Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Song of Ice and Fire. They all belong to the brilliant George R.R Martin. I also do not gain any profit from writing this story. This is solely for entertainment.

AN: This story is unbetaed, and done in hurry. I apologize for the grammatical errors that I failed to notice. O.O Other than that, this is just a short drabble oneshot that is kinda of a spoiler to my HPxGoT crossover story. But this could also be a standalone story.

SPOILERS AHEAD! SPOILER UP TO SEASON SIX, EPISODE THREE OF GOT! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE SPOILERS.

SPOILERS AHEAD! SPOILER UP TO SEASON SIX, EPISODE THREE OF GOT! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE SPOILERS.

After Bran had seen the vision of his father fighting the Sword of the Morning, and the other Kingsguard, he couldn't help but feel that there was something that the three-eyed-raven didn't want him to know. YET.

"We can visit it again some other time," Brynden Rivers had said, before Bran had been pulled out from there - rather forcefully now that he thought about it.

Since then, there was this nagging feeling that he could not shake. It would not rest despite the fact that he had seen the vision days ago. Wherein his eccentric mentor had led him from one vision to another - either past, present or future - in the last few days, but all of which were unremarkable compared to that vision with the Tower.

Bran knew that there was something important about it.

Hence, it was during the night, as he lay in his cot, he tested his abilities; albeit a bit uncertain that he could do it without his mentor's guidance.

He was grateful that Meera wasn't there because she would have seen him take a weirwood seed paste in that moment. He wondered where his companion had went to. Bran realized that he hadn't seen her all day.

It took nearly half an hour when he was able to concentrate enough, and plunged back to that scene that he wanted to explore.

...

Bran watched his father fight the Sword of the Morning once more.

With their blades glinting from the afternoon sun, and sand spraying as they lunged, leapt back, or sidestepped while the sounds of clashing swords filled the area, Bran could not help but feel a sense of admiration for the man who wielded those two swords so effortlessly.

He observed as the Knight whirled them like they weight nothing, slashing and crossing them together, using them to attack and defend at the same time, twirling them in a swift motion that the force of its resulting-clash could make Bran's father stagger back.

The Dornish Knight was a whirl of motion that Bran's father had a difficult time finding an opening. And when his father finally did, the Sword of the Morning was quick to retaliate.

Clamping his blades around his opponent's sword tightly, Ser Arthur Dayne twisted sharply to the side and threw.

There was clang of steel and a spray of sand as a sword landed on the ground.

And just like that, Eddard Stark was disarmed.

With that speed and that unmatched skill with the sword; indeed, Ser Arthur Dayne was a formidable adversary, and Bran knew that his Lord father would have died if not for the crannogman.

Howland Reed crept up behind the Knight, and stabbed him in the back.

The sight of it still didn't fail to shock Bran.

There was no honor in the deed, yet he understood that killing the Knight was necessary.

Ser Arthur Dayne fell on his knees, now choking in his own blood. But still alive.

Bran's father took pity on the man and quickly put him out of his misery.

With a downward slash, Eddard Stark cut the Knight's neck open, and instantly scarlet blood painted the sands.

Thereafter, Bran's father turned his attention to the top of the tower, where Bran could finally hear the sound of a woman screaming in pain.

His father broke into a run, taking the steps towards the tower two at a time.

Bran followed after him, his heart thumping rapidly against his chest as the screams continued.

He wondered whom it belong to. And recalled that his father had been looking for his Aunt Lyanna before the fighting had begun.

The woman, who was screaming, must be her.

Dread crawled up his spine at the thought of what kind of horror awaited them up there.

They were now climbing up another set of stairs; a long, spiraling steps that led up to the highest part of the tower.

Bran's father taking the steps three at a time now, and Bran had no choice but to keep up with him.

Up and up they went.

The screams and shouts getting louder as they neared.

Bran felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest, when they finally reached the landing and saw the red door.

His father barged right into room without a second thought. The door slamming against the stone walls that it shook at the impact.

Almost at once, the scent of blood, and something else, assaulted Bran's senses, along with the scream that greeted them.

"ARRGHHHH!"

Bran saw that it came from a dark-haired woman, lying in the bed, when suddenly... the vision changed.

With a jolt, Bran found himself in another place.

...

Terror filled Bran Stark when he realized where his vision had led him into.

Just ten meters away from him, he saw THEM.

Garbed in their black armour, with hair and skin as white as snow, and with eyes as bright as blue starlight, the White Walkers were looking at something up ahead.

Their backs turned towards him.

Bran stood there, silent and frozen in fear.

