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

Dany climbed off her silver and gave the reins to one of the slaves. As Doreah and Irri arranged her cushions, she searched for her brother. Even across the length of the crowded hall, Viserys should have been conspicuous with his pale skin, silvery hair, and beggar?Ts rags, but she did not see him anywhere.
Her glance roamed the crowded tables near the walls, where men whose braids were even shorter than their manhoods sat on frayed rugs and flat cushions around the low tables, but all the faces she saw had black eyes and copper skin. She spied Ser Jorah Mormont near the center of the hall, close to the middle firepit. It was a place of respect, if not high honor; the Dothraki esteemed the knight?Ts prowess with a sword. Dany sent Jhiqui to bring him to her table. Mormont came at once, and went to one knee before her. ?oKhaleesi,? he said, ?oI am yours to command.?
She patted the stuffed horsehide cushion beside her. ?oSit and talk with me.?
?oYou honor me.? The knight seated himself cross-legged on the cushion. A slave knelt before him, offering a wooden platter full of ripe figs. Ser Jorah took one and bit it in half.
?oWhere is my brother?? Dany asked. ?oHe ought to have come by now, for the feast.?
?oI saw His Grace this morning,? he told her. ?oHe told me he was going to the Western Market, in search of wine.?
?oWine?? Dany said doubtfully. Viserys could not abide the taste of the fermented marê?Ts milk the Dothraki drank, she knew that, and he was oft at the bazaars these days, drinking with the traders who came in the great caravans from east and west. He seemed to find their company more congenial than hers.
?oWine,? Ser Jorah confirmed, ?oand he has some thought to recruit men for his army from the sellswords who guard the caravans.? A serving girl laid a blood pie in front of him, and he attacked it with both hands.
?oIs that wise?? she asked. ?oHe has no gold to pay soldiers. What if hê?Ts betrayed?? Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King?Ts Landing would pay well for her brother?Ts head. ?oYou ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.?
?oWe are in Vaes Dothrak,? he reminded her. ?oNo one may carry a blade here or shed a man?Ts blood.?
?oYet men die,? she said. ?oJhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.?
?oThen let us hope your brother will be wise enough not to steal anything.? Ser Jorah wiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned close over the table. ?oHe had planned to take your dragon?Ts eggs, until I warned him that I?Td cut off his hand if he so much as touched them.?
For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. ?oMy eggs... but they?Tre mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want... they?Tre only stones...?
?oThe same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess... and dragon?Ts eggs are rarer by far. Those traders hê?Ts been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need.?
Dany had not known, had not even suspected. ?oThen... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother... and my true king.?
?oHe is your brother,? Ser Jorah acknowledged.
?oYou do not understand, ser,? she said. ?oMy mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.?
?oOnce,? said Ser Jorah. ?oNo longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world.? He held out his cup, and a slave filled it with fermented marê?Ts milk, sour-smelling and thick with clots.
Dany waved her away. Even the smell of it made her feel ill, and she would take no chances of bringing up the horse heart she had forced herself to eat. ?oWhat does it mean?? she asked. ?oWhat is this stallion? Everyone was shouting it at me, but I don?Tt understand.?
?oThe stallion is the khal of khals promised in ancient prophecy, child. He will unite the Dothraki into a single khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth, or so it was promised. All the people of the world will be his herd.?
?oOh,? Dany said in a small voice. Her hand smoothed her robe down over the swell of her stomach. ?oI named him Rhaego.?
?oA name to make the Usurper?Ts blood run cold.?
Suddenly Doreah was tugging at her elbow. ?oMy lady,? the handmaid whispered urgently, ?oyour brother...?
Dany looked down the length of the long, roofless hall and there he was, striding toward her. From the lurch in his step, she could tell at once that Viserys had found his wine... and something that passed for courage.
He was wearing his scarlet silks, soiled and travel-stained. His cloak and gloves were black velvet, faded from the sun. His boots were dry and cracked, his silver-blond hair matted and tangled. A longsword swung from his belt in a leather scabbard. The Dothraki eyed the sword as he passed; Dany heard curses and threats and angry muttering rising all around her, like a tide. The music died away in a nervous stammering of drums.
A sense of dread closed around her heart. ?oGo to him,? she commanded Ser Jorah. ?oStop him. Bring him here. Tell him he can have the dragon?Ts eggs if that is what he wants.? The knight rose swiftly to his feet.
?oWhere is my sister?? Viserys shouted, his voice thick with wine. ?oI?Tve come for her feast. How dare you presume to eat without me? No one eats before the king. Where is she? The whore can?Tt hide from the dragon.?
He stopped beside the largest of the three firepits, peering around at the faces of the Dothraki. There were five thousand men in the hall, but only a handful who knew the Common Tongue. Yet even if his words were incomprehensible, you had only to look at him to know that he was drunk.
Ser Jorah went to him swiftly, whispered something in his ear, and took him by the arm, but Viserys wrenched free. ?oKeep your hands off me! No one touches the dragon without leave.?
Dany glanced anxiously up at the high bench. Khal Drogo was saying something to the other khals beside him. Khal Jommo grinned, and Khal Ogo began to guffaw loudly.
The sound of laughter made Viserys lift his eyes. ?oKhal Drogo,? he said thickly, his voice almost polite. ?oI?Tm here for the feast.? He staggered away from Ser Jorah, making to join the three khals on the high bench.
Khal Drogo rose, spat out a dozen words in Dothraki, faster than Dany could understand, and pointed. ?oKhal Drogo says your place is not on the high bench,? Ser Jorah translated for her brother. ?oKhal Drogo says your place is there.?
Viserys glanced where the khal was pointing. At the back of the long hall, in a corner by the wall, deep in shadow so better men would not need to look on them, sat the lowest of the low; raw unblooded boys, old men with clouded eyes and stiff joints, the dim-witted and the maimed. Far from the meat, and farther from honor. ?oThat is no place for a king,? her brother declared.
?oIs place,? Khal Drogo answered, in the Common Tongue that Dany had taught him, ?ofor Sorefoot King.? He clapped his hands together. ?oA cart! Bring cart for Khal Rhaggat! ?o
Five thousand Dothraki began to laugh and shout. Ser Jorah was standing beside Viserys, screaming in his ear, but the roar in the hall was so thunderous that Dany could not hear what he was saying. Her brother shouted back and the two men grappled, until Mormont knocked Viserys bodily to the floor.
Her brother drew his sword.
The bared steel shone a fearful red in the glare from the firepits. ?oKeep away from me!? Viserys hissed. Ser Jorah backed off a step, and her brother climbed unsteadily to his feet. He waved the sword over his head, the borrowed blade that Magister Illyrio had given him to make him seem more kingly. Dothraki were shrieking at him from all sides, screaming vile curses.
Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.
Her voice made Viserys turn his head, and he saw her for the first time. ?oThere she is,? he said, smiling. He stalked toward her, slashing at the air as if to cut a path through a wall of enemies, though no one tried to bar his way.
?oThe blade... you must not,? she begged him. ?oPlease, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. Therê?Ts drink, food... is it the dragon?Ts eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.?
?oDo as she tells you, fool,? Ser Jorah shouted, ?obefore you get us all killed.?
Viserys laughed. ?oThey can?Tt kill us. They can?Tt shed blood here in the sacred city... but I can.? He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys?Ts breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly. ?oI want what I came for,? he told her. ?oI want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I bargained for, or I?Tm taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody foal. I?Tll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.? The sword point pushed through her silks and pricked at her navel. Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother.
Distantly, as from far away, Dany heard her handmaid Jhiqui sobbing in fear, pleading that she dared not translate, that the khal would bind her and drag her behind his horse all the way up the Mother of Mountains. She put her arm around the girl. ?oDon?Tt be afraid,? she said. ?oI shall tell him.?
She did not know if she had enough words, yet when she was done Khal Drogo spoke a few brusque sentences in Dothraki, and she knew he understood. The sun of her life stepped down from the high bench.
?oWhat did he say?? the man who had been her brother asked her, flinching.
It had grown so silent in the hall that she could hear the bells in Khal Drogô?Ts hair, chiming softly with each step he took. His bloodriders followed him, like three copper shadows. Daenerys had gone cold all over. ?oHe says you shall have a splendid golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.?
Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward... the way he smiled. ?oThat was all I wanted,? he said. ?oWhat was promised.?
When the sun of her life reached her, Dany slid an arm around his waist. The khal said a word, and his bloodriders leapt forward. Qotho seized the man who had been her brother by the arms. Haggo shattered his wrist with a single, sharp twist of his huge hands. Cohollo pulled the sword from his limp fingers. Even now Viserys did not understand. ?oNo,? he shouted, ?oyou cannot touch me, I am the dragon, the dragon, and I will be crowned!?
Khal Drogo unfastened his belt. The medallions were pure gold, massive and ornate, each one as large as a man?Ts hand. He shouted a command. Cook slaves pulled a heavy iron stew pot from the firepit, dumped the stew onto the ground, and returned the pot to the flames. Drogo tossed in the belt and watched without expression as the medallions turned red and began to lose their shape. She could see fires dancing in the onyx of his eyes. A slave handed him a pair of thick horsehair mittens, and he pulled them on, never so much as looking at the man.
Viserys began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked and twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight between them. Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany?Ts side. He put a hand on her shoulder. ?oTurn away, my princess, I beg you.?
?oNo.? She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively.
At the last, Viserys looked at her. ?oSister, please... Dany, tell them... make them... sweet sister...?
When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. ?oCrown!? he roared. ?oHere. A crown for Cart King!? And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.
The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering... yet no drop of blood was spilled.
He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.

