[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Winterfell, 298 AC.

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Bran woke up with a start, almost out of breath as he jumped in bed, his wolf jumping on him right after, happily sensing that he was awake.

It had been two days since he had fallen into his small coma. But before he could process anything, his eyes immediately burned at the contact with the light.

The entire area of the iris had been gone for more than 60 hours, leaving only white, and he quickly felt the effect of being like that for so long. The pain was so intense that even the guard, who was behind the door, opened it immediately upon hearing the young Stark groaning, almost screaming in pain.

“My lord, I will call the Maester immediately!” said the guard, checking Bran’s condition as he placed his arms over his eyes and refused to remove them, with his agitated wolf by his side. Bran couldn’t even respond, avoiding in every way opening his still burning eyes.

He left, told another guard to stay at the door, and went to the Maester to inform him.

Arya was the first to arrive. She entered the room and checked on her brother, startled. In the last 60 hours, every time her brother took longer to respond, the more worried she became, wondering if she had made a mistake by giving him the opening ritual.

Her father had also been quite nervous during those days, while her mother was hysterical seeing Bran in that state. She even accused Arya, who felt guilty and did not defend herself from the accusations. But she kept hoping he would wake up — after all, as long as he was breathing, to her, he was fine.

Now, Bran had finally regained consciousness. Arya immediately went to check on him.

“Bran, how are you?” she asked, already knowing the answer was obvious and that he would be in pain.

“It hurts a lot… but it’s already passing,” he groaned softly, moving less but still without opening his eyes.

The Maester entered the room at that moment and approached to examine Bran beside Arya. He studied him for a while, asking questions, while he had no idea what had happened. The Maester saw his condition, knowing he was the only one allowed to visit him in this state — no one besides the immediate family could see him like this.

Even those who knew the young Stark was injured and tried to offer condolences were prevented from approaching the room by Stark’s orders, even if it was unethical.

The king never asked to visit him, as he was too upset with everything that was happening, and he certainly would not be pleased when Lord Stark would not allow him in either. Refusing the king to see his son could be the last straw between them at that moment.

“Your eyes are very sensitive to light… but this is strange,” the Maester seemed a bit puzzled. “Even a person in a coma for several moons would not have this reaction. Something affected your vision, but it seems to be improving.” He gave his diagnosis.

“Bran, I want you to place your hands over your eyes and start opening your fingers to let the light pass between them, but very slowly. Little by little, I want you to get used to it,” instructed the Maester.

Bran did exactly that. As he let the light in, he felt very uncomfortable. Strange images began to appear in his mind, making him wonder what they meant as his eyes slowly started to get used to the brightness again, with some rays of sunlight entering through the window of his room.

The memories came and went quickly. He remembered dragons killing each other, an entire desert freezing over, an army of the dead… he saw his older sister with children.

He also remembered talking to a young man with the title of prince, named Loki. And, if Bran was correct, he was seeing an older version of himself speaking to him. The boy cared about Bran — and Bran felt the same, it was almost like having a mentor, despite the small age difference of not much more than ten years.

Things were very strange. He didn’t understand what was happening to him and those visions. Images of explosions also repeated themselves, but he couldn’t quite make out exactly what he was seeing. They were large explosions, destroying huge piles of stone in various places. If he had to guess, those piles must have been castles. He saw more than ten castles being destroyed one after the other in green flames.

He remained like this for about 20 minutes, until he finally managed to adapt his eyes to the light. He took a deep breath and looked at those around him, seeing Arya beside Maester Luwin.

That was when the door opened and Lord Stark rushed in, followed by Catelyn Tully, who screamed for her son. Arya stepped aside, relieved, just before her mother grabbed him.

He never understood, but his mother seemed to care more about him than any of the other siblings. He had some glimpses of being inside his wolf, looking at his unconscious body with white eyes lying in bed, while his mother stayed beside him most of the time. He didn’t even know if that was real — it was frightening.

His father always said he had no favorites, but sometimes Bran doubted it. Ever since Arya returned, he seemed to treat her as the favorite, just as his mother treated Bran that way. Not that they loved their other children any less, but there was always a favorite — a sad reality, even if they tried to hide it from everyone. Bran thought it was unfair.

