XXVII.

The heat and humidity were strongly falling that morning in the Lost Daughter. Fortunately for him, Bran, as well as for his brother Aegon, his uncle Rhaegar, the Lord Commander Ser Jaime, the Archon of Coin, Tycho Nestoris, the new Sealord, Oro Tendyris, the magistrate of the Free Bank of Valyria, Jakob Fugger, and the scribe Thucydides, were under the purple awning that covered their heads, appeasing the heat a bit.

'By the color and luxury of the fabric, I am convinced that it belonged to the late Antaryon.' Bran reflected, while with his only visible eye he took a look around him.

The awning installed on top of a makeshift wooden platform, was located just down the stairs of the bridge that connected the renamed Square of The Freehold with what was left of the building that once was the headquarters of the Iron Bank.

Although thanks for the awning the heat was more tolerable, its location caused that the stench given off by the heads placed in pikes on both sides of the bridge behind him and sometimes spread by the servants who fanned from time to time, was sometimes intolerable.

'And at times it makes me want to eat.' Bran was honest with himself, knowing where that taste for carrion and decaying meat could come from.

In front of the makeshift platform and the awning where the entourage was, fifty square tables, fifty chairs and fifty accountants had been arranged. And in front of the five rows of ten tables

each, a crowd waited in line for their turn to be counted as citizens, receiving a golden dragon and ten silver wolves along with property grants and land royal privileges.

Around the tables a steel rectangle made up of three hundred men from the City Watch, many of whom had collaborated directly with Bran himself in the peaceful seizure of the city seven days earlier, formed an impenetrable cordon.

And he, like the previous six mornings, was standing behind Aegon's back, parallel to, and to the left of Ser Jaime.

'I never thought that being a Kingsguard would be so boring.' Bran thought as he sighed to himself, supporting his weight on the pole that he carried between his two hands, where the double banner was completely folded by the absence of wind.

Deciding it was as good a time as any, Bran closed his physical eye and opened a magical third one. The child's skin slid off like a cloak, leaving far behind the damp heat of the centuries-old cobbled plaza of the Lost Daughter... and he found himself in the rain, gazing through a hundred eyes in the Forest under the Shadow, Tar nu Fuin.

A few meters below the skins, under the tops of the ancient trees, they could see a slight sound, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The skins heard the clink and slide of tanned leather. The absence of the stench of magic from the Others and their puppets immediately relaxed and reassured them.

Descending between the tops of pine, fir, sentinel, ironwood and Weirdwoods, sharpening his hundred eyes, he saw men moving frantically between the bases of the trees. Men whom mostly wore black, although some wore furs. Armed with sticks with which they hit tree trunks, they made strange noises and managed to knock some down in the process.

The flock of skins parted around, giving way to fifty different images.

He saw that they were a considerable distance from the Wall of Ice and Blood and that there were hardly any trees left to hide. He saw lots of easy prey, from mice to Shadowcats pups. He saw various huts and tents made of furs and wood from which the aroma of food came. He saw woolly mammoths dragging dozens of logs, leaving open scars in the dirt where worms and earthworms emerged for him to eat.

And at last he found the invisible thread he was looking for.

Leaving behind fifty skins, the new skin was in front of an old man sitting before a fire. An old man with wispy white hair wrapped in black furs and with a shiny chain crossed from shoulder to waist. An old man who gave off heat and had his own tune with the melody of the world, modifying it around him. Beside him, also sitting, a plump man with dark brown hair and also wrapped in furs was holding a parchment scroll.

"Aemon! Corn! Corn!" the Skin squawked, after which cocked the head.

The white-haired old man turned his head to where the skin stood. There was a familiar clink and screech in the background, appearing at the old man's side, a stout man wrapped in white wools and steel. The plump man also turned to the skin, spreading the scroll before him.

"Bran? Is that you?" the skin heard the old man say.

The skin responded by nodding the head several times while squawking "Bran! Bran! Corn?!"

The stocky man in white moved to a shelf next to the window where the skin was resting. He got a handful of corn kernels and turned his head towards the skin.

"It is a pleasure to have you between us my prince. It's less than an hour since Stormy arrived. That is why as you requested us, the three of us are here alone together. I have to congratulate you on the Conquest of Braavos. So young and achieving great feats. Your lord father will be proud when he knows." The man in white said, as he stepped back from the shelf.

The skin lunged at the corn, pecking at it with abandon.

The sound of a cough emitted by the plump man turned the skin's head back to the old man. "Aemon! Aemon! Corn!"

"I see you were right about being able to communicate safely over long distances. But I do not know if it will be easy to have clear answers from your side in that skin. So we better leave the answers on your side pending for the correspondence via Stormy. Five days is hardly time and at the moment I don't think we need instructions to take immediate actions."

The old man said, stopping to cough into his fist. The plump man handed him a jug and while the old man drank, the plump man spoke to the skin.

"I never thought I could speak to someone on the other side of the Narrow Sea through a raven. Again my prince, you have shown that few things are impossible for you. Especially those that are impossible according to the knowledge of the Citadel. You should look for something about them, you know ... before you leave," said the plump man as he lowered his head over the scroll spread between his arms. "Se Seeh ouda Tela ... Se Ojūdan Tala." stuttered the plump man.

The old man looked at the plump man and nodded, then turned his head to the skin.

"Tarly is right Bran. Except for Volantis and Qarth, there are no more Weirdwoods Trees in Essos. At least known. You must make the most of the time you have left in The Lost Daughter to better understand the ritual, what was really behind the Rebellion, your ability to navigate through the fabric of time and about The Long Night. Start with the things you already know and work your way from there. Don't try to do it all at once. Solve each puzzle separately and then put the pieces together. And don't forget that in the weirwood, or in the skins, isn't really you. Don't drown." the old man's said to the skin.

"Bran! Bran! Aemon?!" the skin squawked vehemently nodding with head back and forth.

The man in white clicked his tongue and put more corn on the shelf, which the skin soon pecked.

"I don't know if you've seen it yet, but there is almost three miles cleared of forest from here to Castle Black. Construction in Forlond is proceeding at a rapid pace, but the arrival of experienced workers and guild officers is extremely urgent. I am very afraid that at this rate, any works in which our friends of the Free Folk have been proven tremendously effective, it will be over. And with the exception of our friends the Umber and what Tarly and I know from studies, few here have any idea of how to do certain elementary tasks at the time of construction. Much less constructions of this magnitude. And without your knowledge and that of Aegon's from the past, we wouldn't have done half of what we've done. Excavator and lumberjack can be anyone. But not a stonemason master. And to be one, you need years of experience. Which only the builders of the Umbers and the Brothers loaned to the Nights watch have. The coarse salt is about to run out and fine, dear nephew, is needed."

"EGG ?! EGG! EGG! Corn!" the skin squawked in reply to the old man.

"I take it for granted that you will pass the message." the white-haired old man said after a chuckle.

"My prince, also tell his grace that we are beginning to store large quantities of wood that will not be necessary to be able to trade it with Essos. In turn, deposits of iron, copper, nickel and mercury have been found in the hills near Hardhome. And in The Gift the first plowed fields are already beginning to be sown. It is quite possible that before autumn a couple or more crops can be collected for warehouses and barns. We have expanded the pantries under the Wall to be able to store a greater quantity of salted meat and wormwalks are being planned to access them even if the surface is completely covered with snow, at the style of Castle Black." The plump man announced to the skin.

"Your Excellence, regarding the army, around four thousand men and women of the Free Folk have already enlisted. Noye says he can arm everyone but he needs helpers and apprentices. In turn, the master armorer considers that it would be more efficient and beneficial for our cause if the armours came from your side of the Narrow Sea, dedicating the forges of Tar nu Fuin exclusively for the manufacture of swords, spears, pikes and other weapons. We continue to suffer from a dire shortage of mounts, but considering the infrequent riding habit among the newly enlisted, it's not something that worries me too much. With the help of Tormund, Sigorn's father, Varamyr, and even Mance, training them is becoming easier than we might initially thought. Besides, they all show eagerness to learn how to fight like the southron armies." Uttered the man wrapped in white and steel who had given corn to the skin.

"Corn! Corn! Father? Corn? North? Corn! Known!? Corn! Mance? Corn?" squawked the skin, the neck towards the old man and then towards the window, after which it fluttered around the room, until it settled back on the shelf where the corn was, to peck some more.

"From your father we still have no news. In this case we could say that the absence of news is good news. Your Uncle Benjen has told us that after going to Castle Black and to the Shadow Tower, he will contact the Mormonts on behalf of Aegon and Lord Commander Mormont. After that he will return here to help us, until he leaves for Winterfell for the harvest festival. The Great Jon is providing us with every possible help, from men to tools. But he worries for how long the secret can be kept. Many of the lesser houses sworn to the Umbers already know of the new status quo with the Free Folk and about House Targaryen presence on the Wall. Your cousins the Kastarks must sense something, and the Manderlys have already sent a couple of carracks to sail some distance from us. For their part, the Free Folk are beginning to embrace the sedentary life to a certain extent thanks to Mance's stubbornness and prestige among them." sounded the voice of the white-haired old man while the skin pecked from time to time a grain of corn.

"Corn! Corn!" the skin squawked as it shitted onto the shelf "Sorry! Corn?!"

Again the three men looked at the skin and chuckled together. "Death! Death! Bones? Corn! Corn!" the skin squawked in reply.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop and the three men looked at each other. The man in white approached the shelf and deposited a handful of more corn kernels.

