[Truyện TA] George R. R. Martin - A Song of Ice and Fire 2 - A Clash of Kings

Chapter 15
Tyrion​

The queen was not disposed to wait on Varys. ?oTreason is vile enough,? she declared furiously, ?obut this is barefaced naked villainy, and I do not need that mincing eunuch to tell me what must be done with villains.?
Tyrion took the letters from his sister?Ts hand and compared them side by side. There were two copies, the words exactly alike, though they had been written by different hands.
?oMaester Frenken received the first missive at Castle Stokeworth,? Grand Maester Pycelle explained. ?oThe second copy came through Lord Gyles.?
Littlefinger fingered his beard. ?oIf Stannis bothered with them, it?Ts past certain every other lord in the Seven Kingdoms saw a copy as well.?
?oI want these letters burned, every one,? Cersei declared. ?oNo hint of this must reach my son?Ts ears, or my father?Ts.?
?oI imagine Father?Ts heard rather more than a hint by now,? Tyrion said dryly. ?oDoubtless Stannis sent a bird to Casterly Rock, and another to Harrenhal. As for burning the letters, to what point? The song is sung, the wine is spilled, the wench is pregnant. And this is not as dire as it seems, in truth.?
Cersei turned on him in green-eyed fury. ?oAre you utterly witless? Did you read what he says? The boy Joffrey, he calls him. And he dares to accuse me of incest, adultery, and treason!?
Only because you?Tre guilty. It was astonishing to see how angry Cersei could wax over accusations she knew perfectly well to be true. If we lose the war, she ought to take up mummery, she has a gift for it. Tyrion waited until she was done and said, ?oStannis must have some pretext to justify his rebellion. What did you expect him to write? ?~Joffrey is my brother?Ts trueborn son and heir, but I mean to take his throne for all that?T??
?oI will not suffer to be called a whore!?
Why, sister, he never claims Jaime paid you. Tyrion made a show of glancing over the writing again. There had been some niggling phrase... ?oDone in the Light of the Lord,? he read. ?oA queer choice of words, that.?
Pycelle cleared his throat. ?oThese words often appear in letters and documents from the Free Cities. They mean no more than, let us say, written in the sight of god. The god of the red priests. It is their usage, I do believe.?
?oVarys told us some years past that Lady Selyse had taken up with a red priest,? Littlefinger reminded them.
Tyrion tapped the paper. ?oAnd now it would seem her lord husband has done the same. We can use that against him. Urge the High Septon to reveal how Stannis has turned against the gods as well as his rightful king...?
?oYes, yes,? the queen said impatiently, ?obut first we must stop this filth from spreading further. The council must issue an edict. Any man heard speaking of incest or calling Joff a bastard should lose his tongue for it.?
?oA prudent measure,? said Grand Maester Pycelle, his chain of office clinking as he nodded.
?oA folly,? sighed Tyrion. ?oWhen you tear out a man?Ts tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you?Tre only telling the world that you fear what he might say.?
?oSo what would you have us do?? his sister demanded.
?oVery little. Let them whisper, they?Tll grow bored with the tale soon enough. Any man with a thimble of sense will see it for a clumsy attempt to justify usurping the crown. Does Stannis offer proof? How could he, when it never happened?? Tyrion gave his sister his sweetest smile.
?oThat?Ts so,? she had to say. ?oStill...?
?oYour Grace, your brother has the right of this.? Petyr Baelish steepled his fingers. ?oIf we attempt to silence this talk, we only lend it credence. Better to treat it with contempt, like the pathetic lie it is. And meantime, fight fire with fire.?
Cersei gave him a measuring look. ?oWhat sort of fire??
?oA tale of somewhat the same nature, perhaps. But more easily believed. Lord Stannis has spent most of his marriage apart from his wife. Not that I fault him, I?Td do the same were I married to Lady Selyse. Nonetheless, if we put it about that her daughter is baseborn and Stannis a cuckold, well... the smallfolk are always eager to believe the worst of their lords, particularly those as stern, sour, and prickly proud as Stannis Baratheon.?
?oHe has never been much loved, that?Ts true.? Cersei considered a moment. ?oSo we pay him back in his own coin. Yes, I like this. Who can we name as Lady Selysê?Ts lover? She has two brothers, I believe. And one of her uncles has been with her on Dragonstone all this time...?
?oSer Axell Florent is her castellan.? Loath as Tyrion was to admit it, Littlefinger?Ts scheme had promise. Stannis had never been enamored of his wife, but he was bristly as a hedgehog where his honor was concerned and mistrustful by nature. If they could sow discord between him and his followers, it could only help their cause. ?oThe child has the Florent ears, I?Tm told.?
Littlefinger gestured languidly. ?oA trade envoy from Lys once observed to me that Lord Stannis must love his daughter very well, since hê?Td erected hundreds of statues of her all along the walls of Dragonstone. ?~My lord,?T I had to tell him, ?~those are gargoyles.?T ? He chuckled. ?oSer Axell might serve for Shireen?Ts father, but in my experience, the more bizarre and shocking a tale the more apt it is to be repeated. Stannis keeps an especially grotesque fool, a lackwit with a tattooed face.?
Grand Maester Pycelle gaped at him, aghast. ?oSurely you do not mean *****ggest that Lady Selyse would bring a fool into her bed??
?oYou?Td have to be a fool to want to bed Selyse Florent,? said Littlefinger. ?oDoubtless Patchface reminded her of Stannis. And the best lies contain within them nuggets of truth, enough to give a listener pause. As it happens, this fool is utterly devoted to the girl and follows her everywhere. They even look somewhat alike. Shireen has a mottled, halffrozen face as well.?
Pycelle was lost. ?oBut that is from the greyscale that near killed her as a babe, poor thing.?
?oI like my tale better,? said Littlefinger, ?oand so will the smallfolk. Most of them believe that if a woman eats rabbit while pregnant, her child will be born with long floppy ears.?
Cersei smiled the sort of smile she customarily reserved for Jaime. ?oLord Petyr, you are a wicked creature.?
?oThank you, Your Grace.?
?oAnd a most accomplished liar,? Tyrion added, less warmly. This one is more dangerous than I knew, he reflected.
Littlefinger?Ts grey-green eyes met the dwarf?Ts mismatched stare with no hint of unease. ?oWe all have our gifts, my lord.?
The queen was too caught up in her revenge to take note of the exchange. ?oCuckolded by a halfwit fool! Stannis will be laughed at in every winesink this side of the narrow sea.?
?oThe story should not come from us,? Tyrion said, ?oor it will be seen for a self-serving lie.? Which it is, to be sure.
Once more Littlefinger supplied the answer. ?oWhores love to gossip, and as it happens I own a brothel or three. And no doubt Varys can plant seeds in the alehouses and pot-shops.?
?oVarys,? Cersei said, frowning. ?oWhere is Varys??
?oI have been wondering about that myself, Your Grace.?
?oThe Spider spins his secret webs day and night,? Grand Maester Pycelle said ominously. ?oI mistrust that one, my lords.?
?oAnd he speaks so kindly of you.? Tyrion pushed himself off his chair. As it happened, he knew what the eunuch was about, but it was nothing the other councillors needed to hear. ?oPray excuse me, my lords. Other business calls.?
Cersei was instantly suspicious. ?oKing?Ts business??
?oNothing you need trouble yourself about.?
?oI?Tll be the judge of that.?
?oWould you spoil my surprise?? Tyrion said. ?oI?Tm having a gift made for Joffrey. A little chain.?
?oWhat does he need with another chain? He has gold chains and silver, more than he can wear. If you think for a moment you can buy Joff?Ts love with gifts-?
?oWhy, surely I have the king?Ts love, as he has mine. And this chain I believe he may one day treasure above all others.? The little man bowed and waddled to the door.
Bronn was waiting outside the council chambers to escort him back to the Tower of the Hand. ?oThe smiths are in your audience chamber, waiting your pleasure,? he said as they crossed the ward.
?oWaiting my pleasure. I like the ring of that, Bronn. You almost sound a proper courtier. Next you?Tll be kneeling.?
?o**** you, dwarf.?
?oThat?Ts Shaê?Ts task.? Tyrion heard Lady Tanda calling to him merrily from the top of the serpentine steps. Pretending not to notice her, he waddled a bit faster. ?oSee that my litter is readied, I?Tll be leaving the castle as soon as I?Tm done here.? Two of the Moon Brothers had the door guard. Tyrion greeted them pleasantly, and grimaced before starting up the stairs. The climb to his bedchamber made his legs ache.
Within he found a boy of twelve laying out clothing on the bed; his squire, such that he was. Podrick Payne was so shy he was furtive.
Tyrion had never quite gotten over the suspicion that his father had inflicted the boy on him as a joke.
?oYour garb, my lord,? the boy mumbled when Tyrion entered, staring down at his boots. Even when he worked up the courage to speak, Pod could never quite manage to look at you. ?oFor the audience. And your chain. The Hand?Ts chain.?
?oVery good. Help me dress.? The doublet was black velvet covered with golden studs in the shape of lions?T heads, the chain a loop of solid gold hands, the fingers of each clasping the wrist of the next. Pod brought him a cloak of crimson silk fringed in gold, cut to his height. On a normal man, it would be no more than a half cape.
The Hand?Ts private audience chamber was not so large as the king?Ts, nor a patch on the vastness of the throne room, but Tyrion liked its Myrish rugs, wall hangings, and sense of intimacy. As he entered, his steward cried out, ?oTyrion Lannister, Hand of the King.? He liked that too. The gaggle of smiths, armorers, and ironmongers that Bronn had collected fell to their knees.
He hoisted himself up into the high seat under the round golden window and bid them rise. ?oGoodmen, I know you are all busy, so I will be succinct. Pod, if you please.? The boy handed him a canvas sack. Tyrion yanked the drawstring and upended the bag. Its contents spilled onto the rug with a muffled thunk of metal on wool. ?oI had these made at the castle forge. I want a thousand more just like them.?
One of the smiths knelt to inspect the object: three immense steel links, twisted together. ?oA mighty chain.?
?oMighty, but short,? the dwarf replied. ?oSomewhat like me. I fancy one a good deal longer. Do you have a name??
?oThey call me Ironbelly, m?Tlord.? The smith was squat and broad, plainly dressed in wool and leather, but his arms were as thick as a bull?Ts neck.
?oI want every forge in King?Ts Landing turned to making these links and joining them. All other work is to be put aside. I want every man who knows the art of working metal set to this task, be he master, journeyman, or apprentice. When I ride up the Street of Steel, I want to hear hammers ringing, night or day. And I want a man, a strong man, to see that all this is done. Are you that man, Goodman Ironbelly??
?oMight be I am, m?Tlord. But what of the mail and swords the queen was wanting??
Another smith spoke up. ?oHer Grace commanded us to make chainmail and armor, swords and daggers and axes, all in great numbers. For arming her new gold cloaks, m?Tlord.?
?oThat work can wait,? Tyrion said. ?oThe chain first.?
?oM?Tlord, begging your pardon, Her Grace said those as didn?Tt meet their numbers would have their hands crushed,? the anxious Smith persisted. ?oSmashed on their own anvils, she said.?
Sweet Cersei, always striving to make the smallfolk love us. ?oNo one will have their hands smashed. You have my word on it.?
?oIron is grown dear,? Ironbelly declared, ?oand this chain will be needing much of it, and coke beside, for the fires.?
?oLord Baelish will see that you have coin as you need it,? Tyrion promised. He could count on Littlefinger for that much, he hoped. ?oI will command the City Watch to help you find iron. Melt down every horseshoe in this city if you must.?
An older man moved forward, richly dressed in a damask tunic with silver fastenings and a cloak lined with foxfur. He knelt to examine the great steel links Tyrion had dumped on the floor. ?oMy lord,? he announced gravely, ?othis is crude work at best. There is no art to it. Suitable labor for common smiths, no doubt, for men who bend horseshoes and hammer out kettles, but I am a master armorer, as it please my lord. This is no work for me, nor my fellow masters. We make swords as sharp as song, armor such as a god might wear. Not this.?
Tyrion tilted his head to the side and gave the man a dose of his mismatched eyes. ?oWhat is your name, master armorer??
?oSalloreon, as it please my lord. If the King?Ts Hand will permit, I should be most honored to forge him a suit of armor suitable to his House and high office.? Two of the others sniggered, but Salloreon plunged ahead, heedless. ?oPlate and scale, I think. The scales gilded bright as the sun, the plate enameled a deep Lannister crimson. I would suggest a demon?Ts head for a helm, crowned with tall golden horns. When you ride into battle, men will shrink away in fear.?
A demon?Ts head, Tyrion thought ruefully, now what does that say of me? ?oMaster Salloreon, I plan to fight the rest of my battles from this chair. It?Ts links I need, not demon horns. So let me put it to you this way. You will make chains, or you will wear them. The choice is yours.? He rose, and took his leave with nary a backward glance.

