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

Chapter 13
Tyrion​

The north went on forever.
Tyrion Lannister knew the maps as well as anyone, but a fortnight on the wild track that passed for the kingsroad up here had brought home the lesson that the map was one thing and the land quite another.
They had left Winterfell on the same day as the king, amidst all the commotion of the royal departure, riding out to the sound of men shouting and horses snorting, to the rattle of wagons and the groaning of the queen?Ts huge wheelhouse, as a light snow flurried about them. The kingsroad was just beyond the sprawl of castle and town. There the banners and the wagons and the columns of knights and freeriders turned south, taking the tumult with them, while Tyrion turned north with Benjen Stark and his nephew.
It had grown colder after that, and far more quiet.
West of the road were flint hills, grey and rugged, with tall watchtowers on their stony summits. To the east the land was lower, the ground flattening to a rolling plain that stretched away as far as the eye could see. Stone bridges spanned swift, narrow rivers, while small farms spread in rings around holdfasts walled in wood and stone. The road was well trafficked, and at night for their comfort there were rude inns to be found.
Three days ride from Winterfell, however, the farmland gave way to dense wood, and the kingsroad grew lonely. The flint hills rose higher and wilder with each passing mile, until by the fifth day they had turned into mountains, cold blue-grey giants with jagged promontories and snow on their shoulders. When the wind blew from the north, long plumes of ice crystals flew from the high peaks like banners.
With the mountains a wall to the west, the road veered north by northeast through the wood, a forest of oak and evergreen and black brier that seemed older and darker than any Tyrion had ever seen. ?oThe wolfswood,? Benjen Stark called it, and indeed their nights came alive with the howls of distant packs, and some not so distant. Jon Snow?Ts albino direwolf pricked up his ears at the nightly howling, but never raised his own voice in reply. There was something very unsettling about that animal, Tyrion thought.
There were eight in the party by then, not counting the wolf. Tyrion traveled with two of his own men, as befit a Lannister. Benjen Stark had only his bastard nephew and some fresh mounts for the Night?Ts Watch, but at the edge of the wolfswood they stayed a night behind the wooden walls of a forest holdfast, and there joined up with another of the black brothers, one Yoren. Yoren was stooped and sinister, his features hidden behind a beard as black as his clothing, but he seemed as tough as an old root and as hard as stone. With him were a pair of ragged peasant boys from the Fingers. ?oRapers,? Yoren said with a cold look at his charges. Tyrion understood. Life on the Wall was said to be hard, but no doubt it was preferable to castration.
Five men, three boys, a direwolf, twenty horses, and a cage of ravens given over to Benjen Stark by Maester Luwin. No doubt they made a curious fellowship for the kingsroad, or any road.
Tyrion noticed Jon Snow watching Yoren and his sullen companions, with an odd cast to his face that looked uncomfortably like dismay. Yoren had a twisted shoulder and a sour smell, his hair and beard were matted and greasy and full of lice, his clothing old, patched, and seldom washed. His two young recruits smelled even worse, and seemed as stupid as they were cruel.
No doubt the boy had made the mistake of thinking that the Night?Ts Watch was made up of men like his uncle. If so, Yoren and his companions were a rude awakening. Tyrion felt sorry for the boy. He had chosen a hard life... or perhaps he should say that a hard life had been chosen for him.
He had rather less sympathy for the uncle. Benjen Stark seemed to share his brother?Ts distaste for Lannisters, and he had not been pleased when Tyrion had told him of his intentions. ?oI warn you, Lannister, you?Tll find no inns at the Wall,? he had said, looking down on him.
?oNo doubt you?Tll find some place to put me,? Tyrion had replied. ?oAs you might have noticed, I?Tm small.?
One did not say no to the queen?Ts brother, of course, so that had settled the matter, but Stark had not been happy. ?oYou will not like the ride, I promise you that,? hê?Td said curtly, and since the moment they set out, he had done all he could to live up to that promise.
By the end of the first week, Tyrion?Ts thighs were raw from hard riding, his legs were cramping badly, and he was chilled to the bone. He did not complain. He was damned if he would give Benjen Stark that satisfaction.
He took a small revenge in the matter of his riding fur, a tattered bearskin, old and musty-smelling. Stark had offered it to him in an excess of Night?Ts Watch gallantry, no doubt expecting him to graciously decline. Tyrion had accepted with a smile. He had brought his warmest clothing with him when they rode out of Winterfell, and soon discovered that it was nowhere near warm enough. It was cold up here, and growing colder. The nights were well below freezing now, and when the wind blew it was like a knife cutting right through his warmest woolens. By now Stark was no doubt regretting his chivalrous impulse. Perhaps he had learned a lesson. The Lannisters never declined, graciously or otherwise. The Lannisters took what was offered.
Farms and holdfasts grew scarcer and smaller as they pressed northward, ever deeper into the darkness of the wolfswood, until finally there were no more roofs to shelter under, and they were thrown back on their own resources.
Tyrion was never much use in making a camp or breaking one. Too small, too hobbled, too in-the-way. So while Stark and Yoren and the other men erected rude shelters, tended the horses, and built a fire, it became his custom to take his fur and a wineskin and go off by himself to read.
On the eighteenth night of their journey, the wine was a rare sweet amber from the Summer Isles that he had brought all the way north from Casterly Rock, and the book a rumination on the history and properties of dragons. With Lord Eddard Stark?Ts permission, Tyrion had borrowed a few rare volumes from the Winterfell library and packed them for the ride north.
He found a comfortable spot just beyond the noise of the camp, beside a swift-running stream with waters clear and cold as ice. A grotesquely ancient oak provided shelter from the biting wind. Tyrion curled up in his fur with his back against the trunk, took a sip of the wine, and began to read about the properties of dragonbone. Dragonbone is black because of its high iron content, the book told him. It is strong as steel, yet lighter and far more flexible, and of course utterly impervious to fire. Dragonbone bows are greatly prized by the Dothraki, and small wonder. An archer so armed can outrange any wooden bow.
Tyrion had a morbid fascination with dragons. When he had first come to King?Ts Landing for his sister?Ts wedding to Robert Baratheon, he had made it a point to seek out the dragon skulls that had hung on the walls of Targaryen?Ts throne room. King Robert had replaced them with banners and tapestries, but Tyrion had persisted until he found the skulls in the dank cellar where they had been stored.
He had expected to find them impressive, perhaps even frightening. He had not thought to find them beautiful. Yet they were. As black as onyx, polished smooth, so the bone seemed to shimmer in the light of his torch. They liked the fire, he sensed. Hê?Td thrust the torch into the mouth of one of the larger skulls and made the shadows leap and dance on the wall behind him. The teeth were long, curving knives of black diamond. The flame of the torch was nothing to them; they had bathed in the heat of far greater fires. When he had moved away, Tyrion could have sworn that the beast?Ts empty eye sockets had watched him go.
There were nineteen skulls. The oldest was more than three thousand years old; the youngest a mere century and a half. The most recent were also the smallest; a matched pair no bigger than mastiffs skulls, and oddly misshapen, all that remained of the last two hatchlings born on Dragonstone. They were the last of the Targaryen dragons, perhaps the last dragons anywhere, and they had not lived very long.
From there the skulls ranged upward in size to the three great monsters of song and story, the dragons that Aegon Targaryen and his sisters had unleashed on the Seven Kingdoms of old. The singers had given them the names of gods: Balerion, Meraxes, Vhaghar. Tyrion had stood between their gaping jaws, wordless and awed. You could have ridden a horse down Vhaghar?Ts gullet, although you would not have ridden it out again. Meraxes was even bigger. And the greatest of them, Balerion, the Black Dread, could have swallowed an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben.
Tyrion stood in that dank cellar for a long time, staring at Balerion?Ts huge, empty-eyed skull until his torch burned low, trying to grasp the size of the living animal, to imagine how it must have looked when it spread its great black wings and swept across the skies, breathing fire.
His own remote ancestor, King Loren of the Rock, had tried to stand against the fire when he joined with King Mern of the Reach to oppose the Targaryen conquest. That was close on three hundred years ago, when the Seven Kingdoms were kingdoms, and not mere provinces of a greater realm. Between them, the Two Kings had six hundred banners flying, five thousand mounted knights, and ten times as many freeriders and men-at-arms. Aegon Dragonlord had perhaps a fifth that number, the chroniclers said, and most of those were conscripts from the ranks of the last king he had slain, their loyalties uncertain.
The hosts met on the broad plains of the Reach, amidst golden fields of wheat ripe for harvest. When the Two Kings charged, the Targaryen army shivered and shattered and began to run. For a few moments, the chroniclers wrote, the conquest was at an end... but only for those few moments, before Aegon Targaryen and his sisters joined the battle.
It was the only time that Vhaghar, Meraxes, and Balerion were all unleashed at once. The singers called it the Field of Fire.
Near four thousand men had burned that day, among them King Mern of the Reach. King Loren had escaped, and lived long enough *****rrender, pledge his fealty to the Targaryens, and beget a son, for which Tyrion was duly grateful.
?oWhy do you read so much??
Tyrion looked up at the sound of the voice. Jon Snow was standing a few feet away, regarding him curiously. He closed the book on a finger and said, ?oLook at me and tell me what you see.?
The boy looked at him suspiciously. ?oIs this some kind of trick? I see you. Tyrion Lannister.?
Tyrion sighed. ?oYou are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. You are what, twelve??
?oFourteen,? the boy said.
?oFourteen, and you?Tre taller than I will ever be. My legs are short and twisted, and I walk with difficulty. I require a special saddle to keep from falling off my horse. A saddle of my own design, you may be interested to know. It was either that or ride a pony. My arms are strong enough, but again, too short. I will never make a swordsman. Had I been born a peasant, they might have left me out to die, or sold me to some slaver?Ts grotesquerie. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the grotesqueries are all the poorer. Things are expected of me. My father was the Hand of the King for twenty years. My brother later killed that very same king, as it turns out, but life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king and my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of my House, wouldn?Tt you agree? Yet how? Well, my legs may be too small for my body, but my head is too large, although I prefer to think it is just large enough for my mind. I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind... and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.? Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. ?oThat?Ts why I read so much, Jon Snow.?
The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. ?oWhat are you reading about?? he asked.
?oDragons,? Tyrion told him.
?oWhat good is that? There are no more dragons,? the boy said with the easy certainty of youth.
?oSo they say,? Tyrion replied. ?oSad, isn?Tt it? When I was your age, used to dream of having a dragon of my own.?
?oYou did?? the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him.
?oOh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when hê?Ts seated on a dragon?Ts back.? Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. ?oI used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I?Td imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister.? Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. ?oDon?Tt look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You?Tve dreamt the same kind of dreams.?
?oNo,? Jon Snow said, horrified. ?oI wouldn?Tt...?
?oNo? Never?? Tyrion raised an eyebrow. ?oWell, no doubt the Starks have been terribly good to you. I?Tm certain Lady Stark treats you as if you were one of her own. And your brother Robb, hê?Ts always been kind, and why not? He gets Winterfell and you get the Wall. And your father... he must have good reasons for packing you off to the Night?Ts Watch-?
?oStop it,? Jon Snow said, his face dark with anger. ?oThe Night?Ts Watch is a noble calling!?
Tyrion laughed. ?oYou?Tre too smart to believe that. The Night?Ts Watch is a midden heap for all the misfits of the realm. I?Tve seen you looking at Yoren and his boys. Those are your new brothers, Jon Snow, how do you like them? Sullen peasants, debtors, poachers, rapers, thieves, and bastards like you all wind up on the Wall, watching for grumkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about. The good part is there are no grumkins or snarks, so it?Ts scarcely dangerous work. The bad part is you freeze your balls off, but since you?Tre not allowed to breed anyway, I don?Tt suppose that matters.?
?oStop it!? the boy screamed. He took a step forward, his hands coiling into fists, close to tears.
Suddenly, absurdly, Tyrion felt guilty. He took a step forward, intending to give the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder or mutter some word of apology.
He never saw the wolf, where it was or how it came at him. One moment he was walking toward Snow and the next he was flat on his back on the hard rocky ground, the book spinning away from him as he fell, the breath going out of him at the sudden impact, his mouth full of dirt and blood and rotting leaves. As he tried to get up, his back spasmed painfully. He must have wrenched it in the fall. He ground his teeth in frustration, grabbed a root, and pulled himself back to a sitting position. ?oHelp me,? he said to the boy, reaching up a hand.
And suddenly the wolf was between them. He did not growl. The damned thing never made a sound. He only looked at him with those bright red eyes, and showed him his teeth, and that was more than enough. Tyrion sagged back to the ground with a grunt. ?oDon?Tt help me, then. I?Tll sit right here until you leave.?
Jon Snow stroked Ghost?Ts thick white fur, smiling now. ?oAsk me nicely.?
Tyrion Lannister felt the anger coiling inside him, and crushed it out with a will. It was not the first time in his life he had been humiliated, and it would not be the last. Perhaps he even deserved this. ?oI should be very grateful for your kind assistance, Jon,? he said mildly.
?oDown, Ghost,? the boy said. The direwolf sat on his haunches. Those red eyes never left Tyrion. Jon came around behind him, slid his hands under his arms, and lifted him easily to his feet. Then he picked up the book and handed it back.
?oWhy did he attack mê?T?? Tyrion asked with a sidelong glance at the direwolf. He wiped blood and dirt from his mouth with the back of his hand.
?oMaybe he thought you were a grumkin.?
Tyrion glanced at him sharply. Then he laughed, a raw snort of amusement that came bursting out through his nose entirely without his permission. ?oOh, gods,? he said, choking on his laughter and shaking his head, ?oI suppose I do rather look like a grumkin. What does he do to snarks??
?oYou don?Tt want to know.? Jon picked up the wineskin and handed it to Tyrion.
Tyrion pulled out the stopper, tilted his head, and squeezed a long stream into his mouth. The wine was cool fire as it trickled down his throat and warmed his belly. He held out the skin to Jon Snow. ?oWant some??
The boy took the skin and tried a cautious swallow. ?oIt?Ts true, isn?Tt it?? he said when he was done. ?oWhat you said about the Night?Ts Watch.?
Tyrion nodded.
Jon Snow set his mouth in a grim line. ?oIf that?Ts what it is, that?Ts what it is.?
Tyrion grinned at him. ?oThat?Ts good, bastard. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it.?
?oMost men,? the boy said. ?oBut not you.?
?oNo,? Tyrion admitted, ?onot me. I seldom even dream of dragons anymore. There are no dragons.? He scooped up the fallen bearskin. ?oCome, we had better return to camp before your uncle calls the banners.?
The walk was short, but the ground was rough underfoot and his legs were cramping badly by the time they got back. Jon Snow offered a hand to help him over a thick tangle of roots, but Tyrion shook him off. He would make his own way, as he had all his life. Still, the camp was a welcome sight. The shelters had been thrown up against the tumbledown wall of a long-abandoned holdfast, a shield against the wind. The horses had been fed and a fire had been laid. Yoren sat on a stone, skinning a squirrel. The savory smell of stew filled Tyrion?Ts nostrils. He dragged himself over to where his man Morrec was tending the stewpot. Wordlessly, Morrec handed him the ladle. Tyrion tasted and handed it back. ?oMore pepper,? he said.
Benjen Stark emerged from the shelter he shared with his nephew. ?oThere you are. Jon, damn it, don?Tt go off like that by yourself. I thought the Others had gotten you.?
?oIt was the grumkins,? Tyrion told him, laughing. Jon Snow smiled. Stark shot a baffled look at Yoren. The old man grunted, shrugged, and went back to his bloody work.
The squirrel gave some body to the stew, and they ate it with black bread and hard cheese that night around their fire. Tyrion shared around his skin of wine until even Yoren grew mellow. One by one the company drifted off to their shelters and to sleep, all but Jon Snow, who had drawn the night?Ts first watch.
Tyrion was the last to retire, as always. As he stepped into the shelter his men had built for him, he paused and looked back at Jon Snow. The boy stood near the fire, his face still and hard, looking deep into the flames.
Tyrion Lannister smiled sadly and went to bed.