Chapter 47
Eddard​

He was walking through the crypts beneath Winterfell, as he had walked a thousand times before. The Kings of Winter watched him pass with eyes of ice, and the direwolves at their feet turned their great stone heads and snarled. Last of all, he came to the tomb where his father slept, with Brandon and Lyanna beside him. ?oPromise me, Ned,? Lyannâ?Ts statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood.
Eddard Stark jerked upright, his heart racing, the blankets tangled around him. The room was black as pitch, and someone was hammering on the door. ?oLord Eddard,? a voice called loudly.
?oA moment.? Groggy and naked, he stumbled his way across the darkened chamber. When he opened the door, he found Tomard with an upraised fist, and Cayn with a taper in hand. Between them stood the king?Ts own steward.
The man?Ts face might have been carved of stone, so little did it show. ?oMy lord Hand,? he intoned. ?oHis Grace the King commands your presence. At once.?
So Robert had returned from his hunt. It was long past time. ?oI shall need a few moments to dress.? Ned left the man waiting without. Cayn helped him with his clothes; white linen tunic and grey cloak, trousers cut open down his plaster-sheathed leg, his badge of office, and last of all a belt of heavy silver links. He sheathed the Valyrian dagger at his waist.
The Red Keep was dark and still as Cayn and Tomard escorted him across the inner bailey. The moon hung low over the walls, ripening toward full. On the ramparts, a guardsman in a gold cloak walked his rounds.
The royal apartments were in Maegor?Ts Holdfast, a massive square fortress that nestled in the heart of the Red Keep behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes, a castle-within-a-castle. Ser Boros Blount guarded the far end of the bridge, white steel armor ghostly in the moonlight. Within, Ned passed two other knights of the Kingsguard; Ser Preston Greenfield stood at the bottom of the steps, and Ser Barristan Selmy waited at the door of the king?Ts bedchamber. Three men in white cloaks, he thought, remembering, and a strange chill went through him. Ser Barristan?Ts face was as pale as his armor. Ned had only to look at him to know that something was dreadfully wrong. The royal steward opened the door. ?oLord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,? he announced.
?oBring him here,? Robert?Ts voice called, strangely thick.
Fires blazed in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, filling the room with a sullen red glare. The heat within was suffocating. Robert lay across the canopied bed. At the bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle, while Lord Renly paced restlessly before the shuttered windows. Servants moved back and forth, feeding logs to the fire and boiling wine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. Her hair was tousled, as if from sleep, but there was nothing sleepy in her eyes. They followed Ned as Tomard and Cayn helped him cross the room. He seemed to move very slowly, as if he were still dreaming.
The king still wore his boots. Ned could see dried mud and blades of grass clinging to the leather where Robert?Ts feet stuck out beneath the blanket that covered him, A green doublet lay on the floor, slashed open and discarded, the cloth crusted with red-brown stains. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death.
?oNed,? the king whispered when he saw him. His face was pale as milk. ?oCome... closer.?
His men brought him close. Ned steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost. He had only to look down at Robert to know how bad it was. ?oWhat... ?? he began, his throat clenched.
?oA boar.? Lord Renly was still in his hunting greens, his cloak spattered with blood.
?oA devil,? the king husked. ?oMy own fault. Too much wine, damn me to hell. Missed my thrust.?
?oAnd where were the rest of you?? Ned demanded of Lord Renly. ?oWhere was Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard??
Renly?Ts mouth twitched. ?oMy brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the boar alone.?
Eddard Stark lifted the blanket.
They had done what they could to close him up, but it was nowhere near enough. The boar must have been a fearsome thing. It had ripped the king from groin to nipple with its tusks. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were already black with blood, and the smell off the wound was hideous. Ned?Ts stomach turned. He let the blanket fall.
?oStinks,? Robert said. ?oThe stink of death, don?Tt think I can?Tt smell it. Bastard did me good, eh? But I... I paid him back in kind, Ned.? The king?Ts smile was as terrible as his wound, his teeth red. ?oDrove a knife right through his eye. Ask them if I didn?Tt. Ask them.?
?oTruly,? Lord Renly murmured. ?oWe brought the carcass back with us, at my brother?Ts command.?
?oFor the feast,? Robert whispered. ?oNow leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Ned.?
?oRobert, my sweet lord...? Cersei began.
?oI said leave,? Robert insisted with a hint of his old fierceness. ?oWhat part of that don?Tt you understand, woman??
Cersei gathered up her skirts and her dignity and led the way to the door. Lord Renly and the others followed. Grand Maester Pycelle lingered, his hands shaking as he offered the king a cup of thick white liquid. ?oThe milk of the poppy, Your Grace,? he said. ?oDrink. For your pain.?
Robert knocked the cup away with the back of his hand. ?oAway with you. I?Tll sleep soon enough, old fool. Get out.?
Grand Maester Pycelle gave Ned a stricken look as he shuffled from the room.
?oDamn you, Robert,? Ned said when they were alone. His leg was throbbing so badly he was almost blind with pain. Or perhaps it was grief that fogged his eyes. He lowered himself to the bed, beside his friend. ?oWhy do you always have to be so headstrong??
?oAh, **** you, Ned,? the king said hoarsely. ?oI killed the bastard, didn?Tt I?? A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. ?oOught to do the same for you. Can?Tt leave a man to hunt in peace. Ser Robar found me. Gregor?Ts head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him.? His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him. ?oGods have mercy,? he muttered, swallowing his agony. ?oThe girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right... that?Ts why, the girl... the gods sent the boar... sent to punish me...? The king coughed, bringing up blood. ?oWrong, it was wrong, I... only a girl... Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother... worthless... no one to tell me no but you, Ned... only you...? He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. ?oPaper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.?
Ned smoothed the paper out across his knee and took up the quill. ?oAt your command, Your Grace.?
?oThis is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the rest - put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my... upon my death... to rule in my... in my stead, until my son Joffrey does come of age...
?~Robert Joffrey is not your son?T, he wanted to say, but the words would not come. The agony was written too plainly across Robert?Ts face; he could not hurt him more. So Ned bent his head and wrote, but where the king had said ?omy son Joffrey,? he scrawled ?omy heir? instead. The deceit made him feel soiled. The lies we tell for love, he thought. May the gods forgive me. ?oWhat else would you have me say??
?oSay... whatever you need to. Protect and defend, gods old and new, you have the words. Write. I?Tll sign it. You give it to the council when I?Tm dead.?
?oRobert,? Ned said in a voice thick with grief, ?oyou must not do this. Don?Tt die on me. The realm needs you.?
Robert took his hand, fingers squeezing hard. ?oYou are... such a bad liar, Ned Stark,? he said through his pain. ?oThe realm... the realm knows... what a wretched king I?Tve been. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me.?
?oNo,? Ned told his dying friend, ?onot so bad as Aerys, Your Grace. Not near so bad as Aerys.?
Robert managed a weak red smile. ?oAt the least, they will say... this last thing... this I did right. You won?Tt fail me. You?Tll rule now. You?Tll hate it, worse than I did... but you?Tll do well. Are you done with the scribbling??
?oYes, Your Grace.? Ned offered Robert the paper. The king scrawled his signature blindly, leaving a smear of blood across the letter. ?oThe seal should be witnessed.?
?oServe the boar at my funeral feast,? Robert rasped. ?oApple in its mouth, skin seared crisp. Eat the bastard. Don?Tt care if you choke on him. Promise me, Ned.?
?oI promise.? Promise me, Ned, Lyannâ?Ts voice echoed.
?oThe girl,? the king said. ?oDaenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it... not too late... talk to them... Varys, Littlefinger... don?Tt let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be... better than me.? He winced. ?oGods have mercy.?
?oThey will, my friend,? Ned said. ?oThey will.?
The king closed his eyes and seemed to relax. ?oKilled by a pig,? he muttered. ?oOught to laugh, but it hurts too much.?
Ned was not laughing. ?oShall I call them back??
Robert gave a weak nod. ?oAs you will. Gods, why is it so cold in here??
The servants rushed back in and hurried to feed the fires. The queen had gone; that was some small relief, at least. If she had any sense, Cersei would take her children and fly before the break of day, Ned thought. She had lingered too long already.
King Robert did not seem to miss her. He bid his brother Renly and Grand Maester Pycelle to stand in witness as he pressed his seal into the hot yellow wax that Ned had dripped upon his letter. ?oNow give me something for the pain and let me die.?
Hurriedly Grand Maester Pycelle mixed him another draught of the milk of the poppy. This time the king drank deeply. His black beard was beaded with thick white droplets when he threw the empty cup aside. ?oWill I dream??
Ned gave him his answer. ?oYou will, my lord.?
?oGood,? he said, smiling. ?oI will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for me.?
The words twisted in Ned?Ts belly like a knife. For a moment he was at a loss. He could not bring himself to lie. Then he remembered the bastards: little Barra at her mother?Ts breast, Mya in the Vale, Gendry at his forge, and all the others. ?oI shall... guard your children as if they were my own,? he said slowly.
Robert nodded and closed his eyes. Ned watched his old friend sag softly into the pillows as the milk of the poppy washed the pain from his face. Sleep took him.
Heavy chains jangled softly as Grand Maester Pycelle came up to Ned. ?oI will do all in my power, my lord, but the wound has mortified. It took them two days to get him back. By the time I saw him, it was too late. I can lessen His Gracê?Ts suffering, but only the gods can heal him now.?
?oHow long?? Ned asked.
?oBy rights, he should be dead already. I have never seen a man cling to life so fiercely.?
?oMy brother was always strong,? Lord Renly said. ?oNot wise, perhaps, but strong.? In the sweltering heat of the bedchamber, his brow was slick with sweat. He might have been Robert?Ts ghost as he stood there, young and dark and handsome. ?oHe slew the boar. His entrails were sliding from his belly, yet somehow he slew the boar.? His voice was full of wonder.
?oRobert was never a man to leave the battleground so long as a foe remained standing,? Ned told him.
Outside the door, Ser Barristan Selmy still guarded the tower stairs. ?oMaester Pycelle has given Robert the milk of the poppy,? Ned told him. ?oSee that no one disturbs his rest without leave from me.?
?oIt shall be as you command, my lord.? Ser Barristan seemed old beyond his years. ?oI have failed my sacred trust.?
?oEven the truest knight cannot protect a king against himself,? Ned said. ?oRobert loved to hunt boar. I have seen him take a thousand of them.? He would stand his ground without flinching, his legs braced, the great spear in his hands, and as often as not he would curse the boar as it charged, and wait until the last possible second, until it was almost on him, before he killed it with a single sure and savage thrust. ?oNo one could know this one would be his death.?
?oYou are kind to say so, Lord Eddard.?
?oThe king himself said as much. He blamed the wine.?
The white-haired knight gave a weary nod. ?oHis Grace was reeling in his saddle by the time we flushed the boar from his lair, yet he commanded us all to stand aside.?
?oI wonder, Ser Barristan,? asked Varys, so quietly, ?owho gave the king this wine??
Ned had not heard the eunuch approach, but when he looked around, there he stood. He wore a black velvet robe that brushed the floor, and his face was freshly powdered.
?oThe wine was from the king?Ts own skin,? Ser Barristan said.
?oOnly one skin? Hunting is such thirsty work.?
?oI did not keep count. More than one, for a certainty. His squire would fetch him a fresh skin whenever he required it.?
?oSuch a dutiful boy,? said Varys, ?oto make certain His Grace did not lack for refreshment.?
Ned had a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled the two fair-haired boys Robert had sent chasing after a breastplate stretcher. The king had told everyone the tale that night at the feast, laughing until he shook. ?oWhich squire??
?oThe elder,? said Ser Barristan. ?oLancel.?
?oI know the lad well,? said Varys. ?oA stalwart boy, Ser Kevan Lannister?Ts son, nephew to Lord Tywin and cousin to the queen. I hope the dear sweet lad does not blame himself. Children are so vulnerable in the innocence of their youth, how well do I remember.?
Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. ?oYou mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.?
?oAlas,? said Varys. ?oAt once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.? He bowed and vanished down the steps, his soft-soled slippers whispering against the stone as he made his descent.

