BRAN
Another morning, another lesson and test on the houses of Westeros in the Library Tower. Bran had been left behind again.
Yesterday, Jon had got married in front of the weirwood, wearing fine black velvet and carrying a Valyrian steel sword. Bran had watched him take off the cloak of blue and white from the shoulders of the very pretty Val, looking like every tale of a true knight that Bran had ever imagined. The cloak was replaced with one in black, with a picture of Ghost running on it, a handsome sigil.
Bran thought it was all ridiculous, until he noticed that Jon looked at Val a little like how Father looked at Mother at certain times. When he gave her a gift she liked, or when he or Arya did something they both approved of. He did not know why, but Jon must have loved her. How scary, that a girl can make you change so suddenly!
Sent to bed early from the celebratory feast, which was quieter than others Bran had been at before, he fell asleep pondering it. The next morning he was told that Jon, Val, the wildlings and the strange Canadians would be leaving for Moat Cailin ahead of the host, while one of the wildling chiefs would be go back to the Gift to tell the tale of the peace treaty.
Bran was heartbroken. He hadn't even got to speak to Jon much since he had come home. Nor had he an opportunity to truly see the wonders the wildlings and Canadians brought. He had sat in on the negotiations with Lord Duquesne and Lady Val, but they seemed quite mean in the way lords always did at negotiations. Yet they had unicorns, horseless carriages, weapons that could make a hole in the Wall! He brimmed with questions about it all. His sorrow over Father, Sansa and Arya stopped burning so hard.
On top of all that, his normal days since he had fallen began again, and he was once again confined. It felt like he was sitting on pins and needles, listening to things he had heard at least three times before about houses in the Riverlands. He wanted to change into a wolf and flee into the Wolfswood.
Summer was also impatient, pacing around the library shelves, sniffing and yawning. Shaggydog was worse, he had taken to chewing on a wooden rail on the upper level, determined to eat through it. Maester Luwin had frowned, and asked Rickon to call the wolf down.
Rickon had done as he was told, though he didn't look up from the parchment with northern sigils on it. Shaggydog had peered at them all, and then went back to sharpening his fangs. Bran thought the wolf was convinced Rickon didn't really mean what he said. He watched the slow destruction of the rails idly out of boredom. Someone will need to fix that, or someone will fall like I did.
The maester tapped loudly with his stick at a point on the map of central Westeros. The sound jarred Bran back to attention. "House?" Maester Luwin asked, patiently.
Bran blinked and looked where the stick was pointing; a place just west of the God's Eye. Easy.
"House Blanetree."
"Sigil?"
"Green and brown maple leaves, on a yellow field… Are they secretly Canadian? Weirwoods have the same shape leaves as maple trees."
"I doubt it, Bran. House Blanetree was established during the Conquest, when the ironborn were forced out of the Riverlands. Whether the Canadians are from another world or from a land on this one far from here, this is undoubtedly the first time any of their people have come to Westeros. I would have heard of such a thing otherwise."
Bran curled a lip, not sure of that. "The lords accept they're from another world, or from very far away. Though that's strange." How do you make magic to speak foreign tongues if you don't know them in the first place?
The maester smiled and nodded. "It's wise to question the assumptions of men, especially when they're convinced of something they have no proof of."
"Aren't their things proof? And that strange glowing window?"
Maester Luwin shook his head. "Such things are proof they are from a powerful, wealthy realm. One with greater knowledge than ours, perhaps. But not otherworldly. None of what I have read about magic seems to apply to them, save for their ability to speak languages. And they say that is not of their doing."
Bran nodded. He trusted the maester to know that much, though he was not pleased when the stick again tapped the map. "House Blanetree, their words?"
"Reborn in spring," Bran droned.
Rickon yawned beside him, drawing a scowl and a reminder to cover his mouth from the maester. The lesson on manners was interrupted by a bang, the door slamming open. That caused Summer to run over and Shaggydog to stand up, just in time.
A large man in a tunic, breeches, armour and a helmet all in a dark green with brown and red splotches all over them. His tools and weapons all hung from the armour and helmet on cloth straps of a similar colour. He looked around the room, while taking off his helmet to reveal dark blonde hair. His gaze swept over the table and the map on top of it, before settling on Summer. The man's expression softened, and broke into a smile.
