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When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon's breath surrounded the girls where they lay. "I dreamed of Bran," Sansa had whispered to him. "I saw him smiling." – A Game of Thrones, Eddard V
Bran felt a lot of things now. Memories and feelings not his own flooded him in his visions and he had a hard time staying detached. When he came to, he was always in an almost catatonic space and he had to dig deep to find a part of himself, the part that was called Brandon, not that other big part that was now solely occupied by the three-eyed raven.
He felt his sisters‘ concern for him, but there was little he could do to ease their discomfort. Arya was angry about it, he could tell. She didn’t see the irony that she was changed almost as much as Bran himself. That she scared Sansa as much as Bran did.
Sansa. Bran tried not to feel a lot when he was not in a vision, but he did feel a prick of concern for his eldest sister. She was walking around determined, Littlefinger a shadow at her side, readying Winterfell for the horrors to come. The mask on her face only lifted when she got a letter from Jon. Bran didn’t know what to make of it as he watched his sister‘s face light up at another letter from their brother.
They were sitting in father‘s old study, Bran watching snow flakes fly past the open window, Sansa doing some calculations, pursing her lips in annoyance. Numbers had never been her forte. The part in him that was still Brandon, rose its head and urged him to offer to do the calculations for her, but before he had decided the maester came in, carrying the letter from Jon. Bran felt that he was somehow intruding by watching her read his letter. He didn‘t know where that feeling had suddenly come from and he turned his head to look over the white grounds again.
There was a rumble at the stairs and Arya rushed in, bringing with her a scent of earth and sweat. She had been „practicing“ with Brienne. „The maester said there is a letter from Dragonstone!“
Sansa started and gave Arya a slight smile, but the letter in her hand immediately went under a pile of other papers. Arya narrowed her eyes at her.
„Give it to me“, she demanded. Bran turned his head again, drawn in even though he should know better by know.
Sansa cleared her throat. She knew that this wasn’t going to be easy. „The letter is for me. The Lady of Winterfell.“
„Hiding behind your fancy title now, hm?“ Arya mocked, but she was clearly displeased. As was Sansa who now balled the hands on the armrest into fists. „Don’t you dare make fun of mother’s title!“, she said, putting emphasis on every word.
„It’s just a title, Sansa! Haven’t you realized by now that it’s worth nothing in this world?“
„It means stability! It means security! It means – “
„Power?“, Arya supplied quietly, angrily. Sansa stared at her as if she was seeing Arya for the first time. She stood up slowly, rounded the table to stand directly before her sister. Bran could see both of their clear profiles, both figures bathed in the afternoon sun.
„Yes“, Sansa said evenly. „We need power to stay alive. If there’s anything I learned from Cersei, anything I’ve learned from what happened to father and Robb and mother, to all of us, it is that that you don’t let your power slip away – because if you do, you’re dead.“
„Yes, how much you‘ve learned from Cersei“, Arya scoffed, the name like venom on her tongue. „The beautiful queen who murdered our family!“
„Stop it“, Sansa said, eyes narrowing, outrage just shimmering below the surface. Bran couldn’t quite belive how fast this was escalating. He put his hands on his wheels, steering the chair in the direction of his sisters, not sure what he should do.
„Give me the letter“, Arya said, not in the least intimidated by her older sister. She looked quite formidable, every inch the fighter that she was, stubborn like Jon. But Sansa wasn’t going to back down, either.
„It’s a private letter. I’m sure he will write to y – “
„A private letter?“ Arya interrupted, incredulous. „What can he possibly have to say that I – or Bran – are not allowed to read?“
„Nothing“, Sansa said, and she meant it.
