Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 107: The Lost Boy
The world to him had become something cold, white, and silent.
After barely escaping from the horde of dead men and rushing past the ruins of Hardhome, Bran had run until his feet could no longer carry him.
When he finally stopped, gasping and trembling, he found himself surrounded by nothing but white...an endless expanse of snow that stretched to the horizon in every direction. He was lost.
Since then, he had been walking for what felt like an eternity, his legs numb beneath him, his breath misting in the frigid air.
The snow was deep here, much deeper than any snow he had seen around Winterfell. It went past his knees in some places, and every step was a battle against the cold that seeped through his boots and crept into his bones.
For days, he had eaten nothing and had not slept properly either. His body was beginning to fail him. Bran didn't know how much longer he could hold on.
Summer walked beside him, his brown fur almost white now, blending with the snow until he was nearly invisible against the frozen landscape.
His amber eyes scanned the frozen terrain for threats, ever vigilant, ever watchful. The direwolf had been his constant companion since they had been separated from his father, a silent guardian who never left his side.
Bran leaned on him sometimes, when the exhaustion became too much, and Summer would bear his weight without complaint.
"Are we going in the right direction?" Bran whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Where do you think they are taking us?" He asked his companion while looking up at the black birds who had been guiding him for days now.
They appeared at dawn and dusk, their black forms stark against the white sky, their caws echoing through the frozen forest.
They led him toward some destination that he could not see but could feel in his bones, a pull that grew stronger with each passing day. At first, he thought they could be leading him back to Hardhome, back to his father, but he no longer thought that.
In fact, he was sure they were leading him to someone else. To the one behind their strange behaviour, the one controlling them.
And Bran could only hope that person had good intentions, because otherwise, it would be his end.
During the few occasions he could get some sleep after leaving Hardhome, he always had strange dreams. He saw things that made no sense, visions of ice and fire, of shadows and light. He saw a great wall of black stone, a city of obsidian, a throne of swords that melted and reformed. He saw the back of a man with golden hair, surrounded by green flames, and he knew, somehow, that this man was the key to everything.
He saw the Others, too. The White Walkers with their cold blue eyes and their army of the dead. He saw them marching somewhere with their endless numbers. He saw them going south, and he knew that the Wall would not stop them forever.
"Father," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Father, I need you."
But his father was far away, somewhere south of the Wall, and Bran was alone in the frozen wastes with only his direwolf, his visions, and some ravens for company.
Eventually, the crows guided him towards a forest with thick dead trees devoid of leaves. All that remained were frozen branches, pointing in every direction like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky.
Bran moved through them with difficulty, his body aching, his mind clouded with exhaustion. He had stopped feeling the cold hours ago, which he knew was a bad sign. His hands were numb, his feet were numb, and the world seemed to be growing dim at the edges.
"Summer," he said, his voice barely audible. "I need to rest."
The direwolf whined softly, pressing his nose against Bran's hand. He could sense the danger, could feel the life draining from his master. But he did not leave Bran's side, would never leave his side.
Bran slumped against the trunk of a dead tree, his eyes closing. The world seemed to spin around him, the trees blurring into a haze of white and grey. He was so tired, so cold, so hungry.
And then he heard it.
A caw, sharp and insistent, cutting through the silence of the forest.
Bran's eyes snapped open, and he saw a raven perched on a branch above him. Its black feathers gleamed with an oily sheen, and its eyes were dark and intelligent, watching him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
"Go away," Bran muttered, his voice weak. "I'm not following you anymore. I can't keep going…"
The raven cawed again, more insistent this time. It hopped from branch to branch, its head cocked as if waiting for him to follow.
"Leave me alone," Bran said, his voice cracking. "I'm going to die here. There's no point."
The raven spread its wings and flew to a nearby tree, then another, always staying in sight, always calling out to him.
Summer growled softly, his ears flattening against his head. The direwolf did not trust the birds, did not trust anything that seemed to be guiding them. But he followed them anyway, because he trusted Bran, and Bran was following the birds.
"Fine!" Bran said, pulling himself to his feet. "Fine. I'll follow you. But I swear...if dont get somewhere warmer soon, then I'll-"
He did not finish the sentence. The raven cawed again and flew deeper into the forest, and Bran stumbled after it, Summer at his side.
They walked for hours, the raven leading them through the frozen landscape.
The sun would barely move from its spot as the stars wheeled overhead, and still they walked.
Bran lost all sense of time or direction. He didn't even know if they were walking North, West, East, or South. He was a ghost in a world of ice and snow, following a bird that might be real or might be a figment of his exhausted imagination.
And then, just as he was about to collapse, he saw it.
A cave, carved into the side of a hill, its entrance dark and forbidding. The raven perched on a rock above the entrance, cawing softly, as if urging him to enter.
Bran could feel something pulling him towards the cave, a strange sensation that seemed to tug at something deep within his chest. The raven perched above the entrance cawed once more, its dark eyes intensely fixed on him.
"Summer," Bran whispered, his voice barely audible. "I think this is it. I think this is where we're supposed to go."
Summer pressed against his side and tugged at his sleeve. The direwolf was nervous, his ears flat against his head, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He did not like this place, did not trust the darkness that waited within.
"Easy, boy," Bran said, reaching out to stroke Summer's fur. "It's going to be alright."
