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GOT Chapter 56: The Things We Do for Love
🕑 Added 2025-08-03 23:13:47 +0000 UTCThe woman seemed to have been swayed by the man’s reassurances. After a few seconds of silence, she made her decision and brought up an old concern.
"We have to keep a close eye on him."
"And on that bastard son of his—we need to come up with a plan. I truly believe Joffrey wasn’t lying!"
The man clearly understood what she meant, but he didn’t seem to have much of a reaction.
His voice remained flat, even bored, as he replied, "Joffrey was just frightened… Whatever. Compared to all that, I’d much rather take a good look at you."
"Come here."
There was a pause of two seconds, during which Bran could hear the faint rustling of clothes.
And had his eyes been able to pierce the stone wall, he might’ve seen a golden-haired man pulling into his arms a woman whose face bore more than a passing resemblance to his own.
But the silence was soon shattered by the woman’s sharp voice again.
"Eddard Stark has never meddled in southern affairs. Never!"
"I’m telling you, he must be plotting against us. Why else would he leave the stronghold of his power?"
The woman’s voice carried a heavy sense of caution and warning.
But the man seemed interested in only one thing—holding the woman in his arms.
He closed his eyes, burying his face greedily into the crook of her neck and her fragrant hair, inhaling deeply.
He murmured, “There are plenty of reasons—maybe a sense of duty, or honor... or maybe he just wants to help an old friend?”
His voice became a low hum, and Bran, outside the window, could barely make it out.
“Or perhaps he wants to leave his mark on history. Maybe there’s trouble with his wife, and our dear lord just wants somewhere warm and comfortable to stay.”
At those words, the woman—who had been so overcome by the heat of his breath she nearly let out a moan—suddenly snapped her eyes open.
Whatever haze had clouded them a moment ago vanished entirely.
"Wait—his wife is Lysa’s sister. So why hasn’t Lady Arryn sent a raven, or done anything to accuse us?"
“You’re overthinking it. Lady Arryn is just a frightened cow.”
“That ‘cow’ shared a bed with Jon Arryn!”
“If she really knew anything, she would’ve told Robert before we ever left King’s Landing—especially when Robert decided to send her useless little son to Casterly Rock as a ward.”
“She would’ve shut her mouth right then and there, because she knew her boy would become a hostage.”
…
The man and woman spoke in turn, their voices overlapping. The man’s tone became increasingly hushed.
Bran listened from outside the wall, his eyes fixed on the narrow gap between the bricks in front of him.
He tried to lower himself for a better angle, but he couldn’t quite reach.
And he didn’t dare make too much noise—he knew he’d be discovered if he did.
He didn’t fully understand what he was hearing, but one thing was certain: these weren’t words meant for his ears.
The conversation inside the window went on.
“You’re as blind as Robert…” the woman spat.
“If you mean we see things the same way, then yes…” the man replied, perhaps lifting his head. “Because the Eddard Stark I know is the kind of man who would rather die than betray his king.”
“He’s already betrayed one king. Have you forgotten?” the woman said coldly, her voice turning chill.
“I don’t deny his loyalty to Robert. But what if Robert dies? And little Joffrey takes the throne?!”
“Then the sooner Robert dies, the safer we’ll be!”
Bran, hearing this outside the window, instinctively froze in place—every small movement suddenly halted.
He widened his eyes, suddenly overcome with fear. All he wanted now was to hurry back the way he came and find his brothers for help.
But then he thought—what could he even tell them?
At the very least, he needed to get closer. Close enough to see who exactly was speaking.
"Stop worrying so much about the future. Can’t we just enjoy the happiness in front of us?" the man sighed softly.
"Don’t say things like that!" the woman snapped.
"Come now, sweet sister. You keep going on like this, and I’m exhausted just listening. So shut your mouth and come here, will you?"
The discussion about the king’s life or death ended abruptly, and then Bran, still outside the window, heard a sudden series of slaps—flesh striking flesh—followed by the man’s laughter.
Bran decided to keep climbing.
If he could just get over the gargoyle and reach the rooftop, then run to the gargoyle statue on the other side, he’d be directly above the room from which the voices were coming.
His movements were fast and nimble, agile like a monkey.
Once he straddled the gargoyle, he clamped it tightly with his legs and flipped himself upside down.
The world turned on its head. The courtyard spun and swayed beneath him, and patches of snow still clung to the stone.
But Bran had no time to admire the strange new perspective—he cared only about finding out who the two people inside were.
