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

Chapter 5
Jon​

There were times-not many, but a few-when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.
He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of surnmerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon?Ts crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.
It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon?Ts brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. And he was finding that he had a man?Ts thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king?Ts offspring. He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all.
His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.
Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Stark on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.
After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn?Tt even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.
His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon?Ts vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister?Ts hair and his mother?Ts deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey?Ts pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell?Ts Great Hall.
He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen?Ts brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered ?oKingslayer? behind his back.
Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.
Then he saw the other one, waddling along half-hidden by his brother?Ts side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin?Ts brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother?Ts height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brutê?Ts squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Jon watched him with fascination.
The last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night?Ts Watch, and his father?Ts ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored him utterly, but there was nothing new in that. After all had been seated, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then the feasting began.
Jon had started drinking then, and he had not stopped.
Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. ?oHungry again?? he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.
His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another gulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken.
Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal.
Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.
?oIs this one of the direwolves I?Tve heard so much of?? a familiar voice asked close at hand.
Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf s. ?oYes,? he said. ?oHis name is Ghost.?
One of the squires interrupted the bawdy story hê?Td been telling to make room at the table for their lord?Ts brother. Benjen Stark straddled the bench with,long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon?Ts hand. ?oSummerwine,? he said after a taste. ?oNothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon??
Jon smiled.
Ben Stark laughed. ?oAs I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk.? He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy, from a nearby trencher and bit into it. It crunched.
His uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. He dressed in black, as befitted a man of the Night?Ts Watch. Tonight it was rich black velvet, with high leather boots and a wide belt with a silver buckle. A heavy silver chain was looped round his neck. Benjen watched Ghost with amusement as he ate his onion. ?oA very quiet wolf,? he observed.
?oHê?Ts not like the others,? Jon said. ?oHe never makes a sound. That?Ts why I named him Ghost. That, and because hê?Ts white. The others are all dark, grey or black.?
?oThere are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our rangings.? Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. ?oDon?Tt you usually eat at table with your brothers??
?oMost times,? Jon answered in a flat voice. ?oBut tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them.?
?oI see.? His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. ?oMy brother does not seem very festive tonight.?
Jon had noticed that too. A bastard had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes. His father was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Jon had seldom seen before. He said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture. ?oThe queen is angry too,? Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. ?oFather took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn?Tt want him to go.?
Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. ?oYou don?Tt miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.?
Jon swelled with pride. ?oRobb is a stronger lance than I am, but I?Tm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.?
?oNotable achievements.?
?oTake me with you when you go back to the Wall,? Jon said in a sudden rush. ?oFather will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.?
Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. ?oThe Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.?
?oI am almost a man grown,? Jon protested. ?oI will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.?
?oThat?Ts true enough,? Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon?Ts cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.
?oDaeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,? Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.
?oA conquest that lasted a summer,? his uncle pointed out. ?oYour Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn?Tt a game.? He took another sip of wine. ?oAlso,? he said, wiping his mouth, ?oDaeren Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part??
?oI forget nothing,? Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. ?oI want to serve in the Night?Ts Watch, Uncle.?
He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb?Ts bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?
?oYou don?Tt know what you?Tre asking, Jon. The Night?Ts Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.?
?oA bastard can have honor too,? Jon said. ?oI am ready to swear your oath.?
?oYou are a boy of fourteen,? Benjen said. ?oNot a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.?
?oI don?Tt care about that!? Jon said hotly.
?oYou might, if you knew what it meant,? Benjen said. ?oIf you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.?
Jon felt anger rise inside him. ?oI?Tm not your son!?
Benjen Stark stood up. ?oMorê?Ts the pity.? He put a hand on Jon?Ts shoulder. ?oCome back to me after you?Tve fathered a few bastards of your own, and wê?Tll see how you feel.?
Jon trembled. ?oI will never father a bastard,? he said carefully. ?oNever!? He spat it out like venom.
Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet.
?oI must be excused,? he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night.
The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable as he huddled there alone, but Jon would have traded places with him in an instant. Otherwise the castle was dark and deserted. Jon had seen an abandoned holdfast once, a drear place where nothing moved but the wind and the stones kept silent about whatever people had lived there. Winterfell reminded him of that tonight.
The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. They were the last things Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, furious that he had let them fall, and turned to go.
?oBoy,? a voice called out to him. Jon turned.
Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, looking for all the world like a gargoyle. The dwarf grinned down at him. ?oIs that animal a wolf??
?oA direwolf,? Jon said. ?oHis name is Ghost.? He stared up at the little man, his disappointment suddenly forgotten. ?oWhat are you doing up there? Why aren?Tt you at the feast??
?oToo hot, too noisy, and I?Td drunk too much wine,? the dwarf told him. ?oI learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother. Might I have a closer look at your wolf??
Jon hesitated, then nodded slowly. ?oCan you climb down, or shall I bring a ladder??
?oOh, bleed that,? the little man said. He pushed himself off the ledge into empty air. Jon gasped, then watched with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands, then vaulted backward onto his legs.
Ghost backed away from him uncertainly.
The dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. ?oI believe I?Tve frightened your wolf. My apologies.?
?oHê?Ts not scared,? Jon said. He knelt and called out. ?oGhost, come here. Come on. That?Ts it.?
The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon?Ts face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. ?oShy, isn?Tt he?? Lannister observed.
?oSit, Ghost,? Jon commanded. ?oThat?Ts it. Keep still.? He looked up at the dwarf. ?oYou can touch him now. He won?Tt move until I tell him to. I?Tve been training him.?
?oI see,? Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost?Ts ears and said, ?oNice wolf.?
?oIf I wasn?Tt here, hê?Td tear out your throat,? Jon said. It wasn?Tt actually true yet, but it would be.
?oIn that case, you had best stay close,? the dwarf said. He ****ed his oversized head to one side and looked Jon over with his mismatched eyes. ?oI am Tyrion Lannister.?
?oI know,? Jon said. He rose. Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.
?oYou?Tre Ned Stark?Ts bastard, aren?Tt you??
Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing. ?oDid I offend you?? Lannister said. ?oSorry. Dwarfs don?Tt have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head.? He grinned. ?oYou are the bastard, though.?
?oLord Eddard Stark is my father,? Jon admitted stiffly.
Lannister studied his face. ?oYes,? he said. ?oI can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.?
?oHalf brothers,? Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf s comment, but he tried not to let it show.
?oLet me give you some counsel, bastard,? Lannister said. ?oNever forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.?
Jon was in no mood for anyonê?Ts counsel. ?oWhat do you know about being a bastard??
?oAll dwarfs are bastards in their father?Ts eyes.?
?oYou are your mother?Ts trueborn son of Lannister.?
?oAm I?? the dwarf replied, sardonic. ?oDo tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and hê?Ts never been sure.?
?oI don?Tt even know who my mother was,? Jon said.
?oSome woman, no doubt. Most of them are.? He favored Jon with a rueful grin. ?oRemember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.? And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

