𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬
_________________

____ Through the hours of midday in the North, a summer breeze drifted throughout Winterfell's walls. The wind sent chills down the Northerners spines, resulting in them pulling their thin cloaks closer to themselves to savor whatever warmth they could find. Distant barking of hounds echoed from the kennels, an occurring sound in the castle, while accented with the nickers and whinnying of the horses inside of the stables, beside the gates to the castle. The Northern sky was as blue as the pond beside the Weirwood tree that day, with speckles of clouds spread across it, providing shade from the sun, that didn't much heat up the vast Northern lands.

Some weeks had passed since the news of young Bran Stark's awakening, and the Northerners couldn't have been happier to read the letter from the ravens.

The direwolf of creamy-white fur, similar to the shade of the sun, hadn't left his Stark's side since the night the assassin tried to kill young Bran, but with the awakening of the boy, Summer would leave the Stark's room to hunt with his siblings, more often than not, in the Godswood, which brightened Bran's dampened spirits, glad that his wolf could enjoy the woods, even if he couldn't.

The young boy had been heartbroken when he was told that he had lost the use of his legs as a result of the fall from the broken watchtower.

Therefore, the young Stark would spend most of his time laying under the blankets of his bed, telling anyone who came to his door that he didn't want to see them, excepting his brothers and Old Nan. Even now, during the beautiful day in the North, the young Stark was laying on his bed, blankets pulled to his chin, as Old Nan sat in a chair beside his bed, knitting something the boy couldn't yet make out.

Removing his gaze from the ceiling above him, Bran's eyes laid on his brother's relaxed form, sitting on the windowsill beside the bed with his head laying on his arm, as his legs dangled over the edge of the stone-made seat of the windowsill. The direwolves, Alysanne and Summer, were laying beside the secondborn Stark's booted feet, with the black wolf closer to the wooden door, always wary of any threats towards her Stark and his siblings. Even though all three of them were sleeping, Bran was comforted by the presence of the fierce wolves and his protective older brother, knowing nothing could harm him with Rikson and the direwolves near him.

Whenever Old Nan's frightening tales echoed in the back of the young boy's head, when he were younger, Bran would always run to Rikson, knowing he would defend him against anyone or anything.

Rikson's presence was always a form of security for  the young Stark, as is the same for all of the Stark children, though Bran took the most security in his brother, having been told how Rikson had killed a village of Wildings a year ago, and Bran knew the savages weren't easily killed. The Valyrian steel sword, named Wrath, belonging to the secondborn Stark only proved Bran's point that his brother could defend him from anything.

The squawking of a crow stole the young Stark's attention.

Young Bran stared at the black bird, the voice of Old Nan filling his ears, "Don't listen to it. Crows are all liars. I know a story about a crow." Moving his gaze towards the ceiling, Bran spoke, "I hate your stories."

"I know a story about a boy who hated stories.
I could tell you about Ser Duncan the Tall.
Those were always your favorites."

"Those weren't my favorites. My
favorites were the scary ones."

Old Nan ceased her knitting, placing the strings upon her lap, as the fireplace behind the chair she sat in crackled and sizzled, the opened shudders of the windows allowing a breeze into the chambers.

"Oh, my sweet summer child. What do you know
about fear? Fear is for the winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep. Fear is for the Long Night, when the sun hides for years and children are born and live and die all in darkness. That is the time for fear, my little lord, when the White Walkers move
through the woods."

At the mention of the ancient White Walkers of legend, young Bran removed his gaze from the ceiling and towards the elderly woman sitting beside his bed, a curiosity held within his Stark eyes.

"Thousands of years ago there came a night
that lasted a generation. Kings froze to death in
their castles, same as the shepherds in their huts. And women smothered their babies rather than see them starve, and wept and felt the tears freeze on their cheeks. So is this the sort of story that you like?"

The little Lord nodded, anxious to hear the remainder of the story Old Nan was telling him, wondering if she were speaking nonsense as she always does, or if these White Walkers of legend walked the lands of Westeros thousands of years before he drew his first breath, and, maybe, if they would return some day.

"In that darkness, the White Walkers came for the
first time. They swept through cities and kingdoms, riding their dead horses, hunting with their packs
of pale spiders, big as hounds-"

The rattling of the wooden door to the chambers startled the young Stark, whom was too engrossed into the story he were hearing to notice the sound of footsteps that had approached his door.

The direwolves, hearing the creaking of the wooden door being opened, awakened from their afternoon nap and lifted their heads towards the one who had entered.

The young Stark's eldest brother, Robb, walked into the chambers, a grin forming on his lips as he looked between the startled look on his brother's face and the elderly woman beside him, "What are you telling him now?"

