The snow fell silently over Winterfell as Sansa watched her brother from the battlements. Bran sat in his wheeled chair beneath the heart tree, his eyes white and vacant, lost again in some distant vision. The defeat of the Night King should have brought peace, yet something darker seemed to consume the last male Stark.
"He hasn't eaten in three days, Your Grace," Maester Wolkan reported softly.
Sansa's jaw tightened. "And how long has he been... like this?"
"Five days now. The longest yet."
She descended to the godswood, her boots crunching in the fresh snow. "Bran?" No response. His skin had grown pale as milk glass. "Brandon Stark, come back to me."
His eyes suddenly rolled forward, but there was no warmth in them. "That name means little now. I am the Three-Eyed Raven."
"You are my brother," Sansa snapped. "And you're scaring me. Ever since the Night King fell—"
"I saw his creation. I saw his end. I saw everything, and now... now I'm drowning in it all." His voice cracked slightly. "The past, present, future - they blur together. I'm losing myself in the stream of time." That crack in his voice - the first real emotion she'd heard from him in months - gave Sansa an idea. She penned the raven herself that night:
"Lady Meera Reed,
I write to you about my brother Brandon. You spent years protecting him beyond the Wall. He needs you now more than ever. Please come to Winterfell with all haste.
-Sansa Stark, Queen in the North"
Meera arrived two weeks later, her curls wild from hard riding. She found Bran in the godswood, as always.
"So this is what you've become?" she said sharply. "A ghost?"
His eyes focused on her slowly. "Meera. You came."
"Your sister summoned me. Said you were losing yourself." She knelt before his chair. "I didn't drag you through snow and ice and death just for you to disappear into visions."
"I'm not disappearing. I'm becoming what I must be."
"Horseshit," Meera spat. "You're hiding. The Night King is dead, Bran. You don't have to carry the weight of all time any more."
"But I see everything. Every moment, every possibility..." His voice trembled. "How do I stop?"
"You start by choosing to be present. Here. Now." She grabbed his cold hands. "Feel that? That's real. I'm real." Over the following weeks, Meera refused to leave his side. When he slipped into visions, she would talk to him for hours about their journey together - Jojen's sacrifice, Hodor's loyalty, even that terrible night in the cave. She forced him to engage with the present, to eat regular meals, to hold council with his sister. Slowly, painfully, Bran began to resurface. The periods between visions grew longer. He started asking questions about the present rather than just stating cryptic facts about the past.
The candlelight flickered across ancient tomes as Sansa's tired eyes scanned yet another dusty volume. Her chambers had become a second library, scrolls and books scattered across every surface.
"Your Grace?" Sam Tarly's voice startled her. "I found something in the records from the Age of Heroes. About greenseers who lost themselves..." Meanwhile, in the godswood, Meera watched Bran's eyes roll back for the third time that day. But this time was different - his body trembled, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Bran? Bran, come back to me," she urged, gripping his shoulders.
His eyes snapped forward, wild with grief. "I saw you die," he choked out. "That night, when the dead came. I saw... I saw..."
"What are you talking about?" Meera knelt before him, her hands steady on his knees.
"A thousand futures, a thousand possibilities. In most of them..." His voice broke. "You stayed. Because I asked you to. Because I was selfish enough to want you here. And in every one where you stayed, I watched you die. The wights overwhelming the walls, you were fighting to protect me until the very end, your blood staining the snow crimson..."
Meera's breath caught. "That's why you were so cold when I left? Why you barely acknowledged me?"
Bran's hands shook as he reached for her face. "I had to make you hate me. Had to make you leave. It was the only future where you survived. I couldn't... I couldn't bear to see you die. Not for me. Not again. Like Jojen, like Hodor, like Summer..."
"You stupid, noble fool," Meera whispered, tears in her own eyes now. She pulled him into a fierce embrace, feeling him shudder against her. "You've been carrying this alone all this time?"
"Every day I wanted to tell you. Every day I saw your face as you left, the hurt in your eyes... but you were alive. You were safe." His fingers clutched at her cloak. "And now you're back, and I keep slipping away, keep seeing those futures again..."
"Listen to me, Brandon Stark," Meera pulled back, framing his face with her hands. "I make my own choices. You don't get to decide my fate for me."
