Still in Exile (ASOIAF/Dresden Files)

[Rhaegar]

Something I came up with on the fly yesterday. Im debating on continuing it. I've never written anything ASOIAF before, so hopefully it comes across as passable.​

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Still in Exile


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Bran
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The world was so much smaller after the fall. There was so much I wish could have done, places I could have seen, I wish… I wanted to be a knight. The wind blew carrying a biting chill. I closed my eyes letting go of those fantasies. Those were but dreams of spring, and winter is coming.

The godswood of Winterfell was quiet and there was a peacefulness there that soothed the spirit. Only the distant sound from further in the forest where Hodor played with Summer broke the silence. I shifted a little on the ground with my arms. The position was uncomfortable, but there was little to be done for it. I wanted to pray before the weirwood just as my father would have. The memory sent an ache in my chest. Sometimes I believed it would never go away.

"I ask that you bless my brother's campaign," I prayed, although I wondered if the Old Gods were even listening. If they were I wouldn't be broken. "I hope Robb gets justice for my lord father, and let him find our sisters in good health."

I stared at the solemn face in the weirdwood. The sap pooled into the crevices of the carving and those deep red eyes saw through right to the heart of me. It was disquieting. I may be the Stark in Winterfell, but I still felt like the ruined boy playing at lord.

Why did Mother have to leave? Why did any of them have to leave?

Questioning the past was what plagued my thoughts of late. I felt like every moment was accompanied by a what could have been. If Father hadn't died, if Robb hadn't marched to war, if I could walk…

More than that I felt a calling. It was a pull, or a longing for something that I could not name. It was there just at the edge of my thoughts. It frustrated me so much that it kept me up at nights.

"Father always says, said, the Old Gods watch over those that believe in them," I said, clenching my fists tight. The grief was still too near. "Are you the cause of these feelings I'm having--this restlessness. I feel like I'm supposed to be doing something more than this. In my dreams…" I can fly.

The three-eyed crow haunted me every time I closed my eyes. I rubbed absently at my forehead where the bird pecked at it in my dreams. There was something about them that called to me like nothing before.

I felt something wet against my skin and stared at my red fingers, frowning. A well of bitterness surged. Bran the Broken cutting himself on the forest floor like some animal.

"I'm not broken," I growled at the nagging little voice in my head.

I pulled at my legs so I could move into a better patch of sunlight to tend my wound. I grasped at the thick roots of the weirwood broken free of the earth. My bloodied hand touched the bark of the root and suddenly ice filled my veins like being plunged into the waters of a frozen lake. I hissed as pain exploded in my forehead.

"Help," I managed to gasp out.

Everything went white.

I had a vision of an enormous, open room filled with cold blue light. The light blinded everything except a great throne of ice atop a huge dais. And upon the throne sat an impossibly beautiful woman in a low cut white gown that glittered as if starlight was netted through the cloth. Her jewelry around her neck, wrists, and fingers were just as bright. A tiara carved of ice sat upon her silken white hair. Strange, cat-like eyes, met mine and her raspberry blue lips lifted into a smile. I was terrified.

"I have been expecting you."

I barely managed to find my voice. "Who are you?"

"Your people would know me as a god of ages gone, but Queen of Winter I am today," she murmured. "I am Mab."

"A god," I gasped, feeling lost and alone in a way that was beyond anything I could explain.

I folded my arms across my chest. I was so cold. Even living in the north all my life I have never felt like this. The cold seemed deeper somehow, more intense and unforgiving. It was unnatural. I shook my head.

"I don't understand." I had trouble meeting her eyes. They were so strange and cold. "You knew I was coming?"

Mab answered with that same smile. "A Stark, yes. It's in your blood. Winter is coming."

I swallowed. "Those are the words of my house."

"My words and I gave them to you."

The Winter Queen rose from her throne. She descended the dais and her every move was elegant, strangely graceful. Somewhere deep down I knew instinctively that it was not human.

"Did you bring me here to answer my prayers?" I asked.

The question went unanswered as Mab looked down upon me. Her face was empty of any emotion I could read. It was as beautiful and frozen as the statues in the crypt below Winterfell.

"In the shadows something that should be long dead is waking once again. An ancient enemy of us both. Do you want to protect those you hold dear?"

