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

Chapter 19
Jon​

The courtyard rang to the song of swords.
Under black wool, boiled leather, and mail, sweat trickled icily down Jon?Ts chest as he pressed the attack. Grenn stumbled backward, defending himself clumsily. When he raised his sword, Jon went underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of the other boy?Ts leg and sent him staggering. Grenn?Ts downcut was answered by an overhand that dented his helm. When he tried a sideswing, Jon swept aside his blade and slammed a mailed forearm into his chest. Grenn lost his footing and sat down hard in the snow. Jon knocked his sword from his fingers with a slash to his wrist that brought a cry of pain.
?oEnough!? Ser Alliser Thorne had a voice with an edge like Valyrian steel.
Grenn cradled his hand. ?oThe bastard broke my wrist.?
?oThe bastard hamstrung you, opened your empty skull, and cut off your hand. Or would have, if these blades had an edge. It?Ts fortunate for you that the Watch needs stableboys as well as rangers.? Ser Alliser gestured at Jeren and Toad. ?oGet the Aurochs on his feet, he has funeral arrangements to make.?
Jon took off his helm as the other boys were pulling Grenn to his feet. The frosty morning air felt good on his face. He leaned on his sword, drew a deep breath, and allowed himself a moment to savor the victory.
?oThat is a longsword, not an old man?Ts cane,? Ser Alliser said sharply. ?oAre your legs hurting, Lord Snow??
Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice. The boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the longsword back into its scabbard. ?oNo,? he replied.
Thorne strode toward him, crisp black leathers whispering faintly as he moved. He was a compact man of fifty years, spare and hard, with grey in his black hair and eyes like chips of onyx. ?oThe truth now,? he commanded.
?oI?Tm tired,? Jon admitted. His arm burned from the weight of the longsword, and he was starting to feel his bruises now that the fight was done.
?oWhat you are is weak.?
?oI won.?
?oNo. The Aurochs lost.?
One of the other boys sniggered. Jon knew better than to reply. He had beaten everyone that Ser Alliser had sent against him, yet it gained him nothing. The master-at-arms served up only derision. Thorne hated him, Jon had decided; of course, he hated the other boys even worse.
?oThat will be all,? Thorne told them. ?oI can only stomach so much ineptitude in any one day. If the Others ever come for us, I pray they have archers, because you lot are fit for nothing more than arrow fodder.?
Jon followed the rest back to the armory, walking alone. He often walked alone here. There were almost twenty in the group he trained with, yet not one he could call a friend. Most were two or three years his senior, yet not one was half the fighter Robb had been at fourteen. Dareon was quick but afraid of being hit. Pyp used his sword like a dagger, Jeren was weak as a girl, Grenn slow and clumsy. Halder?Ts blows were brutally hard but he ran right into your attacks. The more time he spent with them, the more Jon despised them.
Inside, Jon hung sword and scabbard from a hook in the stone wall, ignoring the others around him. Methodically, he began to strip off his mail, leather, and sweat-soaked woolens. Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm.
The weariness came on him suddenly, as he donned the roughspun blacks that were their everyday wear. He sat on a bench, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings on his cloak. So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man?Ts body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black; the walls were cold here, and the people colder.
No one had told him the Night?Ts Watch would be like this; no one except Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf had given him the truth on the road north, but by then it had been too late. Jon wondered if his father had known what the Wall would be like. He must have, he thought; that only made it hurt the worse.
Even his uncle had abandoned him in this cold place at the end of the world. Up here, the genial Benjen Stark he had known became a different person. He was First Ranger, and he spent his days and nights with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon and the other high officers, while Jon was given over to the less than tender charge of Ser Alliser Thorne.
Three days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen men on a ranging into the haunted forest. That night he sought out his uncle in the great timbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. ?oThis is not Winterfell,? he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. ?oOn the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You?Tre no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you.?
Stupidly, Jon argued. ?oI?Tll be fifteen on my name day,? he said. ?oAlmost a man grown.?
Benjen Stark frowned. ?oA boy you are, and a boy you?Tll remain until Ser Alliser says you are fit to be a man of the Night?Ts Watch. If you thought your Stark blood would win you easy favors, you were wrong. We put aside our old families when we swear our vows. Your father will always have a place in my heart, but these are my brothers now.? He gestured with his dagger at the men around them, all the hard cold men in black.
Jon rose at dawn the next day to watch his uncle leave. One of his rangers, a big ugly man, sang a bawdy song as he saddled his garron, his breath steaming in the cold morning air. Ben Stark smiled at that, but he had no smile for his nephew. ?oHow often must I tell you no, Jon? Wê?Tll speak when I return.?
As he watched his uncle lead his horse into the tunnel, Jon had remembered the things that Tyrion Lannister told him on the kingsroad, and in his mind?Ts eye he saw Ben Stark lying dead, his blood red on the snow. The thought made him sick. What was he becoming?
Afterward he sought out Ghost in the loneliness of his cell, and buried his face in his thick white fur.
If he must be alone, he would make solitude his armor. Castle Black had no godswood, only a small sept and a drunken septon, but Jon could not find it in him to pray to any gods, old or new. If they were real, he thought, they were as cruel and implacable as winter.
He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but ?omy half brother? since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya... he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had... yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.
?oYou broke my wrist, bastard boy.?
Jon lifted his eyes at the sullen voice. Grenn loomed over him, thick of neck and red of face, with three of his friends behind him. He knew Todder, a short ugly boy with an unpleasant voice. The recruits all called him Toad. The other two were the ones Yoren had brought north with them, Jon remembered, rapers taken down in the Fingers. Hê?Td forgotten their names. He hardly ever spoke to them, if he could help it. They were brutes and bullies, without a thimble of honor between them.
Jon stood up. ?oI?Tll break the other one for you if you ask nicely.? Grenn was sixteen and a head taller than Jon. All four of them were bigger than he was, but they did not scare him. Hê?Td beaten every one of them in the yard.
?oMaybe wê?Tll break you,? one of the rapers said.
?oTry.? Jon reached back for his sword, but one of them grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.
?oYou make us look bad,? complained Toad.
?oYou looked bad before I ever met you,? Jon told him. The boy who had his arm jerked upward on him, hard. Pain lanced through him, but Jon would not cry out.
Toad stepped close. ?oThe little lordling has a mouth on him,? he said. He had pig eyes, small and shiny. ?oIs that your mommy?Ts mouth, bastard? What was she, some whore? Tell us her name. Maybe I had her a time or two.? He laughed.
Jon twisted like an eel and slammed a heel down across the instep of the boy holding him. There was a sudden cry of pain, and he was free. He flew at Toad, knocked him backward over a bench, and landed on his chest with both hands on his throat, slamming his head against the packed earth.
The two from the Fingers pulled him off, throwing him roughly to the ground. Grenn began to kick at him. Jon was rolling away from the blows when a booming voice cut through the gloom of the armory. ?oSTOP THIS! NOW!?
Jon pulled himself to his feet. Donal Noye stood glowering at them. ?oThe yard is for fighting,? the armorer said. ?oKeep your quarrels out of my armory, or I?Tll make them my quarrels. You won?Tt like that.?
Toad sat on the floor, gingerly feeling the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody. ?oHe tried to kill me.?
?o ?~S true. I saw it,? one of the rapers put in.
?oHe broke my wrist,? Grenn said again, holding it out to Noye for inspection.
The armorer gave the offered wrist the briefest of glances. ?oA bruise. Perhaps a sprain. Maestor Aemon will give you a salve. Go with him, Todder, that head wants looking after. The rest of you, return to your cells. Not you, Snow. You stay.?
Jon sat heavily on the long wooden bench as the others left, oblivious to the looks they gave him, the silent promises of future retribution. His arm was throbbing.
?oThe Watch has need of every man it can get,? Donal Noye said when they were alone. ?oEven men like Toad. You won?Tt win any honors killing him.?
Jon?Ts anger flared. ?oHe said my mother was-?
?o-a whore. I heard him. What of it??
?oLord Eddard Stark was not a man to sleep with whores,? Jon said icily. ?oHis honor-?
?o-did not prevent him from fathering a bastard. Did it??
Jon was cold with rage. ?oCan I go??
?oYou go when I tell you to go.?
Jon stared sullenly at the smoke rising from the brazier, until Noye took him under the chin, thick fingers twisting his head around. ?oLook at me when I?Tm talking to you, boy.?
Jon looked. The armorer had a chest like a keg of ale and a gut to match. His nose was flat and broad, and he always seemed in need of a shave. The left sleeve of his black wool tunic was fastened at the shoulder with a silver pin in the shape of a longsword. ?oWords won?Tt make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores.?
Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.
?oYou think you had it hard, being a high lord?Ts bastard?? the armorer went on. ?oThat boy Jeren is a septon?Ts get, and Cotter Pyke is the baseborn son of a tavern wench. Now he commands Eastwatch by the Sea.?
?oI don?Tt care,? Jon said. ?oI don?Tt care about them and I don?Tt care about you or Thorne or Benjen Stark or any of it. I hate it here. It?Ts too... it?Ts cold.?
?oYes. Cold and hard and mean, that?Ts the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you?Tre here for life, same as the rest of us.?
?oLife,? Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. Hê?Td had one. Hê?Td only taken the black after hê?Td lost an arm at the siege of Storm?Ts End. Before that hê?Td smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king?Ts brother. Hê?Td seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; hê?Td feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye whô?Td forged King Robert?Ts warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. Hê?Td done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, hê?Td taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.
?oYes, life,? Noye said. ?oA long life or a short one, it?Ts up to you, Snow. The road you?Tre walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.?
?oThey?Tre not my brothers,? Jon snapped. ?oThey hate me because I?Tm better than they are.?
?oNo. They hate you because you act like you?Tre better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks hê?Ts a lordling.? The armorer leaned close. ?oYou?Tre no lordling. Remember that. You?Tre a Snow, not a Stark. You?Tre a bastard and a bully.?
?oA bully?? Jon almost choked on the word. The accusation was so unjust it took his breath away. ?oThey were the ones who came after me. Four of them.?
?oFour that you?Tve humiliated in the yard. Four who are probably afraid of you. I?Tve watched you fight. It?Ts not training with you. Put a good edge on your sword, and they?Td be dead meat; you know it, I know it, they know it. You leave them nothing. You shame them. Does that make you proud??
Jon hesitated. He did feel proud when he won. Why shouldn?Tt he? But the armorer was taking that away too, making it sound as if he were doing something wrong. ?oThey?Tre all older than me,? he said defensively.
?oOlder and bigger and stronger, that?Ts the truth. I?Tll wager your master-at-arms taught you how to fight bigger men at Winterfell, though. Who was he, some old knight??
?oSer Rodrik Cassel,? Jon said warily. There was a trap here. He felt it closing around him.
Donal Noye leaned forward, into Jon?Ts face. ?oNow think on this, boy. None of these others have ever had a master-at-arms until Ser Alliser. Their fathers were farmers and wagonmen and poachers, smiths and miners and oars on a trading galley. What they know of fighting they learned between decks, in the alleys of Oldtown and Lannisport, in wayside brothels and taverns on the kingsroad. They may have clacked a few sticks together before they came here, but I promise you, not one in twenty was ever rich enough to own a real sword.? His look was grim. ?oSo how do you like the taste of your victories now, Lord Snow??
?oDon?Tt call me that!? Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. ?oI never... I didn?Tt think...?
?oBest you start thinking,? Noye warned him. ?oThat, or sleep with a dagger by your bed. Now go.?

