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

Chapter 39
Eddard​

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood.
In the dream his friends rode with him, as they had in life. Proud Martyn Cassel, Jory?Ts father; faithful Theo Wull; Ethan Glover, who had been Brandon?Ts squire; Ser Mark Ryswell, soft of speech and gentle of heart; the crannogman, Howland Reed; Lord Dustin on his great red stallion. Ned had known their faces as well as he knew his own once, but the years leech at a man?Ts memories, even those he has vowed never to forget. In the dream they were only shadows, grey wraiths on horses made of mist.
They were seven, facing three. In the dream as it had been in life. Yet these were no ordinary three. They waited before the round tower, the red mountains of Dorne at their backs, their white cloaks blowing in the wind. And these were no shadows; their faces burned clear, even now. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a sad smile on his lips. The hilt of the greatsword Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. Ser Oswell Whent was on one knee, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Across his white-enameled helm, the black bat of his House spread its wings. Between them stood fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
?oI looked for you on the Trident,? Ned said to them.
?oWe were not there,? Ser Gerold answered.
?oWoe to the Usurper if we had been,? said Ser Oswell.
?oWhen King?Ts Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.?
?oFar away,? Ser Gerold said, ?oor Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.?
?oI came down on Storm?Ts End to lift the siege,? Ned told them, ?oand the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them.?
?oOur knees do not bend easily,? said Ser Arthur Dayne.
?oSer Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.?
?oSer Willem is a good man and true,? said Ser Oswell.
?oBut not of the Kingsguard,? Ser Gerold pointed out. ?oThe Kingsguard does not flee.?
?oThen or now,? said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.
?oWe swore a vow,? explained old Ser Gerold.
Ned?Ts wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three.
?oAnd now it begins,? said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.
?oNo,? Ned said with sadness in his voice. ?oNow it ends.? As they came together in a rush of steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. ?oEddard!? she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.
?oLord Eddard,? Lyanna called again.
?oI promise,? he whispered. ?oLya, I promise...?
?oLord Eddard,? a man echoed from the dark.
Groaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of the Tower of the Hand.
?oLord Eddard?? A shadow stood over the bed.
?oHow... how long?? The sheets were tangled, his leg splinted and plastered. A dull throb of pain shot up his side.
?oSix days and seven nights.? The voice was Vayon Poolê?Ts. The steward held a cup to Ned?Ts lips. ?oDrink, my lord.?
?oWhat...?
?oOnly water. Maester Pycelle said you would be thirsty.?
Ned drank. His lips were parched and cracked. The water tasted sweet as honey.
?oThe king left orders,? Vayon Poole told him when the cup was empty. ?oHe would speak with you, my lord.?
?oOn the morrow,? Ned said. ?oWhen I am stronger.? He could not face Robert now. The dream had left him weak as a kitten.
?oMy lord,? Poole said, ?ohe commanded us to send you to him the moment you opened your eyes.? The steward busied himself lighting a bedside candle.
Ned cursed softly. Robert was never known for his patience. ?oTell him I?Tm too weak to come to him. If he wishes to speak with me, I should be pleased to receive him here. I hope you wake him from a sound sleep. And summon...? He was about to say Jory when he remembered. ?oSummon the captain of my guard.?
Alyn stepped into the bedchamber a few moments after the steward had taken his leave. ?oMy lord.?
?oPoole tells me it has been six days,? Ned said. ?oI must know how things stand.?
?oThe Kingslayer is fled the city,? Alyn told him. ?oThe talk is hê?Ts ridden back to Casterly Rock to join his father. The story of how Lady Catelyn took the Imp is on every lip. I have put on extra guards, if it please you.?
?oIt does,? Ned assured him. ?oMy daughters??
?oThey have been with you every day, my lord. Sansa prays quietly, but Arya...? He hesitated. ?oShe has not said a word since they brought you back. She is a fierce little thing, my lord. I have never seen such anger in a girl.?
?oWhatever happens,? Ned said, ?oI want my daughters kept safe. I fear this is only the beginning.?
?oNo harm will come to them, Lord Eddard,? Alyn said. ?oI stake my life on that.?
?oJory and the others...?
?oI gave them over to the silent sisters, to be sent north to Winterfell. Jory would want to lie beside his grandfather.?
It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory?Ts father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.
?oYou?Tve done well, Alyn,? Ned was saying when Vayon Poole returned. The steward bowed low. ?oHis Grace is without, my lord, and the queen with him.?
Ned pushed himself up higher, wincing as his leg trembled with pain. He had not expected Cersei to come. It did not bode well that she had. ?oSend them in, and leave us. What we have to say should not go beyond these walls.? Poole withdrew quietly.
Robert had taken time to dress. He wore a black velvet doublet with the crowned stag of Baratheon worked upon the breast in golden thread, and a golden mantle with a cloak of black and gold squares. A flagon of wine was in his hand, his face already flushed from drink. Cersei Lannister entered behind him, a jeweled tiara in her hair.
?oYour Grace,? Ned said. ?oYour pardons. I cannot rise.?
?oNo matter,? the king said gruffly. ?oSome wine? From the Arbor. A good vintage.?
?oA small cup,? Ned said. ?oMy head is still heavy from the milk of the poppy.?
?oA man in your place should count himself fortunate that his head is still on his shoulders,? the queen declared.
?oQuiet, woman,? Robert snapped. He brought Ned a cup of wine. ?oDoes the leg still pain you??
?oSome,? Ned said. His head was swimming, but it would not do to admit to weakness in front of the queen.
?oPycelle swears it will heal clean.? Robert frowned. ?oI take it you know what Catelyn has done??
?oI do.? Ned took a small swallow of wine. ?oMy lady wife is blameless, Your Grace. All she did she did at my command.?
?oI am not pleased, Ned,? Robert grumbled.
?oBy what right do you dare lay hands on my blood?? Cersei demanded. ?oWho do you think you are??
?oThe Hand of the King,? Ned told her with icy courtesy. ?oCharged by your own lord husband to keep the king?Ts peace and enforce the king?Ts justice.?
?oYou were the Hand,? Cersei began, ?obut now-?
?oSilence!? the king roared. ?oYou asked him a question and he answered it.? Cersei subsided, cold with anger, and Robert turned back to Ned. ?oKeep the king?Ts peace, you say. Is this how you keep my peace, Ned? Seven men are dead...?
?oEight,? the queen corrected. ?oTregar died this morning, of the blow Lord Stark gave him.?
?oAbductions on the kingsroad and drunken slaughter in my streets,? the king said. ?oI will not have it, Ned.?
?oCatelyn had good reason for taking the Imp-?
?oI said, I will not have it! To hell with her reasons. You will command her to release the dwarf at once, and you will make your peace with Jaime.?
?oThree of my men were butchered before my eyes, because Jaime Lannister wished to chasten me. Am I to forget that??
?oMy brother was not the cause of this quarrel,? Cersei told the king. ?oLord Stark was returning drunk from a brothel. His men attacked Jaime and his guards, even as his wife attacked Tyrion on the kingsroad.?
?oYou know me better than that, Robert,? Ned said. ?oAsk Lord Baelish if you doubt me. He was there.?
?oI?Tve talked to Littlefinger,? Robert said. ?oHe claims he rode off to bring the gold cloaks before the fighting began, but he admits you were returning from some whorehouse.?
?oSome whorehouse? Damn your eyes, Robert, I went there to have a look at your daughter! Her mother has named her Barra. She looks like that first girl you fathered, when we were boys together in the Vale.? He watched the queen as he spoke; her face was a mask, still and pale, betraying nothing.
Robert flushed. ?oBarra,? he grumbled. ?oIs that supposed to please me? Damn the girl. I thought she had more sense.?
?oShe cannot be more than fifteen, and a whore, and you thought she had sense?? Ned said, incredulous. His leg was beginning to pain him sorely. It was hard to keep his temper. ?oThe fool child is in love with you, Robert.?
The king glanced at Cersei. ?oThis is no fit subject for the queen?Ts ears.?
?oHer Grace will have no liking for anything I have to say,? Ned replied. ?oI am told the Kingslayer has fled the city. Give me leave to bring him back to justice.?
The king swirled the wine in his cup, brooding. He took a swallow. ?oNo,? he said. ?oI want no more of this. Jaime slew three of your men, and you five of his. Now it ends.?
?oIs that your notion of justice?? Ned flared. ?oIf so, I am pleased that I am no longer your Hand.?
The queen looked to her husband. ?oIf any man had dared speak to a Targaryen as he has spoken to you-?
?oDo you take me for Aerys?? Robert interrupted.
?oI took you for a king. Jaime and Tyrion are your own brothers, by all the laws of marriage and the bonds we share. The Starks have driven off the one and seized the other. This man dishonors you with every breath he takes, and yet you stand there meekly, asking if his leg pains him and would he like some wine.?
Robert?Ts face was dark with anger. ?oHow many times must I tell you to hold your tongue, woman??
Cersei?Ts face was a study in contempt. ?oWhat a jape the gods have made of us two,? she said. ?oBy all rights, you ought to be in skirts and me in mail.?
Purple with rage, the king lashed out, a vicious backhand blow to the side of the head. She stumbled against the table and fell hard, yet Cersei Lannister did not cry out. Her slender fingers brushed her cheek, where the pale smooth skin was already reddening. On the morrow the bruise would cover half her face. ?oI shall wear this as a badge of honor,? she announced.
?oWear it in silence, or I?Tll honor you again,? Robert vowed. He shouted for a guard. Ser Meryn Trant stepped into the room, tall and somber in his white armor. ?oThe queen is tired. See her to her bedchamber.? The knight helped Cersei to her feet and led her out without a word.
Robert reached for the flagon and refilled his cup. ?oYou see what she does to me, Ned.? The king seated himself, cradling his wine cup. ?oMy loving wife. The mother of my children.? The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and scared. ?oI should not have hit her. That was not... that was not kingly.? He stared down at his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. ?oI was always strong... no one could stand before me, no one. How do you fight someone if you can?Tt hit them?? Confused, the king shook his head. ?oRhaegar... Rhaegar won, damn him. I killed him, Ned, I drove the spike right through that black armor into his black heart, and he died at my feet. They made up songs about it. Yet somehow he still won. He has Lyanna now, and I have her.? The king drained his cup.
?oYour Grace,? Ned Stark said, ?owe must talk...?
Robert pressed his fingertips against his temples. ?oI am sick unto death of talk. On the morrow I?Tm going to the kingswood to hunt. Whatever you have to say can wait until I return.?
?oIf the gods are good, I shall not be here on your return. You commanded me to return to Winterfell, remember??
Robert stood up, grasping one of the bedposts to steady himself. ?oThe gods are seldom good, Ned. Here, this is yours.? He pulled the heavy silver hand clasp from a pocket in the lining of his cloak and tossed it on the bed. ?oLike it or not, you are my Hand, damn you. I forbid you to leave.?
Ned picked up the silver clasp. He was being given no choice, it seemed. His leg throbbed, and he felt as helpless as a child. ?oThe Targaryen girl-?
The king groaned. ?oSeven hells, don?Tt start with her again. That?Ts done, I?Tll hear no more of it.?
?oWhy would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my counsel??
?oWhy?? Robert laughed. ?oWhy not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom. Put on the badge, Ned. It suits you. And if you ever throw it in my face again, I swear to you, I?Tll pin the damned thing on Jaime Lannister.?

