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At first, Bran believes himself to be witnessing a distant past. He is still unused to the Sight and time is such a flowing, misty thing under the Weirwood roots.
Valyria, he thinks, as the land trembles and crackles, as dark smoke rises from the depths of the world, as the sea boils, and the cattle die, and the fish die, and the trees die, and the men die.
But it is only at first. Soon the faces become familiar and, with a strange calm, he comes to understand it is not Valyria that he is seeing, and not a distant past. Rather, it is the future for every land.
Winter is coming, says his father’s voice under the trees of the godswood, back in Winterfell.
It is the way it must be, whispers a voice inside himself. The world of men has reached the end of summer. Not the Crow’s voice, but his.
Slowly, as he watches, he begins to set landmarks for the passing of time. Sansa is still young, but Rickon is older, by the time the land begins to break. Arya is no longer Arya. Mother is no longer dead.
Men spend the last years of summer trampled in their usual wars. They whisper in dark hallways, yell in big halls, clash their swords in open fields and stab each other in dark corners. The Stag fights the Lion, the Dragon burns them both. Up on the Wall of ice, the men of the Watch resist. And then the dark smoke rises and, astonished, they witness the last protection of men against darkness being swallowed by the earth below. The Watchmen fall in their black cloaks. The White Walkers fall in all their dark power. The knights fall in their bright armor. The Kings fall, away from their thrones. The Mother of Dragons, terrible and mighty, she falls, too.
The smoke spreads first from Valyria, dragging slowly over the ocean, as if it had just been resting, sleeping, all these years. In the taverns of Braavos, months before the earth starts trembling, sailors tell stories of its unrest. Not all believe them, but those who do start marching across the Narrow Sea into the West. “Better war than Doom,” they say. The girl who is not Arya is among them.
Later, but not much later, for there will be no time to rest once the smoke has started spreading, some will say it was the sins of Valyria that doomed them all. Some others, less inclined to hate, will say it was the sacrifice of Valyria that held the Doom at bay for so many years. Few will be wiser, and say nothing at all.
It shall come to pass like this:
Sansa’s hair will not be red and her name will not be Sansa when the Warrior Maid finds her by the Mockingbird’s side. She will look into her eyes and not know her, that first time. Stranded in her quest, she will turn north, and find the girl who is not Arya by the sea. But the girl will not be Arya, and therefore, there will be no one for the Maid to know. The girl, however, will know how to look beyond faces and stay by her side.
Rickon will be older, though not so much on the outside, when the first rumors of the Doom reach the West lands. Being wild and wise, both he and Osha will know to give them credit, and start their way back.
As the earth first starts trembling, Jon will lay wounded by the Wall. Caring hands will heal him as a friendly voice relates the scary rumors that maesters whisper in Oldtown. They will discuss desperate plans to deal with the Others behind the Wall. But by the time he recovers enough to walk, there will be no Others, there will be no plans, there will be nothing but a deafening roar and a loyal friend dragging him away from a crumbling Wall.
The smoke will reach everywhere, choking wildlings and noblemen and Others alike. But it won’t reach everywhere at the same time. It will reach Volantis first. Then Astapor. Yunkai. For a while, the people of Meereen will be certain that they are being punished for sending the Mother of Dragons away. Then, the people of Meereen will be no more. It will take weeks for the smoke to reach the coasts of Dorne, but after that it will spread fast throughout the West. By that time, there will be no more birds in the Summer Islands, no riders left in the Dothraki Sea.
It will take much effort for Arya to become Arya again. It will take the Maid stubbornness and loyalty. It will take the familiar woodlands of the North. It will take the horrible vision of Mother ripped from humanity by hate and pain. It will take the earth crackling and the smoke rising, and a deep desire not to die, not to kill, not to be alone at the end of all things. She will say “my name is Arya Stark” and not believe it. She will say “I want to see my family” and know it true. So the Maid will take her, first to Stoneheart, then north to the Wall, and as they move across the dying land, as they sort the crackling earth and find cover from the choking smoke, Arya will find Arya inside herself more and more.
Sansa’s hair will not be red and her name will not be Sansa when the Hound finds her among the frightened people by the Mockingbird’s side. But he will know her immediately, as she will know him, before even seeing his face. He will not say “I could keep you safe”. He will not promise “no one will hurt you again”. Instead, he will say “the world is dying”. Instead, he will promise “little bird”. She will go with him. They will head north without thinking, the roads full of people hoping to escape the doom rising from the lower lands. It will grow slowly, that love. (Has grown slowly? Is, even now, growing slowly? Time is such a foggy place under the Weirwood roots.) But by the time they meet Arya and the Maid by the ruins of Winterfell, they will have saved one other, and fear losing one another, and sacrificed for one another enough to acknowledge the truth in their hearts.
Under different circumstances, Arya might have protested their love. As it is, with the land sinking and the smoke rising, with the food scarce and the air thin, Arya will hug her sister until her essence digs some more of Arya to the surface, until they become sisters once again.
Together, they will head to the Wall looking for Jon. There is little else to worry about at the end of the world but for finding food and shelter and being close to the ones you love. It is for this very reason that the Maid, considering her duty finally fulfilled, will bid her good byes at this point and head back south to the Lion’s den.
They will hear stories of the fallen Wall, but refuse to believe them until they see it with their own eyes. They cannot know, though. They cannot understand. They never saw the Wall standing, ten times higher than a giant, against the Unknown. As it is, without the Wall, the land beyond looks no different from the land before.
They will find Jon and his friend sheltering survivors in huts made of snow, and their reunion will be so joyous that for one night there will be no Doom.
Days will pass by the emptiness that was the Wall. On the first, they will rest. On the second, they will hunt. On the third, a boy with long hair and long limbs covered in furs will come to them atop a direwolf. They will know the wolf before they know their brother; that is how long they have been apart. Sansa will fall to her knees, crying like a child. Arya will fight the tears and lose, too much of Arya in her by then. Jon won’t even fight.
They will learn of their escape, then. They will learn of the Crow and the Sight. Together, they will head north once more, they will find his path.
Doom will spread from Valyria and cover all of the land. It is as it must be. The North will be reached last, but it will be reached for sure. There will be no escaping the red smoke, not up in the Frostfangs, not beyond the Lands of Always Winter, not inside the caves of the Children.
All things have an end.
But there is little to worry about at the end of the world except for food and shelter and being with the ones you love. And as he knows Doom is coming, with no uncertainty and no delay, Bran smiles under the Weirwood roots, for he will see his family again before the end.