Bronn was waiting by the gate with his litter and an escort of mounted Black Ears. ?oYou know where wê?Tre bound,? Tyrion told him. He accepted a hand up into the litter. He had done all he could to feed the hungry city-hê?Td set several hundred carpenters to building fishing boats in place of catapults, opened the kingswood to any hunter who dared to cross the river, even sent gold cloaks foraging to the west and South-yet he still saw accusing eyes everywhere he rode. The litter?Ts curtains shielded him from that, and besides gave him leisure to think.
As they wound their slow way down twisty Shadowblack Lane to the foot of Aegon?Ts High Hill, Tyrion reflected on the events of the morning. His sister?Ts ire had led her to overlook the true significance of Stannis Baratheon?Ts letter. Without proof, his accusations were nothing; what mattered was that he had named himself a king. And what will Renly make of that? They could not both sit the Iron Throne.
Idly, he pushed the curtain back a few inches to peer out at the streets. Black Ears rode on both sides of him, their grisly necklaces looped about their throats, while Bronn went in front to clear the way. He watched the passersby watching him, and played a little game with himself, trying to sort the informers from the rest. The ones who look the most suspicious are likely innocent, he decided. It?Ts the ones who look innocent I need to beware.
His destination was behind the hill of Rhaenys, and the streets were crowded. Almost an hour had passed before the litter swayed to a stop. Tyrion was dozing, but he woke abruptly when the motion ceased, rubbed the sand from his eyes, and accepted Bronn?Ts hand to climb down.
The house was two stories tall, stone below and timber above. A round turret rose from one corner of the structure. Many of the windows were leaded. Over the door swung an ornate lamp, a globe of gilded metal and scarlet glass.
?oA brothel,? Bronn said. ?oWhat do you mean to do here??
?oWhat does one usually do in a brothel??
The sellsword laughed. ?oShaê?Ts not enough??
?oShe was pretty enough for a camp follower, but I?Tm no longer in camp. Little men have big appetites, and I?Tm told the girls here are fit for a king.?
?oIs the boy old enough??
?oNot Joffrey. Robert. This house was a great favorite of his.? Although Joffrey may indeed be old enough. An interesting notion, that. ?oIf you and the Black Ears care to amuse yourselves, feel free, but Chatayâ?Ts girls are costly. You?Tll find cheaper houses all along the street. Leave one man here whô?Tll know where to find the others when I wish to return.?
Bronn nodded. ?oAs you say.? The Black Ears were all grins.
Inside the door, a tall woman in flowing silks was waiting for him. She had ebon skin and sandalwood eyes. ?oI am Chataya,? she announced, bowing deeply. ?oAnd you are-?
?oLet us not get into the habit of names. Names are dangerous.? The air smelled of some exotic spice, and the floor beneath his feet displayed a mosaic of two women entwined in love. ?oYou have a pleasant establishment.?
?oI have labored long to make it so. I am glad the Hand is pleased.? Her voice was flowing amber, liquid with the accents of the distant Summer Isles.
?oTitles can be as dangerous as names,? Tyrion warned. ?oShow me a few of your girls.?
?oIt will be my great delight. You will find that they are all as sweet as they are beautiful, and skilled in every art of love.? She swept off gracefully, leaving Tyrion to waddle after as best he could on legs half the length of hers.
From behind an ornate Myrish screen carved with flowers and fancies and dreaming maidens, they peered unseen into a common room where an old man was playing a cheerful air on the pipes. In a cushioned alcove, a drunken Tyroshi with a purple beard dandled a buxom young wench on his knee. Hê?Td unlaced her bodice and was tilting his cup to pour a thin trickle of wine over her breasts so he might lap it off. Two other girls sat playing at tiles before a leaded glass window. The freckled one wore a chain of blue flowers in her honeyed hair. The other had skin as smooth and black as polished jet, wide dark eyes, small pointed breasts. They dressed in flowing silks cinched at the waist with beaded belts. The sunlight pouring through the colored glass outlined their sweet young bodies through the thin cloth, and Tyrion felt a stirring in his groin. ?oI would respectfully suggest the dark-skinned girl,? said Chataya.
?oShê?Ts young.?
?oShe has sixteen years, my lord.?
A good age for Joffrey, he thought, remembering what Bronn had said. His first had been even younger. Tyrion remembered how shy shê?Td seemed as he drew her dress up over her head the first time. Long dark hair and blue eyes you could drown in, and he had. So long ago... What a wretched fool you are, dwarf. ?oDoes she come from your home lands, this girl??
?oHer blood is the blood of summer, my lord, but my daughter was born here in King?Ts Landing.? His surprise must have shown on his face, for Chataya continued, ?oMy people hold that there is no shame to be found in the pillow house. In the Summer Isles, those who are skilled at giving pleasure are greatly esteemed. Many highborn youths and maidens serve for a few years after their flowerings, to honor the gods.?
?oWhat do the gods have to do with it??
?oThe gods made our bodies as well as our souls, is it not so? They give us voices, so we might worship them with song. They give us hands, so we might build them temples. And they give us desire, so we might mate and worship them in that way.?
?oRemind me to tell the High Septon,? said Tyrion. ?oIf I could pray with my ****, I?Td be much more religious.? He waved a hand. ?oI will gladly accept your suggestion.?
?oI shall summon my daughter. Come.?
The girl met him at the foot of the stairs. Taller than Shae, though not so tall as her mother, she had to kneel before Tyrion could kiss her. ?oMy name is Alayaya,? she said, with only the slightest hint of her mother?Ts accent. ?oCome, my lord.? She took him by the hand and drew him up two flights of stairs, then down a long hall. Gasps and shrieks of pleasure were coming from behind one of the closed doors, giggles and whispers from another. Tyrion?Ts **** pressed against the lacings of his breeches. This could be humiliating, he thought as he followed Alayaya up another stair to the turret room. There was only one door. She led him through and closed it. Within the room was a great canopied bed, a tall wardrobe decorated with erotic carvings, and a narrow window of leaded glass in a pattern of red and yellow diamonds.
?oYou are very beautiful, Alayaya,? Tyrion told her when they were alone. ?oFrom head to heels, every part of you is lovely. Yet just now the part that interests me most is your tongue.?
?oMy lord will find my tongue well schooled. When I was a girl I learned when to use it, and when not.?
?oThat pleases me.? Tyrion smiled. ?oSo what shall we do now? Perchance you have some suggestion??
?oYes,? she said. ?oIf my lord will open the wardrobe, he will find what he seeks.?
Tyrion kissed her hand, and climbed inside the empty wardrobe. Alayaya closed it after him. He groped for the back panel, felt it slide under his fingers, and pushed it all the way aside. The hollow space behind the walls was pitch-black, but he fumbled until he felt metal. His hand closed around the rung of a ladder. He found a lower rung with his foot, and started down. Well below street level, the shaft opened onto a slanting earthen tunnel, where he found Varys waiting with candle in hand.
Varys did not look at all like himself. A scarred face and a stubble of dark beard showed under his spiked steel cap, and he wore mail over boiled leather, dirk and shortsword at his belt. ?oWas Chatayâ?Ts to your satisfaction, my lord??
?oAlmost too much so,? admitted Tyrion. ?oYou?Tre certain this woman can be relied on??
?oI am certain of nothing in this fickle and treacherous world, my lord. Chataya has no cause to love the queen, though, and she knows that she has you to thank for ridding her of Allar Deem. Shall we go?? He started down the tunnel.
Even his walk is different, Tyrion observed. The scent of sour wine and garlic clung to Varys instead of lavender. ?oI like this new garb of yours,? he offered as they went.
?oThe work I do does not permit me to travel the streets amid a column of knights. So when I leave the castle, I adopt more suitable guises, and thus live to serve you longer.?
?oLeather becomes you. You ought to come like this to our next council session.?
?oYour sister would not approve, my lord.?
?oMy sister would soil her smallclothes.? He smiled in the dark. ?oI saw no signs of any of her spies skulking after me.?
?oI am pleased to hear it, my lord. Some of your sister?Ts hirelings are mine as well, unbeknownst to her. I should hate to think they had grown so sloppy as to be seen.?
?oWell, I?Td hate to think I was climbing through wardrobes and suffering the pangs of frustrated lust all for naught.?
?oScarcely for naught,? Varys assured him. ?oThey know you are here. Whether any will be bold enough to enter Chatayâ?Ts in the guise of patrons I cannot say, but I find it best to err on the side of caution.?
?oHow is it a brothel happens to have a secret entrance??
?oThe tunnel was dug for another King?Ts Hand, whose honor would not allow him to enter such a house openly. Chataya has closely guarded the knowledge of its existence.?
?oAnd yet you knew of it.?
?oLittle birds fly through many a dark tunnel. Careful, the steps are steep.?
They emerged through a trap at the back of a stable, having come perhaps a distance of three blocks under Rhaenys?Ts Hill. A horse whickered in his stall when Tyrion let the door slam shut. Varys blew out the candle and set it on a beam and Tyrion gazed about. A mule and three horses occupied the stalls. He waddled over to the piebald gelding and took a look at his teeth. ?oOld,? he said, ?oand I have my doubts about his wind.?
?oHe is not a mount to carry you into battle, true,? Varys replied, ?obut he will serve, and attract no notice. As will the others. And the stableboys see and hear only the animals.? The eunuch took a cloak from a peg. It was roughspun, sun-faded, and threadbare, but very ample in its cut. ?oIf you will permit me.? When he swept it over Tyrion?Ts shoulders it enveloped him head to heel, with a cowl that could be pulled forward to drown his face in shadows. ?oMen see what they expect to see,? Varys said as he fussed and pulled. ?oDwarfs are not so common a sight as children, so a child is what they will see. A boy in an old cloak on his father?Ts horse, going about his father?Ts business. Though it would be best if you came most often by night.?
?oI plan to... after today. At the moment, though, Shae awaits me.? He had put her up in a walled manse at the far northeast corner of King?Ts Landing, not far from the sea, but he had not dared visit her there for fear of being followed.
?oWhich horse will you have??
Tyrion shrugged. ?oThis one will do well enough.?
?oI shall saddle him for you.? Varys took tack and saddle down from a peg.
Tyrion adjusted the heavy cloak and paced restlessly. ?oYou missed a lively council. Stannis has crowned himself, it seems.?
?oI know.?
?oHe accuses my brother and sister of incest. I wonder how he came by that suspicion.?
?oPerhaps he read a book and looked at the color of a bastard?Ts hair, as Ned Stark did, and Jon Arryn before him. Or perhaps someone whispered it in his ear.? The eunuch?Ts laugh was not his usual giggle, but deeper and more throaty.
?oSomeone like you, perchance??
?oAm I suspected? It was not me.?
?oIf it had been, would you admit it??
?oNo. But why should I betray a secret I have kept so long? It is one thing to deceive a king, and quite another to hide from the cricket in the rushes and the little bird in the chimney. Besides, the bastards were there for all to see.?
?oRobert?Ts bastards? What of them??
?oHe fathered eight, to the best of my knowing,? Varys said as he wrestled with the saddle. ?oTheir mothers were copper and honey, chestnut and butter, yet the babes were all black as ravens... and as ill-omened, it would seem. So when Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen slid out between your sister?Ts thighs, each as golden as the sun, the truth was not hard to glimpse.?
Tyrion shook his head. If she had borne only one child for her husband, it would have been enough to disarm suspicion... but then she would not have been Cersei. ?oIf you were not this whisperer, who was??
?oSome traitor, doubtless.? Varys tightened the cinch.
?oLittlefinger??
?oI named no name.?
Tyrion let the eunuch help him mount. ?oLord Varys,? he said from the saddle, ?osometimes I feel as though you are the best friend I have in King?Ts Landing, and sometimes I feel you are my worst enemy.?
?oHow odd. I think quite the same of you.?

Chapter 16
Bran​

Long before the first pale fingers of light pried apart Bran?Ts shutters, his eyes were open.
There were guests in Winterfell, visitors come for the harvest feast. This morning they would be tilting at quintains in the yard. Once that prospect would have filled him with excitement, but that was before.
Not now. The Walders would break lances with the squires of Lord Manderly?Ts escort, but Bran would have no part of it. He must play the prince in his father?Ts solar. ?oListen, and it may be that you will learn something of what lordship is all about,? Maester Luwin had said.
Bran had never asked to be a prince. It was knighthood he had always dreamed of; bright armor and streaming banners, lance and sword, a warhorse between his legs. Why must he waste his days listening to old men speak of things he only half understood? Because you?Tre broken, a voice inside reminded him. A lord on his cushioned chair might be crippled-the Walders said their grandfather was so feeble he had to be carried everywhere in a litter-but not a knight on his destrier. Besides, it was his duty. ?oYou are your brother?Ts heir and the Stark in Winterfell,? Ser Rodrik said, reminding him of how Robb used to sit with their lord father when his bannermen came to see him.
Lord Wyman Manderly had arrived from White Harbor two days past, traveling by barge and litter, as he was too fat to sit a horse. With him had come a long tail of retainers: knights, squires, lesser lords and ladies, heralds, musicians, even a juggler, all aglitter with banners and surcoats in what seemed half a hundred colors. Bran had welcomed them to Winterfell from his father?Ts high stone seat with the direwolves carved into the arms, and afterward Ser Rodrik had said hê?Td done well. If that had been the end of it, he would not have minded. But it was only the beginning.
?oThe feast makes a pleasant pretext,? Ser Rodrik explained, ?obut a man does not cross a hundred leagues for a sliver of duck and a sip of wine. Only those who have matters of import to set before us are like to make the journey.?
Bran gazed up at the rough stone ceiling above his head. Robb would tell him not to play the boy, he knew. He could almost hear him, and their lord father as well. Winter is coming, and you are almost a man grown, Bran. You have a duty.
When Hodor came bustling in, smiling and humming tunelessly, he found the boy resigned to his fate. Together they got him washed and brushed. ?oThe white wool doublet today,? Bran commanded. ?oAnd the silver brooch. Ser Rodrik will want me to look lordly.? As much as he could, Bran preferred to dress himself, but there were some tasks-pulling on breeches, lacing his boots-that vexed him. They went quicker with Hodor?Ts help. Once he had been taught to do something, he did it deftly. His hands were always gentle, though his strength was astonishing. ?oYou could have been a knight too, I bet,? Bran told him. ?oIf the gods hadn?Tt taken your wits, you would have been a great knight.?
?oHodor?? Hodor blinked at him with guileless brown eyes, eyes innocent of understanding.
?oYes,? said Bran. ?oHodor.? He pointed.
On the wall beside the door hung a basket, stoutly made of wicker and leather, with holes cut for Bran?Ts legs. Hodor slid his arms through the straps and cinched the wide belt tight around his chest, then knelt beside the bed. Bran used the bars sunk into the wall *****pport himself as he swung the dead weight of his legs into the basket and through the holes.
?oHodor,? Hodor said again, rising. The stableboy stood near seven feet tall all by himself; on his back Bran?Ts head almost brushed the ceiling. He ducked low as they passed through the door. One time Hodor smelled bread baking and ran to the kitchens, and Bran got such a crack that Maester Luwin had to sew up his scalp. Mikken had given him a rusty old visorless helm from the armory, but Bran seldom troubled to wear it. The Walders laughed whenever they saw it on his head.
He rested his hands on Hodor?Ts shoulders as they descended the winding stair. Outside, the sounds of sword and shield and horse already rang through the yard. It made a sweet music. I?Tll just have a look, Bran thought, a quick look, that?Ts all.
The White Harbor lordlings would emerge later in the morning, with their knights and men-at-arms. Until then, the yard belonged to their squires, who ranged in age from ten to forty. Bran wished he were one of them so badly that his stomach hurt with the wanting.
Two quintains had been erected in the courtyard, each a stout post supporting a spinning crossbeam with a shield at one end and a padded butt at the other. The shields had been painted red-and-gold, though the Lannister lions were lumpy and misshapen, and already well scarred by the first boys to take a tilt at them.
The sight of Bran in his basket drew stares from those who had not seen it before, but he had learned to ignore stares. At least he had a good view; on Hodor?Ts back, he towered over everyone. The Walders were mounting up, he saw. They?Td brought fine armor up from the Twins, shining silver plate with enameled blue chasings. Big Walder?Ts crest was shaped like a castle, while Little Walder favored streamers of blue and grey silk. Their shields and surcoats also set them apart from each other. Little Walder quartered the twin towers of Frey with the brindled boar of his grandmother?Ts House and the plowman of his mother?Ts: Crakehall and Darry, respectively. Big Walder?Ts quarterings were the tree-and-ravens of House Blackwood and the twining snakes of the Paeges. They must be hungry for honor, Bran thought as he watched them take up their lances. A Stark needs only the direwolf.
Their dappled grey coursers were swift, strong, and beautifully trained. Side by side they charged the quintains. Both hit the shields cleanly and were well past before the padded butts came spinning around. Little Walder struck the harder blow, but Bran thought Big Walder sat his horse better. He would have given both his useless legs for the chance to ride against either.
Little Walder cast his splintered lance aside, spied Bran, and reined up. ?oNow therê?Ts an ugly horse,? he said of Hodor.
?oHodor?Ts no horse,? Bran said.
?oHodor,? said Hodor.
Big Walder trotted up to join his cousin. ?oWell, hê?Ts not as smart as a horse, that?Ts for certain.? A few of the White Harbor lads poked each other and laughed.
?oHodor.? Beaming genially, Hodor looked from one Frey to the other, oblivious to their taunting. ?oHodor hodor??
Little Walder?Ts mount whickered. ?oSee, they?Tre talking to each other. Maybe hodor means ?~I love you?T in horse.?
?oYou shut up, Frey.? Bran could feel his color rising.
Little Walder spurred his horse closer, giving Hodor a bump that pushed him backward. ?oWhat will you do if I don?Tt??
?oHê?Tll set his wolf on you, cousin,? warned Big Walder.
?oLet him. I always wanted a wolfskin cloak.?
?oSummer would tear your fat head off,? Bran said.
Little Walder banged a mailed fist against his breastplate. ?oDoes your wolf have steel teeth, to bite through plate and mail??
?oEnough!? Maester Luwin?Ts voice cracked through the clangor of the yard as loud as a thunderclap. How much he had overheard, Bran could not say... but it was enough to anger him, clearly. ?oThese threats are unseemly, and I?Tll hear no more of them. Is this how you behave at the Twins, Walder Frey??
?oIf I want to.? Atop his courser, Little Walder gave Luwin a sullen glare, as if to say, You are only a maester, who are you to reproach a Frey of the Crossing?
?oWell, it is not how Lady Stark?Ts wards ought behave at Winterfell. What?Ts at the root of this?? The maester looked at each boy in turn. ?oOne of you will tell me, I swear, or-?
?oWe were having a jape with Hodor,? confessed Big Walder. ?oI am sorry if we offended Prince Bran. We only meant to be amusing.? He at least had the grace to look abashed.
Little Walder only looked peevish. ?oAnd me,? he said. ?oI was only being amusing too.?
The bald spot atop the maester?Ts head had turned red, Bran could see; if anything, Luwin was more angry than before. ?oA good lord comforts and protects the weak and helpless,? he told the Freys. ?oI will not have you making Hodor the butt of cruel jests, do you hear me? Hê?Ts a goodhearted lad, dutiful and obedient, which is more than I can say for either of you.? The maester wagged a finger at Little Walder. ?oAnd you will stay out of the godswood and away from those wolves, or answer for it.? Sleeves flapping, he turned on his heels, stalked off a few paces, and glanced back. ?oBran. Come. Lord Wyman awaits.?
?oHodor, go with the maester,? Bran commanded.
?oHodor,? said Hodor. His long strides caught up with the maester?Ts furiously pumping legs on the steps of the Great Keep. Maester Luwin held the door open, and Bran hugged Hodor?Ts neck and ducked as they went through.
?oThe Walders-? he began.
?oI?Tll hear no more of that, it?Ts done.? Maester Luwin looked worn-out and frayed. ?oYou were right to defend Hodor, but you should never have been there. Ser Rodrik and Lord Wyman have broken their fast already while they waited for you. Must I come myself to fetch you, as if you were a little child??
?oNo,? Bran said, ashamed. ?oI?Tm sorry. I only wanted...?
?oI know what you wanted,? Maester Luwin said, more gently. ?oWould that it could be, Bran. Do you have any questions before we begin this audience? ?o
?oWill we talk of the war??
?oYou will talk of naught.? The sharpness was back in Luwin?Ts voice. ?oYou are still a child of eight...?
?oAlmost nine!?
?oEight,? the maester repeated firmly. ?oSpeak nothing but courtesies unless Ser Rodrik or Lord Wyman puts you a question.?
Bran nodded. ?oI?Tll remember.?
?oI will say nothing to Ser Rodrik of what passed between you and the Frey boys.?
?oThank you.?
They put Bran in his father?Ts oak chair with the grey velvet cushions, behind a long plank-and-trestle table. Ser Rodrik sat on his right hand and Maester Luwin to his left, armed with quills and inkpots and a sheaf of blank parchment to write down all that transpired. Bran ran a hand across the rough wood of the table and begged Lord Wyman?Ts pardons for being late.
?oWhy, no prince is ever late,? the Lord of White Harbor responded amiably. ?oThose who arrive before him have come early, that?Ts all.? Wyman Manderly had a great booming laugh. It was small wonder he could not sit a saddle; he looked as if he outweighed most horses. As windy as he was vast, he began by asking Winterfell to confirm the new customs officers he had appointed for White Harbor. The old ones had been holding back silver for King?Ts Landing rather than paying it over to the new King in the North. ?oKing Robb needs his own coinage as well,? he declared, ?oand White Harbor is the very place to mint it.? He offered to take charge of the matter, as it please the king, and went from that to speak of how he had strengthened the port?Ts defenses, detailing the cost of every improvement.
In ad***ion to a mint, Lord Manderly also proposed to build Robb a warfleet. ?oWe have had no strength at sea for hundreds of years, since Brandon the Burner put the torch to his father?Ts ships. Grant me the gold and within the year I will float you sufficient galleys to take Dragonstone and King?Ts Landing both.?
Bran?Ts interest pricked up at talk of warships. No one asked him, but he thought Lord Wyman?Ts notion a splendid one. In his mind?Ts eye he could see them already. He wondered if a cripple had ever commanded a warship. But Ser Rodrik promised only to send the proposal on to Robb for his consideration, while Maester Luwin scratched at the parchment.
Midday came and went. Maester Luwin sent Poxy Tym down to the kitchens, and they dined in the solar on cheese, capons, and brown oatbread. While tearing apart a bird with fat fingers, Lord Wyman made polite inquiry after Lady Hornwood, who was a cousin of his. ?oShe was born a Manderly, you know. Perhaps, when her grief has run its course, she would like to be a Manderly again, eh?? He took a bite from a wing, and smiled broadly. ?oAs it happens, I am a widower these past eight years. Past time I took another wife, don?Tt you agree, my lords? A man does get lonely.? Tossing the bones aside, he reached for a leg. ?oOr if the lady fancies a younger lad, well, my son Wendel is unwed as well. He is off south guarding Lady Catelyn, but no doubt he will wish to take a bride on his return. A valiant boy, and jolly. Just the man to teach her to laugh again, eh?? He wiped a bit of grease off his chin with the sleeve of his tunic.
Bran could hear the distant clash of arms through the windows. He cared nothing about marriages. I wish I was down in the yard.
His lordship waited until the table had been cleared before he raised the matter of a letter he had received from Lord Tywin Lannister, who held his elder son, Ser Wylis, taken captive on the Green Fork. ?oHe offers him back to me without ransom, provided I withdraw my levies from His Grace and vow to fight no more.?
?oYou will refuse him, of course,? said Ser Rodrik.
?oHave no fear on that count,? the lord assured them. ?oKing Robb has no more loyal servant than Wyman Manderly. I would be loath to see my son languish at Harrenhal any longer than he must, however. That is an ill place. Cursed, they say. Not that I am the sort to swallow such tales, but still, there it is. Look at what?Ts befallen this Janos Slynt. Raised up to Lord of Harrenhal by the queen, and cast down by her brother. Shipped off to the Wall, they say. I pray some equitable exchange of captives can be arranged before too very long. I know Wylis would not want to sit out the rest of the war. Gallant, that son of mine, and fierce as a mastiff.?
Bran?Ts shoulders were stiff from sitting in the same chair by the time the audience drew to a close. And that night, as he sat *****pper, a horn sounded to herald the arrival of another guest. Lady Donella Hornwood brought no tail of knights and retainers; only herself, and six tired men-at-arms with a moosehead badge on their dusty orange livery. ?oWe are very sorry for all you have suffered, my lady,? Bran said when she came before him to speak her words of greetings. Lord Hornwood had been killed in the battle on the Green Fork, their only son cut down in the Whispering Wood. ?oWinterfell will remember.?
?oThat is good to know.? She was a pale husk of a woman, every line of her face etched with grief. ?oI am very weary, my lord. If I might have leave to rest, I should be thankful.?
?oTo be sure,? Ser Rodrik said. ?oThere is time enough for talk on the morrow.?
When the morrow came, most of the morning was given over to talk of grains and greens and salting meat. Once the maesters in their Citadel had proclaimed the first of autumn, wise men put away a portion of each harvest... though how large a portion was a matter that seemed to require much talk. Lady Hornwood was storing a fifth of her harvest. At Maester Luwin?Ts suggestion, she vowed to increase that to a quarter.
?oBolton?Ts bastard is massing men at the Dreadfort,? she warned them. ?oI hope he means to take them south to join his father at the Twins, but when I sent to ask his intent, he told me that no Bolton would be questioned by a woman. As if he were trueborn and had a right to that name.?
?oLord Bolton has never acknowledged the boy, so far as I know,? Ser Rodrik said. ?oI confess, I do not know him.?
?oFew do,? she replied. ?oHe lived with his mother until two years past, when young Domeric died and left Bolton without an heir. That was when he brought his bastard to the Dreadfort. The boy is a sly creature by all accounts, and he has a servant who is almost as cruel as he is. Reek, they call the man. It?Ts said he never bathes. They hunt together, the Bastard and this Reek, and not for deer. I?Tve heard tales, things I can scarce believe, even of a Bolton. And now that my lord husband and my sweet son have gone to the gods, the Bastard looks at my lands hungrily.?
Bran wanted to give the lady a hundred men to defend her rights, but Ser Rodrik only said, ?oHe may look, but should he do more I promise you there will be dire retribution. You will be safe enough, my lady... though perhaps in time, when your grief is passed, you may find it prudent to wed again.?
?oI am past my childbearing years, what beauty I had long fled,? she replied with a tired half smile, ?oyet men come sniffing after me as they never did when I was a maid.?
?oYou do not look favorably on these suitors?? asked Luwin.
?oI shall wed again if His Grace commands it,? Lady Hornwood replied, ?obut Mors Crowfood is a drunken brute, and older than my father. As for my noble cousin of Manderly, my lord?Ts bed is not large enough to hold one of his majesty, and I am surely too small and frail to lie beneath him.?
Bran knew that men slept on top of women when they shared a bed. Sleeping under Lord Manderly would be like sleeping under a fallen horse, he imagined. Ser Rodrik gave the widow a sympathetic nod. ?oYou will have other suitors, my lady. We shall try and find you a prospect more to your taste.?
?oPerhaps you need not look very far, ser.?

