CATELYN II

"The room was still feeling somewhat cold, though Catelyn had gotten a servant to light a fire which was only half taking. Why did it have to be so cold, on top of it? She fought to hold back the tears again, as she nipped and pnittered with her sewing needles, from time to time looking at Bran and putting her hand on his neck and chest to make sure he was still breathing. He was laying so still, so still, as if he was sleeping, and she supposed that she was, though Maester Luwin did not know when he might wake up... If ever. But no. She would not even think about such a thought, no, not now, not ever would she let herself be scooped down to such despair. He needed her. He needed her to be strong, just to stay there and stay watching by his side and wait until he woke up.

It had been three days now, and she had barely eaten or drunk more than water and some stale pieces of bread which she'd forced down herself, praying to the gods to try if she could possibly justifiy even that. The fish was too much, though. She would not have it. She did not deserve it. She felt like this was all her fault. For some sin of hers, though she did not know what it was, but she felt that the gods were not good with her. They were not kind, not at the moment; they did not wish her good things to have just now, perhaps simply because she already had it so good. Is this to balance out the grief of Lysa? She supposed. She considered, and it did make sense. She had not wept far from enough to mourn the death of Jon Arryn, and perhaps that was why she had now been struck like this, though it was a far crueler fate than the gods should have put on her, she thought. What had she done that could have been so wrong? And how would she know it, if they did not tell it to her more clearly?

Bran had fallen apparently, though he never fell. She knew that about him, and yet here it was. That was the main part of it, though she supposed that the Old Broken Tower was one with loose stones crumbling, an old half ruined tower, said to have been constructed by Bran the builder, her son's namesake, but all the same... Did Bran the builder make a castle which crumbled, or did her son somehow fall on his own accord? She did not know, she could not. She only hoped and prayed to all the gods that he would wake up.

Her Faith's [praying wreath/praying wheel] of the Seven sat up on the wall close by the window and door, watching over him and her both in her grief. She had made all the Seven gods by small dolls of straw, and fashioned them such that she thought they might be fashioned to her best ability.

The Mother was dressed in a modest grey and red dress and head bonnet, The Father had a grey woolen beard and held the tiny hammer of justice in his straw arm, the Warrior was clad in a small suit of armor made of real steel, made by Winterfell's blacksmith Mikken, and he held a small sword which she had carved herself from a stick, the Maiden had long hair made of ribbons, a white dress and a small green and white flowerbud in her hair, the Smith held the large smithing hammer in his arm, the Crone was dressed in a grey dress, with a tiny green pebble as her green eye of foresight, and held her little glass lantern of wisdom high up, with a tiny candle inside it which Catelyn had lit, and finally, the seventh and final god, which she dared barely to think about, yet prayed to all the same to hinder it from claiming him before his time, the Stranger, was clad in a black robe, holding the scythe and little hourglass which he was known for. She prayed to them seven times each day.

The door suddenly creaked and waned, and Catelyn turned to see who was going to enter.

Cersei came through the door, clad in a green and dark grey dress with a somber sorrow floure in her demurely fixed hair, which slatened itself down in a slender golden waterfall, somber and sad.

"Your Grace.", she said, silently, curtsying and kneeling down before her.

"My lady", Catelyn said, doing a tiny nod of acknowledgement with her head, the biggest one she could manage in her current state.

"I came to wish you fortune, and to pray for your son the prince, if you would like."

Catelyn swallowed hard and nodded, half closing her eyes.

"Thankyou, my lady. That would be most kind of you."

Cersei slowly turned her head up from the floor to look at her.

"You look tired... Have you been sleeping any?" She said, with a worried look on her face.

"In truth, I have not", she answered. "But it is the gods' justice over me. I will bear it gladly, for as long as I must."

Cersei nodded slowly, her eyes still looking rather concerned, as they went over to first Bran, where he lay in the bed under the thickness of the grey and blue coverlets, and then over the the praying wheel on the wall to the right in the room.

"You have made a prayer wheel", she said. "I heard as much from my husband."

"Yes", Catelyn agreed. "I only hope that it will help. I pray to it seven times a day, though perhaps I should do it more often."

"I am sure that the gods see your sorrow, and that they will find it in themselves to show it in time. Are they not watching over us always, my Queen?"

Catelyn sat silent for a while, supposing that she was right.