Chapter 40
Catelyn​

The eastern sky was rose and gold as the sun broke over the Vale of Arryn. Catelyn Stark watched the light spread, her hands resting on the delicate carved stone of the balustrade outside her window. Below her the world turned from black to indigo to green as dawn crept across fields and forests. Pale white mists rose off Alyssâ?Ts Tears, where the ghost waters plunged over the shoulder of the mountain to begin their long tumble down the face of the Giant?Ts Lance. Catelyn could feel the faint touch of spray on her face.
Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died. ?oTell me the rest of it,? she said.
?oThe Kingslayer is massing a host at Casterly Rock,? Ser Rodrik Cassel answered from the room behind her. ?oYour brother writes that he has sent riders to the Rock, demanding that Lord Tywin proclaim his intent, but he has had no answer. Edmure has commanded Lord Vance and Lord Piper to guard the pass below the Golden Tooth. He vows to you that he will yield no foot of Tully land without first watering it with Lannister blood.?
Catelyn turned away from the sunrise. Its beauty did little to lighten her mood; it seemed cruel for a day to dawn so fair and end so foul as this one promised to. ?oEdmure has sent riders and made vows,? she said, ?obut Edmure is not the Lord of Riverrun. What of my lord father??
?oThe message made no mention of Lord Hoster, my lady.? Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. They had grown in white as snow and bristly as a thornbush while he was recovering from his wounds; he looked almost himself again.
?oMy father would not have given the defense of Riverrun over to Edmure unless he was very sick,? she said, worried. ?oI should have been woken as soon as this bird arrived.?
?oYour lady sister thought it better to let you sleep, Maester Colemon told me.?
?oI should have been woken,? she insisted.
?oThe maester tells me your sister planned to speak with you after the combat,? Ser Rodrik said.
?oThen she still plans to go through with this mummer?Ts farce?? Catelyn grimaced. ?oThe dwarf has played her like a set of pipes, and she is too deaf to hear the tune. Whatever happens this morning, Ser Rodrik, it is past time we took our leave. My place is at Winterfell with my sons. If you are strong enough to travel, I shall ask Lysa for an escort to see us to Gulltown. We can take ship from there.?
?oAnother ship?? Ser Rodrik looked a shade green, yet he managed not to shudder. ?oAs you say, my lady.?
The old knight waited outside her door as Catelyn summoned the servants Lysa had given her. If she spoke to her sister before the duel, perhaps she could change her mind, she thought as they dressed her. Lysâ?Ts policies varied with her moods, and her moods changed hourly. The shy girl she had known at Riverrun had grown into a woman who was by turns proud, fearful, cruel, dreamy, reckless, timid, stubborn, vain, and, above all, inconstant.
When that vile turnkey of hers had come crawling to tell them that Tyrion Lannister wished to confess, Catelyn had urged Lysa to have the dwarf brought to them privately, but no, nothing would do but that her sister must make a show of him before half the Vale. And now this...
?oLannister is my prisoner,? she told Ser Rodrik as they descended the tower stairs and made their way through the Eyriê?Ts cold white halls. Catelyn wore plain grey wool with a silvered belt. ?oMy sister must be reminded of that.?
At the doors to Lysâ?Ts apartments, they met her uncle storming out. ?oGoing to join the fool?Ts festival?? Ser Brynden snapped. ?oI?Td tell you to slap some sense into your sister, if I thought it would do any good, but you?Td only bruise your hand.?
?oThere was a bird from Riverrun,? Catelyn began, ?oa letter from Edmure...?
?oI know, child.? The black fish that fastened his cloak was Brynden?Ts only concession to ornament. ?oI had to hear it from Maester Colemon. I asked your sister for leave to take a thousand seasoned men and ride for Riverrun with all haste. Do you know what she told me? The Vale cannot spare a thousand swords, nor even one, Uncle, she said. You are the Knight of the Gate. Your place is here.? A gust of childish laughter drifted through the open doors behind him, and her uncle glanced darkly over his shoulder. ?oWell, I told her she could bloody well find herself a new Knight of the Gate. Black fish or no, I am still a Tully. I shall leave for Riverrun by evenfall.?
Catelyn could not pretend *****rprise. ?oAlone? You know as well as I that you will never survive the high road. Ser Rodrik and I are returning to Winterfell. Come with us, Uncle. I will give you your thousand men. Riverrun will not fight alone.?
Brynden thought a moment, then nodded a brusque agreement. ?oAs you say. It?Ts the long way home, but I?Tm more like to get there. I?Tll wait for you below.? He went striding off, his cloak swirling behind him.
Catelyn exchanged a look with Ser Rodrik. They went through the doors to the high, nervous sound of a child?Ts giggles.
Lysâ?Ts apartments opened over a small garden, a circle of dirt and grass planted with blue flowers and ringed on all sides by tall white towers. The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how much soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here. So the Lords of the Eyrie planted grass and scattered statuary amidst low, flowering shrubs. It was there the two champions would meet to place their lives, and that of Tyrion Lannister, into the hands of the gods.
Lysa, freshly scrubbed and garbed in cream velvet with a rope of sapphires and moonstones around her milk-white neck, was holding court on the terrace overlooking the scene of the combat, surrounded by her knights, retainers, and lords high and low. Most of them still hoped to wed her, bed her, and rule the Vale of Arryn by her side.
From what Catelyn had seen during her stay at the Eyrie, it was a vain hope.
A wooden platform had been built to elevate Robert?Ts chair; there the Lord of the Eyrie sat, giggling and clapping his hands as a humpbacked puppeteer in blue-and-white motley made two wooden knights hack and slash at each other. Pitchers of thick cream and baskets of blackberries had been set out, and the guests were sipping a sweet orange-scented wine from engraved silver cups. A fool?Ts festival, Brynden had called it, and small wonder.
Across the terrace, Lysa laughed gaily at some jest of Lord Hunter?Ts, and nibbled a blackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbray?Ts dagger. They were the suitors who stood highest in Lysâ?Ts favor... today, at least. Catelyn would have been hard-pressed to say which man was more unsuitable. Eon Hunter was even older than Jon Arryn had been, half-crippled by gout, and cursed with three quarrelsome sons, each more grasping than the last. Ser Lyn was a different sort of folly; lean and handsome, heir to an ancient but impoverished house, but vain, reckless, hot-tempered... and, it was whispered, notoriously uninterested in the intimate charms of women.
When Lysa espied Catelyn, she welcomed her with a sisterly embrace and a moist kiss on the cheek. ?oIsn?Tt it a lovely morning? The gods are smiling on us. Do try a cup of the wine, sweet sister. Lord Hunter was kind enough to send for it, from his own cellars.?
?oThank you, no. Lysa, we must talk.?
?oAfter,? her sister promised, already beginning to turn away from her.
?oNow.? Catelyn spoke more loudly than shê?Td intended. Men were turning to look. ?oLysa, you cannot mean to go ahead with this folly. Alive, the Imp has value. Dead, he is only food for crows. And if his champion should prevail here-?
?oSmall chance of that, my lady,? Lord Hunter assured her, patting her shoulder with a liver-spotted hand. ?oSer Vardis is a doughty fighter. He will make short work of the sellsword.?
?oWill he, my lord?? Catelyn said coolly. ?oI wonder.? She had seen Bronn fight on the high road; it was no accident that he had survived the journey while other men had died. He moved like a panther, and that ugly sword of his seemed a part of his arm.
Lysâ?Ts suitors were gathering around them like bees round a blossom. ?oWomen understand little of these things,? Ser Morton Waynwood said. ?oSer Vardis is a knight, sweet lady. This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart. Useful enough in a battle, with thousands of their fellows around them, but stand them up alone and the manhood leaks right out of them.?
?oSay you have the truth of it, then,? Catelyn said with a courtesy that made her mouth ache. ?oWhat will we gain by the dwarf?Ts death? Do you imagine that Jaime will care a fig that we gave his brother a trial before we flung him off a mountain??
?oBehead the man,? Ser Lyn Corbray suggested. ?oWhen the Kingslayer receives the Imp?Ts head, it will be a warning to him.?
Lysa gave an impatient shake of her waist-long auburn hair. ?oLord Robert wants to see him fly,? she said, as if that settled the matter. ?oAnd the Imp has only himself to blame. It was he who demanded a trial by combat.?
?oLady Lysa had no honorable way to deny him, even if shê?Td wished to,? Lord Hunter intoned ponderously.
Ignoring them all, Catelyn turned all her force on her sister. ?oI remind you, Tyrion Lannister is my prisoner.?
?oAnd I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband!? Her voice rose. ?oHe poisoned the Hand of the King and left my sweet baby fatherless, and now I mean to see him pay!? Whirling, her skirts swinging around her, Lysa stalked across the terrace. Ser Lyn and Ser Morton and the other suitors excused themselves with cool nods and trailed after her.
?oDo you think he did?? Ser Rodrik asked her quietly when they were alone again. ?oMurder Lord Jon, that is? The Imp still denies it, and most fiercely...?
?oI believe the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn,? Catelyn replied, ?obut whether it was Tyrion, or Ser Jaime, or the queen, or all of them together, I could not begin to say.? Lysa had named Cersei in the letter she had sent to Winterfell, but now she seemed certain that Tyrion was the killer... perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the queen was safe behind the walls of the Red Keep, hundreds of leagues to the south. Catelyn almost wished she had burned her sister?Ts letter before reading it.
Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. ?oPoison, well... that could be the dwarf?Ts work, true enough. Or Cersei?Ts. It?Ts said poison is a woman?Ts weapon, begging your pardons, my lady. The Kingslayer, now... I have no great liking for the man, but hê?Ts not the sort. Too fond of the sight of blood on that golden sword of his. Was it poison, my lady??
Catelyn frowned, vaguely uneasy. ?oHow else could they make it look a natural death?? Behind her, Lord Robert shrieked with delight as one of the puppet knights sliced the other in half, spilling a flood of red sawdust onto the terrace. She glanced at her nephew and sighed. ?oThe boy is utterly without discipline. He will never be strong enough to rule unless he is taken away from his mother for a time.?
?oHis lord father agreed with you,? said a voice at her elbow. She turned to behold Maester Colemon, a cup of wine in his hand. ?oHe was planning to send the boy to Dragonstone for fostering, you know... oh, but I?Tm speaking out of turn.? The apple of his throat bobbed anxiously beneath the loose maester?Ts chain. ?oI fear I?Tve had too much of Lord Hunter?Ts excellent wine. The prospect of bloodshed has my nerves all a-fray...?
?oYou are mistaken, Maester,? Catelyn said. ?oIt was Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone, and those arrangements were made after the Hand?Ts death, without my sister?Ts consent.?
The maester?Ts head jerked so vigorously at the end of his absurdly long neck that he looked half a puppet himself. ?oNo, begging your forgiveness, my lady, but it was Lord Jon who-?
A bell tolled loudly below them. High lords and serving girls alike broke off what they were doing and moved to the balustrade. Below, two guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks led forth Tyrion Lannister. The Eyriê?Ts plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa.
?oThe bad little man,? Lord Robert said, giggling. ?oMother, can I make him fly? I want to see him fly.?
?oLater, my sweet baby,? Lysa promised him.
?oTrial first,? drawled Ser Lyn Corbray, ?othen execution.?
A moment later the two champions appeared from opposite sides of the garden. The knight was attended by two young squires, the sellsword by the Eyriê?Ts master-at-arms.
Ser Vardis Egen was steel from head to heel, encased in heavy plate armor over mail and padded surcoat. Large circular rondels, enameled cream-and-blue in the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, protected the vulnerable juncture of arm and breast. A skirt of lobstered metal covered him from waist to midthigh, while a solid gorget encircled his throat. Falcon?Ts wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a pointed metal beak with a narrow slit for vision.
Bronn was so lightly armored he looked almost naked beside the knight. He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round steel halfhelm with a noseguard, and a mail coif. High leather boots with steel shinguards gave some protection to his legs, and discs of black iron were sewn into the fingers of his gloves. Yet Catelyn noted that the sellsword stood half a hand taller than his foe, with a longer reach... and Bronn was fifteen years younger, if she was any judge.
They knelt in the grass beneath the weeping woman, facing each other, with Lannister between them. The septon removed a faceted crystal sphere from the soft cloth bag at his waist. He lifted it high above his head, and the light shattered. Rainbows danced across the Imp?Ts face. In a high, solemn, singsong voice, the septon asked the gods to look down and bear witness, to find the truth in this man?Ts soul, to grant him life and freedom if he was innocent, death if he was guilty. His voice echoed off the surrounding towers.