"But I see it all—"
"You see possibilities. Not certainties." Her thumbs wiped his tears. "And right now, in this moment, I choose to stay. To fight for you - not the Three-Eyed Raven, not some grand destiny - but for you."
His eyes began to cloud again. "Meera, I'm losing it... I can't..."
"Then I'll anchor you." She pressed her forehead to his. "Focus on my voice. Remember the cave? Remember how we survived?"
"Together," he whispered, struggling to stay present.
"Together. One day at a time." She held him impossibly tight as his mind slipped away again, murmuring stories of their past into his ear, refusing to let go.
In the library, Sansa's candle burned low as she pored over another text. Her eyes caught a passage about ancient Stark wargs. The candle sputtered as Sansa squinted at the faded text, her fingers tracing the ancient runes. Sam shuffled nervously beside her.
"Your Grace, these passages... they're rather..." he coughed, "...explicit."
"I don't care if they're explicit, Sam. If they can help my brother..." Sansa leaned closer to the weathered pages. The text described rituals from before the Andals, when the First Men lived in closer harmony with their gods. The drawings showed circles of standing stones, moonlight ceremonies, and elaborate symbols painted in blood and milk.
"The greenseers of old," Sansa read aloud, "were anchored to the mortal realm through sacred bonds of flesh and spirit. The Goddess of the Moon, keeper of passion and fertility, would bind them through chosen vessels - those who shared deep connections with the seer's soul."
Sam shifted uncomfortably. "There's more specific detail in the next chapter about the... er... physical aspects of the ritual."
Sansa turned the page, her cheeks flushing slightly at the explicit illustrations. "The binding must be performed under a full moon, within a circle of weirwood sap. The vessel - in this case, it would be Meera - must be..." she cleared her throat, "...joined with the seer in both body and spirit. The text mentions something about 'breaking the barriers between flesh and vision.'"
"Your Grace," Sam ventured, "these are old magics. Dangerous ones. The First Men believed the only way to anchor a powerful greenseer was through... well..."
"Through the most primal act of connection," Sansa finished. "The joining of two souls through physical union." She closed the book with determination. "Gather everything you can find about these rituals. And Sam? Speak of this to no one."
Over the next days, Sansa pored over more texts, piecing together the ancient ceremony. The rituals were raw, passionate, almost savage in their intensity - far from the refined customs of modern Westeros. But they spoke to something deeper, something that existed before the Seven, before propriety and politics.
Late one night, she found Meera alone by the heart tree. "There might be a way," Sansa said quietly, "to help him stay anchored. But it's... unconventional."
Meera's eyes were steady. "Tell me."
Sansa explained what she'd found, watching Meera's expression carefully. "The First Men believed that physical passion, when combined with deep spiritual connection, could bind a wandering seer to the present. The texts speak of couples performing sacred rites under the full moon, using their... union... to create an unbreakable tether."
"You're saying I would need to..." Meera's cheeks coloured slightly.
"The ritual requires complete surrender - both physical and spiritual. The texts are very specific about that." Sansa handed her a small book. "Read this. All of it. If you're willing... the next full moon is in a week." Meera spent those days studying the ancient rites, her heart pounding at the detailed descriptions. The thought of being with Bran that way... she'd be lying if she said she hadn't imagined it. But this was different - this was primal, sacred, dangerous.
"It's your choice," Sansa told her the night before. "But from what I've read, it needs to be someone who truly loves him. Someone who knows both Brandon Stark and the Three-Eyed Raven, and accepts both." Meera thought of Bran's tears, his struggles, the way he'd tried to save her by sending her away. She thought of the boy she'd protected beyond the Wall, and the man he'd become.
"I'll do it," she said firmly. "Tell me everything I need to know."
Sansa nodded, pulling out detailed notes. "next week, when the moon is highest... we'll prepare the godswood. The ritual must be performed exactly as written." Her voice softened. "Are you sure about this?"
Meera's eyes were steady as steel. "I've followed him beyond the Wall, through death and darkness. I'll follow him into this too. Whatever it takes to bring him back."
