A/N: I just… I have no excuse why this took so long anymore. Even with computer mishaps, and everything else going on, I should have finished this chapter AGES ago. It should have turned out MUCH better than this! I have no excuse for my poor performance in this. I normally take pride on how well I can convey thought to word, and make people follow my story in their heads, but this… It sucks.

I like the first half, but that was not even meant for this chapter. The whole focus of this chapter was supposed to be on Tyrion and his underhanded handling of Bran's fall right under Harry's nose. This chapter was meant to convey how Tyrion is trying his best to prove his loyalty to Harry's greater cause and to keep his family off the chopping block. In this chapter, I have failed this. I have no excuse. All I can do is hope to be better in future chapters.

I WILL do better in future chapters.

Chapter 8: Stark Emotions, Lannister Lives

"How did this happen?" Harry turned to Gendry with a storm of fury in his eyes, but Gendry had no answers for him.

"The dwarf man says he fell from the tower." Gendry looked to the stone floor at his feet instead of meeting his brother's eyes. "Lucky for him, he fell in hay."

"HE SHOULDN'T HAVE FALLEN AT ALL!" Gendry scrambled away as Harry took wild swings for his head.

"It isn't my fault! I was with you on the hunt!" Gendry tried to reason as Harry's shoulders heaved up and down with his anger.

"We all were…" Lord Stark's voice was dry and hollow, like a lone tree in the dead of winter.

Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and quiet.

Too quiet for Gendry's liking.

Everything had been perfectly fine when they left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with their father, so Robb and Gendry had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Benjen of the Night's Watch, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even Ser Jamie had all ridden out with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south.

Bran had been left behind with Jon and the girls and Rickon.

But Rickon was only a baby, the girls were only girls, and Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found.

Jon seemed deep in thought these days, and even Gendry found it very boring to sit around wherever he was to be found. Gendry did not know why. He would throw himself from the highest tower in King's Landing before even thinking to join the Night's Watch of his own free will. But apparently there was great honor in the Night's Watch. Gendry did not see this. The Night's Watch might have been great once, long ago, but now they were just a band of cowards and rapists who were sent there rather than die in a prison or execution. Like real men, in Gendry's eyes.

To Gendry, nothing was as good as being south of this snowy wasteland with his brother, Harry. Hell, he could even tolerate Joffrey's insults and demanding behavior so long as he had Harry to show him how to be a true Baratheon.

But still, today was not a good day to be around Harry. For Harry was furious, and His Was The Fury.

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

"Maester Luwin is an accomplished man of science and healing," Lord Stark said, but there was no confidence in his voice as Gendry had come to know it. "And he has the Imp knowledge at his disposal as well. Tyrion Lannister has been most fervent in aiding us in this dark time…"

Harry looked like he wanted to start swinging again, so Gendry back all the way to the door. But Harry did not raise his fists. He only clenched them at his sides as his mouth formed a thin white line. "Tyrion has his reasons, I'm sure…"

Harry shared a significant look with Gendry that told the younger male he was not to speak a word. As if he would. Gendry was loyal to only Harry. If Harry had told him to be the one to put young Bran at death's door, he would have done it morbidly, but obediently.

He would slit the throats of all the Starks and all the Baratheons and all the Lannisters if Harry simply snapped his fingers with a thought for it to be done.

But Harry never did, and so they all continued to live by his grace.

Except now young Bran was possibly dying without Harry's consent.

That was the problem. At least to Gendry's understanding.

Harry would be a lot more sentimental about it, but Gendry only saw it all in terms of if it was his brother's will that it be done or not.

Harry had not wanted Bran to be harmed in any way, and so Gendry was simply waiting for the order to kill whoever or whatever had caused Bran harm.

Unfortunately, Harry was too blinded by grief and anger to investigate the scene.

And he had yet to give Gendry leave to do so himself.

And if Gendry were to bring it up while his prince was so distraught… well, Gendry quite liked his head attached to his shoulders…

But, if Gendry were a more sentimental fellow, he would be sorry for Bran. Mourn the young lad, even. Bran had been so excited. So full of energy. The boy could scarcely wait to be off to the south. He spoke at every meal how he was going to ride the kingsroad on a horse of his own. Not a pony, but a real horse. His father would be the Hand of the King, and they were going to live in the red castle at King's Landing, the castle the Dragonlords had built. Harry shared many stories with the young Stark about the ghosts there, and the dungeons where terrible things had been done, and about the dragon heads on the walls. It gave Bran a shiver just to think of it, and they'd all share a laugh at him in good cheer. Bran also told tales of how he'd be a knight himself someday, one of Harry's Kingsguard. The king boasted loudly with chalice in one hand and turkey leg in the other how the Kingsguard were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all their names. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another's swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold.

