Work Text:
I’ll Dream All This Again
The sound of the sword slashing through the trees could be heard in the distance.
"Hodor." The simple-minded giant's voice echoed.
Bran relaxed backwards, putting his weight on his hands. He was used to the sound. But he knew from the roll of his eyes, and crease in his brows, that Jojen was not. Bran knew he would not complain though - it was not in Jojen's nature to.
He watched the greenseer from his place beside the lake. While more appropriate for Meera to frequent the lake for food, today she had taken her leave to hunt in the woods - but only after Bran had insisted that he could simply no longer stand the taste of frogs.
Meera had only smiled when he told the two Crannogmen that. It was Jojen who had agreed to it. He wasn't entirely sure why, when the boy had always been the voice of reason before.
Jojen caught his eye from the lake. He looked at the spear in his hands uncomfortably, and then frowned at Bran. "If we didn't have Meera, we would starve," He said.
Bran smiled at his friend. "No luck?"
Jojen shook his head solemnly.
Bran continued, "You don't have to, you know. It's like you told me. The Gods give us many gifts, and Meera is the hunter. You only dream things." He recited off Jojen's words to him from memory.
He looked at Jojen again. His eyes were wide in surprise, his mouth open slightly. As though he were astonished that somebody other than Bran could act like the teacher. After a moment or two of silence, he looked down at his feet suddenly and shrugged his shoulders. "You're right."
He threw the spear to the side of the lake, making sure it landed at Bran's feet with a satisfied thud. Bran watched as he waded through the water, and climbed out, the water dripping from his collars of his sleeves.
He stood above Bran for a moment, an indecisive look upon his face.
Bran cleared his throat, "Jojen what are you doing?"
Jojen jumped, startled. "I... I was..." He struggled to speak, a blush slowly creeping up his face. Bran laughed. He had never seen the boy so unsure of himself before.
"You can sit down," Bran told him. "Hodor's run off again, so it's not like I'm going anywhere for a while." He pulled tufts of grass out of the ground dejectedly. Not for the first time he wished he still had use of his legs.
Jojen obeyed, regaining his composure, his expression changing in to his usual sombre frown.
He sat beside Bran, leaning back in the same manner.
"You're not useless, you know." Jojen's voice came as a surprise to Bran.
He raised a surprised eyebrow in return. "Huh?"
Jojen continued, in the same manner he normally would. "Your gift is extremely rare. It makes you unique. And it means that not being able to use your legs doesn't matter at all. Besides, even if you didn't have the gift, you could still rule Winterfell and all the small folk would look up to you."
He smiled at Bran. An unusual action for the boy.
Bran didn't quite know what to say to that.
Jojen's hand brushed his. He would have pulled away, but his hands felt like lead. Goose bumps trailed up his arm. Jojen shifted closer to him, so the sides of their feet were also touching.
Bran turned to Jojen, his eyes wide. But he found he couldn't speak. His throat had gone dry.
He returned his gaze ahead of them, towards the lake. He smiled to himself.
For the first time in his memory, Bran was glad Hodor wasn't here to carry him.