"Only what the little lord wants to hear."

Robb shook his head in amusement, "Get your supper. I want some time with him." Old Nan stood with her old legs, placing her knitting utensils on the wooden chair, before walking out of the chambers and closing the door behind her. With the grin remaining on his handsome features, Robb approached his brother's bed, "One time she told me the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant, named Macomber."

"Maybe we do." Young Bran responded, his face void of almost every emotion, which worried his eldest brother.

Glancing towards his slumbering younger brother and the direwolves at his feet, almost laughing at the fact the always on-guard Rikson Stark hadn't awoken, or moved an inch for that matter, when he had entered his brother's chambers. Then Robb remembered how stressed his brother has been for the past moon, his grin fading from his lips as he sat beside Bran.

"How do you feel? You still
don't remember anything?"

Bran shook his head in response.

"Bran, I've seen you climb a
thousand times. In the wind, in the rain, a
thousand times. You never fall."

"I did though." Releasing a heavy sigh of somber, Bran continued, "It's true, isn't it, what Maester Luwin says about my legs?" He glanced towards his legs as he spoke, before looking towards his brother.

The eldest Stark's Tully blue eyes filled with a sadness for his young brother, words geting caught in his throat, therefore he nodded, confirming that Bran Stark would never walk again.

"I'd rather be dead."

"Don't ever say that."

"I'd rather be dead."

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

Inside of the Godswood of Winterfell, with a breeze wafting throughout the woods and birds tweeting their sweet morning songs, that echoed across the forest, sat the secondborn Stark upon a rock before the pond, with the Weirwood tree elegantly standing behind him, it's embers for leaves swaying with the wind. The dry leaves spread across the floor of the forest crunched underneath the weight of birds and deer alike, alongside the direwolf, Alysanne, as she prowled throughout the woods, hunting for a morning prey.

The Stark laid across the rock, his leg crossed over the other and one of his arms supporting his head of wavy hair, as he pondered over what his brother had told him the day before about young Bran.

That Bran Stark had said he would rather be dead without the use of his legs.

Deeply inhaling and exhaling, with the view of the sun rays casting through the branches of trees above him, Rikson tried not to think too deeply into what his brother had said, knowing he was just upset and, hopefully, didn't even mean it.

The Stark moved his head towards the sound of panting, coming from his black direwolf, whom had trotted towards the pond to drink some of the cold water. Staring at his direwolf, Rikson closed his eyes before they opened in a white shade.

They lifted their head from the pond, stealing a glance at their reflection in the mirroring waters. Their white hues staring into their souls.

Before the breeze drifted across their fur, carrying the scent of prey, deep into the forest.

Glancing towards the man laying across the rock, before sprinting deep into the colorful woods.

The leaves crunched underneath their paws, soaring behind their frame as they swept past them.

With the scent of their prey looming closer, they ceased their sprint through the forest.

Then their sights landed upon a stag, with deep brown fur and majestic antlers, grazing upon the green grass.

They stayed low to the ground, waiting
for the perfect moment to pounce.

Crawling towards the side of the deer, their teeth barred and a low growl escaping them, they pounced onto the unsuspecting stag.

They felt skin rip underneath their teeth, with their claws digging into the neck of the stag, wary of the deadly antlers, until the animal ceased it's struggle, the scent of a fresh kill filling their nose.

Leaving the kill to her,
his vision faded to white.

With the taste of fresh blood lingering on his tongue, the secondborn Stark inhaled a breath of the air in the Godswood around him as his eyes returned to their crystal blue shade. The wind whistled through the leaves above the Stark as sun rays continued to shine through the branches of the numerous trees of the forest, as Rikson remembered the letters he had received from his sister in King's Landing and his brother at Castle Black.

Dear brother,

Father, Arya, and I have, safely, made it to the capital. I miss you more with every day that passes. And I dread to inform you that we encountered some trouble at an Inn on the Kingsroad. Our she-wolf of a sister had let Nymeria bite my poor Prince's hand. As punishment Lady was to be slain, but I do not know if father killed her, he has never mentioned it, and yet I somehow feel she is alive, but I do not know. I love you, my sweet Riky, and I will write as soon as I can

Sansa of House Stark

The raven carrying the letter from his sweet sister had arrived in the dawn, and Rikson had been worried for the direwolf's fate ever since. Rikson released a heavy sighed, just something else to add to the list of worries, he thought to himself. He also wondered what had become of Nymeria, telling himself to remember to ask Sansa that in the letter he would write as a reply to her.