Cayn and Tomard were helping Ned across the bridge when Lord Renly emerged from Maegor?Ts Holdfast. ?oLord Eddard,? he called after Ned, ?oa moment, if you would be so kind.?
Ned stopped. ?oAs you wish.?
Renly walked to his side. ?oSend your men away.? They met in the center of the bridge, the dry moat beneath them. Moonlight silvered the cruel edges of the spikes that lined its bed.
Ned gestured. Tomard and Cayn bowed their heads and backed away respectfully. Lord Renly glanced warily at Ser Boros on the far end of the span, at Ser Preston in the doorway behind them. ?oThat letter.? He leaned close. ?oWas it the regency? Has my brother named you Protector?? He did not wait for a reply. ?oMy lord, I have thirty men in my personal guard, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour, and I can put a hundred swords in your hand.?
?oAnd what should I do with a hundred swords, my lord??
?oStrike! Now, while the castle sleeps.? Renly looked back at Ser Boros again and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. ?oWe must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him in hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should seize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare oppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward.?
Ned regarded him coldly. ?oRobert is not dead yet. The gods may spare him. If not, I shall convene the council to hear his final words and consider the matter of the succession, but I will not dishonor his last hours on earth by shedding blood in his halls and dragging frightened children from their beds.?
Lord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. ?oEvery moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late... for both of us.?
?oThen we should pray that Robert does not die.?
?oSmall chance of that,? said Renly.
?oSometimes the gods are merciful.?
?oThe Lannisters are not.? Lord Renly turned away and went back across the moat, to the tower where his brother lay dying.
By the time Ned returned to his chambers, he felt weary and heartsick, yet there was no question of his going back to sleep, not now. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die, Cersei Lannister had told him in the godswood. He found himself wondering if he had done the right thing by refusing Lord Renly?Ts offer. He had no taste for these intrigues, and there was no honor in threatening children, and yet... if Cersei elected to fight rather than flee, he might well have need of Renly?Ts hundred swords, and more besides.
?oI want Littlefinger,? he told Cayn. ?oIf hê?Ts not in his chambers, take as many men as you need and search every winesink and whorehouse in King?Ts Landing until you find him. Bring him to me before break of day.? Cayn bowed and took his leave, and Ned turned to Tomard. ?oThe Wind Witch sails on the evening tide. Have you chosen the escort??
?oTen men, with Porther in command.?
?oTwenty, and you will command,? Ned said. Porther was a brave man, but headstrong. He wanted someone more solid and sensible to keep watch over his daughters.
?oAs you wish, m?Tlord,? Tom said. ?oCan?Tt say I?Tll be sad to see the back of this place. I miss the wife.?
?oYou will pass near Dragonstone when you turn north. I need you to deliver a letter for me.?
Tom looked apprehensive. ?oTo Dragonstone, m?Tlord?? The island fortress of House Targaryen had a sinister repute.
?oTell Captain Qos to hoist my banner as soon as he comes in sight of the island. They may be wary of unexpected visitors. If he is reluctant, offer him whatever it takes. I will give you a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his steward, nor the captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.?
?oAs you command, m?Tlord.?
When Tomard had left him, Lord Eddard Stark sat staring at the flame of the candle that burned beside him on the table. For a moment his grief overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing so much as to seek out the godswood, to kneel before the heart tree and pray for the life of Robert Baratheon, who had been more than a brother to him.
Men would whisper afterward that Eddard Stark had betrayed his king?Ts friendship and disinherited his sons; he could only hope that the gods would know better, and that Robert would learn the truth of it in the land beyond the grave.
Ned took out the king?Ts last letter. A roll of crisp white parchment sealed with golden wax, a few short words and a smear of blood. How small the difference between victory and defeat, between life and death.
He drew out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his quill in the inkpot. To His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon, he wrote. By the time you receive this letter, your brother Robert, our King these past fifteen years, will be dead. He was savaged by a boar whilst hunting in the kingswood...
The letters seemed to writhe and twist on the paper as his hand trailed to a stop. Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime were not men *****ffer disgrace meekly; they would fight rather than flee. No doubt Lord Stannis was wary, after the murder of Jon Arryn, but it was imperative that he sail for King?Ts Landing at once with all his power, before the Lannisters could march.
Ned chose each word with care. When he was done, he signed the letter Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, and Protector of the Realm, blotted the paper, folded it twice, and melted the sealing wax over the candle flame.
His regency would be a short one, he reflected as the wax softened. The new king would choose his own Hand. Ned would be free to go home. The thought of Winterfell brought a wan smile to his face. He wanted to hear Bran?Ts laughter once more, to go hawking with Robb, to watch Rickon at play. He wanted to drift off to a dreamless sleep in his own bed with his arms wrapped tight around his lady, Catelyn.
Cayn returned as he was pressing the direwolf seal down into the soft white wax. Desmond was with him, and between them Littlefinger. Ned thanked his guards and sent them away.
Lord Petyr was clad in a blue velvet tunic with puffed sleeves, his silvery cape patterned with mockingbirds. ?oI suppose congratulations are in order,? he said as he seated himself.
Ned scowled. ?oThe king lies wounded and near to death.?
?oI know,? Littlefinger said. ?oI also know that Robert has named you Protector of the Realm.?
Ned?Ts eyes flicked to the king?Ts letter on the table beside him, its seal unbroken. ?oAnd how is it you know that, my lord??
?oVarys hinted as much,? Littlefinger said, ?oand you have just confirmed it.?
Ned?Ts mouth twisted in anger. ?oDamn Varys and his little birds. Catelyn spoke truly, the man has some black art. I do not trust him.?
?oExcellent. You?Tre learning.? Littlefinger leaned forward. ?oYet I?Tll wager you did not drag me here in the black of night to discuss the eunuch.?
?oNo,? Ned admitted. ?oI know the secret Jon Arryn was murdered to protect. Robert will leave no trueborn son behind him. Joffrey and Tommen are Jaime Lannister?Ts bastards, born of his incestuous union with the queen.?
Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. ?oShocking,? he said in a tone that suggested he was not shocked at all. ?oThe girl as well? No doubt. So when the king dies...?
?oThe throne by rights passes to Lord Stannis, the elder of Robert?Ts two brothers.?
Lord Petyr stroked his pointed beard as he considered the matter. ?oSo it would seem. Unless...?
?oUnless, my lord? There is no seeming to this. Stannis is the heir. Nothing can change that.?
?oStannis cannot take the throne without your help. If you?Tre wise, you?Tll make certain Joffrey succeeds.?
Ned gave him a stony stare. ?oHave you no shred of honor??
?oOh, a shred, surely,? Littlefinger replied negligently. ?oHear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. Hê?Tll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt hê?Tll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won?Tt love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter?Ts head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm?Ts End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.
?oNow look at the other side of the coin. Joffrey is but twelve, and Robert gave you the regency, my lord. You are the Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm. The power is yours, Lord Stark. All you need do is reach out and take it. Make your peace with the Lannisters. Release the Imp. Wed Joffrey to your Sansa. Wed your younger girl to Prince Tommen, and your heir to Myrcella. It will be four years before Joffrey comes of age. By then he will look to you as a second father, and if not, well... four years is a good long while, my lord. Long enough to dispose of Lord Stannis. Then, should Joffrey prove troublesome, we can reveal his little secret and put Lord Renly on the throne.?
?oWe?? Ned repeated.
Littlefinger gave a shrug. ?oYou?Tll need someone to share your burdens. I assure you, my price would be modest.?
?oYour price.? Ned?Ts voice was ice. ?oLord Baelish, what you suggest is treason.?
?oOnly if we lose.?
?oYou forget,? Ned told him. ?oYou forget Jon Arryn. You forget Jory Cassel. And you forget this.? He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death. ?oThey sent a man to cut my son?Ts throat, Lord Baelish.?
Littlefinger sighed. ?oI fear I did forget, my lord. Pray forgive me. For a moment I did not remember that I was talking to a Stark.? His mouth quirked. ?oSo it will be Stannis, and war??
?oIt is not a choice. Stannis is the heir.?
?oFar be it from me to dispute the Lord Protector. What would you have of me, then? Not my wisdom, for a certainty.?
?oI shall do my best to forget your... wisdom,? Ned said with distaste. ?oI called you here to ask for the help you promised Catelyn. This is a perilous hour for all of us. Robert has named me Protector, true enough, but in the eyes of the world, Joffrey is still his son and heir. The queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men-at-arms who will do whatever she commands... enough to overwhelm what remains of my own household guard. And for all I know, her brother Jaime may be riding for King?Ts Landing even as we speak, with a Lannister host at his back.?
?oAnd you without an army.? Littlefinger toyed with the dagger on the table, turning it slowly with a finger. ?oThere is small love lost between Lord Renly and the Lannisters. Bronze Yohn Royce, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Loras, Lady Tanda, the Redwyne twins... each of them has a retinue of knights and sworn swords here at court.?
?oRenly has thirty men in his personal guard, the rest even fewer. It is not enough, even if I could be certain that all of them will choose to give me their allegiance. I must have the gold cloaks. The City Watch is two thousand strong, sworn to defend the castle, the city, and the king?Ts peace.?
?oAh, but when the queen proclaims one king and the Hand another, whose peace do they protect?? Lord Petyr flicked at the dagger with his finger, setting it spinning in place. Round and round it went, wobbling as it turned. When at last it slowed to a stop, the blade pointed at Littlefinger. ?oWhy, therê?Ts your answer,? he said, smiling. ?oThey follow the man who pays them.? He leaned back and looked Ned full in the face, his grey-green eyes bright with mockery. ?oYou wear your honor like a suit of armor, Stark. You think it keeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move. Look at you now. You know why you summoned me here. You know what you want to ask me to do. You know it has to be done... but it?Ts not honorable, so the words stick in your throat.?
Ned?Ts neck was rigid with tension. For a moment he was so angry that he did not trust himself to speak.
Littlefinger laughed. ?oI ought to make you say it, but that would be cruel... so have no fear, my good lord. For the sake of the love I bear for Catelyn, I will go to Janos Slynt this very hour and make certain that the City Watch is yours. Six thousand gold pieces should do it. A third for the Commander, a third for the officers, a third for the men. We might be able to buy them for half that much, but I prefer not to take chances.? Smiling, he plucked up the dagger and offered it to Ned, hilt first.

Chapter 48
Jon​

Jon was breaking his fast on applecakes and blood sausage when Samwell Tarly plopped himself down on the bench. ?oI?Tve been summoned to the sept,? Sam said in an excited whisper. ?oThey?Tre passing me out of training. I?Tm to be made a brother with the rest of you. Can you believe it??
?oNo, truly??
?oTruly. I?Tm to assist Maester Aemon with the library and the birds. He needs someone who can read and write letters.?
?oYou?Tll do well at that,? Jon said, smiling.
Sam glanced about anxiously. ?oIs it time to go? I shouldn?Tt be late, they might change their minds.? He was fairly bouncing as they crossed the weed-strewn courtyard. The day was warm and sunny. Rivulets of water trickled down the sides of the Wall, so the ice seemed to sparkle and shine.
Inside the sept, the great crystal caught the morning light as it streamed through the south-facing window and spread it in a rainbow on the altar. Pyp?Ts mouth dropped open when he caught sight of Sam, and Toad poked Grenn in the ribs, but no one dared say a word. Septon Celladar was swinging a censer, filling the air with fragrant incense that reminded Jon of Lady Stark?Ts little sept in Winterfell. For once the septon seemed sober.
The high officers arrived in a body; Maester Aemon leaning on Clydas, Ser Alliser cold-eyed and grim, Lord Commander Mormont resplendent in a black wool doublet with silvered bearclaw fastenings. Behind them came the senior members of the three orders: red-faced Bowen Marsh the Lord Steward, First Builder Othell Yarwyck, and Ser Jaremy Rykker, who commanded the rangers in the absence of Benjen Stark.
Mormont stood before the altar, the rainbow shining on his broad bald head. ?oYou came to us outlaws,? he began, ?opoachers, rapers, debtors, killers, and thieves. You came to us children. You came to us alone, in chains, with neither friends nor honor. You came to us rich, and you came to us poor. Some of you bear the names of proud houses. Others have only bastards?T names, or no names at all. It makes no matter. All that is past now. On the Wall, we are all one house.
?oAt evenfall, as the sun sets and we face the gathering night, you shall take your vows. From that moment, you will be a Sworn Brother of the Night?Ts Watch. Your crimes will be washed away, your debts forgiven. So too you must wash away your former loyalties, put aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and old loves alike. Here you begin anew.
?oA man of the Night?Ts Watch lives his life for the realm. Not for a king, nor a lord, nor the honor of this house or that house, neither for gold nor glory nor a woman?Ts love, but for the realm, and all the people in it. A man of the Night?Ts Watch takes no wife and fathers no sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. And you are the only sons we shall ever know.
?oYou have learned the words of the vow. Think carefully before you say them, for once you have taken the black, there is no turning back. The penalty for desertion is death.? The Old Bear paused for a moment before he said, ?oAre there any among you who wish to leave our company? If so, go now, and no one shall think the less of you.?
No one moved.
?oWell and good,? said Mormont. ?oYou may take your vows here at evenfall, before Septon Celladar and the first of your order. Do any of you keep to the old gods??
Jon stood. ?oI do, my lord.?
?oI expect you will want to say your words before a heart tree, as your uncle did,? Mormont said.
?oYes, my lord,? Jon said. The gods of the sept had nothing to do with him; the blood of the First Men flowed in the veins of the Starks.
He heard Grenn whispering behind him. ?oTherê?Ts no godswood here. Is there? I never saw a godswood.?
?oYou wouldn?Tt see a herd of aurochs until they trampled you into the snow,? Pyp whispered back.
?oI would so,? Grenn insisted. ?oI?Td see them a long way off.?
Mormont himself confirmed Grenn?Ts doubts. ?oCastle Black has no need of a godswood. Beyond the Wall the haunted forest stands as it stood in the Dawn Age, long before the Andals brought the Seven across the narrow sea. You will find a grove of weirwoods half a league from this spot, and mayhap your gods as well.?
?oMy lord.? The voice made Jon glance back in surprise. Samwell Tarly was on his feet. The fat boy wiped his sweaty palms against his tunic. ?oMight I... might I go as well? To say my words at this heart tree??
?oDoes House Tarly keep the old gods too?? Mormont asked.
?oNo, my lord,? Sam replied in a thin, nervous voice. The high officers frightened him, Jon knew, the Old Bear most of all. ?oI was named in the light of the Seven at the sept on Horn Hill, as my father was, and his father, and all the Tarlys for a thousand years.?
?oWhy would you forsake the gods of your father and your House?? wondered Ser Jaremy Rykker.
?oThe Night?Ts Watch is my House now,? Sam said. ?oThe Seven have never answered my prayers. Perhaps the old gods will.?
?oAs you wish, boy,? Mormont said. Sam took his seat again, as did Jon. ?oWe have placed each of you in an order, as befits our need and your own strengths and skills.? Bowen Marsh stepped forward and handed him a paper. The Lord Commander unrolled it and began to read. ?oHalder, to the builders,? he began. Halder gave a stiff nod of approval. ?oGrenn, to the rangers. Albett, to the builders. Pypar, to the rangers.? Pyp looked over at Jon and wiggled his ears. ?oSamwell, to the stewards.? Sam sagged with relief, mopping at his brow with,a scrap of silk. ?oMatthar, to the rangers. Dareon, to the stewards. Todder, to the rangers. Jon, to the stewards.?
The stewards? For a moment Jon could not believe what he had heard. Mormont must have read it wrong. He started to rise, to open his mouth, to tell them there had been a mistake... and then he saw Ser Alliser studying him, eyes shiny as two flakes of obsidian, and he knew.
The Old Bear rolled up the paper. ?oYour firsts will instruct you in your duties. May all the gods preserve you, brothers.? The Lord Commander favored them with a half bow, and took his leave. Ser Alliser went with him, a thin smile on his face. Jon had never seen the master-at-arms look quite so happy.
?oRangers with me,? Ser Jaremy Rykker called when they were gone. Pyp was staring at Jon as he got slowly to his feet. His ears were red. Grenn, grinning broadly, did not seem to realize that anything was amiss. Matt and Toad fell in beside them, and they followed Ser Jaremy from the sept.
?oBuilders,? announced lantern-jawed Othell Yarwyck. Halder and Albett trailed out after him.
Jon looked around him in sick disbelief. Maester Aemon?Ts blind eyes were raised toward the light he could not see. The septon was arranging crystals on the altar. Only Sam and Dareon remained on the benches; a fat boy, a singer... and him.
Lord Steward Bowen Marsh rubbed his plump hands together. ?oSamwell, you will assist Maester Aemon in the rookery and library. Chett is going to the kennels, to help with the hounds. You shall have his cell, so as to be close to the maester night and day. I trust you will take good care of him. He is very old and very precious to us.
?oDareon, I am told that you sang at many a high lord?Ts table and shared their meat and mead. We are sending you to Eastwatch. It may be your palate will be some help to Cotter Pyke when merchant galleys come trading. We are paying too dear for salt beef and pickled fish, and the quality of the olive oil wê?Tre getting has been frightful, Present yourself to Borcas when you arrive, he will keep you busy between ships.?
Marsh turned his smile on Jon. ?oLord Commander Mormont has requested you for his personal steward, Jon. You?Tll sleep in a cell beneath his chambers, in the Lord Commander?Ts tower.?
?oAnd what will my duties be?? Jon asked sharply. ?oWill I serve the Lord Commander?Ts meals, help him fasten his clothes, fetch hot water for his bath??
?Certainly.? Marsh frowned at Jon?Ts tone. ?oAnd you will run his messages, keep a fire burning in his chambers, change his sheets and blankets daily, and do all else that the Lord Commander might require of YOU.?
?oDo you take me for a servant??
?oNo,? Maester Aemon said, from the back of the sept. Clydas helped him stand. ?oWe took you for a man of Night?Ts Watch... but perhaps we were wrong in that.?
It was all Jon could do to stop himself from walking out. Was he supposed to churn butter and sew doublets like a girl for the rest of his days? ?oMay I go?? he asked stiffly.
?oAs you wish,? Bowen Marsh responded.
Dareon and Sam left with him. They descended to the yard in silence. Outside, Jon looked up at the Wall shining in the sun, the melting ice creeping down its side in a hundred thin fingers. Jon?Ts rage was such that he would have smashed it all in an instant, and the world be damned.
?oJon,? Samwell Tarly said excitedly. ?oWait. Don?Tt you see what they?Tre doing??
Jon turned on him in a fury. ?oI see Ser Alliser?Ts bloody hand, that?Ts all I see. He wanted to shame me, and he has.?
Dareon gave him a look. ?oThe stewards are fine for the likes of you and me, Sam, but not for Lord Snow.?
?oI?Tm a better swordsman and a better rider than any of you,? Jon blazed back. ?oIt?Ts not fair!?
?oFair?? Dareon sneered. ?oThe girl was waiting for me, naked as the day she was born. She pulled me through the window, and you talk to me of fair?? He walked off.
?oThere is no shame in being a steward,? Sam said.
?oDo you think I want to spend the rest of my life washing an old man?Ts small clothes??
?oThe old man is Lord Commander of the Night?Ts Watch,? Sam reminded him. ?oYou?Tll be with him day and night. Yes, you?Tll pour his wine and see that his bed linen is fresh, but you?Tll also take his letters, attend him at meetings, squire for him in battle. You?Tll be as close to him as his shadow. You?Tll know everything, be a part of everything... and the Lord Steward said Mormont asked for you himself!
?oWhen I was little, my father used to insist that I attend him in the audience chamber whenever he held court. When he rode to Highgarden to bend his knee to Lord Tyrell, he made me come. Later, though, he started to take Dickon and leave me at home, and he no longer cared whether I sat through his audiences, so long as Dickon was there. He wanted his heir at his side, don?Tt you see? To watch and listen and learn from all he did. I?Tll wager that?Ts why Lord Mormont requested you, Jon. What else could it be? He wants to groom you for command!?
Jon was taken aback. It was true, Lord Eddard had often made Robb part of his councils back at Winterfell. Could Sam be right? Even a bastard could rise high in the Night?Ts Watch, they said. ?oI never asked for this,? he said stubbornly.
?oNone of us are here for asking,? Sam reminded him.
And suddenly Jon Snow was ashamed.
Craven or not, Samwell Tarly had found the courage to accept his fate like a man. On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns, Benjen Stark had said the last night Jon had seen him alive. You?Tre no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you. Hê?Td heard it said that bastards grow up faster than other children; on the Wall, you grew up or you died.
Jon let out a deep sigh. ?oYou have the right of it. I was acting the boy."
?oThen you?Tll stay and say your words with me??
?oThe old gods will be expecting us.? He made himself smile.
They set out late that afternoon. The Wall had no gates as such, neither here at Castle Black nor anywhere along its three hundred miles. They led their horses down a narrow tunnel cut through the ice, cold dark walls pressing in around them as the passage twisted and turned. Three times their way was blocked by iron bars, and they had to stop while Bowen Marsh drew out his keys and unlocked the massive chains that secured them. Jon could sense the vast weight pressing down on him as he waited behind the Lord Steward. The air was colder than a tomb, and more still. He felt a strange relief when they reemerged into the afternoon light on the north side of the Wall.
Sam blinked at the sudden glare and looked around apprehensively. ?oThe wildlings... they wouldn?Tt... they?Td never dare come this close to the Wall. Would they??
?oThey never have.? Jon climbed into his saddle. When Bowen Marsh and their ranger escort had mounted, Jon put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Ghost came loping out of the tunnel.
The Lord Steward?Ts garron whickered and backed away from the direwolf. ?oDo you mean to take that beast??
?oYes, my lord,? Jon said. Ghost?Ts head lifted. He seemed to taste the air. In the blink of an eye he was off, racing across the broad, weedchoked field to vanish in the trees.
Once they had entered the forest, they were in a different world. Jon had often hunted with his father and Jory and his brother Robb. He knew the wolfswood around Winterfell as well as any man. The haunted forest was much the same, and yet the feel of it was very different.
Perhaps it was all in the knowing. They had ridden past the end of the world; somehow that changed everything. Every shadow seemed darker, every sound more ominous. The trees pressed close and shut out the light of the setting sun. A thin crust of snow cracked beneath the hooves of their horses, with a sound like breaking bones. When the wind set the leaves to rustling, it was like a chilly finger tracing a path up Jon?Ts spine. The Wall was at their backs, and only the gods knew what lay ahead.
The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle.
?oThis is a sacred place, we will not defile it.?
When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. ?oThey?Tre watching us,? he whispered. ?oThe old gods.?
?oYes.? Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.
They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.
?oHear my words, and bear witness to my vow,? they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. ?oNight gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. For am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night?Ts Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.?
The woods fell silent. ?oYou knelt as boys,? Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. ?oRise now as men of the Night?Ts Watch.?
Jon held out a hand to pull Sam back to his feet. The rangers gathered round to offer smiles and congratulations, all but the gnarled old forester Dywen. ?oBest we be starting back, m?Tlord,? he said to Bowen Marsh. ?oDark?Ts falling, and therê?Ts something in the smell ô?T the night that I mislike.?
And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees...
The wolf had something in his jaws. Something black. ?oWhat?Ts he got there?? asked Bowen Marsh, frowning.
?oTo me, Ghost.? Jon knelt. ?oBring it here.?
The direwolf trotted to him. Jon heard Samwell Tarly?Ts sharp intake of breath.
?oGods be good,? Dywen muttered. ?oThat?Ts a hand.?

