[Truyện TA] George R. R. Martin - A Song of Ice and Fire 1 - A Games of Thrones

The dead men were carried to one of the storerooms along the base of the Wall, a dark cold cell chiseled from the ice and used to keep meat and grain and sometimes even beer. Jon saw that Mormont?Ts horse was fed and watered and groomed before he took care of his own. Afterward he sought out his friends. Grenn and Toad were on watch, but he found Pyp in the common hall. ?oWhat?Ts happened?? he asked.
Pyp lowered his voice. ?oThe king?Ts dead.?
Jon was stunned. Robert Baratheon had looked old and fat when he visited Winterfell, yet hê?Td seemed hale enough, and therê?Td been no talk of illness. ?oHow can you know??
?oOne of the guards overheard Clydas reading the letter to Maester Aemon.? Pyp leaned close. ?oJon, I?Tm sorry. He was your father?Ts friend, wasn?Tt he??
?oThey were as close as brothers, once.? Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as the King?Ts Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont?Ts permission. It would be good to see Aryâ?Ts grin again and to talk with his father. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he told me. Even if she was a whore, I don?Tt care, I want to know.
?oI heard Hake say the dead men were your unclê?Ts,? Pyp said.
?oYes,? Jon replied. ?oTwo of the six he took with him. They?Td been dead a long time, only... the bodies are queer.?
?oQueer?? Pyp was all curiosity. ?oHow queer??
?oSam will tell you.? Jon did not want to talk of it. ?oI should see if the Old Bear has need of me.?
He walked to the Lord Commander?Ts Tower alone, with a curious sense of apprehension. The brothers on guard eyed him solemnly as he approached. ?oThe Old Bear?Ts in his solar,? one of them announced. ?oHe was asking for you.?
Jon nodded. He should have come straight from the stable. He climbed the tower steps briskly. He wants wine or a fire in his hearth, that?Ts all, he told himself.
When he entered the solar, Mormont?Ts raven screamed at him. ?oCorn!? the bird shrieked. ?oCorn! Corn! Corn!?
?oDon?Tt you believe it, I just fed him,? the Old Bear growled. He was seated by the window, reading a letter. ?oBring me a cup of wine, and pour one for yourself.?
?oFor myself, my lord??
Mormont lifted his eyes from the letter to stare at Jon. There was pity in that look; he could taste it. ?oYou heard me.?
Jon poured with exaggerated care, vaguely aware that he was drawing out the act. When the cups were filled, he would have no choice but to face whatever was in that letter. Yet all too soon, they were filled. ?oSit, boy,? Mormont commanded him. ?oDrink.?
Jon remained standing. ?oIt?Ts my father, isn?Tt it??
The Old Bear tapped the letter with a finger. ?oYour father and the king,? he rumbled. ?oI won?Tt lie to you, it?Ts grievous news. I never thought to see another king, not at my age, with Robert half my years and strong as a bull.? He took a gulp of wine. ?oThey say the king loved to hunt. The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that. My son loved that young wife of his. Vain woman. If not for her, he would never have thought to sell those poachers.?
Jon could scarcely follow what he was saying. ?oMy lord, I don?Tt understand. What?Ts happened to my father??
?oI told you to sit,? Mormont grumbled. ?oSit,? the raven screamed. ?oAnd have a drink, damn you. That?Ts a command, Snow.?
Jon sat, and took a sip of wine.
?oLord Eddard has been imprisoned. He is charged with treason. It is said he plotted with Robert?Ts brothers to deny the throne to Prince Joffrey.?
?oNo,? Jon said at once. ?oThat couldn?Tt be. My father would never betray the king!?
?oBe that as it may,? said Mormont. ?oIt is not for me to say. Nor for you.?
?oBut it?Ts a lie,? Jon insisted. How could they think his father was a traitor, had they all gone mad? Lord Eddard Stark would never dishonor himself... Would he? He fathered a bastard, a small voice whispered inside him. Where was the honor in that? And your mother, what of her? He will not even speak her name.
?oMy lord, what will happen to him? Will they kill him??
?oAs to that, I cannot say, lad. I mean to send a letter. I knew some of the king?Ts councillors in my youth. Old Pycelle, Lord Stannis, Ser Barristan... Whatever your father has done, or hasn?Tt done, he is a great lord. He must be allowed to take the black and join us here. Gods knows, we need men of Lord Eddard?Ts ability.?
Jon knew that other men accused of treason had been allowed to redeem their honor on the Wall in days past. Why not Lord Eddard? His father here. That was a strange thought, and strangely uncomfortable. It would be a monstrous injustice to strip him of Winterfell and force him to take the black, and yet if it meant his life...
And would Joffrey allow it? He remembered the prince at Winterfell, the way hê?Td mocked Robb and Ser Rodrik in the yard. Jon himself he had scarcely even noticed; bastards were beneath even his contempt. ?oMy lord, will the king listen to you??
The Old Bear shrugged. ?oA boy king... I imagine hê?Tll listen to his mother. A pity the dwarf isn?Tt with them. Hê?Ts the lad?Ts uncle, and he saw our need when he visited us. It was a bad thing, your lady mother taking him captive-?
?oLady Stark is not my mother,? Jon reminded him sharply. Tyrion Lannister had been a friend to him. If Lord Eddard was killed, she would be as much to blame as the queen. ?oMy lord, what of my sisters? Arya and Sansa, they were with my father, do you know-?
?oPycelle makes no mention of them, but doubtless they?Tll be treated gently. I will ask about them when I write.? Mormont shook his head. ?oThis could not have happened at a worse time. If ever the realm needed a strong king... there are dark days and cold nights ahead, I feel it in my bones...? He gave Jon a long shrewd look. ?oI hope you are not thinking of doing anything stupid, boy.?
Hê?Ts my father, Jon wanted to say, but he knew that Mormont would not want to hear it. His throat was dry. He made himself take another sip of wine.
?oYour duty is here now,? the Lord Commander reminded him. ?oYour old life ended when you took the black.? His bird made a raucous echo. ?oBlack.? Mormont took no notice. ?oWhatever they do in King?Ts Landing is none of our concern.? When Jon did not answer, the old man finished his wine and said, ?oYou?Tre free to go. I?Tll have no further need of you today. On the morrow you can help me write that letter.?
Jon did not remember standing or leaving the solar. The next he knew, he was descending the tower steps, thinking, This is my father, my sisters, how can it be none of my concern?
Outside, one of the guards looked at him and said, ?oBe strong, boy. The gods are cruel.?
They know, Jon realized. ?oMy father is no traitor,? he said hoarsely. Even the words stuck in his throat, as if to choke him. The wind was rising, and it seemed colder in the yard than it had when hê?Td gone in. Spirit summer was drawing to an end.
The rest of the afternoon passed as if in a dream. Jon could not have said where he walked, what he did, who he spoke with. Ghost was with him, he knew that much. The silent presence of the direwolf gave him comfort. The girls do not even have that much, he thought. Their wolves might have kept them safe, but Lady is dead and Nymeriâ?Ts lost, they?Tre all alone.
A north wind had begun to blow by the time the sun went down. Jon could hear it skirling against the Wall and over the icy battlements as he went to the common hall for the evening meal. Hobb had cooked up a venison stew, thick with barley, onions, and carrots. When he spooned an extra portion onto Jon?Ts plate and gave him the crusty heel of the bread, he knew what it meant. He knows. He looked around the hall, saw heads turn quickly, eyes politely averted. They all know.
His friends rallied to him. ?oWe asked the septon to light a candle for your father,? Matthar told him. ?oIt?Ts a lie, we all know it?Ts a lie, even Grenn knows it?Ts a lie,? Pyp chimed in. Grenn nodded, and Sam clasped Jon?Ts hand, ?oYou?Tre my brother now, so hê?Ts my father too,? the fat boy said. ?oIf you want to go out to the weirwoods and pray to the old gods, I?Tll go with you.?
The weirwoods were beyond the Wall, yet he knew Sam meant what he said. They are my brothers, he thought. As much as Robb and Bran and Rickon...
And then he heard the laughter, sharp and cruel as a whip, and the voice of Ser Alliser Thorne. ?oNot only a bastard, but a traitor?Ts bastard,? he was telling the men around him.
In the blink of an eye, Jon had vaulted onto the table, dagger in his hand. Pyp made a grab for him, but he wrenched his leg away, and then he was sprinting down the table and kicking the bowl from Ser Alliser?Ts hand. Stew went flying everywhere, spattering the brothers. Thorne recoiled. People were shouting, but Jon Snow did not hear them. He lunged at Ser Alliser?Ts face with the dagger, slashing at those cold onyx eyes, but Sam threw himself between them and before Jon could get around him, Pyp was on his back clinging like a monkey, and Grenn was grabbing his arm while Toad wrenched the knife from his fingers.
Later, much later, after they had marched him back to his sleeping cell, Mormont came down to see him, raven on his shoulder. ?oI told you not to do anything stupid, boy,? the Old Bear said. ?oBoy,? the bird chorused. Mormont shook his head, disgusted. ?oAnd to think I had high hopes for you.?
They took his knife and his sword and told him he was not to leave his cell until the high officers met to decide what was to be done with him. And then they placed a guard outside his door to make certain he obeyed. His friends were not allowed to see him, but the Old Bear did relent and permit him Ghost, so he was not utterly alone.
?oMy father is no traitor,? he told the direwolf when the rest had gone. Ghost looked at him in silence. Jon slumped against the wall, hands around his knees, and stared at the candle on the table beside his narrow bed. The flame flickered and swayed, the shadows moved around him, the room seemed to grow darker and colder. I will not sleep tonight, Jon thought.
Yet he must have dozed. When he woke, his legs were stiff and cramped and the candle had long since burned out. Ghost stood on his hind legs, scrabbling at the door. Jon was startled to see how tall hê?Td grown. ?oGhost, what is it?? he called softly. The direwolf turned his head and looked down at him, baring his fangs in a silent snarl. Has he gone mad? Jon wondered. ?oIt?Ts me, Ghost,? he murmured, trying not to sound afraid. Yet he was trembling, violently. When had it gotten so cold?
Ghost backed away from the door. There were deep gouges where hê?Td raked the wood. Jon watched him with mounting disquiet. ?oTherê?Ts someone out there, isn?Tt there?? he whispered. Crouching, the direwolf crept backward, white fur rising on the back of his neck. The guard, he thought, they left a man to guard my door, Ghost smells him through the door, that?Ts all it is.
Slowly, Jon pushed himself to his feet. He was shivering uncontrollably, wishing he still had a sword. Three quick steps brought him to the door. He grabbed the handle and pulled it inward. The creak of the hinges almost made him jump.
His guard was sprawled bonelessly across the narrow steps, looking up at him. Looking up at him, even though he was lying on his stomach. His head had been twisted completely around.
It can?Tt be, Jon told himself. This is the Lord Commander?Ts Tower, it?Ts guarded day and night, this couldn?Tt happen, it?Ts a dream, I?Tm having a nightmare.
Ghost slid past him, out the door. The wolf started up the steps, stopped, looked back at Jon. That was when he heard it; the soft scrape of a boot on stone, the sound of a latch turning. The sounds came from above. From the Lord Commander?Ts chambers.
A nightmare this might be, yet it was no dream.
The guard?Ts sword was in its sheath. Jon knelt and worked it free. The heft of steel in his fist made him bolder. He moved up the steps, Ghost padding silently before him. Shadows lurked in every turn of the stair. Jon crept up warily, probing any suspicious darkness with the point of his sword.
Suddenly he heard the shriek of Mormont?Ts raven. ?oCorn,? the bird was screaming. ?oCorn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn.? Ghost bounded ahead, and Jon came scrambling after. The door to Mormont?Ts solar was wide open. The direwolf plunged through. Jon stopped in the doorway, blade in hand, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Heavy drapes had been pulled across the windows, and the darkness was black as ink. ?oWhô?Ts there?? he called out.
Then he saw it, a shadow in the shadows, sliding toward the inner door that led to Mormont?Ts sleeping cell, a man-shape all in black, cloaked and hooded... but beneath the hood, its eyes shone with an icy blue radiance...
Ghost leapt. Man and wolf went down together with neither scream nor snarl, rolling, smashing into a chair, knocking over a table laden with papers. Mormont?Ts raven was flapping overhead, screaming, ?oCorn, corn, corn, corn.? Jon felt as blind as Maester Aemon. Keeping the wall to his back, he slid toward the window and ripped down the curtain. Moonlight flooded the solar. He glimpsed black hands buried in white fur, swollen dark fingers tightening around his direwolf?Ts throat. Ghost was twisting and snapping, legs flailing in the air, but he could not break free.
Jon had no time to be afraid. He threw himself forward, shouting, bringing down the longsword with all his weight behind it. Steel sheared through sleeve and skin and bone, yet the sound was wrong somehow. The smell that engulfed him was so queer and cold he almost gagged. He saw arm and hand on the floor, black fingers wriggling in a pool of moonlight. Ghost wrenched free of the other hand and crept away, red tongue lolling from his mouth.
The hooded man lifted his pale moon face, and Jon slashed at it without hesitation. The sword laid the intruder open to the bone, taking off half his nose and opening a gash cheek to cheek under those eyes, eyes, eyes like blue stars burning. Jon knew that face. Othor, he thought, reeling back. Gods, hê?Ts dead, hê?Ts dead, I saw him dead.
He felt something scrabble at his ankle. Black fingers clawed at his calf. The arm was crawling up his leg, ripping at wool and flesh. Shouting with revulsion, Jon pried the fingers off his leg with the point of his sword and flipped the thing away. It lay writhing, fingers opening and closing.
The corpse lurched forward. There was no blood. One-armed, face cut near in half, it seemed to feel nothing. Jon held the longsword before him. ?oStay away!? he commanded, his voice gone shrill. ?oCorn,? screamed the raven, ?ocorn, corn.? The severed arm was wriggling out of its torn sleeve, a pale snake with a black five-fingered head. Ghost pounced and got it between his teeth. Finger bones crunched. Jon hacked at the corpsê?Ts neck, felt the steel bite deep and hard.
Dead Othor slammed into him, knocking him off his feet.
Jon?Ts breath went out of him as the fallen table caught him between his shoulder blades. The sword, where was the sword? Hê?Td lost the damned sword! When he opened his mouth to scream, the wight jammed its black corpse fingers into Jon?Ts mouth. Gagging, he tried to shove it off, but the dead man was too heavy. Its hand forced itself farther down his throat, icy cold, choking him. Its face was against his own, filling the world. Frost covered its eyes, sparkling blue. Jon raked cold flesh with his nails and kicked at the thing?Ts legs. He tried to bite, tried to punch, tried to breathe...
And suddenly the corpsê?Ts weight was gone, its fingers ripped from his throat. It was all Jon could do to roll over, retching and shaking.
Ghost had it again. He watched as the direwolf buried his teeth in the wight?Ts gut and began to rip and tear. He watched, only half conscious, for a long moment before he finally remembered to look for his sword... and saw Lord Mormont, naked and groggy from sleep, standing in the doorway with an oil lamp in hand. Gnawed and fingerless, the arm thrashed on the floor, wriggling toward him.
Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear?Ts fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. ?oBurn!? the raven cawed. ?oBurn, burn, burn!?
Spinning, Jon saw the drapes hê?Td ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. ?oGhost!? he shouted.
The direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes spilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed a fistful of the burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he prayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.