I looked away shame burning under my skin. "I'm no knight. I can't even walk."

Mirth danced across Mab's face for some reason. "A Winter Knight I already have."

"Then what good can I do?"

"Every knight needs a squire," she replied, extending her hand down to me on the floor. "Accept my power and all that comes with it."

I started to reach toward that hand but hesitated. There was a long moment where I wondered if this was real or had I gone mad. On top of those thoughts was the mounting feeling that I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and below was a screaming black void with glowing cat-like eyes.

"You will be a protector like your forefathers. A hero in the eyes of many. You will walk again and smash your enemies. Think of all those you hold dear. Do it for them, because the ancient enemy will spare no one.

I do this for all of you.

"Yes." I grasped the hand of Queen Mab.

I screamed.

I didn't hold the hand of a mortal woman. It was foolish to ever to compare her to one. It was like being swept up in a storm. Cold power poured into my soul as something foreign embraced me. It was merciless, swift, cold, clear and absolute. This was the power of Winter. Ice so cold that it burned spread down my back. I felt like I was on fire. It was the most painful thing I had ever felt. Then it was over.

Awareness came back to me slowly. I startled as Mab broke her lips away from mine. When had she done that? She rose to her full height pulling me up with her. For the first time in months I stood on my own two feet. A breathless laugh escaped. I felt lighter than I could ever remember. I wanted to run and jump and do everything I sorely missed.

"You can't maintain this sending for too much longer," said Mab, looking at something just beyond me. "Time is of the essence."

"No, please. I have so many questions."

"Help has always been near," she said, cryptically. "When you do see my Knight please tell him to hurry along. It's been far too long."

I struggled to keep up. She talked in a way that assumed I knew all she did. "I don't understand. What do you mean always near?"

"Take a deep breath," Mab murmured and she pushed me.

I stumbled back and fell. I didn't slam into the floor. Water hit my back and I went under. I scrambled underwater struggling to see through the murky water. I was completely disoriented and couldn't tell up from down. Too much time was passing. I started to panic. I was going to drown.

Not today. The singular thought came with a rush of cool certainty. I blinked as the depths sharpened becoming clearer as if I was on land. To my right was a big block of stone, but the color was wrong to be rock, no, it was ice. I laid my hand on it to push off, so I could swim to the surface. It happened so suddenly that I thought I imagined the pulse of pale blue light that flared when my hand made contact. There was a deep cracking noise, but I was already halfway to the surface to care.

I broke the water taking a heaving breath of air. I pulled myself out of the water and collapsed at the edge of the pool. I was back in the godswood. My feet were wet. I could feel my feet. I was a bit dazed unable to believe any of it.

"Hell's bells!"

Wide eyed I stared at the figure climbing out of the pool. The man was wearing ornate armor of a strange style. It was black and articulated, with thick shoulder pauldrons and the breastplate was oddly crystalline, but still appeared tough. He wore a hooded cloak that looked heavy from being completely soaked. His dark hair clung wetly to his forehead. Only the gray at the temples hinted at his age.

"Where am I?" the stranger asked with a rasping voice. "Who are you?"

It sounded like he hadn't spoken in a long time. "You're in Winterfell. I'm Bran. Bran Stark."

The stranger's dark eyes narrowed. "Is your dad Brandon Stark? Tall guy, beard, loves his hammer and maps. Some folks call him the Builder."

"Brandon the Builder?" I asked, slowly. "He was my ancestor."

The man paled. "How long…" he trailed off, holding a hand to his head.

An idea formed. "Are you the Knight she spoke of?"

"Name's Dresden, kid," said the man, climbing unsteadily to his feet. Dresden peered at me with a sudden intensity. "Who do you mean 'she'?"

"Queen Mab. She made it so I can walk again." I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers. I felt stronger. "If you're her Winter Knight then I am to be your squire."

I took a step back unprepared for the darkening of his eyes and the sudden howl of freezing wind. "That bitch."

 

[Rhaegar]

I went ahead and started writing in third person perspective. It'll be easier for future chapters.

