At dusk, Winterfell was covered in white snow. The markings on the massive weirwood tree in the center of the castle were like a blood-stained face silently peering at the world, quiet and ethereal.
In a moment when no one was watching, that face suddenly and silently blinked its eyes...
Bran Stark's delicate little face was as bright as boundless moonlight, like a piece of fragile glass art that made one feel pity and hesitant to touch.
Suddenly, the little Direwolf sleeping under Bran's bed opened its eyes. Its gaze was bright and piercing, staring intently at Bran's fingers by the bedside, which were slowly curling.
Bran Stark slowly opened his eyes. He blinked and looked around, finding himself alone in the room, so he lay back down and stared blankly at the wooden ceiling.
He muttered, "Why hasn't Mother come to see me yet?"
On normal days, Catelyn Tully would have wished she could carry her precious son with her at all times, never leaving his side.
Once his consciousness cleared, he rolled over and got off the bed, standing on the thick, soft plush carpet. He decided to go out and find someone to play with; at worst, he just wouldn't climb high towers anymore.
He shouted loudly, wanting to prove to his father and mother that he had woken up, but no one paid him any attention. Only his little wolf walked slowly toward him.
Bran happily reached out to pet its head, only to find that his hand passed directly through the little wolf's body.
He was terrified. In his panic, as he glanced back, he discovered his own body was still lying on the bed, covered by the blankets.
"Hello, young Greenseer."
An old and raspy voice rang out. Bran searched the room but could not find who was speaking, so he silently turned his gaze toward the little wolf, who was also looking at him.
"I am not that wolf!" the voice said, suddenly sounding a bit impatient.
"Child, look out the window."
Bran hurriedly walked to the window. He saw a black crow perched on a branch of the weirwood tree outside. Bran tilted his head, for he had never seen a crow with three eyes before.
Under his astonished gaze, the soul of an old man actually stepped out from the crow's body. The old man walked through the air, stepped over the windowsill, and came before Bran.
"Crow man?"
"It is the three-eyed crow, child. In this world, only one in a thousand can be a skinchanger; and only one in a thousand skinchangers can be a Greenseer. And you possess the talent to become a Greenseer."
"What is a Greenseer?"
"Greenseer is the term the world uses to describe us, because we possess great power beyond that of mortals. We can harness nature and foresee the future. Come, child, give me your hand, and let me lead you to experience the feeling of harnessing nature."
Bran timidly handed over his hand, and the old man grasped Bran's fair and thin little hand.
Bran felt a warm current surge through his arm and into his body, flowing from his right hand to his right foot, then to his left foot and left hand, finally circling and spinning incessantly in the middle of his forehead, forming an eye-shaped vortex.
"Child, look! The sky is right above your head. Fly with all your might!"
Bran Stark thought to himself: I want to fly! I want to fly! With each silent repetition in his mind, he found his feet actually lifting off the ground, and his body was rapidly flying upward.
A strange thought suddenly popped into his head: Oh no! I won't poke a hole through my roof, will I? That would be much more serious than climbing a high tower!
Just as his little head was about to touch the roof, Bran closed his eyes in fear.
But after a long while, he felt no obstruction. He slowly opened his tightly shut eyes, and then they involuntarily widened.
The earth prostrated beneath his feet, the mountains bowed to him, and the clouds washed his soul.
He watched himself flying high in the sky, the cool wind brushing past his cheeks and birds accompanying him on his left and right. He had never felt such freedom.
He felt the air around him as warm as spring—not like the warmth of a fireplace, but a natural warmth. This was something he had never felt in his life, and he thought this might be the beautiful summer that the big-bellied King Robert had mentioned to his father that day.
In a daze, he felt as if he had transcended the mortal coil and ascended to immortality.
His gaze gradually looked down, peering through the buildings at Winterfell in the evening.
He saw his mother, Catelyn Tully, kneeling in the Sept of the Seven, praying devoutly. Her mouth seemed to be murmuring something, and looking at the shape of her lips, it seemed to be his name. Beside her, however, lay a dagger...
He saw his eldest brother, Robb Stark, quietly reading in their father's study. Theon Greyjoy, beside him, was saying something to Robb.
He saw Jon Snow practicing against several people at once inside Castle Black, but as he looked around, he did not see his uncle, Benjen Stark.
Bran curled his lip and turned his gaze toward King's Landing. He wanted to see what his father, Sansa, and Arya were doing now. He thought to himself: Arya must be secretly practicing her swordplay behind Father's back again.
However, just as he concentrated his attention to look toward King's Landing, a pair of eyes suddenly appeared before him.
The eyes contained a strange pattern, like a ball of burning flame. The immense power radiating from these eyes left him stunned for a moment.
"Brandon, long time no see." The voice sounded very calm, but Bran could feel a surging magma hidden beneath that calm surface.
Then, he suddenly felt his head grow heavy and his spirit wither.
"Don't look there! Child!"
At that moment, an old voice rang out. The voice was like a hot spring in the dead of winter, like an oasis in the desert, allowing Bran, who had fallen into the mire, to step out immediately.
"Withdraw your gaze! Child, don't look there!"
"That was..."
"Just an old friend from many years ago. Fortunately, he meant no harm."
At the same moment, Joffrey, who was practicing swordsmanship, suddenly felt a gaze peering at him. Just as he was about to turn and check, he heard a light "clink," and the iron sword in his hand was knocked away.
"Your Highness, you must not be distracted when facing an enemy."
The speaker was Joffrey's swordsmanship teacher. He was the bastard son of Robert's father, Steffon Baratheon, younger than Robert but older than Stannis, named Borin Storm.
