As Jojen and Lyanna brought back the woods and built them a small fire while Bran and Meera were cleaning the fish and frogs. They used Meera's helm for a cooking pot, chopping up the catch into little cubes and tossing in some water and some wild onions Hodor had found to make a froggy stew. It wasn't as good as deer, but it wasn't bad either, Bran decided as he ate. "Thank you, Meera," he said. "My lady."
"You are most welcome, Your Grace."
"Come the morrow," Jojen announced, "we had best move on."
Lyanna hated herself that she agreed to let Bran go to the North, beyond the Wall. She began to skin the deer herself while she let the others speak.
She could see Meera tense. "Have you had a green dream?"
"No," he admitted.
"Why leave, then?" his sister demanded. "Tumbledown Tower's a good place for us. No villages near, the woods are full of game, there's fish and frogs in the streams and lakes . . . and who is ever going to find us here?"
"This is not the place we are meant to be."
"It is safe, though."
"It seems safe, I know," said Jojen, "but for how long? There was a battle at Winterfell, we saw the dead. Battles mean wars. If some army should take us unawares . . . "
"It might be Robb's army," said Bran. "Robb will come back from the south soon, I know he will. He'll come back with all his banners and chase the ironmen away."
Robb thinks we're dead, Lyanna thought. News may have spread around about the death of Bran Stark, Rickon Stark and Lyanna Stark. Theon had burned them alive along Winterfell.
"Your maester said naught of Robb when he lay dying," Jojen reminded him. "Ironmen on the Stony Shore, he said, and, east, the Bastard of Bolton. Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte fallen, the heir to Cerwyn dead, and the castellan of Torrhen's Square. War everywhere, he said, each man against his neighbor."
"We have plowed this field before," his sister said. "You want to make for the Wall, and your three-eyed crow. That's well and good, but the Wall is a very long way and Bran has no legs but Hodor. If we were mounted . . . "
"If we were eagles we might fly," said Jojen sharply, "but we have no wings, no more than we have horses."
"There are horses to be had," said Meera. "Even in the deep of the wolfswood there are foresters, crofters, hunters. Some will have horses."
"And if they do, should we steal them? Are we thieves? The last thing we need is men hunting us."
"We could buy them," she said. "Trade for them."
"Look at us, Meera. A crippled boy, and his sister with two direwolves, a simpleminded giant, and two crannogmen a thousand leagues from the Neck. We will be known. And word will spread. So long as Bran remains dead, he is safe. Alive, he becomes prey for those who want him dead for good and true." Jojen went to the fire to prod the embers with a stick. "Somewhere to the north, the three-eyed crow awaits us. Bran has need of a teacher wiser than me."
"How, Jojen?" his sister asked. "How?"
"Afoot," he answered. "A step at a time."
"The road from Greywater to Winterfell went on forever, and we were mounted then. You want us to travel a longer road on foot, without even knowing where it ends. Beyond the Wall, you say. I haven't been there, no more than you, but I know that Beyond the Wall's a big place, Jojen. Are there many three-eyed crows, or only one? How do we find him?"
The Wall, Lyanna thought, maybe we'll see Jon, maybe he'll come along with Bran and I. The thought made her excited, but she didn't show.
"Perhaps he will find us."
Before Meera could find a reply to that, they heard the sound; the distant howl of a wolf, drifting through the night. "Summer?" asked Jojen, listening.
"No." Bran said, Lyanna knew the voice of Bran's direwolf.
"Are you certain?" said the little grandfather.
"Certain." Summer had wandered far afield today, and would not be back till dawn. Maybe Jojen dreams green, but he can't tell a wolf from a direwolf. "We should steal horses like Meera wants," Bran said, "and ride to the Umbers up at Last Hearth, or we could steal a boat and sail down the White Knife to White Harbor town. That fat Lord Manderly rules there, he was friendly at the harvest feast. He wanted to build ships. Maybe he built some, and we could sail to Riverrun and bring Robb home with all his army. Then it wouldn't matter who knew I was alive. Robb wouldn't let anyone hurt us."
"Hodor!" burped Hodor. "Hodor, hodor."
He was the only one who liked Bran's plan, though. Meera just smiled at him and Jojen frowned. Lyanna was uncertain, she just listened and skinned the deer. They never listened to what he wanted, even though Lyanna and Bran were Starks and a prince and a princess besides, and the Reeds of the Neck were Stark bannermen.
