Choice (Shireen, Bran)
Shireen looked around the woods surrounding Oldstones, adjusting her grip on the blasting rod ‘Bella had made for her last Christmas.
She was not terribly good with the outdoors, but even she knew the warning signs of an incursion.
"Bran?" she didn’t bother looking behind as Bran made a questioning noise deep in his throat, too enthralled by the remnants of magic use and the signs of some creepy fairy working to notice the fact that the temperature had gone down twenty degrees and that there was no wildlife sounds.
Summer pawed at the ground and let out a whine. Shireen skritched his ears, wishing she had a jacket. Or a sword, though that would only really be useful if she knew how to use one. Bran was more of a Knight than her, really, and when dealing with incursions Bran was the researcher to her sorceress.
The wind was blowing from the north, and even if they had two hours until dusk, Shireen knew better than to put her faith in daylight anymore. Oldstones was nothing but ruins, a moldering cemetery and wild roses.
She still waited until the little puddles near the river were starting to freeze, and then she picked Bran up by his collar, ignoring his protests. “We have to go. Now.”
Bran looked around, moving to draw the sword from his back. (Guns only worked with SI’s Cherry PIE rounds and headshots, Mr. Martell had said, slathering his arm with Reverend Cat’s salve after he limped into Winterfell last year. Since that was better than their previous results, they took it as a good sign, but no one wanted to place their face on it.)
"Water, fire, stone," Bran murmured. "Shireen, how far is…"
"Half a mile north," Shireen muttered darkly. "Riverrun House is about a mile south, but we can’t follow the river."
Bran nodded. “That would lead us straight to Harroway Square, which is exactly what we don’t want” he agreed, and Shireen took it as a trick of the light that his eyes took on an unnaturally green hue. “Just a moment, though.”
Shireen watched as Bran tossed some silver charms on the ground. “We’ll trap them for the dawn?” He said with a puckish grin. “Then…”
"Run screaming like Uncle Robert confronted with responsibility?" Shireen had turned the twinges of anger- at her family, at her greyscale, at being perfect golden Myrcella’s shadow- into humor long ago. She had her health, she had her wits, and she had an incredibly puzzling boyfriend to sort out.
Bran chuckled as she threw a quick binding spell over the surviving archways, keeping an eye out for a hint of fog.