So he looked through the window.
And what he saw shocked him: the people inside didn’t seem to fear the northern cold at all.
They were tangled together, pressing and shoving against one another.
A faint, wet sound echoed softly within the room.
"No... don’t..."
"Stop... oh~, please!"
The golden-haired woman’s plea was faint and weak. Strangely, though, she never actually pushed the man away.
Instead, she buried her hands in his tousled, bright golden hair and pulled his face down toward her chest.
And at that moment, Bran saw her face clearly.
Though her eyes were tightly shut and her mouth open in moans, and though her hair whipped wildly with every movement of her head—
Bran still recognized her.
She was the Queen. Robert’s Queen.
The shock of what he saw overwhelmed him in an instant, completely filling his chest.
And then—he accidentally made a sound.
Unfortunately, Cersei—lost in the moment just a second ago—heard it.
Her eyes snapped open.
She stared directly at the figure hanging upside down just outside the window.
A moment later—
A piercing scream tore through the air, sharp enough to split the eardrum.
“He saw us!” Cersei Lannister shrieked, her face awash with panic.
She frantically shoved the man away, yelling loudly while jabbing her finger again and again toward the window.
“He did see us.” In contrast to the woman’s hysteria, Jaime Lannister remained composed.
Realizing he had been spotted, Bran instinctively tried to twist his waist and hook himself back around the gargoyle statue, hoping to climb back up.
But this time, he pushed too hard—his hands merely brushed over the smooth surface of the stone, failing to catch anything.
As his grip failed, Bran felt a sudden jolt of panic unlike anything he’d ever known. In the same moment, the legs that had been clamped tightly around the stone suddenly loosened without warning.
With no foothold left to keep himself on the gargoyle, Bran plunged headlong toward the courtyard below.
The window frame flashed past him in a blur, and the weightlessness made his heart clench into a tight knot.
He reached out, desperately trying to grab onto something, but his hand slipped off the frame just as quickly as it touched it.
The stone that usually felt so solid and secure in his hands now seemed greased in thick lard.
But just then, a large hand shot out from the room and caught him in a firm grasp.
Bran didn’t fall into the courtyard—but on his way back up, he slammed into the wall with a jarring thud.
The impact and pain were so intense that he could hardly breathe.
He dangled in the air, swaying slightly.
Even though he was struggling for breath, his instinct to survive kicked in. He kept searching for a hold.
This time, he managed to grab the very window frame his fingers had slipped from earlier. His fingernails dug deep into the crevices of the stone wall.
Once he was certain he wasn’t falling anymore, the still-shaken Bran looked up on reflex—and saw two faces appear above him in the window.
“Here, grab on! Don’t let go!”
The man who had caught him spoke gently, extending his other hand downward.
When Bran saw that hand, it felt like a lifeline tossed to a drowning man.
He summoned every last bit of strength he had to grab hold—and the man pulled him up onto the windowsill with ease.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Cersei demanded coldly as she watched Jaime’s actions.
She had hastily snatched her gown from the floor and held it in front of herself out of reflex.
As if that could preserve her dignity.
But her face was pale, tinged with a sickly blue.
Jaime ignored her completely. He simply used his strong, steady hands to help Bran stand firm on the windowsill.
“How old are you, kid?” Jaime asked calmly, looking at the young Stark boy as if he were commenting on a decent view.
“Seven.”
Though he was still trembling uncontrollably, the fact that he’d been saved after skirting the edge of death left Bran with a deep sense of relief.
He didn’t dare glance down toward the base of the tower again. His eyes stayed fixed on the man who had just pulled him to safety.
It was only then that Bran realized his fingers had dug deeply into Ser Jaime Lannister’s arm—so deeply, in fact, that his sharp nails had broken the skin and drawn blood.
Seeing this, Bran immediately let go, ashamed.
Jaime didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he furrowed his brow slightly, his expression conflicted.
On instinct, he turned his head to look at the woman standing beside him.
After a moment of silent deliberation—barely a second—Jaime spoke in a voice thick with reluctance.
“Just think... what have I ever done for love?!”
And then he let go of Bran.
With no warning, he shoved him out of the window with a sudden forceful thrust.
A scream rang out beyond the window—shrill and terrified—echoing as it plummeted farther and farther away.
From afar, a lone wolf howled.
Above the ruined tower, crows circled.
And just then, another wolf's cry rose in response.
It sounded almost like an answer...
But also like an urgent call.
