Father and Brandon were dead already by the time Dara reached Winterfell, and the King had called for her and Ben and Robert's heads.

"He took Lya, Dara!" Ben sobbed into her neck, after she had coaxed him to change into his nightshirt and slip under the covers of his bed. "He took her, I know he did, she would not have left me, not as-"

He choked back further words, left not as you and Bran did hanging heavy and tight around Dara's neck, like the noose that had taken Bran from them. Dara knew he meant them with no malice, that he was still too young to truly understand the merit of herself and Bran fostering away from Winterfell - her in particular, as she had been the future Lady of the Eyrie from she was little more than a babe-in-arms, and it had served her well to know the place that she would administer while her husband-to-be ruled the Vale of Arryn.

But Ben, her little Benjy, he was but two-and-ten and far, far too young for all of this. A child his age did not deserve such a terrible responsibility to be left on his skinny, bony shoulders, shoulders that promised to be near as broad as Bran's had been but for now simply made his boyish frame all the more awkward as they waited for the rest of him to catch up.

"Sleep, sweetling," she sighed, pressing a kiss to his untidy hair and untangling his fist from her skirts. "Sleep well, for we have much to do on the morrow."

He barely murmured as she eased herself off the bed and tip-toed across to the door, but as soon as she had closed him away for the night she darted down the corridor to Bran's room. She had long sought solace there, ever since Mother had died all that time ago, and instinct overpowered knowledge. She ran, truly ran, as fast as she could with her skirts twirling about her legs, desperately trying to quell the tremors in her hands that had started as she sang Ben to sleep.

Father had always tipped her under the chin and smiled, called her the little mother, when he saw her settling Ben and Lya for bed.

There was no solace to be found in Bran's room, not truly, but his pillows smelled of him, of horse and ale and laughter and home, and that eased the ache in her heart just enough to allow her to rest for a little while, just enough that she could face the prospect of a Winterfell without him and Father for Ben's sake, and for Lya's.

For Lya's most of all, if Dara dared think true.

Maester Walys was abed with a fever when Dara joined Ben and Ser Rodrick in Father's solar the following morning, and Dara took that as a bad omen.

"I would write to my foster father," Dara said firmly when Ser Rodrick spoke of marching south. "Lord Jon will have wise counsel, and doubtless it will be tempered by a desire to avoid any further- further losses."

Father's face and Bran's filled her gaze, and then Elbert's swam into sight, turning her stomach - she had hardly spared a thought for her betrothed, for he had been as a new friend, barely even that, whereas Father and Bran, they had been...

And Lya. How was Dara to mourn Elbert when so much of her was caught up in preserving what was left of her family?

For a brief, foolish moment, she was jealous of Catelyn Tully in far away Riverrun, Catelyn who was free to mourn Bran because she had no other losses to shed tears for. She felt immediately guilty, of course, because she liked Catelyn and did not doubt the sincerity of her grief for Brandon, but Catelyn still had brother and sister and father, with little chance of losing any of them in the near future.

She has lost her good marriage just as you have, Dara reminded herself, and such a thing is dangerous for women of our rank.

The scorch marks would not leave the stone, no matter how the servants scrubbed. Asric made a point of entering the throne room once a day, to pay his respects to the men who he had watched murdered.

Watched, and done nothing. He loathed himself for that.

Brandon Stark had been his sister's image, and that had near driven Asric to defy the King and flee - he had been unable to keep from dwelling on shy Eddara since Harrenhall, while all the realm was abuzz about her sister, and to imagine her face twisted in that same agony had caused him more pain than anything he had ever known, save for his lady mother's death.

The King was mad, they all knew. They had all known that for a very long time, after all, that he had been mad since Duskendale, but seeing him burn the Lord Paramount of the North and hang his heir for their rightful defiance had sent a shock of sorts through the court.

Nobody truly knew what to do. Asric wished more than anything that Arthur were here, or that he were at home at Starfall, cowardly though that was, because at least with Arthur here or there with Allem and little Allyria, Asric knew who he was.

Here, he was a knight, sworn to the protection of the innocent, who had stood by and let a mad, evil fool murder two men guilty only of caring for their kin, and he did not recognise himself anymore.

And then, Arthur was there.

"You cannot let anyone know I am here," he whispered, locking Asric's door behind him. "What you must do is leave, as soon as possible, Asric - get home to Starfall, I have already told Allem that you are on your way..."

Asric watched in unabashed astonishment as Arthur whirled about his chambers, gathering clothes and things that he would need for a journey.

"Did she go with him willingly?" he asked without meaning to, because Asric may have had a reputation as a womaniser, but he had never once taken a woman unless she was enthusiastically willing. He liked Rhaegar, respected him, but if the Prince had taken Lady Eddara's sister against her will, he would hate him just as much as he hated the King.

Arthur did not answer, and for the first time in his life, Asric saw his brother as something more than an ideal to live up to.

He saw Arthur as a man who allowed himself to be party to evils for the sake of his white cloak, but who forsook that same blasted cloak to dip his wick where he ought not.

"The King will hold Elia and the children hostage to Dorne for this," Asric said, trembling with fury. "Your wife and your children, in all but name, brother. Will you hide behind your vows and leave her at his mercy?"

Arthur had never struck him before, not since they were small boys playing at rough-and-tumble while Allem learned Starfall at Mama's side, but he struck him now, the back of his hand like steel across Asric's face.

"Do you think this is easy for me, Asric?" he snarled. "You are leaving for Starfall tonight, because you are the only one I can keep safe, and I will be damned if I fail Mother as I have failed Elia, do you understand?!"