Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

Through The Looking Glass

Helaena POV

The dragon princess wasn't certain when the dreams of the North first started. Five or six moons past, no longer. Right about that time she began communing with an unseen ghost.

The connection seemed obvious perhaps in hindsight. And what a thing to say to a seer.

In her defense, the lands beyond the Wall, were the most prominent. The miles of frozen earth and harsh wind she could practically feel even while not physically present. A light brown direwolf that often transformed into a confusing winged chimera before settling as a murder of crows also took center stage.

Magical beings with grass-like skin and age-old wisdom whispering in her ear of the danger of her power. The recklessness of her use of it.

In her mind's eye she saw a castle in the heart of the snows. A beautiful dark fortress. Large and imposing. But the feeling that invaded her senses or atleast consumed the memory of the ghost who shared it with her was unmistakable.

Home.

She now names it the ancestral seat of House Stark. The wardens of the North and lords of Winterfell.

And the birthplace of her intended Cregan, and her wandering companion, newly named Bran.

How many Brandon's are there in the North anyhow.

It's their version of Aegon. Maybe she shouldn't judge too much.

Her wolf and her friend were kin. She knew that. But the reaction she expected when she assumed, rightfully so she might add, that he's her own descandant, was ... wrong.

It wasn't denial or distraction. He's evaded many questions in their previous talks. She learned to somewhat read him and his tells.

To the outside world he's nothing but the sound of leaves or rustle of the wind. That's how the northerners speak of the Old Gods in their stories and legends.

She didn't believe her ghost was a deity. His voice was too young, too heartbroken, upset, or cheerful when he did answer her inquires.

He was too ... human.

More than simple intuition, her link to the heart tree amplified with touch. Her link to him and their mutual dreamscape was stronger each time.

She could see his facial expressions. He looked blurry at times. Like an oil painting that didn't have enough time to dry before it was moved. It's still a pretty thing, but it could be better.

In the rare moments of clarity she learned of his appearance. His bright blue eyes and shining auburn hair reminded her of her handmaiden Lady Celia.

She also caught up to the fact he looked down whenever he told a lie or kept something from her.

It was a startling reminder of his youth. The vestiges of innocence and pure spirit that seem foreign when he talks of mythical monsters and invincible demons from the lands of Always Winter.

Now all that remains is his silence. And she's liking it less and less.

"Bran. Say something."

She felt the tether binding him to her own time flickering. His aura was thinning.

He's actually becoming a ghost.

"When you said Cregan. You meant the lord of Winterfell in this era. Son of Rickon Stark and Gillian Glover."

Why was he telling her facts of her own intended. She knew a great deal about her wolf before even meeting him. And learns something new every day.

"Yes. He became an orphan at ten and three and dethroned his uncle at six and ten after a power struggle. We can keep talking all day long of my betrothed. Believe me I can. Why haven't you answered my question yet?"