#blindprompt

[starkmatriarch]

brandonthebroken

Bran stood at the door and stared at his mother for a few minutes, trying to hold himself together and not cry. He didn’t like to see his mother hurt like this and it made him want to cry. He managed to stay at the door staring at his mother for about a minute before he finally gave up on looking any sort of brave or strong, his mother wouldn’t be able to see him after all.

He ran over to where she was laying on the bed and crawled in next to her, hugging her tightly. “I love you.” he mumbled, letting out a little whining noise. He’d been so worried about her, even when he had been told that she was safe and that she wasn’t going to die. He was still trying to hold back tears, but it wasn’t working very well and he was close to crying. 

"I’ve been clim-" He stopped himself from saying that he’d been climbing. He knew that his mother wouldn’t like that and would worry about him. He didn’t want her to be worried about him when she was hurt like this. "I’ve been playing with Arya. It’s been snowing outside. We built a snowman."

As she felt him crawl onto the bed beside her, holding her tightly as he always did, she could feel the pain in her heart break a little more. She wanted to see him, see his wonderful expression, his sweet, gently face, to see his smile when she kissed him and allowed him his little mischiefs about the castle. Never again.

"I love you too, my darling boy," Her hands ran over his hair, allowing her to gauge where he was and she placed a kiss on top of his head, continuing to hold him close. She did not wish to ever let her sweet boy go, to keep him safe forever..but how could she keep him safe when she could not see him? She would not even know when he was climbing, would not spy when he had defied his promise and scaled the battlements. Worry etched at her heart and she held him a little closer.

Worry which did not lessen when she heard the confession almost escape his lips. He had been clibing. While she had lay abed he had been dancing along the walls as he often did, despite his parents' insistances against it. Yet, considering all that could happen, and the sadness she had heard in his little 'I love you', she thought perhaps it was a scolding best saved for another day.

"Snowing?" She asked, though she was not surprised. Snow had been the one thing which had first made Winterfell beautiful in her eyes; now that was lost to her as well. "And how tall is this snowman? As tall as your Father? Or as small as Rickon?" She teased

[starkmatriarch]

♖ { hello! }

After her initial recovery period, when what damage could be rectified had been seen to, it had been advised that she not see her family all at once. Ned had been first. She wished to see her children, yes, but she needed the strength Ned always gave her, just by being by her side. He had kissed her and held her, and let her cry and said nothing, for he had known she needed only silence and a warm embrace. And when it was done, she had felt stronger. She had seen Robb, then Sansa and then Arya. Arya had brightened her, made little jests which had made her smile despite everything, but now as Bran was brought into the room, it was hard to keep the smile on her face.

Bran was her sweet boy, the gentlest of all her children. She had always gotten along well him, and never had she had an argument nor disagreement. He always had a hug for her and a wonderful smile; a smile which she would never look upon again. Blinking back tears with eyes which she did not see, she turned her head in the direction of the door.

"Bran, my sweet boy," She said, her lips pursing against sobs she refused to allow, "Come here—" She almost broke, but carried on. "Come here and tell me of all you have been doing in my absence"

[starkmatriarch]

♖

She still wasn’t used to it; not being able to see her children’s faces, to longer see her husband’s gentle yet solemn expression, to no longer see Sansa’s hair to braid it, to no longer see Robb’s proud grin, Bran’s coy expression, Arya’s false-innocence when she had disobeyed a instruction. She continued to feel as though her eyes were shut and she need only open them. Yet, they were indeed open, but they did not see. She heard footsteps, heard the Maester inform her it was her eldest son and she turned, though she knew not whether she faces her son or merely another stone fall. It made no difference.

“Robb….” She managed to smile, for him she would smile, “My boy…It seems I must learn these rooms anew”

[starkmatriarch]

♖

It had been a simple accident which could not have been foretold or prevented. The horses, bucking, chaos, panic, and Catelyn had been unfortunate enough to be seated in the wrong part of the group. But Gods, how she wished she had not. Not for her own sake, but for Robb’s. They were at war with, it felt, the entire Seven Kingdoms, with enemies on all sides; he did not need a blinded Mother to add to his troubles. She had taken a while to recover, the Maester advising as much bed rest as possible, and her leg had been injured as well, though that was almost healed now, Gods be good. When she heard the guardsman announce ‘his grace’, Catelyn tensed. She adjusted herself in her seat and turned in the direction of the window. She could not see the view, but she could feel the sun on her face.

“I am so sorry, Robb” She said softly when she heard the chamber door close, “It seems I have only added to your troubles”

[starkmatriarch]

♖

It was difficult adjusting to using sounds and vibrations as an indicator rather than her sight. She had not realised how truly dependent one was upon one's eyes until they had been taken from her. She knew the injury could have been far greater, and she was only grateful all else was fine and that none of her children had suffered the accident. She would willing give her hearing as well if it kept her children safe. Yet, still, she dreaded meeting each one of them since her recovery. She had already spoken with Rickon and had broken at the sound of his little confused sobs.

"Sansa?" She questioned, turning her head as she tried to gauge where her daughter was in the room. She sat up a little straighter in bed, "Sansa is that you?" She wanted to see her daughter. Wanting to see her hair so that she might braid it as she had always done, her blue eyes which were so like her own, so like Minisa's. No, she would not cry; she could only imagine how Sansa felt and she would worsen anything.  "Come here, please," She beckoned, her arms reaching out a little. If she could not see her, she wished to hold her hand, to assure her all was well, to hold her close.