Bran Stark | the wolf dreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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ataraxion2014-01-21 01:02 pm
wolfdreamer) wrote in ataraxion2014-01-21 01:02 pm
Entry tags:
video;
[Bran's smile is only a little wan--and that is only because he is distracted, because Summer is distracted. The great direwolf is sitting at his feet, but Summer has grown large enough that he is still visible in the video feed. Something is ailing the direwolf, making him skittish. He huffs a whine as the video begins, and Bran looks down at him, and lays a hand atop Summer's head.]
Be still.
[Summer's ears flick, nervously; he blinks, and whines again. Bran looks to his device, his hand still resting atop his direwolf's head.]
I am looking for paper--perhaps twenty or thirty sheets of paper, that is not being used. Most things on this ship are written by typing, but there must be some paper somewhere. I can make a trade for it, if it is necessary. And I will need tape-- [That is a new word, but he says it smoothly.] --and scissors, with which to cut. They must be able to do fine work, I think.
[Restlessly, Summer raises his head. The video jars a little, and Bran quickly reaches to steady it, as he gives his direwolf a slightly anxious look.]
In Westeros, great tourneys are often held, where knights prove their merit in the lists. That means a joust, though there is sometimes melee fighting as well. I have never seen a tourney, only heard tales of them--and we have very few knights here. So we are going to let our direwolves race instead, and have a feast, just as if it were a true tourney. [Summer whines again, more plantively. He shrugs out from beneath Bran's hand, turning in a tight circle.] Summer, quiet. It is only a shadow.
There must be a prize, at the end, and I have been trying to think of something good. I have ideas, but they aren't very good, so I thought--
[But what he thought is never realized, because Summer moves quite sharply then, twisting away from Bran and the video with a sharp growl. Bran's face pinches in worry, and he grabs hastily for his device, to steady it again, before he shuts it off. It is an ungainly end to the message, but his concern trumps his good manners.]
Be still.
[Summer's ears flick, nervously; he blinks, and whines again. Bran looks to his device, his hand still resting atop his direwolf's head.]
I am looking for paper--perhaps twenty or thirty sheets of paper, that is not being used. Most things on this ship are written by typing, but there must be some paper somewhere. I can make a trade for it, if it is necessary. And I will need tape-- [That is a new word, but he says it smoothly.] --and scissors, with which to cut. They must be able to do fine work, I think.
[Restlessly, Summer raises his head. The video jars a little, and Bran quickly reaches to steady it, as he gives his direwolf a slightly anxious look.]
In Westeros, great tourneys are often held, where knights prove their merit in the lists. That means a joust, though there is sometimes melee fighting as well. I have never seen a tourney, only heard tales of them--and we have very few knights here. So we are going to let our direwolves race instead, and have a feast, just as if it were a true tourney. [Summer whines again, more plantively. He shrugs out from beneath Bran's hand, turning in a tight circle.] Summer, quiet. It is only a shadow.
There must be a prize, at the end, and I have been trying to think of something good. I have ideas, but they aren't very good, so I thought--
[But what he thought is never realized, because Summer moves quite sharply then, twisting away from Bran and the video with a sharp growl. Bran's face pinches in worry, and he grabs hastily for his device, to steady it again, before he shuts it off. It is an ungainly end to the message, but his concern trumps his good manners.]
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I'll get what we need. You can tell them. [ cat and robb won't suspect bran, but they will ask questions of arya. ]
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All right. I will come to your room once I have told them.
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Come on. I'll walk with you to your room.
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[But that will be his sole protest on the matter. He is glad, for Arya's company, as long as she will grant it to him. And he will be glad to have her beside him. The shadows do not frighten him, not really. But it will help, having her there.]
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[ really bran when have you known your sister to be otherwise. ]
But if you don't hurry, I will kiss you again.
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Don't you dare.
[He's already climbing to his feet, steadying himself against Summer as he needs it.]
And if you want me to hurry so badly-- [And then he grins at her, and pushes off from his direwolf, springing into a run down the corridor.] --you'll have to keep up!
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Seven hells! Bran!
[ caught unaware, arya swears before racing after him. ]
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[He doesn't mean it; he doesn't care. He's only saying it to be contrary, and anyway he nearly doesn't say it at all, because he's laughing too hard. Summer has taken off running, too, and he passes Bran easily, but he is still ahead of Arya--though for how long, who can say--]
You'll never catch up, you're too slow!
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You can't run without shoes! You'll slip and fall, and never catch me!
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[He shouts his protest, but she has a grip on him now, for all that he struggles to break free.]
Let go! This is cheating--
[He tries to reach around behind him, to beat at her hands, with no success.]
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Yield!
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No! I won't yield--
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[But she has him, and there is no escaping--and anyways, he is too breathless with laughter to protest much more. He sags a little as he stops struggling.]
I yield, but you didn't win the race. A wolf wouldn't make a race into catching me.
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You didn't win either, [ she says instead. ] Where are my boots—give it here, you!
[ arya lets go of bran to corner nymeria. ]
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[Or not. But it doesn't really matter. Perhaps when Nymeria and Summer race, it will be more important, but probably not. It's all for fun. He turns to Summer instead, uninterested in arguing with Arya.]
Summer, to me!
[And his direwolf comes, obediently, Arya's other boot in his jaws.]
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You'll go back to your room, right? We're close— If you see anything else, tell me. I have to go.
[ she had promised gendry. it's difficult to tell if arya has a bull-shaped shadow or gendry keeps company with wolves. ]
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[He has to protest, just because, but he is still pleased that she walked this far with him. He hands her the boot, with a small smile, and resists the urge to hug her one last time before she goes. If he is claiming to be old enough to walk the halls alone, he doesn't need to be throwing his arms around his sister all the time.]
I will call for you later.