Chapter 49
Eddard​

The grey light of dawn was streaming through his window when the thunder of hoofbeats awoke Eddard Stark from his brief, exhausted sleep. He lifted his head from the table to look down into the yard. Below, men in mail and leather and crimson cloaks were making the morning ring to the sound of swords, and riding down mock warriors stuffed with straw. Ned watched Sandor Clegane gallop across the hard-packed ground to drive an iron-tipped lance through a dummy?Ts head. Canvas ripped and straw exploded as Lannister guardsmen joked and cursed.
Is this brave show for my benefit? He wondered. If so, Cersei was a greater fool than hê?Td imagined. Damn her, he thought, why is the woman not fled? I have given her chance after chance...
The morning was overcast and grim. Ned broke his fast with his daughters and Septa Mordane. Sansa, still disconsolate, stared sullenly at her food and refused to eat, but Arya wolfed down everything that was set in front of her. ?oSyrio says we have time for one last lesson before we take ship this evening,? she said. ?oCan I, Father? All my things are packed.?
?oA short lesson, and make certain you leave yourself time to bathe and change. I want you ready to leave by midday, is that understood??
?oBy midday,? Arya said.
Sansa looked up from her food. ?oIf she can have a dancing lesson, why won?Tt you let me say farewell to Prince Joffrey??
?oI would gladly go with her, Lord Eddard,? Septa Mordane offered. ?oThere would be no question of her missing the ship.?
?oIt would not be wise for you to go to Joffrey right now, Sansa. I?Tm sorry.?
Sansâ?Ts eyes filled with tears. ?oBut why??
?oSansa, your lord father knows best,? Septa Mordane said. ?oYou are not to question his decisions.?
?oIt?Ts not fair!? Sansa pushed back from her table, knocked over her chair, and ran weeping from the solar.
Septa Mordane rose, but Ned gestured her back to her seat. ?oLet her go, Septa. I will try to make her understand when we are all safely back in Winterfell.? The septa bowed her head and sat down to finish her breakfast.
It was an hour later when Grand Maester Pycelle came to Eddard Stark in his solar. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the great maester?Ts chain around his neck had become too great to bear. ?oMy lord,? he said, ?oKing Robert is gone. The gods give him rest.?
?oNo,? Ned answered. ?oHe hated rest. The gods give him love and laughter, and the joy of righteous battle.? It was strange how empty he felt. He had been expecting the visit, and yet with those words, something died within him. He would have given all his titles for the freedom to weep... but he was Robert?Ts Hand, and the hour he dreaded had come. ?oBe so good as *****mmon the members of the council here to my solar,? he told Pycelle. The Tower of the Hand was as secure as he and Tomard could make it; he could not say the same for the council chambers.
?oMy lord?? Pycelle blinked. ?oSurely the affairs of the kingdom will keep till the morrow, when our grief is not so fresh.?
Ned was quiet but firm. ?oI fear we must convene at once.?
Pycelle bowed. ?oAs the Hand commands.? He called his servants and sent them running, then gratefully accepted Ned?Ts offer of a chair and a cup of sweet beer.
Ser Barristan Selmy was the first to answer the summons, immaculate in white cloak and enameled scales. ?oMy lords,? he said, ?omy place is beside the young king now. Pray give me leave to attend him.?
?oYour place is here, Ser Barristan,? Ned told him.
Littlefinger came next, still garbed in the blue velvets and silver mockingbird cape he had worn the night previous, his boots dusty from riding. ?oMy lords,? he said, smiling at nothing in particular before he turned to Ned. ?oThat little task you set me is accomplished, Lord Eddard.?
Varys entered in a wash of lavender, pink from his bath, his plump face scrubbed and freshly powdered, his soft slippers all but soundless. ?oThe little birds sing a grievous song today,? he said as he seated himself. ?oThe realm weeps. Shall we begin??
?oWhen Lord Renly arrives,? Ned said.
Varys gave him a sorrowful look. ?oI fear Lord Renly has left the city.?
?oLeft the city?? Ned had counted on Renly?Ts support.
?oHe took his leave through a postern gate an hour before dawn, accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell and some fifty retainers,? Varys told them. ?oWhen last seen, they were galloping south in some haste, no doubt bound for Storm?Ts End or Highgarden.?
So much for Renly and his hundred swords. Ned did not like the smell of that, but there was nothing to be done for it. He drew out Robert?Ts last letter. ?oThe king called me to his side last night and commanded me to record his final words. Lord Renly and Grand Maester Pycelle stood witness as Robert sealed the letter, to be opened by the council after his death. Ser Barristan, if you would be so kind??
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard examined the paper. ?oKing Robert?Ts seal, and unbroken.? He opened the letter and read. ?oLord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as regent until the heir comes of age.?
And as it happens, he is of age, Ned reflected, but he did not give voice to the thought. He trusted neither Pycelle nor Varys, and Ser Barristan was honor-bound to protect and defend the boy he thought his new king. The old knight would not abandon Joffrey easily. The need for deceit was a bitter taste in his mouth, but Ned knew he must tread softly here, must keep his counsel and play the game until he was firmly established as regent. There would be time enough to deal with the succession when Arya and Sansa were safely back in Winterfell, and Lord Stannis had returned to King?Ts Landing with all his power.
?oI would ask this council to confirm me as Lord Protector, as Robert wished,? Ned said, watching their faces, wondering what thoughts hid behind Pycellê?Ts half-closed eyes, Littlefinger?Ts lazy half-smile, and the nervous flutter of Varys?Ts fingers.
The door opened. Fat Tom stepped into the solar. ?oPardon, my lords, the king?Ts steward insists...?
The royal steward entered and bowed. ?oEsteemed lords, the king demands the immediate presence of his small council in the throne room.?
Ned had expected Cersei to strike quickly; the summons came as no surprise. ?oThe king is dead,? he said, ?obut we shall go with you nonetheless. Tom, assemble an escort, if you would.?
Littlefinger gave Ned his arm to help him down the steps. Varys, Pycelle, and Ser Barristan followed close behind. A double column of men-at-arms in chainmail and steel helms was waiting outside the tower, eight strong. Grey cloaks snapped in the wind as the guardsmen marched them across the yard. There was no Lannister crimson to be seen, but Ned was reassured by the number of gold cloaks visible on the ramparts and at the gates.
Janos Slynt met them at the door to the throne room, armored in ornate black-and-gold plate, with a high-crested helm under one arm. The Commander bowed stiffly. His men pushed open the great oaken doors, twenty feet tall and banded with bronze.
The royal steward led them in. ?oAll hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, 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,? he sang out.
It was a long walk to the far end of the hall, where Joffrey waited atop the Iron Throne. Supported by Littlefinger, Ned Stark slowly limped and hopped toward the boy who called himself king. The others followed. The first time he had come this way, he had been on horseback, sword in hand, and the Targaryen dragons had watched from the walls as he forced Jaime Lannister down from the throne. He wondered if Joffrey would step down quite so easily.
Five knights of the Kingsguard - all but Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan - were arrayed in a crescent around the base of the throne. They were in full armor, enameled steel from helm to heel, long pale cloaks over their shoulders, shining white shields strapped to their left arms. Cersei Lannister and her two younger children stood behind Ser Boros and Ser Meryn. The queen wore a gown of sea-green silk, trimmed with Myrish lace as pale as foam. On her finger was a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon?Ts egg, on her head a matching tiara.
Above them, Prince Joffrey sat amidst the barbs and spikes in a cloth-of-gold doublet and a red satin cape. Sandor Clegane was stationed at the foot of the thronê?Ts steep narrow stair. He wore mail and soot-grey plate and his snarling dog?Ts-head helm.
Behind the throne, twenty Lannister guardsmen waited with longswords hanging from their belts. Crimson cloaks draped their shoulders and steel lions crested their helms. But Littlefinger had kept his promise; all along the walls, in front of Robert?Ts tapestries with their scenes of hunt and battle, the gold-cloaked ranks of the City Watch stood stiffly to attention, each man?Ts hand clasped around the haft of an eight-foot-long spear tipped in black iron. They outnumbered the Lannisters five to one.
Ned?Ts leg was a blaze of pain by the time he stopped. He kept a hand on Littlefinger?Ts shoulder to help support his weight.
Joffrey stood. His red satin cape was patterned in gold thread; fifty roaring lions to one side, fifty prancing stags to the other. ?oI command the council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation,? the boy proclaimed. ?oI wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors.?
Ned produced Robert?Ts letter. ?oLord Varys, be so kind as to show this to my lady of Lannister.?
The eunuch carried the letter to Cersei. The queen glanced at the words. ?oProtector of the Realm,? she read. ?oIs this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?? She ripped the letter in half, ripped the halves in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the floor.
?oThose were the king?Ts words,? Ser Barristan said, shocked.
?oWe have a new king now,? Cersei Lannister replied. ?oLord Eddard, when last we spoke, you gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear fealty to my son, and we shall allow you to step down as Hand and live out your days in the grey waste you call home.?
?oWould that I could,? Ned said grimly. If she was so determined to force the issue here and now, she left him no choice. ?oYour son has no claim to the throne he sits. Lord Stannis is Robert?Ts true heir.?
?oLiar!? Joffrey screamed, his face reddening.
?oMother, what does he mean?? Princess Myrcella asked the queen plaintively. ?oIsn?Tt Joff the king now??
?oYou condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark,? said Cersei Lannister. ?oSer Barristan, seize this traitor.?
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard hesitated. In the blink of an eye he was surrounded by Stark guardsmen, bare steel in their mailed fists.
?oAnd now the treason moves from words to deeds,? Cersei said. ?oDo you think Ser Barristan stands alone, my lord?? With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Hound drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguard and twenty Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks moved *****pport him.
?oKill him!? the boy king screamed down from the Iron Throne. ?oKill all of them, I command it!?
?oYou leave me no choice,? Ned told Cersei Lannister. He called out to Janos Slynt. ?oCommander, take the queen and her children into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.?
?oMen of the Watch!? Janos Slynt shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears and closed.
?oI want no bloodshed,? Ned told the queen. ?oTell your men to lay down their swords, and no one need-?
With a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into Tomard?Ts back. Fat Tom?Ts blade dropped from nerveless fingers as the wet red point burst out through his ribs, piercing leather and mail. He was dead before his sword hit the floor.
Ned?Ts shout came far too late. Janos Slynt himself slashed open Varly?Ts throat. Cayn whirled, steel flashing, drove back the nearest spearman with a flurry of blows; for an instant it looked as though he might cut his way free. Then the Hound was on him. Sandor Cleganê?Ts first cut took off Cayn?Ts sword hand at the wrist; his second drove him to his knees and opened him from shoulder to breastbone.
As his men died around him, Littlefinger slid Ned?Ts dagger from its sheath and shoved it up under his chin. His smile was apologetic. ?oI did warn you not to trust me, you know.?