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Bran
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The wind screamed through the woods and Bran instinctively wanted to escape from the stranger. The man's dark eyes shone with such terrible anger that it made Bran's blood run cold. The howling was coming from him. Bran knew it with certainty. He could feel it in his bones. Bran opened his mouth to do something, anything, but just as swiftly as the windstorm came it stopped. Dresden's face paled suddenly before his eyes rolled up, and he collapsed to the ground.

Hodor came running at his lord's cry for help gaping at Bran standing without aide before the boy admonished him. The gigantic man easily lifted the unconscious knight into his arms quickly following Bran on a path out of the godswood. They had to cut through one of the packed courtyards to get to the Great Keep. Alarmed shouts and cries of surprise echoed through the yard when Bran was sighted. He spared them no time intent on getting Dresden to Maester Luwin. They burst into the castle and all the noise had drawn the attention of the guards. Bran had no patience to explain.

"Someone fetch the maester. Quickly!"

Things moved swiftly after that.

Time seemed to blur as many things seemed to happen at once. Bran would later only barely recall the wide eyes, shocked gasps, or frenzied prayers of any who laid eyes on him. He felt like he was out of his body witnessing it all. It was shock, he supposed. Earlier events were settling in, and he was now fully processing it. Meeting a god queen, becoming some kind of squire of Winter and meeting its knight, walking again, and just the sheer magic of it all. It was enough to send his thoughts reeling.

Hours later and the sun was now setting. Still people were going into the godswood in packs. Bran watched their paths take them into the woods from his view high in the castle. Others kneeled outside the Great Keep, candles in hand, their silent vigil bordering on fanatic. It was unnerving.

Maester Luwin applied a fresh bandage to the wound on Dresden's bare midsection as Bran turned from the window. "They're still at it."

"They see it as a miracle. Even with the tale you told me, and still with the proof," he said, gesturing at Dresden and the pile of strange armor on the table. His eyes held hints of awe as they met his. "I still find it all hard to take in. Men of the North are religious folk. They say the red comet is sent to herald your ascent to godhood."

Bran scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Yesterday they were calling me Bran the Broken."

"Bran the Blessed I've heard some are saying in the Sept," Maester Luwin shared, quietly studying the young boy's face. "Others are calling you the Stark that Rose."

"The opposite of Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt," Bran mused. He wondered who started that moniker. "I wish they would stop."

Maester Luwin shrugged. "It is their way."

There was so much planning to do. He still had to compose a letter to send to Robb and his mother. He couldn't explain too much in case anyone else read it, but they needed to know he was whole again. Now that he could walk again he could finally keep Rickon in line. The wolf blood was strong in him. He needed minding and a firm hand. More than that, Bran needed answers and those could only come from the sleeping stranger.

He took a moment to study the man without the threatening aura surrounding him in sleep. Even laying down Bran could tell Dresden was extremely tall, even with his lean build. He had shaggy, dark hair that fell to his shoulders, and the pale skin of someone that didn't get much sunlight. If it had been his first time seeing him Bran would think he was any other Northerner with his beard scruff, the old scar under one eye, and face somber even in sleep.

"When will he awake?" Bran asked, quietly.

Maester Luwin sighed, shaking his head. "It shouldn't be long. The sleep seems to be from overexertion than anything worrying. The wound in his side appears to be mostly healed. I imagine our visitor should be awakening soon after rest—"

A hand darted up and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. Dresden's eyes flickered open, darting around for a second, and somberness vanished between one blink and the next. Bran tensed when that dark stare met his again. Surprise, confusion, wariness all flashed across his expression. Dresden swallowed heavily and his rasping voice was loud in the quiet room.

"Buy a guy a drink first before you go feeling him up."

Bran stepped forward. "He was just tending your wound. Please release him."

Dresden did so making him breathe a little easily. "Where am I?"

"You're in Winterfell," said Maester Luwin, rubbing at the wrist Dresden released. "I've heard Lord Bran's story of how you were found in the pool in the godswood." He hesitated before saying, "And your questioning about Brandon the Builder. Do you remember how you came to be here?"'

"It's a long story," he said, sounding immensely tired.

Dresden still looked a bit dazed, and Bran wondered if maybe they should give him more time to rest, but his need for answers wouldn't let him broach the topic. Dresden looked around the room, taking in his armor lying on the table, the fire burning in the hearth, and the link of chains around Maester Luwin's neck.

