Chapter 2:
It was Robert's Rebellion.
Bran realized, the war that had upended the realm and set his father on the path to becoming Warden of the North: Ned Stark was there, younger and fierce, his face shadowed by the sword fight with Arthur Dayne. Then his gaze focused on the tower, ironically called the Tower of Joy.
Bran felt a pang of longing, a desire to reach out, to speak to the father he had lost. Bran knew he was only supposed to watch, that he could not change what had already been done. But the longing was overwhelming, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.
"Father!" - Bran's voice echoed through the memory, a mere whisper on the wind.
Ned paused. He turned, his gaze scanning the empty field, his brows drawn together in confusion. For a heartbeat, he looked directly toward Bran, as if he could see the shadow of his son standing there, watching him through the veil of time.
Bran's heart leapt. Had his father… heard him? Was it possible? Compelled by his desire to follow his father Ned, Bran rapidly tried to climb the stairs only to be stopped by the Three Eyed Raven and the visit was over.
Back in the cold, dark cave, he looked to the Three-Eyed Raven, who watched him with patient eyes.
"One day, you will understand." - the ancient man said softly, nodding in approval. - "But not yet, Bran. For now, there is more to see."
The flickering shadows of Winterfell's godswood danced around Bran Stark, casting his gaunt form in an otherworldly glow. He had been spending more and more time at the base of the weirwood tree, drawn to its ancient presence as if by some silent summons, leaving behind King's landing. Its blood-red leaves rustled in the breeze, and Bran felt the familiar pull once more, the whisper of time stretching out before him, both infinite and vulnerable to the weight of his will.
The words kept tormenting his mind. – "And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne."
Still, he knew what he had to do.
The present was at best unsettling: Daneyers Targaryen killed by Jon Snow, whose future had been set on stone, beyond the wall, no more seven kingdoms. He was Bran, the broken king with a broken Hand, named Tyrion Lannister: no one could've asked for a future so hollow that could mean for him, Bran the Broken, to look for a wife and have an heir. Though the Night King had been defeated, Bran sensed a darker future: still he still he had hoped he could change. If his father, Ned Stark heard him at the tower of joy, perhaps he could make others listen to him, minds he could reach. And one man, in particular, had sat on the Iron Throne at a crucial time, whose mind he might reach.
Aerys II, the last Targaryen to hold the throne before Robert's Rebellion, had ruled in paranoia and fear. Perhaps he could reach him, guide him to prepare for winter's threat, to unite the kingdoms in readiness and show to the Mad King, the truth.
Bran closed his eyes, his mind slipping into the cold, tangled webs of time.
He drifted backward, past Robert's reign, through the blood and flames of the Rebellion, until he found himself standing within the Red Keep's shadowy walls, years before the fall of House Targaryen. In the distance, he heard the faint echoes of the Iron Throne's crackling torches and Aerys's voice issuing orders to his council.
King's Landing, Red Keep, 273 AC
Bran drifted back once more into the past, his mind casting out like a fisherman's net over the waters of time. He felt himself slip into the Red Keep, into a time before Aerys's reign was consumed by suspicion and fire.
The throne room was empty, the hour late and the torches dim. Only Aerys II remained, alone and weary, hunched over a map that lay sprawled across a wooden table. His fingertips drummed along its edges, a distant look in his eyes.
This was the Aerys who was still the "young king," as the lords called him. Ambitious, fiery, but not yet unhinged by paranoia or cruelty. Bran felt a faint glimmer of hope.
For a long while, he observed Aerys in silence, feeling out the young king's thoughts, the way his mind moved with energy and intensity. This version of Aerys was less guarded, his thoughts flowing freely, unburdened by the endless fears that would one day rule his life.
Bran stepped closer, pushing an image into Aerys's mind, gentle this time, a vision of the Wall, stark and cold against a dark sky. He showed him an image of the ancient Watchers, their cloaks black as night as they guarded the Wall from unseen terrors.
Aerys's eyes shifted as the vision took hold, his head tilting slightly as if to listen. Bran pressed on, threading the vision with more detail: shadows creeping over the Wall, an ancient enemy stirring in the cold north, winter itself descending upon the land.
Aerys muttered to himself, his tone wary but curious. - "What is this?... The Wall… why am I seeing the Wall?"