Then his thoughts drifted to the letter Jon Snow had sent him. The raven from Castle Black had arrived in the dawn, as well, though the bird had landed inside of the Maester's chambers sooner than the one from King's Landing, as the Wall was closer to Winterfell than King's Landing.

Rikson Stark,

Uncle Benjen and I have arrived in Castle Black, and the Wall has had me awestruck since the moment I saw it. And although I know you have seen it, I want you to ride to Castle Black and come see it for yourself. I know you would love the weather up here, and the view from atop the Wall. I will take my vows a fortnight from today, and become a member of the Night's Watch, soon enough. I hope this letter finds you well, and perhaps I will remember to write to you after I say my vows

Oh, I forgot to mention, Ghost has missed you and Alysanne

Jon Snow

Rikson Stark had grinned to himself when he had read the letter his brother had sent him early in the dawn, wishing he could have seen Jon's awestruck face when he laid sights on the magnificent structure made of ice and magic, named the Wall. The Stark remembered when he had first seen the Wall with his Uncle many years ago, his jaw fell so low he thought it might touch his knees and the cold greeted the Stark as an old friend, though he did not have the pleasure of seeing the world from atop the Wall, almost envious that his brother could.

The Stark softly chuckled to himself, glad that someone in the Stark family was happy, as the birds sang through the Godswood. Another breeze drifted through the woods as the crunching of dry leaves began to echo, approaching the ground the rock, he remained on, laid on before the pond.

Turning his head, his direwolf came into his line of sight. Alysanne, and her siblings, had noticeably grown over the past moon. When the direwolf stood beside her Stark she reached above his waist. The Stark knew Alysanne, and her siblings, hadn't yet reached their full sizes. Which made him curious, wondering how big the wolves would be. Alysanne leaned down to drink several gulps of the pond, relishing in the feel of cold water running down her throat. The breeze swept through her fur as her pointed ears twitched towards every sound made in the large forest around her. Then she ceased her drinking, licking her snout, before turning to face her Stark. Her tail swayed in joy as she approached him, jumping on the rock and laying her head on his chest, feeling his hand rest on her fur and gently caress it along her back in swaying motions.

The direwolf, with her eyes closed in content, and the Stark, calm with the presence of his sweet wolf, both basked in the morning sun as they laid across the rock, lightly coated with bright green moss, with the pond's water rippling from the wolf's tongue soaking up the water some moments ago, the trees dancing with the cold wind, and the birds singing across the Godswood. At that moment, inside of the peaceful Godswood with his direwolf beside him, Rikson Stark let his worries drift from him, alongside the breeze, and simply enjoyed the moment of silence.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

Late into the day in the North, when the sun was leaning towards the west, the secondborn Stark found himself sitting inside of Winterfell's library. The windows allowed a breeze into the quiet room, the soft winds caressing the orange flames on the candles sitting upon the wooden tables and in the torches along the stone-made walls.

Alysanne and Greywind were sprawled across the floor before the wooden chair the Stark sat in, while Shaggydog laid behind the chair and Summer sat beside the Stark, with his head in his lap. The table before the Stark held a handful of candles, dripping wax, that were standing beside a stack of several books, as the Stark had planned on staying in the library until late into the night or if he was called upon by his brothers.

The only sounds to fill the atmosphere of the library were the faint chirpings of the birds and the chatting of the people outside of the stone walls, occasionally accompanied by the flipping of a page or a huff from one of the direwolves. Rikson Stark had chosen numerous books about random subjects, although they mainly consisted of Valyrians and their dragons, though at the moment his crystals were skimming across the pages of a book about the Long Night of thousands of years ago.

'Eight thousand years before the Targaryen
conquest, A WINTER DESCENDED UPON
THE WORLD, which lasted a generation.'

'In that darkness, from the Lands of Always Winter, THE WIGHT WALKERS DESCENDED UPON WESTEROS, whom sought TO BRING AN END TO ALL LIFE and COVER THE WORLD
IN DARKNESS.'

'Azor Ahai DEFEATED THE DARKNESS
of the Great Other, wielding his flaming
sword, named Lightbringer.'

'A prophecy foretells that he will be reborn WHERE SMOKE AND STONE MEET, to WAKE DRAGONS out of stone. And he who shall be named THE FIREBORN would BRING THE DAWN.'

'The Children of the Forest believe the One Whom Would Bring the Dawn will be reborn AMIDST THE WHITE WINDS that blow through THE OLD LANDS. They named the NORTHERN WARRIOR, THE ICEBORN.'

A Northern summer wind blew through the windows as the Stark's crystals danced across the pages written about the prophecy of the one who would bring the dawn. Though the Stark thought nothing of it, he felt a sense of familiarity towards the prophecy that was written among the stars and spread across those devoted to R'hllor, the Lord of Light. Though, as he read more about the prophecy the secondborn son of House Stark would almost say he felt connected to the prophecy of the Iceborn.

