Chapter Three

Try not to be a man of success,
but rather try to become a man of honor.

"Don't just stand there," Eleonora shouted, barely able to steady the wounded lion onto the saddle any longer. "Help me get him inside!"

Theon, Jon and Robb spotted Moon and her two riders sprinting towards the gate while they practiced their archery in the courtyard. Blood stained the horse's thick white coat of fur, leaving a scarlet trail along the cobblestones. Jaime Lannister was slouched completely over, his eyes closed, his skin as pale as snow. His limp figure bounced helplessly from side to side as Eleonora continued to struggle to hold him upright. The boys dropped their bows and sprinted to meet the riders just inside the gates.

"What did you do to him, Nora?" asked Theon, almost too humorously as he caught an unconscious Jaime Lannister into his arms beside Rob. Theon was a bit larger than the other two boys due to his age, and he never missed an opportunity to show his strength no matter the circumstance.

"What I'll do to you if you don't run as fast as you can to fetch Maester Luwin," she said, sliding off of Moon's back so quickly that Jon had to catch her before she fell. Her legs felt weak and tired as if she herself had carried Jaime Lannister on her back for miles. "He was wounded near his ribcage. He's already lost so much blood, and I don't know–"

"Are you alright?" asked Jon, who cared little for the wellbeing of the injured Lannister. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, just help me get him inside," she muttered, straightening her posture.

She held her hands firmly against Jaime's abdomen, applying pressure to his wound as she shuffled inside beside Robb and Jon. They climbed the steps slowly, Jaime Lannister's eyes opened and closed every couple seconds though he appeared to be mentally in another world. Nyx padded silently beside them. Outside, snow began to swirl through the castle gates, and the yard was warm and quiet, but inside the thick stone walls it was chaos. They reached the landing of Eleonora's bedroom, the closest room with a bed in which for Jaime to lie upon.

Robb and Jon laid Jaime Lannister down upon their sister's large four-poster canvass bed, neither caring the slightest how hard they dropped him upon her fur comforter. Jaime released a very weak groan before his eyes closed for the last time. Robb pushed Jaime's legs onto the mattress, straightening his frame as Eleonora wasted no time.

"Jon, go make sure Theon wasn't distracted by his own cock," said Eleonora fiercely. "We need the Maester now. Go!"

Jon stood motionless for a second, watching Eleonora lift her skirts and climb up the bed beside Jaime before he finally darted out into the hall to find Theon and Maester Luwin. Robb stood back and watched Eleonora, not really sure on what to do. His sister wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, staining her face scarlet with the Lion's blood. He noticed she threw off her heavy coats onto the floor with little thought, and Robb only happened to glance at her favored dagger latched to her hip – it too was soaked in human blood. Eleonora ripped open his shirt, exposing his abdomen and stripping his bandages from his skin. She froze for for a moment, only a moment, as she looked upon Jaime's injury for the first time. His chest shuddered, the gash quite a bit deeper than she had initially estimated. Though Eleonora know she would scold herself later, she felt a twinge of guilt. The fool was only trying to help, attempting to 'rescue' her. She knew he had been as excited to spend his afternoon babysitting her as she had been to be babysat by him. Her fingertips were hovering just above his open wound before she snapped out of her internal monologue.

"Wake up, you fool," she said in an unintentional hoarse voice, tapping Jaime's cheek with her fingers. "Stay with me."

"What do we do?" asked Robb, his usually calm and confident demeanor wavering. "Nora, what do we do?!"

"We need to seal the wound," Eleonora gasped, cradling his face in her blood stained hands, "and we need to do it now."

Eleonora looked up, frantically searching for a way to stop the bleeding and steady the Lion's heartbeat. She stumbled from her bed, knocking open a drawer on her bedside nightstand. She reached in the drawer and pulled out a stiff bottle of ale that sat half-full. She and Jory had finished most of the bottle before one of their midnight jaunts the week prior. She pulled out the cork with her teeth, ripped the dagger from her hip holster with her other hand and held it over the lit fireplace.

"Help me hold him still," she said, watching as the steel of her dagger glowed orange from the heat.

Eleonora placed the bottle's cork between Jaime's teeth and Robb placed a firm grip upon the unconscious man's shoulder and hip. She then poured the liquid on Jaime's wound to clean the abscess and then quickly, and without hesitation placed the scalding hot dagger along Jaime's gash to cauterize it shut. Jaime instantly shot upwards and spit out the cork across the room, releasing a shrill scream in agony. Eleonora dropped the dagger onto the floor helped Robb force the incredibly strong Kingsguard back onto the bed.