Bran felt a pang of hope. He took a cautious breath, drawing his thoughts closer, closer still, letting his voice slip through in a gentle whisper, a mere hint of sound. - "It is the Wall that protects us all, Your Grace. The Wall that keeps the winter at bay."
Aerys stilled, his eyes focusing on the empty room. - "Who speaks to me?" - he whispered, half in awe, half in fear.
Bran hesitated, choosing his words carefully, focusing on planting the idea without alarming the king. - "Not all threats to the throne come from within, Your Grace. Some wait beyond the Wall… in the cold, where ancient forces stir."
Aerys's hand fell on the map, tracing the northern borders, his brow furrowing. - "The North…" - he murmured. - "They say the men who serve there are sworn to darkness… I've always known there was something beyond it."
Bran pushed again, showing Aerys a glimpse of the White Walkers, just enough to stoke fear, but not the terror he had shown before. The figures were shadowy, distant, standing like sentinels in a winter landscape.
Aerys flinched, but his gaze hardened. - "And they would march south… to take the Iron Throne from me?"
Bran shook his head, frustrated. He had to make Aerys see the threat as larger than himself, something that endangered not just his power but the lives of everyone in the realm. - "They march not for the throne, Your Grace, but for life itself."
Aerys's face twisted with confusion and suspicion, but Bran sensed a flicker of something else, a spark of comprehension. His mouth opened, as though a realization were forming, but just as quickly, the spark faded, and Aerys's brow furrowed.
"No…" - Aerys muttered, his voice low, wary. - "No one threatens my throne. It is my birthright… the right of the Dragon."
Bran felt his connection weakening, the vision beginning to slip, as Aerys's mind rejected the image, retreating into thoughts of fire, of dragons. As Bran withdrew, he saw the young king's eyes harden, his hand clenching over the map, his thoughts turning inward.
Bran left the past, a cold, frustrated realization settling over him: he had once again planted seeds of doubt, of dread. And with each attempt to shift history, the hope he held in his heart was met with the same disturbing response, a man unwilling to see anything beyond his own sense of power, who could not see the collective threat.
As Bran settled back into Winterfell, he knew he would have to try again, for he could not abandon the warning. Yet each attempt seemed to reveal the same truth: some kings, even with all the visions in the world, would not change.
King's Landing, Red Keep, 276 AC
The torchlight was dim in the king's chambers, casting erratic shadows across the rough stone walls. King Aerys II sat brooding on the Iron Throne, his dark eyes watching every soul who dared approach him. Even now, in the early years of his reign, there was an unsettling intensity to his gaze, as if he were searching for threats among his most trusted advisers.
Bran moved unseen, his form drifting through the chamber like a ghost, his presence subtle and invisible. His goal was simple: to place the seed of a warning within Aerys's mind, to ignite in him a fear not of the lords and bannermen around him, but of the horrors that lay beyond the Wall.
With a focused thought, Bran reached into Aerys's mind, threading images of the ancient, encroaching winter, the frozen dead, the towering White Walkers, and the bleak expanse of an endless, unrelenting winter. Aerys stiffened in his seat, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the throne's armrests.
In a low, trembling voice, Aerys muttered. - "What…what foulness is this?"
Bran pushed further, showing him glimpses of the Night King, his cold blue eyes glowing in the dark. He showed him wights, relentless in their hunger for the living, and the endless blizzard that heralded their arrival.
Bran hesitated, trying to soothe the images, to make Aerys see the vision as a future that could be averted. - "I am a warning, my king." - he whispered, his voice gentle but insistent, threading the words directly into Aerys's thoughts. - "Prepare. Unify the realm. Remember the Targaryen Oath. Or all will fall to ice."
"What Oath?" - Aerys's mind resisted. Bran felt an unexpected surge of heat, anger and paranoia flaring up like wildfire within the king's thoughts. Bran pulled back, unsure, watching as Aerys rose from the throne, his eyes darting around the empty room.
"They're watching me…they're always watching!" - Aerys muttered, his voice rising. His servants, cowering nearby, looked on with trepidation.
Bran withdrew for now, the visions fading from Aerys's sight, but the effects lingered. Aerys's paranoia had ignited, though Bran hadn't intended it. As Bran faded from the vision, he felt a pang of regret but the seed was planted.
