章節 387: Chapter 388: The Green Sight
Bran Stark dreamed of the three-eyed raven again.
And three dragons—
One white, one black, one green.
They roared as they circled in the night sky, breathing fire upon a beautiful manor filled with sycamore trees.
In the manor, a grand banquet was underway—elegant gentlemen, radiant ladies, valiant knights, and a king wearing a ruby-encrusted crown, wielding a fiery greatsword.
The king cast a crimson shadow.
Bran felt a strange familiarity with the king's face but couldn't recall where he had seen him before.
He heard the nobles chanting the name "Caesar" and realized that the king was none other than the Storm King, Caesar.
Suddenly, Caesar tilted his head upward, gazing past the infinite night sky, as if locking eyes with Bran.
He's seen me!
A chill ran through Bran, a terror as instinctive as a thief caught in the act. The fear surged through him like a tidal wave.
"Bran," came a gentle whisper, "Bran, wake up. Bran…"
Bran shut his third eye and opened the other two—
The human ones. The blind ones.
"Bran?" Meera Reed was shaking his arm gently. "Another nightmare? You were trembling just now."
"Mm…" Bran nodded, the image of Caesar's piercing gaze still fresh in his mind—eyes as deep as the night, as molten as lava.
"What did you see?" Jojen Reed asked.
The Reed siblings—Meera and Jojen—were the children of Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch. Small and wiry like most crannogmen, they had green eyes and an air of quiet resilience.
The Reeds were sworn bannermen of House Stark, and Howland had been Eddard Stark's most trusted companion. He was one of only two survivors of the fateful Tower of Joy battle that Eddard never spoke of.
After Winterfell fell, Bran had fled with his mother and younger brother until the Umbers took them in at Last Hearth. It was there that the Reed siblings had found them.
Thanks to the ties between their families, and the bonds forged by their fathers' friendship, Bran quickly grew close to the siblings.
It was Jojen who taught Bran how to use his warging abilities and explained that Bran possessed the gift of the greensight.
"I saw three dragons. And a king," Bran said.
He knew the dream was a product of his greensight, granting him fragmented glimpses of the past, present, and future. Yet he struggled to control the ability, unable to see what he wanted. Instead, he was plagued by seemingly random visions.
"Only one man in Westeros has dragons," Jojen mused. "The Storm King, Caesar. What did he do to frighten you so?"
Bran shivered and shook his head.
"Nothing… except… he seemed to see me…"
Jojen's green eyes narrowed slightly.
"Perhaps Caesar also possesses the greensight."
"How is that possible?" Meera countered. "He doesn't have the blood of the First Men, nor does he worship the Old Gods. How could he have the greensight?"
"I don't know…" Jojen admitted, his tone uncertain.
"I'm hungry. Is there any food?" Bran changed the subject, his voice dull.
In truth, he didn't care about Caesar or the dragons. All Bran wanted was to see his family—his father, mother, brother Robb, little Rickon, and sisters Sansa and Arya. But the greensight didn't yield to his desires, and he couldn't catch even a fleeting glimpse of his loved ones.
"I caught two rabbits. I'll fetch them," Meera said.
The rabbit meat was cold, tough, and gamey, but Bran ate without complaint.
He was no longer the pampered second son of a lord. With only the Reeds and his simple-minded servant, Hodor, for company, Bran had grown accustomed to hardship.
Winterfell was gone. Rickon might inherit it as a figurehead lord, but everyone knew a six-year-old child was nothing more than a puppet.
His father and Robb had been exiled to the Wall, and though Bran should have been the one to inherit Winterfell, the Reed siblings had convinced him otherwise.
They spoke of a greater purpose in the North, beyond the Wall, tied to someone—or something—called the "Three-Eyed Raven."
Bran often wondered why he had decided to follow the Reeds into this madness. Perhaps it was the strange dreams, or the crushing grief that clouded his judgment. Perhaps he simply didn't want to return to Winterfell to be a puppet himself.
Whatever the reason, he had snuck away from Last Hearth without saying goodbye to his mother or brother.
Once he had eaten, Bran wiped his hands on his tunic and said,
"Let's keep moving."
"Alright."
"Hodor." Hodor hoisted Bran onto his back and began walking. Despite his massive frame, Hodor moved with surprising speed.
It was said that Hodor might have giant's blood, and Bran believed it. It was a pity his mind was so simple; otherwise, Hodor would have made a fearsome warrior.
The group avoided the King's Road, instead weaving through deserted forest paths as they made their way north.
The air grew colder, the vegetation sparser. After what felt like days, Bran finally saw a faint white line on the horizon.
It was the Wall.
"Are we going to Castle Black?" Bran asked excitedly.
He knew his father and Robb were likely there, along with his half-brother Jon Snow. He longed to see them.
"Of course not," Jojen replied. "The Night's Watch won't let us pass the Wall. Besides, the wildlings are attacking Castle Black."
Bran's excitement waned, but he didn't argue.
"Then how will we cross the Wall?"
"The Wall is lined with dozens of castles. Most of them have been abandoned as the Night's Watch dwindled. We'll pass through one of those."
"But didn't the Watch seal the gates with stone when they abandoned the castles?"
"They did," Jojen said, his green eyes glowing faintly. "But there are ways through they couldn't seal."
Bran didn't ask further. He lay quietly on Hodor's back, lost in thought.
As night fell, they arrived at a castle overgrown with weeds.
"This is Nightfort," Jojen explained. "Once the largest castle of the Night's Watch."
He led the group inside. The castle was deserted, filled with crumbling stonework, icy corridors, and thick dust.
Jojen searched methodically, eventually finding an old well in what might have been the kitchen. Without hesitation, he climbed into it.
Meera followed, and after a moment's hesitation, Bran had Hodor carry him down as well.
The well was dark and damp, growing colder the further they descended. After about ten minutes, Jojen stopped.
Before them stood a door.
It was made of weirwood, glowing faintly like milk in the darkness. Its surface bore the carved face of an ancient, pale man.
The face opened its eyes—white as snow.
"Who are you?" the door asked.
Bran didn't know how to respond.
But Jojen stepped forward, reciting:
"I am the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls, the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men."
He's lying, Bran thought. That's the Night's Watch vow, and we're not Night's Watch.
"Go," the door said, its mouth opening into a tunnel.
On the other side was a blinding snowstorm.
"Let's go," Jojen said, stepping through.
Meera followed, and Hodor carried Bran after them.
Bran glanced back one last time, feeling as though unseen eyes were watching him.
They were Caesar's eyes.
In his dream, the Storm King had warned him: Do not pass beyond the Wall.
But Bran shook the thought from his mind.
He would go beyond the Wall. He would find the Three-Eyed Raven. Not just for the Reeds' talk of destiny—but because the Three-Eyed Raven had promised him something.
"You will fly," it had said.
He couldn't walk.
But he wanted to fly.
(End of Chapter)
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