When the last echo had died away, the septon lowered his crystal and made a hasty departure. Tyrion leaned over and whispered something in Bronn?Ts ear before the guardsmen led him away. The sellsword rose laughing and brushed a blade of grass from his knee.
Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, was fidgeting impatiently in his elevated chair. ?oWhen are they going to fight?? he asked plaintively.
Ser Vardis was helped back to his feet by one of his squires. The other brought him a triangular shield almost four feet tall, heavy oak dotted with iron studs. They strapped it to his left forearm. When Lysâ?Ts master-at-arms offered Bronn a similar shield, the sellsword spat and waved it away. Three days growth of coarse black beard covered his jaw and cheeks, but if he did not shave it was not for want of a razor; the edge of his sword had the dangerous glimmer of steel that had been honed every day for hours, until it was too sharp to touch.
Ser Vardis held out a gauntleted hand, and his squire placed a handsome double-edged longsword in his grasp. The blade was engraved with a delicate silver tracery of a mountain sky; its pommel was a falcon?Ts head, its crossguard fashioned into the shape of wings. ?oI had that sword crafted for Jon in King?Ts Landing,? Lysa told her guests proudly as they watched Ser Vardis try a practice cut. ?oHe wore it whenever he sat the Iron Throne in King Robert?Ts place. Isn?Tt it a lovely thing? I thought it only fitting that our champion avenge Jon with his own blade.?
The engraved silver blade was beautiful beyond a doubt, but it seemed to Catelyn that Ser Vardis might have been more comfortable with his own sword. Yet she said nothing; she was weary of futile arguments with her sister.
?oMake them fight!? Lord Robert called out.
Ser Vardis faced the Lord of the Eyrie and lifted his sword in salute. ?oFor the Eyrie and the Vale!?
Tyrion Lannister had been seated on a balcony across the garden, flanked by his guards. It was to him that Bronn turned with a cursory salute.
?oThey await your command,? Lady Lysa said to her lord son.
?oFight!? the boy screamed, his arms trembling as they clutched at his chair.
Ser Vardis swiveled, bringing up his heavy shield. Bronn turned to face him. Their swords rang together, once, twice, a testing. The sellsword backed off a step. The knight came after, holding his shield before him. He tried a slash, but Bronn jerked back, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Bronn circled to his right. Ser Vardis turned to follow, keeping his shield between them. The knight pressed forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The sellsword gave way, a faint smile playing over his lips. Ser Vardis attacked, slashing, but Bronn leapt away from him, hopping lightly over a low, moss-covered stone. Now the sellsword circled left, away from the shield, toward the knight?Ts unprotected side. Ser Vardis tried a hack at his legs, but he did not have the reach. Bronn danced farther to his left. Ser Vardis turned in place.
?oThe man is craven,? Lord Hunter declared. ?oStand and fight, coward!? Other voices echoed the sentiment.
Catelyn looked to Ser Rodrik. Her master-at-arms gave a curt shake of his head. ?oHe wants to make Ser Vardis chase him. The weight of armor and shield will tire even the strongest man.?
She had seen men practice at their swordplay near every day of her life, had viewed half a hundred tourneys in her time, but this was something different and deadlier: a dance where the smallest misstep meant death. And as she watched, the memory of another duel in another time came back to Catelyn Stark, as vivid as if it had been yesterday.
They met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only helm and breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor. Petyr had begged her for a favor he might wear, but she had turned him away. Her lord father promised her to Brandon Stark, and so it was to him that she gave her token, a pale blue handscarf she had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun. As she pressed it into his hand, she pleaded with him. ?oHe is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die.? And her betrothed looked at her with the cool grey eyes of a Stark and promised to spare the boy who loved her.
That fight was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon was a man grown, and he drove Littlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds.
?oYield!? he called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly. When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that bit through Petyr?Ts rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell and murmured ?oCat? as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers. She thought she had forgotten that.
That was the last time she had seen his face... until the day she was brought before him in King?Ts Landing.
A fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord father forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed. Lysa helped their maester nurse him; she had been softer and shyer in those days. Edmure had called on him as well, but Petyr had sent him away. Her brother had acted as Brandon?Ts squire at the duel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that. As soon as he was strong enough to be moved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a closed litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where hê?Td been born.
The ringing clash of steel on steel jarred Catelyn back to the present. Ser Vardis was coming hard at Bronn, driving into him with shield and sword. The sellsword scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe. He was quicker, Catelyn saw; the knight?Ts silvered sword never came near to touching him, but his own ugly grey blade hacked a notch from Ser Vardis?Ts shoulder plate.
The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Bronn sidestepped and slid behind the statue of the weeping woman. Ser Vardis lunged at where he had been, striking a spark off the pate marble of Alyssâ?Ts thigh.
?oThey?Tre not fighting good, Mother,? the Lord of the Eyrie complained. ?oI want them to fight.?
?oThey will, sweet baby,? his mother soothed him. ?oThe sellsword can?Tt run all day.?
Some of the lords on Lysâ?Ts terrace were making wry jests as they refilled their wine cups, but across the garden, Tyrion Lannister?Ts mismatched eyes watched the champions dance as if there were nothing else in the world.
Bronn came out from behind the statue hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-handed cut at the knight?Ts unshielded right side. Ser Vardis blocked, but clumsily, and the sellsword?Ts blade flashed upward at his head. Metal rang, and a falcon?Ts wing collapsed with a crunch. Ser Vardis took a half step back to brace himself, raised his shield. Oak chips flew as Bronn?Ts sword hacked at the wooden wall. The sellsword stepped left again, away from the shield, and caught Ser Vardis across the stomach, the razor edge of his blade leaving a bright gash when it bit into the knight?Ts plate.
Ser Vardis drove forward off his back foot, his own silver blade descending in a savage arc. Bronn slammed it aside and danced away. The knight crashed into the weeping woman, rocking her on her plinth. Staggered, he stepped backward, his head turning this way and that as he searched for his foe. The slit visor of his helm narrowed his vision.
?oBehind you, ser!? Lord Hunter shouted, too late. Bronn brought his sword down with both hands, catching Ser Vardis in the elbow of his sword arm. The thin lobstered metal that protected the joint crunched. The knight grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up. This time Bronn stood his ground. The swords flew at each other, and their steel song filled the garden and rang off the white towers of the Eyrie.
?oSer Vardis is hurt,? Ser Rodrik said, his voice grave.
Catelyn did not need to be told; she had eyes, she could see the bright finger of blood running along the knight?Ts forearm, the wetness inside the elbow joint. Every parry was a little slower and a little lower than the one before. Ser Vardis turned his side to his foe, trying to use his shield to block instead, but Bronn slid around him, quick as a cat. The sellsword seemed to be getting stronger. His cuts were leaving their marks now. Deep shiny gashes gleamed all over the knight?Ts armor, on his right thigh, his beaked visor, crossing on his breastplate, a long one along the front of his gorget. The moon-and-falcon rondel over Ser Vardis?Ts right arm was sheared clean in half, hanging by its strap. They could hear his labored breath, rattling through the air holes in his visor.
Blind with arrogance as they were, even the knights and lords of the Vale could see what was happening below them, yet her sister could not. ?oEnough, Ser Vardis!? Lady Lysa called down. ?oFinish him now, my baby is growing tired.?
And it must be said of Ser Vardis Egen that he was true to his lady?Ts command, even to the last. One moment he was reeling backward, half-crouched behind his scarred shield; the next he charged. The sudden bull rush caught Bronn off balance. Ser Vardis crashed into him and slammed the lip of his shield into the sellsword?Ts face. Almost, almost, Bronn lost his feet... he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance.
Throwing aside his shield, Ser Vardis lurched after him, using both hands to raise his sword. His right arm was blood from elbow to fingers now, yet his last desperate blow would have opened Bronn from neck to navel... if the sellsword had stood to receive it.
But Bronn jerked back. Jon Arryn?Ts beautiful engraved silver sword glanced off the marble elbow of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the statuê?Ts back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser Vardis Egen went down beneath her.
Bronn was on him in a heartbeat, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the weak spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was lying on his side, pinned beneath the broken torso of the weeping woman. Catelyn heard the knight groan as the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down and in with all his weight behind it, under the arm and through the ribs. Ser Vardis Egen shuddered and lay still.
Silence hung over the Eyrie. Bronn yanked off his halfhelm and let it fall to the grass. His lip was smashed and bloody where the shield had caught him, and his coal-black hair was soaked with sweat. He spit out a broken tooth.
?oIs it over, Mother?? the Lord of the Eyrie asked.
No, Catelyn wanted to tell him, it?Ts only now beginning.
?oYes,? Lysa said glumly, her voice as cold and dead as the captain of her guard.
?oCan I make the little man fly now??
Across the garden, Tyrion Lannister got to his feet. ?oNot this little man,? he said. ?oThis little man is going down in the turnip hoist, thank you very much.?
?oYou presume-? Lysa began.
?oI presume that House Arryn remembers its own words,? the Imp said. ?oAs High as Honor.?
?oYou promised I could make him fly,? the Lord of the Eyrie screamed at his mother. He began to shake.
Lady Lysâ?Ts face was flushed with fury. ?oThe gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent, child. We have no choice but to free him.? She lifted her voice. ?oGuards. Take my lord of Lannister and his... creature here out of my sight. Escort them to the Bloody Gate and set them free. See that they have horses and supplies sufficient to reach the Trident, and make certain all their goods and weapons are returned to them. They shall need them on the high road.?
?oThe high road,? Tyrion Lannister said. Lysa allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile. It was another sort of death sentence, Catelyn realized. Tyrion Lannister must know that as well. Yet the dwarf favored Lady Arryn with a mocking bow. ?oAs you command, my lady,? he said. ?oI believe we know the way.?

Chapter 41
Jon​

?oYou are as hopeless as any boys I have ever trained,? Ser Alliser Thorne announced when they had all assembled in the yard. ?oYour hands were made for manure shovels, not for swords, and if it were up to me, the lot of you would be set to herding swine. But last night I was told that Gueren is marching five new boys up the kingsroad. One or two may even be worth the price of piss. To make room for them, I have decided to pass eight of you on to the Lord Commander to do with as he will.? He called out the names one by one. ?oToad. Stone Head. Aurochs. Lover. Pimple. Monkey. Ser Loon.? Last, he looked at Jon. ?oAnd the Bastard.?
Pyp let fly a whoop and thrust his sword into the air. Ser Alliser fixed him with a reptile stare. ?oThey will call you men of Night?Ts Watch now, but you are bigger fools than the Mummer?Ts Monkey here if you believe that. You are boys still, green and stinking of summer, and when the winter comes you will die like flies.? And with that, Ser Alliser Thorne took his leave of them.
The other boys gathered round the eight who had been named, laughing and cursing and offering congratulations. Halder smacked Toad on the butt with the flat of his sword and shouted, ?oToad, of the Night?Ts Watch!? Yelling that a black brother needed a horse, Pyp leapt onto Grenn?Ts shoulders, and they tumbled to the ground, rolling and punching and hooting. Dareon dashed inside the armory and returned with a skin of sour red. As they passed the wine from hand to hand, grinning like fools, Jon noticed Samwell Tarly standing by himself beneath a bare dead tree in the corner of the yard. Jon offered him the skin. ?oA swallow of wine??
Sam shook his head. ?oNo thank you, Jon.?
?oAre you well??
?oVery well, truly,? the fat boy lied. ?oI am so happy for you all.? His round face quivered as he forced a smile. ?oYou will be First Ranger someday, just as your uncle was.?
?oIs,? Jon corrected. He would not accept that Benjen Stark was dead. Before he could say more, Halder cried, ?oHere, you planning to drink that all yourself?? Pyp snatched the skin from his hand and danced away, laughing. While Grenn seized his arm, Pyp gave the skin a squeeze, and a thin stream of red squirted Jon in the face. Halder howled in protest at the waste of good wine. Jon sputtered and struggled. Matthar and Jeren climbed the wall and began pelting them all with snowballs.
By the time he wrenched free, with snow in his hair and wine stains on his surcoat, Samwell Tarly had gone.
That night, Three-Finger Hobb cooked the boys a special meal to mark the occasion. When Jon arrived at the common hall, the Lord Steward himself led him to the bench near the fire. The older men clapped him on the arm in passing. The eight soon-to-be brothers feasted on rack of lamb baked in a crust of garlic and herbs, garnished with sprigs of mint, and surrounded by mashed yellow turnips swimming in butter. ?oFrom the Lord Commander?Ts own table,? Bowen Marsh told them. There were salads of spinach and chickpeas and turnip greens, and afterward bowls of iced blueberries and sweet cream.
?oDo you think they?Tll keep us together?? Pyp wondered as they gorged themselves happily.
Toad made a face. ?oI hope not. I?Tm sick of looking at those ears of yours.?
?oHo,? said Pyp. ?oListen to the crow call the raven black. You?Tre certain to be a ranger, Toad. They?Tll want you as far from the castle as they can. If Mance Rayder attacks, lift your visor and show your face, and hê?Tll run off screaming.?
Everyone laughed but Grenn. ?oI hope I?Tm a ranger.?
?oYou and everyone else,? said Matthar. Every man who wore the black walked the Wall, and every man was expected to take up steel in its defense, but the rangers were the true fighting heart of the Night?Ts Watch. It was they who dared ride beyond the Wall, sweeping through the haunted forest and the icy mountain heights west of the Shadow Tower, fighting wildlings and giants and monstrous snow bears.
?oNot everyone,? said Halder. ?oIt?Ts the builders for me. What use would rangers be if the Wall fell down??
The order of builders provided the masons and carpenters to repair keeps and towers, the miners to dig tunnels and crush stone for roads and footpaths, the woodsmen to clear away new growth wherever the forest pressed too close to the Wall. Once, it was said, they had quarried immense blocks of ice from frozen lakes deep in the haunted forest, dragging them south on sledges so the Wall might be raised ever higher. Those days were centuries gone, however; now, it was all they could do to ride the Wall from Eastwatch to the Shadow Tower, watching for cracks or signs of melt and making what repairs they could.
?oThe Old Bear?Ts no fool,? Dareon observed. ?oYou?Tre certain to be a builder, and Jon?Ts certain to be a ranger. Hê?Ts the best sword and the best rider among us, and his uncle was the First before he...? His voice trailed off awkwardly as he realized what he had almost said.
?oBenjen Stark is still First Ranger,? Jon Snow told him, toying with his bowl of blueberries. The rest might have given up all hope of his unclê?Ts safe return, but not him. He pushed away the berries, scarcely touched, and rose from the bench.
?oAren?Tt you going to eat those?? Toad asked.
?oThey?Tre yours.? Jon had hardly tasted Hobb?Ts great feast. ?oI could not eat another bite.? He took his cloak from its hook near the door and shouldered his way out.
Pyp followed him. ?oJon, what is it??
?oSam,? he admitted. ?oHe was not at table tonight.?
?oIt?Ts not like him to miss a meal,? Pyp said thoughtfully. ?oDo you suppose hê?Ts taken ill??
?oHê?Ts frightened. Wê?Tre leaving him.? He remembered the day he had left Winterfell, all the bittersweet farewells; Bran lying broken, Robb with snow in his hair, Arya raining kisses on him after hê?Td given her Needle. ?oOnce we say our words, wê?Tll all have duties to attend to. Some of us may be sent away, to Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower. Sam will remain in training, with the likes of Rast and Cuger and these new boys who are coming up the kingsroad. Gods only know what they?Tll be like, but you can bet Ser Alliser will send them against him, first chance he gets.?
Pyp made a grimace. ?oYou did all you could.?
?oAll we could wasn?Tt enough,? Jon said.
A deep restlessness was on him as he went back to Hardin?Ts Tower for Ghost. The direwolf walked beside him to the stables. Some of the more skittish horses kicked at their stalls and laid back their ears as they entered. Jon saddled his mare, mounted, and rode out from Castle Black, south across the moonlit night. Ghost raced ahead of him, flying over the ground, gone in the blink of an eye. Jon let him go. A wolf needed to hunt.
He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King?Ts Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road... and he was here.
Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. ?oI have not sworn yet,? he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely... until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers.
Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King?Ts Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her?
Jon Snow turned away from the kingsroad to look behind him. The fires of Castle Black were hidden behind a hill, but the Wall was there, pale beneath the moon, vast and cold, running from horizon to horizon.
He wheeled his horse around and started for home.
Ghost returned as he crested a rise and saw the distant glow of lamplight from the Lord Commander?Ts Tower. The direwolf?Ts muzzle was red with blood as he trotted beside the horse. Jon found himself thinking of Samwell Tarly again on the ride back. By the time he reached the stables, he knew what he must do.
Maester Aemon?Ts apartments were in a stout wooden keep below the rookery. Aged and frail, the maester shared his chambers with two of the younger stewards, who tended to his needs and helped him in his duties.
The brothers joked that he had been given the two ugliest men in the Night?Ts Watch; being blind, he was spared having to look at them. Clydas was short, bald, and chinless, with small pink eyes like a mole. Chett had a wen on his neck the size of a pigeon?Ts egg, and a face red with boils and pimples.
Perhaps that was why he always seemed so angry.
It was Chett who answered Jon?Ts knock. ?oI need to speak to Maester Aemon,? Jon told him.
?oThe maester is abed, as you should be. Come back on the morrow and maybe hê?Tll see you.? He began to shut the door.?
Jon jammed it open with his boot. ?oI need to speak to him now. The morning will be too late.?
Chett scowled. ?oThe maester is not accustomed to being woken in the night. Do you know how old he is??
?oOld enough to treat visitors with more courtesy than you,? Jon said. ?oGive him my pardons. I would not disturb his rest if it were not important.?
?oAnd if I refuse??
Jon had his boot wedged solidly in the door. ?oI can stand here all night if I must.?
The black brother made a disgusted noise and opened the door to admit him. ?oWait in the library. Therê?Ts wood. Start a fire. I won?Tt have the maester catching a chill on account of you.?
Jon had the logs crackling merrily by the time Chett led in Maester Aemon. The old man was clad in his bed robe, but around his throat was the chain collar of his order. A maester did not remove it even to sleep. ?oThe chair beside the fire would be pleasant,? he said when he felt the warmth on his face. When he was settled comfortably, Chett covered his legs with a fur and went to stand by the door.
?oI am sorry to have woken you, Maester,? Jon Snow said.
?oYou did not wake me,? Maester Aemon replied. ?oI find I need less sleep as I grow older, and I am grown very old. I often spend half the night with ghosts, remembering times fifty years past as if they were yesterday. The mystery of a midnight visitor is a welcome diversion. So tell me, Jon Snow, why have you come calling at this strange hour??
?oTo ask that Samwell Tarly be taken from training and accepted as a brother of the Night?Ts Watch.?
?oThis is no concern of Maester Aemon,? Chett complained.
?oOur Lord Commander has given the training of recruits into the hands of Ser Alliser Thorne,? the maester said gently. ?oOnly he may say when a boy is ready to swear his vow, as you surely know. Why then come to me??
?oThe Lord Commander listens to you,? Jon told him. ?oAnd the wounded and the sick of the Night?Ts Watch are in your charge.?
?oAnd is your friend Samwell wounded or sick??
?oHe will be,? Jon promised, ?ounless you help.?
He told them all of it, even the part where hê?Td set Ghost at Rast?Ts throat. Maester Aemon listened silently, blind eyes fixed on the fire, but Chett?Ts face darkened with each word. ?oWithout us to keep him safe, Sam will have no chance,? Jon finished. ?oHê?Ts hopeless with a sword. My sister Arya could tear him apart, and shê?Ts not yet ten. If Ser Alliser makes him fight, it?Ts only a matter of time before hê?Ts hurt or killed.?
Chett could stand no more. ?oI?Tve seen this fat boy in the common hall,? he said. ?oHe is a pig, and a hopeless craven as well, if what you say is true.?
?oMaybe it is so,? Maester Aemon said. ?oTell me, Chett, what would you have us do with such a boy??
?oLeave him where he is,? Chett said. ?oThe Wall is no place for the weak. Let him train until he is ready, no matter how many years that takes. Ser Alliser shall make a man of him or kill him, as the gods?T will.?
?oThat?Ts stupid,? Jon said. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. ?oI remember once I asked Maester Luwin why he wore a chain around his throat.?
Maester Aemon touched his own collar lightly, his bony, wrinkled finger stroking the heavy metal links. ?oGo on.?
?oHe told me that a maester?Ts collar is made of chain to remind him that he is sworn to serve,? Jon said, remembering. ?oI asked why each link was a different metal. A silver chain would look much finer with his grey robes, I said. Maester Luwin laughed. A maester forges his chain with study, he told me. The different metals are each a different kind of learning, gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for healing, iron for warcraft. And he said there were other meanings as well. The collar is supposed to remind a maester of the realm he serves, isn?Tt that so? Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can?Tt make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people.?
Maester Aemon smiled. ?oAnd so??
?oThe Night?Ts Watch needs all sorts too. Why else have rangers and stewards and builders? Lord Randyll couldn?Tt make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won?Tt either. You can?Tt hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn?Tt mean tin is useless. Why shouldn?Tt Sam be a steward??
Chett gave an angry scowl. ?oI?Tm a steward. You think it?Ts easy work, fit for cowards? The order of stewards keeps the Watch alive. We hunt and farm, tend the horses, milk the cows, gather firewood, cook the meals. Who do you think makes your clothing? Who brings up supplies from the south? The stewards.?
Maester Aemon was gentler. ?oIs your friend a hunter??
?oHe hates hunting,? Jon had to admit.
?oCan he plow a field?? the maester asked. ?oCan he drive a wagon or sail a ship? Could he butcher a cow??
?oNo."
Chett gave a nasty laugh. ?oI?Tve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they?Tre put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.?
?oI know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.?
?oYes?? Maester Aemon prompted.
Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. ?oHe could help you,? he said quickly. ?oHe can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can?Tt read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father?Ts library. Hê?Td be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. Therê?Ts a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night?Ts Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.?
Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, ?oMaester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.?
?oDoes that mean...??
?oIt means I shall think on what you have said,? the maester told him firmly. ?oAnd now, I believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.?

