The fever had taken hold of him again, but this time Bran stayed in his chambers. Every time he blinked, he felt how hot his eyes were, and even though Wolkan gave him essence of nightshade to ease his sleep, the green dreams were still there.
Tonight, Bran woke to see Meera beside him. “You were screaming in your sleep,” she said. “Are you sure there are ice dragons north of the Wall?”
“Was that what I was shouting?” he asked, to which Meera nodded. It was true. The visions were clearer, more striking and frequent, to the point where he had to confront the truth of its existence. But that was not what Bran dreamt of tonight.
Scores of men in black motionless in the snow. Blood steaming in the cold.
He did not tell Meera, but the moment she left, Bran felt the fright take hold. Winter was truly upon them, and he ought to do whatever he could, but he did not wish to become one with the weirwood, withering away his life like the Three-Eyed Raven.
Bran tried to shut his eyes, to become an eye or a sword at the Wall, but the bodies pushed him away. A sense of urgency filled him, the sense that time required his interference. Why did the gods choose me? he thought desperately. I wanted my legs to heal, to win summer tourneys and marry a beautiful woman, not warg into ravens among grass and trees. Why could magic not help him the way he wanted it to?
Bran missed his family. After Rickon had left them, he had only seen them in visions and premonitions. “Why did you leave me?” he whispered to the winds and walls. By simply thinking about them, Bran could know where they were, but that did not make him feel closer. Jon Snow was at the Wall, Sansa somewhere in King’s Landing, Father and Mother dead, Robb, Rickon, Arya…
Arya…
The Wall had needed Bran, but the moment he knew, the boy in him took over.
He was bounding across the woods, leaving white paws in the snow. His mouth was bloody with recent prey. The pack smelled more, and they snuck to their quarry, him leading it. As the scent came closer, he found it to be familiar. His appetite dwindled the more he recognized it, the closer he came.
It is my master.
*
Commenti