"You said Brandon was your ancestor?" he asked, searching Bran's face, maybe to see the resemblance or to see the truth of his answer. When Bran nodded Dresden scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "How long has it been?"

"He lived during the Age of Heroes," said Bran. He knew that easily enough. Tales of that time were his favorite. "That was thousands of years ago."

"Call me Steve Rogers," muttered Dresden, bitterness thick in his tone. His eyes lost some of their warmth, his mouth turned in a deep frown.

Bran tilted his head. "I thought your name was Dresden?"

"It is," he nodded, looking amused, warmth returning to his eyes. "Can't slip anything by you."

A joke it may have been, but there was truth to it and Bran let it be known. "I notice you avoid answering my question."

"I see our queen nabbed a sharp one," he drawled. Touching his hand to his bandages, he grimaced and said, "I've been here a long time. Mab used you, kid. Her power flows through you now. You broke the curse imprisoning me."

A cold flash of anger surged through Bran, that some stranger would dare accuse him of being tricked, while being a guest in his home, and even dare not show him proper courtesy of addressing him as a lord. He suddenly wanted to lash out, to grab the dagger on his belt and stab him in the eye, wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze and—

Bran came to his senses with a sharp shake of his head. His father's quiet gaze flashed across his mind. His thoughts were clearer now. He no longer felt like a man possessed. It had been like his thoughts had been taken over by something more primal—an animal that wanted to lash out, and show how disrespect was treated.

Maester Luwin noticed Bran's faltering, and probably the sudden clenching of his fingers that were digging sharply into his palms. Dresden noticed, too, body tensing and muscles coiling as he watched Bran carefully.

"It'll get easier to control," said Dresden, quietly.

"What is going on?" Maester Luwin demanded, watching Dresden warily. "Lord Bran, are you well?"

Bran rounded on the knight. "What was that?" He took a deep breath, finally feeling his body relax. "My thoughts, it felt like. I didn't feel like me."

"Think of winter and all that comes with it—Cold, savage ice, lonely darkness, and base survival. It's the season of logic, ration, detachment." Dresden touched his chest. "This is the Winter Mantle. When you accepted all that power this came with it."

Bran almost met his eyes, but the man looked away at the last moment. It was brief but it was there for Bran to see all the same. Dresden's eyes were old, like his father's when he talked about King Robert's Rebellion, but it was more than that. The sorrow and guilt was almost overwhelming. His eyes were haunted.

"You've been there since my ancestor Brandon was alive," Bran spoke softly, realizing it without a doubt. "It's true. You were trapped there. All this time?"

Dresden's stare went to window. He watched the sunset with a somber expression. "It was the final revenge of our enemy. I got him pretty good, too, in that last battle." He turned to them. "If the sun rises and sets daily then I think it was worth it. We won."

Maester Luwin's eyes widened. "It is the battle for the dawn you speak of, Ser Dresden. But surely you aren't talking of fighting the Others during the Long Night."

Dresden raised an eyebrow. "The disbelief in your tone is that from imagining how awesome I was kicking ass, or because you don't believe in the Others?"

"The Others haven't been seen in eight thousand years," the maester said slowly, unsure how to properly respond to the loaded question.

"You're welcome," replied Dresden.

"Where is your home?" asked Maester Luwin, too politely. "Is there anyone we can write to tell them of your return and health?"

"I come from a place far, far away. What? Are you seriously trying to get rid of me already? That's a record even for me."

"Surely you must have descendants you want to reach out to. I know all the Great and Lesser Houses in Westeros. Do you have a sigil or any words I would know?"

"A silver harp on a field of blue, and my words are polka will never die," said Dresden, dryly.

Bran cleared his throat before Maester Luwin could reply. "Please leave us. I wish to speak to Ser Dresden privately."

"My Lord, I don't think it would be wise to leave you alone."

"I understand your reluctance," said Bran. "But rest assured I do not needlessly ask this."

"As you wish, my Lord."

The old maester didn't allow his displeasure to show on his face, merely bowing his head before departing the room. The door closed behind him with a soft thud. The corners of Dresden's lips flickered in a smile.

"Swell guy."

Bran shrugged. "He's just protective."