By the time Jon left the armory, it was almost midday. The sun had broken through the clouds. He turned his back on it and lifted his eyes to the Wall, blazing blue and crystalline in the sunlight. Even after all these weeks, the sight of it still gave him the shivers. Centuries of windblown dirt had pocked and scoured it, covering it like a film, and it often seemed a pale grey, the color of an overcast sky... but when the sun caught it fair on a bright day, it shone, alive with light, a colossal blue-white cliff that filled up half the sky.
The largest structure ever built by the hands of man, Benjen Stark had told Jon on the kingsroad when they had first caught sight of the Wall in the distance. ?oAnd beyond a doubt the most useless,? Tyrion Lannister had added with a grin, but even the Imp grew silent as they rode closer. You could see it from miles off, a pale blue line across the northern horizon, stretching away to the east and west and vanishing in the far distance, immense and unbroken. This is the end of the world, it seemed to say.
When they finally spied Castle Black, its timbered keeps and stone towers looked like nothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall of ice. The ancient stronghold of the black brothers was no Winterfell, no true castle at all. Lacking walls, it could not be defended, not from the south, or east, or west; but it was only the north that concerned the Night?Ts Watch, and to the north loomed the Wall. Almost seven hundred feet high it stood, three times the height of the tallest tower in the stronghold it sheltered. His uncle said the top was wide enough for a dozen armored knights to ride abreast. The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes stood sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walked men in black as small as ants.
As he stood outside the armory looking up, Jon felt almost as overwhelmed as he had that day on the kingsroad, when hê?Td seen it for the first time. The Wall was like that. Sometimes he could almost forget that it was there, the way you forgot about the sky or the earth underfoot, but there were other times when it seemed as if there was nothing else in the world. It was older than the Seven Kingdoms, and when he stood beneath it and looked up, it made Jon dizzy. He could feel the great weight of all that ice pressing down on him, as if it were about to topple, and somehow Jon knew that if it fell, the world fell with it.
?oMakes you wonder what lies beyond,? a familiar voice said.
Jon looked around. ?oLannister. I didn?Tt see-I mean, I thought I was alone.?
Tyrion Lannister was bundled in furs so thickly he looked like a very small bear. ?oTherê?Ts much to be said for taking people unawares. You never know what you might learn.?
?oYou won?Tt learn anything from me,? Jon told him. He had seen little of the dwarf since their journey ended. As the queen?Ts own brother, Tyrion Lannister had been an honored guest of the Night?Ts Watch. The Lord Commander had given him rooms in the King?Ts Tower-so-called, though no king had visited it for a hundred years and Lannister dined at Mormont?Ts own table and spent his days riding the Wall and his nights dicing and drinking with Ser Alliser and Bowen Marsh and the other high officers.
?oOh, I learn things everywhere I go.? The little man gestured up at the Wall with a gnarled black walking stick. ?oAs I was saying... why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what?Ts on the other side?? He ****ed his head and looked at Jon with his curious mismatched eyes. ?oYou do want to know what?Ts on the other side, don?Tt you??
?oIt?Ts nothing special,? Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder?Ts wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. ?oThe rangers say it?Ts just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.?
?oAnd the grumkins and the snarks,? Tyrion said. ?oLet us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what?Ts that big thing for??
?oDon?Tt call me Lord Snow.?
The dwarf lifted an eyebrow. ?oWould you rather be called the Imp? Let them see that their words can cut you, and you?Tll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can?Tt hurt you with it anymore.? He gestured with his stick. ?oCome, walk with me. They?Tll be serving some vile stew in the common hall by now, and I could do with a bowl of something hot.?
Jon was hungry too, so he fell in beside Lannister and slowed his pace to match the dwarf?Ts awkward, waddling steps. The wind was rising, and they could hear the old wooden buildings creaking around them, and in the distance a heavy shutter banging, over and over, forgotten. Once there was a muffled thump as a blanket of snow slid from a roof and landed near them.
?oI don?Tt see your wolf,? Lannister said as they walked.
?oI chain him up in the old stables when wê?Tre training. They board all the horses in the east stables now, so no one bothers him. The rest of the time he stays with me. My sleeping cell is in Hardin?Ts Tower.?
?oThat?Ts the one with the broken battlement, no? Shattered stone in the yard below, and a lean to it like our noble king Robert after a long night?Ts drinking? I thought all those buildings had been abandoned.?
Jon shrugged. ?oNo one cares where you sleep. Most of the old keeps are empty, you can pick any cell you want.? Once Castle Black had housed five thousand fighting men with all their horses and servants and weapons. Now it was home to a tenth that number, and parts of it were falling into ruin.
Tyrion Lannister?Ts laughter steamed in the cold air. ?oI?Tll be sure to tell your father to arrest more stonemasons, before your tower collapses.?
Jon could taste the mockery there, but there was no denying the truth. The Watch had built nineteen great strongholds along the Wall, but only three were still occupied: Eastwatch on its grey windswept shore, the Shadow Tower hard by the mountains where the Wall ended, and Castle Black between them, at the end of the kingsroad. The other keeps, long deserted, were lonely, haunted places, where cold winds whistled through black windows and the spirits of the dead manned the parapets.
?oIt?Ts better that I?Tm by myself,? Jon said stubbornly. ?oThe rest of them are scared of Ghost.?
?oWise boys,? Lannister said. Then he changed the subject. ?oThe talk is, your uncle is too long away.?
Jon remembered the wish hê?Td wished in his anger, the vision of Benjen Stark dead in the snow, and he looked away quickly. The dwarf had a way of sensing things, and Jon did not want him to see the guilt in his eyes. ?oHe said hê?Td be back by my name day,? he admitted. His name day had come and gone, unremarked, a fortnight past. ?oThey were looking for Ser Waymar Royce, his father is bannerman to Lord Arryn. Uncle Benjen said they might search as far as the Shadow Tower. That?Ts all the way up in the mountains.?
?oI hear that a good many rangers have vanished of late,? Lannister said as they mounted the steps to the common hall. He grinned and pulled open the door. ?oPerhaps the grumkins are hungry this year.?
Inside, the hall was immense and drafty, even with a fire roaring in its great hearth. Crows nested in the timbers of its lofty ceiling. Jon heard their cries overhead as he accepted a bowl of stew and a heel of black bread from the day?Ts cooks. Grenn and Toad and some of the others were seated at the bench nearest the warmth, laughing and cursing each other in rough voices. Jon eyed them thoughtfully for a moment. Then he chose a spot at the far end of the hall, well away from the other diners.
Tyrion Lannister sat across from him, sniffing at the stew suspiciously. ?oBarley, onion, carrot,? he muttered. ?oSomeone should tell the cooks that turnip isn?Tt a meat.?
?oIt?Ts mutton stew.? Jon pulled off his gloves and warmed his hands in the steam rising from the bowl. The smell made his mouth water.
?oSnow.?
Jon knew Alliser Thornê?Ts voice, but there was a curious note in it that he had not heard before. He turned.
?oThe Lord Commander wants to see you. Now.?
For a moment Jon was too frightened to move. Why would the Lord Commander want to see him? They had heard something about Benjen, he thought wildly, he was dead, the vision had come true. ?oIs it my uncle?? he blurted. ?oIs he returned safe??
?oThe Lord Commander is not accustomed to waiting,? was Ser Alliser?Ts reply. ?oAnd I am not accustomed to having my commands questioned by bastards.?
Tyrion Lannister swung off the bench and rose. ?oStop it, Thorne. You?Tre frightening the boy.?
?oKeep out of matters that don?Tt concern you, Lannister. You have no place here.?
?oI have a place at court, though,? the dwarf said, smiling. ?oA word in the right ear, and you?Tll die a sour old man before you get another boy to train. Now tell Snow why the Old Bear needs to see him. Is there news of his uncle??
?oNo,? Ser Alliser said. ?oThis is another matter entirely. A bird arrived this morning from Winterfell, with a message that concerns his brother.? He corrected himself. ?oHis half brother.?
?oBran,? Jon breathed, scrambling to his feet. ?oSomething?Ts happened to Bran.?
Tyrion Lannister laid a hand on his arm. ?oJon,? he said. ?oI am truly sorry.?
Jon scarcely heard him. He brushed off Tyrion?Ts hand and strode across the hall. He was running by the time he hit the doors. He raced to the Commander?Ts Keep, dashing through drifts of old snow. When the guards passed him, he took the tower steps two at a time. By the time he burst into the presence of the Lord Commander, his boots were soaked and Jon was wild-eyed and panting. ?oBran,? he said. ?oWhat does it say about Bran??
Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night?Ts Watch, was a gruff old man with an immense bald head and a shaggy grey beard. He had a raven on his arm, and he was feeding it kernels of corn. ?oI am told you can read.? He shook the raven off, and it flapped its wings and flew to the window, where it sat watching as Mormont drew a roll of paper from his belt and handed it to Jon. ?oCorn,? it muttered in a raucous voice. ?oCorn, corn.?
Jon?Ts finger traced the outline of the direwolf in the white wax of the broken seat. He recognized Robb?Ts hand, but the letters seemed to blur and run as he tried to read them. He realized he was crying. And then, through the tears, he found the sense in the words, and raised his head. ?oHe woke up,? he said. ?oThe gods gave him back.?
?oCrippled,? Mormont said. ?oI?Tm sorry, boy. Read the rest of the letter.?
He looked at the words, but they didn?Tt matter. Nothing mattered. Bran was going to live. ?oMy brother is going to live,? he told Mormont. The Lord Commander shook his head, gathered up a fistful of corn, and whistled. The raven flew to his shoulder, crying, ?oLive! Live!?
Jon ran down the stairs, a smile on his face and Robb?Ts letter in his hand. ?oMy brother is going to live,? he told the guards. They exchanged a look. He ran back to the common hall, where he found Tyrion Lannister just finishing his meal. He grabbed the little man under the arms, hoisted him up in the air, and spun him around in a circle. ?oBran is going to live!? he whooped. Lannister looked startled. Jon put him down and thrust the paper into his hands. ?oHere, read it,? he said.
Others were gathering around and looking at him curiously. Jon noticed Grenn a few feet away. A thick woolen bandage was wrapped around one hand. He looked anxious and uncomfortable, not menacing at all. Jon went to him. Grenn edged backward and put up his hands. ?oStay away from me now, you bastard.?
Jon smiled at him. ?oI?Tm sorry about your wrist. Robb used the same move on me once, only with a wooden blade. It hurt like seven hells, but yours must be worse. Look, if you want, I can show you how to defend that.?
Alliser Thorne overheard him. ?oLord Snow wants to take my place now.? He sneered. ?oI?Td have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs.?
?oI?Tll take that wager, Ser Alliser,? Jon said. ?oI?Td love to see Ghost juggle.?
Jon heard Grenn suck in his breath, shocked. Silence fell.
Then Tyrion Lannister guffawed. Three of the black brothers joined in from a nearby table. The laughter spread up and down the benches, until even the cooks joined in. The birds stirred in the rafters, and finally even Grenn began to chuckle.
Ser Alliser never took his eyes from Jon. As the laughter rolled around him, his face darkened, and his sword hand curled into a fist. ?oThat was a grievous error, Lord Snow,? he said at last in the acid tones of an enemy.