„So then why not show us? No, let me answer – I’m tired of your lies.“ Sansa’s eyes widened and Arya took a step towards her but while her voice had been loud and angry before, it now was nothing more than a hiss. „I’ve been watching you, you know? I’v been watching how much you like power, how much you want to hold onto it. How you’re afraid of losing it.“
„Arya“, Sansa said and stopped, not able to continue. Halting, she closed her eyes briefly and Bran suddenly remembered a vision of her. The one he had watched briefly, because back then it had been too painful to stay long. The one where she was kneeling on the ground, her hair piled in southern style on her head, part of her dress ripped open so her white, smooth skin was exposed to all the lords and ladies of the royal court and Joffrey Baratheon standing before his throne, aiming a crossbow at her, while Sansa sobbed uncontrollably, afraid for her life – powerless.
Bran had lost it then. He had ran to her, had stupidly tried to shield her body from Joffrey‘s bowshot, all the while knowing that he coudn’t really stop it. He had known that she would survive King’s Landing and had still feared for her life.
Now, he studied Sansa, studied her pale face. Of course she wanted to hold onto power, he thought. After being so powerless, always at the mercy of others, how could she not?
„I see how you’ve become like her – ruthless, cruel and unforgiving“, Arya said, when Sansa still had not said anything. „I’ve heard how you wanted to take away everything from the Umbers and Karstarks, how you opposed Jon. Not being able to forgive anymore, ey?“
Bran had seen the things that Arya had done, still felt the part of her that lusted after revenge, herself unable to forgive.
Sansa, however, didn’t possess the knowledge he did and stood there with a white face, lips drawn together in a straight line, as if she was afraid of what she would say, once she opened her mouth.
„Do you deny it?” Arya narrowed her eyes. “Yes, you’ve learned a lot from her. I’ve seen it. And I’ve seen it with Jon. You’re manipulating him, too.“
Sansa’s mouth fell open and Bran stopped watching her and turned to Arya instead, whose body had gone rigid with tension.
“I’ve read his letters, I’ve read yours.”
No, Arya, Bran thought, don’t do it. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking her not to do.
“You – you couldn’t have!” Sansa said with difficulty, looking as if she couldn’t breathe properly.
“It’s not difficult, you know. To intercept little birds. I’ve read every word. Yes, it was innocuous enough on the surface, but I know exactly what you are doing. Why else would you not show me the letter?”
„I’m not manipulat – ”
„You are”, Arya said. „You are close to him and I wonder… Is this also something you’ve picked up from Cersei – trying to seduce your own brother?“
Sansa recoiled, the shock on her face absolute. Her already pale face became ghost-white. She stood there, staring at Arya, her ragged breath the only sound filling the room.
Arya looked uncomfortable but she wasn’t going to back down. Bran saw her straightening her spine. „I won’t allow it“, she said with finality. „Just because you’ve never seen him as your brother doesn’t mean you can entice him into your bed just so you can hold onto power!“
Bran didn’t see it coming, but in hindsight, he wasn’t suprised that Sansa’s hand flew out and struck Arya. She slapped her hard. Arya hadn’t seen it coming too, because she actually staggered a step backwards, staring at Sansa as if she’d never seen her before. Her hand didn’t come up to cup her cheek, like most people would have done. She was used to harder slaps, harder blows. Disbelief and shock were etched on her face.
„You are Cersei“, she spat out finally, before storming out of the room, brushing past Sansa, who stood there like a statue. The door banged against the stone and Bran could hear Arya stamping down the corridor. When they heard a second door slam, Sansa covered her eyes with shaking hands. Bran wanted to comfort her, wanted to tell her that it was allright.
Sansa’s shoulders were shaking. She was crying, Bran realized. Not sobbing uncontrollably as he had seen her do in King’s Landing. The tears were sliding down her face in absolute silence and when she dropped her hands, Bran could see the turmoil in them. He knew that Arya had seen the truth, though her interpretation of it was skewed. Bran watched his sister intently, while she stumbled forwards, putting her long fingers on the table, staring at the wood, all the while tears falling silenty. He watched and searched for Sansa’s truth and when he finally found it, he exhaled softly, relief and pity flooding him.
He wheeled his chair outside without a word. It was cruel to leave her standing there while she was in such turmoil, and her pain didn’t leave him completely untouched, but he wondered now. He needed to know.
