Daveth Baratheon is the eldest son of King Robert I Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister, the only one of four children she bore her lawful husband.
A natural-born prodigy, his intellect and swordsmanship skills are among one of the best despite hi...
The denizens of Winterfell have been solemnly quiet. When news reached the Stark household's ears of Bran's accident, Catelyn immediately called for Maester Luwin's assistance; Robb ordered a raven be sent to his father informing him of what had happened. Bran remains comatose, his mother sitting by his side. Servants were running around as the direwolves Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer and Shaggydog howled mournfully.
Strolling through the courtyard, Daveth Baratheon was making his way towards the main hall to check on the boy himself. Now standing outside the door, the Crown Prince knocked on the door.
Luwin opens the door. "My Prince," he bows.
"Maester Luwin," Daveth simply acknowledges. "Lady Stark," he says quietly to Catelyn.
Catelyn took a brief glance at Daveth before returning her gaze to the unconscious Bran, weaving a prayer web detailing the religious Faith of the Seven symbol.
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Daveth slowly approaches the bed, looking over Bran as the boy's chest slowly rises and falls. Such a terrible fate to befall a child his age. "How fares the boy?" he asks Luwin, looking over his shoulder to the old maester.
"The fall appears to have badly damaged Lord Brandon's spine. I fear that he might never walk again."
Catelyn sniffles, wiping away a tear.
"But the boy will live?"
"I believe so, although it's hard to say exactly when he will wake."
Daveth nods, redirecting his eyes towards Catelyn. "I heard what happened to your son, m'lady. Know that if there is anything you or your family needs from me, just say the word and I'll be at your service." He gently places his hand on Catelyn's shoulder, giving a small squeeze. "Have faith, Cat," he said reassuringly. "Your son is a strong lad. He'll pull through. I know it."
Catelyn finally looks up at Daveth, tapping his hand on her shoulder. "Thank you. I'm grateful," she replies.
"I won't take up more of your time, m'lady. I'll leave you to your son," he says and gives a courteous bow as he exits the room. As he begins to make his way down the stairs, Daveth felt a chill crawl up and down his spine. Normally he'd shake it off and blame it on the Nothern cold, but something in his gut just wouldn't leave him alone. This feeling hasn't ceased for quite a while now. Whatever this is, I don't like it...
Daveth shook his head; he'll have time to worry about that once he's had some food in his stomach. No doubt that most of his family's already waiting for him in the great hall getting ready for breakfast before their departure for the ride south.
Elsewhere...
At one of the kennels, Tyrion Lannister wakes up in a stall – groggily noticing a pack of dogs surrounding him. How drunk was he last night? He rubs his eyes, noticing his nephew Prince Joffrey Baratheon and Sandor Clegane standing over him.
