When Fire Meets Ice(slow updates)

Chapter 5: On the Road to the Capital

INT.Bedroom-Winterfell

POV-3rd Person

The eerie silence that had befallen Winterfell was broken only by the whispering winds, as the news of Bran's accident rippled through the Stark household. In the heart of the castle, Catelyn's voice resonated with urgency as she summoned Maester Luwin to attend to her fallen son. Meanwhile, Robb wasted no time in dispatching a raven bearing the grave tidings to his father, Eddard Stark, who was far from home. Within the chamber where Bran lay comatose, his mother maintained a constant vigil, her heart heavy with worry and despair. The room was adorned with flickering candles, casting long shadows on the still figure of the young Stark. Servants hurried about, their footsteps muted, and the direwolves, loyal and mournful, added their haunting howls to the somber atmosphere. Outside, in the courtyard of Winterfell, the direwolves Eidolon, Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, and Shaggydog mirrored the grief that enveloped the castle with their mournful cries.

Draven Stark, the first-born son of the Stark family, made his way through the solemn corridors, his footsteps echoing his inner turmoil. He had to see his brother for himself, to understand the extent of the tragedy that had befallen their house. Reaching the heavy wooden door of Bran's chamber, Draven paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath. He raised a trembling hand and knocked gently, a sound that seemed to resonate with the collective sorrow of Winterfell.

Luwin opens the door. "My Lord," he bows respectfully to the Stark.

"Maester Luwin," he addresses the man. "Can you excuse us for a second?" He questions while stealing a glance at his mother.

"Of course m'lord," the maester bows once more before exiting.

Catelyn's gaze shifted briefly from her eldest son to her comatose child, her maternal concern etched across her face. With a heavy heart, she began to weave a delicate prayer web, intricately depicting the religious symbol of the Faith of the Seven, seeking solace and divine intervention for her son. As Draven drew nearer to Bran's bedside, he couldn't help but blame himself, his thoughts burdened by the regret of having taught Bran some of the skills that had led to this tragic accident. His eyes fell upon Bran's still form, closely observing the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, a faint sign of life in the midst of uncertainty. I should've never taught him, Draven silently chastised himself, his inner turmoil intensifying.

Breaking the silence, he finally addressed his mother, his voice heavy with concern, "How fares he?" His eyes moved from Bran to Catelyn, seeking answers and reassurance in her eyes.

"Maester Luwin said the fall appeared to have badly damaged his spine. I fear your brother may never walk again." Catelyn whispers with a sniffle.

"But he'll live? Right Mother?"

"I can only beg the gods," Catelyn says finally looking her son in the eyes.

Draven walks to his mother's side and places his hand on her shoulder giving a comforting squeeze. "Have faith Mother, Bran's strong, he'll pull through. He's got to. I just know it."

Catelyn's grip on Draven's hand was warm and reassuring, a silent acknowledgment of his presence and support in this trying time. Yet beneath her smile, she understood that there was more to his visit than mere concern for Bran's well-being.

As they both sat together in the chamber, Draven couldn't keep the weight of his concerns at bay any longer. He spoke of the impending decision that Eddard Stark was likely to make, a decision that would involve traveling to King's Landing in response to Robert's offer. The realization that this would also mean Sansa's departure weighed heavily on him.