Ser Arthur got a right bit of teasing since he was officially not serving in his capacity as a member of the Kingsguard by traveling with Harry. Though his position was not replaced since Harry was to be crowned king sooner or later.

Turning to the open window, Gendry saw his king-father addressing the two Kingsguard that had come north with him. Gendry watched them with disgust since neither truly deserved the title of Kingsguard. Not like he would in a few years' time.

Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly face. From his few interactions with the man serving as Harry and Ser Arthur's squire, Boros proved to be a short-tempered man with half the skill of any halfway decent knight of the realm. He was like an angry paper shield, and blatantly loyal to Queen Cersei with the way he proudly walked around wearing the golden lion brooch. If only Gendry were a few years older he'd put Boros on his backside. The disgusting coward…

Gendry despised Ser Meryn for completely different reason. Meryn was no coward, but sly and cruel to a fault. The man had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. Gendry was sure that Meryn came from very little with the way he dressed his armor in shirts of enameled scales chased with gold. He wore a tall helm with a golden sunburst crest, greaves and gorget and gauntlets and boots of gleaming plate, a heavy wool cloak clasped with a golden lion brooch. It seemed that Cersei paid better for cruelty than she did cowardice. Meryn had the training of a knight, but the talent of a common thug.

Honestly, if the Griffguard did not ride with Harry, then those two flour sacks would have been pushed from a tower themselves instead of little Bran.

Lord Stark spoke at that moment, rousing Gendry from his staring off in the distance to where the king and knights disappeared, probably to wait for a proper number of minutes before searching out his good-brother, Lord Stark, while others handled the incident. Gendry scowled. His father was losing nerve with the tension between the Lannisters and Starks. He had to know there was something unusual about the timing and very nature of Bran's sudden fall despite seeing the boy climb like a circus monkey on several occasions, with or without Harry at his side.

"There is more yet to cause us grief, nephew…" Lord Stark rested his head in his hands, rubbing hard at his face as fatigue set in. It was only midday and already the older men were drained form the hunt and the news of Bran's fall from an empty tower.

"What is there that need cause us more sorrow, uncle?" Harry whipped around from where he was pacing the floor. "Has Ricken fallen ill? Has Jon been taken while our backs turned? Has—"

"Hold your tongue less you curse us further, boy!" Lord Stark stood, his face red and raw with lack of sleep and mounting stress. His voice was that of Lord Stark, and not as Uncle Ned as Harry knew him. The Lord of Winterfell reached into his pocket, producing a letter of some sort. "Maester Luwin brought this in the night… I thought not to read from it, but my lady wife was concerned it might hold ill news. I fear she may have been correct, especially with recent tragedies in our midst."

Harry was quick to take the letter offered for his reading, Gendry did not move from his place beside the window. Harry would share the contents of the letter with him later, all that he would not gleam from context. Lord Stark gave him a sharp look through red-rimmed eyes, but it was the same as one that bid him leave. No, this was one of secrecy.

Gendry was not to say a word, less his life be forfeit.

If they were in better spirits, Gendry might have smiled. Lord Stark was beginning to trust him just that bit more. To see him as Gendry and not simply some bastard brother Harry carted around with him out of pity.

"There was no rider. Only a carved wooden box, left on a table in Luwin's observatory while he slept."

"So, someone in my father's party brought it to him. Someone not exactly loyal to the Lannisters if they had to sneak around to deliver such a thing." Harry muttered, his face tight with nerves.

"Inside was a fine new lens for the observatory, but it held a false bottom. The intent of such pairing of gift to secret was clear: we were to pay close attention to it. To see clearly its intent."

"Indeed," Harry murmured, then a small smile gave across his face as he looked up to Lord Stark. "I'm more than sure it was Luwin and Aunt Catelyn who worked that out."

"Others take you for your cheek, boy." Lord Stark shook his head, but did not share in Harry's fleeting smile.

Gendry thought of old Maester Luwin. The maester was a small grey man. His eyes were grey, and quick, and saw much. His hair was grey, what little the years had left him. His robe was grey wool, trimmed with white fur, the colors of the Stark family. Its great floppy sleeves had pockets hidden inside. Luwin was always tucking things into those sleeves and producing other things from them: books, messages, strange artifacts, toys for the Stark and king's children. With all he kept hidden in his sleeves, Gendry was surprised that the old man could lift his arms at all. Often he caught the man in thought, the fingers of his hand stroking the collar of his order; a heavy chain worn tight around the neck beneath his robe, each link forged from a different metal.

