The small hand resting at the edge of the blanket could hardly be called a hand anymore.
The fingers were twisted at unnatural angles, scraped raw and streaked with dried blood.
It looked more like a claw.
The cold, absurd thought rose unbidden in Joffrey's mind.
"Ned, the boy is strong. He'll pull through."
Robert's voice was unusually low as he rested a hand on Eddard's shoulder.
"When Renly fell from a tower as a child, he lay senseless for days. He still turned out fine."
Catelyn covered her face, shoulders trembling.
"I knew he would fall... I warned him so many times. He never listened..." Her voice broke as she leaned over the bed. "I knew it..."
Bran lay beneath the blankets, his back shattered beyond recognition.
Maester Luwin had done what he could and, after examining the boy's legs, had shaken his head grimly.
Even if Bran survived, he would never walk again.
His eyes stared upward, empty and unfocused, like two black pits that reflected no candlelight.
Joffrey stood there, unsure of what he felt.
Pity?
Or anger?
Why had he climbed in the middle of the night? The question dug into him like a thorn.
The boy had been exhausted by the end of the day. He had barely been able to walk straight.
"We found him because of the wolf," a guard reported quietly. "The beast was howling nonstop. At first we thought it was some stray dog. Then we realized."
He swallowed. "When we opened the kennel, it bolted out. We followed with torches."
"And then we saw him lying at the base of the wall. Not moving."
Tyrion rubbed his chin, nearly swallowed by the crowd. "The animal has instincts," he murmured, tone unreadable.
He looked up at the guard.
"Did you notice anything unusual? Was the ground stone or packed earth? Was it beneath his own chamber?"
The guard hesitated, glancing at Eddard.
Eddard did not turn. His hoarse voice came from the bedside.
"Answer him."
"Yes, my lord." The guard licked his lips nervously. "The ground was packed earth. Not too hard."
"As for the location... I cannot recall precisely. But it wasn't far from his chamber.
It looked as though he had climbed out the window and hadn't gone very high before falling."
"Not very high?" Joffrey spoke suddenly.
All eyes turned to him.
He stepped forward.
"Bran's chamber is on the fifth floor."
"With his temperament, he would only climb higher. To the rooftops. Or along the outer walls to another tower."
"If he fell from that height, he wouldn't..."
He glanced at the unnatural shape beneath the blanket and did not finish.
The maester sighed.
"The prince is correct. If he had fallen from the fifth floor, the injuries would be far worse.
From what I can tell, it appears he fell from somewhere around the third-floor guest chambers."
"But why would he climb down?" Tyrion pressed. "If he wanted to go downstairs, there are stairs."
Silence filled the room once more.
Robert finally broke it.
"Standing around won't help. Let the maester work."
"Ned, whatever medicines you need, say the word. I'll have the best sent from King's Landing."
The crowd gradually dispersed.
Joffrey lingered at the doorway and looked back.
Bran's empty eyes still stared upward. For a fleeting moment, Joffrey felt as though they were staring at him.
Not the boy.
Something older.
Colder.
'Boy. Don't compete with me for my chosen.' The words echoed again.
Joffrey closed the door softly.
Robert remained inside with Eddard and Catelyn.
In the corridor, only a few figures remained. The three Lannister siblings stood together.
Jaime ran a hand through his golden hair, casual and unconcerned.
"Come on," he said lightly. "We've been up all night. I'm starving."
Despite everything, he and Cersei looked immaculate.
Back in the breakfast chamber, reheated dishes were set before them.
Lukewarm porridge. Overcooked bacon. A few small fish.
"Uncle, will Bran recover?" Myrcella asked softly, her golden curls spilling over her shoulders.
Joffrey wasn't sure which uncle she meant.
But Tyrion poured himself a cup of dark ale and answered first. "The maester says there's hope. He hasn't worsened."
"He'll live," he added, gentler than usual.
Myrcella brightened. Tommen smiled shyly.
"Live?" Jaime speared a piece of fish with his fork. "He'll be a cripple at best."
"At worst, a twisted thing."
He set the fork down with a metallic clink. "If that were me, I'd rather die."
Tyrion leaned forward, resting his head on his folded arms, "Brother, forgive me, but death leaves nothing. While life, however broken, still carries possibility."
Jaime smiled thinly. "Your stubborn survival is certainly inspiring."
"Enough," Cersei snapped. "Not in front of the children."
She stood abruptly and led Tommen and Myrcella away. As she passed Joffrey, she paused ever so slightly.
But she said nothing.
The room fell quiet.
Tyrion leaned closer, his mismatched eyes glinting, "What do you think? Doesn't this seem odd?"
"It does," Joffrey admitted. "But Bran loves climbing."
"Loving heights and climbing out your window at midnight are not the same," Tyrion replied calmly.
"Especially for a boy exhausted from spending the day with someone."
Jaime watched with mild curiosity, as though this were a play that had nothing to do with him.
Joffrey lowered his gaze and stirred his porridge.
What could he say?
That he suspected an ancient sorcerer beyond the Wall had reached into a boy's mind in the dead of night?
That magic had guided him out the window?
That the fall had been calculated—high enough to cripple, not high enough to kill?
Who would believe that?
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