"You bitch!" Jaime screamed, turning his head to look her in the eye, his face contorted in immense pain. He moaned and fought the two Starks until his body collapsed from blood loss.

"You're welcome," she frowned, pouring some of the liquor down his throat and causing him to cough. Jaime slowly relaxed, his chest beginning to rise and fall again in a quiet rhythm. Robb released his grip and stepped back, collapsing onto a nearby wooden armchair. Eleonora pushed a loose golden strand of hair from Jaime's eyes as he looked weakly up at her just before his eyes closed again. Theon, Jon and Maester Luwin's hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.

"We have quite the feast ahead of us this evening," said King Robert.

Robert and Ned road further behind the large group, frozen mist and feathered snowflakes providing a weak shield between the two men and their guards. The king had killed a sizable boar in addition to Eleonora's stag. Their stomachs growled in anxious anticipation for the large meal they had ahead of them. Ned opened his mouth to agree with his old friend's sentiment but a commotion interrupted him. Several fevered voices echoed in the distance, closer to the castle gates. Jory appeared through the fog before them, his face distraught and frantic. He yanked on the reins of his steed, earning an abrupt jerk from the horse as it released an angered neigh.

"Jory, what is it?" asked Lord Stark.

"It's Nora," he said, forgetting formalities for only a moment. Jory swiftly led his horse into a sprint to the main gates, followed close behind by Lord Stark.

Ned Stark saw blood first and it stole his breath. His eldest daughter's white horse was stained with a thick coat of blood, a number of stable boys struggling to calm the beast as it fought to be reunited with its mistress. Ned and Jory slid off and abandoned their steeds, darting into castle. Jon and Theon stood, talking fiercely, near the bottom of the staircase, leading up to the many bedrooms. Jon's palms were stained with Jaime's blood. Ned could barely speak at the sight of his bastard son's hands.

"Nora?" was all that escaped Lord Stark's lips.

"Her chamber," said Jon. "Robb is with her."

Ned and Jory climbed the steps, two at a time. Jory stumbled behind Ned, falling and slamming his knees into the final stone stair but ignored the immense pain. Lord Stark threw open his daughter's bedroom door, instantly laying eyes on her. She sat in the her armchair by the window, completely drenched in blood. Robb was just about to sit beside her, a basin of water and a rag in his hands. Ned did not take any notice to Jaime Lannister, lying unconscious in her bed or Maester Luwin, Tyrion, a teary-eyed Queen Cersei, or Prince Joffrey hovering around.

"Eleonora," he breathed, kneeling before his eldest daughter and cupping her face in his hands. She sent him a week smile to reassure him, covering his right hand with hers. Jory stood motionless and breathless behind him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Father," she said softly, "the blood I bare is not my own."

"What's happened?" asked Lord Stark, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face. King Robert burst through the door suddenly, winded from climbing the steps. His face was as red as blood, appearing frantic and more so once setting his eyes on Eleonora. His men clamored in behind him. Robert looked from the young lady to Jaime Lannister and back again with a vehement expression.

"What has he done?" roared Robert, "Did that golden-headed prick put the Lady Stark in danger?"

"Lady Stark was just about to enlighten us, Your Grace,"said Tyrion slowly, speaking to the savage king before his sister could pierce him with her wicked tongue. She continued to brush the hair from her twin's closed eyes. Eleonora watched silently at the scene before her, appraising the situation. She looked upon Jaime Lannister's unconscious frame, unable to defend himself. She saw the sadness in the queen's eyes and how anxious she appeared at her husband's temperament.

"I insisted on eluding Ser Jaime," she began, keeping her eyes on the king. "He did his best to keep track of me, but my horse is much larger and familiar with the northern terrain. I was a fool to think I could escape him. I lost him momentarily across the stream. I came across a group of Wildlings. Just as they moved in to harm me, Ser Jaime rescued me. He killed all three of them, earning a wound from a stray arrow in midst the battle. I owe him my life."

Robb and Jory exchanged an apprehensive glance.

"How many times have I told you not to ride through the godswood alone?" Lord Stark scolded. "Your foolishness has now put the lives of our guests in danger."

"I'm sorry, Father," she replied, staring down at her folded hands.

"You are banned from riding Moon until we depart south," Lord Stark commanded. "You are undeniably responsible for delaying the king's homeward travels as we now must wait for Ser Jaime to recover. I am ashamed of your reckless and thoughtless behavior."

"Come now, Ned," said Robert in new found zestful tone. "You can't blame her. It's that wolf-blooded spirit she's inherited. We're overjoyed to spend a few more nights in the north. I would like to freeze my balls completely off before traveling home to sweat like a proper hog again."