Harry noticed something, looking up to lock eyes with the Lord of Winterfell. "This message… was not meant for our eyes, dear uncle."

"No, it was not. It was marked for the eyes of the Lady Catelyn, and her eyes alone. It was sealed with a small blob of blue wax. Unmarked by stamp or seal in its secrecy."

"Yes…" Harry said slowly, and then passed a hand of the letter. It seemed to shiver and shimmer in his opposite hand. "But not to my eyes. And now, not to ours either."

Gendry craned his neck from his position at the window. He could just barely make out the twist of the wax seal where Harry revealed that it had once been stamped in the blue wax with the moon-and-falcon seal of House Arryn. Gendry understood at once that it must have come from Lsya Arryn, Jon Arryn's widowed wife.

"She wrote to her sister in warning that that Lannisters were not to be trusted." Harry looked almost annoyed. "As if anyone with eyes or ears needed such trivial advice."

"You saw what she wrote in truth, did you not, little prince?"

"Aye, and I would believe every word of it if she presented any of proof to support her claims. I would tell you plain that it is truth that Queen Cersei wanted good Jon Arryn dead. That was no secret among the court, even with how little time I spent there. But did she do it personally? Of that I doubt. And were there others that shared the ambition of his murder? Again, I have little doubt."

"But you have more you wish to say, nephew."

"And I will say it as I have want to do. Someone murdered Jon Arryn, of that I am sure. He was not for the Stranger's embrace and suddenly fell ill without rhythm or reason to what ailed him. No maester, even Jon's personal one could cure him." Harry's eyes turned hard like two emerald daggers. "If a man, even in his advanced age were to die so quick and without natural reason, then all who were around him should be equally as dead. Myself. My father who spoke and feasted with the man much. His wife who he loved dearly. His son, who he entertained and loved dearly. Gendry here who delivered my letters to him personally. All his staff and knights. But only he fell to his mysterious illness. No one else. Only him."

"Lysa is sick with grief, but I find your words sound in their logic, Harry." Lord Stark began to pace the floor himself. "As my lady wife said to me; Lysa is impulsive, yes, but this message was carefully planned, cleverly hidden. She knew it meant death if her letter fell into the wrong hands. To risk so much, she must have more than mere suspicion."

"You know what that means." Harry handed the letter back to Eddard Stark. "You must come south. You must be Hand of the King. We must discover the truth."

"A truth you have not uncovered with your sorcery?" Lord Stark saw at once that Harry was frustrated by this, because he was right.

"A truth I cannot confirm with my talents… because there are those who hide among the court and the kingdom that know of my abilities… and how best to hinder them. They have salted all in my divining path. Just as I know I will find nothing investigating the tower that Bran fell from." There was a bitterness in Harry's voice and Gendry saw that Lord Stark was concluding just as they did.

"The Lannisters have a wizard in their employ? I should hardly think so." He stroked his beard. "No, a wizard could not hide so close to you for several days without leave. No, they have one trained in the mystic… but not of talent for casting any spells. One that can move undetected, but throw you off a trail by salting the earth so your magic is moot. And there must be plenty of them."

"Twenty and counting that I have identified." Harry said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Some are sloppier than others in covering their tracks. I know of them to be under thumb by the Lannisters, Baelish, and even a few cared for by Varys. And I also know that I am not the only target they wish to hinder. My powers are stronger than any other I have encountered, but even I am not without the same weaknesses that those like me suffer from."

"Others take all south of the Neck!" Lord Stark spat on the floor. "The south is a nest of adders I would do better to avoid."

"Not in truth, Lord Stark." Gendry bowed his head to avoid the man's slashing gaze. "The Hand of the King has great power, my lord. Power to find the truth of Lord Arryn's death, to bring his killers to the king's justice. Power to move more freely than the crown prince approaching matrimony to the Reach's most lovely flower. Power to protect Lady Arryn and her son, if the worst be true. Power to see Queen Cersei's head on a spike… if the worst be true."

Gendry kept his head bowed for fear of seeing two pair of eyes glaring at him. But thankfully Harry spoke up in a few moments later, and when Gendry did rise Lord Stark was already meeting the prince's eyes steadily.

"You love my father like a brother. You are brothers. He finds himself surrounded by Lannisters at all hours of the day and night. Cersei in his bedchambers. Ser Jamie at his side as his sworn knight. Even his squire is a yellow-haired Lannister shit." Harry spat on the floor. "Would you leave your brother surrounded by Lannisters?"