"There was a skirmish with some wights near the Frostfangs. Less than three hundred that with ordinary steel and fire it was possible to obliterate them, literally. Orel, the Warg informed us that with his eagle he was able to see what he estimated between fifteen thousand and twenty thousand

wights and three of the Others heading at a slow pace north-northwest near the Fist. From the rest of the Army of Death and the Others we have no idea. It is as if the earth has swallowed them. But in the Lands of Always Winter there are always ice and snow storms ..." the man in white almost whispered.

"Kettle?! Corn! Fire?! Corn! Kettle?!" the skin squawked in reply. "My prince, do you mean the Wildfire?" stuttered the plump man.

"Corn! Corn!" the skin squawked and flew awkwardly to stand on the plump man's shoulder. The skin began to move the head up and down "Corn! Corn! Kettle! Fire! Corn! Corn!"

"When Stormy has rested from her long flight, we will tie a parchment with the substance formula to her. It turns out that in the Castle Black library there were several manuscripts on how to produce it. As well as the formula for something called dragon steel written in early high valyrian that we think may be related to Valyrian steel. But it is confusing and to some extent, contradictory. We also will attach it to the parchment. I must warn you that in all the manuscripts, it recommends the creation of the substance in underground places, if possible near or under water. You will have to find in the Lost Daughter a place big enough to do such an installation and with the necessary requirements..."

"Bran! Bran!" the skin felt how the other skin was being shaken and called.

He slipped from the skin he was on, without looking for any thread to hold on to and when he

opened his eye again, the dazzling midday sun over the Square of the Freehold dazzled him.

"Bran come back here!" he heard the iron high valyrian of Bran's brother to his right. His vision was blank and Bran could only see certain flashes of color through his eye, as well as feel that he was being shaken on the shoulder.

"Bran, we're done here for today!" sounded again Aegon's voice.

Opening and closing his eye a couple of times, Bran adapted to his surroundings and saw that he was still holding over the pole on which he carried the double banner. To Bran's right his brother was half crouched shaking his right shoulder, Ser Jaime was in front of him with an astonished face and to his left, uncle Rhaegar had a smile and an expression of some curiosity.

Little by little, Bran's senses were his again. He began to feel again the humidity of the lagoon city, the smells and aromas around him, and a slight numbness in his legs and arms.

"I was in Barad Suvion, in the skin of the raven of Bloodraven." Bran replied hoarsely from lack of use, to the question that no one had asked, but that Bran knew was present in the minds of the three around him "I have also seen the progress made in deforestation beyond the Wall."

"Have you been able to communicate with Uncle Aemon?" uncle Rhaegar asked with curiosity and hope in his voice.

"Has your idea of using the eagle as a messenger help? Has the parchment arrived to them?" Bran's brother Aegon inquired doubtfully at the same time as his father.

In a few minutes Bran brought the three men up to speed on what he had met, so they decided it was time for lunch.

"Wait, I need to go to the Isle of Gods. I have to make the most of the time we have here to learn more about the past. The Magic is like a sword without handle and to brandish it, we need to know

how to wield it when the time comes. Uncle, due to your inclinations and knowledge, would you accompany me, instead of Ser Jaime this time? No offense to you Ser." Bran said in his childish voice, too shrill for his taste, still half hoarse.

The Lord Commander's response was a click with the tongue and with a tone that feigned certain irritation and sadness, Ser Jaime replied.

"Aw!!, I like to contemplate you for hours while you hug a white tree that has a terrifying face ... I guess with a dozen guards for company plus your wolf and His Excellence's dragon will be sufficiently protection."

"No problem for me, nephew. You know I like our conversations about magic and about the past." uncle Rhaegar replied warmly as he ran a hand through Bran's thick copper hair.

Aegon stared at him for a couple of seconds, snorted and with a warm voice, although with the inherent steel in it he replied.

"I see no problem in that, but make sure you two get to the spinning mill on time and take a meal for lunch. Ser uncle and I can go with Tycho and Fugger to see the new mintage and to get measured for new clothes. Of course, tomorrow it does not happen again, so you will also go to have measurements taken. Both for clothing and for your new armor. And know that what you don't train today, you will train twice tomorrow. Don't think that I am going to allow you to free yourself from training. No matter how many magical powers you have and how many skins you can use, when the push comes to shove you will need to have the strength and skills to be able to defend yourself. Said that, I see you both before sunset at the spinning mill in Purple Harbor."

Then his cousin whistled and Ghost appeared out of nowhere, after which Aegon momentarily closed his eyes. At opening them, a roar followed by several screeches and a hurricane of wind announced that Balerion had soared from his perch atop the half-collapsed building behind Bran. Uncle Rhaegar emulated his son and Vhagar immediately followed suit from his perch in the part of the building still standing.

"Anytime you want, nephew," uncle told Bran, as he extended his right hand forward in a gesture for him to make way to the barge moored in the canal.

"We'll see you at before the sunset, Egg". Bran nodded and headed in the direction of the dock.

(Jenny's Song )

Shortly after clinging to the gnarled roots of the Weirdwood Tree on the Isle of the Gods, Bran found himself among a raging crowd which was being spurred on in rage by a Septon. The people mostly looked like peasants, dispossessed and rioters. Almost all of them carried some kind of weapon. From pitchforks and sickles, to steak knives, blunt iron swords, axes and pikes.

Turning around, Bran could see that they were in front of a gigantic stone and marble dome. The gigantic doors of the dome were being rammed by a felled tree that served as a battering ram.

"The spawns from hells must perish. The Targaryens are abominations against the Gods and their dragons the greatest offense the New Gods have ever seen. We have to end them! This is as the gods want it!" An exalted Septon proclaimed loudly, sending a veritable shudder in the crowd gathered before the Dome and the massive gates that were about to give way.

Chain noises and roars could be heard above the clamor of the crowd, until like a single person the crowd managed to break inside the gigantic dome, where Bran could see a large number of dragons. Much smaller than the three he knew, but impressive non the less.

Before Bran could assume what was happening around him, his vision blurred and he suddenly found himself, in what after seeing it several times, Bran recognized as the Iron Throne Great Hall.

In front of him were three lads, none of them older than seven and ten days of the name if they reached that age. Beside these three, a boy who due to his coloration and appearance could only be a Targaryen.

Near the Targaryen, an elder man, typically Valyrian in his appearance but with skin worn down

by the rigors of the sea and with a sea snake woven into his luxurious garments. And behind these last two, the one who could only be a Grand Maester, recognizable by his gray robes and the heavy chain at his waist.

In front of these, a man of severe and formidable appearance, dressed in furs and with a great resemblance to Bran's late uncle Brandon, looked them all up and down with some disgust.

"The North remembers." proclaimed the one who looked like Bran's late uncle, when he was welcomed.

"You have come too late, my lord." replied the man with the Sea Snake sewn into his clothes, with a reproachful tone. "Because the war is over and the king is dead."

The one who was undoubtedly a Northerner, looked at the old Lord of the Sea Snake with eyes as gray and cold as a winter storm and with some suspicion, replied.

"Dead, but by whose hand and whose word?" The northerner's voice was cold as ice and his gesture denoted little restrained disgust. "Others have started this war, but I intend to end it. I plan to continue south and destroy all that remains of those who had placed Aegon II on the Iron Throne and fought to keep him there. I'll reduce Storm's End first. Then I'll cross the Reach to take Oldtown. Once the Hightower, The Starry Sept and Citadel have fallen, I'll take my wolves to the north along the shores of the Sunset Sea to visit Casterly Rock and collect the debts they have with the kingdoms."

Deeply and cold tone echoed through the Great Hall the voice from the northerner.

"That's insane!" exclaimed the Grand Maester, when the Northerner finished.

"Insanity" the northern man said as if to himself quite ironically, and then added, "they called Aegon the Dragon a mad man when he spoke of conquering all of Westeros and the Three Headed Dragon proved that he was not." The Northerner said while extending his arms around him. As pointing to the place where they were.

One of the boys, hitherto silent, pointed out to the northerner that Storm's End, Oldtown and Casterly Rock were as strong as Stark's own Winterfell and would not fall easily. Another of the young men, who had black hair like a raven's feather echoed this and finished saying,

"Half of your men will die, Lord Stark."

"They died the day we marched south, boy." replied the one who now without a doubt in Bran's mind was Cregan Stark. Bran's ancestor and in a way, descendant, continued speaking with a severe tone and a sterner gesture.

"Like the Winter Wolves before them, most of the men who have marched south with me don't expect to see their homes again. The snows are already deep beyond the Neck. The cold winds were rising; In humble fortresses, castles and villages across the north, young and old pray to the Weirdwoods Trees carved by the Children of the Forest so this winter is short. It has long been the custom in the North for the elderly, second and third children, the single, the childless, the homeless and the desperate to leave home when the first day of winter snow falls, so that their relatives can live to see another spring. Victory in this war is secondary to my men; They march under my banner for glory, adventure, plunder and, above all, a worthy end."

Once again, the man of the Sea Snake who could not be other than Corlys Velaryon, The Lord of the Tides, advocated for peace, forgiveness and reconciliation.

"The slaughter has lasted too long," said the old man. "Rhaenyra and Aegon are dead. Let their fight die with them. You speak of taking Storm's End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock, my lord, but the men who occupied those seats were all killed in battle. Young children and nursing babes sit in their places now, without any threat to us. Grant them honorable terms and they will bend the knee. "

But Cregan seemed unwilling to listen to such conditions. "Little boys become big men over time," he coldly replied, "And a baby sucks the mother's hatred with the mother's milk. Let us end these enemies now, or those of us who will not be in our graves in twenty years will lament of our madness when those babies don their father's swords and come seeking revenge."

Lord Velaryon was unfazed by the coldness and severity of Cregan's words. "King Aegon said the same and died for it. If he had listened to our advice and offered peace and forgiveness to his enemies, he could be sitting here with us today. "

"Is that why you poisoned him, my lord?" the Lord of Winterfell asked dryly.