"She's nearly killed, Jaime," Cersei spat suddenly.

"Hush, woman," Robert bellowed. "He should be thanking her for making him seem more useful than he's been in two decades."

"We should move Ser Jaime to the infirmary," Maester Luwin interrupted, attempting to turn the mood. "He needs a clean bed and fresh bandages. Your Grace, would your men be willing to assist?"

"Of course," he nodded, motioning to his men to lift Jaime and carry him downstairs to Maester Luwin's quarters. Cersei, Tyrion and Joffrey followed swiftly after Maester Luwin and the Kingsguard.

"I will be speaking to your mother about this," said Ned, climbing to his feet. "I don't want you leaving your chambers until morning."

"Yes, Father," she said quietly, unable to look him in the eye.

"I am truly disappointed in you, Eleonora," he said. "Come now, Jory."

Ned, Jory and Robert departed, leaving Robb and Eleonora alone. Jory caught her eye before following the other two men. Eleonora sighed loudly as Robb knelt beside her with the basin and rag. He dipped the clean cloth in the water and gently wiped blood off of her cheek. Eleonora frowned, turning her face away from her brother. Robb knew his elder sister better than anyone, and he knew when she was lying. He pulled his hand away and threw the rag in the basin, splashing water everywhere.

"So what really happened this afternoon?"

"Were you deaf?" she said. "You heard me."

"I heard you tell a lie," Robb retorted. "You know the godswood better than most. You have never been the damsel in distress type, Nora. I saw the blood on your dagger. The only bit I don't understand is why you're sacrificing your own honor to protect the reputation of a Lannister."

"I don't know, Robb," she sighed, meeting his gaze, "maybe I just realized the lion bleeds red the same as the wolf."

Jaime Lannister surmised it was an odd feeling, dying. It was much like being alive, except you are merely asleep without the ability to wake up. He thought it was peaceful, really. However, he did expect the afterlife to be a bit more grand than just infinite darkness. He imagined growing rather bored after awhile, but he intended to make the best of it. Being dead is a reasonably definite thing after all. There really is no other option than to get used to death, because to be perfectly honest, you're dead much longer than you are alive. Maybe his death would just be another great adventure.

He did expect death to be a bit more quiet than it was turning out to be as well. There was a lot of mumbling at first, nonsense from faceless voices. One sounded familiar, it sounded like... like Cersei. Cersei! Would he see her again... in the afterlife? Would he see anything again for that matter? Did his eyes function any longer? Could he even manage to open them? Was there anything to see, and if there was, did he really even want to see what that something was? There was no harm in trying, he figured. What harm could it be? He was already dead after all.

His eyelids slowly opened, his vision blurred. Colors began to instantly appear, familiar ones. He blinked several times and as he did so, his ears began to clear at the same haste as his vision. He was lying on his back, staring up at stone ceiling. He imagined that a life in such a position would be rather dull if he was stuck there for eternity that is. He could name many other places that would be much better than daydreaming peacefully on a bed of feathers for the rest of his days.

An oddly acquainted taste was in his mouth, he'd just realized. It tasted like a mixture of alcohol and sweat. Had someone forced a substance down his throat? He licked his lips, turned his head to the side ever so cautiously, and he saw his brother Tyrion sitting in a chair and casually reading a rather thick book.

"Alas, he wakes," said Tyrion in a slow droll, not looking up immediately from his book.

Jaime's head ached so horribly that he wondered if his skull had completely cracked in half. He lifted his arm to rub his forehead, but he instantly regretted the motion as his abdomen caused him to recoil in pain. He lifted his sheet and looked down at his side. Jaime then recalled what had happened.

"You're lucky, brother," said Tyrion, closing his book. "Lady Stark thought well on her feet. If she hadn't thought to close your wound with her dagger then we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation."

"Is she alright?" he asked.

"She's fine," said Tyrion. "She told us all how you saved her life from the Wildlings."

"What are you talking about?" said Jaime, furrowing his brow. "She saved herself."

Tyrion grinned, humored, as if he'd known all along.

"What a curious creature," he smiled. "Starks are infamously honor-bound, but it's usually their own they're most concerned with."

"Sit still, Arya," said Eleonora, "I'm nearly finished. We'll go watch the boys soon."

Eleonora sat behind Arya, brushing her coarse and unruly hair. The youngest female Stark always complained that Septa Mordane brushed too hard, so Nora always offered to take her place though she was convinced her hand was no more gentle. Rickon sat on the floor with Shaggydog, Nymeria and Nyx, playing with his wooden toys as if he was lost in his own world. Zealous voices could be heard out the open window below.

Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Sansa's friend Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was also beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joffrey, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

By now Septa Mordane would certainly have sent word to their lady mother. Arya was supposed to working on her needlework, but she had stowed away in Eleonora's chambers with Rickon and the pups for well over a hour. If she went back to her room, they would find her. Arya did not care to be found. She had a better notion. The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back. Eleonora brushed one final knot in her mop of hair and set down the brush, wiping away drops of nonexistent sweat.

"Come on, Nora," she said to her sister, hopping down to her feet.

"Alright, alright," she smiled, taking Rickon to her hip and commanding the wolves to stay put.

There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where you had a view of the whole yard. That was where they headed. They arrived, flushed and breathless, to find Jory Cassel seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of the three Starks approaching him.

Jory gave Arya a curious look. "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, my Lady? Septa Mordane has been searching all over for you. I fear you've become a dreadful influence on your sister, Nora."

Arya made a face at him. "I wanted to see them fight."

He smiled. "Come here, then."

Arya climbed up on the window and sat beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the yard below. To her disappointment, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to begin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel, Jory's uncle and the master-at-arms, a great stout keg of a man with magnificent white cheek whiskers. A dozen spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb's voice the loudest among them. She spotted Theon Greyjoy beside him, his black doublet emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House, a look of wry contempt on his face. Both of the combatants were staggering. Arya judged that they had been at it awhile.

"A shade more exhausting than needlework," Eleonora observed, peering over Arya's shoulder. Jory turned his head to meet her gaze. He smiled quietly and she returned the gesture.

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at her. Jory grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair.

Arya flushed. She and Jory had always been rather close. It had been Jory that looked out for her as if he was his sister, the same as Beth Cassel. Jory who had always reassured her, kept her safe. He was an older brother to her, more than Theon had ever been.

"Shouldn't you be sparring with the others?" asked Eleonora, nudging Jory playfully.

"I was instructed by your Lord father to rest up before the final hunt tomorrow," said Jory. "Two days from now, we'll begin our month-long journey south."

"Do not remind me," she frowned. "I thank the gods for giving us one more week in the north."

"You should be thanking Jaime Lannister," said Jory, taking Rickon from Eleonora's hip so he could watch the boys spar as well. "He seems to have recovered rather quickly, and he should thank you for that."

"And that is precisely what I intend to do,"said a familiar droll from behind the foursome.

Jaime Lannister appeared several feet behind them, walking erect but cautiously as he gripped his walking stick for balance. He had been able to walk on his own a few days after Maester Luwin bandaged his wound. He would be fine to ride again within the next few days, as strong as ever. His familiar condescending grin was plastered across his handsome face. Jory grimaced but kept his calm disposition. Even Jory could not deny Jaime Lannister's abilities as a swordsman and warrior. Arya merely glanced at Jaime as if he was a fallen leaf and returned her attention below.

"May I have a moment?"

Jory stared at Eleonora, almost begging her to deny him the honor. She kept her composure, nodding to Jory as if sending him a silent request.

"Come on, little ones," said Jory, scooping Arya and Rickon up under either arm. Both children laughed. "Let's go get a closer look at your brothers."

He looked back at Eleonora before lugging the two youngest Starks down the stone stairs to the courtyard beneath them. Eleonora took Jory's place on the ledge, pulling her knee up under her chin. Jaime leaned against the other side of the ledge, unable to push himself up to sit. He leaned against the wall instead, looking over at the raven-haired beauty. She kept her gaze on to Robb, Theon and Jon below.

"You seem to be recovering well," said Eleonora in a way that didn't give Jaime the slightest impression she really cared either way.

"Quite well," he replied. "I've been told I owe that all to you."

"It was nothing," she said haphazardly.

"You Starks and your modesty," he teased.

"Ah, and what would you have me say, Lannister?" she spat. "Shall I inquire about some sort of reward then? Should I ask your queen sister for place on her royal court for my genial care of her twin brother?"

"You know Lannisters always pay their debts," he said.

"I want nothing from you," she replied.

"Then why did you do what you did?" he asked.

"What a foolish question," she sighed. "I would never be able to live with myself if I were to sit idly by watching another man die – even if that man happens to be a Lannister."

"I didn't mean that," Jaime replied in a much more serious tone. "Why did you tell the king that I rescued you?"

Eleonora took her attention away from the boys sparring for the first time since she took a seat on the ledge. She did not expect the lion to confront her about what she had done. She assumed he would act as if nothing had transpired and the two would be on their way without another word about it. His candor took her by surprise, and she didn't have an answer at first. She swallowed hard, tearing her eyes away from his, shaking her head once.