Chapter 20
Eddard​

Eddard Stark rode through the towering bronze doors of the Red Keep sore, tired, hungry, and irritable. He was still a horse, dreaming of a long hot soak, a roast fowl, and a featherbed, when the kingâ?Ts steward told him that Grand Maester Pycelle had convened an urgent meeting of the small council. The honor of the Handâ?Ts presence was requested as soon as it was convenient. â?oIt will be convenient on the morrow,â? Ned snapped as he dismounted.
The steward bowed very low. â?oI shall give the councillors your regrets, my lord.â?
â?oNo, damn it,â? Ned said. It would not do to offend the council before he had even begun. â?oI will see them. Pray give me a few moments to change into something more presentable.â?
â?oYes, my lord,â? the steward said. â?oWe have given you Lord Arrynâ?Ts former chambers in the Tower of the Hand, if it please you. I shall have your things taken there.â?
â?oMy thanks,â? Ned said as he ripped off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt. The rest of his household was coming through the gate behind him. Ned saw Vayon Poole, his own steward, and called out. â?oIt seems the council has urgent need of me. See that my daughters find their bedchambers, and tell Jory to keep them there. Arya is not to go exploring.â? Poole bowed. Ned turned back to the royal steward. â?oMy wagons are still straggling through the city. I shall need appropriate garments.â?
â?oIt will be my great pleasure,â? the steward said.
And so Ned had come striding into the council chambers, bonetired and dressed in borrowed clothing, to find four members of the small council waiting for him.
The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.
The councillor Ned liked least, the eunuch Varys, accosted him the moment he entered. â?oLord Stark, I was grievous sad to hear about your troubles on the kingsroad. We have all been visiting the sept to light candles for Prince Joffrey. I pray for his recovery.â? His hand left powder stains on Nedâ?Ts sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave.
â?oYour gods have heard you,â? Ned replied, cool yet polite. â?oThe prince grows stronger every day.â? He disentangled himself from the eunuchâ?Ts grip and crossed the room to where Lord Renly stood by the screen, talking quietly with a short man who could only be Littlefinger. Renly had been a boy of eight when Robert won the throne, but he had grown into a man so like his brother that Ned found it disconcerting. Whenever he saw him, it was as if the years had slipped away and Robert stood before him, fresh from his victory on the Trident.
â?oI see you have arrived safely, Lord Stark,â? Renly said.
â?oAnd you as well,â? Ned replied. â?oYou must forgive me, but sometimes you look the very image of your brother Robert.â?
â?oA poor copy,â? Renly said with a shrug.
â?oThough much better dressed,â? Littlefinger quipped. â?oLord Renly spends more on clothing than half the ladies of the court.â?
It was true enough. Lord Renly was in dark green velvet, with a dozen golden stags embroidered on his doublet. A cloth-of-gold half cape was draped casually across one shoulder, fastened with an emerald brooch. â?oThere are worse crimes,â? Renly said with a laugh. â?oThe wayyou dress, for one.â?
Littlefinger ignored the jibe. He eyed Ned with a smile on his lips that bordered on insolence. â?oI have hoped to meet you for some years, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me to you.â?
â?oShe has,â? Ned replied with a chill in his voice. The sly arrogance of the comment rankled him. â?oI understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.â?
Renly Baratheon laughed. Varys shuffled over to listen.
â?oRather too well,â? Littlefinger said. â?oI still carry a token of his esteem. Did Brandon speak of me too?â?
â?oOften, and with some heat,â? Ned said, hoping that would end it. He had no patience with this game they played, this dueling with words.
â?oI should have thought that heat ill suits you Starks,â? Littlefinger said. â?oHere in the south, they say you are all made of ice, and melt when you ride below the Neck.â?
â?oI do not plan on melting soon, Lord Baelish. You may count on it.â? Ned moved to the council table and said, â?oMaester Pycelle, I trust you are well.â?
The Grand Maester smiled gently from his tall chair at the foot of the table. â?oWell enough for a man of my years, my lord,â? he replied, â?oyet I do tire easily, I fear.â? Wispy strands of white hair fringed the broad bald dome of his forehead above a kindly face. His maesterâ?Ts collar was no simple metal choker such as Luwin wore, but two dozen heavy chains wound together into a ponderous metal necklace that covered him from throat to breast. The links were forged of every metal known to man: black iron and red gold, bright copper and dull lead, steel and tin and pale silver, brass and bronze and platinum. Garnets and amethysts and black pearls adorned the metalwork, and here and there an emerald or ruby. â?oPerhaps we might begin soon,â? the Grand Maester said, hands knitting together atop his broad stomach. â?oI fear I shall fall asleep if we wait much longer.â?
â?oAs you will.â? The kingâ?Ts seat sat empty at the head of the table, the crowned stag of Baratheon embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. Ned took the chair beside it, as the right hand of his king. â?oMy lords,â? he said formally, â?oI am sorry to have kept you waiting.â?
â?oYou are the Kingâ?Ts Hand,â? Varys said. â?oWe serve at your pleasure, Lord Stark.â?
As the others took their accustomed seats, it struck Eddard Stark forcefully that he did not belong here, in this room, with these men. He remembered what Robert had told him in the crypts below Winterfell. I am surrounded by flatterers andfools, the king had insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. â?oWe are but five,â? he pointed out.
â?oLord Stannis took himself to Dragonstone not long after the king went north,â? Varys said, â?oand our gallant Ser Barristan no doubt rides beside the king as he makes his way through the city, as befits the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.â?
â?oPerhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristan and the king to join us,â? Ned suggested.
Renly Baratheon laughed aloud. â?oIf we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal presence, it could be a long sit.â?
â?oOur good King Robert has many cares,â? Varys said. â?oHe entrusts some small matters to us, to lighten his load.â?
â?oWhat Lord Varys means is that all this business of coin and crops and justice bores my royal brother to tears,â? Lord Renly said, â?oso it falls to us to govern the realm. He does send us a command from time to time.â? He drew a tightly rolled paper from his sleeve and laid it on the table. â?oThis morning he commanded me to ride ahead with all haste and ask Grand Maester Pycelle to convene this council at once. He has an urgent task for us.â?
Littlefinger smiled and handed the paper to Ned. It bore the royal seal. Ned broke the wax with his thumb and flattened the letter to consider the kingâ?Ts urgent command, reading the words with mounting disbelief. Was there no end to Robertâ?Ts folly? And to do this in his name, that was salt in the wound. â?oGods be good,â? he swore.
â?oWhat Lord Eddard means to say,â? Lord Renly announced, â?ois that His Grace instructs us to stage a great tournament in honor of his appointment as the Hand of the King.â?
â?oHow much?â? asked Littlefinger, mildly.
Ned read the answer off the letter. â?oForty thousand golden dragons to the champion. Twenty thousand to the man who comes second, another twenty to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition.â?
â?oNinety thousand gold pieces,â? Littlefinger sighed. â?oAnd we must not neglect the other costs. Robert will want a prodigious feast. That means cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, jugglers, fools-â?
â?oFools we have in plenty,â? Lord Renly said.
Grand Maester Pycelle looked to Littlefinger and asked, â?oWill the treasury bear the expense?â?
â?oWhat treasury is that?â? Littlefinger replied with a twist of his mouth. â?oSpare me the foolishness, Maester. You know as well as I that the treasury has been empty for years. I shall have to borrow the money. No doubt the Lannisters will be accommodating. We owe Lord Tywin some three million dragons at present, what matter another hundred thousand?â?
Ned was stunned. â?oAre you claiming that the Crown is three million gold pieces in debt?â?
â?oThe Crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt, Lord Stark. The Lannisters are the biggest part of it, but we have also borrowed from Lord Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading cartels. Of late Iâ?Tve had to turn to the Faith. The High Septon haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger.â?
Ned was aghast. â?oAerys Targaryen left a treasury flowing with gold. How could you let this happen?â?
Littlefinger gave a shrug. â?oThe master of coin finds the money. The king and the Hand spend it.â?
â?oI will not believe that Jon Arryn allowed Robert to beggar the realm,â? Ned said hotly.
Grand Maester Pycelle shook his great bald head, his chains clinking softly. â?oLord Arryn was a prudent man, but I fear that His Grace does not always listen to wise counsel.â?
â?oMy royal brother loves tournaments and feasts,â? Renly Baratheon said, â?oand he loathes what he calls â?~counting coppers.â?T â?
â?oI will speak with His Grace,â? Ned said. â?oThis tourney is an extravagance the realm cannot afford.â?
â?oSpeak to him as you will,â? Lord Renly said, â?owe had still best make our plans.â?
â?oAnother day,â? Ned said. Perhaps too sharply, from the looks they gave him. He would have to remember that he was no longer in Winterfell, where only the king stood higher; here, he was but first among equals. â?oForgive me, my lords,â? he said in a softer tone. â?oI am tired. Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher.â? He did not ask for their consent, but stood abruptly, nodded at them all, and made for the door.