Although Bran knew that Cregan Stark had no personal history with the Sea Snake, for better or for worse, Cregan knew that Lord Corlys had served Rhaenyra as Hand of the Queen, that she later had imprisoned him on suspicion of treason. Then had been released by Aegon II and accepted a seat on Aegon's council ... only, apparently, to help bring about Aegon's death by poison.

"No wonder they call you the Sea Snake," Cregan continued. "You can slide from side to side but, oh, your fangs are poisonous. Aegon was an oathbreaker, a kinslayer and a usurper, but he was still a King. When Aegon did not heed your cowardly advice, you removed him as a coward would, dishonorably, with poison ... and now you must answer for it. "

Then a myriad of Stark men stormed into the Great Hall, disarmed the guards at the door, dragged the old Sea Snake from his chair and dragged him into the black cells.

Not even the three lads were spared from Lord Cregan's wrath, though they were apparently Cregan's allies.

"Are you babies in diapers, to be fooled by flowers, parties, and soft words?" Cregan chided them harshly and coldly. "Who told you that the war was over? Larys the Clubfoot? Corlys the snake? Why, why do you want it done? Because you win your little victory in the mud? Wars end when the defeated bend the knee and not before. Has Oldtown given in? Has Casterly Rock returned the Crown gold? The Snake says he intends to marry the prince to the king's daughter, but she remains i n Storm's End, out of our reach. As long as she remains free and single, what will prevent Baratheon's widow from crowning the girl queen as Aegon's heir?"

The copper-haired boy similar to that of Bran's, protested that the inhabitants of the storm lands had been defeated and did not have the strength to field another army.

Lord Cregan reminded the lads about the three envoys that Aegon II had sent across the Narrow Sea.

"Any one of whom could return the next day with thousands of mercenaries." Cregan paused, to stand even more upright and straight if possible. His face was totally stern, his grimace of disgust. "Queen Rhaenyra had believed herself victorious after taking King's Landing and Aegon II thought he had ended the war by feeding his dragon with his older sister. However, even with the queen dead and with Aegon II reduced to bones and ashes, the men continued to fight moved by someone."

The scene Bran was contemplating with absolute concentration disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared, now giving way to rooms covered in red bricks, which due to the large number of crows hanging from the ceiling and scrolls, potions and concoctions, undoubtedly belonged to a maester. On a table before the red brick window, two scrolls had been left out in the air, for the ink to dry before being rolled up and shipped to their destination.

Approaching the table, Bran could see the contents of both. In the one on the left, addressed to the Citadel Conclave, it had written a single sentence 'The Queen has lost another Dragon spawn, which I personally dealt with as the previous ones'.

The other scroll, the one on the right, was intended for the Lord of Lannister and Hand of the King, being even more concise than the scroll on the left 'I have made sure your daughter has no competition to fill her rightful position.'

Both scrolls were signed by P.

Before Bran could process what he just saw, he found himself in front of two persons Bran knew

very well.

"Have you already thought of a name?" Aunt Lya asked sweetly, uncle Rhaegar sitting next to her playing on his almost mythical silver harp the beautiful version of Jenny that was now so familiar to Bran.

"Aegon," Rhaegar said to Bran's aunt, stopping playing to bring his right hand to the prominent belly that Bran's brother's mother carried "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" Bran's aunt asked again.

"He already has a song," Rhaegar replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the Song

of Ice and Fire."

Then uncle Rhaegar looked up when he said it and his eyes met Bran's, and it seemed as if he was

watching Bran standing there at the intimate scene.

"There must be one more," uncle said, although Bran couldn't tell if he was talking to him or to Bran's aunt. "The dragon has three heads".

Uncle picked up the harp again and ran his long, slender fingers gently over the silver strings. A sweet sadness filled his soul as Bran's uncle, aunt and the room vanished like a morning mist.

Only the music persisted, accompanying Bran as he navigated the threads and currents of time. Running through the myriad of images before him, Bran began to reflect on how he had come to this moment.

It was true that in Bloodraven's cave he had lost an eye and part of his humanity. But in return Bran had gained a Third Eye with which he could see beyond what his two eyes could ever have seen.

'And with that Third Eye, a power that I am still unable to fully understand or control. With each new puzzle I solve, seven riddles are presented to me. With each enigma that I am able to unravel, thousands of doubts arise.' Bran cursed bitterly to himself.

One hundred Skins Stark began to call him reverently the free folk. Something that seemed quite ironic to him at this point, because after the tenth skin that he changed, Bran had stopped naming the creature that at that moment linked to one of his threads. And after the fifth of the skins he had killed, he stopped counting them.

'Abomination Stark they would call me if Varamyr really knew that I have broken practically all of the existing taboos among the Wargs. And I can't even say flatly that I have respected what I think I have respected.'

On the other hand, Bran knew he was not just another Warg or skinchanger. He was not only capable of exchanging skins with other living beings.

Through the trees, especially through the Weirdwoods Trees, Bran could hear and see the notes that made up the melody of the Song of Time and the Music of Creation. The Songs that had been played, those that were being played and those that would be played. Each Song with its own sound and melody superimposed on each other, forming The Music between all of them. The muffled background Music that was part of everything and that from before the beginning of creation already ruled destiny and fate.

'Planetos and everything in it.' Bran knew very well by now.

Who composed it? Bran didn't know yet.

'I increasingly doubt the possible existence of Gods. Old, New, R'hollor or Drowned. Possibly they would have been beings in tune with the Music, capable of channel or interpreting the notes of the Songs, or to play the tunes of the Songs. But who wrote the scores? The Singers? And what was there before the Singers?'

Bran wondered his doubts, unable to answer them.

He knew that he was the first and last Greenseener and Warg in the Music of Creation. He played, plays and will play his own Song. That of The Three Eye Raven. The Song of Time. Sounding since the beginning of the Music and even after the end of it.

Powerful blood flowed through Bran's veins, ancient blood. Blood in tune with the Music of Creation. Magic circulated through his veins. Bran was after the Others and those of Valyria, the most powerful being on the world. He could not directly intervene in the Song of Time, although he sometimes could change skins with Songs that had sounded thousands of years ago.

'Thousands of years ago from my point of view. If I have learned something, it is that time, as well as the concept of past, present or future is something very relative.'

If the Song of Time could be compared to anything, it was to a great tapestry made up of infinite threads. Threads that represented each of the Songs that made up the Music of Creation. These were strung together, intertwining with each other and with those of the other Songs, forming melodies whose Threads Bran could anchor to his true skin to hear the Song in parallel to the world that passed around him.

'This is how I told Ser Jaime something similar to what Bloodraven told Daeron and this is how I can be the Builder and the Three-Eyed Raven at the same time. With my eye on my skin and the Third Eye on another.'

Soon, very soon, Bran learned that nothing could be changed from the past. Or that if he believed he had changed it, he hadn't really changed anything. On the contrary. Precisely some of the changes in the melody that Bran introduced in the Songs that had already sounded, were those that allowed the correct sound of them in the past, forming the present and future as it should be.

'Music had been written from the beginning of time to the end of it.'

The moment the melody of a Song was truly altered, the threads of the fabric of time unraveled. The

tapestry lost shape and the music was played again from its inception to form the tapestry again, as it was before it was altered. Each note of the Music and the various Songs that formed it are predestined and when they are not played as it was written in the Music, it balances itself.

'The Doom of Valyria and the First Long Night.'

'How many times have I tried to change house Tully predicament before and during Robert's Rebellion?'

Bran had lost count already, but the result was always the same. Bran returning to the same point from which he started. If he altered the Song of his own past, he wouldn't have present and therefore could not be altering the song in the past.

'The Music balances and corrects itself.' he told himself.

It was important, as well Aemon had told Bran that morning through the Raven of Bloodraven in

Forlond, that he learn of his powers.

'When the time comes I must be able to guide Aegon exactly if we are to defeat what awaits us.'

Bran had learned that swapping skins with another human, especially through the weave of Time, was virtually impossible without the other going insane.

'Except for when I do it with myself.'

Bran reflected bitterly remembering why he had learned from the practical impossibility of

changing skin with another person in the past without causing in this one madness.

'If I had known that the Builder was me and that is why I could change skins with him, I would never have presented myself to Aerys in Duskdale. Bloodraven was wrong. It wasn't him and his induced dreams whom started to drive him crazy, it was me. Bloodraven just finished what I've began.'

While still at Castle Black, Bran had the brilliant idea that everything could be prevented, or at least better prepared for what was to come, if the events in Duskdale had played out differently.

'I thought I could really change something. Instead I learned that some Songs had already been played, although they were yet to be played.'

This was something in what Bran didn't want to delve yet. If he went down that road, he knew he would come to unflattering conclusions. In particular, it led him to the conclusion that his brother Aegon would carry out the Conquest, because he already had carried out the Conquest. And that house Stark would be founded by him with the aim of preventing the arrival of the second darkness, but really all he was doing was ensuring the current status quo.

'The ink is dry...' Bran mused bitterly.

These conclusions, still half known to Bran since the night he opened his Third Eye, did not stop

him from raising more new questions.

'And the answers are Visenya or Valyria.' Bran knew very well.

Focusing again on the thread that anchored him to reality, Bran took a deep breath and when he opened his eye, in front of him, sitting on one of the roots, uncle Rhaegar was playing on his newly acquired harp, as in Bran's previous vision, Jenny's song.

Bran's gasp caused Rhaegar to stop playing and focus on him.

Leaving the harp against the root on which he was sitting, uncle made a move to get up to help Bran to compose himself.