"The fate that awaited me for disobeying my father was nothing compared to the punishment you would bare for not preventing me from falling into harms way," she said softly.

"And why would you care what happens to me?" he asked. "I am a Lannister after all, you've never shied away from reminding me of that."

"Because in life, we are constantly faced with difficult decisions," she said. "Yes, I could have kept my mouth shut and let the king berate you, possibly take away your knighthood or perhaps take away your head. I chose to keep your laurels intact and in exchange I took the brunt of the punishment. You chose to try and fend off three armed Wildlings protecting me and in exchange you risked and nearly lost your own life."

"It doesn't matter that I tried to protect you–" said Jaime.

"It's the only thing that matters," said Eleonora fiercely. She looked upon him as if she had just declared the sky blue.

"I–"

"You could have turned your back and perchance they would have had their way with me," she said wisely. "Perhaps you didn't show up and distract them, perhaps I made one false move and I would have been at their mercy. I don't know, Ser. What I do know is that we're both still breathing and sometimes just trying to do good is good enough."

"I was protecting my own neck," he said, said in a defensive manner as if to wound her. "I knew if you were harmed that the king would have my head."

Eleonora smirked, pushing a long wavy strand of hair from her eyes. She released a hollow laugh, shaking her head as Jaime pushed himself off of the ledge. He was anxious to escape her. Jaime hated feeling vulnerable, and he so rarely experienced the feeling. However, for whatever reason, whenever he was in the presence of Lady Eleonora Stark he felt as defenseless as an orphaned cub in the wilderness. He turned his back to her but froze as soon as her haunting voice reached his ear.

"I have come across countless men in my life, from all reaches of Westeros," she said slowly. "I've known so many to be bad, evil men at their core, battling their own demons in hopeless efforts to be good. I could never once claim to know of a good man, fighting desperately to be a bad one. That is, until I met you."

The hunt left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Benjen, Jory, Theon, Ser Rodrik, and even the queen's funny little brother had all ridden out with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south.

It wasn't until she rose in the morning that Eleonora suddenly felt lost. Winterfell had been the only home she had ever known. Her father had told his children that they ought to say their farewells today, and she had tried. After the hunt had ridden out, she wandered through the castle with her wolf at her side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan and Gage the cook, Theon, her eldest and youngest brothers. She would miss her mother, begrudgingly so, but she would not miss all of her. Eleonora needed to ease into her goodbyes because too much at once would be her undoing.

"Damn," Bran muttered as an arrow flew wildly beyond his bulls eye.

"Both eyes open when you release, pup," said Eleonora in a docile tone. "Don't forget to release your breath as you release your arrow."

She sat with her back resting against the ancient tree behind her, Rickon snuggled in her lap next to Bran's snoozing nameless direwolf. Bran had agreed to let his eldest sister help him with his archery again, only slightly begrudgingly this time as Eleonora had not argued when he insisted they convene outside the boastful eyes of the older boys. There was no one better with a bow than his sister, woman or man, and she would not judge his frequent inaccuracies as his gruff though well intentioned older brothers. They distanced themselves from Winterfell, finding a suitable location just inside the treeline of the godswood. Eleonora spotted knot on a nearby tree to serve as a bulls eye.

Nyx wandered up to her master with a newly dead rodent in her jowls. She padded in a circle before nuzzling her back against Eleonora's crossed legs and gnawing into her kill. Eleonora carelessly petted the direwolf's thick black fur. Bran heeded his sister's advice and released his arrow again. Though the tip did not strike the bulls eye, the arrow stuck firmly in the bark just mere inches from the knot. Bran smirked in a self-satisfied way and looked proudly back at his sister.

"See," she smiled, patting the earth beside her for Bran to sit down, "you'll be putting me to shame before you know it."

Bran had an almost skip in his step when he joined his sister against the enormous oak. He tightened the strong on his bow, now more determined and hopeful than before. Eleonora affectionately squeezed the back of his neck before adjusting Rickon in her lap. He had been playing with a wooden dragon Prince Tommen had given him all afternoon.

"I wish I didn't have to practice," said Bran halfheartedly. "I wish a bow in my hands felt as natural as it does to you."

"Bran, we are all born with strengths and weaknesses," she replied, peeking down at him, "every last one of us."

Bran rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"It's true," she insisted. "Yes, I am strong with a bow, but I struggled for years before I could ride a horse without falling off as weak as a fawn. Robb rides as if he was born on horseback, but I don't think he could wield a sword as he does now until years after Jon. Don't forget Jon's talent with a sword could never overshadow his clumsiness as a boy. I don't think he managed to walk a straight line without stumbling over his own feet until his most recent namesday."