Winterfell, Present Day
Bran returned to the godswood, his breath steadying as he reconnected with his present reality but something lingered a feeling that his attempt had only deepened Aerys's mistrust rather than enlightened him. He could still see the fear in Aerys's eyes, the way his mind twisted Bran's warning into something sinister.
Also, the voyage to the past had taken a toll: blood came out of this nose much to his surprise when he realized drops of blood on his coat. It was too much for him, he needed to restrain himself.
"Perhaps another approach." - Bran murmured to himself, resolved. If he could not warn Aerys in his court, perhaps he could try again, under different circumstances.
King's Landing, Red Keep, 279 AC
It was three years later in Aerys's rule, a time when the Mad King's paranoia had grown, festered. Bran found himself once more in Aerys's chambers, a quieter setting, with fewer prying eyes. This time, he would attempt to show Aerys more, to make him see not just the fearsome vision of the White Walkers, but the fate of the realm should they ignore the warning.
Aerys lay on his bed, muttering to himself, lost in his thoughts. Bran extended a thread of influence, reaching into the king's mind.
The images began again: of a frozen wasteland, of cities consumed by ice, of the Iron Throne covered in frost and snow. He showed Aerys visions of kings and queens kneeling before an unstoppable force, of dragons turning to ice and shattering. It was the ultimate threat—a realm consumed by death itself.
Aerys gasped, jerking upright. - "You Again?" - he shouted to the empty room. - "What sorcery is this?"
Aerys's mind could not grasp the message clearly. His paranoia had deepened to a fever pitch, and he was too lost in his own fears to heed Bran's call. The king's mouth twisted in fury and dread, his thoughts flickering through scenes of betrayal and fire.
"They want my throne! They want to destroy me!" - Aerys shouted, leaping from his bed, his voice screaming with terror. - "I will burn them all before I let them take what is mine!"
The servants rushed in, startled by his cries, but Aerys shoved them away, his hands trembling as he glared into the shadows.
"Bring me the pyromancers!" - he screamed, his voice echoing in the halls. - "They think they can frighten me with winter. I'll show them a fire that will make winter look like a pale, cold thing!"
Bran watched, horrified, as Aerys's fragile mind twisted the vision, his growing obsession with fire now mingling with his terror of the icy death Bran had shown him. Bran tried to withdraw, but the king's mind clawed at him, pulling at his presence, feeding off the terror.
"I see you, spirit! You bring ice and shadows to weaken me, but I will not be cowed. You spoke of a Targaryen oath which I've never heard of." - Aerys ranted. - "I will see this kingdom burned clean of your foulness!"
Bran felt his grip slipping as Aerys's mind resisted, and with a wrenching effort, he pulled himself back to the present, his heart pounding.
Winterfell, Present Day
Bran opened his eyes, shivering despite the calm air around him. The visions had been warped in Aerys's mind, twisted into nightmares that only fueled the fires of his madness. Instead of inspiring unity or preparation, Bran's interference had stoked Aerys's paranoia, pushing him further down the path of ruin.
He sat back, realizing Aerys was slipping out of his control. To worsen things, Aerys was oblivious to the Targaryen oath: Somehow, the oath was lost between generations. Aerys II had been given a glimpse of the coming winter, the dangers from beyond the Wall but he had perceived it only as a threat to his own power. Aerys II fear of ice was driving him to madness, and Bran's attempts to alter history had only served to create the monster he had intended to change but he couldn't give up: he had to try one more time, this last time being more precise and rawer.
King's Landing, Red Keep, 281 AC
The flickering torches of the throne room cast erratic shadows over the Iron Throne, its jagged metal looming like a dark and twisted beast in the heart of the Red Keep. Bran could feel the energy in the air, thick with tension and unease. Rumors of rebellion were spreading through Westeros. Already, lords were whispering of Robert Baratheon, of Jon Arryn, of the simmering discontent among the great houses but Bran was here with a different purpose. This time, he hoped to push past Aerys's suspicions, to find a way to break through the dark haze clouding the king's mind. With so much at stake, that could be his last chance.
He found Aerys alone in his chambers, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. His once-dark hair was now streaked with gray, his face drawn and lined with anger. He seemed like a man haunted by shadows, clutching at the fabric of his cloak as if it were some talisman of protection.
Aerys stopped suddenly, looking around the room, his eyes wild and sharp. Bran gathered his strength and reached out, whispering into the depths of the king's mind.