Outside, wagons and riders were still pouring through the castle gates, and the yard was a chaos of mud and horseflesh and shouting men. The king had not yet arrived, he was told. Since the ugliness on the Trident, the Starks and their household had ridden well ahead of the main column, the better to separate themselves from the Lannisters and the growing tension. Robert had hardly been seen; the talk was he was traveling in the huge wheelhouse, drunk as often as not. If so, he might be hours behind, but he would still be here too soon for Ned?Ts liking. He had only to look at Sansâ?Ts face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher?Ts boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.
He crossed the outer yard, passed under a portcullis into the inner bailey, and was walking toward what he thought was the Tower of the Hand when Littlefinger appeared in front of him. ?oYou?Tre going the wrong way, Stark. Come with me.?
Hesitantly, Ned followed. Littlefinger led him into a tower, down a stair, across a small sunken courtyard, and along a deserted corridor where empty suits of armor stood sentinel along the walls. They were relics of the Targaryens, black steel with dragon scales cresting their helms, now dusty and forgotten. ?oThis is not the way to my chambers,? Ned said.
?oDid I say it was? I?Tm leading you to the dungeons to slit your throat and seal your corpse up behind a wall,? Littlefinger replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ?oWe have no time for this, Stark. Your wife awaits.?
?oWhat game are you playing, Littlefinger? Catelyn is at Winterfell, hundreds of leagues from here.?
?oOh?? Littlefinger?Ts grey-green eyes glittered with amusement. ?oThen it appears someone has managed an astonishing impersonation. For the last time, come. Or don?Tt come, and I?Tll keep her for myself.? He hurried down the steps.
Ned followed him warily, wondering if this day would ever end. He had no taste for these intrigues, but he was beginning to realize that they were meat and mead to a man like Littlefinger.
At the foot of the steps was a heavy door of oak and iron. Petyr Baelish lifted the crossbar and gestured Ned through. They stepped out into the ruddy glow of dusk, on a rocky bluff high above the river. ?oWê?Tre outside the castle,? Ned said.
?oYou are a hard man to fool, Stark,? Littlefinger said with a smirk. ?oWas it the sun that gave it away, or the sky? Follow me. There are niches cut in the rock. Try not to fall to your death, Catelyn would never understand.? With that, he was over the side of the cliff, descending as quick as a monkey.
Ned studied the rocky face of the bluff for a moment, then followed more slowly. The niches were there, as Littlefinger had promised, shallow cuts that would be invisible from below, unless you knew just where to look for them. The river was a long, dizzying distance below. Ned kept his face pressed to the rock and tried not to look down any more often than he had to.
When at last he reached the bottom, a narrow, muddy trail along the water?Ts edge, Littlefinger was lazing against a rock and eating an apple. He was almost down to the core. ?oYou are growing old and slow, Stark,? he said, flipping the apple casually into the rushing water. ?oNo matter, we ride the rest of the way.?
He had two horses waiting. Ned mounted up and trotted behind him, down the trail and into the city.
Finally Baelish drew rein in front of a ramshackle building, three stories, timbered, its windows bright with lamplight in the gathering dusk. The sounds of music and raucous laughter drifted out and floated over the water. Beside the door swung an ornate oil lamp on a heavy chain, with a globe of leaded red glass.
Ned Stark dismounted in a fury. ?oA brothel,? he said as he seized Littlefinger by the shoulder and spun him around. ?oYou?Tve brought me all this way to take me to a brothel.?
?oYour wife is inside,? Littlefinger said.
It was the final insult. ?oBrandon was too kind to you,? Ned said as he slammed the small man back against a wall and shoved his dagger up under the little pointed chin beard.
?oMy lord, no,? an urgent voice called out. ?oHe speaks the truth.? There were footsteps behind him.
Ned spun, knife in hand, as an old white-haired man hurried toward them. He was dressed in brown roughspun, and the soft flesh under his chin wobbled as he ran. ?oThis is no business of yours,? Ned began; then, suddenly, the recognition came. He lowered the dagger, astonished. ?oSer Rodrik??
Rodrik Cassel nodded. ?oYour lady awaits you upstairs.?
Ned was lost. ?oCatelyn is truly here? This is not some strange jape of Littlefinger?Ts?? He sheathed his blade.
?oWould that it were, Stark,? Littlefinger said. ?oFollow me, and try to look a shade more lecherous and a shade less like the King?Ts Hand. It would not do to have you recognized. Perhaps you could fondle a breast or two, just in passing.?
They went inside, through a crowded common room where a fat woman was singing bawdy songs while pretty young girls in linen shifts and wisps of colored silk pressed themselves against their lovers and dandled on their laps. No one paid Ned the least bit of attention. Ser Rodrik waited below while Littlefinger led him up to the third floor, along a corridor, and through a door.
Inside, Catelyn was waiting. She cried out when she saw him, ran to him, and embraced him fiercely.
?oMy lady,? Ned whispered in wonderment.
?oOh, very good,? said Littlefinger, closing the door. ?oYou recognized her.?
?oI feared you?Td never come, my lord,? she whispered against his chest. ?oPetyr has been bringing me reports. He told me of your troubles with Arya and the young prince. How are my girls??
?oBoth in mourning, and full of anger,? he told her. ?oCat, I do not understand. What are you doing in King?Ts Landing? What?Ts happened?? Ned asked his wife. ?oIs it Bran? Is he...? Dead was the word that came to his lips, but he could not say it.
?oIt is Bran, but not as you think,? Catelyn said.
Ned was lost. ?oThen how? Why are you here, my love? What is this place??
?oJust what it appears,? Littlefinger said, easing himself onto a window seat. ?oA brothel. Can you think of a less likely place to find a Catelyn Tully?? He smiled. ?oAs it chances, I own this particular establishment, so arrangements were easily made. I am most anxious to keep the Lannisters from learning that Cat is here in King?Ts Landing.?
?oWhy?? Ned asked. He saw her hands then, the awkward way she held them, the raw red scars, the stiffness of the last two fingers on her left. ?oYou?Tve been hurt.? He took her hands in his own, turned them over. ?oGods. Those are deep cuts... a gash from a sword or... how did this happen, my lady??
Catelyn slid a dagger out from under her cloak and placed it in his hand. ?oThis blade was sent to open Bran?Ts throat and spill his lifê?Ts blood.?
Ned?Ts head jerked up. ?oBut... who... why would...?
She put a finger to his lips. ?oLet me tell it all, my love. It will go faster that way. Listen.?
So he listened, and she told it all, from the fire in the library tower to Varys and the guardsmen and Littlefinger. And when she was done, Eddard Stark sat dazed beside the table, the dagger in his hand. Bran?Ts wolf had saved the boy?Ts life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansâ?Ts, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done?
Painfully, Ned forced his thoughts back to the dagger and what it meant. ?oThe Imp?Ts dagger,? he repeated. It made no sense. His hand curled around the smooth dragonbone hilt, and he slammed the blade into the table, felt it bite into the wood. It stood mocking him. ?oWhy should Tyrion Lannister want Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm.?
?oDo you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?? Littlefinger asked. ?oThe Imp would never have acted alone.?
Ned rose and paced the length of the room. ?oIf the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself... no, I will not believe that.?
Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert?Ts talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar?Ts infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry?Ts audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.
?oMost likely the king did not know,? Littlefinger said. ?oIt would not be the first time. Our good Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see.?
Ned had no reply for that. The face of the butcher?Ts boy swam up before his eyes, cloven almost in two, and afterward the king had said not a word. His head was pounding.
Littlefinger sauntered over to the table, wrenched the knife from the wood. ?oThe accusation is treason either way. Accuse the king and you will dance with Ilyn Payne before the words are out of your mouth. The queen... if you can find proof, and if you can make Robert listen, then perhaps...?
?oWe have proof,? Ned said. ?oWe have the dagger.?
?oThis?? Littlefinger flipped the knife casually end over end. ?oA sweet piece of steel, but it cuts two ways, my lord. The Imp will no doubt swear the blade was lost or stolen while he was at Winterfell, and with his hireling dead, who is there to give him the lie?? He tossed the knife lightly to Ned. ?oMy counsel is to drop that in the river and forget that it was ever forged.?
Ned regarded him coldly. ?oLord Baelish, I am a Stark of Winterfell. My son lies crippled, perhaps dying. He would be dead, and Catelyn with him, but for a wolf pup we found in the snow. If you truly believe I could forget that, you are as big a fool now as when you took up sword against my brother.?
?oA fool I may be, Stark... yet I?Tm still here, while your brother has been moldering in his frozen grave for some fourteen years now. If you are so eager to molder beside him, far be it from me to dissuade you, but I would rather not be included in the party, thank you very much.?
?oYou would be the last man I would willingly include in any party, Lord Baelish.?
?oYou wound me deeply.? Littlefinger placed a hand over his heart. ?oFor my part, I always found you Starks a tiresome lot, but Cat seems to have become attached to you, for reasons I cannot comprehend. I shall try to keep you alive for her sake. A fool?Ts task, admittedly, but I could never refuse your wife anything.?
?oI told Petyr our suspicions about Jon Arryn?Ts death,? Catelyn said. ?oHe has promised to help you find the truth.?
That was not news that Eddard Stark welcomed, but it was true enough that they needed help, and Littlefinger had been almost a brother to Cat once. It would not be the first time that Ned had been forced to make common cause with a man he despised. ?oVery well,? he said, thrusting the dagger into his belt. ?oYou spoke of Varys. Does the eunuch know all of it??
?oNot from my lips,? Catelyn said. ?oYou did not wed a fool Eddard Stark. But Varys has a way of learning things that no man should know. He has some dark art, Ned, I swear it.?
?oHe has spies, that is well known.? Ned said, dismissive.
?oIt is more than that,? Catelyn insisted, ?oSer Rodrik spoke to Ser Aron Santagar in all secrecy, yet somehow the Spider knew of their conversation. I fear that man.?
Littlefinger smiled. ?oLeave Lord Varys to me, sweet lady. If you will permit me a small obscenity--and where better for it than here--I hold the man''s balls in the palm of my hand.? He cupped his fingers, smiling. ?oOr would, if he were a man, or had any balls. You see, if the pie is opened, the birds begin to sing, and Varys would not like that. Were I you, I would worry more about the Lannisters and less about the eunuch.?
Ned did not need Littlefinger to tell him that. He was thinking back to the day Arya had been found, to the look on the queen?Ts face when she said, We have a wolf, so soft and quiet. He was thinking of the boy Mycah, of Jon Arryn?Ts sudden death, of Bran?Ts fall, of old mad Aerys Targaryen dying on the floor of his throne room while his lifê?Ts blood dried on a gilded blade. ?oMy Lady,? he said, turning to Catelyn, ?othere is nothing more you can do here. I want you to return to Winterfell at once. If there was one reason, there could be others. Whoever ordered Bran?Ts death will learn soon enough that the boy still lives.?
?oI had hoped to see the girls...? Catelyn said.
?oThat would be most unwise.? Littlefiger put in. ?oThe Red Keep is full of curious eyes, and children talk.?
?oHe speaks truly my love,? Ned told her. He embraced her. ?oTake Ser Rodrik and ride for Winterfell. I will watch over the girls. Go home to our sons and keep them safe.?
?oAs you say, my lord.? Catelyn lifted her face, and Ned kissed her. Her maimed fingers clenched against his back with a desperate strength, as if to hold him safe forever in the shelter of her arms.
?oWould the lord and lady like the use of a bedchamber?? asked Littlefinger. ?oI should warn you, Stark, we usually charge for that sort of thing around here.?
?oA moment alone, that?Ts all I ask,? Catelyn said.
?oVery well.? Littlefinger strolled to the door. ?oDon?Tt be too long. It is past time the Hand and I returned to the castle, before our absence is noted.?
Catelyn went to him and took his hands in her own. ?oI will not forget the help you gave me, Petyr. When your men came for me, I did not know whether they were taking me to a friend or an enemy. I have found you more than a friend. I have found a brother I?Td thought lost.?
Petyr Baelish smiled. ?oI am desperately sentimental, sweet lady. Best not tell anyone. I have spent years convincing the court that I am wicked and cruel, and I should hate to see all that hard work go for naught.?
Ned believed not a word of that, but he kept his voice polite as he said, ?oYou have my thanks as well, Lord Baelish.?
?oOh, now therê?Ts a treasure,? Littlefinger said, exiting.
When the door had closed behind him, Ned turned back to his wife. ?oOnce you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father?Ts fleet.?
?oWar?? The fear was plain on Catelyn?Ts face.
?oIt will not come to that,? Ned promised her, praying it was true. He took her in his arms again. ?oThe Lannisters are merciless in the face of weakness, as Aerys Targaryen learned to his sorrow, but they would not dare attack the north without all the power of the realm behind them, and that they shall not have. I must play out this fool?Ts masquerade as if nothing is amiss. Remember why I came here, my love. If I find proof that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn...?
He felt Catelyn tremble in his arms. Her scarred hands clung to him. ?oIf,? she said, ?owhat then, my love??
That was the most dangerous part, Ned knew. ?oAll justice flows from the king,? he told her. ?oWhen I know the truth, I must go to Robert.? And pray that he is the man I think he is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.