Bran half shrugged.

"But you, pup, are a climber," she smiled. "You're the most agile future warrior in the north. I have never seen such skill and bravery as I have watching you scale a wall. Neither Robb, nor Jon, or even idiot Theon can claim to have such a natural ability."

"Especially not idiot Theon," said an amused voice from across the way. It was Robb.

"Oi," Theon objected as if he was actually truly offended.

Robb leaned against a tree across from them with his wolf and Theon in toe, sending Bran a wink. The boy appeared abruptly embarrassed. He dropped his bow and picked up a broken stick beside him. It was as if he wanted to appear to have just stumbled upon his sister in the godswood instead of what had really transpired. He looked up to Robb more than anyone other than his lord father, and he never wanted his idol to view him as weak or childish.

"I'm going to take him to play fetch," said Bran, avoiding eye contact with his siblings. "See you back later."

"Bran, wait," Eleonora called helplessly, struggling to lift Rickon with her own weight as she climbed to her feet.

Bran ignored his sister and trotted off with his direwolf behind him. He was still trying to decide on a name. Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran so fast. Eleonora called hers Nyx like the shadow of darkness because of her black coat. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog. Jon's wolf, the white one, was Ghost.

He got tired of the stick game rather quickly and decided to go climbing. His sister was correct, he was the best climber. He hadn't been up to the broken tower for weeks, and this might be his last chance before the group left for the south. He needed to clear his head and distance himself from his older siblings for just a little while.

His mother was terrified that one day Bran would slip off a wall and kill himself. He told her that he wouldn't, but she never believed him. Once she made him promise that he would stay on the ground. He had managed to keep that promise for almost a fortnight, miserable every day, until one night he had gone out the window of his bedroom when his brothers were fast asleep.

He confessed his crime the next day in a fit of guilt. Lord Eddard ordered him to the godswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen. They finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the grove.

As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. "You're not my son," he told Bran when they fetched him down, "you're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you."

Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really footed her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.

Bran reached the top of the broken tower without fail, locking his legs around a gargoyle and he began to hear two oddly familiar voices. He leaned towards the open ledge. It was Jaime and Cersei Lannister, the twins.

"And then what do you imagine Robert will do?"

"Let Robert do as he pleases. I'll go to war with him if I must. The War for Cersei's Cunt, the singers will call it."

"Jaime, let go of me!" she raged, struggling to rise.

Instead he had kissed her. For a moment she resisted, but then her mouth opened under his. He remembered the taste of wine and cloves on her tongue. She gave a shudder. His hand went to her bodice and yanked, tearing the silk so her breasts spilled free.

"We ought to count ourselves fortunate," Jaime said. "The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night."

They were talking about Lord Eddard, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet... but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window.

"We will have to watch him carefully," Cersei said.

"I would sooner watch you," Jaime said. He sounded bored. "Come back here."

"Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck," she said.

"Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?"

"A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life."

"His wife is Lady Arryn's sister. It's a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations."

Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach.

"You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow."

"That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn's bed."

"If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King's Landing."

"When he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I think not. She knew the boy's life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that he's safe atop the Eyrie."

"Mothers." Jaime made the word sound like a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." He paused a moment. "Or does she?"

"Do you think the king will require proof?" Cersei said. "I tell you, he loves me not."

"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?"

Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up... except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears.

"You are as blind as Robert," the queen was saying.

"If you mean I see the same thing, yes," Jaime said. "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king."

"He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" Cersei said. "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?"

"For pity's sake," Jaime groaned.

"Do not pretend to be blind to the way he looks at that Stark girl," she said. "He can hardly keep his own cock in his trousers whenever he sets eyes on her."

"She is no threat," said Jaime as if he was defending Eleonora. Cersei raised a curious brow.

"And why is that?"

"She would never give him a second glance," he said, "and the love Robert bares for Ned Stark would never allow him succumb to the temptation of fucking his eldest daughter no matter how much she resembles Lyanna."

"What young woman would deny a king his pleasure?"

"She's not like most women," said Jaime before he could stop himself.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you've grown rather fond of the Stark girl," she hissed.

"Don't be a fool," he snapped. "I would sooner see her dead if it pleased you."

"Perhaps someday it would," she replied.

Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized. He had to hear more.

Jaime sighed. "You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand."

"Stop that!" Cersei said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man's laughter.

Bran pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the roof. This was the easy way. He moved across the roof to the next gargoyle, right above the window of the room where they were talking.