Chapter 50
Arya​

?oHigh,? Syrio Forel called out, slashing at her head. The stick swords clacked as Arya parried.
?oLeft,? he shouted, and his blade came whistling. Hers darted to meet it. The clack made him click his teeth together.
?oRight,? he said, and ?oLow,? and ?oLeft,? and ?oLeft? again, faster and faster, moving forward. Arya retreated before him, checking each blow.
?oLunge,? he warned, and when he thrust she sidestepped, swept his blade away, and slashed at his shoulder. She almost touched him, almost, so close it made her grin. A strand of hair dangled in her eyes, limp with sweat. She pushed it away with the back of her hand.
?oLeft,? Syrio sang out. ?oLow.? His sword was a blur, and the Small Hall echoed to the clack clack clack. ?oLeft. Left. High. Left. Right. Left. Low. Left!?
The wooden blade caught her high in the breast, a sudden stinging blow that hurt all the more because it came from the wrong side. ?oOwl? she cried out. She would have a fresh bruise there by the time she went to sleep, somewhere out at sea. A bruise is a lesson, she told herself, and each lesson makes us better.
Syrio stepped back. ?oYou are dead now.?
Arya made a face. ?oYou cheated,? she said hotly. ?oYou said left and you went right.?
?oJust so. And now you are a dead girl.?
?oBut you lied!?
?oMy words lied. My eyes and my arm shouted out the truth, but you were not seeing.?
?oI was so,? Arya said. ?oI watched you every second!?
?oWatching is not seeing, dead girl. The water dancer sees. Come, put down the sword, it is time for listening now.?
She followed him over to the wall, where he settled onto a bench. ?oSyrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos, and are you knowing how that came to pass??
?oYou were the finest swordsman in the city.?
?oJust so, but why? Other men were stronger, faster, younger, why was Syrio Forel the best? I will tell you now.? He touched the tip of his little finger lightly to his eyelid. ?oThe seeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of it.
?oHear me. The ships of Braavos sail as far as the winds blow, to lands strange and wonderful, and when they return their captains fetch queer animals to the Sealord?Ts menagerie. Such animals as you have never seen, striped horses, great spotted things with necks as long as stilts, hairy mouse, pigs as big as cows, stinging manticores, tigers that carry their cubs in a pouch, terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio Forel has seen these things.
?oOn the day I am speaking of, the first sword was newly dead, and the Sealord sent for me. Many bravos had come to him, and as many had been sent away, none could say why. When I came into his presence, he was seated, and in his lap was a fat yellow cat. He told me that one of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond the sunrise. ?~Have you ever seen her like??T he asked of me.
?oAnd to him I said, ?~Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him,?T and the Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.?
Arya screwed up her face. ?oI don?Tt understand.?
Syrio clicked his teeth together. ?oThe cat was an ordinary cat, no more. The others expected a fabulous beast, so that is what they saw. How large it was, they said. It was no larger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own table. What curious small ears, they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights. And it was plainly a tomcat, yet the Sealord said ?~her,?T and that is what the others saw. Are you hearing??
Arya thought about it. ?oYou saw what was there.?
?oJust so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.?
?oJust so,? said Arya, grinning.
Syrio Forel allowed himself a smile. ?oI am thinking that when we are reaching this Winterfell of yours, it will be time to put this needle in your hand.?
?oYes!? Arya said eagerly. ?oWait till I show Jon-?
Behind her the great wooden doors of the Small Hall flew open with a resounding crash. Arya whirled.
A knight of the Kingsguard stood beneath the arch of the door with five Lannister guardsmen arrayed behind him. He was in full armor, but his visor was up. Arya remembered his droopy eyes and rustcolored whiskers from when he had come to Winterfell with the king: Ser Meryn Trant. The red cloaks wore mail shirts over boiled leather and steel caps with lion crests. ?oArya Stark,? the knight said, ?ocome with us, child.?
Arya chewed her lip uncertainly. ?oWhat do you want??
?oYour father wants to see you.?
Arya took a step forward, but Syrio Forel held her by the arm. ?oAnd why is it that Lord Eddard is sending Lannister men in the place of his own? I am wondering.?
?oMind your place, dancing master,? Ser Meryn said. ?oThis is no concern of yours.?
?oMy father wouldn?Tt send you,? Arya said. She snatched up her stick sword. The Lannisters laughed.
?oPut down the stick, girl,? Ser Meryn told her. ?oI am a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, the White Swords.?
?oSo was the Kingslayer when he killed the old king,? Arya said. ?oI don?Tt have to go with you if I don?Tt want.?
Ser Meryn Trant ran out of patience. ?oTake her,? he said to his men. He lowered the visor of his helm.
Three of them started forward, chainmail clinking softly with each step. Arya was suddenly afraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, to slow the racing of her heart.
Syrio Forel stepped between them, tapping his wooden sword lightly against his boot. ?oYou will be stopping there. Are you men or dogs that you would threaten a child??
?oOut of the way, old man,? one of the red cloaks said.
Syriô?Ts stick came whistling up and rang against his helm. ?oI am Syrio Forel, and you will now be speaking to me with more respect.?
?oBald bastard.? The man yanked free his longsword. The stick moved again, blindingly fast. Arya heard a loud crack as the sword went clattering to the stone floor. ?oMy hand,? the guardsman yelped, cradling his broken fingers.
?oYou are quick, for a dancing master,? said Ser Meryn.
?oYou are slow, for a knight,? Syrio replied.
?oKill the Braavosi and bring me the girl,? the knight in the white armor commanded.
Four Lannister guardsmen unsheathed their swords. The fifth, with the broken fingers, spat and pulled free a dagger with his left hand.
Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together, sliding into his water dancer?Ts stance, presenting only his side to the foe. ?oArya child,? he called out, never looking, never taking his eyes off the Lannisters, ?owe are done with dancing for the day. Best you are going now. Run to your father.?
Arya did not want to leave him, but he had taught her to do as he said. ?oSwift as a deer, ?o she whispered.
?oJust so,? said Syrio Forel as the Lannisters closed.
Arya retreated, her own sword stick clutched tightly in her hand. Watching him now, she realized that Syrio had only been toying with her when they dueled. The red cloaks came at him from three sides with steel in their hands. They had chainmail over their chest and arms, and steel codpieces sewn into their pants, but only leather on their legs. Their hands were bare, and the caps they wore had noseguards, but no visor over the eyes.
Syrio did not wait for them to reach him, but spun to his left. Arya had never seen a man move as fast. He checked one sword with his stick and whirled away from a second. Off balance, the second man lurched into the first. Syrio put a boot to his back and the red cloaks went down together. The third guard came leaping over them, slashing at the water dancer?Ts head. Syrio ducked under his blade and thrust upward. The guardsman fell screaming as blood welled from the wet red hole where his left eye had been.
The fallen men were getting up. Syrio kicked one in the face and snatched the steel cap off the other?Ts head. The dagger man stabbed at him. Syrio caught the thrust in the helmet and shattered the man?Ts kneecap with his stick. The last red cloak shouted a curse and charged, hacking down with both hands on his sword. Syrio rolled right, and the butcher?Ts cut caught the helmetless man between neck and shoulder as he struggled to his knees. The longsword crunched through mail and leather and flesh. The man on his knees shrieked. Before his killer could wrench free his blade, Syrio jabbed him in the apple of his throat. The guardsman gave a choked cry and staggered back, clutching at his neck, his face blackening. Five men were down, dead, or dying by the time Arya reached the back door that opened on the kitchen. She heard Ser Meryn Trant curse. ?oBloody oafs,? he swore, drawing his longsword from its scabbard.
Syrio Forel resumed his stance and clicked his teeth together. ?oArya child,? he called out, never looking at her, ?obe gone now.?
Look with your eyes, he had said. She saw: the knight in his pale armor head to foot, legs, throat, and hands sheathed in metal, eyes hidden behind his high white helm, and in his hand cruel steel. Against that: Syrio, in a leather vest, with a wooden sword in his hand. ?oSyrio, run,? she screamed.
?oThe first sword of Braavos does not run,? he sang as Ser Meryn slashed at him. Syrio danced away from his cut, his stick a blur. In a heartbeat, he had bounced blows off the knight?Ts temple, elbow, and throat, the wood ringing against the metal of helm, gauntlet, and gorget. Arya stood frozen. Ser Meryn advanced; Syrio backed away. He checked the next blow, spun away from the second, deflected the third.
The fourth sliced his stick in two, splintering the wood and shearing through the lead core.