“Are you all right, Bran? Answer me. Is he all right, Maester Luwin?” his mother asked, as worried as she was tired.

“I’m fine, mother… I’m fine,” Bran murmured, looking at his father and feeling that he truly was fine. Lord Stark merely nodded, satisfied that his son had awakened.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Sansa entered carrying Rickon. Her face was downcast. In the past few days, she had been torn between dealing with the loss of her title as future queen and her concern for her brother. She barely left her room, even trying to speak to the prince so that he might resolve the matter with his father, but surprisingly, the prince treated her like a plague, saying that her family had hurt his and he did not want to go near her.

This was even more devastating for Sansa. Arya noticed, a few times, a look full of hatred and anger directed at her. Sansa seemed to blame her for everything — from Bran’s condition to the unfortunate cancellation of the wedding.

Their eyes met for a moment. Sansa glared at her with the same hatred, but soon turned to her brother, ignoring her as she entered and approached the bed.

“How is he?” she asked, reaching the bed with concern.

Her mother began to answer, while Sansa quickly turned to her father. “There’s a Stark guard outside saying there’s an important letter for…” She seemed about to say something else, but froze.

She almost looked at Arya, but didn’t completely.

Arya shrugged and only looked at her father before turning to see who had sent the letters. Since the trouble with the queen, correspondence in Winterfell had been restricted, handled only by trusted people.

It had begun to be monitored under Maester Luwin’s supervision, and no one else could send letters without going through him. Any letter that arrived had to pass through the hands of a Stark guard only when Maester Luwin was not present in the tower. They were checking the seal of each one.

When she went out, she saw the man waiting. He smiled with satisfaction as he handed her the letter. “This is for you to read, Princess Arya,” he said.

Arya took it and saw the Arctic symbol, but accompanied by a ship below the snowflake. That meant Captain Maccar was sending her a new message.

Unsurprisingly, she began reading it right there. Since it wasn’t from Jon, she thought it must have to do with the port and her arrival there.

[…]

Princess Arya, we have received rather troubling information about you having been attacked. Our king sent a letter directly to us, saying — or rather, ordering us — that we must no longer wait for you at the port of White Harbor without an escort.

We must send a heavily armed and well-protected force to Winterfell. He said he will not accept any resistance from you regarding this and that it is an order no one should disobey. Therefore, we feel obliged to obey our king.

We will be in White Harbor soon. We will probably already be docking when you are reading this message. We will travel through the North, crossing the territory of White Harbor and the Cerwyns, arriving in Winterfell shortly afterward.

[…]

The letter was clear and to the point.

Her father looked on curiously when he saw that the letter was for her.

“We’ll talk later,” was all Arya said, as her mother glared at her with narrowed eyes but said nothing.

Robb finally entered the room, almost knocking the door down.

“Bran! Where is he? Is he awake?” he exclaimed, rushing to the bed, still unable to see him with their mother hovering over her son.

“This is good,” he said in relief upon seeing his brother’s face looking normal again. “You gave us quite a scare, Bran. Tell me, what happened? Did you also have a strange feeling?”

Robb assumed he had entered the mind of his wolf. The direwolf was beside the bed, wagging its tail, happy that Bran had finally returned. It hadn’t left his side in the past two days, sleeping and refusing to abandon him.

Robb looked at Arya. “Two days there… two days, Arya. Is it really what you said?” he asked, since the longer it took to return to normal, the more powerful it meant the warg was.

Arya nodded, accepting that Bran was more powerful than she had initially thought — and far more than she and her other siblings.

Which made sense, especially given that her brother was probably also a greenseer. Bran’s next answers to Robb’s questions only solidified Arya’s theory.

“I had strange visions… I saw Arya as an adult!” the boy said shyly, while their parents and siblings looked at each other. Even Sansa frowned, and Rickon seemed excited.

“You saw the future?” Rickon asked.

“I think so,” Bran replied with some timidity.

Arya didn’t need to say anything else. Though she was a little curious about her own future, Bran’s comment already told her what she wanted to know.