After she had taken her leave, Maester Luwin smiled. ?oSer Rodrik, I do believe my lady fancies you.?
Ser Rodrik cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable.
?oShe was very sad,? said Bran.
Ser Rodrik nodded. ?oSad and gentle, and not at all uncomely for a woman of her years, for all her modesty. Yet a danger to the peace of your brother?Ts realm nonetheless.?
?oHer?? Bran said, astonished.
Maester Luwin answered. ?oWith no direct heir, there are sure to be many claimants contending for the Hornwood lands. The Tallharts, Flints, and Karstarks all have ties to House Hornwood through the female line, and the Glovers are fostering Lord Harys?Ts bastard at Deepwood Motte. The Dreadfort has no claim that I know, but the lands adjoin, and Roose Bolton is not one to overlook such a chance.?
Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. ?oIn such cases, her liege lord must find her a suitable match.?
?oWhy can?Tt you marry her?? Bran asked. ?oYou said she was comely, and Beth would have a mother.?
The old knight put a hand on Bran?Ts arm. ?oA kindly thought, my prince, but I am only a knight, and besides too old. I might hold her lands for a few years, but as soon as I died Lady Hornwood would find herself back in the same mire, and Beth?Ts prospects might be perilous as well.?
?oThen let Lord Hornwood?Ts bastard be the heir,? Bran said, thinking of his half brother Jon.
Ser Rodrik said, ?oThat would please the Glovers, and perhaps Lord Hornwood?Ts shade as well, but I do not think Lady Hornwood would love us. The boy is not of her blood.?
?oStill,? said Maester Luwin, ?oit must be considered. Lady Donella is past her fertile years, as she said herself. If not the bastard, who??
?oMay I be excused?? Bran could hear the squires at their swordplay in the yard below, the ring of steel on steel.
?oAs you will, my prince,? said Ser Rodrik. ?oYou did well.? Bran flushed with pleasure. Being a lord was not so tedious as he had feared, and since Lady Hornwood had been so much briefer than Lord Manderly, he even had a few hours of daylight left to visit with Summer. He liked to spend time with his wolf every day, when Ser Rodrik and the maester allowed it.
No sooner had Hodor entered the godswood than Summer emerged from under an oak, almost as if he had known they were coming. Bran glimpsed a lean black shape watching from the undergrowth as well. ?oShaggy,? he called. ?oHere, Shaggydog. To me.? But Rickon?Ts wolf vanished as swiftly as hê?Td appeared.
Hodor knew Bran?Ts favorite place, so he took him to the edge of the pool beneath the great spread of the heart tree, where Lord Eddard used to kneel to pray. Ripples were running across the surface of the water when they arrived, making the reflection of the weirwood shimmer and dance. There was no wind, though. For an instant Bran was baffled.
And then Osha exploded up out of the pool with a great splash, so sudden that even Summer leapt back, snarling. Hodor jumped away, wailing ?oHodor, Hodor? in dismay until Bran patted his shoulder to soothe his fears. ?oHow can you swim in there?? he asked Osha. ?oIsn?Tt it cold??
?oAs a babe I suckled on icicles, boy. I like the cold.? Osha swam to the rocks and rose dripping. She was naked, her skin bumpy with gooseprickles. Summer crept close and sniffed at her. ?oI wanted to touch the bottom.?
?oI never knew there was a bottom.?
?oMight be there isn?Tt.? She grinned. ?oWhat are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before??
?oI have so.? Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and hê?Td seen serving women in the hot pools too. Osha looked different, though, hard and sharp instead of soft and curvy. Her legs were all sinew, her breasts flat as two empty purses. ?oYou?Tve got a lot of scars.?
?oEvery one hard earned.? She picked up her brown shift, shook some leaves off of it, and pulled it down over her head.
?oFighting giants?? Osha claimed there were still giants beyond the Wall. One day maybe I?Td even see one...
?oFighting men.? She belted herself with a length of rope. ?oBlack crows, oft as not. Killed me one too,? she said, shaking out her hair. It had grown since shê?Td come to Winterfell, well down past her ears. She looked softer than the woman who had once tried to rob and kill him in the wolfswood. ?oHeard some yattering in the kitchen today about you and them Freys.?
?oWho? What did they say??
She gave him a sour grin. ?oThat it?Ts a fool boy who mocks a giant, and a mad world when a cripple has to defend him.?
?oHodor never knew they were mocking him,? Bran said. ?oAnyhow he never fights.? He remembered once when he was little, going to the market square with his mother and Septa Mordane. They brought Hodor to carry for them, but he had wandered away, and when they found him some boys had him backed into an alley, poking him with sticks. ?oHodor!? he kept shouting, cringing and covering himself, but he had never raised a hand against his tormentors. ?oSepton Chayle says he has a gentle spirit.?
?oAye,? she said, ?oand hands strong enough to twist a man?Ts head off his shoulders, if he takes a mind to. All the same, he better watch his back around that Walder. Him and you both. The big one they call little, it comes to me hê?Ts well named. Big outside, little inside, and mean down to the bones.?
?oHê?Td never dare hurt me. Hê?Ts scared of Summer, no matter what he says.?
?oThen might be hê?Ts not so stupid as he seems.? Osha was always wary around the direwolves. The day she was taken, Summer and Grey Wind between them had torn three wildlings to bloody pieces. ?oOr might be he is. And that tastes of trouble too.? She tied up her hair. ?oYou have more of them wolf dreams??
?oNo.? He did not like to talk about the dreams.
?oA prince should lie better than that.? Osha laughed. ?oWell, your dreams are your business. Minê?Ts in the kitchens, and I?Td best be getting back before Gage starts to shouting and waving that big wooden spoon of his. By your leave, my prince.?
She should never have talked about the wolf dreams, Bran thought as Hodor carried him up the steps to his bedchamber. He fought against sleep as long as he could, but in the end it took him as it always did. On this night he dreamed of the weirwood. It was looking at him with its deep red eyes, calling to him with its twisted wooden mouth, and from its pale branches the three-eyed crow came flapping, pecking at his face and crying his name in a voice as sharp as swords.
The blast of horns woke him. Bran pushed himself onto his side, grateful for the reprieve. He heard horses and boisterous shouting. More guests have come, and half-drunk by the noise of them. Grasping his bars he pulled himself from the bed and over to the window seat. On their banner was a giant in shattered chains that told him that these were Umber men, down from the northlands beyond the Last River.
The next day two of them came together to audience; the Greatjon?Ts uncles, blustery men in the winter of their days with beards as white as the bearskin cloaks they wore. A crow had once taken Mors for dead and pecked out his eye, so he wore a chunk of dragonglass in its stead. As Old Nan told the tale, hê?Td grabbed the crow in his fist and bitten its head off, so they named him Crowfood. She would never tell Bran why his gaunt brother Hother was called Whoresbane.
No sooner had they been seated than Mors asked for leave to wed Lady Hornwood. ?oThe Greatjon?Ts the Young Wolf?Ts strong right hand, all know that to be true. Who better to protect the widow?Ts lands than an Umber, and what Umber better than me??
?oLady Donella is still grieving,? Maester Luwin said.
?oI have a cure for grief under my furs.? Mors laughed. Ser Rodrik thanked him courteously and promised to bring the matter before the lady and the king.
Hother wanted ships. ?oTherê?Ts wildlings stealing down from the north, more than I?Tve ever seen before. They cross the Bay of Seals in little boats and wash up on our shores. The crows in Eastwatch are too few to stop them, and they go to ground quick as weasels. It?Ts longships we need, aye, and strong men to sail them. The Greatjon took too many. Half our harvest is gone to seed for want of arms to swing the scythes.?
Ser Rodrik pulled at his whiskers. ?oYou have forests of tall pine and old oak. Lord Manderly has shipwrights and sailors in plenty. Together you ought to be able to float enough longships to guard both your coasts.?
?oManderly?? Mors Umber snorted. ?oThat great waddling sack of suet? His own people mock him as Lord Lamprey, I?Tve heard. The man can scarce walk. If you stuck a sword in his belly, ten thousand eels would wriggle out.?
?oHe is fat,? Ser Rodrik admitted, ?obut he is not stupid. You will work with him, or the king will know the reason why.? And to Bran?Ts astonishment, the truculent Umbers agreed to do as he commanded, though not without grumbling.
While they were sitting at audience, the Glover men arrived from Deepwood Motte, and a large party of Tallharts from Torrhen?Ts Square. Galbart and Robett Glover had left Deepwood in the hands of Robett?Ts wife, but it was their steward who came to Winterfell. ?oMy lady begs that you excuse her absence. Her babes are still too young for such a journey, and she was loath to leave them.? Bran soon realized that it was the steward, not Lady Glover, who truly ruled at Deepwood Motte. The man allowed that he was at present setting aside only a tenth of his harvest. A hedge wizard had told him there would be a bountiful spirit summer before the cold set in, he claimed. Maester Luwin had a number of choice things to say about hedge wizards. Ser Rodrik commanded the man to set aside a fifth, and questioned the steward closely about Lord Hornwood?Ts bastard, the boy Larence Snow. In the north, all highborn bastards took the surname Snow. This lad was near twelve, and the steward praised his wits and courage.
?oYour notion about the bastard may have merit, Bran,? Maester Luwin said after. ?oOne day you will be a good lord for Winterfell, I think.?
?oNo I won?Tt.? Bran knew he would never be a lord, no more than he could be a knight. ?oRobb?Ts to marry some Frey girl, you told me so yourself, and the Walders say the same. Hê?Tll have sons, and they?Tll be the lords of Winterfell after him, not me.?
?oIt may be so, Bran,? Ser Rodrik said, ?obut I was wed three times and my wives gave me daughters. Now only Beth remains to me. My brother Martyn fathered four strong sons, yet only Jory lived to be a man. When he was slain, Martyn?Ts line died with him. When we speak of the morrow nothing is ever certain.?
Leobald Tallhart had his turn the following day. He spoke of weather portents and the slack wits of smallfolk, and told how his nephew itched for battle. ?oBenfred has raised his own company of lances. Boys, none older than nineteen years, but every one thinks hê?Ts another young wolf. When I told them they were only young rabbits, they laughed at me. Now they call themselves the Wild Hares and gallop about the country with rabbitskins tied to the ends of their lances, singing songs of chivalry.?
Bran thought that sounded grand. He remembered Benfred Tallhart, a big bluff loud boy who had often visited Winterfell with his father, Ser Helman, and had been friendly with Robb and with Theon Greyjoy. But Ser Rodrik was clearly displeased by what he heard. ?oIf the king were in need of more men, he would send for them,? he said. ?oInstruct your nephew that he is to remain at Torrhen?Ts Square, as his lord father commanded.?
?oI will, ser,? said Leobald, and only then raised the matter of Lady Hornwood. Poor thing, with no husband to defend her lands nor son to inherit. His own lady wife was a Hornwood, sister to the late Lord Halys, doubtless they recalled. ?oAn empty hall is a sad one. I had a thought to send my younger son to Lady Donella to foster as her own. Beren is near ten, a likely lad, and her own nephew. He would cheer her, I am certain, and perhaps he would even take the name Hornwood...?
?oIf he were named heir?? suggested Maester Luwin.
?o... so the House might continue,? finished Leobald.
Bran knew what to say. ?oThank you for the notion, my lord,? he blurted out before Ser Rodrik could speak. ?oWe will bring the matter to my brother Robb. Oh, and Lady Hornwood.?
Leobald seemed surprised that he had spoken. ?oI?Tm grateful, my prince,? he said, but Bran saw pity in his pale blue eyes, mingled perhaps with a little gladness that the cripple was, after all, not his son. For a moment he hated the man.
Maester Luwin liked him better, though. ?oBeren Tallhart may well be our best answer,? he told them when Leobald had gone. ?oBy blood he is half Hornwood. If he takes his unclê?Ts name...?
?o... he will still be a boy,? said Ser Rodrik, ?oand hard-pressed to hold his lands against the likes of Mors Umber or this bastard of Roose Bolton?Ts. We must think on this carefully. Robb should have our best counsel before he makes his decision.?
?oIt may come down to practicalities,? said Maester Luwin. ?oWhich lord he most needs to court. The riverlands are part of his realm, he may wish to cement the alliance by wedding Lady Hornwood to one of the lords of the Trident. A Blackwood, perhaps, or a Frey-?
?oLady Hornwood can have one of our Freys,? said Bran. ?oShe can have both of them if she likes.?
?oYou are not kind, my prince,? Ser Rodrik chided gently.
Neither are the Walders. Scowling, Bran stared down at the table and said nothing.
In the days that followed, ravens arrived from other lordly houses, bearing regrets. The bastard of the Dreadfort would not be joining them, the Mormonts and Karstarks had all gone south with Robb, Lord Locke was too old to dare the journey, Lady Flint was heavy with child, there was sickness at Widow?Ts Watch. Finally all of the principal vassals of House Stark had been heard from save for Howland Reed the crannogman, who had not set foot outside his swamps for many a year, and the Cerwyns whose castle lay a half day?Ts ride from Winterfell. Lord Cerwyn was a captive of the Lannisters, but his son, a lad of fourteen, arrived one bright, blustery morning at the head of two dozen lances. Bran was riding Dancer around the yard when they came through the gate. He trotted over to greet them. Cley Cerwyn had always been a friend to Bran and his brothers.
?oGood morrow, Bran,? Cley called out cheerfully. ?oOr must I call you Prince Bran now??
?oOnly if you want.?
Cley laughed. ?oWhy not? Everyone else is a king or prince these days. Did Stannis write Winterfell as well??
?oStannis? I don?Tt know.?
?oHê?Ts a king now too,? Cley confided. ?oHe says Queen Cersei bedded her brother, so Joffrey is a bastard.?
?oJoffrey the Illborn,? one of the Cerwyn knights growled. ?oSmall wonder hê?Ts faithless, with the Kingslayer for a father.?
?oAye,? said another, ?othe gods hate incest. Look how they brought down the Targaryens.?
For a moment Bran felt as though he could not breathe. A giant hand was crushing his chest. He felt as though he was falling, and clutched desperately at Dancer?Ts reins.
His terror must have shown on his face. ?oBran?? Cley Cerwyn said. ?oAre you unwell? It?Ts only another king.?
?oRobb will beat him too.? He turned Dancer?Ts head toward the stables, oblivious to the puzzled stares the Cerwyns gave him. His blood was roaring in his ears, and had he not been strapped onto his saddle he might well have fallen.
That night Bran prayed to his father?Ts gods for dreamless sleep. If the gods heard, they mocked his hopes, for the nightmare they sent was worse than any wolf dream.
?oFly or die!? cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again. What he saw made him gasp in fear. He was clinging to a tower miles high, and his fingers were slipping, nails scrabbling at the stone, his legs dragging him down, stupid useless dead legs. ?oHelp me!? he cried. A golden man appeared in the sky above him and pulled him up. ?oThe things I do for love,? he murmured softly as he tossed him out kicking into empty air.