Chapter 14
Catelyn​

Ned and the girls were eight days gone when Maester Luwin came to her one night in Bran?Ts sickroom, carrying a reading lamp and the books of account. ?oIt is past time that we reviewed the figures, my lady,? he said. ?oYou?Tll want to know how much this royal visit cost us.?
Catelyn looked at Bran in his sickbed and brushed his hair back off his forehead. It had grown very long, she realized. She would have to cut it soon. ?oI have no need to look at figures, Maester Luwin,? she told him, never taking her eyes from Bran. ?oI know what the visit cost us. Take the books away.?
?oMy lady, the king?Ts party had healthy appetites. We must replenish our stores before-?
She cut him off. ?oI said, take the books away. The steward will attend to our needs.?
?oWe have no steward,? Maester Luwin reminded her. Like a little grey rat, she thought, he would not let go. ?oPoole went south to establish Lord Eddard?Ts household at King?Ts Landing.?
Catelyn nodded absently. ?oOh, yes. I remember.? Bran looked so pale. She wondered whether they might move his bed under the window, so he could get the morning sun.
Maester Luwin set the lamp in a niche by the door and fiddled with its wick. ?oThere are several appointments that require your immediate attention, my lady. Besides the steward, we need a captain of the guards to fill Jory?Ts place, a new master of horse-?
Her eyes snapped around and found him. ?oA master of horse?? Her voice was a whip.
The maester was shaken. ?oYes, my lady. Hullen rode south with Lord Eddard, so-?
?oMy son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of horse? Do you think I care what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran?Ts eyes, do you understand that? Do you??
He bowed his head. ?oYes, my lady, but the appointments-?
?oI?Tll make the appointments,? Robb said.
Catelyn had not heard him enter, but there he stood in the doorway, looking at her. She had been shouting, she realized with a sudden flush of shame. What was happening to her? She was so tired, and her head hurt all the time.
Maester Luwin looked from Catelyn to her son. ?oI have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant offices,? he said, offering Robb a paper plucked from his sleeve.
Her son glanced at the names. He had come from outside, Catelyn saw; his cheeks were red from the cold, his hair shaggy and windblown. ?oGood men,? he said. ?oWê?Tll talk about them tomorrow.? He handed back the list of names.
?oVery good, my lord.? The paper vanished into his sleeve.
?oLeave us now,? Robb said. Maester Luwin bowed and departed. Robb closed the door behind him and turned to her. He was wearing a sword, she saw. ?oMother, what are you doing??
Catelyn had always thought Robb looked like her; like Bran and Rickon and Sansa, he had the Tully coloring, the auburn hair, the blue eyes. Yet now for the first time she saw something of Eddard Stark in his face, something as stern and hard as the north. ?oWhat am I doing?? she echoed, puzzled. ?oHow can you ask that? What do you imagine I?Tm doing? I am taking care of your brother. I am taking care of Bran.?
?oIs that what you call it? You haven?Tt left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn?Tt even come to the gate when Father and the girls went south.?
?oI said my farewells to them here, and watched them ride out from that window.? She had begged Ned not to go, not now, not after what had happened; everything had changed now, couldn?Tt he see that? It was no use. He had no choice, he had told her, and then he left, choosing. ?oI can?Tt leave him, even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him, if... if .?She took her son?Ts limp hand, sliding his fingers through her own. He was so frail and thin, with no strength left in his hand, but she could still feel the warmth of life through his skin.
Robb?Ts voice softened. ?oHê?Ts not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the time of greatest danger has passed.?
?oAnd what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I?Tm not here??
?oRickon needs you,? Robb said sharply. ?oHê?Ts only three, he doesn?Tt understand what?Ts happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don?Tt know what to do with him.? He paused a moment, chewing on his lower lip the way hê?Td done when he was little. ?oMother, I need you too. I?Tm trying but I can?Tt... I can?Tt do it all by myself.? His voice broke with sudden emotion, and Catelyn remembered that he was only fourteen. She wanted to get up and go to him, but Bran was still holding her hand and she could not move.
Outside the tower, a wolf began to howl. Catelyn trembled, just for a second.
?oBran?Ts.? Robb opened the window and let the night air into the stuffy tower room. The howling grew louder. It was a cold and lonely sound, full of melancholy and despair.
?oDon?Tt,? she told him. ?oBran needs to stay warm.?
?oHe needs to hear them sing,? Robb said. Somewhere out in Winterfell, a second wolf began to howl in chorus with the first. Then a third, closer. ?oShaggydog and Grey Wind,? Robb said as their voices rose and fell together. ?oYou can tell them apart if you listen close.?
Catelyn was shaking. It was the grief, the cold, the howling of the direwolves. Night after night, the howling and the cold wind and the grey empty castle, on and on they went, never changing, and her boy lying there broken, the sweetest of her children, the gentlest, Bran who loved to laugh and climb and dreamt of knighthood, all gone now, she would never hear him laugh again. Sobbing, she pulled her hand free of his and covered her ears against those terrible howls. ?oMake them stop!? she cried. ?oI can?Tt stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!?
She didn?Tt remember falling to the floor, but there she was, and Robb was lifting her, holding her in strong arms. ?oDon?Tt be afraid, Mother. They would never hurt him.? He helped her to her narrow bed in the corner of the sickroom. ?oClose your eyes,? he said gently. ?oRest. Maester Luwin tells me you?Tve hardly slept since Bran?Ts fall.?
?oI can?Tt,? she wept. ?oGods forgive me, Robb, I can?Tt, what if he dies while I?Tm asleep, what if he dies, what if he dies...? The wolves were still howling. She screamed and held her ears again. ?oOh, gods, close the window!?
?oIf you swear to me you?Tll sleep.? Robb went to the window, but as he reached for the shutters another sound was added to the mournful howling of the direwolves. ?oDogs,? he said, listening. ?oAll the dogs are barking. They?Tve never done that before...? Catelyn heard his breath catch in his throat. When she looked up, his face was pale in the lamplight. ?oFire,? he whispered.
Fire, she thought, and then, Bran! ?oHelp me,? she said urgently, sitting up. ?oHelp me with Bran.?
Robb did not seem to hear her. ?oThe library tower?Ts on fire,? he said.
Catelyn could see the flickering reddish light through the open window now. She sagged with relief. Bran was safe. The library was across the bailey, there was no way the fire would reach them here. ?oThank the gods,? she whispered.
Robb looked at her as if shê?Td gone mad. ?oMother, stay here. I?Tll come back as soon as the firê?Ts out.? He ran then. She heard him shout to the guards outside the room, heard them descending together in a wild rush, taking the stairs two and three at a time.
Outside, there were shouts of ?oFire!? in the yard, screams, running footsteps, the whinny of frightened horses, and the frantic barking of the castle dogs. The howling was gone, she realized as she listened to the cacophony. The direwolves had fallen silent.
Catelyn said a silent prayer of thanks to the seven faces of god as she went to the window. Across the bailey, long tongues of flame shot from the windows of the library. She watched the smoke rise into the sky and thought sadly of all the books the Starks had gathered over the centuries. Then she closed the shutters.
When she turned away from the window, the man was in the room with her.
?oYou weren?Tt s?Tposed to be here,? he muttered sourly. ?oNo one was s?Tposed to be here.?
He was a small, dirty man in filthy brown clothing, and he stank of horses. Catelyn knew all the men who worked in their stables, and he was none of them. He was gaunt, with limp blond hair and pale eyes deep-sunk in a bony face, and there was a dagger in his hand.
Catelyn looked at the knife, then at Bran. ?oNo,? she said. The word stuck in her throat, the merest whisper.
He must have heard her. ?oIt?Ts a mercy,? he said. ?oHê?Ts dead already.?
?oNo,? Catelyn said, louder now as she found her voice again. ?oNo, you can?Tt.? She spun back toward the window to scream for help, but the man moved faster than she would have believed. One hand clamped down over her mouth and yanked back her head, the other brought the dagger up to her windpipe. The stench of him was overwhelming.
She reached up with both hands and grabbed the blade with all her strength, pulling it away from her throat. She heard him cursing into her ear. Her fingers were slippery with blood, but she would not let go of the dagger. The hand over her mouth clenched more tightly, shutting off her air. Catelyn twisted her head to the side and managed to get a piece of his flesh between her teeth. She bit down hard into his palm. The man grunted in pain. She ground her teeth together and tore at him, and all of a sudden he let go. The taste of his blood filled her mouth. She sucked in air and screamed, and he grabbed her hair and pulled her away from him, and she stumbled and went down, and then he was standing over her, breathing hard, shaking. The dagger was still clutched tightly in his right hand, slick with blood. ?oYou weren?Tt s?Tposed to be here,? he repeated stupidly.
Catelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble, less than a snarl, the merest whisper of a threat, but he must have heard something, because he started to turn just as the wolf made its leap. They went down together, half sprawled over Catelyn where shê?Td fallen. The wolf had him under the jaw. The man?Ts shriek lasted less than a second before the beast wrenched back its head, taking out half his throat.
His blood felt like warm rain as it sprayed across her face.
The wolf was looking at her. Its jaws were red and wet and its eyes glowed golden in the dark room. It was Bran?Ts wolf, she realized. Of course it was. ?oThank you,? Catelyn whispered, her voice faint and tiny. She lifted her hand, trembling. The wolf padded closer, sniffed at her fingers, then licked at the blood with a wet rough tongue. When it had cleaned all the blood off her hand, it turned away silently and jumped up on Bran?Ts bed and lay down beside him. Catelyn began to laugh hysterically.
That was the way they found them, when Robb and Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik burst in with half the guards in Winterfell. When the laughter finally died in her throat, they wrapped her in warm blankets and led her back to the Great Keep, to her own chambers. Old Nan undressed her and helped her into a scalding hot bath and washed the blood off her with a soft cloth.
Afterward Maester Luwin arrived to dress her wounds. The cuts in her fingers went deep, almost to the bone, and her scalp was raw and bleeding where hê?Td pulled out a handful of hair. The maester told her the pain was just starting now, and gave her milk of the poppy to help her sleep.
Finally she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, they told her that she had slept four days. Catelyn nodded and sat up in bed. It all seemed like a nightmare to her now, everything since Bran?Ts fall, a terrible dream of blood and grief, but she had the pain in her hands to remind her that it was real. She felt weak and light-headed, yet strangely resolute, as if a great weight had lifted from her.
?oBring me some bread and honey,? she told her servants, ?oand take word to Maester Luwin that my bandages want changing.? They looked at her in surprise and ran to do her bidding.
Catelyn remembered the way she had been before, and she was ashamed. She had let them all down, her children, her husband, her House. It would not happen again. She would show these northerners how strong a Tully of Riverrun could be.

