I write crack fic because of reasons...
I saw this picture on tumblr of a old lady with a rifle and a dead crow, and that gave me an idea. Because crack is still a idea...And even thought is crack, it isn't funny or cute, just crack...
This is a Old Nan fic.
The Age and The Winter
She remembers the first time she arrives at Winterfell. Can’t remember much more than this.
Sometimes her memories get tangled and she can tell a Bran for another. Why is there are so many Bran’s?
She can remember cold, the long cold that claims babes and warriors all alike.
She remembers her babe, her babe’s babe. She remembers fear.
War was all around, war is all around.
Dark wings. Dark words.
They are all her babes.
She had a babe once a long time ago.
She’ll keep the fear away. Fear is for the winter.
But the winter is coming.
And until them she’ll keep the tears away.
*
Old Nan stands in Winterfell’s highest tower as she always did in times of war. Ever since her first Bran. With an bow as old as her, she waits.
A raven is easily spotted in the white sky over Winterfell. And with hands that were once steady, she picks up an arrow and aim.
This time, unlike many times before, she misses.
This time she can’t keep her babes safe.
Dark wings. Dark words.
One more statue in the crypt.
More tears before the enemy even arrives.
She lost this time.
Age has finally won.
And winter is coming.
This is a Old Nan fic.
The Age and The Winter
She remembers the first time she arrives at Winterfell. Can’t remember much more than this.
Sometimes her memories get tangled and she can tell a Bran for another. Why is there are so many Bran’s?
She can remember cold, the long cold that claims babes and warriors all alike.
She remembers her babe, her babe’s babe. She remembers fear.
War was all around, war is all around.
Dark wings. Dark words.
They are all her babes.
She had a babe once a long time ago.
She’ll keep the fear away. Fear is for the winter.
But the winter is coming.
And until them she’ll keep the tears away.
*
Old Nan stands in Winterfell’s highest tower as she always did in times of war. Ever since her first Bran. With an bow as old as her, she waits.
A raven is easily spotted in the white sky over Winterfell. And with hands that were once steady, she picks up an arrow and aim.
This time, unlike many times before, she misses.
This time she can’t keep her babes safe.
Dark wings. Dark words.
One more statue in the crypt.
More tears before the enemy even arrives.
She lost this time.
Age has finally won.
And winter is coming.