The Assassin

Torrhen was sitting on the ground of the sickroom, his back leaning against the bed where his brother still laid, a great big book balancing against his legs, running his hand through Magnar's fur as the direwolf lay beside him.

It had been weeks since his father and the king departed along with his sisters. 

Maester Luwin assured them that the worse had passed and they now need only wait for Bran to awake from his deep slumber. He had also told them that Bran may never be able to walk again, which only worsened the guilt that Torrhen felt.

Such a fate would shatter Bran once he wakes, the boy always dreamed of becoming a knight, aspiring to the likes of Barristan the Bold or Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. His mother remained by his bedside, refusing to leave it, though Torrhen still couldn't bear to look into her eyes.

Luwin entered the chambers at that moment. He was a small man, with his grey eyes and thinning grey hair absorbed in his ledger, carrying a small lamp.

"My lady." he said, addressing his mother "It is time we reviewed the figures. The cost of the royal visit requires our attention."

Torrhen placed his book to one side, putting out the candle on the ground with a pinch of his fingers, then rose to his feet. His mother was gently smoothing back Bran's hair from his forehead. It had grown long during his unconscious state these past few weeks.

"I have no need to look at the figures, Maester Luwin." she responded quietly, her eyes remaining locked to Bran "I know what this visit has cost us. Please, take the book away."

"But my lady." Luwin pressed on "the King's party had hearty appetites. We must replenish our stores."

"I said, remove the book." she snapped, her patience fraying "Our steward will handle our needs."

"Mother, we are without a steward." Torrhen interjected gently "Vayon accompanied father down south, to assist him."

"Then you do it." she retorted sharply "Haven't you been under Vayon's tutelage for this very reason? Leave me in peace, both of you."

Ignoring her dismissal, Luwin moved closer, placing his lamp in a niche by the door and adjusting the wick "My lady, there are several other responsibilities requiring your attention. Beside the steward, we are also in need of a captain of the guard to replace Jory, and a new master of horse.."

Her focus shifted swiftly from Bran to the two of them "A master of horse?" she echoed incredulously, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. It was clear she was baffled by Luwin's insistence on discussing such matters after her command for solitude.

"Hullen has also journeyed south with father, along with his son, Harwin." Torrhen began tentatively "I could speak with some of the stablehands and decide if one could perhaps be up to the challenge until they return." he made the suggestion, knowing full well of his mother's displeasure. He could feel the bitterness radiating from her, as thorough her gaze could bore holes in his very soul.

"Your brother lies here, broken and near death, and you two wish to discuss these trivial matters?" Her voice seethed with anger and pain "I don't care about stables or your damned accounts. Do you think any of that matters to me now? I would sacrifice every horse in Winterfell if it meant Bran would open his eyes. LEAVE NOW!"

"I'll handle the appointments, mother." Robb interjected, finished with the petitions, and Luwin moved passed to offer a slip of paper from his sleeve.

"As you say, my lord, A list of potential candidates for these vacant positions." Luwin bowed his head and departed.

Robb shut the door after him and now only family remained in the bedchambers "Mother, what are you doing?" Torrhen noticed the sword that dangled from his belt.

"How can you even ask that? What do you imagine I am doing? I am taking care of your brother, I am taking care of Bran!" she said.

"But what of Rickon, mother?" Torrhen interjected, his voice knotted with concern. "He is only three! He needs you to be there for him. He follows me around all day like my damned shadow, clutching at my leg and crying. I don't know what to do with him, I am not his father, nor am I his mother."

Outside the keep, a wolf howled, and Torrhen saw as his mother trembled, just for a second.

"Bran's" Robb said, opening the window and allowing the cold air into the chamber, the howling only grew louder with each passing second, full of melancholy and despair.

"Bran needs to stay warm." she told him "Close it."

"He needs to hear them sing." Robb retorted. The howls of Bran's direwolf started off the others, each of them howling in unison "That would be Grey Wind and Shaggydog.." Robb continued "You can tell them apart if you listen closely."

"Make them stop!" she cried "I can't stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!"

Torrhen was quick to move to his mother's side as she almost collapsed to the ground, holding her up by the arm "They would never hurt him, mother. You need to rest." he helped her over to the narrow bed in the corner of the chamber.

"Luwin tells me you've hardly slept since Bran's fall. We'll watch over him, Mother." Robb said.

"I can't." she wept. "What if he dies while I sleep, the gods forgive me…" the wolves continued to howl, and Torrhen moved over towards the window "Oh, gods, close the window!"

