Chapter 14 Winter has come

Lannisters were everywhere.

The attack prepared on Flower's van had failed when the Lannisters had charged through the poorly repaired gates unexpectedly. Now they had charged right in. The Castle's yard was a mess, with trenches and hastily erected defenses built of sacks of grain and earth defending the entrance to the Great Keep, under heavy pressure of cavalry charges. The Maester's Tower had been stormed, likewise the Godswood. The defenders were under heavy pressure and there were no backups. The end is near, Catelyn thought grimly.

She was wandering aimlessly around Winterfell, in the sections still controlled by her son, her fingers closed around the small glass of poison in her robes. She wanted to get one last glimpse of Winterfell and the men before all ended.

Mikken the smith was still at his smithy, a mere hundred foot from the battle, hammering out and repairing swords and spears for the soldiers. The old man at the glass gardens, Septon Bernard and Beth Cassel were still holding to their posts, likewise at the very front of battle.

In the entrance of the Bunker she saw her son Robb, and Grey Wind. Maester Luwin was there as well, as was several guardsmen. She saw two Stark soldiers forcing open Grey Wind's mouth as another two held him down. In Maester Luwin's hand was a small pinch of white powder. Grey wind struggled and resisted and yowled piteously.

'Here, good boy,' Robb Stark knelt beside him and ruffled his ears, 'I'm here. It's all fine.'

Grey wind calmed a little. Luwin poured all the powder into his throat, the very next second the Direwolf collapsed, yowling and twisting and dying. Her son turned his head, not bearing to look. The wolf's golden eyes closed forever. A soldier carried away the body for burial.

Robb Stark slowly walked away. He saw her, but walked away nonetheless.

He knows all is lost, thought Catelyn. He knows the Lannisters have won this war.

Outside the Lannisters had already entered the castle and now were engaging in fierce street fighting. The 5,000 or so defenders of Winterfell were forced to fight well over ten thousand elite Lannister cavalry. Shouting and screams filled the castle.

In the bunker she saw Vayon Poole and his daughter. Poole stood up.

'My Lady.' Vayon Poole looked at her seriously, an elegant man with silvery-grey hair. 'I have been seeking for you. Lady Catelyn… I have served House Stark as chief steward for many long years, and faithfully. In these last days… may I request a boon, My Lady?'

'Speak, if it is in my power to give it is yours.' Lady Catelyn already knew what he wanted.

'I wish for a dose of Sweetsleep, My Lady, or any poison Maester Luwin has in stock that gives a quick, painless death.' Vayon Poole spoke with a hard dignity.

His daughter Jeyne Poole was crying, her eyes swollen red. 'I want one too,' she whispered, 'I have chosen to die here with Robb. Can I have Sweetsleep? I want to look pretty when I die.'

'Brave girl,' Catelyn managed a small smile. 'I shall instruct Maester Luwin to prepare a dose for you, and your father. I am sorry I cannot give you a better gift.'

'The honor of remaining with His Grace to the bitter end is the greatest gift of all, My Lady,' Vayon Poole said, his daughter nodding in agreement. Catelyn felt pained. Her girl was a friend of Sansa, she knew. Sansa had disappeared yesterday when the keep she was in was took by the Lannisters. Most like she was dead by now.

She went to seek Maester Luwin.

The Maester was sitting on a bench in the bunker, his eyes closed as if daydreaming. A long gash weeping blood was at a side of his robes. Catelyn thought he was dead until he opened his eyes. 'My Lady. Have you come to transcript your will?'

'No. You are wounded.'

'Aye…' Luwin moved and winced with pain. 'I saw a wounded soldier in the battlefield and tried to escort him to safety. A Lannister got me in the yard… may I help you, My Lady?'

'Yes. Vayon Poole and his daughter require two further doses of Sweetsleep.'

'I see.' Maester Luwin produced a small wooden box from his sleeve, groaning with pain.