Chapter 53
Bran​

The Karstarks came in on a cold windy morning, bringing three hundred horsemen and near two thousand foot from their castle at Karhold. The steel points of their pikes winked in the pale sunlight as the column approached. A man went before them, pounding out a slow, deep-throated marching rhythm on a drum that was bigger than he was, boom, boom, boom.
Bran watched them come from a guard turret atop the outer wall, peering through Maester Luwin?Ts bronze far-eye while perched on Hodor?Ts shoulders. Lord Rickard himself led them, his sons Harrion and Eddard and Torrhen riding beside him beneath night-black banners emblazoned with the white sunburst of their House. Old Nan said they had Stark blood in them, going back hundreds of years, but they did not look like Starks to Bran. They were big men, and fierce, faces covered with thick beards, hair worn loose past the shoulders. Their cloaks were made of skins, the pelts of bear and seal and wolf.
They were the last, he knew. The other lords were already here, with their hosts. Bran yearned to ride out among them, to see the winter houses full to bursting, the jostling crowds in the market square every morning, the streets rutted and torn by wheel and hoof. But Robb had forbidden him to leave the castle. ?oWe have no men to spare to guard you,? his brother had explained.
?oI?Tll take Summer,? Bran argued.
?oDon?Tt act the boy with me, Bran,? Robb said. ?oYou know better than that. Only two days ago one of Lord Bolton?Ts men knifed one of Lord Cerwyn?Ts at the Smoking Log. Our lady mother would skin me for a pelt if I let you put yourself at risk.? He was using the voice of Robb the Lord when he said it; Bran knew that meant there was no appeal.
It was because of what had happened in the wolfswood, he knew. The memory still gave him bad dreams. He had been as helpless as a baby, no more able to defend himself than Rickon would have been. Less, even... Rickon would have kicked them, at the least. It shamed him. He was only a few years younger than Robb; if his brother was almost a man grown, so was he. He should have been able to protect himself.
A year ago, before, he would have visited the town even if it meant climbing over the walls by himself. In those days he could run down stairs, get on and off his pony by himself, and wield a wooden sword good enough to knock Prince Tommen in the dirt. Now he could only watch, peering out through Maester Luwin?Ts lens tube. The maester had taught him all the banners: the mailed fist of the Glovers, silver on scarlet; Lady Mormont?Ts black bear; the hideous flayed man that went before Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort; a bull moose for the Hornwoods; a battle-axe for the Cerwyns; three sentinel trees for the Tallharts; and the fearsome sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant in shattered chains.
And soon enough he learned the faces too, when the lords and their sons and knights retainer came to Winterfell to feast. Even the Great Hall was not large enough to seat all of them at once, so Robb hosted each of the principal bannermen in turn. Bran was always given the place of honor at his brother?Ts right hand. Some of the lords bannermen gave him queer hard stares as he sat there, as if they wondered by what right a green boy should be placed above them, and him a cripple too.
?oHow many is it now?? Bran asked Maester Luwin as Lord Karstark and his sons rode through the gates in the outer wall.
?oTwelve thousand men, or near enough as makes no matter.?
?oHow many knights??
?oFew enough,? the maester said with a touch of impatience. ?oTo be a knight, you must stand your vigil in a sept, and be anointed with the seven oils to consecrate your vows. In the north, only a few of the great houses worship the Seven. The rest honor the old gods, and name no knights... but those lords and their sons and sworn swords are no less fierce or loyal or honorable. A man?Ts worth is not marked by a ser before his name. As I have told you a hundred times before.?
?oStill,? said Bran, ?ohow many knights??
Maester Luwin sighed. ?oThree hundred, perhaps four... among three thousand armored lances who are not knights.?
?oLord Karstark is the last,? Bran said thoughtfully. ?oRobb will feast him tonight.?
?oNo doubt he will.?
?oHow long before... before they go??
?oHe must march soon, or not at all,? Maester Luwin said. ?oThe winter town is full to bursting, and this army of his will eat the countryside clean if it camps here much longer. Others are waiting to join him all along the kingsroad, barrow knights and crannogmen and the Lords Manderly and Flint. The fighting has begun in the riverlands, and your brother has many leagues to go.?
?oI know.? Bran felt as miserable as he sounded. He handed the bronze tube back to the maester, and noticed how thin Luwin?Ts hair had grown on top. He could see the pink of scalp showing through. It felt queer to look down on him this way, when hê?Td spent his whole life looking up at him, but when you sat on Hodor?Ts back you looked down on everyone. ?oI don?Tt want to watch anymore. Hodor, take me back to the keep.?
?oHodor,? said Hodor.
Maester Luwin tucked the tube up his sleeve. ?oBran, your lord brother will not have time to see you now. He must greet Lord Karstark and his sons and make them welcome.?
?oI won?Tt trouble Robb. I want to visit the godswood.? He put his hand on Hodor?Ts shoulder. ?oHodor.?
A series of chisel-cut handholds made a ladder in the granite of the tower?Ts inner wall. Hodor hummed tunelessly as he went down hand under hand, Bran bouncing against his back in the wicker seat that Maester Luwin had fashioned for him. Luwin had gotten the idea from the baskets the women used to carry firewood on their backs; after that it had been a simple matter of cutting legholes and attaching some new straps to spread Bran?Ts weight more evenly. It was not as good as riding Dancer, but there were places Dancer could not go, and this did not shame Bran the way it did when Hodor carried him in his arms like a baby. Hodor seemed to like it too, though with Hodor it was hard to tell. The only tricky part was doors. Sometimes Hodor forgot that he had Bran on his back, and that could be painful when he went through a door.
For near a fortnight there had been so many comings and goings that Robb ordered both portcullises kept up and the drawbridge down between them, even in the dead of night.
A long column of armored lancers was crossing the moat between the walls when Bran emerged from the tower; Karstark men, following their lords into the castle.
They wore black iron halfhelms and black woolen cloaks patterned with the white sunburst. Hodor trotted along beside them, smiling to himself, his boots thudding against the wood of the drawbridge.
The riders gave them queer looks as they went by, and once Bran heard someone guffaw. He refused to let it trouble him. ?oMen will look at you,? Maester Luwin had warned him the first time they had strapped the wicker basket around Hodor?Ts chest. ?oThey will look, and they will talk, and some will mock you.? Let them mock, Bran thought. No one mocked him in his bedchamber, but he would not live his life in bed.
As they passed beneath the gatehouse portcullis, Bran put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. Summer came loping across the yard. Suddenly the Karstark lancers were fighting for control, as their horses rolled their eyes and whickered in dismay. One stallion reared, screaming, his rider cursing and hanging on desperately. The scent of the direwolves sent horses into a frenzy of fear if they were not accustomed to it, but they?Td quiet soon enough once Summer was gone. ?oThe godswood,? Bran reminded Hodor.
Even Winterfell itself was crowded. The yard rang to the sound of sword and axe, the rumble of wagons, and the barking of dogs. The armory doors were open, and Bran glimpsed Mikken at his forge, his hammer ringing as sweat dripped off his bare chest. Bran had never seen as many strangers in all his years, not even when King Robert had come to visit Father.
He tried not to flinch as Hodor ducked through a low door. They walked down a long dim hallway, Summer padding easily beside them. The wolf glanced up from time to time, eyes smoldering like liquid gold. Bran would have liked to touch him, but he was riding too high for his hand to reach.
The godswood was an island of peace in the sea of chaos that Winterfell had become. Hodor made his way through the dense stands of oak and ironwood and sentinels, to the still pool beside the heart tree. He stopped under the gnarled limbs of the weirwood, humming. Bran reached up over his head and pulled himself out of his seat, drawing the dead weight of his legs up through the holes in the wicker basket. He hung for a moment, dangling, the dark red leaves brushing against his face, until Hodor lifted him and lowered him to the smooth stone beside the water. ?oI want to be by myself for a while,? he said. ?oYou go soak. Go to the pools.?
?oHodor.? Hodor stomped through the trees and vanished. Across the godswood, beneath the windows of the Guest House, an underground hot spring fed three small ponds. Steam rose from the water day and night, and the wall that loomed above was thick with moss. Hodor hated cold water, and would fight like a treed wildcat when threatened with soap, but he would happily immerse himself in the hottest pool and sit for hours, giving a loud burp to echo the spring whenever a bubble rose from the murky green depths to break upon the surface.
Summer lapped at the water and settled down at Bran?Ts side. He rubbed the wolf under the jaw, and for a moment boy and beast both felt at peace. Bran had always liked the godswood, even before, but of late he found himself drawn to it more and more. Even the heart tree no longer scared him the way it used to. The deep red eyes carved into the pale trunk still watched him, yet somehow he took comfort from that now. The gods were looking over him, he told himself; the old gods, gods of the Starks and the First Men and the children of the forest, his father?Ts gods. He felt safe in their sight, and the deep silence of the trees helped him think. Bran had been thinking a lot since his fall; thinking, and dreaming, and talking with the gods.
?oPlease make it so Robb won?Tt go away,? he prayed softly. He moved his hand through the cold water, sending ripples across the pool. ?oPlease make him stay. Or if he has to go, bring him home safe, with Mother and Father and the girls. And make it... make it so Rickon understands.?
His baby brother had been wild as a winter storm since he learned Robb was riding off to war, weeping and angry by turns. Hê?Td refused to eat, cried and screamed for most of a night, even punched Old Nan when she tried to sing him to sleep, and the next day hê?Td vanished. Robb had set half the castle searching for him, and when at last they?Td found him down in the crypts, Rickon had slashed at them with a rusted iron sword hê?Td snatched from a dead king?Ts hand, and Shaggydog had come slavering out of the darkness like a green-eyed demon. The wolf was near as wild as Rickon; hê?Td bitten Gage on the arm and torn a chunk of flesh from Mikken?Ts thigh. It had taken Robb himself and Grey Wind to bring him to bay. Farlen had the black wolf chained up in the kennels now, and Rickon cried all the more for being without him.

