The Story of Rebecca Snow (Game of Thrones fic)

Comatose

"Has she woken up yet?"

"No my lord Eddard. In fact, oh I don't know how to say this..."

"Spit it out Maester."

"I'm not convinced she will wake, milord. She was barely breathing when your brother got her here, and so cold if I hadn't felt her heartbeat I would have thought her dead."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, have you considered just... ending it? Putting her out of her misery? Them both, in fact. Master Bran shows no signs of waking either."

"You mean kill them. My daughter and my son lie there still managing to fight on and your best plan is kill them?"

"It would hardly be murder. It would be mercy on your son AND the Snow girl."

"That 'Snow girl' is my daughter, if not my blood. I would advise you don't forget that."

"My apologies Lord Eddard. I meant no disrespect"

"Of course you didn't. How do you propose we do it then? A knife, perhaps? Or a cushion? Or maybe you could prepare poison. Tell me"

"I could easily prepare a tasteless, quick, painless blend."

"And you could look into the sleeping face of a child, Luwin, and take away the very life they're fighting to keep grasp of? I thought not. We care for them both, and pray to the Seven. And WHEN they awake, I expect me and Cat to be notified immediately."

"Yes my lord."

Benjen opened his eyes to see his elder brother leaning at the doorway and Maester Luwin walking off down the stony corridor. He looked from the seat at Becca's sleeping face, and felt a pang in his heart. What if she never woke? He couldn't remember the last words they had said to each other, and now it was looking like he would never get to say the things he wanted her to hear. Like the days he swore she was stronger than the Wall, but still managing to be warm, gentle and patient. Or the days he was sure she had gone insane, like when her, Arya and Sansa had managed to cajole Jon into letting them dress him up in Becca's clothes, with Becca giving them directions from her bed. A tear threatened to escape his eye as he remembered every time he had visited, she'd force herself up out of bed and insisted on going for walks and rides with him. She acted like it was easy but Jon had let slip in a letter how by the time he had returned to the Wall she had been barely able to stand unaided long enough for her handmaiden to help change her nightclothes. He wished he could stay, make her realise he didn't care about long walks and rides and parties, that he was happy to just be able to sit with her. He loved it when she read to him, or let him read to her. His reading wasn't all that good but hers was, easily reading poems and tales in a gentle, clear voice that would practically paint the pictures in his mind. He still kept a copy of "Poetry of Dorne" she had given him by his bedside back at the Wall. It was closer than where he placed his sword. The tear spilled over, and he wiped it away roughly.

"You don't have to hide your tears here brother. Nobody will laugh." Eddard Stark said gently as he pulled up a seat next to his younger brother.

"She'd think me silly for crying. Always called me a daftie for worrying." Benjen replied, shocked at how choked his voice sounded.

Ned clapped a hand on his shoulder gently.

"She hasn't died yet, Ben. There's still hope"

"What if there isn't? What if she dies without me getting to say goodbye, let alone telling her what she means to me!"

"And what does she mean to you, Benjen?"

The younger man thought his next words very carefully. He doubted Ned would be happy to find out that his younger brother had anything other than family thoughts towards his adopted daughter.