Rickon sits by the fire, his small, five-year-old body dwarfed by the weight of his concerns. Bran, fourteen or fifteen now, sits nearby, silently lost in thought. Rickon glances over at his older brother, a wave of worry washing over him. "Bran..." he begins tentatively, his voice small and quavering against the crackling of the fire. Bran looks over, his gaze softening as he sees Rickon's anxious expression. "Yes, Rickon?" he responds gently.