Note: Well, I'm back after a really long hiatus. This ones going to be short while I get back into the groove of writing this story. Enjoy!
The streets wept Lannister red and Baratheon gold weeks after Jaime Lannister's fall. Long gone was the city's politically friendly demeanor. Both Stark and Lannister soldiers alike stood quiet, sharing steely, venomous glances at one another. It was a strange sight after such chummy banter and conversation. Even worst were the people. Citizens from wet nurses to stable boys engaged in brutal arguments over the Stark boy, Lady Cersei, her crippled twin brother, and the strange event that banded them together. Street fights grew more and more violent, and the guards tasked to stop them argued amongst themselves time and time again over just what had happened.
Winterfell was steadily falling apart under the weight of Bran's actions. And at the center of it all was his father. Lord Eddard Stark endured many a sleepless night over the squabbles between Lannister and Stark, attempting to smooth relations between the two houses. Rumors of betrayal and deceit flowed through the northern capital like a raging torrent, made worst by King Robert's drunken and frustrated attitude towards the matter.
Bran however felt a sense of relief after Lanniser's fall; like the squashing of a bug that has been biting for too long. This bug, however, was only a shell of its former self. Jaime was left both unable to move, and unable to think. He lay in his bed like a sack of potatoes, moaning gutturally every hour for something to eat, or for someone to relieve him. Maester Luwin referred to him as a "vegetable", a name that Cersei Lannister wanted no part of. It was all like some sick déjà vu, except this time, the Lannisters were the ones who felt the sense of loss.
Bran sat on his bed, swinging his legs, and relishing in their smooth movement. He brought them up before swinging them down again, testing them like some sacred yet powerful tool.
'It was the boy!" Bran heard the voice yell. "By the gods it was the boy… THE BOY did something to Jaime!" The voice boomed again. Both a sense of loss and anger resounded into the voice; the womanly tone meant it was none other than Cersei Lannister.
'Seven hells, woman; Ned's son couldn't have thrown Jaime off the bloody tower." Another voice roared. "If I prick my finger, does the thing fall off in response?" The voice asked, drowned in liquor.
"Did you ask the boy? Did you question the boy that ruined Jaime?" Cersei screamed.
There was a deadly silence interrupted only by the Cersei's sickening sobs, and the loud booming of footsteps that came closer and closer to Bran's chamber.