Sobbing, Arya spun and ran.
She plunged through the kitchens and buttery, blind with panic, weaving between cooks and potboys. A baker?Ts helper stepped in front of her, holding a wooden tray. Arya bowled her over, scattering fragrant loaves of fresh-baked bread on the floor. She heard shouting behind her as she spun around a portly butcher who stood gaping at her with a cleaver in his hands. His arms were red to the elbow.
All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The grip of her wooden sword was slick with sweat, and Arya was breathing hard when she reached the turret stair. For an instant she froze. Up or down? Up would take her to the covered bridge that spanned the small court to the Tower of the Hand, but that would be the way they?Td expect her to go, for certain. Never do what they expect, Syrio once said. Arya went down, around and around, leaping over the narrow stone steps two and three at a time. She emerged in a ****rnous vaulted cellar, surrounded by casks of ale stacked twenty feet tall. The only light came through narrow slanting windows high in the wall.
The cellar was a dead end. There was no way out but the way she had come in. She dare not go back up those steps, but she couldn?Tt stay here, either. She had to find her father and tell him what had happened. Her father would protect her.
Arya thrust her wooden sword through her belt and began to climb, leaping from cask to cask until she could reach the window. Grasping the stone with both hands, she pulled herself up. The wall was three feet thick, the window a tunnel slanting up and out. Arya wriggled toward daylight. When her head reached ground level, she peered across the bailey to the Tower of the Hand.
The stout wooden door hung splintered and broken, as if by axes. A dead man sprawled facedown on the steps, his cloak tangled beneath him, the back of his mailed shirt soaked red. The corpsê?Ts cloak was grey wool trimmed with white satin, she saw with sudden terror. She could not tell who he was.
?oNo,? she whispered. What was happening? Where was her father? Why had the red cloaks come for her? She remembered what the man with the yellow beard had said, the day she had found the monsters. If one Hand can die, why not a second? Arya felt tears in her eyes. She held her breath to listen. She heard the sounds of fighting, shouts, screams, the clang of steel on steel, coming through the windows of the Tower of the Hand.
She could not go back. Her father...
Arya closed her eyes. For a moment she was too frightened to move. They had killed Jory and Wyl and Heward, and that guardsman on the step, whoever he had been. They could kill her father too, and her if they caught her. ?oFear cuts deeper than swords,? she said aloud, but it was no good pretending to be a water dancer, Syrio had been a water dancer and the white knight had probably killed him, and anyhow she was only a little girl with a wooden stick, alone and afraid.
She squirmed out into the yard, glancing around warily as she climbed to her feet. The castle seemed deserted. The Red Keep was never deserted. All the people must be hiding inside, their doors barred. Arya glanced up longingly at her bedchamber, then moved away from the Tower of the Hand, keeping close to the wall as she slid from shadow to shadow. She pretended she was chasing cats... except she was the cat now, and if they caught her, they would kill her.
Moving between buildings and over walls, keeping stone to her back wherever possible so no one could surprise her, Arya reached the stables almost without incident. A dozen gold cloaks in mail and plate ran past as she was edging across the inner bailey, but without knowing whose side they were on, she hunched down low in the shadows and let them pass.
Hullen, who had been master of horse at Winterfell as long as Arya could remember, was slumped on the ground by the stable door. He had been stabbed so many times it looked as if his tunic was patterned with scarlet flowers. Arya was certain he was dead, but when she crept closer, his eyes opened. ?oArya Underfoot,? he whispered. ?oYou must... warn your... your lord father...? Frothy red spittle bubbled from his mouth. The master of horse closed his eyes again and said no more.
Inside were more bodies; a groom she had played with, and three of her father?Ts household guard. A wagon, laden with crates and chests, stood abandoned near the door of the stable. The dead men must have been loading it for the trip to the docks when they were attacked. Arya snuck closer. One of the corpses was Desmond, whô?Td shown her his longsword and promised to protect her father. He lay on his back, staring blindly at the ceiling as flies crawled across his eyes. Close to him was a dead man in the red cloak and lion-crest helm of the Lannisters. Only one, though. Every northerner is worth ten of these southron swords, Desmond had told her. ?oYou liar!? she said, kicking his body in a sudden fury.
The animals were restless in their stalls, whickering and snorting at the scent of blood. Aryâ?Ts only plan was to saddle a horse and flee, away from the castle and the city. All she had to do was stay on the kingsroad and it would take her back to Winterfell. She took a bridle and harness off the wall.
As she crossed in back of the wagon, a fallen chest caught her eye. It must have been knocked down in the fight or dropped as it was being loaded. The wood had split, the lid opening to spill the chest?Ts contents across the ground. Arya recognized silks and satins and velvets she never wore. She might need warm clothes on the kingsroad, though... and besides...
Arya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She found a heavy woolen cloak, a velvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her, a silver baby bracelet she might sell. Shoving the broken lid out of the way, she groped inside the chest for Needle. She had hidden it way down at the bottom, under everything, but her stuff had all been jumbled around when the chest was dropped. For a moment Arya was afraid someone had found the sword and stolen it. Then her fingers felt the hardness of metal under a satin gown.
?oThere she is,? a voice hissed close behind her.
Startled, Arya whirled. A stableboy stood behind her, a smirk on his face, his filthy white undertunic peeking out from beneath a soiled jerkin. His boots were covered with manure, and he had a pitchfork in one hand. ?oWho are you?? she asked.
?oShe don?Tt know me,? he said, ?obut I knows her, oh, yes. The wolf girl.?
?oHelp me saddle a horse,? Arya pleaded, reaching back into the chest, groping for Needle. ?oMy father?Ts the Hand of the King, hê?Tll reward you.?
?oFather?Ts dead,? the boy said. He shuffled toward her. ?oIt?Ts the queen whô?Tll be rewarding me. Come here, girl.?
?oStay away!? Her fingers closed around Needlê?Ts hilt.
?oI says, come.? He grabbed her arm, hard.
Everything Syrio Forel had ever taught her vanished in a heartbeat. In that instant of sudden terror, the only lesson Arya could remember was the one Jon Snow had given her, the very first.
She stuck him with the pointy end, driving the blade upward with a wild, hysterical strength.
Needle went through his leather jerkin and the white flesh of his belly and came out between his shoulder blades. The boy dropped the pitchfork and made a soft noise, something between a gasp and a sigh. His hands closed around the blade. ?oOh, gods,? he moaned, as his undertunic began to redden. ?oTake it out.?
When she took it out, he died.
The horses were screaming. Arya stood over the body, still and frightened in the face of death. Blood had gushed from the boy?Ts mouth as he collapsed, and more was seeping from the slit in his belly, pooling beneath his body. His palms were cut where hê?Td grabbed at the blade. She backed away slowly, Needle red in her hand. She had to get away, someplace far from here, someplace safe away from the stableboy?Ts accusing eyes.
She snatched up the bridle and harness again and ran to her mare, but as she lifted the saddle to the horsê?Ts back, Arya realized with a sudden sick dread that the castle gates would be closed. Even the postern doors would likely be guarded. Maybe the guards wouldn?Tt recognize her. If they thought she was a boy, perhaps they?Td let her... no, they?Td have orders not to let anyone out, it wouldn?Tt matter whether they knew her or not.
But there was another way out of the castle...
The saddle slipped from Aryâ?Ts fingers and fell to the dirt with a thump and a puff of dust. Could she find the room with the monsters again? She wasn?Tt certain, yet she knew she had to try.
She found the clothing shê?Td gathered and slipped into the cloak, concealing Needle beneath its folds. The rest of her things she tied in a roll. With the bundle under her arm, she crept to the far end of the stable. Unlatching the back door, she peeked out anxiously. She could hear the distant sound of swordplay, and the shivery wail of a man screaming in pain across the bailey. She would need to go down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard, that was how shê?Td gone last time, chasing the black tomcat... only that would take her right past the barracks of the gold cloaks. She couldn?Tt go that way. Arya tried to think of another way. If she crossed to the other side of the castle, she could creep along the river wall and through the little godswood... but first shê?Td have to cross the yard, in the plain view of the guards on the walls.
She had never seen so many men on the walls. Gold cloaks, most of them, armed with spears. Some of them knew her by sight. What would they do if they saw her running across the yard? Shê?Td look so small from up there, would they be able to tell who she was? Would they care?
She had to leave now, she told herself, but when the moment came, she was too frightened to move.
Calm as still water, a small voice whispered in her ear. Arya was so startled she almost dropped her bundle. She looked around wildly, but there was no one in the stable but her, and the horses, and the dead men.
Quiet as a shadow, she heard. Was it her own voice, or Syriô?Ts? She could not tell, yet somehow it calmed her fears.
She stepped out of the stable.
It was the scariest thing shê?Td ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.
The sept was open and empty. Inside, half a hundred prayer candles burned in a fragrant silence. Arya figured the gods would never miss two. She stuffed them up her sleeves, and left by a back window. Sneaking back to the alley where she had cornered the one-eared tom was easy, but after that she got lost. She crawled in and out of windows, hopped over walls, and felt her way through dark cellars, quiet as a shadow. Once she heard a woman weeping. It took her more than an hour to find the low narrow window that slanted down to the dungeon where the monsters waited.
She tossed her bundle through and doubled back to light her candle. That was chancy; the fire shê?Td remembered seeing had burnt down to embers, and she heard voices as she was blowing on the coals. Cupping her fingers around the flickering candle, she went out the window as they were coming in the door, without ever getting a glimpse of who it was.
This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. ?oDragons,? she whispered. She slid Needle out from under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet somehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand.
The long windowless hall beyond the door was as black as she remembered. She held Needle in her left hand, her sword hand, the candle in her right fist. Hot wax ran down across her knuckles. The entrance to the well had been to the left, so Arya went right. Part of her wanted to run, but she was afraid of snuffing out her candle. She heard the faint squeaking of rats and glimpsed a pair of tiny glowing eyes on the edge of the light, but rats did not scare her. Other things did. It would be so easy to hide here, as she had hidden from the wizard and the man with the forked beard. She could almost see the stableboy standing against the wall, his hands curled into claws with the blood still dripping from the deep gashes in his palms where Needle had cut him. He might be waiting to grab her as she passed. He would see her candle coming a long way off. Maybe she would be better off without the light...
Fear cuts deeper than swords, the quiet voice inside her whispered. Suddenly Arya remembered the crypts at Winterfell. They were a lot scarier than this place, she told herself. Shê?Td been just a little girl the first time she saw them. Her brother Robb had taken them down, her and Sansa and baby Bran, whô?Td been no bigger than Rickon was now. They?Td only had one candle between them, and Bran?Ts eyes had gotten as big as saucers as he stared at the stone faces of the Kings of Winter, with their wolves at their feet and their iron swords across their laps.
Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. ?oThere are worse things than spiders and rats,? he whispered. ?oThis is where the dead walk.? That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Aryâ?Ts hand.
When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb?Ts leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. ?oYou stupid,? she told him, ?oyou scared the baby,? but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.
The memory made Arya smile, and after that the darkness held no more terrors for her. The stableboy was dead, shê?Td killed him, and if he jumped out at her shê?Td kill him again. She was going home. Everything would be better once she was home again, safe behind Winterfell?Ts grey granite walls.
Her footsteps sent soft echoes hurrying ahead of her as Arya plunged deeper into the darkness.