Robb arrived before her food. Rodrik Cassel came with him, and her husband?Ts ward Theon Greyjoy, and lastly Hallis Mollen, a muscular guardsman with a square brown beard. He was the new captain of the guard, Robb said. Her son was dressed in boiled leather and ringmail, she saw, and a sword hung at his waist.
?oWho was he?? Catelyn asked them.
?oNo one knows his name,? Hallis Mollen told her. ?oHe was no man of Winterfell, m?Tlady, but some says they seen him here and about the castle these past few weeks.?
?oOne of the king?Ts men, then,? she said, ?oor one of the Lannisters?T. He could have waited behind when the others left.?
?oMaybe,? Hal said. ?oWith all these strangers filling up Winterfell of late, therê?Ts no way of saying who he belonged to.?
?oHê?Td been biding in your stables,? Greyjoy said. ?oYou could smell it on him.?
?oAnd how could he go unnoticed?? she said sharply.
Hallis Mollen looked abashed. ?oBetween the horses Lord Eddard took south and them we sent north to the Night?Ts Watch, the stalls were half-empty. It were no great trick to hide from the stableboys. Could be Hodor saw him, the talk is that boy?Ts been acting queer, but simple as he is...? Hal shook his head.
?oWe found where hê?Td been sleeping,? Robb put in. ?oHe had ninety silver stags in a leather bag buried beneath the straw.?
?oIt?Ts good to know my son?Ts life was not sold cheaply,? Catelyn said bitterly.
Hallis Mollen looked at her, confused. ?oBegging your grace, m?Tlady, you saying he was out to kill your boy??
Greyjoy was doubtful. ?oThat?Ts madness.?
?oHe came for Bran,? Catelyn said. ?oHe kept muttering how I wasn?Tt supposed to be there. He set the library fire thinking I would rush to put it out, taking any guards with me. If I hadn?Tt been half-mad with grief, it would have worked.?
?oWhy would anyone want to kill Bran?? Robb said. ?oGods, hê?Ts only a little boy, helpless, sleeping...?
Catelyn gave her firstborn a challenging look. ?oIf you are to rule in the north, you must think these things through, Robb. Answer your own question. Why would anyone want to kill a sleeping child??
Before he could answer, the servants returned with a plate of food fresh from the kitchen. There was much more than shê?Td asked for: hot bread, butter and honey and blackberry preserves, a rasher of bacon and a soft-boiled egg, a wedge of cheese, a pot of mint tea. And with it came Maester Luwin.
?oHow is my son, Maester?? Catelyn looked at all the food and found she had no appetite.
Maester Luwin lowered his eyes. ?oUnchanged, my lady.?
It was the reply she had expected, no more and no less. Her hands throbbed with pain, as if the blade were still in her, cutting deep. She sent the servants away and looked back to Robb. ?oDo you have the answer yet??
?oSomeone is afraid Bran might wake up,? Robb said, ?oafraid of what he might say or do, afraid of something he knows.?
Catelyn was proud of him. ?oVery good.? She turned to the new captain of the guard. ?oWe must keep Bran safe. If there was one killer, there could be others.?
?oHow many guards do you want, rn?Tlady?? Hal asked.
?oSo long as Lord Eddard is away, my son is the master of Winterfell,? she told him.
Robb stood a little taller. ?oPut one man in the sickroom, night and day, one outside the door, two at the bottom of the stairs. No one sees Bran without my warrant or my mother?Ts.?
?oAs you say, m?Tlord.?
?oDo it now,? Catelyn suggested.
?oAnd let his wolf stay in the room with him,? Robb added.
?oYes,? Catelyn said. And then again: ?oYes.?
Hallis Mollen bowed and left the room.
?oLady Stark,? Ser Rodrik said when the guardsman had gone, ?odid you chance to notice the dagger the killer used??
?oThe circumstances did not allow me to examine it closely, but I can vouch for its edge,? Catelyn replied with a dry smile. ?oWhy do you ask??
?oWe found the knife still in the villain?Ts grasp. It seemed to me that it was altogether too fine a weapon for such a man, so I looked at it long and hard. The blade is Valyrian steel, the hilt dragonbone. A weapon like that has no business being in the hands of such as him. Someone gave it to him.?
Catelyn nodded, thoughtful. ?oRobb, close the door.?
He looked at her strangely, but did as she told him.
?oWhat I am about to tell you must not leave this room,? she told them. ?oI want your oaths on that. If even part of what I suspect is true, Ned and my girls have ridden into deadly danger, and a word in the wrong ears could mean their lives.?
?oLord Eddard is a second father to me,? said Theon Greyjoy. ?oI do so swear.?
?oYou have my oath,? Maester Luwin said.
?oAnd mine, my lady,? echoed Ser Rodrik.
She looked at her son. ?oAnd you, Robb??
He nodded his consent.
?oMy sister Lysa believes the Lannisters murdered her husband, Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King,? Catelyn told them. ?oIt comes to me that Jaime Lannister did not join the hunt the day Bran fell. He remained here in the castle.? The room was deathly quiet. ?oI do not think Bran fell from that tower,? she said into the stillness. ?oI think he was thrown.?
The shock was plain on their faces. ?oMy lady, that is a monstrous suggestion,? said Rodrik Cassel. ?oEven the Kingslayer would flinch at the murder of an innocent child.?
?oOh, would he?? Theon Greyjoy asked. ?oI wonder.?
?oThere is no limit to Lannister pride or Lannister ambition,? Catelyn said.
?oThe boy had always been surehanded in the past,? Maester Luwin said thoughtfully. ?oHe knew every stone in Winterfell.?
?oGods,? Robb swore, his young face dark with anger. ?oIf this is true, he will pay for it.? He drew his sword and waved it in the air. ?oI?Tll kill him myself!?
Ser Rodrik bristled at him. ?oPut that away! The Lannisters are a hundred leagues away. Never draw your sword unless you mean to use it. How many times must I tell you, foolish boy??
Abashed, Robb sheathed his sword, suddenly a child again. Catelyn said to Ser Rodrik, ?oI see my son is wearing steel now.?
The old master-at-arms said, ?oI thought it was time.?
Robb was looking at her anxiously. ?oPast time,? she said. ?oWinterfell may have need of all its swords soon, and they had best not be made of wood.?
Theon Greyjoy put a hand on the hilt of his blade and said, ?oMy lady, if it comes to that, my House owes yours a great debt.?
Maester Luwin pulled at his chain collar where it chafed against his neck. ?oAll we have is conjecture. This is the queen?Ts beloved brother we mean to accuse. She will not take it kindly. We must have proof, or forever keep silent.?
?oYour proof is in the dagger,? Ser Rodrik said. ?oA fine blade like that will not have gone unnoticed.?
There was only one place to find the truth of it, Catelyn realized. ?oSomeone must go to King?Ts Landing.?
?oI?Tll go,? Robb said.
?oNo,? she told him. ?oYour place is here. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.? She looked at Ser Rodrik with his great white whiskers, at Maester Luwin in his grey robes, at young Greyjoy, lean and dark and impetuous. Who to send? Who would be believed? Then she knew. Catelyn struggled to push back the blankets, her bandaged fingers as stiff and unyielding as stone. She climbed out of bed. ?oI must go myself.?
?oMy lady,? said Maester Luwin, ?ois that wise? Surely the Lannisters would greet your arrival with suspicion.?
?oWhat about Bran?? Robb asked. The poor boy looked utterly confused now. ?oYou can?Tt mean to leave him.?
?oI have done everything I can for Bran,? she said, laying a wounded hand on his arm. ?oHis life is in the hands of the gods and Maester Luwin. As you reminded me yourself, Robb, I have other children to think of now.?
?oYou will need a strong escort, my lady,? Theon said.
?oI?Tll send Hal with a squad of guardsmen,? Robb said.
?oNo,? Catelyn said. ?oA large party attracts unwelcome attention. I would not have the Lannisters know I am coming.?
Ser Rodrik protested. ?oMy lady, let me accompany you at least. The kingsroad can be perilous for a woman alone.?
?oI will not be taking the kingsroad,? Catelyn replied. She thought for a moment, then nodded her consent.
?oTwo riders can move as fast as one, and a good deal faster than a long column burdened by wagons and wheelhouses. I will welcome your company, Ser Rodrik. We will follow the White Knife down to the sea, and hire a ship at White Harbor. Strong horses and brisk winds should bring us to King?Ts Landing well ahead of Ned and the Lannisters.? And then, she thought, we shall see what we shall see.

