How does Father bear being Lord of Winterfell? Robb thought, I cannot manage. Trying to fulfill all his duties was liken to being pulled in a thousand directions at once. He was restless at night, ever tired during the day, and stressed every second.

Between countless meetings with his household and training in the yard, Robb spent his remaining time visiting his brother and mother. The latter had not left her young son's side since his fall some weeks ago.

Robb pleaded for Lady Catelyn to leave the bedchamber. He asked her to walk in the Godswood, eat together in the Great Hall, and do anything except stay inside. Lady Catelyn always had a rebuttal. She was making something, waiting for Maester Luwin, or had taken a walk about the room. Lady Stark had not even said goodbye to her lord husband or daughters when they left for King's Landing. She is not quite here.

There was so much Robb wanted to tell her. I need more help. I can't do all of this alone. Being a lord means taking care of everything and everyone. I want to be strong for everyone, like a good lord, like Father. But he always held his tongue. Come back, Mother.

His lady mother's dedication to Bran was understandable, but there was only so much she could do. Bran constantly occupied Robb's mind as it did Lady Catelyn's. Even though Robb knew the boy would persevere, he still worried there was to be a horrible twist of fate. The Stark prayed to the Old Gods, and even the new, for his little brother every night. He hoped those prayers meant something, that they helped.

Robb reached the floor of Bran's bedchamber, silencing his thoughts. He gripped the door handle but stopped at the sound of talking. "A master of horse?" It was undoubtedly his mother speaking, her voice taut as a string.

"Yes, my lady." Maester Luwin, Robb identified. "Hullen rode south with Lord Eddard, so—"

"My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of horse? Do you think I care what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran's eyes, do you understand that? Do you!" Lady Stark snapped back; her voice was as loud as a whip crack.

At his mother's strained reply, Robb entered the room. It was markedly hotter, near stifling, inside the bedchamber than anywhere else in the castle, even though most of the keep benefitted from the warmth of underground hot springs.

Maester Luwin appeared taken aback. "Yes, my lady, but the appointments—"

"I'll make the appointments," Robb interrupted the maester. The elderly man turned to the Stark with relief.

"I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant offices," Luwin said, giving Robb a paper. The boy scanned the list and stopped upon seeing only two names suggested for a new master of horse. One was very startling. Hilena, Joseth. His chest grew tight.

"Good choices," Robb said, managing his tone, "We'll talk about it tomorrow." He handed back the paper with unnecessary haste. "Leave us now." Maester Luwin promptly bowed and departed.

Robb glanced at his mother as he strode across the room. Her long auburn hair was awry, and she sat hunched over, busy making a trinket or something of the like. Her continuous stress was unnerving. So, he opened the windows, letting the biting night air and the howling direwolves enter the stuffy chamber.

They're singing. Robb listened closely to the crying wolves, their distinct voices. That's Shaggydog; there's Grey Wind. They were harrowing and lonely sounds, full of melancholy and anguish. Robb's grip tightened around the window shutter, and he glimpsed over his shoulder at his mother.

"When was the last time you left his room?" he asked pointedly. How much longer until you break, Mother, until I do?

"I have to take care of him," she replied, gesturing towards Bran, lying still in his bed. The younger boy had a deathly pallor, his brown hair stuck to his forehead and longer than before his fall. His unnamed direwolf lay peacefully at the foot of the bed.

"He's not going to die, Mother," Robb assured, "Maester Luwin says the most dangerous time has passed." Please.

"What if he's wrong?" Catelyn retorted, shaking as she spoke, "Bran needs me."

"Rickon needs you," Robb countered and glowered at his mother, who became nonplussed, "He's six. He doesn't know what's happening. He follows me around all day, clutching my leg, crying-"

"Close the windows! I can't stand it! Please make them stop!" she cried out. Robb swung around to shut the windows but froze on the spot when he looked outside.

Across the yard, there were flames. His stomach dropped. The library tower was engulfed in fire. Horses neighed, and dogs barked in fright as bells began to ring throughout the castle. Seven hells.

"Fire," Robb declared to his mother, "You stay here, I'll come back." He sprinted out of the room without a second glance.

Taking two to three steps at a time, Robb made it to the bottom of the tower. A fire. How? Panic surged through him as he exited the Great Keep, running towards the burning turret. The scene was crowded with guards, servants, and animals. Wading through the crowd, he asked how his people were and ensured no one was injured. Thankfully, no one had been hurt, but the fire raged on, and people coughed from the smoke pouring into the sky.

So, Robb ran to the turret.