Chapter 51
Sansa​

They came for Sansa on the third day.
She chose a simple dress of dark grey wool, plainly cut but richly embroidered around the collar and sleeves. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she struggled with the silver fastenings without the benefit of servants. Jeyne Poole had been confined with her, but Jeyne was useless. Her face was puffy from all her crying, and she could not seem to stop sobbing about her father.
?oI?Tm certain your father is well,? Sansa told her when she had finally gotten the dress buttoned right. ?oI?Tll ask the queen to let you see him.? She thought that kindness might lift Jeynê?Ts spirits, but the other girl just looked at her with red, swollen eyes and began to cry all the harder. She was such a child.
Sansa had wept too, the first day. Even within the stout walls of Maegor?Ts Holdfast, with her door closed and barred, it was hard not to be terrified when the killing began. She had grown up to the sound of steel in the yard, and scarcely a day of her life had passed without hearing the clash of sword on sword, yet somehow knowing that the fighting was real made all the difference in the world. She heard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor begged for mercy.
So she wept, pleading through her door for them to tell her what was happening, calling for her father, for Septa Mordane, for the king, for her gallant prince. If the men guarding her heard her pleas, they gave no answer. The only time the door opened was late that night, when they thrust Jeyne Poole inside, bruised and shaking. ?oThey?Tre killing everyone, ?o the steward?Ts daughter had shrieked at her. She went on and on. The Hound had broken down her door with a warhammer, she said. There were bodies on the stair of the Tower of the Hand, and the steps were slick with blood. Sansa dried her own tears as she struggled to comfort her friend. They went to sleep in the same bed, cradled in each other?Ts arms like sisters.
The second day was even worse. The room where Sansa had been confined was at the top of the highest tower of Maegor?Ts Holdfast. From its window, she could see that the heavy iron portcullis in the gatehouse was down, and the drawbridge drawn up over the deep dry moat that separated the keep-within-a-keep from the larger castle that surrounded it. Lannister guardsmen prowled the walls with spears and crossbows to hand. The fighting was over, and the silence of the grave had settled over the Red Keep. The only sounds were Jeyne Poolê?Ts endless whimpers and sobs.
They were fed - hard cheese and fresh-baked bread and milk to break their fast, roast chicken and greens at midday, and a late supper of beef and barley stew - but the servants who brought the meals would not answer Sansâ?Ts questions. That evening, some women brought her clothes from the Tower of the Hand, and some of Jeynê?Ts things as well, but they seemed nearly as frightened as Jeyne, and when she tried to talk to them, they fled from her as if she had the grey plague. The guards outside the door still refused to let them leave the room.
?oPlease, I need to speak to the queen again,? Sansa told them, as she told everyone she saw that day. ?oShê?Tll want to talk to me, I know she will. Tell her I want to see her, please. If not the queen, then Prince Joffrey, if you?Td be so kind. Wê?Tre to marry when wê?Tre older.?
At sunset on the second day, a great bell began to ring. Its voice was deep and sonorous, and the long slow clanging filled Sansa with a sense of dread. The ringing went on and on, and after a while they heard other bells answering from the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenyâ?Ts Hill. The sound rumbled across the city like thunder, warning of the storm to come.
?oWhat is it?? Jeyne asked, covering her ears. ?oWhy are they ringing the bells??
?oThe king is dead.?
Sansa could not say how she knew it, yet she did. The slow, endless clanging filled their room, as mournful as a dirge. Had some enemy stormed the castle and murdered King Robert? Was that the meaning of the fighting they had heard?
She went to sleep wondering, restless, and fearful. Was her beautiful Joffrey the king now? Or had they killed him too? She was afraid for him, and for her father. If only they would tell her what was happening...
That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.
The next morning, the morning of the third day, Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard came to escort her to the queen.
Ser Boros was an ugly man with a broad chest and short, bandy legs. His nose was flat, his cheeks baggy with jowls, his hair grey and brittle. Today he wore white velvet, and his snowy cloak was fastened with a lion brooch. The beast had the soft sheen of gold, and his eyes were tiny rubies. ?oYou look very handsome and splendid this morning, Ser Boros,? Sansa told him. A lady remembered her courtesies, and she was resolved to be a lady no matter what.
?oAnd you, my lady,? Ser Boros said in a flat voice. ?oHer Grace awaits. Come with me.?
There were guards outside her door, Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms. Sansa made herself smile at them pleasantly and bid them a good morning as she passed. It was the first time she had been allowed outside the chamber since Ser Arys Oakheart had led her there two mornings past. ?oTo keep you safe, my sweet one,? Queen Cersei had told her. ?oJoffrey would never forgive me if anything happened to his precious.?
Sansa had expected that Ser Boros would escort her to the royal apartments, but instead he led her out of Maegor?Ts Holdfast. The bridge was down again. Some workmen were lowering a man on ropes into the depths of the dry moat. When Sansa peered down, she saw a body impaled on the huge iron spikes below. She averted her eyes quickly, afraid to ask, afraid to look too long, afraid he might be someone she knew.
They found Queen Cersei in the council chambers, seated at the head of a long table littered with papers, candles, and blocks of sealing wax. The room was as splendid as any that Sansa had ever seen. She stared in awe at the carved wooden screen and the twin sphinxes that sat beside the door.
?oYour Grace,? Ser Boros said when they were ushered inside by another of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon of the curiously dead face, ?oI?Tve brought the girl.?
Sansa had hoped Joffrey might be with her. Her prince was not there, but three of the king?Ts councillors were. Lord Petyr Baelish sat on the queen?Ts left hand, Grand Maester Pycelle at the end of the table, while Lord Varys hovered over them, smelling flowery. All of them were clad in black, she realized with a feeling of dread. Mourning clothes...
The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood. Cersei smiled to see her, and Sansa thought it was the sweetest and saddest smile she had ever seen. ?oSansa, my sweet child,? she said, ?oI know you?Tve been asking for me. I?Tm sorry that I could not send for you sooner. Matters have been very unsettled, and I have not had a moment. I trust my people have been taking good care of you??
?oEveryone has been very sweet and pleasant, Your Grace, thank you ever so much for asking,? Sansa said politely. ?oOnly, well, no one will talk to us or tell us what?Ts happened...?
?oUs?? Cersei seemed puzzled.
?oWe put the steward?Ts girl in with her,? Ser Boros said. ?oWe did not know what else to do with her.?
The queen frowned. ?oNext time, you will ask,? she said, her voice sharp. ?oThe gods only know what sort of tales shê?Ts been filling Sansâ?Ts head with.?
?oJeynê?Ts scared,? Sansa said. ?oShe won?Tt stop crying. I promised her I?Td ask if she could see her father.?
Old Grand Maester Pycelle lowered his eyes.
?oHer father is well, isn?Tt he?? Sansa said anxiously. She knew there had been fighting, but surely no one would harm a steward. Vayon Poole did not even wear a sword.
Queen Cersei looked at each of the councillors in turn. ?oI won?Tt have Sansa fretting needlessly. What shall we do with this little friend of hers, my lords??
Lord Petyr leaned forward. ?oI?Tll find a place for her.?
?oNot in the city,? said the queen.
?oDo you take me for a fool??
The queen ignored that. ?oSer Boros, escort this girl to Lord Petyr?Ts apartments and instruct his people to keep her there until he comes for her. Tell her that Littlefinger will be taking her to see her father, that ought to calm her down. I want her gone before Sansa returns to her chamber.?
?oAs you command, Your Grace,? Ser Boros said. He bowed deeply, spun on his heel, and took his leave, his long white cloak stirring the air behind him.
Sansa was confused. ?oI don?Tt understand,? she said. ?oWhere is Jeynê?Ts father? Why can?Tt Ser Boros take her to him instead of Lord Petyr having to do it?? She had promised herself she would be a lady, gentle as the queen and as strong as her mother, the Lady Catelyn, but all of a sudden she was scared again. For a second she thought she might cry. ?oWhere are you sending her? She hasn?Tt done anything wrong, shê?Ts a good girl.?
?oShê?Ts upset you,? the queen said gently. ?oWe can?Tt be having that. Not another word, now. Lord Baelish will see that Jeynê?Ts well taken care of, I promise you.? She patted the chair beside her. ?oSit down, Sansa. I want to talk to you.?

Sansa seated herself beside the queen. Cersei smiled again, but that did not make her feel any less anxious. Varys was wringing his soft hands together, Grand Maester Pycelle kept his sleepy eyes on the papers in front of him, but she could feel Littlefinger staring. Something about the way the small man looked at her made Sansa feel as though she had no clothes on. Goose bumps pimpled her skin.
?oSweet Sansa,? Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. ?oSuch a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you.?
?oYou do?? Sansa said, breathless. Littlefinger was forgotten. Her prince loved her. Nothing else mattered.
The queen smiled. ?oI think of you almost as my own daughter. And I know the love you bear for Joffrey.? She gave a weary shake of her head. ?oI am afraid we have some grave news about your lord father. You must be brave, child.?
Her quiet words gave Sansa a chill. ?oWhat is it??
?oYour father is a traitor, dear,? Lord Varys said.
Grand Maester Pycelle lifted his ancient head. ?oWith my own ears, I heard Lord Eddard swear to our beloved King Robert that he would protect the young princes as if they were his own sons. And yet the moment the king was dead, he called the small council together to steal Prince Joffrey?Ts rightful throne.?
?oNo,? Sansa blurted. ?oHe wouldn?Tt do that. He wouldn?Tt!?
The queen picked up a letter. The paper was torn and stiff with dried blood, but the broken seal was her father?Ts, the direwolf stamped in pale wax. ?oWe found this on the captain of your household guard, Sansa. It is a letter to my late husband?Ts brother Stannis, inviting him to take the crown.?
?oPlease, Your Grace, therê?Ts been a mistake.? Sudden panic made her dizzy and faint. ?oPlease, send for my father, hê?Tll tell you, he would never write such a letter, the king was his friend.?
?oRobert thought so,? said the queen. ?oThis betrayal would have broken his heart. The gods are kind, that he did not live to see it.? She sighed. ?oSansa, sweetling, you must see what a dreadful position this has left us in. You are innocent of any wrong, we all know that, and yet you are the daughter of a traitor. How can I allow you to marry my son??
?oBut I love him,? Sansa wailed, confused and frightened. What did they mean to do to her? What had they done to her father? It was not supposed to happen this way. She had to wed Joffrey, they were betrothed, he was promised to her, she had even dreamed about it. It wasn?Tt fair to take him away from her on account of whatever her father might have done.
?oHow well I know that, child,? Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. ?oWhy else should you have come to me and told me of your father?Ts plan to send you away from us, if not for love??
?oIt was for love,? Sansa said in a rush. ?oFather wouldn?Tt even give me leave to say farewell.? She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn?Tt loved Joffrey as much as she did. ?oHe was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry me to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn?Tt listen.? The king had been her last hope. The king could command Father to let her stay in King?Ts Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had always frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he would probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him. So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly... only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor?Ts Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside. ?oPlease,? she finished, ?oyou have to let me marry Joffrey, I?Tll be ever so good a wife to him, you?Tll see. I?Tll be a queen just like you, I promise.?
Queen Cersei looked to the others. ?oMy lords of the council, what do you say to her plea??
?oThe poor child,? murmured Varys. ?oA love so true and innocent, Your Grace, it would be cruel to deny it... and yet, what can we do? Her father stands condemned.? His soft hands washed each other in a gesture of helpless distress.
?oA child born of traitor?Ts seed will find that betrayal comes naturally to her,? said Grand Maester Pycelle. ?oShe is a sweet thing now, but in ten years, who can say what treasons she may hatch??
?oNo,? Sansa said, horrified. ?oI?Tm not, I?Td never... I wouldn?Tt betray Joffrey, I love him, I swear it, I do.?
?oOh, so poignant,? said Varys. ?oAnd yet, it is truly said that blood runs truer than oaths.?
?oShe reminds me of the mother, not the father,? Lord Petyr Baelish said quietly. ?oLook at her. The hair, the eyes. She is the very image of Cat at the same age.?
The queen looked at her, troubled, and yet Sansa could see kindness in her clear green eyes. ?oChild,? she said, ?oif I could truly believe that you were not like your father, why nothing should please me more than to see you wed to my Joffrey. I know he loves you with all his heart.? She sighed. ?oAnd yet, I fear that Lord Varys and the Grand Maester have the right of it. The blood will tell. I have only to remember how your sister set her wolf on my son.?
?oI?Tm not like Arya,? Sansa blurted. ?oShe has the traitor?Ts blood, not me. I?Tm good, ask Septa Mordane, shê?Tll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey?Ts loyal and loving wife.?
She felt the weight of Cersei?Ts eyes as the queen studied her face. ?oI believe you mean it, child.? She turned to face the others. ?oMy lords, it seems to me that if the rest of her kin were to remain loyal in this terrible time, that would go a long way toward laying our fears to rest.?
Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his huge soft beard, his wide brow furrowed in thought. ?oLord Eddard has three sons.?
?oMere boys,? Lord Petyr said with a shrug. ?oI should be more concerned with Lady Catelyn and the Tullys.?
The queen took Sansâ?Ts hand in both of hers. ?oChild, do you know your letters??
Sansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.
?oI am pleased to hear that. Perhaps there is hope for you and Joffrey still...?
?oWhat do you want me to do??
?oYou must write your lady mother, and your brother, the eldest... what is his name??
?oRobb,? Sansa said.
?oThe word of your lord father?Ts treason will no doubt reach them soon. Better that it should come from you. You must tell them how Lord Eddard betrayed his king.?
Sansa wanted Joffrey desperately, but she did not think she had the courage to do as the queen was asking. ?oBut he never... I don?Tt... Your Grace, I wouldn?Tt know what to say...?
The queen patted her hand. ?oWe will tell you what to write, child. The important thing is that you urge Lady Catelyn and your brother to keep the king?Ts peace.?
?oIt will go hard for them if they don?Tt,? said Grand Maester Pycelle. ?oBy the love you bear them, you must urge them to walk the path of wisdom.?
?oYour lady mother will no doubt fear for you dreadfully,? the queen said. ?oYou must tell her that you are well and in our care, that we are treating you gently and seeing to your every want. Bid them to come to King?Ts Landing and pledge their fealty to Joffrey when he takes his throne. If they do that... why, then we shall know that there is no taint in your blood, and when you come into the flower of your womanhood, you shall wed the king in the Great Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of gods and men.?
... Wed the king... The words made her breath come faster, yet still Sansa hesitated. ?oPerhaps... if I might see my father, talk to him about...?
?oTreason?? Lord Varys hinted.
?oYou disappoint me, Sansa,? the queen said, with eyes gone hard as stones. ?oWê?Tve told you of your father?Ts crimes. If you are truly as loyal as you say, why should you want to see him??
?oI... I only meant Sansa felt her eyes grow wet. ?oHê?Ts not... please, he hasn?Tt been... hurt, or... or...?
?oLord Eddard has not been harmed,? the queen said.
?oBut... what?Ts to become of him??
?oThat is a matter for the king to decide,? Grand Maester Pycelle announced ponderously.
The king! Sansa blinked back her tears. Joffrey was the king now, she thought. Her gallant prince would never hurt her father, no matter what he might have done. If she went to him and pleaded for mercy, she was certain hê?Td listen. He had to listen, he loved her, even the queen said so. Joff would need to punish Father, the lords would expect it, but perhaps he could send him back to Winterfell, or exile him to one of the Free Cities across the narrow sea. It would only have to be for a few years. By then she and Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring Father back and grant him a pardon.
Only... if Mother or Robb did anything treasonous, called the banners or refused to swear fealty or anything, it would all go wrong. Her Joffrey was good and kind, she knew it in her heart, but a king had to be stern with rebels. She had to make them understand, she had to!
?oI?Tll... I?Tll write the letters,? Sansa told them.
With a smile as warm as the sunrise, Cersei Lannister leaned close and kissed her gently on the cheek. ?oI knew you would. Joffrey will be so proud when I tell him what courage and good sense you?Tve shown here today.?
In the end, she wrote four letters. To her mother, the Lady Catelyn Stark, and to her brothers at Winterfell, and to her aunt and her grandfather as well, Lady Lysa Arryn of the Eyrie, and Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. By the time she had done, her fingers were cramped and stiff and stained with ink. Varys had her father?Ts seal. She warmed the pale white beeswax over a candle, poured it carefully, and watched as the eunuch stamped each letter with the direwolf of House Stark.
Jeyne Poole and all her things were gone when Ser Mandon Moore returned Sansa to the high tower of Maegor?Ts Holdfast. No more weeping, she thought gratefully. Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after shê?Td built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother?Ts queen.
It was not until later that night, as she was drifting off to sleep, that Sansa realized she had forgotten to ask about her sister.

