CATELYN III

"The walls of her young son's bedchamber were grey and mottled, like the rest of Winterfell. Everything was silent, more than usual so.

Catelyn Tully could not sleep. Again. It had been four days since the attempt on Bran's life, and she would never leave his side for as much as a second again. The old gods of the North were cursing her for her vanity, her sins and her lack of patience. They wanted her son dead. Again.

Poison. It had been poison, but the wolf had sensed it before Bran could take a sip of the drink. It had begun howling, and growling with barred fangs at the servant girl as she put down the tray on the bed in front of him. Then it barked, lashing out on her, and she ran crying and screaming from the room before it could do more than slash her once on her stomach, making her bleed and her apron rip to shreds.

She survived that, though. Her screams went on in the corridor outside as Cat tried her best to calm the barking beast down, and then the same for her own heart.

Maester Luwen examined the drink on the order from Catelyn herself, mere minutes later as Ser Mandon fetched him roughly from his study. He approached, looking like a grey mouse in robes as usual, a worried and troubled look on his face as he entered the bedchamber, and found the cup on the tray to be indeed containing a small dose of posion, just enough to once again put Bran to a deep sleep from which he'd never awake. Or so at least he told her, to confirm her panicked suspicion.

She had felt her heart close to bursting of grief in that moment. Who in their right heart and mind would want to hurt and kill a boy of eight? And who would especially risk it, when her sweet little boy was the prince? Catelyn could get no sleep or rest in her mind after that. It did not matter whether it was the serving girl herself who had tried at the deed, or if someone else had made her do it, or if she somehow was innocent of the knowledge of the contents as she fetched the tray.

Steyna, the girl was called. She was only a young maid, a pretty, slender hegret sapling of a woman, perhaps around fifteen or sixteen. But murder apparently had no age.

Cersei had at least taken her concerns seriously immediately, and insisted that the girl be put into the castle cells for questioning and isolation as soon as she heard of what had happened. Benjen was more in shock, not knowing what to do and from the looks of it believing that the girl could never have done such a thing, instead believing the culprit to be someone from the kitchens, but whatever the case he relented and had the guards drag the girl sobbing to the cellars.

Catelyn felt sick to her stomach, both from the heinous act of the deed itself, and for not knowing. Anyone in the castle could be her posioner, anyone at all, and she had no way of knowing if she did not question them herself. For the moment, however, she felt too weak to stand on her own two feet, much less present herself as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to a gathering of hostile servants with knives in their eyes.

Bran seemed largely unmoved by the incident, but she knew that he only meant for her not to worry. He was such a sweet boy. And he had his father's frozen iron heart already, somewhere inside his little sickly chest, she could tell. But however brave he was, he could not hide the appearance of a singular silent tear that streamed down from the corner of his left eye and down along his pale chin long after Maester Luwen and Hallis Mollen had left the room to meet with Benjen and Cersei.

Summer, as she must remind herself that he had named the wolf, continued to growl for a long time after they were gone. The wolf would not trust even her to place a hand lower down than Bran's chin, now laying on top of her son's broken body as he slept, guarding him like a living statue or one of the fierce direwolves from old Stark legend. She supposed that she should be grateful for it. The wolf had saved his life, after all. Just like she had dreamt when they first got them.

She wondered if Arya's wolf did the same for her, and Robb's and Sansa's, all the way down in King's Landing. Her royal husband had written to her only some ten days ago, assuring her that they were back in their old traces from before the journey again and that everyone was well, but he had said nothing in particular of the wolves. Had they perhaps lost them along the way south somehow, or how else would they keep them? Had they been forced to put them down after all, when they grew larger and fierce? Like Ned had said, the capital was no place for beasts, whether included on the royal sigil or no. She worried. There was surely reason to believe that there must be something her husband was not telling her.

Rickon woke up from his bed beside them. He could not sleep either, it seemed. He was tossing and turning in his little cot, close to once again picking up the bell rattle she had given him as a toy. Bran did not mind; he could sleep even with his brother's jollering and screams for the most part, but Rickon enticed the humongous black wolf, his Shaggydog, as he called him, and Shaggydog in

turn put Summer at disease.

