On My Honor ‣ Jaime Lannister

Good Graces

BRAN

He stood in the courtyard for the first time in months with a bow in his hand. Between his fingers was the string of the bow, an arrow already loaded. He did not know why he was there or where his attention had once been, but it was diverted by the loud caw of a raven. Bran dropped the arrow and did not make a move to retrieve it, entranced by the strange bird. The raven was perched upon one of the stone direwolf statues about in the courtyard before it took flight, spreading its wings and gracefully gliding to the crypts of Winterfell. Bran wasn't sure why, but he knew he had to follow it.

He chased after the raven that was perched upon another stone direwolf, illuminated by torchlight. It continued cawing all the way, the noise only growing louder each time. At the entrance of the crypts, Bran stopped and made eye contact with this mysterious raven. It was a large bird cloaked in black feathers, but its most interesting feature was the third beady eye on the center of its forehead.

In confusion and intrigue, Bran stepped closer to the mysterious three-eyed raven, but as he approached, it once again began to fly, this time down the crypts of Winterfell. Its caws echoed throughout the crypts and Bran went to follow the sound before he was reminded that it was all a dream.

Hodor burst into Bran's chambers with the specially crafted saddle, the sound of the door startling Bran awake. He was less than pleased to remember he couldn't actually walk, let alone chase after a weird raven, but his face lit up at the sight of the saddle. Today was the day where he could ride again. The blueprint saddle had turned into an expert-made, leather-crafted reality.

Though it was awful the use of his legs was taken from him, Bran mounted the young horse with his new saddle and allowed himself to enjoy this sliver of bliss he could still have. He couldn't climb the walls and watch Winterfell bustling below him anymore, but he could still ride and that was much more than he thought he would ever do again. He knew once the ride was over, he would most likely fall into a state of glum again, but for now, he enjoyed the cold autumn winds weaving through his long hair. His shouts of joy could be heard all through the woods of Winterfell.

Robb and Theon watched the young boy enjoy himself for the first time in too long, both feeling a sort of brotherly pride towards him though only one shared blood with him.

"Not too fast," Robb warned.

"Come on, Dancer," Bran said to the horse, encouraging the young horse to ride faster against his brother's wishes.

"When are you gonna tell him?" Theon asked, referring to the attack towards Lord Stark in King's Landing.

"Not now," Robb answered.

"Blood for blood," he urged. "You need to make the Lannisters pay for Jory and the others."

"You're talking about war," he replied. "The very thing Naya is traveling the Kingsroad as we speak to avoid."

"I'm talking about justice," he corrected.

"Only the Lord of Winterfell can call in the bannermen and raise an army."

"A Lannister put his spear through your father's leg. The Kingslayer may already be riding to Casterly Rock where no one can touch him-"

"You want me to march on Casterly Rock?" he asked incredulously.

"You're not a boy anymore. They attacked your father. They've already started the war. It's your duty to represent your house when your father can't."

"And it's not your duty, because it's not your house."

Theon blinked away the hurt caused by the sentence that, while true, only further made him feel like an outsider in Winterfell. Robb basked in the silence for a moment before realizing he could no longer hear Bran's jubilated shouts and Dancer's gallops on the forest floor.