Sorry about yet another delay, I thought I'd posted this a while ago, but it turns out that I didn't! Life has been somewhat complicated of late, for reasons that I shall explain at my next update with luck.

Bran

Normally the pool in front of the Heart Tree in the Godswood looked inviting. The water was always warm and still. Today however he was looking at it with a real sense of unease as he stood there with Robert, Edric and Ned.

The issue was a simple one – did the pool contain Vermax's eggs? And if so how could they get to them? And who should go into it?

It had been Robert's idea, that the natural place for a dragon to lay their eggs had to be in the hot springs in the Godswood, but now that they were all there and looking into the pool, certain nagging doubts were running through his head. Well – judging by the others all their heads.

"How deep is it?" Ned asked as they peered into it.

"It… goes down to a warm place," Bran said carefully. Now that they were there and looking at it… well, things seemed rather different. And, if he had to admit it, dangerous. "I don't know how far down."

"But the eggs might be there!" Edric said again with slightly less confidence then he had before. "I mean – it's warm in there. Dragons liked warm places."

They all stood there and stared at the pool again. All of a sudden he had a lot of butterflies in his stomach. Perhaps this wasn't a very good idea?

But then where else would Vermax have laid those eggs?

He was in the process of opening his mouth to say something when someone cleared their throat behind them in a very meaningful manner. They all froze. Oh no. He turned his head. Shireen was standing there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"And what," Shireen said in a voice that made her sound exactly like her father, "Do you think you are doing?"

They traded shifty looks, daring the others to break the silence. Finally Robert pointed at the pool. "It makes sense that Vermax's eggs are-"

"In a place that Vermax couldn't have reached without tearing down the Godswood and enraging everyone and certainly every Stark in Winterfell?"

Silence fell as they all thought about that. Then Ned raised a hand. "What if Vermax hovered in the air above the Godswood, just above the pool and, you know, aimed and-"

He was cut off by Shireen raising a hand and then, lips twitching, closing her eyes and shaking her head as she grimaced. "Ned. No. Just… no. Now, enough of this nonsense, it's almost time for the midday meal and there's training to be done after that."

Deeply deflated the boys eyed each other again and then sloped off. Bran felt secretly relieved. He was glad that he wouldn't be diving into the pool. Summer was off to one side, rolling on his back on a tree root to get at an itch probably and he rubbed the direwolf's furry tummy, making him squirm.

And then, as the others vanished off through the trees, he saw the direwolf freeze and then stare upwards at about the same time that he heard something snap far above his head. He looked up at the red canopy above him. Nothing – until a white twig hit the ground to one side. Something was up there. But what?

"Bran?" It was Edric's voice and he turned. "Are you coming?"

"In a bit! I'll meet you in the Great Hall!" And then he went back to staring upwards into the branches. There was a faint breeze blowing that rustled the leaves, but he suddenly had the very strong feeling that someone or something was watching him closely. Oddly enough he felt no threat, just caution.

He walked to the Heart Tree and peered up again. "Hello? Is there anyone up there?" There was a soft creak and again a twig seemed to snap. "Who are you? My friends are gone, it's just me here and my direwolf, Summer. My name is Bran." A pause. More silence. "Hello?"

Something creaked again to one side. Bran looked but saw nothing – and then as he looked back he froze in place. There was a figure hanging by its hands and feet from a branch above. It had brown skin, largish ears, was wearing a green jerkin and was studying him intently through reddish eyes.

He never knew how long he stood there, staring upwards at that figure, lost in wonder. And then it seemed to sigh a little, dropped down onto a branch, pivoted with an inhuman grace, bounded onto its feet and then dropped lightly to the mossy earth by the trunk of the Heart Tree.

Bran swallowed. It – no, she – had three fingers that ended in black nails and was studying him closely. After a moment she leant back and sniffed. "Hello Stark."

He was lost for words for a moment. "Hello." Then he rallied. "Are you one of the Children of the Forest?"

The reddish eyes almost rolled for a moment. "Yes I am."

"I didn't know that there were any left in the North."

Something flickered in those eyes. "We remain here and there. We were away. Protecting ourselves. But now I'm here."

He nodded. Then he frowned. "How did you know I'm a Stark?"

She looked at Summer meaningfully. "The direwolf was the clue." And then she stared at him, stared as if she was memorising his face intently. "Ah. I was right."

"Right about what?"

"I can't tell you yet."

Confused, he frowned at her. "I don't understand."

She smiled ever so slightly. "I'll explain one day. You should join your friends. They're an interesting group. Two of them are Children of the Storm. One is a falcon and the other is part Giant. But you can't tell them about me. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"It's a secret."

"I can keep a secret!"

"Really?" She smiled slightly and leant towards him. "So can I."

This was deeply strange. He tilted his head. "You haven't you always been here have you?"

This bought him another smile. "The Green Man opened the way here. It's… complicated. Let's just say I travelled with him and leave it at that shall we?"