Chapter 42
Tyrion​

They had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was gathering deadwood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped to pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. ?oWill this do? I am not practiced at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.?
?oA fire?? Bronn said, spitting. ?oAre you so hungry to die, dwarf? Or have you taken leave of your senses? A fire will bring the clansmen down on us from miles around. I mean *****rvive this journey, Lannister.?
?oAnd how do you hope to do that?? Tyrion asked. He tucked the branch under his arm and poked around through the sparse undergrowth, looking for more. His back ached from the effort of bending; they had been riding since daybreak, when a stone-faced Ser Lyn Corbray had ushered them through the Bloody Gate and commanded them never to return.
?oWe have no chance of fighting our way back,? Bronn said, ?obut two can cover more ground than ten, and attract less notice. The fewer days we spend in these mountains, the more like we are to reach the riverlands. Ride hard and fast, I say. Travel by night and hole up by day, avoid the road where we can, make no noise and light no fires.?
Tyrion Lannister sighed. ?oA splendid plan, Bronn. Try it, as you like... and forgive me if I do not linger to bury you.?
?oYou think to outlive me, dwarf?? The sellsword grinned. He had a dark gap in his smile where the edge of Ser Vardis Egen?Ts shield had cracked a tooth in half.
Tyrion shrugged. ?oRiding hard and fast by night is a sure way to tumble down a mountain and crack your skull. I prefer to make my crossing slow and easy. I know you love the taste of horse, Bronn, but if our mounts die under us this time, wê?Tll be trying to saddle shadowcats... and if truth be told, I think the clans will find us no matter what we do. Their eyes are all around us.? He swept a gloved hand over the high, wind-carved crags that surrounded them.
Bronn grimaced. ?oThen wê?Tre dead men, Lannister.?
?oIf so, I prefer to die comfortable,? Tyrion replied. ?oWe need a fire. The nights are cold up here, and hot food will warm our bellies and lift our spirits. Do you suppose therê?Ts any game to be had? Lady Lysa has kindly provided us with a veritable feast of salt beef, hard cheese, and stale bread, but I would hate to break a tooth so far from the nearest maester.?
?oI can find meat.? Beneath a fall of black hair, Bronn?Ts dark eyes regarded Tyrion suspiciously. ?oI should leave you here with your fool?Ts fire. If I took your horse, I?Td have twice the chance to make it through. What would you do then, dwarf??
?oDie, most like.? Tyrion stooped to get another stick.
?oYou don?Tt think I?Td do it??
?oYou?Td do it in an instant, if it meant your life. You were quick enough to silence your friend Chiggen when he caught that arrow in his belly.? Bronn had yanked back the man?Ts head by the hair and driven the point of his dirk in under the ear, and afterward told Catelyn Stark that the other sellsword had died of his wound.
?oHe was good as dead,? Bronn said, ?oand his moaning was bringing them down on us. Chiggen would have done the same for me... and he was no friend, only a man I rode with. Make no mistake, dwarf. I fought for you, but I do not love you.?
?oIt was your blade I needed,? Tyrion said, ?onot your love.? He dumped his armful of wood on the ground.
Bronn grinned. ?oYou?Tre bold as any sellsword, I?Tll give you that. How did you know I?Td take your part??
?oKnow?? Tyrion squatted awkwardly on his stunted legs to build the fire. ?oI tossed the dice. Back at the inn, you and Chiggen helped take me captive. Why? The others saw it as their duty, for the honor of the lords they served, but not you two. You had no lord, no duty, and precious little honor, so why trouble to involve yourselves?? He took out his knife and whittled some thin strips of bark off one of the sticks hê?Td gathered, to serve as kindling. ?oWell, why do sellswords do anything? For gold. You were thinking Lady Catelyn would reward you for your help, perhaps even take you into her service. Here, that should do, I hope. Do you have a flint??
Bronn slid two fingers into the pouch at his belt and tossed down a flint. Tyrion caught it in the air.
?oMy thanks,? he said. ?oThe thing is, you did not know the Starks. Lord Eddard is a proud, honorable, and honest man, and his lady wife is worse. Oh, no doubt she would have found a coin or two for you when this was all over, and pressed it in your hand with a polite word and a look of distaste, but that?Ts the most you could have hoped for. The Starks look for courage and loyalty and honor in the men they choose to serve them, and if truth be told, you and Chiggen were lowborn scum.? Tyrion struck the flint against his dagger, trying for a spark. Nothing.
Bronn snorted. ?oYou have a bold tongue, little man. One day someone is like to cut it out and make you eat it.?
?oEveryone tells me that.? Tyrion glanced up at the sellsword. ?oDid I offend you? My pardons... but you are scum, Bronn, make no mistake. Duty, honor, friendship, what?Ts that to you? No, don?Tt trouble yourself, we both know the answer. Still, you?Tre not stupid. Once we reached the Vale, Lady Stark had no more need of you... but I did, and the one thing the Lannisters have never lacked for is gold. When the moment came to toss the dice, I was counting on your being smart enough to know where your best interest lay. Happily for me, you did.? He slammed stone and steel together again, fruitlessly.
?oHere,? said Bronn, squatting, ?oI?Tll do it.? He took the knife and flint from Tyrion?Ts hands and struck sparks on his first try. A curl of bark began to smolder.
?oWell done,? Tyrion said. ?oScum you may be, but you?Tre undeniably useful, and with a sword in your hand you?Tre almost as good as my brother Jaime. What do you want, Bronn? Gold? Land? Women? Keep me alive, and you?Tll have it.?
Bronn blew gently on the fire, and the flames leapt up higher. ?oAnd if you die??
?oWhy then, I?Tll have one mourner whose grief is sincere,? Tyrion said, grinning. ?oThe gold ends when I do.?
The fire was blazing up nicely. Bronn stood, tucked the flint back into his pouch, and tossed Tyrion his dagger. ?oFair enough,? he said. ?oMy sword?Ts yours, then... but don?Tt go looking for me to bend the knee and m?Tlord you every time you take a ****. I?Tm no man?Ts toady.?
?oNor any man?Ts friend,? Tyrion said. ?oI?Tve no doubt you?Td betray me as quick as you did Lady Stark, if you saw a profit in it. If the day ever comes when you?Tre tempted to sell me out, remember this, Bronn - I?Tll match their price, whatever it is. I like living. And now, do you think you could do something about finding us some supper??
?oTake care of the horses,? Bronn said, unsheathing the long dirk he wore at his hip. He strode into the trees.
An hour later the horses had been rubbed down and fed, the fire was crackling away merrily, and a haunch of a young goat was turning above the flames, spitting and hissing. ?oAll we lack now is some good wine to wash down our kid,? Tyrion said.
?oThat, a woman, and another dozen swords,? Bronn said. He sat cross-legged beside the fire, honing the edge of his longsword with an oilstone. There was something strangely reassuring about the rasping sound it made when he drew it down the steel. ?oIt will be full dark soon,? the sellsword pointed out. ?oI?Tll take first watch... for all the good it will do us. It might be kinder to let them kill us in our sleep.?
?oOh, I imagine they?Tll be here long before it comes to sleep.? The smell of the roasting meat made Tyrion?Ts mouth water.
Bronn watched him across the fire. ?oYou have a plan,? he said flatly, with a scrape of steel on stone.
?oA hope, call it,? Tyrion said. ?oAnother toss of the dice.?
?oWith our lives as the stake??
Tyrion shrugged. ?oWhat choice do we have?? He leaned over the fire and sawed a thin slice of meat from the kid. ?oAhhhh,? he sighed happily as he chewed. Grease ran down his chin. ?oA bit tougher than I?Td like, and in want of spicing, but I?Tll not complain too loudly. If I were back at the Eyrie, I?Td be dancing on a precipice in hopes of a boiled bean.?
?oAnd yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,? Bronn said.
?oA Lannister always pays his debts.?
Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler?Ts eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open - the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. ?oI kept the silver,? Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, ?obut you were promised the gold, and there it is.? It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. ?oAnd remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn?Ts service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I?Tll pay you the rest of what I owe you.? With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.
Bronn yanked out his dirk and pulled the meat from the fire. He began to carve thick chunks of charred meat off the bone as Tyrion hollowed out two heels of stale bread to serve as trenchers. ?oIf we do reach the river, what will you do then?? the sellsword asked as he cut.
?oOh, a whore and a featherbed and a flagon of wine, for a start.? Tyrion held out his trencher, and Bronn filled it with meat. ?oAnd then to Casterly Rock or King?Ts Landing, I think. I have some questions that want answering, concerning a certain dagger.?
The sellsword chewed and swallowed. ?oSo you were telling it true? It was not your knife??
Tyrion smiled thinly. ?oDo I look a liar to you??
By the time their bellies were full, the stars had come out and a halfmoon was rising over the mountains. Tyrion spread his shadowskin cloak on the ground and stretched out with his saddle for a pillow. ?oOur friends are taking their sweet time.?
?oIf I were them, I?Td fear a trap,? Bronn said. ?oWhy else would we be so open, if not to lure them in??
Tyrion chuckled. ?oThen we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.? He began to whistle a tune.
?oYou?Tre mad, dwarf,? Bronn said as he cleaned the grease out from under his nails with his dirk.
?oWherê?Ts your love of music, Bronn??
?oIf it was music you wanted, you should have gotten the singer to champion you.?
Tyrion grinned. ?oThat would have been amusing. I can just see him fending off Ser Vardis with his woodharp.? He resumed his whistling. ?oDo you know this song?? he asked.
?oYou hear it here and there, in inns and whorehouses.?
?oMyrish. ?~The Seasons of My Love.?T Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I?Tve never been able to put it out of my head.? Tyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the mountains as bright and merciless as truth. ?oI met her on a night like this,? he heard himself saying. ?oJaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream, and she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting threats. My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, halfstarved, unwashed... yet lovely. They?Td torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I wrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he came trotting back, I?Td gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter?Ts child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to... well, nowhere, really.
?oJaime was all in a lather to hunt down the men. It was not often outlaws dared prey on travelers so near to Casterly Rock, and he took it as an insult. The girl was too frightened to send off by herself, though, so I offered to take her to the closest inn and feed her while my brother rode back to the Rock for help.
?oShe was hungrier than I would have believed. We finished two whole chickens and part of a third, and drank a flagon of wine, talking. I was only thirteen, and the wine went to my head, I fear. The next thing I knew, I was sharing her bed. If she was shy, I was shyer. I?Tll never know where I found the courage. When I broke her maidenhead, she wept, but afterward she kissed me and sang her little song, and by morning I was in love.?
?oYou?? Bronn?Ts voice was amused.
?oAbsurd, isn?Tt it?? Tyrion began to whistle the song again. ?oI married her,? he finally admitted.
?oA Lannister of Casterly Rock wed to a crofter?Ts daughter,? Bronn said. ?oHow did you manage that??
?oOh, you?Td be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a drunken septon. I dared not bring my bride home to Casterly Rock, so I set her up in a cottage of her own, and for a fortnight we played at being man and wife. And then the septon sobered and confessed all to my lord father.? Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired. ?oThat was the end of my marriage.? He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the light.
?oHe sent the girl away??
?oHe did better than that,? Tyrion said. ?oFirst he made my brother tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would be my first time.
?oAfter Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my ?~wifê?T in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks and bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on the floor, she...? The smoke was stinging his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. ?oLord Tywin had me go last,? he said in a quiet voice. ?oAnd he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.?
After a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his sword. ?oThirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.?
Tyrion swung around to face him. ?oYou may get that chance one day. Remember what I told you. A Lannister always pays his debts.? He yawned. ?oI think I will try and sleep. Wake me if wê?Tre about to die.?
He rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and cold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he was the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his father, driving him back, toward the abyss...
?oTyrion. ?o Bronn?Ts warning was low and urgent.
Tyrion was awake in the blink of an eye. The fire had burned down to embers, and the shadows were creeping in all around them. Bronn had raised himself to one knee, his sword in one hand and his dirk in the other. Tyrion held up a hand: stay still, it said. ?oCome share our fire, the night is cold,? he called out to the creeping shadows. ?oI fear wê?Tve no wine to offer you, but you?Tre welcome to some of our goat.?
All movement stopped. Tyrion saw the glint of moonlight on metal. ?oOur mountain,? a voice called out from the trees, deep and hard and unfriendly. ?oOur goat.?
?oYour goat,? Tyrion agreed. ?oWho are you??
?oWhen you meet your gods,? a different voice replied, ?osay it was Gunthor son of Gurn of the Stone Crows who sent you to them.? A branch cracked underfoot as he stepped into the light; a thin man in a horned helmet, armed with a long knife.
?oAnd Shagga son of Dolf.? That was the first voice, deep and deadly. A boulder shifted to their left, and stood, and became a man. Massive and slow and strong he seemed, dressed all in skins, with a club in his right hand and an axe in his left. He smashed them together as he lumbered closer.
Other voices called other names, Conn and Torrek and Jaggot and more that Tyrion forgot the instant he heard them; ten at least. A few had swords and knives; others brandished pitchforks and scythes and wooden spears. He waited until they were done shouting out their names before he gave them answer. ?oI am Tyrion son of Tywin, of the Clan Lannister, the Lions of the Rock. We will gladly pay you for the goat we ate.?
?oWhat do you have to give us, Tyrion son of Tywin?? asked the one who named himself Gunthor, who seemed to be their chief.
?oThere is silver in my purse,? Tyrion told them. ?oThis hauberk I wear is large for me, but it should fit Conn nicely, and the battle-axe I carry would suit Shaggâ?Ts mighty hand far better than that wood-axe he holds.?
?oThe halfman would pay us with our own coin,? said Conn.
?oConn speaks truly,? Gunthor said. ?oYour silver is ours. Your horses are ours. Your hauberk and your battle-axe and the knife at your belt, those are ours too. You have nothing to give us but your lives. How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin??
?oIn my own bed, with a belly full of wine and a maiden?Ts mouth around my ****, at the age of eighty,? he replied.
The huge one, Shagga, laughed first and loudest. The others seemed less amused. ?oConn, take their horses,? Gunthor commanded. ?oKill the other and seize the halfman. He can milk the goats and make the mothers laugh.?
Bronn sprang to his feet. ?oWho dies first??
?oNo!? Tyrion said sharply. ?oGunthor son of Gurn, hear me. My House is rich and powerful. If the Stone Crows will see us safely through these mountains, my lord father will shower you with gold.?
?oThe gold of a lowland lord is as worthless as a halfman?Ts promises,? Gunthor said.
?oHalf a man I may be,? Tyrion said, ?oyet I have the courage to face my enemies. What do the Stone Crows do, but hide behind rocks and shiver with fear as the knights of the Vale ride by??
Shagga gave a roar of anger and clashed club against axe. Jaggot poked at Tyrion?Ts face with the fire-hardened point of a long wooden spear. He did his best not to flinch. ?oAre these the best weapons you could steal?? he said. ?oGood enough for killing sheep, perhaps... if the sheep do not fight back. My father?Ts smiths **** better steel.?
?oLittle boyman,? Shagga roared, ?owill you mock my axe after I chop off your manhood and feed it to the goats??
But Gunthor raised a hand. ?oNo. I would hear his words. The mothers go hungry, and steel fills more mouths than gold. What would you give us for your lives, Tyrion son of Tywin? Swords? Lances? Mail??
?oAll that, and more, Gunthor son of Gurn,? Tyrion Lannister replied, smiling. ?oI will give you the Vale of Arryn.?