"Your Grace…" - Bran's voice murmured, slipping past Aerys's defences with more force this time. - "I come with a warning."
Aerys froze, his face twisting with surprise and alarm. He turned in circles, searching the empty room. - "Who speaks to me?" - he demanded. - "Who dares?"
Bran pressed on, allowing images to flow freely into Aerys's mind, the most intense he had shown yet. He revealed the vast Wall stretching across the north, the unyielding sentinels who stood against the endless winter. Then, he showed Aerys the horrors beyond it, the army of the dead, the wights who marched without end, and the terrifying figure of the Night King, his icy gaze piercing through darkness.
Aerys staggered, his hand clutching his chest as he stared into the visions that Bran planted. His breathing came in shallow gasps, and Bran sensed something cracking within the king's mind, the remnants of reason buckling under the weight of what he was seeing.
"Winter." - Aerys whispered, his voice trembling. - "The Wall… they come… for the Iron Throne?"
"No." - Bran replied, keeping his tone calm, urging the king toward understanding. - "They come for everything. The Wall holds them back, but it will not hold forever. You must prepare, Your Grace. Unite the realm against this darkness."
Aerys's eyes glinted with a mad light as he twisted the meaning, his thoughts spiralling. - "So you would seek to take my throne? You come to frighten me, to drive me to despair. A cold king from the north, a ghost of winter…"
"Aerys, listen." - Bran whispered, but he could feel his words slipping from the king's mind, warped and twisted. The visions he had hoped would inspire unity and urgency had taken root instead as fear and dread, feeding the king's growing paranoia.
Aerys staggered back, clutching the fabric of his tunic with clawed fingers. - "It is the cold lords who seek to destroy me!" - he hissed. - "All of them…traitors, every one of them!"
Bran felt the horror of it, the terrible realization that Aerys had absorbed his visions as proof of the treachery he had always feared. Aerys's mind, already worn thin, had seized upon Bran's warnings not as the call to defend Westeros, but as fuel for his wrath.
"Burn them." - Aerys whispered, as if to himself. - "They seek to freeze the throne, to take it from me… but I shall make them regret it."
Bran tried once more, a last effort to pierce the king's thoughts, to sway him toward reason. - "They are not your enemy, Aerys. The real enemy waits beyond the Wall."
But Aerys's eyes were glassy, lost, already consumed by his own terror. - "They send shadows to frighten me." - he muttered, almost as if speaking to someone only he could see. - "But I am king. I am Dragon, I am fire… and they will all burn for their insolence."
A faint, awful smile stretched across his face, his gaze distant. - "Let winter come," he whispered. - "Let them try. I will meet them with wildfire. Burn them all! Do you hear me, spirit? BURN THEM ALL!"
Bran felt a pang of horror. This was no longer a man who could be reasoned with, no longer a king who might rally his strength to defend the realm. Instead, he was a king who would rather burn his own kingdom to the ground than unite it.
Bran withdrew, unable to bear it any longer. He pulled his consciousness back to the present, leaving the haunted king to his madness, to the grim fate that awaited him.
Winterfell, Present Day
Bran opened his eyes, staring out into the godswood, feeling the weight of his failure settle over him like a heavy cloak. The cold wind rustled the weirwood leaves, a reminder of the threat that would one day return, and he felt, for the first time, truly helpless.
He had tried to reach back, to alter the course of history, to warn a king who had held the power to unite the realm against the horrors that lay beyond the Wall. But instead, he had left behind only fear and madness.
In trying to change the past, he had only cemented it.
The Three-Eyed Raven within him whispered that this was how it was meant to be, that all things had their time, that the past could not truly be changed. But Bran, for the first time, wished he could quiet that voice. He had seen what was to come, and he had tried to alter it although his first attempt was a failure.
And yet, as he looked out over Winterfell, Bran felt something resolve within him. He could not change Aerys mind, but perhaps he could prevent others events from happening, to make sure the Targaryen oath could pass from king to heir.
Brienne found him there, watching him in silence. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of unseen burdens pressing on him.
"Your Grace…you're bleeding." - she said softly. - "Is everything… all right?"
Bran gave a hollow nod, cleaning his nose. - "Yes, Ser Brienne. Everything is… exactly as it was."
To be continued…