Chapter 17
Tyrion​

?oI do not sleep as I did when I was younger,? Grand Maester Pycelle told him, by way of apology for the dawn meeting. ?oI would sooner be up, though the world be dark, than lie restless abed, fretting on tasks undone,? he said-though his heavy-lidded eyes made him look half-asleep as he said it.
In the airy chambers beneath the rookery, his girl served them boiled eggs, stewed plums, and porridge, while Pycelle served the pontifications. ?oIn these sad times, when so many hunger, I think it only fitting to keep my table spare.?
?oCommendable,? Tyrion admitted, breaking a large brown egg that reminded him unduly of the Grand Maester?Ts bald spotted head. ?oI take a different view. If there is food I eat it, in case there is none on the morrow.? He smiled. ?oTell me, are your ravens early risers as well??
Pycelle stroked the snowy beard that flowed down his chest. ?oTo be sure. Shall I send for quill and ink after we have eaten??
?oNo need.? Tyrion laid the letters on the table beside his porridge, twin parchments tightly rolled and sealed with wax at both ends. ?oSend your girl away, so we can talk.?
?oLeave us, child,? Pycelle commanded. The serving girl hurried from the room. ?oThese letters, now...?
?oFor the eyes of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne.? Tyrion peeled the cracked shell away from his egg and took a bite. It wanted salt. ?oOne letter, in two copies. Send your swiftest birds. The matter is of great import.?
?oI shall dispatch them as soon as we have broken our fast.?
?oDispatch them now. Stewed plums will keep. The realm may not. Lord Renly is leading his host up the roseroad, and no one can say when Lord Stannis will sail from Dragonstone.?
Pycelle blinked. ?oIf my lord prefers-?
?oHe does.?
?oI am here to serve.? The maester pushed himself ponderously to his feet his chain of office clinking softly. It was a heavy thing, a dozen maester?Ts collars threaded around and through each other and ornamented with gemstones. And it seemed to Tyrion that the gold and silver and platinum links far outnumbered those of baser metals.
Pycelle moved so slowly that Tyrion had time to finish his egg and taste the plums-overcooked and watery, to his taste-before the sound of wings prompted him to rise. He spied the raven, dark in the dawn sky, and turned briskly toward the maze of shelves at the far end of the room.
The maester?Ts medicines made an impressive display; dozens of pots sealed with wax, hundreds of stoppered vials, as many milkglass bottles, countless jars of dried herbs, each container neatly labeled in Pycellê?Ts precise hand. An orderly mind, Tyrion reflected, and indeed, once you puzzled out the arrangement, it was easy to see that every potion had its place. And such interesting things. He noted sweetsleep and nightshade, milk of the poppy, the tears of Lys, powdered greycap, wolfsbane and demon?Ts dance, basilisk venom, blindeye, widow?Ts blood...
Standing on his toes and straining upward, he managed to pull a small dusty bottle off the high shelf. When he read the label, he smiled and slipped it up his sleeve.
He was back at the table peeling another egg when Grand Maester Pycelle came creeping down the stairs. ?oIt is done, my lord.? The old man seated himself. ?oA matter like this... best done promptly, indeed, indeed... of great import, you say??
?oOh, yes.? The porridge was too thick, Tyrion felt, and wanted butter and honey. To be sure, butter and honey were seldom seen in King?Ts Landing of late, though Lord Gyles kept them well supplied in the castle. Half of the food they ate these days came from his lands or Lady Tandâ?Ts. Rosby and Stokeworth lay near the city to the north, and were yet untouched by war.
?oThe Prince of Dorne, himself. Might I ask??
?oBest not.?
?oAs you say.? Pycellê?Ts curiosity was so ripe that Tyrion could almost taste it. ?oMayhaps... the king?Ts council...?
Tyrion tapped his wooden spoon against the edge of the bowl. ?oThe council exists to advise the king, Maester.?
?oJust so,? said Pycelle, ?oand the king-?
?o-is a boy of thirteen. I speak with his voice.?
?oSo you do. Indeed. The King?Ts own Hand. Yet... your most gracious sister, our Queen Regent, she...?
?o... bears a great weight upon those lovely white shoulders of hers. I have no wish to add to her burdens. Do you?? Tyrion ****ed his head and gave the Grand Maester an inquiring stare.
Pycelle dropped his gaze back to his food. Something about Tyrion?Ts mismatched green-and-black eyes made men squirm; knowing that, he made good use of them. ?oAh,? the old man muttered into his plums. ?oDoubtless you have the right of it, my lord. It is most considerate of you to... spare her this... burden.?
?oThat?Ts just the sort of fellow I am.? Tyrion returned to the unsatisfactory porridge. ?oConsiderate. Cersei is my own sweet sister, after all.?
?oAnd a woman, to be sure,? Grand Maester Pycelle said. ?oA most uncommon woman, and yet... it is no small thing, to tend to all the cares of the realm, despite the frailty of her ***...?
Oh, yes, shê?Ts a frail dove, just ask Eddard Stark. ?oI?Tm pleased you share my concern. And I thank you for the hospitality of your table. But a long day awaits.? He swung his legs out and clambered down from his chair. ?oBe so good as to inform me at once should we receive a reply from Dorne??
?oAs you say, my lord.?
?oAnd only me??
?oAh... to be sure.? Pycellê?Ts spotted hand was clutching at his beard the way a drowning man clutches for a rope. It made Tyrion?Ts heart glad. One, he thought.
He waddled out into the lower bailey; his stunted legs complained of the steps. The sun was well up now, and the castle was stirring. Guardsmen walked the walls, and knights and men-at-arms were training with blunted weapons. Nearby, Bronn sat on the lip of a well. A pair of comely serving girls sauntered past carrying a wicker basket of rushes between them, but the sellsword never looked. ?oBronn, I despair of you.? Tyrion gestured at the wenches. ?oWith sweet sights like that before you, all you see is a gaggle of louts raising a clangor.?
?oThere are a hundred whorehouses in this city where a clipped copper will buy me all the **** I want,? Bronn answered, ?obut one day my life may hang on how close I?Tve watched your louts.? He stood. ?oWhô?Ts the boy in the checkered blue surcoat with the three eyes on his shield??
?oSome hedge knight. Tallad, he names himself. Why??
Bronn pushed a fall of hair from his eyes. ?oHê?Ts the best of them. But watch him, he falls into a rhythm, delivering the same strokes in the same order each time he attacks.? He grinned. ?oThat will be the death of him, the day he faces me.?
?oHê?Ts pledged to Joffrey; hê?Ts not like to face you.? They set off across the bailey, Bronn matching his long stride to Tyrion?Ts short one. These days the sellsword was looking almost respectable. His dark hair was washed and brushed, he was freshly shaved, and he wore the black breastplate of an officer of the City Watch. From his shoulders trailed a cloak of Lannister crimson patterned with golden hands. Tyrion had made him a gift of it when he named him captain of his personal guard. ?oHow many supplicants do we have today?? he inquired.
?oThirty odd,? answered Bronn. ?oMost with complaints, or wanting something, as ever. Your pet was back.?
He groaned. ?oLady Tanda??
?oHer page. She invites you *****p with her again. Therê?Ts to be a haunch of venison, she says, a brace of stuffed geese sauced with mulberries, and-?
?o-her daughter,? Tyrion finished sourly. Since the hour he had arrived in the Red Keep, Lady Tanda had been stalking him, armed with a never-ending arsenal of lamprey pies, wild boars, and savory cream stews. Somehow she had gotten the notion that a dwarf lordling would be the perfect consort for her daughter Lollys, a large, soft, dim-witted girl who rumor said was still a maid at thirty-and-three. ?oSend her my regrets.?
?oNo taste for stuffed goose?? Bronn grinned evilly.
?oPerhaps you should eat the goose and marry the maid. Or better still, send Shagga.?
?oShaggâ?Ts more like to eat the maid and marry the goose,? observed Bronn. ?oAnyway, Lollys outweighs him.?
?oThere is that,? Tyrion admitted as they passed under the shadow of a covered walkway between two towers. ?oWho else wants me??
The sellsword grew more serious. ?oTherê?Ts a moneylender from Braavos, holding fancy papers and the like, requests to see the king about payment on some loan.?
?oAs if Joff could count past twenty. Send the man to Littlefinger, hê?Tll find a way to put him off. Next??
?oA lordling down from the Trident, says your father?Ts men burned his keep, raped his wife, and killed all his peasants.?
?oI believe they call that war.? Tyrion smelled Gregor Cleganê?Ts work, or that of Ser Amory Lorch or his father?Ts other pet hellhound, the Qohorik. ?oWhat does he want of Joffrey??
?oNew peasants,? Bronn said. ?oHe walked all this way to sing how loyal he is and beg for recompense.?
?oI?Tll make time for him on the morrow.? Whether truly loyal or merely desperate, a compliant river lord might have his uses. ?oSee that hê?Ts given a comfortable chamber and a hot meal. Send him a new pair of boots as well, good ones, courtesy of King Joffrey.? A show of generosity never hurt.
Bronn gave a curt nod. ?oTherê?Ts also a great gaggle of bakers, butchers, and greengrocers clamoring to be heard.?
?oI told them last time, I have nothing to give them.? Only a thin trickle of food was coming into King?Ts Landing, most of it earmarked for castle and garrison. Prices had risen sickeningly high on greens, roots, flour, and fruit, and Tyrion did not want to think about what sorts of flesh might be going into the kettles of the pot-shops down in Flea Bottom. Fish, he hoped. They still had the river and the sea... at least until Lord Stannis sailed.
?oThey want protection. Last night a baker was roasted in his own oven. The mob claimed he charged too much for bread.?
?oDid he??
?oHê?Ts not apt to deny it.?
?oThey didn?Tt eat him, did they??
?oNot that I?Tve heard.?
?oNext time they will,? Tyrion said grimly. ?oI give them what protection I can. The gold cloaks-?
?oThey claim there were gold cloaks in the mob,? Bronn said. ?oThey?Tre demanding to speak to the king himself.?
?oFools.? Tyrion had sent them off with regrets; his nephew would send them off with whips and spears. He was half-tempted to allow it... but no, he dare not. Soon or late, some enemy would march on King?Ts Landing, and the last thing he wanted was willing traitors within the city walls. ?oTell them King Joffrey shares their fears and will do all he can for them.?
?oThey want bread, not promises.?
?oIf I give them bread today, on the morrow I?Tll have twice as many at the gates. Who else??
?oA black brother down from the Wall. The steward says he brought some rotted hand in a jar.?
Tyrion smiled wanly. ?oI?Tm surprised no one ate it. I suppose I ought to see him. It?Ts not Yoren, perchance??
?oNo. Some knight. Thorne.?
?oSer Alliser Thorne?? Of all the black brothers hê?Td met on the Wall, Tyrion Lannister had liked Ser Alliser Thorne the least. A bitter, mean spirited man with too great a sense of his own worth. ?oCome to think on it, I don?Tt believe I care to see Ser Alliser just now. Find him a snug cell where no one has changed the rushes in a year, and let his hand rot a little more.?
Bronn snorted laughter and went his way, while Tyrion struggled up the serpentine steps. As he limped across the outer yard, he heard the portcullis rattling up. His sister and a large party were waiting by the main gate.
Mounted on her white palfrey, Cersei towered high above him, a goddess in green. ?oBrother,? she called out, not warmly. The queen had not been pleased by the way hê?Td dealt with Janos Slynt.
?oYour Grace.? Tyrion bowed politely. ?oYou look lovely this morning.? Her crown was gold, her cloak ermine. Her retinue sat their mounts behind her: Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, wearing white scale and his favorite scowl; Ser Balon Swann, bow slung from his silver-inlay saddle; Lord Gyles Rosby, his wheezing cough worse than ever; Hallyne the Pyromancer of the Alchemists?T Guild; and the queen?Ts newest favorite, their cousin Ser Lancel Lannister, her late husband?Ts squire upjumped to knight at his widow?Ts insistence. Vylarr and twenty guardsmen rode escort. ?oWhere are you bound this day, sister?? Tyrion asked.
?oI?Tm making a round of the gates to inspect the new scorpions and spitfires. I would not have it thought that all of us are as indifferent to the city?Ts defense as you seem to be.? Cersei fixed him with those clear green eyes of hers, beautiful even in their contempt. ?oI am informed that Renly Baratheon has marched from Highgarden. He is making his way up the roseroad, with all his strength behind him.?
?oVarys gave me the same report.?
?oHe could be here by the full moon.?
?oNot at his present leisurely pace,? Tyrion assured her. ?oHe feasts every night in a different castle, and holds court at every crossroads he passes.?
?oAnd every day, more men rally to his banners. His host is now said to be a hundred thousand strong.?
?oThat seems rather high.?
?oHe has the power of Storm?Ts End and Highgarden behind him, you little fool,? Cersei snapped down at him. ?oAll the Tyrell bannermen but for the Redwynes, and you have me to thank for that. So long as I hold those poxy twins of his, Lord Paxter will squat on the Arbor and count himself fortunate to be out of it.?
?oA pity you let the Knight of Flowers slip through your pretty fingers. Still, Renly has other concerns besides us. Our father at Harrenhal, Robb Stark at Riverrun... were I he, I would do much as he is doing. Make my progress, flaunt my power for the realm to see, watch, wait. Let my rivals contend while I bide my own sweet time. If Stark defeats us, the south will fall into Renly?Ts hands like a windfall from the gods, and hê?Tll not have lost a man. And if it goes the other way, he can descend on us while we are weakened.?
Cersei was not appeased. ?oI want you to make Father bring his army to King?Ts Landing.?
Where it will serve no purpose but to make you feel safe. ?oWhen have I ever been able to make Father do anything??
She ignored the question. ?oAnd when do you plan to free Jaime? Hê?Ts worth a hundred of you.?
Tyrion grinned crookedly. ?oDon?Tt tell Lady Stark, I beg you. We don?Tt have a hundred of me to trade.?
?oFather must have been mad to send you. You?Tre worse than useless.? The queen jerked on her reins and wheeled her palfrey around. She rode out the gate at a brisk trot, ermine cloak streaming behind her. Her retinue hastened after.
In truth, Renly Baratheon did not frighten Tyrion half so much as his brother Stannis did. Renly was beloved of the commons, but he had never before led men in war. Stannis was otherwise: hard, cold, inexorable. If only they had some way of knowing what was happening on Dragonstone... but not one of the fisherfolk he had paid to spy out the island had ever returned, and even the informers the eunuch claimed to have placed in Stannis?Ts household had been ominously silent. The striped hulls of Lysene war galleys had been seen offshore, though, and Varys had reports from Myr of sellsail captains taking service with Dragonstone. If Stannis attacks by sea while his brother Renly storms the gates, they?Tll soon be mounting Joffrey?Ts head on a spike. Worse, mine will be beside him. A depressing thought. He ought to make plans to get Shae safely out of the city, should the worst seem likely.