Chapter 15
Sansa​

Eddard Stark had left before dawn, Septa Mordane informed Sansa as they broke their fast. ?oThe king sent for him. Another hunt, I do believe. There are still wild aurochs in these lands, I am told.?
?oI?Tve never seen an aurochs,? Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.
Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. ?oA noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,? she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.
?oShê?Ts not a dog, shê?Ts a direwolf,? Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. ?oAnyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.?
The septa was not appeased. ?oYou?Tre a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you?Tre as willful as your sister Arya.? She scowled. ?oAnd where is Arya this morning??
?oShe wasn?Tt hungry,? Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook?Ts boy.
?oDo remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best.?
Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. She had been looking forward to today for more than a week. It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were. The only thing that scared her about today was Arya. Arya had a way of ruining everything. You never knew what she would do. ?oI?Tll tell her,? Sansa said uncertainly, ?obut shê?Tll dress the way she always does.? She hoped it wouldn?Tt be too embarrassing. ?oMay I be excused??
?oYou may.? Septa Mordane helped herself to more bread and honey, and Sansa slid from the bench. Lady followed at her heels as she ran from the inn?Ts common room.
Outside, she stood for a moment amidst the shouts and curses and the creak of wooden wheels as the men broke down the tents and pavilions and loaded the wagons for another day?Ts march. The inn was a sprawling three-story structure of pale stone, the biggest that Sansa had ever seen, but even so, it had accommodations for less than a third of the king?Ts party, which had swollen to more than four hundred with the ad***ion of her father?Ts household and the freeriders who had joined them on the road.
She found Arya on the banks of the Trident, trying to hold Nymeria still while she brushed dried mud from her fur. The direwolf was not enjoying the process. Arya was wearing the same riding leathers she had worn yesterday and the day before.
?oYou better put on something pretty,? Sansa told her. ?oSepta Mordane said so. Wê?Tre traveling in the queen?Ts wheelhouse with Princess Myrcella today.?
?oI?Tm not,? Arya said, trying to brush a tangle out of Nymeriâ?Ts matted grey fur. ?oMycah and I are going to ride upstream and look for rubies at the ford.?
?oRubies,? Sansa said, lost. ?oWhat rubies??
Arya gave her a look like she was so stupid. ?oRhaegar?Ts rubies. This is where King Robert killed him and won the crown.?
Sansa regarded her scrawny little sister in disbelief. ?oYou can?Tt look for rubies, the princess is expecting us. The queen invited us both.?
?oI don?Tt care,? Arya said. ?oThe wheelhouse doesn?Tt even have windows, you can?Tt see a thing.?
?oWhat could you want to see?? Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as shê?Td feared. ?oIt?Ts all just fields and farms and holdfasts.?
?oIt is not,? Arya said stubbornly. ?oIf you came with us sometimes, you?Td see.?
?oI hate riding,? Sansa said fervently. ?oAll it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.?
Arya shrugged. ?oHold still,? she snapped at Nymeria, ?oI?Tm not hurting you.? Then to Sansa she said, ?oWhen we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion.?
Sansa shuddered. They had been twelve days crossing the Neck, rumbling down a crooked causeway through an endless black bog, and she had hated every moment of it. The air had been damp and clammy, the causeway so narrow they could not even make proper camp at night, they had to stop right on the kingsroad. Dense thickets of halfdrowned trees pressed close around them, branches dripping with curtains of pale fungus. Huge flowers bloomed in the mud and floated on pools of stagnant water, but if you were stupid enough to leave the causeway to pluck them, there were quicksands waiting *****ck you down, and snakes watching from the trees, and lizard-lions floating half-submerged in the water, like black logs with eyes and teeth.
None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.
Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. Sansa would have thought that might have taught her a lesson, but Arya laughed about it, and the next day she rubbed mud all over her arms like some ignorant bog woman just because her friend Mycah told her it would stop the itching. She had bruises on her arms and shoulders too, dark purple welts and faded green-and-yellow splotches, Sansa had seen them when her sister undressed for sleep. How she had gotten those only the seven gods knew.
Arya was still going on, brushing out Nymeriâ?Ts tangles and chattering about things shê?Td seen on the trek south. ?oLast week we found this haunted watchtower, and the day before we chased a herd of wild horses. You should have seen them run when they caught a scent of Nymeria.? The wolf wriggled in her grasp and Arya scolded her. ?oStop that, I have to do the other side, you?Tre all muddy.?
?oYou?Tre not supposed to leave the column,? Sansa reminded her. ?oFather said so.?
Arya shrugged. ?oI didn?Tt go far. Anyway, Nymeria was with me the whole time. I don?Tt always go off, either. Sometimes it?Ts fun just to ride along with the wagons and talk to people.?
Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher?Ts boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers.
Sansa was running out of patience now. ?oYou have to come with me,? she told her sister firmly. ?oYou can?Tt refuse the queen. Septa Mordane will expect you.?
Arya ignored her. She gave a hard yank with the brush. Nymeria growled and spun away, affronted. ?oCome back here!?
?oTherê?Ts going to be lemon cakes and tea,? Sansa went on, all adult and reasonable. Lady brushed against her leg. Sansa scratched her ears the way she liked, and Lady sat beside her on her haunches, watching Arya chase Nymeria. ?oWhy would you want to ride a smelly old horse and get all sore and sweaty when you could recline on feather pillows and eat cakes with the queen??
?oI don?Tt like the queen,? Arya said casually. Sansa sucked in her breath, shocked that even Arya would say such a thing, but her sister prattled on, heedless. ?oShe won?Tt even let me bring Nymeria.? She thrust the brush under her belt and stalked her wolf. Nymeria watched her approach warily.
?oA royal wheelhouse is no place for a wolf,? Sansa said. ?oAnd Princess Myrcella is afraid of them, you know that.?
?oMyrcella is a little baby.? Arya grabbed Nymeria around her neck, but the moment she pulled out the brush again the direwolf wriggled free and bounded off. Frustrated, Arya threw down the brush. ?oBad wolf!? she shouted.
Sansa couldn?Tt help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master. She gave Lady a quick little hug. Lady licked her cheek. Sansa giggled. Arya heard and whirled around, glaring. ?oI don?Tt care what you say, I?Tm going out riding.? Her long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do something willful.
?oGods be true, Arya, sometimes you act like such a child,? Sansa said. ?oI?Tll go by myself then. It will be ever so much nicer that way. Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and just have the best time without you.?
She turned to walk off, but Arya shouted after her, ?oThey won?Tt let you bring Lady either.? She was gone before Sansa could think of a reply, chasing Nymeria along the river.
Alone and humiliated, Sansa took the long way back to the inn, where she knew Septa Mordane would be waiting. Lady padded quietly by her side. She was almost in tears. All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why couldn?Tt Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that.
Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon?Ts mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn?Tt been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansâ?Ts trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true.
As she neared the center of camp, her distress was quickly forgotten. A crowd had gathered around the queen?Ts wheelhouse. Sansa heard excited voices buzzing like a hive of bees. The doors had been thrown open, she saw, and the queen stood at the top of the wooden steps, smiling down at someone. She heard her saying, ?oThe council does us great honor, my good lords.?
?oWhat?Ts happening?? she asked a squire she knew.
?oThe council sent riders from King?Ts Landing to escort us the rest of the way,? he told her. ?oAn honor guard for the king.?
Anxious to see, Sansa let Lady clear a path through the crowd. People moved aside hastily for the direwolf. When she got closer, she saw two knights kneeling before the queen, in armor so fine and gorgeous that it made her blink.
One knight wore an intricate suit of white enameled scales, brilliant as a field of new-fallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. When he removed his helm, Sansa saw that he was an old man with hair as pale as his armor, yet he seemed strong and graceful for all that. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard.
His companion was a man near twenty whose armor was steel plate of a deep forest-green. He was the handsomest man Sansa had ever set eyes upon; tall and powerfully made, with jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders and framed a clean-shaven face, and laughing green eyes to match his armor. Cradled under one arm was an antlered helm, its magnificent rack shimmering in gold.
At first Sansa did not notice the third stranger. He did not kneel with the others. He stood to one side, beside their horses, a gaunt grim man who watched the proceedings in silence. His face was pockmarked and beardless, with deepset eyes and hollow cheeks. Though he was not an old man, only a few wisps of hair remained to him, sprouting above his ears, but those he had grown long as a woman?Ts. His armor was iron-grey chainmail over layers of boiled leather, plain and unadorned, and it spoke of age and hard use. Above his right shoulder the stained leather hilt of the blade strapped to his back was visible; a two-handed greatsword, too long to be worn at his side.
?oThe king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns,? the queen was saying to the two knights who knelt before her, but Sansa could not take her eyes off the third man. He seemed to feel the weight of her gaze. Slowly he turned his head. Lady growled. A terror as overwhelming as anything Sansa Stark had ever felt filled her suddenly. She stepped backward and bumped into someone.

Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders, and for a moment Sansa thought it was her father, but when she turned, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane looking down at her, his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile. ?oYou are shaking, girl,? he said, his voice rasping. ?oDo I frighten you so much??
He did, and had since she had first laid eyes on the ruin that fire had made of his face, though it seemed to her now that he was not half so terrifying as the other. Still, Sansa wrenched away from him, and the Hound laughed, and Lady moved between them, rumbling a warning. Sansa dropped to her knees to wrap her arms around the wolf. They were all gathered around gaping, she could feel their eyes on her, and here and there she heard muttered comments and titters of laughter.
?oA wolf,? a man said, and someone else said, ?oSeven hells, that?Ts a direwolf,? and the first man said, ?oWhat?Ts it doing in camp?? and the Hound?Ts rasping voice replied, ?oThe Starks use them for wet nurses,? and Sansa realized that the two stranger knights were looking down on her and Lady, swords in their hands, and then she was frightened again, and ashamed.
Tears filled her eyes.
She heard the queen say, ?oJoffrey, go to her.?
And her prince was there.
?oLeave her alone,? Joffrey said. He stood over her, beautiful in blue wool and black leather, his golden curls shining in the sun like a crown. He gave her his hand, drew her to her feet. ?oWhat is it, sweet lady? Why are you afraid? No one will hurt you. Put away your swords, all of you. The wolf is her little pet, that?Ts all.? He looked at Sandor Clegane. ?oAnd you, dog, away with you, you?Tre scaring my betrothed.?
The Hound, ever faithful, bowed and slid away quietly through the press. Sansa struggled to steady herself. She felt like such a fool. She was a Stark of Winterfell, a noble lady, and someday she would be a queen. ?oIt was not him, my sweet prince,? she tried to explain. ?oIt was the other one.?
The two stranger knights exchanged a look. ?oPayne?? chuckled the young man in the green armor.
The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. ?oOfttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect.?
?oAs well he should.? The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. ?oIf the wicked do not fear the King?Ts Justice, you have put the wrong man in the office.?
Sansa finally found her words. ?oThen surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace,? she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her.
?oWell spoken, child,? said the old man in white. ?oAs befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard.? He bowed.
Sansa knew the name, and now the courtesies that Septa Mordane had taught her over the years came back to her. ?oThe Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,? she said, ?oand councillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him. The honor is mine, good knight. Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold.?
The green knight laughed again. ?oBarristan the Old, you mean. Don?Tt flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already.? He smiled at her. ?oNow, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand?Ts daughter.?
Joffrey stiffened beside her. ?oHave a care how you address my betrothed.? I can answer,? Sansa said quickly, to quell her princê?Ts anger. She smiled at the green knight. ?oYour helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm?Ts End and councillor to the king, and so I name you.?
Ser Barristan chuckled. ?oBy his extreme youth, he can only be a prancing jackanapes, and so I name him.?
There was general laughter, led by Lord Renly himself. The tension of a few moments ago was gone, and Sansa was beginning to feel comfortable... until Ser Ilyn Payne shouldered two men aside, and stood before her, unsmiling. He did not say a word. Lady bared her teeth and began to growl, a low rumble full of menace, but this time Sansa silenced the wolf with a gentle hand to the head. ?oI am sorry if I offended you, Ser Ilyn,? she said.
She waited for an answer, but none came. As the headsman looked at her, his pale colorless eyes seemed to strip the clothes away from her, and then the skin, leaving her soul naked before him. Still silent, he turned and walked away.
Sansa did not understand. She looked at her prince. ?oDid I say something wrong, Your Grace? Why will he not speak to me??
?oSer Ilyn has not been feeling talkative these past fourteen years,? Lord Renly commented with a sly smile.
Joffrey gave his uncle a look of pure loathing, then took Sansâ?Ts hands in his own. ?oAerys Targaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers.?
?oHe speaks most eloquently with his sword, however,? the queen said, ?oand his devotion to our realm is unquestioned.? Then she smiled graciously and said, ?oSansa, the good councillors and I must speak together until the king returns with your father. I fear we shall have to postpone your day with Myrcella. Please give your sweet sister my apologies. Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guest today.?
?oIt would be my pleasure, Mother,? Joffrey said very formally. He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansâ?Ts spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys?Ts honor against evil Ser Morgil?Ts slanders.
The touch of Joffrey?Ts hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. ?oWhat would you like to do??
Be with you, Sansa thought, but she said, ?oWhatever you?Td like to do, my prince.?
Jofftey reflected a moment. ?oWe could go riding.?
?oOh, I love riding,? Sansa said.
Joffrey glanced back at Lady, who was following at their heels. ?oYour wolf is liable to frighten the horses, and my dog seems to frighten you. Let us leave them both behind and set off on our own, what do you say??
Sansa hesitated. ?oIf you like,? she said uncertainly. ?oI suppose I could tie Lady up.? She did not quite understand, though. ?oI didn?Tt know you had a dog...?
Joffrey laughed. ?oHê?Ts my mother?Ts dog, in truth. She has set him to guard me, and so he does.?
?oYou mean the Hound,? she said. She wanted to hit herself for being so slow. Her prince would never love her if she seemed stupid. ?oIs it safe to leave him behind??
Prince Joffrey looked annoyed that she would even ask. ?oHave no fear, lady. I am almost a man grown, and I don?Tt fight with wood like your brothers. All I need is this.? He drew his sword and showed it to her; a longsword adroitly shrunken *****it a boy of twelve, gleaming blue steel, castle-forged and double-edged, with a leather grip and a lion?Ts-head pommel in gold. Sansa exclaimed over it admiringly, and Joffrey looked pleased. ?oI call it Lion?Ts Tooth,? he said.
And so they left her direwolf and his bodyguard behind them, while they ranged east along the north bank of the Trident with no company save Lion?Ts Tooth.
It was a glorious day, a magical day. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of flowers, and the woods here had a gentle beauty that Sansa had never seen in the north. Prince Joffrey?Ts mount was a blood bay courser, swift as the wind, and he rode it with reckless abandon, so fast that Sansa was hard-pressed to keep up on her mare. It was a day for adventures. They explored the ****s by the riverbank, and tracked a shadowcat to its lair, and when they grew hungry, Joffrey found a holdfast by its smoke and told them to fetch food and wine for their prince and his lady. They dined on trout fresh from the river, and Sansa drank more wine than she had ever drunk before. ?oMy father only lets us have one cup, and only at feasts,? she confessed to her prince.
?oMy betrothed can drink as much as she wants,? Joffrey said, refilling her cup.
They went more slowly after they had eaten. Joffrey sang for her as they rode, his voice high and sweet and pure. Sansa was a little dizzy from the wine. ?oShouldn?Tt we be starting back?? she asked.
?oSoon,? Joffrey said. ?oThe battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armor.? Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her how it was done. ?oThen my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father was king. What?Ts that sound??
Sansa heard it too, floating through the woods, a kind of wooden clattering, snack snack snack. ?oI don?Tt know,? she said. It made her nervous, though. ?oJoffrey, let?Ts go back.?
?oI want to see what it is.? Joffrey turned his horse in the direction of the sounds, and Sansa had no choice but to follow. The noises grew louder and more distinct, the clack of wood on wood, and as they grew closer they heard heavy breathing as well, and now and then a grunt.
?oSomeonê?Ts there,? Sansa said anxiously. She found herself thinking of Lady, wishing the direwolf was with her.
?oYou?Tre safe with me.? Joffrey drew his Lion?Ts Tooth from its sheath. The sound of steel on leather made her tremble. ?oThis way,? he said, riding through a stand of trees.
Beyond, in a clearing overlooking the river, they came upon a boy and a girl playing at knights. Their swords were wooden sticks, broom handles from the look of them, and they were rushing across the grass, swinging at each other lustily. The boy was years older, a head taller, and much stronger, and he was pressing the attack. The girl, a scrawny thing in soiled leathers, was dodging and managing to get her stick in the way of most of the boy?Ts blows, but not all. When she tried to lunge at him, he caught her stick with his own, swept it aside, and slid his wood down hard on her fingers. She cried out and lost her weapon.
Prince Joffrey laughed. The boy looked around, wide-eyed and startled, and dropped his stick in the grass. The girl glared at them, sucking on her knuckles to take the sting out, and Sansa was horrified. ?~Arya?? she called out incredulously.
?oGo away,? Arya shouted back at them, angry tears in her eyes. ?oWhat are you doing here? Leave us alone.?
Joffrey glanced from Arya to Sansa and back again. ?oYour sister?? She nodded, blushing. Joffrey examined the boy, an ungainly lad with a coarse, freckled face and thick red hair. ?oAnd who are you, boy?? he asked in a commanding tone that took no notice of the fact that the other was a year his senior.
?oMycah,? the boy muttered. He recognized the prince and averted his eyes. ?oM?Tlord.?
?oHê?Ts the butcher?Ts boy,? Sansa said.
?oHê?Ts my friend,? Arya said sharply. ?oYou leave him alone.?
?oA butcher?Ts boy who wants to be a knight, is it?? Joffrey swung down from his mount, sword in hand. ?oPick up your sword, butcher?Ts boy,? he said, his eyes bright with amusement. ?oLet us see how good you are.?
Mycah stood there, frozen with fear.
Joffrey walked toward him. ?oGo on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls??
?oShe ast me to, m?Tlord,? Mycah said. ?oShe ast me to.?
Sansa had only to glance at Arya and see the flush on her sister?Ts face to know the boy was telling the truth, but Joffrey was in no mood to listen. The wine had made him wild. ?oAre you going to pick up your sword??
Mycah shook his head. ?oIt?Ts only a stick, m?Tlord. It?Ts not no sword, it?Ts only a stick.?
?oAnd you?Tre only a butcher?Ts boy, and no knight.? Joffrey lifted Lion?Ts Tooth and laid its point on Mycah?Ts cheek below the eye, as the butcher?Ts boy stood trembling. ?oThat was my lady?Ts sister you were hitting, do you know that?? A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah?Ts flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy?Ts cheek.
?oStop it!? Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick.
Sansa was afraid. ?oArya, you stay out of this.?
?oI won?Tt hurt him... much,? Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher?Ts boy.
Arya went for him.
Sansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the princê?Ts head, and then everything happened at once before Sansâ?Ts horrified eyes. Joffrey staggered and whirled around, roaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion?Ts Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, ?oNo, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you?Tre spoiling it,? but no one was listening. Arya scooped up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey?Ts head. She hit his horse instead, and the blood bay reared and went galloping off after Mycah. ?oStop it, don?Tt, stop it!? Sansa screamed. Joffrey slashed at Arya with his sword, screaming obscenities, terrible words, filthy words. Arya darted back, frightened now, but Joffrey followed, hounding her toward the woods, backing her up against a tree. Sansa didn?Tt know what to do. She watched helplessly, almost blind from her tears.
Then a grey blur flashed past her, and suddenly Nymeria was there, leaping, jaws closing around Jofftey?Ts sword arm. The steel fell from his fingers as the wolf knocked him off his feet, and they rolled in the grass, the wolf snarling and ripping at him, the prince shrieking in pain. ?oGet it off,? he screamed. ?oGet it off!?
Aryâ?Ts voice cracked like a whip. ?oNymeria!?
The direwolf let go of Joffrey and moved to Aryâ?Ts side. The prince lay in the grass, whimpering, cradling his mangled arm. His shirt was soaked in blood. Arya said, ?oShe didn?Tt hurt you... much.? She picked up Lion?Ts Tooth where it had fallen, and stood over him, holding the sword with both hands.
Jofftey made a scared whimpery sound as he looked up at her. ?oNo,? he said, ?odon?Tt hurt me. I?Tll tell my mother.?
?oYou leave him alone!? Sansa screamed at her sister.
Arya whirled and heaved the sword into the air, putting her whole body into the throw. The blue steel flashed in the sun as the sword spun out over the river. It hit the water and vanished with a splash. Joffrey moaned. Arya ran off to her horse, Nymeria loping at her heels.
After they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. ?oJoffrey,? she sobbed. ?oOh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don?Tt be afraid. I?Tll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.? Tenderly she reached out and brushed back his soft blond hair.
His eyes snapped open and looked at her, and there was nothing but loathing there, nothing but the vilest contempt. ?oThen go,? he spit at her. ?oAnd don?Tt touch me.?

