Bran
"And you are sure you'll be fine on your own?" Osha asked, looking down at Bran as she settled him down against a set of weirwood roots. They were the most comfortable ones that he had found, allowing him to be close to the Three Eyed Raven but not find himself toppling over mid-way through their lessons. It was something so few thought about when it came to his useless legs: comfort. People tended to focus only on getting him to sit up straight and not the fact that his back could still feel things. Robb had gotten belts to help secure him to his chair when he came down for meals in the Great Hall but didn't consider how they cut into his skin or made it hard to breathe deeply. Hodor tried to be gentle when carrying him but would more often than not bounce him about. Servants had tried to prop him up in bed only for Bran to wish they'd just let him lie there, for his back would ache and his neck would begin to feel tenderness from the positions they put him in thanks to him not having the muscles needed to support himself.
'Ser Jaime tries better than most,' Bran thought to himself as he shifted on the dirt ground, grabbing a root to support himself. 'He is careful, actually asking me if I am comfortable… and he can tell when I am lying.' It was strange that it was him and Lord Tyrion who had done the most to make him comfortable; Bran had mentioned to the knight that his brother had made him a special saddle (which he had sadly only gotten to use once after Osha and her group had attacked him and Robb) that was designed not just to let him sit a horse but do so comfortably. Ser Jaime had smiled at that, shaking his head and flashing a wistful look before commenting that was his brother.
"Little lord?" Osha asked again.
"I'll be fine," he said with a soft smile. "I think you'll get bored rather quickly just watching us."
"I don't mind-"
That's when the Three Eyed Raven spoke up. "I think it would be better for you if you focused on learning more about this place, Osha." His words were slow, measured, like a cook measuring out bits of ingredients to make sure they didn't ruin a meal. "As young Brandon said we won't be doing much and with the threats that continue to grow it would be wise for you to know all about this hallowed place, so you might defend it if danger comes."
Osha stared at Bran for another few seconds before letting out a sigh, nodding, and making her way out of the main chambers that sat at the very center of the roots of the weirwood tree.
"Do not feel bad for her, Brandon," the Three Eyed Raven told him, seemingly reading Bran's thoughts as he watched the wildling woman go. "We all have a purpose and a role to play in what is to come. She must play hers while you play yours."
"I know… but she worries for me…"
"Which is good, for you are very important for what is coming," the old man said. "But that doesn't change the fact that she isn't needed here." He turned his head slowly towards Bran, his milky eyes studying him carefully. "Would it not be cruel of me to demand that you march about the perimeter of the place, to make sure that all was secure and there were not threats that might come upon us?" He answered before Bran could even say a single word. "Of course it would be. That is the point. We all must understand our place in the world, what we are meant to do. Too many times people believe that they should reach up for what does not belong to them or put aside what does, all in the name of so-called fairness. But the truth of the matter is that the world works far better and is far stronger when all understand their roles within it." He paused. "And I believe that is where we will begin."
With that Bran settled against the roots of the weirwood, palms pressing against the twisting gnarled roots. He took several deep breaths before he closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to overcome his senses as he drifted down into himself. It was similar to falling asleep and the first time he'd done it he nearly had drifted into a light slumber before the Three Eyed Raven had shown him his error.
Bran fell, further and further, but rather than allow his mind to embrace the darkness and slumber he instead looked about for the connection he needed. It took only moments for him to find the weirwood itself, and with that discovery to reach out and grasp it.
'Everything is connected,' the Three Eyed Raven had told him when they'd first begun. 'Not just the living… but all things. The rocks. The sea. Even the air itself. All is connected. To warg is to push past the boundaries you have created in your own mind and move into another. So too is it possible to move beyond the body and into the essence of others.'
Bran traveled along the weirwood, feeling how all its branches spread out into the sky above them and the roots burrowed deeply into the earth. He understood that it would take a thousand men a thousand days to bring the tree fully down, its roots were that deep.
"And even if they did," the Three Eyed Raven stated with a smile, appearing next to him, "the tree would still survive."
Bran looked over the old man, careful not to let his gaze linger too much less he embarrass him. It always amazed him how they looked when they talked like this. For Bran himself he was whole again. Able to walk, with his legs strong and solid like they had been before his fall. Not the pathetic pale things that were little more than bone wrapped in skin but actual legs. But the Three Eyed Raven's transformation was far more extreme. The rot and the roots that had taken hold of him were gone, leaving him looking normal. Well… normal for him.