He nodded. "I won't hold it against him."

"In the godswood when I told you I spoke with Mab you were so angry."

Dresden huffed out a sigh. "Nothing against you, but you're really young. I hate to see you wrapped up in her web. She's not the nicest person around. Trust me."

"I'm not a child," said Bran. He stood up to his full height, which felt good, and stared down at the man lying on the bed. "I knew she was dangerous. I'm not blind."

"You sure about that, Helen Keller?"

"Who?"

Dresden snorted. "How about Symeon Star-Eyes?"

"Oh!" Bran brightened, understanding the jab now and then he deflated at the slight.

"I'm a smartass. Don't take it personal. I happen to be quite funny where I come from."

"I actually wanted to ask you about the wind in the woods earlier. How did you do that?" Bran asked quickly, eagerness made the words trip over each other. "Is it because you're the Winter Knight? Can you teach me?"

"Molly 2.0," Dresden muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes. "You have no idea what you're getting into."

Bran lifted his chin, his shoulders squaring. "I know quite a lot. Mab didn't just choose me to free you. I was chosen to help you face what's coming."

Dresden's brow furrowed. "You better be talking about an exit out of this time-locked backwater."

"She said that an ancient enemy that should be dead is waking again."

Dresden sat up in the bed. It wasn't Bran's imagination, but the temperature in the room dropped. He could see his breath puff out his lips. He watched the man who stared off into the distance, lost in memories.

"They just can't die," he said. It came out a low growl, and Bran was almost afraid to ask him. But he had a feeling he already knew.

It wasn't long ago when his father took the head of a deserter from the Night's Watch. The man's mad babbling of what he saw beyond the Wall had even given his father pause, but duty was duty and the deserter had to die for breaking his oath. Still, his tales of the Others and the dead coming to life quieted them all that day. He had no proof, and desperate men spun crazy stories in the face of death, but what if—

"It's the Others," Bran burst out. "That's who she meant. They've come back haven't they?"

Dresden frowned in thought. "That's easy enough to prove. We need to activate the heirlooms. Where's your father or whoever's the Stark in charge of Winterfell. We need Ice." Seeing Bran's stricken expression, Dresden's eyebrows jumped. "What?"

 

[Rhaegar]

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Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden
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I have been on ice for over eight thousand years. Marvel should sue me for royalties.

I was pissed.

Bran, and wasn't that just a riot—because I know Brandon was probably in the Afterlife getting a kick out of this, barely took a break in getting me caught up on Westeros history. Mab reached a new low. This boy had no idea what he agreed to. He had made a deal with the wicked witch, and didn't read the fine print. Poor kid.

That's exactly what he was. The boy was probably eight or nine, but no way pushing ten. Despite the knife at his hip, his face, framed by long, shaggy auburn hair, was young, almost childishly innocent. There was a sharpness in his blue eyes that took away some of that purity about him. Life hadn't been easy on him. Just looking at him brought out all my paternal instincts. I just wanted to push him behind me and protect him from the big bad queen and anyone else who dared harm him.

Down boy, I pushed back the Winter Mantle. Bran didn't notice the war of emotions on my face.

"-they called it the Targaryen madness. Their entire House carried greatness and insanity in their bloodline."

"Inbreeding tends to make families full on crazy town, and you mean to tell me there's an entire dynasty of them. And they had dragons?"

Bran nodded. "The dragons are all dead, and Maester Luwin says that only two Targaryens remain. They're in exile in Essos."

We weren't even close to making a dent in the history of Westeros; I was asking questions mostly to keep Bran talking and his thoughts from dwelling. With a pale cast to his face he'd started out telling me Ice was gone and his father along with it. He'd tossed me a drawn look after that bombshell, then settled in chair by the fire, shoulders hunched and gazing into the flames without saying anything. I'd been in his shoes before and I worked out an action plan to get him to open up about it all, and I had decided to start by asking him about significant historical events. He'd thrown me a hesitant look and said, "Well there's quite a bit. You have missed almost eight thousand years."

In your world, I'd thought. "Did Durran ever get his super fortress? Are the Ironborn still jumped up pirates?" I'd prompted. "The Singers, I mean Children of the Forest…"

He'd blinked at me, wide eyed. "The Children of the Forest were real?"