Podrick Payne stood at the door of his solar, studying the floor. ?oHê?Ts inside,? he announced to Tyrion?Ts belt buckle. ?oYour solar. My lord. Sorry.?
Tyrion sighed. ?oLook at me, Pod. It unnerves me when you talk to my codpiece, especially when I?Tm not wearing one. Who is inside my solar??
?oLord Littlefinger.? Podrick managed a quick look at his face, then hastily dropped his eyes. ?oI meant, Lord Petyr. Lord Baelish. The master of coin.?
?oYou make him sound a crowd.? The boy hunched down as if struck, making Tyrion feel absurdly guilty.
Lord Petyr was seated on his window seat, languid and elegant in a plush plum-colored doublet and a yellow satin cape, one gloved hand resting on his knee. ?oThe king is fighting hares with a crossbow,? he said. ?oThe hares are winning. Come see.?
Tyrion had to stand on his toes to get a look. A dead hare lay on the ground below; another, long ears twitching, was about to expire from the bolt in his side. Spent quarrels lay strewn across the hard-packed earth like straws scattered by a storm. ?oNow!? Joff shouted. The gamesman released the hare he was holding, and he went bounding off. Joffrey jerked the trigger on the crossbow. The bolt missed by two feet. The hare stood on his hind legs and twitched his nose at the king. Cursing, Joff spun the wheel to winch back his string, but the animal was gone before he was loaded. ?oAnother!? The gamesman reached into the hutch. This one made a brown streak against the stones, while Joffrey?Ts hurried shot almost took Ser Preston in the groin.
Littlefinger turned away. ?oBoy, are you fond of potted hare?? he asked Podrick Payne.
Pod stared at the visitor?Ts boots, lovely things of red-dyed leather ornamented with black scrollwork. ?oTo eat, my lord??
?oInvest in pots,? Littlefinger advised. ?oHares will soon overrun the castle. Wê?Tll be eating hare thrice a day.?
?oBetter than rats on a skewer,? said Tyrion. ?oPod, leave us. Unless Lord Petyr would care for some refreshment??
?oThank you, but no.? Littlefinger flashed his mocking smile. ?oDrink with the dwarf, it?Ts said, and you wake up walking the Wall. Black brings out my unhealthy pallor.?
Have no fear, my lord, Tyrion thought, it?Ts not the Wall I have in mind for you. He seated himself in a high chair piled with cushions and said, ?oYou look very elegant today, my lord.?
?oI?Tm wounded. I strive to look elegant every day.?
?oIs the doublet new??
?oIt is. You?Tre most observant.?
?oPlum and yellow. Are those the colors of your House??
?oNo. But a man gets bored wearing the same colors day in and day out, or so I?Tve found.?
?oThat?Ts a handsome knife as well.?
?oIs it?? There was mischief in Littlefinger?Ts eyes. He drew the knife and glanced at it casually, as if he had never seen it before. ?oValyrian steel, and a dragonbone hilt. A trifle plain, though. It?Ts yours, if you would like it.?
?oMine?? Tyrion gave him a long look. ?oNo. I think not. Never mine.? He knows, the insolent wretch. He knows and he knows that I know, and he thinks that I cannot touch him.
If ever truly a man had armored himself in gold, it was Petyr Baelish, not Jaime Lannister. Jaimê?Ts famous armor was but gilded steel, but Littlefinger, ah... Tyrion had learned a few things about sweet Petyr, to his growing disquiet.
Ten years ago, Jon Arryn had given him a minor sinecure in customs, where Lord Petyr had soon distinguished himself by bringing in three times as much as any of the king?Ts other collectors. King Robert had been a prodigious spender. A man like Petyr Baelish, who had a gift for rubbing two golden dragons together to breed a third, was invaluable to his Hand. Littlefinger?Ts rise had been arrow-swift. Within three years of his coming to court, he was master of coin and a member of the small council, and today the crown?Ts revenues were ten times what they had been under his beleaguered predecessor... though the crown?Ts debts had grown vast as well. A master juggler was Petyr Baelish.
Oh, he was clever. He did not simply collect the gold and lock it in a treasure vault, no. He paid the king?Ts debts in promises, and put the king?Ts gold to work. He bought wagons, shops, ships, houses. He bought grain when it was plentiful and sold bread when it was scarce. He bought wool from the north and linen from the south and lace from Lys, stored it, moved it, dyed it, sold it. The golden dragons bred and multiplied, and Littlefinger lent them out and brought them home with hatchlings.
And in the process, he moved his own men into place. The Keepers of the Keys were his, all four. The King?Ts Counter and the King?Ts Scales were men hê?Td named. The officers in charge of all three mints. Harbormasters, tax farmers, customs sergeants, wool factors, toll collectors, pursers, wine factors; nine of every ten belonged to Littlefinger. They were men of middling birth, by and large; merchants?T sons, lesser lordlings, sometimes even foreigners, but judging from their results, far more able than their highborn predecessors.
No one had ever thought to question the appointments, and why should they? Littlefinger was no threat to anyone. A clever, smiling, genial man, everyonê?Ts friend, always able to find whatever gold the king or his Hand required, and yet of such undistinguished birth, one step up from a hedge knight, he was not a man to fear. He had no banners to call, no army of retainers, no great stronghold, no holdings to speak of, no prospects of a great marriage.
But do I dare touch him? Tyrion wondered. Even if he is a traitor? He was not at all certain he could, least of all now, while the war raged. Given time, he could replace Littlefinger?Ts men with his own in key positions, but...
A shout rang up from the yard. ?oAh, His Grace has killed a hare,? Lord Baelish observed.
?oNo doubt a slow one,? Tyrion said. ?oMy lord, you were fostered at Riverrun. I?Tve heard it said that you grew close to the Tullys.?
?oYou might say so. The girls especially.?
?oHow close??
?oI had their maidenhoods. Is that close enough??
The lie-Tyrion was fairly certain it was a lie-was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that one could almost believe it. Could it have been Catelyn Stark who lied? About her defloration, and the dagger as well? The longer he lived, the more Tyrion realized that nothing was simple and little was true. ?oLord Hoster?Ts daughters do not love me,? he confessed. ?oI doubt they would listen to any proposal I might make. Yet coming from you, the same words might fall more sweetly on their ears.?
?oThat would depend on the words. If you mean to offer Sansa in return for your brother, waste someone elsê?Ts time. Joffrey will never surrender his plaything, and Lady Catelyn is not so great a fool as to barter the Kingslayer for a slip of a girl.?
?oI mean to have Arya as well. I have men searching.?
?oSearching is not finding.?
?oI?Tll keep that in mind, my lord. In any case, it was Lady Lysa I hoped you might sway. For her, I have a sweeter offer.?
?oLysa is more tractable than Catelyn, true... but also more fearful, and I understand she hates you.?
?oShe believes she has good reason. When I was her guest in the Eyrie, she insisted that I?Td murdered her husband and was not inclined to listen to denials.? He leaned forward. ?oIf I gave her Jon Arryn?Ts true killer, she might think more kindly of me.?
That made Littlefinger sit up. ?oTrue killer? I confess, you make me curious. Who do you propose??
It was Tyrion?Ts turn to smile. ?oGifts I give my friends, freely. Lysa Arryn would need to understand that.?
?oIs it her friendship you require, or her swords??
?oBoth.?
Littlefinger stroked the neat spike of his beard. ?oLysa has woes of her own. Clansmen raiding out of the Mountains of the Moon, in greater numbers than ever before... and better armed.?
?oDistressing,? said Tyrion Lannister, who had armed them. ?oI could help her with that. A word from me...?
?oAnd what would this word cost her??
?oI want Lady Lysa and her son to acclaim Joffrey as king, to swear fealty, and to make war on the Starks and Tullys.?
Littlefinger shook his head. ?oTherê?Ts the roach in your pudding, Lannister. Lysa will never send her knights against Riverrun.?
?oNor would I ask it. We have no lack of enemies. I?Tll use her power to oppose Lord Renly, or Lord Stannis, should he stir from Dragonstone. In return, I will give her justice for Jon Arryn and peace in the Vale. I will even name that appalling child of hers Warden of the East, as his father was before him.? I want to see him fly, a boy?Ts voice whispered faintly in memory. ?oAnd to seal the bargain, I will give her my niece.?
He had the pleasure of seeing a look of genuine surprise in Petyr Baelish?Ts grey-green eyes. ?oMyrcella??
?oWhen she comes of age, she can wed little Lord Robert. Until such time, shê?Tll be Lady Lysâ?Ts ward at the Eyrie.?
?oAnd what does Her Grace the queen think of this ploy?? When Tyrion shrugged, Littlefinger burst into laughter. ?oI thought not. You?Tre a dangerous little man, Lannister. Yes, I could sing this song to Lysa.? Again the sly smile, the mischief in his glance. ?oIf I cared to.?
Tyrion nodded, waiting, knowing Littlefinger could never abide a long silence.
?oSo,? Lord Petyr continued after a pause, utterly unabashed, ?owhat?Ts in your pot for me??
?oHarrenhal.?
It was interesting to watch his face. Lord Petyr?Ts father had been the smallest of small lords, his grandfather a landless hedge knight; by birth, he held no more than a few stony acres on the windswept shore of the Fingers. Harrenhal was one of the richest plums in the Seven Kingdoms, its lands broad and rich and fertile, its great castle as formidable as any in the realm... and so large as to dwarf Riverrun, where Petyr Baelish had been fostered by House Tully, only to be brusquely expelled when he dared raise his sights to Lord Hoster?Ts daughter.
Littlefinger took a moment to adjust the drape of his cape, but Tyrion had seen the flash of hunger in those sly cat?Ts eyes. I have him, he knew. ?oHarrenhal is cursed,? Lord Petyr said after a moment, trying to sound bored.
?oThen raze it to the ground and build anew *****it yourself. You?Tll have no lack of coin. I mean to make you liege lord of the Trident. These river lords have proven they cannot be trusted. Let them do you fealty for their lands.?
?oEven the Tullys??
?oIf there are any Tullys left when we are done.?
Littlefinger looked like a boy who had just taken a furtive bite from a honeycomb. He was trying to watch for bees, but the honey was so sweet. ?oHarrenhal and all its lands and incomes,? he mused. ?oWith a stroke, you?Td make me one of the greatest lords in the realm. Not that I?Tm ungrateful, my lord, but why??
?oYou served my sister well in the matter of the succession.?
?oAs did Janos Slynt. On whom this same castle of Harrenhal was quite recently bestowed, only to be snatched away when he was no longer of use.?
Tyrion laughed. ?oYou have me, my lord. What can I say? I need you to deliver the Lady Lysa. I did not need Janos Slynt.? He gave a crooked shrug. ?oI?Td sooner have you seated in Harrenhal than Renly seated on the Iron Throne. What could be plainer??
?oWhat indeed. You realize that I may need to bed Lysa Arryn again to get her consent to this marriage??
?oI have little doubt you?Tll be equal to the task.?
?oI once told Ned Stark that when you find yourself naked with an ugly woman, the only thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it.? Littlefinger steepled his fingers and gazed into Tyrion?Ts mismatched eyes. ?oGive me a fortnight to conclude my affairs and arrange for a ship to carry me to Gulltown.?
?oThat will do nicely.?
His guest rose. ?oThis has been quite the pleasant morning, Lannister. And profitable... for both of us, I trust.? He bowed, his cape a swirl of yellow as he strode out the door.
Two, thought Tyrion.
He went up to his bedchamber to await Varys, who would soon be making an appearance. Evenfall, he guessed. Perhaps as late as moonrise, though he hoped not. He hoped to visit Shae tonight. He was pleasantly surprised when Galt of the Stone Crows informed him not an hour later that the powdered man was at his door. ?oYou are a cruel man, to make the Grand Maester squirm so,? the eunuch scolded. ?oThe man cannot abide a secret.?
?oIs that a crow I hear, calling the raven black? Or would you sooner not hear what I?Tve proposed to Doran Martell??
Varys giggled. ?oPerhaps my little birds have told me.?
?oHave they, indeed?? He wanted to hear this. ?oGo on.?
?oThe Dornishmen thus far have held aloof from these wars. Doran Martell has called his banners, but no more. His hatred for House Lannister is well known, and it is commonly thought he will join Lord Renly. You wish to dissuade him.?
?oAll this is obvious,? said Tyrion.
?oThe only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.?
?oMy father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition... and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black.?
?oA council seat is not to be despised,? Varys admitted, ?oyet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister?Ts murder??
?oWhy forget?? Tyrion smiled. ?oI?Tve promised to deliver his sister?Ts killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure.?
Varys gave him a shrewd look. ?oMy little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a... certain name... when they came for her.?
?oIs a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?? In Casterly Rock, it was common knowledge that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son?Ts blood and brains still on his hands.
?oThis secret is your lord father?Ts sworn man.?
?oMy father would be the first to tell you that fifty thousand Dornishmen are worth one rabid dog.?
Varys stroked a powdered cheek. ?oAnd if Prince Doran demands the blood of the lord who gave the command as well as the knight who did the deed...?
?oRobert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end.?
?oRobert was not at King?Ts Landing.?
?oNeither was Doran Martell.?
?oSo. Blood for his pride, a chair for his ambition. Gold and land, that goes without saying. A sweet offer... yet sweets can be poisoned. If I were the prince, something more would I require before I should reach for this honeycomb. Some token of good faith, some sure safeguard against betrayal.? Varys smiled his slimiest smile. ?oWhich one will you give him, I wonder??
Tyrion sighed. ?oYou know, don?Tt you??
?oSince you put it that way, yes. Tommen. You could scarcely offer Myrcella to Doran Martell and Lysa Arryn both.?
?oRemind me never to play these guessing games with you again. You cheat.?
?oPrince Tommen is a good boy.?
?oIf I pry him away from Cersei and Joffrey while hê?Ts still young, he may even grow to be a good man.?
?oAnd a good king??
?oJoffrey is king.?
?oAnd Tommen is heir, should anything ill befall His Grace. Tommen, whose nature is so sweet, and notably... tractable.?
?oYou have a suspicious mind, Varys.?
?oI shall take that as a tribute, my lord. In any case, Prince Doran will hardly be insensible of the great honor you do him. Very deftly done, I would say... but for one small flaw.?
The dwarf laughed. ?oNamed Cersei??
?oWhat avails statecraft against the love of a mother for the sweet fruit of her womb? Perhaps, for the glory of her House and the safety of the realm, the queen might be persuaded to send away Tommen or Myrcella. But both of them? Surely not.?
?oWhat Cersei does not know will never hurt me.?
?oAnd if Her Grace were to discover your intentions before your plans are ripe??
?oWhy,? he said, ?othen I would know the man who told her to be my certain enemy.? And when Varys giggled, he thought, Three.