"All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister," Jaimen said. "Come here and be quiet."

Bran sat astride the gargoyle, tightened his legs around it, and swung himself around, upside down. He hung by his legs and slowly stretched his head down toward the window. The world looked strange upside down. A courtyard swam dizzily below him, its stones still wet with melted snow. Bran looked in the window.

Inside the room, the twins were wrestling. They were both naked. There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. Jaime had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat.

"Stop it," she said, "stop it, stop it. Oh, please..." But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast.

Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth. He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed.

Everything happened at once then. The queen pushed er brother away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting. Faces appeared in the window above him. The queen. The Kingslayer.

"He saw us," Cersei said shrilly.

"So he did," the man said.

Bran's fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. Jaime reached down. "Take my hand," he said. "Before you fall."

Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. Jaime yanked him up to the ledge.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

The man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. "How old are you, boy?"

"Seven," Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly.

Jaime looked over at Cersei. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove. Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him. Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

"I didn't do anything," said Robb firmly, hoisting Rickon into his arms and swinging him around for a moment before setting him onto the ground. He had avoided his sister's eyes until then. "I know you want to scold me, but you know how sensitive Bran can be."

"Your mother cottles him too much, even your lord father says so," said Theon in agreement.

"He's just a boy, and he looks up to you and to Jon, and occasionally even the idiot of the Iron Islands," she sighed, adjusting her cloak and meeting her brother's strides back to Winterfell, "I know he's anxious for the upcoming departures – we all are."

Robb and Eleonora had not been able to bear to speak about their inevitable separation. The two had always been by each other's side since they were babes. Their hearts beat as one, their northern spirits intertwined just as the ancient roots beneath the heart tree. Talking about being separated from one another made everything real. Robb frowned and wrapped his arm around his eldest sister's back, pulling her against him. He leaned over and placed a meaningful kiss upon her forehead.

"It will be alright," Robb whispered so Rickon wouldn't hear.

"Will it?" she replied quietly with an upward inflection.

"It will because it has to be," said Robb, turning his head to look down at her.

Eleonora swallowed hard but kept her eyes straight ahead on Rickon who was innocently hopping over small piles of snow in the near distance. Nyx and Grey Wind lept over the snow banks a couple yards before the boy, barking playfully and causing Rickon to laugh.

"Everything has just happened so quickly," she frowned, looking up and catching her smallest brother skipping further and further ahead with the wolves. "Rickon, stay close!"

"I know," Robb agreed.

"I worry for the little ones growing up away from the north," said Eleonora, turning to look up at her brother again. "Winter is coming, and we should stay together."

Eleonora was cut off. Robb had swiftly moved in front of her and pulled his sister forcefully into a bear hug. She was taken aback at first, her arms close to her sides. It didn't take long to gather her senses and return the embrace. Robb buried his face in her neck, and he was nestled there for several minutes before either of them had the ability to speak.

"I'm going to miss you, too," said Eleonora, pulling away and placing a gentle palm on Robb's cheek. A couple stray tears littered his cheeks, and she wiped smiled a sad smile as she wiped one away with her thumb. Robb released an abrupt laugh and rubbed his face with his fists. Suddenly, it was silent. "Where's Rickon?"

Robb's grin faded instantly and he and his sister began to frantically look around for the little boy. There was no more laughing, no more barking – just quiet. Then there was running. There was running and fevered calls. Robb ran ahead, his speed much more apparent that Eleonora's as she struggled to carry her heavy skirts. They were both out of breath by the time they reached the top of the hill but an instant sigh of relief was shared as both Starks spotted the boy knelt over something near the tower, the wolves circling.

"Rickon Stark, you're not to run off like that," Robb scolded, jogging in front of his relieved-looking sister down the hill. "You gave us quite the scare. What are you looking at?"

"Bran," said Rickon in a tearful voice, pointing before him at the little broken body of his brother.

Both Robb and Eleonora sprinted down the hill now, tripping over their own feet but continuing on. Eleonora fell to the earth beside Bran. Robb scooped up Rickon in his arms and knelt down to the unconscious boy. He was breathing, but only barely. No one spoke, no one could move. Finally, Eleonora jerked her neck to Robb and choked out, "Go, get help – hurry!"

Robb held Rickon close against his chest and darted across the field towards Winterfell screaming for help at the top of his lungs. Eleonora's hands began to shake violently. She couldn't bring herself to touch her little brother, what was left of him. His eyes were sunken deep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. He looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave. Yet under the frail cage of those shattered ribs, his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. She had been versed by Maester Luwin that moving the body of someone who falls could end up doing more harm than good. She kept helplessly moving Bran's hair from his closed eyes as if it impaired his vision. Tears streamed down her face, pouring off her skin onto the frozen earth. She whispered prayers to the gods, old and new.

