"Yes. Until I came here."

Bran pulls his free hand through his hair, thinking furiously.

"There has to have been a reason we came here, you know, something my lord Merlion didn't remember or didn't realize. I met Mordred, and then later my mother. I learned what was in me. I helped Will. I fought for him and for you. That's ... not it, though. Not all of it."

Bran looks back again to the book, reading the last stanza softly to himself.

"Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb
Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.

The new sun," Bran grips the harp tightly, eyes wide. "That is it. It must be. Le roi est mort, vive le roi. I don't understand what I am to do. I am not the Pendragon, now. And yet-- and yet--"

Bran stands still, head tilted slightly, tracing the thought to its ending.