The visions were always the same when Bran grabbed a root. However, occasionally, a new flashback would be added, usually after something which had left an enduring scar, like the death of Hodor, Jojen, and Summer. Tonight was the final night of their journey to Winterfell, and time to find out what happened on the night his siblings perished.
Bran lay his cloak on the earthy ground under an oak tree. He wrapped himself in furs, and Summer joined him to keep him warm. He reached out and placed his hand around a root which was sticking out from the ground and closed his eyes.
Bran was falling from the first keep.
Clouds rushed across the sky as the sun descended into the skies.
Bran's mother. A man behind her with a knife, slitting her throat.
The shadow of a dark dragon flying above.
The dragon flew over buildings with tiled roofs of red clay.
A beautiful girl, with purple eyes and hair of silver. Covered in soot and smoke, a tiny dragon on her shoulder.
A babe in the snow, eyes turning blue like sapphires, skin turning white like snow.
The same babe lay on a table of ice. A man walked towards him. The man was blue, like cold and death. He wore a crown of ice upon his head.
The same blue ice man, a King of dead men, raised his arms. The people behind him, once dead, stood.
A murder of ravens flying through the trees in the night.
Three men, one with a torch, and one with a glass jar full of green liquid poured it into a clay urn held by the third man.
A King with silver hair sat on the Iron Throne.
"Burn them all!"
Green fire rushing down a tunnel.
The men with the green liquid, one putting the urn on a shelf.
A man in a white cloak, a Kingsguard he was, drew his sword and climbed the steps to the King who continued to cry
"Burn them all."
A man who looked like a younger version of Bran's father stood outside a tower in the sand.
"Where's my sister?"
A dying woman's bloody hand.
The Kingsguard, stabbing the King in the back.
Robb fell, dying from a stab wound.
The silver-haired King was on the floor, the Kingsguard thrusting his sword into the dying man.
A Three-Eyed-Raven.
Robb falls to the floor, dying.
Bran continued falling from the first keep.
A girl with a green face and yellow eyes.
A man made of ice with long, white hair. He wore armour and carried a spear of ice in his hand and was swinging it at a man.
The Kingsguard sat on the Iron Throne.
Green fire rushing down a tunnel.
The dark dragon flying above.
The dragon flew over buildings with tiled roofs of red clay.
A beautiful girl, with purple eyes and hair of silver. Covered in soot and smoke, a tiny dragon on her shoulder.
The babe in the snow, eyes turning blue like sapphires, skin turning white like snow.
The same babe on a table of ice. The Night's King, blue like death, walking towards it.
The babe was being carried by a dead man.
A shadow on the wall. The King with a sword in his back.
The murder of ravens flying through the grove.
The strange-looking girl with a green face and yellow eyes. Others like her stood behind her while she stared at someone. She held a dragonglass dagger in her hand.
The Kingsguard climbs the steps to the King, drawing his sword.
Green fire rushing down a tunnel.
The blue ice man raised his arms. The dead people around him stood, eyes blue as the sky.
Jon dressed in black lay on the floor, his eyes open, staring into nothing, blood seeping from his smoking wounds.
A dead girl turning her head, eyes of blue.
Bran's father, his head on a block, an axe falling upon his neck.
Hold the door, hold the door.
His father sat in the Godswood, under the weirwood tree praying for Jon and Robb, and Cat's forgiveness.
A girl who looked like Arya was playing swords with her brother.
Another girl. She was pretty, short and slim, with long brown hair knotted behind her head, and green eyes.
Bran was falling from the first keep.
He was falling, falling, falling…
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Bran stood unseen on the battlements of Winterfell. In front of him were Jon and Samwell Tarly, Ghost sat behind them, ear erect and the mist of his breath in the cold night. The three of them stared out to the horizon where the light was disappearing.
Sam leaned over to Jon, his voice low as if he wanted to keep his words a secret. "Have you told her yet?"
"No."
"Mm-hmm. Being careful. Biding your time. Waiting for the perfect…"
Sam paused at the sound of footsteps approaching. They both looked at each other and fell silent as Edd, dressed in black, the robes of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, walked up the stairs and stood between them. "And now our watch begins."
"Gilly? Little Sam?" asked Jon.
"They'll be safe down in the crypt."
"If you want to join them..." Jon offered. Sam looked at him and frowned. "To protect them."
"Everyone seems to forget that I was the first man to kill a White Walker. I've killed Thenns."
"A Thenn." Edd corrected him.
"I've saved Gilly more than once. I stole a considerable number of books from the Citadel library and survived the Fist of the First Men. You need me out there."
"Well, if that's what it's come to, we really are fucked." Edd rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Well, calling you 'fucked' wouldn't be strictly accurate." Sam chuckled and Edd narrowed his eyes. He turned to see Jon laughing at him. It brought a smile to Bran's lips, for he'd grown to like Edd throughout his weirwood dreams.