He looked more like their father than his eldest brother Robert did. He had deep blue eyes and the thick black hair characteristic of House Baratheon; he was tall and sturdily built. His personality was similar to Stannis's—staid and serious, a pursuer of justice.
"I'm sorry, Teacher. Let's try again." Joffrey smiled and picked up his longsword again.
Having grown up in The Red Keep, Joffrey's respect and affection for his teacher Borin Storm were perhaps second only to his parents. It was a pity that Joffrey had not met his teacher during the most critical years of his childhood values formation; otherwise, he would not have become as cruel and foolish as he was in the original story.
"Hold the sword with your hand, and let the sword move with your heart. If your heart is not still, your sword will not obey you. That is all for today." With that, he turned and left.
...
The old man sighed, as if he had much he wanted to say, but in the end, he did not speak. Instead, he turned his gaze to Bran.
"Child, it is time for us to return. To wander for so long on your first time—your talent is the greatest I have seen in my life. Do not worry, we will meet again. Remember: Winter is coming!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Bran felt his body suddenly become heavy. He looked down and found himself falling downward at high speed.
"Ahhh—"
He screamed in fear, internally offering a kind and gentle greeting to that old crow's entire family.
He was falling, down from the high sky, through the clouds, past the birds.
After a long while, he felt a sudden "buzz" in his brain, and he fell back into his own body.
His soul having returned, Bran Stark slowly opened his eyes to see his little wolf lying on top of him, staring with yellow eyes and looking at him with some confusion. Bran reached out and stroked its tilted little head, feeling the little wolf's warm body and smooth fur in his hand.
This warm feeling was exactly the same as the feeling he had while wandering. Was this the feeling of summer? He laughed happily, knowing that this time he was truly awake.
With a loud clang, a maid of Winterfell dropped the iron basin in her hands onto the floor. Splashed with hot water, she didn't even have time to clean up before she ran out happily, shouting at the top of her lungs, "He's awake! Bran is awake!"
Robb heard the news and ran up the tower as fast as he could. Just as he burst through the door out of breath, he saw Bran stroking the little Direwolf.
The little wolf licked Bran's delicate face, making Bran itch. Bran stroked its forehead and said:
"I've decided. I'll call you Summer."
...
In the North, inside Castle Black.
"There has been no news of Benjen for several days. Could there really be White Walkers beyond the Wall? If the legends are true, Benjen is in trouble. I hope my brother wasn't lost just for the sake of that noble little lordling of a family."
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sat in his chair, leaning on his ancestral valyrian steel sword. He frowned, his graying beard signaling that he had long since reached the age of retirement.
"Do not be alarmed, Lord Commander. Trust in the abilities of Brandon the Builder; even if there truly are White Walkers out there, they cannot cross the Wall. Benjen may simply have been delayed by something."
Maester Aemon leaned back in his lounge chair. He was now a hundred years old; the former Targaryen prince was now quite old and frail.
His head was completely bald, with only a few wisps of white hair remaining at his temples. His face was etched with the marks of time, covered in wrinkles.
His eyes had long been blind; if one looked closely, they would see that his pupils had turned white.
His voice was soft and resonant. Although his volume was not loud, people were very willing to listen to his teachings out of respect for him.
He had once been secretly offered the throne by Brynden Rivers, but he had voluntarily given up the crown, yielding it to his younger brother, Aegon V Targaryen. He chose instead to become a member of the Nights Watch, guarding the Wall for the rest of his life.
At that moment, a travel-worn Jon Snow ran in from the wind and snow. He looked at the two high-ranking members of the Nights Watch, his heart filled with excitement and unease.
He was excited because he was being summoned privately by the two leaders, but uneasy because he was terrified that what he would hear was news of his uncle Benjen Stark's death.
His uncle had been beyond the Wall for several days now without a single word, which was very unusual.
He thought to himself: Please, let me know the outcome. No, actually, don't let me know.
His heart was very conflicted; he wanted to know his uncle's situation, yet he was afraid of learning that a tragedy had occurred.
"Jon, your letter has arrived." Jeor Mormont casually handed the letter to the red-faced, freezing Jon Snow before him.
"Is there news of my uncle?"
"No, it is about another matter. I think you should take a good look at it yourself."
Jon Snow looked at the letter in confusion, then his breathing quickened and his eyes widened. He panted, scanning line by line, for fear that he might miss something.
"No, Bran fell from the high tower. It's all my fault; I should have made him break that bad habit long ago."
Jon Snow sniffled, two crystal teardrops looking as if they might fall at any moment. Seeing his brother injured felt worse than dying himself, until he read to the very end.
"My brother is awake! He lived! He lived!"
Jon Snow felt two streams of hot tears about to burst forth. Even though they were far apart, his heart still worried for this brother of his.
Before he could even bid farewell to the two old men, Jon Snow took the letter and ran outside, shouting as he went.
He wanted to tell everyone the good news: his brother Bran had survived.
"I think highly of this boy. Although he is still very green and rash, rashness is closer to courage than cowardice. I have never been wrong about people..."
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont looked at Jon Snow with a gaze as if he were looking at a beloved junior.
Hearing this, Maester Aemon, sitting in his chair, also slowly turned his head to watch Jon Snow, who was crying tears of joy and running outside.
At that very moment, his eyes instantly changed from dim to bright. He suddenly smiled. Lord Commander Mormont, seeing Maester Aemon's smile, only thought the other man was agreeing with him, never noticing the excitement and fervor beneath Maester Aemon's smile.
Because fire and blood share the same source, Maester Aemon could clearly feel the blood of the true dragon latent within Jon Snow's body.
"Perhaps this child really can be as you wish."