Bran pushed with his arms on the table to sit up straighter. A Canadian, at last!
The Maester stood and cleared his throat. "Can I help you, my lord?"
The Canadian didn't answer, instead moving into the room slowly and moving towards Summer. He soon offered a closed fist to the wolf, who sniffed it carefully. When it wasn't torn from his wrist, the man smirked and scratched Summer behind the ears, the wolf sitting to enjoy it.
"Sorry," he said to Maester Luwin at last, "Didn't catch that."
"Can I help you?" the maester repeated, "Lord…?"
The man's brow gathered and he made a smacking noise with his mouth, disapproving of something. "Padraig Jack O'Neill, Sergeant of the Third Battalion of Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry."
Maester Luwin tapped his fingers on the table. "Are you not an elector of some place or another," he said flatly, "Like the others."
Bran blinked. The maester only used such a tone of voice when he was doubtful of some excuse being made, by Bran, Rickon or Arya.
O'Neill stopped petting Summer and stood at the end of the table opposite Bran. "I'm an elector of two places," he responded, "Does that matter?"
Luwin made a polite smile. "We know so little about you and your people," he said, sounding like he did when speaking to a lord that annoyed him, "I am sure the Citadel would approve of a full report on your house, its sigil and words, your dynastic lines and history."
His smirk dying, Lord O'Neill sat down in the nearest chair in front of him. "I'm sure the Citadel would, whoever they are," he said, "But most of that would be meaningless to them, and I don't have my family tree to hand. What a shame."
Bran frowned. That didn't sound right, like the Canadian's parents didn't care about it. "You weren't made to learn your family tree?"
O'Neill looked at Bran properly for the first time, before his eyes widened. "You're Brandon Stark, right? And this must be Rickon?"
Rickon nodded so quickly, Bran thought his brother's eyes might fall out. His little brother was in awe of the man.
"They are indeed Lord Bran and Lord Rickon," Luwin said, "Do you have an answer for the little lord's question?"
O'Neill leaned forward and inspected the map, tracing the Kingsroad with his finger. "We don't need to learn our family trees. They're public knowledge. Our … libraries all have copies, and we have proof of identity that cannot be forged."
"Impossible," Luwin scoffed, "Paper and ink can be made to say anything with a skilled hand. It is why forgery is such a grave crime in these lands."
"If it's that easy, why did you bother asking for mine?" O'Neill said, making an open gesture with his hands, "And I didn't say the proof was a piece of paper. We have ways."
"What ways are those?" Luwin asked.
Lord O'Neill's eyes narrowed, and he responded in his own language. "Ask me bollocks, you nosy aul..."
Bran didn't understand the words exactly, but knew they were not friendly.
"Getting along, Sergeant?" said a voice. Two men entered the library, both dressed similarly to O'Neill. One was Duquesne, the Canadian leader. Another was smaller, only a few years older than Robb or Jon. Both were carrying black bags of a strange, even sided shape. The strange windows, Bran thought, What do they want here?
Lord O'Neill shot to his feet, and made a hand gesture to the side of his head in the direction of Duquesne. Both of the other Canadians returned the salute. "Shooting the figurative stuff, sir, that's all."
Lord Duquesne glared up at Lord O'Neill, both towering over the table. The third Canadian hovered nearby, looking up at Shaggydog and mouthing words at him.
"Lord Duquesne, welcome," Luwin said, "And who this is?" He gestured to the third man.
"Louis Sayer," replied the younger man, with a small wave to Bran and Rickon.
Bran knew that name, he had heard Lord Karstark whispering to Lord Umber about it in one of the meetings. He tried to jump out of his seat, but his body didn't respond even if his mind was excited. "The Otherbane! He killed White Walkers."
Lord Sayer rubbed the back of his neck, face going red. Meanwhile, Lord O'Neill rumbled out a single chuckle, until Lord Duquesne glared at him again.
"What were you discussing before I came in just now?" their leader asked.
