Ned and the girls were eight days gone when Maester Luwin came to her one night in Bran’ssickroom, carrying a reading lamp and the books of account. “It is past time that we reviewed thefigures, my lady,” he said. “You’ll want to know how much this royal visit cost us.”

Catelyn looked at Bran in his sickbed and brushed his hair back off his forehead. It had grown verylong, she realized. She would have to cut it soon. “I have no need to look at figures, Maester Luwin,”

she told him, never taking her eyes from Bran. “I know what the visit cost us. Take the books away.”

“My lady, the king’s party had healthy appetites. We must replenish our stores before—”

She cut him off. “I said, take the books away. The steward will attend to our needs.”

“We have no steward,” Maester Luwin reminded her. Like a little grey rat, she thought, he wouldnot let go. “Poole went south to establish Lord Eddard’s household at King’s Landing.”

Catelyn nodded absently. “Oh, yes. I remember.” Bran looked so pale. She wondered whether theymight move his bed under the window, so he could get the morning sun.

Maester Luwin set the lamp in a niche by the door and fiddled with its wick. “There are severalappointments that require your immediate attention, my lady. Besides the steward, we need a captainof the guards to fill Jory’s place, a new master of horse—”

Her eyes snapped around and found him. “A master of horse?” Her voice was a whip.

The maester was shaken. “Yes, my lady. Hullen rode south with Lord Eddard, so—”

“My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of horse? Doyou think I care what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladlybutcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran’s eyes, do you understandthat? Do you!”

He bowed his head. “Yes, my lady, but the appointments—”

“I’ll make the appointments,” Robb said.

Catelyn had not heard him enter, but there he stood in the doorway, looking at her. She had beenshouting, she realized with a sudden flush of shame. What was happening to her? She was so tired,and her head hurt all the time.

Maester Luwin looked from Catelyn to her son. “I have prepared a list of those we might wish toconsider for the vacant offices,” he said, offering Robb a paper plucked from his sleeve.

Her son glanced at the names. He had come from outside, Catelyn saw; his cheeks were red fromthe cold, his hair shaggy and windblown. “Good men,” he said. “We’ll talk about them tomorrow.”

He handed back the list of names.

“Very good, my lord.” The paper vanished into his sleeve.

“Leave us now,” Robb said. Maester Luwin bowed and departed. Robb closed the door behindhim and turned to her. He was wearing a sword, she saw. “Mother, what are you doing?”

Catelyn had always thought Robb looked like her; like Bran and Rickon and Sansa, he had theTully coloring, the auburn hair, the blue eyes. Yet now for the first time she saw something of EddardStark in his face, something as stern and hard as the north. “What am I doing?” she echoed, puzzled.

“How can you ask that? What do you imagine I’m doing? I am taking care of your brother. I amtaking care of Bran.”

“Is that what you call it? You haven’t left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn’t even come tothe gate when Father and the girls went south.”

“I said my farewells to them here, and watched them ride out from that window.” She had beggedNed not to go, not now, not after what had happened; everything had changed now, couldn’t he seethat? It was no use. He had no choice, he had told her, and then he left, choosing. “I can’t leave him,even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him, if … if …” Shetook her son’s limp hand, sliding his fingers through her own. He was so frail and thin, with nostrength left in his hand, but she could still feel the warmth of life through his skin.

dNed not to go, not now, not after what had happened; everything had changed now, couldn’t he seethat? It was no use. He had no choice, he had told her, and then he left, choosing. “I can’t leave him,even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him, if … if …” Shetook her son’s limp hand, sliding his fingers through her own. He was so frail and thin, with nostrength left in his hand, but she could still feel the warmth of life through his skin.

Robb’s voice softened. “He’s not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the time of greatestdanger has passed.”

“And what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I’m not here?”

“Rickon needs you,” Robb said sharply. “He’s only three, he doesn’t understand what’shappening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my legand crying. I don’t know what to do with him.” He paused a moment, chewing on his lower lip theway he’d done when he was little. “Mother, I need you too. I’m trying but I can’t … I can’t do it allby myself.” His voice broke with sudden emotion, and Catelyn remembered that he was onlyfourteen. She wanted to get up and go to him, but Bran was still holding her hand and she could notmove.

Outside the tower, a wolf began to howl. Catelyn trembled, just for a second.

“Bran’s.” Robb opened the window and let the night air into the stuffy tower room. The howlinggrew louder. It was a cold and lonely sound, full of melancholy and despair.

“Don’t,” she told him. “Bran needs to stay warm.”