He reached through time to their first meeting at Castle Black. He saw them embrace each other, the same desperation and relief present there as it had been when Sansa had embraced Bran in the courtyard of Winterfell after many years of separation. Yet, watching Jon and Sansa holding each other tightly, Bran couldn’t help but feel a different undercurrent. He wouldn’t have noticed it, if it hadn’t been for the quarrel he had just witnessed between his sisters.
From the skies words echoed to him and suddenly he was in a candle-lit tent and Jon was speaking, letting his guard down completely. „I won’t ever let him touch you again. I’ll protect you. I promise.“ He was desperate to make her believe. And while Sansa didn’t notice anything amiss then, Bran did. He felt the weight behind Jon’s words, the truthfulness, the feelings just under the surface. He realized, as he looked at Jon, that his brother didn’t fully comprehend what was happening either, that confusion crept in. „No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone”, Sansa said, leaving him standing there, while his face crumbled.
Bran saw Ramsay Bolton’s disturbing smile, the way he looked after Sansa while she rode away from their meeting in the field, turning to Jon. „She’s a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed.“ Jon’s face set grimly. He knew that the odds were slim but Ramsay’s words ignited a diffferent sort of determination in him. Bran could see it in his eyes.
He reached for other scenes. Before and after the battle. His siblings arguing, Sansa always getting in Jon’s face, desperate to make him understand what she understood now. Jon being stubborn, the way both he and Arya were. He saw them on the battlements of Winterfell, saw Jon kissing Sansa’s foreheard, the gesture drawn-out and sweet. One that surprised Sansa who tensed up a bit. Jon gave her a half-smile and turned away.
Bran watched Sansa bowing her head over a cloak, similar to what their father always wore, and he saw her handing it to Jon, a little nervous, but mostly proud. Jon’s perplexion was complete, but then his face lit up. Genuinely happy, happy to be so accepted by her. It almost reminded Bran of a wedding ceremony, where the groom would put a cloak with his house's sigil around the bride's shoulders.
Bran lost the contact to this vision. Exhausted, he let himself fall against his chair, breathing deeply. He had come to the western battlement, preferring to be outside, where he could look up at the bleary, wind-blown sky, full of grey and oppressive clouds. The nearby guard changed his stance and gave him a suspicious glance. He was afraid of Bran, like most of the inhabitants of Winterfell were now.
Bran turned his head away, only to discover that Sansa had left her room. She was roaming the battlement now, again. She was up there quite a lot and he suddenly realized why. She was looking for Jon, waiting for him. Did she realize it yet or would Arya’s words be the catalyst for that? Would it be easier if he told her what he knew of Jon’s parentage? No, he shook his head. It was too dangerous and Jon deserved to know first. Besides, he had no proof whatsoever and the truth didn’t change the fact that, right now, she was developing feelings for a man she knew to be her brother. If Sansa had feelings – albeit unacknowledged as of now – did Jon reciprocate? Jon was so honourable, so noble – too noble perhaps to fall in love with the woman he knew to be his half-sister.
And yet, now that he knew what to look for, Bran found unexpected pieces of evidence. In his visions, he saw Jon staring at her, then shaking his head dumbfoundedly. When Sansa took Jon’s hand, he always spent a split-second of bafflement before he masked his wonder. At one time, Bran saw him interlacing his hand with hers and he could tell that it was the first time he did so by Sansa’s surprised gaze, but then she smiled and let her guard down so completely that Bran truly saw his sister for the first time since leaving Winterfell all those years ago. Her mask let down, no control over her facial expressions, she let Jon trace her fingers again and again and he saw goosebumps rise on her arms.
Bran willed himself to a similar scene, wanting to see Jon’s reaction. This time it was Sansa who interlaced her fingers with Jon’s first, caressing them slightly. Jon inhaled sharply, his body tensing up and he stood up abruptly, leaving the table at the Great Hall with unfitting haste. Bran looked to Sansa to see if she really was manipulating him, if she was aware that her actions caused something it should not cause, but Sansa’s face was full of silent surprise and a slight unease. She looked at her hand and made a fist.