"Why would you think otherwise?"

He looked confused for a minute, probably trying to tell if I was pulling his leg, but my face had been honestly baffled. "They're just myths. That's what everyone says. Well, Maester Luwin and Father think they existed once, but now they're all gone."

I took my eyes off the flames to stare at him. "Gone?" I repeated. "What about the Night's Watch? They're supposed to get an annual delivery of obsidian blades… And you have no idea what I'm talking about. Stars and stones. Well, what else has changed?"

"In the world or do you mean just in the Seven Kingdoms?"

I tilted my head. "Where's that?"

He stared at me. "Here, the North. Well, that's just one region. There's the Vale, Dorne, the Riverlands… Of course. I feel like such the fool! You don't even know about Aegon's Conquest."

"You might want to break this down for me."

Bran frowned. "What?"

I sighed. It was always a Stark. "Pretend I'm new here. Explain it all to me."

So he told me all about the Great and Lesser Houses of Westeros. I'd gotten the sense he was bright, but the kid had the mind of a steel trap. He spouted out facts like he did it every day and he got his degree in it; sharing information about the regions, political climate, and general major events that shook things up around here. It was pretty impressive coming from a boy who couldn't even shave yet. I'd found myself sucked in as he narrated the invasion of the Andals, the coming of Aegon, and the unification of Westeros all under the Iron Throne. Which let to me asking about how such a family managed to screw everything up so badly that Robert's Rebellion never came sooner, and was I promptly schooled on the highs of lows of the Targaryen dynasty, including how they usually were batshit insane.

Bran shrugged again, shaking his head a little. "I've heard some smallfolk whisper we traded a mad king for a drunk one."

"Sounds like it," I agreed. "Time's funny like that. It has a way of taking things away from you. It probably took the King's spirit."

His eyes flicked to the side, not quite meeting my eyes, but just at a spot near my shoulder. "He was my father's friend."

I sympathized. "He must've been great in his prime. I imagine that's why your father went to serve him," I said, gently.

Bran frowned. "And it got him killed." He let out a slow breath. "Ice is probably melted down or held as a trophy by the Lannisters. Robb would know."

Of course things couldn't be that easy. If the Great Other, I very carefully didn't even think his Name, was alive and going for round two then they needed to look at their options. Ice wasn't the only artifact of significance that was keyed to the master ward. There were other heirlooms designed with leypoint access. If they were still around. I had to fight a grimace. Hopefully my old buddies made preparations. We swore an oath.

But eight thousand years was a long time.

I slung my legs over the side of the bed. My side only twinged a bit. It was tolerable. I've had worse on a good day. I walked over to my armor on the table with slow, careful steps. My entire body was stiff like I had slept on Maggie's c—I cut that off. Strolling down memory lane would just piss me off all over again. Mab and I were due for a reckoning.

"Should you be standing?" Bran asked, hesitantly. "Your wound?"

I waved him off, slipping my amulet over my neck. It was a comfortable weight against my chest. "I'm fine. It's basically a scratch."

"How did you get it?"

"A sword named Blizzardfang," I said. "I got even. The guy was a real dick."

If the Others had really been bidding their time up north in the Lands of Always Winter then it was a sucker's bet that the Night's King was gearing up for a rematch. He was an evil prick like that. If he had a mustache he'd twirl it, and if that was the case then I was ready to oblige him. If I got the rest of the super friends on board that is, because with the way wars around here were going, Westeros might be truly and utterly screwed. The Iron Throne sounded like a real pain in the ass.

It was only a little damp, but the armor still felt good when I finished putting it on. "Listen, if the Others are back we made sure we'd be ready."

"Is that why you need Ice?" asked Bran, eagerness made his words come out fast.

The joys of youth.

I grunted vaguely in reply.

"You like being mysterious don't you?" Bran questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Huh," I said. "I wonder if this is how old Vadderung felt when I used to bug him for answers."

Bran stared at me. "You talk a lot and make little sense. Have you always been like this?"

I pointed at him. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

I went over to the window to get the lay of the land. Winterfell spread out before me in an impressive sprawling castle with huge towers, spacious courtyards, and sturdy protective walls. Damn, Brandon. I had to hand it to him. He did good.