Chapter 16
Eddard​

?oThey?Tve found her, my lord.?
Ned rose quickly. ?oOur men or Lannister?Ts??
?oIt... It was Jory,? his steward Vayon Poole replied. ?oShê?Ts not been harmed.?
?oThank the gods,? Ned said. His men had been searching for Arya for four days now, but the queen?Ts men had been out hunting as well. ?oWhere is she? Tell Jory to bring her here at once.?
?oI am sorry, my lord,? Poole told him. ?oThe guards on the gate were Lannister men, and they informed the queen when Jory brought her in. Shê?Ts being taken directly before the king...?
?oDamn that woman!? Ned said, striding to the door. ?oFind Sansa and bring her to the audience chamber. Her voice may be needed.? He descended the tower steps in a red rage. He had led searches himself for the first three days, and had scarcely slept an hour since Arya had disappeared. This morning he had been so heartsick and weary he could scarcely stand, but now his fury was on him, filling him with strength.
Men called out to him as he crossed the castle yard, but Ned ignored them in his haste. He would have run, but he was still the King?Ts Hand, and a Hand must keep his dignity. He was aware of the eyes that followed him, of the muttered voices wondering what he would do.
The castle was a modest holding a half day?Ts ride south of the Trident. The royal party had made themselves the uninvited guests of its lord, Ser Raymun Darry, while the hunt for Arya and the butcher?Ts boy was conducted on both sides of the river. They were not welcome visitors. Ser Raymun lived under the king?Ts peace, but his family had fought beneath Rhaegar?Ts dragon banners at the Trident, and his three older brothers had died there, a truth neither Robert nor Ser Raymun had forgotten. With king?Ts men, Darry men, Lannister men, and Stark men all crammed into a castle far too small for them, tensions burned hot and heavy.
The king had appropriated Ser Raymun?Ts audience chamber, and that was where Ned found them. The room was crowded when he burst in. Too crowded, he thought; left alone, he and Robert might have been able to settle the matter amicably.
Robert was slumped in Darry?Ts high seat at the far end of the room, his face closed and sullen. Cersei Lannister and her son stood beside him. The queen had her hand on Joffrey?Ts shoulder. Thick silken bandages still covered the boy?Ts arm.
Arya stood in the center of the room, alone but for Jory Cassel, every eye upon her. ?oArya,? Ned called loudly. He went to her, his boots ringing on the stone floor. When she saw him, she cried out and began to sob.
Ned went to one knee and took her in his arms. She was shaking. ?oI?Tm sorry,? she sobbed, ?oI?Tm sorry, I?Tm sorry.?
?oI know,? he said. She felt so tiny in his arms, nothing but a scrawny little girl. It was hard to see how she had caused so much trouble. ?oAre you hurt??
?oNo.? Her face was dirty, and her tears left pink tracks down her cheeks. ?oHungry some. I ate some berries, but there was nothing else.?
?oWê?Tll feed you soon enough,? Ned promised. He rose to face the king. ?oWhat is the meaning of this?? His eyes swept the room, searching for friendly faces. But for his own men, they were few enough. Ser Raymun Darry guarded his look well. Lord Renly wore a half smile that might mean anything, and old Ser Barristan was grave; the rest were Lannister men, and hostile. Their only good fortune was that both Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane were missing, leading searches north of the Trident. ?oWhy was I not told that my daughter had been found?? Ned demanded, his voice ringing. ?oWhy was she not brought to me at once??
He spoke to Robert, but it was Cersei Lannister who answered. ?oHow dare you speak to your king in that manner!?
At that, the king stirred. ?oQuiet, woman,? he snapped. He straightened in his seat. ?oI am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly.?
?oAnd what business is that?? Ned put ice in his voice.
The queen stepped forward. ?oYou know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and her butcher?Ts boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off.?
?oThat?Ts not true,? Arya said loudly. ?oShe just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah.?
?oJoff told us what happened,? the queen said. ?oYou and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.?
?oThat?Ts not how it was,? Arya said, close to tears again. Ned put a hand on her shoulder.
?oYes it is!? Prince Joffrey insisted. ?oThey all attacked me, and she threw Lion?Ts Tooth in the river!? Ned noticed that he did not so much as glance at Arya as he spoke.
?oLiar!? Arya yelled.
?oShut up!? the prince yelled back.
?oEnough!? the king roared, rising from his seat, his voice thick with irritation. Silence fell. He glowered at Arya through his thick beard. ?oNow, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.? Then he looked over at his son. ?oWhen she is done, you will have your turn. Until then, hold your tongue.?
As Arya began her story, Ned heard the door open behind him. He glanced back and saw Vayon Poole enter with Sansa. They stood quietly at the back of the hall as Arya spoke. When she got to the part where she threw Joffrey?Ts sword into the middle of the Trident, Renly Baratheon began to laugh. The king bristled. ?oSer Barristan, escort my brother from the hall before he chokes.?
Lord Renly stifled his laughter. ?oMy brother is too kind. I can find the door myself.? He bowed to Joffrey. ?oPerchance later you?Tll tell me how a nine-year-old girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river.? As the door swung shut behind him, Ned heard him say, ?oLion?Ts Tooth,? and guffaw once more.
Prince Joffrey was pale as he began his very different version of events. When his son was done talking, the king rose heavily from his seat, looking like a man who wanted to be anywhere but here. ?oWhat in all the seven hells am I supposed to make of this? He says one thing, she says another.?
?oThey were not the only ones present,? Ned said. ?oSansa, come here.? Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth.
?oTell us what happened.?
His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. ?oI don?Tt know,? she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. ?oI don?Tt remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn?Tt see...?
?oYou rotten!? Arya shrieked. She flew at her sister like an arrow, knocking Sansa down to the ground, pummeling her. ?oLiar, liar, liar, liar.?
?oArya, stop it!? Ned shouted. Jory pulled her off her sister, kicking. Sansa was pale and shaking as Ned lifted her back to her feet. ?oAre you hurt?? he asked, but she was staring at Arya, and she did not seem to hear.
?oThe girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers,? Cersei Lannister said. ?oRobert, I want her punished.?
?oSeven hells,? Robert swore. ?oCersei, look at her. Shê?Ts a child. What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It?Ts over. No lasting harm was done.?
The queen was furious. ?oJoff will carry those scars for the rest of his life.?
Robert Baratheon looked at his eldest son. ?oSo he will. Perhaps they will teach him a lesson. Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son.?
?oGladly, Your Grace,? Ned said with vast relief.
Robert started to walk away, but the queen was not done. ?oAnd what of the direwolf?? she called after him. ?oWhat of the beast that savaged your son??
The king stopped, turned back, frowned. ?oI?Td forgotten about the damned wolf.?
Ned could see Arya tense in Jory?Ts arms. Jory spoke up quickly. ?oWe found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.?
Robert did not look unhappy. ?oNo? So be it.?
The queen raised her voice. ?oA hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!?
?oA costly pelt,? Robert grumbled. ?oI want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.?
The queen regarded him coolly. ?oI had not thought you so niggardly. The king I?Td thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down.?
Robert?Ts face darkened with anger. ?oThat would be a fine trick, without a wolf.?
?oWe have a wolf,? Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph.
It took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king shrugged irritably. ?oAs you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it.?
?oRobert, you cannot mean this,? Ned protested.
The king was in no mood for more argument. ?oEnough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girl the same way the other did on my son. Get her a dog, shê?Tll be happier for it.?
That was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. ?oHe doesn?Tt mean Lady, does he?? She saw the truth on his face. ?oNo,? she said. ?oNo, not Lady, Lady didn?Tt bite anybody, shê?Ts good...?
?oLady wasn?Tt there,? Arya shouted angrily. ?oYou leave her alone!?
?oStop them,? Sansa pleaded, ?odon?Tt let them do it, please, please, it wasn?Tt Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can?Tt, it wasn?Tt Lady, don?Tt let them hurt Lady, I?Tll make her be good, I promise, I promise...? She started to cry.
All Ned could do was take her in his arms and hold her while she wept. He looked across the room at Robert. His old friend, closer than any brother. ?oPlease, Robert. For the love you bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please.?
The king looked at them for a long moment, then turned his eyes on his wife. ?oDamn you, Cersei,? he said with loathing.
Ned stood, gently disengaging himself from Sansâ?Ts grasp. All the weariness of the past four days had returned to him. ?oDo it yourself then, Robert,? he said in a voice cold and sharp as steel. ?oAt least have the courage to do it yourself.?
Robert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as lead. Silence filled the hall.
?oWhere is the direwolf?? Cersei Lannister asked when her husband was gone. Beside her, Prince Joffrey was smiling.
?oThe beast is chained up outside the gatehouse, Your Grace,? Ser Barristan Selmy answered reluctantly.
?oSend for Ilyn Payne.?
?oNo,? Ned said. ?oJory, take the girls back to their rooms and bring me Ice.? The words tasted of bile in his throat, but he forced them out. ?oIf it must be done, I will do it.?
Cersei Lannister regarded him suspiciously. ?oYou, Stark? Is this some trick? Why would you do such a thing??
They were all staring at him, but it was Sansâ?Ts look that cut. ?oShe is of the north. She deserves better than a butcher.?
He left the room with his eyes burning and his daughter?Ts wails echoing in his ears, and found the direwolf pup where they chained her. Ned sat beside her for a while. ?oLady,? he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.
Shortly, Jory brought him Ice.
When it was over, he said, ?oChoose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.?
?oAll that way?? Jory said, astonished.
?oAll that way,? Ned affirmed. ?oThe Lannister woman shall never have this skin.?
He was walking back to the tower to give himself up to sleep at last when Sandor Clegane and his riders came pounding through the castle gate, back from their hunt.
There was something slung over the back of his destrier, a heavy shape wrapped in a bloody cloak. ?oNo sign of your daughter, Hand,? the Hound rasped down, ?obut the day was not wholly wasted. We got her little pet.? He reached back and shoved the burden off, and it fell with a thump in front of Ned.
Bending, Ned pulled back the cloak, dreading the words he would have to find for Arya, but it was not Nymeria after all. It was the butcher?Ts boy, Mycah, his body covered in dried blood. He had been cut almost in half from shoulder to waist by some terrible blow struck from above.
?oYou rode him down,? Ned said.
The Hound?Ts eyes seemed to glitter through the steel of that hideous dog?Ts-head helm. ?oHe ran.? He looked at Ned?Ts face and laughed. ?oBut not very fast.?

