[ Are you ready, Bran asks and speaks to her of some kind of sleep. Her confusion deepens as does her panic (Petyr is gone and Robb after him, with Grey Wind at his side, all of them lost; do not join them) but she works to keep the brunt of it from her expression, sparing her features from the creases of worry that would inevitably follow. This is something from a story, not a song or a poem, but a tale from beyond the Wall, something that Old Nan would whisper in the night to make Sansa's little brothers' eyes go wide. She should not give it credence, she should ask him to be quiet and no longer talk such nonsense, but the look on Bran's face is so determined and brave. (He is a child, she tells herself. And yet he strives to be so courageous when he knows I watch and I see.)
At the mention of sleep, Alayne rises again, but only far enough to move about the pillows on the bed and hoist Bran back so that he is settled against them in what seems to be a comfortable manner. Then again, Alayne knees, her hands smoothing the hair from his forehead and face.
Are you ready, Bran asks and the answer is no, but Alayne smiles at him and kisses him once on the crown of his head and then tells him: ] Yes, brother. I am ready.
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At the mention of sleep, Alayne rises again, but only far enough to move about the pillows on the bed and hoist Bran back so that he is settled against them in what seems to be a comfortable manner. Then again, Alayne knees, her hands smoothing the hair from his forehead and face.
Are you ready, Bran asks and the answer is no, but Alayne smiles at him and kisses him once on the crown of his head and then tells him: ] Yes, brother. I am ready.