Chapter 43
Eddard​

Through the high narrow windows of the Red Keep?Ts ****rnous throne room, the light of sunset spilled across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the heads of dragons had once hung. Now the stone was covered with hunting tapestries, vivid with greens and browns and blues, and yet still it seemed to Ned Stark that the only color in the hall was the red of blood.
He sat high upon the immense ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror, an ironwork monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and grotesquely twisted metal. It was, as Robert had warned him, a hellishly uncomfortable chair, and never more so than now, with his shattered leg throbbing more sharply every minute. The metal beneath him had grown harder by the hour, and the fanged steel behind made it impossible to lean back. A king should never sit easy, Aegon the Conqueror had said, when he commanded his armorers to forge a great seat from the swords laid down by his enemies. Damn Aegon for his arrogance, Ned thought sullenly, and damn Robert and his hunting as well.
?oYou are quite certain these were more than brigands?? Varys asked softly from the council table beneath the throne. Grand Maester Pycelle stirred uneasily beside him, while Littlefinger toyed with a pen. They were the only councillors in attendance. A white hart had been sighted in the kingswood, and Lord Renly and Ser Barristan had joined the king to hunt it, along with Prince Joffrey, Sandor Clegane, Balon Swann, and half the court. So Ned must needs sit the Iron Throne in his absence.
At least he could sit. Save the council, the rest must stand respectfully, or kneel. The petitioners clustered near the tall doors, the knights and high lords and ladies beneath the tapestries, the smallfolk in the gallery, the mailed guards in their cloaks, gold or grey: all stood.
The villagers were kneeling: men, women, and children, alike tattered and bloody, their faces drawn by fear. The three knights who had brought them here to bear witness stood behind them.
?oBrigands, Lord Varys?? Ser Raymun Darry?Ts voice dripped scorn. ?oOh, they were brigands, beyond a doubt. Lannister brigands.?
Ned could feel the unease in the hall, as high lords and servants alike strained to listen. He could not pretend *****rprise. The west had been a tinderbox since Catelyn had seized Tyrion Lannister. Both Riverrun and Casterly Rock had called their banners, and armies were massing in the pass below the Golden Tooth. It had only been a matter of time until the blood began to flow. The sole question that remained was how best to stanch the wound.
Sad-eyed Ser Karyl Vance, who would have been handsome but for the winestain birthmark that discolored his face, gestured at the kneeling villagers. ?oThis is all the remains of the holdfast of Sherrer, Lord Eddard. The rest are dead, along with the people of Wendish Town and the Mummer?Ts Ford.?
?oRise,? Ned commanded the villagers. He never trusted what a man told him from his knees. ?oAll of you, up.?
In ones and twos, the holdfast of Sherrer struggled to its feet. One ancient needed to be helped, and a young girl in a bloody dress stayed on her knees, staring blankly at Ser Arys Oakheart, who stood by the foot of the throne in the white armor of the Kingsguard, ready to protect and defend the king... or, Ned supposed, the King?Ts Hand.
?oJoss,? Ser Raymun Darry said to a plump balding man in a brewer?Ts apron. ?oTell the Hand what happened at Sherrer.?
Joss nodded. ?oIf it please His Grace-?
?oHis Grace is hunting across the Blackwater,? Ned said, wondering how a man could live his whole life a few days ride from the Red Keep and still have no notion what his king looked like. Ned was clad in a white linen doublet with the direwolf of Stark on the breast; his black wool cloak was fastened at the collar by his silver hand of office. Black and white and grey, all the shades of truth. ?oI am Lord Eddard Stark, the King?Ts Hand. Tell me who you are and what you know of these raiders.?
?oI keep... I kept... I kept an alehouse, m?Tlord, in Sherrer, by the stone bridge. The finest ale south of the Neck, everyone said so, begging your pardons, m?Tlord. It?Ts gone now like all the rest, m?Tlord. They come and drank their fill and spilled the rest before they fired my roof, and they would of spilled my blood too, if they?Td caught me. M?Tlord.?
?oThey burnt us out,? a farmer beside him said. ?oCome riding in the dark, up from the south, and fired the fields and the houses alike, killing them as tried to stop them. They weren?Tt no raiders, though, m?Tlord. They had no mind to steal our stock, not these, they butchered my milk cow where she stood and left her for the flies and the crows.?
?oThey rode down my ?~prentice boy,? said a squat man with a smith?Ts muscles and a bandage around his head. He had put on his finest clothes to come to court, but his breeches were patched, his cloak travel-stained and dusty. ?oChased him back and forth across the fields on their horses, poking at him with their lances like it was a game, them laughing and the boy stumbling and screaming till the big one pierced him clean through.?
The girl on her knees craned her head up at Ned, high above her on the throne. ?oThey killed my mother too, Your Grace. And they... they...? Her voice trailed off, as if she had forgotten what she was about to say. She began to sob.
Ser Raymun Darry took up the tale. ?oAt Wendish Town, the people sought shelter in their holdfast, but the walls were timbered. The raiders piled straw against the wood and burnt them all alive. When the Wendish folk opened their gates to flee the fire, they shot them down with arrows as they came running out, even women with suckling babes.?
?oOh, dreadful,? murmured Varys. ?oHow cruel can men be??
?oThey would of done the same for us, but the Sherrer holdfast?Ts made of stone,? Joss said. ?oSome wanted to smoke us out, but the big one said there was riper fruit upriver, and they made for the Mummer?Ts Ford.?
Ned could feel cold steel against his fingers as he leaned forward. Between each finger was a blade, the points of twisted swords fanning out like talons from arms of the throne. Even after three centuries, some were still sharp enough to cut. The Iron Throne was full of traps for the unwary. The songs said it had taken a thousand blades to make it, heated white-hot in the furnace breath of Balerion the Black Dread. The hammering had taken fifty-nine days. The end of it was this hunched black beast made of razor edges and barbs and ribbons of sharp metal; a chair that could kill a man, and had, if the stories could be believed.
What Eddard Stark was doing sitting there he would never comprehend, yet there he sat, and these people looked to him for justice. ?oWhat proof do you have that these were Lannisters?? he asked, trying to keep his fury under control. ?oDid they wear crimson cloaks or fly a lion banner??
?oEven Lannisters are not so blind stupid as that,? Ser Marq Piper snapped. He was a swaggering bantam rooster of a youth, too young and too hot-blooded for Ned?Ts taste, though a fast friend of Catelyn?Ts brother, Edmure Tully.
?oEvery man among them was mounted and mailed, my lord,? Ser Karyl answered calmly. ?oThey were armed with steel-tipped lances and longswords, with battle-axes for the butchering.? He gestured toward one of the ragged survivors. ?oYou. Yes, you, no onê?Ts going to hurt you. Tell the Hand what you told me.?
The old man bobbed his head. ?oConcerning their horses,? he said, ?oit were warhorses they rode. Many a year I worked in old Ser Willum?Ts stables, so I knows the difference. Not a one of these ever pulled a plow, gods bear witness if I?Tm wrong.?
?oWell-mounted brigands,? observed Littlefinger. ?oPerhaps they stole the horses from the last place they raided.?
?oHow many men were there in this raiding party?? Ned asked.
?oA hundred, at the least,? Joss answered, in the same instant as the bandaged smith said, ?oFifty,? and the grandmother behind him, ?oHunnerds and hunnerds, m?Tlord, an army they was.?
?oYou are more right than you know, goodwoman,? Lord Eddard told her. ?oYou say they flew no banners. What of the armor they wore? Did any of you note ornaments or decorations, devices on shield or helm??
The brewer, Joss, shook his head. ?oIt grieves me, m?Tlord, but no, the armor they showed us was plain, only... the one who led them, he was armored like the rest, but there was no mistaking him all the same. It was the size of him, m?Tlord. Those as say the giants are all dead never saw this one, I swear. Big as an ox he was, and a voice like stone breaking.?
?oThe Mountain!? Ser Marq said loudly. ?oCan any man doubt it? This was Gregor Cleganê?Ts work.?