Bran saw their awkward farewell, the look that was just a bit too long, when Jon departed for Dragonstone, her looking after him wistfully. He saw the way she worked with alacrity to ready Winterfell for winter and for battle. And he was privy to a conversation that happened shortly after Jon came back, changed somehow because of his encounter with Daenerys Targaryen. At this point, Jon still didn’t know – you know nothing, Jon Snow, the air whispered – and Bran wondered why he hadn’t told him the truth about his parentage upon his arrival.
He was standing in Sansa’s room, when Jon sought her out. She looked up, surprise etched on her face. Jon came in and closed the door. While he didn’t step closer to her, his eyes never left her. Sansa, however, was eager to look anywhere but at him.
After a long while, he spoke. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
She didn’t deny it.
Bran watched him closely – did he have feelings? Were they deep? Did he realize what was happening? Or had Bran read everything wrongly and Jon was just being a protective and loving brother, and nothing more?
Jon raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Sansa – “
“There’s a lot to do”, she interrupted quickly. “We are preparing for the big battle, after all.”
“Don’t do that”, he said sharply and she flinched. “Don’t lie to me. In a short while, I’m going to battle, Sansa. Let’s not part like this. Like – like strangers.”
“Sometimes I think we are”, Sansa whispered unexpectedly. “All of us.”
And Sansa – his proud sister, with the unshaken mask – swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears. Jon was by her side in two strides. Taking her by the arms, he looked at her with an intensity that made Bran uncomfortable watching, but he had to watch. He needed to know.
„I’m sorry”, Jon was saying.
She laughed shakily and wiped at her eyes. „No, I’m sorry, but it’s been hard. Bran and Arya are so different. And I’m sure I’m just as different to them but you – I know you’ve changed as well but you are not changed to me. I need you.“
“Then why are you avoiding me?”, he asked, genuinely surprised at this confession.
She drew away from him then, or at least tried to, trying to put up her wall again with unsuccessful valour, because Jon still gripped her shoulders.
„Don’t“, he said again, this time a warning in his voice, as if he dared her to disappear again, or else. And Sansa gave up. She leaned her head against his shoulder, held her nose to his neck and breathed him in and this time Bran saw goosebumps all over Jon’s skin. He saw – though Sansa couldn’t with her head on his chest – the conflicting emotions dancing across his brother’s face. Delight, digust, relief, fear – and then all of that disappeared and his arms came up around her and he held her to his heart with an abandon and passion that Bran had last seen when they had first met at Castle Black.
Bran always lost track of time in his peeks of what was, what is and what could be but this time he truly didn’t know anymore how much time had passed as he watched his brother and sister embracing and holding onto each other for dear life, looking so much like his father and mother had.
So long was their embrace that when they finally parted, Bran started. They looked at each other and Jon again gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead, then stood up hastily.
Outside Bran saw his brother striding to the nearest window. Putting his hand on the windowsill, he gulped in the fresh air, his agitation clearly visible. Jon grimaced, then ran his hand over his ghastly face. „Gods“, he whispered, horrified, „I’m a monster.“
Oh Jon, Bran thought, full of empathy, he thought he had lost.
Bran whirled through time, saw a monstrous battle, a dead dragon, a silver-haired queen, he heard snatches of Arya's accusations again (entice him into your bed!), Jon’s voice in the crypts, growling “Touch my sister and I’ll kill you myself!”, Sansa’s voice carrying through the void “You are as far from Joffrey as anyone I’ve ever met”, he saw two men, who had grown up as brothers on a sandy shore and he saw Jon sparing Theon's life because of what he had done for Sansa.
With a thump, Bran landed in Winterfells Great Hall, where an immense number of people, lords and ladies, wildlings and children were standing. Bran watched as Jon and Daenerys Targaryen entered through the doors. A great hush fell over the people. Of course it was broken by Lyanna Mormont who clapped for her king. Others joined in tentatively. They hadn’t won but they had faced great danger – a danger that the people only now truly realized was real.