Chapter 21
Tyrion​

?oAre you certain that you must leave us so soon?? the Lord Commander asked him.
?oPast certain, Lord Mormont,? Tyrion replied. ?oMy brother Jaime will be wondering what has become of me. He may decide that you have convinced me to take the black.?
?oWould that I could.? Mormont picked up a crab claw and cracked it in his fist. Old as he was, the Lord Commander still had the strength of a bear. ?oYou?Tre a cunning man, Tyrion. We have need of men of your sort on the Wall.?
Tyrion grinned. ?oThen I shall scour the Seven Kingdoms for dwarfs and ship them all to you, Lord Mormont.? As they laughed, he sucked the meat from a crab leg and reached for another. The crabs had arrived from Eastwatch only this morning, packed in a barrel of snow, and they were succulent.
Ser Alliser Thorne was the only man at table who did not so much as crack a smile. ?oLannister mocks us.?
?oOnly you, Ser Alliser,? Tyrion said. This time the laughter round the table had a nervous, uncertain quality to it.
Thornê?Ts black eyes fixed on Tyrion with loathing. ?oYou have a bold tongue for someone who is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together.?
?oWhy?? asked Tyrion. ?oThe crabs are here.?
The remark brought more guffaws from the others. Ser Alliser stood up, his mouth a tight line. ?oCome and make your japes with steel in your hand.?
Tyrion looked pointedly at his right hand. ?oWhy, I have steel in my hand, Ser Alliser, although it appears to be a crab fork. Shall we duel?? He hopped up on his chair and began poking at Thornê?Ts chest with the tiny fork. Roars of laughter filled the tower room. Bits of crab flew from the Lord Commander?Ts mouth as he began to gasp and choke. Even his raven joined in, cawing loudly from above the window. ?oDuel! Duel! Duel!?
Ser Alliser Thorne walked from the room so stiffly it looked as though he had a dagger up his butt.
Mormont was still gasping for breath. Tyrion pounded him on the back. ?oTo the victor goes the spoils,? he called out. ?oI claim Thornê?Ts share of the crabs.?
Finally the Lord Commander recovered himself. ?oYou are a wicked man, to provoke our Ser Alliser so,? he scolded.
Tyrion seated himself and took a sip of wine. ?oIf a man paints a target on his chest, he should expect that sooner or later someone will loose an arrow at him. I have seen dead men with more humor than your Ser Alliser.?
?oNot so,? objec-ted the Lord Steward, Bowen Marsh, a man as round and red as a pomegranate. ?oYou ought to hear the droll names he gives the lads he trains.?
Tyrion had heard a few of those droll names. ?oI?Tll wager the lads have a few names for him as well,? he said. ?oChip the ice off your eyes, my good lords. Ser Alliser Thorne should be mucking out your stables, not drilling your young warriors.?
?oThe Watch has no shortage of stableboys,? Lord Mormont grumbled. ?oThat seems to be all they send us these days. Stableboys and sneak thieves and rapers. Ser Alliser is an anointed knight, one of the few to take the black since I have been Lord Commander. He fought bravely at King?Ts Landing.?
?oOn the wrong side,? Ser Jaremy Rykker commented dryly. ?oI ought to know, I was there on the battlements beside him. Tywin Lannister gave us a splendid choice. Take the black, or see our heads on spikes before evenfall. No offense intended, Tyrion.?
?oNone taken, Ser Jaremy. My father is very fond of spiked heads, especially those of people who have annoyed him in some fashion. And a face as noble as yours, well, no doubt he saw you decorating the city wall above the King?Ts Gate. I think you would have looked very striking up there.?
?oThank you,? Ser Jaremy replied with a sardonic smile.
Lord Commander Mormont cleared his throat. ?oSometimes I fear Ser Alliser saw you true, Tyrion. You do mock us and our noble purpose here.?
Tyrion shrugged. ?oWe all need to be mocked from time to time, Lord Mormont, lest we start to take ourselves too seriously. More wine, please.? He held out his cup.
As Rykker filled it for him, Bowen Marsh said, ?oYou have a great thirst for a small man.?
?oOh, I think that Lord Tyrion is quite a large man,? Maester Aemon said from the far end of the table. He spoke softly, yet the high officers of the Night?Ts Watch all fell quiet, the better to hear what the ancient had to say. ?oI think he is a giant come among us, here at the end of the world.?
Tyrion answered gently, ?oI?Tve been called many things, my lord, but giant is seldom one of them.?
?oNonetheless,? Maester Aemon said as his clouded, milk-white eyes moved to Tyrion?Ts face, ?oI think it is true.?
For once, Tyrion Lannister found himself at a loss for words. He could only bow his head politely and say, ?oYou are too kind, Maester Aemon.?
The blind man smiled. He was a tiny thing, wrinkled and hairless, shrunken beneath the weight of a hundred years so his maester?Ts collar with its links of many metals hung loose about his throat. ?oI have been called many things, my lord,? he said, ?obut kind is seldom one of them.? This time Tyrion himself led the laughter.
Much later, when the serious business of eating was done and the others had left, Mormont offered Tyrion a chair beside the fire and a cup of mulled spirits so strong they brought tears to his eyes. ?oThe kingsroad can be perilous this far north,? the Lord Commander told him as they drank.
?oI have Jyck and Morrec,? Tyrion said, ?oand Yoren is riding south again.?
?oYoren is only one man. The Watch shall escort you as far as Winterfell,? Mormont announced in a tone that brooked no argument. ?oThree men should be sufficient.?
?oIf you insist, my lord,? Tyrion said. ?oYou might send young Snow. He would be glad for a chance to see his brothers.?
Mormont frowned through his thick grey beard. ?oSnow? Oh, the Stark bastard. I think not. The young ones need to forget the lives they left behind them, the brothers and mothers and all that. A visit home would only stir up feelings best left alone. I know these things. My own blood kin... my sister Maege rules Bear Island now, since my son?Ts dishonor. I have nieces I have never seen.? He took a swallow. ?oBesides, Jon Snow is only a boy. You shall have three strong swords, to keep you safe.?
?oI am touched by your concern, Lord Mormont.? The strong drink was making Tyrion light-headed, but not so drunk that he did not realize that the Old Bear wanted something from him. ?oI hope I can repay your kindness.?
?oYou can,? Mormont said bluntly. ?oYour sister sits beside the king. Your brother is a great knight, and your father the most powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms. Speak to them for us. Tell them of our need here. You have seen for yourself, my lord. The Night?Ts Watch is dying. Our strength is less than a thousand now. Six hundred here, two hundred in the Shadow Tower, even fewer at Eastwatch, and a scant third of those fighting men. The Wall is a hundred leagues long. Think on that. Should an attack come, I have three men to defend each mile of wall.?
?oThree and a third,? Tyrion said with a yawn.
Mormont scarcely seemed to hear him. The old man warmed his hands before the fire. ?oI sent Benjen Stark to search after Yohn Roycê?Ts son, lost on his first ranging. The Royce boy was green as summer grass, yet he insisted on the honor of his own command, saying it was his due as a knight. I did not wish to offend his lord father, so I yielded. I sent him out with two men I deemed as good as any in the Watch. More fool I-?
?oFool,? the raven agreed. Tyrion glanced up. The bird peered down at him with those beady black eyes, ruffling its wings. ?oFool,? it called again. Doubtless old Mormont would take it amiss if he throttled the creature. A pity.
The Lord Commander took no notice of the irritating bird. ?oGared was near as old as I am and longer on the Wall,? he went on, ?oyet it would seem he forswore himself and fled. I should never have believed it, not of him, but Lord Eddard sent me his head from Winterfell. Of Royce, there is no word. One deserter and two men lost, and now Ben Stark too has gone missing.? He sighed deeply. ?oWho am I to send searching after him? In two years I will be seventy. Too old and too weary for the burden I bear, yet if I set it down, who will pick it up? Alliser Thorne? Bowen Marsh? I would have to be as blind as Maester Aemon not to see what they are. The Night?Ts Watch has become an army of sullen boys and tired old men. Apart from the men at my table tonight, I have perhaps twenty who can read, and even fewer who can think, or plan, or lead. Once the Watch spent its summers building, and each Lord Commander raised the Wall higher than he found it. Now it is all we can do to stay alive.?
He was in deadly earnest, Tyrion realized. He felt faintly embarrassed for the old man. Lord Mormont had spent a good part of his life on the Wall, and he needed to believe if those years were to have any meaning. ?oI promise, the king will hear of your need,? Tyrion said gravely, ?oand I will speak to my father and my brother Jaime as well.? And he would. Tyrion Lannister was as good as his word. He left the rest unsaid; that King Robert would ignore him, Lord Tywin would ask if he had taken leave of his senses, and Jaime would only laugh.
?oYou are a young man, Tyrion,? Mormont said. ?oHow many winters have you seen??
He shrugged. ?oEight, nine. I misremember.?
?oAnd all of them short.?
?oAs you say, my lord.? He had been born in the dead of winter, a terrible cruel one that the maesters said had lasted near three years, but Tyrion?Ts earliest memories were of spring.
?oWhen I was a boy, it was said that a long summer always meant a long winter to come. This summer has lasted nine years, Tyrion, and a tenth will soon be upon us. Think on that.?
?oWhen I was a boy,? Tyrion replied, ?omy wet nurse told me that one day, if men were good, the gods would give the world a summer without ending. Perhaps wê?Tve been better than we thought, and the Great Summer is finally at hand.? He grinned.
The Lord Commander did not seem amused. ?oYou are not fool enough to believe that, my lord. Already the days grow shorter. There can be no mistake, Aemon has had letters from the Citadel, findings in accord with his own. The end of summer stares us in the face.? Mormont reached out and clutched Tyrion tightly by the hand. ?oYou must make them understand. I tell you, my lord, the darkness is coming. There are wild things in the woods, direwolves and mammoths and snow bears the size of aurochs, and I have seen darker shapes in my dreams.?
?oIn your dreams,? Tyrion echoed, thinking how badly he needed another strong drink.
Mormont was deaf to the edge in his voice. ?oThe fisherfolk near Eastwatch have glimpsed white walkers on the shore.?
This time Tyrion could not hold his tongue. ?oThe fisherfolk of Lannisport often glimpse merlings.?
?oDenys Mallister writes that the mountain people are moving south, slipping past the Shadow Tower in numbers greater than ever before. They are running, my lord... but running from what?? Lord Mormont moved to the window and stared out into the night. ?oThese are old bones, Lannister, but they have never felt a chill like this. Tell the king what I say, I pray you. Winter is coming, and when the Long Night falls, only the Night?Ts Watch will stand between the realm and the darkness that sweeps from the north. The gods help us all if we are not ready.?
?oThe gods help me if I do not get some sleep tonight. Yoren is determined to ride at first light.? Tyrion got to his feet, sleepy from wine and tired of doom. ?oI thank you for all the courtesies you have done me, Lord Mormont.?
?oTell them, Tyrion. Tell them and make them believe. That is all the thanks I need.? He whistled, and his raven flew to him and perched on his shoulder. Mormont smiled and gave the bird some corn from his pocket, and that was how Tyrion left him.