Chapter 18
Sansa​

Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home.
The words were the same on the hundredth reading as they?Td been on the first, when Sansa had discovered the folded sheet of parchment beneath her pillow. She did not know how it had gotten there or who had sent it. The note was unsigned, unsealed, and the hand unfamiliar. She crushed the parchment to her chest and whispered the words to herself. ?oCome to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home,? she breathed, ever so faintly.
What could it mean? Should she take it to the queen to prove that she was being good? Nervously, she rubbed her stomach. The angry purple bruise Ser Meryn had given her had faded to an ugly yellow, but still hurt. His fist had been mailed when he hit her. It was her own fault. She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey. When she heard that the imp had sent Lord Slynt to the Wall, she had forgotten herself and said, ?oI hope the Others get him.? The king had not been pleased.
Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home.
Sansa had prayed so hard. Could this be her answer at last, a true knight sent to save her? Perhaps it was one of the Redwyne twins, or bold Ser Balon Swann... or even Beric Dondarrion, the young lord her friend Jeyne Poole had loved, with his red-gold hair and the spray of stars on his black cloak.
Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home.
What if it was some cruel jape of Joffrey?Ts, like the day he had taken her up to the battlements to show her Father?Ts head? Or perhaps it was some subtle snare to prove she was not loyal. If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if shê?Td come?
Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home.
When the door opened, she hurriedly stuffed the note under her sheet and sat on it. It was her bedmaid, the mousy one with the limp brown hair. ?oWhat do you want?? Sansa demanded.
?oWill milady be wanting a bath tonight??
?oA fire, I think... I feel a chill.? She was shivering, though the day had been hot.
?oAs you wish.?
Sansa watched the girl suspiciously. Had she seen the note? Had she put it under the pillow? It did not seem likely; she seemed a stupid girl, not one you?Td want delivering secret notes, but Sansa did not know her. The queen had her servants changed every fortnight, to make certain none of them befriended her.
When a fire was blazing in the hearth, Sansa thanked the maid curtly and ordered her out. The girl was quick to obey, as ever, but Sansa decided there was something sly about her eyes. Doubtless, she was scurrying off to report to the queen, or maybe Varys. All her maids spied on her, she was certain.
Once alone, she thrust the note in the flames, watching the parchment curl and blacken. Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home. She drifted to her window. Below, she could see a short knight in moon-pale armor and a heavy white cloak pacing the drawbridge. From his height, it could only be Ser Preston Greenfield. The queen had given her freedom of the castle, but even so, he would want to know where she was going if she tried to leave Maegor?Ts Holdfast at this time of night. What was she to tell him? Suddenly she was glad she had burned the note.
She unlaced her gown and crawled into her bed, but she did not sleep. Was he still there? She wondered. How long will he wait? It was so cruel, to send her a note and tell her nothing. The thoughts went round and round in her head.
If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked. Sansa was allowed to go riding too, but only in the bailey, and it got boring going round in a circle all day.
She was wide awake when she heard the shouting. Distant at first, then growing louder. Many voices yelling together. She could not make out the words. And there were horses as well, and pounding feet, shouts of command. She crept to her window and saw men running on the walls, carrying spears and torches. Go back to your bed, Sansa told herself, this is nothing that concerns you, just some new trouble out in the city. The talk at the wells had all been of troubles in the city of late. People were crowding in, running from the war, and many had no way to live save by robbing and killing each other. Go to bed.
But when she looked, the white knight was gone, the bridge across the dry moat down but undefended.
Sansa turned away without thinking and ran to her wardrobe. Oh, what am I doing? She asked herself as she dressed. This is madness. She could see the lights of many torches on the curtain walls. Had Stannis and Renly come at last to kill Joffrey and claim their brother?Ts throne? If so, the guards would raise the drawbridge, cutting off Maegor?Ts Holdfast from the outer castle. Sansa threw a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and picked up the knife she used to cut her meat. If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak.
A column of red-cloaked swordsmen ran past as she slipped out into the night. She waited until they were well past before she darted across the undefended drawbridge. In the yard, men were buckling on swordbelts and cinching the saddles of their horses. She glimpsed Ser Preston near the stables with three others of the Kingsguard, white cloaks bright as the moon as they helped Joffrey into his armor. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the king. Thankfully, he did not see her. He was shouting for his sword and crossbow.
The noise receded as she moved deeper into the castle, never daring to look back for fear that Joffrey might be watching... or worse, following. The serpentine steps twisted ahead, striped by bars of flickering light from the narrow windows above. Sansa was panting by the time she reached the top. She ran down a shadowy colonnade and pressed herself against a wall to catch her breath. When something brushed against her leg, she almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only a cat, a ragged black tom with a chewed-off ear. The creature spit at her and leapt away.
By the time she reached the godswood, the noises had faded to a faint rattle of steel and a distant shouting. Sansa pulled her cloak tighter. The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood; even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.
Sansa had favored her mother?Ts gods over her father?Ts. She loved the statues, the pictures in leaded glass, the fragrance of burning incense, the septons with their robes and crystals, the magical play of the rainbows over altars inlaid with mother-of-pearl and onyx and lapis lazuli. Yet she could not deny that the godswood had a certain power too. Especially by night. Help me, she prayed, send me a friend, a true knight to champion me...
She moved from tree to tree, feeling the roughness of the bark beneath her fingers. Leaves brushed at her cheeks. Had she come too late? He would not have left so soon, would he? Or had he even been here? Dare she risk calling out? It seemed so hushed and still here...
?oI feared you would not come, child.?
Sansa whirled. A man stepped out of the shadows, heavyset, thick of neck, shambling. He wore a dark grey robe with the cowl pulled forward, but when a thin sliver of moonlight touched his cheek, she knew him at once by the blotchy skin and web of broken veins beneath. ?oSer Dontos,? she breathed, heartbroken. ?oWas it you??
?oYes, my lady.? When he moved closer, she could smell the sour stench of wine on his breath. ?oMe.? He reached out a hand.
Sansa shrank back. ?oDon?Tt!? She slid her hand under her cloak, to her hidden knife. ?oWhat... what do you want with me??
?oOnly to help you,? Dontos said, ?oas you helped me.?
?oYou?Tre drunk, aren?Tt you??
?oOnly one cup of wine, to help my courage. If they catch me now, they?Tll strip the skin off my back.?
And what will they do to me? Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, Father had killed her, on account of Arya. She drew the knife and held it before her with both hands.
?oAre you going to stab me?? Dontos asked.
?oI will,? she said. ?oTell me who sent you.?
?oNo one, sweet lady. I swear it on my honor as a knight.?
?oA knight?? Joffrey had decreed that he was to be a knight no longer, only a fool, lower even than Moon Boy. ?oI prayed to the gods for a knight to come save me,? she said. ?oI prayed and prayed. Why would they send me a drunken old fool??
?oI deserve that, though... I know it?Ts queer, but... all those years I was a knight, I was truly a fool, and now that I am a fool I think... I think I may find it in me to be a knight again, sweet lady. And all because of you... your grace, your courage. You saved me, not only from Joffrey, but from myself.? His voice dropped. ?oThe singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all...?
?oFlorian,? Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her.
?oSweet lady, I would be your Florian,? Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her.
Slowly, Sansa lowered the knife. Her head seemed terribly light, as if she were floating. This is madness, to trust myself to this drunkard, but if I turn away will the chance ever come again? ?oHow... how would you do it? Get me away??
Ser Dontos raised his face to her. ?oTaking you from the castle, that will be the hardest. Once you?Tre out, there are ships that would take you home. I?Td need to find the coin and make the arrangements, that?Ts all.?
?oCould we go now?? she asked, hardly daring to hope.
?oThis very night? No, my lady, I fear not. First I must find a sure way to get you from the castle when the hour is ripe. It will not be easy, nor quick. They watch me as well.? He licked his lips nervously. ?oWill you put away your blade??
Sansa slipped the knife beneath her cloak. ?oRise, ser.?
?oThank you, sweet lady.? Ser Dontos lurched clumsily to his feet, and brushed earth and leaves from his knees. ?oYour lord father was as true a man as the realm has ever known, but I stood by and let them slay him. I said nothing, did nothing... and yet, when Joffrey would have slain me, you spoke up. Lady, I have never been a hero, no Ryam Redwyne or Barristan the Bold. I?Tve won no tourneys, no renown in war... but I was a knight once, and you have helped me remember what that meant. My life is a poor thing, but it is yours.? Ser Dontos placed a hand on the gnarled bole of the heart tree. He was shaking, she saw. ?oI vow, with your father?Ts gods as witness, that I shall send you home.?
He swore. A solemn oath, before the gods. ?oThen... I will put myself in your hands, ser. But how will I know, when it is time to go? Will you send me another note??
Ser Dontos glanced about anxiously. ?oThe risk is too great. You must come here, to the godswood. As often as you can. This is the safest place. The only safe place. Nowhere else. Not in your chambers nor mine nor on the steps nor in the yard, even if it seems we are alone. The stones have ears in the Red Keep, and only here may we talk freely.?
?oOnly here,? Sansa said. ?oI?Tll remember.?
?oAnd if I should seem cruel or mocking or indifferent when men are watching, forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did your father?Ts.?
She nodded. ?oI understand.?
?oYou will need to be brave and strong... and patient, patient above all.?
?oI will be,? she promised, ?obut... please... make it as soon as you can. I?Tm afraid...?
?oSo am I,? Ser Dontos said, smiling wanly. ?oAnd now you must go, before you are missed.?
?oYou will not come with me??
?oBetter if we are never seen together.?
Nodding, Sansa took a step... then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. ?oMy Florian,? she whispered. ?oThe gods heard my prayer.?
She flew along the river walk, past the small kitchen, and through the pig yard, her hurried footsteps lost beneath the squealing of the hogs in their pens. Home, she thought, home, he is going to take me home, hê?Tll keep me safe, my Florian. The songs about Florian and Jonquil were her very favorites. Florian was homely too, though not so old.
She was racing headlong down the serpentine steps when a man lurched out of a hidden doorway. Sansa caromed into him and lost her balance. Iron fingers caught her by the wrist before she could fall, and a deep voice rasped at her. ?oIt?Ts a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?? His laughter was rough as a saw on stone. ?oMaybe you do.?
The Hound. ?oNo, my lord, pardons, I?Td never.? Sansa averted her eyes but it was too late, hê?Td seen her face. ?oPlease, you?Tre hurting me.? She tried to wriggle free.
?oAnd what?Ts Joff?Ts little bird doing flying down the serpentine in the black of night?? When she did not answer, he shook her. ?oWhere were you??
?oThe g-g-godswood, my lord,? she said, not daring to lie. ?oPraying... praying for my father, and... for the king, praying that hê?Td not be hurt.?
?oThink I?Tm so drunk that I?Td believe that?? He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. ?oYou look almost a woman... face, teats, and you?Tre taller too, almost... ah, you?Tre still a stupid little bird, aren?Tt you? Singing all the songs they taught you... sing me a song, why don?Tt you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don?Tt you??
He was scaring her. ?oT-true knights, my lord.?
?oTrue knights,? he mocked. ?oAnd I?Tm no lord, no more than I?Tm a knight. Do I need to beat that into you?? Clegane reeled and almost fell. ?oGods,? he swore, ?otoo much wine. Do you like wine, little bird? Rue wine? A flagon of sour red, dark as blood, all a man needs. Or a woman.?
He laughed, shook his head. ?oDrunk as a dog, damn me. You come now. Back to your cage, little bird. I?Tll take you there. Keep you safe for the king.? The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle, and followed her down the steps. By the time they reached the bottom, he had lapsed back into a brooding silence, as if he had forgotten she was there.
When they reached Maegor?Ts Holdfast, she was alarmed to see that it was Ser Boros Blount who now held the bridge. His high white helm turned stiffly at the sound of their footsteps. Sansa flinched away from his gaze. Ser Boros was the worst of the Kingsguard, an ugly man with a foul temper, all scowls and jowls.
?oThat one is nothing to fear, girl.? The Hound laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. ?oPaint stripes on a toad, he does not become a tiger.?
Ser Boros lifted his visor. ?oSer, where-?
?o**** your ser, Boros. You?Tre the knight, not me. I?Tm the king?Ts dog, remember??
?oThe king was looking for his dog earlier.?
?oThe dog was drinking. It was your night to shield him, ser. You and my other brothers.?
Ser Boros turned to Sansa. ?oHow is it you are not in your chambers at this hour, lady??
?oI went to the godswood to pray for the safety of the king.? The lie sounded better this time, almost true.
?oYou expect her to sleep with all the noise?? Clegane said. ?oWhat was the trouble??
?oFools at the gate,? Ser Boros admitted. ?oSome loose tongues spread tales of the preparations for Tyrek?Ts wedding feast, and these wretches got it in their heads they should be feasted too. His Grace led a sortie and sent them scurrying.?
?oA brave boy,? Clegane said, mouth twitching.
Let us see how brave he is when he faces my brother, Sansa thought. The Hound escorted her across the drawbridge. As they were winding their way up the steps, she said, ?oWhy do you let people call you a dog? You won?Tt let anyone call you a knight.?
?oI like dogs better than knights. My father?Ts father was kennelmaster at the Rock. One autumn year, Lord Tytos came between a lioness and her prey. The lioness didn?Tt give a **** that she was Lannister?Ts own sigil. Bitch tore into my lord?Ts horse and would have done for my lord too, but my grandfather came up with the hounds. Three of his dogs died running her off. My grandfather lost a leg, so Lannister paid him for it with lands and a towerhouse, and took his son to squire. The three dogs on our banner are the three that died, in the yellow of autumn grass. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And hê?Tll look you straight in the face.? He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. ?oAnd that?Ts more than little birds can do, isn?Tt it? I never got my song.?
?oI... I know a song about Florian and Jonquil.?
?oFlorian and Jonquil? A fool and his ****. Spare me. But one day I?Tll have a song from you, whether you will it or no.?
?oI will sing it for you gladly.?
Sandor Clegane snorted. ?oPretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They?Tre all liars here... and every one better than you.?

Chapter 19
Arya​

When she climbed all the way up to the highest branch, Arya could see chimneys poking through the trees. Thatched roofs clustered along the shore of the lake and the small stream that emptied into it, and a wooden pier jutted out into the water beside a low long building with a slate roof.
She skinnied farther out, until the branch began to sag under her weight. No boats were tied to the pier, but she could see thin tendrils of smoke rising from some of the chimneys, and part of a wagon jutting out behind a stable.
Someonê?Ts there. Arya chewed her lip. All the other places they?Td come upon had been empty and desolate. Farms, villages, castles, septs, barns, it made no matter. If it could burn, the Lannisters had burned it; if it could die, they?Td killed it. They had even set the woods ablaze where they could, though the leaves were still green and wet from recent rains, and the fires had not spread. ?oThey would have burned the lake if they could have,? Gendry had said, and Arya knew he was right. On the night of their escape, the flames of the burning town had shimmered so brightly on the water that it had seemed that the lake was afire.
When they finally summoned the nerve to steal back into the ruins the next night, nothing remained but blackened stones, the hollow shells of houses, and corpses. In some places wisps of pale smoke still rose from the ashes. Hot Pie had pleaded with them not to go back, and Lommy called them fools and swore that Ser Amory would catch them and kill them too, but Lorch and his men had long gone by the time they reached the holdfast. They found the gates broken down, the walls partly demolished, and the inside strewn with the unburied dead. One look was enough for Gendry. ?oThey?Tre killed, every one,? he said. ?oAnd dogs have been at them too, look.?
?oOr wolves.?
?oDogs, wolves, it makes no matter. It?Ts done here.?
But Arya would not leave until they found Yoren. They couldn?Tt have killed him, she told herself, he was too hard and tough, and a brother of the Night?Ts Watch besides. She said as much to Gendry as they searched among the corpses.
The axe blow that had killed him had split his skull apart, but the great tangled beard could be no one elsê?Ts, or the garb, patched and unwashed and so faded it was more grey than black. Ser Amory Lorch had given no more thought to burying his own dead than to those he had murdered, and the corpses of four Lannister men-at-arms were heaped near Yoren?Ts. Arya wondered how many it had taken to bring him down.
He was going to take me home, she thought as they dug the old man?Ts hole. There were too many dead to bury them all, but Yoren at least must have a grave, Arya had insisted. He was going to bring me safe to Winterfell, he promised. Part of her wanted to cry. The other part wanted to kick him.
It was Gendry who thought of the lord?Ts towerhouse and the three that Yoren had sent to hold it. They had come under attack as well, but the round tower had only one entry, a second-story door reached by a ladder. Once that had been pulled inside, Ser Amory?Ts men could not get at them. The Lannisters had piled brush around the tower?Ts base and set it afire, but the stone would not burn, and Lorch did not have the patience to starve them out. Cutjack opened the door at Gendry?Ts shout, and when Kurz said they?Td be better pressing on north than going back, Arya had clung to the hope that she still might reach Winterfell.
Well, this village was no Winterfell, but those thatched roofs promised warmth and shelter and maybe even food, if they were bold enough to risk them. Unless it?Ts Lorch there. He had horses; he would have traveled faster than us.
She watched from the tree for a long time, hoping she might see something; a man, a horse, a banner, anything that would help her know. A few times she glimpsed motion, but the buildings were so far off it was hard to be certain. Once, very clearly, she heard the whinny of a horse.
The air was full of birds, crows mostly. From afar, they were no larger than flies as they wheeled and flapped above the thatched roofs. To the east, Gods Eye was a sheet of sun-hammered blue that filled half the world. Some days, as they made their slow way up the muddy shore (Gendry wanted no part of any roads, and even Hot Pie and Lommy saw the sense in that), Arya felt as though the lake were calling her. She wanted to leap into those placid blue waters, to feel clean again, to swim and splash and bask in the sun. But she dare not take off her clothes where the others could see, not even to wash them. At the end of the day she would often sit on a rock and dangle her feet in the cool water. She had finally thrown away her cracked and rotted shoes. Walking barefoot was hard at first, but the blisters had finally broken, the cuts had healed, and her soles had turned to leather. The mud was nice between her toes, and she liked to feel the earth underfoot when she walked.
From up here, she could see a small wooded island off to the northeast. Thirty yards from shore, three black swans were gliding over the water, so serene... no one had told them that war had come, and they cared nothing for burning towns and butchered men. She stared at them with yearning. Part of her wanted to be a swan. The other part wanted to eat one. She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren?Tt so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but still not as bad as the pain in your belly after days without food. Finding bugs was easy, all you had to do was kick over a rock. Arya had eaten a bug once when she was little, just to make Sansa screech, so she hadn?Tt been afraid to eat another. Weasel wasn?Tt either, but Hot Pie retched up the beetle he tried to swallow, and Lommy and Gendry wouldn?Tt even try. Yesterday Gendry had caught a frog and shared it with Lommy, and, a few days before, Hot Pie had found blackberries and stripped the bush bare, but mostly they had been living on water and acorns. Kurz had told them how to use rocks and make a kind of acorn paste. It tasted awful.
She wished the poacher hadn?Tt died. Hê?Td known more about the woods than all the rest of them together, but hê?Td taken an arrow through the shoulder pulling in the ladder at the towerhouse. Tarber had packed it with mud and moss from the lake, and for a day or two Kurz swore the wound was nothing, even though the flesh of his throat was turning dark while angry red welts crept up his jaw and down his chest. Then one morning he couldn?Tt find the strength to get up, and by the next he was dead.
They buried him under a mound of stones, and Cutjack had claimed his sword and hunting horn, while Tarber helped himself to bow and boots and knife. They?Td taken it all when they left. At first they thought the two had just gone hunting, that they?Td soon return with game and feed them all. But they waited and waited, until finally Gendry made them move on. Maybe Tarber and Cutjack figured they would stand a better chance without a gaggle of orphan boys to herd along. They probably would too, but that didn?Tt stop her hating them for leaving.
Beneath her tree, Hot Pie barked like a dog. Kurz had told them to use animal sounds to signal to each other. An old poacher?Ts trick, hê?Td said, but hê?Td died before he could teach them how to make the sounds right. Hot Piê?Ts bird calls were awful. His dog was better, but not much.
Arya hopped from the high branch to one beneath it, her hands out for balance. A water dancer never falls. Lightfoot, her toes curled tight around the branch, she walked a few feet, hopped down to a larger limb, then swung hand over hand through the tangle of leaves until she reached the trunk. The bark was rough beneath her fingers, against her toes. She descended quickly, jumping down the final six feet, rolling when she landed.
Gendry gave her a hand to pull her up. ?oYou were up there a long time. What could you see??
?oA fishing village, just a little place, north along the shore. Twenty-six thatch roofs and one slate, I counted. I saw part of a wagon. Someonê?Ts there.?
At the sound of her voice, Weasel came creeping out from the bushes. Lommy had named her that. He said she looked like a weasel, which wasn?Tt true, but they couldn?Tt keep on calling her the crying girl after she finally stopped crying. Her mouth was filthy. Arya hoped she hadn?Tt been eating mud again.
?oDid you see people?? asked Gendry.
?oMostly just roofs,? Arya admitted, ?obut some chimneys were smoking, and I heard a horse.? Weasel put her arms around her leg, clutching tight. Sometimes she did that now.
?oIf therê?Ts people, therê?Ts food,? Hot Pie said, too loudly. Gendry was always telling him to be more quiet, but it never did any good. ?oMight be they?Td give us some.?
?oMight be they?Td kill us too,? Gendry said.
?oNot if we yielded,? Hot Pie said hopefully.
?oNow you sound like Lommy.?
Lommy Greenhands sat propped up between two thick roots at the foot of an oak. A spear had taken him through his left calf during the fight at the holdfast. By the end of the next day, he had to limp along one-legged with an arm around Gendry, and now he couldn?Tt even do that. They?Td hacked branches off trees to make a litter for him, but it was slow, hard work carrying him along, and he whimpered every time they jounced him.
?oWe have to yield,? he said. ?oThat?Ts what Yoren should have done. He should have opened the gates like they said.?
Arya was sick of Lommy going on about how Yoren should have yielded. It was all he talked about when they carried him, that and his leg and his empty belly.
Hot Pie agreed. ?oThey told Yoren to open the gates, they told him in the king?Ts name. You have to do what they tell you in the king?Ts name. It was that stinky old man?Ts fault. If hê?Td of yielded, they would have left us be.?
Gendry frowned. ?oKnights and lordlings, they take each other captive and pay ransoms, but they don?Tt care if the likes of you yield or not.? He turned to Arya. ?oWhat else did you see??
?oIf it?Ts a fishing village, they?Td sell us fish, I bet,? said Hot Pie. The lake teemed with fresh fish, but they had nothing to catch them with. Arya had tried to use her hands, the way shê?Td seen Koss do, but fish were quicker than pigeons and the water played tricks on her eyes.
?oI don?Tt know about fish.? Arya tugged at the Weasel?Ts matted hair, thinking it might be best to hack it off. ?oTherê?Ts crows down by the water. Something?Ts dead there.?
?oFish, washed up on shore,? Hot Pie said. ?oIf the crows eat it, I bet we could.?
?oWe should catch some crows, we could eat them,? said Lommy. ?oWe could make a fire and roast them like chickens.?
Gendry looked fierce when he scowled. His beard had grown in thick and black as briar. ?oI said, no fires.?
?oLommy?Ts hungry,? Hot Pie whined, ?oand I am too.?
?oWê?Tre all hungry,? said Arya.
?oYou?Tre not,? Lommy spat from the ground. ?oWorm breath.?
Arya could have kicked him in his wound. ?oI said I?Td dig worms for you too, if you wanted.?
Lommy made a disgusted face. ?oIf it wasn?Tt for my leg, I?Td hunt us some boars.?
?oSome boars,? she mocked. ?oYou need a boarspear to hunt boars, and horses and dogs, and men to flush the boar from its lair.? Her father had hunted boar in the wolfswood with Robb and Jon. Once he even took Bran, but never Arya, even though she was older. Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and Mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. She was older now, but if she had a hawk shê?Td eat it.
?oWhat do you know about hunting boars?? said Hot Pie.
?oMore than you.?
Gendry was in no mood to hear it. ?oQuiet, both of you, I need to think what to do.? He always looked pained when he tried to think, like it hurt him something fierce.
?oYield,? Lommy said.
?oI told you to shut up about the yielding. We don?Tt even know whô?Ts in there. Maybe we can steal some food.?
?oLommy could steal, if it wasn?Tt for his leg,? said Hot Pie. ?oHe was a thief in the city.?
?oA bad thief,? Arya said, ?oor he wouldn?Tt have got caught.?
Gendry squinted up at the sun. ?oEvenfall will be the best time to sneak in. I?Tll go scout come dark.?
?oNo, I?Tll go,? Arya said. ?oYou?Tre too noisy.?
Gendry got that look on his face. ?oWê?Tll both go.?
?oArry should go,? said Lommy. ?oHê?Ts sneakier than you are.?
?oWê?Tll both go, I said.?
?oBut what if you don?Tt come back? Hot Pie can?Tt carry me by himself, you know he can?Tt...?
?oAnd therê?Ts wolves,? Hot Pie said. ?oI heard them last night, when I had the watch. They sounded close.?
Arya had heard them too. Shê?Td been asleep in the branches of an elm, but the howling had woken her. Shê?Td sat awake for a good hour, listening to them, prickles creeping up her spine.
?oAnd you won?Tt even let us have a fire to keep them off,? Hot Pie said. ?oIt?Ts not right, leaving us for the wolves.?
?oNo one is leaving you,? Gendry said in disgust. ?oLommy has his spear if the wolves come, and you?Tll be with him. Wê?Tre just going to go see, that?Ts all; wê?Tre coming back.?
?oWhoever it is, you should yield to them,? Lommy whined. ?oI need some potion for my leg, it hurts bad.?
?oIf we see any leg potion, wê?Tll bring it,? Gendry said. ?oArry, let?Ts go, I want to get near before the sun is down. Hot Pie, you keep Weasel here, I don?Tt want her following.?
?oLast time she kicked me.?
?oI?Tll kick you if you don?Tt keep her here.? Without waiting for an answer, Gendry donned his steel helm and walked off.

