"You will never walk again, Bran. But you can fly," Brynden said with a sigh.
"I want to be healed. I want to become a knight, a knight like 'Fearless' Barristan," Bran cried.
"It is not your fate to become a knight. Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven is your destiny," Brynden comforted him.
"Wuuu…" Bran wept sorrowfully, and Meera beside him looked heartbroken for him.
"Bran, once you learn to fly, you won't long for the feeling of walking anymore," Jojen said.
Jojen and Meera were the children of Howland Reed, Lord of the Neck. During harvest season, they came to Winterfell to swear fealty to the Starks and became friends with Bran.
But the two Reeds didn't come just to pledge allegiance. They had a mission—to help Bran become the Three-Eyed Raven.
Jojen was half a greenseer, possessing the gift of green dreams, meaning he could prophesy in his sleep. But he was not a skinchanger.
Jojen's condition was somewhat similar to Daenys, the one who prophesied the Doom of Valyria.
Daenys had the gift of dragon dreams, though she was not a dragon-blooded.
"How do I fly?" Bran asked through sobs.
"If you wish to fly, you must start learning quickly. Fate has already been altered by her. The future is shrouded in mist. You don't have much time left," Brynden said.
"She? Who is she?" Bran asked.
"Daenerys Targaryen, 'Stormborn,' Mother of Dragons, the Dragon Queen of Slaver's Bay, the Khaleesi of the Dothraki Sea," said Brynden.
"Ah, Targaryen?" Bran was stunned. "I thought all the Targaryens were killed by Robert."
"Hmph, I am a Targaryen too," Brynden replied.
"Uh…" Bran was speechless.
Old Nan had also told him stories about the Three-Eyed Raven—that the Bloodraven with a thousand and one eyes was a Targaryen bastard.
"That Daenerys… why is she called the Mother of Dragons, the Dragon Queen? Does she have dragons?" Meera asked.
"Yes. Bringing dragons back to this world was one of her destinies. But unfortunately, she did not follow the path fate had set for her.
The future has become uncertain. Westeros is covered in a haze of cold, and I am no longer all-seeing. The Long Night can no longer be ended as it was meant to be. Bran, your burden is heavy," Brynden said helplessly.
"Why can she defy fate, but I'm doomed to be a cripple—and end up like you?" Bran shouted.
"Because she broke free from fate."
"Then I want to break free too," Bran declared loudly.
Brynden looked at the spirited young Bran with eyes like blood-stained lakes and said, "You can, if you study diligently and receive the full legacy I have to offer. Then you'll have the power to change fate."
Just like how—
Guanyin Bodhisattva once said to Joker: "You want to change fate? You can. With power, you can defy heaven and destiny."
Joker asked, "Then how do I get that power?"
Guanyin replied: "Put on the golden circlet. You'll become Sun Wukong, wielding the power of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Protect Tang Sanzang on his journey to the West, and you will become the Victorious Fighting Buddha, sharing status and honor with me and the Tathagata."
Joker rejoiced: "Where is the golden circlet? Where is Monk Tang? I'll go right away!"
Bran was overjoyed. "Teach me! I'll study hard, starting now!"
"…" Brynden gave no response.
"My lord? Lord Brynden? Three-Eyed Raven?" Bran called out in confusion.
"He's too tired. He spoke too much and needs rest," said Leaf, the singer.
"So many words?" Bran grew even more puzzled.
Leaf explained, "He has outlived the span of mortals, yet he still lingers—for us, for you, for the kingdoms of men.
His body has almost no strength left, but his spirit will never fade. You can still communicate with him, through other means."
"What means?"
"The trees. You are a greenseer. Through the trees, you can see everything," Jojen said.
"What trees? The weirwoods?" Bran asked.
"Not just the weirwoods," Jojen said. "Oaks, ironwoods, elms… and when you become the Three-Eyed Raven, even the earth and rivers, the land and the mountains, the wind and the rain—they will all become mediums through which you observe the world.
They are eternal, having witnessed the past and having seen what came before. And they will endure into the future—evergreen, everlasting.
Compared to them, our lives are like shooting stars, brilliant but brief.
When I'm gone, they will remain, recording the tale of time—your story, my story."
"And mine too. I'll die one day as well. Bran, you'll see my past, which to you will be the past, but to me, it may still be the future," Meera said with a smile.
Bran wanted to cry.
He felt a strange sorrow as he looked at the sixteen-year-old short girl in front of him. He wanted to shout: I don't want you to die. If you die, I won't live either.
He nearly said it aloud—but forced himself to swallow the words.
Just like the many times along their journey, when he'd occupied Hodor's body and wanted to tell her "I love you."
Only inside Hodor's beast-like strong body did he feel confident enough to say those words to her.
He loved watching her boldly spear fish with her three-pronged frog spear. He loved her optimism and cheer, her playful energy that reminded him of who he once was. He loved her loyalty and bravery, her beauty—even though to others, Meera looked too skinny, too short, with a flat chest like a little boy.
He loved most the smile in her green eyes when she looked at him.
But sadly, he couldn't say it.
Maester Luwin had told him he would never walk, never take a wife or father children—but he could become a maester.
He couldn't become the fearless Barristan, couldn't take a wife or have children.