Ned heard muttering from beneath the windows and the far end of the hall. Even in the galley, nervous whispers were exchanged. High lords and smallfolk alike knew what it could mean if Ser Marq was proved right. Ser Gregor Clegane stood bannerman to Lord Tywin Lannister.
He studied the frightened faces of the villagers. Small wonder they had been so fearful; they had thought they were being dragged here to name Lord Tywin a red-handed butcher before a king who was his son by marriage. He wondered if the knights had given them a choice.
Grand Maester Pycelle rose ponderously from the council table, his chain of office clinking. ?oSer Marq, with respect, you cannot know that this outlaw was Ser Gregor. There are many large men in the realm.?
?oAs large as the Mountain That Rides?? Ser Karyl said. ?oI have never met one.?
?oNor has any man here,? Ser Raymun added hotly. ?oEven his brother is a pup beside him. My lords, open your eyes. Do you need to see his seal on the corpses? It was Gregor.?
?oWhy should Ser Gregor turn brigand?? Pycelle asked. ?oBy the grace of his liege lord, he holds a stout keep and lands of his own. The man is an anointed knight.?
?oA false knight!? Ser Marq said. ?oLord Tywin?Ts mad dog.?
?oMy lord Hand,? Pycelle declared in a stiff voice, ?oI urge you to remind this good knight that Lord Tywin Lannister is the father of our own gracious queen.?
?oThank you, Grand Maester Pycelle,? Ned said. ?oI fear we might have forgotten that if you had not pointed it out.?
From his vantage point atop the throne, he could see men slipping out the door at the far end of the hall. Hares going to ground, he supposed... or rats off to nibble the queen?Ts cheese. He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not have known that today?Ts court would be anything but the usual tedious business of hearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the placement of boundary stones.
At the council table below, Petyr Baelish lost interest in his quill and leaned forward. ?oSer Marq, Ser Karyl, Ser Raymun - perhaps I might ask you a question? These holdfasts were under your protection. Where were you when all this slaughtering and burning was going on??
Ser Karyl Vance answered. ?oI was attending my lord father in the pass below the Golden Tooth, as was Ser Marq. When the word of these outrages reached Ser Edmure Tully, he sent word that we should take a small force of men to find what survivors we could and bring them to the king.?
Ser Raymun Darry spoke up. ?oSer Edmure had summoned me to Riverrun with all my strength. I was camped across the river from his walls, awaiting his commands, when the word reached me. By the time I could return to my own lands, Clegane and his vermin were back across the Red Fork, riding for Lannister?Ts hills.?
Littlefinger stroked the point of his beard thoughtfully. ?oAnd if they come again, ser??
?oIf they come again, wê?Tll use their blood to water the fields they burnt,? Ser Marq Piper declared hotly.
?oSer Edmure has sent men to every village and holdfast within a day?Ts ride of the border,? Ser Karyl explained. ?oThe next raider will not have such an easy time of it.?
And that may be precisely what Lord Tywin wants, Ned thought to himself, to bleed off strength from Riverrun, goad the boy into scattering his swords. His wifê?Ts brother was young, and more gallant than wise. He would try to hold every inch of his soil, to defend every man, woman, and child who named him lord, and Tywin Lannister was shrewd enough to know that.
?oIf your fields and holdfasts are safe from harm,? Lord Petyr was saying, ?owhat then do you ask of the throne??
?oThe lords of the Trident keep the king?Ts peace,? Ser Raymun Darry said. ?oThe Lannisters have broken it. We ask leave to answer them, steel for steel. We ask justice for the smallfolk of Sherrer and Wendish Town and the Mummer?Ts Ford.?
?oEdmure agrees, we must pay Gregor Clegane back his bloody coin,? Ser Marq declared, ?obut old Lord Hoster commanded us to come here and beg the king?Ts leave before we strike.?
Thank the gods for old Lord Hoster, then. Tywin Lannister was as much fox as lion. If indeed hê?Td sent Ser Gregor to burn and pillage and Ned did not doubt that he had - hê?Td taken care to see that he rode under cover of night, without banners, in the guise of a common brigand. Should Riverrun strike back, Cersei and her father would insist that it had been the Tullys who broke the king?Ts peace, not the Lannisters. The gods only knew what Robert would believe.
Grand Maester Pycelle was on his feet again. ?oMy lord Hand, if these good folk believe that Ser Gregor has forsaken his holy vows for plunder and rape, let them go to his liege lord and make their complaint. These crimes are no concern of the throne. Let them seek Lord Tywin?Ts justice.?
?oIt is all the king?Ts justice,? Ned told him. ?oNorth, south, east, or west, all we do we do in Robert?Ts name.?
?oThe king?Ts justice,? Grand Maester Pycelle said. ?oSo it is, and so we should defer this matter until the king-?
?oThe king is hunting across the river and may not return for days,? Lord Eddard said. ?oRobert bid me to sit here in his place, to listen with his ears, and to speak with his voice. I mean to do just that... though I agree that he must be told.? He saw a familiar face beneath the tapestries. ?oSer Robar.?
Ser Robar Royce stepped forward and bowed. ?oMy lord.?
?oYour father is hunting with the king,? Ned said. ?oWill you bring them word of what was said and done here today??
?oAt once, my lord.?
?oDo we have your leave to take our vengeance against Ser Gregor, then?? Marq Piper asked the throne.
?oVengeance?? Ned said. ?oI thought we were speaking of justice. Burning Cleganê?Ts fields and slaughtering his people will not restore the king?Ts peace, only your injured pride.? He glanced away before the young knight could voice his outraged protest, and addressed the villagers. ?oPeople of Sherrer, I cannot give you back your homes or your crops, nor can I restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you some small measure of justice, in the name of our king, Robert.?
Every eye in the hall was fixed on him, waiting. Slowly Ned struggled to his feet, pushing himself up from the throne with the strength of his arms, his shattered leg screaming inside its cast. He did his best to ignore the pain; it was no moment to let them see his weakness. ?oThe First Men believed that the judge who called for death should wield the sword, and in the north we hold to that still. I mislike sending another to do my killing... yet it seems I have no choice.? He gestured at his broken leg.
?oLord Eddard!? The shout came from the west side of the hall as a handsome stripling of a boy strode forth boldly. Out of his armor, Ser Loras Tyrell looked even younger than his sixteen years. He wore pale blue silk, his belt a linked chain of golden roses, the sigil of his House. ?oI beg you the honor of acting in your place. Give this task to me, my lord, and I swear I shall not fail you.?
Littlefinger chuckled. ?oSer Loras, if we send you off alone, Ser Gregor will send us back your head with a plum stuffed in that pretty mouth of yours. The Mountain is not the sort to bend his neck to any man?Ts justice.?
?oI do not fear Gregor Clegane,? Ser Loras said haughtily.
Ned eased himself slowly back onto the hard iron seat of Aegon?Ts misshapen throne. His eyes searched the faces along the wall. ?oLord Beric,? he called out. ?oThoros of Myr. Ser Gladden. Lord Lothar.? The men named stepped forward one by one. ?oEach of you is to assemble twenty men, to bring my word to Gregor?Ts keep. Twenty of my own guards shall go with you. Lord Beric Dondarrion, you shall have the command, as befits your rank.?
The young lord with the red-gold hair bowed. ?oAs you command, Lord Eddard.?
Ned raised his voice, so it carried to the far end of the throne room. ?oIn the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, his Hand, I charge you to ride to the westlands with all haste, to cross the Red Fork of the Trident under the king?Ts flag, and there bring the king?Ts justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and to all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him, and strip him of all rank and titles, of all lands and incomes and holdings, and do sentence him to death. May the gods take pity on his soul.?
When the echo of his words had died away, the Knight of Flowers seemed perplexed. ?oLord Eddard, what of me??
Ned looked down on him. From on high, Loras Tyrell seemed almost as young as Robb. ?oNo one doubts your valor, Ser Loras, but we are about justice here, and what you seek is vengeance.? He looked back to Lord Beric. ?oRide at first light. These things are best done quickly.? He held up a hand. ?oThe throne will hear no more petitions today.?
Alyn and Porther climbed the steep iron steps to help him back down. As they made their descent, he could feel Loras Tyrell?Ts sullen stare, but the boy had stalked away before Ned reached the floor of the throne room.
At the base of the Iron Throne, Varys was gathering papers from the council table. Littlefinger and Grand Maester Pycelle had already taken their leave. ?oYou are a bolder man than I, my lord,? the eunuch said softly.
?oHow so, Lord Varys?? Ned asked brusquely. His leg was throbbing, and he was in no mood for word games.
?oHad it been me up there, I should have sent Ser Loras. He so wanted to go... and a man who has the Lannisters for his enemies would do well to make the Tyrells his friends.?
?oSer Loras is young,? said Ned. ?oI daresay he will outgrow the disappointment.?
?oAnd Ser Ilyn?? The eunuch stroked a plump, powdered cheek. ?oHe is the King?Ts Justice, after all. Sending other men to do his office... some might construe that as a grave insult.?
?oNo slight was intended.? In truth, Ned did not trust the mute knight, though perhaps that was only because he misliked executioners. ?oI remind you, the Paynes are bannermen to House Lannister. I thought it best to choose men who owed Lord Tywin no fealty.?
?oVery prudent, no doubt,? Varys said. ?oStill, I chanced to see Ser Ilyn in the back of the hall, staring at us with those pale eyes of his, and I must say, he did not look pleased, though to be sure it is hard to tell with our silent knight. I hope he outgrows his disappointment as well. He does so love his work...?