He had skin as pale as milk and hair that was white but not from age. Bran could tell that. It wasn't the years that had left the man's hair void of color. His sole eye, for the other had been lost at some point, wasa deep red, which only served to make him look like some great weirwood tree that had lost all its leaves, branches drooping down to the ground. His body was strong though, far stronger than in the waking world where he had to be supported by the weirwood roots, lest he topple and crumble. He wasn't big and muscular like some of the knights Bran had seen, or even his brothers Robb and Jon… but he was strong all the same.
In body.
In mind.
"What do you mean?" Bran asked as they two of them began to walk the path of the roots, checking to make sure that all was right with the great heartstree. It was a daily task for them, to inspect the tree and ensure that it remained healthy and strong.
"Everything is connected," the Three Eyed Raven informed him. "Many saplings have been produced by this tree, and they in turn have produced their own saplings. And that connection remains. Even if this tree were to be ripped from the ground and every bit of it from root to branch was burnt to ashes it would remain thanks to the trees it grew."
"Like how my family traces its lineage to Bran the Builder?"
The old man smiled at that. "Exactly." He paused. "Exactly."
"So… does that mean we can travel to other weirwoods?"
"It does," The Three Eyed Raven said with an enthusiasm that had Bran smile. "And do you remember how I showed you the memories of this tree?"
He had. The Three Eyed Raven had shown Bran his own arrival to the heartstree, how the Raven had become a part of the tree and mastered the secrets of warging into it so they could become one. It had been one of his very first, and most important, lessons to learn in order to 'gain his wings' as the Three Eyed Raven kept telling him. To be able to understand what he was entering, rather than merely controlling it. He had warged into Summer several times since then and taken the time to not merely walk in the direwolf's skin but the learn of his faithful companion's thoughts and feelings and memories, allowing him to deepen the connection.
"Well, if the connection can be made between parent and child," the Three Eyed Ravens stated, guiding the two of them along a path they had never taken before, "and through the memories of one we are warging into… why not merge the two?"
Bran felt a great rush that made him lurch. He felt as if he were on a horse that had become startled and scared and was running at a full gallop. It wasn't even the speed that concerned him… it was the lack of control. The sudden rush that he hadn't been expecting and the knowledge that he had no way to stop it. A scream tore through his lips but the moment he did he suddenly found himself still, embarrassment flooding him for his actions.
But the Three Eyed Raven showed no signs of being annoyed at him or finding him to be a silly little boy for reacting as he had. No, he merely placed a hand on his shoulder… or had the hand always been there? Bran couldn't be sure.
'And the hand isn't actually there,' he thought to himself as he regained his bearings. 'There is no hand. No arm. It is our minds that are connected, nothing more.'
That said… he could still feel his heart thundering in his chest.
Once he had calmed himself he looked about their new location, extending his senses so that he could try and determine just where they were. The first thing he realized was that it was dark. But not a natural dark, like the night sky. The kind of darkness that only men could make, hiding away from the sky and the sun and the stars in stone. He felt the weight of years upon him, like heavy blankets layered upon his body and no matter how much he asked them not to more were being thrown on top of him. There was history around him. Good and bad, he could tell that.
'Perhaps more bad then good,' he dimly thought as he continued to inspect the area he found himself. It was rather warm but not the kind that brought comfort. While North of the Wall was bitterly cold, so that at times he wondered if he weren't regaining feeling in his legs for even they seemed to ache, the air around him now was too oppressive and stifling. Not smoky though either. It was… terribly hard to explain.
"It is the air of a million bodies pressed together," the Three Eyed Raven informed him. "Even in the depths of this cellar you can feel the stink of the unwashed smallfolk and the stench of their chamber pots and the rotting of their rubbish. Combine it with the moisture of the bay and the heat of the sun and it becomes baked into the very stones, so that even when Winter does arrive it somehow remains."
"Where… where are we?" Bran asked.
The Three Eyed Raven turned and smiled at him. Even though Bran could sense everything the Raven had said to him he couldn't TRULY see it… not really. Rather it was like when one awoke after a long sleep in a familiar room. You didn't have to see your pillow or the table to the right or the furs that kept you warm, you just know they were there and what they looked like. Could see it in your mind even in the dark.
But this place… Bran had never been there before.
His father's words suddenly echoed in his head. "Starks don't do well in the South."
