freefall.

| Winterfell |

A dull throb rested on Leonora's temples, and the taste of bile clung to her throat. Groaning, she brought her hands to her head. She could feel the blood pumping in her skull with each heartbeat, and instantly regretted the amount of wine she had drunk the night before. For a moment, she wondered why she had become so helplessly drunk.

And then she remembered. Her father, the scroll, the ride to Winterfell, Lord Eddard, and her betrothal. Drinking goblet after goblet, eating potatoes and laughing an empty laugh. Throwing up, talking with the bastard, Jon, and going to bed still in her gown. The emptiness began to settle upon her again as she recalled what had happened. Embarrassed at her behaviour and full of regret, Leonora cursed herself. She had already been condemned to Winterfell, but did not want to lose the respect of her family, or the Starks, before they had properly gotten to know her. Stones seemed to settle in her stomach, and Leonora wasn't sure if they were from the drinking or the anxiety.

Above it all, Leonora felt like a fool.

She had been a fool to not anticipate an arranged marriage. Cersei had been married shortly after her nineteenth name day, and at eight and ten, Leonora could expect no less. Truthfully, she always knew that she would be sold off like cattle to broker an alliance, rather than marry for love. It made her regretful, and Leonora knew she should never have left the scroll unread, to trust her father over her own instincts.

Bringing the woollen blanket to her chin, she squeezed her eyes closed.

A soft knock came from her door, and Deonisia entered without waiting for a response. Sighing, she ripped the blankets from the bed and allowed the cold to bite at Leonora's body. Jolting upright, the Lady protested.

"It's freezing!"

Deonisia tutted. "Good morning to you too." She said, looking the Lady up and down. "Take a bath. You could use one. You smell like wine and sickness."

Leonora rolled her eyes, the idea of a bath suddenly appealing. Dragging herself out of the bed, she sent her handmaiden a playful glare. "You really are the worst."

❅ ❅ ❅

Leonora sat on a stool, arms folded in her lap. The smell of snapdragon wafted from the day-old vase on the far side of the room, masking the mildew. Eyes closing, she relaxed as Deonisia combed through her long, blonde locks. The maiden had a gentle touch, her delicate fingers brushing like a musician against the strings of a harp.

"Do you miss Sandstone, Deonisia?" Leonora blurted. The Dornish woman faltered, before returning back to the task at hand.

"Sometimes." Leonora turned her head. Hugging her arms, she watched the flames from the fireplace lick at the wood and air. "I miss the glint of the ocean, and its salty smell," Deonisia continued. "I miss my mother, and my uncle Quentyn. I pray to The Seven that I will see them again someday."

Leonora cast her eyes to the floor in shame. This betrothal was not just a commitment for herself, as Deonisia would be forced to continue her duties as a handmaiden. As much as the two were close, Leonora wasn't sure if she could forgive herself from taking away any opportunity her friend had of seeing home again.

"I do not expect you to stay with me." She said. "Jaime and Cersei will leave for King's Landing eventually. You can travel with them there, and make your way to the Boneway until you reach Dorne."

Deonisia frowned and tutted, yanking out a knot harshly.

"I may be your handmaiden, but I am highborn. I don't empty your chamberpot, and I don't draw your baths. I am here because I wish to be, and I am your friend. Marriage won't get rid of me that easily."

Leonora smiled sadly, reaching behind her to give Deonisia's hand a squeeze. The Dornish woman stopped brushing, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles of her Lady's hands. After a moment, she pried them apart and resumed her work, releasing a satisfied hum. Pulling two strands of hair together into a twisted braid down her loose locks, the woman rose from her spot and strode towards the mantle.

There, upon the cold stony surface, rested a bundle of furs. Deonisia picked it up from the mantle, fingers grasping the golden clasps on either side. Placing the furs on Leonora's shoulders, the handmaiden fastened the shawl with a proud smile.

"There." She said. "Now you look just as brave as I know you are."

Leonora's gaze moved to the mirror, taking in the sight before her.

Rather than the usual greys, browns and blacks of northern furs, a golden mass of lion's mane covered her chest and neck. It looked as if she truly were a part of the beast, her hard stare and air of authority only amplifying the fierce, regal spirit of her house. As the Lady continued to inspect her own form, her brown stiffened, determined.

Leonora may be wed to a Stark, but she would always be a Lannister.

A horrified scream ripped through the air, startling the Lady and causing a jolt to race throughout her system. The two women shared a look of worry before Leonora picked up her skirts and raced to the balcony, leaning over the edge is search of whoever had made the noise. It took several moments of searching before she could see the figure of a woman hunched over a small, crumpled body at the base of the First Keep.

It was too far to see, but Leonora could judge from the size of the body that it was no fully-grown man, nor a woman. It was likely a child, or a young squire or perhaps-

Tyrion.

The blood in her veins turned to ice, and the Lady abruptly rushed out of her chambers, leaving the door open. Taking the steps three at a time in a downward spiral, she was practically stumbling her way towards the lower floors, hands pressed against the stony walls for support. After a few moments, she hear the echoing sound of her handmaidens footfalls, chasing after her. Deonisia began to call out, urging her to stop running, and that you need to slow down. Before long she was too far away to be understood.

The moment Leonora's boots met the cobblestone, she began to sprint towards the First Keep. Racing past a horse and cart, she spooked the animal, causing it to rear and the vegetables inside to tumble into the mud. The man guiding the horse cursed at her, though she paid him little regard. She would pay for the cabbages when the time came, but for now, all she could feel was fear.

