The Dalyngridge Girl ➝ Bran Stark

III.

"I suppose we should go check up on Bran," a voice interrupted Mare from her sewing. She was careful not to poke her finger when she set her craft down. It was Robb who was standing in her doorway, arms crossed over his chest and curly hair unkempt.

"Do we have to? It's just going to make all of us even more sad," Mare said glumly, scrunching her nose and gathering the skirt of her dress as she stood.

"If you don't do it for him, at least do it for mum," Robb sighed, holding his arm out to her. "She's absolutely distraught."

She and Robb walked through the halls of their castle, muttering about Bran and hoping that he would get better. Robb said he knew for a fact that Bran would get better. It would just take a little bit of time was all.

They entered the room slowly, and for the first time since Bran's fall she didn't feel complete sorrow upon entering his chamber. She felt sad, of course, but she felt hope like she hadn't felt it in the days before.

"Mother, when was the last time you left this room?" Robb asked. Catelyn looked up, startled, and set down the wreath that she was making.

"I need to take care of Bran-" she started, but Robb cut her off.

"No, you need to take care of Rickon," Robb said, irritation finding its way into his voice. "He's only six. He's been wandering round the place, grabbing ionto my leg; crying because he's scared."

The dogs and direwolf pups had started to bark and howl ferociously outside. "Will you shut the windows? I can't listen to them howl anymore!" Catelyn cried, bowing her head in shame. Robb went to shut the window but stopped abruptly.

"There's a fire. A fire outside."

"What?" Mare asked Robb, slowly rising from her seat on the bed.

"There's a fire!" he exclaimed, "Mare, sit down! I'll be back," he said, running out of the chamber. Lady Catelyn got up hesitantly to look out the window.

Mare noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced to her left, suddenly aware of a filthy man holding a dagger. Her heart leapt into her throat. "Lady Catelyn?" she asked, her voice high and squeaky with fright. "Were you expecting a visitor?"

"You're not supposed to be here," the man snarled. "Neither of you are supposed to be here." He cracked his neck and advanced towards Bran.

"No!" Catelyn gasped, trying to block the man. But he was too quick; he hit her hard across the face and knocked her onto Bran's bed, to which she tumbled to the floor. Mare scrambled to shield Bran with her body, thinking that if she could do one last thing it would be protect him from being killed to make up for the last time.

The man grabbed Catelyn by the hair and pulled her head up so that his knife, if he chose to, could slit her throat any moment. She grabbed onto the knife with her palms on the blade and struggled, trying to keep it as far away from her neck as she could. She bit his hand so hard that blood was drawn, and he screamed and threw her to the ground. The man turned to the two children with a very dangerous look in his eye. Mare felt her heart flutter into her throat, but she refused to think of this as the way she would die. She put her soul into believing that The Seven would save her and Bran's lives in mere seconds.

There was a sudden snarl that ripped through the air, and in a second the man was on the ground screaming horribly with the sickening sound of flesh being torn echoed through the air. Suddenly Summer, Bran's direwolf, jumped up on the bed and laid down at Bran's feet with blood on his muzzle and his massive head resting in his paws. Mare heard Lady Catelyn sigh, a sound that comforted her in the slightest way.

"Are you alright, dear?" Catelyn asked, her voice rattled and shaky but relieved nonetheless.

Mare nodded. "I am. Are you, Lady Catelyn?"

"I am, child," Catelyn said, taking a seat at the end of the bed. Her palms were a bloody mess and there were smudges of crimson on her dress. "I am."