“All men must sleep, Bran. Even princes.”“When I sleep I turn into a wolf.” Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. “Do wolves dream?”“All creatures dream, I think, yet not as men do.”“Do dead men dream?” Bran asked, thinking of his father. In the dark crypts below Winterfell, a stonemason was chiseling out his father’s likeness in granite.“Some say yes, some no,” the maester answered. “The dead themselves are silent on the matter.”“Do trees dream?”“Trees? No . . .”“They do,” Bran said with sudden certainty. “They dream tree dreams. I dream of a tree sometimes. A weirwood, like the one in the godswood. It calls to me. The wolf dreams are better. I smell things, and sometimes I can taste the blood.”Maester Luwin tugged at his chain where it chafed his neck. “If you would only spend more time with the other children—”“I hate the other children,” Bran said, meaning the Walders. “I commanded you to send them away.”

“When I sleep I turn into a wolf. Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. Do wolves dreams?”

“Maester Luwin says there's nothing in dreams that a man need fear.''There is,' said Jojen.'What?''The past. The future. The truth." - Bran & Jojen”

“Up and down," Meera would sigh sometimes as they walked, "then down and up. Then up and down again. I hate these stupid mountains of yours, Prince Bran.""Yesterday you said you loved them.""Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say."Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them.""Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose."Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire.""If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one.""One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled.”

“Not cry. Fly.“I can’t fly,” Bran said. “I can’t, I can’t…”How do you know? Have you ever tried?The voice was high and thin. Bran looked around to see where it was coming from. A crow was spiraling down with him, just out of touch, following him as he fell. “Help me,” he said.I’m trying, the crow replied…The crow took to the air and flapped around Bran’s hand.“You have wings,” Bran pointed out.Maybe you do too.Bran felt along his shoulders, groping for feathers.There are different kinds of wings, the crow said…Bran was falling faster than ever. The grey mists howled around him as he plunged toward the earth below. “What are you doing to me?” he asked the crow, tearful.Teaching you how to fly.“I can’t fly!”You’re flying right now.“I’m falling!”Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said. Look down.”

“Do dead man dream?The dead themselves are silent on the matter”

“I don’t know what message to send to Bran. Help him Tyrion.”“What help could I give him? I am no maester, to ease his pain. I have no spell to give him back his legs.”“You gave me help when I needed it” Jon Snow said.“I gave you nothing,” Tyrion said. “Words.”“Then give your words to Bran too.”