Jon and Daenerys – although battered and wounded from battle – still looked like a king and queen, as they walked through the corridor, the former nodding at some of them, the latter looking stoically ahead. Bran looked to Sansa and Arya, Sansa wore her usual mask, but Arya had narrowed her eyes at the queen.
That evening Jon sought out Sansa again. It was the evening that everything would change, the evening after the first battle, where Sam and Bran would tell Jon about his parentage. But Jon had chosen to go to Sansa first, even though he knew that Bran and Sam were waiting in his rooms. Finally, Jon spoke. „Where are you Sansa?“, he asked, trying to be lighthearted, but failing at it. “I expect I should be glad that you’re not nagging me anymore, but I find I miss your counsel.”
She looked up at him then. „What do you mean?“
Jon sighed, becoming serious. „Don’t play dumb with me, please. You are avoiding me again.”
“You have your Mother of Dragons, don’t you.”
“That’s hardly the same!”
“No”, Sansa said. “It’s not. After all, I am your sister, not your queen, or a woman you feel attracted to for that matter.”
Jon inhaled sharply. He stared at her, his fingers twitching and Bran could see the realization on his face that it had been a mistake to come here, that he might do something he shouldn’t do.
„I miss you“, he finally said quietly, not looking at her.
Sansa breathed softly. She said nothing. After a while Jon left, and so did Bran.
He had enough of these sad scenes, especially with that piece of knowledge he was sitting on. However, he did understand their turmoil. After all, in their eyes their feelings were immoral, distorted and they were right about it from their point-of-view. Bran knew that Jon would never act on his feelings. Sansa was a different story and he could see that her only way of doing right was to keep him at arms length from her. To Bran it was clear that Jon would never keep away long. He was able to control his impulses – if not his feelings – but he needed her.
What would happen once he found out? Bran wanted to see the possible outcome.
He didn’t know where he would land this time and half-expected King’s Landing. He was surprised to find himself in one of Winterfell's corridors. He looked out the window, snow was covering the grounds, but greenery and earthy patches were visible underneath. Light snow flakes flittered through the air and melted as soon as they touched the ground.
Voices were all around him. The castle was alive, full of people and laughter. Joy gripped Bran’s heart. Winterfell was still standing. How many years had passed? Mesmerized, Bran walked to the end of the corridor, turned left and found his way to one of the windows that overlooked one of the smaller courtyards. His eyes were immediately drawn to a figure in dark grey, curly hair falling onto his face. Bran felt his breatch hitch. Father, he thought for a second, until he came to his senses. No, this wasn’t the Winterfell of Eddard Stark.
The man was fighting three boys and a little girl at once, who were all attacking him vigourously with wooden swords. He ducked and deflected half-heartedly, rolled to the ground and did over-emphasized blows, while the children were all shrieking.
At last, the man succumbed to an eager blow of a little boy with a mop of curly hair, he did a theatrical show of falling to the ground – Bran watched, fascinated beside himself to see the man act so naturally, so completey unserious.
He rolled onto the ground with a last ‘dying’ grunt and became still. The children cheered and screamed and all but the little girl let their swords fall to inspect the ‘dead’ man on the ground. They leaned over him, poking him lightly in the ribs. A moment passed in which Bran noticed a streak of red at the balustrade opposite him, but before he could inspect it, the man on the ground roared to life. He jumped up and grabbed the children in his arms. They shrieked in happy alarm, delighted at his ‘resurrection’. He’s really come alive, Bran thought.
Jon Snow tucked two children under each of his arms and whirled them around, laughing as loudly and joyously as any of them.
Jon, Bran thought. This was the Jon of his childhood days. He remembered him and Robb doing exactly that with himself, Rickon and Arya. Before Jon had grown up and life’s circumstances had forced him to give up this humourous streak. Bran also remembered that Sansa had never joined in on their fun … Sansa had been with her Septa, learning the cultured ways of the south. Now, he focused on the streak of red he had seen earlier and his heart made a joyful jolt as he recognized Sansa, alive and well, and glowing with happiness.
