Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
The bastard boy was in his chambers, sprawled out on the bed and looking very, very pale. Maester Luwin pottered about the bed. "He's no fever, and I can find no wound. Could Sansa say when this started?"
Cat shook her head. "I don't even know how she knew! She shouldn't have been around here at that time."
Perhaps a lady maid in Sansa and Arya's room from now on, to ensure the bastard wasn't sneaking in to spy and corrupt.
"It's odd. A ailment of the head perhaps."
If the boy died while her Lord husband was away, he would never believe it wasn't by her hand. Cat rubbed her head. "Do what you can, Maester. I need to bathe and dress."