Alebelly found him in the forge, working the bellows for Mikken. “Maester wants you in the turret, m’lord prince. There’s been a bird from the king.”  “From Robb?” Excited, Bran did not wait for Hodor, but let Alebelly carry him up the steps. He was a big man, though not so big as Hodor and nowhere near as strong. By the time they reached the maester’s turret he was red-faced and puffing. Rickon was there before them, and both Walder Freys as well.  Maester Luwin sent Alebelly away and closed his door. “My lords,” he said gravely, “we have had a message from His Grace, with both good news and ill. He has won a great victory in the west, shattering a Lannister army at a place named Oxcross, and has taken several castles as well. He writes us from Ashemark, formerly the stronghold of House Marbrand.”  Rickon tugged at the maester’s robe. “Is Robb coming home?”  “Not just yet, I fear. There are battles yet to fight.”  “Was it Lord Tywin he defeated?” asked Bran.  “No,” said the maester. “Ser Stafford Lannister commanded the enemy host. He was slain in the battle.”  Bran had never even heard of Ser Stafford Lannister. He found himself agreeing with Big Walder when he said, “Lord Tywin is the only one who matters.”  “Tell Robb I want him to come home,” said Rickon. “He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father.” Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. His little brother was stubborn as only a boy of four can be.  Bran was glad for Robb’s victory, but disquieted as well. He remembered what Osha had said the day that his brother had led his army out of Winterfell. He’s marching the wrong way, the wildling woman had insisted.  “Sadly, no victory is without cost.” Maester Luwin turned to the Walders. “My lords, your uncle Ser Stevron Frey was among those who lost their lives at Oxcross. He took a wound in the battle, Robb writes. It was not thought to be serious, but three days later he died in his tent, asleep.”  Big Walder shrugged. “He was very old. Five-and-sixty, I think. Too old for battles. He was always saying he was tired.”  Little Walder hooted. “Tired of waiting for our grandfather to die, you mean. Does this mean Ser Emmon’s the heir now?”  “Don’t be stupid,” his cousin said. “The sons of the first son come before the second son. Ser Ryman is next in line, and then Edwyn and Black Walder and Petyr Pimple. And then Aegon and all his sons.”  “Ryman is old too,” said Little Walder. “Past forty, I bet. And he has a bad belly. Do you think he’ll be lord?”  “I’ll be lord. I don’t care if he is.”   Maester Luwin cut in sharply. “You ought to be ashamed of such talk, my lords. Where is your grief? Your uncle is dead.”  “Yes,” said Little Walder. “We’re very sad.”  They weren’t, though. Bran got a sick feeling in his belly. They like the taste of this dish better than I do. He asked Maester Luwin to be excused.  “Very well.” The maester rang for help. Hodor must have been busy in the stables. It was Osha who came. She was stronger than Alebelly, though, and had no trouble lifting Bran in her arms and carrying him down the steps.  “Osha,” Bran asked as they crossed the yard. “Do you know the way north? To the Wall and... and even past?”  “The way’s easy. Look for the Ice Dragon, and chase the blue star in the rider’s eye.” She backed through a door and started up the winding steps.  “And there are still giants there, and... the rest... the Others, and the children of the forest too?”  “The giants I’ve seen, the children I’ve heard tell of, and the white walkers... why do you want to know?”  “Did you ever see a three-eyed crow?”  “No.” She laughed. “And I can’t say I’d want to.” Osha kicked open the door to his bedchamber and set him in his window seat, where he could watch the yard below.  It seemed only a few heartbeats after she took her leave that the door opened again, and Jojen Reed entered unbidden, with his sister Meera behind him. “You heard about the bird?” Bran asked. The other boy nodded. “It wasn’t a supper like you said. It was a letter from Robb, and we didn’t eat it, but-”  “The green dreams take strange shapes sometimes,” jojen admitted. “The truth of them is not always easy to understand.”  “Tell me the bad thing you dreamed,” Bran said. “The bad thing that is coming to Winterfell.”  “Does my lord prince believe me now? Will he trust my words, no matter how queer they sound in his ears?”  Bran nodded.  “It is the sea that comes.”  “The sea?”  “I dreamed that the sea was lapping all around Winterfell. I saw black waves crashing against the gates and towers, and then the salt water came flowing over the walls and filled the castle. Drowned men were floating in the yard. When I first dreamed the dream, back at Greywater, I didn’t know their faces, but now I do. That Alebelly is one, the guard who called our names at the feast. Your septon’s another. Your smith as well.”  “Mikken?” Bran was as confused as he was dismayed. “But the sea is hundreds and hundreds of leagues away, and Winterfell’s walls are so high the water couldn’t get in even if it did come.”  “In the dark of night the salt sea will flow over these walls,” said jojen. “I saw the dead, bloated and drowned.”   “We have to tell them,” Bran said. “Alebelly and Mikken, and Septon Chayle. Tell them not to drown.”  “It will not save them,” replied the boy in green.  Meera came to the window seat and put a hand on his shoulder. “They will not believe, Bran. No more than you did.”  Jojen sat on Bran’s bed. “Tell me what you dream.”  He was scared, even then, but he had sworn to trust them, and a Stark of Winterfell keeps his sworn word. “There’s different kinds,” he said slowly. “There&rsqu............