Bran (only his lady mother ever used the full Brandon of his name when she was angry with him) Stark didn't share a lot in common with his slightly older sister Arya.
Much as it shamed him to admit so, she was stronger than he was at arms and feats of physical ability. But outside of her unusual competency with sums Bran himself was better with feats of mental ability: digesting and remembering information he came across written in books or overheard from the mouth of someone speaking to him. She was slightly taller than he was but he was slightly broader than her. Her hair was dark as night and her eyes were the infamous grey of their Stark father. He on the other hand possessed hair the color of robust tree bark with a tinge of reddish highlight thrown in and had inherited their lady mother's Tully blue eyes.
But there was one thing the two of them shared in abundance. An extremely active imagination.
They loved the stories of Aegon the Conquerer (though Arya was more partial to the tales of Aegon's sister wives Viscenya and Rhaeneys), Daeron the Young Dragon and his conquest of Dorne, Aemon the Dragonknight and his service to four different Targaryen kings and all the others that came from growing up in a highborn household.
All these tales of knightly chivalry Bran had always found fascinating and thus had always wanted to be knighted when he got older. True the North didn't truly have knights per se since the whole idea of knighting and chivalry was an idea borne of the Faith of the Seven and the Andals when they invaded Westeros long before Aegon the Conquerer was a twinkle in his grandfather's eye whilst the North had remained a bastion of those who descended from the First Men and thus kept to the Old Gods of the weirwood and the powerful but strange natural surroundings of the North itself.
But there weren't truly that many options for Bran outside of knighthood. He may inherit a keep from Robb, he may marry into a Northern family that would try to strengthen their ties to House Stark or he could join the Night's Watch as their Uncle Benjen had before any of them were even born. Not precisely his idea of a glorious life.
There was always going to Oldtown and becoming a Maester like Maester Luwin, but Bran didn't think he could truly serve the realm by being stuck in a keep going over sums and accounts for his lord whilst his lord protected the realm and the smallfolk from bandits and the general ills of the world. His father and the king had fought in a rebellion to overthrow a corrupt king; no Maester in the history of Westeros (so far as he was aware) had ever done more than record history as it passed them by rather than make it when the opportunity came.
And so long ago he had decided he would be a knight if only so that he could find the excitement he dreamed it must be.
Now of course he wished whole-heartedly that he had found less excitement in his life. But then again, how could he have expected to find himself so far above Westeros that all the land of the North and the South looked as it did on a map before falling rapidly? As he came down through the clouds, they cooled him somewhat while the heat of the sun felt as though it were burrowing into his very skin. Bran was falling so fast he couldn't even draw the breath to cry out or make any sound whatsoever.
A raven came to him then, three red eyes looking back at him as it fell far more gracefully than he could hope. It landed itself around his collar and tightened the grip of its talons before it pecked at his forehead, causing images to flash across his mind with each strike of its sharpened beak.
Young beings with yellow eyes slited like cat and skin dappled like deer. They were running: running from a fire that consumed their forest whole. They watched in terror as the orange and red consumed and transformed what was once verdant into a blackened wasteland.
Bran tried to move his head away from the raven, the pain in his forehead and his mind momentarily eclipsing his fear of the harsh landing awaiting him as he looked up past the white of the clouds toward the black of the unending sky beyond them.
The dappled beings hurriedly cross what looked to be a lake, sprinting across a natural stone formation that looked like a bridge. They weren't all across as the fire lapped at the back of their retreating numbers. Those who'd made it to the other side of the water glanced at each other, a sound not unlike but so different to singing emerging from behind their lips that sounded panicked and frightened. Some who knelt by the shore answered in a sad but resolute song. They placed their hands to the bridge and with a loud, discordant scream caused it to collapse into the water. Even as those who had still been upon the bridge thrashed and screamed in the deceptively calm blue their songs of sorrow were somehow beautiful.
Bran didn't want to see this. He could only think of one thing that matched the description of the things he was seeing: The Children of the Forest. But this…this was all wrong. He didn't want their horror echoing in his mind like a ringing bell that couldn't be unheard even when he clapped his hands to his ears. He'd never truly seen a man die before his father and brothers had brought him along to see the execution of the Night's Watch deserter just before the king's party had arrived. But the raven pecked again and he had no choice.
They waited by the shore edge as the fire stayed behind the barrier of water. As they moved away from the shore and started moving up the land, it quieted till it was only the glow of a distant sunrise on the horizon. They recovered as the trees regrew around them. But then something else came. Men emerged from the forest, their bronze weapons glittering in the light between the cold of the mountains behind them and the forest of their home. Blood flashed upon their weapons as the children fought back. Only a few of those who had destroyed the stone bridge stepped forth during the battle this time. They placed their hands to the ground, their power welling. But whether it was because they were fewer now or because of the hesitation so clearly displayed on their inhuman faces they didn't destroy the land entirely. Water rushed to fill the ground and what was once forest and grass became swamp and muck.
Bran remembered Old Nan telling that story of how the Children had created the Neck in order to stop the advance of the First Men. And how it had proven ultimately fruitless. The air whistled in his ears as he drew ever further away from the clouds and ever closer to the ground.