In the depths of Winterfell's kitchens, long after the servants had retired, Sansa and Meera worked by candlelight. The ancient tome lay open before them, its pages detailed with precise measurements and warnings. "The proportions must be exact," Sansa murmured, measuring dried juniper berries. "Too much and the mind becomes unmoored completely."
Steam rose from the cast iron pot as Meera crushed wild mountain thyme between her fingers. The pungent aroma filled the air, making her head swim slightly. Sansa added the crushed purple heather flowers, their sweet fragrance mixing with the sharper herbs. "The First Men believed it opened the pathways between flesh and spirit."
The elderberries went in last, their dark juice staining the water purple-black. As the mixture simmered, Meera read aloud from the text: "The sacred brew awakens what lies dormant, breaks down the walls between physical form and spiritual sight. Those who drink will experience all sensations tenfold - every touch, every kiss, every..." she blushed slightly.
"Every joining," Sansa finished, stirring the pot. "The texts are very specific about that part. The heightened state allows the anchor - you - to follow him into his visions, to pull him back through the connection of flesh." The brew bubbled and reduced, becoming darker and more potent. The steam made both women feel light-headed, their skin tingling with sensitivity.
"We should test it," Meera suggested, reaching for a cup.
"Careful," Sansa warned. "Just a drop..."
Meera touched a single drop to her tongue. Immediately, her senses exploded - the rough texture of her wool dress became almost unbearable against her skin, the candlelight blazed like the sun, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. "Gods," she gasped, gripping the table. "And we're supposed to drink a full cup of this?"
"The book says the effects are necessary for the ritual to work." Sansa carefully strained the liquid into two carved stone cups, ancient things marked with First Men runes. "You'll both need to be in this heightened state for your spirits to truly merge."
"When the moon reaches its peak," Sansa instructed, "you'll both drink. Then..." she hesitated, "well, the rest you know from the texts."
Meera stared into the depths of the brew, thinking of what was to come. "Will it hurt him?"
"The texts say it will be intense - for both of you. You'll feel everything he feels, see what he sees." Sansa touched her arm gently. "Are you afraid?"
"No," Meera said firmly, though her heart raced. "I've seen him lost in darkness before. If this can bring him back..." She straightened her shoulders. "Whatever it takes." They sealed the cups carefully, hiding them away until nightfall. As they climbed the stairs from the kitchens, the residual steam from the brew made every step feel like floating, every breath deep and significant.
"Meera," Sansa called softly as they parted ways. "The texts mention one more thing. During the ritual, at the moment of... completion... you must look into his eyes. No matter what visions you see there, no matter how terrifying, don't look away. That's when the anchor is forged." Meera nodded, her skin still tingling from the single drop she'd tasted. If that tiny amount had affected her so strongly, what would a full cup do? But as she thought of Bran, lost in his endless visions, she knew she would drink every drop.
The moon was rising, full and heavy on the horizon. In a few moments, they would attempt what hadn't been done since the Age of Heroes - binding a greenseer to the mortal world through flesh and spirit, through ancient magic and primal connection. Meera touched her lips, still burning from that single taste, and prepared herself for what was to come.
Under the stark moonlight, Sam triple-checked the ritual circle he'd drawn with weirwood sap mixed with salt and crushed amethyst. His hands trembled slightly as he arranged the final runestones. "The texts were very specific about the placement," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cold. "Seven stones for the old gods, three for the phases of the moon, one for each of the First Men's primal elements..."
Sansa and Meera supported Bran's weight between them as they approached the heart tree. His eyes were already beginning to cloud, fighting against another vision. "Stay with us, just a little longer," Meera whispered, her heart pounding. The brew they'd prepared sat in stone cups by the tree roots, shimmering unnaturally in the moonlight.
"I don't... I can't..." Bran's voice was distant. "The visions are so strong tonight..."
"That's good," Sam interjected, checking his notes frantically. "The texts say the ritual is most powerful when the greenseer's abilities are at their peak. The full moon pulls at his gift like it pulls the tides." They positioned Bran carefully at the centre of the circle, his back against the heart tree. The carved face seemed to watch them with knowing eyes, its sap flowing more freely than usual in the cold night air.
