The Long Winter | Jaime Lannister X Stark OC | GOT/ASOIAF

Summer Snow

Emerging out of the gloom into the cold evening sunlight made Ross let out a deep breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. It was a relief to be out of the dungeons, not that she would show it. She was not a squeamish woman, but there was only so much stench of blood and filth anyone could take. The screams and shuddering gasps of pain were even worse, and more than once she had to blink anyway memories of the Mad King and his wildfire, but she stood through it all. It was necessary, if not pleasant, and though she could have handed over the assassin to the jailers and waited for results, rather than being present herself, that did not sit right with her. She had given the order; thus, she would watch. Besides, the jailer may not have asked the right questions, nor known the right answers.

They did have an answer. A perplexing, concerning answer. The man had been given eighty silver stags to kill Bran after the King left, along with directions to his rooms, and a dagger. The one who hired him was a young boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen years, with sandy blonde hair and a wispy moustache. He spoke like a noble, and though he wore a hood and had not given a name, he 'looked like a Lannister'. Lancel, it had to be; that described him perfectly.

Ross held the dagger in her hands now, and examined it as she walked into the keep. It was Valyrian steel if she wasn't mistaken; its edge looked as deadly as Ned's greatsword, Ice, and the blade had the same perfect sheen. It was a wonder Bran hadn't suffered more injuries than a few scratches and some missing fingers.

Why would Lancel, of all people, want Bran dead? He was just a boy, nothing to do with the Lannisters. What seemed more likely was that someone had used Lancel as the messenger boy to do their dirty work for them. And as for who that could be, there were not many options. Either the King, or a Lannister, and sending daggers in the shadows truly wasn't Robert's style, never mind that he would never lay a hand on any of Ned's children; why would he? A Lannister, then. The only ones capable were Cersei or Joffrey. Again, the motive remained; why?

Bran had fallen. Aileen was right, he never fell. He couldn't have been pushed from that height, there were no windows that low in the First Keep, but perhaps he was in a hurry. Running away from something, and slipped. Perhaps he had seen something he shouldn't. That would explain why he hadn't

"Lady Rosennis to see you, Lady Catelyn," The guard bowed her through the door of Ned's solar.

Her goodsister was sat behind the desk, looking over some ledgers. She hadn't looked herself since Bran's fall, and now after his attack was even worse, with dark circles around her eyes and a wan, pale complexion. Ever the lady, however, she was sat up straight and raised her chin as Ross entered.

"What did he say?" Catelyn didn't bother with pleasantries. "Who sent him?"

She would have to be careful here. Her goodsister already suspected the Lannisters of killing Jon Arryn. Confirming Lancel's involvement would only fan the flames, and have her doing something rash. Ross would rather keep it to herself for now, and give herself time to think.

"He doesn't know," She sat down opposite Catelyn, without invitation, playing with the dagger in her lap; it would be excellent to fight with, and was small enough to hide on her person with relative ease. "We asked him his name. He's a nobody, a poor sellsword from the Riverlands who joined with the King's party on their way north, hoping for some work," She placed the dagger between them on the desk with a soft clunk. "This is the dagger he used. He says a cloaked figure gave it to him, and paid him to kill Brandon Stark. They gave him directions to Bran's chamber, so would have had to have known the castle at least a little,"

"Are you sure he wasn't lying?" Catelyn took the dagger, eyeing it darkly with tired eyes. "He could be withholding information. He knows the moment we've got everything, he's dead,"