For a boy barely out of his teens there was a talent for crafting that shone bright in him. I never knew what fancy thing he would come up with next. He once told me when he was sketching the plans for this very castle that Winterfell would be his seat of power for his family, and all their children to come, and here it still stood. Judging by the amount of people filling the courtyard it looked pretty crowded too.

"So what's the oldest parts to this castle?"

Bran stood up from his chair. "Well there's the First Keep near the crypts. It was the first fortress built. No one really goes in there." He scrunched up his face in thought. "I suppose there's the burned tower that's just as old."

"Burned tower?" I asked, a hunch tugging at my thoughts.

"Some folk call it the broken tower. Father said lightning struck it long ago and set it on fire. Part of it collapsed. It's never been rebuilt for some reason."

"Fire you say," I grinned. "There's a calling card if I ever needed one. Let's go, Short Round. We're going exploring."

His eyes lit up. Ah, to be young again.

I deflected his questions about my background by asking about his family. I think he learned a bit too much today, and getting into exactly where I was from wasn't on the table for now. It was the perfect topic to distract him as we made our way through the halls of the Great Keep.

The Starks were a family who fate had not been kind to. Sisters taken and held hostage, father dead, mother off with the eldest son to war, and my heart went out to him. Some mother. The youngest boy was not even five, and his only friend was a direwolf.

"Must be lonely," I said, as we descended down a staircase.

Bran shrugged. "We do our duty." He glanced at me solemnly. "Fun and games are for summer, and winter is coming."

Stars and stones. Mab really has been playing the long con with this family. Were they still saying that? I had to rub at my eye to keep it from twitching.

"Well, this is something," I deadpanned.

We stopped short as we stepped out into the courtyard. A crowd of people were gathered in the yard and when they saw Bran all the chatter amongst themselves ceased. It was eerie. I took a protective step closer to him.

"It's okay," Bran murmured, stepping into the crowd.

I expected them to part and they did, but they all reached out their arms, fingers touching Bran as he passed. One woman was in tears after she touched him, another person fell to their knees, and the reverence in the crowd was so thick it was almost tangible. They looked like they were seeing the sunrise for the first time, like Bran was their salvation.

"Introducing Jesus' stepbrother Bran Christ," I muttered, as we finally parted through the thick of the mob of people.

Bran led us quickly under a stone bridge. "Is he a wizard, too?"

I cracked a grin. "Something like that."

"I didn't think they would be like this," Bran whispered, casting a hasty glance at the folks behind us. Luckily they weren't dogging our stops. The castle guards were a strong deterrent.

"You're a walking miracle, literally," I said. "Sometimes that's all you need."

Religious worship doesn't take much. Scientology was a thing somehow.

A graveyard surrounded the squat and round drum tower that Bran pointed out to me as the First Keep. Just ahead was the burned tower. It didn't look like it was in complete ruins as I first thought. It was still taller than the other towers in Winterfell, but there was heavy damage to its walls, and if that was the case then the inside was probably worse.

I gave the wooden door a good looking over and deemed it safe with a head nod. "Onwards and upward, Padawan."

"My name is Bran."

"You really need to lighten up."

I snorted at his little scowl. I couldn't help it. He reminded me of one of Michael's kids. Quick to sternness and blessed with a pure light that wouldn't ever go out. Bran let the door bang behind him and then winced at the noise.

"This place has seen better days," I said, dryly.

The interior was small and dusty, littered with debris, and looked like it hadn't seen people in decades. The staircase climbing up the side of the wall looked intact. The celling had a few holes and I could see straight up to the floor above.

"What are you looking for?" asked Bran, stepping to my side and glancing around. "Should I get Summer? He could sniff for clues perhaps."

I blinked at him. "Slow your roll. We don't need Scobby Doo just yet, Fred."

"It's Bran."

I put a finger in my ear pretending to clean it. "Sorry. My hearing's going. Must've been the long sleep." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Look alive. If I know your ancestor, he probably left something here."

Bran frowned. "Why do you think that?"

I was walking around the floor now searching for markings and answered, "Simple. Lightning wouldn't strike anything Brandon Stark built."

"Maester Luwin says that sometimes metal can attract such a thing during a storm."