"Dogs?" Torrhen questioned as another sound was added to the mournful howling of the direwolves "All the dogs are barking. They've never done that before.." 

He peeked his head out of the window and to the left, and widened his eyes as puffs of black smoke could be seen coming from the library tower. 

"Fire." he whispered, then looking back towards his mother and Robb "the library tower's on fire."

"Stay here with Mother and Bran." Robb commanded "I'll be back as soon as the fire is out." before Torrhen could voice his disagreements, Robb ran from the room, and shouted to the guards outside the room.

There were shouts of "Fire!" from the yard, screams, and the sound of quickened footsteps. Torrhen settled himself on Bran's bed, looking towards him as he ruffled his hair. He was eager to help disperse the fire, but would do as Robb commanded.

"You weren't s'posed to be here." a voice muttered, causing Torrhen to look in the direction of the door, as did his mother "No one was s'posed to be here."

The man was small, and dirty, with filthy brown clothing, and stank of the horses after they relieved themselves. He was not familiar to Torrhen, and definitely did not work within Winterfell, and he held a dagger in his hand.

Torrhen rose from the bed, putting his hands out towards the man "It is you who does not belong here." he waved a hand to his mother "Stay back."

"It's a mercy." he said "He's dead already."

Torrhen looked back at Bran, and then returned his gaze towards the man. He shook his head "No!" he screamed, taking a step forward and lunging at him, landing on top of the man and they were both sent crashing to the ground. 

They grappled fiercely, the man's long, claw-like nails aiming for Torrhen's face, managing to etch a painful three-finger scratch down his cheek. He called out for his mother "Get..Help!" and she rushed to the window, calling out for help to the guards below who hadn't gone to help with the fire.

Magnar tore at the man's hand that held the blade, making him drop it while Bran's unnamed direwolf appeared out from nowhere and began to rip at the man's throat as he lay crying out in pain, and Torrhen soon pulled himself from the now lifeless corpse. Bran's direwolf jumped up onto the bed and rested beside him, while Magnar began to sniff at the body.

His breath was heavy, and he picked himself up from the ground, stumbling ever slightly, then leant against the wall, and ran his hand across the scar on his face, flinching at the touch, soon looking at the blood that had wiped onto his fingers.

"Torrhen!" his mother cried out, dotting over him as if he was a little boy once more, he only saw a concerned look of a mother, and no longer the hatred of a woman who blamed him for what happened to Bran.

"I am fine, mother." he pulled her hands away "It is just a scratch." At that moment, two guards stormed the room, each with their weapons drawn. "You are late, what would have happened if my mother was alone tonight?" he bit at them, and their heads lowered as they sheathed their swords.

Torrhen gently pushed past his mother, and inspected the dead man in front of them, his jugular torn and blood still gushing from it. He looked away for a moment, then took hold of the man's blade, and looked over it.

The dagger was unusually light, it felt almost unnatural in its poise, a contrast to the more substantial blades that he was accustomed to. Out of curiosity, he ran his finger against the edge, only to wince as the keen sharpness sliced effortlessly through his skin, drawing a bead of blood.

Grimacing slightly, Torrhen examined the fresh cut, a clean that swiftly welled with blood. A testament to the blade's lethal intent, it was as sharp as the winter wind that swept down from the Wall. he held the dagger up, angling it to catch the wavering light of the gleaming torch that hung upon the wall.

"Valyrian steel." he murmured "Like father's blade." his gaze flicked back to the dead man, and wondered what a lowly assassin would be doing with a blade of rare steel.

That same night, while the castle was on high alert from the recent assassination attempt, Torrhen stormed into Robb's chambers as he readied to sleep.

"Do you see my distrust now?" he said, throwing the blade on his bed "Maester Luwin confirmed it is Valyrian steel."

"Now is not the time to argue with me, Torrhen." Robb waved his hand "It has been a busy night for us all, let us talk tomorrow."

"No. It needs to be said now." He placed his hands on the edge of the canopy bed "Not a month since we allowed those southerners into our home, an assassin has almost killed our little brother, perhaps even our mother if I hadn't been there."

"What would you have me do?" Robb replied "I may be Lord of Winterfell, but father is still Warden of the North. I cannot wage war against an enemy that is unknown to us. We don't know who hired this assassin."

