A Dream of Spring

Greetings, everyone. This is my version of how the story of ASOIAF will end. Picks up right on Season 8, following the TV show’s storyline. Hope you all enjoy!

<=======Prologue- The Three Eyed Raven======>

Thousands perish, thousands cry, thousands die

Armies meet, armies clash, armies die

Victory, defeat, death, die...

Bran gasped, slipping back into his visions. They were increasing in intensity. Never the same sequence. All blurred, screaming, begging him to watch and listen.

Aerys laughed. Ned regretted. Jaime charged. Meera struggled. Aegon scorched. Balerion the Black Dread flew overhead, razing castles to a ruin of what they once were.

“No!” yelled the Three Eyed Raven.

Balerion’s fire shifted to the maesters of Oldtown, gathered around a oaken table. They transcribed, spinning out stories on scrolls and parchments for all to read.

There once was a time, a time of a song

A Song of Ice and Fire, sung so long

When the snows fall and the white winds blow

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives

Out into the Long Night, shall they come,

Hope shall be lost, hope shall be won

And lest of all, lest they dream

Lest they dream... a Dream of Spring

The winds of winter howled, blasting through the maesters to reveal the landscape of Westeros. Flowers died, mountains quivered, snows fell. Bran was there, witnessing it all. Witnessing the here and now. It was too much. Winter had come.

No. He had to carry on. The Three Eyed Raven steeled himself as the scene changed.

A red priestess stared into the fire from the comfort of her rocking chair. “There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.”

The woman’s musings extended to blackness, as all there ever was struck Bran once more.

Tywin schemed. Cersei plotted. Robb led. Oberyn striked. Arya killed. Tyrion sailed. Davos mourned. Lysa fell. Sansa maneuvered. Baelish weeped.

Bran exhaled as the full intensity of those visions smashed into his mental state full-force, screaming yet another scrote of prophecy.

WINTER RISES, WINTER FALLS, WINTER’S BANE

ONE SHALL PERISH, A FIERY MANE

THE QUEEN OF HEARTS, SHALL SHE FALL

ONE SHALL SUBMIT, ONE SHALL SPRAWL

THUS SHALL FALL ON HOPE OF PAIN

A limerick?

Bran scarcely had time to believe it before poppies blossomed into his view, mustering and willing grass to grow. Explosive cacophonies of blue and yellow hydrangeas and peonies swirled into bouquets, revealing a woman in a sundress. The beautiful golden-haired beauty scarcely whispered the next lines of prophecy:

He shall come, Azor Ahai reborn

Come to Winter, asunder torn

With his reach, his bringer of light

Shall he swing, burn them as a blight

With the power to make all sinter

Driving to the Lands of Always Winter

With a gasp, the Three Eyed Raven slipped back into consciousness as the whispers ended. He turned to gaze at a rotund, extremely worried face.

“More visions?” Samwell Tarly asked.

Bran could do nothing but nod.