"You don't get it," I said, shaking my head. "Brandon was a wardmaster. He was a genius at it. If he built something, it'll last because of engineering and magic. His protection runes wouldn't allow…" I looked at him, peering at his surprised face. "Of course, this is news to you. You really don't know do you? About Brandon, the greenseeing, beastwalking?"

"I…" He looked dazed, opening and closing his mouth a little. "There are stories about wargs, but—that's not real!"

I felt bad for him. He was being hit over the head with too much, all too soon. "Magic tends to run in the family, and your bloodline has the strongest gift in terramancy I've ever seen here."

It was too much a shock for the poor boy. It was one thing for him to be excited to learn magic, but to actually find out you come from it, and was actually born to do it was another story. If I was his age I would be just as shocked to discover the history behind my mother's past, or my grandfather's talent at death and destruction. As an adult it had still been hard to handle.

He gathered himself well enough to ask, "So the lightning means what then?"

"It's a security system," I explained. "Someone was looking for something they shouldn't and set off the wards."

Bran perked up. "So something that needs protecting is here!"

His mood swing made me chuckle. At least I knew a good mystery got his attention like a dog with a bone, or Karrin with a new gun. "Bingo."

Moonlight streamed through the window set into the wall above us hitting the floor and bathing the room in a dim glow. My eye caught a marking on a wall. I moved closer so I could get a better look. It was about chest high, circular, and looked like an indent. In fact, the shape of it looked intentional, like… Maybe…

"You were always thinking ahead." I chuckled, slipping my pendant off and placing it to the indentation. It snapped into place with a dull sound.

"Ser Dresden?" Bran said, standing near my elbow.

A foot away from him on the wall a glowing symbol came to life on the stone in a blaze of ethereal flame. Bran stepped closer and the symbol brightened. His breath caught at the oddly entrancing fire. I recognized that symbol. It was a rune.

"It's Brandon's mark," I explained. "My pentacle activated it, but I think a Stark is the key."

Bran looked at me hesitantly. "What do I do?"

I gestured at it. "Just touch it."

Streamers of fox fire flared as he lifted his hand toward the rune. Bran took a deep breath and placed his small hand flat on the wall. Then from somewhere, from inside the old stone walls to the deepest depths of the earth below, was the faraway sounds of a series of tumblers unlocking. The floor rumbled and Bran made a noise of fear. When it did, there was a low grinding noise, and then what appeared to be a solid piece of the stone floor began to run down, slowly lowering into the floor like a door on a hinge. In seconds, an opening the size of a car door of my old Blue Beetle had formed in the stone, and stairs led down into the darkness.

I beamed at Bran. "I feel just like Indiana Jones," I said, bouncing on my toes a little.

He was looking at the doorway with his jaw hanging open. "But—How…. Where does this lead? There's nothing below Winterfell but the crypts."

I slipped my pendant back over my neck and started toward the stairs. I turned to Bran and said, "You have no idea how much a badass your ancestor was. This isn't even a tip of the iceberg, kid."

Excitement lit his eyes transforming his face with boyish wonder. I made a promise then and there to protect that light. I owed it to Brandon to keep his family safe. I don't know what Mab had planned for him long term, but the squire was not going to become the knight. Bet on it.

"You ready to see what's behind door number one?" I asked.

Bran took a step forward, staring into the darkness below. "It's so dark. Should we get a torch?"

I laid a hand on his shoulder. "In a dark place we find ourselves, and a little more knowledge lights our way."

I lifted my pendant and the pentacle began to glow with a soft blue light. Bran didn't gasp this time. I guess he was just going to roll with all the weirdness now. There was only so many times a person could say impossible when it was staring you clearly in the face.

"Those are thoughtful words," he said, nodding his head with a pensive frown. "You are truly a wise man."

I had to keep my tongue pressed firmly into my cheek to not laugh. Little did he know those words came from an animatronic green puppet.

"I get that a lot," I said with a smug smile, stepping down the stairs. "Let's hope this is more Raiders of the Lost Ark and less Kingdom of the Crystal Skull."

"A kingdom of skulls?" Bran asked. "I don't understand."

"Nobody does."

With the pendant lightning our path we followed the steps down into the dark.