driftfleet | mingle ye blue fishes

[They've been avoiding it. The Westeros-shaped elephant in the room, a reminder that everything is awful behind them. She's been living in captivity, and he's supposed to be dead, and they aren't allowed to be the children they once were. Even in this strange world of metal and black sky, they have to be careful. They have to be safe.

Trying not to let himself tremble, he reaches over to edge his hand up beside Sansa's own.]

... I wanted to ride to King's Landing. I wanted to save you and Arya.

[ she doesn't need to think about it -- it's instinct: she curls her smallest finger around his, and links their hands together in this small fashion. but it's enough. ]

Of course you did. [ she doesn't doubt her brother's bravery. not at all. but she doubts he could have made any difference, and his proclamation only puts her in mind of how joffrey would have put bran's head on the castle walls as well. her jaw tightens. ] I thought of you often. I missed you.

[ perhaps not at first but -- over time, she'd missed every sibling with a heavy ache. and so much grief. ]

We gave the harvest feast. [It made me think of all of you.] I had to eat all of the dishes, and hear oaths. I don't quite think I like ruling. It's lonely.

[He hooks his finger around hers, and leaves them linked on the arm-rest of his chair. It's the only comfort he can give her, apart from his presence.]

... You know of what happened to Winterfell.

[ her nod is slow. and pained. they hold onto each other like life-lines -- distant branches of the same tree, trying hard to keep its branches knit together against a storm. ]

They celebrated in King's Landing. [ they celebrated everything that hurt her. ] And they said you died.

[ i wept for days upon days. ]

[Bran tenses his hand against hers. His eyes look both terribly young and startlingly old.]

I didn't. I didn't die.

[He knows this is a secret, that not even Jon could know, but Ino was right - telling his dear sister can harm nothing, so long as knowledge cannot be carried home. And Sansa deserves to know. Just looking at her hurts, to see how frail and weary she is, and know that he couldn't save her from it. He wants her to smile again.]

We hid in the crypts - Rickon and I, and Hodor and Osha and Howland Reed's children. We hid, and they killed everybody else.

-- They said there were bodies. Theon betrayed you all and...

[ her voice cracks and breaks. a fine mist rolls across her eyes, but she dares herself not to cry in front of her baby brother. she'd managed to be porcelain and steel before a whole court -- she could manage it with bran, as well. ] Bodies, Bran. There were bodies.

The millers' boys. Theon didn't want anyone to know that we had escaped.

[If he were to speak any more quietly, he would be making no sound at all. His heart still feels heavy with guilt at the thought. Two innocent boys - and so many others - died because he could not hold Winterfell.]

It wasn't us, Sansa.

[ her relief is more ruthless. whatever sorrow or humanity she might have felt for the miller's boys has since been sponged up by acute pain in other parts of her life. survival is king -- and learning of her brothers' survival comes with such a rush of feeling.

she nods. ]

Then I am glad. [ ... ] I thought I was the only one.

[ the sole standing stark: the heir. she didn't want that responsibility. ]

[Any happiness he feels at being able to share this with her immediately dries up.]

The only...

[No. No, that's not true. Because they don't know what happened to Arya, no one knows, and she was always so strong. And Jon Snow may not be a Stark, but he's alive and fighting at the Wall. And that leaves...

All at once, the cold certainty sinks into his stomach.]

... Robb?

[ oh, seven hells. this pushes her over an unrecoverable edge. one slow tear trails down her cheek, and sansa seizes both her brother's hands in hers. ]

I thought -- [ what? she knows nothing of out-of-step chronology. ] If you were alive, certainly word would have reached you. Bran, didn't you hear...?

[ guilt and anger bubbles in her belly. i'm so sorry. ] It happened at the Twins.

[He shakes his head, lost and numb against the creeping realization. The Twins? Was it the Freys, then? Every possible scenario is more dreadful than the last, and he knows in this instant that his heart will never feel quite the same again. Something has been broken, something that may never be fixed.

Robb is dead.]

N-no.

[It's the only word he can force out. His face is white as ice.]

[ she feels so...so stupid. sitting with her stupid needlework on her stupid lap. but frozen, like an iced-over statue, so she can't move and give her brother the support he so dearly needs in this moment. her shoulders shake, and the next tear falls.

she can't even tell him that their brother died bravely, in battle. all that's left is humiliation and hurt. and (sansa realizes with a second surge of sorrow) bran must not know about their lady mother, either.

the wheeled chair is an awkward contraption, but sansa works around it. she pushes her thread and needle aside and lets it fall to the floor. she stoops to wrap her arms around her younger brother's shoulders, and in an act of bold sentiment that shocks even herself she cradles the back of his head with her palm.

she hugs him near to her. ]

[His tiny hands immediately grasp at her shoulders, and a single sob slips out before he realizes he's even crying. Before long he's quivering in his sister's arms, gasping shallowly against the overwhelming heartache. It swells in his chest, choking him with cold fingers.