Maester Luwin counseled Robb to remain at Winterfell, and Bran pleaded with him too, for his own sake as much as Rickon?Ts, but his brother only shook his head stubbornly and said, ?oI don?Tt want to go. I have to.?
It was only half a lie. Someone had to go, to hold the Neck and help the Tullys against the Lannisters, Bran could understand that, but it did not have to be Robb. His brother might have given the command to Hal Mollen or Theon Greyjoy, or to one of his lords bannermen. Maester Luwin urged him to do just that, but Robb would not hear of it. ?oMy lord father would never have sent men off to die while he huddled like a craven behind the walls of Winterfell,? he said, all Robb the Lord.
Robb seemed half a stranger to Bran now, transformed, a lord in truth, though he had not yet seen his sixteenth name day. Even their father?Ts bannermen seemed to sense it. Many tried to test him, each in his own way. Roose Bolton and Robett Glover both demanded the honor of battle command, the first brusquely, the second with a smile and a jest. Stout, grey-haired Maege Mormont, dressed in mail like a man, told Robb bluntly that he was young enough to be her grandson, and had no business giving her commands... but as it happened, she had a granddaughter she would be willing to have him marry. Softspoken Lord Cerwyn had actually brought his daughter with him, a plump, homely maid of thirty years who sat at her father?Ts left hand and never lifted her eyes from her plate. Jovial Lord Hornwood had no daughters, but he did bring gifts, a horse one day, a haunch of venison the next, a silver-chased hunting horn the day after, and he asked nothing in return... nothing but a certain holdfast taken from his grandfather, and hunting rights north of a certain ridge, and leave to dam the White Knife, if it please the lord.
Robb answered each of them with cool courtesy, much as Father might have, and somehow he bent them to his will.
And when Lord Umber, who was called the Greatjon by his men and stood as tall as Hodor and twice as wide, threatened to take his forces home if he was placed behind the Hornwoods or the Cerwyns in the order of march, Robb told him he was welcome to do so. ?oAnd when we are done with the Lannisters,? he promised, scratching Grey Wind behind the ear, ?owe will march back north, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker.? Cursing, the Greatjon flung a flagon of ale into the fire and bellowed that Robb was so green he must piss grass. When Hallis Mollen moved to restrain him, he knocked him to the floor, kicked over a table, and unsheathed the biggest, ugliest greatsword that Bran had ever seen. All along the benches, his sons and brothers and sworn swords leapt to their feet, grabbing for their steel.
Yet Robb only said a quiet word, and in a snarl and the blink of an eye Lord Umber was on his back, his sword spinning on the floor three feet away and his hand dripping blood where Grey Wind had bitten off two fingers. ?oMy lord father taught me that it was death to bare steel against your liege lord,? Robb said, ?obut doubtless you only meant to cut my meat.? Bran?Ts bowels went to water as the Greatjon struggled to rise, sucking at the red stumps of fingers... but then, astonishingly, the huge man laughed. ?oYour meat,? he roared, ?ois bloody tough.?
And somehow after that the Greatjon became Robb?Ts right hand, his staunchest champion, loudly telling all and sundry that the boy lord was a Stark after all, and they?Td damn well better bend their knees if they didn?Tt fancy having them chewed off.
Yet that very night, his brother came to Bran?Ts bedchamber pale and shaken, after the fires had burned low in the Great Hall. ?oI thought he was going to kill me,? Robb confessed. ?oDid you see the way he threw down Hal, like he was no bigger than Rickon? Gods, I was so scared. And the Greatjon?Ts not the worst of them, only the loudest. Lord Roose never says a word, he only looks at me, and all I can think of is that room they have in the Dreadfort, where the Boltons hang the skins of their enemies.?
?oThat?Ts just one of Old Nan?Ts stories,? Bran said. A note of doubt crept into his voice. ?oIsn?Tt it??
?oI don?Tt know.? He gave a weary shake of his head. ?oLord Cerwyn means to take his daughter south with us. To cook for him, he says. Theon is certain I?Tll find the girl in my bedroll one night. I wish... I wish Father was here...?
That was the one thing they could agree on, Bran and Rickon and Robb the Lord; they all wished Father was here. But Lord Eddard was a thousand leagues away, a captive in some dungeon, a hunted fugitive running for his life, or even dead. No one seemed to know for certain; every traveler told a different tale, each more terrifying than the last. The heads of Father?Ts guardsmen were rotting on the walls of the Red Keep, impaled on spikes. King Robert was dead at Father?Ts hands. The Baratheons had laid siege to King?Ts Landing. Lord Eddard had fled south with the king?Ts wicked brother Renly. Arya and Sansa had been murdered by the Hound. Mother had killed Tyrion the Imp and hung his body from the walls of Riverrun. Lord Tywin Lannister was marching on the Eyrie, burning and slaughtering as he went. One winesodden taleteller even claimed that Rhaegar Targaryen had returned from the dead and was marshaling a vast host of ancient heroes on Dragonstone to reclaim his father?Ts throne.
When the raven came, bearing a letter marked with Father?Ts own seal and written in Sansâ?Ts hand, the cruel truth seemed no less incredible. Bran would never forget the look on Robb?Ts face as he stared at their sister?Ts words. ?oShe says Father conspired at treason with the king?Ts brothers,? he read. ?oKing Robert is dead, and Mother and I are summoned to the Red Keep to swear fealty to Joffrey. She says we must be loyal, and when she marries Jofftey she will plead with him to spare our lord father?Ts life.? His fingers closed into a fist, crushing Sansâ?Ts letter between them. ?oAnd she says nothing of Arya, nothing, not so much as a word. Damn her! What?Ts wrong with the girl??
Bran felt all cold inside. ?oShe lost her wolf,? he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father?Ts guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady?Ts bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned.
Their grandfather, old Lord Rickard, had gone as well, with his son Brandon who was Father?Ts brother, and two hundred of his best men. None had ever returned. And Father had gone south, with Arya and Sansa, and Jory and Hullen and Fat Tom and the rest, and later Mother and Ser Rodrik had gone, and they hadn?Tt come back either. And now Robb meant to go. Not to King?Ts Landing and not to swear fealty, but to Riverrun, with a sword in his hand. And if their lord father were truly a prisoner, that could mean his death for a certainty. It frightened Bran more than he could say.
?oIf Robb has to go, watch over him,? Bran entreated the old gods, as they watched him with the heart treê?Ts red eyes, ?oand watch over his men, Hal and Quent and the rest, and Lord Umber and Lady Mormont and the other lords. And Theon too, I suppose. Watch them and keep them safe, if it please you, gods. Help them defeat the Lannisters and save Father and bring them home.?
A faint wind sighed through the godswood and the red leaves stirred and whispered. Summer bared his teeth. ?oYou hear them, boy?? a voice asked.
Bran lifted his head. Osha stood across the pool, beneath an ancient oak, her face shadowed by leaves. Even in irons, the wildling moved quiet as a cat. Summer circled the pool, sniffed at her. The tall woman flinched.
?oSummer, to me,? Bran called. The direwolf took one final sniff, spun, and bounded back. Bran wrapped his arms around him. ?oWhat are you doing here?? He had not seen Osha since they?Td taken her captive in the wolfswood, though he knew shê?Td been set to working in the kitchens.
?oThey are my gods too,? Osha said. ?oBeyond the Wall, they are the only gods.? Her hair was growing out, brown and shaggy. It made her look more womanly, that and the simple dress of brown roughspun they?Td given her when they took her mail and leather. ?oGage lets me have my prayers from time to time, when I feel the need, and I let him do as he likes under my skirt, when he feels the need. It?Ts nothing to me. I like the smell of flour on his hands, and hê?Ts gentler than Stiv.? She gave an awkward bow. ?oI?Tll leave you. Therê?Ts pots that want scouring.?
?oNo, stay,? Bran commanded her. ?oTell me what you meant, about hearing the gods.?
Osha studied him. ?oYou asked them and they?Tre answering. Open your ears, listen, you?Tll hear.?
Bran listened. ?oIt?Ts only the wind,? he said after a moment, uncertain. ?oThe leaves are rustling.?
?oWho do you think sends the wind, if not the gods?? She seated herself across the pool from him, clinking faintly as she moved. Mikken had fixed iron manacles to her ankles, with a heavy chain between them; she could walk, so long as she kept her strides small, but there was no way for her to run, or climb, or mount a horse. ?oThey see you, boy. They hear you talking. That rustling, that?Ts them talking back.?
?oWhat are they saying??
?oThey?Tre sad. Your lord brother will get no help from them, not where hê?Ts going. The old gods have no power in the south. The weirwoods there were all cut down, thousands of years ago. How can they watch your brother when they have no eyes??
Bran had not thought of that. It frightened him. If even the gods could not help his brother, what hope was there? Maybe Osha wasn?Tt hearing them right. He ****ed his head and tried to listen again. He thought he could hear the sadness now, but nothing more than that.
The rustling grew louder. Bran heard muffled footfalls and a low humming, and Hodor came blundering out of the trees, naked and smiling. ?oHodor!?
?oHe must have heard our voices,? Bran said. ?oHodor, you forgot your clothes.?
?oHodor,? Hodor agreed. He was dripping wet from the neck down, steaming in the chill air. His body was covered with brown hair, thick as a pelt. Between his legs, his manhood swung long and heavy.
Osha eyed him with a sour smile. ?oNow therê?Ts a big man,? she said. ?oHe has giant?Ts blood in him, or I?Tm the queen.?
?oMaester Luwin says there are no more giants. He says they?Tre all dead, like the children of the forest. All that?Ts left of them are old bones in the earth that men turn up with plows from time to time.?
?oLet Maester Luwin ride beyond the Wall,? Osha said. ?oHê?Tll find giants then, or they?Tll find him. My brother killed one. Ten foot tall she was, and stunted at that. They?Tve been known to grow big as twelve and thirteen feet. Fierce things they are too, all hair and teeth, and the wives have beards like their husbands, so therê?Ts no telling them apart. The women take human men for lovers, and it?Ts from them the half bloods come. It goes harder on the women they catch. The men are so big they?Tll rip a maid apart before they get her with child.? She grinned at him. ?oBut you don?Tt know what I mean, do you, boy??
?oYes I do,? Bran insisted. He understood about mating; he had seen dogs in the yard, and watched a stallion mount a mare. But talking about it made him uncomfortable. He looked at Hodor. ?oGo back and bring your clothes, Hodor,? he said. ?oGo dress.?
?oHodor.? He walked back the way he had come, ducking under a low-hanging tree limb.
He was awfully big, Bran thought as he watched him go. ?oAre there truly giants beyond the Wall?? he asked Osha, uncertainly.
?oGiants and worse than giants, Lordling. I tried to tell your brother when he asked his questions, him and your maester and that smiley boy Greyjoy. The cold winds are rising, and men go out from their fires and never come back... or if they do, they?Tre not men no more, but only wights, with blue eyes and cold black hands. Why do you think I run south with Stiv and Hali and the rest of them fools? Mance thinks hê?Tll fight, the brave sweet stubborn man, like the white walkers were no more than rangers, but what does he know? He can call himself King-beyond-the-Wall all he likes, but hê?Ts still just another old black crow who flew down from the Shadow Tower. Hê?Ts never tasted winter. I was born up there, child, like my mother and her mother before her and her mother before her, born of the Free Folk. We remember.? Osha stood, her chains rattling together. ?oI tried to tell your lordling brother. Only yesterday, when I saw him in the yard. ?~M?Tlord Stark,?T I called to him, respectful as you please, but he looked through me, and that sweaty oaf Greatjon Umber shoves me out of the path. So be it. I?Tll wear my irons and hold my tongue. A man who won?Tt listen can?Tt hear.?
?oTell me. Robb will listen to me, I know he will.?
?oWill he now? Wê?Tll see. You tell him this, m?Tlord. You tell him hê?Ts bound on marching the wrong way. It?Ts north he should be taking his swords. North, not south. You hear me??
Bran nodded. ?oI?Tll tell him.?
But that night, when they feasted in the Great Hall, Robb was not with them. He took his meal in the solar instead, with Lord Rickard and the Greatjon and the other lords bannermen, to make the final plans for the long march to come. It was left to Bran to fill his place at the head of the table, and act the host to Lord Karstark?Ts sons and honored friends. They were already at their places when Hodor carried Bran into the hall on his back, and knelt beside the high seat. Two of the serving men helped lift him from his basket. Bran could feel the eyes of every stranger in the hall. It had grown quiet. ?oMy lords,? Hallis Mollen announced, ?oBrandon Stark, of Winterfell.?
?oI welcome you to our fires,? Bran said stiffly, ?oand offer you meat and mead in honor of our friendship.?
Harrion Karstark, the oldest of Lord Rickard?Ts sons, bowed, and his brothers after him, yet as they settled back in their places he heard the younger two talking in low voices, over the clatter of wine cups. ?o... sooner die than live like that,? muttered one, his father?Ts namesake Eddard, and his brother Torrhen said likely the boy was broken inside as well as out, too craven to take his own life.
Broken, Bran thought bitterly as he clutched his knife. Is that what he was now? Bran the Broken? ?oI don?Tt want to be broken,? he whispered fiercely to Maester Luwin, whô?Td been seated to his right. ?oI want to be a knight.?
?oThere are some who call my order the knights of the mind,? Luwin replied. ?oYou are a surpassing clever boy when you work at it, Bran. Have you ever thought that you might wear a maester?Ts chain? There is no limit to what you might learn.?
?oI want to learn magic,? Bran told him. ?oThe crow promised that I would fly.?
Maester Luwin sighed. ?oI can teach you history, healing, herblore. I can teach you the speech of ravens, and how to build a castle, and the way a sailor steers his ship by the stars. I can teach you to measure the days and mark the seasons, and at the Citadel in Oldtown they can teach you a thousand things more. But, Bran, no man can teach you magic.?
?oThe children could,? Bran said. ?oThe children of the forest.? That reminded him of the promise he had made to Osha in the godswood, so he told Luwin what she had said.
The maester listened politely. ?oThe wildling woman could give Old Nan lessons in telling tales, I think,? he said when Bran was done. ?oI will talk with her again if you like, but it would be best if you did not trouble your brother with this folly. He has more than enough to concern him without fretting over giants and dead men in the woods. It?Ts the Lannisters who hold your lord father, Bran, not the children of the forest.? He put a gentle hand on Bran?Ts arm. ?oThink on what I said, child.?
And two days later, as a red dawn broke across a windswept sky, Bran found himself in the yard beneath the gatehouse, strapped atop Dancer as he said his farewells to his brother.
?oYou are the lord in Winterfell now,? Robb told him. He was mounted on a shaggy grey stallion, his shield hung from the horsê?Ts side; wood banded with iron, white and grey, and on it the snarling face of a direwolf. His brother wore grey chainmail over bleached leathers, sword and dagger at his waist, a fur-trimmed cloak across his shoulders. ?oYou must take my place, as I took Father?Ts, until we come home.?
?oI know,? Bran replied miserably. He had never felt so little or alone or scared. He did not know how to be a lord.
?oListen to Maester Luwin?Ts counsel, and take care of Rickon. Tell him that I?Tll be back as soon as the fighting is done.?
Rickon had refused to come down. He was up in his chamber, red-eyed and defiant. ?oNo!? hê?Td screamed when Bran had asked if he didn?Tt want to say farewell to Robb. ?oNO farewell!?
?oI told him,? Bran said. ?oHe says no one ever comes back.?
?oHe can?Tt be a baby forever. Hê?Ts a Stark, and near four.? Robb sighed. ?oWell, Mother will be home soon. And I?Tll bring back Father, I promise.?
He wheeled his courser around and trotted away. Grey Wind followed, loping beside the warhorse, lean and swift. Hallis Mollen went before them through the gate, carrying the rippling white banner of House Stark atop a high standard of grey ash. Theon Greyjoy and the Greatjon fell in on either side of Robb, and their knights formed up in a double column behind them, steel-tipped lances glinting in the sun.
Uncomfortably, he remembered Oshâ?Ts words. Hê?Ts marching the wrong way, he thought. For an instant he wanted to gallop after him and shout a warning, but when Robb vanished beneath the portcullis, the moment was gone.
Beyond the castle walls, a roar of sound went up. The foot soldiers and townsfolk were cheering Robb as he rode past, Bran knew; cheering for Lord Stark, for the Lord of Winterfell on his great stallion, with his cloak streaming and Grey Wind racing beside him. They would never cheer for him that way, he realized with a dull ache. He might be the lord in Winterfell while his brother and father were gone, but he was still Bran the Broken. He could not even get off his own horse, except to fall.
When the distant cheers had faded to silence and the yard was empty at last, Winterfell seemed deserted and dead. Bran looked around at the faces of those who remained, women and children and old men... and Hodor. The huge stableboy had a lost and frightened look to his face. ?oHodor?? he said sadly.
?oHodor,? Bran agreed, wondering what it meant.

