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Driysa had always felt out of place. It was a feeling she had expected, a churning loneliness that was most prevalent amongst her new friends, but a feeling she had learnt to suppress until she began to forget about it. Walking with these people, people she would once have rather speared than aid in moving through her land, had made her gain a sort of respect for Southerners. They were much more resilient than she had first assumed, she was proud to share bread with them, proud to hunt beside them and share stories. She had grown closest with Bran, his sad blue eyes developing to have a familiar spark within them that endeared Driysa. He was a rather handsome boy, having soft hair and soft hands that she often took into her own when he awoke with sweat beading down his brow. She enjoyed his company the most, even if most of their time together consisted of him earnestly teaching her to read. She had never cared too much about such unnecessary skills but she enjoyed watching his animated motions, getting overly excited when she correctly pronounced her vowels.
After months of being with her Southerner friends, she no longer felt out of place. But, once they finally made it to their end destination, that feeling swelled even stronger within her than the first time. Now, having lost Jojen and acquired the bizarre old tree man, Driysa felt as though she was no longer needed. That she was now worthless. She had done all she had set out to do and nothing was holding her back from leaving, nothing but her own belief that she needed to stay to help the group who surely would be lost without her. She hunted more, trying to prove to herself that she still had a purpose while trying to ignore whatever Bran was doing with the old man. Her classes with Bran were now confined to the late nights, where they would often spend hours into the morning talking about their days and what Bran saw with the old man, although talking about Bran's sight was often minimum as they both knew how she felt about the practice. She spent more of her day training with Meera, or running through the woods with Summer, something Bran would often talk about with her as though he was there himself. She enjoyed running with Summer, who had a streak of Bran in him. It was too stuffy in the cave, too much moss and dead things for Driysa to feel comfortable. She found herself longing for the crisp cool air, the frost that would kiss her cheeks and the familiar numbness of the North. She didn't have much contact with the docile giant, only going to him to unload her real feelings about being in the cave and feelings she couldn't reveal to Bran under the cover of night.
She often found her mind wandering back to her family. How old would Svedir be now? Was he carrying their - his - fathers arrows like a dutiful son while his father taught him how to hunt the game near their house, that there were no shortcuts to being a good hunter and fighter, or was his blood staining the snow beside their house with his hands gripping his mothers, their eyes wide with horror as they waited to be turned into monsters? Did Svedir even know he had an older sister, was he ashamed of the women Driysa had become, learning to read while protecting a group of Southerners from the North. Did he follow in the steps of their older brothers, succeeds where she once failed, and join Mance Rayder? She had so many questions for him, so much she needed to tell him before his mother poisoned his mind with her false realities.
"Are you alright Driysa?" Bran asked, moving his body weight towards her, "you look sad,"
Driysa took a deep breath, letting it all out in a sigh, "I think I miss my family,"
Bran's brows knitted, his mouth parting slightly. Driysa had never divulged much of her life before joining them, it was always a topic that appeared to be off-limits for the group to ask her about. While Bran liked to think he was the closest to Driysa, he had to admit that he didn't know much about the girl. He was desperate to learn more, hopeful to connect with the dark-haired girl.
"I miss mine too," Bran smiled, an image of each of his siblings flashing through his head like a series of portraits. There was the young King Robb, who had armies following him to battle, then came the soft-spoken Sansa, who seemed to have everything she could want yet never enough, followed by a wilder Arya, who sat on a wild horse chasing a dream of being a Knight herself, and the sweet Rickon, who ran straight into the arms of their parents, and of course his bastard brother Jon, who stood with Robb as another King.
"Do you ever wonder if they miss you?" Driysa asked, her shoulders were slumped and her eyes cast down in a mournful gaze.
Driysa closed her eyes, tilting her head back slightly to let out a long sigh. She hoped Bran didn't take her sadness as offensive, she loved being with him - being Meera and Hodor - but it was hard not to wonder what her life would have become if she hadn't taken a chance and decided to lead the group into the belly of the undead beast. Would she have been able to track down the King in the North or would she have had to wander for weeks before finding another family to live with? After all, she did find another family, a Southern family.
"What's your family like?" Bran asked, placing his hand over hers.
"Disjointed, chaotic," Driysa admitted, squeezing his hand, "It was my mother, father, uncle and brothers. We weren't the perfect family, but we never killed one another," Driysa laughed at herself, as stupid as it sounded, they did better than other families she knew.
Bran smiled encouragingly, "I had three brothers and two sisters, it was pretty chaotic,"
"I had eight brothers," Driysa said, "six of them left to join Mance Rayder, when I met you I was trying to follow in their footsteps,"
Bran's smile faltered, his hand slipping, "You were going to join Mance Rayder's camp?"
Driysa nodded, "It's what most of us were doing, any who weren't were either cowards, stupid or children of the first two,"
"Do you wish you joined him instead?"
Driysa looked up at Bran, a soft smile gracing her face as she shook her head thoughtfully, "No, I like where I am, I like it here with you,"
Bran beamed, shuffling closer to her as his hand fully clasped her hand, "I like it here with you too,"
They stayed sitting like that, letting silence enveloped them, as the moon shone through the tree roots. Driysa didn't want anything to disturb them, she felt as though everything was finally going back to normal. She didn't want to stay in the old man cave, but she was willing to try and make it work for Bran.
"You Southerners have last names don't you?" Driysa said, "What's yours?"
"Stark,"
"Stark," Driysa echoed, liking the way it sounded on Bran's lips, "I'm glad I met you Bran Stark,"
Bran smiled, "What should I call you?"
Driysa shrugged, "I don't have a last name, haven't done anything notable to warrant one,"
Bran frowned, pausing as the words processed in his brain until he eventually nodded, bringing the hand that was clasped in his up to his mouth, pressing his lips softly against it, "And I you, Driysa Stark,"
Driysa blushed deeply, still being able to feel his lips against her hand.
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A/N : Driysa definitely doesn't know the meaning of Bran giving her his last name and Bran definitely knows that!
But what did you think of the chapter? I know it took a little while, sorry! I've got so much work and study so they might take a while but I've not forgotten about it : )
