In an unknown dark cell

Bran grunted as the back of his head throbbed with pain. The cold damp stone floor was hard, not at all suitable to be a Stark's bed. He opened his eyes to see only darkness.

Last thing he had remembered was being captured near Winterfell by the Boltons. He'd been recognized by a couple of bannermen and after that, brought to his ancestral home's dungeon. He thought he was going to be executed for sure, but then, mere hours after being thrown in a cell, he heard the sound of commotion outside. Guards shouting orders, men-at-arms with armour running around. A siege, he thought. At nightfall, he heard men approach his cell. 'That was it' he'd thought. The Boltons would kill him before letting whatever enemy they were fighting get to him first.

But he was surprised to find that they were not soldiers of the Dreadfort. In fact they didn't seem Northern at all. But before he could get a better look at his liberators he was knocked out by one of them.

Bran sighed. Perhaps he had imagined it all, so to believe he had any sort of hope of getting out of that situation. He was still in a cell. Strangely it felt quite different. It wasn't as cold as before and even in the darkness he sensed that something was off. The cell seemed more spacious and the walls were quite rocky unlike the smooth stone in his keep.