"We are in King's Landing," The Three Eyed Raven informed him. "To be more exact we are in one of the deep storerooms within the Red Keep." Bran turned and looked at the man. "Here is where the survivors of Robert Baratheon's mindless hatred and rage were able to survive his purge. The trinkets and bobbles of the Targaryen Dynasty that weren't shattered and smashed by him are kept, tucked away. Some because he knew that he couldn't get away with destroying them, such as the great dragon skulls that once filled the Great Hall. Others because cunning servants knew it best to tuck them away so that Robert's warhammer didn't find them.
"Of course, that doesn't mean all are here because of Robert's actions. The Targaryens hid plenty of important things away themselves because of their own phobias and fears. Aerion Brightflame found it quite beautiful to burn tapestries… he thought that the flames on them should be real, for fire that didn't crack and bake the flesh wasn't true and thus was a sin against him and his family. Others hid away cherished items of their fathers and their brothers due to jealousy. And others... madness was what guided them." The Three Eyed Raven gestured around them. "This pendant was crafted from a fallen branch of the heartstree found within the gardens of the Red Keep."
"But my father told me that there was no heartstree in King's Landing. Not a true one."
"And he is correct. What is there now is a forgery, a fake created to try and supplicate the angered Northern Lords. But… once there was a weirwood, though it isn't talked about in the annuls of the maesters. It was torn out, root and stem, by Baleor the Blessed, who thought it to be an affront to the Seven. The pendant we are now in was given to one of his sister-wives as a gift… and a way to secretly spit in the man's eye. The last surviving piece of that tree. The weirwood was brought to the Aegon Fort by Aegon the Conqueror and later placed here… ah, but we will deal with that in a moment. The point, Brandon, is that this pendant has seen much history, both as a simple decoration whose importance was forgotten, and as a tree that stood as a silent watcher to the rise of the Dragon Lords. It has secrets… so many secrets… and it has longed to tell someone just what it knows. I think… it is ready to tell us."
Bran felt the sensation of falling while also spinning and he desperately reached out to grab something even as he heard the Three Eyed Raven inform him that it was okay, that this was supposed to happen, to LET it happen. But he couldn't! He was falling and he was spinning and he-
And then he was standing on solid earth, perfectly fine.
"I admit… the first time is mildly stressful," the Three Eyed Raven told him in the same tone that Ser Rodrik had used when he informed Bran he was holding a bow wrong. The boy glowered at that but his look of annoyance clearly only further amused the man. "Look about… get a feel for where we are."
Bran did just that. They were no longer underground but rather were in a small wooded area, the sky above them blue and clear. He sniffed and tasted at once salt water, meaning they were near the ocean even though he had never seen the ocean and did not know what salt water smelled like. The trees weren't overly big… the tallest was perhaps only 10 feet tall, not good at all for climbing and while he knew that they were there so he could learn he still wanted to scramble up the bark, feeling the wood scrape against his hands and his toes search for the perfect place to step. He frowned though as he looked down at the roots… he didn't know HOW he could tell but he just knew that the trees hadn't been always there. The dirt was too thin for them… they were forced to spread their roots wide, tangling them together into a great web rather than plunging down deep into the Earth.
"Noticed that?" The Three Eyed Raven said with a fond little smile. "Yes… this is the godswood of the Red Keep. When Aegon first crafted the Aegonfort he thought nothing of having a godswood but after he took control of the Seven Kingdoms he decided to continue the practice of his other lords and have one made. The heartstree was brought by a Green Man, one of the last times they left the Isle of Faces. He warned that the soil was too thin and that Aegon was building the godswoods too high but he didn't listen and… well… this."
Bran looked at the heartstree in question. It was a small thing, perhaps the smallest weirwood he had ever seen. Thin too, and the bark was too smooth in his opinion. The face was a sorrowful one, the red sap truly tears of despair and pain that it had been forced from its home and placed here where it could never grow as big and as strong as it wished. Bran reached out and touched the tree, shutting his eyes as he apologized that he could do nothing to help it. That he knew, per the Three Eyed Raven's own comments, that the weirwood was destined to be hacked apart with only a single pendant to remain of it.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sounds of footsteps and turned to see two very striking men enter the godswood. They at once held his attention but very different reasons. The first was richly dressed, wearing deep purple robes that made his curly silver hair stand out all the more. His beard was slicked straight and was pointed, framing a soft mouth and full lips. His eyes were a pale lilac color and seemed to look about the world with interest despite Bran knowing in an instant thanks to the weirwood that he had walked through the godswoods a thousand times.