Suddenly, a swift breeze swept through the window nearest to Rikson, which loudly slammed the shutters closed, startling the boy of six-and-ten, therefore he closed the book he were reading and shoved it away from him, with chills creeping down his spine.

Releasing a sigh, while running a hand through his Stark brunette locks, Rikson shook his head to rid it of it's thoughts, patting Summer on the head, before reaching for a random book, being sure to avoid the one he had been previously reading.

Flipping the book open to a random page, the scent of ink on paper filling his nose, Rikson leant his chin atop his palm as his crystals began to skim across the creamy-yellow pages of the old book.

'A legendary SPECIES OF DRAGON,
that roam around the Shivering Sea and the White Waste. FAR LARGER THAN THE DRAGONS OF VALYRIA, they are made of living ice, with pale blue eyes, and translucent wings. They BREATHE ICE instead of the average fire.'

The Stark continued to flip page after page, skimming over the words he had read numerous times, about dragons, Valyrians, the Wall, and many more subjects that were deemed interesting to the Stark.

'When Daenys was still a maiden SHE HAD A PROPHETIC DREAM, showing the destruction of Old Valyria. Her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, fled with his family and numerous dragons to Dragonstone.'

'Twelve years later, when the Doom of Valyria
came, HOUSE TARGARYEN was ALL THAT REMAINED OF DRAGONRIDERS.'

'Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, was made
her father's heir and grew up expecting to become
the first ruling QUEEN OF WESTEROS. Her claim to the Iron Throne was challenged by her younger half-brother, sparking the war known as THE DANCE OF DRAGONS.'

As the sun set in the west and the Wolf's moon rose towards the night's sky in the east, the Stark continued to read book after book, with the four direwolf's slumbering beside him, in the silence of the library in Winterfell.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

With the Wolf's moon at it's highest peek in the night's sky, that covered the North with it's blanket of darkness, the people of Winterfell retiring for the night, Rikson Stark sat beside his younger brother, with Alysanne and Summer laying beisde him. The fireplace towards the right of young Bran's bed crackled as the shadows of the flames danced across the stone-made walls of the chambers.

The little lord's voice broke the silence, "Why did she have to leave?" Rikson sighed, "I wish I could tell you why, Bran, but I know she will be back soon enough."

"Do you know where she is right now?"

Rikson, while stroking his hand through Summer's creamy fur, shook his head.

"Then how do you know she will be back soon?"

Rikson chuckled, "Sometimes you're too smart for your own good."

Another silence fell over the brothers, as shadows danced across the walls and the fire sizzled against the wood. Rikson continued to stroke his hand across his brother's direwolf's fur, staring out the window some feet beside young Bran's bed, the night's breeze sweeping through the wavy locks that partially covered his forehead.

"Riky?"

The Stark hummed, moving his gaze towards his younger brother laying under layers of furs. "Ever since I fell from the broken tower, I keep having the same dream where I'm inside of Summer's head. I can see through his eyes and run on four legs. What does it mean?" Bran asked in a quiet voice.

The older Stark, lowly, sighed, guessing that young Bran was a Warg, but Rikson couldn't be sure.

Rikson, the Controller of Beasts, had been able to Warg into any creature since he were a boy of ten. An old Northern ability that many believed were simple tricks and nonsense, even Maester Luwin thought Rikson's ability was a trick, though the Stark didn't blame him as Maesters studied logic instead of magical abilities that had been lost since the last dragon died a century ago.

The secondborn had heard of Wildlings that could delve into the minds of animals as he could, he just couldn't be entirely sure if his younger brother was a Warg like he were, therefore Rikson said,

"You could be like me, a Warg, and be able to
see through Summer's eyes, but I can not give you a straight answer because I do not know, Bran."

Bran nodded, expecting such an answer, remembering when Rikson had first told him of how he Warged when he were younger that he just did, and had just known how to control any creature, while Bran's was a dream, the same dream every night.

Rikson softly patted his younger brother's leg, even though Bran couldn't feel it, "Try not to over think it." Then Rikson stood from the bed, while Alysanne jumped off and stretched and Summer laid himself beside his Stark, "Time for bed, little lord."

Making sure his younger brother was comfy, the older Stark kissed his brother's head before leaving the room with his black direwolf at his heels. Walking towards his chambers, Rikson Stark's handsome features turned to a thoughtful expression, as he thought over what his brother told him. Wondering if young Bran Stark was a Warg, or on his way to becoming one.

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