Luwin sat down again, sweeping the table in front of him with his grey sleeves. "Lord O'Neill's house," he said, "Sigil, words, dynastic tree, those sorts of things. The Citadel records all such details, even for foreigners that do business in Westeros. Lords rely on maesters to have information on all noble houses."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, as the Canadians exchanged glances. Bran couldn't understand why. Surely it was easy to answer.
Lord O'Neill crossed his arms. "What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"
Duquesne rounded the larger man, and began to explain. "Maester, our 'realm' attracts people from all over the world, from the highest and lowest classes. Not even our Queen is a native by blood. In fact, the only person here that can claim to be truly from the first people who lived in Canada is Sayer over there." He thumbed over his shoulder at the Otherbane.
Lord Sayer gave a strange hand signal, sticking his thumb up from a clenched fist. Bran thought it looked funny, and made the gesture back to Sayer. The youngest Canadian laughed quietly to himself and said something in the Canadian tongue.
Maester Luwin nodded once. "Can Lord Sayer tell us of his house?"
Sayer opened his mouth to speak, but Duquesne cut him off. "Maester Luwin, as much as I would enjoy a deep examination of this subject, we are leaving tomorrow for Moat Cailin. We're in a hurry."
"Not all the lords are happy," Bran thought aloud, to the maester's disapproval, "You don't want to cause a fight."
Duquesne looked down at Bran, with a glint of approval in his eye. "Better that we give them some time to cool off," he said, before addressing the maester again, "We are going to use some of our tools to copy books that will be of use to us. Lord Robb has given us permission. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated."
Maester Luwin remained quiet and defiant, ignoring that all three Canadians were staring at him.
Bran was surprised at the maester's bravery. These were men that had killed White Walkers, brought wights to Winterfell, taken Castle Black, all the the very weapons that hung from their bodies now. He began to worry that they might start arguing. Summer began growling at Duquesne.
Luwin looked up and finally spoke again. "You ask for information yet refuse to give it. Curious."
Duquesne spread his hands. "We asked for information and got permission," he said, "You simply began interrogating my subordinates."
"If it is manners that concern you, I apologise for being forward," Luwin continued, "Nonetheless, your refusal to answer my enquiries is suspicious, my lord. Do you have something to hide?"
"As I said, we are leaving tomorrow. Time is a factor."
"You can speak and copy simultaneously. We do so in the Citadel even as novices, and our tools appear more burdensome than yours."
Duquesne scowled. "Maester, how can we ask you for books and discuss their contents while also discussing our 'houses' with you?"
"I am sure it can be accommodated."
Lord Duquesne took in a breath sharply. Bran could tell he was losing his patience. "I'm not. We've got twelve hours work ahead of us and at best six to accomplish it."
Summer's growls finally erupted into a loud bark, just as Bran felt the argument was about to come to a head. All the Canadians and Luwin looked at the direwolf, and the sounds of Shaggydog knocking over chairs on the floor above as he moved to join his brother wolf echoed down the tower. Bran looked to Rickon and saw tears in his eyes.
Lord Duquesne saw the wolves, and how upset Rickon was, and hung his head for a moment. "Sorry, boys," he said, raising his head and looking to Bran and Rickon, "It was rude of me to have this disagreement in front of you. I'm sure this is a scary time for you without me making it worse."
Rickon nodded fiercely. "I want Mother and Father back. I want Sansa and Arya."
Shaggydog quieted, followed quickly by Summer. They both lay down, but remained on watch.
Bran was glad. "I want them back too," he said, "Are you going to help Robb get our family back?" Rickon stood up and nodded rapidly again, wanting the answer too.
The Canadian leader scratched his chin, then shook his head. "Not all the way to where your family are being kept. Our laws are strict, and it's not really our fight. But the Lannisters are in our way, and I'm told they're too stubborn to just let us through… Which is why we need to know as much as we can."
Maester Luwin would not give up. "The Citadel would be pleased just with a summary from each of you. Then I would be glad to assist you."
"Wonder who's more stubborn," Lord O'Neill said quietly, "The Lannisters or this bykavala?"
