The news of young Bran Stark''s fall spread through Winterfell like a winter chill, seeping into every corner of the ancient castle. Ser Jaime Lannister stood in the courtyard, his face a mask of practiced concern as he watched the frantic activity around him. Servants rushed to and fro, carrying linens and hot water to the boy''s chambers. Maester Luwin hurried past, his chain clinking softly, his aged face creased with worry.
In the days that followed, the castle seemed to hold its breath. The joy and excitement of the royal visit had vanished, replaced by a heavy pall of grief and anxiety. Jaime observed it all with a detached interest, noting the way the household seemed to orbit around the tower where Bran lay unconscious.
He saw Lady Catelyn Stark, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow, emerge briefly from her vigil only to snap at a servant for some perceived slight before retreating back to her son''s bedside. Lord Eddard Stark moved through the castle like a ghost, his face drawn and haggard, the weight of his son''s fate visibly pressing down on his shoulders.
The Stark children, too, were changed. Robb, the heir, tried to step into his father''s role, issuing commands with a voice that occasionally cracked with emotion. The younger girl, Arya, was often found in the godswood, attacking trees with a stick as if they were responsible for her brother''s fall. Sansa, the eldest girl, sought solace in prayer, spending hours in the castle''s sept.
One evening, as Jaime patrolled the grounds, he came across Jon Snow, Ned Stark''s bastard, sitting alone by the heart tree in the godswood. The boy''s direwolf, Ghost, lay at his feet, its red eyes gleaming in the twilight.
"A bit late for prayer, isn''t it?" Jaime called out, his voice cutting through the eerie silence of the wood.
Jon started, turning to face him. "I wasn''t praying, Ser," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. "Just... thinking."
Jaime raised an eyebrow. "About your brother, no doubt. A tragic business."
Something flickered in Jon''s dark eyes – suspicion, perhaps, or a wisdom beyond his years. "Yes," he said slowly. "Tragic."
The boy''s gaze was unsettling, and Jaime found himself wanting to be anywhere else. With a curt nod, he continued on his way, pushing down the unfamiliar feeling of discomfort that had settled in his chest.
As the days wore on and Bran showed no signs of waking, discussions began about the royal party''s departure. Jaime overheard heated arguments between Robert and Ned, the king insisting they couldn''t delay any longer, Ned torn between his duty to his friend and his vigil for his son.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
It was during one of these discussions that the subject of the Stark children came up. Jaime, standing guard outside the room where Robert and Ned were closeted, couldn''t help but listen in.
"The girls should still come south," Robert was saying, his voice gruff with sympathy and impatience. "It''ll do them good to get away from all this gloom. And that boy of yours, Robb, he could do with some time at court."
There was a long pause before Ned replied, his voice heavy with resignation. "Aye, perhaps you''re right about the girls. Sansa''s betrothal to Joffrey should go ahead as planned. And Arya... well, some time in the capital might do her good. But Robb must stay. He''ll be acting Lord of Winterfell in my absence."
Jaime mulled over this information as he continued his rounds. The thought of the Stark children in King''s Landing was... intriguing. Sansa, with her head full of songs and stories, would be easy prey for the vipers at court. Arya, wild and untamed, would likely cause no end of trouble. And if Robb had come... well, that might have been interesting indeed.
On the morning of their departure, Jaime stood in the courtyard once more, watching as the royal party made ready to leave. He saw Ned Stark embracing his daughters, his face a mixture of worry and resolve. Sansa''s eyes were bright with excitement despite the circumstances, while Arya looked as if she might bolt at any moment.
"A shame about the Stark boy," came a gruff voice. Jaime turned to see King Robert, already half in his cups despite the early hour. "Ned''s taking it hard."
"As any father would, Your Grace," Jaime replied carefully.
Robert grunted, taking a long pull from his wineskin. "Aye. Makes a man think about his own children. About legacy." His bleary eyes focused on Jaime with surprising intensity. "You ever think about that, Kingslayer? About what you''ll leave behind?"
For a moment, Jaime was at a loss for words. He thought of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen – his children in truth, though the world would never know. He thought of the white cloak on his shoulders, of the vows he had broken and would break again. What legacy indeed?
"I try not to dwell on such things, Your Grace," he said finally. "The future is... uncertain."
As the king stumbled away, Jaime''s eyes found Cersei. She stood by her wheelhouse, every inch the regal queen preparing to depart. Their eyes met across the courtyard, and in that moment, Jaime knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.
The horns sounded, signaling the start of their journey south. As they rode out of Winterfell''s gates, Jaime found himself looking back at the ancient castle. He saw Robb Stark standing on the battlements, looking every inch the young lord, with his direwolf by his side. Below, in the courtyard, he caught a glimpse of the bastard, Jon Snow, watching their departure with those unsettling dark eyes.
And high above, from the window of the tower where Bran Stark lay unconscious, Jaime thought he saw a flash of red hair – Lady Catelyn, still keeping her vigil, oblivious to the world moving on around her.
As Winterfell receded behind them, Jaime couldn''t shake the feeling that they were leaving more than just a castle behind. Something had changed, some invisible line had been crossed. The long summer was ending, and the winds of winter were beginning to blow.