Chapter 54
Daenerys​

When he had taken his pleasure, Khal Drogo rose from their sleeping mats to tower above her. His skin shone dark as bronze in the ruddy light from the brazier, the faint lines of old scars visible on his broad chest. Ink-black hair, loose and unbound, cascaded over his shoulders and down his back, well past his waist. His manhood glistened wetly. The khalâ?Ts mouth twisted in a frown beneath the droop of his long mustachio. â?oThe stallion who mounts the world has no need of iron chairs.â?
Dany propped herself on an elbow to look up at him, so tall and magnificent. She loved his hair especially. It had never been cut; he had never known defeat. â?oIt was prophesied that the stallion will ride to the ends of the earth,â? she said.
â?oThe earth ends at the black salt sea,â? Drogo answered at once. He wet a cloth in a basin of warm water to wipe the sweat and oil from his skin. â?oNo horse can cross the poison water.â?
â?oIn the Free Cities, there are ships by the thousand,â? Dany told him, as she had told him before. â?oWooden horses with a hundred legs, that fly across the sea on wings full of wind.â?
Khal Drogo did not want to hear it. â?oWe will speak no more of wooden horses and iron chairs.â? He dropped the cloth and began to dress. â?oThis day I will go to the grass and hunt, woman wife,â? he announced as he shrugged into a painted vest and buckled on a wide belt with heavy medallions of silver, gold, and bronze.
â?oYes, my sun-and-stars,â? Dany said. Drogo would take his bloodriders and ride in search of hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains. If they returned triumphant, her lord husbandâ?Ts joy would be fierce, and he might be willing to hear her out.
Savage beasts he did not fear, nor any man who had ever drawn breath, but the sea was a different matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink was something foul; the heaving grey-green plains of the ocean filled them with superstitious loathing. Drogo was a bolder man than the other horselords in half a hundred ways, she had found... but not in this. If only she could get him onto a ship...
After the khal and his bloodriders had ridden off with their bows, Dany summoned her handmaids. Her body felt so fat and ungainly now that she welcomed the help of their strong arms and deft hands, whereas before she had often been uncomfortable with the way they fussed and fluttered about her. They scrubbed her clean and dressed her in sandsilk, loose and flowing. As Doreah combed out her hair, she sent Jhiqui to find Ser Jorah Mormont.
The knight came at once. He wore horsehair leggings and painted vest, like a rider. Coarse black hair covered his thick chest and muscular arms. â?oMy princess. How may I serve you?â?
â?oYou must talk to my lord husband,â? Dany said. â?oDrogo says the stallion who mounts the world will have all the lands of the earth to rule, and no need to cross the poison water. He talks of leading his khalasar east after Rhaego is born, to plunder the lands around the Jade Sea.â?
The knight looked thoughtful. â?oThe khal has never seen the Seven Kingdoms,â? he said. â?oThey are nothing to him. If he thinks of them at all, no doubt he thinks of islands, a few small cities clinging to rocks in the manner of Lorath or Lys, surrounded by stormy seas. The riches of the east must seem a more tempting prospect.â?
â?oBut he must ride west,â? Dany said, despairing. â?oPlease, help me make him understand.â? She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.
â?oThe Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons,â? the knight answered. â?oHave patience, Princess. Do not make your brotherâ?Ts mistake. We will go home, I promise you.â?
Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door... was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?
Ser Jorah must have seen the sadness on her face. â?oA great caravan arrived during the night, Khaleesi. Four hundred horses, from Pentos by way of Norvos and Qohor, under the command of Merchant Captain Byan Votyris. Illyrio may have sent a letter. Would you care to visit the Western Market?â?
Dany stirred. â?oYes,â? she said. â?oI would like that.â? The markets came alive when a caravan had come in. You could never tell what treasures the traders might bring this time, and it would be good to hear men speaking Valyrian again, as they did in the Free Cities. â?oIrri, have them prepare a litter."
â?oI shall tell your khas,â? Ser Jorah said, withdrawing.
If Khal Drogo had been with her, Dany would have ridden her silver. Among the Dothraki, mothers stayed on horseback almost up to the moment of birth, and she did not want to seem weak in her husbandâ?Ts eyes. But with the khal off hunting, it was pleasant to lie back on soft cushions and be carried across Vaes Dothrak, with red silk curtains to shield her from the sun. Ser Jorah saddled up and rode beside her, with the four young men of her khas and her handmaids.
The day was warm and cloudless, the sky a deep blue. When the wind blew, she could smell the rich scents of grass and earth. As her litter passed beneath the stolen monuments, she went from sunlight to shadow and back again. Dany swayed along, studying the faces of dead heroes and forgotten kings. She wondered if the gods of burned cities could still answer prayers.
If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old... and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman... but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.
The Western Market was a great square of beaten earth surrounded by warrens of mud-baked brick, animal pens, whitewashed drinking halls. Hummocks rose from the ground like the backs of great subterranean beasts breaking the surface, yawning black mouths leading down to cool and ****rnous storerooms below. The interior of the square was a maze of stalls and crookback aisles, shaded by awnings of woven grass.
A hundred merchants and traders were unloading their goods and setting up in stalls when they arrived, yet even so the great market seemed hushed and deserted compared to the teeming bazaars that Dany remembered from Pentos and the other Free Cities. The caravans made their way to Vaes Dothrak from east and west not so much to sell to the Dothraki as to trade with each other, Ser Jorah had explained. The riders let them come and go unmolested, so long as they observed the peace of the sacred city, did not profane the Mother of Mountains or the Womb of the World, and honored the crones of the dosh khaleen with the tra***ional gifts of salt, silver, and seed. The Dothraki did not truly comprehend this business of buying and selling.
Dany liked the strangeness of the Eastern Market too, with all its queer sights and sounds and smells. She often spent her mornings there, nibbling tree eggs, locust pie, and green noodles, listening to the high ululating voices of the spellsingers, gaping at manticores in silver cages and immense grey elephants and the striped black-and-white horses of the Jogos Nhai. She enjoyed watching all the people too: dark solemn Asshaiâ?Ti and tall pale Qartheen, the bright-eyed men of Yi Ti in monkey-tail hats, warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks, even the dour and frightening Shadow Men, who covered their arms and legs and chests with tattoos and hid their faces behind masks. The Eastern Market was a place of wonder and magic for Dany.
But the Western Market smelled of home.
As Irri and Jhiqui helped her from her litter, she sniffed, and recognized the sharp odors of garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone in the alleys of Tyrosh and Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. Under that she smelled the heady sweet perfumes of Lys. She saw slaves carrying bolts of intricate Myrish lace and fine wools in a dozen rich colors. Caravan guards wandered among the aisles in copper helmets and knee-length tunics of quilted yellow cotton, empty scabbards swinging from their woven leather belts. Behind one stall an armorer displayed steel breastplates worked with gold and silver in ornate patterns, and helms hammered in the shapes of fanciful beasts. Next to him was a pretty young woman selling Lannisport goldwork, rings and brooches and torcs and exquisitely wrought medallions suitable for belting. A huge eunuch guarded her stall, mute and hairless, dressed in sweat-stained velvets and scowling at anyone who came close. Across the aisle, a fat cloth trader from Yi Ti was haggling with a Pentoshi over the price of some green dye, the monkey tail on his hat swaying back and forth as he shook his head.
â?oWhen I was a little girl, I loved to play in the bazaar,â? Dany told Ser Jorah as they wandered down the shady aisle between the stalls. â?oIt was so alive there, all the people shouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at... though we seldom had enough coin to buy anything... well, except for a sausage now and again, or honeyfingers... do they have honeyfingers in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind they bake in Tyrosh?â?
â?oCakes, are they? I could not say, Princess.â? The knight bowed. â?oIf you would pardon me for a time, I will seek out the captain and see if he has letters for us.â?
â?oVery well. Iâ?Tll help you find him.â?
â?oThere is no need for you to trouble yourself.â? Ser Jorah glanced away impatiently. â?oEnjoy the market. I will rejoin you when my business is concluded.â?
Curious, Dany thought as she watched him stride off through the throngs. She didnâ?Tt see why she should not go with him. Perhaps Ser Jorah meant to find a woman after he met with the merchant captain. Whores frequently traveled with the caravans, she knew, and some men were queerly shy about their couplings. She gave a shrug. â?oCome,â? she told the others.

Her handmaids trailed along as Dany resumed her stroll through the market. ?oOh, look,? she exclaimed to Doreah, ?othose are the kind of sausages I meant.? She pointed to a stall where a wizened little woman was grilling meat and onions on a hot firestone. ?oThey make them with lots of garlic and hot peppers.? Delighted with her discovery, Dany insisted the others join her for a sausage. Her handmaids wolfed theirs down giggling and grinning, though the men of her khas sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. ?oThey taste different than I remember,? Dany said after her first few bites.
?oIn Pentos, I make them with pork,? the old woman said, ?obut all my pigs died on the Dothraki sea. These are made of horsemeat, Khaleesi, but I spice them the same.?
?oOh.? Dany felt disappointed, but Quaro liked his sausage so well he decided to have another one, and Rakharo had to outdo him and eat three more, belching loudly. Dany giggled.
?oYou have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by Drogo,? said Irri. ?oIt is good to see, Khaleesi.?
Dany smiled shyly. It was sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again.
They wandered for half the morning. She saw a beautiful feathered cloak from the Summer Isles, and took it for a gift. In return, she gave the merchant a silver medallion from her belt. That was how it was done among the Dothraki. A birdseller taught a green-and-red parrot to say her name, and Dany laughed again, yet still refused to take him. What would she do with a green-and-red parrot in a khalasar? She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could see the big house with the red door once more. When Doreah looked longingly at a fertility charm at a magician?Ts booth, Dany took that too and gave it to the handmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui as well.
Turning a corner, they came upon a wine merchant offering thimble-sized cups of his wares to the passersby. ?oSweet reds,? he cried in fluent Dothraki, ?oI have sweet reds, from Lys and Volantis and the Arbor. Whites from Lys, Tyroshi pear brandy, firewine, pepperwine, the pale green nectars of Myr. Smokeberry browns and Andalish sours, I have them, I have them.? He was a small man, slender and handsome, his flaxen hair curled and perfumed after the fashion of Lys. When Dany paused before his stall, he bowed low. ?oA taste for the khaleesi? I have a sweet red from Dorne, my lady, it sings of plums and cherries and rich dark oak. A cask, a cup, a swallow? One taste, and you will name your child after me.?
Dany smiled. ?oMy son has his name, but I will try your summerwine,? she said in Valyrian, Valyrian as they spoke it in the Free Cities. The words felt strange on her tongue, after so long. ?oJust a taste, if you would be so kind.?
The merchant must have taken her for Dothraki, with her clothes and her oiled hair and sun-browned skin. When she spoke, he gaped at her in astonishment. ?oMy lady, you are... Tyroshi? Can it be so??
?oMy speech may be Tyroshi, and my garb Dothraki, but I am of Westeros, of the Sunset Kingdoms,? Dany told him.
Doreah stepped up beside her. ?oYou have the honor to address Daenerys of the House Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi of the riding men and princess of the Seven Kingdoms.?
The wine merchant dropped to his knees. ?oPrincess,? he said, bowing his head.
?oRise,? Dany commanded him. ?oI would still like to taste that summerwine you spoke of.?
The man bounded to his feet. ?oThat? Dornish swill. It is not worthy of a princess. I have a dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable. Please, let me give you a cask.?
Khal Drogô?Ts visits to the Free Cities had given him a taste for good wine, and Dany knew that such a noble vintage would please him.
?oYou honor me, ser,? she murmured sweetly.
?oThe honor is mine.? The merchant rummaged about in the back of his stall and produced a small oaken cask. Burned into the wood was a cluster of grapes. ?oThe Redwyne sigil,? he said, pointing, ?ofor the Arbor. There is no finer drink.?
?oKhal Drogo and I will share it together. Aggo, take this back to my litter, if you?Td be so kind.? The wineseller beamed as the Dothraki hefted the cask.
She did not realize that Ser Jorah had returned until she heard the knight say, ?oNo.? His voice was strange, brusque. ?oAggo, put down that cask.?
Aggo looked at Dany. She gave a hesitant nod. ?oSer Jorah, is something wrong??
?oI have a thirst. Open it, wineseller.?
The merchant frowned. ?oThe wine is for the khaleesi, not for the likes of you, ser.?
Ser Jorah moved closer to the stall. ?oIf you don?Tt open it, I?Tll crack it open with your head.? He carried no weapons here in the sacred city, save his hands-yet his hands were enough, big, hard, dangerous, his knuckles covered with coarse dark hairs. The wineseller hesitated a moment, then took up his hammer and knocked the plug from the cask.
?oPour,? Ser Jorah commanded. The four young warriors of Dany?Ts khas arrayed themselves behind him, frowning, watching with their dark, almond-shaped eyes.
?oIt would be a crime to drink this rich a wine without letting it breathe.? The wineseller had not put his hammer down.
Jhogo reached for the whip coiled at his belt, but Dany stopped him with a light touch on the arm. ?oDo as Ser Jorah says,? she said. People were stopping to watch.
The man gave her a quick, sullen glance. ?oAs the princess commands.? He had to set aside his hammer to lift the cask. He filled two thimble-sized tasting cups, pouring so deftly he did not spill a drop.
Ser Jorah lifted a cup and sniffed at the wine, frowning.
?oSweet, isn?Tt it?? the wineseller said, smiling. ?oCan you smell the fruit, ser? The perfume of the Arbor. Taste it, my lord, and tell me it isn?Tt the finest, richest wine that?Ts ever touched your tongue.?
Ser Jorah offered him the cup. ?oYou taste it first.?
?oMe?? The man laughed. ?oI am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it?Ts a poor wine merchant who drinks up his own wares.? His smile was amiable, yet she could see the sheen of sweat on his brow.
?oYou will drink,? Dany said, cold as ice. ?oEmpty the cup, or I will tell them to hold you down while Ser Jorah pours the whole cask down your throat.?
The wineseller shrugged, reached for the cup... and grabbed the cask instead, flinging it at her with both hands. Ser Jorah bulled into her, knocking her out of the way. The cask bounced off his shoulder and smashed open on the ground. Dany stumbled and lost her feet. ?oNo,? she screamed, thrusting her hands out to break her fall... and Doreah caught her by the arm and wrenched her backward, so she landed on her legs and not her belly.
The trader vaulted over the stall, darting between Aggo and Rakharo. Quaro reached for an arakh that was not there as the blond man slammed him aside. He raced down the aisle. Dany heard the snap of Jhogô?Ts whip, saw the leather lick out and coil around the wineseller?Ts leg. The man sprawled face first in the dirt.
A dozen caravan guards had come running. With them was the master himself, Merchant Captain Byan Votyris, a diminutive Norvoshi with skin like old leather and a bristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears. He seemed to know what had happened without a word being spoken. ?oTake this one away to await the pleasure of the khal,? he commanded, gesturing at the man on the ground. Two guards hauled the wineseller to his feet. ?oHis goods I gift to you as well, Princess,? the merchant captain went on. ?oSmall token of regret, that one of mine would do this thing.?
Doreah and Jhiqui helped Dany back to her feet. The poisoned wine was leaking from the broken cask into the dirt. ?oHow did you know?? she asked Ser Jorah, trembling. ?oHow??
?oI did not know, Khaleesi, not until the man refused to drink, but once I read Magister Illyriô?Ts letter, I feared.? His dark eyes swept over the faces of the strangers in the market. ?oCome. Best not to talk of it here.?
Dany was near tears as they carried her back. The taste in her mouth was one she had known before: fear. For years she had lived in terror of Viserys, afraid of waking the dragon. This was even worse. It was not just for herself that she feared now, but for her baby. He must have sensed her fright, for he moved restlessly inside her. Dany stroked the swell of her belly gently, wishing she could reach him, touch him, soothe him. ?oYou are the blood of the dragon, little one,? she whispered as her litter swayed along, curtains drawn tight. ?oYou are the blood of the dragon, and the dragon does not fear.?
Under the hollow hummock of earth that was her home in Vaes Dothrak, Dany ordered them to leave her - all but Ser Jorah.
?oTell me,? she commanded as she lowered herself onto her cushions. ?oWas it the Usurper??
?oYes.? The knight drew out a folded parchment. ?oA letter to Viserys, from Magister Illyrio. Robert Baratheon offers lands and lordships for your death, or your brother?Ts.?
?oMy brother?? Her sob was half a laugh. ?oHe does not know yet, does he? The Usurper owes Drogo a lordship.? This time her laugh was half a sob. She hugged herself protectively. ?oAnd me, you said. Only me??
?oYou and the child,? Ser Jorah said, grim.
?oNo. He cannot have my son.? She would not weep, she decided. She would not shiver with fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself... and her eyes went to the dragon?Ts eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. The shifting lamplight linmed their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade and scarlet and gold swam in the air around them, like courtiers around a king.
Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, ?oSer Jorah, light the brazier.?
?oKhaleesi?? The knight looked at her strangely. ?oIt is so hot. Are you certain??
She had never been so certain. ?oYes. I... I have a chill. Light the brazier.?
He bowed. ?oAs you command.?
When the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what she must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. It will only crack and bum, and it?Ts so beautiful, Ser Jorah will call me a fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet...
Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her throat.
She watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated up and out of the smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon?Ts eggs. And that was all.
Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, Ser Jorah had said. Dany gazed at her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand thousand years ago they had been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks.
They could not make a dragon. A dragon was air and fire. Living flesh, not dead stone.
The brazier was cold again by the time Khal Drogo returned. Cohollo was leading a packhorse behind him, with the carcass of a great white lion slung across its back. Above, the stars were coming out. The khal laughed as he swung down off his stallion and showed her the scars on his leg where the hrakkar had raked him through his leggings. ?oI shall make you a cloak of its skin, moon of my life,? he swore.
When Dany told him what had happened at the market, all laughter stopped, and Khal Drogo grew very quiet.
?oThis poisoner was the first,? Ser Jorah Mormont warned him, ?obut he will not be the last. Men will risk much for a lordship.?
Drogo was silent for a time. Finally he said, ?oThis seller of poisons ran from the moon of my life. Better he should run after her. So he will. Jhogo, Jorah the Andal, to each of you I say, choose any horse you wish from my herds, and it is yours. Any horse save my red and the silver that was my bride gift to the moon of my life. I make this gift to you for what you did.
?oAnd to Rhaego son of Drogo, the stallion who will mount the world, to him I also pledge a gift. To him I will give this iron chair his mother?Ts father sat in. I will give him Seven Kingdoms. I, Drogo, khal, will do this thing.? His voice rose, and he lifted his fist to the sky. ?oI will take my khalasar west to where the world ends, and ride the wooden horses across the black salt water as no khal has done before. I will kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses. I will rape their women, take their children as slaves, and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains. This I vow, I, Drogo son of Bharbo. This I swear before the Mother of Mountains, as the stars look down in witness.?
His khalasar left Vaes Dothrak two days later, striking south and west across the plains. Khal Drogo led them on his great red stallion, with Daenerys beside him on her silver. The wineseller hurried behind them, naked, on foot, chained at throat and wrists. His chains were fastened to the halter of Dany?Ts silver. As she rode, he ran after her, barefoot and stumbling. No harm would come to him... so long as he kept up.