Arya had to scamper to keep up. Gendry was five years older and a foot taller than she was, and long of leg as well. For a while he said nothing, just plowed on through the trees with an angry look on his face, making too much noise. But finally he stopped and said, ?oI think Lommy?Ts going to die.?
She was not surprised. Kurz had died of his wound, and hê?Td been a lot stronger than Lommy. Whenever it was Aryâ?Ts turn to help carry him, she could feel how warm his skin was, and smell the stink off his leg. ?oMaybe we could find a maester...?
?oYou only find maesters in castles, and even if we found one, he wouldn?Tt dirty his hands on the likes of Lommy.? Gendry ducked under a low-hanging limb.
?oThat?Ts not true.? Maester Luwin would have helped anyone who came to him, she was certain.
?oHê?Ts going to die, and the sooner he does it, the better for the rest of us. We should just leave him, like he says. If it was you or me hurt, you know hê?Td leave us.? They scrambled down a steep cut and up the other side, using roots for handholds. ?oI?Tm sick of carrying him, and I?Tm sick of all his talk about yielding too. If he could stand up, I?Td knock his teeth in. Lommy?Ts no use to anyone. That crying girl?Ts no use either.?
?oYou leave Weasel alone, shê?Ts just scared and hungry is all.? Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once. Hot Pie must have grabbed her, like Gendry had told him.
?oShê?Ts no use,? Gendry repeated stubbornly. ?oHer and Hot Pie and Lommy, they?Tre slowing us down, and they?Tre going to get us killed. You?Tre the only one of the bunch whô?Ts good for anything. Even if you are a girl.?
Arya froze in her steps. ?oI?Tm not a girl!?
?oYes you are. Do you think I?Tm as stupid as they are??
?oNo, you?Tre stupider. The Night?Ts Watch doesn?Tt take girls, everyone knows that.?
?oThat?Ts true. I don?Tt know why Yoren brought you, but he must have had some reason. You?Tre still a girl.?
?oI am not!?
?oThen pull out your **** and take a piss. Go on.?
?oI don?Tt need to take a piss. If I wanted to I could.?
?oLiar. You can?Tt take out your **** because you don?Tt have one. I never noticed before when there were thirty of us, but you always go off in the woods to make your water. You don?Tt see Hot Pie doing that, nor me neither. If you?Tre not a girl, you must be some eunuch.?
?oYou?Tre the eunuch.?
?oYou know I?Tm not.? Gendry smiled. ?oYou want me to take out my **** and prove it? I don?Tt have anything to hide.?
?oYes you do,? Arya blurted, desperate to escape the subject of the **** she didn?Tt have. ?oThose gold cloaks were after you at the inn, and you won?Tt tell us why.?
?oI wish I knew. I think Yoren knew, but he never told me. Why did you think they were after you, though??
Arya bit her lip. She remembered what Yoren had said, the day he had hacked off her hair. This lot, half ô?T them would turn you over to the queen quick as spit for a pardon and maybe a few silvers. The other half?Td do the same, only they?Td rape you first. Only Gendry was different, the queen wanted him too. ?oI?Tll tell you if you?Tll tell me,? she said warily.
?oI would if I knew, Arry... is that really what you?Tre called, or do you have some girl?Ts name??
Arya glared at the gnarled root by her feet. She realized that the pretense was done. Gendry knew, and she had nothing in her pants to convince him otherwise. She could draw Needle and kill him where he stood, or else trust him. She wasn?Tt certain shê?Td be able to kill him, even if she tried; he had his own sword, and he was a lot stronger. All that was left was the truth. ?oLommy and Hot Pie can?Tt know,? she said.
?oThey won?Tt,? he swore. ?oNot from me.?
?oArya.? She raised her eyes to his. ?oMy name is Arya. Of House Stark.?
?oOf House...? It took him a moment before he said, ?oThe King?Ts Hand was named Stark. The one they killed for a traitor.?
?oHe was never a traitor. He was my father.?
Gendry?Ts eyes widened. ?oSo that?Ts why you thought...?
She nodded. ?oYoren was taking me home to Winterfell.?
?oI... you?Tre highborn then, a... you?Tll be a lady...?
Arya looked down at her ragged clothes and bare feet, all cracked and callused. She saw the dirt under her nails, the scabs on her elbows, the scratches on her hands. Septa Mordane wouldn?Tt even know me, I bet. Sansa might, but shê?Td pretend not to. ?oMy mother?Ts a lady, and my sister, but I never was.?
?oYes you were. You were a lord?Ts daughter and you lived in a castle, didn?Tt you? And you... gods be good, I never...? All of a sudden Gendry seemed uncertain, almost afraid. ?oAll that about ****s, I never should have said that. And I been pissing in front of you and everything, I... I beg your pardon, m?Tlady.?
?oStop that!? Arya hissed. Was he mocking her?
?oI know my courtesies, m?Tlady,? Gendry said, stubborn as ever. ?oWhenever highborn girls came into the shop with their fathers, my master told me I was to bend the knee, and speak only when they spoke to me, and call them m?Tlady.?
?oIf you start calling me m?Tlady, even Hot Pie is going to notice. And you better keep on pissing the same way too.?
?oAs m?Tlady commands.?
Arya slammed his chest with both hands. He tripped over a stone and sat down with a thump. ?oWhat kind of lord?Ts daughter are you?? he said, laughing.
?oThis kind.? She kicked him in the side, but it only made him laugh harder. ?oYou laugh all you like. I?Tm going to see whô?Ts in the village.? The sun had already fallen below the trees; dusk would be on them in no time at all. For once it was Gendry who had to hurry after. ?oYou smell that?? she asked.
He sniffed the air. ?oRotten fish??
?oYou know it?Ts not.?
?oWe better be careful. I?Tll go around west, see if therê?Ts some road. There must be if you saw a wagon. You take the shore. If you need help, bark like a dog.?
?oThat?Ts stupid. If I need help, I?Tll shout help.? She darted away, bare feet silent in the grass. When she glanced back over her shoulder, he was watching her with that pained look on his face that meant he was thinking. Hê?Ts probably thinking that he shouldn?Tt be letting m?Tlady go stealing food. Arya just knew he was going to be stupid now.
The smell grew stronger as she got closer to the village. It did not smell like rotten fish to her. This stench was ranker, fouler. She wrinkled her nose.
Where the trees began to thin, she used the undergrowth, slipping from bush to bush quiet as a shadow. Every few yards she stopped to listen. The third time, she heard horses, and a man?Ts voice as well. And the smell got worse. Dead man?Ts stink, that?Ts what it is. She had smelled it before, with Yoren and the others.
A dense thicket of brambles grew south of the village. By the time she reached it, the long shadows of sunset had begun to fade, and the lantern bugs were coming out. She could see thatched roofs just beyond the hedge. She crept along until she found a gap and squirmed through on her belly, keeping well hidden until she saw what made the smell.
Beside the gently lapping waters of Gods Eye, a long gibbet of raw green wood had been thrown up, and things that had once been men dangled there, their feet in chains, while crows pecked at their flesh and flapped from corpse to corpse. For every crow there were a hundred flies. When the wind blew off the lake, the nearest corpse twisted on its chain, ever so slightly. The crows had eaten most of its face, and something else had been at it as well, something much larger. Throat and chest had been torn apart, and glistening green entrails and ribbons of ragged flesh dangled from where the belly had been opened. One arm had been ripped right off the shoulder; Arya saw the bones a few feet away, gnawed and cracked, picked clean of meat.
She made herself look at the next man and the one beyond him and the one beyond him, telling herself she was hard as a stone. Corpses all, so savaged and decayed that it took her a moment to realize they had been stripped before they were hanged. They did not look like naked people; they hardly looked like people at all. The crows had eaten their eyes, and sometimes their faces. Of the sixth in the long row, nothing remained but a single leg, still tangled in its chains, swaying with each breeze.
Fear cuts deeper than swords. Dead men could not hurt her, but whoever had killed them could. Well beyond the gibbet, two men in mail hauberks stood leaning on their spears in front of the long low building by the water, the one with the slate roof. A pair of tall poles had been driven into the muddy ground in front of it, banners drooping from each staff. One looked red and one paler, white or yellow maybe, but both were limp and with the dusk settling, she could not even be certain that red one was Lannister crimson. I don?Tt need to see the lion, I can see all the dead people, who else would it be but Lannisters?
Then there was a shout.
The two spearmen turned at the cry, and a third man came into view, shoving a captive before him. It was growing too dark to make out faces, but the prisoner was wearing a shiny steel helm, and when Arya saw the horns she knew it was Gendry. You stupid stupid stupid STUPID! She thought. If hê?Td been here she would have kicked him again.
The guards were talking loudly, but she was too far away to make out the words, especially with the crows gabbling and flapping closer to hand. One of the spearmen snatched the helm off Gendry?Ts head and asked him a question, but he must not have liked the answer, because he smashed him across the face with the butt of his spear and knocked him down. The one whô?Td captured him gave him a kick, while the second spearman was trying on the bull?Ts-head helm. Finally they pulled him to his feet and marched him off toward the storehouse. When they opened the heavy wooden doors, a small boy darted out, but one of the guards grabbed his arm and flung him back inside. Arya heard sobbing from inside the building, and then a shriek so loud and full of pain that it made her bite her lip.
The guards shoved Gendry inside with the boy and barred the doors behind them. Just then, a breath of wind came sighing off the lake, and the banners stirred and lifted. The one on the tall staff bore the golden lion, as shê?Td feared. On the other, three sleek black shapes ran across a field as yellow as butter. Dogs, she thought. Arya had seen those dogs before, but where?
It didn?Tt matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had Gendry. Even if he was stubborn and stupid, she had to get him out. She wondered if they knew that the queen wanted him.
One of the guards took off his helm and donned Gendry?Ts instead. It made her angry to see him wearing it, but she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him. She thought she heard more screams from inside the windowless storehouse, muffled by the masonry, but it was hard to be certain.
She stayed long enough to see the guard changed, and much more besides. Men came and went. They led their horses down to the stream to drink. A hunting party returned from the wood, carrying a deer?Ts carcass slung from a pole. She watched them clean and gut it and build a cookfire on the far side of the stream, and the smell of cooking meat mingled queerly with the stench of corruption. Her empty belly roiled and she thought she might retch. The prospect of food brought other men out of the houses, near all of them wearing bits of mail or boiled leather. When the deer was cooked, the choicest portions were carried to one of the houses.
She thought that the dark might let her crawl close and free Gendry, but the guards kindled torches off the cookfire. A squire brought meat and bread to the two guarding the storehouse, and later two more men joined them and they all passed a skin of wine from hand to hand. When it was empty the others left, but the two guards remained, leaning on their spears.
Aryâ?Ts arms and legs were stiff when she finally wriggled out from under the briar into the dark of the wood. It was a black night, with a thin sliver of moon appearing and disappearing as the clouds blew past. Silent as a shadow, she told herself as she moved through the trees. In this darkness she dared not run, for fear of tripping on some unseen root or losing her way. On her left Gods Eye lapped calmly against its shores. On her right a wind sighed through the branches, and leaves rustled and stirred. Far off, she heard the howling of wolves.
Lommy and Hot Pie almost **** themselves when she stepped out of the trees behind them. ?oQuiet,? she told them, putting an arm around Weasel when the little girl came running up.
Hot Pie stared at her with big eyes. ?oWe thought you left us.? He had his shortsword in hand, the one Yoren had taken off the gold cloak. ?oI was scared you was a wolf.?
?oWherê?Ts the Bull?? asked Lommy.
?oThey caught him,? Arya whispered. ?oWe have to get him out. Hot Pie, you got to help. Wê?Tll sneak up and kill the guards, and then I?Tll open the door.?
Hot Pie and Lommy exchanged a look. ?oHow many??
?oI couldn?Tt count,? Arya admitted. ?oTwenty at least, but only two on the door.?
Hot Pie looked as if he were going to cry. ?oWe can?Tt fight twenty.?
?oYou only need to fight one. I?Tll do the other and wê?Tll get Gendry out and run.?
?oWe should yield,? Lommy said. ?oJust go in and yield.?
Arya shook her head stubbornly.
?oThen just leave him, Arry,? Lommy pleaded. ?oThey don?Tt know about the rest of us. If we hide, they?Tll go away, you know they will. It?Ts not our fault Gendry?Ts captured.?
?oYou?Tre stupid, Lommy,? Arya said angrily. ?oYou?Tll die if we don?Tt get Gendry out. Whô?Ts going to carry you??
?oYou and Hot Pie.?
?oAll the time, with no one else to help? Wê?Tll never do it. Gendry was the strong one. Anyhow, I don?Tt care what you say, I?Tm going back for him.? She looked at Hot Pie. ?oAre you coming??
Hot Pie glanced at Lommy, at Arya, at Lommy again. ?oI?Tll come,? he said reluctantly.
?oLommy, you keep Weasel here.?
He grabbed the little girl by the hand and pulled her close. ?oWhat if the wolves come??
?oYield,? Arya suggested.
Finding their way back to the village seemed to take hours. Hot Pie kept stumbling in the dark and losing his way, and Arya had to wait for him and double back. Finally she took him by the hand and led him along through the trees. ?oJust be quiet and follow.? When they could make out the first faint glow of the village fires against the sky, she said, ?oTherê?Ts dead men hanging on the other side of the hedge, but they?Tre nothing to be scared of, just remember fear cuts deeper than swords. We have to go real quiet and slow.? Hot Pie nodded.
She wriggled under the briar first and waited for him on the far side, crouched low. Hot Pie emerged pale and panting, face and arms bloody with long scratches. He started to say something, but Arya put a finger to his lips. On hands and knees, they crawled along the gibbet, beneath the swaying dead. Hot Pie never once looked up, nor made a sound.
Until the crow landed on his back, and he gave a muffled gasp. ?oWhô?Ts there?? a voice boomed suddenly from the dark.
Hot Pie leapt to his feet. ?oI yield!? He threw away his sword as dozens of crows rose shrieking and complaining to flap about the corpses. Arya grabbed his leg and tried to drag him back down, but he wrenched loose and ran forward, waving his arms. ?oI yield, I yield.?
She bounced up and drew Needle, but by then men were all around her. Arya slashed at the nearest, but he blocked her with a steel-clad arm, and someone else slammed into her and dragged her to the ground, and a third man wrenched the sword from her grasp. When she tried to bite, her teeth snapped shut on cold dirty chainmail. ?oO ho, a fierce one,? the man said, laughing. The blow from his iron-clad fist near knocked her head off.
They talked over her as she lay hurting, but Arya could not seem to understand the words. Her ears rang. When she tried to crawl off, the earth moved beneath her. They took Needle. The shame of that hurt worse than the pain, and the pain hurt a lot. Jon had given her that sword. Syrio had taught her to use it.
Finally someone grabbed the front of her jerkin, yanked her to her knees. Hot Pie was kneeling too, before the tallest man Arya had ever seen, a monster from one of Old Nan?Ts stories. She never saw where the giant had come from. Three black dogs raced across his faded yellow surcoat, and his face looked as hard as if it had been cut from stone. Suddenly Arya knew where she had seen those dogs before. The night of the tourney at King?Ts Landing, all the knights had hung their shields outside their pavilions. ?oThat one belongs to the Hound?Ts brother,? Sansa had confided when they passed the black dogs on the yellow field. ?oHê?Ts even bigger than Hodor, you?Tll see. They call him the Mountain That Rides.?
Arya let her head droop, only half aware of what was going on around her. Hot Pie was yielding some more. The Mountain said, ?oYou?Tll lead us to these others,? and walked off. Next she was stumbling past the dead men on their gibbet, while Hot Pie told their captors hê?Td bake them pies and tarts if they didn?Tt hurt him. Four men went with them. One carried a torch, one a longsword; two had spears.
They found Lommy where they?Td left him, under the oak. ?oI yield,? he called out at once when he saw them. Hê?Td flung away his own spear and raised his hands, splotchy green with old dye. ?oI yield. Please.?
The man with the torch searched around under the trees. ?oAre you the last? Baker boy said there was a girl.?
?oShe ran off when she heard you coming,? Lommy said. ?oYou made a lot of noise.? And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back.
?oTell us where we can find that whoreson Dondarrion, and therê?Tll be a hot meal in it for you.?
?oWho?? said Lommy blankly.
?oI told you, this lot don?Tt know no more than those ****s in the village. Waste ô?Tbloody time.?
One of the spearmen drifted over to Lommy. ?oSomething wrong with your leg, boy??
?oIt got hurt.?
?oCan you walk?? He sounded concerned.
?oNo,? said Lommy. ?oYou got to carry me.?
?oThink so?? The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy?Ts soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. When the man pulled his spear loose, blood sprayed out in a dark fountain. ?oCarry him, he says,? he muttered, chuckling.
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Được Pagan sửa chữa / chuyển vào 20:09 ngày 22/12/2007