The Men and Children tentatively approached each other: both groups wounded, tired and barely able to stand on their feet. Their hands clasped in truce at last. But as they moved away to patch themselves, seven shooting stars landed somewhere below them. And then more men came: the emblem of the seven carved into their chest in bloody furrows, mouths opened in a hateful screech that made the children's eyes clench shut out of instinctive aversion, iron weapons thirsting for all they could carve. They slaughtered Man and Child alike before they were at last stopped within the swamp. As the last of what Bran could only assume were the Children's version of Shamans waved away the last of their species and the rest of the First Men, they remained. As they sat in watchfulness in the swampy area, the invaders gnashing their teeth and waving their iron shields in a display of pointless bravado, the Shamans rapidly decomposed and joined the ground of the swamp itself. As they did, the roots of the trees grew thicker. Beasts sprang up where there'd been none before and the canopy formed a very rudimentary wall against these men Bran knew now to be Andals. And so the Children left the company of the First Men and drove themselves further North where at last they came to a frozen wasteland where virtually nothing grew.
"What do you want?!" Bran called, his voice almost lost on the air.
"Learn! Learn!" Called the three-eyed raven as it pecked at his forehead again.
In spite of all their hardship, all they had suffered, the Children still tried to make something grow in this place. They tried time and again. They failed time and again. As the wind whipped at them and the flakes of snow grew sharp as blades they gathered in the one tree that had been watered in their blood and fed by their bones. And as they looked hopelessly at the cold encroaching darkness, they made a decision. Very carefully, they picked some of the debris from the weirwood tree's roots and dried it on the tattered animal pelts. And as they gathered the wood together they struck small flints together to create a fire. When the fire began to burn beyond a few sizzling crackles of drying wood, they somehow pushed the fire out of the sanctuary of the trees into the cold. For they had been burned badly by it once before. And as they did, Bran watched the swirling winds of winter surround and attempt to envelop the small flame. Whilst the Children remained safely ensconced within the embrace of the weirwood for having at last bought themselves a respite from the cold that surely would've finished them.
"Learn what?!" Bran called, his back tingling even as he feared trying to turn over in the air to see just how close he was to the unforgiving ground.
"Fly! Fly!" Called the three-eyed raven.
"HOW?!" Bran called in panic as the tingling spread throughout his body alongside a strange heat that felt too strong to be the rays of the sun.
"Try! Try!" Called the three-eyed raven. As it pecked again, its beak drove past the skin into the bone of Bran's skull.
Bran screamed as the strange feeling burst in his skull just between his eyes and the foreign heat quickly grew unbearable inside his body. Images and feelings rushed through him too fast for him to comprehend. When at last he awoke he was thrashing in very hot water, naked as the day he was born.
"Bran! Bran, you're alright!" Exclaimed a familiar voice by his side. Bran stopped thrashing as though he were falling to look at the person next to him.
It was Jon, his half-brother. As he looked at him Bran saw in his mind's eye the image of Jon driving a blade into his throat before harshly withdrawing it and setting his dying body aflame. Jon moved through the water, the light of the moon reflecting off the pool in what Bran now recognized was the weirwood clearing their lord father often frequented to seek the guidance of the Old Gods. As he did Bran saw that same light reflect off the blood that was still drying upon his right hand and scrambled through the water for the weirwood tree nearby.
Jon stopped as Bran hauled himself out of the water and into the roots of the bone white tree, huddled beneath the face that cried red sap from its carved eyes. Bran couldn't help the panic rising in him over seeing Jon with the blood fresh on his hand: he couldn't help but think that he was going to stick him with the discarded dagger that was now suspiciously absent from his sight no matter where he looked.
especially after what he did to she who trusted enough to call him pack
Jon's grey eyes looked hurt at Bran's fear. He held his hands up in a placating gesture of surrender. The water was still steaming from how hot it had recently become and yet Jon didn't seem bothered by it at all.
why should he when he commands the consuming light that destroys all it touches
"Bran? What's wrong?" Came Jon's gentle question as he slowly drew closer, acting as though he were afraid he was going to spook Bran into running. Which despite the young boy's nudity was a distinct possibility as more feelings and memories rushed through Bran's mind. He remembered being gored by a stag's horn as Jon brought fire to his chest to heal the deep gouge. How did he remember something that had never happened?
Lightbringer once gave life now take life how deep does your treachery run
"What did you do to me Jon?" He asked, trying not to shake from the cold of the air and the fear he couldn't help but feel as he looked at his half-brother he had never thought would harm him.
"I healed you." Jon answered carefully.
"You fell from the Broken Tower. You wouldn't wake. Maester Luwin told everyone you would live after the first day when he treated your immediate injuries. But outside of that, no one knew what you would be like when you awoke. Or if you would. So I…" Jon trailed off by the end, glancing to his left at what looked to be a blackened area of earth that stood out from the rest of what was normally green.
