Book 1: Prints in the Snow

Chapter VII • The Fall

"Where is he? Where is my brother?" Lyon's call rang through Winterfell. "Now! Where is Brandon Stark?"

A guard whom's face she did not recognize stopped before her as he walked. "The Maester has taken him to his rooms, my lady."

"Thank you, ser." With a flourish of her robes, she pivoted and ricocheted toward the keep, dress billowing behind her. Her feet carried her past faces she paid no mind to until she was at the door to Bran's room. All was silent in the halls, but within she could hear murmuring. Winter was at Lyon's knees, looking up at his master in wait. With a bracing inhale, Lyon opened the door and strode inside.

She saw Catelyn Stark first, pale of face and streaked with tears. "How is he faring?"

"He still sleeps. We do not know if he will awaken." Lady Stark spoke in broken words, voice cracking over syllables. She tried as she may to retain composure, but her eyes were wet and red and had been as such since they had found Bran.

"Robb told me what happened. Forgive, I was not there sooner. I had no idea-"

"It wasn't your fault, Lyon. It was no one's fault."

Lyon lowered her eyes. "Of course. May I-" she gestured to the bed in which Bran lay, and Catelyn nodded faintly. Lyon stepped to the edge of the bed and knelt, taking her brother's hand in hers. "I... I will make sure to keep Rickon company while you rest, little brother."

Lyon leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss upon Bran's hand before rising and smoothing her skirts. She went for the door, to leave quickly and find her youngest sibling, but she stopped with a hand upon the handle.

"All that matters now is that he recovers, mother. We best not trouble our minds with anything else."

Lady Catelyn's eyes rose to meet her daughter's, and a sudden silent agreement was struck. She nodded wordlessly and returned her attention to her son as Lyon stepped outside and silently closed the door behind her. With a deep breath, she made her way back down the halls of the keep. She went to walk to her rooms, but once she opened them she was taken aback to find her father sitting at the edge of the bed.

"How is he...?"

Lyon felt her muscles become lax. Her feet carried her to her bed and she sat beside Ned Stark. "He has not yet awoken, but I am sure he will."

"We can only pray."

Lyon rose, moving to the fresh pitcher of wine she spotted in the corner of her eye. "Hm, never was one for praying. But if it heals Bran then I shall devout every waking moment to prayer."

Ned Stark shook his head. "Pray as you pack your bags. You're leaving with me and your sisters on the morrow." Lyon's hand paused as she poured the wine. "Lyon I do not wish to quarrel-"

"I know, and we shan't. For Bran's sake; for the sake of this family we shall forget what we know for the time being."

"You would do that?"

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for this family." She set the pitcher down and took goblet in hand, tipping it against her lips. The wine was sweet and stained her pink lips a berry red. "I don't need to know whose daughter I am right now. You were the man who raised me, that means you are my father. However, as I am not yours or my mother's child, I find Jon's treatment by her very unfair."

"It is not-"

"Up for debate? It should be. Unless he isn't your son either." Lyon had said it flippantly with a swig of wine and a grim smirk, but when she turned to look at her father she found herself with chills. "By the Gods, he's not, is he? We will say no more of this matter. You neither confirmed nor denied it. I will pack, and we will not speak until the morrow. Do visit Bran, hmm? Mother would want to see you."