Something to which Bran responded by raising a hand as a sign that it was not necessary.

"Uncle, who taught you that song?"

Bran asked uncle Rhaegar with the voice that sometimes enveloped him and that he didn't quite know where it came from, because Bran did not move his vocal cords. However the sound came from him and was in line with his thoughts

'So, what difference does how it sounds like as long as it says the things I want?'

A little startled by the sudden question and surely by the tone Bran had used, his uncle fixed the gaze on him and replied.

"The woods witch, friend of Jenny herself. The one who predicted that from my mother's and father's seed would be born the prince that was promised. Why you ask?"

"The ghost of High Heart?" Bran answered his uncle with another question.

"Yes. The same. She would appear before me in Summerhall every time I went there, and in exchange for listening to me play her songs, she would inform me of what was to come and how I should act." Uncle replied with a certain tremor in his voice and a somewhat lost look.

"What do you know about the Songs of the world?" Bran questioned his uncle again.

"That in their melodies hides the future of what will be?" asserted Bran's uncle, in a question

really.

Nodding, Bran started to get up, seeing that it was almost mid-afternoon and they would have to go to the spinning mill.

'Yes. There with Aegon and Rhaenys present I will be able to see it.' Bran affirmed to himself.

"Without Visenya and without access to what really triggered the Doom, I have only been able to come up with the following theories regarding the coming of a new Long Night." Bran replied, ignoring the doubt present in his uncle's face.

'This is not the time for him to know some things.' He thought and continued explaining what Bran knew his uncle could know for now, with his magical voice reverberating throughout the Braavosi Godswood.

"Every being at dying, especially those in tune with the Songs, when their soul leaves the body it becomes part of the muffled melody that weaves space and time. They are like voices and instruments that add their voice to the Music of the World and are notes of the Song of time. They die so that the song continues according to the designs of destiny and fate. The woods witch is a soul that refused to be part of her fate, because she felt that she still had something pending. She wanted to change the notes of the Music."

"What music do you mean?" Bran's uncle asked him with genuine curiosity and an astonished tone.

'There is the child who supposedly grew in his mother's womb with candle lamps and books.' He thought amusingly to himself, in view of Rhaegar's interest in knowing. 'I doubt that when I finish what I have to say, He would have the same spirit.'

"The Music of the World is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It is barely perceptible for those in tune with the different songs that the music has. And there are even less beings capables of channel the Music through them. Music which since the beginning of times is sounding to be able to finish, and thus start again. It is the music of life and death. The music of creation and destruction. The music of the beginning and the end. The Music in which each being has its own Song to sung."

Bran breathed a moment, while in his Third eye anchored the moment when he had previously seen his uncle and aunt.

"Do you know the sigil of House Toland from Ghost Hill?" Bran asked his uncle again. He knew he wasn't really explaining anything, but Bran needed to make his uncle understand what his actions had provoked, provoke and would provoke.

His uncle looked at him somewhat puzzled by the sudden question and ran his right hand through his long silver hair, while he seemed to make an effort to remember what he had asked. Before long, certain recognition appeared on Bran's uncle's face

"A dragon eating its own tail?" Rhaegar asked doubtfully in his tone and gesture.

"Aye. The dragon represents time. It has no beginning and no end. All things that happened, happen again. The beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. Everything has its balance. Life and death. Good and evil. The beauty and the ugliness. Kindness and cruelty. Generosity and greed. Ice and fire. The air and the earth. The Music of Creation and Destruction. All forming The Music of the World. You already knew it, but the Witch never told you the reality of what your actions had brought, bring and would bring."

Bran replied with an increasingly dark tone, while staring at his uncle almost judging him. Bran knew that in a way this whole world life threatening situation, albeit unintentionally, was partly his uncle's responsibility. It pained Bran to see his uncle's heavy, guilt-ridden face, but Bran couldn't allow himself to have empathy or feelings at the moment. He had to make him understand.

Giving no choice to Rhaegar for defend his actions or explain himself, Bran went on to explain why they were going to face a Second Long Night.

'Although it's really again, the first.'

"There are some beings who aren't only in tune with the music of the world, but are also capable of channeling it, nurturing themselves from the music playing around them, interpreting the Songs of The Music and even generating their own melody. Their own Songs. When the body of one of these Singers dies, the soul seeks to remain in the world, since it is part of the Music. The woods witch is a Singer of the Earth. Like the Children of the Forest, the Wargs, the swamp men, the heart trees, the greenseers, greenmen and many of the animals. They sing Songs whose notes are in tune with the melody of creation. The beginning that is but the end. For your part, you, the blood of the forty, the dragons and the flames of the world, are Singers of the Fire. Your Songs are in tune with the melody of destruction. The end that is but the beginning."

Bran paused in his explanation to observe that his uncle was turning paler than usual for him. Rhaegar's eyes looked wild and had a look of horror on the face.

"The wind, the stars, the winged animals, the sky and the Daynes among others, are Singers of the Air, whose songs are in tune with the melody of the Whole. The snow, the cold, the giants, the Starks and the Blackwoods among others, as well as the Others themselves are Singers of the Ice. And their Songs are in tune with the melody of the end of everything. With your relationship with Aunt Lya, you broke the pact. You made a person have in him all the melodies playing at once. Aegon woke up the Others of their eternal slumber, because Aegon will end them or they will end the world, giving way to a new Music of the World, which has nothing to do with the current one. Aegon is descendant from the Starks and the Blackwoods, Singers of the Ice. He's descendant of the Martells and the Rhoynar, originally Singers of the Water. Also descends from the Daynes originally Singers of the Air. Also of the the swamp men who are Singers of the earth. And lastly from the Targaryens, Singers of the Fire. Aegon is the Song of Songs. The Song of Ice and Fire. And you know what Aegon's music is."

"You mean the...?" his uncle said, practically horrified in a small voice that was barely audible, recognizing what Bran was referring to

"Yes. The Music is the magic that makes up this world, and Aegon conception awakened all the latent magic in this world." Bran stated coldly, before his uncle could finish what Bran knew he was going to say.

Bran's uncle Rhaegar was practically flabbergasted, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times "So that means ..."

"That Aegon and Rhaenys songs had always had the ritual as part of their melody. This was the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning of the music that is being performed. Three Heads has the Dragon, you predicted. And thanks to them two, indeed it has them. Whom was the one that created the sigil of House Targaryen? Who was the one who appeared before the Others? Whom was the one that conquered Westeros and why? You were right from the beginning, though not for the reasons you thought you were. Aegon is not the Prince that was Promised, you are. You are Azor Ahai and Aunt Lya is Nissa Nissa. Aegon is Lightbringer. You tempered your sword in water magic, the result of which was Rhaenys. Then it was tempered by the Heart of a White Lion, when Nys died and came back to life in Jaime's arms. And finally, Lightbringer arose by plunging your sword into the heart of your beloved. Your actions led to the death of Rhaenys, Aunt Lya, and the birth and ultimately death of Aegon. Without our Rhaenys and our Aegon meddling in the past, there would be no present. Without the present, none of us would have ever existed, because there would never have been a past and hence history as we know it could not have happened. Rhaenys and Aegon both needed to die, to be reborn, to be aware of their power and thus be able to face the first and last enemy. Death. The end, which is not but the beginning."

The exceptionality in the fact that without Aegon, Rhaenys or Bran himself interfering in the past, the present would not be the same due to the actions of they in the past, gave Bran a very bad feeling.

And all actions were driven in turn by the third exceptionality that Bran knew, Rhaenys and her dream. And all of this was tied to Visenya's ritual, which is supposedly the same one that caused the Doom of Valyria. Bran knew that all three of them had been or were capable of skin change with themselves in the past. When Aegon and Rhaenys died, their souls, thanks to the ritual, were transported to Dragonstone where they simply changed skin with themselves.

"Are you telling me that I'm to blame for the Others coming back?" Bran's uncle said almost choked and incredulous, pulling Bran out of his thoughts and inner worries.

"Yes and no. They never left, they have always been waiting for the birth of Aegon. Your role in

the Music was to compose the Song of Ice and Fire, the Song of Songs, so that Music itself can exist. It is fate and it is written long before there was a any living being in Planetos. You just did what you had to do. That is why the woods witch did her best to have the Song composed. Without an end, there would have been no beginning."

Bran coldly sentenced.

"All of this ..." Bran's uncle said as he spread the arms and made a circle with them. "It's ... difficult to process ..." Rhaegar concluded in a downcast voice.

"At least thanks to this, I know there are two ways to finish off the Others."

Bran replied, trying to get his uncle out of the melancholy trance he was about to enter, making

Rhaegar see that there was something positive in the whole situation.

"Which are?" Rhaegar asked with interest, seeming to have put aside for the moment at least, the state he was sinking into.

"The second I don't know, I am unable to see it for the moment. But the first is to do exactly what the Others intend to do, before they do. That is, eradicate any vestige of magic in the world. Muting the Songs of the Music."

Bran's deep, mystical voice reverberated.

"But that is impossible Bran." his uncle spoke incredulously and somewhat exalted. "We should end every living being that has magic flowing through their veins, including ourselves." Rhaegar concluded in a sad and dark way.

"Aye, Exactly that. In that way, there would be no end and therefore, there would be no beginning. The Others would never have existed. But in the same way, nothing that has been would be. I mean, there would be nothing. There would be no life nor death, heaven nor earth and no world. For Planetos is made from the Music and like time, is circular. If we kept flying, suspended in the air in the same point, we would see how all Planetos pass under us, until we are again on the same point where we were started at first."