Được Pagan sửa chữa / chuyển vào 17:52 ngày 15/08/2007

It was bitter cold outside. Bundled thickly in his furs, Tyrion Lannister pulled on his gloves and nodded to the poor frozen wretches standing sentry outside the Commander?Ts Keep. He set off across the yard for his own chambers in the King?Ts Tower, walking as briskly as his legs could manage. Patches of snow crunched beneath his feet as his boots broke the night?Ts crust, and his breath steamed before him like a banner. He shoved his hands into his armpits and walked faster, praying that Morrec had remembered to warm his bed with hot bricks from the fire.
Behind the King?Ts Tower, the Wall glimmered in the light of the moon, immense and mysterious. Tyrion stopped for a moment to look up at it. His legs ached of cold and haste.
Suddenly a strange madness took hold of him, a yearning to look once more off the end of the world. It would be his last chance, he thought; tomorrow he would ride south, and he could not imagine why he would ever want to return to this frozen desolation. The King?Ts Tower was before him, with its promise of warmth and a soft bed, yet Tyrion found himself walking past it, toward the vast pale palisade of the Wall.
A wooden stair ascended the south face, anchored on huge roughhewn beams sunk deep into the ice and frozen in place. Back and forth it switched, clawing its way upward as crooked as a bolt of lightning. The black brothers assured him that it was much stronger than it looked, but Tyrion?Ts legs were cramping too badly for him to even contemplate the ascent. He went instead to the iron cage beside the well, clambered inside, and yanked hard on the bell rope, three quick pulls.
He had to wait what seemed an eternity, standing there inside the bars with the Wall to his back. Long enough for Tyrion to begin to wonder why he was doing this. He had just about decided to forget his sudden whim and go to bed when the cage gave a jerk and began to ascend.
He moved upward slowly, by fits and starts at first, then more smoothly. The ground fell away beneath him, the cage swung, and Tyrion wrapped his hands around the iron bars. He could feel the cold of the metal even through his gloves. Morrec had a fire burning in his room, he noted with approval, but the Lord Commander?Ts tower was dark. The Old Bear had more sense than he did, it seemed.
Then he was above the towers, still inching his way upward. Castle Black lay below him, etched in moonlight. You could see how stark and empty it was from up here; windowless keeps, crumbling walls, courtyards choked with broken stone. Farther off, he could see the lights of Molê?Ts Town, the little village half a league south along the kingsroad, and here and there the bright glitter of moonlight on water where icy streams descended from the mountain heights to cut across the plains. The rest of the world was a bleak emptiness of windswept hills and rocky fields spotted with snow.
Finally a thick voice behind him said, ?oSeven hells, it?Ts the dwarf,? and the cage jerked to a sudden stop and hung there, swinging slowly back and forth, the ropes creaking.
?oBring him in, damn it.? There was a grunt and a loud groaning of wood as the cage slid sideways and then the Wall was beneath him. Tyrion waited until the swinging had stopped before he pushed open the cage door and hopped down onto the ice. A heavy figure in black was leaning on the winch, while a second held the cage with a gloved hand. Their faces were muffled in woolen scarves so only their eyes showed, and they were plump with layers of wool and leather, black on black. ?oAnd what will you be wanting, this time of night?? the one by the winch asked.
?oA last look.?
The men exchanged sour glances. ?oLook all you want,? the other one said. ?oJust have a care you don?Tt fall off, little man. The Old Bear would have our hides.? A small wooden shack stood under the great crane, and Tyrion saw the dull glow of a brazier and felt a brief gust of warmth when the winch men opened the door and went back inside. And then he was alone.
It was bitingly cold up here, and the wind pulled at his clothes like an insistent lover. The top of the Wall was wider than the kingsroad often was, so Tyrion had no fear of falling, although the footing was slicker than he would have liked. The brothers spread crushed stone across the walkways, but the weight of countless footsteps would melt the Wall beneath, so the ice would seem to grow around the gravel, swallowing it, until the path was bare again and it was time to crush more stone.
Still, it was nothing that Tyrion could not manage. He looked off to the east and west, at the Wall stretching before him, a vast white road with no beginning and no end and a dark abyss on either side. West, he decided, for no special reason, and he began to walk that way, following the pathway nearest the north edge, where the gravel looked freshest.
His bare cheeks were ruddy with the cold, and his legs complained more loudly with every step, but Tyrion ignored them. The wind swirled around him, gravel crunched beneath his boots, while ahead the white ribbon followed the lines of the hills, rising higher and higher, until it was lost beyond the western horizon. He passed a massive catapult, as tall as a city wall, its base sunk deep into the Wall. The throwing arm had been taken off for repairs and then forgotten; it lay there like a broken toy, half embe-dded in the ice.
On the far side of the catapult, a muffled voice called out a challenge. ?oWho goes there? Halt!?
Tyrion stopped. ?oIf I halt too long I?Tll freeze in place, Jon,? he said as a shaggy pale shape slid toward him silently and sniffed at his furs. ?oHello, Ghost.?
Jon Snow moved closer. He looked bigger and heavier in his layers of fur and leather, the hood of his cloak pulled down over his face. ?oLannister,? he said, yanking loose the scarf to uncover his mouth. ?oThis is the last place I would have expected to see you.? He carried a heavy spear tipped in iron, taller than he was, and a sword hung at his side in a leather sheath. Across his chest was a gleaming black warhorn, banded with silver.
?oThis is the last place I would have expected to be seen,? Tyrion admitted. ?oI was captured by a whim. If I touch Ghost, will he chew my hand off??
?oNot with me here,? Jon promised.
Tyrion scratched the white wolf behind the ears. The red eyes watched him impassively. The beast came up as high as his chest now. Another year, and Tyrion had the gloomy feeling hê?Td be looking up at him. ?oWhat are you doing up here tonight?? he asked. ?oBesides freezing your manhood off...?
?oI have drawn night guard,? Jon said. ?oAgain. Ser Alliser has kindly arranged for the watch commander to take a special interest in me. He seems to think that if they keep me awake half the night, I?Tll fall asleep during morning drill. So far I have disappointed him.?
Tyrion grinned. ?oAnd has Ghost learned to juggle yet??
?oNo,? said Jon, smiling, ?obut Grenn held his own against Halder this morning, and Pyp is no longer dropping his sword quite so often as he did.?
?oPyp??
?oPypar is his real name. The small boy with the large ears. He saw me working with Grenn and asked for help. Thorne had never even shown him the proper way to grip a sword.? He turned to look north. ?oI have a mile of Wall to guard. Will you walk with me??
?oIf you walk slowly,? Tyrion said.
?oThe watch commander tells me I must walk, to keep my blood from freezing, but he never said how fast.?
They walked, with Ghost pacing along beside Jon like a white shadow. ?oI leave on the morrow,? Tyrion said.
?oI know.? Jon sounded strangely sad.
?oI plan to stop at Winterfell on the way south. If there is any message that you would like me to deliver...?
?oTell Robb that I?Tm going to command the Night?Ts Watch and keep him safe, so he might as well take up needlework with the girls and have Mikken melt down his sword for horseshoes.?
?oYour brother is bigger than me,? Tyrion said with a laugh. ?oI decline to deliver any message that might get me killed.?
?oRickon will ask when I?Tm coming home. Try to explain where I?Tve gone, if you can. Tell him he can have all my things while I?Tm away, hê?Tll like that.?
People seemed to be asking a great deal of him today, Tyrion Lannister thought. ?oYou could put all this in a letter, you know.?
?oRickon can?Tt read yet. Bran...? He stopped suddenly. ?oI don?Tt know what message to send to Bran. Help him, Tyrion.?
?oWhat help could I give him? I am no maester, to ease his pain. I have no spells to give him back his legs.?
?oYou gave me help when I needed it,? Jon Snow said.
?oI gave you nothing,? Tyrion said. ?oWords.?
?oThen give your words to Bran too.?
?oYou?Tre asking a lame man to teach a cripple how to dance,? Tyrion said. ?oHowever sincere the lesson, the result is likely to be grotesque. Still, I know what it is to love a brother, Lord Snow. I will give Bran whatever small help is in my power.?
?oThank you, my lord of Lannister.? He pulled off his glove and offered his bare hand. ?oFriend.?
Tyrion found himself oddly touched. ?oMost of my kin are bastards,? he said with a wry smile, ?obut you?Tre the first I?Tve had to friend.? He pulled a glove off with his teeth and clasped Snow by the hand, flesh against flesh. The boy?Ts grip was firm and strong.
When he had donned his glove again, Jon Snow turned abruptly and walked to the low, icy northern parapet. Beyond him the Wall fell away sharply; beyond him there was only the darkness and the wild. Tyrion followed him, and side by side they stood upon the edge of the world.
The Night?Ts Watch permitted the forest to come no closer than half a mile of the north face of the Wall. The thickets of ironwood and sentinel and oak that had once grown there had been harvested centuries ago, to create a broad swath of open ground through which no enemy could hope to pass unseen. Tyrion had heard that elsewhere along the Wall, between the three fortresses, the wildwood had come creeping back over the decades, that there were places where greygreen sentinels and pale white weirwoods had taken root in the shadow of the Wall itself, but Castle Black had a prodigious appetite for firewood, and here the forest was still kept at bay by the axes of the black brothers.
It was never far, though. From up here Tyrion could see it, the dark trees looming beyond the stretch of open ground, like a second wall built parallel to the first, a wall of night. Few axes had ever swung in that black wood, where even the moonlight could not penetrate the ancient tangle of root and thorn and grasping limb. Out there the trees grew huge, and the rangers said they seemed to brood and knew not men. It was small wonder the Night?Ts Watch named it the haunted forest.
As he stood there and looked at all that darkness with no fires burning anywhere, with the wind blowing and the cold like a spear in his guts, Tyrion Lannister felt as though he could almost believe the talk of the Others, the enemy in the night. His jokes of grumkins and snarks no longer seemed quite so droll.
?oMy uncle is out there,? Jon Snow said softly, leaning on his spear as he stared off into the darkness. ?oThe first night they sent me up here, I thought, Uncle Benjen will ride back tonight, and I?Tll see him first and blow the horn. He never came, though. Not that night and not any night.?
?oGive him time,? Tyrion said.
Far off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another. Ghost ****ed his head and listened. ?oIf he doesn?Tt come back,? Jon Snow promised, ?oGhost and I will go find him.? He put his hand on the direwolf?Ts head.
?oI believe you,? Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He shivered.

Được Pagan sửa chữa / chuyển vào 18:02 ngày 15/08/2007

Chapter 22
Arya​

Her father had been fighting with the council again. Arya could see it on his face when he came to table, late again, as he had been so often. The first course, a thick sweet soup made with pumpkins, had already been taken away when Ned Stark strode into the Small Hall. They called it that to set it apart from the Great Hall, where the king could feast a thousand, but it was a long room with a high vaulted ceiling and bench space for two hundred at its trestle tables.
?oMy lord,? Jory said when Father entered. He rose to his feet, and the rest of the guard rose with him. Each man wore a new cloak, heavy grey wool with a white satin border. A hand of beaten silver clutched the woolen folds of each cloak and marked their wearers as men of the Hand?Ts household guard. There were only fifty of them, so most of the benches were empty.
?oBe seated,? Eddard Stark said. ?oI see you have started without me. I am pleased to know there are still some men of sense in this city.? He signaled for the meal to resume. The servants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs.
?oThe talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord,? Jory said as he resumed his seat. ?oThey say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King.?
Arya could see that her father was not very happy about that. ?oDo they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished??
Sansâ?Ts eyes had grown wide as the plates. ?oA tourney,? she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. ?oWill we be permitted to go, Father??
?oYou know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert?Ts games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly.?
?oOh, please,? Sansa said. ?oI want to see.?
Septa Mordane spoke up. ?oPrincess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend.?
Father looked pained. ?oI suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa.? He saw Arya. ?oFor both of you.?
?oI don?Tt care about their stupid tourney,? Arya said. She knew Prince Jofftey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey.
Sansa lifted her head. ?oIt will be a splendid event. You shan?Tt be wanted.?
Anger flashed across Father?Ts face. ?oEnough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood??
Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry.
The only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. ?oPray excuse me,? her father announced to the table. ?oI find I have small appetite tonight.? He walked from the hall.
After he was gone, Sansa exchanged excited whispers with Jeyne Poole. Down the table Jory laughed at a joke, and Hullen started in about horseflesh. ?oYour warhorse, now, he may not be the best one for the joust. Not the same thing, oh, no, not the same at all.? The men had heard it all before; Desmond, Jacks, and Hullen?Ts son Harwin shouted him down together, and Porther called for more wine.
No one talked to Arya. She didn?Tt care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her meals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to dine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her ?olittle sister? and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn?Tt even talk to her unless Father made her.
Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. ?oKnow the men who follow you,? she heard him tell Robb once, ?oand let them know you. Don?Tt ask your men to die for a stranger.? At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.
Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father?Ts table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-andmaidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her ?oArya Underfoot,? because he said that was where she always was. Shê?Td liked that a lot better than ?oArya Horseface.?
Only that was Winterfell, a world away, and now everything was changed. This was the first time they had supped with the men since arriving in King?Ts Landing. Arya hated it. She hated the sounds of their voices now, the way they laughed, the stories they told. They?Td been her friends, shê?Td felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie. They?Td let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but then the Hound found Mycah. Jeyne Poole had told Arya that hê?Td cut him up in so many pieces that they?Td given him back to the butcher in a bag, and at first the poor man had thought it was a pig they?Td slaughtered. And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father.
?oHe was my ffiend,? Arya whispered into her plate, so low that no one could hear. Her ribs sat there untouched, grown cold now, a thin film of grease congealing beneath them on the plate. Arya looked at them and felt ill. She pushed away from the table.
?oPray, where do you think you are going, young lady?? Septa Mordane asked.
?oI?Tm not hungry.? Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies. ?oMay I be excused, please?? she recited stiffly.
?oYou may not,? the septa said. ?oYou have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down and clean your plate.?
?oYou clean it!? Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men laughed and Septa Mordane called loudly after her, her voice rising higher and higher.
Fat Tom was at his post, guarding the door to the Tower of the Hand. He blinked when he saw Arya rushing toward him and heard the septâ?Ts shouts. ?oHere now, little one, hold on,? he started to say, reaching, but Arya slid between his legs and then she was running up the winding tower steps, her feet hammering on the stone while Fat Tom huffed and puffed behind her.
Her bedchamber was the only place that Arya liked in all of King?Ts Landing, and the thing she liked best about it was the door, a massive slab of dark oak with black iron bands. When she slammed that door and dropped the heavy crossbar, nobody could get into her room, not Septa Mordane or Fat Tom or Sansa or Jory or the Hound, nobody! She slammed it now.
When the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry.
She went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of all. It was all her fault, everything bad that had happened. Sansa said so, and Jeyne too.
Fat Tom was knocking on her door. ?oArya girl, what?Ts wrong?? he called out. ?oYou in there??
?oNo!? she shouted. The knocking stopped. A moment later she heard him going away. Fat Tom was always easy to fool.
Arya went to the chest at the foot of her bed. She knelt, opened the lid, and began pulling her clothes out with both hands, grabbing handfuls of silk and satin and velvet and wool and tossing them on the floor. It was there at the bottom of the chest, where shê?Td hidden it. Arya lifted it out almost tenderly and drew the slender blade from its sheath.
Needle.
She thought of Mycah again and her eyes filled with tears. Her fault, her fault, her fault. If she had never asked him to play at swords with her...
There was a pounding at her door, louder than before. ?~Arya Stark, you open this door at once, do you hear me??
Arya spun around, with Needle in her hand. ?oYou better not come in here!? she warned. She slashed at the air savagely.
?oThe Hand will hear of this!? Septa Mordane raged.
?oI don?Tt care,? Arya screamed. ?oGo away.?
?oYou will rue this insolent behavior, young lady, I promise you that.?
Arya listened at the door until she heard the sound of the septâ?Ts receding footsteps.

