cp8

Chapter 8

They were curled atop the roots heart tree of the Winterfell godswood, Sansa and Bran, an awkward air about them. Snow drifted downward at a lazy pace along with those blood red leaves, and the air was crisp with clarity and confusion alike.

I approached them boldly. Weiss, my new raven companion, was perched atop my left shoulder, swinging her head to and fro, and Ghost plodded along my right side. Meera did not follow, wishing for the chance to wash in a proper bath for the first time in years. It was only fair to allow it, especially since this conversation was preferably to be private. That, and I just didn't want her here right now.

The surprise of my warging was one that was quick to be settled. Meera had travelled with Bran and grew up with Jojen and knew the signs besides. When my eyes turned white, she zoned in on the raven immediately, and Old Gerjuni was not shy with expressing her congratulations; in that she barked that it took long enough for me to switch skins. They guided me through the process of returning to my body proper, and though my head braced with a migraine from the sudden shift, I was proud of what had happened regardless.

Sansa caught sight of me, her strained, awkward smile turning more genuine. "Rickon! Look! He's back!"

I nodded towards her and stood by Bran. Slowly, he craned his eyes my way, staring a thousand yards through my skull, his face flatter than a cliff. "Rickon. You've grown."

That dull tone roused something in me, something foreign and not. Rickon's ire was little lost with his brother, just as it was with Meera only moments ago. But I quenched it quickly. I wanted a calm head, and anger did nothing to Bran anymore. "We've all changed Bran. Or do you prefer to be called the three eyed raven?"

"It does not matter," he said shortly. "I need to find Jon. I need to tell him something."

"He won't be back for a while yet," Sansa said. "He's at Dragonstone."

"Gathering dragonglass, yes. That was the smart move. The only two places in Westeros with any are Dragonstone and Skagos."

"There was dragonglass in the North?" Skagos was little spoken of, the home of savages the likes of the Thenns from beyond the Wall. They cannibalized one another for sustenance during the winter nights and were only brought into the northern fold due to their strategic location. But if there was dragonglass there, then… Then didn't that mean that sending Jon south was a waste of time?

"There is," Bran repeated. Then, as if an afterthought, he spoke more. "But it is not easily found. Skagos is much larger than Dragonstone but has less dragonglass. There are no mines either. The people that live there make weapons from deposits that exist in their cave homes. It would take too much time to settle and gather resources from."

"So even though it's closer, Dragonstone was still the correct choice." I sighed in relief.

"Yes." He said, and that was all. He placed his hand on the pale bark of the heart tree and closed his eyes. Sansa and I shared a look, and that awkward air began to return. With it, I started to think.

With Bran back, rumors would follow quick enough. Bran was my elder brother, trueborn at that. By right of the law and succession that was my crown, Bran Stark should be king. In one life, he would be King of the Six Kingdoms, the North seceded from the rest of Westeros. What changes and laws he enacted, I did not know. What I did know, however, was that though Bran was powerful and host to the greatest fount of knowledge there was, the thought of him being a good king was a fool's hope.

Who would follow a cripple, truly? Who could Bran inspire to fight for him? Who would lay their life down for a boy that cannot shed a tear or rage or love? A man that would sire no heirs? Bran the Broken, the three eyed raven; keeper of the memory of the world. Hefty titles, borne from both the children of the forest and a desperate dwarf. He was also entirely ill suited for kingship.

Democracy was great on paper and indeed its systems brought about revolutionary changes well needed all throughout, but it only worked properly when the people were the ones to enact it, not the high lords. Kings did not sit terms, they lasted until death. The election of a king could be bought easier than a whore's company, the commonfolk would have no say in the matter as was always the case, and war would return to Westeros within a generation or two. Likely sooner.

I thought on it further and boggled at the folly that was. Bronn had been named Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South, and with the mines of Casterly Rock dry, in one fell swoop he went from being a mercenary sellsword to the richest lord in Westeros commanding the most fertile and well wanted land in the region. In a decade he would have the funds to purchase the crown, and the ruthlessness besides to kill a cripple boy for power. As Master of Coin it would be even easier.

It all reeked of bad intention. I could not allow it to pass.

"What does that mean?" Sansa asked. "The three eyed raven? What is it?"

"It's difficult to explain." Bran said.

"Try." Sansa urged. "Please. For me."

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again in that same dull voice. "It means I can see everything. Everything that's ever happened. To everyone. Everything that's happening right now. It's all pieces now. Fragments. I need to learn to see better. When the Long Night comes again I need to be ready."

"What do you imagine you would do during the Long Night?" I asked him, taking a seat next to Sansa. "Truly, what would you do?"

"I would be bait." He said, lifting his arm. His sleeve rustled downward and the ice-blue mark of a handprint was branded on his forearm. "The Night King knows where I am, always. He would come for me. And we would be ready."