Ser Erryk and Ser Mandon stood still on guard on either side of the door, saying nothing as the large black beast began wagging his tail nervously and riling up into a minor frenzy for the tenth time in the past hour. Catelyn wrung her weary hands together for a thousandth time, praying to the gods for strength.

Maester Luwen knocked on the door. She knew already that it had to be him before Ser Mandon opened the door to let him in. He was the only one the wolves did not howl over during the past two days. The only one they allowed in to the bedchamber, and barely him at that.

"My good sers", he mumbled as he slowly slid in between the frames of the two Kingsguards.

"Your Grace." Maester Luwen proceeded to lower his eyes and bowed somberly before her.

"Maester.", she said with a curt regal nod, fighting to keep her voice up.

"My lady would wish to speak with you, Your Grace. To make sure that you are feeling all right, and to speak with you about what is to be done about the girl. It is your decision, she says. "

"Tell Cersei that I do not wish to speak on that just now. Thankyou, Maester", Catelyn replied wearily. She did not know whether to question the servant girl, or to have called for her head, to have her taste her own medicine, or something else. She was not sure if she could bear to even look into the eyes of her son's perpetrator again, regardless.

And the girl had cried as well, screaming as if she was innocent and had done nothing wrong as they took har away. That made it all the worse, as Catelyn did not know what to think about any of it. She only wished to stay inside of Bran's bedchamber forever, and never ever come out again, nor have anyone enter. If she had to, she would die up here, in this cold and far away keep, the one that her royal husband had been brought up in, even so long as before he had gone to the Vale, all of those years ago, before the Rebellion, the War of the Wolf, the War of Ice and Fire, Robert's Rebellion, as it had briefly been known in the beginning of it all... Before her engagement to Brandon, before he had died at the hands of the Mad King, before she had married Ned, all of it... There had been so many possibilities for her life back then. But now, however, the only two possibilites that she felt was to either remain silent, or to have Maester Luwen kicked out of the chamber, as she had been close to doing once before, only to decide on a firm yet polite ask instead.

She could not think properly. She merely felt as if the entire world was shrinking smaller for every new day. Just as she was about to tell the maester to leave, however, he spoke up again.

"I know that my lady would much appreciate it if you would pay her the honour of speaking to her. She has been missing your times at prayer together these past few days. … I am told that she has a gift to Prince Brandon as well, from young Lady Myrcella."

Catelyn felt the tears coming down her cheeks at that. The children... Her son, and Cersei's daughter both. She felt her heart reach out for the briefest of moments, only to close itself down into isolation and worry again.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but... Are you feeling quite well?" Maester Luwen asked, his concern as annoying as surely any talk with Cersei might be. She forced herself to reply, if only to make him shut up for once.

"I am fine, Maester", she gritted between her teeth. "Please tell your lady that I will accompany her in an hour."

Maester Luwen bowed at that, his long grey robes sagging down with him. He looked like some grey mole in his attire, having come up from the dirt between the many crypts and tunnels beneath Winterfell that Ned had toldher she did not know him to have a large private study, just like Pycelle in The Red Keep, she'd have thought it. That would have been far from the strangest thing that went on up here, she thought.

How she longed to be able to return to her home, to Ned and Robb and her sweet girls. She missed her ladies-in-waiting, and their eternal chattering gossip, and Septa Mordane and Lady Pellegrara, Ser Aron and all of the others. She even found herself missing Jory to her chagrin, even though his blundering oafishness and slowness of mind was what had gotten them here in the first place. Her heart had sent itself into spinning already when they were visiting her cousin Lady Shaera at Harrenhal, as Bran and Arya played hide-and-seek in the huge haunted stone towers, and it had only gone worse after that.

She would have to make sure that he spent more time with her husband and less time watching over the children, especially Bran and Arya, if she ever saw him or her lord husband again.

Catelyn bent down and kissed Bran on his pale forehead, where he lay sleeping in the bed, awake only a couple of hours before but asleep now again, and seemingly safe at least for the time being. He was breathing like usual, she thought. He looked untroubled. That was certainly good, although she could not understand it. Perhaps the minds of children simply did not care about wandering too close to the Stranger. They are so recently come from the dark of him that they still sense the stillness and comfort of his embrace. Her own Septon had told her as much when she was a young girl at Riverrun.