Torrhen shook his head, grabbing the blade and placing it back in its sheath on his belt,  and gritting his teeth "Fine, we'll speak more on that tomorrow.  Are there at least plans on how we are to repair the library tower?"

"Luwin will be sending a raven to House Forrester to ask them to supply us with some of their wood, and another to House Knott for stone." Robb looked out his window "Many books and scrolls were lost in the flames, it will take us a while to figure out what exactly, we may be able to replace some of them from the citadel, but not all."

"Good." Torrhen replied "I will leave you to sleep, brother."

"You were right." Robb admitted as Torrhen was about to leave his room "About the southerners, until we know more about the men behind this assassin, they can not be trusted. It is time to protect ourselves."

Torrhen nodded and soon left him with a smirk on his lips, glad that his brother was finally seeing things his way.

Torrhen was summoned by his mother to the godswood that morning, where he was met by Robb, Ser Rodrik, his mother, Maester Luwin, and even the squid, Theon. 

"What is this, mother?" Torrhen questioned.

"What I am about to tell you all must remain between us." she began, though Torrhen was uneasy with allowing the squid to be let in on a secret "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown." 

"It would explain the assassin." Torrhen said "Whoever pushed him expected that he would die, but since he didn't, they wanted the job finished to hide their involvement."

"The boy was always sure-footed before." Maester Luwin said quietly towards Ser Rodrik.

"Do we know who this assassin was?" his mother asked them

"No one knows his name." Rodrik Cassel spoke "He was no man of Winterfell, my lady, but some say they saw him here and about the castle these last few weeks."

"He's been hiding in the stables." the squid said "You could smell it on his body."

"As much as I'd hate to agree with Theon, he is right." Torrhen said, sharing looks with those gathered "half the stalls are empty since father went south, and I found where he'd been sleeping last night, he had ninety stags in a leather bag buried beneath the straw, far too much for a worker."

"Torrhen, pass over that blade." Ser Rodrik asked, and Torrhen unsheathed it and passed it gently over to him "This is too fine a weapon for such a man. The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragon bone. Someone gave it to him." he said, confirming what Torrhen and Maester Luwin had come to the conclusion about

"If he did come to be thrown from that tower, who did it?" Robb said "Why would anyone want to kill him? He's only a little boy."

"He must have seen something he wasn't meant to." his mother replied "And I would stake my life the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason enough to suspect their loyalty to the crown."

"What do you mean, mother?" Torrhen asked, though she looked at him with a blank expression "Why do we suspect their loyalty?"

"Your aunt, Lysa, believes the Lannisters murdered her husband, Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King." his mother told them, and Torrhen looked to his brother, their conversation from last night coming to his mind.

"You say they came into our home and attempted to kill my brother?" Robb said furiously, tugging at the steel blade hanging from his belt "They will die by my own hand.."

"You know i'll be right behind you." Theon joined in.

"Enough of that!" Ser Rodrik said "The Lannisters are a hundred leagues away from Winterfell."

"We don't know the truth yet." Luwin said in the direction of Robb and Theon, before turning to his mother "Lord Stark must know of this."

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words." his mother shook her head.

"I will go to King's Landing." Torrhen said, looking between the group.

"No." Lady Stark was quick to say "You must be here to help Robb, I will go myself."

"Mother.." Torrhen began, though was quickly interrupted.

"The decision is made, Torrhen." she said.

Bran awoke a few days after his mother's departure. Maester Luwin's concerns were true, Bran could not feel anything in his legs, and was to be a cripple for the rest of his life, which did not do much to rid Torrhen of his guilt.

Robb, Torrhen, and Rickon were sitting up on the high table in the hall, breaking their fast, the castle had lost its liveliness since the departure of their sisters and parents, and Torrhen's tasks had become too repetitive for him to handle.

"That dwarf of theirs is on his way back from the wall, he's travelling with Yoren." Torrhen said, chewing on a piece of bacon as he read a letter passed to him from Maester Luwin "And Lord Commander Mormont is asking for additional men to the night's watch."

"Does it say he will stop here?" Robb said, looking his way.

"No, but I can only suspect as much." Torrhen folded the piece of parchment up and flicked it across the table "I say we gut him and hang him from our walls, that'll send a message to the Lannisters." he chuckled.

"We'll make them pay in time, brother." Robb gripped his shoulder "Ask Maester Luwin to send a raven back to Lord Commander Mormont, we'll gather some boys willing to join, but we can't promise there will be many."