"The circle must remain unbroken," Sam instructed, his scholarly nature momentarily overcoming his nervousness. "Once you're both inside, no one can cross the lines until... until it's complete." His face reddened. Sansa helped Meera remove her heavy cloak, revealing the simple white shift underneath - another requirement from the ancient texts. The thin fabric offered little protection against the cold, but Meera barely noticed, her skin already tingling with anticipation and fear.
"Remember what we discussed," Sansa whispered, squeezing her hand. "No matter what visions come, don't break the connection. Don't look away from his eyes at the crucial moment."
Bran's head lolled back against the weirwood trunk, his eyes flickering between white and normal. "Meera?" he called out, voice uncertain. "What's happening?"
"I'm here," she answered, stepping carefully over the lines of sap to kneel before him. "I'm going to help you stay anchored."
Sam handed them the ritual cups with shaking hands. "The texts say you must drink together, at the exact same moment. When the last drop is consumed, the physical ceremony must begin immediately, before the brew's effects peak." Meera took her cup, the stone warm against her palm despite the cold air. The liquid inside seemed to move of its own accord, swirling with strange patterns that made her head spin just looking at them.
"Bran," she said softly, helping him grip his own cup. "Do you trust me?"
His eyes focused on her briefly. "Always. Even when I'm lost... I trust you." Sansa and Sam retreated to the edge of the godswood, leaving them alone within the circle. The moon reached its apex overhead, bathing everything in silver light.
"Now," Sam called out. "Drink now!" Meera lifted the cup to Bran's lips as she raised her own. The liquid burned like fire and ice, flooding her senses with impossible intensity. Every nerve in her body ignited, every sensation amplified beyond bearing. She heard Bran gasp, his pupils dilating as the brew took hold.
"Gods," he choked out. "I feel..."
"Everything," Meera finished, already feeling the barriers between them beginning to blur. She could sense his confusion, his fear, his desperate need to stay present. The empty cups fell forgotten to the snow as Meera moved closer, her hands framing his face. The simple touch sent shockwaves through them both - the brew magnifying every point of contact into something almost unbearable.
"Stay with me," she whispered against his lips. "Whatever visions come, whatever you see, stay with me."
His hands found her waist, trembling. "The visions... they're stronger than ever..."
"Then let me see them too." She pressed her forehead to his, feeling the magic of the circle humming around them. "Let me follow you into the darkness, and lead you back to light."
The first touch of their lips sent waves of sensation coursing through them both, the brew amplifying every subtle movement. Bran gasped against her mouth, his hands tightening on her waist. "Meera," he breathed, voice thick with wonder. "I've never..."
"Neither have I," she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. The simple touch made him shudder. "But I want to... with you..." She kissed him again, deeper this time. The torches around the circle flared higher, casting dancing shadows across the snow. The brew made every sensation explosive - the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the way his hands trembled as they explored her back through the thin shift.
"The visions," he murmured between kisses. "They're... changing. I see us, so many versions of us..."
"Stay here," Meera urged, pressing closer. "Stay in this moment." The magic of the circle seemed to pulse with their heartbeats. The weirwood's red leaves rustled without wind, drops of sap falling like tears around them. Meera felt impossibly warm despite the winter air, her skin hypersensitive to every touch.
Bran's kisses grew more confident, following instinct and desire. His hands tangled in her wild curls, pulling her closer as if trying to merge their very beings. "I feel everything," he gasped. "Not just the visions... but you. All of you." The brew's effects intensified with each passing moment. Meera could feel the boundaries between them blurring - his pleasure becoming hers, her sensations flowing into him. When she traced his jaw with trembling fingers, they both moaned at the contact.
"The texts," she whispered, remembering through the haze of sensation, "they say we need to..."
"Yes," he breathed against her neck. "I want... I need..." Their movements became more urgent, guided by primal instinct and ancient magic. The circle of power pulsed stronger, the runes beginning to glow with an inner light. Above them, the heart tree's face seemed to watch with ancient wisdom as two souls began the journey to become one. Under the moonlight, Meera's fingers trembled as she carefully undid the fastenings of Bran's clothes. Each brush of her fingers against his skin sent shockwaves through them both, the brew heightening every sensation to an almost unbearable degree.