But he hoped the Three-Eyed Raven could do what Maester Luwin could not.
After all, this was the Three-Eyed Raven.
But now—
Nine-year-old Bran seemed to have grown up overnight, for he had tasted the sorrow and helplessness only adults could understand.
In the end, Bran looked at Meera with hope in his eyes and said, "You should learn from Lord Brynden too. Become a greenseer with me."
If she also became a greenseer, then they could be together forever.
Meera seemed to see something in his gaze. She turned her head away sadly and said, "I can't."
Jiu Jian sighed. "The gods only allow a rare few mortals to drink from the Green Spring, so they may listen to the whispers of leaves and see the world through the eyes of trees—just like the gods themselves.
Bran, you are one of the lucky few who have tasted the Green Spring.
I was a bit luckier than Meera. I took a small sip and gained the power of green dreams.
But my part in your story is over. Bringing you here was my fate, and it is now fulfilled."
"Bran, Bran, Bran…"
Suddenly, a voice like a breeze whispered by Bran's ear.
He tried to concentrate and listen, but then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the blanket.
"Don't worry, he's entered a green dream."
That was the last voice he heard, spoken by Leaf the singer.
"Where is this? Why is it so dark?" Bran cried out in fear, surrounded by darkness like a deep abyss.
"You're going down, following the roots, deeper and deeper," Brynden's voice echoed in his ear—stronger and clearer than before.
"Bran, never be afraid of the dark. The strongest trees sink their roots into the darkest depths of the earth. You are that root. The darkness will become your cloak, your shield, and your nourishment. It will make you strong."
"From this day forward, I am your mentor. I will teach you how to grow swiftly from within the darkness!"
"Yes, mentor," Bran replied.
Castle Black.
Hisssss—
Flames in the hearth danced like performers. The firelight reflected in Melisandre's eyes.
To outsiders, the fire was just fire. But to the woman in red, it revealed something else.
From the flames rose a pale, corpse-like wooden face, with a thousand and one blood-red eyes, staring intensely into the eyes of the Red Woman.
She did not flinch or retreat, staring back with equal resolve.
Suddenly, another image surged from the fire—a boy with a wolf's face. He turned and snarled at her.
"Ah—" Melisandre let out a soft cry, shielding her eyes and stepping back.
Whoooosh— A sudden gale seemed to rush into the hearth. The flames flickered violently, and ashes flew.
After a moment, the burning sting in her eyes faded. Melisandre lowered her hands, her expression grave.
At almost the same time, atop the great pyramid of Astapor, in the rooftop garden...
Under candlelight, a small banquet was underway.
Suddenly, a salty sea breeze blew in from the docks, brushing Dany's hair and carrying to her ears a faint, dreamlike whisper.
As the Dragon Queen suddenly fell silent and stared blankly ahead, Clinton and the others exchanged confused glances.
"Your Grace, are you all right?" Old Aemon asked gently.
"Hmm?" Dany snapped back to reality, set down her fork, stood up, and walked to the thick waist-high parapet. She gazed westward into the distance, her expression complex.
"If I said I just heard the rustling of weirwood leaves beyond the Wall, would you believe me?" she asked softly.
"Uh…" The group was stunned.
"Dany, what did you hear?" Aemon asked, puzzled.
"A new greenseer has been born. The weirwoods rejoice. The trees, rivers, and mountains of Westeros are singing for him. And then, the wind brought this news to me," Dany said with a strange look.
To be honest, this wasn't the first time she had "heard" news from afar on the wind.
But the distances had always been close—near her.
And it only happened when she entered a specific state to listen to the song of the wind, with an extremely low chance of catching anything.
"Your Grace, can you hear what my dear sister is doing right now?" Tyrion asked, mouth full of tender roasted beef.
"No need to listen. I already know she's cursing three people," Dany said, returning to her seat and continuing her meal.
"Who?"
"The High Sparrow, you, and your uncle Kevan."
"Uh, my uncle? You think he's in the same league as me and the High Sparrow?" Tyrion said in disbelief.
"Kevan took her Iron Throne."
"Ser Kevan became regent? He's ten, a hundred times smarter and more stable than Cersei. With him in charge, King's Landing will surely stabilize," Clinton exclaimed.
The Imp gave a bitter smile. "That's exactly the problem. My dear sister cannot stand anyone taking what's hers. What's hers is hers. What belongs to others—if she wants it—it's still hers."
"It won't be easy. Cersei's been accused of multiple crimes by the Faith. Even if she escapes judgment, it'll be nearly impossible for her to reclaim power.
The people and nobles of the Seven Kingdoms won't tolerate a Queen Regent burdened with charges of regicide, incest, adultery, and blasphemy," said Old Aemon slowly.
"Hah. If Cersei accepts defeat, I'll admit I was wrong. Just wait and watch—she'll put on quite a show. It's going to be spectacular," Dany said with a cold smile.
"Your Grace, you really do understand my sister," Tyrion sighed, then asked curiously, "But why haven't you taken action?"
"I've already sworn an oath to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. Until the Long Night ends, I pose no threat to her," Dany replied, directing her words to Young Aegon seated at her right.
(End of Chapter)
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