Chapter 6
Catelyn​

Of all the rooms in Winterfell?Ts Great Keep, Catelyn?Ts bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man?Ts body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death.
Catelyn?Ts bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.
So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a thousand times before. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber.
The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed. Catelyn pulled the furs to her chin and watched him. He looked somehow smaller and more vulnerable, like the youth she had wed in the sept at Riverrun, fifteen long years gone. Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovernaking. It was a good ache. She could feel his seed within her. She prayed that it might quicken there. It had been three years since Rickon. She was not too old. She could give him another son.
?oI will refuse him,? Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with doubt.
Catelyn sat up in the bed. ?oYou cannot. You must not.?
?oMy duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert?Ts Hand.?
?oHe will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin *****spect that you oppose him. Can?Tt you see the danger that would put us in??
Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. ?oRobert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!?
?oYou knew the man,? she said. ?oThe king is a stranger to you.? Catelyn remembered the direwolf dead in the snow, the broken antler lodged deep in her throat. She had to make him see. ?oPride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face.?
?oHonors?? Ned laughed bitterly.
?oIn his eyes, yes,? she said.
?oAnd in yours??
?oAnd in mine,? she blazed, angry now. Why couldn?Tt he see? ?oHe offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that??
?oGods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,? Ned said. ?oAnd Joffrey... Joffrey is...?
She finished for him. Crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.?
That brought a bitter twist to Ned?Ts mouth. ?oBrandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King?Ts Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.?
?oPerhaps not,? Catelyn said, ?obut Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not.?
Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness, watching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall.
Catelyn softened then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon?Ts place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son.
She was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Ned turned, frowning. ?oWhat is it??
Desmond?Ts voice came through the door. ?oMy lord, Maester Luwin is without and begs urgent audience.?
?oYou told him I had left orders not to be disturbed??
?oYes, my lord. He insists.?
?oVery well. Send him in.?
Ned crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn realized suddenly how cold it had become. She sat up in bed and pulled the furs to her chin. ?oPerhaps we should close the windows,? she suggested.
Ned nodded absently. Maester Luwin was shown in.
The maester was a small grey man. His eyes were grey, and quick, and saw much. His hair was grey, what little the years had left him. His robe was grey wool, trimmed with white fur, the Stark colors. Its great floppy sleeves had pockets hidden inside. Luwin was always tucking things into those sleeves and producing other things from them: books, messages, strange artifacts, toys for the children. With all he kept hidden in his sleeves, Catelyn was surprised that Maester Luwin could lift his arms at all.
The maester waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke. ?oMy lord,? he said to Ned, ?opardon for disturbing your rest. I have been left a message.?
Ned looked irritated. ?oBeen left? By whom? Has there been a rider? I was not told.?
?oThere was no rider, my lord. Only a carved wooden box, left on a table in my observatory while I napped. My servants saw no one, but it must have been brought by someone in the king?Ts party. We have had no other visitors from the south.?
?oA wooden box, you say?? Catelyn said.
?oInside was a fine new lens for the observatory, from Myr by the look of it. The lenscrafters of Myr are without equal.?
Ned frowned. He had little patience for this sort of thing, Catelyn knew. ?oA lens,? he said. ?oWhat has that to do with me??
?oI asked the same question,? Maester Luwin said. ?oClearly there was more to this than the seeming.?
Under the heavy weight of her furs, Catelyn shivered. ?oA lens is an instrument to help us see.?
?oIndeed it is.? He fingered the collar of his order; a heavy chain worn tight around the neck beneath his robe, each link forged from a different metal.
Catelyn could feel dread stirring inside her once again. ?oWhat is it that they would have us see more clearly??
?oThe very thing I asked myself.? Maester Luwin drew a tightly rolled paper out of his sleeve. ?oI found the true message concealed within a false bottom when I dismantled the box the lens had come in, but it is not for my eyes.?
Ned held out his hand. ?oLet me have it, then.?
Luwin did not stir. ?oPardons, my lord. The message is not for you either. It is marked for the eyes of the Lady Catelyn, and her alone. May I approach??
Catelyn nodded, not trusting to speak. The maester placed the paper on the table beside the bed. It was sealed with a small blob of blue wax. Luwin bowed and began to retreat.
?oStay,? Ned commanded him. His voice was grave. He looked at Catelyn. ?oWhat is it? My lady, you?Tre shaking.?
?oI?Tm afraid,? she admitted. She reached out and took the letter in trembling hands. The furs dropped away from her nakedness, forgotten. In the blue wax was the moon-and-falcon seal of House Arryn. ?oIt?Ts from Lysa.? Catelyn looked at her husband. ?oIt will not make us glad,? she told him. ?oThere is grief in this message, Ned. I can feel it.?
Ned frowned, his face darkening. ?oOpen it.?
Catelyn broke the seal.
Her eyes moved over the words. At first they made no sense to her. Then she remembered. ?oLysa took no chances. When we were girls together, we had a private language, she and I.?
?oCan you read it??
?oYes,? Catelyn admitted.
?oThen tell us.?
?oPerhaps I should withdraw,? Maester Luwin said.
?oNo,? Catelyn said. ?oWe will need your counsel.? She threw back the furs and climbed from the bed. The night air was as cold as the grave on her bare skin as she padded across the room.
Maester Luwin averted his eyes. Even Ned looked shocked. ?oWhat are you doing?? he asked.
?oLighting a fire,? Catelyn told him. She found a dressing gown and shrugged into it, then knelt over the cold hearth.
?oMaester Luwin-? Ned began.
?oMaester Luwin has delivered all my children,? Catelyn said. ?oThis is no time for false modesty.? She slid the paper in among the kindling and placed the heavier logs on top of it.
Ned crossed the room, took her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. He held her there, his face inches from her. ?oMy lady, tell me! What was this message??
Catelyn stiffened in his grasp. ?oA warning,? she said softly. ?oIf we have the wits to hear.?
His eyes searched her face. ?oGo on.?
?oLysa says Jon Arryn was murdered.?
His fingers tightened on her arm. ?oBy whom??
?oThe Lannisters,? she told him. ?oThe queen.?
Ned released his hold on her arm. There were deep red marks on her skin. ?oGods,? he whispered. His voice was hoarse. ?oYour sister is sick with grief. She cannot know what she is saying.?
?oShe knows,? Catelyn said. ?oLysa is impulsive, yes, but this message was carefully planned, cleverly hidden. She knew it meant death if her letter fell into the wrong hands. To risk so much, she must have had more than mere suspicion.? Catelyn looked to her husband. ?oNow we truly have no choice. You must be Robert?Ts Hand. You must go south with him and learn the truth.?
She saw at once that Ned had reached a very different conclusion. ?oThe only truths I know are here. The south is a nest of adders I would do better to avoid.?
Luwin plucked at his chain collar where it had chafed the soft skin of his throat. ?oThe Hand of the King has great power, my lord. Power to find the truth of Lord Arryn?Ts death, to bring his killers to the king?Ts justice. Power to protect Lady Arryn and her son, if the worst be true.?
Ned glanced helplessly around the bedchamber. Catelyn?Ts heart went out to him, but she knew she could not take him in her arms just then. First the victory must be won, for her children?Ts sake. ?oYou say you love Robert like a brother. Would you leave your brother surrounded by Lannisters??
?oThe Others take both of you,? Ned muttered darkly. He turned away from them and went to the window. She did not speak, nor did the maester. They waited, quiet, while Eddard Stark said a silent farewell to the home he loved. When he turned away from the window at last, his voice was tired and full of melancholy, and moisture glittered faintly in the corners of his eyes. ?oMy father went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again.?
?oA different time,? Maester Luwin said. ?oA different king.?
?oYes,? Ned said dully. He seated himself in a chair by the hearth. ?oCatelyn, you shall stay here in Winterfell.?
His words were like an icy draft through her heart. ?oNo,? she said, suddenly afraid. Was this to be her punishment? Never to see his face again, nor to feel his arms around her?
?oYes,? Ned said, in words that would brook no argument. ?oYou must govern the north in my stead, while I run Robert?Ts errands. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Robb is fourteen. Soon enough, he will be a man grown. He must learn to rule, and I will not be here for him. Make him part of your councils. He must be ready when his time comes.?
?oGods will, not for many years,? Maester Luwin murmured.
?oMaester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Give my wife your voice in all things great and small. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming.?
Maester Luwin nodded gravely. Then silence fell, until Catelyn found her courage and asked the question whose answer she most dreaded. ?oWhat of the other children??
Ned stood, and took her in his arms, and held her face close to his. ?oRickon is very young,? he said gently. ?oHe should stay here with you and Robb. The others I would take with me.?
?oI could not bear it,? Catelyn said, trembling.
?oYou must,? he said. ?oSansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds *****spect our devotion. And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a southron court. In a few years she will be of an age to marry too.?
Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya needed refinement. Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never Bran. ?oYes,? she said, ?obut please, Ned, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at Winterfell. He is only seven.?
?oI was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie,? Ned said. ?oSer Rodrik tells me there is bad feeling between Robb and Prince Joffrey. That is not healthy. Bran can bridge that distance. He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. Let him grow up with the young princes, let him become their friend as Robert became mine. Our House will be the safer for it.?
He was right; Catelyn knew it. It did not make the pain any easier to bear. She would lose all four of them, then: Ned, and both girls, and her sweet, loving Bran. Only Robb and little Rickon would be left to her. She felt lonely already. Winterfell was such a vast place. ?oKeep him off the walls, then,? she said bravely. ?oYou know how Bran loves to climb.?
Ned kissed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. ?oThank you, my lady,? he whispered. ?oThis is hard, I know.?
?oWhat of Jon Snow, my lord?? Maester Luwin asked.
Catelyn tensed at the mention of the name. Ned felt the anger in her, and pulled away.
Many men fathered bastards. Catelyn had grown up with that knowledge. It came as no surprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child on some girl chance met on campaign. He had a man?Ts needs, after all, and they had spent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father?Ts castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the husband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between battles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child?Ts needs.
He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him ?oson? for all the north to see. When the wars were over at last, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence.
That cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of her husband?Ts soldiers. They whispered of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, deadliest of the seven knights of Aerys?Ts Kingsguard, and of how their young lord had slain him in single combat. And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur?Ts sword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on the shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face.
That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. ?oNever ask me about Jon,? he said, cold as ice. ?oHe is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.? She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Daynê?Ts name was never heard in Winterfell again.
Whoever Jon?Ts mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned?Ts sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. ?oJon must go,? she said now.
?oHe and Robb are close,? Ned said. ?oI had hoped...?
?oHe cannot stay here,? Catelyn said, cutting him off. ?oHe is your son, not mine. I will not have him.? It was hard, she knew, but no less the truth. Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell.
The look Ned gave her was anguished. ?oYou know I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard?Ts name... you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned.?
Catelyn armored her heart against the mute appeal in her husband?Ts eyes. ?oThey say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself.?
?oAnd none of them has ever been seen at court!? Ned blazed. ?oThe Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He-?
His fury was on him. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. ?oAnother solution presents itself,? he said, his voice quiet. ?oYour brother Benjen came to me about Jon a few days ago. It seems the boy aspires to take the black.?
Ned looked shocked. ?oHe asked to join the Night?Ts Watch??
Catelyn said nothing. Let Ned work it out in his own mind; her voice would not be welcome now. Yet gladly would she have kissed the maester just then. His was the perfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son to him, the child he would never have. And in time the boy would take the oath as well. He would father no sons who might someday contest with Catelyn?Ts own grandchildren for Winterfell.
Maester Luwin said, ?oThere is great honor in service on the Wall, my lord.?
?oAnd even a bastard may rise high in the Night?Ts Watch,? Ned reflected. Still, his voice was troubled. ?oJon is so young. If he asked this when he was a man grown, that would be one thing, but a boy of fourteen...?
?oA hard sacrifice,? Maester Luwin agreed. ?oYet these are hard times, my lord. His road is no crueler than yours or your lady?Ts.?
Catelyn thought of the three children she must lose. It was not easy keeping silent then.
Ned turned away from them to gaze out the window, his long face silent and thoughtful. Finally he sighed, and turned back. ?oVery well,? he said to Maester Luwin. ?oI suppose it is for the best. I will speak to Ben.?
?oWhen shall we tell Jon?? the maester asked.
?oWhen I must. Preparations must be made. It will be a fortnight before we are ready to depart. I would sooner let Jon enjoy these last few days. Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well. When the time comes, I will tell him myself.?