"Alright." He wanted to run and tell the others who he had met, but there was something in those red eyes that stopped him. "Why can't I tell the others about you?"

"It's not time yet."

"When will it be time?"

"Soon. You'll know when."

"I will?"

"You will. You need to tell your brother about the door though."

He stared at her, shocked. "The door in the crypts? I thought that Robb knew about it."

She closed her eyes for a long moment. "He doesn't, not yet." As she opened her eyes again she seemed to pin him in place with a look that he couldn't describe. "You have a long way to go. You'll get taller. We are… I do not know the right word. We will be linked, you and I. I'll be here until you need me. And beyond that."

Deeply confused he looked at her. "I don't understand."

"You will. There is a fate that you have been turned from and new one that you will embrace. And you can't tell anyone that I'm here just yet, even your friends."

"But they can keep this secret!"

"Can they? No." She reached out and ran a black fingernail down the side of his face. "Ah, I see now. No, they would not understand." The finger reached his lips, paused and then she touched the same finger to her own lips and smiled slightly. "They would not understand."

He stared at her, feeling that this was somehow deeply important, that something had happened. "You know my name. What's yours?"

She peered at him again. "In your language? I am called Quicksilver. I am young. I have the Greensight, so I won't live as long as others. And I have a purpose." And with that she held his face with her hands in a gentle but firm grip, kissed his forehead, each cheek and his lips with a gossamer touch and then released, stepped back and vaulted upwards into the canopy far above.

Jaime

Teaching someone like Joffrey took a toll on a man. The boy was sulky, reluctant and seemed to be all thumbs and left feet. He also didn't seem to understand the time it would take to learn how to fight properly.

"Why is this so hard?" The boy had a whine that reminded him of his mother at times. "I'm a Lannister, this should be easy!"

He stared at the boy. "True learning comes through constant repetition. Constant practice. You think that my skill with a blade came overnight? I was in a training yard in Casterley Rock every morning and afternoon from the age of six, practicing, practicing, practicing." He held up a hand and flexed it. "Your uncle has a phrase for it that caught my ear once and I liked it: muscle memory. Do something often enough and you can do it without thinking, your mind prepares your muscles without you seeming to think about it."

Joffrey scowled the moment that Tyrion was mentioned, but actually seemed to think about it for a moment. "The Hound… the Hound used to say I didn't practice enough."

"You didn't." He said the words harshly. "Your mother thought she was protecting you. She coddled you instead."

A look of misery crossed the boy's face at the mention of his mother and he suppressed a sigh. Then he gestured at the practice dummy. "Keep at it. It takes time and practice. You should have a talent for it. You're my son."

Joffrey flashed a look of conflict and misery at him but then started his practice again. He was sloppy and badly co-ordinated but the basics were there.

"Ser Jaime," said a voice behind him and he turned to see Jenn, that oddly bossy Wildling woman who helped out the Maester at times. According to Otherbane Ed she'd been married to some demented lunatic who worshipped the Others enough to give up their sons – and the sons he had with the other daughter-wives he had – to the creatures. "Maester Aemon wishes to see you."

He looked at her, noted her intent look and then nodded. "Very well. Joffrey – keep practising those forms."

The boy grunted but kept at it as they walked towards the Maester's office, up a set of new stairs and then over to the door, which Jenn rapped on quietly, slipped in, talked in a low voice and then came out again. "Maester Aemon says to come in."

He walked past her to discover that the old Maester was sitting at his desk, many books open in front of him. For a moment he thought of Tyrion with deep fondness, but then thrust that thought behind him. "Maester Aemon?"

"Ser Jaime, come in if you please." The Maester sounded tired and Jaime looked at him carefully. The Maester looked up and then smiled slightly. "Your pardon. Tiredness and worry. Sit, please. Worrying news from Winterfell came some days past and the Lord Commander and I have been asking questions of many people."

He sat as requested and then looked at the old man. "What news?"

The Maester of Castle Black leant back in his chair and looked at him. "The Mountain – Ser Gregor Clegane – is dead. And in most odd circumstances."

Jaime just stared at the man for a long moment. "The Mountain – dead?" He said the words in disbelief. Then he leant forwards, dread roiling in his guts. "How? What happened at Winterfell?"

"It would seem that he killed the two men acting as his wardens, given his… proclivities… and then tried to assault Mance Rayder's goodsister, being stopped in that assault by Rob Stark. He then tried to kill Robb Stark."

The dread deepened. "Oh gods," he muttered. "Is the Stark boy dead?"

"Fortunately not. He was able to fight Ser Gregor off for long enough for Sandor Clegane to intervene eventually. Between the two of them – well three if you include the girl – they killed him. But here is the thing, Ser Jaime – the Mountain's eyes were jet black in all of this." The Maester raised a gnarled finger that circled his right eye. "All of his eyeballs – jet black."

He just stared at the Maester for a long moment. "I… I don't understand."

