Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
Ned's bastard was crouched on his bed, lips pulled back over his teeth, snarling.
"I… don't know what to tell you, my Lady," said Luwin.
"Has he gone mad?" Cat demanded, pressing her back to the door. Her own babes couldn't see the boy like this.
"I can't say. I've never known the pox cause madness like this. Perhaps it's the pain."
"Is there nothing you can do for him?"
"Perhaps milk of the poppy–"
"Do it."
At least he'd stop snarling.