She laughed, delighted at Jon‘s antics. She looked lovely, so much like his mother, but different. When Jon saw her, he stopped circling around. His wide grin became a smaller smile, a smile full of affection – and of love.
„Mother!“ the boy with the curly hair called out to her. „Did you see us fighting?“
„I did“, Sansa affirmed. „I also saw that Elys was the only one to not let her sword fall, after the ‚enemy‘ went down.“ She smiled at the sandy haired girl. „Well done, I will be sure to tell your mother at tonight’s feast. She will be proud to hear it.“ The little girl smiled widely, exhibiting a mouth that had lost several teeth. The boys eyed her warily.
„Now, children. Maester Rane will be looking for you. Enough play for today.“ The children complained loudly, but did as they were told, scattering through the gate that lead to the main corridor. Jon watched them leave, then turned his head to Sansa, who – at his look – came down the stairs. As soon as she left the balustrade, Bran noticed the huge belly that was protuding under her light cloak.
Jon waited until she had reached him, then knelt down on one knee and kissed her belly.
„Get up, you“, Sansa said affectionately and he put his arms around her, kissing her softly, then, unable to stop, he deepened the kiss.
Sansa laughed breathlessly, when he had finally drawn away, looking over her shoulder at the empty gate. „Careful, the children could come back, or someone else could see.“
He had laid his forehead against hers. „Don’t mind“, he murmured. Bran could only just make out what he was saying but then they whispered to each other, their breath mingling and he couldn’t hear anything nor did he particulary wish to.
He felt he had intruded upon them long enough, but he couldn’t run away yet from this tantalizing glimpse of the future – a possible future, he reminded himself.
„Will you be able to partake in the feast?“, Jon finally asked, drawing his forehead away and eyeing her with a look of concern.
„Miss the feast that celebrates the end of winter after almost eleven years of biting cold and no harvests? No way are you keeping me away. I feel good, Jon. How could I not?“ She opened her arms, looked at everything around them, finally at him. He took her hands in his, laced their fingers together and for a long moment he caressed her fingers, like he had done in the other visions Bran had seen, but this time, there was no shame in it, only joy.
Sansa gave a contented little sigh and Jon chuckled. Bran was struck again by how much they resembled his parents. And yet, they were different – maybe much more aware of their luck.
„Our first spring child after two winter ones“, Jon said.
„Our first?“, Sansa said in mock shock. „How many spring children do you want?“
He shrugged his shoulders. „One or two, then a summer child and perhaps an autumn one.“ He eyed her teasingly „When you’re fifty.“ As she laughed his smile became serious again. Sansa put an arm on his, noticing it.
„I will be allright“, she murmured. „Everything – just as it was with Ned and Robb.“
And it would be, Bran knew. He reached through time and saw another boy, who would follow his older brothers around everywhere and annoy them just as much as Bran had done with Jon and Robb.
Lady and Lord of Winterfell entwined their arms and went together through the gate, following the route the children had taken, and disappeared from view. The last thing Bran heard was Jon Snow's laugh – deep and contagious. He hadn’t heard this laugh in a long, long time.
“Bran?” He opened his eyes in present time. Sansa was looking at him shrewdly. She had come down from the battlements, leaning over him with a touch of concern on her pale face. He couldn’t help it, he smiled widely at her. Taken aback, she straightened up.
“Bran”, she repeated softly, her eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears. Bran couldn’t quite remember when he had last smiled like this, probably before the fall.
But before he could say anything, there was a commotion at the main gate. Sansa’s attention immediately flew to the guards. “What is it?” she called down.
“Someone named Tarly here to speak with the King, Mylady.”
So it had begun, Bran thought. Sam would bring proof. Together they would tell Jon and set everything in motion so that that happy, happy future, would indeed become reality. He was ready to do his part.