“I saw strange scenes… I don’t remember very well, most of them are blurry. But I know that one day I will go to Sothoryos with a Prince Loki in the future. Who is he, Arya? I saw Arctic… You were right, it’s magical! The city is beautiful, but I was inside a tall castle and saw many things. However, I managed to see the tree, just the leaves above the castle… It was over 300 meters tall! A sacred tree of 300 meters, how is that possible?! I knew it the moment I laid eyes on it,” Bran recounted, becoming a little more animated while Arya scratched her head in surprise.

It seemed that Prince Loki would somehow be a friend of Bran, but at the same time, Bran didn’t exactly know who he was. There was, however, no doubt that he was Jon’s son — the Prince of Arctic he had seen in the vision. Arya always said that Jon’s first son was simply named Jon Arctic, after his own name, in case one day he took the throne in his father’s place. She had never mentioned that the nickname everyone currently called him by was Loki.

In any case, his mother didn’t remain silent after hearing that. Her brow furrowed, thinking her son might be under some kind of witchcraft.

“What is this, Ned? What happened to our son?” she asked immediately, so concerned that she didn’t even care about using such intimate language, calling him by his name again.

“He’s fine,” Lord Stark replied.

Catelyn only turned to Arya. “Is he really fine?” she asked.

Arya nodded. “Yes, he’s fine,” she replied, though she knew Bran might have more visions while sleeping. But there was no point in mentioning that now, in front of her mother and sister — it would only cause more worry.

“Then it’s fine. We’ll just keep an eye on him,” Lord Stark said in the end.

Bran smiled, showing he was happy to be with his family. His gaze went to his mother, glad she was there — despite everything, she was still his mother. But suddenly, his vision changed.

He no longer saw his mother. In her place was a grotesque creature with a face full of wounds. Her face seemed carved by claw marks, far from clean. The eyes had lost the blue they had just moments before, but they still shone with pure hatred; the skin, far from healthy, was almost a purplish tone, like that of a corpse. She stared at him intently, studying him with that silent hatred.

“AHHH!!!” Suddenly, Bran screamed and jumped back, startling the whole family. He nearly fell off the bed when his vision returned to normal and he saw, once again, his mother — the beautiful woman he had always admired. She was back, no longer that thing.

Blinking several times, lost in his own thoughts, he wondered where that monster had gone, the one he swore he had seen wearing her face.

“Bran, what happened?” his mother cried out, alarmed, looking at her son in shock. He was afraid of her, as if he had seen a monster right in front of him. It tore her apart inside. Even Rickon looked at his brother in fright.

Bran took a few breaths with difficulty before returning to his family.

“Sorry about that… I don’t think I’m okay,” Bran murmured, while Lord Stark approached, placed a hand on him, and looked toward the door, calling for Luwin, who had been just outside after leaving when Arya took the letter, waiting for the family to gather.

“Maester Luwin!” he exclaimed as the Maester opened the door, looking a bit confused.

“I’d prefer you examine him again!” Lord Stark asked the Maester in a cautious tone, after noticing that Bran had been looking at Catelyn the entire time with a hint of fear — something that deeply hurt the woman.

Arya was also a bit concerned as the Maester checked his temperature. This was not expected.

“He’s fine, Lord Stark. There’s no change,” Luwin confirmed at last.

“All right. I want you to stay with him one at a time, keep him company, and don’t leave your brother alone under any circumstances!” Lord Stark ordered, turning his gaze to Arya. “Now, Arya, come with me. We have much to discuss. Also, I don’t want anything leaving this room. Understood?” He paused, his eyes turning back to Catelyn, still alarmed by her son’s reaction.

“You too, Catelyn. I’ll trust the safety of our family to you, as long as you don’t say absolutely anything about anything you’ve heard and seen inside this room!”

“Of course… I won’t say a word!” she said, her tone halfway between tearful and worried for Bran. Then she turned her gaze to her youngest daughter.

As Lord Stark began to leave and Arya followed her father, she received a judgmental look from both her mother and her sister, along with Robb’s caution, who seemed concerned about Bran’s condition. At the same time, Bran himself was watching her, no longer looking at his mother, seeking answers.

But she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to deal with greenseers, and if he might be having conscious visions… well, she had no idea how to stop them.

Arya was also worried and at a loss, knowing only one greenseer powerful enough to help. She thought there were at most two others besides him in Arctic, but none came close to the powers of the Three-Eyed Raven.

She ended up following her father, well aware that he would bombard her with questions, especially about Bran.