Chapter 17
Bran​

It seemed as though he had been falling for years.
Fly, a voice whispered in the darkness, but Bran did not know how to fly, so all he could do was fall.
Maester Luwin made a little boy of clay, baked him till he was hard and brittle, dressed him in Bran?Ts clothes, and flung him off a roof. Bran remembered the way he shattered. ?oBut I never fall,? he said, falling.
The ground was so far below him he could barely make it out through the grey mists that whirled around him, but he could feel how fast he was falling, and he knew what was waiting for him down there. Even in dreams, you could not fall forever. He would wake up in the instant before he hit the ground, he knew. You always woke up in the instant before you hit the ground.
And if you don?Tt? The voice asked.
The ground was closer now, still far far away, a thousand miles away, but closer than it had been. It was cold here in the darkness. There was no sun, no stars, only the ground below coming up to smash him, and the grey mists, and the whispering voice. He wanted to cry.
Not cry. Fly.
?oI can?Tt fly,? Bran said. ?oI can?Tt, I can?Tt.?
How do you know? Have you ever tried?
The voice was high and thin. Bran looked around to see where it was coming from. A crow was spiraling down with him, just out of reach, following him as he fell. ?oHelp me,? he said.
I?Tm trying, the crow replied. Say, got any corn?
Bran reached into his pocket as the darkness spun dizzily around him. When he pulled his hand out, golden kernels slid from between his fingers into the air. They fell with him.
The crow landed on his hand and began to eat.
?oAre you really a crow?? Bran asked.
Are you really falling? The crow asked back.
?oIt?Ts just a dream,? Bran said.
Is it? Asked the crow.
?oI?Tll wake up when I hit the ground,? Bran told the bird.
You?Tll die when you hit the ground, the crow said. It went back to eating corn.
Bran looked down. He could see mountains now, their peaks white with snow, and the silver thread of rivers in dark woods. He closed his eyes and began to cry.
That won?Tt do any good, the crow said. I told you, the answer is flying, not crying. How hard can it be? I?Tm doing it. The crow took to the air and flapped around Bran?Ts hand.
?oYou have wings,? Bran pointed out.
Maybe you do too.
Bran felt along his shoulders, groping for feathers.
There are different kinds of wings, the crow said.
Bran was staring at his arms, his legs. He was so skinny, just skin stretched taut over bones. Had he always been so thin? He tried to remember. A face swam up at him out of the grey mist, shining with light, golden. ?oThe things I do for love,? it said.
Bran screamed.
The crow took to the air, cawing. Not that, it shrieked at him. Forget that, you do not need it now, put it aside, put it away. It landed on Bran?Ts shoulder, and pecked at him, and the shining golden face was gone.
Bran was falling faster than ever. The grey mists howled around him as he plunged toward the earth below. ?oWhat are you doing to me?? he asked the crow, tearful.
Teaching you how to fly.
?oI can?Tt fly!?
You?Tre flying right now.
?oI?Tm falling!?
Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said. Look down.
?oI?Tm afraid...?
LOOKDOWN!
Bran looked down, and felt his insides turn to water. The ground was rushing up at him now. The whole world was spread out below him, a tapestry of white and brown and green. He could see everything so clearly that for a moment he forgot to be afraid. He could see the whole realm, and everyone in it.
He saw Winterfell as the eagles see it, the tall towers looking squat and stubby from above, the castle walls just lines in the dirt. He saw Maester Luwin on his balcony, studying the sky through a polished bronze tube and frowning as he made notes in a book. He saw his brother Robb, taller and stronger than he remembered him, practicing swordplay in the yard with real steel in his hand. He saw Hodor, the simple giant from the stables, carrying an anvil to Mikken?Ts forge, hefting it onto his shoulder as easily as another man might heft a bale of hay. At the heart of the godswood, the great white weirwood brooded over its reflection in the black pool, its leaves rustling in a chill wind. When it felt Bran watching, it lifted its eyes from the still waters and stared back at him knowingly.
He looked east, and saw a galley racing across the waters of the Bite. He saw his mother sitting alone in a cabin, looking at a bloodstained knife on a table in front of her, as the rowers pulled at their oars and Ser Rodrik leaned across a rail, shaking and heaving. A storm was gathering ahead of them, a vast dark roaring lashed by lightning, but somehow they could not see it.
He looked south, and saw the great blue-green rush of the Trident. He saw his father pleading with the king, his face etched with grief. He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart. There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood.
He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.
Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.
Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live.
?oWhy?? Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.
Because winter is coming.
Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder, and the crow looked back. It had three eyes, and the third eye was full of a terrible knowledge. Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like spears. He saw the bones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points. He was desperately afraid.
?oCan a man still be brave if hê?Ts afraid?? he heard his own voice saying, small and far away.
And his father?Ts voice replied to him. ?oThat is the only time a man can be brave.?
Now, Bran, the crow urged. Choose. Fly or die.
Death reached for him, screaming.
Bran spread his arms and flew.
Wings unseen drank the wind and filled and pulled him upward. The terrible needles of ice receded below him. The sky opened up above. Bran soared. It was better than climbing. It was better than anything. The world grew small beneath him.
?oI?Tm flying!? he cried out in delight.
I?Tve noticed, said the three-eyed crow. It took to the air, flapping its wings in his face, slowing him, blinding him. He faltered in the air as its pinions beat against his cheeks. Its beak stabbed at him fiercely, and Bran felt a sudden blinding pain in the middle of his forehead, between his eyes.
?oWhat are you doing?? he shrieked.
The crow opened its beak and cawed at him, a shrill scream of fear, and the grey mists shuddered and swirled around him and ripped away like a veil, and he saw that the crow was really a woman, a serving woman with long black hair, and he knew her from somewhere, from Winterfell, yes, that was it, he remembered her now, and then he realized that he was in Winterfell, in a bed - high in some chilly tower room, and the black-haired woman dropped a basin of water to shatter on the floor and ran down the steps, shouting, ?oHê?Ts awake, hê?Ts awake, hê?Ts awake.?
Bran touched his forehead, between his eyes. The place where the crow had pecked him was still burning, but there was nothing there, no blood, no wound. He felt weak and dizzy. He tried to get out of bed, but nothing happened.
And then there was movement beside the bed, and something landed lightly on his legs. He felt nothing. A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. His pup, Bran realized... or was it? He was so big now. He reached out to pet him, his hand trembling like a leaf.
When his brother Robb burst into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps, the direwolf was licking Bran?Ts face. Bran looked up calmly. ?oHis name is Summer,? he said.

Được Pagan sửa chữa / chuyển vào 18:53 ngày 14/08/2007

Chapter 18
Catelyn​

?oWe will make King?Ts Landing within the hour.?
Catelyn turned away from the rail and forced herself to smile. ?oYour oarmen have done well by us, Captain. Each one of them shall have a silver stag, as a token of my gratitude.?
Captain Moreo Turnitis favored her with a half bow. ?oYou are far too generous, Lady Stark. The honor of carrying a great lady like yourself is all the reward they need.?
?oBut they?Tll take the silver anyway.?
Moreo smiled. ?oAs you say.? He spoke the Common Tongue fluently, with only the slightest hint of a Tyroshi accent. Hê?Td been plying the narrow sea for thirty years, hê?Td told her, as oarman, quartermaster, and finally captain of his own trading galleys. The Stonn Dancer was his fourth ship, and his fastest, a two-masted galley of sixty oars.
She had certainly been the fastest of the ships available in White Harbor when Catelyn and Ser Rodrik Cassel had arrived after their headlong gallop downriver. The Tyroshi were notorious for their avarice, and Ser Rodrik had argued for hiring a fishing sloop out of the Three Sisters, but Catelyn had insisted on the galley. It was good that she had. The winds had been against them much of the voyage, and without the galley?Ts oars they?Td still be beating their way past the Fingers, instead of skimming toward King?Ts Landing and journey?Ts end.
So close, she thought. Beneath the linen bandages, her fingers still throbbed where the dagger had bitten. The pain was her scourge, Catelyn felt, lest she forget. She could not bend the last two fingers on her left hand, and the others would never again be dexterous. Yet that was a small enough price to pay for Bran?Ts life.
Ser Rodrik chose that moment to appear on deck. ?oMy good friend,? said Moreo through his forked green beard. The Tyroshi loved bright colors, even in their facial hair. ?oIt is so fine to see you looking better.?
?oYes,? Ser Rodrik agreed. ?oI haven?Tt wanted to die for almost two days now.? He bowed to Catelyn. ?oMy lady.?
He was looking better. A shade thinner than he had been when they set out from White Harbor, but almost himself again. The strong winds in the Bite and the roughness of the narrow sea had not agreed with him, and hê?Td almost gone over the side when the storm seized them unexpectedly off Dragonstone, yet somehow he had clung to a rope until three of Moreô?Ts men could rescue him and carry him safely below decks.
?oThe captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end,? she said.
Ser Rodrik managed a wry smile. ?oSo soon?? He looked odd without his great white side whiskers; smaller somehow, less fierce, and ten years older. Yet back on the Bite it had seemed prudent *****bmit to a crewman?Ts razor, after his whiskers had become hopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and retched into the swirling winds.
?oI will leave you to discuss your business,? Captain Moreo said. He bowed and took his leave of them.
The galley skimmed the water like a dragonfly, her oars rising and falling in perfect time. Ser Rodrik held the rail and looked out over the passing shore. ?oI have not been the most valiant of protectors.?
Catelyn touched his arm. ?oWe are here, Ser Rodrik, and safely. That is all that truly matters.? Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. ?oNow we must reach the king?Ts master-at-arms, and pray that he can be trusted.?
?oSer Aron Santagar is a vain man, but an honest one.? Ser Rodrik?Ts hand went to his face to stroke his whiskers and discovered once again that they were gone. He looked nonplussed. ?oHe may know the blade, yes... but, my lady, the moment we go ashore we are at risk. And there are those at court who will know you on sight.?
Catelyn?Ts mouth grew tight. ?oLittlefinger,? she murmured. His face swam up before her; a boy?Ts face, though he was a boy no longer. His father had died several years before, so he was Lord Baelish now, yet still they called him Littlefinger. Her brother Edmure had given him that name, long ago at Riverrun. His family?Ts modest holdings were on the smallest of the Fingers, and Petyr had been slight and short for his age.
Ser Rodrik cleared his throat. ?oLord Baelish once, ah...? His thought trailed off uncertainly in search of the polite word.
Catelyn was past delicacy. ?oHe was my father?Ts ward. We grew up together in Riverrun. I thought of him as a brother, but his feelings for me were... more than brotherly. When it was announced that I was to wed Brandon Stark, Petyr challenged for the right to my hand. It was madness. Brandon was twenty, Petyr scarcely fifteen. I had to beg Brandon to spare Petyr?Ts life. He let him off with a scar. Afterward my father sent him away. I have not seen him since.? She lifted her face to the spray, as if the brisk wind could blow the memories away. ?oHe wrote to me at Riverrun after Brandon was killed, but I burned the letter unread. By then I knew that Ned would marry me in his brother?Ts place.?
Ser Rodrik?Ts fingers fumbled once again for nonexistent whiskers. ?oLittlefinger sits on the small council now.?
?oI knew he would rise high,? Catelyn said. ?oHe was always clever, even as a boy, but it is one thing to be clever and another to be wise. I wonder what the years have done to him.?
High overhead, the far-eyes sang out from the rigging. Captain Moreo came scrambling across the deck, giving orders, and all around them the Stonn Dancer burst into frenetic activity as King?Ts Landing slid into view atop its three high hills.
Three hundred years ago, Catelyn knew, those heights had been covered with forest, and only a handful of fisherfolk had lived on the north shore of the Blackwater Rush where that deep, swift river flowed into the sea. Then Aegon the Conqueror had sailed from Dragonstone. It was here that his army had put ashore, and there on the highest hill that he built his first crude redoubt of wood and earth.
Now the city covered the shore as far as Catelyn could see; manses and arbors and granaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant?Ts stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled one on another. She could hear the clamor of the fish market even at this distance. Between the buildings were broad roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that two men could not walk abreast. Visenyâ?Ts hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.
A hundred quays lined the waterfront, and the harbor was crowded with ships. Deepwater fishing boats and river runners came and went, ferrymen poled back and forth across the Blackwater Rush, trading galleys unloaded goods from Braavos and Pentos and Lys. Catelyn sp~ied the queen?Ts ornate barge, tied up beside a fat-bellied whaler from the Port of Ibben, its hull black with tar, while upriver a dozen lean golden warships rested in their cribs, sails furled and cruel iron rams lapping at the water.
And above it all, frowning down from Aegon?Ts high hill, was the Red Keep; seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archers?T nests, all fashioned of pale red stone. Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.
Yet now the banners that flew from its battlements were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
A high-masted swan ship from the Summer Isles was beating out from port, its white sails huge with wind. The Stonn Dancer moved past it, pulling steadily for shore.
?oMy lady,? Ser Rodrik said, ?oI have thought on how best to proceed while I lay abed. You must not enter the castle. I will go in your stead and bring Ser Aron to you in some safe place.?
She studied the old knight as the galley drew near to a pier. Moreo was shouting in the vulgar Valyrian of the Free Cities. ?oYou would be as much at risk as I would.?
Ser Rodrik smiled. ?oI think not. I looked at my reflection in the water earlier and scarcely recognized myself. My mother was the last person to see me without whiskers, and she is forty years dead. I believe I am safe enough, my lady.?
Moreo bellowed a command. As one, sixty oars lifted from the river, then reversed and backed water. The galley slowed. Another shout. The oars slid back inside the hull. As they thumped against the dock, Tyroshi seamen leapt down to tie up. Moreo came bustling up, all smiles. ?oKing?Ts Landing, my lady, as you did command, and never has a ship made a swifter or surer passage. Will you be needing assistance to carry your things to the castle??
?oWe shall not be going to the castle. Perhaps you can suggest an inn, someplace clean and comfortable and not too far from the river.?
The Tyroshi fingered his forked green beard. ?oJust so. I know of several establishments that might suit your needs. Yet first, if I may be so bold, there is the matter of the second half of the payment we agreed upon. And of course the extra silver you were so kind as to promise. Sixty stags, I believe it was.?
?oFor the oarmen,? Catelyn reminded him.
?oOh, of a certainty,? said Moreo. ?oThough perhaps I should hold it for them until we return to Tyrosh. For the sake of their wives and children. If you give them the silver here, my lady, they will dice it away or spend it all for a night?Ts pleasure.?
?oThere are worse things to spend money on,? Ser Rodrik put in. ?oWinter is coming.?
?oA man must make his own choices,? Catelyn said. ?oThey earned the silver. How they spend it is no concern of mine.?
?oAs you say, my lady,? Moreo replied, bowing and smiling.
Just to be sure, Catelyn paid the oarmen herself, a stag to each man, and a copper to the two men who carried their chests halfway up Visenyâ?Ts hill to the inn that Moreo had suggested. It was a rambling old place on Eel Alley. The woman who owned it was a sour crone with a wandering eye who looked them over suspiciously and bit the coin that Catelyn offered her to make sure it was real. Her rooms were large and airy, though, and Moreo swore that her fish stew was the most savory in all the Seven Kingdoms. Best of all, she had no interest in their names.