"I assure you, the answer is that I am," Luwin said, "In this realm, to claim noble blood is no small thing. If…"
Duquesne held up a hand. "Okay, maester. Alright. Your colleague at Castle Black was equally interested, so I believe you. And I get the feeling that denying this information to you would delay us more than just giving you your summary."
Bran yawned. An enquiry about heraldry was not the question he would've asked the Canadians.
"Let's talk over at the other table," Duquesne said, "I'm sure the wolves can watch the children for a few minutes."
"I'm sure the wolves could put up a better fight too," Maester Luwin said, as he took up his writing quill and an inkpot, then pulled a large roll of parchment from his large grey sleeves. Lord Duquesne followed him to the other table, leaving Bran and Rickon behind.
Lord Sayer quickly joined Lord O'Neill at the table, both hanging up their helmets by the straps on the backs of their chairs. They rolled up the map and took the two boxes for the magic windows out. They began speaking in their own tongue, tapping their fingers and thumbs on smaller boxes in their hands.
Bran watched carefully, and to his disappointment, they paid no attention to him and the magic windows were not facing him. He almost wanted to call for Hodor from the outer balcony, to move him. But he thought it was no good. He didn't know how Hodor would react to the Canadians, or how the Canadians would react to Hodor moving him.
Sad, he decided to try what his Father would have expected and returned to his own study on the houses of Westeros. He moved onto the Iron Islands section of the book, a place he did not usually pay much attention to. He started with House Greyjoy, simply because they were first, before moving onto House Harlaw, the house of Theon's mother, and so forth.
After some time, the words and drawings seem to flow together, and Bran just stared at the open pages. When he finally was able to look up, the world seemed to blur and went still. The candles lighting the space blazed brighter and taller, throwing orange light through the air like strings.
A three-eyed crow landed on the head of an empty chair and cawed quietly, the only thing that he could focus on.
At first, Bran did not recognise it, but memories of what had happened just before he woke in his bed flooded in. He remembered flying, then the cold from the window and the warmth of Summer staring down at him.
Listen, the crow whispered.
"Listen to what?" Bran asked.
Listen to the Last Men, the crow urged, The men who fell up through the spiral to the Laughing Tree, back the way the Children once made and perished down.
The bird's head turned to the Canadians. Suddenly, they began moving again. Their fingers made strange tapping sounds, as they touched at the bottom part of their strange boxes rapidly. A white-blue glow lit up their faces from the parts that stood upright.
"I forgot to ask," said Lord Sayer, still watching his window, "How did dismissing the Laughing Tree guys go? The Ell-Tee got them the right to live in their ancestral homes, right?"
Bran didn't know how, but he knew that Lord Sayer was speaking in the Canadian tongue, yet he understood most of the words. He almost gasped when he realised that he had understood before; when Lord O'Neill had insulted Maester Luwin.
The older Canadian stopped touching the box and blew out a breath. "He did, and they didn't fecking use it. Every man and woman said they would come south with us. I expected Ygritte to want to come along, maybe Ryk too, but the whole lot of them said they weren't going to kneel. They told the lieutenant to send a message to those back in Molestown to hold off on taking the deal too. Even Marcach and his unicorn riders agreed."
Sayer looked up from his window. "I'm glad. They've been good to us."
O'Neill shook his head. "They'll slow us down, Sayer. Slow us down to the point we'll have to fight a half dozen battles like the one they fought against the Norreys. We aren't going to be able to just drive on past the armies fighting, we'll have to move at the same pace as the Stark host. And if we do find a way home, there's no guarantee any of them will be able to come with us. They'll be stuck without friends here. Not sure they'll be safe afterwards if we do bring them."
Lord Sayer shifted in his seat. "What do you think we should do?" he asked, "Leave them behind?"
"It might have been for the best," Lord O'Neill replied, "But when I suggested it to the lieutenant, he shot it down. Said the idea of joining the Starks against the Lannisters with experienced and well-drilled troops was a good threat to hold over the latter's head, when we ask for safe passage."
"Do you think we'll get safe passage?"
Lord O'Neill grimaced. "Not a fuckin' chance. At the end of the day, we delivered the Starks reinforcements and we have no other leverage over them until we demonstrate our weapons."