Answered Bran, untying his Third Eye from the past and returning completely to reality, while speaking with his normal voice. "You already knew all this, but you never really understood what your role was. You told Aunt Lya that Aegon did not need a song, because indeed, his is the Song of Ice and Fire. The Song of Songs. The Song of the beginning and the end. That of the end and the beginning. The song that was, is and would be."

"Now I know perfectly and with certainty whom were the actors hidden in the shadows behind the Rebellion and after almost everything struggle that happened in Westeros since the Conquest. The faith and the Citadel. Or at the least factions from both institutions of social control and homogenization." Bran announced to his uncle ominously.

Rhaegar was surprised, but not totally taken aback.

'It's logical, with Walys Flowers' role in House Stark before and during the Rebellion, Rhaegar and Lyanna were already suspicious of the Maesters. But the faith wasn't certainly something uncle would expect to find working in the shadows to overthrow him. Cregan knew from the need to eradicate them after the Dance and was ignored. Maegor too and was called Cruel for wanting to eliminate them. For me Maegor was a visionary.'

Bran thought internally.

As Bran's uncle was still expectantly at his explanation, Bran caressed Summer behind the ears as he began to sit up in an upright position. Then continued with his explanation.

"Since long before the Unlikely they already wanted to end the magic and its greatest exponent, the Targaryens. Because despite their twisted vision of things, they understood and understand that magic is a Damocles sword continually hanging over the fate of the world and destiny. Without magic in the world, the final enemy doesn't have with what to nurture. That's why the riots in King's Landing that led to the death of the dragons were led in the shadows by the faith. The Hightowers and the Citadel did everything in their power to destroy house Targaryen from within. The Dance is proof of this. That is why the second pact of ice and fire was never carried out. The second union of the two bloodlines with more magic through their veins in the whole world would have accelerated the rhythm of the Music. Would have spurred the magic sooner. Robert's Rebellion was another step in their great scheme. They took advantage of the avarice, greed, lust for power and pettiness typical of human nature, in conjunction with the political and reigning power context, trying to do what with the Andals Invasions first, the rebellion of the militant faith later, the Dance and the Tragedy of Summerhall didn't achieved. But without being known to them they were simply performing the tune they were assigned in the song. Their actions led to your birth through Fire & Blood so Aegon could then be born and to the bloodshed in all those conflicts as an offering for Visenya's ritual. So I need to know exactly what Visenya did or what happened in Valyria just before the Doom. To discover the way to finish off the Others, in someway altering The Music, without muting the Music." concluded Bran, mouth half dry from so much talking, as he had explained the last topics in his own childish voice.

Bran's uncle seemed to ponder something for a few moments as he too rose from his seat at the root and addressed Bran in an urgent voice.

"Aegon must know this. We have to tell him."

A panic attack almost invaded Bran and this reflected in his voice.

"No! What we have talked about so far about Songs, The Music and Others should not be known to anyone yet. If they know, they may not take the necessary actions for me to unravel the second way to kill the Others. Since neither you nor Aunt Lya should be present, it is not a problem for you to know, as your Song has already played. You cannot interfere with the interpretation of the melodies that are playing now. At least not yet."

"So you ask me to sit idly by knowing that because of me I have brought to our doors the possible end of all life in the world?" Bran's uncle replied with reproach and a certain poorly contained fury.

"No Uncle. What I ask of you is that with what you know you help me unravel the way to defeat the Others, while between us we help Aegon to obtain a position from which he can defeat them, or at least take them to a temporary tables. That's why the next thing I'm going to tell you, you're the one having to tell your mother and Aunt Lya."

"There's still more?" his uncle asked incredulously and almost without patience.

Bran couldn't blame Rhaegar's attitude after all the information he had absorbed.

'And it will be even worse when I tell him the following. I hope he understand that it is necessary for the family to know the actions that almost led to the extinction of House Stark and Targaryen, although we cannot act directly against them yet.'

"Yes," Bran replied sadly. "unfortunately what I have left to tell is not good. Elia, your mother and

my paternal grandmother were systematically poisoned by the maesters of their environment, trying to prevent them from giving birth to more offspring. The Grand Maester of the Red Keep is a member of the Citadel's faction that seeks to end with magic. Just like Sunspear's, Casterly Rock's are and my paternal grandfather's maester was. Wasn't it curious that your sister and brother were healthy born in Dragonstone, and you were born in the conditions that you were born in Summerhall and none of you had any health problem, however the rest of your mother pregnancies did not come to term or if they did, the babes passed away a few days or weeks after birth? Or that if for the maester of Dragonstone would be, your mother would be dead and if not for Ser Jaime, she would have been cremated while living after being exhausted giving birth? Did it ever catch your attention that a woman like my grandmother Lyarra, descendant of the Flint of the mountains, died of a cold, when in her childhood she lived a much colder winter than when she died and survived the birth of aunt Lya in the middle of a winter storm outside the walls of Winterfell? Did you ever wonder why Elia was so fragile and giving birth to Rhaenys almost cost her life and cost her womb to go dry? To this add that your father's Grand Maester was a double agent who not only works for the Citadel, but also for Tywin Lannister and you will get a lot of answers about what happened some twenty years ago... "

Third day of the eleventh moon, 297 AC. Velvet Hills, Essos.

He was again, as in the last nights, trapped between channels clogged with reeds and mud. Around them, pools of stagnant water gave birth to swarms of flies. The broken stones of temples and palaces sank into the earth, and old gnarled willows grew thick along the banks of a river. A Black Dragon and a Red Gryphon were prostrate before a shy maiden on the shore. Suddenly, a Silver Dragon emerged through the clouds in the sky, blocking out all light with its gigantic wings.

When the Silver Dragon noticed the presence of the Black Dragon and the Gryphon before the shy maiden, the silver winged worm released a torrent of silver flames on the three figures that stood on the river bank. When the heat and flames dissipated, day turned to night. A single star lit up the sky, tearing the dark firmament. And where there should be only ashes, a purplish wolf howled towards the sky, like towards the star ...

"Raven! Wake up! We have to change the guard with Dale." the imperative voice of Ser Jaime woke Bran up with a start, while Ser Jaime's boot gave a gentle touch on his waist.

Raising the left hand to his eye, he tried to shake off the last threads that linked him to the world of dreams.

Slowly rising to an upright position, sitting on his cot, Bran could feel Summer's wet snout on his neck.

'It's getting bigger every day. I can tell that between the three wolves they get big booties every night when they hunt.' He inwardly thought, remembering the images before his dream, where he and his littermates hovered over a fawn.

'Summer, not me. Summer was the one hunting.' Bran reminded himself, knowing that the boundaries between him and some of his skins were becoming more and more blurred. Sometimes it was difficult for him to distinguish where he ended and his skins began.

'Especially with Sumer's, Stormy's, Bloodraven's and the Builder's skins.'

Bringing the right hand to his neck to caress the heavy head now resting on Bran's left shoulder, he finished rousing himself.

Looking towards the opening of the Kingsguard pavilion, Bran could see that it was not even dawn yet and for a change, it was raining. Again.

"I'm awake." he replied dryly to both his wolf and his knight. Bran's voice was a barely audible thread of voice. His throat was parched and closed, his senses still not quite alert.

'But duty obliges.'

"Since you're awake, help me with your squire duties and put my armor on me." Ser Jaime told him with certain mirth, as he sat on the uncomfortable chair located next to the functional wooden table next to the entrance.

Three cots, a chair, a table, a couple of chests and three shelves of armor were all the furniture present in the pavilion. If anything could define the march east so far, it was the austerity of the column. There was nothing superfluous, or unnecessary. Perhaps Rhaella's pavilion was a bit more ostentatious and more comfortable than the others. But still, a far cry from the sumptuousness and ostentation one traditionally associated with the Targaryens.

Getting up slowly, Bran could feel all his joints creaking and the cramps in his arms reappearing forcefully. Walking with his legs as far apart as possible, to avoid rubbing between his practically raw thighs after almost two months of riding every day more than half of the day, Bran went to the armor shelf where Ser Jaime's qohori black steel armor was arranged. The three-headed rampant dragon engraved on the chest and the white cloak hanging from the shoulder pauldrons.

"I see that you still have a hard time to walk normally. You don't seem to have inherited the ease of riding from your aunt, sister and cousin." the Lord Commander's mocking voice resounded behind him, after which Ser Jaime clicked his tongue and mirthfully added "Don't worry, after six moons your skin will have hardened and you will hardly notice any discomfort when spending long days on a saddle."

Bran sincerely hoped that the Princess' Protector was right. Bran's body half the time was totally numb and cramped. His hands were totally chapped from gripping the reins of his palfrey, as well as from countless hours practicing with his new weapon and his very heavy oak shield. His calluses did not heal before they reopened.

His new approach to wielding arms was the result of Ser Jaime's suggestions after a couple of

training sessions with him in The Lost Daughter.

'Not all the King's guards in history used swords and one of the most important in their history, the Kingmaker, Criston Cole, wielded a morning star. Why can't that be your way?' Ser Jaime asked Bran. From that moment on, Bran became left-handed in the use of arms and right-handed in carrying the shield.

'And since both Aegon and I have to gain muscle, the shields we use to train are a lot heavier than normal.' Bran thought uneasily.

To this he had to add that he had left the tanned leather breast and back plate behind and now used for armor a chainmail with steel breast and back plate forged by house Forel. 'In total more than twenty pounds between armor and luggage.'

Although Bran would like to complain about the grueling regimen of riding, training, marching, skirmishes with the Andals hills clans, and then some more training, he knew that in the moment of truth, the muscle and stamina he was building now would be a must.

'Of course, at times like this, when is difficult for me to even lift Ser Jaime's greaves, I remember all the possible Gods.'

Bran thought as he saw how his arms trembled just from holding the Lord Commander's greaves against his chest.