Chapter 55
Catelyn​

It was too far to make out the banners clearly, but even through the drifting fog she could see that they were white, with a dark smudge in their center that could only be the direwolf of Stark, grey upon its icy field. When she saw it with her own eyes, Catelyn reined up her horse and bowed her head in thanks. The gods were good. She was not too late.
?oThey await our coming, my lady,? Ser Wylis Manderly said, ?oas my lord father swore they would.?
?oLet us not keep them waiting any longer, ser.? Ser Brynden Tully put the spurs to his horse and trotted briskly toward the banners. Catelyn rode beside him.
Ser Wylis and his brother Ser Wendel followed, leading their levies, near fifteen hundred men: some twenty-odd knights and as many squires, two hundred mounted lances, swordsmen, and freeriders, and the rest foot, armed with spears, pikes and tridents. Lord Wyman had remained behind to see to the defenses of White Harbor. A man of near sixty years, he had grown too stout to sit a horse. ?oIf I had thought to see war again in my lifetime, I should have eaten a few less eels,? hê?Td told Catelyn when he met her ship, slapping his massive belly with both hands. His fingers were fat as sausages. ?oMy boys will see you safe to your son, though, have no fear.?
His ?oboys? were both older than Catelyn, and she might have wished that they did not take after their father quite so closely. Ser Wylis was only a few eels short of not being able to mount his own horse; she pitied the poor animal. Ser Wendel, the younger boy, would have been the fattest man shê?Td ever known, had she only neglected to meet his father and brother. Wylis was quiet and formal, Wendel loud and boisterous; both had ostentatious walrus mustaches and heads as bare as a baby?Ts bottom; neither seemed to own a single garment that was not spotted with food stains. Yet she liked them well enough; they had gotten her to Robb, as their father had vowed, and nothing else mattered.
She was pleased to see that her son had sent eyes out, even to the east. The Lannisters would come from the south when they came, but it was good that Robb was being careful. My son is leading a host to war, she thought, still only half believing it. She was desperately afraid for him, and for Winterfell, yet she could not deny feeling a certain pride as well. A year ago he had been a boy. What was he now? She wondered.
Outriders spied the Manderly banners-the white merman with trident in hand, rising from a blue-green sea and hailed them warmly. They were led to a spot of high ground dry enough for a camp. Ser Wylis called a halt there, and remained behind with his men to see the fires laid and the horses tended, while his brother Wendel rode on with Catelyn and her uncle to present their father?Ts respects to their liege lord.
The ground under their horses?T hooves was soft and wet. It fell away slowly beneath them as they rode past smoky peat fires, lines of horses, and wagons heavy-laden with hardbread and salt beef. On a stony outcrop of land higher than the surrounding country, they passed a lord?Ts pavilion with walls of heavy sailcloth. Catelyn recognized the banner, the bull moose of the Hornwoods, brown on its dark orange field.
Just beyond, through the mists, she glimpsed the walls and towers of Moat Cailin... or what remained of them. Immense blocks of black basalt, each as large as a crofter?Ts cottage, lay scattered and tumbled like a child?Ts wooden blocks, half-sunk in the soft boggy soil. Nothing else remained of a curtain wall that had once stood as high as Winterfell?Ts. The wooden keep was gone entirely, rotted away a thousand years past, with not so much as a timber to mark where it had stood. All that was left of the great stronghold of the First Men were three towers... three where there had once been twenty, if the taletellers could be believed.
The Gatehouse Tower looked sound enough, and even boasted a few feet of standing wall to either side of it. The Drunkard?Ts Tower, off in the bog where the south and west walls had once met, leaned like a man about to spew a bellyful of wine into the gutter. And the tall, slender Children?Ts Tower, where legend said the children of the forest had once called upon their nameless gods to send the hammer of the waters, had lost half its crown. It looked as if some great beast had taken a bite out of the crenellations along the tower top, and spit the rubble across the bog. All three towers were green with moss. A tree was growing out between the stones on the north side of the Gatehouse Tower, its gnarled limbs festooned with ropy white blankets of ghostskin.
?oGods have mercy,? Ser Brynden exclaimed when he saw what lay before them. ?oThis is Moat Cailin? It?Ts no more than a-?
?o-death trap,? Catelyn finished. ?oI know how it looks, Uncle. I thought the same the first time I saw it, but Ned assured me that this ruin is more formidable than it seems. The three surviving towers command the causeway from all sides, and any enemy must pass between them. The bogs here are impenetrable, full of quicksands and suckholes and teeming with snakes. To assault any of the towers, an army would need to wade through waist-deep black muck, cross a moat full of lizard-lions, and scale walls slimy with moss, all the while exposing themselves to fire from archers in the other towers.? She gave her uncle a grim smile. ?oAnd when night falls, there are said to be ghosts, cold vengeful spirits of the north who hunger for southron blood.?
Ser Brynden chuckled. ?oRemind me not to linger here. Last I looked, I was southron myself.?
Standards had been raised atop all three towers. The Karstark sunburst hung from the Drunkard?Ts Tower, beneath the direwolf; on the Children?Ts Tower it was the Greatjon?Ts giant in shattered chains. But on the Gatehouse Tower, the Stark banner flew alone. That was where Robb had made his seat. Catelyn made for it, with Ser Brynden and Ser Wendel behind her, their horses stepping slowly down the log-and-plank road that had been laid across the green-and-black fields of mud.
She found her son surrounded by his father?Ts lords bannermen, in a drafty hall with a peat fire smoking in a black hearth. He was seated at a massive stone table, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, talking intently with Roose Bolton and the Greatjon. At first he did not notice her... but his wolf did. The great grey beast was lying near the fire, but when Catelyn entered he lifted his head, and his golden eyes met hers. The lords fell silent one by one, and Robb looked up at the sudden quiet and saw her. ?oMother?? he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Catelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in her arms and hold him so tightly that he would never come to harm, but here in front of his lords, she dared not. He was playing a man?Ts part now, and she would not take that away from him. So she held herself at the far end of the basalt slab they were using for a table. The direwolf got to his feet and padded across the room to where she stood. It seemed bigger than a wolf ought to be. ?oYou?Tve grown a beard,? she said to Robb, while Grey Wind sniffed her hand.
He rubbed his stubbled jaw, suddenly awkward. ?oYes.? His chin hairs were redder than the ones on his head.
?oI like it.? Catelyn stroked the wolfs head, gently. ?oIt makes you look like my brother Edmure.? Grey Wind nipped at her fingers, playful, and trotted back to his place by the fire.
Ser Helman Tallhart was the first to follow the direwolf across the room to pay his respects, kneeling before her and pressing his brow to her hand. ?oLady Catelyn,? he said, ?oyou are fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times.? The Glovers followed, Galbart and Robett, and Greatjon Umber, and the rest, one by one. Theon Greyjoy was the last. ?oI had not looked to see you here, my lady,? he said as he knelt.
?oI had not thought to be here,? Catelyn said, ?ountil I came ashore at White Harbor, and Lord Wyman told me that Robb had called the banners. You know his son, Ser Wendel.? Wendel Manderly stepped forward and bowed as low as his girth would allow. ?oAnd my uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, who has left my sister?Ts service for mine.?
?oThe Blackfish,? Robb said. ?oThank you for joining us, ser. We need men of your courage. And you, Ser Wendel, I am glad to have you here. Is Ser Rodrik with you as well, Mother? I?Tve missed him.?
?oSer Rodrik is on his way north from White Harbor. I have named him castellan and commanded him to hold Winterfell till our return. Maester Luwin is a wise counsellor, but unskilled in the arts of war.?
?oHave no fear on that count, Lady Stark,? the Greatjon told her in his bass rumble. ?oWinterfell is safe. Wê?Tll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister?Ts bunghole soon enough, begging your pardons, and then it?Ts on to the Red Keep to free Ned.?
?oMy lady, a question, as it please you.? Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, had a small voice, yet when he spoke larger men quieted to listen. His eyes were curiously pale, almost without color, and his look disturbing. ?oIt is said that you hold Lord Tywin?Ts dwarf son as captive. Have you brought him to us? I vow, we should make good use of such a hostage.?
?oI did hold Tyrion Lannister, but no longer,? Catelyn was forced to admit. A chorus of consternation greeted the news. ?oI was no more pleased than you, my lords. The gods saw fit to free him, with some help from my fool of a sister.? She ought not to be so open in her contempt, she knew, but her parting from the Eyrie had not been pleasant. She had offered to take Lord Robert with her, to foster him at Winterfell for a few years. The company of other boys would do him good, she had dared *****ggest. Lysâ?Ts rage had been frightening to behold. ?oSister or no,? she had replied, ?oif you try to steal my son, you will leave by the Moon Door.? After that there was no more to be said.
The lords were anxious to question her further, but Catelyn raised a hand. ?oNo doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.? She gave them no choice; led by the ever-obliging Lord Hornwood, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. ?oAnd you, Theon,? she added when Greyjoy lingered. He smiled and left them.