"He was possessed," Maester Aemon said almost sadly. "Maester Luwin in Winterfell said that, based on a reading of a book there that I should very much like to read, he was possessed by an old Valyrian spell that allowed someone to warg into him. Something that many describe as, well, as being-"

"Evil." Jenn said the word by the door. "Evil. Warging into a human is evil beyond words." She said the words as if they hurt her mouth saying them.

He struggled with this for a long moment. "Someone… warged into The Mountain?"

"Yes," the old Maester said heavily. "Ser Gregor had apparently told people that he had been suffering from dark dreams. It might have be a premonition. He was indeed possessed – but fortunately was killed."

"How?" Jaime blurted the word in general bafflement. "He was a giant of a man, how did they kill him?"

Maester Aemon tilted his head a little. "From what was written, Robb Stark stuck a dagger in his eye. This was insufficient. Sandor Clegane then stuck a sword through his chest. This too was insufficient. Whoever was warging the man then said, through his mouth, that he was trying to kill the wrong Stark, whereupon Robb Stark thrust another dagger into his other eye, after which Sandor Clegane struck his head from his shoulders. Which was sufficient. However, it must be said that your brother said that the Warnings glowed red near the body. Which was burnt."

He sat there for a long moment, trying to think all of that through. "The wrong Stark?"

"Indeed. The First Ranger has been warned and we are now quietly talking to anyone who has had dark dreams. Which brings me to you Ser Jaime. I know that I said that you should come to me when you were ready to talk about the dark dream that you had on the way to Castle Black, but this threat of people warging into people is too much to ignore. I have to ask you this – what was your dream?"

He sat there, struggling for words for a long moment. "I was in Casterley Rock," he said eventually. "After a battle against the Others and their wights that the Westerlands had thoroughly lost because of my father's inability to believe in the threat we were facing. Wighted gients with tree trunks had smashed the gates of the Lions' Mouth. We were losing. I met Tyrion, who said that we should flee and then I went to my father's solar. There was word that Ned Stark held a fist again, but no-one knew what that meant. My… my family was there, my father, Cersei and… well, our son.

"My father agreed that the Rock was lost, Cersei harangued us, and then… well, then I knew it was just a dream I think, because there was this odd noise and then there was this Other on the back of a giant blue spider that he'd used to climb the Rock. I remember dying in this dream, as the Hound got just my son out, and this voice in my head as I died, telling me to get up, that I belonged to it… and that was it."

He looked at the old Maester and was shocked to see that he was gripping the arms of his chair as if he was in pain, whilst Jenn's eyes were very wide and her mouth hung open. "Maester Aemon, it was just a dream!"

"You did not know that the Others have been known to ride such creatures?" The oldest remaining Targaryen said the words carefully and he felt the blood drain from his face.

"Giant blue spiders?"

"Ice spiders," Jenn said in tones of dread. "Wildlings have seen them riding such creatures."

"It is not widely known amongst the Night's Watch, but is being talked about as they will have to be dealt with when they attack." Maester Aemon leant back in his chair, steepled his fingers and looked at him with those Targaryen eyes. "Well, now. Interesting. Where were you when you had this dream? Describe the location."

"In a grove of trees, in the Gift," Jaime explained, feeling bewildered. "I slept with a blanket under my head on a tree root."

Aemon tilted his head a little. "What kind of tree?"

"A weirwood tree. When I woke and went around it to, erm, relieve myself, I saw a face carved into it."

"You pissed on a Heart Tree?" Jenn spat, obviously angry. He looked at her, baffled and confused, before shrugging, which seemed to anger her even more.

"Jenn – enough." The Maester said the words softly, but with enough power to make her glare diminish a little. "Most interesting."

"Why interesting?"

"Because my boy I think that you have a touch of the Greensight."

He just stared at the man, genuinely unsure what to say. "The Greensight? Like my Uncle Gerion and his son say they have?"

"Oh, they don't just say that they have it, they truly do have it Ser Jaime. When they were here in Castle Black I talked to them carefully. A terrible and nebulous gift, the Greensight. Divining what it means can be like trying to hold smoke – you think you have it and then it is gone. Better perhaps than prophecy. Rhaegar thought he understood prophecy." The old man's upper lip curled into a snarl. "The fool."

Jaime struggled with where this conversation had taken them. "But what I dreamt about… what was it then?"

"A future perhaps, one that is mercifully lost to us. You said that Lord Stark held the Fist again – the Fist of Winter? He now holds it. No, what you saw was like something your brother once told me of in a dream of his own. Interesting. I must think on this."

He nodded absently, still bewildered – and then he heard the sound of horns in the far distance, brassy and abrupt.

"Ah," said Maester Aemon as he stood. "His Grace the King approaches. Ser Jaime, if you have any dreams that disturb you, please come to me at once."

He nodded and stood as well, before following the old Maester to the door and then looking up at the Wall dully. Robert Baratheon was about to arrive and Father would be in his wake. He couldn't deal with Father right now.

It was time to stand his watch on the Wall.