Still, Catelyn did not wish that sleepy dream of darkness for her son. She wished for him to grow up and enjoy the bright world before summer ended, and when it came back the next time again, in six years, or seven, or however long it took, she wanted for him to become a knight, to practice in the courtyard with Robb, to grow up to a proud fighter just like him, and then to be a lord, to find himself a wife, a nice girl of a noble and highborn house of good repute, and to have children of his own some day.

Bran himself had wanted to be a member of the Kingsguard at times, protecting his Father and then Robb when the time came.

From what the Maester had told her, however, that much seemed to not be very possible anymore. Neither highborn children or a white cloak would come to the man who might come from a broken little boy. Her heart felt close to breaking itself once again, as Ser Erryk came up to her, putting his steely gauntlet on her shoulder to comfort her.

"There there, Your Grace. It's fine enough."

"It is NOT fine!" She cried out, her tears already reaching to the corner of her eyes and her nose, the snot gathering as it had before, her sight blurred by the tears. "My son is broken, and now someone wants him dead again!"

Bran awoke at that. She could feel it, hear it, sense it somehow even though she now stood by the other side of the bed, close to Rickon's side, with Bran and her wolf on the bed laying behind her.

"Don't cry, Mother", he said. Then she felt the touch of an ice cold hand nudging her on her back. Catelyn Tully flew up, feeling a chill go into her bones at the sudden motion.

But it had only been her little boy's hand. Bran's pale hands were small and freezing. They always had been, he had the same icy veins as his father, but it was more than that this time. Not even that blasted wolf of his seemed to be able to keep him warm in this dreary cold old place. The cold crept in from the walls themselves, as she felt it.

She missed the Red Keep. She missed King's Landing. She missed Riverrun. She would even have swapped places with whatever lord or lady was currently guesting old Lord Walder Frey at the Twins to get away from this place and into somewhere warmer and more reasonable to bear. Oh, how she missed it all...

"You should go", Bran said suddenly. "I will be fine here, Mother. I promise."

She hindered herself from shuddering at his words, as she wondered once again what had become of her sweet, frolicking boy. Bran used to go running all the time, fighting with both Arya and Rickon over the smallest of things, whistling from early morning to night, counting the lines of the ceiling in every room he was in, asking her thousands of questions, and chasing after animals.

Since he had woken up he was all so severe and sad. And ever so silent and still. Just like his royal father when he was in his icy, frozen kingly mood. It was as if her son had been through a war of his own during all his time asleep.

She had barely asked about his dreams, however, did not want to know, other than to ask him if he remembered how he fell from the tower. She had asked that over and over. He so far still did not. The last thing he remembered was running towards the tower with or from Arya. Possibly beginning to climb up the base of the tower, with Summer waiting for him down below, under him, as he went up, step by step against the rough carrouses in the stone and mortar fora couple of steps and steps... Then there was only the darkness for a long time, he had said.

"I do not want to leave you, Bran", she told him. "Anyone could try to enter while I am gone."

"You have Erryk and Ser Mandon to protect me and Rickon. And Summer and Shaggydog will as well. You know that they will. You saw them. You saw Summer protect me."

She looked at him. Her own little boy. So mature, so wise already. He was just like his father, with the same blue eyes, although still brighter, more full of life, if nonetheless dampened slightly now.

...

Finally, she found it in herself to heed her son's advice. Cersei stood waiting for her in the hallway outside when she came out, dressed in a grey and green dress, green silk lace and thick grey wolf pelt linings at the sides and at the edge of the sleeves. Around her gracile neck was a thin and long elegant necklace bearing a golden lion and a silver wolf, embracing, facing inwards towards eachother.

"Your Grace", she said with utmost respect, bowing her beautiful golden shining head down.

"My lady.", Catelyn replied, acknowledgeing her with a grateful nod.

They walked in silence for a while, as Cersei began talking about her and Septa Arbane's prayers for her and the prince. She took Catelyn's arm in hers, and put it under herself, as signified the mark of the well-meaning hostess. Catelyn almost had to force herself to not shy away from Cersei's grip. She had expected her newfound friend to be more distant in this moment, more wary of her reaction somehow, but Cersei was full of a deep and knowing sisterly devotion, as usual. And she felt warm.

