Chapter 83 — Awakening
In his dreams, the three-eyed crow had guided him ever northward. It wasn't until he met Jojen and Meera that Bran finally understood where those strange dreams came from.
"This is your destiny — and your responsibility," the old man, Brynden, said.
"I don't care about destiny. I don't want responsibility. I just want to stand again," Bran said, his voice trembling with barely concealed pleading.
The only reason he had endured lying helpless on that wooden board for so long was the hope that the Three-Eyed Raven could heal his legs. Even if he could never climb again, anything would be better than living like a cripple forever.
"I cannot make you walk again," Brynden said gently, "but I can let you see things you have never seen before — in another way."
All the years of hope collapsed in an instant. The strength seemed to drain from Bran's body. He slumped forward onto his arms, no longer wanting to listen.
"Would you truly choose to spend your whole life in a bed, instead of experiencing another kind of life? One you've never even imagined?" Brynden persisted.
Bran didn't lift his head. What kind of life could he have if he couldn't even stand?
He had loved climbing since he was little. Every tall tower and wall in Winterfell had felt his hands. Before they left for King's Landing, he'd imagined scaling the Red Keep itself.
He loved riding, too. He had dreamed of becoming a brave knight like his father, Eddard Stark. But after his fall, all of that had been taken from him.
"Don't you want to know who pushed you from the tower?" Brynden asked quietly.
"Who?" Bran's head snapped up. Hatred flared in his eyes.
Ever since he awoke from his fall, he had tried to remember how it happened. Others had asked if he'd simply slipped. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not recall climbing the tower — or falling from it.
He had even begun to suspect it might truly have been an accident, though he had never once slipped while climbing before.
Now, hearing Brynden's question, he realized: he hadn't fallen. Something else had happened.
"I don't need to tell you," Brynden said. "You can see for yourself."
He glanced toward Leaf, who stood against the cave wall to his right. Understanding, she turned and walked deeper into the cave.
"See for myself? With my skinchanger abilities? But I've done that before. I can only see what Summer sees."
Bran had entered the mind of his direwolf, Summer — but that only showed him the wolf's world. How could that reveal the truth of his fall?
Brynden said nothing, only gazing into the cave's depths. Soon Leaf returned, carrying a wooden bowl.
"Drink this weirwood paste," Brynden said, hope in his ancient eyes. "You will see everything you wish to see."
Bran forced himself upright, staring at the bowl Leaf held out.
The paste was a deep green, speckled with seed-like bits of weirwood. Beneath the surface, a faint thread of red swirled — like diluted blood.
Bran stared at the strange-looking weirwood paste, hesitating. He turned his head to look back at Meera and the wildling woman, Osha, hoping for some kind of guidance.
Meera had not yet recovered from the grief of losing her brother, Jojen. The two of them had endured countless hardships to bring Bran to the Three-Eyed Raven, and Jojen had paid for it with his life.
She still didn't understand why her brother, a greenseer, had followed this path as if fulfilling a sacred mission — willing to die just so Bran could reach this place.
She could see how much Brynden wanted Bran to drink the paste. She would not stop him. In a way, this was the completion of her brother's final wish.
And Brynden had gone to such lengths to draw Bran here — he would hardly poison him now.
As for Osha, she had been stunned from the moment she entered the cave, overwhelmed by Brynden's inhuman appearance. She barely understood what the two were discussing, and certainly couldn't offer the answer Bran sought.
Bran knew in his heart that the bowl was tied to the "destiny" and "responsibility" Brynden spoke of.
His legs were gone. Life had already lost its greatest joys. What else was there left for him to lose? Only one thing remained in his heart — the hatred toward the one who had pushed him from the tower.
With that thought, Bran propped himself up with his left hand, took the wooden bowl from Leaf with his right, and brought it to his lips. After one swallow, bitterness flooded his mouth.
He hesitated — but then a cool, refreshing sensation spread down his throat. The dryness from their long journey eased instantly.
He drank the rest in several gulps. Warm strength seemed to seep through his limbs.
Watching with satisfaction, Brynden said, "Come closer. Place your hand on the heart tree. Let your mind sink into it, just as you enter Summer's mind. Think of what you wish to see."
Bran crawled forward, leaned against the tree, and laid his hand upon its bark, recalling the many times he had attempted to reach beyond himself.
Darkness swallowed him. A faint, muffled whisper filled his ears. He forced his eyes open—
—and found himself in a familiar place.
The broken tower of Winterfell.
Following the sound, he saw a noble face twisted in strange pleasure and pain — Queen Cersei, held in the arms of a golden-haired man.
Bran watched, confused at first, then memory stirred. This was the day he had climbed the tower.
"Hmm?" Cersei's eyes suddenly opened. She looked directly toward him. Bran panicked — but then realized she wasn't seeing him, but the other Bran — the younger version — crouched outside the window.
The golden-haired man sensed something wrong and turned as well. The Bran at the window realized he'd been seen and scrambled to climb higher, trying to flee across the tower's top.
His foot slipped.
He dangled, scrambling for purchase, unable to find a hold.
"The things I do for love," the man said coldly — and shoved him.
Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. He had pushed Bran from the tower.
Bran finally knew why he could never walk again.
Back in the cave, Bran's breathing was ragged. Reliving the fall made his heart pound.
"I told you," Brynden said quietly, seeing the terror in Bran's face. He knew Bran had seen what he sought.
"If I want to know something… I can see it?" Bran asked after catching his breath.
"Most things," Brynden nodded.
"But do not linger too long," he added gravely. "Stay there too long, and you may lose yourself… and never find your way back."
Bran nodded — and placed his hand on the tree again.