Chapter 7
Arya​

Aryâ?Ts stitches were crooked again.
She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansâ?Ts needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. ?oSansâ?Ts work is as pretty as she is,? Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. ?oShe has such fine, delicate hands.? When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. ?oArya has the hands of a blacksmith.?
Arya glanced furtively across the room, worried that Septa Mordane might have read her thoughts, but the septa was paying her no attention today. She was sitting with the Princess Myrcella, all smiles and admiration. It was not often that the septa was privileged to instruct a royal princess in the womanly arts, as she had said when the queen brought Myrcella to join them. Arya thought that Myrcellâ?Ts stitches looked a little crooked too, but you would never know it from the way Septa Mordane was cooing.
She studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle. She looked glumly at her sister. Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik?Ts little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.
?oWhat are you talking about?? Arya asked suddenly.
Jeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed. No one answered.
?oTell me,? Arya said.
Jeyne glanced over to make certain that Septa Mordane was not listening. Myrcella said something then, and the septa laughed along with the rest of the ladies.
?oWe were talking about the prince,? Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss.
Arya knew which prince she meant: Jofftey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.
?oJoffrey likes your sister,? Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell?Ts steward and Sansâ?Ts dearest friend. ?oHe told her she was very beautiful.?
?oHê?Ts going to marry her,? little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. ?oThen Sansa will be queen of all the realm.?
Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment. ?oBeth, you shouldn?Tt make up stories,? Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She looked at Arya. ?oWhat did you think of Prince Joff, sister? Hê?Ts very gallant, don?Tt you think??
?oJon says he looks like a girl,? Arya said.
Sansa sighed as she stitched. ?oPoor Jon,? she said. ?oHe gets jealous because hê?Ts a bastard.?
?oHê?Ts our brother,? Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.
Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. ?oWhat are you talking about, children??
?oOur half brother,? Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. ?oArya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today,? she said.
Septa Mordane nodded. ?oIndeed. A great honor for us all.? Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment. ?oArya, why aren?Tt you at work?? the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. ?oLet me see your stitches.?
Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septâ?Ts attention. ?oHere,? she said, surrendering up her work.
The septa examined the fabric. ?oArya, Arya, Arya,? she said. ?oThis will not do. This will not do at all.?
Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister?Ts disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her. Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and bolted for the door.
Septa Mordane called after her. ?oArya, come back here! Don?Tt you take another step! Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of our royal princess too! You?Tll shame us all!?
Arya stopped at the door and turned back, biting her lip. The tears were running down her cheeks now. She managed a stiff little bow to Myrcella. ?oBy your leave, my lady.?
Myrcella blinked at her and looked to her ladies for guidance. But if she was uncertain, Septa Mordane was not. ?oJust where do you think you are going, Arya?? the septa demanded.
Arya glared at her. ?oI have to go shoe a horse,? she said sweetly, taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on the septâ?Ts face. Then she whirled and made her exit, running down the steps as fast as her feet would take her.
It wasn?Tt fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother?Ts fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.
Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. They went everywhere together, and Nymeria slept in her room, at the foot of her bed. If Mother had not forbidden it, Arya would gladly have taken the wolf with her to needlework. Let Septa Mordane complain about her stitches then.
Nymeria nipped eagerly at her hand as Arya untied her. She had yellow eyes. When they caught the sunlight, they gleamed like two golden coins. Arya had named her after the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, who had led her people across the narrow sea. That had been a great scandal too. Sansa, of course, had named her pup ?oLady.? Arya made a face and hugged the wolfling tight. Nymeria licked her ear, and she giggled.
By now Septa Mordane would certainly have sent word to her lady mother. If she went to her room, they would find her. Arya did not care to be found. She had a better notion. The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back. ?oCome,? she whispered to Nymeria. She got up and ran, the wolf coming hard at her heels.
There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where you had a view of the whole yard. That was where they headed.
They arrived, flushed and breathless, to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of her approach until his white wolf moved to meet them. Nymeria stalked closer on wary feet. Ghost, already larger than his litter mates, smelled her, gave her ear a careful nip, and settled back down.
Jon gave her a curious look. ?oShouldn?Tt you be working on your stitches, little sister??
Arya made a face at him. ?oI wanted to see them fight.?
He smiled. ?oCome here, then.?
Arya climbed up on the window and sat beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the yard below.
To her disappointment, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to begin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, a great stout keg of a man with magnificent white cheek whiskers. A dozen spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb?Ts voice the loudest among them. She spotted Theon Greyjoy beside him, his black doublet emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House, a look of wry contempt on his face. Both of the combatants were staggering. Arya judged that they had been at it awhile.
?oA shade more exhausting than needlework,? Jon observed.
?oA shade more fun than needlework,? Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father?Ts face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.
?oWhy aren?Tt you down in the yard?? Arya asked him.
He gave her a half smile. ?oBastards are not allowed to damage young princes,? he said. ?oAny bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.?
?oOh.? Arya felt abashed. She should have realized. For the second time today, Arya reflected that life was not fair.
She watched her little brother whack at Tommen. ?oI could do just as good as Bran,? she said. ?oHê?Ts only seven. I?Tm nine.?
Jon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom. ?oYou?Tre too skinny,? he said. He took her arm to feel her muscle. Then he sighed and shook his head. ?oI doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.?
Arya snatched back her arm and glared at him. Jon messed up her hair again. They watched Bran and Tommen circle each other.
?oYou see Prince Joffrey?? Jon asked.
She hadn?Tt, not at first glance, but when she looked again she found him to the back, under the shade of the high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.
?oLook at the arms on his surcoat,? Jon suggested.
Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the princê?Ts padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.
?oThe Lannisters are proud,? Jon observed. ?oYou?Td think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother?Ts House equal in honor to the king?Ts.?
?oThe woman is important too!? Arya protested.
Jon chuckled. ?oPerhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.?
?oA wolf with a fish in its mouth?? It made her laugh. ?oThat would look silly. Besides, if a girl can?Tt fight, why should she have a coat of arms??
Jon shrugged. ?oGirls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.?
There was a shout from the courtyard below. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran was standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet. The men began to laugh.
?oEnough!? Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. ?oWell fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor.? He looked around. ?oPrince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round??
Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. ?oGladly.?
Joffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Rodrik?Ts summons. His hair shone like spun gold. He looked bored. ?oThis is a game for children, Ser Rodrik.?
Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. ?oYou are children,? he said derisively.
?oRobb may be a child,? Joffrey said. ?oI am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword.?
?oYou got more swats than you gave, Joff,? Robb said. ?oAre you afraid??
Prince Joffrey looked at him. ?oOh, terrified,? he said. ?oYou?Tre so much older.? Some of the Lannister men laughed.
Jon looked down on the scene with a frown. ?oJoffrey is truly a little ****,? he told Arya.
Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. ?oWhat are you suggesting?? he asked the prince.
?oLive steel.?
?oDone,? Robb shot back. ?oYou?Tll be sorry!?
The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb?Ts shoulder to quiet him. ?oLive steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges.?
Joffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Arya, a tall knight with black hair and burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. ?oThis is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser??
?oMaster-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it.?
?oAre you training women here?? the burned man wanted to know. He was muscled like a bull.
?oI am training knights,? Ser Rodrik said pointedly. ?oThey will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age.?
The burned man looked at Robb. ?oHow old are you, boy??
?oFourteen,? Robb said.
?oI killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword.?
Arya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned on Ser Rodrik. ?oLet me do it. I can beat him.?
?oBeat him with a tourney blade, then,? Ser Rodrik said.
Joffrey shrugged. ?oCome and see me when you?Tre older, Stark. If you?Tre not too old.? There was laughter from the Lannister men.
Robb?Ts curses rang through the yard. Arya covered her mouth in shock. Theon Greyjoy seized Robb?Ts arm to keep him away from the prince. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers in dismay.
Joffrey feigned a yawn and turned to his younger brother. ?oCome, Tommen,? he said. ?oThe hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics.?
That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik?Ts face was beet-red with fury under the white of his whiskers. Theon kept Robb locked in an iron grip until the princes and their party were safely away.
Jon watched them leave, and Arya watched Jon. His face had grown as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood. Finally he climbed down off the window. ?oThe show is done,? he said. He bent to scratch Ghost behind the ears. The white wolf rose and rubbed against him. ?oYou had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You?Tll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.?
Arya didn?Tt think it was funny. ?oI hate needlework!? she said with passion. ?oIt?Ts not fair!?
?oNothing is fair,? Jon said. He messed up her hair again and walked away from her, Ghost moving silently beside him. Nymeria started to follow too, then stopped and came back when she saw that Arya was not coming.
Reluctantly she turned in the other direction.
It was worse than Jon had thought. It wasn?Tt Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother.

