You.

Bran makes Jojen his Master of Whisperers and god. If people thought Vary and Baelish were weird and sneaky bitches they are in for a rude awakening with these two. 

Someone will be cooking and they turn around to see Jojen and Bran smiling politely at them. Sam is talking to a maester about adding Tyrion to the history books and then Jojen goes “he’s right” and Sam nearly drops his books because those doors were locked, weren’t they? 

Whenever they have family dinners Bran is just like “Oh, nice to see you all again. I must go now!” and Jojen looks dead but the rest of the Starks are assured by a Very Tired Podrick that this is just him going into a vision. 

Sansa: “Gods, I love my brother, and I know he is the king, but he is just so -”

Meera: “Odd? I know. Try living with both of them.” 

Brienne or Tyrion at any given moment: “I worked fine with Sansa and Arya, I said. Bran deserves to have someone looking out for him, I said. I’m sure it won’t be odd at allllll, I said. This will honor that blond incestuous ass, I said.”  

But like also they honestly love the little weirdos and Bran always seems to warm up around Tyrion and Brienne and Sam and the trio sometimes wonder if he’s just fucking with them half the time. 

They totally are, by the way. Bran and Jojen 10000% have an unspoken bet on who can out-weird the other on a given day. They both say such outrageous shit that people just take them at their word and it’s so funny watching how much their friends are willing to believe or overlook bc of these two. 

Bran congrats Sam on the new baby and Sam is like “Wha - Gilly is giving birth? How do you know? Because of your powers???” [gilly screaming ‘THE BABY’S COMING, HE’S COMING!’ in the room right next to bran] Bran: “Yes.” 

The two absolutely hide in dark corners and will wait there for an actual hour waiting for someone to walk by and finally Brienne and Meera put their foots down and tell them to stop being children because they are the king and master of whispers and they can’t behave like this

The next day a bird follows them around and will not stop cawing at all hours of the day, and when Bran comes out of his warging Brienne glares at him and he just goes, “I searched for Drogon. It appears I can’t find him yet; we’ll have to try again tomorrow.” 

They’re like, actually good at ruling though btw. Bran knows to leave the council to their own devices most of the time and pops in when there’s a problem, and he looks over the entire kingdom so by the time people come to him with complaints he’s already giving them a solution before they open their mouths. 

Edmund the Farmer almost wishes he could have gotten his carefully written speech out before Jojen started speaking with a solution to his crops being burned, but he appreciated the help. 

Bran appreciated that Jojen just started talking because he had watched Edmund the Farmer practice his speech and it was. Not good. He was going to do voices, and there’s only so much of that that Bran can take. 

Bran and Jojen are like. The Raymond Holts of King’s Landing in terms of facial expressions 

Bran with a straight look on his face, holding Jojen’s hand: “I love you.” 

Jojen, with an equally blank look: “I Would Die For You.” 

Tyrion: “This is....um....sweet?” 

Jojen after Bran accidentally rolled over his foot once: 

For a guy who had two siblings that were fucking each other, got forcibly married to a 14-year-old, and hired and killed his girlfriend, Tyrion thinks that these two are a pretty weird couple. 

Meera and Jojen find out from their father that they must leave the village and set off on a long journey there to find salvation from their curse.

Forest Spirit

Green eyes still visited Bran in the night.

Coutless times he would wake to a full moon, too hot in the southern night and coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

The breeze from his windows chilled him, but it would never be that familiar chill of the north.

The familiarities were coming back to him, more each day, his senses sharpening like he was being dragged from deep underwater one metre at a time.

Sansa noticed on her first time back from Winterfell after her crowning. "You've got more colour in your cheeks." She said over a private dinner their first night together. "Is the climate treating you well?"

Bran shrugged. "It's a touch too hot."

"Have you been feeling alright?"

Bran shook his head. "I haven't been feeling quite like myself lately."

"In fairness, I haven't seen you as quite yourself for some time now. Ever since you came back from North of the Wall."

"You have good intentions, sister, but I don't need anyone to mother me. I'm the three-eyed-raven."

Sansa's response was little more than a look, leveled over a spoonful of soup she had raised to her lips but had yet to taste. She hummed thoughtfully, waited another moment for him to speak, but when he said nothing, she continued to eat.

Bran knew what she was implying. Bran was all knowing. And one of the many things he knew was that in much the same way that Arya was a faceless girl in all but name, she was still Arya. And in much the same way that he considered himself the Three Eyed Raven, had all of the capabilities and the destinies of one such figure, he was still, somehow, Bran. He could say he wasn't, and perhaps, when he first arrived to Winterfell, that was true, but each night the green eyes visited, he drew closer and closer to who he used to be.

The night of his first anniversary as King, he dreamt of those green eyes again, as he had for surely 300 nights before. He woke in much the same way he had for 300 nights, sitting upright and covered in sweat.

He shirked his covers habitually, allowing his legs to breathe in the cool night air. Though they had not felt for close to 11 years, they still got hot, an inconvenience that grew more and more bothersome each day.

When he looked to the window, a pair of eyes looked back from the corner of his chambers: not green, as in his dream, but a cold, familiar, ice blue.

True, genuine fear struck him, a feeling he had not felt since 60 seconds before hitting the ground all those years ago. He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could cry out for Brianne, the blue eyed figure stepped into the beam of Moonlight streaming in from the window.

Pale gray skin seemed nearly transparent in the light of the moon, dirty blonde hair now peppered with black. A jagged line across their throat stuck out as a scar that hadn't quite healed yet. The eyes were foreign; the face ominously familiar.

"Jojen..." Bran gasped.

What else have you seen? 

Only one thing that matters. You. 

⇀ ship posters ≡ bran stark x jojen reed