Annablyth laid on the bed, her dark hair tumbled about, her skin a ghostly pale, and her lips red as blood.
Her breath was shallow, but she had stopped screaming and thrashing, which Maester Luwin was very happy about. It didn't really matter, since she had probably awoken the entire castle.
Now her son, little Ned, curled up beside his mother. He had their hands clasped on her heart, as if that would save her.
Lady Juliana, Annablyth's good friend sat on a love seat on the other side of the room. She had her babe, Dimia, in one arm, and her son clutched to her side.
Princess Catelyn lay in a crib, sleeping near her mother. Catelyn was the smallest baby anyone had ever seen, so tiny that everybody thought that she would die within minutes of being outside of her mother.
But one thing was certain of Princess Catelyn; she was a fighter. Her green eyes were like her mother's, glittering emeralds, while her hair was closer to her father's. However, while Robb's hair was right in the middle of the spectrum, Catelyn's hair was closer to the brown of bark and soil than to the red of fire like her aunt Sansa.
An hour after the birth, all of Annablyth's family was allowed in, including the Lollistons. Arya, Rickon, and Bran fawned over little Catelyn. "She looks like mother," Arya exclaimed, though that was obviously not true.
She may have had the nose and hair, but her face was long, with the wild beauty that Lyanna Stark had once possessed. Rickon said, "Hi Catelyn!", and poked the babe in the cheek. Arya swatted his hand away, and Bran even cracked a smile.
Maester Luwin was forced to write a letter to his King, speaking of the relatively healthy Catelyn, but also of the coma that his wife had slipped into.
Maester Luwin remained hopeful, mostly because Annablyth was his queen, and the best queen he had ever seen. She was kind, yet not soft, but as strong as iron. In fact, Queen Annablyth of the Houses Baratheon and Stark, may have looked like gold, but in reality, was as strong as iron. She was stubborn to a fault, but always headed the advice of her advisors. If you asked Maester Luwin, he would say that Annablyth should be on the Iron Throne.
Actually, he wouldn't, instead saying a vague answer like, "the rightful king", but he would sure as hell think of Annablyth.
• • •
Prince Eddard Stark, heir to the North, stared at his mother intently. The old man in the funny robes always told one of the countless servants to take him away, but then Ned would scream so loudly that his sister, Catelyn, would start bawling.
So they let Ned stay by his sister and his mother.
He would switch, spending the day next to his mother, and the night snuggling with his little sister.
Ned didn't know what to name this feeling he felt for his baby sister, since he was only ten months and his vocabulary was very limited, but it was protectiveness mixed with a deep sense of love.
It was strange, the way that Eddard was feeling, since he no longer enjoyed the simple happiness of playing with Rorin or crawling around the castle. Everybody seemed sad, like his mother was the last time she talked to him.
Catelyn started crying from beside him, so Ned sat up and looked at her. As soon as his face was in view, Catelyn stopped crying. Ned smiled at her and poked her cheek. Her skin was still all wrinkly, but Catelyn smelled nice, so Ned tolerated her diapers and crying.
He found that if he stroked the bottom of her foot, then her little toes would spread out. She also would cry out sometimes when there was a loud noise. Rorin, Ned's already best friend, found this funny, but when ever Rorin made a loud noise, Ned would hit him on the head. He did stop after a while.
Rorin also had a baby sister, a little girl named Dimia, who Ned called Birdie. In fact, after discovering the ability of speech, little Ned called everybody Birdie. It was his favourite, and only, word. Rorin knew five words; mama, no, yes, dumb, and horse.
Ned was never lonely, even when his mama went away for so long. He had his uncles, and now an aunt, and all of Winterfell wanted to play with him. He liked it very much.
But Ned loved his mother more than anything, and was intolerable the first fortnight she was away. It was a struggle to bathe him, much less entertain him. He had thrown away every toy given to him. Only his uncles Bran and Rickon could play with him.
Now he was warming up to his aunt Arya, who was always covered in dirt and would tickle him. Yes, he liked her very much.
However, this was the second time in his young life that his mother left him. She was here, in sense, but she was also very, very, far away.
• • •
"Mama!" Ned said, patting his mother's cheek. She was beautiful, even in sleep, but she didn't respond. He sat back grumpily, a pout on his lips. Eddard had learned that word just for her, since Rorin's mother laughed every time Rorin would say it. So why wasn't she laughing?
His aunt Arya walked over and picked up Ned. "If she hasn't woken up yet, than a 'mama' won't do it."
She carried him to his nursery, and gave him a little wooden block carved out to look like a lion, and Arya took out a wolf one. Ned, mostly happy, pranced around his toy while babbling nonsense. Arya sighed heavily.
A fortnight was as long as Annablyth had been in her comatose state. Then again, Bran had been asleep longer. /And he woke up a cripple,/ she thought bitterly.
Arya hated being a princess. Of course she missed her family, and still hadn't seen Robb or Sansa, but Arya had been wearing a tunic and trousers for too long to immediately become a copy of Sansa.
Annablyth did keep to her promises, and Maester Luwin only made her wear dresses to feasts. The dresses were comfortable, leather and wool, and not too tight. Brienne of Tarth also teached her how to use a sword in ways other than water dancing. Her niece and nephew were also very cute.
But Winterfell was a little bleaker while their queen was in danger. Robb was still reconquering the North, even with his wife in peril. It was said that Euron Greyjoy died, and that both his brothers are dying themselves. However, Asha Greyjoy was still fighting. Still, her forces were weakening every day, since nobody knew who to follow. They were like puppies, confused on who is their master.
Robb still fought.
Eventually, Ned started crying, so Arya picked him up and placed him in the bed next to his mother.
• • •
It was midnight, and the stars shone brightly in the cloudless Northern sky.
Ned couldn't sleep, so he crawled in bed with his mother.
She had been asleep a month, and the worst thing was that her funeral dress was being made. It was beautiful, but nonetheless, everybody had given up on her.
Except for Ned.
He stared intently at his mother, where her eyes should be shining. Instead there was only the pale of her eyelids.
Ned placed his hand on her heart, just like he had did with Juliana. He had tried this countless times, but he thought that it might work tonight.
It didn't.
So Ned slowly drifted off the sleep, while his mother continued to sleep.
However, something was different tonight.
Annablyth's eyes fluttered open, and all she could see was the dark of her bedroom, but something had changed. "No," she whispered, horror ringing in her voice.
"It's gone," she breathed out, and her breath started to speed up. She couldn't breath, but the thought kept on ringing through her head. "It's gone, it's gone, it's gone..." It felt as though she lost a limb, because something was missing. A part of her was missing.
"It's gone!" She sobbed, enough to get the attention of Arya next door, who, opon seeing her awake, raced to get the others. "It's gone," Annablyth whispered, looking at he hands, as if expecting to see blood on them.
"It's gone!" She screamed into the dead of night, because her eyes, which had once been a brilliant green, where now the stormy blue of her father's.
The green sight was gone.