There was ale and cheese on the table. Catelyn tilled a horn, sat, sipped, and studied her son. He seemed taller than when shê?Td left, and the wisps of beard did make him look older. ?oEdmure was sixteen when he grew his first whiskers.?
?oI will be sixteen soon enough,? Robb said.
?oAnd you are fifteen now. Fifteen, and leading a host to battle. Can you understand why I might fear, Robb??
His look grew stubborn. ?oThere was no one else.?
?oNo one?? she said. ?oPray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Heiman Tallhart... you might have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice.?
?oThey are not Starks,? he said.
?oThey are men, Robb, seasoned in battle. You were fighting with wooden swords less than a year past.?
She saw anger in his eyes at that, but it was gone as quick as it came, and suddenly he was a boy again. ?oI know,? he said, abashed. ?oAre you... are you sending me back to Winterfell??
Catelyn sighed. ?oI should. You ought never have left. Yet I dare not, not now. You have come too far. Someday these lords will look to you as their liege. If I pack you off now, like a child being sent to bed without his supper, they will remember, and laugh about it in their cups. The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a little. Laughter is poison to fear. I will not do that to you, much as I might wish to keep you safe.?
?oYou have my thanks, Mother,? he said, his relief obvious beneath the formality.
She reached across his table and touched his hair. ?oYou are my firstborn, Robb. I have only to look at you to remember the day you came into the world, red-faced and squalling.?
He rose, clearly uncomfortable with her touch, and walked to the hearth. Grey Wind rubbed his head against his leg. ?oYou know... about Father??
?oYes.? The reports of Robert?Ts sudden death and Ned?Ts fall had frightened Catelyn more than she could say, but she would not let her son see her fear. ?oLord Manderly told me when I landed at White Harbor. Have you had any word of your sisters??
?oThere was a letter,? Robb said, scratching his direwolf under the jaw. ?oOne for you as well, but it came to Winterfell with mine.? He went to the table, rummaged among some maps and papers, and returned with a crumpled parchment. ?oThis is the one she wrote me, I never thought to bring yours.?
Something in Robb?Ts tone troubled her. She smoothed out the paper and read. Concern gave way to disbelief, then to anger, and lastly to fear. ?oThis is Cersei?Ts letter, not your sister?Ts,? she said when she was done. ?oThe real message is in what Sansa does not say. All this about how kindly and gently the Lannisters are treating her... I know the sound of a threat, even whispered. They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her.?
?oTherê?Ts no mention of Arya,? Robb pointed out, miserable.
?oNo.? Catelyn did not want to think what that might mean, not now, not here.
?oI had hoped... if you still held the Imp, a trade of hostages...? He took Sansâ?Ts letter and crumpled it in his fist, and she could tell from the way he did it that it was not the first time. ?oIs there word from the Eyrie? I wrote to Aunt Lysa, asking help. Has she called Lord Arryn?Ts banners, do you know? Will the knights of the Vale come join us??
?oOnly one,? she said, ?othe best of them, my uncle... but Brynden Blackfish was a Tully first. My sister is not about to stir beyond her Bloody Gate.?
Robb took it hard. ?oMother, what are we going to do? I brought this whole army together, eighteen thousand men, but I don?Tt... I?Tm not certain...? He looked to her, his eyes shining, the proud young lord melted away in an instant, and quick as that he was a child again, a fifteen-year-old boy looking to his mother for answers.
It would not do.
?oWhat are you so afraid of, Robb?? she asked gently.
?oI...? He turned his head away, to hide the first tear. ?oIf we march... even if we win... the Lannisters hold Sansa, and Father. They?Tll kill them, won?Tt they??
?oThey want us to think so.?
?oYou mean they?Tre lying??
?oI do not know, Robb. What I do know is that you have no choice. If you go to King?Ts Landing and swear fealty, you will never be allowed to leave. If you turn your tail and retreat to Winterfell, your lords will lose all respect for you. Some may even go over to the Lannisters. Then the queen, with that much less to fear, can do as she likes with her prisoners. Our best hope, our only true hope, is that you can defeat the foe in the field. If you should chance to take Lord Tywin or the Kingslayer captive, why then a trade might very well be possible, but that is not the heart of it. So long as you have power enough that they must fear you, Ned and your sister should be safe. Cersei is wise enough to know that she may need them to make her peace, should the fighting go against her.?
?oWhat if the fighting doesn?Tt go against her?? Robb asked. ?oWhat if it goes against us??
Catelyn took his hand. ?oRobb, I will not soften the truth for you. If you lose, there is no hope for any of us. They say there is naught but stone at the heart of Casterly Rock. Remember the fate of Rhaegar?Ts children.?
She saw the fear in his young eyes then, but there was a strength as well. ?oThen I will not lose,? he vowed.
?oTell me what you know of the fighting in the riverlands,? she said. She had to learn if he was truly ready.
?oLess than a fortnight past, they fought a battle in the hills below the Golden Tooth,? Robb said. ?oUncle Edmure had sent Lord Vance and Lord Piper to hold the pass, but the Kingslayer descended on them and put them to flight. Lord Vance was slain. The last word we had was that Lord Piper was falling back to join your brother and his other bannermen at Riverrun, with Jaime Lannister on his heels. That?Ts not the worst of it, though. All the time they were battling in the pass, Lord Tywin was bringing a second Lannister army around from the south. It?Ts said to be even larger than Jaimê?Ts host.
?oFather must have known that, because he sent out some men to oppose them, under the king?Ts own banner. He gave the command to some southron lordling, Lord Erik or Derik or something like that, but Ser Raymun Darry rode with him, and the letter said there were other knights as well, and a force of Father?Ts own guardsmen. Only it was a trap. Lord Derik had no sooner crossed the Red Fork than the Lannisters fell upon him, the king?Ts banner be damned, and Gregor Clegane took them in the rear as they tried to pull back across the Mummer?Ts Ford. This Lord Derik and a few others may have escaped, no one is certain, but Ser Raymun was killed, and most of our men from Winterfell. Lord Tywin has closed off the kingsroad, it?Ts said, and now hê?Ts marching north toward Harrenhal, burning as he goes.?
Grim and grimmer, thought Catelyn. It was worse than shê?Td imagined. ?oYou mean to meet him here?? she asked.
?oIf he comes so far, but no one thinks he will,? Robb said. ?oI?Tve sent word to Howland Reed, Father?Ts old friend at Greywater Watch. If the Lannisters come up the Neck, the crannogmen will bleed them every step of the way, but Galbart Glover says Lord Tywin is too smart for that, and Roose Bolton agrees. Hê?Tll stay close to the Trident, they believe, taking the castles of the river lords one by one, until Riverrun stands alone. We need to march south to meet him.?
The very idea of it chilled Catelyn to the bone. What chance would a fifteen-year-old boy have against seasoned battle commanders like Jaime and Tywin Lannister? ?oIs that wise? You are strongly placed here. It?Ts said that the old Kings in the North could stand at Moat Cailin and throw back hosts ten times the size of their own.?
?oYes, but our food and supplies are running low, and this is not land we can live off easily. Wê?Tve been waiting for Lord Manderly, but now that his sons have joined us, we need to march.?
She was hearing the lords bannermen speaking with her son?Ts voice, she realized. Over the years, she had hosted many of them at Winterfell, and been welcomed with Ned to their own hearths and tables. She knew what sorts of men they were, each one. She wondered if Robb did.
And yet there was sense in what they said. This host her son had assembled was not a standing army such as the Free Cities were accustomed to maintain, nor a force of guardsmen paid in coin. Most of them were smallfolk: crofters, fieldhands, fishermen, sheepherders, the sons of innkeeps and traders and tanners, leavened with a smattering of sellswords and freeriders hungry for plunder. When their lords called, they came... but not forever. ?oMarching is all very well,? she said to her son, ?obut where, and to what purpose? What do you mean to do??
Robb hesitated. ?oThe Greatjon thinks we should take the battle to Lord Tywin and surprise him,? he said, ?obut the Glovers and the Karstarks feel wê?Td be wiser to go around his army and join up with Uncle Ser Edmure against the Kingslayer.? He ran his fingers through his shaggy mane of auburn hair, looking unhappy. ?oThough by the time we reach Riverrun... I?Tm not certain...?
?oBe certain,? Catelyn told her son, ?oor go home and take up that wooden sword again. You cannot afford to seem indecisive in front of men like Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark. Make no mistake, Robb-these are your bannermen, not your friends. You named yourself battle commander. Command.?
Her son looked at her, startled, as if he could not cre*** what he was hearing. ?oAs you say, Mother.?
?oI?Tll ask you again. What do you mean to do??
Robb drew a map across the table, a ragged piece of old leather covered with lines of faded paint. One end curled up from being rolled; he weighed it down with his dagger. ?oBoth plans have virtues, but... look, if we try to swing around Lord Tywin?Ts host, we take the risk of being caught between him and the Kingslayer, and if we attack him... by all reports, he has more men than I do, and a lot more armored horse. The Greatjon says that won?Tt matter if we catch him with his breeches down, but it seems to me that a man who has fought as many battles as Tywin Lannister won?Tt be so easily surprised.?
?oGood,? she said. She could hear echoes of Ned in his voice, as he sat there, puzzling over the map. ?oTell me more.?
?oI?Td leave a small force here to hold Moat Cailin, archers mostly, and march the rest down the causeway,? he said, ?obut once wê?Tre below the Neck, I?Td split our host in two. The foot can continue down the kingsroad, while our horsemen cross the Green Fork at the Twins.? He pointed. ?oWhen Lord Tywin gets word that wê?Tve come south, hê?Tll march north to engage our main host, leaving our riders free to hurry down the west bank to Riverrun.? Robb sat back, not quite daring to smile, but pleased with himself and hungry for her praise.
Catelyn frowned down at the map. ?oYou?Td put a river between the two parts of your army.?
?oAnd between Jaime and Lord Tywin,? he said eagerly. The smile came at last. ?oTherê?Ts no crossing on the Green Fork above the ruby ford, where Robert won his crown. Not until the Twins, all the way up here, and Lord Frey controls that bridge. Hê?Ts your father?Ts bannerman, isn?Tt that so??
The Late Lord Frey, Catelyn thought. ?oHe is,? she admitted, ?obut my father has never trusted him. Nor should you.?
?oI won?Tt,? Robb promised. ?oWhat do you think??
She was impressed despite herself. He looks like a Tully, she thought, yet hê?Ts still his father?Ts son, and Ned taught him well. ?oWhich force would you command??
?oThe horse,? he answered at once. Again like his father; Ned would always take the more dangerous task himself.
?oAnd the other??
?oThe Greatjon is always saying that we should smash Lord Tywin. I thought I?Td give him the honor.?
It was his first misstep, but how to make him see it without wounding his fledgling confidence? ?oYour father once told me that the Greatjon was as fearless as any man he had ever known.?
Robb grinned. ?oGrey Wind ate two of his fingers, and he laughed about it. So you agree, then??
?oYour father is not fearless,? Catelyn pointed out. ?oHe is brave, but that is very different.?
Her son considered that for a moment. ?oThe eastern host will be all that stands between Lord Tywin and Winterfell,? he said thoughtfully. ?oWell, them and whatever few bowmen I leave here at the Moat. So I don?Tt want someone fearless, do I??
?oNo. You want cold cunning, I should think, not courage.?
?oRoose Bolton,? Robb said at once. ?oThat man scares me.?
?oThen let us pray he will scare Tywin Lannister as well.?
Robb nodded and rolled up the map. ?oI?Tll give the commands, and assemble an escort to take you home to Winterfell.?
Catelyn had fought to keep herself strong, for Ned?Ts sake and for this stubborn brave son of theirs. She had put despair and fear aside, as if they were garments she did not choose to wear... but now she saw that she had donned them after all.
?oI am not going to Winterfell,? she heard herself say, surprised at the sudden rush of tears that blurred her vision. ?oMy father may be dying behind the walls of Riverrun. My brother is surrounded by foes. I must go to them.?