“He needs to hear them sing,” Robb said. Somewhere out in Winterfell, a second wolf began tohowl in chorus with the first. Then a third, closer. “Shaggydog and Grey Wind,” Robb said as theirvoices rose and fell together. “You can tell them apart if you listen close.”

Catelyn was shaking. It was the grief, the cold, the howling of the direwolves. Night after night, thehowling and the cold wind and the grey empty castle, on and on they went, never changing, and herboy lying there broken, the sweetest of her children, the gentlest, Bran who loved to laugh and climband dreamt of knighthood, all gone now, she would never hear him laugh again. Sobbing, she pulledher hand free of his and covered her ears against those terrible howls. “Make them stop!” she cried. “Ican’t stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!”

She didn’t remember falling to the floor, but there she was, and Robb was lifting her, holding her instrong arms. “Don’t be afraid, Mother. They would never hurt him.” He helped her to her narrow bedin the corner of the sickroom. “Close your eyes,” he said gently. “Rest. Maester Luwin tells meyou’ve hardly slept since Bran’s fall.”

“I can’t,” she wept. “Gods forgive me, Robb, I can’t, what if he dies while I’m asleep, what if hedies, what if he dies …” The wolves were still howling. She screamed and held her ears again. “Oh,gods, close the window!”

“If you swear to me you’ll sleep.” Robb went to the window, but as he reached for the shuttersanother sound was added to the mournful howling of the direwolves. “Dogs,” he said, listening. “Allthe dogs are barking. They’ve never done that before …” Catelyn heard his breath catch in his throat.

When she looked up, his face was pale in the lamplight. “Fire,” he whispered.

Fire, she thought, and then, Bran! “Help me,” she said urgently, sitting up. “Help me with Bran.”

Robb did not seem to hear her. “The library tower’s on fire,” he said.

Catelyn could see the flickering reddish light through the open window now. She sagged withrelief. Bran was safe. The library was across the bailey, there was no way the fire would reach themhere. “Thank the gods,” she whispered.

Robb looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Mother, stay here. I’ll come back as soon as the fire’sout.” He ran then. She heard him shout to the guards outside the room, heard them descendingtogether in a wild rush, taking the stairs two and three at a time.

Outside, there were shouts of “Fire!” in the yard, screams, running footsteps, the whinny offrightened horses, and the frantic barking of the castle dogs. The howling was gone, she realized asshe listened to the cacophony. The direwolves had fallen silent.

Catelyn said a silent prayer of thanks to the seven faces of god as she went to the window. Acrossthe bailey, long tongues of flame shot from the windows of the library. She watched the smoke riseinto the sky and thought sadly of all the books the Starks had gathered over the centuries. Then sheclosed the shutters.

When she turned away from the window, the man was in the room with her.

“You weren’t s’posed to be here,” he muttered sourly. “No one was s’posed to be here.”

He was a small, dirty man in filthy brown clothing, and he stank of horses. Catelyn knew all themen who worked in their stables, and he was none of them. He was gaunt, with limp blond hair andpale eyes deep-sunk in a bony face, and there was a dagger in his hand.

Catelyn looked at the knife, then at Bran. “No,” she said. The word stuck in her throat, the merestwhisper.

He must have heard her. “It’s a mercy,” he said. “He’s dead already.”

“No,” Catelyn said, louder now as she found her voice again. “No, you can’t.” She spun backtoward the window to scream for help, but the man moved faster than she would have believed. Onehand clamped down over her mouth and yanked back her head, the other brought the dagger up to herwindpipe. The stench of him was overwhelming.

She reached up with both hands and grabbed the blade with all her strength, pulling it away fromher throat. She heard him cursing into her ear. Her fingers were slippery with blood, but she wouldnot let go of the dagger. The hand over her mouth clenched more tightly, shutting off her air. Catelyntwisted her head to the side and managed to get a piece of his flesh between her teeth. She bit downhard into his palm. The man grunted in pain. She ground her teeth together and tore at him, and all ofa sudden he let go. The taste of his blood filled her mouth. She sucked in air and screamed, and hegrabbed her hair and pulled her away from him, and she stumbled and went down, and then he wasstanding over her, breathing hard, shaking. The dagger was still clutched tightly in his right hand,slick with blood. “You weren’t s’posed to be here,” he repeated stupidly.

Catelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble, less thana snarl, the merest whisper of a threat, but he must have heard something, because he started to turnjust as the wolf made its leap. They went down together, half sprawled over Catelyn where she’dfallen. The wolf had him under the jaw. The man’s shriek lasted less than a second before the beastwrenched back its head, taking out half his throat.

His blood felt like warm rain as it sprayed across her face.

The wolf was looking at her. Its jaws were red and ............