Chapter 44
Sansa​

?oHe wouldn?Tt send Ser Loras,? Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. ?oI think it was because of his leg.?
Lord Eddard had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alyn, Harwin, and Vayon Poole, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordane had complained of sore feet after standing in the gallery all day. Arya was supposed to join them, but she was late coming back from her dancing lesson.
?oHis leg?? Jeyne said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansâ?Ts own age. ?oDid Ser Loras hurt his leg??
?oNot his leg,? Sansa said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. ?oFather?Ts leg, silly. It hurts him ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I?Tm certain he would have sent Ser Loras.?
Her father?Ts decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, shê?Td been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan?Ts stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father?Ts decisions.
That was when Lord Baelish had said, ?oOh, I don?Tt know, Septa. Some of her lord father?Ts decisions could do with a bit of questioning. The young lady is as wise as she is lovely.? He made a sweeping bow to Sansa, so deep she was not quite sure if she was being complimented or mocked.
Septa Mordane had been very upset to realize that Lord Baelish had overheard them. ?oThe girl was just talking, my lord,? shê?Td said. ?oFoolish chatter. She meant nothing by the comment.?
Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, ?oNothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras??
Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king?Ts councillor smiled. ?oWell, those are not the reasons I?Td have given, but...? He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. ?oLife is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow.?
Sansa did not feel like telling all that to Jeyne, however; it made her uneasy just to think back on it.
?oSer Ilyn?Ts the King?Ts Justice, not Ser Loras,? Jeyne said. ?oLord Eddard should have sent him.?
Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. He made her feel as though something dead were slithering over her naked skin. ?oSer Ilyn?Ts almost like a second monster. I?Tm glad Father didn?Tt pick him.?
?oLord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. Hê?Ts ever so brave and gallant.?
?oI suppose,? Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward?Ts daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn?Tt been half his age.
It would have been unkind to say so, however, so Sansa took a sip of milk and changed the subject. ?oI had a dream that Jofftey would be the one to take the white hart,? she said. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream. Everyone knew that dreams were prophetic. White harts were supposed to be very rare and magical, and in her heart she knew her gallant prince was worthier than his drunken father.
?oA dream? Truly? Did Prince Joffrey just go up to it and touch it with his bare hand and do it no harm??
?oNo,? Sansa said. ?oHe shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me.? In the songs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched them and did them no harm, but she knew Jofftey liked hunting, especially the killing part. Only animals, though. Sansa was certain her prince had no part in murdering Jory and those other poor men; that had been his wicked uncle, the Kingslayer. She knew her father was still angry about that, but it wasn?Tt fair to blame Joff. That would be like blaming her for something that Arya had done.
?oI saw your sister this afternoon,? Jeyne blurted out, as if shê?Td been reading Sansâ?Ts thoughts. ?oShe was walking through the stables on her hands. Why would she do a thing like that??
?oI?Tm sure I don?Tt know why Arya does anything.? Sansa hated stables, smelly places full of manure and flies. Even when she went riding, she liked the boy to saddle the horse and bring it to her in the yard. ?oDo you want to hear about the court or not??
?oI do,? Jeyne said.
?oThere was a black brother,? Sansa said, ?obegging men for the Wall, only he was kind of old and smelly.? She hadn?Tt liked that at all. She had always imagined the Night?Ts Watch to be men like Uncle Benjen. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall. But this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have lice. If this was what the Night?Ts Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon. ?oFather asked if there were any knights in the hall who would do honor to their houses by taking the black, but no one came forward, so he gave this Yoren his pick of the king?Ts dungeons and sent him on his way. And later these two brothers came before him, freeriders from the Dornish Marches, and pledged their swords to the service of the king. Father accepted their oaths...?
Jeyne yawned. ?oAre there any lemon cakes??
Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. ?oLet?Ts see,? she said.
The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya.
The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men. They rode out as dawn was breaking over the city, with three banners going before them; the crowned stag of the king flew from the high staff, the direwolf of Stark and Lord Beric?Ts own forked lightning standard from shorter poles. It was all so exciting, a song come to life; the clatter of swords, the flicker of torchlight, banners dancing in the wind, horses snorting and whinnying, the golden glow of sunrise slanting through the bars of the portcullis as it jerked upward. The Winterfell men looked especially fine in their silvery mail and long grey cloaks.
Alyn carried the Stark banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lord Beric to exchange words, it made Sansa feel ever so proud. Alyn was handsomer than Jory had been; he was going to be a knight one day.
The Tower of the Hand seemed so empty after they left that Sansa was even pleased to see Arya when she went down to break her fast. ?oWhere is everyone?? her sister wanted to know as she ripped the skin from a blood orange. ?oDid Father send them to hunt down Jaime Lannister??
Sansa sighed. ?oThey rode with Lord Beric, to behead Ser Gregor Clegane.? She turned to Septa Mordane, who was eating porridge with a wooden spoon. ?oSepta, will Lord Beric spike Ser Gregor?Ts head on his own gate or bring it back here for the king?? She and Jeyne Poole had been arguing over that last night.
The septa was horror-struck. ?oA lady does not discuss such things over her porridge. Where are your courtesies, Sansa? I swear, of late you?Tve been near as bad as your sister.?
?oWhat did Gregor do?? Arya asked.
?oHe burned down a holdfast and murdered a lot of people, women and children too.?
Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. ?oJaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.?
?oIt?Ts not the same,? Sansa said. ?oThe Hound is Joffrey?Ts sworn shield. Your butcher?Ts boy attacked the prince.?
?oLiar,? Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers.
?oGo ahead, call me all the names you want,? Sansa said airily. ?oYou won?Tt dare when I?Tm married to Joffrey. You?Tll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.? She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.
?oYou have juice on your face, Your Grace,? Arya said.
It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. ?oYou?Tre horrible,? she screamed at her sister. ?oThey should have killed you instead of Lady!?
Septa Mordane came lurching to her feet. ?oYour lord father will hear of this! Go to your chambers, at once. At once!?
?oMe too?? Tears welled in Sansâ?Ts eyes. ?oThat?Ts not fair.?
?oThe matter is not subject to discussion. Go!?
Sansa stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At least not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the door and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. ?oI hate her!? she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night?Ts fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.
It was midday when Septa Mordane knocked upon her door. ?oSansa. Your lord father will see you now.?
Sansa sat up. ?oLady,? she whispered. For a moment it was as if the direwolf was there in the room, looking at her with those golden eyes, sad and knowing. She had been dreaming, she realized. Lady was with her, and they were running together, and... and... trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with her fingers. The dream faded, and Lady was dead again.
?oSansa.? The rap came again, sharply. ?oDo you hear me??
?oYes, Septa,? she called out. ?oMight I have a moment to dress, please?? Her eyes were red from crying, but she did her best to make herself beautiful.
Lord Eddard was bent over a huge leather-bound book when Septa Mordane marched her into the solar, his plaster-wrapped leg stiff beneath the table. ?oCome here, Sansa,? he said, not unkindly, when the septa had gone for her sister. ?oSit beside me.? He closed the book.
Septa Mordane returned with Arya squirming in her grasp. Sansa had put on a lovely pale green damask gown and a look of remorse, but her sister was still wearing the ratty leathers and roughspun shê?Td worn at breakfast. ?oHere is the other one,? the septa announced.
?oMy thanks, Septa Mordane. I would talk to my daughters alone, if you would be so kind.? The septa bowed and left.
?oArya started it,? Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. ?oShe called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I?Tm going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can?Tt stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.?
?oEnough, Sansa.? Lord Eddard?Ts voice was sharp with impatience.
Arya raised her eyes. ?oI?Tm sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister?Ts forgiveness.?
Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. ?oWhat about my dress??
?oMaybe... I could wash it,? Arya said doubtfully.
?oWashing won?Tt do any good,? Sansa said. ?oNot if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined.?
?oThen I?Tll... make you a new one,? Arya said.
Sansa threw back her head in disdain. ?oYou? You couldn?Tt sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties.?
Their father sighed. ?oI did not call you here to talk of dresses. I?Tm sending you both back to Winterfell.?
For the second time Sansa found herself too stunned for words. She felt her eyes grow moist again.
?oYou can?Tt,? Arya said.
?oPlease, Father,? Sansa managed at last. ?oPlease don?Tt.?
Eddard Stark favored his daughters with a tired smile. ?oAt last wê?Tve found something you agree on.?
?oI didn?Tt do anything wrong,? Sansa pleaded with him. ?oI don?Tt want to go back.? She loved King?Ts Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all. ?oSend Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I?Tll be good, you?Tll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.?
Father?Ts mouth twitched strangely. ?oSansa, I?Tm not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I?Tm sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety. Three of my men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robert do? He goes hunting.?
Arya was chewing at her lip in that disgusting way she had. ?oCan we take Syrio back with us??
?oWho cares about your stupid dancing master?? Sansa flared. ?oFather, I only just now remembered, I can?Tt go away, I?Tm to marry Prince Joffrey.? She tried to smile bravely for him. ?oI love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies.?
?oSweet one,? her father said gently, ?olisten to me. When you?Tre old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord whô?Ts worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.?
?oHe is!? Sansa insisted. ?oI don?Tt want someone brave and gentle, I want him. Wê?Tll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you?Tll see. I?Tll give him a son with golden hair, and one day hê?Tll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion.?
Arya made a face. ?oNot if Joffrey?Ts his father,? she said. ?oHê?Ts a liar and a craven and anyhow hê?Ts a stag, not a lion.?
Sansa felt tears in her eyes. ?oHe is not! Hê?Ts not the least bit like that old drunken king,? she screamed at her sister, forgetting herself in her grief.
Father looked at her strangely. ?oGods, ?o he swore softly, ?oout of the mouth of babes...? He shouted for Septa Mordane. To the girls he said, ?oI am looking for a fast trading galley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards... and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It?Ts better if no one knows of our plans. Wê?Tll talk again tomorrow.?
Sansa cried as Septa Mordane marched them down the steps. They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.
?oStop that weeping, child,? Septa Mordane said sternly. ?oI am certain your lord father knows what is best for you.?
?oIt won?Tt be so bad, Sansa,? Arya said. ?oWê?Tre going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then wê?Tll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest.? She touched her on the arm.
?oHodor!? Sansa yelled. ?oYou ought to marry Hodor, you?Tre just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!? She wrenched away from her sister?Ts hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

Chapter 45
Eddard​

?oPain is a gift from the gods, Lord Eddard,? Grand Maester Pycelle told him. ?oIt means the bone is knitting, the flesh healing itself. Be thankful.?
?oI will be thankful when my leg stops throbbing.?
Pycelle set a stoppered flask on the table by the bed. ?oThe milk of the poppy, for when the pain grows too onerous.?
?oI sleep too much already.?
?oSleep is the great healer.?
?oI had hoped that was you.?
Pycelle smiled wanly. ?oIt is good to see you in such a fierce humor, my lord.? He leaned close and lowered his voice. ?oThere was a raven this morning, a letter for the queen from her lord father. I thought you had best know.?
?oDark wings, dark words,? Ned said grimly. ?oWhat of it??
?oLord Tywin is greatly wroth about the men you sent after Ser Gregor Clegane,? the maester confided. ?oI feared he would be. You will recall, I said as much in council.?
?oLet him be wroth,? Ned said. Every time his leg throbbed, he remembered Jaime Lannister?Ts smile, and Jory dead in his arms. ?oLet him write all the letters to the queen he likes. Lord Beric rides beneath the king?Ts own banner. If Lord Tywin attempts to interfere with the king?Ts justice, he will have Robert to answer to. The only thing His Grace enjoys more than hunting is making war on lords who defy him.?
Pycelle pulled back, his maester?Ts chain jangling. ?oAs you say. I shall visit again on the morrow.? The old man hurriedly gathered up his things and took his leave. Ned had little doubt that he was bound straight for the royal apartments, to whisper at the queen. I thought you had best know, indeed... as if Cersei had not instructed him to pass along her father?Ts threats. He hoped his response rattled those perfect teeth of hers. Ned was not near as confident of Robert as he pretended, but there was no reason Cersei need know that.
When Pycelle was gone, Ned called for a cup of honeyed wine. That clouded the mind as well, yet not as badly. He needed to be able to think. A thousand times, he asked himself what Jon Arryn might have done, had he lived long enough to act on what hê?Td learned. Or perhaps he had acted, and died for it.
It was queer how sometimes a child?Ts innocent eyes can see things that grown men are blind to. Someday, when Sansa was grown, he would have to tell her how she had made it all come clear for him. Hê?Ts not the least bit like that old drunken king, she had declared, angry and unknowing, and the simple truth of it had twisted inside him, cold as death. This was the sword that killed Jon Anyn, Ned thought then, and it will kill Robert as well, a slower death but full as certain. Shattered legs may heal in time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul.
Littlefinger came calling an hour after the Grand Maester had left, clad in a plum-colored doublet with a mockingbird embroidered on the breast in black thread, and a striped cloak of black and white. ?oI cannot visit long, my lord,? he announced. ?oLady Tanda expects me to lunch with her. No doubt she will roast me a fatted calf. If it?Ts near as fatted as her daughter, I?Tm like to rupture and die. And how is your leg??
?oInflamed and painful, with an itch that is driving me mad.?
Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. ?oIn future, try not to let any horses fall on it. I would urge you to heal quickly. The realm grows restive. Varys has heard ominous whispers from the west. Freeriders and sellswords have been flocking to Casterly Rock, and not for the thin pleasure of Lord Tywin?Ts conversation.?
?oIs there word of the king?? Ned demanded. ?oJust how long does Robert intend to hunt??
?oGiven his preferences, I believe hê?Td stay in the forest until you and the queen both die of old age,? Lord Petyr replied with a faint smile. ?oLacking that, I imagine hê?Tll return as soon as hê?Ts killed something. They found the white hart, it seems... or rather, what remained of it. Some wolves found it first, and left His Grace scarcely more than a hoof and a horn. Robert was in a fury, until he heard talk of some monstrous boar deeper in the forest. Then nothing would do but he must have it. Prince Joffrey returned this morning, with the Royces, Ser Balon Swann, and some twenty others of the party. The rest are still with the king.?
?oThe Hound?? Ned asked, frowning. Of all the Lannister party, Sandor Clegane was the one who concerned him the most, now that Ser Jaime had fled the city to join his father.
?oOh, returned with Joffrey, and went straight to the queen.? Littlefinger smiled. ?oI would have given a hundred silver stags to have been a roach in the rushes when he learned that Lord Beric was off to behead his brother.?
?oEven a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.?
?oAh, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off our Mountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn?Tt hold my water waiting for his thanks, not that one. And now you must forgive me. Lady Tanda awaits with her fatted calves.?
On the way to the door, Lord Petyr spied Grand Maester Malleon?Ts massive tome on the table and paused to idly flip open the cover. ?oThe Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children,? he read. ?oNow there is tedious reading if ever I saw it. A sleeping potion, my lord??
For a brief moment Ned considered telling him all of it, but there was something in Littlefinger?Ts japes that irked him. The man was too clever by half, a mocking smile never far from his lips. ?oJon Arryn was studying this volume when he was taken sick,? Ned said in a careful tone, to see how he might respond.
And he responded as he always did: with a quip. ?oIn that case,? he said, ?odeath must have come as a blessed relief.? Lord Petyr Baelish bowed and took his leave.
Eddard Stark allowed himself a curse. Aside from his own retainers, there was scarcely a man in this city he trusted. Littlefinger had concealed Catelyn and helped Ned in his inquiries, yet his haste to save his own skin when Jaime and his swords had come out of the rain still rankled. Varys was worse. For all his protestations of loyalty, the eunuch knew too much and did too little. Grand Maester Pycelle seemed more Cersei?Ts creature with every passing day, and Ser Barristan was an old man, and rigid. He would tell Ned to do his duty.
Time was perilously short. The king would return from his hunt soon, and honor would require Ned to go to him with all he had learned. Vayon Poole had arranged for Sansa and Arya to sail on the Wind Witch out of Braavos, three days hence. They would be back at Winterfell before the harvest. Ned could no longer use his concern for their safety to excuse his delay.
Yet last night he had dreamt of Rhaegar?Ts children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies beneath the Iron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. That was clever of him; the blood did not show so badly against the red cloth. The little princess had been barefoot, still dressed in her bed gown, and the boy... the boy...
Ned could not let that happen again. The realm could not withstand a second mad king, another dance of blood and vengeance. He must find some way to save the children.
Robert could be merciful. Ser Barristan was scarcely the only man he had pardoned. Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys the Spider, Lord Balon Greyjoy; each had been counted an enemy to Robert once, and each had been welcomed into friendship and allowed to retain honors and office for a pledge of fealty. So long as a man was brave and honest, Robert would treat him with all the honor and respect due a valiant enemy.
This was something else: poison in the dark, a knife thrust to the soul. This he could never forgive, no more than he had forgiven Rhaegar. He will kill them all, Ned realized.
And yet, he knew he could not keep silent. He had a duty to Robert, to the realm, to the shade of Jon Arryn... and to Bran, who surely must have stumbled on some part of the truth. Why else would they have tried to slay him?
Late that afternoon he summoned Tomard, the portly guardsman with the ginger-colored whiskers his children called Fat Tom. With Jory dead and Alyn gone, Fat Tom had command of his household guard. The thought filled Ned with vague disquiet. Tomard was a solid man; affable, loyal, tireless, capable in a limited way, but he was near fifty, and even in his youth he had never been energetic. Perhaps Ned should not have been so quick to send off half his guard, and all his best swords among them.
?oI shall require your help,? Ned said when Tomard appeared, looking faintly apprehensive, as he always did when called before his lord. ?oTake me to the godswood.?
?oIs that wise, Lord Eddard? With your leg and all??
?oPerhaps not. But necessary.?
Tomard summoned Varly. With one arm around each man?Ts shoulders, Ned managed to descend the steep tower steps and hobble across the bailey. ?oI want the guard doubled,? he told Fat Tom. ?oNo one enters or leaves the Tower of the Hand without my leave.?
Tom blinked. ?oM?Tlord, with Alyn and the others away, we are hardpressed already-?
?oIt will only be a short while. Lengthen the watches.?
?oAs you say, m?Tlord,? Tom answered. ?oMight I ask why-?
?oBest not,? Ned answered crisply.
The godswood was empty, as it always was here in this citadel of the southron gods. Ned?Ts leg was screaming as they lowered him to the grass beside the heart tree. ?oThank you.? He drew a paper from his sleeve, sealed with the sigil of his House. ?oKindly deliver this at once.?
Tomard looked at the name Ned had written on the paper and licked his lips anxiously. ?oMy lord...?
?oDo as I bid you, Tom,? Ned said.
How long he waited in the quiet of the godswood, he could not say. It was peaceful here. The thick walls shut out the clamor of the castle, and he could hear birds singing, the murmur of crickets, leaves rustling in a gentle wind. The heart tree was an oak, brown and faceless, yet Ned Stark still felt the presence of his gods. His leg did not seem to hurt so much.
She came to him at sunset, as the clouds reddened above the walls and towers. She came alone, as he had bid her. For once she was dressed simply, in leather boots and hunting greens. When she drew back the hood of her brown cloak, he saw the bruise where the king had struck her. The angry plum color had faded to yellow, and the swelling was down, but there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was.
?oWhy here?? Cersei Lannister asked as she stood over him.
?oSo the gods can see.?
She sat beside him on the grass. Her every move was graceful. Her curling blond hair moved in the wind, and her eyes were green as the leaves of summer. It had been a long time since Ned Stark had seen her beauty, but he saw it now. ?oI know the truth Jon Arryn died for,? he told her.
?oDo you?? The queen watched his face, wary as a cat. ?oIs that why you called me here, Lord Stark? To pose me riddles? Or is it your intent to seize me, as your wife seized my brother??
?oIf you truly believed that, you would never have come.? Ned touched her cheek gently. ?oHas he done this before??
?oOnce or twice.? She shied away from his hand. ?oNever on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life.? Cersei looked at him defiantly. ?oMy brother is worth a hundred of your friend.?
?oYour brother?? Ned said. ?oOr your lover??
?oBoth.? She did not flinch from the truth. ?oSince we were children together. And why not? The Targaryens wed brother to sister for three hundred years, to keep the bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel... whole.? The ghost of a smile flitted over her lips.
?oMy son Bran...?
To her cre***, Cersei did not look away. ?oHe saw us. You love your children, do you not??
Robert had asked him the very same question, the morning of the melee. He gave her the same answer. ?oWith all my heart.?
?oNo less do I love mine.?
Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would Catelyn do, if it were Jon?Ts life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He prayed he never would.
?oAll three are Jaimê?Ts,? he said. It was not a question.
?oThank the gods.?
The seed is strong, Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those bastards, all with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating between stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only issue, an unnamed boy described in Malleon?Ts tome as a large and lusty lad born with a full head of black hair, died in infancy. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife. She had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far back Ned searched in the brittle yellowed pages, always he found the gold yielding before the coal.
?oA dozen years,? Ned said. ?oHow is it that you have had no children by the king??
She lifted her head, defiant. ?oYour Robert got me with child once,? she said, her voice thick with contempt. ?oMy brother found a woman to cleanse me. He never knew, If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and I have not let him inside me for years. I know other ways to pleasure him, when he leaves his whores long enough to stagger up to my bedchamber. Whatever we do, the king is usually so drunk that hê?Ts forgotten it all by the next morning.?
How could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them all the time, written on the children?Ts faces. Ned felt sick. ?oI remember Robert as he was the day he took the throne, every inch a king,? he said quietly. ?oA thousand other women might have loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so??
Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. ?oThe night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister?Ts name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna.?
Ned Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep. ?oI do not know which of you I pity most.?
The queen seemed amused by that. ?oSave your pity for yourself, Lord Stark. I want none of it.?
?oYou know what I must do.?
?oMust?? She put her hand on his good leg, just above the knee. ?oA true man does what he will, not what he must.? Her fingers brushed lightly against his thigh, the gentlest of promises. ?oThe realm needs a strong Hand. Joff will not come of age for years. No one wants war again, least of all me.? Her hand touched his face, his hair. ?oIf friends can turn to enemies, enemies can become friends. Your wife is a thousand leagues away, and my brother has fled. Be kind to me, Ned. I swear to you, you shall never regret it.?
?oDid you make the same offer to Jon Arryn??
She slapped him.
?oI shall wear that as a badge of honor,? Ned said dryly.
?oHonor,? she spat. ?oHow dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me for? You?Tve a bastard of your own, I?Tve seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I?Tm told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime??
?oFor a start,? said Ned, ?oI do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow.?
?oExile,? she said. ?oA bitter cup to drink from.?
?oA sweeter cup than your father served Rhaegar?Ts children,? Ned said, ?oand kinder than you deserve. Your father and your brothers would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin?Ts gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert?Ts wrath will follow you, to the back of beyond if need be.?
The queen stood. ?oAnd what of my wrath, Lord Stark?? she asked softly. Her eyes searched his face. ?oYou should have taken the realm for yourself. It was there for the taking. Jaime told me how you found him on the Iron Throne the day King?Ts Landing fell, and made him yield it up. That was your moment. All you needed to do was climb those steps, and sit. Such a sad mistake.?
?oI have made more mistakes than you can possibly imagine,? Ned said, ?obut that was not one of them.?
?oOh, but it was, my lord,? Cersei insisted. ?oWhen you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.?
She turned up her hood to hide her swollen face and left him there in the dark beneath the oak, amidst the quiet of the godswood, under a blue-black sky. The stars were coming out.

