The three-eyed raven from his dreams had guided him north. Only after meeting Jojen and his sister did Bran finally understand the origin of his strange visions.
"This is your destiny, and your responsibility," the old man, Brynden, declared.
"I don't care about destiny or responsibility," Bran replied, his voice laced with desperation. "I just want to stand again."
The only reason he had endured lying on that wooden board for so long was the hope that finding the Three-Eyed Raven would cure his legs. Even if he could never climb walls again, it was better than spending every day lying on a board like a cripple.
"I cannot make you walk again," Brynden said. "But I can show you a way to see things you have never seen before."
His long-held hope had not yielded the expected result. Bran felt the strength drain from his body. He collapsed onto his arms, refusing to listen to Brynden any longer.
"Do you truly wish to spend the rest of your life in bed, never experiencing another kind of life? A life you have never even imagined?" Seeing Bran's despair, Brynden was forced to try and reason with him.
Bran remained slumped on his arms, refusing to even lift his head. What kind of life could he possibly have when he couldn't even stand?
Since childhood, he had been obsessed with climbing. He had scaled every tall structure in Winterfell, and when he learned he was going to King's Landing, he had fantasized about climbing the Red Keep.
Besides climbing, he loved riding horses and dreamed of becoming a brave knight like his father, Eddard. But ever since he'd lost the ability to stand, all of that had become irrelevant.
"Don't you want to know who pushed you from the tower?" Brynden asked again, seeing that Bran was still ignoring him.
"Who?" Bran's head snapped up at the question, his eyes burning with hatred.
Ever since he'd woken up after the fall, he had been trying to remember why he had fallen from the tower. Everyone else in Winterfell had been asking if he had simply slipped and fallen by accident.
But no matter how hard he tried to remember, he couldn't recall a single detail of how he had climbed the tower, let alone how he had fallen.
He had even suspected that he might have just lost his footing, though he had never failed a climb before.
Now, hearing Brynden's question, he realized instantly that he hadn't just slipped. There was another reason.
"I don't need to tell you. You can see it for yourself," Brynden said, glancing at Leaf, who stood by the cave wall to his right.
Leaf understood. She turned and walked deeper into the cavern.
"See it for myself? With my Alter abilities? But I've used them before. I shouldn't be able to see it."
Bran had once entered Summer's consciousness, but he could only see what the Direwolf saw. How could he learn the truth of his fall from the tower?
Brynden remained silent. Instead, he looked into the depths of the cave. Leaf, who had just gone inside, was slowly walking out, carrying a wooden bowl.
"Drink this Weirwood seed porridge, and you will see everything you wish to see," Brynden said, his eyes filled with anticipation.
Bran forced himself to look at the bowl Leaf held out. The porridge was a deep, vibrant green, with grass-seed-like Weirwood seeds floating on the surface. A faint trace of red shimmered within the bowl.
Staring at the eerie-looking porridge, Bran hesitated. He turned to Meera and Osha, the wildling woman, hoping for their advice.
Meera had not yet recovered from the grief of losing her brother, Jojen. He and she had endured countless hardships to escort Bran to the Three-Eyed Raven, and Jojen had paid the ultimate price for it.
She couldn't understand why her brother, an Alter, had been so willing to sacrifice his life to ensure Bran met the Three-Eyed Raven, as if it were his sacred mission.
She also noticed Brynden's eagerness for Bran to drink the weirwood seed porridge. She wouldn't interfere; after all, this was fulfilling her brother's dying wish. Besides, it seemed unlikely that Brynden would go to such lengths to bring Bran here only to harm him with a bowl of porridge.
Osha, the wildling woman, had been stunned by Brynden's appearance since she entered. She couldn't follow much of their conversation, nor could she provide the answers Bran sought.
Bran understood that the porridge was tied to the destiny and responsibility Brynden had mentioned.
Now legless, he felt his life had lost its greatest meaning. He had nothing left to lose, except for the resentment he harbored toward the man who had pushed him from the tower.
With this thought, Bran propped himself up with his left hand and took the wooden bowl from Leaf with his right. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. The first swallow was incredibly bitter.
Just as he hesitated to continue, a cool, refreshing sensation washed down his throat, greatly soothing the dryness from their long journey.
So he hesitated no longer and drank the rest of the weirwood seed porridge in a few gulps, instantly feeling a surge of strength through his body.
Watching Bran finish the porridge with satisfaction, Brynden said, "Come closer. Place your hand on the Heart Tree and let your consciousness sink into it, just as you entered Summer's consciousness. Visualize the scene you wish to see."
Bran obeyed, crawling to the tree and leaning against it. He placed his hand on its trunk, recalling the countless attempts he had made before.
Darkness enveloped his vision. All he could hear were muffled whispers. He strained to open his eyes, and only then did the familiar scene resolve before him.
It was the broken tower of Winterfell, a place he had climbed many times. Following the sound, he saw a noble face contorted in pain—Queen Cersei. She was being held in the arms of a golden-haired man.
Bran watched the scene with curiosity, his mind gradually recalling the details of that day's climb.
"Hmm?" Cersei, who had been closing her eyes in pain, suddenly opened them and saw Bran. Startled, Bran was about to pull away when he realized Cersei wasn't looking at him, but at another version of himself, perched on the windowsill and peering inside.
The golden-haired man sensed a strange presence in his arms. He turned and looked out the window.
The Bran perched on the windowsill realized he had been spotted by the man in the broken tower. He scrambled to rise, desperate to climb onto the ledge and escape from the tower's summit.
But in his panic, his foot slipped. He dangled precariously, unable to find any foothold.
"Little Stark, you shouldn't have come here," the golden-haired man said. With a single shove, he sent Bran plummeting from the broken tower.
*It was the Queen's brother, the Kingslayer, Jaime. He was the one who pushed me from the broken tower.*
At last, Bran understood why he could no longer stand.
Back inside the cave, Bran's breath came in ragged gasps. Reliving the fall from the broken tower had sent his heart racing.
"I told you so!" Brynden exclaimed, seeing Bran's terrified, panting expression. He knew Bran had finally seen what he needed to.
"Can I see anything I want, as long as I wish it?" Bran asked after a moment's rest.
"Generally, yes," Brynden nodded.
"But you cannot linger there too long," Brynden warned immediately. "Or you will lose yourself and never find the way back."
Bran nodded and placed his hand back on the tree trunk...
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