She supposed that she should be thankful for it. Lysa and herself had never been so close in their sorrows, but perhaps that was because they had been married off together, she reflected. They both knew what the other's life was like. But in Cersei she had found, if ever somewhat pushing, a confidante who wished to listen to her, who wished to help her always. Catelyn knew that much of it was simply because she was the queen, and the Lannisters had always been ones to mingle close to the crown for power, but there was more than that. Something which she could not quite put her finger on. At any rate, she let Cersei hold her arm. She knew that she only meant well.

"We are utmost distraught from this. How someone like that could have found themselves having work inside of my husband's castle... Well... I believe that this is a warning to us all, to be more careful with the people we call our own. One can not always trust in the loyalty of those who serve us."

Catelyn said nothing, as they continued walking in the grey dullness of the long stone hallways. Cersei went on.

"They are fickle little things. My aunt Gemma had told me as much already when I was a child, and yet I do remember well how I experienced that myself for the first time. One of my ladies at Casterly Rock once ran away from my side at the motion of slightest danger. We had snuck out into the forest to go and see a traveling group of mummers. There were no guards accompanying us. We only had eachother for protection against whatever perils might have lurked in the forest. And yet when she heard the first sound of some bird or other, she pounced and ran away without a thought in the world of saving me.

She abandoned me to stand in the forest and fend for myself, you see. I suppose that we ought not expect bravery out of other women, but nonetheless... She did leave me. "

"I am sorry, Cersei.", Catelyn said in earnest.

Even though she had her own troubles to think about, she sensed that this was something important for her sister-in-law, something that had shaped her more than most things in life, and she was trying to share that with her now.

"Yes..." Cersei said, letting her mind and gaze wander around the ceiling, as her tall frame allowed her.

She went on.

"Later that night, I spoke with my father and had her dismissed from my service. She went on to marry some minor lord in the western coastlands. I have not heard from her since.

We cannot let such people impact on us. A servant is much like a spoke in a wheel. Especially for us who are responsible for keeping the wagon of entire kingdoms in line. If one of the spokes is broken, the wheel cannot move forward. That is why it is wise to change spokes as often as possible. Loyalty... is everything, Your Grace. Wouldn't you say so?"

"I suppose so..." She replied hoarsely. Her voice was still as dry and thick with self-doubt as it had ever been. She was forced to trust in the servants around her, was she not? For she had not brought many of her own to Winterfell, and those who had accompanied her had left. Only her handmaiden, [ ], [ ] and the two [ ] remained. And most of the time, they dwelt in her own reserved bedchamber, the one she had not slept in ever since Bran's fall. She would not let them wash her hair anymore, so what were they to do?

Still, if they had been retrained as simple kitchen maids, so that they were the ones to fetch their meals, the servant girl from Wintertown would never have gotten the chance, and the attack on Bran's life would never have happened. She blamed herself for it.

"I was wondering whether you would like to send a raven to your royal husband", Cersei suddenly asked her, with a sudden severity in her voice. "Elsewise, I believe that Benjen will write to him himself, and tell of what has happened."

She thought about that. She would have to tell him, of course, but she did not even know what to say, for she did not fully know the truth of what had happened yet. He had been attemptedly posioned, yes, but was it truly the servant girl? And if so, had she acted on her own part, or been made to by someone else in the castle? Her mind would not still itself. The thoughts that whirled inside of her weary head went on and on forever, it seemed. She needed to sleep, and to get back as soon as possible to watch over Bran again. And Rickon as well.

"I am sure that Benjen can write and tell Ned of what has happened", she decided. And with that, she felt at least a little bit lighter in her chest. The pressure was not quite as hard to bear anymore. Her heart slowly stopped pounding, relieving itself only the tiniest, as Cersei walked beside her, arm in arm, and the two sisters by marriage [ ] towards the southern windows, past the lord and lady's bedchamber, and onwards.

...

"Very well", Cersei replied. "My husband will take care to notify the king. "

"My daughter has a gift for the prince", she added. "She has knitted it herself."