Next to him was an even taller man. Where the first was lean his companion was built like a bull, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and huge muscular arms. His hair was cut very short, both on the top of his head and his beard, the latter of which framed a stern mouth that was lowered into a glowering frown. He wore black painted armor, the red dragon of House Targaryen on proud display as he moved with the other man through the woods. It startled Bran how quiet he was, for despite his size he was able to easily move without a sound, his feet ghosting across the thin grass that covered the godswood.
"Aenys Targaryen and his brother, Maegor," the Three Eyed Raven informed him, moving to stand beside Bran.
'King Abomination,' Bran thought to himself, looking not towards the larger of the brothers but the smaller. 'So named because he upset the Faith by wedding his son to his daughter. Also known as the Weak Dragon after he proved to be too kind and forgiving to those that stood against him.' He turned to the far more remembered of the brothers… though not for any good reasons. 'Maegor the Cruel. The Abomination as well, but for his destructive nature and violet ways. He killed his own nephew and murdered men to claim their wives in a desperate attempt to gain an heir.'
But in that moment he did not see the weak king that nearly killed the Targaryen Dynasty in its crib nor the violent monster that tore apart the Westeros that his father had worked so hard to pull together. He just saw… well… two brothers. Walking amongst the trees, no thought of the destruction that they would bring entering their minds.
"Can you not talk to father?" Aenys asked as he and Maegor drew closer to Bran. "He would consider putting it all off if you asked him."
"You think he would listen to me?" Maegor said with a shake of his head. "You are the one he pays attention to, brother."
Aenys frowned at that. "You know I hate it when you call me that."
And in a shocking reversal Maegor smiled as his brother glowered. "But that is what you are."
Aenys huffed. "Please… try to talk with him."
"He won't change his mind," Maegor informed him. "You are the one he loves best… the reminder of your mother."
"Yes, a reminder," Aenys said bitterly. "He doesn't see me as my own person, Gor. Just as something he can cling to in order to remind himself of her. Why I do not know… she abandoned us-"
"Shhhh!" Maegor said sternly, his smile falling as he looked about. "The trees have ears."
"What are they talking about?" Bran asked softly.
"Rhaenys didn't die as it is claimed by the maesters," the Three Eyed Raven informed Bran bluntly. "Rather she chose to finally follow her heart, wedding a Dornish man and becoming the Vulture King in order to protect her husband's beloved lands. Aegon hid the knowledge away… Rhaenys outlived her first husband, her sister, and her son by a good decade."
That made Bran's eyes widened.
But before he could consider that Aenys was speaking again. "This wedding though… Alyssa Velaryon…"
'Aenys' Queen,' Bran thought. 'Mother of Jaehaerys the I Targaryen, the Old King, the greatest monarch Westeros ever had. She also married into the Baratheon family, tying them once again to the Targaryens.' He had been shocked when Maester Luwin had informed him that King Robert was technically a quarter Targaryen through his Grandmother… and even more than that considering that it was thought that Orys Baratheon was Aegon's bastard brother.
"It is a good match," Maegor commented. "She is smart but not so much that she will think herself better than you. And easy enough to please. And it brings her family into the fold."
"I don't care," Aenys complained as they stopped in front of Bran.
"You must marry, brother."
"Stop calling me that!" Aenys snapped, much to Bran's surprise.
Though… not as much… as Maegor reaching out to take Aenys' face and bringing it to his own for a loving kiss.
The boy stood there, utterly floored, as the Sons of the Dragon embraced before him, Aenys doing nothing to break from the kiss. Indeed he reached up, wrapping his arms around Maegor and parting his lips. Bran could only stare, wide-eyed, as the two connected in a way he had never seen a man and a woman do so before, let alone two men! It was… it was…
Well, Bran didn't know HOW to feel about it.
When they finally pulled apart Aenys pressed his forehead to his brother's shoulder. "I should have been your sister. Had I been all would have been right. Father would have married me to you and would could have ruled together."
"We will still rule together," Maegor informed him, with a far more gentle tone than Bran would have ever imagined the cruel ruler to use. "You will need to keep Stokeworth as your Hand for a little while but the man is old and it will be easy enough for you to dismiss him after a year or so. Then you will name me your Hand-"
Aenys though shook his head. "You should be king, not me. You are far better suited for it than I… if only I had been born something other than… this…" he gestured at his form, face twisting in disgust.