Realising he was defeated, Edd hit back with a biting quip. "Samwell Tarly. Slayer of White Walkers. Lover of Ladies. As if we needed any more signs the world was ending."
The three men fell subdued for a moment. Sam broke the silence with a sigh. "Think back to where we started. Us, Grenn, Pyp."
Jon, staring out into the beyond the abyss, nodded in remembrance. "Now it's just us three."
"Last man left, burn the rest of us," Edd told them.
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Bran watched on as the battle unfolded. He was able to mix among the people, unseen as they were slain and then reanimated. Some of the injuries made him feel ill, but he continued.
He was beside Jon when the undead Viserion spewed out his blue flames. Jon was older and his face was heavily scarred, especially around his left eye. Despite his injuries, Jon looked every inch a commander and King.
Jon had been flying on Rhaegal when a gust of wind had thrown him from the dragon. He survived the fall, but the bone was sticking out of his leg. And now, as his cousin lay on the ground, Viserion, the undead dragon, approached.
Even if Jon survived the dragon, the broken leg would surely kill him. Jon must have realised the severity of his injuries and knew escape was futile. Jon had just enough time to pull the dragonglass dagger from his swordbelt and was able to pierce his heart before the Viserion burned his body. By then, Jon should have been dead, he couldn't survive a dagger into his heart. Yet, just before the flames touched him his eyes turned white as if he were warging. As the dragon roasted Jon's body, Bran screamed, but no one could hear him.
Next bran found himself in the crypts. There he saw a much older-looking Sansa. She was with Tyrion and Varys. When the dead erupted from their tombs, it was clear they were trapped inside the catacombs. The dead overran everyone inside, it was a massacre. Bran noticed one of the wights looked like either a younger version of Robb or an older version of Rickon heading towards Sansa. The mostly decomposed body moved at an inhuman speed and attacked Sansa. He bit her, but before he could kill her, like Jon, she stabbed herself in the heart with a black blade. Bran was able to see the blade dissolve into Sansa's body. Like with Jon, there was no blood. Before she was fully engulfed by the hoard of wights, her eyes turned white, just like Jon's had done.
Bran wanted to grab his sister, but instead, he was transported to the Godswood. There, he saw a young man in a wheelchair. It only took a moment to realise that the man was himself, just a much older version.
An icy chill ran down Bran's neck. He turned around and saw the ice demon who haunted his dreams every night. The Night King was staring right through Bran and concentrating on his wheelchair-bound Three-Eyed-Raven who inhabited his older body. The man in the wheelchair simply sat there looking serene, as if nothing was wrong.
At first, Bran thought his older self was staring through him, but he realised the Three-Eyed-Raven was looking at him. Then time slowed down. Bran saw Arya jump up at the Night King and try to stab him with the Valyrian steel dagger, but she missed and the Night King grabbed her by the throat. Arya dropped the dagger. She tried to catch it with her other hand but missed. With no weapon left, she must have known she was defeated, for she pulled out her obsidian dagger and pushed it into her heart with ease, as it dissolved like the rest of them. Like Jon and Sansa, her eyes turned white before her body succumbed to death. The Night King let Arya's body drop to the floor and turned to face the Three-Eyed-Raven, and gave him an evil smirk, for he knew he had won. There was nothing to stop the Night King from killing the Three-Eyed Raven.
At that moment, the world stopped as the Three-Eyed-Raven stared at Bran and ushered him over. He walked towards the boy in the chair, while everyone and everything around him stood still.
"Are you me or are you the Three-Eyed-Raven?"
"Bran Stark died in a cave underneath the giant weirwood, North of the wall. Only the I, the Three-Eyed-Raven exists in his body. He needed to die for me to find you."
"Am I to become you?"
"Not yet," the Three-Eyed-Raven replied in his monotone voice. "When you grow old, you may choose to become me. But until then, you will live a free and happy life. That is if you survive the long night."
"How do we kill the Night King?"
"Only Jon can kill him. He has the blood of ice and fire. He must be stabbed by a sword or dagger of Valyrian steel. But that will only immobilise him for a short time. Once immobilised, a dagger made from obsidian must pierce his heart. Remove the Valyrian steel and allow him to become a man once more. Then Jon must kill him just like any other man. But you must be quick. Just because the Night King cannot move, doesn't mean he hasn't got others on hand to attack. The wights will only die once the dragonglass enters his body. The whitewalkers will die when Jon kills him with Valyrian steel."
The Three-Eyed-Raven held his left hand out to Bran, who took it with some trepidation. "I will give you as much power as I can, young Bran. But you will have to wait until you come and seek me out at the weirwood tree before you can become me. For now, you are gaining a long apprenticeship."
Bran tried to speak, but his mouth was frozen. He couldn't move as he felt the warmth running up his arm. He looked around and those around him were moving again. The Night King was coming for the Three-Eyed-Raven. Bran tried to yell out for him to stop, but with a swift and unexpected move, the Three-Eyed-Raven pulled out an obsidian dagger from underneath the blanket which covered his legs. Bran didn't need to be a seer to know what the Three-Eyed-Raven was going to do with it.
