ataraxion | first story

[ When the feed switches on, Roy is sitting, as always, in his bed in the medbay. His tablet is seated on the table in front of him, and Roy has his arms folded neatly on his lap. ]

You know, I think life on a spaceship in space should be the least thing from boring. [ He pauses, and chuckles, a bitter sound. ] But then again, there's never anything to do for a guy who can't walk. It's a good thing I'm so good at entertaining myself.

[ He cracks a smile. It's an ugly expression. ]

I've been reading. Useful things, these tablets, the way they store so many books so you don't have to bug anyone else to try to bring you some while you're stuck in bed. [ Dramatic pause. ]

There's this book I read about a young man named Werther. He falls in love with a girl named Lotte, and she has the most beautiful black eyes. [ His smile softens at the edges. ] He's passionately, deeply in love with her, and he would have married her, but from their very first meeting she tells him that she's already engaged to another man, named Albert.

Werther tries, oh he tries, to be a good friend to both of them. But he loves Lotte too much, so eventually he has to go away to somewhere else. But he can't stay away for long, so he goes back to Lotte and Albert and realises they have gone and gotten themselves married. [ At this point of his narration, Roy laughs, and he turns away from the camera, looking off to the distance. ] Lotte tells Werther that she can't see him much anymore, because she's married now, you see.

"Life's blossoms are only appearances. So many pass and leave not a trace, so few of their fruits set, so few of those ripen." Or so Werther says. There's nowhere left for him to go. He can't have her; he can't kill Albert so he can have her; he can't stop loving her either. There's only one thing he can do. So Werther shoots himself in the head. [ He looks back to the camera, looks beyond it, and takes a glass of water and sips at it. ]

It's the best possible thing that could've happened to him. [ Is Roy talking about Werther anymore? He doesn't even know himself. ] If he didn't shoot himself, he'll be constantly reminded of what he can't have, everything he has lost. You see, there's nothing quite so painful than to have to keep breathing when every breath turns out to be... [ he makes a gesture in the air ] hollow.

[ A pause, and he smiles again. Changes the subject. ]

On the subject of books, I'm looking for a poem by a man named Keats. Something about a nightingale? Does anyone know it? [ He tilts his head, and gives another hollow smile. ] It won't stop bugging me.

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[ Roy sees the nod and he hates himself even more, because he recognises fear better than most, and what is in Bran's eyes is fear. He bites his lip, letting out an exhale - not heavy enough to be a sigh. ]

Don't thank me. [ This might have come out more brusquely than he meant, so he tries to explain, to chase away the fear in Bran's eyes in his own clumsy way. ] There's nothing to thank me for.

[Quickly, Bran shakes his head, his fingers knotting tighter in Summer's fur. The direwolf does little more than flick his ears, but he does not twitch away; he bears that grip uncomplainingly. It gives Bran a measure of strength, so he can look back at Roy Walker once more.]

Then I will not thank you. But I will be glad of your company.

[It is no lie, or empty flattery. He means what he says, small thing that it is.]

[ Small thing it might be, but with each small thing comes with a chain of its own, and a thousand tiny things end up as a thousand chains. Roy's eyes lidded heavily. ]

I'm usually bad company and even more terrible conversation.

[ But he doesn't tell Bran: you shouldn't. He's not sure why not. ]

[He smiles, just a little--still with a touch of sadness to it, and he has not yet unwound his fingers from their grip at Summer's fur.]

No one could be worse at conversation than Hodor. He can only say his own name. [Perhaps it's a little cruel, especially when Hodor has been so good a companion--but it's not meant cruelly. It's true.] I will come anyways, so you can know the gardens, too.

[ He shouldn't ask, yet- ]

Who is Hodor?

[Despite himself, Bran smiles, a small thing. He likes to think of Hodor, and Jojen and Meera, too.]

He is sworn to my House. He used to work in the stables, but then he helped me. [There was shame in that, at first, but Bran has grown used to it. Still, he does not say the full extent of it: he carried me in a basket, on his back.] He is simple, which is why he can only say his name, but he is good and loyal too. Osha called him half giant, which explains his size, and his great strength.

Hodor is many things, but he is poor at conversation most of all.

[ ... Ah. There it is again, the differences between them. My House, Bran says, so naturally. Roy almost rubs at his eyes, his hands raising- but he drops them again. ]

He's your wheeled chair, then. In the form of a person.

[ He knows he's being cruel, and he tries to justify it to himself that he did warn Bran.

He did. ]

[He did. But it still stings a little. The Walders had laughed at him in his basket on Hodor's back--that was worse, and crueler, to Bran and to Hodor both. The Walders were rude and cruel and ungrateful, but knowing that had not made it any easier to bear.

Bran drops his eyes again, quickly, determined not to act a child and show his emotion in his face.]

He's a person.

[ Despite his best efforts, Roy still feels bad when he sees Bran ducks his eyes down. He rubs at his own face. ]

Yeah.

Yeah, he is.

[ There's a part of him that's crowing, because doesn't this just prove that he's a terrible person? That he doesn't deserve to live? ]

[He twists his fingers in Summer's fur, silent for a moment--and then he looks up at Roy again--quiet, not sad.]

And he helped me, and I was grateful for his help. [There is a flicker of pride there, something of the wolf.] That makes it different.

I won't talk about him. I'll tell you of the gardens. But only if you want me to.

[ He nods, jerkily. ]

I'll listen. [ It's all he can give. 'I want' is alien to him. ]

Then I will come.

[And he will, and he will not go the gardens first. Roy Walker's words have stung him badly, perhaps, made him remember the taste of shame--but he is not a child, and he is not a coward. And he still wants to help.]

[ A small shrug. ]

You know where I am.

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video- also we can handwave or go to action whatever you prefer!!

video; handwave? new jump = tag flood ;_;