An unknown amount of time went by as Robb extinguished the flames alongside his guards. Over and over, he shouted for water to be brought and for people to save the vast collection of Winterfell's library. Sweat poured down his face, and he began to cough, but rest was nary an option. Then the flames died down, and the work was done.

Putting out flames had not been part of Lord Eddard's education on lordship.

»»-------------- --------------««

Lady Catelyn had slept for two days. Bags had formed underneath Robb's eyes as he spent endless hours by her and Bran's bedsides. The gods are cruel. He could still see the bone-deep wounds on his mother's fingers, the ripped-out throat of some strange man, and the bloody mouth of Bran's direwolf. Sleep was a long-gone friend. Yet, the world saw fit to never let Robb Stark rest.

An assassin. That was the conclusion the Stark came to about the night of the library fire. The fire, a distraction. But who was the target? My brother or my lady mother? Robb had sent out guards to investigate every inch of Winterfell and the Winter Town. No evidence had been discovered, only empty stares and empty answers. No one in the castle seemed to know the would-be assassin, so the new captain of the guard, Hallis Mollen, figured the man was a southerner. Robb agreed with the answer, but there was still so little known.

A rapid knock at the door snapped Robb out of pacing in his bedchamber.

"My lord! Lord Stark!" came a voice. The boy raced across his room and swung open the door with such force the guard on the other side flinched.

"What is it?" Robb probed, "What news?" Then he recognized the young, short guardsman, Quent. New recruit. Grew up at Castle Cerwyn. Quent, that's his name.

"Hallis has asked ye to come to the stables at once, my lord," Quent replied, bowing his head.

Robb nodded and stormed out of his chamber, leaving his cloak and Quent lagging behind. The air was crisp, and the sun shone. I wish my duties took me outside more often. Eventually, the young men reached the stables, and the Stark caught sight of Hallis Mollen's broad figure surrounded by a couple of other guardsmen. The man's back was turned as he looked to be speaking with someone else out of sight.

"Hallis!" Robb exclaimed. The guard came to face the Stark, revealing who he had been speaking to. The boy veiled his alarm from seeing Hilena. The Others take me. She did not look his way, for the better.

"We're to search the stables," Hallis said, "If there be no evidence of the cutthroat here, I know not where else he may have been. Still, nobody saw him. I was just speaking with the new mas— mistress of horse on the matter."

The tone of mistress made Robb's brow furrow. When he and Luwin decided to have Hilena fill her father's position, they knew there would be displeasure due to her sex. She's more than capable, Luwin had said, and Robb thoroughly agreed. Worse was that the Stark could sense Hilena's resentment towards the decision, maybe more than any man's.

"M'lord, Hodor's been odd as of late; he may have seen this man," Hilena added, her gaze averted as she fiddled with her braid, "But half the stablehands have gone south; there's been too much work and not enough of us to see anythin'."

"Mistress," Robb said, the title odd on his tongue, "Would you let me and my men search the stables?" Hilena met his eyes then, her mood indiscernible. It was strange how cold such warm hazel eyes could appear. He hoped his own blue eyes looked with obscurity, too.

"You don't need to ask, m'lord," she answered, "But, yes." Oh, of course. I am Lord of Winterfell. I was only being courteous, but..., his thoughts trailed off as pondering too much on what Hilena had to say would lead him astray. Without reply, Robb walked towards the horse's stalls, Hallis, Quent, and the rest splitting off to search the environs.

"And what do you think you'll find, m'lord?" It was Hilena again, and when Robb turned to answer her, she appeared not so frigid though her arms were crossed. This is odd. Very odd. At least, odd as they were now.

"Anything," he said nervously, "Money, belongings, letters...." Why am I telling her?

"I'm sorry about your brother." The girl scrunched her nose like she had since she was a child. "And your lady mother. It's all quite dreadful." Oh. Well, it is the kind thing to say, is it not?

"Thank you," Robb's voice was more strained than intended. Hilena strode past him without further reply, then unlocked the nearest paddock and gestured to the inside. He acceded and entered to search, and the commoner left him to assist the other guardsmen.

She did not thank me for her new position, Robb realized, but no, she wouldn't. The Stark would not admit that it hurt, that he wished for thanks, for some resemblance of amiability to return between them. He had already resigned to being the lord she happened to answer to, to hatefully answer to. Their shared mistake had been wiped away, and there was no need to hope.