"Is this alright?" she whispered, kissing his neck as she worked on the laces.
"Yes," he breathed, his head falling back against the weirwood. "Your touch... it's like fire..." She took her time, remembering all the times she'd helped him dress beyond the Wall - but this was different, sacred and intimate. The heavy cloak fell away first, then the leather jerkin. When she reached for his tunic, her hands shook slightly.
"Let me help," he murmured, working with her to navigate the complicated fastenings that accommodated his condition. Years of adapting to his limitations had made the garments unique, requiring patience to remove. Each newly exposed inch of skin demanded to be kissed, the brew making every touch electric. Bran's breathing grew ragged as Meera's lips traced his collarbone, his chest, learning the map of old scars and the places that made him gasp.
"I never thought..." he whispered, his fingers tangling in her hair. "In all the visions, all the possibilities... this feels..."
"Real," she finished, looking up at him with eyes dark with desire. "This is real, Bran." The torchlight cast golden shadows across his bare chest as she finished removing his upper garments. Despite his paralysis, his body was strong from years of upper body exertion. Meera's hands explored every plane and angle, memorizing him by touch.
"Your turn," he said softly, reaching for the ties of her shift with trembling fingers. "Help me... I want to feel you..." The moonlight caught Meera's curls, turning them to liquid silver, and suddenly all of Bran's ancient wisdom, all his visions and power, melted away. He was just a boy of seven-and-ten, trembling before the girl who had haunted his dreams since before he even understood what such dreams meant.
"I..." his voice cracked, and he felt his cheeks burn crimson. His fingers fumbled with the delicate ties of her shift, suddenly clumsy despite the brew's enhancement of his senses. "I'm not... I don't want to mess this up..." Meera noticed the change in him immediately - gone was the aloof Three-Eyed Raven, replaced by the nervous young man she'd always known lived beneath the surface. His eyes darted between her face and his shaking hands, pupils wide with a very human mixture of desire and anxiety.
"You're blushing, Brandon Stark," she whispered, touching his cheek gently.
"It's just..." he swallowed hard, "you're so beautiful. And I'm... I've never... and you're older, and more experienced, and..."
She laughed softly. "More experienced? Bran, I spent my youth dragging you through the snow. When exactly do you think I was gaining this experience?"
"But you're so... and I'm..." he gestured helplessly at himself, his insecurities about his condition bubbling to the surface. "I don't even know if I can..."
"Hey," she caught his trembling hands in hers, pressing them against her heart. "Look at me. Just me. Not the future, not the past. Just us, here, now." His breath caught as he felt her heartbeat racing as fast as his own. Her eyes were dark and warm in the torchlight, flecked with gold, and he realized he'd never allowed himself to really look at them before, too afraid of what he might feel.
"I've wanted this," he admitted in a rush, words tumbling out like a boy's first confession of love. "Even when I was trying to be nothing but the Raven, even when I sent you away... I would see you in my dreams. Not visions - just dreams. Normal dreams, like any boy might have about..." he stopped, blushing harder.
Meera's smile was radiant. "Tell me about these dreams," she encouraged, moving closer until he could feel the warmth of her body through the thin shift.
"I... um..." he could barely think with her so close, the brew making every subtle movement feel like lightning across his skin. "I dreamed about your laugh. The way you'd look at me sometimes, when you thought I wasn't watching. Your hands, when you'd help me with my clothes or build the fire. I tried so hard not to feel anything, to be what I thought I needed to be, but..."
"But?" she prompted softly, her fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest that made him shiver.
"But I'm still just a man," he whispered. "Still just... me. Still terrified I'll disappoint you."
Meera took Bran's face in her hands, her thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. "You could never disappoint me," she whispered, before capturing his lips in a kiss that made him forget how to breathe. The brew heightened every sensation - the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, the way her fingers trembled slightly against his skin. When she pulled back, her eyes held his as she reached for the ties of her shift. The thin fabric fell away like water, pooling at her waist. The torchlight painted her skin in gold, highlighting the lean muscles earned from years of hunting and survival. Her body told a story of strength and grace - small scars from adventures shared, subtle curves that belied her warrior's frame. Bran forgot all his nervousness in sheer awe. Her breasts were perfect small handfuls, high and firm, tipped with rosy peaks that tightened in the cool air. The flickering light caught the subtle dips and hollows of her collarbones, the elegant line of her throat, the flat plane of her stomach marked with a faint scar from their escape beyond the Wall.