"I suppose so", she said.

Cersei made her way up towards the bed, but stopped herself to be asking.

"May I approach, Your Grace?"

Catelyn stopped up and looked at her, for almost too long, but then she nodded. Of course she could approach. It was perhaps this type of jealousy over her children which had made the gods be so terrible in their judgement towards her, and so she decided to try and calm herself on that point.

Cersei made her way up to the bed, standing on the right side of it, closer by the window, as Catelyn stayed seated on her chair next to Bran's left, closer by the inner wall of the bedchamber.

Cersei slowly bent down and stroked Bran carefully over the forehead and his soft beautiful hair.

"Such a handsome boy.", she said gently. "Dark hair, green eyes... He reminds me of Willam when he was little."

Catelyn sat still, trying her best to hold her tears in and not to cry all over again. She did not wish to cry in front of Cersei, no, not in front of she, her far away but just now very close sister-in-law, who was two years younger than her and always as beautiful and dignified as anyone. When she moved, she appeared to glide over the floor, and this was her home after all.

And she herself was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She could not afford to show herself weak like this, not in front of another woman which she did not know well enough yet, not if it meant that she risked being reduced to a flood of tears dreaping on the floor, once again... She held herself strong, though it took all the strength inside of her, as she prigged the thread and needle inside of the embroiderment.

"You are very kind, my lady.", she said, her voice hard and stoic.

"Please, Your Grace. … Call me Cersei. Our dear husbands are still the closest of brothers, even though they have not seen each other for years. We should try and be as close as them too, don't you think? I don't wish for you to have to go through this all by yourself."

"It's all right", Catelyn assured. "I have the septa, and all of my ladies... "

"Still", said Cersei. "We are sisters by marriage. If there is anything I can do for you, you know where to find me. We could pray together if you like."

Catelyn closed her eyes, doing her very best to try and appreciate the offer, and then said so, with all the gratitude she could muster in her straining heart.

"Thankyou. That would be most kind of you."

Cersei nodded gracefully, smiling a sad smile and slightly turning down her gaze, seeming at last to understand that what she needed most of all was solitude with Bran and her thoughts, and then turned to the praying wheel to say a quick silent prayer for Bran.

"Your handcraft is beautiful. I am sure that the gods will appreciate your reverence. If there is anything more you should need for it, don't hesitate to ask, and my husband will provide it. I could go out and pick some priestcollars or daisies for the Mother, or some red rose petals, if you'd like. We do have a red rose bush in the Glass Gardens."

"Thankyou... " She considered herself. Would she say it? … Yes. She is my sister by law, if not by blood. She only wants to be kind, and do good to me, to us all, in our sorrow. "...Cersei. That would be most suiting for the Mother indeed."

Cersei smiled at her, and then came up to her and suddenly took her hands, lifting them up with a strange and sudden force from the embroiderment of her work.

She felt a wild surge of inappropriateness, a surge of anger and discomfort inside her chest at that, as the violence of the action riled up her blood from within. It was not a prudent thing to force the hands of one's Queen, one's better, even if it was meant as the best of intentions to show one's [ ]. Still, she could see in Cersei's eyes that no matter her intentions, it would be best not to argue with her on this. If not genuine, then she would certainly claim to be so to her death, Catelyn felt it.

And how could she not be genuine, when Bran lay beside them both so still and sleeping as that? Of course she only meant to show her kindness and support. And so she let her, closing her eyes as if Cersei was her daughter or something akin to it, and letting the regality of the Queen rain down as an allowance, a beletterment and acceptance streaming from her face and eyes closed in deep patience with the situation. She accepted her presence in here, with her in the bedchamber by Bran's side, at first grudgingly, but then a second later gratefully, as she let go of her fears and decided to trust in her at last, bending down her head and holding it above Cersei's golden hair as she herself bent down and kissed Catelyn's hands in respect and adoration.

"I will pray for your son's recovery, just like I would for my own children", she said. "I promise, Your Grace."

She relented, now finally, and decided to become one with her blonde and younger sister, who was so different to her, but seemed to have a good and kind heart all the same. After all, how different could they possibly be, when Ned and Benjen were so very much alike? And they had both married them, and both made it work.

"Thankyou, Cersei. Your words mean a lot to me. And your presence here as well. Truly."