Robb dug into the hay for some time. He called out if there was anything discovered, but everyone remained empty-handed. The stablehands led the horses out and cleaned each stall when necessary to continue the search. The Stark allowed his eye to linger on Hilena, directing the minute chaos. He had recruited well. Once every stall had been cleared, the guards and their lord tore through every stall thrice. Where was this heathen hiding? Where?

"Lord Stark!" Young Quent shouted, and every man raced to him.

Robb pushed towards the guard. "What is it, Quent?" The man swallowed thickly, then held out a small leather pouch, which the Stark took into his hand. He opened it gently and peered inside to find a wealth of silver stag coins. "Gods... he was here."

»»-------------- --------------««

The Godswood, a beautiful and fair place, felt lifeless. Pale sunlight streamed through the leaves of trees and shone faintly onto the hot pools dotting the ground. The location was a sensible place for his mother to hold a meeting, but Robb could not shake the disheartening feeling of the woods. He awaited Lady Catelyn's arrival along with Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrick Cassel, and Maester Luwin. Robb remembered her instructions, By the rock next to the hot pool and the weirwood. The maester and master-at-arms were in hushed conversation, and Theon was pacing around a black pool.

Robb faced away from the others, absorbed in his thoughts, staring at the colossal heart tree some yards away. The tree was meant for prayer, connecting people to the Old Gods, but he dreaded seeing its grotesque face and bright red leaves. Rarely did he come to pray before it. The boy chewed on his lower lip and let his thoughts wander elsewhere.

A few more minutes passed, and crunching leaves underfoot filled the silent Godswood. Robb turned around to see his lady mother approaching the group. She gave them all a nod and silently stood atop the rock by the pool. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick shifted to stand at her right, and Robb and Theon moved to her left.

"What I am about to tell you must remain between us," she began gravely, regarding the four men, "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown." Thrown?

"The boy was always sure-footed before," Maester Luwin noted.

"Someone tried to kill him twice," Lady Catelyn stated, "Why? Why murder an innocent child? Unless he saw something, he wasn't meant to see."

"Saw what, my lady?" Theon questioned. I have to wonder the same.

"I don't know," she admitted, "But I would stake my life the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the Crown." The Lannisters? We hosted, fed, and gave them a bed and a roof. And they attempt to murder a ten-year-old boy, send an assassin after him? What rights do they think they have? Robb's hands clenched into fists.

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used? It's too fine a weapon for such a man," Ser Rodrick pointed out, drawing an elegant, curved blade from its dark scabbard, "The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragonbone. Someone gave it to him." Just more reason to indicate the Lannisters. I swear, I swear they'll get their penance.

"They come into our home and try to murder my brother?" Robb scowled, done hiding his thoughts, "If it's war, they want—" They'll get it, he thought, putting a hand on his sword hilt.

"If it comes to that, you know I'll stand behind you," the Greyjoy quickly added.

"What, is there going to be a battle in the Godswood?" Maester Luwin interjected, silencing the lordlings, "Huh? Too easily, words of war become acts of war. We don't know the truth yet. Lord Stark must be told of this." Robb hesitantly lowered his hand from his sword. Luwin's right. Don't be a rash fool. Be patient. A lord needs to be patient, he lectured himself.

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words," Lady Catelyn said.

"I'll ride to King's Landing," Robb brusquely proposed. Better me than her. She needs to be here when Bran wakes.

"No," she answered firmly, giving her son a withering glance. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go myself."

"Mother, you can't," he countered. I can do it!

"I must," she asserted. Embarrassed, Robb looked away.

"I'll send Hal with a squad of guardsmen to escort you," Ser Rodrick suggested.

"Too large a part attracts unwanted attention," Lady Catelyn warned, "I don't want the Lannisters to know I'm coming."

"Let me accompany you at least," the master-at-arms responded, "The kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman alone." Maester Luwin nodded in agreement. Lady Catelyn pensively gestured in agreement.

"What about Bran?" Robb asked exasperatedly. What if he wakes, and Mother isn't here?

"I have prayed to the Seven for more than a month," his lady mother sighed. "Bran's life... is in their hands now."

It was not the answer Robb wanted. He did not believe in the Seven, even if he had prayed to them for Bran. The Stark's mother could not leave Bran behind, should not. I don't have a choice in these matters, even if I'm Lord of Winterfell. However, Robb had learned more of lordship in a moon's turn than in years. In our mother's absence, I will earn my choices... and be strong for Bran and Winterfell. Why did I even speak of war? I am green, and I am scared. He thumbed the pommel of his sword, which he had just begun bearing. But I am a Stark. I can only be brave when afraid. So, I must be brave.