Returning to Winterfell

By the time Jon found Robb, it was already around three in the afternoon.

Because of their morning bet, Robb had spent nearly the whole day hunting in the Wolfswood.

When he saw Jon, he assumed Garon had sent him to check on his haul.

So without another word, he happily showed Jon what he had caught that day.

But when he heard that Bran had fallen from a tower and might not survive, his expression changed instantly.

He didn't care about anything else. He leaped onto Jon's horse, and the two of them raced back to camp on the same mount.

As they neared the camp, they saw the knights of House Baratheon returning with a full haul. A giant bear was being dragged into camp as well.

Normally, Robb would have gone over to join in the excitement.

But now, all he wanted was to know how badly his little brother was hurt.

"Garon!"

Robb leaped from the saddle and anxiously asked, "Has there been any news from Winterfell?"

"Did my father send another message?"

Garon stepped forward and said gravely, "No. Since Lord Ned left, no one has come."

Robb grew even more anxious, and he could no longer hide the worry on his face. "Come on, we're going back to Winterfell!"

But Garon stepped forward and grabbed Robb, saying sternly, "Robb, calm down!"

Robb nearly jerked his arm away, just as Jon had moments ago. "How can you expect me to stay calm? He's my brother!"

His voice was loud enough to make everyone around them turn to look.

"What are you looking at?"

Robb glared at them angrily, leaving the others bewildered.

Seeing that Robb still wanted to leave, Garon's voice turned cold.

"Robb, before Lord Ned left, he told me to make sure you looked after the king and the prince!"

"If you leave now, what will happen to the king and the prince?"

"Do you expect me, a bannerman, to explain this to the king, or do you expect Jon to do it?"

"Don't forget: Winter Is Coming!"

Garon's words stopped Robb in his tracks. He clenched his fists and stood there, unable to speak.

"I know you're worried about Bran. I'm worried about him too!"

"But if we go back, will that help Bran get through this?"

"Robb, neither of us is a maester. We don't know medicine. If we go back, we'll only get in the way!"

Garon stepped closer and met Robb's eyes. "But here, you're the one we need!"

"You're the heir to House Stark. No one else has the right to speak directly with the king!"

Robb gradually regained his composure.

He knew Garon was right. If he abandoned the king and left, then House Stark would have lost its honor in Ned's eyes.

"But... but I'm still scared. What if Bran dies?"

Garon patted Robb's shoulder and comforted him. "Bran is under the protection of the Old Gods. He won't die so easily."

"Trust me. Stay here and do what we're supposed to do!"

Robb's lips moved, but in the end he gave a heavy nod and agreed.

Garon felt a little relieved. At last, he'd managed to talk Robb down.

Just then, a commotion rose outside the camp.

"Come on, it looks like the king's back!"

"Robb, it's your turn!"

Robb went to greet him. He waited until Robert had planted his spear in the ground, then bowed to him.

"Robb, where's your father?"

"He said he was taking Garon back to camp, but I haven't seen him return to the hunt."

"Could he be afraid of losing to me?"

"Ha ha..."

Robert was still joking, but Robb said sorrowfully, "Your Grace, someone came from Winterfell this afternoon to tell my father that my brother Bran fell from a tower and may not survive!"

"My father was worried about his injuries, so he returned to Winterfell early. He told me to stay here and attend to you, Your Grace."

The smile froze on Robert's face.

"Seven Hells!"

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. He looked around, and all the joy of the hunt had vanished.

"Robb, tell everyone to pack up. We're going back to Winterfell first!"

The king gave the order, and Robb was even more eager to return. He kept urging everyone to pack.

Soon, the hunting party, laden with its spoils, hurried back to Winterfell.

Meanwhile, in Winterfell.

In the guest room, Jaime said coldly, "Did someone tell you to go to the Broken Tower?"

"Who was it?"

Theon looked uneasy and shook his head. "I don't know. After the feast yesterday, someone left a letter in my room."

"It asked me to meet them at the Broken Tower!"

He glanced furtively at Jaime, then added, "But as soon as I got there, I saw you and the queen, so I hid."

Jaime ignored Theon's furtive glance. "You said there was a letter? Where is it?"

Theon lowered his voice. "I burned it."

"What?" Jaime froze. "How could you burn it?"

Theon stammered, "The letter said it was a matter of great importance, so I thought I should burn it, in case anyone else saw it."

Jaime stared at Theon, seeming to weigh how much of his story he could believe.

After a long while, he looked away and paced back and forth across the room, thinking in silence.

"Did someone deliberately lure him there so he'd catch me and Cersei together?"

"No—impossible!"

"Cersei and I only decided to go there on the spur of the moment. How could anyone have known?"

"Was it a coincidence?"

For some reason, Jaime felt a strange unease. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

But when he tried to put his finger on it, he couldn't find anything.

After considering it for a long time, Jaime could only conclude that Theon's appearance had been a coincidence, just like Bran's.

He turned to Theon and warned him, "The Stark boy is still being treated, and your foster father will be back soon."

"When he returns, he'll certainly send people to investigate Bran's fall from the tower."

"All we have to do is make sure everyone knows we weren't there!"

Theon nodded.

Jaime glanced at the bite marks on Theon's wrist, hidden beneath his sleeve. He went over to a nearby table and picked up a dagger with a lion's-head hilt and a white towel.

"Bite down on the towel!"

"I'm going to turn the bite marks on your wrist into a knife wound!"

Theon instinctively took a step back. "Ser Jaime, surely that's not necessary!"

"Idiot!" Jaime suddenly snapped. "What will you say if someone finds the bite marks on your wrist?"

"Are you going to say a whore bit you?"

"Get over here!"

Jaime's imposing presence left Theon too frightened to disobey. Trembling, he held out the wrist Bran had bitten.

Jaime handed Theon the towel, and Theon took it and slowly put it in his mouth.

Jaime grew impatient and barked, "Hurry up! Put some spirit into it, like when you're bedding women!"

Theon's face twitched. In the end, he had no choice but to stuff the towel into his mouth and close his eyes.

Jaime grabbed Theon's wrist and plunged the dagger into the bite marks, brutally scraping back and forth.

Theon felt a burst of pain and instinctively tried to cry out and struggle.

But Jaime's warning voice came from beside him. "If you don't want anyone to find out, hold still!"

Theon bit down hard on the towel and endured the pain.

That half minute felt like hours of torture.

"Done!"

Jaime let go of his wrist. It was a bloody mess, and no one could tell that Theon had been bitten.

"Go find some medicine and bandage it yourself."

"Remember, if anyone asks, say you accidentally cut yourself with a dagger!"

Theon nodded pale-faced, pressed the towel in his mouth against the wound, and left the guest room.

By then, Garon and the others had only just returned to Winterfell.