Chapter 46
Daenerys​

The heart was steaming in the cool evening air when Khal Drogo set it before her, raw and bloody. His arms were red to the elbow. Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on the sand beside the corpse of the wild stallion, stone knives in their hands. The stallion?Ts blood looked black in the flickering orange glare of the torches that ringed the high chalk walls of the pit.
Dany touched the soft swell of her belly. Sweat beaded her skin and trickled down her brow. She could feel the old women watching her, the ancient crones of Vaes Dothrak, with eyes that shone dark as polished flint in their wrinkled faces. She must not flinch or look afraid. I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself as she took the stallion?Ts heart in both hands, lifted it to her mouth, and plunged her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh.
Warm blood filled her mouth and ran down over her chin. The taste threatened to gag her, but she made herself chew and swallow. The heart of a stallion would make her son strong and swift and fearless, or so the Dothraki believed, but only if the mother could eat it all. If she choked on the blood or retched up the flesh, the omens were less favorable; the child might be stillborn, or come forth weak, deformed, or female.
Her handmaids had helped her ready herself for the ceremony. Despite the tender mother?Ts stomach that had afflicted her these past two moons, Dany had dined on bowls of half-clotted blood to accustom herself to the taste, and Irri made her chew strips of dried horseflesh until her jaws were aching. She had starved herself for a day and a night before the ceremony in the hopes that hunger would help her keep down the raw meat.
The wild stallion?Ts heart was all muscle, and Dany had to worry it with her teeth and chew each mouthful a long time. No steel was permitted within the sacred confines of Vaes Dothrak, beneath the shadow of the Mother of Mountains; she had to rip the heart apart with teeth and nails. Her stomach roiled and heaved, yet she kept on, her face smeared with the heartsblood that sometimes seemed to explode against her lips.
Khal Drogo stood over her as she ate, his face as hard as a bronze shield. His long black braid was shiny with oil. He wore gold rings in his mustache, gold bells in his braid, and a heavy belt of solid gold medallions around his waist, but his chest was bare. She looked at him whenever she felt her strength failing; looked at him, and chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed. Toward the end, Dany thought she glimpsed a fierce pride in his dark, almondshaped eyes, but she could not be sure. The khal?Ts face did not often betray the thoughts within.
And finally it was done. Her cheeks and fingers were sticky as she forced down the last of it. Only then did she turn her eyes back to the old women, the crones of the dosh khaleen.
?oKhalakka dothrae mranha!? she proclaimed in her best Dothraki. A prince tides inside me! She had practiced the phrase for days with her handmaid Jhiqui.
The oldest of the crones, a bent and shriveled stick of a woman with a single black eye, raised her arms on high. ?oKhalakka dothrae!? she shrieked. The prince is tiding!
?oHe is tiding!? the other women answered. ?oRakh! Rakh! Rakh haj!? they proclaimed. A boy, a boy, a strong boy.
Bells rang, a sudden clangor of bronze birds. A deep-throated warhorn sounded its long low note. The old women began to chant. Underneath their painted leather vests, their withered dugs swayed back and forth, shiny with oil and sweat. The eunuchs who served them threw bundles of dried grasses into a great bronze brazier, and clouds of fragrant smoke rose up toward the moon and the stars. The Dothraki believed the stars were horses made of fire, a great herd that galloped across the sky by night.
As the smoke ascended, the chanting died away and the ancient crone closed her single eye, the better to peer into the future. The silence that fell was complete. Dany could hear the distant call of night birds, the hiss and crackle of the torches, the gentle lapping of water from the lake. The Dothraki stared at her with eyes of night, waiting.
Khal Drogo laid his hand on Dany?Ts arm. She could feel the tension in his fingers. Even a khal as mighty as Drogo could know fear when the dosh khaleen peered into smoke of the future. At her back, her handmaids fluttered anxiously.
Finally the crone opened her eye and lifted her arms. ?oI have seen his face, and heard the thunder of his hooves,? she proclaimed in a thin, wavery voice.
?oThe thunder of his hooves!? the others chorused.
?oAs swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name.? The old woman trembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. ?oThe prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world.?
?oThe stallion who mounts the world!? the onlookers cried in echo, until the night rang to the sound of their voices.
The one-eyed crone peered at Dany. ?oWhat shall he be called, the stallion who mounts the world??
She stood to answer. ?oHe shall be called Rhaego,? she said, using the words that Jhiqui had taught her. Her hands touched the swell beneath her breasts protectively as a roar went up from the Dothraki. ?oRhaego,? they screamed. ?oRhaego, Rhaego, Rhaego!?
The name was still ringing in her ears as Khal Drogo led her from the pit. His bloodriders fell in behind them. A procession followed them out onto the godsway, the broad grassy road that ran through the heart of Vaes Dothrak, from the horse gate to the Mother of Mountains. The crones of the dosh khaleen came first, with their eunuchs and slaves. Some supported themselves with tall carved staffs as they struggled along on ancient, shaking legs, while others walked as proud as any horselord. Each of the old women had been a khaleesi once. When their lord husbands died and a new khal took his place at the front of his riders, with a new khaleesi mounted beside him, they were sent here, to reign over the vast Dothraki nation. Even the mightiest of khals bowed to the wisdom and authority of the dosh khaleen. Still, it gave Dany the shivers to think that one day she might be sent to join them, whether she willed it or no.
Behind the wise women came the others; Khal Ogo and his son, the khalakka Fogo, Khal Jommo and his wives, the chief men of Drogô?Ts khalasar, Dany?Ts handmaids, the khal?Ts servants and slaves, and more. Bells rang and drums beat a stately cadence as they marched along the godsway. Stolen heroes and the gods of dead peoples brooded in the darkness beyond the road. Alongside the procession, slaves ran lightly through the grass with torches in their hands, and the flickering flames made the great monuments seem almost alive.
?oWhat is meaning, name Rhaego?? Khal Drogo asked as they walked, using the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She had been teaching him a few words when she could. Drogo was quick to learn when he put his mind to it, though his accent was so thick and barbarous that neither Ser Jorah nor Viserys could understand a word he said.
?oMy brother Rhaegar was a fierce warrior, my sun-and-stars,? she told him. ?oHe died before I was born. Ser Jorah says that he was the last of the dragons.?
Khal Drogo looked down at her. His face was a copper mask, yet under the long black mustache, drooping beneath the weight of its gold rings, she thought she glimpsed the shadow of a smile. ?oIs good name, Dan Ares wife, moon of my life,? he said.
They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.
The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her thighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion?Ts blood had dried on her hands and around her mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head, cleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on. She heard the old women of the dosh khaleen muttering to each other as they watched, and wondered what they were saying.
When she emerged from the lake, shivering and dripping, her handmaid Doreah hurried to her with a robe of painted sandsilk, but Khal Drogo waved her away. He was looking on her swollen breasts and the curve of her belly with approval, and Dany could see the shape of his manhood pressing through his horsehide trousers, below the heavy gold medallions of his belt. She went to him and helped him unlace. Then her huge khal took her by the hips and lifted her into the air, as he might lift a child. The bells in his hair rang softly.
Dany wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his neck as he thrust himself inside her. Three quick strokes and it was done. ?oThe stallion who mounts the world,? Drogo whispered hoarsely. His hands still smelled of horse blood. He bit at her throat, hard, in the moment of his pleasure, and when he lifted her off, his seed filled her and trickled down the inside of her thighs. Only then was Doreah permitted to drape her in the scented sandsilk, and Irri to fit soft slippers to her feet.
Khal Drogo laced himself up and spoke a command, and horses were brought to the lakeshore. Cohollo had the honor of helping the khaleesi onto her silver. Drogo spurred his stallion, and set off down the godsway beneath the moon and stars. On her silver, Dany easily kept pace.
The silk tenting that roofed Khal Drogô?Ts hall had been rolled up tonight, and the moon followed them inside. Flames leapt ten feet in the air from three huge stone-lined firepits. The air was thick with the smells of roasting meat and curdled, fermented marê?Ts milk. The hall was crowded and noisy when they entered, the cushions packed with those whose rank and name were not sufficient to allow them at the ceremony. As Dany rode beneath the arched entry and up the center aisle, every eye was on her. The Dothraki screamed out comments on her belly and her breasts, hailing the life within her. She could not understand all they shouted, but one phrase came clear. ?oThe stallion that mounts the world,? she heard, bellowed in a thousand voices.
The sounds of drums and horns swirled up into the night. Halfclothed women spun and danced on the low tables, amid joints of meat and platters piled high with plums and dates and pomegranates. Many of the men were drunk on clotted marê?Ts milk, yet Dany knew no arakhs would clash tonight, not here in the sacred city, where blades and bloodshed were forbidden.
Khal Drogo dismounted and took his place on the high bench. Khal Jommo and Khal Ogo, who had been in Vaes Dothrak with their khalasars when they arrived, were given seats of high honor to Drogô?Ts right and left. The bloodriders of the three khals sat below them, and farther down Khal Jommô?Ts four wives.