"As you say, I will find him after taking some food to Bran, he is still refusing to leave his room." Torrhen stood up from his chair.

Robb wiped his mouth "That reminds me, you'll be heading to White Harbour in the next few weeks."  Torrhen immediately sat back down again and looked at his brother with a raised brow.

"Why am I headed to White Harbour?" Torrhen asked.

"Wyman Manderly is hosting a tourney in light of a prosperous year, as he puts it." Robb continued "I am told that he also wants to discuss their contributions.."

"And what of my duties here, brother?" Torrhen pointed out.

"I think we can survive without you for a short while." Robb chuckled "I have everything handled, we can find a new steward for when you are away, do you accept?"

"It seems I have no choice in this matter, brother." Torrhen rolled his eyes, standing back up "I've commanded Hal to move some of the guards elsewhere from the keep, it is safe to assume Bran is no longer under threat."

"You did so without my permission?" Robb looked up at him "The attempt only happened less than a week ago."

"Trust me on this, brother, after all, you saw it fit to send me to White Harbour so soon after the attempt" Torrhen shot back at him, and left his presence before he could say anything else.

Torrhen made his way down to the kitchens, where he was met with the smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread that wafted through the air like a comforting embrace. The kitchens were a bustling hub of activity, with cooks and kitchen servants moving efficiently as they prepared the meals for the entire castle.

His presence did not go unnoticed, as he was greeted with bows and smiles as he made his way through the chaos.

He spotted a young woman, her apron dusted with flour, and approached with a familiar ease. "Turnip," he greeted with a playful grin, "Has Bran's meal been prepared?"

She smiled warmly, "Aye, m'lord. We've made his favourite. It's cooling on the hearth now."

"Thank you," Torrhen said, appreciating her efforts. "Were there any leftovers from last night's feast? Magnar's appetite grows by the day. Soon, he might need to hunt for himself."

Turnip chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "M'lord, you're always welcome to whatever the kitchens have to offer."

"I'm well aware," Torrhen smiled back, "But everyone in this castle should have their fill before the direwolves."

She gracefully moved to the hearth, fetching a pot and ladling out a rich stew, teeming with succulent meats, into a wooden bowl. "I'll make sure some of the scraps are sent to the kennels," she promised.

With a final nod of gratitude, Torrhen accepted the bowl and made his way to Bran's chambers. Approaching the door, he addressed the guards with an authoritative tone, "You may step aside." A gentle tap, and a muffled invitation from inside beckoned him in.

Inside, Bran lay propped up in bed, with Old Nan seated beside him, her gnarled hands resting in her lap. "I've brought you something to eat," Torrhen announced, placing himself at the foot of the bed. "Have you been keeping out of mischief?"

Old Nan chuckled warmly. "Indeed he has. The young lord seems to have taken a liking to my tales."

Bran retorted, "I most certainly have not!"

"Stay calm. You need to conserve your strength," Torrhen advised, glancing toward Old Nan. "Perhaps you could give us a moment alone?"

Old Nan just raised an eyebrow, her needles clicking away methodically. "I'm as much a part of this room as the walls," she remarked, not budging from her spot.

Torrhen sighed, recognizing the futility of arguing with her. He turned his attention back to Bran. "Talk to me," he coaxed gently. "You've hardly left this room. Do you want me to have Hodor bring you down to the hall?"

Bran's gaze was cloudy with frustration and grief. "Why? So I can be reminded every moment that I'll never walk again?" A lone tear made its way down his cheek. "All I do is lie here and hear the same tales from Old Nan."

"Find strength, Bran. With me away, visitors are bound to come. I'd rest easier knowing you're there by Robb's side, helping him," Torrhen said.

"You're leaving?" The word escaped Bran's lips, a pang of surprise evident in his eyes. Torrhen's revelation was unexpected. "Where to? Are you headed south, like Mother?" His voice held a mix of hurt and confusion, underscored by the downturn of his lips.

"Yes," Torrhen replied 

"I'm sorry, Bran. I hadn't meant to surprise you like this; I have only just learned of it, and I am not happy about it either. I'll be at White Harbour, on Lord Manderly's invitation. Not as far as Mother, and still in the North." He hesitated "You still have some time with me before I leave, a few weeks at least."

"I know," Bran whispered, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. "It's just... everything's changing so quickly. First Mother, now you." He took a deep breath, attempting to gather himself.

"Aye, it is." Torrhen ran his hand through Bran's hair "But we will be together again soon, all of us. I swear it."