Sansa isn't warm and soothing like Catelyn, not after what horrors she must have been through in King's Landing. She doesn't smell like a fire in the hearth and sweet summer herbs, but he clings to her like a lifeline, and as he presses his wet cheek against her shoulder he strives to imagine himself home, before everyone left him. Everyone left him and none of them came back, and perhaps they never will. Robb won't. The thought won't stop repeating in his head.

Robb's dead. Robb's dead. Robb was killed, just like Father. I will never see Robb again.

Then, another awful thought creeps in, sharp as a needle. It takes the wind out of him, and as he lifts his head from Sansa's shoulder he can only whisper.]

Mother...?

[He feels as though he already knows the answer.]

[ her trembling fingers catch on the long waves in her brother's hair. she wants to kiss his forehead and soundly put to rest all his worries, but here is one lie she cannot tell. if she isn't honest with him now, then someone else will be honest later. lord tyrion, most likely, and then bran will hate her for having hidden the truth from him.

even though a lie would be kinder. ]

Mother stood beside Robb always in the war, I think. She went where he went, and sure enough she was at the Twins alongside him. [ her lower lip trembles. she tries very hard to be the grown-up proper lady she needs to be in this second. ] They murdered her. And they murdered Robb.

[ whispers and tears. ]

[The dam breaks, and with a whimper into her shoulder Bran begins to sob in full. He clings to his sister as though he'll drown if they let go, and he cries long and hard until his tiny chest shudders and his head pounds. He cries for Mother and Father and Robb, and for Arya, and Jon Snow. He cries for Maester Luwin and Old Nan, for Rodrick Cassel and his daughter Beth, for every other man and woman and child he couldn't protect. He cries for Lady and Grey Wind, deep in the part of his mind where Summer's memories sleep. And when he feels like he has no tears left, he lifts his eyes gently from Sansa's shoulder and looks out at the stars.]

... She left before I woke up. [The words are bitter, but his voice is hollow.] You all did.

[ she adopts the sort of softness she's learned to provide to sweetrobin -- firm, but careful embraces. but with bran it's less a falsehood and more a raw expression of her love for him. ] I've come to regret leaving, Bran. I've come to regret it deeply.

[ she sniffles. there is an ache in her rib-cage. ] Before the end, I think even Father regretted leaving Winterfell.

[ it brought nothing but ruin. ]

[Bran nods against her shoulder. He knows - he knows they regret the choice they made, but it doesn't quite quell the bitterness that's grown up between his ribs over the past two years. He doesn't blame Sansa, or Father, but some part of him is still blindly reaching for blame, for someone who can apologize to him for the hell that Winterfell became.

It isn't fair, though. He can't push that on Sansa. Just one look into her eyes can tell him that she has seen and suffered enough.]

... Stay here. Please.

[It's barely a whisper, as his fists loosen just slightly against her back.]

Can you stay on the Blue Fish?

[ her fingers catch in his curls once again. and then, with one bold step backwards, she puts space between herself and her brother. she moves to hold his hands again and -- with a firm nod -- pledges herself: ] Nothing here could make me happier.

[ she lies. not because his invitation doesn't please her (because it absolutely does lift her spirits and make her heart soar) but because she can think of things that would make the pair of them much happier. ]

But will your...fellows on this crew -- will they allow it?

[He wipes one sleeve across his face, humming a yes.]

I already asked Allen and Captain Sokka, in case you wanted to.

How thoughtful! [ she can't smile -- not now. but warmth blooms in her heart, and gently touches her cheeks with a light flush. ] And what was their answer, Bran?

They said that you can, as soon as the ship makes itself larger.

Don't be silly. [ she looks...befuddled. ] A ship can't make herself larger.

Ours can! [He pulls away from her embrace, suddenly a bit excited.] Sometimes we wake up and whole rooms have been added to them. I think it must be magic.

[ her eyes stay narrowed. and perhaps it's the vestigial grief still surrounding her, but she shakes her head and seems unwilling to accept bran's explanation. ]

Tricks. Chicanery. It's not possible.

[He looks at her intently, his head tilting just a bit.]

A lot more is possible than Maester Luwin ever taught us. I know that, now.

mingle ye blue fishes

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