Chapter 3 - Fallen

AFTER THE ROYAL FAMILY'S ARRIVAL TO WINTERFELL, there was a feast to welcome King Robert and the family being hosted that evening

I was upstairs in mine and Arya's shared chambers getting ready.

"I heard Sansa and Joffrey are going to betrothed." I said making conversation while glancing into the mirror, brushing my hair.

The news of Sansa and Joffrey's betrothal had reached every corner of the castle, but hearing it aloud made it all the more real.

I glanced over at Arya, who was sitting on her bed, adjusting her shoes with her usual carelessness. I couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at the thought of Sansa being betrothed. Even now.

"I can't believe it," I muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Joffrey? Of all people?"

Arya shot her a glance, her face hardening. "It's what the King and Father wants. It's what they all want. Who cares about what we think?" She tied the final knot on her boot and stood up, brushing off the dust from her skirts.

I gave her an obvious look. "Because we're ladies, Ari. Noble ladies."

My sister wrinkled her nose. "I think Joffrey's a git. Always hiding behind his mother's skirts."

I rolled my eyes with a small smile. It was true; she had never liked Joffrey, and her words often made me feel better about our shared disdain for him along with our brothers. But still, the idea of our sister, who was so eager to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, marrying someone like Joffrey, made me feel uneasy.

"I know, but dear sister thinks she's in the clouds like it was written in the stars," I replied, pulling my hair into my typical Northern braid. "And I just... I don't know."

Arya shrugged. Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door, and one of the servants' voices called from the hallway. "Lady Sera, Lady Arya, come down. The feast is about to begin."

I exchanged a look with Arya, then nodded. "I suppose we should get going."

❆❆❆❆

As I sat at one of the long table in the Great Hall, the lively chatter of family, royals, and noble guests filling the air. The sounds of clinking goblets and the crackling hearth added to the festive atmosphere, while Robert, fully drunk, boisterously joined in with laughter.

Arya sat next to me, her usual energy contained but bubbling just under the surface, while Sansa sat across the table, engaged in a conversation with one of her friends from the court.

I wasn't as much of a talker at feasts like these, and when there's so many people so I keep to myself. On the other side of me, a girl from another noble house tried to engage me in conversation, I answered back and continued talking to her every now and then. My attention kept flickering back to Arya, whose eyes were mischievously scanning the table.

I knew that look.

Arya's hand slid toward the bread basket, her fingers deftly selecting a spork that had been carelessly left in a plate of gravy. She glanced at me with a wicked grin, and I immediately realized what she was about to do. Before I could react, the spork was launched from her hand, and it landed with precision-right into the side of Sansa's head. The potato splattered against her cheek, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.

Sansa froze, her mouth open in shock, and then her face turned red with a mixture of confusion and indignation.
She looked across the table at us, but I could already hear Arya snicker, trying to hide behind her cup of wine, her shoulders shaking with laughter. The girl next to me chuckled nervously, clearly not sure how to react.

Sansa, not one to take such insults lightly, stood up quickly, knocking over her goblet in the process. "Arya!" she shouted, her voice

I leaned back in my seat, shaking my head but struggling to hold in my laughter. The scene was too perfect. Despite myself, I found myself chuckling softly. Sansa's dignified image cracked as she wiped her face with the back of her hand, looking around for any sign of support. But Arya, ever the troublemaker, only grinned wider, refusing to acknowledge the prank with anything other than mischievous glee.

"Come on, Sansa," Arya said, voice sweet but laced with teasing. "I was just telling you I'm happy to help with the potato shortage. Thought you could use a little... garnish." Arya's eyes twinkled with mischief, the grin still plastered on her face.

I quickly hid my laughter by taking a sip full of my drink as the whole room bursted into laughter and it quickly ended when Robb came and sent Arya off to bed

Why do I have to the middle Stark daughter?

❆❆❆❆

The next day..

The chill of the morning wind swept through Winterfell as the sun rose, casting long shadows over the stone walls. I was striding across the courtyard with purpose with mine and Arya's Direwolf Nymeria following me.

My boots crunched against the frost-covered ground as my sharp eyes scanned the area.

And then I saw him.

"BRANDON STARK!" I called, my voice echoing through the yard. There he was, already halfway up the tower wall, his small hands gripping the stone tightly as he climbed higher.

Bran paused, looking down at me with a grin.

"Get down here right now!" I snapped, my hands on my hips. "What do you think Mother will do if she catches you? She told you not to do it again!"

He chuckled. "She won't catch me. Besides, you won't tell."

I groaned, crossing my arms. "Bran, if you fall, and I mean it! You'll break your neck!"

"I never fall," Bran said confidently before climbing higher.

"Ugh, why am I even.." I paced in frustration, debating whether to climb up after him or fetch someone.

Bran froze as his fingers found a ledge, his head turning slightly toward the tower window he'd just reached. His smile faded, replaced by an expression of confusions and curiosity.

"Bran!" I called again, the sharp edge of my voice snapping him back to reality. "Get down now, or I'm coming up after you!"

But he didn't respond. Instead, he leaned closer to the window, his gaze narrowing as if he'd seen something. My stomach twisted with unease. Bran was always fearless, but this sudden silence wasn't like him.

"Bran!" I yelled again, my heart pounding.

I was about to yell again, but then I saw it: Bran froze, his body stiffened. His head turned sharply toward the tower's interior, and for a moment, I thought he might actually climb back down.

But then everything changed.

A sharp, startled cry echoed from above, followed by a sickening silence. My eyes widened as Bran's small frame hurtled downwards. Time seemed to slow. My feet were rooted to the ground, my breath caught in my chest, and I couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't stop what was happening.

My brother hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.