The Flower In The White Snow. [ Under Construction ]

Chapter VI. As Good As Dead

   ･*.ﾟ☆━CHAPTER 6━☆ﾟ.*･

        
                      
Eight days had gone since Ned and the girls rode to kingslanding; Catelyn still stayed by Bran night and day. Her meals were brought to her there, and as well as her chamber pots and a small hard bed to sleep on, though she had rarely slept at all during these days. She fed her laying boy the honey, water, and herb mixture that sustained life.

Her blue eyes watch Bran, hoping to see him move, hoping to see him do anything but nothing happened. Her head moved towards the sickroom door when she heard it rasp open.

Maester Luwin bows his head shortly. He made his way across the room and place his hand on Bran's head; Catelyn watched him.

“It's time we reviewed the accounts, my lady,” Maester Luwin told Catelyn as he peeled his hand from the boy's head. “You'll want to know how much this royal visit has cost us.”

“Talk to Poole about it.”

“Poole went south with Lord Stake, my lady.” Her eyes wide, wet from tears she shed. She stared at Maester Luwin. She had forgotten the Pooles went south with the party. “We need a new steward, and there are several other appointments that require our immediate attention.”

“I don't care about appointments!”

“I'll make the appointments,” Maester Luwin eyes want from Catelyn to Robb. “We'll talk about it first thing in the morning,” Robb told Maester Luwin.

“Very good, my lord.” Luwin took one last look to Catelyn who did not look to him. “My lady” He spoke and departed, leaving Robb with his mother.

Robb walked to the windows; opening them. The sound of the direwolf howling was rowdier now that the windows were open, Catelyn hated it.

“When was the last time you left this room?”

Catelyn looked up at Robb. He had come from outside she noticed; his cheeks were red from the cold, his hair shaggy and windblown.

“I have to take care of your brother, I have to take care of Bran.”

“He's not going to die, mother. You can leave this sickroom for a second you know — you haven't since Bran was hurt. You didn't even come to the gate when father and the girls went south.” Robb turned, looking at his mother, “Maester Luwin says the most dangerous time has passed.”

“What if his wrong?! — What if Bran needs me and I'm not here?”

“Rickon needs you,” His words were sharp. Robb had always looked like his mother; like Amara, Bran, Rickon, Sansa; he had the Tully colors, the auburn hair, the blue eyes. Yet, now for the first time, Catelyn saw something of Eddard Stark in him. Something as stern and hard as the north. “His three! He doesn't know what's happening. He follows me around all day, he thinks everyone has deserted him so he clutches to my leg, crying...”

The wolves howling grew louder. “Close the windows, I can't stand it! Please make them stop!” Catelyn cries, trembling. It was the grief, the cold, the howling of the direwolves. Night after night, the same howling, the cold wind, the grey empty castle; on and on it all went, never changing. Bran who laid there broken, Bran who loved to laugh and climb and dreamt of knighthood, it was all gone now, Catelyn would never hear him laugh again. All he would ever do now is dreamt of knighthood.

Robb turns to the windows, going to close them, he reached for the shutters but stopped when he saw something from afar. It shined bright, dancing from bright red to yellow.

“Fire,” He whispered. “Mother, stay here. I'll come back.” He told her running out of the sickroom. He shouts to the guards outside the room, they plunged together in a wild rush, taking the stairs two and three at a time.