The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of simpler, warmer days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrick Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak and his ironmen as he’d tried to retake Winterfell. The great stronghold of House Stark was a scorched desolation. All my memories are poison.
Bran closed his eyes and slipped free of his skin. Into the roots, he thought. Into the weirwood. Become the tree. For an instant he could see the cavern in its black mantle, could hear the river rushing by below.
Then all at once he was back home again. […] “Winterfell,” Bran whispered.