And as his eyes surveyed them, he noticed that one of them had no hair; instead, he had an horns sprouting out from his skull. It looked like a crown of ice.

Bran shifted his gaze to the others there, and discovered that they almost look identical; all thirteen of them were…

That's when Bran's astonished eyes landed on someone that he hadn't seen in years.

"Uncle Benjen?" his voice was a mere whisper, but it seemed that the White Walkers had heard him, because in unison, all of them turned; their glowing blue eyes staring straight into him.

Fear gripped Bran's throat as he took a step back.

Unlike the time when he had called his father within a vision, the White Walkers could actually hear and see him there.

With astonishing speed, they surrounded him.

Bran whirled around in fright, his eyes skittering from one cold face to the other, until his gaze landed on the one with the crown.

He clenched his hands into fists to hide the tremor in them.

This is not real. This is not real. He thought to himself when his body started to shake from the overwhelming fear, and yet…

Why am I getting cold?

"Shrashkrueth krackchet skroschkum," the one with the crown said with a voice like the sound of cracking ice. His eyes fixed on him while his hand had drifted to the crystal sword strapped on his back.

This is merely a vision. Bran dug his nails deeper into his palms, and wondered if pain could make him wake up from that nigthmarish vision.

This is not real. He inwardly repeated in sheer panic, when he saw the Night's King unsheathed his sword while the others close in on him from all sides.

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

Just as the Night's King was about to cleave him in half, Bran woke up with a gasp.

However, before he did, at the last second, he had caught sight of what the White Walkers had been staring at.

And when he saw the tree in the distance, Bran was alarmed.

The White Walkers were just a short way from the cave where he and the others hid.

...

It was Leaf who had woken him, telling him that the three-eyed-raven wanted to see him immediately.

Bran had Hordor carry him towards the vast cavern, where Bryden Rivers sat in his weirdwood throne.

"They're near! The White walkers! They are heading this way! I saw it!" Bran instantly said the moment he saw the three-eyed-raven.

The old man was silent. His one eye scrutinizing him through his white long hair.

"I know," was his mentor's simple statement.

"What?" He asked, a frown marring his brow in confusion and uncertainty.

"I know they are heading in this direction. I've known it for a while, Bran."

"If you knew this long before I did, then why didn't you tell me? Why haven't you warn me and Meera, or even Hordor?!" Bran asked angrily.

"Meera has been inform of this matter today, and I have given her a task that she must accomplish by herself,"

"What do you mean?" something about Bryden's words made Bran feel apprehensive.

"Your companion had long since left from this place."

Bran froze for a moment, completely at lost for words, right before he burst out. "Where is she?! What did you make her do?!"

"Calm down, Bran. I will answer your question, of this I assure you."

Bran's breathing was harsh while he glared at the old man, whom he started to mistrust. He had always wondered why Bryden had been adamant that Bran learned to use his greenseeing and skinchanging abilities before. And now, the man had sent away the only the other human companion that he had, other than Hordor.

"Have you ever thought the reason why there are wards set against the wights around this place?" the three-eyed-raven began in a gravelly voice.

"No," Bran answered, his eyes still alight with anger.

"Deep, far deep within this dark, unexplored tunnels, there lay a magical object that the Others - or the White Walkers - desire the most. A relic of the past, which had been kept hidden in more than a hundred years...and if it fell into the wrong hands, can result to an endless winter, and the destruction of mankind."

"What is it? What is this magical object you speak of?"

"I speak of the Horn of Winter, Bran...and no other."

...

The sounds of their footsteps echoed within the tunnels. Meera could now feel the pressure building in her eardrums as they went deeper and deeper, down into the earth.

Ahead of her, Snowylocks lead the way, navigating through the twisting, perilous passages that only as one of the children of the forest could manage.

And at Meera's hip, hung the magical object that Bryden has tasked her to give to Jon Snow, Bran's bastard brother, and the current Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

A daunting task if the White Walkers were after it.

Every time Meera's fingers brushed against the cold, metallic surface of the object, she was constantly reminded of her duty.

The weight of the Horn of Winter, felt far more heavier than it was.

It felt like Meera Reed was carrying the weight of the world on her side.

AN: Like I said before, this is a bit of a spoiler for the HPxGoT crossover that I've written (Game of Magic), where I want the story to go, apart from the battle between the major antagonist and protagonist, this little piece is like a side story. There will be other one-shot drabbles that I plan to finish within this week, which will somewhat relate to this story, and also relates to what I want to include in my HPxGoT crossovers. Three of the one-shots that is. Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think!:)