Lord Stark turned away from them and went to the window, making Gendry move away to give him space. They did not speak for a while. They waited, quiet, while Eddard Stark said a silent farewell to the home he loved. When he turned away from the window at last, his voice was tired and full of melancholy, and moisture glittered faintly in the corners of his eyes.

"My father went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again."

"A different time, lord uncle." Harry said. "A different king. A different kingdom."

"Yes," Ned Stark said dully. He seated himself on a bench by the window.

"Robb is fourteen. Soon enough, he will be a man grown. He must learn to rule, and staying in your stead would do him a world of good."

"Catelyn will govern." Lord Stark said, and his words brokered no argument. "I will not be here for him, and he is not yet ready. She will make him part of her councils. He must be ready when his time comes, but Gods willing not for many years."

"A stark must rule Winterfell. A trueborn Stark, lord uncle. To seat your lady wife, even in your absence—"

"Her blood is in their veins." Lord Stark narrowed his eyes. "They are as much Tully as they are Stark. To say she is unfit is to say they are only half acceptable."

"It is an ill omen, is all I meant." Harry bowed his head in peace, and Lord Stark dipped his chin in acceptance. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. This you told me many years ago. A Stark to rule, not to council. Robb is a level-headed lad, and so with Maester Luwin and your lady-wife will not make ruin of your seat in your absence. Younger lords than he are made, and with far less experience. After all, you were named Lord Stark of Winterfell in the same sort of manner."

"That was war."

"This is life."

For a long while, Lord Stark simply stared at Harry, stroking his beard as if turning the words over and over in his mind.

"You are good with your words, nephew. Honeyed as they are, they make my mind to taste their logic." Lord Stark sighed. "I will give heed to your sway, but only in council for now with Maester Luwin and my lady wife. Should either find fault with this, I will have your hind tanned for question my years of judgement with your youthful endeavor."

Harry laughed, small and weak. "I do not seek to unseat the old, uncle. Merely to promote and ensure the future with youth. The best teacher is experience, and a lot can be learned for Robb simply while we ride to King's Landing."

"Aye, truth be to your honeyed words…" Lord Stark grumbled.

"Would you trust Maester Luwin so well with advising your son as he would you?" Gendry asked, and Lord Stark met his eyes coldly.

"I trust Maester Luwin as I would my own blood. He would give my son his voice in all things great and small. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming."

Gendry nodded gravely, and felt that he had won a bit of the northern lord's respect by raising his inquiry even if it was followed by a stretch of silence after the man's words.

"Now then," Harry said, his voice returning to what was normal. "We should inquire of Bran's present condition. Maester Luwin and Tyrion have been working for a while now. And I do not feel Bran has left us."

As Gendry followed respectfully behind his prince brother and the Lord of Winterfell, he could almost hear the thoughts in their heads. They were men of the north, even if Harry was a shade less. He knew what they would say. That summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

For winter was coming…

Bronn reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. He reached into his furs and took a swig of wine from a water skin. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.

His employer, Tyrion Lannister was there beside the boy's bed. The half-man had been there, day and night, for the entire time since the boy's fall. Not for a moment had he left young Bran's side, even after working tirelessly helping Maester Luwin and the septa heal the boy. He had all three of his meals brought to him there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though Tyrion never slept at all. He fed the boy himself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did the Imp leave the room.

Bronn left every chance he could.

What they were doing was not just madness. It was beyond that.

They were spitting in the face of a God in man's form.

But now there was no more time for Bronn to skirt away.

"He'll kill us," Bronn muttered somberly as he closed the door behind him. He did not do so softly, or harshly. He was to appear as normal as possible.

Over Bran's bed hung a crystal pendant that swung back and forth, from one shoulder of the boy to the next and back again.

That morning the crystal had been clear, as if made from the purest ice in all the North.

Now that crystal was as black as something that oozed from a month-long dead beast. Bronn looked at it in mild disgust.

"I don't much fancy the unnecessary risk to my life." Bronn continued as he dropped into a chair in the corner of the room. Tyrion was bent over an aged tome, muttering strange words that sounded different from the tongue of man and making odd gestures with his hands. "The prince will discover us. Salt can't protect us forever!"

Tyrion stopped whatever he was doing with an air of annoyance.

"You can leave if you want." Tyrion sneered, his ugly face made all the uglier by the expression. "But you won't do it. You know that I'm the only one here with half a brain that can protect you."

"The boy fell!" Bronn gulped down another warm swig of wine. "They tried to kill him! Without a second thought here in the middle of Winterfell!"

"Keep your voice down!" Tyrion hissed, closing his old book and throwing it at Bronn's head. "That salt line and these ancient protections in the castle don't stop you from being overheard if someone happens to be near the damn door!"

