fill: we'll eat you up we love you so - rickon 3a/8demi_rabbitMay 17 2012, 06:07:47 UTC
And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars!
The men around the campfire had laughed when first they'd seen them, huddled in furs and walking with the distinctive limps that came from traveling long distances on foot. Two rose from their seats around the fire, and Rickon felt Osha stiffen behind him. He had been ill on the short boat ride from the main land to the Skagos island - though more often than not it had simply been tearful nights brought on by the contempt he felt that his wildling guardian had insisted they steer clear of the wall, of Jon who was possibly the only brother he had left (and one of the few he could remember; Jon looked like father, right?) - and now she never strayed far. But this time when she gripped his shoulder and made to draw him behind her, there was something distinctly protective, tense, and almost a little terrifying if he would admit it. The sword they had stolen from the crypt of Winterfell hung at her hip, and even as she pushed him behind her, her other hand brushed the hilt.
The men leered, then, and took three threatening steps toward the two of them. Rickon felt something akin to panic flutter in his stomach, a sensation he was growing more and more accustomed to in his time in the woods. But it was always overshadowed by the never-ending barrage of anger that stemmed from what felt like the very core of his being, that welled up in his chest and manifested in screams and shouts and tantrums - and now is no exception. Little hands ball into tight fists and he is prepared to shout at them to just leave us alone; we're just tired.
But they stop. Rickon's nostrils flare and he's suddenly distinctly aware of a familiar, musky smell of Shaggydog's pelt, and he can hear the low and dangerous growl sounding in the back of the wolf's throat. There's something fiercely proud that rumbles in his chest whenever the direwolf bares his teeth and growls; it's a manifestation of the vehemence that the little boy feels in himself, yet taken more seriously than his shouts and the pounding of his fists. The men - all five of them are standing now, and the two who must be women raiders have risen into a low crouch with flashes of steel in their hands. Knives. They've got knives, but Shaggy's not flinching, and neither will he. Osha's not drawn her blade yet, but she's poised like a bird; more graceful than he's ever seen her before, and ready to fly. He's not, he's ready to fight, to bare his teeth and snarl and lunge, to bathe in the spray of hot blood from the men's throats like the black wolf beside them does whenever he takes down a deer. Or a human.
But the humans are dropping the tips of their blades, letting their weapons droop toward the ground and looking at one another. One of the women has risen and stalked to the largest man's side, tugged his clothes until he bent to her level and whispered something that made him laugh. When his chest heaved like that, Rickon could see a green lobster emblazoned across his shirt. He couldn't place the sigil, but it stirred something in the back of his mind - something he quickly pushed away because hot tears were stinging in the corners of his eyes as he thought of Bran, spending long hours with Maester Luwin studying things he couldn't remember - and a hand clenched around the back of Osha's robes.
Re: fill: we'll eat you up we love you so - rickon 3a/8lydziMay 18 2012, 20:44:45 UTC
The way you write that special connection between Rickon and Shaggydog just hit me right in the heart. I don't think I've read in any other Stark fic this bond put this way: so simple and yet so beautiful. It's just increible.
Now I'm done fangirling on this and go read the rest asap. I just can't wait for what's to come!!
The men around the campfire had laughed when first they'd seen them, huddled in furs and walking with the distinctive limps that came from traveling long distances on foot. Two rose from their seats around the fire, and Rickon felt Osha stiffen behind him. He had been ill on the short boat ride from the main land to the Skagos island - though more often than not it had simply been tearful nights brought on by the contempt he felt that his wildling guardian had insisted they steer clear of the wall, of Jon who was possibly the only brother he had left (and one of the few he could remember; Jon looked like father, right?) - and now she never strayed far. But this time when she gripped his shoulder and made to draw him behind her, there was something distinctly protective, tense, and almost a little terrifying if he would admit it. The sword they had stolen from the crypt of Winterfell hung at her hip, and even as she pushed him behind her, her other hand brushed the hilt.
The men leered, then, and took three threatening steps toward the two of them. Rickon felt something akin to panic flutter in his stomach, a sensation he was growing more and more accustomed to in his time in the woods. But it was always overshadowed by the never-ending barrage of anger that stemmed from what felt like the very core of his being, that welled up in his chest and manifested in screams and shouts and tantrums - and now is no exception. Little hands ball into tight fists and he is prepared to shout at them to just leave us alone; we're just tired.
But they stop. Rickon's nostrils flare and he's suddenly distinctly aware of a familiar, musky smell of Shaggydog's pelt, and he can hear the low and dangerous growl sounding in the back of the wolf's throat. There's something fiercely proud that rumbles in his chest whenever the direwolf bares his teeth and growls; it's a manifestation of the vehemence that the little boy feels in himself, yet taken more seriously than his shouts and the pounding of his fists. The men - all five of them are standing now, and the two who must be women raiders have risen into a low crouch with flashes of steel in their hands. Knives. They've got knives, but Shaggy's not flinching, and neither will he. Osha's not drawn her blade yet, but she's poised like a bird; more graceful than he's ever seen her before, and ready to fly. He's not, he's ready to fight, to bare his teeth and snarl and lunge, to bathe in the spray of hot blood from the men's throats like the black wolf beside them does whenever he takes down a deer. Or a human.
But the humans are dropping the tips of their blades, letting their weapons droop toward the ground and looking at one another. One of the women has risen and stalked to the largest man's side, tugged his clothes until he bent to her level and whispered something that made him laugh. When his chest heaved like that, Rickon could see a green lobster emblazoned across his shirt. He couldn't place the sigil, but it stirred something in the back of his mind - something he quickly pushed away because hot tears were stinging in the corners of his eyes as he thought of Bran, spending long hours with Maester Luwin studying things he couldn't remember - and a hand clenched around the back of Osha's robes.
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Now I'm done fangirling on this and go read the rest asap. I just can't wait for what's to come!!
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