"Bran, please be alright, please," she pleaded.

His legs were mangled and broken and his skin was as pale as the snow he rested upon. Blood began to drench his trousers, soaking the fabric. Eleonora instinctively ripped the cloth that covered his legs to expose his wound. She gasped in horror at what she found. Bran's bone was protruding through his skin, several inches. Blood poured from his wound and there was no way to stop it. Eleonora only knew that placing pressure on most wounds would usually serve as a temporary fix but this was a completely different beast because she would have to push Bran's leg bone back into his body.

"Nora," was all Theon managed to whisper, his voice foreign and unrecognizable. "What do we do?"

Cersei and Jaime hid in the treeline just inside the godswood, watching the scene unravel before them. They had immediately gathered their things and climbed down from the broken tower. Cersei clung to Jaime's arm, frantic and mad with anxiety. If the boy did not die then they would be found out. Both of their heads would sit on spikes and their children... all three would... She could hardly stand the thought.

Jaime watched as Eleonora's cheeks were flooded with tears, her face pained with grief. Even from where he stood, he could see her small frame shaking. The lion felt a sharp pain in his stomach, a pain he had not felt in quite some time. He felt guilt, and he didn't know why. He had done countless depraved and perverse sins to protect himself and his family over the years but there was something about the agony on Eleonora's face that made his abdomen ache.

"Jaime, we must hurry," Cersei pleaded, tugging at his arm. "Someone will see us. We need to get back."

"Go on ahead," he muttered.

"What?" she breathed.

"Go on without me," he told her. "We can't risk being seen together. It's too dangerous."

"But–"

"GO," Jaime commanded, turning his head to look her in the eye. Cersei's bottom lip quivered. She released his arm and sprinted back towards Winterfell without another word. Jaime waited until his sister was out of sight before motioned to do something he hadn't done in many years. He was going to right his wrong.

"Move," commanded a deep, firm voice from behind Theon.

Jaime Lannister appeared seemingly out of no where. His expression was determined and unwavering. He skidded across the frozen grass, pushing Theon out of the way as he removed his belt in one swift movement. Eleonora's palm covered her mouth, trembling uncontrollably.

"Tilt up his chin," said Jaime, looking up to meet her eyes for the first time. The woman he had never known to be anything but chillingly confident and self-assured now resembled that of a frightened child. Her walls had caved in, and she was just as vulnerable as those she would ridicule for their weaknesses. Her eyes were wild and wet with her tears. Her lower lip quivered for just a moment as she looked up helplessly at him. And then as if the gods had struck her with slap of sense, Eleonora sprung into action. She carefully adjusted Bran's chin upwards to allow his airway to open. Jaime wrapped his belt around Bran's upper thigh and tugged tightly to cut off the blood loss. He'd learned this tactic from his experiences in battle.

"He's never fallen before, not once, never," she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. Robb appeared in the distance again, Jon, Jory, Ned and some of the guards sprinted towards them with a stretcher. Ned fell to his knees, attempting to lift the boy into his arms but Jaime stopped him.

"No, keep him on his back," said Jaime, pushing Lord Stark's shoulder. "If you want him to be able to walk again then he needs to have his spine stabilized. Someone hold his head and neck steady on the stretcher. Get him to your maester and quickly."

Lord Stark and the rest of the men, other than Jory, followed after the boy on the stretcher. Eleonora stayed frozen on the ground for a moment, unable to move. Jaime rested silently on his knees, watching as the men listened to his instructions. Jory, took Eleonora's elbow in his callused hand and lifted her to her feet. He looked down at Jaime, holding Eleonora against him to comfort her.

"What were you doing out near the godswood all alone, Ser Jaime?" asked Jory, raising an suspicious brow.

"I was on a walk," said Jaime without missing a beat. "I'm trying to regain my strength."

"Lucky for Bran," said Jory, dissatisfied with Jaime's answer.

"Thank you," said Eleonora suddenly.

"A Lannister always pays his debts," said Jaime, smirking.

Author's Note: Just in time for Season 5, right?! You are the best readers in the world! I adore all of your lovely feedback. I did use quite a bit of the book in this chapter, so please don't complain. I know a lot of fans of the show haven't read the books, so I'm trying to give them the literary background. Thank you again! Your reviews keep me inspired to write more. Enjoy!

Coming Soon: The North heads south.

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