Chapter 8
Bran​

The hunt left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with his father, so Robb had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even the queenâ?Ts funny little brother had all ridden out with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south.
Bran had been left behind with Jon and the girls and Rickon. But Rickon was only a baby and the girls were only girls and Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found. Bran did not look for him very hard. He thought Jon was angry at him. Jon seemed to be angry at everyone these days. Bran did not know why. He was going with Uncle Ben to the Wall, to join the Nightâ?Ts Watch. That was almost as good as going south with the king. Robb was the one they were leaving behind, not Jon.
For days, Bran could scarcely wait to be off. He was going to ride the kingsroad on a horse of his own, not a pony but a real horse. His father would be the Hand of the King, and they were going to live in the red castle at Kingâ?Ts Landing, the castle the Dragonlords had built. Old Nan said there were ghosts there, and dungeons where terrible things had been done, and dragon heads on the walls. It gave Bran a shiver just to think of it, but he was not afraid. How could he be afraid?
His father would be with him, and the king with all his knights and sworn swords.
Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one anotherâ?Ts swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold.
Two of the Kingsguard had come north with King Robert. Bran had watched them with fascination, never quite daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly face, and Ser Meryn had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. Ser Jaime Lannister looked more like the knights in the stories, and he was of the Kingsguard too, but Robb said he had killed the old mad king and shouldnâ?Tt count anymore. The greatest living knight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they reached Kingâ?Ts Landing, and Bran had been marking the days on his wall, eager to depart, to see a world he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine.
Yet now that the last day was at hand, suddenly Bran felt lost. Winterfell had been the only home he had ever known. His father had told him that he ought to say his farewells today, and he had tried. After the hunt had ridden out, he wandered through the castle with his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan and Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Hodor the stableboy who smiled so much and took care of his pony and never said anything but â?oHodor,â? the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry when he came to visit...
But it was no good. He had gone to the stable first, and seen his pony there in its stall, except it wasnâ?Tt his pony anymore, he was getting a real horse and leaving the pony behind, and all of a sudden Bran just wanted to sit down and cry. He turned and ran off before Hodor and the other stableboys could see the tears in his eyes. That was the end of his farewells. Instead Bran spent the morning alone in the godswood, trying to teach his wolf to fetch a stick, and failing. The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in his fatherâ?Ts kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said to him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks.
He was still trying to decide on a name. Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran so fast. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty stupid name for a direwolf. Jonâ?Ts wolf, the white one, was Ghost. Bran wished he had thought of that first, even though his wolf wasnâ?Tt white. He had tried a hundred names in the last fortnight, but none of them sounded right.
Finally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing. He hadnâ?Tt been up to the broken tower for weeks with everything that had happened, and this might be his last chance.
He raced across the godswood, taking the long way around to avoid the pool where the heart tree grew. The heart tree had always frightened him; trees ought not have eyes, Bran thought, or leaves that looked like hands. His wolf came sprinting at his heels. â?oYou stay here,â? he told him at the base of the sentinel tree near the armory wall. â?oLie down. Thatâ?Ts right. Now stay-â?
The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree, moving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl.
Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow eyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf howled. â?oQuiet,â? he yelled. â?oSit down. Stay. Youâ?Tre worse than Mother.â? The howling chased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and out of sight.
The rooftops of Winterfell were Branâ?Ts second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true.
To a boy, Winterfell was a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers and courtyards and tunnels spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted up and down so that you couldnâ?Tt even be sure what floor you were on. The place had grown over the centuries like some monstrous stone tree, Maester Luwin told him once, and its branches were gnarled and thick and twisted, its roots sunk deep into the earth.
When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.
It taught him Winterfellâ?Ts secrets too. The builders had not even leveled the earth; there were hills and valleys behind the walls of Winterfell. There was a covered bridge that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery. Bran knew about that. And he knew you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate, climb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the stone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall looming over you. Even Maester Luwin didnâ?Tt know that, Bran was convinced.
His mother was terrified that one day Bran would slip off a wall and kill himself. He told her that he wouldnâ?Tt, but she never believed him. Once she made him promise that he would stay on the ground. He had managed to keep that promise for almost a fortnight, miserable every day, until one night he had gone out the window of his bedroom when his brothers were fast asleep.
He confessed his crime the next day in a fit of guilt. Lord Eddard ordered him to the godswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen. They finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the grove.
As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. â?oYouâ?Tre not my son,â? he told Bran when they fetched him down, â?oyouâ?Tre a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you.â?
Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really footed her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crowsâ?T nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.
Later, Maester Luwin built a little pottery boy and dressed him in Branâ?Ts clothes and flung him off the wall into the yard below, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if he fell. That had been fun, but afterward Bran just looked at the maester and said, â?oIâ?Tm not made of clay. And anyhow, I never fall.â?
Then for a while the guards would chase him whenever they saw him on the roofs, and try to haul him down. That was the best time of all. It was like playing a game with his brothers, except that Bran always won. None of the guards could climb half so well as Bran, not even Jory. Most of the time they never saw him anyway. People never looked up. That was another thing he liked about climbing; it was almost like being invisible.
He liked how it felt too, pulling himself up a wall stone by stone, fingers and toes digging hard into the small crevices between. He always took off his boots and went barefoot when he climbed; it made him feel as if he had four hands instead of two. He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.
Most of all, he liked going places that no one else could go, and seeing the grey sprawl of Winterfell in a way that no one else ever saw it. It made the whole castle Branâ?Ts secret place.
His favorite haunt was the broken tower. Once it had been a watchtower, the tallest in Winterfell. A long time ago, a hundred years before even his father had been born, a lightning strike had set it afire. The top third of the structure had collapsed inward, and the tower had never been rebuilt. Sometimes his father sent ratters into the base of the tower, to clean out the nests they always found among the jumble of fallen stones and charred and rotten beams. But no one ever got up to the jagged top of the structure now except for Bran and the crows.
He knew two ways to get there. You could climb straight up the side of the tower itself, but the stones were loose, the mortar that held them together long gone to ash, and Bran never liked to put his full weight on them.
The best way was to start from the godswood, shinny up the tall sentinel, and cross over the armory and the guards hall, leaping roof to roof, barefoot so the guards wouldnâ?Tt hear you overhead. That brought you up to the blind side of the First Keep, the oldest part of the castle, a squat round fortress that was taller than it looked. Only rats and spiders lived there now but the old stones still made for good climbing. You could go straight up to where the gargoyles leaned out blindly over empty space, and swing from gargoyle to gargoyle, hand over hand, around to the north side. From there, if you really stretched, you could reach out and pull yourself over to the broken tower where it leaned close. The last part was the scramble up the blackened stones to the eyrie, no more than ten feet, and then the crows would come round to see if youâ?Td brought any corn.

Bran was moving from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard the voices. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. The First Keep had been empty all his life.
?oI do not like it,? a woman was saying. There was a row of windows beneath him, and the voice was drifting out of the last window on this side. ?oYou should be the Hand.?
?oGods forbid,? a man?Ts voice replied lazily. ?oIt?Ts not an honor I?Td want. Therê?Ts far too much work involved.?
Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to swing by.
?oDon?Tt you see the danger this puts us in?? the woman said. ?oRobert loves the man like a brother.?
?oRobert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion.?
?oDon?Tt play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him.?
?oWe ought to count ourselves fortunate,? the man said. ?oThe king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I?Tll sleep more easily by night.?
They were talking about Father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet... but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window.
?oWe will have to watch him carefully,? the woman said.
?oI would sooner watch you,? the man said. He sounded bored. ?oCome back here.?
?oLord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck,? the woman said. ?oNever. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power??
?oA hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life.?
?oHis wife is Lady Arryn?Ts sister. It?Ts a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations.?
Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach.
?oYou fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow.?
?oThat frightened cow shared Jon Arryn?Ts bed.?
?oIf she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King?Ts Landing.?
?oWhen he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I think not. She knew the boy?Ts life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that hê?Ts safe atop the Eyrie.?
?oMothers.? The man made the word sound like a curse. ?oI think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad.? He laughed. It was a bitter sound. ?oLet Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof.? He paused a moment. ?oOr does she??
?oDo you think the king will require proof?? the woman said. ?oI tell you, he loves me not.?
?oAnd whose fault is that, sweet sister??
Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up... except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears.
?oYou are as blind as Robert,? the woman was saying.
?oIf you mean I see the same thing, yes,? the man said. ?oI see a man who would sooner die than betray his king.?
?oHe betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?? the woman said. ?oOh, I don?Tt deny hê?Ts loyal to Robert, that?Ts obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer wê?Tll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. Hê?Ts still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna??
Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized. He had to see who was talking.
The man sighed. ?oYou should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand.?
?oStop that!? the woman said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man?Ts laughter. Bran pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the roof. This was the easy way. He moved across the roof to the next gargoyle, right above the window of the room where they were talking.
?oAll this talk is getting very tiresome, sister,? the man said. ?oCome here and be quiet.?
Bran sat astride the gargoyle, tightened his legs around it, and swung himself around, upside down. He hung by his legs and slowly stretched his head down toward the window. The world looked strange upside down. A courtyard swam dizzily below him, its stones still wet with melted snow.
Bran looked in the window.
Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man?Ts back was to him, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall.
There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat. ?oStop it,? she said, ?ostop it, stop it. Oh, please...? But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast.
Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized the queen.
He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed.
Everything happened at once then. ?~ The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting.
Faces appeared in the window above him.
The queen. And now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror.
?oHe saw us,? the woman said shrilly.
?oSo he did,? the man said.
Bran?Ts fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down. ?oTake my hand,? he said. ?oBefore you fall.?
Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. ?oWhat are you doing?? the woman demanded.
The man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. ?oHow old are you, boy??
?oSeven,? Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man?Ts forearm. He let go sheepishly.
The man looked over at the woman. ?oThe things I do for love,? he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove.
Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him.
Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