Maegor though huffed, shaking his head. "You were born as you were and there is no changing that. Besides, there are so many parts of you that I enjoy." He ran his hands along his sides.
"Maybe… but you don't have to marry that woman," Aenys complained, voice making it clear how disgusted he was with that.
"Oh, its not that bad," Maegor assured him. "You must be more open, brother." He kissed him again though only Bran saw that Aenys wasn't pleased by that comment at all, refusing to close his eyes as Maegor kissed him. In fact had he been asked to identify which was the weak king and which the cruel he would have swapped their titles, based only on their actions in that moment.
The Three Eyed Raven sighed, shaking his head as Maegor and Aenys continued to speak. "What the world would have been like had Aenys gotten his wish. His dislike of being king, being forced to produce so many heirs by his councilors, and his own hatred of his body drove him into great depressions. He could not handle it when Maegor sought out a second bride… oh, Aenys claimed it was because his brother needed to honor his marriage and he was doing it in the name of the Faith, especially after the mistakes he made with marrying his son to his daughter… but that wasn't the truth. He thought Maegor's new bride was stealing him away and Aenys couldn't handle that. The two fought and feuded until the ultimatum… and they fell apart. But while Maegor was able to move past him Aenys could not. He wrote to his brother constantly, begging him to return. To take the throne. To rescue him from his duty and his family."
Bran just stood there, rooted to the ground, utterly shocked by it all.
"So… Maegor returning…"
The Three Eyed Raven nodded. "Aenys never loved his son. And Aegon the Crownless… he knew his father dishonored Alyssa by seeking out Maegor. It is what drove the boy to challenge his uncle, despite knowing he had little hope of defeating him. And Maegor believed that he was honoring his brother's wishes. He even stated that he wished for a son and a daughter, the latter that he would name after Aenys."
Before Bran could say another word he heard Maegor and Aenys speaking up louder.
"What of the armor?" Aenys asked. "How goes the work on it?"
"Slow but that is needed," Maegor admitted. "It is… irksome… that they must waste so much time in the crafting of it but I suppose that is rather the point. Or at least that's what those glorified tin smiths claim when I press them." That sounded to Bran far more like the Maegor he knew. "But when they are completed all will be as it should."
"And you made sure that my armor is as I desire," Aenys pressed. "That it looks as I want, and not those designs they drew up?"
"Of course," Maegor assured him. "Now come, let us return before Father asks for us…"
Bran turned to the Three Eyed Raven as the brothers disappeared. "Why did you show me this?" he asked. He knew that the man must have had some reason for getting him to observe the scene. It wasn't a need for gossip or to shock, as he had come to see that the Three Eyed Raven was beyond such things now. This was a lesson.
"History tells you how these two were," The Three Eyed Raven informed him. "Aenys the weak king who was so obsessed with what others thought about him he allowed others to run ramshot over him. The good man who lacked the conviction and drive to do what needed to be done, far too concerned with being loved than being honored. And Maegor, the vile king who turned all his allies into enemies, who drifted from one rage fueled disaster to the next, to the point that it is claimed that his reign lasted 6 years and 66 days so he might have the cursed number 6 in threes, which is asking the Seven to bring about doom. Which is foolishness because Maegor ruled for 6 years, 3 months, and 2 days. The maester just embellished the number.
"But you now see the truth. Aenys could be stubborn. Angry. Maegor could love. And two men that were forever linked at hated rivals despite it only being three years that they were parted and for the rest of their time together they cared for each other… far deeper than any imagined. This is how history is, Brandon. It is written by the winners. And it always changes. Robert Baratheon is proof of that. He made his and Lyanna Stark's lives together some grand love… when he met her only a few times at Harrenhall and spent more time drunk or with Eddard than he did with his 'beloved'. You must understand that the truth does exist… but the people don't want to hear it. Because it is not a good story."
And with that the Three Eyed Raven waved his hand and suddenly Bran found himself rocketing skyward and then jerked to the side. He opened his mouth to cry out only to find himself once more on the floor of the cave, the Three Eyed Raven staring at him intently. It was as if they had never left at all, even though Bran knew they had. He found himself wishing he could have thanked the pendant for showing him what it had. It felt… wrong… to abandon it so quickly. He wondered if it was sad and lonely, being locked away in some deep dark place, only used when called upon.
The Three Eyed Raven raised his hand, drawing his attention once more.
"Now then… let us continue."