Chapter 52
Jon​

?oOthor,? announced Ser Jaremy Rykker, ?obeyond a doubt. And this one was Jafer Flowers.? He turned the corpse over with his foot, and the dead white face stared up at the overcast sky with blue, blue eyes. ?oThey were Ben Stark?Ts men, both of them.?
My unclê?Ts men, Jon thought numbly. He remembered how hê?Td pleaded to ride with them. Gods, I was such a green boy. If he had taken me, it might be me lying here...
Jafer?Ts right wrist ended in the ruin of torn flesh and splintered bone left by Ghost?Ts jaws. His right hand was floating in ajar of vinegar back in Maester Aemon?Ts tower. His left hand, still at the end of his arm, was as black as his cloak.
?oGods have mercy,? the Old Bear muttered. He swung down from his garron, handing his reins to Jon. The morning was unnaturally warm; beads of sweat dotted the Lord Commander?Ts broad forehead like dew on a melon. His horse was nervous, rolling her eyes, backing away from the dead men as far as her lead would allow. Jon led her off a few paces, fighting to keep her from bolting. The horses did not like the feel of this place. For that matter, neither did Jon.
The dogs liked it least of all. Ghost had led the party here; the pack of hounds had been useless. When Bass the kennelmaster had tried to get them to take the scent from the severed hand, they had gone wild, yowling and barking, fighting to get away. Even now they were snarling and whimpering by turns, pulling at their leashes while Chett cursed them for curs.
It is only a wood, Jon told himself, and they?Tre only dead men.
He had seen dead men before...
Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark hê?Td heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitchdark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the cast. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night?Ts Watch now, not a frightened boy.
Samwell Tarly huddled beneath the trees, half-hidden behind the horses. His round fat face was the color of curdled milk. So far he had not lurched off to the woods to retch, but he had not so much as glanced at the dead men either. ?oI can?Tt look,? he whispered miserably.
?oYou have to look,? Jon told him, keeping his voice low so the others would not hear. ?oMaester Aemon sent you to be his eyes, didn?Tt he? What good are eyes if they?Tre shut??
?oYes, but... I?Tm such a coward, Jon.?
Jon put a hand on Sam?Ts shoulder. ?oWe have a dozen rangers with us, and the dogs, even Ghost. No one will hurt you, Sam. Go ahead and look. The first look is the hardest.?
Sam gave a tremulous nod, working up his courage with a visible effort. Slowly he swiveled his head. His eyes widened, but Jon held his arm so he could not turn away.
?oSer Jaremy,? the Old Bear asked gruffly, ?oBen Stark had six men with him when he rode from the Wall. Where are the others??
Ser Jaremy shook his head. ?oWould that I knew.?
Plainly Mormont was not pleased with that answer. ?oTwo of our brothers butchered almost within sight of the Wall, yet your rangers heard nothing, saw nothing. Is this what the Night?Ts Watch has fallen to? Do we still sweep these woods??
?oYes, my lord, but-?
?oDo we still mount watches??
?oWe do, but-?
?oThis man wears a hunting horn.? Mormont pointed at Othor. ?oMust I suppose that he died without sounding it? Or have your rangers all gone deaf as well as blind??
Ser Jaremy bristled, his face taut with anger. ?oNo horn was blown, my lord, or my rangers would have heard it. I do not have sufficient men to mount as many patrols as I should like... and since Benjen was lost, we have stayed closer to the Wall than we were wont to do before, by your own command.?
The Old Bear grunted. ?oYes. Well. Be that as it may.? He made an impatient gesture. ?oTell me how they died.?
Squatting beside the dead man he had named Jafer Flowers, Ser Jaremy grasped his head by the scalp. The hair came out between his fingers, brittle as straw. The knight cursed and shoved at the face with the heel of his hand. A great gash in the side of the corpsê?Ts neck opened like a mouth, crusted with dried blood. Only a few ropes of pale tendon still attached the head to the neck. ?oThis was done with an axe.?
?oAye,? muttered Dywen, the old forester. ?oBelike the axe that Othor carried, m?Tlord.?
Jon could feel his breakfast churning in his belly, but he pressed his lips together and made himself look at the second body. Othor had been a big ugly man, and he made a big ugly corpse. No axe was in evidence. Jon remembered Othor; he had been the one bellowing the bawdy song as the rangers rode out. His singing days were done. His flesh was blanched white as milk, everywhere but his hands. His hands were black like Jafer?Ts. Blossoms of hard cracked blood decorated the mortal wounds that covered him like a rash, breast and groin and throat. Yet his eyes were still open. They stared up at the sky, blue as sapphires.
Ser Jaremy stood. ?oThe wildlings have axes too.?
Mormont rounded on him. ?oSo you believe this is Mance Rayder?Ts work? This close to the Wall??
?oWho else, my lord??
Jon could have told him. He knew, they all knew, yet no man of them would say the words. The Others are only a story, a tale to make children shiver. If they ever lived at all, they are gone eight thousand years. Even the thought made him feel foolish; he was a man grown now, a black brother of the Night?Ts Watch, not the boy whô?Td once sat at Old Nan?Ts feet with Bran and Robb and Arya.
Yet Lord Commander Mormont gave a snort. ?oIf Ben Stark had come under wildling attack a half day?Ts ride from Castle Black, he would have returned for more men, chased the killers through all seven hells and brought me back their heads.?
?oUnless he was slain as well,? Ser Jaremy insisted.
The words hurt, even now. It had been so long, it seemed folly to cling to the hope that Ben Stark was still alive, but Jon Snow was nothing if not stubborn.
?oIt has been close on half a year since Benjen left us, my lord,? Ser Jaremy went on. ?oThe forest is vast. The wildlings might have fallen on him anywhere. I?Td wager these two were the last survivors of his party, on their way back to us... but the enemy caught them before they could reach the safety of the Wall. The corpses are still fresh, these men cannot have been dead more than a day...?
?oNo,? Samwell Tarly squeaked.
Jon was startled. Sam?Ts nervous, high-pitched voice was the last he would have expected to hear. The fat boy was frightened of the officers, and Ser Jaremy was not known for his patience.
?oI did not ask for your views, boy,? Rykker said coldly.
?oLet him speak, ser,? Jon blurted.
Mormont?Ts eyes flicked from Sam to Jon and back again. ?oIf the lad has something to say, I?Tll hear him out. Come closer, boy. We can?Tt see you behind those horses.?
Sam edged past Jon and the garrons, sweating profusely. ?oMy lord, it... it can?Tt be a day or... look... the blood...?
?oYes?? Mormont growled impatiently. ?oBlood, what of it??
?oHe soils his smallclothes at the sight of it,? Chett shouted out, and the rangers laughed.
Sam mopped at the sweat on his brow. ?oYou... you can see where Ghost... Jon?Ts direwolf... you can see where he tore off that man?Ts hand, and yet... the stump hasn?Tt bled, look...? He waved a hand. ?oMy father... L-lord Randyll, he, he made me watch him dress animals sometimes, when... after...? Sam shook his head from side to side, his chins quivering. Now that he had looked at the bodies, he could not seem to look away. ?oA fresh kill... the blood would still flow, my lords. Later... later it would be clotted, like a... a jelly, thick and... and...? He looked as though he was going to be sick. ?oThis man... look at the wrist, it?Ts all... crusty... dry... like...?
Jon saw at once what Sam meant. He could see the torn veins in the dead man?Ts wrist, iron worms in the pale flesh. His blood was a black dust. Yet Jaremy Rykker was unconvinced. ?oIf they?Td been dead much longer than a day, they?Td be ripe by now, boy. They don?Tt even smell.?
Dywen, the gnarled old forester who liked to boast that he could smell snow coming on, sidled closer to the corpses and took a whiff. ?oWell, they?Tre no pansy flowers, but... m?Tlord has the truth of it. Therê?Ts no corpse stink.?
?oThey... they aren?Tt rotting.? Sam pointed, his fat finger shaking only a little. ?oLook, therê?Ts... therê?Ts no maggots or... or... worms or anything... they?Tve been lying here in the woods, but they... they haven?Tt been chewed or eaten by animals... only Ghost... otherwise they?Tre... they?Tre...?
?oUntouched,? Jon said softly. ?oAnd Ghost is different. The dogs and the horses won?Tt go near them.?
The rangers exchanged glances; they could see it was true, every man of them. Mormont frowned, glancing from the corpses to the dogs. ?oChett, bring the hounds closer.?
Chett tried, cursing, yanking on the leashes, giving one animal a lick of his boot. Most of the dogs just whimpered and planted their feet. He tried dragging one. The bitch resisted, growling and squirming as if to escape her collar. Finally she lunged at him. Chett dropped the leash and stumbled backward. The dog leapt over him and bounded off into the trees.
?oThis... this is all wrong,? Sam Tarly said earnestly. ?oThe blood... therê?Ts bloodstains on their clothes, and... and their flesh, dry and hard, but... therê?Ts none on the ground, or... anywhere. With those... those... those...? Sam made himself swallow, took a deep breath. ?oWith those wounds... terrible wounds... there should be blood all over. Shouldn?Tt there??
Dywen sucked at his wooden teeth. ?oMight be they didn?Tt die here. Might be someone brought ?~ern and left ?~ern for us. A warning, as like.? The old forester peered down suspiciously. ?oAnd might be I?Tm a fool, but I don?Tt know that Othor never had no blue eyes afore.?
Ser Jaremy looked startled. ?oNeither did Flowers,? he blurted, turning to stare at the dead man.
A silence fell over the wood. For a moment all they heard was Sam?Ts heavy breathing and the wet sound of Dywen sucking on his teeth. Jon squatted beside Ghost.
?oBurn them,? someone whispered. One of the rangers; Jon could not have said who. ?oYes, burn them,? a second voice urged.
The Old Bear gave a stubborn shake of his head. ?oNot yet. I want Maester Aemon to have a look at them. Wê?Tll bring them back to the Wall.?
Some commands are more easily given than obeyed. They wrapped the dead men in cloaks, but when Hake and Dywen tried to tie one onto a horse, the animal went mad, screaming and rearing, lashing out with its hooves, even biting at Ketter when he ran to help. The rangers had no better luck with the other garrons; not even the most placid wanted any part of these burdens. In the end they were forced to hack off branches and fashion crude slings to carry the corpses back on foot. It was well past midday by the time they started back.
?oI will have these woods searched,? Mormont commanded Ser Jaremy as they set out. ?oEvery tree, every rock, every bush, and every foot of muddy ground within ten leagues of here. Use all the men you have, and if you do not have enough, borrow hunters and foresters from the stewards. If Ben and the others are out here, dead or alive, I will have them found. And if there is anyone else in these woods, I will know of it. You are to track them and take them, alive if possible. Is that understood??
?oIt is, my lord,? Ser Jaremy said. ?oIt will be done.?
After that, Mormont rode in silence, brooding. Jon followed close behind him; as the Lord Commander?Ts steward, that was his place. The day was grey, damp, overcast, the sort of day that made you wish for rain. No wind stirred the wood; the air hung humid and heavy, and Jon?Ts clothes clung to his skin. It was warm. Too warm. The Wall was weeping copiously, had been weeping for days, and sometimes Jon even imagined it was shrinking.
The old men called this weather spirit summer, and said it meant the season was giving up its ghosts at last. After this the cold would come, they warned, and a long summer always meant a long winter. This summer had lasted ten years. Jon had been a babe in arms when it began.
Ghost ran with them for a time and then vanished among the trees. Without the direwolf, Jon felt almost naked. He found himself glancing at every shadow with unease. Unbidden, he thought back on the tales that Old Nan used to tell them, when he was a boy at Winterfell. He could almost hear her voice again, and the click-click-click of her needles. In that darkness, the Others came riding, she used to say, dropping her voice lower and lower. Cold and dead they were, and they hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every living creature with hot blood in its veins. Holdfasts and cities and kingdoms of men all fell before them, as they moved south on pale dead horses, leading hosts of the slain. They fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children...
When he caught his first glimpse of the Wall looming above the tops of an ancient gnarled oak, Jon was vastly relieved. Mormont reined up suddenly and turned in his saddle. ?oTarly,? he barked, ?ocome here.?
Jon saw the start of fright on Sam?Ts face as he lumbered up on his mare; doubtless he thought he was in trouble. ?oYou?Tre fat but you?Tre not stupid, boy,? the Old Bear said gruffly. ?oYou did well back there. And you, Snow.?
Sam blushed a vivid crimson and tripped over his own tongue as he tried to stammer out a courtesy. Jon had to smile.
When they emerged from under the trees, Mormont spurred his tough little garron to a trot. Ghost came streaking out from the woods to meet them, licking his chops, his muzzle red from prey. High above, the men on the Wall saw the column approaching. Jon heard the deep, throaty call of the watchman?Ts great horn, calling out across the miles; a single long blast that shuddered through the trees and echoed off the ice.
UUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo.
The sound faded slowly to silence. One blast meant rangers returning, and Jon thought, I was a ranger for one day, at least. Whatever may come, they cannot take that away from me.
Bowen Marsh was waiting at the first gate as they led their garrons through the icy tunnel. The Lord Steward was red-faced and agitated. ?oMy lord,? he blurted at Mormont as he swung open the iron bars, ?otherê?Ts been a bird, you must come at once.?
?oWhat is it, man?? Mormont said gruffly.
Curiously, Marsh glanced at Jon before he answered. ?oMaester Aemon has the letter. Hê?Ts waiting in your solar.?
?oVery well. Jon, see to my horse, and tell Ser Jaremy to put the dead men in a storeroom until the maester is ready for them.? Mormont strode away grumbling.
As they led their horses back to the stable, Jon was uncomfortably aware that people were watching him. Ser Alliser Thorne was drilling his boys in the yard, but he broke off to stare at Jon, a faint half smile on his lips. One-armed Donal Noye stood in the door of the armory. ?oThe gods be with you, Snow,? he called out.
Something?Ts wrong, Jon thought. Something?Ts very wrong.