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Syndra ran out the door as fast as she could run, but as she neared the stairs, she stumbled, skinning her knee. Her legs were still weak and her body shaky from the fever. With a wail of frustration, she rose and started down more slowly, a trickle of blood running down her shin.

Rhys, following from above, caught up with her easily.

"Syndra, wait..." he said as he reached out to put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "I saw you fall. You're still weak. Here, let me carry you piggyback."

She let him step down a couple steps below her and climbed onto his back. "That was my papa you saw outside," she said unnecessarily.

"Yeah, I know. The Maester told me," he replied, settling her into place and starting back down the stairs. "Um...Syndra...be gentle with your papa. He doesn't know about...everyone...your mother and the babe and Gavrin... This will be very hard on him, as it is on you. All right, Little One?"

Syndra tightened her arms around Rhys's neck and didn't answer right away. She knew, without a doubt, but Rhys saying it out loud still hurt. Finally, she asked softly, "What should I say?"

Rhys reached the bottom of the stairs and headed off in the direction of the courtyard. "By the Gods, I don't know," he answered her plaintively, his voice wavering. "You're so young, you shouldn't have to..." He trailed off, wiped his face as best he could against his upper arm, then asked, "Would you like me to do the talking? You can just go give your papa a big hug."

Rhys never got an answer to his question. As soon as Syndra saw Ser Godfrey, she scrambled off of Rhys's back and ran for him. It didn't matter that she was barefoot and in her bedclothes. Nothing would come between her and her father.

The two men, the burly Lord Hardy and his more wiry brother, were standing in the courtyard, speaking together in low voices. As Syndra broke from Rhys and began to run towards them, Ser Godfrey took a step away from his brother and crouched to catch Syndra in his arms as she approached.

Rhys paused, regarding the man that was Syndra's father, watching him rush to pick up his little girl, watching the smile spread across his somber face as his arms closed around her. He was happy, not knowing.

Ser Godfrey swept her up, holding her close.

"You've been ill, lambkin," he said. "My poor, brave girl. And your mother brought to bed and unable to be with you ... is the babe born yet, poppet? Has anyone thought to tell you?"

Syndra clutched her father tightly around the neck and wrapped her legs around his waist as well. She wept uncontrollably, but at the mention of her mother, she cried even harder. "Mama... Mama... " she sobbed, trying to tell him, but the words just wouldn't come.

"Yes, my sweet, we'll go to her together," he said soothingly, lifting her and supporting her as she clung to him like a small monkey.

"But... we can't, Papa. We c..." The rest was lost as Syndra buried her face in his collar.

He glanced at Lord Hardy. "Brother - if you'll excuse me ... "

[Rhys] sadly trudged forward to greet Lord Hardy and his brother, dreading what was about to happen, knowing that in the space of a few words, Ser Godfrey would lose his family.

Lord Hardy watched his approach, frowning a little. "You're the Maester's boy, aren't you?" he said to Rhys. "How fares my heir?"

"Yessir, I am," Rhys replied. "Kenrith and Godwyn both survived the fever and are awaiting you in their tower. They would be down to greet you themselves, but they are both still weak, especially Kenrith."

Rhys avoided looking directly at Ser Godfrey, his eyes instead on Lord Hardy.

Lord Hardy nodded, and then looked across at his brother. "Yes, yes, go to her. And your boys - how are your brothers, my little niece?"

He glanced not at Syndra, but at Rhys as he spoke.

"The Maester is waiting for Ser Godfrey in the Sept. They did not survive. Neither did Lady Morna, nor the babe." Finished with the ugly news, Rhys looked down at his feet.

There was a moment's frozen silence. Syndra felt her father's arms tighten on her, almost to pain.

Lord Hardy stared at Rhys for a long moment, then turned to Ser Godfrey.

"Brother ... " he began.

"My wife," said Ser Godfrey. "The babe ... yes, it died ... these things must happen, I know. But ... my wife?"

Syndra held her father even tighter, but not for her own pain. For his.

"She's dead," Rhys said bluntly, to make sure he understood. "As also are Gavrin and Trey. The Maester is waiting for the Ser in the Sept. He can tell you what happened." He looked down again.

"No," said Ser Godfrey. "No. Not Gavrin. Trey, perhaps ... he's so little ... so very ... " His voice faltered for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Gavrin is strong, quick-witted. He's like me. He'll be hiding ... some game it is ... "

"He was strong, Papa. Right 'til the end he was strong," Syndra said proudly through her tears. She wanted to say more - how Papa would've been so proud of him, how Gav had taken such good care of everyone, how he'd led her out into the snow so bravely to say goodbye, how happy he looked there at the .... But she couldn't. She was so proud of her brother, but she couldn't say a word.

"Brother," said Lord Hardy again, and he stepped towards Ser Godfrey, taking his arm. Ser Godfrey stared at him over Syndra's head.

"Both my boys, Oswain," he said numbly. "Both my beautiful sons ... and their mother too."

Then Syndra was held even closer, for Lord Hardy took his brother, Syndra and all, and held them in a great embrace, there is the middle of the courtyard.

And Syndra felt her father tremble ... it was a little while before she realised he was crying.

If it was possible to hold her papa any tighter, Syndra did. She silently cried with him.

"We'll go into the Sept," said Lord Hardy, disengagaging from the hug, but still keeping an arm around his brother. "We'll go and find them and Maester Sewell too. Then he can tell us in full what happened."

"Your own boys," began Ser Godfrey and Syndra, looking through her tears from her father's shoulder, could almost fancy she saw a strange expression on Lord Hardy's face as he looked upwards - some emotion that was hard to read. It wasn't till she was much older that she recognised it.

It was fear.

This was not a place where Rhys belonged. He backed away and slipped around the outside corner quietly, then slid to the ground.

He listened with half an ear for the Lord and Ser, in case either called, but his responsibility to Syndra had passed. Her father would see to her now. His responsibility to Kenrith and Godwyn had also passed. Their father was home as well. Gavrin and Trey...well...his responsibility to them had passed, too.

There was nothing Rhys was suppose to be doing and the world felt strange to him, almost like a dream. He had no idea what he wanted to do, or even what he should be doing, so he sat with his back against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest and he watched the sun rise. He felt empty inside, numb.

Eventually he fell asleep, his forehead resting against the top of his knees.

It was the sound of steps that roused him, perhaps - or perhaps the creak of leather. But when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw before him was leather boots ... good leather, but travel stained - not new, perhaps worn overlong. And then he realised from the angle of the boots that their wearer was crouching down, to bring his head down onto a level with Rhys's.

"Hello," said the owner of the boots. "I think I saw you before - when I carried the Bolton boy inside."

It was Ser Deryll Ryswell.

Categories: WinterChillsGameLogs, CastleHoldfast