'In here is the last of Sweetsleep I have in stock, My Lady. I fear I am in no fit condition to deliver them myself. Not much, I fear, Sweetsleep and other poisons are in… hard demand these days.'

'I thank you.' She was leaving when she remembered something. 'Maester Luwin. Lord Karstark is going to lead a sortie to try and breach the Lannister siege lines, and meet up with the resistance at the Karhold. It is my wish that you go with them.' Lord Rickard had massed the last forty of so horses in Winterfell to try and break through the Lannisters. Maester Luwin had served her for long years, this was the least she owed him. She had no chance of surviving the war now, but Luwin was a Maester. That gave him some chance of survival.

'I am wounded, My Lady. I have no chance out in the battlefield.'

'You are a fine councilor, of great value. It is my wish that you go with Lord Karstark.'

'I'm not going anywhere, My Lady.' After said, Maester Luwin produced a small glass bottle out of his sleeve and swallowed it in one sharp gulp. He gurgled, and fell to the ground instantly with a soft thump, his eyes slowly closing. She looked at Luwin aghast.

She looked for a man to carry out his body. She found no one. All the servants were either fighting outside or dead already.

Halfway out of the bunker, she saw Ser Rodrik Cassel and Lord Asher Forrester, a young lord with short brown hair were drinking a flagon of wine together in a small chamber, sloshing the wine around their mouths several times before they swallowed.

'Poison is no honorable death,' she heard Lord Asher whispering to Ser Rodrik, 'I would far rather die by sword. Sweetsleep is a coward's death.'

'Poison's the quickest way, you get to die painlessly,' Ser Rodrik likewise replied in a quiet voice. 'If you suicide with a dagger it could only damage the flesh but nothing essential. We've killed more Lannisters in battle than I can count. If they take us alive…'

'A sword through the chest is always guaranteed for a quick death in a matter of seconds. The Maesters say there's a thick vein there that leaks all your blood out the second it's opened.'

'To hell with your veins. Maester Luwin has given me this,' Ser Rodrik's mail rustled as he produced something. 'Not Sweetsleep, he's out of stock, everyone wants that. Essence of Poisonous Celery. Chew this and a man will feel a numb in his toes. That numb will spread up his legs slowly, and when it reaches his heart he is dead, in a few short seconds. No pain, an intact corpse, only some blood at the lips. A dignified death.'

'Poison is for women, cravens and Dornishmen. You chew that pill, but I will die by the sword. Before you kill yourself thrust that big dagger of yours into my chest.'

'You open your chest all you want, I want my corpse to look handsome…' When he saw Lady Catelyn he fell silent. Catelyn passed, pretending she did not hear him. She saw Vayon Poole and his daughter again, helping two wounded men back into the safety of the bunker. She gave them the poison they required. Vayon Poole thanked her gravely.

Men were fighting under the tower and dying there, she knew. The Stark men were fighting valiantly but they had no chance against twice their numbers. She decided that she would not allow herself to be took by the Lannisters, neither would she allow her children.

She headed for Bran and Rickon's bedchambers. Brandon and Rickon were on the same bed, both were fast asleep. They looked so precious, her beautiful boys.

It is for the best, she thought, if they are captured by the Lannisters they would be humiliated, tortured, maybe even raped. But still, it was a monstrous sin to slay one of her own blood with her own hand, two sons would be a sin so shameful even a Lannister would turn away.

Not until Bran's figure blurred before her did she notice she was crying. If I look back I am lost, she thought, lost forever. She could not allow her children to live in a world ruled by the Lannisters.

She kissed both of her boys on the cheek, and poured a large dose of Sweetsleep in their mouths.

After what seemed like forever she staggered out of the room. She did not feel anything in her now, her heart was as numb as stone now. She had used all her sorrow for Ned and Father, there was none left. Now she only wanted to sleep, to sleep forever and never wake or dream.