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they?Td return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn?Tt feel so alone.
A soft knock at the door behind her turned Arya away from the window and her dreams of escape. ?oArya,? her father?Ts voice called out. ?oOpen the door. We need to talk.?
Arya crossed the room and lifted the crossbar. Father was alone. He seemed more sad than angry. That made Arya feel even worse. ?oMay I come in?? Arya nodded, then dropped her eyes, ashamed. Father closed the door. ?oWhose sword is that??
?oMine.? Arya had almost forgotten Needle, in her hand.
?oGive it to me.?
Reluctantly Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. ?oA bravô?Ts blade,? he said. ?oYet it seems to me that I know this maker?Ts mark. This is Mikken?Ts work.?
Arya could not lie to him. She lowered her eyes.
Lord Eddard Stark sighed. ?oMy nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this??
Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father.
After a while, Father said, ?oI don?Tt suppose it matters, truly.? He looked down gravely at the sword in his hands. ?oThis is no toy for children, least of all for a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords??
?oI wasn?Tt playing,? Arya insisted. ?oI hate Septa Mordane.?
?oThat?Ts enough.? Her father?Ts voice was curt and hard. ?oThe septa is doing no more than is her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.?
?oI don?Tt want to be a lady!? Arya flared.
?oI ought to snap this toy across my knee here and now, and put an end to this nonsense.?
?oNeedle wouldn?Tt break,? Arya said defiantly, but her voice betrayed her words.
?oIt has a name, does it?? Her father sighed. ?oAh, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. ?~The wolf blood,?T my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.? Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. ?oLyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.?
?oLyanna was beautiful,? Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya.
?oShe was,? Eddard Stark agreed, ?obeautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.? He lifted the sword, held it out between them. ?oArya, what did you think to do with this... Needle? Who did you hope to skewer? Your sister? Septa Mordane? Do you know the first thing about sword fighting??
All she could think of was the lesson Jon had given her. ?oStick them with the pointy end,? she blurted out.
Her father snorted back laughter. ?oThat is the essence of it, I suppose.?
Arya desperately wanted to explain, to make him see. ?oI was trying to learn, but...? Her eyes filled with tears. ?oI asked Mycah to practice with me.? The grief came on her all at once. She turned away, shaking. ?oI asked him,? she cried. ?oIt was my fault, it was me...?
Suddenly her father?Ts arms were around her. He held her gently as she turned to him and sobbed against his chest. ?oNo, sweet one,? he murmured. ?oGrieve for your friend, but never blame yourself. You did not kill the butcher?Ts boy. That murder lies at the Hound?Ts door, him and the cruel woman he serves.?
?oI hate them,? Arya confided, red-faced, sniffling. ?oThe Hound and the queen and the king and Prince Joffrey. I hate all of them. Joffrey lied, it wasn?Tt the way he said. I hate Sansa too. She did remember, she just lied so Joffrey would like her.?
?oWe all lie,? her father said. ?oOr did you truly think I?Td believe that Nymeria ran off??
Arya blushed guiltily. ?oJory promised not to tell.?
?oJory kept his word,? her father said with a smile. ?oThere are some things I do not need to be told. Even a blind man could see that wolf would never have left you willingly.?
?oWe had to throw rocks,? she said miserably. ?oI told her to run, to go be free, that I didn?Tt want her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so shê?Td have deer to hunt. Only she kept following, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at me and I felt so ?~shamed, but it was right, wasn?Tt it? The queen would have killed her.?
?oIt was right,? her father said. ?oAnd even the lie was... not without honor.? Hê?Td put Needle aside when he went to Arya to embrace her. Now he took the blade up again and walked to the window, where he stood for a moment, looking out across the courtyard. When he turned back, his eyes were thoughtful. He seated himself on the window seat, Needle across his lap. ?oArya, sit down. I need to try and explain some things to you.?
She perched anxiously on the edge of her bed. ?oYou are too young to be burdened with all my cares,? he told her, ?obut you are also a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words.?
?oWinter is coming,? Arya whispered.
?oThe hard cruel times,? her father said. ?oWe tasted them on the Trident, child, and when Bran fell. You were born in the long summer, sweet one, you?Tve never known anything else, but now the winter is truly coming. Remember the sigil of our House, Arya.?
?oThe direwolf,? she said, thinking of Nymeria. She hugged her knees against her chest, suddenly afraid.
?oLet me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa... Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you... and I need both of you, gods help me.?
He sounded so tired that it made Arya sad. ?oI don?Tt hate Sansa,? she told him. ?oNot truly.? It was only half a lie.
?oI do not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have
come to a dark dangerous place, child. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war among ourselves. This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience... at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up.?
?oI will,? Arya vowed. She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant. ?oI can be strong too. I can be as strong as Robb.?
He held Needle out to her, hilt first. ?oHere.?
She looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes. For a moment she was afraid to touch it, afraid that if she reached for it it would be snatched away again, but then her father said, ?oGo on, it?Ts yours,? and she took it in her hand.
?oI can keep it?? she said. ?oFor true??
?oFor true.? He smiled. ?oIf I took it away, no doubt I?Td find a morningstar hidden under your pillow within the fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation.?
?oI won?Tt. I promise.? Arya clutched Needle tightly to her chest as her father took his leave.
The next morning, as they broke their fast, she apologized to Septa Mordane and asked for her pardon. The septa peered at her suspiciously, but Father nodded.
Three days later, at midday, her father?Ts steward Vayon Poole sent Arya to the Small Hall. The trestle tables had been dismantled and the benches shoved against the walls. The hall seemed empty, until an unfamiliar voice said, ?oYou are late, boy.? A slight man with a bald head and a great beak of a nose stepped out of the shadows, holding a pair of slender wooden swords. ?oTomorrow you will be here at midday.? He had an accent, the lilt of the Free Cities, Braavos perhaps, or Myr.
?oWho are you?? Arya asked.
?oI am your dancing master.? He tossed her one of the wooden blades. She grabbed for it, missed, and heard it clatter to the floor. ?oTomorrow you will catch it. Now pick it up.?
It was not just a stick, but a true wooden sword complete with grip and guard and pommel. Arya picked it up and clutched it nervously with both hands, holding it out in front of her. It was heavier than it looked, much heavier than Needle.
The bald man clicked his teeth together. ?oThat is not the way, boy. This is not a greatsword that is needing two hands to swing it. You will take the blade in one hand.?
?oIt?Ts too heavy,? Arya said.
?oIt is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong, and for the balancing. A hollow inside is filled with lead, just so. One hand now is all that is needing.?
Arya took her right hand off the grip and wiped her sweaty palm on her pants. She held the sword in her left hand. He seemed to approve. ?oThe left is good. All is reversed, it will make your enemies more awkward. Now you are standing wrong. Turn your body sideface, yes, so. You are skinny as the shaft of a spear, do you know. That is good too, the target is smaller. Now the grip. Let me see.? He moved closer and peered at her hand, prying her fingers apart, rearranging them. ?oJust so, yes. Do not squeeze it so tight, no, the grip must be deft, delicate.?
?oWhat if I drop it?? Arya said.
?oThe steel must be part of your arm,? the bald man told her. ?oCan you drop part of your arm? No. Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos, he knows these things. Listen to him, boy.?
It was the third time he had called her ?oboy.? ?oI?Tm a girl,? Arya objec-ted.
?oBoy, girl,? Syrio Forel said. ?oYou are a sword, that is all.? He clicked his teeth together. ?oJust so, that is the grip. You are not holding a battle-axe, you are holding a-?
?o---needle,? Arya finished for him, fiercely.
?oJust so. Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the iron dance of Westeros we are learning, the knight?Ts dance, hacking and hammering, no. This is the bravô?Ts dance, the water dance, swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? When you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die.? He took a step backward, raised his own wooden blade. ?oNow you will try to strike me.?
Arya tried to strike him. She tried for four hours, until every muscle in her body was sore and aching, while Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together and told her what to do.
The next day their real work began.

