Please bear with me, everyone. I will try my best to catch up by the end of the month. Thank you.
Jon slowly climbed the stairs, knowing this was the last time he would climb them, yet trying his best to push these thoughts away. Ghost followed silently by his side. It was snowing outside, snowflakes drifting in through the City Gate. The Squares below were filled with noisy crowds, bustling back and forth, but within the thick stone walls, it remained warm and quiet, a Silence that Jon found almost unbearable.
He reached the doorway and stood alone for a long time, filled with fear. Ghost nudged his hand with his nose, and he found courage in this, straightening his chest and entering the room.
Lady Stark sat by the bed. For the past two weeks, she had stayed by Bran's side almost day and night. She had sent for meals to be brought to the room, as well as a chamber pot and a small hard cot, but people said she hadn't closed her eyes at all. She personally fed Bran a drink mixed with honey, water, and herbs. She hadn't left the room, so Jon had always kept his distance.
But he couldn't wait any longer.
He stood in the doorway for a long time, not daring to make a sound or approach. The window was wide open, and the long howl of a Direwolf came from downstairs. Ghost raised his head when he heard it.
Lady Stark turned her head, not recognizing him at first. After a long moment, she blinked and asked, "What are you doing here?" Her tone was flat and particularly lifeless.
"I came to see Bran," Jon replied, "to say goodbye to him."
Her face remained expressionless. Her usually thick, reddish-brown hair hung down in a tangled mess, and she looked as if she had aged twenty years overnight. "You've achieved your purpose. Leave."
He wanted nothing more than to turn and run, but he knew very well that he might never see Bran again in his life, so instead he took an uneasy step into the room. "Please, let me see him."
A cold glint flashed in her eyes. "I told you to leave," she said coldly. "You are not welcome here."
In the past, her words would have sent him fleeing for his life, weeping with shame, but now, they only filled him with anger. He was about to swear his vows and join the Black brothers of The Night's Watch, where he would face dangers far more terrifying than Catelyn Tully Stark. "At least I am his Brother," he said.
"Do you want me to call the Guards?"
"Call them if you like," Jon said angrily. "But you won't stop me from seeing him." With that, he crossed the room to the other side of the sickbed and looked down at Bran.
She was holding one of Bran's hands, but it didn't look like a hand; it looked like a claw. The patient before him was no longer the Bran Jon remembered. He was gaunt and emaciated, his legs curled into a sickening shape beneath the blanket. His eyes were sunken, like two black holes, open but seemingly vacant. He looked like a fragile, solitary leaf, ready to be blown away by a strong gust of wind.
But beneath that broken frame, his chest rose and fell with the rhythmic pattern of shallow, rapid breaths.
"Bran," he said, "forgive me for not coming to see you sooner, but I was so afraid." He felt tears streaming down his cheeks, but he no longer cared. "Bran, please don't die. Robb, and our Sisters, everyone is waiting for you to wake up..."
Lady Stark watched coldly from the side. Seeing that she hadn't called the Guards, Jon guessed she had tacitly given her permission. Outside the window, the mournful howl of a Direwolf sounded again. Bran had never found a suitable name for that Little Wolf.
"I have to go," Jon said. "Uncle Benjen is waiting. We are leaving for the North immediately. We have to hurry before the heavy snow falls." He remembered how eager Bran had been to travel, and the thought of leaving his brother, injured like this, made him even more heartbroken. Jon wiped away his tears and leaned in to gently kiss his brother's lips.
"I just wish he would stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly.
Jon looked at her warily, but found that her gaze wasn't on him at all. She seemed to be speaking to him, but was actually absent-minded, as if she were alone.
"I prayed day and night," she said blankly. "He is my heart's treasure. I prayed seven times in the Sept to the seven faces of The Gods, praying that Ned would change his mind and let Bran stay with me. Perhaps The Gods have granted my wish."
Jon didn't know what to say. "It's not your fault." After an awkward Silence, he managed to say.
Her gaze found him, filled with malice. "I don't need pity from a motherless bastard like you."
Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, holding it in his own, feeling it as frail as a bird's bones. "Farewell," he said.
As he reached the door, she called out to him. "Jon," she said. He really should have just kept walking, but she had never called him by his name before. So he turned around and found her staring at his face as if seeing him for the first time in her life.
"What?" he asked.
"It should be you lying here today," she told him. With that, she turned back to Bran and wept bitterly, her entire body shaking violently. Jon had never seen her shed a single tear before.
The walk back down to the Squares felt long.
Outside, there was the noise and chaos of carts and horses everywhere. People were shouting loudly, loading goods onto vehicles, harnessing and saddling horses, and leading them into the Stables. Fine snow was falling, and everyone was rushing to finish their tasks quickly so they could take shelter indoors.
Robb was at the center of the whirlwind, calmly giving orders. In these past few days, he seemed to have suddenly matured a lot, as if Bran's accident and his Mother's near breakdown had forced him to become strong. Grey Wind was by his side.
"Uncle Benjen is looking for you," he said to Jon. "He was planning to leave an hour ago."
"I know," Jon replied. "I'll go right away." He looked around at the crowd of people and horses, the clamor of voices. "I didn't realize saying goodbye would be so hard."
"Indeed," Robb said. The snowflakes that had landed on his hair were slowly melting from the warmth of his body. "Did you see him?"
Jon nodded, not daring to speak, unsure of what he might say.
"He won't die," Robb said. "I know he won't die."
"You Starks are certainly tough," Jon agreed. His voice was weak; the events of the past hour had drained every bit of his strength.
Robb immediately sensed that something was wrong. "My Mother..."
"She... was very kind to me," Jon told him.
Robb breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good," he grinned. "The next time we meet, you'll be all in Black."
Jon managed a faint smile. "Black suits me anyway. How long do you think it will be before we see each other again?"
"Not too long," Robb promised. He pulled Jon towards him and hugged him tightly. "Take care, Snow."
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