"You're staring," she whispered, a blush creeping down her chest.
"You're beautiful," he breathed, reaching out with trembling hands. "Like something from a dream..." She guided his hands to her waist, her skin burning hot against his palms. The brew made every point of contact feel electric, and they both gasped at the sensation.
"Touch me," she encouraged softly. "I want to feel you..." Meera guided his hesitant hands upward, both of them trembling as his fingers traced the subtle curves of her ribs. When his palms finally cupped her breasts, they both gasped - the brew amplifying every sensation tenfold.
"Gods," Bran breathed, mesmerized by their perfect weight in his hands, the way they fit as if made for his touch. The peaks tightened further under his exploring fingers, drawing a soft moan from Meera that made his head spin. "They're so soft... so warm..."
"That feels..." she arched into his touch, her hands covering his, showing him how to touch her. "Just like that..." Though his lower body was paralysed, Bran felt an intense heat building in his core, a pleasure he'd never experienced before. Every brush of his thumbs across her sensitive peaks sent jolts of sensation through them both. The brew seemed to create a feedback loop of pleasure, each touch amplified and shared between them.
"I can feel what you feel," he whispered in wonder, watching her reactions guide his movements. "It's like... like we're connected..."
Meera's head fell back, exposing the elegant line of her throat as he grew bolder with his caresses. "The magic... the ritual... it's working..." His lips found her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone as his hands continued their reverent exploration. The taste of her skin was intoxicating, salt and sweetness and something uniquely her. When his mouth replaced his fingers on one perfect breast, she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair.
"Bran," she gasped, holding him closer. "My sweet, beautiful Bran..." The ancient magic hummed around them, the circle's power growing stronger with each shared touch, each soft moan. The brew made everything feel heightened, sacred, primal - turning their first intimate exploration into something both human and divine. Bran lost himself in the perfect sweetness of her breasts, all his ancient knowledge and burdens melting away. For the first time since he became the Three-Eyed Raven, his mind was completely in the present - focused entirely on the soft flesh against his lips, the way Meera's breathing hitched when he suckled just right.
"Yes," she breathed, cradling his head to her chest. "Just like that... gods, Bran..." He alternated between gentle and firm, instinct guiding him as he learned what made her gasp, what made her fingers tighten in his hair. The brew heightened every sensation - the texture of her skin against his tongue, the way her peaks hardened further in his mouth, the subtle salt of her skin.
"I never knew," he murmured between kisses, "never imagined it could feel like this..."
"Like what?" Meera asked softly, her voice trembling.
"Like coming home," he breathed against her skin. "Like I'm just... me again. Not the Raven, not the cripple, just... yours."
She lifted his face to hers, tears shining in her eyes. "You've always been mine. Even when you tried not to be." He returned to her breasts with renewed passion, wanting to show her with actions what he couldn't say with words. Each moan, each shiver told him he was doing something right. The magic of the circle pulsed stronger with their shared pleasure, but for once, Bran didn't care about ancient powers or destinies. All that mattered was the perfect weight of her breast in his hand while he suckled the other, the way she arched into his touch, the soft sounds she made that drove him wild. His free hand explored her ribs, her stomach, learning every dip and curve.
"Don't stop," she pleaded, holding him closer. "Please don't ever stop..."
The moonlight silvered their skin as Meera's trembling fingers worked at the remaining fastenings of his breeches. Between heated kisses, she whispered against his lips, "Let me see all of you..."
Despite his paralysis, his body responded powerfully to her touch. As she carefully removed the last of his clothing, they both gasped at what they found - the ancient brew had awakened everything in him, his manhood standing proudly, proving that the blood of the First Men ran strong in his veins. "Gods," Meera breathed, her eyes wide. "You're... perfect."
His cock throbbed visibly with each heartbeat, thick and substantial. Meera couldn't take her eyes off it, her hand hovering uncertainly. "Can I...?" she asked softly.