Được Pagan sửa chữa / chuyển vào 18:28 ngày 18/08/2007

Chapter 23
Daenerys​

?oThe Dothraki sea,? Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge. Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought. Past here, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees nor cities nor roads, only the endless grasses, the tall blades rippling like waves when the winds blew. ?oIt?Ts so green,? she said.
?oHere and now,? Ser Jorah agreed. ?oYou ought to see it when it blooms, all dark red flowers from horizon to horizon, like a sea of blood. Come the dry season, and the world turns the color of old bronze. And this is only hranna, child. There are a hundred kinds of grass out there, grasses as yellow as lemon and as dark as indigo, blue grasses and orange grasses and grasses like rainbows. Down in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are oceans of ghost grass, taller than a man on horseback with stalks as pale as milkglass. It murders all other grass and glows in the dark with the spirits of the damned. The Dothraki claim that someday ghost grass will cover the entire world, and then all life will end.?
That thought gave Dany the shivers. ?oI don?Tt want to talk about that now,? she said. ?oIt?Ts so beautiful here, I don?Tt want to think about everything dying.?
?oAs you will, Khaleesi,? Ser Jorah said respectfully.
She heard the sound of voices and turned to look behind her. She and Mormont had outdistanced the rest of their party, and now the others were climbing the ridge below them. Her handmaid Irri and the young archers of her khas were fluid as centaurs, but Viserys still struggled with the short stirrups and the flat saddle. Her brother was miserable out here. He ought never have come. Magister Illyrio had urged him to wait in Pentos, had offered him the hospitality of his manse, but Viserys would have none of it. He would stay with Drogo until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had been promised. ?oAnd if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to wake the dragon,? Viserys had vowed, laying a hand on his borrowed sword. Illyrio had blinked at that and wished him good fortune.
Dany realized that she did not want to listen to any of her brother?Ts complaints right now. The day was too perfect. The sky was a deep blue, and high above them a hunting hawk circled. The grass sea swayed and sighed with each breath of wind, the air was warm on her face, and Dany felt at peace. She would not let Viserys spoil it.
?oWait here,? Dany told Ser Jorah. ?oTell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.?
The knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. ?oYou are learning to talk like a queen, Daenerys.?
?oNot a queen,? said Dany. ?oA khaleesi. ?o She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone.
The descent was steep and rocky, but Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart. All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one.
At first it had not come easy. The khalasar had broken camp the morning after her wedding, moving east toward Vaes Dothrak, and by the third day Dany thought she was going to die. Saddle sores opened on her bottom, hideous and bloody. Her thighs were chafed raw, her hands blistered from the reins, the muscles of her legs and back so wracked with pain that she could scarcely sit. By the time dusk fell, her handmaids would need to help her down from her mount.
Even the nights brought no relief. Khal Drogo ignored her when they rode, even as he had ignored her during their wedding, and spent his evenings drinking with his warriors and bloodriders, racing his prize horses, watching women dance and men die. Dany had no place in these parts of his life. She was left *****p alone, or with Ser Jorah and her brother, and afterward to cry herself to sleep. Yet every night, some time before the dawn, Drogo would come to her tent and wake her in the dark, to ride her as relentlessly as he rode his stallion. He always took her from behind, Dothraki fashion, for which Dany was grateful; that way her lord husband could not see the tears that wet her face, and she could use her pillow to muffle her cries of pain. When he was done, he would close his eyes and begin to snore softly and Dany would lie beside him, her body bruised and sore, hurting too much for sleep.
Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night...
Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her, She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.
And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. ?oKhaleesi, ?o Jhiqui said, ?owhat is wrong? Are you sick??
?oI was,? she answered, standing over the dragon?Ts eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shelf. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers... or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously.
From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.
The khal had commanded the handmaid Irri to teach Dany to ride in the Dothraki fashion, but it was the filly who was her real teacher. The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind. With every passing day, Dany felt surer in her seat. The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much.
As the riding became less an ordeal, Dany began to notice the beauties of the land around her. She rode at the head of the khalasar with Drogo and his bloodriders, so she came to each country fresh and unspoiled. Behind them the great horde might tear the earth and muddy the rivers and send up clouds of choking dust, but the fields ahead of them were always green and verdant.
They crossed the rolling hills of Norvos, past terraced farms and small villages where the townsfolk watched anxiously from atop white stucco walls. They forded three wide placid rivers and a fourth that was swift and narrow and treacherous, camped beside a high blue waterfall, skirted the tumbled ruins of a vast dead city where ghosts were said to moan among blackened marble columns. They raced down Valyrian roads a thousand years old and straight as a Dothraki arrow. For half a moon, they rode through the Forest of Qohor, where the leaves made a golden canopy high above them, and the trunks of the trees were as wide as city gates. There were great elk in that wood, and spotted tigers, and lemurs with silver fur and huge purple eyes, but all fled before the approach of the khalasar and Dany got no glimpse of them.
By then her agony was a fading memory. She still ached after a long day?Ts riding, yet somehow the pain had a sweetness to it now, and each morning she came willingly to her saddle, eager to know what wonders waited for her in the lands ahead. She began to find pleasure even in her nights, and if she still cried out when Drogo took her, it was not always in pain.
At the bottom of the ridge, the grasses rose around her, tall and supple. Dany slowed to a trot and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the green, blessedly alone. In the khalasar she was never alone. Khal Drogo came to her only after the sun went down, but her handmaids fed her and bathed her and slept by the door of her tent, Drogô?Ts bloodriders and the men of her khas were never far, and her brother was an unwelcome shadow, day and night. Dany could hear him on the top of the ridge, his voice shrill with anger as he shouted at Ser Jorah. She rode on, submerging herself deeper in the Dothraki sea.
The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany?Ts sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. She had a sudden urge to feel the ground beneath her, to curl her toes in that thick black soil. Swinging down from her saddle, she let the silver graze while she pulled off her high boots.
Viserys came upon her as sudden as a summer storm, his horse rearing beneath him as he reined up too hard. ?oYou dare!? he screamed at her. ?oYou give commands to me? To me?? He vaulted off the horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled back to his feet. He grabbed her, shook her. ?oHave you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!?
Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.
He was still screaming. ?oYou do not command the dragon. Do you understand? I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some horselord?Ts slut, do you hear me?? His hand went under her vest, his fingers digging painfully into her breast. ?oDo you hear me??
Dany shoved him away, hard.
Viserys stared at her, his lilac eyes incredulous. She had never defied him. Never fought back. Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that.
Crack.
The whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Viserys around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking. The Dothraki riders hooted at him as he struggled to free himself. The one with the whip, young Jhogo, rasped a question. Dany did not understand his words, but by then Irri was there, and Ser Jorah, and the rest of her khas. ?oJhogo asks if you would have him dead, Khaleesi, ?o Irri said.
?oNo,? Dany replied. ?oNo.?
Jhogo understood that. One of the others barked out a comment, and the Dothraki laughed. Irri told her, ?oQuaro thinks you should take an ear to teach him respect.?
Her brother was on his knees, his fingers digging under the leather coils, crying incoherently, struggling for breath. The whip was tight around his windpipe.
?oTell them I do not wish him harmed,? Dany said.
Irri repeated her words in Dothraki. Jhogo gave a pull on the whip, yanking Viserys around like a puppet on a string. He went sprawling again, freed from the leather embrace, a thin line of blood under his chin where the whip had cut deep.
?oI warned him what would happen, my lady,? Ser Jorah Mormont said. ?oI told him to stay on the ridge, as you commanded.?
?oI know you did,? Dany replied, watching Viserys. He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been.
?oTake his horse,? Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came. ?oLet my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.? Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride. ?oLet everyone see him as he is.?
?oNo!? Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the Common Tongue with words the horsemen would not understand. ?oHit her, Mormont. Hurt her. Your king commands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.?
The exile knight looked from Dany to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her toes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Dany could see the decision on his face. ?oHe shall walk, Khaleesi,? he said. He took her brother?Ts horse in hand while Dany remounted her silver.
Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. ?oWill he find his way back?? she asked Ser Jorah as they rode.
?oEven a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,? he replied.
?oHe is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.?
Jorah laughed. ?oWhere else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar will most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Dothraki sea, child.?

Dany saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they had come from. These plains were a part of them... and of her, now.
?oI hit him,? she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like some strange dream that she had dreamed. ?oSer Jorah, do you think... hê?Tll be so angry when he gets back She shivered. ?oI woke the dragon, didn?Tt I??
Ser Jorah snorted. ?oCan you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake.?
His blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she had always believed were suddenly called into question. ?oYou... you swore him your sword...?
?oThat I did, girl,? Ser Jorah said. ?oAnd if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?? His voice was bitter.
?oHe is still the true king. He is...?
Jorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. ?oTruth now. Would you want to see Viserys sit a throne??
Dany thought about that. ?oHe would not be a very good king, would he??
?oThere have been worse... but not many.? The knight gave his heels to his mount and started off again.
Dany rode close beside him. ?oStill,? she said, ?othe common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return from across the narrow sea to free them.?
?oThe common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,? Ser Jorah told her. ?oIt is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.? He gave a shrug. ?oThey never are.?
Dany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against everything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little whether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah?Ts words, the more they rang of truth.
?oWhat do you pray for, Ser Jorah?? she asked him.
?oHome,? he said. His voice was thick with longing.
?oI pray for home too,? she told him, believing it.
Ser Jorah laughed. ?oLook around you then, Khaleesi.?
But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King?Ts Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind?Ts eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind?Ts eye, all the doors were red.
?oMy brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,? Dany said. She had known that for a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the world to hear.
Ser Jorah gave her a measuring look. ?oYou think not.?
?oHe could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,? Dany said. ?oHe has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.?
?oWise child.? The knight smiled.
?oI am no child,? she told him fiercely. Her heels pressed into the sides of her mount, rousing the silver to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Jorah and Irri and the others far behind, the warm wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the time she reached the khalasar, it was dusk.
The slaves had erected her tent by the shore of a spring-fed pool. She could hear rough voices from the woven grass palace on the hill. Soon there would be laughter, when the men of her khas told the story of what had happened in the grasses today. By the time Viserys came limping back among them, every man, woman, and child in the camp would know him for a walker. There were no secrets in the khalasar.
Dany gave the silver over to the slaves for grooming and entered her tent. It was cool and dim beneath the silk. As she let the door flap close behind her, Dany saw a finger of dusty red light reach out to touch her dragon?Ts eggs across the tent. For an instant a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were gone.
Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. ?oThe sun,? Dany whispered. ?oThe sun warmed them as they rode.?
She commanded her handmaids to prepare her a bath. Doreah built a fire outside the tent, while Irri and Jhiqui fetched the big copper tub-another bride gift-from the packhorses and carried water from the pool. When the bath was steaming, Irri helped her into it and climbed in after her.
?oHave you ever seen a dragon?? she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.
?oDragons are gone, Khaleesi,? Irri said.
?oDead,? agreed Jhiqui. ?oLong and long ago.?
Viserys had told her that the last Targaryen dragons had died no more than a century and a half ago, during the reign of Aegon III, who was called the Dragonbane. That did not seem so long ago to Dany. ?oEverywhere?? she said, disappointed. ?oEven in the east?? Magic had died in the west when the Doom fell on Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer, and neither spell-forged steel nor stormsingers nor dragons could hold it back, but Dany had always heard that the east was different. It was said that manticores prowled the islands of the Jade Sea, that basilisks infested the jungles of Yi Ti, that spellsingers, warlocks, and aeromancers practiced their arts openly in Asshai, while shadowbinders and bloodmages worked terrible sorceries in the black of night. Why shouldn?Tt there be dragons too?
?oNo dragon,? Irri said. ?oBrave men kill them, for dragon terrible evil beasts. It is known.?
?oIt is known,? agreed Jhiqui.
?oA trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon,? blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father?Ts khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys.
Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. ?oThe moon??
?oHe told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,? the Lysene girl said. ?oOnce there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return.?
The two Dothraki girls giggled and laughed. ?oYou are foolish strawhead slave,? Irri said. ?oMoon is no egg. Moon is god, woman wife of sun. It is known.?
?oIt is known,? Jhiqui agreed.
Dany?Ts skin was flushed and pink when she climbed from the tub. Jhiqui laid her down to oil her body and scrape the dirt from her pores. Afterward Irri sprinkled her with spiceflower and cinnamon. While Doreah brushed her hair until it shone like spun silver, she thought about the moon, and eggs, and dragons.
Her supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and fry bread, with a jug of honeyed wine to wash it down. ?oDoreah, stay and eat with me,? Dany commanded when she sent her other handmaids away. The Lysene girl had hair the color of honey, and eyes like the summer sky.
She lowered those eyes when they were alone. ?oYou honor me, Khaleesi, ?o she said, but it was no honor, only service. Long after the moon had risen, they sat together, talking.
That night, when Khal Drogo came, Dany was waiting for him. He stood in the door of her tent and looked at her with surprise. She rose slowly and opened her sleeping silks and let them fall to the ground. ?oThis night we must go outside, my lord,? she told him, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man?Ts life must be done beneath the open sky.
Khal Drogo followed her out into the moonlight, the bells in his hair tinkling softly. A few yards from her tent was a bed of soft grass, and it was there that Dany drew him down. When he tried to turn her over, she put a hand on his chest. ?oNo,? she said. ?oThis night I would look on your face.?
There is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Dany felt the eyes on her as she undressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things that Doreah had told her to do. It was nothing to her. Was she not khaleesi? His were the only eyes that mattered, and when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as ever she had ridden her silver, and when the moment of his pleasure came, Khal Drogo called out her name.
They were on the far side of the Dothraki sea when Jhiqui brushed the soft swell of Dany?Ts stomach with her fingers and said, ?oKhaleesi, you are with child.?
?oI know,? Dany told her.
It was her fourteenth name day.