Chapter 9
Tyrion​

Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung over the castle like a flag of mourning.
Tyrion Lannister looked up from his books and shivered, though the library was snug and warm. Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.
When the direwolf howled again, Tyrion shut the heavy leatherbound cover on the book he was reading, a hundredyear-old discourse on the changing of the seasons by a long-dead maester. He covered a yawn with the back of his hand. His reading lamp was flickering, its oil all but gone, as dawn light leaked through the high windows. He had been at it all night, but that was nothing new. Tyrion Lannister was not much a one for sleeping.
His legs were stiff and sore as he eased down off the bench. He massaged some life back into them and limped heavily to the table where the septon was snoring softly, his head pillowed on an open book in front of him. Tyrion glanced at the title. A life of the Grand Maester Aethelmure, no wonder. ?oChayle,? he said softly. The young man jerked up, blinking, confused, the crystal of his order swinging wildly on its silver chain. ?oI?Tm off to break my fast. See that you return the books to the shelves. Be gentle with the Valyrian scrolls, the parchment is very dry. Ayrmidon?Ts Engines of War is quite rare, and yours is the only complete copy I?Tve ever seen.? Chayle gaped at him, still halfasleep. Patiently, Tyrion repeated his instructions, then clapped the septon on the shoulder and left him to his tasks.
Outside, Tyrion swallowed a lungful of the cold morning air and began his laborious descent of the steep stone steps that corkscrewed around the exterior of the library tower. It was slow going; the steps were cut high and narrow, while his legs were short and twisted. The rising sun had not yet cleared the walls of Winterfell, but the men were already hard at it in the yard below. Sandor Cleganê?Ts rasping voice drifted up to him. ?oThe boy is a long time dying. I wish he would be quicker about it.?
Tyrion glanced down and saw the Hound standing with young Joffrey as squires swarmed around them. ?oAt least he dies quietly,? the prince replied. ?oIt?Ts the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.?
Clegane cast a long shadow across the hard-packed earth as his squire lowered the black helm over his head. ?oI could silence the creature, if it please you,? he said through his open visor. His boy placed a longsword in his hand. He tested the weight of it, slicing at the cold morning air. Behind him, the yard rang to the clangor of steel on steel.
The notion seemed to delight the prince. ?oSend a dog to kill a dog!? he exclaimed. ?oWinterfell is so infested with wolves, the Starks would never miss one.?
Tyrion hopped off the last step onto the yard. ?oI beg to differ, nephew,? he said. ?oThe Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name.?
Joffrey had the grace at least to blush.
?oA voice from nowhere,? Sandor said. He peered through his helm, looking this way and that. ?oSpirits of the air!?
The prince laughed, as he always laughed when his bodyguard did this mummer?Ts farce. Tyrion was used to it. ?oDown here.?
The tall man peered down at the ground, and pretended to notice him. ?oThe little lord Tyrion,? he said. ?oMy pardons. I did not see you standing there.?
?oI am in no mood for your insolence today.? Tyrion turned to his nephew. ?oJoffrey, it is past time you called on Lord Eddard and his lady, to offer them your comfort.?
Joffrey looked as petulant as only a boy prince can look. ?oWhat good will my comfort do them??
?oNone,? Tyrion said. ?oYet it is expected of you. Your absence has been noted.?
?oThe Stark boy is nothing to me,? Joffrey said. ?oI cannot abide the wailing of women.?
Tyrion Lannister reached up and slapped his nephew hard across the face. The boy?Ts cheek began to redden.
?oOne word,? Tyrion said, ?oand I will hit you again.?
?oI?Tm going to tell Mother!? Joffrey exclaimed.
Tyrion hit him again. Now both cheeks flamed.
?oYou tell your mother,? Tyrion told him. ?oBut first you get yourself to Lord and Lady Stark, and you fall to your knees in front of them, and you tell them how very sorry you are, and that you are at their service if there is the slightest thing you can do for them or theirs in this desperate hour, and that all your prayers go with them. Do you understand? Do you??
The boy looked as though he was going to cry. Instead, he managed a weak nod. Then he turned and fled headlong from the yard, holding his cheek. Tyrion watched him run.
A shadow fell across his face. He turned to find Clegane looming overhead like a cliff. His soot-dark armor seemed to blot out the sun. He had lowered the visor on his helm. It was fashioned in the likeness of a snarling black hound, fearsome to behold, but Tyrion had always thought it a great improvement over Cleganê?Ts hideously burned face.
?oThe prince will remember that, little lord,? the Hound warned him. The helm turned his laugh into a hollow rumble.
?oI pray he does,? Tyrion Lannister replied. ?oIf he forgets, be a good dog and remind him.? He glanced around the courtyard. ?oDo you know where I might find my brother??
?oBreaking fast with the queen.?
?oAh,? Tyrion said. He gave Sandor Clegane a perfunctory nod and walked away as briskly as his stunted legs would carry him, whistling. He pitied the first knight to try the Hound today. The man did have a temper.
A cold, cheerless meal had been laid out in the morning room of the Guest House. Jaime sat at table with Cersei and the children, talking in low, hushed voices.
?oIs Robert still abed?? Tyrion asked as he seated himself, uninvited, at the table.
His sister peered at him with the same expression of faint distaste she had worn since the day he was born. ?oThe king has not slept at all,? she told him. ?oHe is with Lord Eddard. He has taken their sorrow deeply to heart.?
?oHe has a large heart, our Robert,? Jaime said with a lazy smile. There was very little that Jaime took seriously. Tyrion knew that about his brother, and forgave it. During all the terrible long years of his childhood, only Jaime had ever shown him the smallest measure of affection or respect, and for that Tyrion was willing to forgive him most anything.
A servant approached. ?oBread,? Tyrion told him, ?oand two of those little fish, and a mug of that good dark beer to wash them down. Oh, and some bacon. Burn it until it turns black.? The man bowed and moved off. Tyrion turned back to his siblings. Twins, male and female. They looked very much the part this morning. Both had chosen a deep green that matched their eyes. Their blond curls were all a fashionable tumble, and gold ornaments shone at wrists and fingers and throats.
Tyrion wondered what it would be like to have a twin, and decided that he would rather not know. Bad enough to face himself in a looking glass every day. Another him was a thought too dreadful to contemplate.
Prince Tommen spoke up. ?oDo you have news of Bran, Uncle??
?oI stopped by the sickroom last night,? Tyrion announced. ?oThere was no change. The maester thought that a hopeful sign.?
?oI don?Tt want Brandon to die,? Tommen said timorously. He was a sweet boy. Not like his brother, but then Jaime and Tyrion were somewhat less than peas in a pod themselves.
?oLord Eddard had a brother named Brandon as well,? Jaime mused. ?oOne of the hostages murdered by Targaryen. It seems to be an unlucky name.?
?oOh, not so unlucky as all that, surely,? Tyrion said. The servant brought his plate. He ripped off a chunk of black bread.
Cersei was studying him warily. ?oWhat do you mean??
Tyrion gave her a crooked smile. ?oWhy, only that Tommen may get his wish. The maester thinks the boy may yet live.? He took a sip of beer.
Myrcella gave a happy gasp, and Tommen smiled nervously, but it was not the children Tyrion was watching. The glance that passed between Jaime and Cersei lasted no more than a second, but he did not miss it. Then his sister dropped her gaze to the table. ?oThat is no mercy. These northern gods are cruel to let the child linger in such pain.?
?oWhat were the maester?Ts words?? Jaime asked.
The bacon crunched when he bit into it. Tyrion chewed thoughtfully for a moment and said, ?oHe thinks that if the boy were going to die, he would have done so already. It has been four days with no change.?
?oWill Bran get better, Uncle?? little Myrcella asked. She had all of her mother?Ts beauty, and none of her nature.
?oHis back is broken, little one,? Tyrion told her. ?oThe fall shattered his legs as well. They keep him alive with honey and water, or he would starve to death. Perhaps, if he wakes, he will be able to eat real food, but he will never walk again.?
?oIf he wakes,? Cersei repeated. ?oIs that likely??
?oThe gods alone know,? Tyrion told her. ?oThe maester only hopes.? He chewed some more bread. ?oI would swear that wolf of his is keeping the boy alive. The creature is outside his window day and night, howling. Every time they chase it away, it returns. The maester said they closed the window once, to shut out the noise, and Bran seemed to weaken. When they opened it again, his heart beat stronger.?
The queen shuddered. ?oThere is something unnatural about those animals,? she said. ?oThey are dangerous. I will not have any of them coming south with us.?
Jaime said, ?oYou?Tll have a hard time stopping them, sister. They follow those girls everywhere.?
Tyrion started on his fish. ?oAre you leaving soon, then??
?oNot near soon enough,? Cersei said. Then she frowned. ?oAre we leaving?? she echoed. ?oWhat about you? Gods, don?Tt tell me you are staying here??
Tyrion shrugged. ?oBenjen Stark is returning to the Night?Ts Watch with his brother?Ts bastard. I have a mind to go with them and see this Wall we have all heard so much of.?
Jaime smiled. ?oI hope you?Tre not thinking of taking the black on us, sweet brother.?
Tyrion laughed. ?oWhat, me, celibate? The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock. No, I just want to stand on top of the Wall and piss off the edge of the world.?
Cersei stood abruptly. ?oThe children don?Tt need to hear this filth. Tommen, Myrcella, come.? She strode briskly from the morning room, her train and her pups trailing behind her.
Jaime Lannister regarded his brother thoughtfully with those cool green eyes. ?oStark will never consent to leave Winterfell with his son lingering in the shadow of death.?
?oHe will if Robert commands it,? Tyrion said. ?oAnd Robert will command it. There is nothing Lord Eddard can do for the boy in any case.?
?oHe could end his torment,? Jaime said. ?oI would, if it were my son. It would be a mercy.?
?oI advise against putting that suggestion to Lord Eddard, sweet brother,? Tyrion said. ?oHe would not take it kindly.?
?oEven if the boy does live, he will be a cripple. Worse than a cripple. A grotesque. Give me a good clean death.?
Tyrion replied with a shrug that accentuated the twist of his shoulders. ?oSpeaking for the grotesques,? he said, ?oI beg to differ. Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.?
Jaime smiled. ?oYou are a perverse little imp, aren?Tt you??
?oOh, yes,? Tyrion admitted. ?oI hope the boy does wake. I would be most interested to hear what he might have to say.?
His brother?Ts smile curdled like sour milk. ?oTyrion, my sweet brother,? he said darkly, ?othere are times when you give me cause to wonder whose side you are on.?
Tyrion?Ts mouth was full of bread and fish. He took a swallow of strong black beer to wash it all down, and grinned up wolfishly at Jaime, ?oWhy, Jaime, my sweet brother,? he said, ?oyou wound me. You know how much I love my family.?