"Of course I am present here, Your Grace. You are our guests. I pray to the Seven and the old gods alike that my husband will finally see to the things that need doing here, and tears down that dreadful old tower once and for all. It is no good or safe place for children to be."

Catelyn turned her head down at the speech, feeling how she became sad again, sad and forlorn at the thought of Bran's fall down from the tower. She felt the tears pressing in on her from behind her eyelids, as she tensed up around the forehead. The sorrow was close.

"No", she agreed. "It is not. And I do not know how I can do anything more than what I have already done." She let it come out now, spilling out of her.

"I have already told them both, Bran and Arya, even Arya too, not to run around and go climbing like that, but they do not listen. They go out anyway, and do their bit and... " She bit herself in her hand, or would have, if not for her hand righ now being manacled to itself by Cersei's pale slender ones. Instead she bit her tongue, biting her cheek. How can I deserve this, you gods? Tell me that. Please just tell me, tell me why, and tell me what I must do, and I promise I will listen.

"Your Grace..." Cersei said, her breath slipping out of her sounding as the most beautiful woman Catelyn had ever laid her eyes on, as she leaned forward with all of her airy light beauty of youth and hugged Catelyn close. She hugged her so, so close, and Catelyn hugged her back. She finally felt grateful for her presence here now. She would not argue with it, not fight back against it no more. Cersei was her friend, of course she was her friend, and she was so thankful to have someone to share her worries with.

She snivelled, her tears coming out of her eyes, her nose. She snivelled again.

"I don't... I... -"

She tried but the words did not come out.

Cersei stayed hugging her, holding her tight and close as only a true sister could do. Not even Lysa had hugged her like that, at least not since they were little girls together, an eternity ago. She felt now just how much she had needed it.

Cersei leaned in on her face now, and kissed away her tears. Catelyn would have become startled, but she knew that it was an ancient tradition of the kings and queens of the Westerlands as a sign of respect and [hängivelse/underkastelse/från[ ]/[devotion/ ] ]. She sat still, accepting the gesture graciously, letting her tears flow while she thought of how to regain her voice and dignity. She harkled herself properly, coughing and rensing her throat.

"I just don't know how I can do it. I don't know what it is that I should do. Is it my fault? Have I done something wrong? For them to end up like... like this...-" She felt herself cry, and her voice break, along with a quarter of her Tully heart, as she heard herself saying it, as it felt like a giveuppance.

As if she had just confronted the horrible reality of it; that Bran was broken, now lying in a sickbed and not even being sure of whether he would ever wake up, he who was such an adventurous boy, and Arya, the gods only knew what would ever become of her... It was all just such a mess, and she did not know what to do of it, and or about it all. But Cersei was there for her, she felt it now. She held her tight, held her and held her and held her close by, hugging her like the Mother herself now, and just now she felt how the tables had turned, and Catelyn had become the daughter, a small but large old tumbling daughter in the arms of a golden light Mother, who watched over her and now kissed her, and whispered comforting, soothing words within her ear.

"It's all right", Cersei whispered. "He will be fine. I am sure that he will be fine. He only needs time to rest, good and long time to be still and rest, here with you by his side, and then he will wake up. It will be fine, I promise. It will all be fine, Your Grace."

Your Grace... The words shuck her back to reality, if only a bit. Your Grace... She was the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, supposedly, and yet just now she was resting, cradled in the arms of another woman, a woman younger and more beautiful than her, at that, allowing herself to become a crying little child again, before the jugdement of the gods... No. It would not suffice.

She allowed herself to cry out some more, however, as she felt more than ever before that she needed it. But then she would be brave and strong, once it was over, she promised herself. Once she had cried, deep, deep into her new sister Cersei's arms, she would lift herself up, and be strong again, strong like she had been when she was young and right.

Cersei held her. Held her so still, as she stroked her matte and auburn hair, which she had barely fixed up or had the strength to do anything with during all of the past three days, although her maids had come in and washed it for her, of course. It had not mattered. She had plucked out the pins that they put in it as soon as they left. And the tiara and the ear rings as well. She could not be pretty. She could not allow herself to be caring about her looks, to be beautiful now, as Bran lay still in his bed before her. No. That would not have been right in the least.