"What? What did you do?" Bran asked, his breathing calming as he managed to focus on the here and now instead of the feelings of fright and sadness that Jon's gaze evoked in him.
His half-brother was silent for several beats before he answered in a whisper.
"…I did what was asked of me."
Bran could only see Jon's eyes in profile from this angle, but what he could see made Jon's eyes seem shadowed. As if he'd shut something away inside himself so he wouldn't have to think about it more than absolutely necessary.
He turned to directly face Bran again, a pleading expression on his face.
"Please Bran, let's get you back inside. Lady Catelyn and our lord father have been worried sick over you." He asked quietly.
Bran slowly stood, his bare back scratching on the bark of the weirwood tree.
"Where are my clothes Jon?" He asked, looking around the clearing again for them as he tried to get this strange irrational fear of Jon out of his system.
not irrational no not when he can weep fluid for clear eyes while he sticks the claw in your craw
Jon looked a bit relieved at Brans' acceptance of his explanation but couldn't hide the tint of sadness that Bran still would try not to look directly at him.
"Over there." He said, turning to his right and pointing at a clothing pile by the side of the pool. It looked to be mostly in Bran's size. Bran quickly darted over to the clothing and dressed himself as Jon climbed slowly out of the pool, the sodden trousers on his legs steaming in the moonlight.
Bran couldn't help but see out of the corner of his eye that Jon's pants were drying faster than expected. And as he drew closer to the clothing pile he carefully picked up a wool spun tunic to slip over his head. As he did, Bran once again had his eyes inadvertently drawn to the jagged white lines that stood out in marked contrast to the slightly darker tone of Jon's flesh that made it look as though he had a lightning storm trapped within the skin of his left arm. He and others had asked Jon time and again since his return how he had acquired such a strange scar but all he would ever say was that he'd been burned by a very powerful fire.
every fire no matter how small holds the power to destroy within its lapping ever spreading tendrils that is all it has ever been and all it shall ever be since the first flame drove them away to unknown to exile to cold to death
Once they were dressed Jon came a bit closer and started whispering.
"When we go back, I need you to follow me closely and quietly Bran." Jon instructed softly. Just as Bran was about to ask why, Jon proceeded to explain.
"There's still uncertainty in our family as to whether your fall was accident or foul play. If you're seen healthy and hale again, it could get back to the ones who tried to kill you before we're ready. That's why I healed you in the dead of night like this."
Bran felt a shiver run up his spine as two voices briefly echoed in his head.
"He saw us! He saw us!" "The things I do for love…"
"Bran?" Jon asked with concern in his expression. As he drew closer, Bran instinctively shied away from him. All he could see when Jon came closer was a blade flashing and his blood spilling beneath his sorrow filled gaze.
"I-it's nothing." Bran insisted shakily. He took a breath to steel himself and cease his involuntary shaking. What was wrong with him? He'd never had any problem with Jon before. His half-brother had in fact been the one he would turn to for help if father or Rodrik Cassel or Maester Luwin weren't available.
eyes the color of ash reducing everything he touches to the same fire cannot change the devastation it always leaves in its wake only the scale
But that was neither here nor there. Jon nodded, asking no more questions as he gestured for Bran to follow him. As they made their way carefully past the patrols Bran saw and moved from shadow to shadow like thieves in the night, he couldn't help but wonder if Jon thought perhaps it was someone within their own house that had been responsible for his injuries. Or if they would inform the ones who were.
Before Bran knew it they were before Maester Luwins' chamber. Jon gently knocked twice before pausing and then proceeding to knock once. The door opened for him and he led Bran into the Maester's room.
"Bran!" Came the choked voice of his mother a mere moment before he was smothered in her dress with her arms squeezing him to her as though afraid he would disappear if she let him go. But within a few heartbeats he also heard an angry growling coming from somewhere behind her.
Bran quickly struggled to see through his mother's arms and saw that his direwolf companion was glaring at Jon with a snarl emanating from behind its bared fangs and an enraged glare coming from its yellow eyes.
yellow eyes of mirth light strokes of the tongue soft upon the fur like the rays emanating from the ball of light that shone down upon them and lent strength to the traitorous Lightbringer
"Summer?" Bran blurted in question, feeling as though he could see the pup gamboling happily through the weirwood clearing playing with his pack: the contrast between him as a pup and his agitated growling grown form was hurting Bran's head.
Jon's eyes became shuttered again and his features shut down.
"I should go Lady Stark." He said, briefly bowing to her before turning to leave.
"Jon-" came the voice of Maester Luwin as though confused as to both the behavior of Bran's half-brother and his normally sunny direwolf companion.
"Lady Stark, I would speak with yourself and Lord Stark in his solar as quickly as possible. Good night Bran." Came the frighteningly flat voice from Jon's turned away face before the door shut behind him.
As the newly christened Summer bounded over to greet Bran and his mother's arms remained tight around him, Bran Stark couldn't even begin to imagine what was happening or how it had come to pass. But he knew it could be nothing good.
A/N: Whew. Glad that's over and done with. Hope you kind people will let me know what you think of this latest chapter. You guys are the reason I'm doing this after all. :)