Chapter 10
Jon​

Jon climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time ever. Ghost padded silently beside him. Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and quiet. Too quiet for Jon?Ts liking.
He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.
Lady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran?Ts side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away.
But now there was no more time.
He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head.
Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she blinked. ?oWhat areyou doing here?? she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless.
?oI came to see Bran,? Jon said. ?oTo say good-bye.?
Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as though she had aged twenty years. ?oYou?Tve said it. Now go away.?
Part of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again. He took a nervous step into the room. ?oPlease,? he said.
Something cold moved in her eyes. ?oI told you to leave,? she said. ?oWe don?Tt want you here.?
Once that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now it only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night?Ts Watch soon, and face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. ?oHê?Ts my brother,? he said.
?oShall I call the guards??
?oCall them,? Jon said, defiant. ?oYou can?Tt stop me from seeing him.? He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay.
She was holding one of his hands. It looked like a claw. This was not the Bran he remembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. Under the blanket, his legs bent in ways that made Jon sick. His eyes were sunken deep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. The fall had shrunken him somehow. He looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave.
Yet under the frail cage of those shattered ribs, his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
?oBran,? he said, ?oI?Tm sorry I didn?Tt come before. I was afraid.? He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. ?oDon?Tt die, Bran. Please. Wê?Tre all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone...?
Lady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name.
?oI have to go now,? Jon said. ?oUncle Benjen is waiting. I?Tm to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come.? He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips.
?oI wanted him to stay here with me,? Lady Stark said softly.
Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.
?oI prayed for it,? she said dully. ?oHe was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered.?
Jon did not know what to say. ?oIt wasn?Tt your fault,? he managed after an awkward silence.
Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. ?oI need none of your absolution, bastard.?
Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran?Ts hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. ?oGood-bye,? he said.
He was at the door when she called out to him. ?oJon,? she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.
?oYes?? he said.
?oIt should have been you,? she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.
It was a long walk down to the yard.
Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off.
Robb was in the middle of it, shouting commands with the best of them. He seemed to have grown of late, as if Bran?Ts fall and his mother?Ts collapse had somehow made him stronger. Grey Wind was at his side.
?oUncle Benjen is looking for you,? he told Jon. ?oHe wanted to be gone an hour ago.?
?oI know,? Jon said. ?oSoon.? He looked around at all the noise and confusion. ?oLeaving is harder than I thought.?
?oFor me too,? Robb said. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body. ?oDid you see him??
Jon nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
?oHê?Ts not going to die,? Robb said. ?oI know it.?
?oYou Starks are hard to kill,? Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit had taken all the strength from him.
Robb knew something was wrong. ?oMy mother
?oShe was... very kind,? Jon told him.
Robb looked relieved. ?oGood.? He smiled. ?oThe next time I see you, you?Tll be all in black.?
Jon forced himself to smile back. ?oIt was always my color. How long do you think it will be??
?oSoon enough,? Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. ?oFarewell, Snow.?
Jon hugged him back. ?oAnd you, Stark. Take care of Bran.?
?oI will.? They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly. ?oUncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you,? Robb finally said.
?oI have one more farewell to make,? Jon told him.
?oThen I haven?Tt seen you,? Robb replied. Jon left him standing there in the snow, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. It was a short walk to the armory. He picked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep.
Arya was in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was. Nymeria was helping. Arya would only have to point, and the wolf would bound across the room, snatch up some wisp of silk in her jaws, and fetch it back. But when she smelled Ghost, she sat down on her haunches and yelped at them.
Arya glanced behind her, saw Jon, and jumped to her feet. She threw her skinny arms tight around his neck. ?oI was afraid you were gone,? she said, her breath catching in her throat. ?oThey wouldn?Tt let me out to say good-bye.?
?oWhat did you do now?? Jon was amused.
Arya disentangled herself from him and made a face. ?oNothing. I was all packed and everything.? She gestured at the huge chest, no more than a third full, and at the clothes that were scattered all over the room. ?oSepta Mordane says I have to do it all over. My things weren?Tt properly folded, she says. A proper southron lady doesn?Tt just throw her clothes inside her chest like old rags, she says.?
?oIs that what you did, little sister??
?oWell, they?Tre going to get all messed up anyway,? she said. ?oWho cares how they?Tre folded??
?oSepta Mordane,? Jon told her. ?oI don?Tt think shê?Td like Nymeria helping, either.? The she-wolf regarded him silently with her dark golden eyes. ?oIt?Ts just as well. I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.?
Her face lit up. ?oA present??
?oYou could call it that. Close the door.?
Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. ?oNymeria, here. Guard.? She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags hê?Td wrapped it in. He held it out to her.
Aryâ?Ts eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. ?oA sword,? she said in a small, hushed breath.
The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. ?oThis is no toy,? he told her. ?oBe careful you don?Tt cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.?
?oGirls don?Tt shave,? Arya said.
?oMaybe they should. Have you ever seen the septâ?Ts legs??
She giggled at him. ?oIt?Ts so skinny.?
?oSo are you,? Jon told her. ?oI had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won?Tt hack a man?Ts head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you?Tre fast enough.?
?oI can be fast,? Arya said.
?oYou?Tll have to work at it every day.? He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. ?oHow does it feel? Do you like the balance??
?oI think so,? Arya said.
?oFirst lesson,? Jon said. ?oStick them with the pointy end.?
Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. ?oI know which end to use,? Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. ?oSepta Mordane will take it away from me.?
?oNot if she doesn?Tt know you have it,? Jon said.
?oWho will I practice with??
?oYou?Tll find someone,? Jon promised her. ?oKing?Ts Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do...?
Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.
?o... don?Tt... tell... Sansa!?
Jon messed up her hair. ?oI will miss you, little sister.?
Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. ?oI wish you were coming with us.?
?oDifferent roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?? He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. ?oI better go. I?Tll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer.?
Arya ran to him for a last hug. ?oPut down the sword first,? Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses.
When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. ?oI almost forgot,? he told her. ?oAll the best swords have names.?
?oLike Ice,? she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. ?oDoes this have a name? Oh, tell me.?
?oCan?Tt you guess?? Jon teased. ?oYour very favorite thing.?
Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:
?oNeedle!?
The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

Chapter 11
Daenerys​

Daenerys Targaryen wed Khal Drogo with fear and barbaric splendor in a field beyond the walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man?Ts life must be done beneath the open sky.
Drogo had called his khalasar to attend him and they had come, forty thousand Dothraki warriors and uncounted numbers of women, children, and slaves. Outside the city walls they camped with their vast herds, raising palaces of woven grass, eating everything in sight, and making the good folk of Pentos more anxious with every passing day.
?oMy fellow magisters; have doubled the size of the city guard,? Illyrio told them over platters of honey duck and orange snap peppers one night at the manse that had been Drogô?Ts. The khal had joined his khalasar, his estate given over to Daenerys and her brother until the wedding.
?oBest we get Princess Daenerys wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of Pentos away to sellswords and bravos,? Ser Jorah Mormont jested. The exile had offered her brother his sword the night Dany had been sold to Kbal Drogo; Viserys had accepted eagerly. Mormont had been their constant companion ever since.
Magister Illyrio laughed lightly through his forked beard, but Viserys did not so much as smile. ?oHe can have her tomorrow, if he likes,? her brother said. He glanced over at Dany, and she lowered her eyes. ?oSo long as he pays the price.?
Illyrio waved a languid hand in the air, rings glittering on his fat fingers. ?oI have told you, all is settled. Trust me. The khal has promised you a crown, and you shall have it.?
?oYes, but when??
?oWhen the khal chooses,? Illyrio said. ?oHe will have the girl first, and after they are wed he must make his procession across the plains and present her to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dolthrak. After that, perhaps. If the omens favor war.?
Viserys seethed with impatience. ?oI piss on Dothraki omens. The Usurper sits on my father?Ts throne. How long must I wait??
Illyrio gave a massive shrug. ?oYou have waited most of your life, great king. What is another few months, another few years??
Ser Jorah, who had traveled as far east as Vaes Dothrak, nodded in agreement. ?oI counsel you to be patient, Your Grace. The Dothraki are true to their word, but they do things in their own time. A lesser man may beg a favor from the khal, but must never presume to berate him.?
Viserys bristled. ?oGuard your tongue, Mormont, or I?Tll have it out. I am no lesser man, I am the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon does not beg.?
Ser Jorah lowered his eyes respectfully. Illyrio smiled enigmatically and tore a wing from the duck. Honey and grease ran over his fingers and dripped down into his beard as he nibbled at the tender meat. There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.
Yet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. ?oYou woke the dragon,? he screamed as he kicked her. ?oYou woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.? Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid...
... Until the day of her wedding came at last.
The ceremony began at dawn and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and feasting and fighting. A mighty earthen ramp had been raised amid the grass palaces, and there Dany was seated beside
Khal Drogo, above the seething sea of Dothraki. She had never seen so many people in one place, nor people so strange and frightening. The horselords might put on rich fabrics and sweet perfumes when they visited the Free Cities, but out under the open sky they kept the old ways. Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings cinched by bronze medallion belts, and the warriors greased their long braids with fat from the rendering pits. They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank themselves blind on fermented marê?Ts milk and Illyriô?Ts fine wines, and spat jests at each other across the fires, their voices harsh and alien in Dany?Ts ears.
Viserys was seated just below her, splendid in a new black wool tunic with a scarlet dragon on the chest. Illyrio and Ser Jorah sat beside him. Theirs was a place of high honor, just below the khal?Ts own bloodriders, but Dany could see the anger in her brother?Ts lilac eyes. He did not like sitting beneath her, and he fumed when the slaves offered each dish first to the khal and his bride, and served him from the portions they refused. He could do nothing but nurse his resentment, so nurse it he did, his mood growing blacker by the hour at each insult to his person.
Dany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her brother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would be if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to her, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she waved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down.
There was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests down to his bloodriders, and laughed at their replies, but he scarcely glanced at Dany beside him. They had no common language. Dothraki was incomprehensible to her, and the khal knew only a few words of the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities, and none at all of the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She would even have welcomed the conversation of Illyrio and her brother, but they were too far below to hear her.
So she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking silently to herself. I am blood of the dragon, she told herself. I am Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror.
The sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky when she saw her first man die. Drums were beating as some of the women danced for the khal. Drogo watched without expression, but his eyes followed their movements, and from time to time he would toss down a bronze medallion for the women to fight over.
The warriors were watching too. One of them finally stepped into the circle, grabbed a dancer by the arm, pushed her down to the ground, and mounted her right there, as a stallion mounts a mare. Illyrio had told her that might happen. ?oThe Dothraki mate like the animals in their herds. There is no privacy in a khalasar, and they do not understand sin or shame as we do.?
Dany looked away from the coupling, frightened when she realized what was happening, but a second warrior stepped forward, and a third, and soon there was no way to avert her eyes. Then two men seized the same woman. She heard a shout, saw a shove, and in the blink of an eye the arakhs were out, long razor-sharp blades, half sword and half scythe. A dance of death began as the warriors circled and slashed, leaping toward each other, whirling the blades around their heads, shrieking insults at each clash. No one made a move to interfere.
It ended as quickly as it began. The arakhs shivered together faster than Dany could follow, one man missed a step, the other swung his blade in a flat arc. Steel bit into flesh just above the Dothraki?Ts waist, and opened him from backbone to belly button, spilling his entrails into the dust. As the loser died, the winner took hold of the nearest woman-not even the one they had been quarreling over-and had her there and then. Slaves carried off the body, and the dancing resumed.
Magister Illyrio had warned Dany about this too. ?oA Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is deemed a dull affair,? he had said. Her wedding must have been especially blessed; before the day was over, a dozen men had died.
As the hours passed, the terror grew in Dany, until it was all she could do not to scream. She was afraid of the Dothraki, whose ways seemed alien and monstrous, as if they were beasts in human skins and not true men at all. She was afraid of her brother, of what he might do if she failed him. Most of all, she was afraid of what would happen tonight under the stars, when her brother gave her up to the hulking giant who sat drinking beside her with a face as still and cruel as a bronze mask.
I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself again.
When at last the sun was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together, and the drums and the shouting and feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled Dany to her feet beside him. It was time for her bride gifts.
And after the gifts, she knew, after the sun had gone down, it would be time for the first ride and the consummation of her marriage. Dany tried to put the thought aside, but it would not leave her. She hugged herself to try to keep from shaking.
Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him nothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almondshaped eyes, Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed Lysene girl. ?oThese are no common servants, sweet sister,? her brother told her as they were brought forward one by one. ?oIllyrio and I selected them personally for you. Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love.? He smiled thinly. ?oShê?Ts very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to that.?
Ser Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift. ?oIt is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford,? he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. They were histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she saw, written in the Common Tongue. She thanked him with all her heart.
Magister Illyrio murmured a command, and four burly slaves hurried forward, bearing between them a great cedar chest bound in bronze. When she opened it, she found piles of the finest velvets and damasks the Free Cities could produce... and resting on top, nestled in the soft cloth, three huge eggs. Dany gasped. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, each different than the others, patterned in such rich colors that at first she thought they were crusted with jewels, and so large it took both of her hands to hold one. She lifted it delicately, expecting that it would be made of some fine porcelain or delicate enamel, or even blown glass, but it was much heavier than that, as if it were all of solid stone. The surface of the shell was covered with tiny scales, and as she turned the egg between her fingers, they shimmered like polished metal in the light of the setting sun. One egg was a deep green, with burnished bronze flecks that came and went depending on how Dany turned it. Another was pale cream streaked with gold. The last was black, as black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls. ?oWhat are they?? she asked, her voice hushed and full of wonder.
?oDragon?Ts eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai,? said Magister Illyrio. ?oThe eons have turned them to stone, yet still they burn bright with beauty.?
?oI shall treasure them always.? Dany had heard tales of such eggs, but she had never seen one, nor thought to see one. It was a truly magnificent gift, though she knew that Illyrio could afford to be lavish. He had collected a fortune in horses and slaves for his part in selling her to Khal Drogo.
The khal?Ts bloodriders offered her the tra***ional three weapons, and splendid weapons they were. Haggo gave her a great leather whip with a silver handle, Cohollo a magnificent arakh chased in gold, and Qotho a double-curved dragonbone bow taller than she was. Magister Illyrio and Ser Jorah had taught her the tra***ional refusals for these offerings. ?oThis is a gift worthy of a great warrior, 0 blood of my blood, and I am but a woman. Let my lord husband bear these in my stead.? And so Khal Drogo too received his ?obride gifts.?
Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. ?oA handsome gift, Khaleesi,? Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. ?oMost lucky.? The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.
And last of all, Khal Drogo brought forth his own bride gift to her. An expectant hush rippled out from the center of the camp as he left her side, growing until it had swallowed the whole khalasar. When he returned, the dense press of Dothraki gift-givers parted before him, and he led the horse to her.
She was a young filly, spirited and splendid. Dany knew just enough about horses to know that this was no ordinary animal. There was something about her that took the breath away. She was grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke.
Hesitantly she reached out and stroked the horsê?Ts neck, ran her fingers through the silver of her mane. Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Magister Illyrio translated. ?oSilver for the silver of your hair, the khal says.?
?oShê?Ts beautiful,? Dany murmured.
?oShe is the pride of the khalasar,? Illyrio said. ?oCustom decrees that the khaleesi must ride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the khal.?