But Cersei was still beautiful. She was always beautiful. She imagined that she had woken up just like that, but of course she knew that that could not be the truth. Still, she had to admit to hersel that she had felt and begun ever more for each passing day to feel slightly intimidated by the golden Lady of Winterfell... The way that Cersei looked, the way she walked, the way she had her husband, the way she had Benjen, always standing by her side when she wanted him, all wrapped and wrinkled around the touch of her fingers and hands... Yes. It did make Catelyn jealous, in truth, though she herself was the queen. She had supposed that that had been the position that Cersei had most liked. She was the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister, after all. One of the most proudest and greatest lords in the Realm. Possibly the greatest of all, behind her husband, the king. Greater than Lord Robert, for sure, greater than Jon Arryn, greater than Mace Tyrell perhaps, though that might have been a close call... At the very least, she was proud. She was proud of her position, and she seemed to have settled in here well. Catelyn wondered if she could ever have done it, to live so far up north, so far away from her home and all that she knew, and done as good a job of it as Cersei clearly had. She doubted it, but then again that was what she had thought she would do when she married Ned all those years ago. But then they had gone to the Red Keep instead. And all that had happened after that...

Perhaps it was simply very obvious. Perhaps the gods were punishing her and her husband for their own power, for simply being the king and the queen, for their pride. But she thought somehow that they would not. Her husband was not overly proud. Proud of his honour, yes, proud of his house, aye, that was true enough, but proud to be king... She was not sure. He felt more like he did not want the crown, something which she knew to be true mostly, and so she could not believe that that was the reason, at least not for him. As for herself... Well, she was certainly proud, perhaps too much so. She would think on that, and try to do away with the worst of it if she could. She decided.

Cersei finally slid from her grasp, ending their encounter with a kiss of her hands in devotion again.

Her sister-in-law, now so much more of a close friend to her than only a couple of moments before, arose from the side of the bed again, as Catelyn nodded once again, cementing their moment and her gratefulness for it. Cersei moved to say something last, something more before taking her leave.

"When I was first married with Ben, and we had just had Willam... When he was still young... He got a fever. I was... terrified of him having a fever, due to the cold up north here, but all the same he got one. And I... prayed day and night. I prayed to the old gods... and to the Seven... I prayed to all of the gods that I dared... Please bring me my son back hale and healthy, I prayed, and I will be a better mother to him, and a better mother to Jon as well. I will try and love them both, as best as I can... So I prayed... And the Mother did answer. She answered my prayer, and she brought Willam back to me. And from then on I did my best to meet the promise I had made to the gods. I only hope that I have done my part well enough. And now I shall pray again, for your son Bran... Perhaps the Mother will listen again. This time for you. … Your Grace."

And with that, Cersei bent down to curtsy one final time, teary-eyed and severe, before taking her leave out the door.

Catelyn sat left, stunned by the encounter, but glad, she supposed, glad and content with the prayers and to know that she was not alone in this. She had felt the love and support of Cersei, and realised with a suddenly strange coming flurry of emotions of how much she had missed something like this. She had not felt a similar degree of sisterhood since... Well, she could not remember since. She would have only have been a little girl, she supposed. At any rate, she would certainly do her best to regratiate the love and understanding that Cersei had shown her. Her husband would also be glad for it, if they became closer. Yes. It was all a good thing, she realised. And she smiled a sad smile as her gaze went over to Bran again, as she stroked his dark lugg to the sides and kissed him on his forehead once again, whispering to him to wake up for the thousandth time.

...

Her husband also was there for her to comfort her, though he also held some more serious considerations with his meeting. Ned came into the bedchamber only an hour after Cersei, in the afternoon, meeting her gaze in a mutually respectfully solemn tone, and closing the door behind him with barely a sound as he sat down a yard or two next to her, by Bran's legs and feet at the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice apprehensive.

"Tired", she said, to tell him the truth.

He nodded.

"There is supper downstairs if you would like some. I could have it brought up to you."

"I don't want supper. I don't need supper."

"It's only some carrot stew", he insisted. "Nothing special."

She sighed, asking the gods for forgiveness for thinking about food in such a moment.

She waited... She waited within herself... She felt her inner hunger, how she had starved herself for the past three days without anything major happening because of it... Bran had still not waken up. Although he had still not gotten worse either, she figured. That must have meant that she must not to do anything else than what she had already been doing, certainly nothing to anger the gods. But on the other hand, why would the gods have prepared a carrot stew for her if not to have it? And besides, it was not she herself, but her husband, who suggested it to her. Ned could never have done or suggested anything that was an affront to the gods, she knew, least of all to Winterfell's old gods. He was among the most pious men she knew.