A chuckle from Ser Jaime made him spin round. Watching the Lord Commander's bright emerald eyes which reflected a certain glimmer of humor, Bran couldn't resist asking while he bent down and began to secure the greaves over Ser Jaime's baggy pants. "What do you find so funny, Ser?"

Bran inquired in his shrill voice and quite childish for his liking, while raising his right eyebrow.

Placing a hand on his head, while ruffling the little hair that Bran still had, Ser Jaime smiled at him. "You have reminded me of myself when I was Lord Crakehall's squire in the campaign against the Brotherhood of the Kingswood. Everyone, even your cousin the all mighty Dragon, has been through this. Of course, when you see it from the outside, it's much funnier than when you're the one who suffers it." The Lord Commander said with a voice full of sympathy, while winking the left eye.

Bran's response was to stare at Ser Jaime with his eye, but by now Ser Jaime had already lost all apprehension had towards Bran at first.

'In addition, I think that the haircut has reduced my imposing and has made it something of everyday.' Bran reflected, knowing that now, being permanently visible his empty left socket and his tear of frozen blood embedded under it, had lost a certain mysticism due to its continuous exposure. 'Or at least for the family environment.'

"Easy! Easy!" Ser Jaime said almost laughing and raising his arms and hands in surrender "I am not laughing at you. I laugh with you, Raven."

Grumbling, Bran got to his feet, gave the Lord Commander a gesture of indignation, and quickly prepared the rest of the armor.

After completing the rest of the maneuver in silence, Ser Jaime helped him with his armor and they both left the pavilion in search of Aegon and his sisters', with Summer trotting lazily a couple of steps behind him.

"Dale, Forel. Good morning." Ser Jaime intoned dryly when they arrived in front of the two guards who stood on either side of the entrance to Bran's cousin's pavilion.

"Lord Commander, my prince." Dale greeted them, bowing the head at the same time. Syrio Forel for his part, bowed exaggeratedly, after which returned to his rigid posture.

The Seaworth was standing rigidly at the right side of the entrance to the black pavilion over which a gigantic banner of the Freehold of Valyria waved with the wind.

"It seems that another day of marching through water is waiting for us. Let's hope that today the carts and wagons don't get stuck every two by three in the quagmire that these goat trails are becoming." Dale added to his greeting, while looking up at the black clouds that covered the mountainous valley through which they were marching towards the Little Rhoyne.

The sound of the drops falling on Dale's helmet and armor did not augur a change in the weather. Something that The Lord Commander knew and reflected in his grim face. "Hopefully that's how it turns Dale" replied Ser Jaime with some doubt and hope in his voice. "We've to get out of these damned Andals hills once and for all, or the march towards Ghoyan Drohe will be eternal." Ser Jaime quickly concluded.

"Dale, wake up my Uncle Gerion so he can start to break camp and get the column moving. After that you can rest until you leave. As usual, you and my uncle will be in command." Ser Jaime ordered his sub-alternate and then let out a sigh to continue imparting the plan for the day.

"I imagine that Their Graces and Her Excellence, once they are ready, will decide to leave immediately together with the riders we have in search of Conquering the next shepherd's hut or wooden keep." said the Lord Commander with a resigned voice, as Ser Jaime looked towards the enclosure where the horses, mares, mules, oxen and other draft animals that were at their disposal were.

"Today we are supposed to march at least thirty kilometers ..." Turning his gaze towards Dale, Ser Jaime said without saying it with some resignation what the four present knew.

'Not even with clear skies we managed to reach the daily distance proposed at the beginning. With these continuous downpours and the state of the ground and trails, if the main column moves half the distance it will be a success.' thought Bran.

Of the animals gathered in the enclosure erected each night in the center of the camp, less than a hundred were fit to be ridden and used as warhorses. The rest were draft animals or cattle to be used as food. This added to the irregular and mountainous terrain that they had been crossing almost for a moon and a half caused that the advance was being torturously slow.

Of the nearly two thousand men and women who made up the column, only six dozen had real mounts. The rest were marching on foot, in carts, wagons, and palanquins. And of those who were marching on foot, there were almost seven hundred who were not part of the army. But in essence, they were practically an extension of it. Women, boys, girls, wives, laundresses, menders, seamstresses, harlots, cobblers, cooks, bakers, carpenters, the always presentspecial representatives of The Free Bank and the dispossessed of life who followed the trail that the main column was leaving in its advance.

With a nod, Dale headed toward the neighboring black pavilion where The Dowager Queen and Lord Gerion were still asleep.

"Forel anything noteworthy about the night?" Ser Jaime asked now to the sworn sword of Bran's

sister Arya and Bran's himself.

The glistening bald head of the Water Dancer, showed trickles of water falling down it. Crossing his arms in front, the reply was a glance into the tent.

When he and Ser Jaime looked inside, they could observe a scene that had initially misplaced them, but which over time became habitual and even normal.

On three cots put together and with a layer of cotton cushions spread under them, Aegon, Rhaenys, and Arya seemed to be sleeping peacefully. At the foot of the cots, lying one on top of the other, Ghost' white fur marred in blood still showing evidence of last night's hunt, rested his large head on Nymeria's back.

"The wolves disappeared the hour of the bat and a couple of hours ago they returned with bloody and muddy furs. After that they've placed as they are now and there has been no movement. The girl seemed to have a nightmare in the time that the wolves were absent, but Her Grace snuggled her over her and thus they have spent the rest of the night." said with total normality the Braavosi whose house had become for the moment in one of the most staunch supporters of the Freehold of Valyria and House Targaryen.

"Some of us try to sleep!" sound Rhaenys' hissed high Valyrian from within the black pavilion, while some muffled complaints were heard. Complaints Bran knew were undoubtedly from Arya.

Bran's blood sister, for Rhaenys had come to be considered almost as his older sister at this time, was huddled over her other sister. Arya's head in the gap between the Dragon Sister's neck and shoulder. In turn, Aegon was hugging both of them.

However it seems that the voices coming from them from the entrance of the pavilion and the cry of Bran's older sister had undoubtedly awakened them.

So Ser Jaime dismissed Syrio "Well Forel, we'll see you at the sunset stop. I entrust you with the protection of the Dowager Queen. Try to get her to go in one of the wagons today and not on horseback." Ser Jaime told Syrio Forel dryly. This one nodded in reply, turned to the left, to then lose himself among the sea of white, black and red tents and pavilions that made up the camp.

"Raven, do you dislike it or envy it?" Ser Jaime asked him softly in a suggestive tone, while directed his emerald gaze towards the two whom now occupied the entire cots, since Aegon had risen and was now hidden from their vision.

Arya showing no intention of escaping or releasing the hug with her sister Rhaenys, while this one wasn't making a gesture of annoyance at the weight of Arya spread over her.

"Neither one, nor the other Ser. Things are as they should be. Thanks to her connection and friendship with Nys, Arya no longer feels abandoned by Aegon. And for now, it is no more than sisterly love. My sister is going to have the option that few Westerosis women have, which is to choose her own path." Bran answered Ser Jaime with that voice that sometimes seemed to replace his and that he did not quite finish to understand where it came from.

A chuckle coming from the shadows of the black pavilion let them know that Aegon was listening. Before they could react, The Dragon was emerging, donning his complete armor. "And you, Ser

Jaime. Do you dislike it or do you envy it?" Aegon asked Ser Jaime quite sarcastically.

"They are not my sisters ..." he replied with a somewhat contrite face that was hiding something more than what the Lord Commander was letting on.

"Aham...What if it was Cersei?" was the ironic contra-reply of Aegon, while he raised the right eyebrow, outlined a half smile and looked at Ser Jaime with amused eyes.

Ser Jaime responded by putting himself the color of the three-headed dragon in the banner fluttering over the pavilion and looking towards the ground.

"HA! The blood of the Forty never fails." remarked Aegon with his typical scathing and ironic humor that reserved for his intimates.

On one of the infinite days of marching, Ser Jaime confessed to Aegon that his only experience with a woman had taken place with his sister Cersei after the infamous Tourney of Harrenhal and before the battle of the Trident. Sister for which the blonde Lord Commander felt a strange connection from a young age.

'Although I already knew that.'

From that moment on and trying to take away the iron from the issue of incest between brother and sister, which although accepted and common among the blood of the Forty, was considered taboo and an abomination before the western gods, Aegon treated the subject as if it were a common occurrence.

'And if you ask me, I think so too. Of course, I have never been attracted to Arya or Sansa. Although Shiera...'

"Bran, prepare only our horses. Rhae and Arya are not joining us today, nor for a few weeks. Rhae convinced me last night of the suitability of her and Arya going to Norvos. After incorporating it into the fold, they will go to Nymeria's Palace in Ny Sar, where we will meet them again." the vibrant and deep voice of Bran's cousin brought him out of his thoughts, to which he replied with a slight nod of his head.

As he marched towards the enclosure of the horses and draft animals, Bran couldn't help but listen and glance at Ser Jaime.

"Are you leaving the two of them going alone?!" exclaimed the son and murderer of Aerys, denoting some exaltation and doubt in the gesture, showing his overprotective side towards Rhaenys.

"Not just the two of them. The two of them are going being accompanied by Meraxes and Nymeria. Also in Norvos, Nys is supposed to have family, right? Mellario of Norvos came back from Dorne a couple of years ago. If we intend to meet the times and objectives that we set for ourselves before leaving The Lost Daughter, sooner or later we would have to split in different directions." Sentenced Aegon with his kingly voice that didn't give or admit any option to reply nor to discussion.

"We cannot chain our plans to the progress of our march. The surprise that we have left and the speed are fundamental. And in these damn hills we are wasting too much time." Bran's cousin by blood, but brother by own election, finished with some resignation and a shrug.