I have no sons but Robb now.

Slowly she walked through the empty halls of Winterfell, as if her feet did not belong herself. She went to the sept, where she had once prayed for Bran's legs to heal. She would've gone to the Godswood as well, but the Lannisters had seized that place.

She went to the bunker, slowly walking through the small underground corridors. Inside one of the rooms she discovered the bodies of Ser Rodrik Cassel and Lord Asher Forrester, sprawled dead on two chairs. Ser Rodrik had blood on his lips and Lord Asher a dagger through his heart. It would seem that Rodrik had killed Forrester first then poisoned himself. She found two sheets of white cloth and covered their faces, but did not feel anything. She was dead in the heart.

In the Great Keep a line of soldiers stood, all bloody and dusty from the street fights, Lord Flint decorating them with medals.

'Spearman Ned Woods successfully defended the Glass Gardens against five Lannister soldiers, he shall be decorated with a Northern Glory Medal, third class.' A young noseless man saluted.

'Ser Graham Wode, slew two Tarly knights in joint combat, he shall be decorated with a Northern Glory Medal, third class. Alfer Snow, breached a Lannister attack line to pass important information, he shall be awarded a sword inlaid with leather and silver. Attacker Lync Rivers, destroyed a Tarly catapult in a sortie, he shall be decorated with a Northern Glory Medal…'

Catelyn walked on. Before the Great Hall of Winterfell a small band of men were gathered as well. The Greatjon, bloody and wounded from the fighting outside, Lord Karstark, armed and ready for an attempted breach, and Lord Mallister and her Uncle Brynden. Brynden greeted her.

'Ah, Cat…' he abruptly stopped when he saw the look on her face. He realized something. 'Your sons…'

'I have no sons but Robb.' She looked at her Uncle's horrified expression. 'I couldn't let them live in a world ruled by the Lannisters.'

Her Uncle shifted the topic quickly. 'Cat, have you any idea what Robb is doing?'

'Robb?' She was not thinking about Robb. She was presuming he was leading a sortie outside.

'After he killed Grey Wind he has confined himself to the Great Hall, not allowing anyone to enter. He's been in there for several hours now.'

A horrible thought went through her head. 'Open these doors right now,' she commanded.

'Lord Umber has the keys.'

'But His Grace ordered for us to leave him alone…' protested the Greatjon.

'I said open these doors, My Lord.' She snarled.

Reluctantly, the Greatjon opened the doors slowly. The rich smell of blood wafted out.

King Robb of the House Stark, the third of his name, King of the North and the Trident, Lord of Winterfell sprawled dead on his throne of wolves, his bronze-and-iron crown askew. He clutched his longsword, still bloody, weakly in one hand, his blue eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling.

Robb had chosen death over the humiliation of capitulation or defeat.

The tears burned down her cheeks, stinging as sharp as vinegar.

She let out a long scream, from the depth of her throat, dashing towards Robb, fiercely embracing his cold, lifeless body. She could hear the battles raging outside, hear the Lannisters singing and charging. None of that mattered now.

It hurts so much… all of her children were dead now, dead or lost. Two of them at her own hand. Ned, Bran, Rickon, Sansa, Arya… now Robb… the Stark line has ended, she thought.

'Cat?' Somewhere far away, a distant voice belonging to her uncle was calling her. She did not respond. 'Lord Umber, escort Lady Catelyn back to her chambers.'

Lord Umber picked her up with strong hands as if she weighed no more than a doll, showing surprising gentleness. She was still weeping.

Suddenly she tore herself free of him. She ran, faster than she ever had, not knowing where her strength had come from. Uncle Brynden made a grab for her, but she dodged. She ran to the Throne of Wolves, where her boy Robb lay dead.

With all of her remaining strength, she bashed her head against the cold stone direwolf engraved on the sides of the throne. Red hot blood covered the cold grey stone.

I have come to join you, Ned, that was her last thought.