as the hooded figure slowly dismounted, the rider's movements eerily fluid and controlled.

With deliberate slowness, the rider raised a hand to the hood, pulling it back to reveal the face beneath. Tyrion's eyes widened in shock as he recognized the features of Sansa Stark. Relief washed over Tyrion's face as he sheathed his sword.

"Did I startle you, Lord Tyrion?" Sansa asked casually, noting his reaction.

"It only takes a Stark to make a Lannister this uneasy."Tyrion said with a smirk on his face.

Sansa rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "Tyrion, it's good to see you."

From behind, Brienne of Tarth approached, her imposing figure almost blending with the swirling snow. "I called for Lady Sansa," she explained. "With everything that's happening, the North needs to be informed of the threats we face."

They all moved inside, the warmth of the castle a stark contrast to the freezing outside. Sansa turned to Tyrion, her face etched with concern. "Where is Bran?"

Tyrion recounted the events, his worry evident. "He was here, but now he's gone. Ser Davos and I were going to search for him. Brienne, you stay with Lady Sansa."

Sansa replied promptly with some strictness in her tone, "No, I'll accompany you as well. He's my brother, after all."

Tyrion was witnessing a complete new side of Sansa. After all, she was not a lady anymore but a queen. And Tyrion was quite a bit impressed to see Sansa being so bold.

Lady Brienne spoke out of turn, "Your Grace, it may not be safe for you outside."

Tyrion ordered, "Lady Brienne, she can come."

Sansa, Brienne,Tyrion and Ser Davos set out to search for the king. They trudged through the snow, their breaths visible in the frigid air, until they found Bran lying under the tree.

As they approached, Bran's eyes fluttered open. Sansa knelt beside him, her voice gentle. "Bran, are you alright?"

Before she could say more, Bran stood up, his movements fluid and strong.

In astonishment, the group witnessed Bran standing on his own two feet, a sight they never thought they'd see again.