Chapter 20
Tyrion​

They had warned him to dress warmly. Tyrion Lannister took them at their word. He was garbed in heavy quilted breeches and a woolen doublet, and over it all he had thrown the shadowskin cloak he had acquired in the Mountains of the Moon. The cloak was absurdly long, made for a man twice his height. When he was not ahorse, the only way to wear the thing was to wrap it around him several times, which made him look like a ball of striped fur.
Even so, he was glad he had listened. The chill in the long dank vault went bone deep. Timett had chosen to retreat back up to the cellar after a brief taste of the cold below. They were somewhere under the hill of Rhaenys, behind the Guildhall of the Alchemists. The damp stone walls were splotchy with nitre, and the only light came from the sealed ironand-glass oil lamp that Hallyne the Pyromancer carried so gingerly.
Gingerly indeed... and these would be the ginger jars. Tyrion lifted one for inspection. It was round and ruddy, a fat clay grapefruit. A little big for his hand, but it would fit comfortably in the grip of a normal man, he knew. The pottery was thin, so fragile that even he had been warned not to squeeze too tightly, lest he crush it in his fist. The clay felt roughened, pebbled. Hallyne told him that was intentional. ?oA smooth pot is more apt to slip from a man?Ts grasp.?
The wildfire oozed slowly toward the lip of the jar when Tyrion tilted it to peer inside. The color would be a murky green, he knew, but the poor light made that impossible to confirm. ?oThick,? he observed.
?oThat is from the cold, my lord,? said Hallyne, a pallid man with soft damp hands and an obsequious manner. He was dressed in striped black-and-scarlet robes trimmed with sable, but the fur looked more than a little patchy and moth-eaten. ?oAs it warms, the substance will flow more easily, like lamp oil.?
The substance was the pyromancers?T own term for wildfire. They called each other wisdom as well, which Tyrion found almost as annoying as their custom of hinting at the vast secret stores of knowledge that they wanted him to think they possessed. Once theirs had been a powerful guild, but in recent centuries the maesters of the Citadel had supplanted the alchemists almost everywhere. Now only a few of the older order remained, and they no longer even pretended to transmute metals...
... but they could make wildfire. ?oWater will not quench it, I am told.?
?oThat is so. Once it takes fire, the substance will burn fiercely until it is no more. More, it will seep into cloth, wood, leather, even steel, so they take fire as well.?
Tyrion remembered the red priest Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword. Even a thin coating of wildfire could burn for an hour. Thoros always needed a new sword after a melee, but Robert had been fond of the man and ever glad to provide one. ?oWhy doesn?Tt it seep into the clay as well??
?oOh, but it does,? said Hallyne. ?oThere is a vault below this one where we store the older pots. Those from King Aerys?Ts day. It was his fancy to have the jars made in the shapes of fruits. Very perilous fruits indeed, my lord Hand, and, hmmm, riper now than ever, if you take my meaning. We have sealed them with wax and pumped the lower vault full of water, but even so... by rights they ought to have been destroyed, but so many of our masters were murdered during the Sack of King?Ts Landing, the few acolytes who remained were unequal to the task. And much of the stock we made for Aerys was lost. Only last year, two hundred jars were discovered in a storeroom beneath the Great Sept of Baelor. No one could recall how they came there, but I?Tm sure I do not need to tell you that the High Septon was beside himself with terror. I myself saw that they were safely moved. I had a cart filled with sand, and sent our most able acolytes. We worked only by night, we-?
?o-did a splendid job, I have no doubt.? Tyrion placed the jar hê?Td been holding back among its fellows. They covered the table, standing in orderly rows of four and marching away into the subterranean dimness. And there were other tables beyond, many other tables. ?oThese, ah, fruits of the late King Aerys, can they still be used??
?oOh, yes, most certainly... but carefully, my lord, ever so carefully. As it ages, the substance grows ever more, hmmmm, fickle, let us say. Any flame will set it afire. Any spark. Too much heat and jars will blaze up of their own accord. It is not wise to let them sit in sunlight, even for a short time. Once the fire begins within, the heat causes the substance to expand violently, and the jars shortly fly to pieces. If other jars should happen to be stored in the same vicinity, those go up as well, and so-?
?oHow many jars do you have at present??
?oThis morning the Wisdom Munciter told me that we had seven thousand eight hundred and forty. That count includes four thousand jars from King Aerys?Ts day, to be sure.?
?oOur overripe fruits??
Hallyne bobbed his head. ?oWisdom Malliard believes we shall be able to provide a full ten thousand jars, as was promised the queen. I concur.? The pyromancer looked indecently pleased with that prospect.
Assuming our enemies give you the time. The pyromancers kept their recipe for wildfire a closely guarded secret, but Tyrion knew that it was a lengthy, dangerous, and time-consuming process. He had assumed the promise of ten thousand jars was a wild boast, like that of the bannerman who vows to marshal ten thousand swords for his lord and shows up on the day of battle with a hundred and two. If they can truly give us ten thousand...
He did not know whether he ought to be delighted or terrified. Perhaps a smidge of both. ?oI trust that your guild brothers are not engaging in any unseemly haste, Wisdom. We do not want ten thousand jars of defective wildfire, nor even one... and we most certainly do not want any mishaps.?
?oThere will be no mishaps, my lord Hand. The substance is prepared by trained acolytes in a series of bare stone cells, and each jar is removed by an apprentice and carried down here the instant it is ready. Above each work cell is a room filled entirely with sand. A protective spell has been laid on the floors, hmmm, most powerful. Any fire in the cell below causes the floors to fall away, and the sand smothers the blaze at once.?
?oNot to mention the careless acolyte.? By spell Tyrion imagined Hallyne meant clever trick. He thought he would like to inspect one of these false-ceilinged cells to see how it worked, but this was not the time. Perhaps when the war was won.
?oMy brethren are never careless,? Hallyne insisted. ?oIf I may be, hmmmm, frank...?
?oOh, do.?
?oThe substance flows through my veins, and lives in the heart of every pyromancer. We respect its power. But the common soldier, hmmmm, the crew of one of the queen?Ts spitfires, say, in the unthinking frenzy of battle... any little mistake can bring catastrophe. That cannot be said too often. My father often told King Aerys as much, as his father told old King Jaehaerys.?
?oThey must have listened,? Tyrion said. ?oIf they had burned the city down, someone would have told me. So your counsel is that we had best be careful??
?oBe very careful,? said Hallyne. ?oBe very very careful.?
?oThese clay jars... do you have an ample supply??
?oWe do, my lord, and thank you for asking.?
?oYou won?Tt mind if I take some, then. A few thousand.?
?oA few thousand??
?oOr however many your guild can spare, without interfering with production. It?Ts empty pots I?Tm asking for, understand. Have them sent round to the captains on each of the city gates.?
?oI will, my lord, but why... ??
Tyrion smiled up at him. ?oWhen you tell me to dress warmly, I dress warmly. When you tell me to be careful, well...? He gave a shrug. ?oI?Tve seen enough. Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me back up to my litter??
?oIt would be my great, hmmm, pleasure, my lord.? Hallyne lifted the lamp and led the way back to the stairs. ?oIt was good of you to visit us. A great honor, hmmm. It has been too long since the King?Ts Hand graced us with his presence. Not since Lord Rossart, and he was of our order. That was back in King Aerys?Ts day. King Aerys took a great interest in our work.?
King Aerys used you to roast the flesh off his enemies. His brother Jaime had told him a few stories of the Mad King and his pet pyromancers. ?oJoffrey will be interested as well, I have no doubt.? Which is why I?Td best keep him well away from you.
?oIt is our great hope to have the king visit our Guildhall in his own royal person. I have spoken of it to your royal sister. A great feast...?
It was growing warmer as they climbed. ?oHis Grace has prohibited all feasting until such time as the war is won.? At my insistence. ?oThe king does not think it fitting to banquet on choice food while his people go without bread.?
?oA most, hmmm, loving gesture, my lord. Perhaps instead some few of us might call upon the king at the Red Keep. A small demonstration of our powers, as it were, to distract His Grace from his many cares for an evening. Wildfire is but one of the dread secrets of our ancient order. Many and wondrous are the things we might show you.?
?oI will take it up with my sister.? Tyrion had no objection to a few magic tricks, but Joff?Ts fondness for making men fight to the death was trial enough; he had no intention of allowing the boy to taste the possibilities of burning them alive.
When at last they reached the top of the steps, Tyrion shrugged out of his shadowskin fur and folded it over his arm. The Guildhall of the Alchemists was an imposing warren of black stone, but Hallyne led him through the twists and turns until they reached the Gallery of the Iron Torches, a long echoing chamber where columns of green fire danced around black metal columns twenty feet tall. Ghostly flames shimmered off the polished black marble of the walls and floor and bathed the hall in an emerald radiance. Tyrion would have been more impressed if he hadn?Tt known that the great iron torches had only been lit this morning in honor of his visit, and would be extinguished the instant the doors closed behind him. Wildfire was too costly to squander.
They emerged atop the broad curving steps that fronted on the Street of the Sisters, near the foot of Visenyâ?Ts Hill. He bid Hallyne farewell and waddled down to where Timett son of Timett waited with an escort of Burned Men. Given his purpose today, it had seemed a singularly appropriate choice for his guard. Besides, their scars struck terror in the hearts of the city rabble. That was all to the good these days. Only three nights past, another mob had gathered at the gates of the Red Keep, chanting for food. Joff had unleashed a storm of arrows against them, slaying four, and then shouted down that they had his leave to eat their dead. Winning us still more friends.
Tyrion was surprised to see Bronn standing beside the litter as well. ?oWhat are you doing here??
?oDelivering your messages,? Bronn said. ?oIronhand wants you urgently at the Gate of the Gods. He won?Tt say why. And you?Tve been summoned to Maegor?Ts too.?
?oSummoned?? Tyrion knew of only one person who would presume to use that word. ?oAnd what does Cersei want of me??
Bronn shrugged. ?oThe queen commands you to return to the castle at once and attend her in her chambers. That stripling cousin of yours delivered the message. Four hairs on his lip and he thinks hê?Ts a man.?
?oFour hairs and a knighthood. Hê?Ts Ser Lancel now, never forget.? Tyrion knew that Ser Jacelyn would not send for him unless the matter was of import. ?oI?Td best see what Bywater wants. Inform my sister that I will attend her on my return.?
?oShe won?Tt like that,? Bronn warned.
?oGood. The longer Cersei waits, the angrier shê?Tll become, and anger makes her stupid. I much prefer angry and stupid to composed and cunning.? Tyrion tossed his folded cloak into his litter, and Timett helped him up after it.
The market square inside the Gate of the Gods, which in normal times would have been thronged with farmers selling vegetables, was near deserted when Tyrion crossed it. Ser Jacelyn met him at the gate, and raised his iron hand in brusque salute. ?oMy lord. Your cousin Cleos Frey is here, come from Riverrun under a peace banner with a letter from Robb Stark.?
?oPeace terms??
?oSo he says.?
?oSweet cousin. Show me to him.?
The gold cloaks had confined Ser Cleos to a windowless guardroom in the gatehouse. He rose when they entered. ?oTyrion, you are a most welcome sight.?
?oThat?Ts not something I hear often, cousin.?
?oHas Cersei come with you??
?oMy sister is otherwise occupied. Is this Stark?Ts letter?? He plucked it off the table. ?oSer Jacelyn, you may leave us.?
Bywater bowed and departed. ?oI was asked to bring the offer to the Queen Regent,? Ser Cleos said as the door shut.
?oI shall.? Tyrion glanced over the map that Robb Stark had sent with his letter. ?oAll in good time, cousin. Sit. Rest. You look gaunt and haggard.? He looked worse than that, in truth.
?oYes.? Ser Cleos lowered himself onto a bench. ?oIt is bad in the riverlands, Tyrion. Around the Gods Eye and along the kingsroad especially. The river lords are burning their own crops to try and starve us, and your father?Ts foragers are torching every village they take and putting the smallfolk to the sword.?
That was the way of war. The smallfolk were slaughtered, while the highborn were held for ransom. Remind me to thank the gods that I was bom a Lannister.
Ser Cleos ran a hand through his thin brown hair. ?oEven with a peace banner, we were attacked twice. Wolves in mail, hungry to savage anyone weaker than themselves. The gods alone know what side they started on, but they?Tre on their own side now. Lost three men, and twice as many wounded.?
?oWhat news of our foe?? Tyrion turned his attention back to Stark?Ts terms. The boy does not want too much. Only half the realm, the release of our captives, hostages, his father?Ts sword... oh, yes, and his sisters.
?oThe boy sits idle at Riverrun,? Ser Cleos said. ?oI think he fears to face your father in the field. His strength grows less each day. The river lords have departed, each to defend his own lands.?
Is this what Father intended? Tyrion rolled up Stark?Ts map. ?oThese terms will never do.?
?oWill you at least consent to trade the Stark girls for Tion and Willem?? Ser Cleos asked plaintively.
Tion Frey was his younger brother, Tyrion recalled. ?oNo,? he said gently, ?obut wê?Tll propose our own exchange of captives. Let me consult with Cersei and the council. We shall send you back to Riverrun with our terms.?
Clearly, the prospect did not cheer him. ?oMy lord, I do not believe Robb Stark will yield easily. It is Lady Catelyn who wants this peace, not the boy.?
?oLady Catelyn wants her daughters.? Tyrion pushed himself down from the bench, letter and map in hand. ?oSer Jacelyn will see that you have food and fire. You look in dire need of sleep, cousin. I will send for you when we know more.?