…

…

Meanwhile, in White Harbor, three giant ships advanced through the channel in the south of the kingdom, heading directly toward the city of House Manderly.

Their new visitors drew attention once again, after having been missing for so long. There had been no sign of them in recent weeks out at sea, with their ships canceling all trade agreements and influencing various masters and nobles from the Free Cities along the coast. The disappearance of hundreds of ships bearing the snowflake on their flags had raised eyebrows.

Despite that, there was nothing to be done for the moment.

The escort ship advanced through the waters until the port came into view, quickly approaching. The city stirred into activity, as the Arcticans had sent a message about their arrival to House Manderly.

As they began to dock, all three ships were perfectly aligned, with a space in the harbor already waiting for them.

Captain Maccar stepped out as the one in command of the ship. Even though there were royal guards, he was the one who understood the trade, and only the king could give him orders on his ship.

As soon as he disembarked, he found a group of Manderly guards and a very fat man in front of them, who seemed to have struggled to get there. He personally welcomed the Arcticans as Maccar approached, the royal guards behind him — all dressed in full suits of Valyrian steel armor.

Wyman was stunned not only by the Arctican ships, better than the last one that had brought Arya Stark, but also because it was the first time such a sight had been seen in Westeros: The Arcticans no longer seemed to be hiding the rarest metal in the world, openly showing that they had it in abundance.

Valyrian steel swords were already rare, but full suits of armor made from this metal were unimaginable. The sight was shocking enough, as four people wore complete suits of it — enough to make dozens of swords and sell them, earning more money than most houses in Westeros had in their entire history.

Naturally, it was deduced that the metal had been obtained by the king during his journey to Valyria, when rumors had spread of Jon Arctic entering the dangerous lands and returning with a great amount of gold, treasures, and relics. It was said that all this Valyrian steel could be connected to that expedition.

Wyman Manderly could barely hide his shock — and perhaps his envy — in the face of such a display of power.

“Ah, my name is Wyman Manderly! So you are from the Arctic delegation. Well, it is a pleasure to finally see you on an official mission here in White Harbor. I’ve heard you need to wait for Princess Arya to come from Winterfell. Let’s go to my mansion, I’m sure you can wait there and will be well taken care of,” said the fat man, with a sycophantic tone and a look full of desire.

He eyed the armor with gleaming eyes, clearly wanting to know its secrets, perhaps even trying to imagine how to buy them. If even the guards were wearing it, he assumed the material must exist in abundance in Arctic. The price could be small, and House Manderly could at least own a rare sword.

“We cannot, my lord. We are not here to negotiate anything or even make friends,” Captain Maccar replied in a firm tone.

“Are you refusing me, sir?” the man muttered, almost in disbelief.

“Do not take it the wrong way. I am only following my king’s orders. These men are determined that we must escort Princess Arya from Winterfell to here urgently. We cannot disobey, and although I must remain to watch over the ship, I could not leave while security is compromised,” Maccar answered.

“Truly…? I can understand,” said the fat man, looking disappointed and falling silent.

“We don’t have time for this!” a voice roared behind the captain, and Maccar looked to see Trinsmy, the royal guard leader of the group.

“Sorry about that, Lord Wyman. Trinsmy can be a bit brash at times, but you’ll get used to it,” Maccar said.

Lord Manderly looked at him in surprise, then shook his hand, ending the conversation.

“Well, I won’t stop you from going there then,” Wyman Manderly replied.

The captain then turned to the royal guard. “Now, you take command,” he said to Trinsmy.

The tall, bearded man stepped forward, putting on his helmet. “You heard him. We have a princess to rescue and take safely to Arctic. Exterminate anyone who tries to threaten her!” he declared.

All the other royal guards put on their helmets, and the other armed men began disembarking from all three ships. Lord Manderly watched, knowing their number was far too small to start a war, but feeling that those men from Arctic would go to hell itself to achieve their goals — and would wipe out any force that stood in their way.

For a moment, he forgot about the rare Valyrian steel that armored those guards and had to admit: this was an impressive force. They marched in perfect sync, nearly splitting the wood of the docks under their feet, until they reached the port, formed ranks, and began marching out of the city, frightening the entire population of White Harbor.

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