On My Knees, Arya/Rickon, Bran: NC-17moderntricksterJune 13 2013, 04:54:55 UTC
The sun cast shadows through the rustling leaves on the bed of fresh green grass that had sprung up through the godswood. Winter had finally broke and the warmth of summer was upon them. Their wolves had shed their thick winder undercoats and were lounging in the shadows of the great, ancient oaks while the three youngest Starks dipped their toes in cool pool beneath the weirwood: Bran with his books, Rickon with his fletching, and Arya with her sword laid gently over her lap and a whetstone in her hand. Now and then they would cast a long glance up at one another, communicating their thoughts or desires without words. Bran could simply slip a whispered word into their minds whenever he wanted, the once-invasive press now as pleasant as the spring breeze against their skin.
But a sharpened blade and a quiver of new arrows was good enough for an afternoon of work, and while Bran would never run out of words, he would run out of sunlight before he could ever satisfy his hunger to know everything he could of the world. Arya slid her sword back into its sheath and laid it aside in the grass, resting back on her hands. The sun streaked across her shoulders and arms, caught in the soft, dark curls of her hair. It wasn't long before Rickon laid his arrows aside as well and glanced up at her, canting his head in a silent question. Bran looked up a moment later, a smile curling the corner of his mouth as he watched his siblings silently stared each other down.
It was a game they played often enough - who would give in first and go to the other, whether one would set out on a chase, or if they would slowly gravitate towards one another. Bran enjoyed watching them together, and they always gave him a performance worth watching.
Rickon was still more feral than their sister; a long winter spent in Skagos had made him hard and silent, had brought forth the animal in him. But Arya was all careful, practiced elegance. They never spoke about her training in Braavos, what she'd done before the gods brought her home, but Bran could make a few smart guesses and probably be right about most of them. There was a way she moved, a way she lifted her gaze under thick, dark lashes, dark spoke volumes about tricks she'd yet to show off. Bran was weak to those looks, but Rickon always responded with a vicious grin, smiling at her like he wanted to tear her flesh from her bones. And that's when the game began.
But a sharpened blade and a quiver of new arrows was good enough for an afternoon of work, and while Bran would never run out of words, he would run out of sunlight before he could ever satisfy his hunger to know everything he could of the world. Arya slid her sword back into its sheath and laid it aside in the grass, resting back on her hands. The sun streaked across her shoulders and arms, caught in the soft, dark curls of her hair. It wasn't long before Rickon laid his arrows aside as well and glanced up at her, canting his head in a silent question. Bran looked up a moment later, a smile curling the corner of his mouth as he watched his siblings silently stared each other down.
It was a game they played often enough - who would give in first and go to the other, whether one would set out on a chase, or if they would slowly gravitate towards one another. Bran enjoyed watching them together, and they always gave him a performance worth watching.
Rickon was still more feral than their sister; a long winter spent in Skagos had made him hard and silent, had brought forth the animal in him. But Arya was all careful, practiced elegance. They never spoke about her training in Braavos, what she'd done before the gods brought her home, but Bran could make a few smart guesses and probably be right about most of them. There was a way she moved, a way she lifted her gaze under thick, dark lashes, dark spoke volumes about tricks she'd yet to show off. Bran was weak to those looks, but Rickon always responded with a vicious grin, smiling at her like he wanted to tear her flesh from her bones. And that's when the game began.
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