Cersei pulled out a beautifully hand-stitched [square/plaid/[ ]] of wolves, lions and leaping trouts around a small woodland spring. Catelyn gratefully took the gift and praised the work.

"Myrcella is a very talented girl", she said. "And this is a beautiful tribute to the friendship of our houses. I know that Bran will be happy to receive it."

Cersei smiled, thanking her back and expressing her hopes that the two children might have a chance to meet again. Catelyn did her best to not turn down the proposition, and mumbled something along the lines of that being a pleasant thought that she would ask her son about.

Then they resumed their walk again, side by side, hand in hand along the cold grey stone floor of the hallway.

...

They stopped when they reached the window, and stared out over the courtyard, the walls and towers facing the south somewhere beyond the wintertown and the pine forests and all else.

"I wonder what the weather is like in King's Landing this time of year", Cersei mused quietly, as she plucked a feathering of dust from her otherwise impeccable grey green silk-and-felt dress, matching her beautiful emerald eyes, and stared out the window towards the similarly grey-green horizon beyond.

Even in her grief, and all the time she had already spent here, she could not help but to stare once again at her young sister-in-law, and her stunning beauty. She looked like the sun itself, her golden curls lighting up the entire room with a glory as if she still held some glorious part of the warmth of the Westerlands with her wherever she went. Even at Winterfell, Cersei Stark, formerly Lannister, the golden daughter of Casterly Rock, shone as bright and golden as anything she had seen outside the crystals of a sept.

At last she found it within herself to remember the question posed, and made her best effort to reply.

"It is warm", Catelyn said, "warmer than in living memory, or at least so it was when we left. The common people wear light silk wherever they can, the sun is sweltering the city in heat, and the orchards are full of fruit and greens. Sleep is at times hard come by from the heat by night, and the few water fountains of King's Landing are sprawling with water to try and alleviate some of it. The leaves on the trees are still green in most places, though beginning to yellow... "

Her voice trailed off. Why was she describing all of this to Cersei in her dreary state of mind?

Perhaps she missed home more than she had imagined. Perhaps she simply needed to take her mind off things, to escape the confines of her son's bedchamber, if only for a single short moment. Perhaps it was because she pitied Cersei, who would still be stuck up here for the long coming winter, even when she and Bran and Rickon might long overdue move themselves home, if that day indeed ever came. She lifted her handkerchief and wiped a tear off her puffy, red cheek.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to make you long for it. It is only so long since I saw it with my own eyes. They say that King's Landing has never been a more glorious sight than under your royal husband's reign."

"I suppose that may be true", Catelyn allowed.

They stood staring at the horizon for some time more, before turning back to walk to the bedchamber again.

"The Wintertown will soon begin to be filled up", Cersei said. "All manner of people will flock here, from Long Lake down to the Barrowlands, to wait out the winter. It becomes much full of trade and livelihood, for a time."

"That sounds most pleasant", Catelyn only said. "I wish I could stay here to see it", she lied.

Cersei kissed her hand as she took her leave, and Catelyn smiled back at her as well she could in her state of being.

"Thankyou, Cersei. I am much glad that I have a friend like you here. "

"There is nothing to thank, Your Grace. Sisters should look out for eachother", Cersei smiled.

Ser Erryk looked relieved to see her back when she entered. Bran and Rickon were playing on the side of Bran's bed.

Catelyn Tully sunk down on her chair again, as Rickon's Shaggydog came up to sniff at her. The wolf growled, before making its way back to the right side of the room by Rickon's little cot. She sighed, as she handed Myrcella's plaid to Bran and told him that it was a gift from his lady cousin.

Bran took up the piece, and let Summer sniff it. The wolf looked up at Catelyn, then down at the cloth, and then went to sniff around nervously in the room.

Catelyn sighed again, as Bran inspected the embroidery.

"She made this for me?"

"Yes. She wants to see you soon. She has few other playmates."

"She has Tommen."

"Tommen is always outside in the henhouse", she explained to her son.

He said nothing, as he felt the soft fabric, and traced the lines of it. Once they might have beome betrothed, her little Brandon and Cersei's Myrcella, but she doubted that she would like to give her daughter to a boy who would never be able to father his own sons. She wept, for her son, and pushed her head down into her lap, and then wept again and again.

"