“His Grace took a wound storming the Crag,” Maester Vyman said, still evasive, “but writes that it is no cause for concern, and that he hopes to return soon.” “A wound? What sort of wound? How serious?” “No cause for concern, he writes.” “All wounds concern me. Is he being cared for?” “I am certain of it. The maester at the Crag will tend to him, I have no doubt.” “Where was he wounded?” “My lady, I am commanded not to speak with you. I am sorry.” Gathering up his potions, Vyman made a hurried exit, and once again Catelyn was left alone with her father. The milk of the poppy had done its work,
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