Game of Thrones || The Sword of the Morning

A Way Through

~~Brandon Stark~~

The eyes of the Weirwood tree stand back at him as he gazes off into their eyes but also at nothing and everything at the same time. The mark left by him on his arm feels as cold as ice, yet burns like a flame at the same time.

Bran Stark sits in his wheelchair, where he has been since the morn. He takes a deep breath for a quick moment before closing his eyes briefly, sighing deeply before reopening them. But when he opens his eyes, he is not himself. He cannot even see himself or feel. Not that he really could before but now he's entirely different.

Brandon Stark Wargs with the body of a raven, soaring through the winter skies followed closely by a volly of other ravens. He soars above Winterfell, watching as soldiers and non-combatants prepare ever still for the Long Night to come.

Evelyn Dayne prepares Northmen bellow, training them in the way of the shield wall. To stand in front of the dead with no shield and quite frankly, one's ass out in the breeze, would be a foolish and needless way to die and give one more soldier to the seemingly infinite number of dead already.

Brandon watches as Evelyn drills the Northerners alongside the Unsullied, Grey Worm.

"On a man, not every sword stroke is a kill. But these are no longer men! They are mindless animals that will charge at you in hopes of overwhelming you. To stand together to form an unbreakable and unpenitruable shield to guard-"

He controls the raven past Evelyn and the others, flying them directly north of the North. To a land that never seems to see summer. A land of always winter yet not quite the Land of Always Winter.

It's takes hours and hours flying the ravens that distance. To the Wall, it takes a lot of energy to keep control of the raven's body from this distance. But the Three-Eyed-Raven can manage for now.

After however long he's seen nothing but white, sharp shades of icy blue cut into his vision as the mighty Wall appears before the flock of ravens, and, evidently, Brandon Stark.

None of the castles of the Wall are manned anymore. During the prime time of the Night's Watch, one could see almost every single castle stand strong. But now, most of them are just ruins of their former selves. But Castle Black still stands, now empty of the cold miserable people that used to call it home.

The memories of hardship, of loss, of betrayl, of reunion, of death, love, and duty all ring out in the echos of time and history. Echos that only Bran can hear. History that only he can remember for all time.

History is a tricky thing. History remembers thoughs who challenge the norm and fail. Sometimes, all it takes to change the course of history is the will of a single man...

..or a woman...

Attacking is the only true secret. Dare, and the world will yield.

But history will mean nothing if he isn't stopped. When winter comes, and it will come, the living will be utterly helpless to stop the dead unless they stand together as one to form an unbreakable and unpenitruable shield to guard the realms of their common men and women, innocent or otherwise.

History will be forgotten if they fail. He will ensure that.

Flying the ravens past Castle Black, heading westward, he flies over ruined castles such as Queensgate, Deep Lake, The Night Fort, Icemark and Greyguard. All ruined and barely standing on the 700 foot tall structure of solid ice and magic.

Reaching just to Stonedoor castle on the Wall, Bran directs the ravens through his Warging abilities and flies them north from there. The last that anyone had seem or heard from the White Walkers was near Eastwatch by the Sea. But Bran knows that he is always moving, always playing the long game.