Drogo stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her up as easily as if she were a child and set her on the thin Dothraki saddle, so much smaller than the ones she was used to. Dany sat there uncertain for a moment. No one had told her about this part. â?oWhat should I do?â? she asked Illyrio. It was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. â?oTake the reins and ride. You need not go far.â?
Nervously Dany gathered the reins.in her hands and slid her feet into the short stirrups. She was only a fair rider; she had spent far more time traveling by ship and wagon and palanquin than by horseback. Praying that she would not fall off and disgrace herself, she gave the filly the lightest and most timid touch with her knees.
And for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time ever.
The silver-grey filly moved with a smooth and silken gait, and the crowd parted for her, every eye upon them. Dany found herself moving faster than she had intended, yet somehow it was exciting rather than terrifying. The horse broke into a trot, and she smiled. Dothraki scrambled to clear a path. The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. She sent it into a gallop, and now the Dothraki were hooting and laughing and shouting at her as they jumped out of her way. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. They were hemmed in on either side, with no room to stop. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.
The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings.
When she pulled up before Magister Illyrio, she said, â?oTell Khal Drogo that he has given me the wind.â? The fat Pentoshi stroked his yellow beard as he repeated her words in Dothraki, and Dany saw her new husband smile for the first time.
The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Dany had lost all track of time. Khal Drogo commanded his bloodriders to bring forth his own horse, a lean red stallion. As the khal was saddling the horse, Viserys slid close to Dany on her silver, dug his fingers into her leg, and said, â?oPlease him, sweet sister, or I swear, you will see the dragon wake as it has never woken before.â?
The fear came back to her then, with her brotherâ?Ts words. She felt like a child once more, only thirteen and all alone, not ready for what was about to happen to her.
They rode out together as the stars came out, leaving the khalasar and the grass palaces behind. Khal Drogo spoke no word to her, but drove his stallion at a hard trot through the gathering dusk. The tiny silver bells in his long braid rang softly as he rode. â?oI am the blood of the dragon,â? she whispered aloud as she followed, trying to keep her courage up. â?oI am the blood of the dragon. I am the blood of the dragon.â? The dragon was never afraid.
Afterward she could not say how far or how long they had ridden, but it was full dark when they stopped at a grassy place beside a small stream. Drogo swung off his horse and lifted her down from hers. She felt as fragile as glass in his hands, her limbs as weak as water. She stood there helpless and trembling in her wedding silks while he secured the horses, and when he turned to look at her, she began to cry.
Khal Drogo stared at her tears, his face strangely empty of expression. â?oNo,â? he said. He lifted his hand and rubbed away the tears roughly with a callused thumb.
â?oYou speak the Common Tongue,â? Dany said in wonder.
â?oNo,â? he said again.
Perhaps he had only that word, she thought, but it was one word more than she had known he had, and somehow it made her feel a little better. Drogo touched her hair lightly, sliding the silver-blond strands between his fingers and murmuring softly in Dothraki. Dany did not understand the words, yet there was warmth in the tone, a tenderness she had never expected from this man.
He put his finger under her chin and lifted her head, so she was looking up into his eyes. Drogo towered over her as he towered over everyone. Taking her lightly under the arms, he lifted her and seated her on a rounded rock beside the stream. Then he sat on the ground facing her, legs crossed beneath him, their faces finally at a height. â?oNo,â? he said.
â?oIs that the only word you know?â? she asked him.
Drogo did not reply. His long heavy braid was coiled in the dirt beside him. He pulled it over his right shoulder and began to remove the bells from his hair, one by one. After a moment Dany leaned forward to help. When they were done, Drogo gestured. She understood. Slowly, carefully, she began to undo his braid.
It took a long time. All the while he sat there silently, watching her. When she was done, he shook his head, and his hair spread out behind him like a river of darkness, oiled and gleaming. She had never seen hair so long, so black, so thick.
Then it was his turn. He began to undress her.
His fingers were deft and strangely tender. He removed her silks one by one, carefully, while Dany sat unmoving, silent, looking at his eyes. When he bared her small breasts, she could not help herself. She averted her eyes and covered herself with her hands. â?oNo,â? Drogo said. He pulled her hands away from her breasts, gently but firmly, then lifted her face again to make her look at him. â?oNo,â? he repeated.
â?oNo,â? she echoed back at him.
He stood her up then and pulled her close to remove the last of her silks. The night air was chilly on her bare skin. She shivered, and gooseflesh covered her arms and legs. She was afraid of what would come next, but for a while nothing happened. Khal Drogo sat with his legs crossed, looking at her, drinking in her body with his eyes.
After a while he began to touch her. Lightly at first, then harder. She could sense the fierce strength in his hands, but he never hurt her. He held her hand in his own and brushed her fingers, one by one. He ran a hand gently down her leg. He stroked her face, tracing the curve of her ears, running a finger gently around her mouth. He put both hands in her hair and combed it with his fingers. He turned her around, massaged her shoulders, slid a knuckle down the path of her spine.
It seemed as if hours passed before his hands finally went to her breasts. He stroked the soft skin underneath until it tingled. He circled her nipples with his thumbs, pinched them between thumb and forefinger, then began to pull at her, very lightly at first, then more insistently, until her nipples stiffened and began to ache.
He stopped then, and drew her down onto his lap. Dany was flushed and breathless, her heart fluttering in her chest. He cupped her face in his huge hands and looked into his eyes. â?oNo?â? he said, and she knew it was a question.
She took his hand and moved it down to the wetness between her thighs. â?oYes,â? she whispered as she put his finger inside her.

