When Garrett Greenspear entered his chambers to bid farewell, Bran stubbornly pretended to be asleep until he gave up the ghost. Aside from the fact that he found Garrett and the company of his mates most disagreeable, Bran found he had no energy to participate in lordly duties. His body was on fire, from hair on the head to the tip of his toes.
During the journey, in the few moments Bran was awake, Meera Reed had insisted that the fever would subside once they were inside the walls of Winterfell. She lied, he thought with the stubborn insistence of a babe every time he saw her. The heat was still alive and active under his skin, at the best of times making him retch, and at worst, relive the ice dragon and his failure with the Mad King. All the blankets and potions by Maester Wolkan had made no difference. He felt as useless as Sweetrobin, despite having no idea who he was.
Lyanna visited him soon after. “I have sent ravens to the king and Lady Sansa about your safe arrival, My Lord. I will let you know when they respond. How are you now?”
“Better,” Bran lied. Lyanna had visited him often, always with the same question, and it felt impolite to repeat that there had been no improvements. “Has it been difficult to rule without any Starks in the castle?”
“A bit,” she said, cheerily. “But the people have been patient, and they will certainly listen to you whenever you are ready to rule. They are still out there, celebrating your miraculous return. You would have been able to hear were it not for the winds and the walls.”
“Lyanna,” Bran said, hoping she would understand what he was about to say. “You must understand something. I can hold the title of Lord of Winterfell, yes, but I can never rule it with my fever and green dreams.”
“But you are a Stark-”
“I am but a crippled and sickly child with the name of Stark,” he said. “I can be your mouthpiece, and I can pretend to rule, but winter is here, and we know what comes with it. Should this castle be surrounded by an army of dead men, we need the best person to defend our lands. It is for the good of the people.”
Lyanna was still adamant. “Be that as it may, my lord, Bear Island knows no ruler but that whose name is Stark.”
“That’s fair,” he said, with a weak chuckle. “Well, then, I suppose I have no choice but to command you to command us.”
*
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