"Please," he groaned, already overwhelmed by the anticipation. When her fingers finally wrapped around him, they both moaned at the contact. The brew made every touch electric, and Bran's head fell back against the weirwood tree.
"You feel amazing," she whispered, exploring him with gentle strokes. "So hard... so warm..." His hands found her breasts again, needing to touch her as she touched him. The magic of the circle seemed to pulse stronger with their mutual arousal, the runes glowing brighter.
"Meera," he gasped, lost in sensation. "I never knew... never dreamed..." In the flickering torchlight, Meera's hands trembled slightly as she slid her smallclothes down her athletic thighs. Bran's breath caught at the sight of her most intimate place, nestled beneath a wild tangle of dark curls. The brew heightened his vision, making him aware of every detail - the delicate pink folds glistening with arousal, the way she quivered under his intense gaze.
"You're staring again," she whispered, a blush spreading across her chest.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he breathed, his hands reaching for her hips to draw her closer. "Like a goddess from the old tales..." The dark curls between her thighs were untamed like the rest of her - wild and free, just as nature intended. When she shifted, he caught glimpses of pink paradise beneath, making his cock throb harder.
"Can I..." his voice cracked with desire, "can I touch you there?"
Meera took his hand, guiding it between her thighs. "Yes," she gasped as his fingers made first contact. "Oh gods, yes..." The brew made every sensation explosive. She was impossibly soft, burning hot against his exploring fingers. Her wetness coated his hand as he traced her folds with trembling reverence.
"Show me," he pleaded. "Show me how to please you..."
She covered his hand with hers, teaching him the rhythms and pressures that made her moan. "Like this... just... oh Bran..." Waves of pleasure built between them as they explored each other with increasing urgency. Meera straddled Bran's lap, her wetness painting his thighs as she rocked against him. The brew made every touch electric, their shared sensations amplifying through the magic circle.
"I need you," she gasped against his mouth, her hand wrapping around his thick length. "I can't wait any more..."
"Yes," he breathed, his hands gripping her hips. "Please... I want to feel you..."
She positioned herself carefully, guiding him to her entrance. The first touch of his cock against her wet folds made them both cry out. Slowly, reverently, she began to sink down onto him. "Gods," Bran groaned, his head falling back against the weirwood. "You feel... incredible..."
Meera took him inch by inch, her body stretching to accommodate his size. The brew let them feel everything the other felt - his pleasure at her tight heat, her satisfaction at being filled so completely. "You're so big," she gasped, trembling as she took him deeper. "So perfect..."
When she finally settled fully in his lap, they both stilled, overwhelmed by sensation. The magic hummed around them, the runes glowing brighter as their bodies joined. "Move with me," she whispered, beginning a slow rhythm. "Feel with me..."
Their eyes locked, dark with desire and something deeper, as Meera cradled Bran's face between her palms. Each slow roll of her hips sent waves of pleasure through them both, the brew making every movement feel like lightning beneath their skin. "Stay with me," she whispered, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "Right here, in this moment..."
"I see you," he breathed, his hands gripping her waist. "Only you..." She moved like water above him, finding a rhythm that made them both gasp. The angle let him slide impossibly deep, hitting places that made her whole body shudder. Their shared gaze never broke - green eyes meeting brown, pupils blown wide with pleasure.
"You feel amazing inside me," she moaned softly, grinding down on him. "So deep... so full..."
Bran was lost in the dual sensation of watching her pleasure play across her face while feeling her tight heat grip him. "The way you move... gods, Meera..." She experimented with different movements - slow circles that made him groan, long slides that had them both panting, deep grinds that hit just the right spot. The brew let them share every sensation, creating an endless feedback loop of pleasure.
"I love watching you," he gasped, mesmerized by the way her breasts bounced softly with each movement. "Love seeing what I do to you..."
"What you do to me?" She smiled, leaning in to kiss him without breaking their rhythm. "Look what you're doing to both of us..." Their foreheads pressed together, sharing breath as she continued her slow, thorough exploration of his body. The magic circle pulsed with their shared heartbeats, the ancient power growing stronger with each passing moment.
"Gods, yes," Meera cried out, her head falling back as she found the perfect angle. Each descent onto his thick length sent sparks of pleasure through her core. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she chased her pleasure with increasingly desperate movements.