Very well... She thought, concluding the bargaining inside herself and her own mind. Forgive me.

"All right then. You may bring up a bowl of it."

Ned bowed his head slightly down, if only for an instant.

They were silent again. Only the silent gnying of Bran's wolf pup, Summer, laying on a small pile of cloth by the side of the bed, was heard. She suddenly realized that Cersei had barely seen the pup, or if she had, she had chosen not to look at it. Perhaps she had not thought it important, though Catelyn herself thought that it certainly was. It had not left Bran's side ever since his fall, just like she had not, though its siblings had howled out for it several times, crying from the courtyard down below in wailing tones which made her half mad when it came. But now they were calm, both the other pups and Bran's little Summer, it seemed. It only mewled slightly as Ned leaned forward, stretching his large strong arm over the side of the bed, the little wolf pup laying below on the floor.

"I have speak with you about this again..." His voice was hesitant, clearly uncomfortable, as his hand trembled slowly towards her in the air, trying to reach out to her.

She sighed within herself, fearing the conversation to be had.

"I don't wish to speak about anything right now, I only wish to watch over Bran.", she said.

"I know, Catelyn, but... There are things which we have to consider. If he should not wake in time... I... Should we stay here then? For as long as it takes?"

It was an open question, though asked by any other man it might not have been. She loved him for it, for giving her the chance to answer such a question openly, as she thought it suitable.

She searched within herself, as he had asked for a genuine answer as to what she thought.

She knew that Ned would have loved to stay at Winterfell, this was his home, still, apparently, for that he had made very clear all throughout their visit here so far, but all the same... He was the King, and the King had to sooner or later return to his kingdoms and to his throne, to rule down south again. He could not stay here for any inordinate amount of time, or risk dangers to his rule. It was, in truth, a small miracle that nothing more had happened so far. The temporary regency of the Small Council over the city under the command of Ser Barristand and Grand Maester Pycelle had apparently worked charmingly, though many matters of great importance had also been sent via letters in ravenflight to the King on their way, now last only two days ago to the rookery here at Winterfell, something more about the conflict between Tytos Blackwood and Jonos Bracken, the old river gods' favourite bickering children, she reflected... Still, there was much and more letters which remained for him at the Red Keep, and the longer he stayed away, the harder it would be, and the more work it would be for him, when he finally did return. She knew that, of course. Yes.

"I will gladly stay here for another ten days", Ned said. "That much is good and plenty of time, and reasonable. This is my home, and I will keep watch over Bran same as you. It is my hope that he will wake within a few days' time. But... If he should not, however..."

Her husband's words were like a cold shivering of winter winds to her heart.

No. Don't say it. Don't even think about it, she thought.

"I cannot leave my children", she said. "Nor can I let them leave me here to be on their way. I cannot leave Arya. Nor any of the others", she added. "Please don't take them with you. Please let the children stay behind here..." She pleaded with him.

"We would only be making a slow retreat, perhaps staying at Torrhen's Square or down at Moat Cailin", Ned tried. "And then you could join up with us on the road." But she would not have it.

"I cannot part with them, Ned. Not even for a couple of days, not like this, while I am like... this. And I cannot possibly leave Bran here with only Benjen and Cersei." She cried then, showing him her weakness to make him understand. She reached for his hands, and he took them in his strong, compassionate ones.

She came to cry again. Just as she had with Cersei. But this time it was more understandable.

"I can't do this, Ned.", she sobbed, her tears once more flowing again in silence. "I really can't."

She bowed her head down and closed her eyes, as he grew held aback by her display of emotion. But he moved closer to her, putting his arms around her back to comfort her.

"You can", her husband said, taking her hands and holding them with his sincerity and love. "You must."

His tone was sad, his eyes forlorn with melancholy of what needed to be done if their son did not wake in time.

"He will wake, Ned. I know it. Sooner rather than later. The wolf knows it too. He sits there... "

She hoped so, at least. And he would not claim her to be lying on account of it, of course.

"Aye", he said. "I know he will." He bent down to stroke her hair, and kissed her on the top of her head. "I know, Cat... He will wake. I will pray that he does soon."

.

.

.