Turning his head forward, Bran thought that Aegon had reasons to be resigned.

'It was supposed that in three weeks we would leave the Andals Hills and it is already on the way to moon and a half.' he thought with a certain bitter aftertaste, knowing that despite his powers he couldn't control the weather.

'Once the Velvet Hills are left behind, endless green meadows will open before us all the way to the

Rhoyne.'

A practically uninhabited landscape would await them, except for what was left the old Rhoynar

cities that barely survived and that Bran was anxious to know.

'Especially to see Rhaenys' interaction with the Mother Rhoyne.' Bran thought with a certain childish illusion that was increasingly rare in him, remembering the mythical stories of the water magic of the blood of Garin the Great and Nymeria.

The splash of his boots on the muddy earth, accompanied by the clink of his armor and the heavy trot of his constant shadow, Summer, while he made his way towards the mounts of his brother, Ser Jaime and Bran's himself, somehow cover the muffled sounds caused by the awakening of the camp and brought Bran out of his reverie.

With the practice gained on these moons, Bran quickly brushed off his gray palfrey, Ser Jaime's mighty white steed, Honor, and the massive jet-black warhorse that was Aegon's mount. After this, Bran saddled them and as best as he could, without releasing the reins of the two largest horses, he climbed onto his palfrey, securing his feet in the stirrups.

The sun was fully up now, peeking through the gaps between the clouds. At a slow trot, Bran led the horses toward the eastern end of the camp, where he would await the arrival of his two knights.

While Aegon and Ser Jaime arrived, he couldn't help but think that if the incessant drizzle didn't subside for even a little while, Rhaenys and Arya would have to postpone their march to the northeast and Norvos for at least a day.

The march and the conditions of it, had taught Bran that dragons were not very friendly of the rain, flying only when necessary. The rest of the time they spent in burrows that they dug into the earth in a few minutes, one on top of the other, forming a shapeless mass of black and silver scales that looked like just another hill in the landscape.

The noise of horse hooves brought him out of his thoughts. He looked around and could see that at least forty men-at-arms, including Araldo in charge of commanding the scouts, were already ready for the day.

In front of Bran, Ghost that seemed to grow by hours and that was by far the largest of the wolves, except for Winter, was playing amicably with Summer.

Slipping from his own skin, Bran slipped into Summer's.

'Go clearing the way.' he whispered into his wolf's head, after which Bran returned to his own skin, witnessing as Summer was already running towards the eastern horizon. After a few moments of hesitation in which Ghost looked with his fathomless red eyes towards Bran's back, he also shot off in the direction Bran's wolf had departed.

Looking back, Bran could see that his brother and Ser Jaime were about to arrive, so it was time to raise his pole with the double banner of the Freehold and the King's guard.

Bran's banner-cloak was no longer in use and, along with Darksister, were in one of the King's guard chests. He had decided not to use the cloak again until he could embroider on it the addition that Bloodraven made explicit.

Seeing Bran's gesture, Aegon nodded in approval while he climbed onto his mighty warhorse and Ser Jaime did the same on his white steed.

"Men, it's time!" Bran's cousin's voice roared. Whereupon, slowly but surely, the sixty horsemen and their mounts began to follow in the footsteps of the departed wolves.

In rows of three, with them a few meters behind the vanguard, it was not long before the camp, or what was left of it, was lost in the distance at their backs.

It would be noon, when the sky seemed to clear almost completely and darkness fell overhead, announcing the presence of Balerion flying above them. The Black Dread only emitted the sound that the enormous wings made beating in the air.

'The winged shadow without a doubt.' Bran still marvels every time the gigantic dragon flew over them.

In the distance Bran could hear a roar followed by several screeches, and as he turned his head in the direction they had departed, Bran could indeed see the silver gleam of Meraxes scales flying north-northeast at mid-altitude.

'Good luck sisters. In the ruins of Nymeria's palace we will meet again.' he wished them internally, in what was almost a prayer.

"Calm down Bran, they will be fine." suddenly sounded from his left side the voice with a steel timbre of Aegon, whom without a doubt was thinking the same as him. "Don't forget who they are and what they are capable of. Worst scenario, they would be fine and Norvos will cease to exist. But I would sign that with my own blood, before something happens to any of them." sentenced his brother.

Although Bran knew that Aegon was reassuring himself as well as him.

Because of the difference in size between Bran's palfrey and Aegon's warhorse, coupled with the personal difference in height, Bran had to tilt his neck up to see that his brother was staring at the diminishing point in the sky that was Meraxes, until it ended up being lost among the clouds to the north of them.

Aegon's eyes shone with some emotion, making their purple and silver coloration more apparent.

'He is the one who has given permission for them to go and he should be the one who is most concerned. It is normal for his gaze to reflect such concern and some doubt. After all, sometimes it seems that the only thing about Aegon that expresses feelings are his eyes.'

"I'm sure they will do well. I was really thinking about how unbearable Arya is going to be after having conquered Norvos between her and Rhaenys." Bran reassured his brother with a frown, while he rolled his eye round and brought the back of the left hand to his forehead, trying not to show Bran's internal concerns and relativizing the situation.

To Bran's right, a chuckle diverted his attention, to see Ser Jaime staring at him with playful smile. "Don't tell me, Raven, that you fear being displaced as the Stark whom has conquered essosi

lands." Ser Jaime said. The tone soft and velvety, typical of when he was being ironic.

Aegon seemed to find the comment amusing, for he laughed from deep within, which seemed to

make his dazzling armor vibrate.

Turning his gaze to his brother, who now was playing with his braid on the right side of the neck while Aegon's left hand loosely grasped the reins, Bran stared at Aegon with his eye and in a rather shrill tone said,

"It's not funny, Aegon. Also, the one who should be jealous is you. As far as I know, neither in this nor in your previous life You've conquered anything in Essos, Aegon the Conqueror." Bran practically ended up grumbling under his breath.

Bran's reply provoked the opposite reaction to what he intended, as both men flanking him began to laugh openly.

Before neither Aegon nor Ser Jaime could continue to joke at Bran's expense, a roar that wasn't from Balerion and that came from the clouds towards the west abruptly brought them out of their joy.

Knowing that trying to change skin with a dragon was like hitting a wall of fire and pain, Bran didn't even try.

After securing himself as much as possible in the stirrups of his palfrey, Bran slid quickly to the skin closest to the roar he could locate.

The skin was totally terrified in the presence of the gigantic winged worm and barely had the courage to look in the direction that a gigantic mass of orange and yellowish scales crossed the sky at high speed and low ...

Returning to Bran's own skin and after taking a deep breath, he turned to his cousin who was watching Bran with a serious face. Face revealing certain concern in the gaze.

"It's your father." Bran answered the unspoken question that was drawn in his brother's expression. Bran's answer rather than reassure Aegon, made him tense like a bow before releasing a bolt.

"But we haven't reached Ghoyan Drohe yet and we haven't told them to come." replied to no one in particular, half confused and with a trembling voice Bran's brother.

'He must fear the worst regarding his mother.' Bran thought with a certain internal shudder, realizing that he too was suddenly worried about why Vhagar had suddenly appeared without any previous warning.

Ser Jaime immediately gave the order to halt the column and only the scouts continued advancing. The rest of the men took advantage of the moment to dismount, stretch their legs a bit, and eat the food they were carrying.

It wasn't long before in the direction he and Aegon were staring, Vhagar's orange silhouette loomed, growing larger by the minute.

'Undoubtedly Uncle must be looking for the banner that I carry and has not stopped on the main column.' Bran observed when saw that the dragon continued to fly past the place where Bran sensed the bulk of the column would march.

And indeed, a few minutes later and being greeted by a deafening roar from Balerion, Vhagar was present in all its splendor.

To Bran's surprise and some relief, no doubt shared by Aegon, at the base of the orange dragon's neck secured to the saddle chains were two figures. One with silver hair and the other with black raven hair.

'Has something happened in the Lost Daughter or in Westeros that requires Aunt Lya to come in her condition?' Bran wondered internally, knowing that if he vocalized his thoughts, it would only

add concern to Aegon and when they spoke with Bran's uncle and aunt they could clarify the situation.

A mere thirty meters from where they were, Vhagar landed heavily causing a small tremor on the ground and spreading a certain fear among the horses. Some of whom were trying to flee and had to be firmly secured to their reins by their riders.

With ease similar to that which Aegon and Rhaenys possessed, uncle Rhaegar gracefully descended from Vhagar. After the which, the great dragon stuck it's body as low as possible to the ground so that, aided by Rhaegar, Bran's aunt Lyanna would carefully descend over the side.

"Your Grace, looking at your mother, it is impossible for me to believe that there's only one bun in the oven." said Ser Jaime with a certain lightness and rawness, trying to reduce the almost palpable tension that exuded from Aegon.

In reply Aegon shot Ser Jaime a look that could have frightened the fiercest of warriors, after which Ser Jaime seemed totally interested in the ragged pasture beneath Honor.

'To be honest, Aunt Lya is huge.' He internally affirmed the comment made by the Lord Commander, knowing that Aegon was not in the best of moods right now.

With aunt Lya clinging to Uncle Rhaegar's arm, slowly and with some difficulty due to the slippery state of the terrain, they began to approach towards them. A gesture that Aegon understood as signal to dismount gracefully but almost in one leap from the mighty black horse. For then trotting toward the two newly appeared persons.

Bran and the Lord Commander exchanged glances, after which they decided to emulate Aegon, who at that moment was already embracing his mother effusively, but with some care. Immediately afterwards Bran's brother gave a manly hug to his father and between them they served as support for Bran's aunt, continuing in the direction in which he and Ser Jaime were.

