[ She sets aside the knife now, moving it carefully from her lap and placing it on the bed beside Bran as she rises and then comes to kneel before him. Alayne has seen Robb do a similar thing, kneel before his brother in an attempt to bring them closer together, to make them nearer to the same level. A king who does not speak down to his brother is an honorable and rare thing indeed and so Alayne emulates that now, her face bowed slightly upwards to meet his gaze, her hands closing gently around Bran's. ] I have seen a man write my name in the air using nothing but a twig and pure light. I've seen a boy with the horns of a stag make blossoms bloom out of metal grating as if it were the soft earth itself. But these things— [ Alayne shakes her head, softens her voice. ] —they are not of our world, Bran. And their magic— does not belong to us.

[ It is not an acceptance, but it is not a rejection either. I do not think you false, her eyes tell him. But the world's stories are nothing but lies. ] I know you want to help, brother—