The Storm Queen | Game of Thrones

Seven

Cassana

My stomach has been empty since we returned from the hunt. The mere thought of what happened to Robb's brother and the thought of the same ever befalling Tommen has been enough to make me uneasy, but it is my worry for Robb that has truly made me ill. It's past time I saw him to offer my condolences and comfort.

My newest handmaiden Myra is lacing the back of my dress as I prepare to see Robb, a modest, respectful black dress. The boy may not be dead yet but everyone is already mourning.

"It's awful isn't it," she says with her clear highborn voice. The daughter of one of my grandfathers bannerman. Likely a distant relative of mine by some also distant marriage, she's certainly as blonde as a Lannister.

"Sickening," I agree as she finishes lacing my bodice, I've always found fitted gowns more supportive than the flimsy fashions of Kings Landing. Far more flattering as well. With the coldness of the North I need the extra fabric.

"Eleven wasn't he?"

"Ten," I correct quietly. "And he isn't dead."

"Not yet your grace," she says and I swallow hard knowing the truth of it. I'm not a fool who believes the gods will save us all. My mother always said the gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods. They have no mercy for rapers nor little boys. The gods don't differentiate between the bad and the good. They have no mercy for anyone. Including myself.

The door opens and my mother walks in, enough to make me wish I was the one who fell from the bloody tower. "Good to see that you're out of bed."

"Have you heard anything more of Bran?" I ask curtly, not interested in any other conversation, and she looks away, her eyes finding the floor.

"Do not worry yourself with that," she says regaining herself but still not meeting my eye "I've come to see if you're alright."

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure her, as a mother what happened has likely upset her. Her heart wouldn't ache for Bran but at the thought of that befalling her own children. "I'm not the one who fell from a tower, and neither did my own blood. I have no reason to not be alright."

If my mother has taught me anything it is to keep my chin up and my head held high, to never let them see you cry or cower, not even for a moment. She wraps her shawl tighter around herself as she asks "Has Robb mentioned anything to you?"

"No," I answer irritably. "I haven't seen him since it happened, I was about to go see him."

"Don't," she says abruptly, far more undone than I've ever seen her before. "It's a time for him to mourn with his family."

If people are speaking to Robb as if Bran is already dead he must be going near mad. "His brother still lives."

"The boy fell from a tower," she says far more softly than I expected, she almost seems shaken, but it was hardly Joffrey who fell as much as I'd rather it was. "You aren't an idiot, you know that he isn't going to live."

"I know the Gods won't help him but perhaps the maester can," I suggest knowing there has to be something that can be done. 

"You have always had a hopeful heart," she smiles sadly. "But you are not a fool. You know these may be the boys last moments, let spend Robb spend those with him, you'd only be a distraction. See him once the boy has passed, see if he knows how it happened."

As much as I hate to admit it she's right. He doesn't need to see me, he needs to be with his family.
"He fell while he was climbing, there's hardly anymore to tell," I say quietly and ask "Do you know if Robb's alright? If that happened to Tommen I- I don't know what I'd do."