I goggled at him. Did he really think that was all he was good for? Or was his mind so jumbled with the fractured knowledge of the world that he could not even muster a fair thought? "Bran… That's- that's stupid. Beyond stupid. It's the height of foolishness."

Though his expression did not change, his head cocked to the side slightly as if to stage some mechanical form of confusion. "In what way?"

"You say you can see everything. Everything that's ever happened and everything that's happening now." I told him, as if speaking to a dull child. "You can, if you are speaking truthfully, quite clearly help us. You might not be able to fight, but you are a wealth of knowledge. The old Ghiscari military formations to better train our fighters, the blueprints of the scorpions rumored to be held in King's Landing so we could launch bolts of dragonglass from farther away, hells you could tell us how to create Valyrian steel! The details of what happened during the first Long Night!"

"And gods, Bran. You are the strongest warg I know of. I know you can take the skin of many animals at once and I wouldn't doubt you could do more if you so choose. You could create an army of birds to drop sharpened rocks of dragonglass onto the White Walkers and their wights. You could summon the might of the wolfswood. I've heard rumors that Nymeria, Arya's direwolf, prowls the Trident; you could bring her back to Winterfell to solidify our ruling further. And then there's Dragonstone. No warg has ever taken the skin of a dragon, but you might be able to be the first!"

"So Bran. I say this as clearly as I can, but you absolutely can be of assistance. More than that, you need to be."

With each thing I listed off to him, his face changed. It was still dull and flat, but his eyebrows rose to showcase his surprise. He closed his eyes, place his bare hands onto the bark of the heart tree, and opened them once more, the white of his sclera the only thing visible.

Sansa knew what that meant at this point, having known of my lessons with Gerjuni. "Is what you're saying true?" She hesitantly asked. "Can Bran do all that?"

"In theory." I said, lips twitching. "I believe that it's an exaggeration that he can see everywhere. Bran is a greenseer, and their abilities allow them to see all that the weirwood see. Weirwood trees were only grown on Westeros, though. Still, that's plenty of information. Even when the Andals chopped them down south of the Neck, those roots of white wood still exist, so Bran can still see all that's happened in Westeros. Should be able to."

"It sounds impossible." Sansa hedged. Magic was quite new to her and these fantastical abilities were genuinely confusing even to me, and I knew more than anybody else.

I nodded shortly towards her, a grim smile on my face. "To most, it is. Even among greenseers. Bran is special though. The only question is whether or not he even is Bran anymore."

"What do you mean?" She asked sharply.

"I separated from Bran and the Reed's so he could go beyond the Wall to learn from the three eyed raven without another mouth to feed. But he is the three eyed raven now. Does that mean it's just a title? Or, like Bran could with Hodor, was it a man that could take the skin of another man? Is he playing games with us? Has he taken so many memories from the world that he can no longer fully remember how to even be Brandon Stark? I… I don't know, Sansa. He's different."

Her arms circled my torso. "I know."

We were silent, still. We stared at Bran, at his unmoving body, dead to the world save for the shallowest of breaths drawn. Time passed both slowly and quickly, but the presence of my sister was a comfort, as were Ghost and Weiss. Ghost had lain his muzzle over my right shoulder and Weiss now perched herself atop my knee, preening against my thigh.

With these three surrounding me, any thoughts on the future calmed. I felt secure among them.

Bran's eyes turned their normal color once again and he spoke commands. "I need a bench and a table. Things to write on too."

"What for?" I asked, standing. Weiss flapped onto my scalp.

For once, his face showed genuine emotion. A small smile sprouted over his lips, a natural movement of facial muscles that did not appear mechanical at all. "What are the three weaknesses of our enemy?"

"Valyrian steel, dragonglass, and fire." I listed off.

"And what is the strongest fire there is?"

"Dragonfire."

"The strongest fire man can make."

I blinked. He blinked. Sansa blinked. Then, suddenly, I roared with laughter, gales of the stuff exhausting my throat. Sansa stared at me with incredulity, eyes dilated in surprise and fear. "He's not saying what I think he's saying, is he Rickon? Please, tell me we are not going to make-"

"Wildfire." Bran said, and Sansa shrieked and scampered off in a huff.

She knew the effects of the substance better than any of us. She was at the Battle of Blackwater Bay, she saw the devastation it amassed. A cleverly used ploy of wildfire destroyed the fleet of Stannis Baratheon who, by all accounts, should have won that battle easily. Wildfire made the difference. It burned near the same heat as the blood of a volcano and exploded with force beyond anything else in this world.

It was a protected material, its recipes known only to a very select few grandmaesters and the Wisdoms that made of the Alchemist Guild, gutted though they were after the Mad King gave them favor.

And now, in this moment, there would be a third party that knew the secret.

I did not halt the vicious smile that spread out over my face. I refused to.

Things were going my way.