?oI think it best if you stay away from the common room,? Ser Rodrik said, after they had settled in. ?oEven in a place like this, one never knows who may be watching.? He wore ringmail, dagger, and longsword under a dark cloak with a hood he could pull up over his head. ?oI will be back before nightfall, with Ser Aron,? he promised. ?oRest now, my lady.?
Catelyn was tired. The voyage had been long and fatiguing, and she was no longer as young as she had been. Her windows opened on the alley and rooftops, with a view of the Blackwater beyond. She watched Ser Rodrik set off, striding briskly through the busy streets until he was lost in the crowds, then decided to take his advice. The bedding was stuffed with straw instead of feathers, but she had no trouble falling asleep.
She woke to a pounding on her door.
Catelyn sat up sharply. Outside the window, the rooftops of King?Ts Landing were red in the light of the setting sun. She had slept longer than she intended. A fist hammered at her door again, and a voice called out, ?oOpen, in the name of the king.?
?oA moment,? she called out. She wrapped herself in her cloak. The dagger was on the bedside table. She snatched it up before she unlatched the heavy wooden door.
The men who pushed into the room wore the black ringmail and golden cloaks of the City Watch. Their leader smiled at the dagger in her hand and said, ?oNo need for that, m?Tlady. Wê?Tre to escort you to the castle.?
?oBy whose authority?? she said.
He showed her a ribbon. Catelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. The seal was a mockingbird, in grey wax. ?oPetyr,? she said. So soon. Something must have happened to Ser Rodrik. She looked at the head guardsman. ?oDo you know who I am??
?oNo, m?Tlady,? he said. ?oM?Tlord Littlefinger said only to bring you to him, and see that you were not mistreated.?
Catelyn nodded. ?oYou may wait outside while I dress.?
She bathed her hands in the basin and wrapped them in clean linen. Her fingers were thick and awkward as she struggled to lace up her bodice and knot a drab brown cloak about her neck. How could Littlefinger have known she was here? Ser Rodrik would never have told him. Old he might be, but he was stubborn, and loyal to a fault. Were they too late, had the Lannisters reached King?Ts Landing before her? No, if that were true, Ned would be here too, and surely he would have come to her. How... ?
Then she thought, Moreo. The Tyroshi knew who they were and where they were, damn him. She hoped hê?Td gotten a good price for the information.
They had brought a horse for her. The lamps were being lit along the streets as they set out, and Catelyn felt the eyes of the city on her as she rode, surrounded by the guard in their golden cloaks. When they reached the Red Keep, the portcullis was down and the great gates sealed for the night, but the castle windows were alive with flickering lights. The guardsmen left their mounts outside the walls and escorted her through a narrow postern door, then up endless steps to a tower.
He was alone in the room, seated at a heavy wooden table, an oil lamp beside him as he wrote. When they ushered her inside, he set down his pen and looked at her. ?oCat,? he said quietly.
?oWhy have I been brought here in this fashion??
He rose and gestured brusquely to the guards. ?oLeave us.? The men departed. ?oYou were not mistreated, I trust,? he said after they had gone. ?oI gave firm instructions.? He noticed her bandages. ?oYour hands...?
Catelyn ignored the implied question. ?oI am not accustomed to being summoned like a serving wench,? she said icily. ?oAs a boy, you still knew the meaning of courtesy.?
?oI?Tve angered you, my lady. That was never my intent.? He looked contrite. The look brought back vivid memories for Catelyn. He had been a sly child, but after his mischiefs he always looked contrite; it was a gift he had. The years had not changed him much. Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter than Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in his dark hair, though he was still shy of thirty. They went well with the silver mockingbird that fastened his cloak. Even as a child, he had always loved his silver.
?oHow did you know I was in the city?? she asked him.
?oLord Varys knows all,? Petyr said with a sly smile. ?oHe will be joining us shortly, but I wanted to see you alone first. It has been too long, Cat. How many years??
Catelyn ignored his familiarity. There were more important questions. ?oSo it was the King?Ts Spider who found me.?
Littlefinger winced. ?oYou don?Tt want to call him that. Hê?Ts very sensitive. Comes of being a eunuch, I imagine. Nothing happens in this city without Varys knowing. Oftimes he knows about it before it happens. He has informants everywhere. His little birds, he calls them. One of his little birds heard about your visit. Thankfully, Varys came to me first.?
?oWhy you??
He shrugged. ?oWhy not me? I am master of coin, the king?Ts own councillor. Selmy and Lord Renly rode north to meet Robert, and Lord Stannis is gone to Dragonstone, leaving only Maester Pycelle and me. I was the obvious choice. I was ever a friend to your sister Lysa, Varys knows that.?
?oDoes Varys know about...?
?oLord Varys knows everything... except why you are here.? He lifted an eyebrow. ?oWhy are you here??
?oA wife is allowed to yearn for her husband, and if a mother needs her daughters close, who can tell her no??
Littlefinger laughed. ?oOh, very good, my lady, but please don?Tt expect me to believe that. I know you too well. What were the Tully words again??
Her throat was dry. ?oFamily, Duty, Honor, ?o she recited stiffly. He did know her too well.
?oFamily, Duty, Honor,? he echoed. ?oAll of which required you to remain in Winterfell, where our Hand left you. No, my lady, something has happened. This sudden trip of yours bespeaks a certain urgency. I beg of you, let me help. Old sweet friends should never hesitate to rely upon each other.? There was a soft knock on the door. ?oEnter,? Littlefinger called out.
The man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as hairless as an egg. He wore a vest of woven gold thread over a loose gown of purple silk, and on his feet were pointed slippers of soft velvet. ?oLady Stark,? he said, taking her hand in both of his, ?oto see you again after so many years is such a joy.? His flesh was soft and moist, and his breath smelled of lilacs. ?oOh, your poor hands. Have you burned yourself, sweet lady? The fingers are so delicate... Our good Maester Pycelle makes a marvelous salve, shall I send for a jar??
Catelyn slid her fingers from his grasp. ?oI thank you, my lord, but my own Maester Luwin has already seen to my hurts.?
Varys bobbed his head. ?oI was grievous sad to hear about your son. And him so young. The gods are cruel.?
?oOn that we agree, Lord Varys,? she said. The title was but a courtesy due him as a council member; Varys was lord of nothing but the spiderweb, the master of none but his whisperers.
The eunuch spread his soft hands. ?oOn more than that, I hope, sweet lady. I have great esteem for your husband, our new Hand, and I know we do both love King Robert.?
?oYes,? she was forced to say. ?oFor a certainty.?
?oNever has a king been so beloved as our Robert,? quipped Littlefinger. He smiled slyly. ?oAt least in Lord Varys?Ts hearing.?
?oGood lady,? Varys said with great solicitude. ?oThere are men in the Free Cities with wondrous healing powers. Say only the word, and I will send for one for your dear Bran.?
?oMaester Luwin is doing all that can be done for Bran,? she told him. She would not speak of Bran, not here, not with these men. She trusted Littlefinger only a little, and Varys not at all. She would not let them see her grief. ?oLord Baelish tells me that I have you to thank for bringing me here.?
Varys giggled like a little girl. ?oOh, yes. I suppose I am guilty. I hope you forgive me, kind lady.? He eased himself down into a seat and put his hands together. ?oI wonder if we might trouble you to show us the dagger??
Catelyn Stark stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He was a spider, she thought wildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know, unless ?oWhat have you done to Ser Rodrik?? she demanded.
Littlefinger was lost. ?oI feel rather like the knight who arrives at the battle without his lance. What dagger are we talking about? Who is Ser Rodrik??
?oSer Rodrik Cassel is master-at-arms at Winterfell,? Varys informed him. ?oI assure you, Lady Stark, nothing at all has been done to the good knight. He did call here early this afternoon. He visited with Ser Aron Santagar in the armory, and they talked of a certain dagger. About sunset, they left the castle together and walked to that dreadful hovel where you were staying. They are still there, drinking in the common room, waiting for your return. Ser Rodrik was very distressed to find you gone.?
?oHow could you know all that??
?oThe whisperings of little birds,? Varys said, smiling. ?oI know things, sweet lady. That is the nature of my service.? He shrugged. ?oYou do have the dagger with you, yes??
Catelyn pulled it out from beneath her cloak and threw it down on the table in front of him. ?oHere. Perhaps your little birds will whisper the name of the man it belongs to.?
Varys lifted the knife with exaggerated delicacy and ran a thumb along its edge. Blood welled, and he let out a squeal and dropped the dagger back on the table.
?oCareful,? Catelyn told him, ?oit?Ts sharp.?
?oNothing holds an edge like Valyrian steel,? Littlefinger said as Varys sucked at his bleeding thumb and looked at Catelyn with sullen admonition. Littlefinger hefted the knife lightly in his hand, testing the grip. He flipped it in the air, caught it again with his other hand. ?oSuch sweet balance. You want to find the owner, is that the reason for this visit? You have no need of Ser Aron for that, my lady. You should have come to me.?
?oAnd if I had,? she said, ?owhat would you have told me??
?oI would have told you that there was only one knife like this at King?Ts Landing.? He grasped the blade between thumb and forefinger, drew it back over his shoulder, and threw it across the room with a practiced flick of his wrist. It struck the door and buried itself deep in the oak, quivering. ?oIt?Ts mine.?
?oYours?? It made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell.
?oUntil the tourney on Prince Joffrey?Ts name day,? he said, crossing the room to wrench the dagger from the wood. ?oI backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the court.? Petyr?Ts sheepish grin made him look half a boy again. ?oWhen Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest.?
?oWho?? Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain.
?oThe Imp,? said Littlefinger as Lord Varys watched her face. ?oTyrion Lannister.?