Chapter 56
Tyrion​

Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who brought back word of the army at the crossroads. ?oBy their fires I call them twenty thousand strong,? she said. ?oTheir banners are red, with a golden lion.?
?oYour father?? Bronn asked.
?oOr my brother Jaime,? Tyrion said. ?oWe shall know soon enough.? He surveyed his ragged band of brigands: near three hundred Stone Crows, Moon Brothers, Black Ears, and Burned Men, and those just the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Gunthor son of Gurn was raising the other clans even now. He wondered what his lord father would make of them in their skins and bits of stolen steel. If truth be told, he did not know what to make of them himself. Was he their commander or their captive? Most of the time, it seemed to be a little of both. ?oIt might be best if I rode down alone,? he suggested.
?oBest for Tyrion son of Tywin,? said Ulf, who spoke for the Moon Brothers.
Shagga glowered, a fearsome sight to see. ?oShagga son of Dolf likes this not. Shagga will go with the boyman, and if the boyman lies, Shagga will chop off his manhood-?
?o-and feed it to the goats, yes,? Tyrion said wearily. ?oShagga, I give you my word as a Lannister, I will return.?
?oWhy should we trust your word?? Chella was a small hard woman, flat as a boy, and no fool. ?oLowland lords have lied to the clans before.?
?oYou wound me, Chella,? Tyrion said. ?oHere I thought we had become such friends. But as you will. You shall ride with me, and Shagga and Conn for the Stone Crows, Ulf for the Moon Brothers, and Timett son of Timett for the Burned Men.? The clansmen exchanged wary looks as he named them. ?oThe rest shall wait here until I send for you. Try not to kill and maim each other while I?Tm gone.?
He put his heels to his horse and trotted off, giving them no choice but to follow or be left behind. Either was fine with him, so long as they did not sit down to talk for a day and a night. That was the trouble with the clans; they had an absurd notion that every man?Ts voice should be heard in council, so they argued about everything, endlessly. Even their women were allowed to speak. Small wonder that it had been hundreds of years since they last threatened the Vale with anything beyond an occasional raid. Tyrion meant to change that.
Bronn rode with him. Behind them-after a quick bit of grumbling-the five clansmen followed on their undersize garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and scrambled up rock walls like goats.
The Stone Crows rode together, and Chella and Ulf stayed close as well, as the Moon Brothers and Black Ears had strong bonds between them. Timett son of Timett rode alone. Every clan in the Mountains of the Moon feared the Burned Men, who mortified their flesh with fire to prove their courage and (the others said) roasted babies at their feasts. And even the other Burned Men feared Timett, who had put out his own left eye with a white-hot knife when he reached the age of manhood. Tyrion gathered that it was more customary for a boy to burn off a nipple, a finger, or (if he was truly brave, or truly mad) an ear. Timett?Ts fellow Burned Men were so awed by his choice of an eye that they promptly named him a red hand, which seemed to be some sort of a war chief.
?oI wonder what their king burned off,? Tyrion said to Bronn when he heard the tale. Grinning, the sellsword had tugged at his crotch... but even Bronn kept a respectful tongue around Timett. If a man was mad enough to put out his own eye, he was unlikely to be gentle to his enemies.
Distant watchers peered down from towers of unmortared stone as the party descended through the foothills, and once Tyrion saw a raven take wing. Where the high road twisted between two rocky outcrops, they came to the first strong point. A low earthen wall four feet high closed off the road, and a dozen crossbowmen manned the heights. Tyrion halted his followers out of range and rode to the wall alone. ?oWho commands here?? he shouted up.
The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized his lord?Ts son. They trotted past blackened fields and burned holdfasts, down to the riverlands and the Green Fork of the Trident. Tyrion saw no bodies, but the air was full of ravens and carrion crows; there had been fighting here, and recently.
Half a league from the crossroads, a barricade of sharpened stakes had been erected, manned by pikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to the far distance. Thin fingers of smoke rose from hundreds of cookfires, mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground.
A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as they approached the stakes. The knight who led them wore silver armor inlaid with amethysts and a striped purple-and-silver cloak. His shield bore a unicorn sigil, and a spiral horn two feet long jutted up from the brow of his horsehead helm. Tyrion reined up to greet him. ?oSer Flement.?
Ser Flement Brax lifted his visor. ?oTyrion,? he said in astonishment. ?oMy lord, we all feared you dead, or...? He looked at the clansmen uncertainly. ?oThese... companions of yours...?
?oBosom friends and loyal retainers,? Tyrion said. ?oWhere will I find my lord father??
?oHe has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters.?
Tyrion laughed. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just after all. ?oI will see him at once.?
?oAs you say, my lord.? Ser Flement wheeled his horse about and shouted commands. Three rows of stakes were pulled from the ground to make a hole in the line. Tyrion led his party through.
Lord Tywin?Ts camp spread over leagues. Chellâ?Ts estimate of twenty thousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion spied the red ox of the Presters, Lord Crakehall?Ts brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrand, the badger of Lydden. Knights called out to him as he cantered past, and men-at-arms gaped at the clansmen in open astonishment.
Shagga was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so many men, horses, and weapons in all his days. The rest of the mountain brigands did a better job of guarding their faces, but Tyrion had no doubts that they were full as much in awe. Better and better. The more impressed they were with the power of the Lannisters, the easier they would be to command.
The inn and its stables were much as he remembered, though little more than tumbled stones and blackened foundations remained where the rest of the village had stood. A gibbet had been erected in the yard, and the body that swung there was covered with ravens. At Tyrion?Ts approach they took to the air, squawking and flapping their black wings. He dismounted and glanced up at what remained of the corpse. The birds had eaten her lips and eyes and most of her cheeks, baring her stained red teeth in a hideous smile. ?oA room, a meal, and a flagon of wine, that was all I asked,? he reminded her with a sigh of reproach.
Boys emerged hesitantly from the stables to see to their horses. Shagga did not want to give his up. ?oThe lad won?Tt steal your mare,? Tyrion assured him. ?oHe only wants to give her some oats and water and brush out her coat.? Shaggâ?Ts coat could have used a good brushing too, but it would have been less than tactful to mention it. ?oYou have my word, the horse will not be harmed.?
Glaring, Shagga let go his grip on the reins. ?oThis is the horse of Shagga son of Dolf,? he roared at the stableboy.
?oIf he doesn?Tt give her back, chop off his manhood and feed it to the goats,? Tyrion promised. ?oProvided you can find some.?
A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood under the inn?Ts sign, on either side of the door. Tyrion recognized their captain. ?oMy father??
?oIn the common room, m?Tlord.?
?oMy men will want meat and mead,? Tyrion told him. ?oSee that they get it.? He entered the inn, and there was Father.
Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle fifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders, a flat stomach. His thin arms were corded with muscle. When his once-thick golden hair had begun to recede, he had commanded his barber to shave his head; Lord Tywin did not believe in half measures. He razored his lip and chin as well, but kept his side-whiskers, two great thickets of wiry golden hair that covered most of his cheeks from ear to jaw. His eyes were a pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolish than most had once jested that even Lord Tywin?Ts **** was flecked with gold. Some said the man was still alive, deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock.
Ser Kevan Lannister, his father?Ts only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with Lord Tywin when Tyrion entered the common room. His uncle was portly and balding, with a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the line of his massive jaw. Ser Kevan saw him first.
?oTyrion,? he said in surprise.
?oUncle,? Tyrion said, bowing. ?oAnd my lord father. What a pleasure to find you here.?
Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching look. ?oI see that the rumors of your demise were unfounded.?
?oSorry to disappoint you, Father,? Tyrion said. ?oNo need to leap up and embrace me, I wouldn?Tt want you to strain yourself.? He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his father?Ts eyes were on him, he became uncomfortably aware of all his deformities and shortcomings. ?oKind of you to go to war for me,? he said as he climbed into a chair and helped himself to a cup of his father?Ts ale.
?oBy my lights, it was you who started this,? Lord Tywin replied. ?oYour brother Jaime would never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman.?
?oThat?Ts one way we differ, Jaime and I. Hê?Ts taller as well, you may have noticed.?
His father ignored the sally. ?oThe honor of our House was at stake. I had no choice but to ride. No man sheds Lannister blood with impunity."
?oHear Me Roar,? Tyrion said, grinning. The Lannister words. ?oTruth be told, none of my blood was actually shed, although it was a close thing once or twice. Morrec and Jyck were killed.?
?oI suppose you will be wanting some new men.?
?oDon?Tt trouble yourself, Father, I?Tve acquired a few of my own.? He tried a swallow of the ale. It was brown and yeasty, so thick you could almost chew it. Very fine, in truth. A pity his father had hanged the innkeep. ?oHow is your war going??
His uncle answered. ?oWell enough, for the nonce. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops of men along his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to destroy most of them piecemeal before they could regroup.?
?oYour brother has been covering himself with glory,? his father said. ?oHe smashed the Lords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massed power of the Tullys under the walls of Riverrun. The lords of the Trident have been put to rout. Ser Edmure Tully was taken captive, with many of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, where Jaime has them under siege. The rest fled to their own strongholds.?
?oYour father and I have been marching on each in turn,? Ser Kevan said. ?oWith Lord Blackwood gone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yielded Harrenhal for want of men to defend it. Ser Gregor burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens...?
?oLeaving you unopposed?? Tyrion said.
?oNot wholly,? Ser Kevan said. ?oThe Mallisters still hold Seagard and Walder Frey is marshaling his levies at the Twins.?
?oNo matter,? Lord Tywin said. ?oFrey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air, and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks the strength to fight alone. Once Jaime takes Riverrun, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns come forth to oppose us, this war is good as won.?
?oI would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you,? Tyrion said. ?oThe Starks are another matter. Lord Eddard-?
?o-is our hostage,? his father said. ?oHe will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon under the Red Keep.?
?oNo,? Ser Kevan agreed, ?obut his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a strong host around him.?
?oNo sword is strong until it?Ts been tempered,? Lord Tywin declared. ?oThe Stark boy is a child. No doubt he likes the sound of warhorns well enough, and the sight of his banners fluttering in the wind, but in the end it comes down to butcher?Ts work. I doubt he has the stomach for it.?

Things had gotten interesting while hê?Td been away, Tyrion reflected. ?oAnd what is our fearless monarch doing whilst all this ?~butcher?Ts work?T is being done?? he wondered. ?oHow has my lovely and persuasive sister gotten Robert to agree to the imprisonment of his dear friend Ned??
?oRobert Baratheon is dead,? his father told him. ?oYour nephew reigns in King?Ts Landing.?
That did take Tyrion aback. ?oMy sister, you mean.? He took another gulp of ale. The realm would be a much different place with Cersei ruling in place of her husband.
?oIf you have a mind to make yourself of use, I will give you a command,? his father said. ?oMarq Piper and Karyl Vance are loose in our rear, raiding our lands across the Red Fork.?
Tyrion made a tsking sound. ?oThe gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I?Td be glad to punish such rudeness, Father, but the truth is, I have pressing business elsewhere.?
?oDo you?? Lord Tywin did not seem awed. ?oWe also have a pair of Ned Stark?Ts afterthoughts making a nuisance of themselves by harassing my foraging parties. Beric Dondarrion, some young lordling with delusions of valor. He has that fat jape of a priest with him, the one who likes to set his sword on fire. Do you think you might be able to deal with them as you scamper off? Without making too much a botch of it??
Tyrion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. ?oFather, it warms my heart to think that you might entrust me with... what, twenty men? Fifty? Are you sure you can spare so many? Well, no matter. If I should come across Thoros and Lord Beric, I shall spank them both.? He climbed down from his chair and waddled to the sideboard, where a wheel of veined white cheese sat surrounded by fruit. ?oFirst, though, I have some promises of my own to keep,? he said as he sliced off a wedge. ?oI shall require three thousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steel spearheads, maces, battleaxes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this-?
The door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrion almost dropped his cheese. Ser Kevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the room to smash against the hearth. As he tumbled down into the cold ashes, his lion helm askew, Shagga snapped the man?Ts sword in two over a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into the common room. He was preceded by his stench, riper than the cheese and overpowering in the closed space. ?oLittle redcape,? he snarled, ?owhen next you bare steel on Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off your manhood and roast it in the fire.?
?oWhat, no goats?? Tyrion said, taking a bite of cheese.
The other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn with them. The sellsword gave Tyrion a rueful shrug.
?oWho might you be?? Lord Tywin asked, cool as snow.
?oThey followed me home, Father,? Tyrion explained. ?oMay I keep them? They don?Tt eat much.?
No one was smiling. ?oBy what right do you savages intrude on our councils?? demanded Ser Kevan.
?oSavages, lowlander?? Conn might have been handsome if you washed him. ?oWe are free men, and free men by rights sit on all war councils.?
?oWhich one is the lion lord?? Chella asked.
?oThey are both old men,? announced Timett son of Timett, who had yet to see his twentieth year.
Ser Kevan?Ts hand went to his sword hilt, but his brother placed two fingers on his wrist and held him fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. ?oTyrion, have you forgotten your courtesies? Kindly acquaint us with our... honored guests.?
Tyrion licked his fingers. ?oWith pleasure,? he said. ?oThe fair maid is Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears.?
?oI?Tm no maid,? Chella protested. ?oMy sons have taken fifty ears among them.?
?oMay they take fifty more.? Tyrion waddled away from her. ?oThis is Conn son of Coratt. Shagga son of Dolf is the one who looks like Casterly Rock with hair. They are Stone Crows. Here is Ulf son of Umar of the Moon Brothers, and here Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn, a sellsword of no particular allegiance. He has already changed sides twice in the short time I?Tve known him, you and he ought to get on famously, Father.? To Bronn and the clansmen he said, ?oMay I present my lord father, Tywin son of Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and once and future Hand of the King.?
Lord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. ?oEven in the west, we know the prowess of the warrior clans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings you down from your strongholds, my lords??
?oHorses,? said Shagga.
?oA promise of silk and steel,? said Timett son of Timett.
Tyrion was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arryn to a smoking wasteland, but he was never given the chance. The door banged open again. The messenger gave Tyrion?Ts clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee before Lord Tywin. ?oMy lord,? he said, ?oSer Addam bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway.?
Lord Tywin Lannister did not smile. Lord Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion had learned to read his father?Ts pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. ?oSo the wolfling is leaving his den to play among the lions,? he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. ?oSplendid. Return to Ser Addam and tell him to fall back. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanks and draw them farther south.?
?oIt will be as you command.? The rider took his leave.
?oWe are well situated here,? Ser Kevan pointed out. ?oClose to the ford and ringed by pits and spikes. If they are coming south, I say let them come, and break themselves against us.?
?oThe boy may hang back or lose his courage when he sees our numbers,? Lord Tywin replied. ?oThe sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be free to deal with Stannis Baratheon. Tell the drummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaime that I am marching against Robb Stark.?
?oAs you will,? Ser Kevan said.
Tyrion watched with a grim fascination as his lord father turned next to the half-wild clansmen. ?oIt is said that the men of the mountain clans are warriors without fear.?
?oIt is said truly,? Conn of the Stone Crows answered.
?oAnd the women,? Chella added.
?oRide with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you, and more,? Lord Tywin told them.
?oWould you pay us with our own coin?? Ulf son of Umar said. ?oWhy should we need the father?Ts promise, when we have the son?Ts??
?oI said nothing of need,? Lord Tywin replied. ?oMy words were courtesy, nothing more. You need not join us. The men of the winterlands are made of iron and ice, and even my boldest knights fear to face them.?
Oh, deftly done, Tyrion thought, smiling crookedly.
?oThe Burned Men fear nothing. Timett son of Timett will ride with the lions.?
?oWherever the Burned Men go, the Stone Crows have been there first,? Conn declared hotly. ?oWe ride as well.?
?oShagga son of Dolf will chop off their manhoods and feed them to the crows.?
?oWe will ride with you, lion lord,? Chella daughter of Cheyk agreed, ?obut only if your halfman son goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises. Until we hold the steel he has pledged us, his life is ours.?
Lord Tywin turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son.
?oJoy,? Tyrion said with a resigned smile.