Lungs burning, the Lady whipped around the corner of the Guard's Hall, coming to a sudden halt upon the sight of a woman, not much older than herself, staring blankly at the bloodied body at her feet. A mess of long brown locks obscured the boy's face, and Leonora breathed a sigh of relief, though a pang of guilt shortly followed. Adrenaline still coursing through her, she knelt down to the boy's body, brushing the hair out of his face.

It was Brandon Stark.

Eyes widening in shock, Leonora let out a stutter before turning to the woman before her.

"How long has he been here?" She demanded, clutching at the Stark boy's hands to feel their temperature. Still warm.

The woman was still.

"What happened?" Leonora asked again, yelling loudly.

"I... I don't know, I found him like this..." she responded, looking off to the side, the colour regaining in her cheeks.

"Help!" Leonora hollered, rising to her feet and stomping towards the Guard's Hall. "Someone come quickly, Brandon Stark has fallen from the tower!"

The common folk began to falter in their steps, a curious crowd emerging. From behind them, a dark-haired guard pushed his way through the crowd and led by Deonisia, sheathing his sword when he noticed there was no immediate danger. Running towards the two women at the body, he knelt down, bewildered.

"Lady Lannister," he greeted.

"Shut up," Leonora snapped. "we need to lift him. I think the boy is still alive, and he needs a Maester, now."

Surprised by her harsh tone, the solider nodded and scooped his arms underneath the Bran's armpits, ready to lift him. Gently slipping her arms beneath his knees and ankles, Leonora cringed at the feeling of his shattered bones, the sensation causing her to gag. After ensuring she had enough purchase, she looked to the knight and nodded. The two lifted, slowly, praying to the seven that they wouldn't make things any worse.

Hurrying towards the Maester's Torret, the pair moved smoothly, weaving past onlookers and trying not to trip over their own feet. They had made it through the courtyard, earning the attention of Lady Stark and Robb, who had been deep in conversation. Upon seeing her son's broken form, Catelyn let out a startled cry before rushing after the pair.

"Bran? Brandon!" The Lady began to yell.

"Don't stop moving." Leonora ordered.

Her son easily began to outpace her and met the two at the base of the Torret, seething.

"What happened to Bran?" Robb asked, a dangerous anger behind his tone.

"He fell." Leonora responded curtly, adjusting her grip and motioning her head towards the top of the tower. "We need to get him up there."

Lips pressing into a thin line, Robb snaked his arms beneath her own, relieving some of the strain.

"Let him go." Robb said firmly.

"No. We need to get him-"

"Let him go, Leonora." Robb repeated, eyes slightly softening. "Your arms are shaking from the weight. You cannot carry him much further."

Face falling, the Lady removed her arms from beneath the Bran's broken legs, peeling them away to reveal long streaks of red. It soaked the sleeves of her dress, dark stains smeared across the bodice of her dress and golden pelt. The two men made their way up the steps of the tower, trying not to jostle the boy too much.

Squeezing her hands into fists in an effort to ease the shaking, Leonora drew a long breath.

"Where did you find him?" Catelyn demanded, causing the Lady to turn and face her.

The Lady was terrified, her eyes gazing down at the marks across Leonora's gown, only adding to her growing fear.

"A woman found him beneath the First Keep. I heard her screams and went to help." Leonora responded, her voice growing quiet, the shock settling in.

"Someone pushed my son from the tower?" Catelyn hissed, outraged. "They hurt my boy and left him for dead?"

Leonora was unsure of how to respond, feeling the tears form behind her eyes.

"I am so sorry Lady Catelyn-"

"Your apologies will do no one good." She spat, voice low and threatening. "When I found out who pushed my boy, you best pray it is not a Lannister."

Leonora's brows furrowed. "You're not insinuating that I-"

The Stark woman left before she could finish, picking up her skirts and entering the Torrent in haste. The door swung abruptly closed, the sound of creaking metal and wood filling Leonora's ears, mirroring the screams she had heard earlier. The blood on her arms seemed to burn, searing into her skin and reminding her of its presence. Mind swimming, her body swayed before losing balance.

A strong hand gripped her arm, allowing her to momentarily slump against the stranger before straightening up again. Head tilting upwards, she met the concerned eyes of Jon Snow who looked around the courtyard before leading her down a nearby corridor. Taking long strides, the bastard did not stop his rush until they reached a quiet walkway, setting her up against the wall.

"My apologies." Leonora said. "You should be with your brothers, not here with me. I can make my way to my chambers on my own."

Jon cast his gaze to the floor.

"Lady Catelyn would not let me join them even if I asked." He muttered, causing a pitiful look to flash across Leonora's features. "You helped carry the broken body of a young boy through the castle. It has scared you."

"I'm not scared, and I do not regret it." Leonora said, determined. "I wasn't going to sit idly and wait for someone else to arrive. I knew I could lift Bran with the help that I had, and we were running out of time. It wasn't anything you wouldn't have done."

Jon frowned.

"That's because he's my brother. You didn't have to help, certainly not as a Lady."

Leonora shook her head, the dizziness easing and she swallowed, hard. The strength began to return to her bones, and she pushed herself from the wall a little and stood on her own. After a moment, she stepped around the bastard, slowly making her way towards the direction of her chambers.

"I appreciate your help, Snow," she nodded, grateful. "I would have looked like a damn fool falling into the mud."

A few beats passed as she walked, the Lady turning around and looking to Jon once more.

"I appreciate that you tried to save my brother's life, Hill." Jon returned, voice dropping off at the end. Looking at his closed hands, the man formed a pained half-smile before continuing. "I hope you are feeling better by supper."

Leonora nodded wearily.

"As do I."

Author's Note

That episode of Game of Thrones did not just happen. It didn't. I refuse.