The Three-Eyed-Raven passed the dagger to Bran. He swallowed, for he had never killed before, and now he was expected to kill a being inhabiting his body. The Three-Eyed Raven gave him a nod of encouragement.
"You can do it, Bran. It is the only way I can survive."
Bran gulped and nodded. With the free hand, he did as Jon, Sansa, and Arya had done, pressed it into the heart of the being in front of him. Unlike the others, this blade did not dissolve into the Three-Eyed-Raven's body. Instead, half of it protruded out of his body as the blood darkened his cloak and furs. Despite that, Bran thought he saw the Three-Eyed-Raven's eyes briefly turn milk-white. Before he could get a better look, the world turned to darkness and Bran was falling into a void of nothingness.
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Bran woke with a start. The sky was still dark, but there were shades of pink and orange on the horizon as the sun was rising. Bran stretched his arms and yawned. He turned his head, noting Ser Barristan was already up and preparing the horses.
"Good morning, Bran. Did you sleep well?" Ser Barristan always referred to Bran by his given name instead of my Lord or Lord Bran, at Bran's insistence.
Although Bran was dreaming of the long night, like every night he had spent dreaming of another life, the ones his siblings had lived, during the trip from Queenscrown to Winterfell, he felt very much refreshed. More so than he should have considering how disturbing the vision was. However, Bran was used to the disturbing nature of the visions the Three-Eyed-Raven sent him and was becoming calmer after every conversation he had with him. Especially after last night.
"Good morning, Ser Barristan. My sleep was… refreshing. Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough considering the hard ground and cold weather. My old bones aren't what they once were. With good fortune, we shall reach Winterfell in just a few hours. I've sent a Raven on ahead. They are expecting us. I look forward to being warm once more."
Bran laughed. "You have Southron blood, Ser Barristan. This is warm for us northerners." He stood and folded his furs away. "Wait until winter comes, that is when you will feel the cold. Not only that but the long night approaches. Even us northerners will feel the chill and shiver."
Once they'd made water, eaten some bread and fruit and set off, Bran considered what happened the previous night. The vision should have scared him, instead, it made him feel closer to Jon, Sansa and Arya, but simultaneously he felt different. A calmness had swept over him. He felt older than he had the day before. It was as if the Bran from his dream slipped inside him, for Bran no longer felt like a boy of almost thirteen name-days. Age and knowledge were creeping up on him as he rode towards Winterfell. It was the strangest sensation he'd ever experienced. The only explanation was some of the Three-Eyed-Raven inhabited Bran. He scratched Summer behind the ear, a reminder that he was still himself. The wolf looked up at him with a grateful stare, then took off. Eager to be reunited with his siblings.
They rode on for a few hours, and by the time the sun was high in the sky, Winterfell appeared. Bran's heart fluttered with excitement. He hadn't seen his whole family for three moons. He kicked his horse and galloped as fast as he could, with Ser Barristan, who was caught off guard, fighting to catch up.
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Bran and Ser Barristan turned off the Kingsroad and slowed to a canter as they rode through the East gate. Summer's arrival must have alerted his family to his imminent approach, as they stood waiting for him, except for Robb and Theon. Bran chose not to be overly concerned with a strange feeling deep in his belly about their absence. Bran jumped from his horse and ran into the arms of his mother and father.
"By the gods, Bran, you've grown," his mother, who was only a couple of inches taller, ruffled the hair on his head.
"Aye, that's his has, Cat. How are you, son?" his father said with a huge smile.
"I'm alright," Bran smiled, but his attention had turned to Jon, Sansa and Arya.
"I've seen him, the Night King, and I know how to kill him!" he said to the trio. Bran expected them to be elated at the news, yet they looked at him with a mixture of sadness, fear and pity. They think I'm the Three-Eyed-Raven, he realised. "Do not fret, I am not the Three-Eyed-Raven."
"How?" Arya was always the first to ask such a question.
His mother spoke first. "Let him have a bath and eat first. We do not lack time. I'm sure we can wait another hour."
"Your mother's right. We can all meet in my solar in an hour. We'll get our food sent up to us and we can eat there." His father turned to Ser Barristan. "Thank you, Ser Barristan for returning my son to me, safe and sound."
"It was a pleasure, Lord Stark," Ser Barristan offered his father a smile before turning towards Jon and Sansa and bowing his head. He gave a quick look around to ensure no one could hear. "Your graces."
"Everyone knows, Ser Barristan," Jon told him. "However, I believe you should be granted time to clean up before joining us in Lord Stark's solar to listen to Bran."
Catelyn squeezed Bran's shoulder and pulled him towards the family quarters. "Come, let us get you cleaned up."
"Summer," Bran called out for his direwolf, who had been rolling around with his siblings while Bran was reuniting with his family. Summer left his brothers and sisters and followed him into the castle, most likely in the hope of a leg of mutton.