fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (into the shape of an animal you love)

Stop - don't chew on that--

[There are some crunching sounds in the dark when the video comes on, with occasional shots of light: it definitely sounds like it's being chewed on, and there's some scuffling and shuffling before Artos finally tugs it free. The camera spins, focusing briefly on a familiar but boyish face, before going dark again as the screen gets wiped off.

FINALLY the picture settles, and instead of a young girl, there's an even younger boy - nine, maybe ten. He's smiling - and anyone who recognizes him knows that, more often than not, he's scowling.]


Is this your doing, Polly?

[He turns the camera on Nymeria - still very much Nymeria, but Artos hasn't quite gathered the differences yet.]

I never thought I'd see Nymeros again.

[He pauses, because, well. Dying makes you fairly gods damned certain that you'll never see anything again. He shakes it off, turning the camera on himself again as he goes to sling an arm over Nymeria's shoulders.]

I know others are complaining of their rooms and clothes going missing: there are plenty of boys clothes here, but I don't know this room. [He swings the camera around the wooden walls, with his map stretched across one.] And this isn't my sword. It's too small. [He gestures aside to Needle.] A man can't fight with a sword like that.

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When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon...But it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.