Sayer smirked. "The Ell-Tee doesn't want to leave Ygritte behind. That's the real reason."
O'Neill rolled his eyes. "He's young, but he's not as young as you, Private. He doesn't want to leave any of them behind."
Sayer looked at him, saying nothing for a long moment, before resuming the tapping with his fingers. The man's face was sour, like Rickon when he didn't get a lemon cake from Sansa.
"What is it?" Lord O'Neill asked.
Lord Sayer hesitated. "It doesn't matter."
"I'll decide that, Private. Tell me."
Sayer moved his window machine out of the way and leaned forward on his elbows to whisper. "The Free Folk believe we won't go home. Or the Laughing Tree does, anyway."
Lord O'Neill leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "The chances of us finding someone who can help us at the Isle of Faces is high. The Ell-Tee spoke to some lords about it. The isle has never been conquered, and it's a big chunk of land. There has to be a reason no noble has taken it for themselves. Considering the lords in the south worship different gods, I doubt they left it alone due to religious faith..."
Sayer held up a hand. "No, no, that's not what I mean. They think we'll go to the Isle, open up a portal or something to Canada. Some believe they'll be able to come home with us. Others that our entire army will come to Westeros, to save them from the Long Night and kick some kneeler ass too."
O'Neill laughed. "They may be right."
Lord Sayer cocked his head. "Are they?"
"Sure, if we can go home, I'm not sure there's a reason why they couldn't come with us. And I'm sure our government wouldn't tolerate such conditions on our doorstep. Though the Free Folk best pray the door isn't that easy to open from both sides, or else it's a gateway to nearly free real estate. It's a good thing we disappeared in the middle of the Enn-Double-You-Tee, else we'd probably see half of our world try to seize this one for themselves."
Sayer's brow creased with anger. "Would they do that? Take over another world? Could they?"
"Most of the world would happily conquer this place," O'Neill shrugged, "They'd cheer if their own countries were the core of empire. Count on that. Ironically you and I were born in two cultures that generally has learned the real lesson about that, but we're very much the minority where human beings are concerned. And maybe our people would change their minds if given the chance."
The two Canadians froze in place again, and their outlines fogged like before. Bran felt panic seize his heart. "They're going to attack us?!"
The crow cocked its head. They could, the crow replied, Yet they cannot. And these ones would not, though I cannot be sure.
Irritated by that answer, Bran wanted to shoo the bird away. Does that mean yes or no? "Then what are they talking about?" he asked.
They are powerful, the crow said, They can help. But like all magical assistance, their help will come with a cost.
"How do you know?" Bran asked, "Have you seen their world?"
Not for thousands of years, the crow squawked, Not since the Children attempted to flee from it. This matters not. I saw them fight the Enemy. I saw them breach the Wall. I saw them take Castle Black. I have listened to them when I could, to learn. I have failed.
"Why?" Bran asked, "Why let me listen to them?"
Because I cannot ask them questions, the crow cawed, But you can.
"Which questions?" Bran asked.
The ones you want to ask, the crow whispered, before cawing loudly, Ask what your heart yearns to know of them. I shall hear you both.
A nudge to his side impacted his ribs firmly but without pain. Bran shot up in his seat, his forehead sore from where he had been resting it on his arms. He looked this way and that, finding the world had returned to normal. The three-eyed crow was nowhere to be seen. Summer stood beside him, clearly the source of the nudge. Across the room, Maester Luwin was putting a tome on top of a pile of them, as Lord Duquesne supervised. The other Canadians stared.
"You okay over there?" Lord O'Neill asked, "I mean, are you hurt?" The Canadian was no longer speaking his own language, but Common.
"No," Bran said, "I was dreaming."
Sayer snorted. "Yeah, that book doesn't look very interesting," he said, "It's one we already have though, the one about noble houses?"
O'Neill nodded sagely and raised his eyes upwards. "Jesus, that one. Even with the magic, it's a slog."
Bran bit his lip, wondering if he should do what he had been told. But the answers promised to be too good and time too short to hesitate much more. He watched Sayer, wondering how to start. The younger Canadian noticed at once. "What is it?"
"How did you fight the White Walkers? How did you breach the Wall?"