Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

Phantom

A/N: Double update today because I'm on a roll. Please comments are appreciated.

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Bran Umber POV

The heir to the Last Hearth had despised much of the time spent in the Capital. King's Landing was a suffocating prison of false gestures and rampant deceit.

Back alley betrayals and dubious politics went hand in hand with the unbearable heat and religious zealotry.

He heard of nobles whispering and judging his people for their strange gods and barbaric customs. They were hostile uncivilized heathens here in the Targaryen court, even if the royal House had ostensibly offered them guest right.

He's brought his faithful familiars Hugin and Munin here with him. The ravens were much needed assets to monitor for possible dangers. Ned's interrogation techniques couldn't solve everything.

But more than pragmatic tools, they were his close friends. He never bonded with a Direwolf. Not one of Moonhowler's litter or his uncle's Rollo. Even his other uncle's Ivar, a black ferocious beast with a single green eye and a second blue one, didn't call to him as he know he could.

It was a sore spot he never admitted aloud. After all he was a greenseer. Chosen by the Old Gods to act as their instrument here on the earthly plane. The blood of the proud kings of Winter and the mighty Umber giants ran strong through his veins.

If he couldn't claim his mother's sigil as his own, show his gift wasn't accidental but rightfully earned, then what is there for him? How can he ever prove his worth?

His greensight was a double edged sword. A valyrian blade without a hilt. Once a vision is unleashed it could take moments or hours to pass.

While he's effectively incapacitated, a spiritual deity of the forest and rivers inhabits his vessel. The dreams appears to him by their will.

It's after they leave his body that he can regain consciousness. His trusty ravens allow him to reconnect with the physical world. Trying to cut off a vision already in motion is a death sentence.

Deciphering their meaning is the trickier part. Prohecy is vague by nature. Omens and portents steer a person in any given direction. Too literal and you're fooling only yourself. Too abstract and you're confused on how to proceed.

That's why he came up with his herbal remedy. By mixing wolfspane, a rare bloom in the wolfswood, with some other ingredients and the blood of warged animals, he can see things much more clearly. The visions don't leave him in disarray or exhaustion.

The only bad thing is the taste. It's frankly disgusting. But he's managed so far.

He doubts his other guests will take so kindly to his genius creation.

"Bottoms up."

He drinks the concaction and instructs Cregan and the Princess Helaena to follow suit. The two have joined him here in his rooms after their conversation at the Godswood. It still feels ridiculous to call it such. Even in his own thoughts. But he digresses.

He harbors no ill will towards the princess. He did dislike the entire family on principle when he first arrived but his feelings are changed now.

The elder prince Aegon enjoyed drinking and jubilation. He wasn't the incompetent fool others paint him as. He liked being underestimated. That much he knew. His brief stint as septon soured his opinion of him fairly quickly. Until the man revealed he did it only as a dare to spite his younger brother.

Bran could respect such a response. Petty but worthwhile.

The youngest prince Daeron was easy-going and competitive. He exceled in his training. Bran even sparred with him a few times. Cregan did him dirty when he chose Ned to fight beside him at the duel. But he's moved on.