Chapter 12
Eddard​

The summons came in the hour before the dawn, when the world was still and grey.
Alyn shook him roughly from his dreams and Ned stumbled into the predawn chill, groggy from sleep, to find his horse saddled and the king already mounted. Robert wore thick brown gloves and a heavy fur cloak with a hood that covered his ears, and looked for all the world like a bear sitting a horse. ?oUp, Stark!? he roared. ?oUp, up! We have matters of state to discuss.?
?oBy all means,? Ned said. ?oCome inside, Your Grace.? Alyn lifted the flap of the tent.
?oNo, no, no,? Robert said. His breath steamed with every word. ?oThe camp is full of ears. Besides, I want to ride out and taste this country of yours.? Ser Boros and Ser Meryn waited behind him with a dozen guardsmen, Ned saw. There was nothing to do but rub the sleep from his eyes, dress, and mount up.
Robert set the pace, driving his huge black destrier hard as Ned galloped along beside him, trying to keep up. He called out a question as they rode, but the wind blew his words away, and the king did not hear him. After that Ned rode in silence. They soon left the kingsroad and took off across rolling plains dark with mist. By then the guard had fallen back a small distance, safely out of earshot, but still Robert would not slow.
Dawn broke as they crested a low ridge, and finally the king pulled up. By then they were miles south of the main party. Robert was flushed and exhilarated as Ned reined up beside him. ?oGods,? he swore, laughing, ?oit feels good to get out and tide the way a man was meant to ride! I swear, Ned, this creeping along is enough to drive a man mad.? He had never been a patient man, Robert Baratheon. ?oThat damnable wheelhouse, the way it creaks and groans, climbing every bump in the road as if it were a mountain... I promise you, if that wretched thing breaks another axle, I?Tm going to burn it, and Cersei can walk!?
Ned laughed. ?oI will gladly light the torch for you.?
?oGood man!? The king clapped him on the shoulder. ?oI?Tve half a mind to leave them all behind and just keep going.?
A smile touched Ned?Ts lips. ?oI do believe you mean it.?
?oI do, I do,? the king said. ?oWhat do you say, Ned? Just you and me, two vagabond knights on the kingsroad, our swords at our sides and the gods know what in front of us, and maybe a farmer?Ts daughter or a tavern wench to warm our beds tonight.?
?oWould that we could,? Ned said, ?obut we have duties now, my liege... to the realm, to our children, I to my lady wife and you to your queen. We are not the boys we were.?
?oYou were never the boy you were,? Robert grumbled. ?oMorê?Ts the pity. And yet there was that one time... what was her name, that common girl of yours? Becca? No, she was one of mine, gods love her, black hair and these sweet big eyes, you could drown in them. Yours was... Aleena? No. You told me once. Was it Merryl? You know the one I mean, your bastard?Ts mother??
?oHer name was Wylla,? Ned replied with cool courtesy, ?oand I would sooner not speak of her.?
?oWylla. Yes.? The king grinned. ?oShe must have been a rare wench if she could make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honor, even for an hour. You never told me what she looked like...?
Ned?Ts mouth tightened in anger. ?oNor will I. Leave it be, Robert, for the love you say you bear me. I dishonored myself and I dishonored Catelyn, in the sight of gods and men.?
?oGods have mercy, you scarcely knew Catelyn.?
?oI had taken her to wife. She was carrying my child.?
?oYou are too hard on yourself, Ned. You always were. Damn it, no woman wants Baelor the Blessed in her bed.? He slapped a hand on his knee. ?oWell, I?Tll not press you if you feel so strong about it, though I swear, at times you?Tre so prickly you ought to take the hedgehog as your sigil.?
The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. ?oThe barrows of the First Men.?
Robert frowned. ?oHave we ridden onto a graveyard??
?oThere are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace,? Ned told him. ?oThis land is old.?
?oAnd cold,? Robert grumbled, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. The guard had reined up well behind them, at the bottom of the ridge. ?oWell, I did not bring you out here to talk of graves or bicker about your bastard. There was a rider in the night, from Lord Varys in King?Ts Landing. Here.? The king pulled a paper from his belt and handed it to Ned.
Varys the eunuch was the king?Ts master of whisperers. He served Robert now as he had once served Aerys Targaryen. Ned unrolled the paper with trepidation, thinking of Lysa and her terrible accusation, but the message did not concern Lady Arryn. ?oWhat is the source for this information??
?oDo you remember Ser Jorah Mormont??
?oWould that I might forget him,? Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king?Ts justice. Five years had passed since then.
?oSer Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile,? Robert explained. ?oLord Varys makes good use of him.?
?oSo the slaver has become a spy,? Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. ?oI would rather he become a corpse.?
?oVarys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses,? Robert said. ?oJorah aside, what do you make of his report??
?oDaenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift??
The king frowned. ?oA knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.?
Ned did not feign surprise; Robert?Ts hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar?Ts wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, ?oI see no babes. Only dragonspawn.? Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyannâ?Ts death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.
This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. ?oYour Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.? It was said that Rhaegar?Ts little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin?Ts soldiers had torn him from his mother?Ts breast and dashed his head against a wall.
?oAnd how long will this one remain an innocent?? Robert?Ts mouth grew hard. ?oThis child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me.?
?oNonetheless,? Ned said, ?othe murder of children... it would be vile... unspeakable...?
?oUnspeakable?? the king roared. ?oWhat Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar... how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?? His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. ?oI will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves.?
Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert?Ts thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. ?oYou can?Tt get your hands on this one, can you?? he said quietly.
The king?Ts mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. ?oNo, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now hê?Ts handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.?
?oJon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.?
Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. ?oThis Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that??
?oHe would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea,? Ned replied calmly. ?oThe barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea.?
The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. ?oPerhaps. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.?
?oHe will not cross,? Ned promised. ?oAnd if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East-?
The king groaned. ?oFor the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.?
Ned was ready for that. ?oYet we still must have a Warden of the East. If Robert Arryn will not do, name one of your brothers. Stannis proved himself at the siege of Storm?Ts End, surely.?
He let the name hang there for a moment. The king frowned and said nothing. He looked uncomfortable.
?oThat is,? Ned finished quietly, watching, ?ounless you have already promised the honor to another.?
For a moment Robert had the grace to look startled. Just as quickly, the look became annoyance. ?oWhat if I have??
?oIt?Ts Jaime Lannister, is it not??
Robert kicked his horse back into motion and started down the ridge toward the barrows. Ned kept pace with him. The king rode on, eyes straight ahead. ?oYes,? he said at last. A single hard word to end the matter.
?oKingslayer,? Ned said. The rumors were true, then. He rode on dangerous ground now, he knew. ?oAn able and courageous man, no doubt,? he said carefully, ?obut his father is Warden of the West, Robert. In time Ser Jaime will succeed to that honor. No one man should hold both East and West.? He left unsaid his real concern; that the appointment would put half the armies of the realm into the hands of Lannisters.
?oI will fight that battle when the enemy appears on the field,? the king said stubbornly. ?oAt the moment, Lord Tywin looms eternal as Casterly Rock, so I doubt that Jaime will be succeeding anytime soon. Don?Tt vex me about this, Ned, the stone has been set.?
?oYour Grace, may I speak frankly??
?oI seem unable to stop you,? Robert grumbled. They rode through tall brown grasses.
?oCan you trust Jaime Lannister??
?oHe is my wifê?Ts twin, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, his life and fortune and honor all bound to mine.?
?oAs they were bound to Aerys Targaryen?Ts,? Ned pointed out.
?oWhy should I mistrust him? He has done everything I have ever asked of him. His sword helped win the throne I sit on.?
His sword helped taint the throne you sit on, Ned thought, but he did not permit the words to pass his lips. ?oHe swore a vow to protect his king?Ts life with his own. Then he opened that king?Ts throat with a sword.?
?oSeven hells, someone had to kill Aerys!? Robert said, reining his mount to a sudden halt beside an ancient barrow. ?oIf Jaime hadn?Tt done it, it would have been left for you or me.?
?oWe were not Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard,? Ned said. The time had come for Robert to hear the whole truth, he decided then and there. ?oDo you remember the Trident, Your Grace??
?oI won my crown there. How should I forget it??
?oYou took a wound from Rhaegar,? Ned reminded him. ?oSo when the Targaryen host broke and ran, you gave the pursuit into my hands. The remnants of Rhaegar?Ts army fled back to King?Ts Landing. We followed. Aerys was in the Red Keep with several thousand loyalists. I expected to find the gates closed to us.?
Robert gave an impatient shake of his head. ?oInstead you found that our men had already taken the city. What of it??
?oNot our men,? Ned said patiently. ?oLannister men. The lion of Lannister flew over the ramparts, not the crowned stag. And they had taken the city by treachery.?
The war had raged for close to a year. Lords great and small had flocked to Robert?Ts banners; others had remained loyal to Targaryen. The mighty Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the Wardens of the West, had remained aloof from the struggle, ignoring calls to arms from both rebels and royalists. Aerys Targaryen must have thought that his gods had answered his prayers when Lord Tywin Lannister appeared before the gates of King?Ts Landing with an army twelve thousand strong, professing loyalty. So the mad king had ordered his last mad act. He had opened his city to the lions at the gate.
?oTreachery was a coin the Targaryens knew well,? Robert said. The anger was building in him again. ?oLannister paid them back in kind. It was no less than they deserved. I shall not trouble my sleep over it.?
?oYou were not there,? Ned said, bitterness in his voice. Troubled sleep was no stranger to him. He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night. ?oThere was no honor in that conquest.?
?oThe Others take your honor!? Robert swore. ?oWhat did any Targaryen ever know of honor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon?Ts honor!?
?oYou avenged Lyanna at the Trident,? Ned said, halting beside the king. Promise me, Ned, she had whispered.
?oThat did not bring her back.? Robert looked away, off into the grey distance. ?oThe gods be damned. It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown... it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe... and mine again, as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown? The gods mock the prayers of kings and cowherds alike.?
?oI cannot answer for the gods, Your Grace... only for what I found when I rode into the throne room that day,? Ned said. ?oAerys was dead on the floor, drowned in his own blood. His dragon skulls stared down from the walls. Lannister?Ts men were everywhere. Jaime wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard over his golden armor. I can see him still. Even his sword was gilded. He was seated on the Iron Throne, high above his knights, wearing a helm fashioned in the shape of a lion?Ts head. How he glittered!?
?oThis is well known,? the king complained.
?oI was still mounted. I rode the length of the hall in silence, between the long rows of dragon skulls. It felt as though they were watching me, somehow. I stopped in front of the throne, looking up at him. His golden sword was across his legs, its edge red with a king?Ts blood. My men were filling the room behind me. Lannister?Ts men drew back. I never said a word. I looked at him seated there on the throne, and I waited. At last Jaime laughed and got up. He took off his helm, and he said to me, ?~Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It?Ts not a very comfortable seat, I?Tm afraid.?T?
The king threw back his head and roared. His laughter startled a flight of crows from the tall brown grass. They took to the air in a wild beating of wings. ?oYou think I should mistrust Lannister because he sat on my throne for a few moments?? He shook with laughter again. ?oJaime was all of seventeen, Ned. Scarce more than a boy.?
?oBoy or man, he had no right to that throne.?
?oPerhaps he was tired,? Robert suggested. ?oKilling kings is weary work. Gods know, therê?Ts no place else to rest your ass in that damnable room. And he spoke truly, it is a monstrous uncomfortable chair. In more ways than one.? The king shook his head. ?oWell, now I know Jaimê?Ts dark sin, and the matter can be forgotten. I am heartily sick of secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned. It?Ts all as tedious as counting coppers. Come, let?Ts ride, you used to know how. I want to feel the wind in my hair again.? He kicked his horse back into motion and galloped up over the barrow, raining earth down behind him.
For a moment Ned did not follow. He had run out of words, and he was filled with a vast sense of helplessness. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. He belonged in Winterfell. He belonged with Catelyn in her grief, and with Bran.
A man could not always be where he belonged, though. Resigned, Eddard Stark put his boots into his horse and set off after the king.