Chapter 57
Sansa​

The walls of the throne room had been stripped bare, the hunting tapestries that King Robert loved taken down and stacked in the corner in an untidy heap.
Ser Mandon Moore went to take his place under the throne beside two of his fellows of the Kingsguard. Sansa hovered by the door, for once unguarded. The queen had given her freedom of the castle as a reward for being good, yet even so, she was escorted everywhere she went. ?oHonor guards for my daughter-to-be,? the queen called them, but they did not make Sansa feel honored.
?oFreedom, of the castlê? meant that she could go wherever she chose within the Red Keep so long as she promised not to go beyond the walls, a promise Sansa had been more than willing to give. She couldn?Tt have gone beyond the walls anyway. The gates were watched day and night by Janos Slynt?Ts gold cloaks, and Lannister house guards were always about as well. Besides, even if she could leave the castle, where would she go? It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcellâ?Ts garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods.
This was the first court session of Joffrey?Ts reign, so Sansa looked about nervously. A line of Lannister house guards stood beneath the western windows, a line of gold-cloaked City Watchmen beneath the east. Of smallfolk and commoners, she saw no sign, but under the gallery a cluster of lords great and small milled restlessly. There were no more than twenty, where a hundred had been accustomed to wait upon King Robert.
Sansa slipped in among them, murmuring greetings as she worked her way toward the front. She recognized black-skinned Jalabhar Xho, gloomy Ser Aron Santagar, the Redwyne twins Horror and Slobber... only none of them seemed to recognize her. Or if they did, they shied away as if she had the grey plague. Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away.
And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time.
Grand Maester Pycelle was seated alone at the council table, seemingly asleep, his hands clasped together atop his beard. She saw Lord Varys hurry into the hall, his feet making no sound. A moment later Lord Baelish entered through the tall doors in the rear, smiling. He chatted amiably with Ser Balon and Ser Dontos as he made his way to the front. Butterflies fluttered nervously in Sansâ?Ts stomach. I shouldn?Tt be afraid, she told herself. I have nothing to be afraid of, it will all come out well, Joff loves me and the queen does too, she said so.
A herald?Ts voice rang out. ?oAll hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm.?
Ser Barristan Selmy, resplendent in white plate, led them in. Ser Arys Oakheart escorted the queen, while Ser Boros Blount walked beside Joffrey, so six of the Kingsguard were now in the hall, all the White Swords save Jaime Lannister alone. Her prince - no, her king now! - took the steps of the Iron Throne two at a time, while his mother was seated with the council. Joff wore plush black velvets slashed with crimson, a shimmering cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar, and on his head a golden crown crusted with rubies and black diamonds.
When Joffrey turned to look out over the hall, his eye caught Sansâ?Ts. He smiled, seated himself, and spoke. ?oIt is a king?Ts duty to punish the disloyal and reward those who are true. Grand Maester Pycelle, I command you to read my decrees.?
Pycelle pushed himself to his feet. He was clad in a magnificent robe of thick red velvet, with an ermine collar and shiny gold fastenings. From a drooping sleeve, heavy with gilded scrollwork, he drew a parchment, unrolled it, and began to read a long list of names, commanding each in the name of king and council to present themselves and swear their fealty to Joffrey. Failing that, they would be adjudged traitors, their lands and titles forfeit to the throne.
The names he read made Sansa hold her breath. Lord Stannis Baratheon, his lady wife, his daughter. Lord Renly Baratheon. Both Lord Royces and their sons. Ser Loras Tyrell. Lord Mace Tyrell, his brothers, uncles, sons. The red priest, Thoros of Myr. Lord Beric Dondarrion. Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, the little Lord Robert. Lord Hoster Tully, his brother Ser Brynden, his son Ser Edmure. Lord Jason Mallister. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Lord Tytos Blackwood. Lord Walder Frey and his heir Ser Stevron. Lord Karyl Vance. Lord Jonos Bracken. Lady Sheila Whent. Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, and all his sons. So many, she thought as Pycelle read on and on, it will take a whole flock of ravens to send out these commands.
And at the end, near last, came the names Sansa had been dreading. Lady Catelyn Stark. Robb Stark. Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Arya Stark. Sansa stifled a gasp. Arya. They wanted Arya to present herself and swear an oath... it must mean her sister had fled on the galley, she must be safe at Winterfell by now...
Grand Maester Pycelle rolled up the list, tucked it up his left sleeve, and pulled another parchment from his right. He cleared his throat and resumed. ?oIn the place of the traitor Eddard Stark, it is the wish of His Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, take up the office of Hand of the King, to speak with his voice, lead his armies against his enemies, and carry out his royal will. So the king has decreed. The small council consents.
?oIn the place of the traitor Stannis Baratheon, it is the wish of His Grace that his lady mother, the Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, who has ever been his staunchest support, be seated upon his small council, that she may help him rule wisely and with justice. So the king has decreed. The small council consents.?
Sansa heard a soft murmuring from the lords around her, but it was quickly stilled. Pycelle continued.
?oIt is also the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant, Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch of King?Ts Landing, be at once raised to the rank of lord and granted the ancient seat of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, and that his sons and grandsons shall hold these honors after him until the end of time. It is moreover his command that Lord Slynt be seated immediately upon this small council, to assist in the governance of the realm. So the king has decreed. The small council consents.?
Sansa glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye as Janos Slynt made his entrance. This time the muttering was louder and angrier. Proud lords whose houses went back thousands of years made way reluctantly for the balding, frog-faced commoner as he marched past. Golden scales had been sewn onto the black velvet of his doublet and rang together softly with each step. His cloak was checked black-and-gold satin. Two ugly boys who must have been his sons went before him, struggling with the weight of a heavy metal shield as tall as they were. For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. The sight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansâ?Ts arms.
As Lord Slynt took his place, Grand Maester Pycelle resumed. ?oLastly, in these times of treason and turmoil, with our beloved Robert so lately dead, it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey is of paramount importance.? He looked to the queen.
Cersei stood. ?oSer Barristan Selmy, stand forth.?
Ser Barristan had been standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, as still as any statue, but now he went to one knee and bowed his head. ?oYour Grace, I am yours to command.?
?oRise, Ser Barristan,? Cersei Lannister said. ?oYou may remove your helm.?
?oMy lady?? Standing, the old knight took off his high white helm, though he did not seem to understand why.
?oYou have served the realm long and faithfully, good ser, and every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. Yet now I fear your service is at an end. It is the wish of king and council that you lay down your heavy burden.?
?oMy... burden? I fear I... I do not...?
The new-made lord, Janos Slynt, spoke up, his voice heavy and blunt. ?oHer Grace is trying to tell you that you are relieved as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.?
The tall, white-haired knight seemed to shrink as he stood there, scarcely breathing. ?oYour Grace,? he said at last. ?oThe Kingsguard is a Sworn Brotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death may relieve the Lord Commander of his sacred trust.?
?oWhose death, Ser Barristan?? The queen?Ts voice was soft as silk, but her words carried the whole length of the hall. ?oYours, or your king?Ts??
?oYou let my father die,? Joffrey said accusingly from atop the Iron Throne. ?oYou?Tre too old to protect anybody.?
Sansa watched as the knight peered up at his new king. She had never seen him look his years before, yet now he did. ?oYour Grace,? he said. ?oI was chosen for the White Swords in my twenty-third year. It was all I had ever dreamed, from the moment I first took sword in hand. I gave up all claim to my ancestral keep. The girl I was to wed married my cousin in my place, I had no need of land or sons, my life would be lived for the realm. Ser Gerold Hightower himself heard my vows... to ward the king with all my strength... to give my blood for his... I fought beside the White Bull and Prince Lewyn of Dorne... beside Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Before I served your father, I helped shield King Aerys, and his father Jaehaerys before him... three kings...?
?oAnd all of them dead,? Littlefinger pointed out.
?oYour time is done,? Cersei Lannister announced. ?oJoffrey requires men around him who are young and strong. The council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as the Lord Commander of Sworn Brothers of the White Swords.?
?oThe Kingslayer,? Ser Barristan said, his voice hard with contempt. ?oThe false knight who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend.?
?oHave a care for your words, ser,? the queen warned. ?oYou are speaking of our beloved brother, your king?Ts own blood.?
Lord Varys spoke, gentler than the others. ?oWe are not unmindful of your service, good ser. Lord Tywin Lannister has generously agreed to grant you a handsome tract of land north of Lannisport, beside the sea, with gold and men sufficient to build you a stout keep, and servants to see to your every need.?
Ser Barristan looked up sharply. ?oA hall to die in, and men to bury me. I thank you, my lords... but I spit upon your pity.? He reached up and undid the clasps that held his cloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered from his shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. His helmet dropped with a clang. ?oI am a knight,? he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. ?oI shall die a knight.?
?oA naked knight, it would seem,? quipped Littlefinger.
They all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lords standing attendance, Janos Slynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even the other men of the Kingsguard, the five who had been his brothers until a moment ago. Surely that must have hurt the most, Sansa thought. Her heart went out to the gallant old man as he stood shamed and red-faced, too angry to speak. Finally he drew his sword.
Sansa heard someone gasp. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn moved forward to confront him, but Ser Barristan froze them in place with a look that dripped contempt. ?oHave no fear, sers, your king is safe... no thanks to you. Even now, I could cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you is fit to wear the white.? He flung his sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. ?oHere, boy. Melt it down and add it to the others, if you like. It will do you more good than the swords in the hands of these five. Perhaps Lord Stannis will chance to sit on it when he takes your throne.?
He took the long way out, his steps ringing loud against the floor and echoing off the bare stone walls. Lords and ladies parted to let him pass. Not until the pages had closed the great oak-and-bronze doors behind him did Sansa hear sounds again: soft voices, uneasy stirrings, the shuffle of papers from the council table. ?oHe called me boy,? Joffrey said peevishly, sounding younger than his years. ?oHe talked about my uncle Stannis too.?
?oIdle talk,? said Varys the eunuch, ?oWithout meaning?.
?oHe could be making plots with my uncles. I want him seized and questioned.? No one moved. Joffrey raised his voice. ?oI said, I want him seized!?
Janos Slynt rose from the council table. ?oMy gold cloaks will see to it, Your Grace.?
?oGood,? said King Joffrey. Lord Janos strode from the hall, his ugly sons double-stepping to keep up as they lugged the great metal shield with the arms of House Slynt.
?oYour Grace,? Littlefinger reminded the king. ?oIf we might resume, the seven are now six. We find ourselves in need of a new sword for your Kingsguard.?
Joffrey smiled. ?oTell them, Mother.?
?oThe king and council have determined that no man in the Seven Kingdoms is more fit to guard and protect His Grace than his sworn shield, Sandor Clegane.?
?oHow do you like that, dog?? King Joffrey asked.
The Hound?Ts scarred face was hard to read. He took a long moment to consider. ?oWhy not? I have no lands nor wife to forsake, and whô?Td care if I did?? The burned side of his mouth twisted. ?oBut I warn you, I?Tll say no knight?Ts vows.?
?oThe Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard have always been knights,? Ser Boros said firmly.
?oUntil now,? the Hound said in his deep rasp, and Ser Boros fell silent.
When the king?Ts herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but shê?Td had them dye it black and you couldn?Tt see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.
The herald?Ts voice boomed out. ?oIf any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence.?
Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother. ?oYour Grace,? she called out in a soft, tremulous voice.
The height of the Iron Throne gave Joffrey a better vantage point than anyone else in the hall. He was the first to see her. ?oCome forward, my lady,? he called out, smiling.
His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does. Sansa lifted her head and walked toward him, not too slow and not too fast. She must not let them see how nervous she was.
?oThe Lady Sansa, of House Stark,? the herald cried.
She stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan?Ts white cloak lay puddled on the floor beside his helm and breastplate. ?oDo you have some business for king and council, Sansa?? the queen asked from the council table.
?oI do.? She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up at her prince on his fearsome black throne. ?oAs it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King.? She had practiced the words a hundred times.
The queen sighed. ?oSansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you about traitor?Ts blood??
?oYour father has committed grave and terrible crimes, my lady,? Grand Maester Pycelle intoned.
?oAh, poor sad thing,? sighed Varys. ?oShe is only a babe, my lords, she does not know what she asks.?
Sansa had eyes only for Joffrey. He must listen to me, he must, she thought. The king shifted on his seat, ?oLet her speak,? he commanded. ?oI want to hear what she says.?
?oThank you, Your Grace.? Sansa smiled, a shy secret smile, just for him. He was listening. She knew he would.
?oTreason is a noxious weed,? Pycelle declared solemnly. ?oIt must be torn up, root and stem and seed, lest new traitors sprout from every roadside.?
?oDo you deny your father?Ts crime?? Lord Baelish asked.
?oNo, my lords.? Sansa knew better than that. ?oI know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert?Ts friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or... or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise...?
King Joffrey leaned forward, hands grasping the arms of the throne. Broken sword points fanned out between his fingers. ?oHe said I wasn?Tt the king. Why did he say that??
?oHis leg was broken,? Sansa replied eagerly. ?oIt hurt ever so much, Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy, and they say that milk of the poppy fills your head with clouds. Otherwise he would never have said it.?
Varys said, ?oA child?Ts-faith... such sweet innocence... and yet, they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes.?
?oTreason is treason,? Pycelle replied at once.
Joffrey rocked restlessly on the throne. ?oMother??
Cersei Lannister considered Sansa thoughtfully. ?oIf Lord Eddard were to confess his crime,? she said at last, ?owe would know he had repented his folly.?
Joffrey pushed himself to his feet. Please, Sansa thought, please, please, be the king I know you are, good and kind and noble, please. ?oDo you have any more to say?? he asked her.
?oOnly... that as you love me, you do me this kindness, my prince,? Sansa said.
King Joffrey looked her up and down. ?oYour sweet words have moved me,? he said gallantly, nodding, as if to say all would be well. ?oI shall do as you ask... but first your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I?Tm the king, or there will be no mercy for him.?
?oHe will,? Sansa said, heart soaring. ?oOh, I know he will.?