"That's it," Bran encouraged, his hands guiding her hips. "Take what you need from me..." The brew heightened every sensation until they could barely tell where one ended and the other began. Each time she sank down, taking him to the hilt, Bran felt more of the Three-Eyed Raven's cold distance melt away. In its place bloomed something warm, human, viscerally real.
"I can feel you," he gasped, watching her ride him with abandon. "Feel everything..."
"Yes," she moaned, her inner walls clenching around him as she ground down harder. "You're so deep... so perfect... making me feel things I never..." Her breasts bounced enticingly with each movement, and Bran couldn't resist leaning forward to capture a peak in his mouth. The new angle made her cry out louder, her nails scratching down his back.
"Bran," she panted, "my Bran... my beautiful boy..."
"Yours," he groaned against her breast. "Always yours..." She rode him faster now, her wetness dripping down his length as she chased her peak. The sound of their joining echoed through the godswood, primal and sacred. With each descent of her hips, each clench of her walls around him, Bran felt more alive than he had in years.
"Don't stop," he pleaded, feeling her start to tremble. "Please... need to feel you..."
"So close," she gasped, her movements growing erratic. "So... oh gods..." Their eyes locked again as the pleasure crested, both of them teetering on the edge of something transcendent. Meera's movements became desperate, erratic, her walls fluttering around him as she chased their release.
"Look at me," she gasped, cupping his face again. "Stay with me..." The dam broke suddenly, violently. Bran's cock pulsed deep inside her as he came with an intensity that made him cry out her name like a prayer. His seed surged into her in hot waves as her own orgasm crashed through her, her inner walls clamping down on him rhythmically, milking every drop.
"Meera!" he cried out, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Gods... I... I..." She kept riding him through it, drawing out their shared pleasure until they were both shaking. Her eyes never left his - he watched as they went wide, then unfocused, then rolled back slightly as waves of ecstasy washed over her.
"Bran... my Bran..." she sobbed, her whole body trembling. "I can feel you... everything... so deep..." The brew amplified every sensation - he could feel his seed filling her, feel her walls squeezing him, feel the way her thighs quivered against his. Their shared pleasure created an endless feedback loop until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.
"Don't stop," he begged as aftershocks rocked through them both. "Please... need to feel you forever..." She collapsed against his chest, both of them panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. The magic circle pulsed one final time before fading, leaving them wrapped in moonlight and each other.
"I love you," he whispered against her hair, still buried deep inside her. "I've always loved you..." Meera nuzzled against him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest as she peppered soft kisses along his jaw. Their bodies remained joined, neither wanting to break their connection. Her eyes sparkled with love and contentment as she gazed at him...
Until suddenly Bran's eyes went white, his body tensing. In those brief moments, entire lifetimes flashed before him:
He saw himself seated on the Iron Throne, surrounded by councillors but utterly alone, his humanity stripped away by the weight of crown and prophecy. Saw Meera in Greywater Watch, her heart hardening year by year, eventually taking a political marriage but never loving again. Saw their paths diverging into cold, separate futures full of duty but devoid of joy.
When his eyes cleared, he found Meera watching him with concern. "What did you see?" she whispered.
Instead of answering, he pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck. "Nothing that matters," he said fiercely. "Nothing I'll let happen."
She shifted in his lap, causing them both to gasp as he moved inside her. "But your destiny..."
"Can find someone else," he finished. "I choose you. I choose us." Unknown to both of them, his seed had already taken root in her womb, defying all prophecies and expectations. Their joining had created not just pleasure, but new life - a child of both magic and love who would change everything.
"Stay with me," she pleaded softly, reading the conflict in his eyes.
"Always," he promised, and for the first time since becoming the Three-Eyed Raven, he meant it completely. His hands splayed protectively over her stomach, unconsciously cradling their future. "No more visions. No more duties. Just us." She kissed him deeply, tasting the truth of his words. When they parted, both were smiling through tears.
"Just us," she agreed, settling against his chest as the first light of dawn began to paint the godswood gold. The ancient powers could find another vessel. The realm could find another king. But Bran had found something far more precious - his humanity, his love, his future. And this time, he would not let it go.