But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were not true. Something was wrong. The air had changed, grown colder, heavier. The trees around them seemed to shift, their frozen branches creaking in the wind.
And then he heard it.
A deep, rumbling growl, different from Summer's warning. It came from all around them.
Bran's blood ran cold. "Summer," he breathed. "What is that?"
Summer spun around, his teeth bared, his hackles raised.
And Bran saw them.
Five massive shapes emerged from the treelines, their white fur blending with the snow. They were bears...white bears, larger than any creature Bran had ever seen. Their eyes were glowing with an eerie blue light, their claws were massive, and their sharp teeth were gleaming with anticipation.
"Summer," Bran said, his voice trembling. "We need to run. We need to get to the cave."
But there was no time to run. The bears were too close, and they moved too fast. In a moment, they surrounded them, cutting off any escape.
Summer placed itself between Bran and the bears, taking a protective stance while baring its fangs at the predators.
"Easy, boy," Bran whispered, his voice cracking. "Easy…"
He fumbled for his bow, but his hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip it. His arrows were gone, lost in the chaos of Hardhome. He had nothing to defend himself with, except for the long piece of curved wood.
Summer lunged, his teeth sinking into the leg of the nearest bear. The beast roared, swatting the direwolf aside with a massive paw. Summer yelped, crashing into the snow, but he scrambled back to his feet, ready to fight again.
"No!" Bran screamed. "Summer, no!"
The other bears closed in, their hunger overwhelming their caution. Bran could see the death in their eyes, could smell the blood on their breath.
He was going to die here, in this frozen wasteland, far from his family, far from home.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't find you, Father. I'm sorry I couldn't make it back."
He waited for the end, for the pain, for the darkness.
But it never came.
Instead, there was a sound...a loud crack, like the sound of thunder splitting the sky. And then, he saw a flash of red light, bright and blinding.
The bears roared, stumbling backward, their hunger forgotten in their sudden terror. They retreated a few steps, their massive heads turning toward the source of the disruption.
Bran stared in shock at the sudden arrival.
A woman stood before him, wearing a set of red robes that contrasted aggressively against the white snow. She was beautiful and strange, but her expression depicted her confusion. She blinked while looking around as if she had no idea where she was.
"What is this place?" she asked, her voice disoriented. "This is not right…"
Bran stared at her with his mouth open, his mind reeling. He had never seen this woman before.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "H-how did you get here?"
The woman looked at him, her eyes narrowing. She studied him for a long moment, her expression shifting from confusion to recognition.
"I am… Melisandre of Asshai, priestess of the Lord of Light," she said, her voice steadying. "And you… look familiar."
Bran nodded, his heart pounding. "I am…" He paused, and his eyes shifted back to the beasts who had been forgotten for a brief instant.
This was not the moment for introductions. He was still in mortal danger, and now this strange woman was in the same situation.
The bears had recovered from their initial shock. They were advancing again, their hunger returning to them, their eyes fixed on the two humans and the wounded direwolf.
"We need to go!" Bran said with urgency. "We need to get to the cave!"
Melisandre turned, her eyes widening as she saw the massive beasts approaching. Her face went pale, her composure cracking. "This is not where I was supposed to be," she said, her voice trembling. "I was meant to be on a ship, in Essos. This is… this is not right." She stared at the old cork in her hand.
"The cave!" Bran shouted. "We need to get to the cave!"
They started to run, Summer limping beside them, the bears close behind.
But they were too slow. The bears were gaining, their massive paws churning through the snow.
And then a burst of flames erupted from the cave entrance, striking the nearest bear square in the chest. The beast roared, stumbling backward, its fur smoking.
Another flame hit another bear. Then another.
The beasts panicked, their hunger forgotten in the face of this new threat. They turned and fled, disappearing into the treeline.
Bran collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief. Summer pressed against him, whining softly.
Melisandre stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the cave entrance. "Who…" she began, her voice barely a whisper. "Who did that?"
A small figure emerged from the darkness of the cave. It was a girl, young and slight, but her large eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom. Her skin was dappled and pale, and her ears were pointed, like something out of a story.
She looked at them with a mixture of curiosity and impatience.
"Hurry up and get inside before they come back!" she said, her voice high and sharp. "You are not safe out here!"
Bran stared at her, his mouth open. He had heard stories of such creatures, had listened to Old Nan's tales of the Children of the Forest. But he had never believed they were real.
"Are you…" he began, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you one of the Children?"
The girl turned to him. "We have been waiting for you, Brandon Stark," she said. "The ravens guided you here. Now…" She turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the cave.
"Hurry!" her voice echoed from within. "There is much to discuss, and we have little time left!"
Bran looked at Melisandre, his eyes wide with confusion and wonder. The priestess stared back at him, her expression unreadable.
"I don't know what is happening," she said, her voice quiet. "But I believe the Lord of Light has sent me here for a reason. And the little girl is right. We should get inside the cave before those bears return."
Bran nodded slowly, his heart pounding. He had so many questions, so many things he needed to know. But for now, all he could do was follow the strange girl into the darkness.
"Come on, Summer," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "Let's see what awaits us."
Together, Bran and Melisandre stepped into the cave, leaving the frozen wilderness behind.
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