A Game of Lies

Jaime

It had taken hours to get the boy's breathing stable. Many times, Jaime thought he'd lost his only child, but surely the boys chest always swelled again. Sometimes he'd gasp, his face turning blue, the Maester patting his stomach and chest, saying "come on, take a breath, come on", over and over.

The Maester believed the skull was fractured, but the boy would heal. The damage to the brain, they would not know, not until the boy awoke. The direwolf had done a lot of damage, but Jaime couldn't be mad at the beast. If it were true, if the men had attacked him..The dogs would have saved his sons life.

Every now and again, the boy would become restless, groaning, his body obviously in pain, even as he lay unconscious. The Maester would give him just a bit of Milk of the Poppy, and he'd settle again. Jaime liked to think it had to do with him, gently whispering to his son that it would be alright, and that he was with him.

His son had taken a brutal blow to the head. The impression went from his eye to the upper right of his forehead. The direwolf had left three long gashes on his check, and two deep cuts on his lip.

He wondered about how it happened. Did his son try to fight them off? Was that why his sword was a bit away from him? Had he screamed for help? Had he screamed Jaime? What if Jaime had gone sooner, as soon as he heard the direwolves howling? Could he have saved his son from the horror and misery? Could he have killed the vile men himself, as his son stand unharmed?

Jaime had forbid him to die, and so far it seemed Lewyn was going to finally do as his father bid him. The boy was pulling through.

There was a small knock on the already opened door, and Tyrion walked in.

"Brother", he said wringing his hands together awkwardly.

"Little brother", Jaime responded sadly.

"Robb Stark has asked if you would like to see the bodies, before they bury them", Tyrion said.

Jaime looked to his son, taking his hand in his.

"I can't just leave him alone", he said a moment later.

"He's not alone. Maester Luwin here is a wonderful healer, no doubt. The boy still lives", Tyrion said, nodding to the Maester, who kindly smiled.

"I suppose I should. Maybe it will give some answers", he said. He no longer had anger for his little brother, for the comment of last night.

They walked down to the courtyard of Winterfell. The men had been piled on the back of a cart.

He looked them over, finding no answers. Only a growing hatred. How dare they? How dare these man hurt his son? When he turned to make his way back to his boy, he saw Cersei standing, looking at him.

"Sister", he said, walking up to her.

"You look exhausted, my dear brother", she said, a look of worry.

"Well yes, of course", he said. His son was fighting for his life.

"How is my nephew? It's a shame we've been delayed. I was hoping to make to Kings Landing as soon as possible", she asked.

Jaime just stared at her, appalled.

"What?", she asked him a moment later.

"My son could have died", he said sternly.

"Yes, what a shame", she said looking over his shoulder.

Jaime's eyes followed. She had looked to Ned Stark.

"You did this?", he asked.

"Brother!", she said surprised.

"Don't", he suddenly yelled. A stable boy looked up at them, but turned away quickly.