Bronn did lower his volume, but not his tone. "They should die for this, not us! They caused this mess, not us! Not you! Let them die, and save us all their future stupidities!"

"That is my family you are talking about!"

"Fat lot of good they've been to you. Fat lot of good they've put you in with attempt to murder a Stark family heir!"

Tyrion lowered his head, but snatched the wine skin from Bronn's hand. He nearly inhaled the drink like a man who thirsted for days.

"Hey!"

"You were meant to bring me one back, anyway." Tyrion sighed in some relief, dropping to the floor with his back against Bran's bed post. "I'm going to die anyway… May as well be drunk while I'm turned to dust. Or fed to the direwolves… Or thrown off the Wall… My stupid family! Damn them! Damn them all! Damn the whole Lannister line since the days Aegon the Conqueror!"

Bronn gave Tyrion a long searching look. "Can it…? Will it truly work? Will he truly walk? Will he… will he really forget?"

"I don't understand how this works!" Tyrion complained, throwing his hands up. "I had the crystal! I did all the hocus pocus! It started turning black as coal hours ago, but I don't know if it truly worked!"

"It turned black." Bronn offered with a lazy smile. He was beginning to feel the warmth of wine in his belly. "That has to mean something. We saw the prince do it a couple of times. It looks right."

"I stole power from the Maester!" Tyrion still whined in between gulping down drink. "Harry is bound to notice."

"I saw him talking in hushed tones with the Maester earlier," Bronn was starting to feel good about their treachery. "He looked relieved. I think he's more concerned with the little lord being in good health than anything else. It's a weakness. Perhaps the only one we can exploit."

"To think they would push the boy from the tower, though…" the sellsword shook his head, "I've seen stupid, and heard dumb, but this… It takes the cake right off the table. We are in the middle of Winterfell."

"I know…" Tyrion groaned.

"They did it while they were the only ones left in the castle with motivate to do it."

"I know."

"And then they've been avoiding the issue like a pair of children who sold their father's boots for sweet pies."

"I know!" Tyrion yelled, bashing his fist back against the bed post.

Bran stirred for a moment, and Bronn had never in his life gone so still and rigid. He tensed up worse than when he was nearing a bandit's camp to slaughter them all in their sleep.

That was how much he feared the prince's wraith. How much he feared the prince. Feared his might. His magic. His very presence if he were displeased.

Bronn truly understood fear in that single breathless moment before young Bran eased back into his deep magically-induced slumber.

He would never again complain about not being paid by the prince. Never again.

Tyrion got up on wobbly legs, and with another swig from the wine sag, tossed it over to Bronn who caught it easily. "Damned if I do, and more damned if I don't… That boy is going to walk out of here without a single memory of that day."

Bronn slumped back into his chair with sigh. "And if he doesn't… or on the off chance he does remember any of it… I will be packing my things for north of the Wall. Seems the only place in all the lands the prince has second thoughts about going again."

Tyrion eyed him with a strange look. "There are things there that would bring you just as much terror as Harry could. Dark things. Ancient things."

"I'll take my chances with the dark and ancient." Bronn looked up at the ceiling. "At least they'll have to find me to kill me. One wrong move with Prince Hardian, and I might be dead while he breaks his fast half the land away."

Tyrion snorted. "Harry is indeed powerful, but I'd not wager his power that strong."

Bronn shook his head. "You weren't there in Tyrs Ilse… You didn't see what I saw. The way the warriors fled from him the moment he began using his sorcery. And then, with seven thunderous claps of his hands… The sound like funeral bells tolling for those poor fools… They just fell. Bent. Broken. Dead. Twisted beyond imagination. As if something took hold of them by their spines and made wet cloth of their bodies… The prince called it easy. I called it hell."

Tyrion looked away from Bronn, desperately trying not to envision what he was just told. "Yes… that sounds like Harry's darker side, all right…"

"He's going to come sniffing around here eventually." Bronn brought up, a hand wiping down his face harshly. "We need to be rid of the salt lines before he sees them. And all these wizard books and such."

"Yes, yes… you are right. Get rid of it all and hide it away in the whore house outside the castle walls." Tyrion mumbled, waving aside Bronn's concern. If they were caught practicing witchcraft, then the punishment would pale in comparison to the wraith brought down upon them should Bran not walk again under their care.

"This needs to work, Imp," Bronn said in a hollow tone. "Or else… none of us may live to see past that Stark boy's first talk with whoever sees him wake."

"It will work," Tyrion snapped, but in the back of his mind he was beginning to have doubts again.

It would work… right?

It simply had to.

For if not… no one would escape Hadrian's wraith this day.