In a few steps, they met.

"Your Excellencies." Ser Jaime greeted formally.

Something that was answered by Uncle Rhaegar's right hand on Ser Jaime's right shoulder, as he nodded the head. Aunt Lya rolled her eyes, but outlined a big smile towards the Lord Commander.

"Bran! How big you are!" Aunt Lya said with joy and effusive tone, while hugging him. Hug that Bran didn't know very well how to reply, for fear of hurting the baby or babies that aunt carried inside her.

When they separated and while she was grooming the little hair that Bran had remained after cutting it, she looked him up and down and said in cheery way.

"In the end it seems that between your brother and your uncle they are going to make you a real knight. Not only now you're taller and stronger, but you are also more handsome."

"Thanks aunt." Bran replied a little embarrassed and with a barely audible thread of voice that was almost for him. "But I think you're exaggerating." he added at the end, while nervously gesturing with the hands.

His comment and somewhat apologetic attitude caused a snap from the adults around him. "Ultimately it was a matter of finding the right weapon for him to wield and gain some muscle. So

now Bran is blooming like a summer flower. Maybe he's a Tyrell and we hadn't realized it before."Ser Jaime joked, drawing a smile even from the serious expressions of Rhaegar and Aegon.

Aegon ended the courtesy greetings, straighten his posture and stared at his father.

"What happened? You were supposed to wait for our message for you to join the column. And although I share the views expressed about Bran, I doubt that you have come here for that alone. Especially in your condition, mother." he said in a tremulous and questioning voice, while pointing with the right index finger at Lyanna's bulging belly.

Uncle Rhaegar's face took on a grimace of pain and ill-contained rage, as his gaze and position hardened. With Rhaegar's melodic tone, but with steel in it, he answered Aegon's question.

"The kindly man has returned from Pentos, with information on the cheese monguer, thief of the eggs stolen by Lady Farman." Rhaegar paused, while Bran's aunt hold Rhaegar's left hand. She tenderly took hold, as if trying to center Rhaegar and reduce the fury that was beginning to be evident in Bran's uncle's dark gaze and grimace.

After letting out a sigh, Rhaegar continued explaining the reasons for his presence at that time. "It turns out that not only is he a thief, but he is also the father of a Blackfyre."

"What?!!" Aegon exclaimed in surprise.

"It's not possible. Ser Barristan finished the male line killing Maelys in the Ninepenny War ..." Ser Jaime added in a doubtful voice.

'How could this have escaped me? I should've known!' Bran cursed internally to himself.

"And so much that it is so Ser Jaime, The Bold ended the male line. But not the female line, whose last descendant is the mother of the pentosi cheesemonguer's son. Illyrio Mopatis is the father's name. But the matter does not end there. The woman, Serra Blackfyre her name, was the sister of the seven times cursed Varys, the spider. And right now between Varys and that Illyrio they intend to marry my sister, Daenerys, to a Dothraki Khal, supposedly in exchange for the Khal supporting Viserys to reinstate the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros. But I'm sure Mopatis' goal is for the Dothraki to end my brother and the Targaryen line end with my sister being raped until her death." Rhaegar continued, his right free hand clenched into a fist.

Clenching the fist so hard that Bran thought Rhaegar's fingernails were drawing blood on his palm. Aegon had a murderous expression and Ser Jaime was following in Aegon's footsteps. The wild and angry faces on the three Targaryens clearly reflected the heritage of the Forty.

'They have awakened the Dragons.' Bran knew.

Before anyone could fully process what Bran's uncle just said, Rhaegar continued with his

explanation.

The voice was now hard and cold as Bran had never heard him before. Rhaegar's eyes seemed feverish and at times, streaks of purple as those of Aegon's eyes seemed to come out of the orbits of Rhaegar's eyes.

"In the event that by some miracle the Khal agrees to collaborate with my brother Viserys, who I don't know if he's stupid or naive, and they cross the Narrow Sea, Varys's nephew and son of the last Blackfyre would be passed off as my so-called son with Elia, your late cousin Arthur Dayne- Stark. To which they would say rescued him from the Sack and with the help of the bastards of the Golden Company, attend to the Rescue of Westeros in the clutches of cousin Robert and the

Dothrakis." Rhaegar finished explaining practically spitting out the names he was pronouncing except for Elia and Bran's cousin murdered on the day of the Sack.

Running the right hand over his chin a couple of times, Aegon seemed to decide something within inside himself and addressed his father Rhaegar.

"When is the wedding between my aunt and the Khal? Do you have any idea of the current location of the spider's nephew?" Bran's brother asked in a voice colder than the Wall.

"Before the fifteenth of this moon." Rhaegar replied with some despair. "But I have no idea where the son may be and the Unsullied who guard Mopatis' mansion are trained to detect Faceless Men. This is all the information the Kindly Man could get without raising attention." Rhaegar ended up resigned.

Aegon ran his right hand a few times over his frown, looked off into the distance to the east and then in the direction the column should be approaching. Aegon's gaze seemed lost and had a grimace of disgust and little restrained anger.

'He's talking to the Conqueror.' Bran knew immediately, already able to recognize when his brother had his internal monologues with his skin from the past.

"Well, this is what we'll do. You two," said Aegon, while with the left hand he pointed to his father and mother. "You are in command. Adjust the pace so that it is not uncomfortable for your state, mother. And please mother, avoid riding horse. Use Grandma's wagon. My Banner is yours." Aegon paused to take a deep breath, then turned on his heel.

"Araldo!" Aegon called out, practically roaring towards the highest rank in the Targaryen army except for the rings and the King's Guards.

After that, Bran's brother turned back to face his mother and father, looking first at Ser Jaime and then to Bran.

Nodding a couple of times while waiting for the commander to appear, Aegon closed the eyes and reopened them in an instant, Ghost appearing at his side in less than a blink.

Looking down, Aegon addressed his wolf while glancing at his mother. "Boy, you have to protect mother, understood? Don't part from her side."

Something to which the pristine wolf covered with some mud stains nodded as he sat on his hindquarters next to aunt Lya.

Bran's aunt seemed to want to complain, but Aegon's raised right hand stopped her instantly. Again, Bran's brother closed the eyes for an instant and this time the response was a furious roar

from the Black Dread as it violently landed about fifty meters from where they stood. Something which coincided with the arrival of Commander Araldo.

"Your Grace, Your Excellencies, Lord Commander." Greeted the braavosi as he bowed the head in respect.

Moment Bran took the opportunity to hold himself onto Ser Jaime and in the blink of an eye he was slipping on the skin of Summer.

'Protect the pack.' Bran whispered to his second skin sensing what Aegon would going to say, after

which Bran returned to his own skin.

"Araldo, from now on, my father and mother are in command. Come back to the main body of the column and in the meantime, update them on what happened during the march and our advance plan."Aegon ordered dryly, although the tone exuded a contained fury that made him tremble slightly.

After giving the orders to Araldo, Aegon turned again towards his parents "Rhae and Arya have gone to conquer Norvos and they will wait for us in Ny Sar. Ser Jaime, Bran and I are going to take care of the Black Dragons once and for all and avoid this seven times cursed wedding. The three of us are leaving immediately and without stopping, heading towards Pentos."

Bran's brother spoke not giving any option for discussion.

'Of course! The black dragon from my green dream was the Blackfyre and the Silver Dragon was Rhaegar. How had it not see it before? I'll be stupid.' Bran cursed himself internally, watching as Aegon steeled his posture.

Bran's brother gave his mother a hug and a kiss, saying a few words in her ear inaudible to those present, and then Aegon again gave his father a manly hug.

With clear voice and a steel ring to it, Aegon addressed the three who were going to be left behind

"I wish you fortune in the battles that are to come, although you do not need it, because I fully trust you. Try to be hollow with Grandma when explaining why we have left in a hurry and why you have come. When we have subdued Pentos to the good, or through Fire and Blood, we will leave for Ny Sar. I hope that in two moons at the most, we will all be together again."

Then Aegon turned and walked towards Balerion, giving no time for any response from aunt Lya, who was shedding a tear or another, and her face was contrite while she put a hand to her prominent belly. Bran's uncle Rhaegar, for his part, hinted, behind his typical impassive mask, some concern for Aegon, but didn't express anything.

In view of the situation, Ser Jaime bowed and said his goodbyes.

"Your Excellencies. Good fortune in the battles to come. I can assure you that we'll return with the rest of our family." Ser Jaime said in an unusually solemn tone while including himself for the first time in Bran's memory, in the Targaryen family. After that, Ser Jaime turned, following Aegon's footsteps, who was already at the height of the Black Dread.

Approaching his uncle, Bran made the gesture with the right hand to come low to his level and in Rhaegar's ear he said in a tone barely audible to both of them. "Among ruins and before a shy maiden, you will find the Black Dragon."

Rhaegar nodded almost imperceptibly and gave Bran's shoulder a squeeze, bringing Rhaegar's upright posture back.

Then Bran's aunt, making an effort, half bent down to catch up with him, wrapping him in a strong hug, while giving Bran a loud kiss on his cheek and another on his forehead.

"Take good care of yourself, Bran. And please take care of Egg. Don't let him or Jaime do anything stupid. You hear me? If things get ugly, convince them that a withdrawal on time is better. I know you will not fail me. Now go, they are waiting for you." Aunt Lya said with a firm voice, but that at times threatening to break, ending with a gesture of her head and eyes in the direction of Balerion.

There, beside the Winged Shadow, Ser Jaime and Aegon were already waiting for him. Bran's brother called to him in a cold voice that promised to bring fire to Aegon's enemies.

"Come on Bran! We have to remind the Dothraki why they were nothing before the Doom and why will they be nothing again."