"Hoooodor," said Hodor, swaying. "Hooooooodor, hoooooodor, hoDOR, hoDOR, hoDOR." Sometimes he liked to do this, just saying his name different ways, over and over and over. Other times, he would stay so quiet you forgot he was there. There was never any knowing with Hodor. "HODOR, HODOR, HODOR!" he shouted.
He is not going to stop, Lyanna realized. "Hodor," she said, "why don't you go outside and train with your sword?"
The stableboy had forgotten about his sword, but now he remembered. "Hodor!" he burped. He went for his blade. They had three tomb swords taken from the crypts of Winterfell where Lyanna and his brothers Bran and Rickon had hidden from Theon Greyjoy's ironmen. Lyanna stole a sword from a guard, Bran claimed their uncle Brandon's sword, Meera the one she found upon the knees of his grandfather Lord Rickard. Hodor's blade was much older, a huge heavy piece of iron, dull from centuries of neglect and well spotted with rust. He could swing it for hours at a time. There was a rotted tree near the tumbled stones that he had hacked half to pieces.
Even when he went outside they could hear him through the walls, bellowing "HODOR!" as he cut and slashed at his tree. Thankfully the wolfswood was huge, and there was not like to be anyone else around to hear.
"Jojen, what did you mean about a teacher?" Bran asked. "You're my teacher. I know I never marked the tree, but I will the next time. My third eye is open like you wanted . . . "
"So wide open that I fear you may fall through it, and live all the rest of your days as a wolf of the woods."
"I won't, I promise."
"The boy promises. Will the wolf remember? You run with Summer, you hunt with him, kill with him . . . but you bend to his will more than him to yours. Even Lyanna needs to know how, the crow will teach you both"
Did the crow gave me a third eye too? Lyanna questioned herself. She wasn't like Bran.
"I just forget," Bran complained. "I'm only nine. I'll be better when I'm older. Even Florian the Fool and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight weren't great knights when they were nine."
"That is true," said Jojen, "and a wise thing to say, if the days were still growing longer . . . but they aren't. You are a summer child, I know. Tell me the words of House Stark."
"Winter is coming." Bran saying it made Lyanna feel cold.
Jojen gave a solemn nod. "I dreamed of a winged wolf bound to earth by chains of stone, and came to Winterfell to free him. The chains are off you now, yet still you do not fly."
"Then you teach me." Bran still feared the three-eyed crow who haunted his dreams sometimes, pecking endlessly at the skin between his eyes and telling him to fly. "You're a greenseer."
"No," said Jojen, "only a boy who dreams. The greenseers were more than that. They were wargs as well, as you are, and the greatest of them could wear the skins of any beast that flies or swims or crawls, and could look through the eyes of the weirwoods as well, and see the truth that lies beneath the world."
"The gods give many gifts, Bran. My sister is a hunter. It is given to her to run swiftly, and stand so still she seems to vanish. She has sharp ears, keen eyes, a steady hand with net and spear. She can breathe mud and fly through trees. I could not do these things, no more than you could. To me the gods gave the green dreams, and to you . . . you could be more than me, Bran. You are the winged wolf, and there is no saying how far and high you might fly . . . if you had someone to teach you. How can I help you master a gift I do not understand? We remember the First Men in the Neck, and the children of the forest who were their friends . . . but so much is forgotten, and so much we never knew."
Meera took Bran by the hand. "If we stay here, troubling no one, you'll be safe until the war ends. You will not learn, though, except what my brother can teach you, and you've heard what he says. If we leave this place to seek refuge at Last Hearth or beyond the Wall, we risk being taken. You are only a boy, I know, but you are our prince as well, our lord's son and our king's true heir. We have sworn you our faith by earth and water, bronze and iron, ice and fire. The risk is yours, Bran, as is the gift. The choice should be yours too, I think. We are your servants to command." She grinned. "At least in this."
"You mean," Bran said, "you'll do what I say? Truly?"
"Truly, my prince," the girl replied, "so consider well."
Lyanna hoped Bran won't say it, he was still a child, she promised her mother she would protect Bran and Rickon until mother came back. Rickon was gone, so long he was gone and went south. Lyanna prayed and prayed Rickon will find his way to Robb and mother. Bran gave Lyanna a questioning look, and she gave him a your choice look.
"I want to fly," he told them. "Please. Take me to the crow."